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Show 110 That White Channel supposedly meandered all through the hills, and Tip and I were hoping it meandered lengthways through our claim. "It has to cross our land at some point," I said, resolutely, as if saying it would make it so. Tip sat in front of me, digging a hollow with her boot, looking for gold. Our two neighbors on the right-Tall Joe and Short Joe- scowled at us as they worked their gravel dump. They had dug one successful shaft before the spring thaw, and now they were cleaning up with a crude wooden "rocker." They worked night and day to get rich fast-and also, I suppose, to keep an eye on us. Our neighbor on the left was crazy. And hairy. His thick brownish-gray hair pushed out from under a floppy felt hat, it sprouted out into long whiskers, and it curled around the neck of his red flannel underwear which served as a shirt. His baggy pants were held up with an old frayed rope. Around Grand Forks he was called Crazy Caribou, I had never seen a caribou, but he must have resembled a very shaggy one. It was from his claim that our fraction had been taken, and we decided it was best to stay out of his way. "I don't like the way he keeps peering at us," Tip said, "around the corners of that cabin he is building." |
