The Trail of a Sourdough: Life in Alaska — John Shaqi
The Trail of a Sourdough: Life in AlaskaSullivan, May Kellogg
History
The Trail of a Sourdough: Life in Alaska
Sullivan, May Kellogg
Alaska -- Fiction
"I like that first rate. It reminds me of home and Hannah. I presume you
want me to put these things in a grub box and wash the dishes while you
go out to prospect your quartz ledge, don't you?" sneered Smithson, in
whose temper there was little improvement since he had eaten because his
stock of whiskey and tobacco was exhausted.
"It is almost as easy as swinging a heavy iron pick, I reckon," replied
Roberts sarcastically.
With this the men parted. A fresh dispute soon arose, however, as to
whether the ledge should be immediately staked or not.
"We would surely be fools to go and leave it for others, especially as
it is uncovered and in plain sight," objected Smithson.
"We will cover it so that none can find it. If we stake the ledge it
must be recorded in Skagway, and the moment we do that our secret is
out. By simply planting stakes or monuments, we cannot hold the ground
from others, but it must be on record. Now if we stop here long all
these fellows on the trail will get into Dawson ahead of us and gobble
up the claims. We started out for placer gold--creek gold--not quartz
gold which takes machinery for development. By going to Dawson first we
may find enough to allow of our opening up this ledge in a year or two."
"Well, I've always heard that 'a bird in the hand is worth two in the
bush', and if this is true I think we'd better stay right here."
"If you knew more you would kick less. It takes a lot more money to open
up quartz mines than we've got or ever may have. But I see what you're
after. You want to stay near Skagway and its well warmed barrooms, don't
you?" laughed Roberts.
"You go to blazes!"
"No, no, I'm going to Dawson. But first I think we'd better drop this
business and pack our supplies from Skagway, don't you?" asked the more
sensible man of the two.
"Yes, yes," said Smithson, who was thinking of his whiskey and tobacco
in that place, and of his chronic thirst which water from the mountain
could not allay.
Before leaving, the new prospect hole was hidden from the view of
stragglers. A few tall saplings were felled, which, with foliage still
upon them, were pushed over the edge of the cliff with stems downward in
order that their leafy tops might rest against the prospected rock and
temporarily hide the new discovery. In case anyone happened that way it
would appear to them that the saplings had been felled and dropped over
the cliff for firewood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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