vein of quartz intruding the sedimentary rock. As he knelt to drink again he glimpsed tiny, gleaming fragments on the sand at the bottom.
Gold? It could beâ¦or foolâs gold. He scooped some of the sand from the bottom of the catch basin and, spreading it out, managed with a wet twig to isolate several small flakes and grains.
The shade of trees bending over the spring seemed not to affect the gleam of the particles. He tested several flakes with a knife blade, and found they could be cut.
His guess was that they were gold. He had worked as a miner, but had had little to do with gold except as money. Several mines in which he had worked had no visible gold before the ore was milled.
If this was gold, he might get enough at the bottom of the small falls further down the slope to salt one of his claims; but to return here would mean risking another run-in with the Utes. While he stayed there in the shade beside the spring, he washed out a tiny stack of gold, which he carefully put away in an old envelope heâd been carrying in his coat pocket.
Returning, he decided, was unnecessary. It was far easier to salt a claim with imagination than with gold. After all, it was what a man imagined he would get from a claim that sold him, not what he actually saw. Often it was easier to sell a man a worthless hole in the ground than a good prospect.
He was hungry, for he had eaten nothing since breakfast of the previous day, except for an occasional handful of pine nuts. But he had no food and he hesitated to fire a shot for fear it would bring the Utes around him. It was not the first time he had been hungry, and he had long ago learned that grumbling about what canât be helped did no good at all. Remounting his horse, he worked his way farther along the slope. The dome he had seen was off to the northwest and, as near as he could judge, not more than four miles away.
He was high upâ¦judging by the plant growth around him, he was upwards of ten thousand feet. He had gone but a short distance toward the dome when the ground fell steeply away into a magnificent gorge, wild and lonely. His eyes followed it toward the northwest.
This could be the gorge he had started up when leaving the hollow by the old Indian trail, and had veered off to the south. If it was that gorge, he was well on his way homeâif he could only get down to the bottom of the canyon. But nowhere did there seem to be a route by which he could descend. He was trapped on an island in the sky, not over three miles long and about half a mile wide.
He turned his horse and rode southwest again, back toward the Indians. On the east this plateau fell steeply away for a thousand feet or more, and then there was another steep descent, not quite so abrupt, to the bottom of Smoky Valley.
Finally, after hours of searching, he found a way off the top, and went over the rim, the black horse almost sliding on his haunches. After going down several hundred feet, accompanied by cascades of sand and gravel, he found a game trail. After a mile it began a descent to the bottom of the canyon, and he followed it down.
He had been on the mountain the whole day, and when he reached the bottom it was dark.
Knowing enough of such canyons, he made no attempt to go further, but found a bench beside the stream and made camp. The bottoms of such canyons were littered with boulders, fallen logs, debris of all kinds, and there were, as well, sudden falls that might drop off for fifty feet or more. Usually, if one could find it, there would be an Indian trail or a game trail skirting the edge of the creek. This would show him the way around any falls there might be.
At noon the following day, Fallon rode up the street of Red Horse, a Red Horse such as he had never seen. The street was crowded with wagons and with strangers. Suddenly he saw Blane and started toward him. Blane looked up, saw him coming, and abruptly turned away and went inside, closing the door behind
Gold? It could beâ¦or foolâs gold. He scooped some of the sand from the bottom of the catch basin and, spreading it out, managed with a wet twig to isolate several small flakes and grains.
The shade of trees bending over the spring seemed not to affect the gleam of the particles. He tested several flakes with a knife blade, and found they could be cut.
His guess was that they were gold. He had worked as a miner, but had had little to do with gold except as money. Several mines in which he had worked had no visible gold before the ore was milled.
If this was gold, he might get enough at the bottom of the small falls further down the slope to salt one of his claims; but to return here would mean risking another run-in with the Utes. While he stayed there in the shade beside the spring, he washed out a tiny stack of gold, which he carefully put away in an old envelope heâd been carrying in his coat pocket.
Returning, he decided, was unnecessary. It was far easier to salt a claim with imagination than with gold. After all, it was what a man imagined he would get from a claim that sold him, not what he actually saw. Often it was easier to sell a man a worthless hole in the ground than a good prospect.
He was hungry, for he had eaten nothing since breakfast of the previous day, except for an occasional handful of pine nuts. But he had no food and he hesitated to fire a shot for fear it would bring the Utes around him. It was not the first time he had been hungry, and he had long ago learned that grumbling about what canât be helped did no good at all. Remounting his horse, he worked his way farther along the slope. The dome he had seen was off to the northwest and, as near as he could judge, not more than four miles away.
He was high upâ¦judging by the plant growth around him, he was upwards of ten thousand feet. He had gone but a short distance toward the dome when the ground fell steeply away into a magnificent gorge, wild and lonely. His eyes followed it toward the northwest.
This could be the gorge he had started up when leaving the hollow by the old Indian trail, and had veered off to the south. If it was that gorge, he was well on his way homeâif he could only get down to the bottom of the canyon. But nowhere did there seem to be a route by which he could descend. He was trapped on an island in the sky, not over three miles long and about half a mile wide.
He turned his horse and rode southwest again, back toward the Indians. On the east this plateau fell steeply away for a thousand feet or more, and then there was another steep descent, not quite so abrupt, to the bottom of Smoky Valley.
Finally, after hours of searching, he found a way off the top, and went over the rim, the black horse almost sliding on his haunches. After going down several hundred feet, accompanied by cascades of sand and gravel, he found a game trail. After a mile it began a descent to the bottom of the canyon, and he followed it down.
He had been on the mountain the whole day, and when he reached the bottom it was dark.
Knowing enough of such canyons, he made no attempt to go further, but found a bench beside the stream and made camp. The bottoms of such canyons were littered with boulders, fallen logs, debris of all kinds, and there were, as well, sudden falls that might drop off for fifty feet or more. Usually, if one could find it, there would be an Indian trail or a game trail skirting the edge of the creek. This would show him the way around any falls there might be.
At noon the following day, Fallon rode up the street of Red Horse, a Red Horse such as he had never seen. The street was crowded with wagons and with strangers. Suddenly he saw Blane and started toward him. Blane looked up, saw him coming, and abruptly turned away and went inside, closing the door behind
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