Golden Graves [pp. 1-17]

Golden Graves.
moment I felt dazed, and unable exactly to
comprehend it. In less than half an hour
all that remained of Mark Sintley was a
something that lay on the ground beneath a
weather-stained sail-cloth. Could it be that
this motionless form was the gallant looking
fellow, who, if the Fates had conducted
things aright, should have been a dashing
life-guardsman? It was indeed very difficult to realize it, especially as the little crowd
that had given background to the late picture had now nearly all dispersed, and there
remained, besides myself, only the Judge
and perhaps half a dozen miners, who did
nothing but stand and gaze, as though under
the spell of some fascination that rendered
it impossible for them to tear themselves
away.
" He must be buried somewhere," said
the Judge in a low tone. "No use waiting,
of course. Michigan"-this was my name in
the mines-" will you attend to it? You
were not on the jury, nor took a hand at the
rope. It seems as though every one should
have some part in the-"
"May I help find a place for him to lie
in?" spoke a low voice at our elbow. It
was Charley's voice. With the close of the
execution, the young fellow had been released from any surveillance at the tent, and
had now softly stolen in among us. I noticed that there were no longer any tears in
his eyes nor trembling in his limbs. It
seemed as though he had taken a new character upon himself-gathering together with
manifest difficulty his poor little strained faculties to exercise his dutiful part in controlling what remained to be done.
"Certainly, my boy," said the Judge. "I
don't know any one who seems to have a better right to be here than yourself; Michigan,
take some one along with you to help, and
let Charley go to choose a proper spot; and
so let the whole matter be ended as soon as
possible."
For my companion I selected a dull, thickset Dutchman, with plenteous muscle, and
vacant face, and so we set off, the boy
Charley falling silently behind. It proved,
at first, not very easy to choose a proper bur
ial place. There was none to be found in
the whole length and breadth of the plain,
which everywhere was hard and stony, and
cut up with excavations, or staked out into
claims for future work. Nor near the stream,
which was entirely occupied by flumes and
rockers. Nor on the slope of the surrounding hills, which was even more stony than
the plain, besides offering scarcely any secure
foothold. But on the other side of the lowest range of hills, and about half a mile from
the main camping ground, the land sloped
down pleasantly towards a gulley, and there
formed a level plateau some twenty feet
broad. It seemed a place especially adapted
for the purpose required. It was evidently
unoccupied for any mining operation. In
one or two spots along the gulley, as well as
within it, were traces of slight excavations;
but these had, no doubt, been abandoned
almost as soon as made, so unpromising of
gold had they proved. Apart from such considerations, it was a very attractive place.
The bed of the gulley was about thirty feet
wide, almost as smooth as a floor, and paved
with white pebbles. Doubtless, in the season
of the spring freshets, a stream would be running through it, and this would account,
probably, for the condition of the banks.
For the level of the land, some five or six feet
above the gulley, was covered with a thick
turf, in which, here and there, some secretions or deposits of moisture had left a few
sprigs or tufts of green grass, showing that,
in the proper season, the whole surface of
the sward must be bright with fresh verdure,
and dotted, perhaps, with flowers. Here and
there were large trees of the redwood cedar,
and through a gap in the hills the pink tops
of the Sierras gloamed against the sky, some
thirty miles or so away.
"It is as pretty a spot as we can find," I
said, suggestively.
"Yes, and in the spring, maybe the running of the streams close at hand will sound
pleasant to him," was the boy's response, in
a low and almost inaudible tone, as though
more in soliloquy than in attempt at conversation. I could not help looking a little
askance at him, as I heard this piece of senti
1886.]
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