Montana oil and mining journal. [volume] (Great Falls, Mont.) 1931-1953, 1938-08-06

He had no hopes that Mike Brent had
exaggerated. The weight Of the pick
and shovel pulled on him and unbal-
anced him. But with Mike Brent's
glowering face right above him, and
with Mike Brents heavy boot within
an inch Of hts fingers, he clambered
down as best he could, the sweat
streaming into his eyes and binding
him, the blisters whitening the soft
palms Of his hands Where hanging to
8 bush would have eased and rested
him. be didn't hang. The rock cut into
his flesh, and he took it with a groan.
On the bottom at last. The hot stones
burned his feet. Mr.. Stump lifted up one
foot and stood on the other
Walk ahead" directed Mike Brent.
IN tell you when to STOP
I'm hot" gasped Mr.. Stump. I'm
scorchin'. I can't move no more"
Keep goin'," warned Nike Brent.
you amt the first man to come down
here. There's been many afore you.
You're proSpectin now. This Is what
you come into the hills for. You're
getttn' 1t. But you're only startin'."
4 got to get drink" choked Mr.
stump. I'm swanertn' my tongue
A hot wind blew through the Dig
gtngs. 1t raised an acrid dust that
stung the eyelids, crept into the nos
trilss seeped into the ears. It mixed
with the sweat on hands and neck, and
caked like cement
Mr. Stump continued to gasp and
groan and choke. Whenever he looked !
back at Mike Brent he saw the heavy
revolver first, and then the grim eyes
behind IT, He stumbled on.
They approached the stream that
slipped over the rocks at the far end
Of the Diggtngs 1t was wide, warm and
shallow with only a few bushes along 4
its banks to mark its course.
Mike Brent let him drink the warm
water, and then picked out what he
called likely place for him to dig
with pick and shovel. For two hours,
Mr.. Stump boiled and broiled and ex~
perienced all the other sensations Of
being cooked while Mike Brent sat In
the shade Of q bush and directed his
Now you can sluice IL out" ne or
dered- Get over the water and wash
your gravel Shake 1t harder. Roll It
around. Wait a minute. Look there.
What do you see2"
MIR. Stump Strengthened up painfully
and looked where Mike Brent pointed.
"Nothin'"
Eyes. YOU do. You see bIowflies."
II don't"
'.Blowflies," repeated the prospector.
Mr. Stump had told the truth. He
couldn't see any, nevertheless TO gain
4 few minutes respite from his forced
labOr, he squinted Up his eyes and
looked for blowflies.
There's something there" said Mike
Brent. I'VE better go see what 1t Is.
Leave the gear here. It isn't far. But
heres something there" He started
~, and directed MIR. Stump down the
rail, keeping him always q few PAGES
n advance. Mr. Stump stumbled over
he rough going. The hot wind scared
his flesh, the white dust choked him.
rattlesnake slitherSd away q few
leet In front Of him At the moment
le felt that its bite would be a de-
Eiranle thing.
Mike Brent was right. There was
0mething there. About q hundred
VarsaS down the TRAN they found two
nen, and both were dead. The first
me lay doubled up Close to the river.
The other had gone some way up
tKearn and then crawled under q bush
md died there.
Some mix up over claims" unused
like Brent. They happen every now
md then. The pore boneneada They
ONE here thinkiu' claim ia some
hing TO hang TO. PROJECTORS OF the
epFesslOn. They're Gil g0gn' t0 net rich
OWL here In the Di9E1ngs The papers
old eheln 80. They 10 crazy from
and start sla00stn' che an