Soon after this they arrived at the place where Thompson had located his
claim. It was desert, of course, sloping away on one side to a dreary
waste of sand and weeds with now and then a giant cactus standing
gloomily alone with malformed lingers stretched stiffly to the staring
blue sky. Behind where they pitched their final camp--Camp 48, Cash
Markham recorded it in his diary--the hills rose. But they were as stark
and barren almost as the desert below. Black rock humps here and there,
with ledges of mineral bearing rock. Bushes and weeds and dry washes for
the rest, with enough struggling grass to feed the horses and burros if
they rustled hard enough for it.
They settled down quietly to a life of grinding monotony that would have
driven some men crazy. But Bud, because it was a man's kind of monotony,
bore it cheerfully. He was out of doors, and he was hedged about by no
rules or petty restrictions. He liked Cash Markham and he liked Pete,
his saddle horse, and he was fond of Daddy who was still paying the
penalty of seeking too carelessly for shade and, according to Cash's
record, "getting it in his mouth, tongue, feet & all over body." Bud
liked it--all except the blistering heat and the "side-winders"
and other rattlers. He did not bother with trying to formulate any
explanation of why he liked it. It may have been picturesque, though
picturesqueness of that sort is better appreciated when it is seen
through the dim radiance of memory that blurs sordid details. Certainly
it was not adventurous, as men have come to judge adventure.
Life droned along very dully. Day after day was filled with petty
details. A hill looks like a mountain if it rises abruptly out of a
level plain, with no real mountains in sight to measure it by. Here's
the diary to prove how little things came to look important because the
days held no contrasts. If it bores you to read it, think what it must
have been to live it.
June 10.
Up at 6:30 Baked till 11. Then unrigged well and rigged up an incline
for the stock to water. Bud dressed Daddy's back. Stock did not come in
all morning, but Monte & Pete came in before supper. Incline water shaft
does not work. Prospected & found 8 ledges. Bud found none.
June 11.
After breakfast fixed up shack--shelves, benches, tools, etc. Cleaned
guns. Bud dressed Daddy's back which is much better. Strong gold in test
of ledge, I found below creek. Took more specimens to sample. Cora comes
in with a little black colt newly born. Proud as a bull pup with two
tails. Monte & Pete did not come in so we went by lantern light a mile
or so down the wash & found them headed this way & snake them in to
drink about 80 gallons of water apiece. Daddy tied up and howling like a
demon all the while. Bud took a bath.