By the Great Horn Spoon!: Chapters 14–18

Stubb was a veteran of the gold diggings. He gave Jack a haughty look. “Stubb’s a proud animal,” the man had said when they bought him.

The burro turned his thick neck and peered at Jack with disdain.

“Good boy, Stubb,” Jack said tentatively.

After breakfast they struck the tent, blindfolded Stubb and cinched the wooden pack saddle to his back.

Pay dirt eluded them—but the next bend in the river might make their fortune.

You shoveled dirt into a hopper at the top, added water and rocked the spangles through to riffles in the bottom. Men could be found on almost every claim rocking the cradle, like grizzled nursemaids.

He turned the pages of the book over in his mind. Elbows in. Left jab. Feint. Duck, sir, duck. Now the right. Put your shoulder to it, sir!

The great furry beast came crashing out of the shadows. He stopped, seeing Jack for the first time. Jack stood instantly petrified.

“You pointin’ that thing at me?” the reformed road agent laughed.
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, that’s no way to treat your benefactor, is it?”

“I reckon I did. Belong to a friend of yours? Why, it gives me a bad conscience to wear this coat—although I was awful fond of it. I’d appreciate it if you’d give it back. Always was too tight on me anyway.”

The man took the halter of his horse. “Now if you’ll just let me walk away without shootin’,” he smiled, “I’ll be obliged. Sure you ain’t seen a big grizzly around? With the price they’re payin’ for bear steaks, he’s almost worth his weight in gold.”

Fool’s gold was brittle and would splinter. Real gold was soft and would flatten out.

Then they tested the samples with acid to see if they would corrode.

Only Cut-Eye Higgins knew where Dr. Buckbee’s gold bonanza might be.

You’re a professional man and we tried to make allowances. But horse stealin’ is a heinous crime and you got to pay the penalty.

“Let’s see them ivories,” Cut-Eye Higgins said under his breath. “I’ll just tinker—you didn’t come to me to have any yanked.”

“Under what law do you intend to dispatch Doc Higgins from the limb of that tree?”
“Why, everybody knows horse stealin’ is agin the law.”

“Doc Higgins,” said the Justice of the Peace, “you got yourself a temporary reprieve. When you finish with them extractin’ jobs you stand still and we’re going to build a jail house around you...."

“Why six feet?”
“Don’t be cantankerous or I’ll fine you for bein’ in contempt of court. Everybody knows a grave has got to be six feet deep. Get goin’.”

“Why six feet?”
“Don’t be cantankerous or I’ll fine you for bein’ in contempt of court. Everybody knows a grave has got to be six feet deep. Get goin’.”

They chose a bare spot about half a mile from camp. It was on a bluff covered with oat straw and overlooking the river.

In sheer exuberance they clasped arms and swung around and around in the oblong pit.

In sheer exuberance they clasped arms and swung around and around in the oblong pit.

The main street was hung with bunting as if it were the Fourth of July.

He was getting the hang of it. He was vigilant. He concentrated.

The Mountain Ox swung one haymaker after the other, but Praiseworthy dodged, ducked or stepped aside. He cut a tall, lithe figure in the afternoon dust.

Having by now made a thorough study of his opponent, as the book advised, Praiseworthy devised his attack.

Left jab, left jab, he told himself. Keep them coming like bee stings. To the proboscis. The Mountain Ox may be all muscle, but a nose is a nose.

Once, when the gladiators had worked themselves to the very edge of the crowd, the Mountain Ox let fly a carefully aimed wallop.

The bout continued without letup and the sun began to set through the pines. Praiseworthy had hardly exerted himself.

Some, standing for months in the chill streams, had picked up nothing but the rheumatism.

Without delaying even to dry out they borrowed a skiff and rowed to the Lady Wilma.

“Jack! Jack, dear!” cried Aunt Arabella.
There was a shout of joy and they rushed back toward each other. Jack was engulfed in arms.

“If there’s going to be any proposals of marriage I intend to be the first in line. I’ve got no vices to speak of, although I have taken to smoking strong cigars. To say it right out, Miss Arabella, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“By the Great Horn Spoon!” Praiseworthy gasped. Jack had never seen him so flustered.