Dutchman and the Devil : The Lost Story (9781456612887) (4 page)

Unknown to Waltz, Weiser had his own ideas about the future. A man of vaulting ambition, he pictured himself on the governing boards of wealthy, successful companies. Far from wanting a simple farm, Weiser expected to live in a mansion and entertain important people at splendid parties. And he was in a hurry.

Weiser was startled out of his daydreaming when Waltz pulled off the trail.

“Why are we stopping?” asked Weiser. “I don’t see any gold nuggets.”

“We’re stopping to rest and water the horses,” Waltz said, as he led his horse over to a nearby stream.

“Here in the middle of nowhere?” protested Weiser. “Why don’t we keep going till we find a nice comfortable spot where we can stretch out and take a snooze?”

Waltz looked at Weiser and said patiently, “If we push our horses too hard, they’ll drop in their tracks.”

Weiser sighed inwardly and dismounted. He wasn’t accustomed to taking orders from Waltz and didn’t much like it. But he reminded himself this partnership was a matter of convenience until they found gold.

They rode until dusk before stopping for the night. Too tired to make a fire, they ate tinned meat and hardtack washed down with water from a nearby stream.

In spite of the fact that Weiser had never slept on the ground, he was asleep the minute he rolled up in his blanket. But around midnight, a barn owl’s screech woke him enough to feel the rocks beneath him press his flesh. His tenderfoot muscles protested mightily as he shifted, and for once he was glad to see sunrise end his misery — at least until the following night. Although Weiser learned to put up with sleeping on the ground, he never liked it.

Waltz, however, was in his element in the wilderness. Once in the great outdoors, he cheerfully chopped wood for fires, fetched water, and slept as soundly as the rocks around him.

Three long weeks later, they arrived in Spartanburg and checked into the cheapest hotel they could find. And after baths and a trip to the barber, they set off to see Edward Peeples. His house was a large but slightly shabby structure that would have benefited from a fresh coat of white paint. Edward welcomed his visitors. “You’re lucky to find me at home. This time of year, I’m usually out prospecting. But when I got Adam’s letter, I decided to delay my departure in case you wanted to come with me.”

The savory smell of chicken roasting filled the air, reminding Edward of his manners. “But we can discuss that after supper,” he said, “if you will dine with us.”

At supper, Weiser lavished compliments on Edward’s wife Charlotte Esther, who blushed like a schoolgirl at his attention, while Waltz sat uncomfortably between two squirming boys and Edward tended to the needs of smaller children.

When the meal was finished, Edward led the men to his veranda for coffee and brandy. Weiser sat back, enjoying the sweet scent of magnolias. The Old South was more agreeable than he’d expected. He lit a cigar, and waited to see what Waltz would say. For the present, Weiser wanted Waltz to think he was in charge.

Waltz was no diplomat. He went directly to the point, saying, “We want to find gold. Can you teach us how?”

“And we want the good stuff,” Weiser added. “Don’t be trying to sell us on a wild goose chase for gold dust.”

“Have either of you prospected before?” Edward asked.

“No sir,” Waltz replied, “but we can learn.”

Edward rolled his cigar between his thumb and forefinger, inspecting its ash. Without moving his head, he glanced at Weiser and thought, “There’s something about this fella that I don’t like.” Turning his gaze to Waltz, Edward smiled and thought, “But I do like this big Deutschen well enough to put up with his friend.” Aloud, he said, “Here’s how I see it, Mr. Waltz — you fellas need help an’ I’m willing to teach you, but only if you’ll agree to do what I tell you.”

Waltz’s grin lit up his face like a schoolboy’s at Christmas as he said, “Yes, sir, we’ll be glad to do whatever you say.”

Weiser, however, wanted to know what Edward’s services would cost. Meeting Edward’s eyes, he said bluntly, “What’s your price?”

“One-third of the ore we bring back, an’ my grubstake,” Edward replied.

“That seems like a pretty penny for a little lesson in prospecting,” Weiser said. “Can you guarantee we’ll strike it rich?”

“I’m worth every one of those pennies,” Edward said firmly. “Whether you get rich or not depends on how good you are at doing what I tell you.”

Waltz could see Weiser wanted to negotiate, but he knew Edward was right. He looked at Weiser, grinned, and made one of his rare jokes, “Learning from a real prospector will be worth its weight in gold.”

Weiser was forced to agree and join in the laughter.

The next morning, Waltz and Weiser were at Brown’s Mercantile Store before the doors opened, and Edward arrived moments later. They bought two months’ supplies of coffee, flour, baking powder, tobacco, sugar, and salt, and Edward helped them select picks, shovels, and pans for washing test gravel. As they paid, Weiser thought he saw Brown slip a few bills into his own pocket, but it was done so quickly he could not be sure.

Twenty tedious days later, they found their first strike — or, more precisely, Edward found a quartz outcropping that looked promising. Weiser was totally unprepared for the seductive beauty of real gold. Although his first nugget was no larger than a lima bean, he stared at that softly glowing piece of gold like a love-struck adolescent at his first girlfriend. And after a while, he put that small piece of gold gently in his pocket, the pocket where most men carried a watch. It became his talisman, his promise of good luck that he turned to on the rare occasions when doubt nibbled at his resolve. From that time on, Jake Weiser was never without that nugget, regardless of how many others he found.

The reality of prospecting was nothing like Weiser had ever imagined. He had envisioned an easy wade in a rippling stream, stooping now and then to fill his pockets with lovely gold nuggets. The reality was backbreaking days chipping rocks from the quartz vein and crushing them into gravel; the reality was shoveling that gravel into a sluice box and keeping a steady flow of icy water moving through it while the gold separated and sank to the bottom; and the reality was spending as much time cleaning the sluice as running it.

Every part of Weiser’s body hurt, from his teeth to his toenails. He had never expected to sleep with a rock for his pillow, but here he was in the god-forsaken wilderness bitten by a thousand mosquitoes, and for what? Gold particles so small it would take all summer to make a decent profit. At twenty-one dollars an ounce, it took too damn many of these tiny particles to get the kind of rich Weiser was after.

Waltz, to the contrary, was in his element sleeping under the stars. Mining was hard labor, but he was used to that. Backbreaking labor, sweat, and struggle were dues he paid freely because, for the first time in his life, his work was for his own future. And his happiness manifested itself in a new kind of confidence he had never had before.

When at last they had forty pounds of ore, they made their way back to Spartanburg. Weiser was keenly aware of the suffocating summer of the Deep South. Sweat ran down his face, his shirt was soaked, and he could scarcely breathe in the hot, moist air. Moreover, his physical discomfort paled beside his bitter disappointment in their not-so-fabulous gold vein. It may have satisfied Peeples and Waltz, but Weiser was ready to move on.

As soon as they reached Spartanburg, they went directly to Brown’s Mercantile Store. Edward expected Brown to offer them $4,000 dollars but, to his dismay, Brown offered only $2,000.

“That’s not enough and you know it,” Edward said. “The price of gold is $21 an ounce. We have forty pounds of ore an’ I know it ain’t pure, but I’m damned if I’ll accept any less than $3,000 for it.”

Brown’s smile didn’t reach the steely glint in his eyes as he said, “All right, Edward. Since you and I are friends, I’ll give you $2,250. You won’t get a better offer this side of New York City.”

Edward sighed, turned to face Waltz and Weiser, and said, “Brown has us in a corner. We’d have to spend more taking our gold to a bigger city than we’d get for it.”

Waltz didn’t want to step on Edward’s toes over the negotiation, but Weiser was all too ready to use this as an opportunity.

“Edward, as you so graciously concede, you may have under-negotiated,” Weiser said with a hint of sarcasm. Then added, “But we can discuss that later when we work out your share.”

Waltz was a bit stunned by his partner’s boldness but wasn’t about to oppose him in mixed company.

Edward overcame his desire to smack Weiser and, turning back to Brown, said, “All right, Shylock, pay us — and make it quick before I forget I’m a gentleman.”

Proceeding to Edward’s home, they found a letter from Adam Peeples that said, “Gold dust from Sutter’s Mill in California is so rich, men from all over the world are quitting their jobs and leaving their families to go after it. Cousin Abraham and his friends are forming a wagon train to California, and expect to leave San Antonio, Texas, in December.”

Weiser turned to Waltz and said, “Let’s go! That’s where the real money is.”

Waltz stared at Weiser and said, “Are you crazy? Why should we go to California when we’re doing all right here? $2,000 is good money for two months of working.”

Weiser took a moment before saying, with a feigned look of sincerity, “I’m just thinking about you and your dream. If you’re really in a hurry to buy a farm an’ settle down, we need to go west.”

Waltz frowned and said, “I don’t see what buying a farm has to do with California.”

“Do you see any small farms around here?” Weiser asked. When Waltz didn’t answer, Weiser continued, “That’s right, my friend, there aren’t any. Here in the Deep South, rich men have huge cotton plantations worked by black slaves, and penniless sharecroppers have tiny worn-out fields. There’s nothing in-between. But California has lush, green valleys just waiting to be farmed, as soon as we go out there and get our share of those gold nuggets.”

“You make California sound like the pastures of heaven,” Waltz said sarcastically.

“It is,” Weiser retorted. “If we stay in South Carolina, all we’ll get for our efforts is more calluses and sore backs.”

In spite of Weiser’s arguments, Waltz was not about to change his plan based on one letter from Adam Peeples. “I am content with South Carolina,” he said firmly. “You can forget about California. We’re going back to our strike tomorrow, an’ you better get going and pick up our provisions before the store closes.”

Weiser buried his anger, but it continued to simmer beneath the surface as he led their packhorse toward Brown’s store. He thought to himself, “That goddamn Jacob Waltz makes me so mad I could spit! Who does he think he is, ordering me around like his servant? I’m the one who got him out of poverty, an’ the one who got him to America, an’ the one who got him connected with real prospectors. And I’m damned if I’ll waste much more time piddling around in this hick town. My God, a lousy thousand dollars for two months’ work! If we ever get rich, I’ll be too old to enjoy it.”

Then Weiser had an idea. He found Brown and went right to the point. “I know you cheated us on that last load of ore, but I’m not going to say anything about it if I don’t have to, because I have another proposal that will be strictly between you an’ me.”

“I’m listening,” Brown replied, his easy smile at odds with the shrewdness of his eyes as he folded his arms and rested them on his ample gut.

“If you’ll pad the cost of your supplies,” Weiser said, “I’ll pay it an’ split the difference with you.”

Brown drew himself up with a disdainful look that said Weiser’s offer was beneath his consideration, and replied, “I ain’t no crook, mister. And your offer is an insult to my integrity.”

“Is that so?” Weiser said, raising his left eyebrow and peering keenly at Brown. “Are you going to tell me it was a trick of the light that made me think some of Edward’s money slipped into your pocket the last time we bought supplies?”

Brown’s eyes flickered for a moment, then narrowed as he said, “That’s right, it must of been a trick of the light.”

Weiser shrugged and said, “Well, that’s too bad, Mr. Brown. I guess I’ll have to take my trade to another store.”

Weiser was halfway to the door when Brown laughed and said, “You’re a shrewd man. I expect you realize I wouldn’t want to risk my reputation on a one-time deal.”

“I understand perfectly,” Weiser responded. “So what if I sweeten our deal by agreeing to ask no questions when you assay the ore from our next trip for half its worth?”

Brown raised his bushy brows and said, “That’s too damn good to believe.”

Weiser grinned and said, “Of course you’d split the profit with me.”

“All right,” Brown said, “I’ll do it.”

Certain his deal with Brown would result in convincing Waltz it was foolish to continue prospecting in Spartanburg, Weiser sent a letter to Adam Peeples confirming they would join him on the wagon train to California. And as a result of this conviction, Weiser was his most charming at Charlotte Esther’s dinner party that evening.

Weiser’s behavior had the additional effect of persuading Waltz that he had put their disagreement behind him, causing Waltz to reflect once again on what a good and loyal partner Weiser was.

The next morning, Waltz and Weiser left Edward in the arms of his beloved family and headed back into the mountains. Weiser said no more about California, but, as they reached their old campsite, he pretended to catch his foot on a root and sprain his ankle. Weiser tried valiantly to stand, but cried out in feigned pain when he attempted to put weight on it.

Taken in by Weiser’s act, Waltz set up camp, made a fire, fixed coffee, and heated a tin of beans for their supper. And although he had hoped to begin mining in the light of the long midsummer evening, Waltz spent that evening making a walking stick for his unfortunate partner.

The next morning, Weiser’s ankle seemed no better. All that day and the following two weeks, he sat in the shade and watched Waltz struggle with melon-sized chunks of rock. It was only fair, in Weiser’s opinion, that Waltz do all the hard work, since he was the one who insisted on coming back to this worn-out mine.