tion>Dane Coolidge
Silver and Gold
A Story of Luck and Love in a Western Mining Camp
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4057664565518
Table of Contents
53 CHAPTER VII THE EMINENT BUTTINSKY
61 CHAPTER VIII THE SILVER TREASURE
72 CHAPTER IX BIBLE-BACK MURRAY
92 CHAPTER XI THE LADY OF THE SYCAMORES
100 CHAPTER XII STEEL ON STEEL
128 CHAPTER XV A NIGHT FOR LOVE
154 CHAPTER XVIII THE HAND OF FATE
161 CHAPTER XIX THE MAN-KILLER
170 CHAPTER XX JUMPERS AND TENORS
189 CHAPTER XXII THE ROCK-DRILLING CONTEST
200 CHAPTER XXIII THE HEART OF HIS BELOVED
210 CHAPTER XXIV COLONEL DODGE
231 CHAPTER XXVI THE COURSE OF THE LAW
238 CHAPTER XXVII LIKE A HOG ON ICE
251 CHAPTER XXIX THE INTERPRETATION THEREOF
THE PROPHECY
“You will make a long journey to the West and there, within the shadow of a Place of Death, you will find two treasures, one of Silver and the other of Gold. Choose well between them and both shall be Yours, but if you choose unwisely you will lose them Both and suffer a great disgrace. You will fall in love with a beautiful woman who is an artist, but beware how you reveal your affection or she will confer her hand upon Another. Courage and constancy will attend you through life but in the end will prove your undoing, for you will meet your death at the hands of your Dearest Friend.”
1SILVER AND GOLD
CHAPTER I
THE GROUND-HOG
The day had dawned on the summit of Apache Leap and a golden eagle, wheeling high above the crags, flashed back the fire of the sun from his wings; but in the valley below where old Pinal lay sleeping the heat had not begun. A cool wind drew down from the black mouth of Queen Creek Canyon, stirring the listless leaves of the willows, and the shadow of the great cliff fell like a soothing hand on the deserted town at its base. In the brief freshness of the morning there was a smell of flaunting green from the sycamores along the creek, and the tang of greasewood from the ridges; and then, from the chimney of a massive stone house, there came the odor of smoke. A coffee mill began to purr from the kitchen behind and a voice shouted a summons to breakfast, but the hobo miner who lay sprawling in his blankets did not answer the peremptory call. He raised his great head, turned his pig eyes toward the house, then covered his face from the flies.
2There was a clatter of dishes, a long interval of silence, and then the sun like a flaming disc topped the mountain wall to the east. The square adobe houses cast long black shadows across the whitened dust of the street and as the man burrowed deeper to keep out the light the door of the stone house slammed. The day seldom passed when Bunker Hill’s wife did not cook for three or four hoboes but when Old Bunk called a man in to breakfast he expected him to come. He stood for a minute, tall and rangy and grizzled, a desert squint in one eye; and then with a muttered oath he strode across the street.
“Hey!”
