Adventure stories, American; Fiction; Short stories
“The two of us pulled out when the nights were moonlight. We travelled
only at night, and laid up in the days. Vahna wouldn’t let me light a
fire, and I missed my coffee something fierce. We got up in the real
high mountains of the main Andes, where the snow on one pass gave us some
trouble; but the girl knew the trails, and, though we didn’t waste any
time, we were a full week getting there. I know the general trend of our
travel, because I carried a pocket compass; and the general trend is all
I need to get there again, because of that peak. There’s no mistaking
it. There ain’t another peak like it in the world. Now, I’m not telling
you its particular shape, but when you and I head out for it from Quito
I’ll take you straight to it.
“It’s no easy thing to climb, and the person doesn’t live that can climb
it at night. We had to take the daylight to it, and didn’t reach the top
till after sunset. Why, I could take hours and hours telling you about
that last climb, which I won’t. The top was flat as a billiard table,
about a quarter of an acre in size, and was almost clean of snow. Vahna
told me that the great winds that usually blew, kept the snow off of it.
“We were winded, and I got mountain sickness so bad that I had to stretch
out for a spell. Then, when the moon come up, I took a prowl around. It
didn’t take long, and I didn’t catch a sight or a smell of anything that
looked like gold. And when I asked Vahna, she only laughed and clapped
her hands. Meantime my mountain sickness tuned up something fierce, and
I sat down on a big rock to wait for it to ease down.
“‘Come on, now,’ I said, when I felt better. ‘Stop your fooling and tell
me where that nugget is.’ ‘It’s nearer to you right now than I’ll ever
get,’ she answered, her big eyes going sudden wistful. ‘All you Gringos
are alike. Gold is the love of your heart, and women don’t count much.’
“I didn’t say anything. That was no time to tell her about Sarah here.
But Vahna seemed to shake off her depressed feelings, and began to laugh
and tease again. ‘How do you like it?’ she asked. ‘Like what?’ ‘The
nugget you’re sitting on.’
“I jumped up as though it was a red-hot stove. And all it was was a
rock. I felt nay heart sink. Either she had gone clean loco or this was
her idea of a joke. Wrong on both counts. She gave me the hatchet and
told me to take a hack at the boulder, which I did, again and again, for
yellow spots sprang up from under every blow. By the great Moses! it was
gold! The whole blamed boulder!”
Jones rose suddenly to his full height and flung out his long arms, his
face turned to the southern skies. The movement shot panic into the
heart of a swan that had drawn nearer with amiably predatory designs.
Its consequent abrupt retreat collided it with a stout old lady, who
squealed and dropped her bag of peanuts. Jones sat down and resumed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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