The trouble with gold

The following is an excerpt from The Trouble with Gold . . . a promising treasure from Cripple Creek, a novel by Jim Davis, a Colorado geologist and prospector. The story concerns a man searching for a place to put down roots in Colorado and Wyoming in the early 1900s. To order a copy, send a cheque or money order for US$16.75 to Deep Creek Press, 11540 West 27th Place, Lakewood, Colo. 80215, or visit the web site at www.deepcreekpress.com

At first word of the bonanza, Superintendent Roelofs hurried down to the 1200 level of the Cresson. He stared in silent awe, then exclaimed, “We have burrowed into Eldorado!” Turning to the foreman he snapped an order. “Get a crew down from the machine shop. I want an iron door in this drift before the day is out. I’ll wait here while you get two good men and rifles. Put a 24-hour guard on this. Except for you and the guards the 1200 level is off-limits until we get this stuff hauled out. Every damn high-grader in the district will be trying to worm their way into this.”

That afternoon Roelofs called one of the mine owners and told him to make all haste to Cripple Creek. That evening, one of the lucky miners who had pocketed a spectacular piece of the Cresson gold quickly slurped down his meal of grits and sowbelly at his cheap boarding house and headed for the Gold Coin Saloon in Victor. Crowding his way through the smoky, noisy throng of miners and ignoring the clutching whores, he approached Paddy Mackabee at the bar.

“Hullo, Paddymack. I got somepthin’ that might int’rest ya.”

In a false show of nonchalance, he spat a stream of thick tobacco juice towards the dirty brass spittoon near the whore pressed against Paddymack. Paddymack occupied his spot at the bar as if it were a princely throne.

“Can’t ya see I’m busy?” Paddymack squeezed the floozy’s ample hip with his rough hand. The whore giggled, heavy paint on her aging face preventing any visible sign of a smile. The miner slapped down fifty cents with an elaborate show. “It’s good enuf I’ll buy ya a shot if you’ll listen a minute.” He leaned close to Paddymack and spoke in a conspiratorial voice. “I got some stuff from the Vug.”

Paddymack rolled his buggy eyes and shrugged his shoulders, but then pushed away the hapless whore and pulled the miner into the space vacated by the woman. A rough, hulking man, Paddymack sported several days’ growth of whiskers over his grimy face. A low hairline barely allowed a forehead above his thick eyebrows. Thick cauliflower ears and wild unkempt hair completed a countenance that made him look like a stupid lout. His cocksure demeanor, however, suggested he was no ordinary miner. Those who had a bit of filched gold to sell knew that he always had quick cash. Paddy Mackabee was, in fact, as shrewd as he was unsavory. He was a notorious ore thief, a high-grader. He eyed the miner up and down and snorted, his mouth twisted in an odd, cruel way. A solitary yellowed snag showed in his mouth and one eye bulged abnormally from its socket — the result of an improperly healed cheekbone broken in a fight. He tossed down the shot of whiskey, blinked his eyes once and burped with a drawn-out crescendo. “Well, let me take a look at whut ya got. I’m a busy man. Ain’t got all night.” He leaned to one side, lifted a leg slightly and farted.

The miner carefully looked around, then slipped the gold from his pocket and held it close to his belly. Paddymack deftly grabbed it and tossed the rich ore slightly to test its heft. To the miner’s disappointment, Paddymack registered only a mild interest in the sample. “I might give ya five dollars fer it.” He turned back to the bar, more interested in another whiskey than in the gold-rich rock.

“I ain’t here to sell ya this piece. But I can tell ya how ya might get a lot more of this stuff. I might remember more when I ain’t so thirsty,” Paddymack snorted. “Begorra, man, they’s got that cave covered wid guards like Pike’s Peak’s covered wid snow in January!” He grunted with a wave of casual dismissal and downed another shot of whiskey with a noisy sucking slurp. “Me offer stands, five bucks for thet piece.

“I know a lot more, Like about meybe what they’s gonna do wid it.” The miner leaned close to Paddymack and in a conspiratorial voice muttered, “I heared things. Secrets I ‘spect. I seen the Vug, Paddy, and even you never seed nuthin’ rich as this.

“Awright, ‘ere’s what I’ll do. Ten now an’ a ten more when I sell the gold, if I can get enuf and ya tell me everything ya know.” Paddymack again belched loudly, and smacked his thick lips, savoring the recycled whiskey fumes.

“It’s wuth a lot mor’nat. I’d need mor’nat jus to keep me mouth shut about tellin’ ya how they’re gonna guard it.” At this Paddy’s left eyebrow raised until it was almost lost in his unruly hair. He glared at the miner with a bulging, baleful eye, squinting the other almost closed. “I don’t scare into deals. Now tell me whut ya know or get lost.

“Ah hell, Paddy, I’z jus’ makin’ a point. I’d not say nuthin to nobody.”

Emboldened by Paddy’s mild show of interest, the miner bravely upped the price. “Let’s say ten now and a hunert if’n ya get more gold, an’ meybe ten per cent of the gold ya get.” He added the last lamely.

Paddymack glared at him with his bulging eye and blew explosively through his thick lips. “If’n I gave that kind of deal to ever’ damn miner what come in here wid a story like yers, I’d done been broke ‘fore I started.” With that said, Paddy tossed down the rest of his whiskey and turned to leave.

The miner was bewildered. He looked at the bottle. He needed another drink, but all of his money had gone for the first round. “Oh, hell, Paddy, I guess yur deal is okay if you’ll throw in the rest of thet bottle.”

Mackabee smiled smugly. “B’gorra, ya must be a mick. Ya drive a hard bargain. Now let’s sit and ‘ave another shot or two whilst ya tell me what ya know. I’m buyin’.”

Ten dollars richer, the miner turned on his stool and winked salaciously at one of the dance hall girls. The money was as good as spent. Paddymack roughly grabbed the dallying miner by the arm. “Ya can play with her later. First, I want ya to tell me everythin’ you know about that cave of gold.” He doubted if the miner’s information would be of much help in stealing more gold from the Vug, but the golden rock, with its beautiful crystals of gold, would bring fifty dollars. But first, the gaudy specimen would be useful in other ways. The rich ore sample could be a persuasive tool in his quest for help in a felonious plan.

The miner tossed down his whiskey and looked expectantly at the bottle that Paddymack held firmly in his fist. He told Paddymack what he knew, embellished with his Irish skill.

“I was the first to see it. The light blazed out of the hole like as how we’d broke into Hades. I could grab only one piece before the shift boss ran us off. I stuck around whilst the boss talked to the super. They was purty excited.” He looked hopefully at the bottle.

“Hell, man, you ain’t told me nuthin’ yet.” Paddymack poured more whiskey into his own glass but kept a tight grip on the bottle.

The miner coughed to emphasize his dry throat.

“Well, later I heared some more stuff. A lot more. After Roelofs looked at the cave, he ordered an iron door built in the tunnel and a guard put there all the time until the cave was mined out. But I heared somethin’ else, somethin’ purty important.” He looked around, coughed again, then waited expectantly.

Paddymack filled the miner’s glass. “Well, what was it?”

The miner gulped from his glass then set it down closer to the bottle. Paddymack poured a little more whiskey into the glass, not filling it this time. The miner shrugged and leaned closer to the high-grader. “They is shippin’ ever’thin’ to the sample plant to be graded and sorted and sealed in bags. Ain’t nobody knows that. Most ever’body thinks that the gold is going right onto guarded railroad cars. Ten guards for each car!”

Paddymack blinked his good eye in surprise. He too had assumed that the high-grade gold would be loaded directly into a guarded railroad car and shipped to the mill in Colorado City to lessen chances for a holdup.

Apparently Roelofs, the superintendent, wanted to know the value of what he had before it left the mine, Paddymack shoved the bottle towards the miner and Chuckled to himself. “I’ll have some of thet Cresson stuff or me name ain’t Paddymack.”