Free The Spoilers by Rex Beach

likewise. They held a surprising amount of sediment, because the stream that had emerged from the crack in the sluices had carried with it pebbles, sand, and all the concentration of the riffles at this point. Standing directly beneath the cataract, most of it had dived fairly into his inviting waistband, following down the lines of least resistance into his boot-legs and boiling out at the knees.
    â€œWash that,” he said. “You’re apt to get a prospect.”
    With artful passes Dextry settled it in the pan bottom and washed away the gravel, leaving a yellow, glittering pile which raised a yell from the men who had lingered curiously.
    â€œHe pans forty dollars to the boot-leg,” one shouted.
    â€œHow much do you run to the foot, Slapjack?”
    â€œHe’s a reg’lar free-milling ledge.”
    No, he ain’t—he’s too thin. He’s nothing but a stringer, but he’ll pay to work.”
    The old miner grinned toothlessly.
    â€œGentlemen, there ain’t no better way to save fine gold than with undercurrents an’ blanket riffles. I’ll have to wash these garments of mine an’ clean up the soapsuds ‘cause there’s a hundred dollars in gold-dust clingin’ to my person this minute.” He went dripping up the bank, while the men returned to their work singing.
    After lunch Dextry saddled his bronco.
    â€œI’m goin’ to town for a pair of gold-scales, but I’ll be back by supper, then we’ll clean up between shifts. She’d ought to give us a thousand ounces, the way that ground prospects.” He loped down the gulch, while his partner returned to the pit, the flashing shovel blade, and the rumbling undertone of the big workings that so fascinated him.
    It was perhaps four o’clock when he was aroused from his labors by a shout from the bunk-tent, where a group of horsemen had clustered. As Glenister drew near, he saw among them Wilton Struve, the lawyer, and the big, well-dressed tenderfoot of the Northern—McNamara—the man of the heavy hand. Struve straightway engaged him.
    â€œSay, Glenister, we’ve come out to see about the title to this claim.”
    â€œWhat about it?”
    â€œWell, it was relocated about a month ago.” He paused.
    â€œYes. What of that?”
    â€œGalloway has commenced suit.”
    â€œThe ground belongs to Dextry and me. We discovered it, we opened it up, we’ve complied with the law, “and we’re going to hold it.” Glenister spoke with such conviction and heat as to nonplus Struve, but McNamara, who had sat his horse silently until now, answered:
    Certainly, sir; if your title is good you will be protected, but the law has arrived in Alaska and we’ve got to let it take its course. There’s no need of violence—none whatever—but, briefly, the situation is this: Mr. Galloway has commenced action against you; the court has enjoined you from working and has appointed me as receiver to operate the mine until the suit is settled. It’s an extraordinary procedure, of course, but the conditions are extraordinary in this country. The season is so short that it would be unjust to the rightful owner if the claim lay idle all summer—so, to avoid that, I’ve been put in charge, with instructions to operate it and preserve the proceeds subject to the court’s order. Mr. Voorhees here is the United States Marshal. He will serve the papers.”
    Glenister threw up his hand in a gesture of restraint.
    â€œHold on! Do you mean to tell me that any court would recognize such a claim as Galloway’s?”
    â€œThe law recognizes everything. If his grounds are no good, so much the better for you”
    â€œYou can’t put in a receiver without notice to us. Why, good Lord! We never heard of a suit being commenced. We’ve never even been served with a summons and we haven’t had a chance to argue in our own