PS 3535 THE GOLDENROD LODE JAMES GRAFTON ROGERS Book. (D ^c^:^ Q r^ Cop3iiglitN».__J4 a. d THE GOLDENROD LODE T'/^^Goldenrod Lode zA Frontier 'Drama in Uerse Written for The Cactus Club of Denver, by James Grafton Rogers and performed by The Club in its outdoor theatre in the Rocky Mountains, September 4, 1920 Printed for The Cactus Club, Denver : 1920 -f^ Copyright, 1921 by The Cactus Club \m 28 B rJClA612303 FOREWORD DURING the early days of the gold excite- ment in Colorado, when prospectors tramped the hills and valleys with frenzied, ceaseless energy, scratching at likely cliffs and outcrops, or scooping up the sands of stream- beds, there was a legend that somewhere lay a great vein of pure gold which, could one but find it, would make the finder fabulously rich — "A mother-lode, ichose merest sweepings poured Across the caiion-brivi like stars that fell To feed the placers." This legend was so widely current as to be the driving force behind months and years of painful, tireless searching. The yellow flakes in the pan were but auguries of hope soon to be realized. Yet no one found the vein, and so the legend grew that beavers had hidden the magic vein beneath the waters of their pool, and thus concealed it from the eye of man. This romantic legend is the framework Oif "The Goldenrod Lode," written for the Cactus Club by James Grafton Rogers, and performed by the Club at its Mountain Theatre on the evening of September 4th, 1920. The beauty of this open air theatre lent itself most naturally to romance. Two small streams flowed from densely wooded hills and mur- muring across the stage, sank into the silence of a beaver pool. A log cabin with its oiled paper window, a rough sawbuck by the door, sooty pots and kettles and a tripod by the smoke stained rocks, gave the hint of human oc- cupancy. The stage was dark when the play com- menced save for the glow of the fireflies which flitted here and there among the pines and hovered where the streams had bathed the banks with moisture. Soft woodland music filled the air, and gave background to the chant- ing voices of the trees. When fireflies, music and voices ceased, the audience became aware of the dim outlines of the stage in the half light, which grew in intensity as the play progressed until when the camp fire was kindled, the surrounding spruce trees were tinged with a warm and ruddy glow. During the long dialogue between Goldenrod and the Boy, the fire was allowed to sink and leave the audience totally unprepared for the shock of the forest fire whose terrifying glare crim- soned the eddying clouds of smoke and sil- houetted the trees against the background of flames. Then the stage was deluged with rain, giving the impression of a widespread and heavy downpour. The forest fire sputtered out. All was darkness and silence again, except for the fireflies, music and the chanting forest voices. To the historian, in retrospect, it is difficult to say that the play was the climax of the eve- ning. It was an integral part of the entertain- ment and fitted so perfectly into the scheme of things that the memory of that autumn eve- ning in the hills is like the colors of sunset — all blended in one harmonious whole. In the early dusk the members and their many guests assembled at the camping ground in the open space above the theatre where on grills placed over glowing charcoal fires a delicious supper was prepared. It was almost dark when supper was over. Stars glimmered overhead or beckoned from behind the trees that topped the surrounding mountain sides. It was time for the play. When the play was over, we straggled up the path again to the camp site. A large camp fire was lighted, about which we gathered. Songs were started, and stories told. Time was for- gotten. It was well past midnight when the last of our guests had departed and the few hardy souls who remained had left the glow- ing embers for the warmth of their blanket rolls. The fire light died, but not so the memory of that evening. With each of us there re- mained a bit of precious romance from "The Goldenrod Lode." E. G. B. December, 1920. CAST (With the players and staff of September 4, 1920) The characters in the order they appear: Duke, an English ne'er-do-well E. I. Thompson Otero, a Mexican teamster John S. Barrows Pinto, an express rider Hugh McLean The Sheriff, a frontier saloonkeeper Forrest Rutherford Sonny, the Sheriff's son Clinton Jansen Goldenrod, a prospector Robert G. Bosworth Voices in the Spruce. . .C. S. Stimson, George P. Steele The Scene is in a forest in the Rocky Mountains, about 1870. Incidental Music by John H. Gower Director of Stage Mechanics and Camp Fred Wilson Hart Chief of Stage Effects John S. Collbran Director for Music Irvin J, McCrary ( Dudley Hart, Edmund B. Rogers, Theatre Staff J Burnham Hoyt, Reginald Poland, I Walter C. Mead. ( Fred W. Hart, John S. Collbran, The Campfire ] Robert G. Bosworth, Walker Van Committee 1 Riper, C. H. Hanington, James I Grafton Rogers. _ .,, ( Walker Van Riper, Harold Finance Committee J ^^ ^ ^ t.t T^r • i,*. 1 Kountze, James N. Wright. Site by permission of G. L. Baird THE GOLDENROD LODE In One Act A glade in a spruce j or est on the upper slopes of an ahnipt canon in the RocTiy Moun- tains. The audience faces a steep hillside^ the ascending terraces of xohich are smothered in evergreen groioth hut are hetrayed^ as time passes^ hy the lights and voices which develop in the hachgroimd. Close hehind the audience^ imagine a sudden canon cliff. The stage is a little opening formed hy the junction of two streams — the larger flowing from right to left between the players and the observers, the smaller trickling from the spruce-cloaked hack- ground over little waterfalls directly to the center. There., between the audience and the stage., a heaver colony has augmented a natural pool by Tneans of a mud-and-stick dam. A beaver-house emerges from the still boaters; the chips and chewed stumps of aspens by the stream to the left. To the right, a tiny log cabin with sod roof built into the hank. The cabin has a single window facing the audience, and at the left end a low doorway, into which the audience cannot see but from which a candle 12 THE GOLDENKOD LODE light can glow to illuminate the gloom of the stage. A smoky kettle 07i a tripod^ a woodpile^ and other signs of a crude hut permanent habi- tation. No lights now — dusk and silence. Then TYiany fireflies^ their glow appearing as brief little lights swinging low in short arcs of their circling flight over the moist ground. Voices from the flanking spr^ice trees., chanting to half-heard music like the sighing of needle- clad boughs. An Elder Spruce: Trim spruce and young, hark and give tongue! Quicken my years with the fresh thoughts you know! Envy, do you — as I did in the ages by — Motion and light in the fireflies below? Tell me, are saplings content as they grow? A Younger Spruce: Chieftain and sire, who would aspire. Dusky and stolid, to drink and to parch Here till the years are spent, one in a regiment — Mustered forever, but never to march? Who stands content with a rootlet that bars Fluttering somewhere with fireflies and stars? Elder Spruce: Saplings, have peace! Decades increase Wisdom upon us, with lichens and tears. Fireflies that spark and fly over the ferns, to die, THE GOLDENKOD LODE 13 Long for the might of our roots and our years. Living is longing, and fireflies are part Of a twilight where hands should not reach with the heart! The music dies with the voice. (A lantern glimmers here and there in the bacTc- ground; the fireflies diminish in number, and then are gone. A shadowy figure slips doion the hank to the left, onto the stage, stealthily ex- plores the stage and cabin, finds everything deserted, and, toith his back to the audience, whistles a bird-call into the background. It is repeated in answer, and three other figures — two carrying lanterns, one a flaming piece of pitch pine — slip from the background and the left bank into the center of the stage, with sub- dued words to some hidden horses and the jingle of spurs. The lights reveal them as a group of frontiersmen. The first to enter is the Duke — a young man in the shabby rem- nants of English sporting styles, a checked cap, and a hunting-coat. The Sheriff is a bulky man of fifty, with only a vest over his soiled shirt-sleeves, boots, a diamond pin without a necktie, and a fiavor of the bar-room. Pinto is a boyish express rider, toith a wide sombrero, white "chaps," a brilliant bandana, and an arsenal — all in proper Wild West style, and immaculate. The fourth is a Mexican teamster, Otero, in beaded and fringed leather.) 14 THE GOLDENROD LODE Duke: This is the place; His cabin's yonder. Blame your own stupidity! Lord, every lame Old partridge on the highlands plays us so To hide a nest! Pinto: Sure! But an hour ago He climbed Sheep Mountain. Why in blazes pack Up timberline to reach a little shack Here by the canon? Sheriff: 'Cause it works, you fool! Two winters now he's shook me there to cool Myself in fallen timber. Duke: And again Invent some penny thriller to explain Your absence to the town, and then go deal Your faro crookeder than last, and feel Your stacking even! Sheriff, dear old chap, Your're quite pathetic! Shebiff: Shut your trap For once, Duke! Where's the boy? I told him: "Hide Along the ledge awhile, and we will ride Ahead and find the lode that old galoot Is workin'!" But I sez: "God blame you! Scoot And tell us when he comes!" He can't be more 'N half an hour behind by now. THE GOLDENROD LODE 15 Pinto : He tramps for sure — As fast as a cayuse can lope. Duke: No mine In sight! Sheriff: The cabin? Duke : Searched it. Not a sign Of mineral! Sheriff: Peculiar! Duke: „ . , To my mind Peculiar hell! Who'd calculate to find A Bank of England, with a safety-vault To hold his nuggets? He's the kind that'd salt Their yellows in a gopher-hole. Pinto : But, Duke, A-reck'nin' by the specimens he's brought To town these last ten autumns, there had ought To be a hole as big as Hades where he dug. Sheriff: Sure, Pinto! But his cache is buried snug. Duke: Oh, he could hide the diggin's sure enough! 16 THE GOLDENROD LODE Shekiff: Now, hearken, boys! I calculate that bluff Takes more in pots than cards. When that galoot Appears, you all just take to brush and let Me shuflSe up the deck. Sonny: (A voice in the dark, left background.) Sonny: Dad! Pinto : I'll bet He's comin'! Sheriff (to the voice) : Hush, you varmint, or I'll scalp You! Well? Sonny: But, Dad, I couldn't hardly help To holler! He is comin'! Duke: „^, Where? He's just Across the ledge. Sheeiff: ^, , ,, . Clear out, then! (They extinguish their lights.) Duke: If you cussed A grown man as you do that boy, he'd line You full of buckshot. THE GOLDENROD LODE 17 Shekiff : What I do to mine 'S my own. Hide out, the lot of you! (They disappear in the dusk in various directions.) (Goldenrod, with faded flowers in his hat, a staff in his hand, a pack, and an appearance of being at the end of a long tramp, comes down the hillside to the left. He is a prospector of about fifty, his hair a little grizzled, his person not unkempt, but somehow individual. His speech is somewhat book-learned. He pauses to ap- praise the glade, comes down to the fire-embers in the center, and then speaks in a burst of relief.) GOLDENKOD : Home again, home, where every shadow spreads A warmed familiar blanket, and the heads Of ancient spruces nod, with just the look That granddads, dozing in a chimney nook. Give some belated son! So, home again, Prom one more venture to the dens of men, While all my aspens flutter in delight. And titter, sister-like. And these sweet hills Once more secrete me in their gorgeous frills And petticoats, as those gigantic maidens did Old Gulliver. Forgotten I am hid. They will unfold their garments one by one. And change to fur when autumn yellow's done, And, from white fur, try shyly on the tint 18 THE GOLDENROD LODE Of summer. For, until their brown frocks hint The wardrobe's all displayed, no storm or need Can break my shelter here. (He unloads his paclc hy the water edge, takes a handful of nuggets from his telt, and, kneeling, casts the pieces one hy one into the heaver pond.) See, beaver men! My comrades, water-treasurers, again I give you back this yellow, stony stuff I borrowed. For one nugget was enough To set the town tongues buzzing, and to buy The wants I had: a pair of shoes — for I Can never make them, struggling as I do — Salt, and some silly things, and then these two Grave, worn old books the schoolmaster had got From Omaha by ox-train. And the lot — Hark, beaver-men! — for that pack-load of skill And toil, and then, besides, two books that fill Your heart with wise and sweet old thoughts — for all. One rusty fragment from your waterfall! (He rises.) No, it bought more. For darker every year Their glances grow; and in the streets I hear Threats. And I dodge, like some poor cotton-tail — Scurfy for miles, or lurk to hide the trail From greedy followers. (At the cahin door.) But for another year Our trust is kept — my path is straight and clear! THE GOLDENKOD LODE 19 (He hangs Ms pack, hy the catin door and, with a -parting survey of the grove, enters. The can- dle-light brightens the window of oiled paper, and a beam from the door picks out the little waterfalls above the cabin. The figures of the Sheriff and his companions slip into the stage from various directions. With them comes Sonny, a boy of about sixteen, lame and with one crude crutch. He is the Sheriff's son whose voice was heard before.) Shekiff: What did he say? Who heard him? Pinto : All I got Was somethin' 'bout his grandpa, and a lot Of talk about some skirts — like Duke here spills When he is soberin' up. Sheriff: And then he fills His tin cup at the creek, and talks some more. But what he said I couldn't tell for sure, Pinto : He says about his sister. Seems to be Some women folks around. Now, as for me Dxtke: Shades of Bill Shakespeare! Pinto, rocks and trees Are his relations. Those were similes. 20 THE GOLDENROD LODE Sheriff: What's similes? ^^^^" He called the trees, you know. His sisters — like an actor in a show. Otero : No le comprendo! Sheriff: j^^^^ -^ ^^^^^ enough! He's talking to himself. It's loco stuff! Otero: He's loco! Ah! bHERiFF. Sure, like they always get Batchin' alone in mountains. But I'll bet He'll hark to reason quick enough. You three Round up the doorway, gentle-like, and me — I'll make a rumpus like a porcupine A-gnawin' his cabin; and he'll know the sign, And come a-scoutln'; but he'll never stop To bring his weapon. Then you up and drop And rope him, and I'll guess he'll testify Regardin' this bonanza, or I'll try A few of these here similes and such. Duke: Rough on our Shakespeare! But he smells too much Of nuggets for a poet. I am in. My gentle Sheriff! THE GOLDENROD LODE 21 •^^^™' Sure, but what we win Is split four ways, it's understood. sheriff: j^. jg. And what old Goldenrod can keep is his! (The Sheriff slips to the hack of the cabin. The Boy hides at the left. The others hide in the shadows around the door. The Sheriff grinds softly against the xvall — liTce a porcupine gnaw- ing some greasy hoard. The light in the cabin stirs, and Goldenrod, bareheaded, with tallow dip and a hook in his hand, steps out of the door.) GrOLDENKOD: Old prickle-back, you're at the bench once more A-gnawin', I suppose, at where I pour The tallow. Well, vamoose! Go mark your signs Of greedy, slow destruction on the pines — The littlest pines! The trees old nature mends. I mend the candle-molds. Now he pretends He's contrite. There, vamoose! (There is a struggle in the dark, the light falling and sputtering out. It is quite dark. Golden- rod is held by the Duke, Pinto and Otero, and brought to the left away from the cabin. The boy takes no part.) Sheriff: Otero, stir the campfire! Our soiree With this here social leader needs some day. 22 THE GOLDENROD LODE (Otero comes down to fire embers, and stirs them to flame.) Duke (to Ooldenrod) : Your pardon, partner, but a simple mind Adopts this manly address, lest it find You armed. Your shootin'-iron? (Goldenrod shakes his head silently.) Pinto * He's got no gun. Sheeiff: Close up! I'll do the talking — that what's done. Old-timer, I'm the porcupine that you Was worryin' nature over, and a few Of them remarks about him fits. Duke (refiectingly) : ^j,^^^ ^j^ Sheeiet : These gents have congregated, you'll surmise, Prepared to swing a minin' enterprise. The syndicate is pleased to have you jine And work your share — five shares there'll be — and sign Up with us. But subscription's goin' to close Right smart, immediate, and yonder goes A trail for them whose natures don't dispose. You're sociable? You're in? GOLDENEOD (slyly) : ^^^^^ .^ ^^^ j^^^. THE GOLDENROD LODE 23 Pinto (excitedly) : That's what we want to know. I've rode All over Sheriff: Pinto, close your face!! I'll do This business. Oh, we know the mine where you Get them young gold-bricks. All you need to say Is: "I'm agreeable." Or, the other way, You get till moonrise to pull stakes. We've got The mine located. GOLDENKOD: -nr -^ r. ^ Was it you, one hot Day, when I was down panning in the creek. Started a gravel slip and took a sneak Off through the aspens? Shebiff: g^^g, ^j^g jj^j^g ^^^ ^gjj_ Now, can't you, Duke? — how near it was you fell Over the gravel bluff. Duke: Convinced I can. Pinto: Why, Duke, I Sheriff (silencing Pinto abruptly) : Sure he did. Goi-DENEOD (realistically): ^^^ ^^.^ ^^^^^ Once while I worked the placer, and I heard A pony snort, and on the ridge a bird Squawked an alarm. You, too? 24 THE GOLDENROD LODE S^^^'^^^- A whisky jack? I reckon Pinto scared it, hurryin' back That cloudburst time. I reckon you'll agree We seen your cards? Goldeneod: tt7 i, .. 4. u Well, so it seems to be. There are no diggings, then, as you must know — No golden Eden tree where nuggets grow. I have no treasure-pile. I scour the hills Winter and summer, and a year scarce fills My pouch with color. And when autumn's red, Because my bag is heavy, you're misled By that one sight of me — that one display For which I've spent a toiling year — and say You must waylay me when I come away. I have no buried talents — only hope. Forget me! Otero (indicating a tree branch): Ah, Senor! The rope! Duke (disgusted) : . Will find no diggings. Where there ain't! Correct! Sheriff, I alius said, you'll recollect. The pot is nothing when the ante's high. Duke (crossing to the Sheriff) : Corral that pouch of his. If that is dry. His yarn is plausible. He dreams too well Ta have much gold about him. THE GOLDENROD LODE 25 Sheriff: ^^ , „ Stranger, shell Us out those nuggets that you brought to town! Goldenbod: One's in the pouch there, where I laid it down Upon the bookshelf, where the volumes preach The folly of it. But the volumes each Took gold to buy them. Shall I go? Shebiff : ,-,,,. Hold up! Go get it, Pinto! (Pinto goes into the caMn and returns to the doorstep with the hag in his hand.) GOLDENROD : All the other rust I had I spent among you. Some small dust, And one more pebble — yellow like a star, But cold, and staring as stars never are. Sheriff: Well, Pinto! Pinto: As he said, one piece of luck Worth fifty dollars. God, I never struck A lead that petered out like this! I'm through — Except maybe a little boot or two To pay this blamed deceiving old galoot What's comin' to him! (Otero draws his pistol menacingly at Goldenrod.) 26 THE GOLDENROD LODE Pinto, that white brute Of yours is half-way back to town by now, Shebiff: And teachin' all the other ponies how To strip their bridles. Sonny: No, I hobbled him, And tied the balance. Dad, along a limb. Duke: Sonny, you're even with your dad. He strung Us all out on a limb — himself among The rest. I'm through. Pinto : I'm through, except to do One little dooty. (He is about to belt Goldenrod, when Otero whis- pers in his ear. He stops. To Otero) : Would it run this way? I reckon so, Otero. Anyway, Let's trampas, Duke? Sheriff (thoughtfully) : You re through? Your sat- isfied? Duke: Not satisfied, but through! Clear through! Beside, We're keeping Goldenrod awake, my friend! THE GOLDENROD LODE 27 (The Duke, Otero and Pinto scramble up the hill behind the cabin into the woods. The Sheriff follows them out, deliberately, studying Goldenrod. The boy disappears. The Duke starts a song. Otero and Pinto join in, their voices dying as they get farther away.) I've got a pony, and his name is Luck! Whoa, pony, whoa! His gaits are tony, but he's wild to buck — Whoa, pony, whoa! There's some can ride him like a rockin'-horse. I'm pullin' leather, but I'm off, o' course! It don't take nothin' much to divorce Me and my Luck! GoLDENEOD (left to Mmsclf) : Gods of the hills! Sometimes a man must pray — Christian or infidel — when flames, that play Close to his heart-wood, sink and turn away. Sometimes! — when earthquakes test the masonry Of his life's mission, and he shouts to see The corner stones and turrets firm and tried. Gods! I have heard your hushed departing stride Upon the hills! I know not what you are. But I have heard you breathing, and afar The stern, white peaks stand up in majesty Uncommon to my hereabouts and me! Gods of the woods! Whatever gods there be Themselves have saved the charge they gave to me. (Recovering himself) Feel how the woods like water seem to close 28 THE GOLDENROD LODE Around this sin-whipped vortex, and Repose Floats in again — as still Ophelia went. Drifting along that brook where willows bent. Sonny (from the wooded hanJc at the left) : Old Mr. Goldenrod? Goi^jiENHOD (startled): ^^^^^.^ ^^^^, (After a pause, breathlessly) : Who Who's there? SoNNx (entering from the left): Mr. Goldenrod? Goldenrod: {aside) Someone to tear My wounds part healing, half -allayed! (Answering) : They call me Goldenrod, my boy! Sonny: rrn, ^^ They call You that because you come to town at fall, Like goldenrod along the rocky flat, With nuggets, and you've blossoms in your hat. I did not know it hurt to call you so. I'm sorry. Goldenkod: q^^ .^.^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^j ^^^ ^^ Away with all the others, but return? Sonny: I did not want my Dad and Duke to learn I talked to you. THE GOLDENROD LODE 29 GOLDENROD : You are the Sheriff's son? Sonny: Yes, so he calls me. But the Duke, and one Or two, say maybe not. GOLDENROD : It's late at night. The timber's full of noises. Shadows fight And frighten up the birds among the pine. Better ride home! Sonny: I know about your mine. And I rode back so I could ask you why You're different from the folks in town, and try To hide it, like a blackbird hides a nest, Limpin' away and frightened-like. The rest All make a holler when they've made a strike. And buy the drinks at Dad's. You acted like I used to, playin' pirate, hidin' stuff Nobody wanted. GOLDENROD : Son, we're like enough! There is no mine — no gold worth robbing me! What gold I glean Sonny (starting away): I thought maybe You wouldn't rag to me when Dad's away. Maybe the Duke can answer why you play Pirate and train the beaver-folks to build Over the pay-lode. 30 THE GOLDENROD LODE Goldeneod: ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^ j^^^, ^^^^ ^^^^^ Your mind with such a story? Boy, come back! The beaver builds for no man, as you know! No one could Goldenrod, I saw you throw The nuggets by the beaver-house, and heard The things you told the beavers — every word! The boys were yonder in the scrub, but I'd Hid nearer here. The beavers, they replied; But what they said I could not tell, becuz' The beavers talk just like the water does. Stranger, don't rag to me! Goldeneod: -nr •+ -^i rt.> * « Wait, wait! It s true There were some yellow pebbles that I threw Into the pool. We'll dredge them up, and you Shall have them, if you never tell that crew That plagues me. '^^^^^ Oh, there's more gold there beside! The beavers keep the rest. And you have tried To mend the beaver-dam, below there — stopped A break with logs that beavers never chopped. Goldeneod: Boy, boy! You do not know where you have trod! Sonny: Know where I go? Oh, Mr. Goldenrod, I do not want the nuggets. Dad would take Them all away. THE GOLDENROD LODE 31 GoLDENEOD (to Mmself, Ms hand uncertainly on the l)oy's shoulder): How gently I could break This fragile frame! How tenderly the rain And seasons would erase it, and again Knit up their silences around my trust! Sonny: You frighten me! GoLDENBOD (dreamily): My groves, my comrades, must This pilgrimage you set for me demand Destruction, too? Sonny: Oh, just to understand — That's all I asked! GOLDENROD : To understand! To seal What I have sealed! To know and not reveal, Speechless as trees when I beseech their speech! Lonely as hours that travel space! To reach Such understanding, one must gather years About him, numbered like the bitter spears On these dark spruces. Sonny: Most of what I know Are secrets — caves and nests and things that grow Hidden. And if I only understood, I'd likely want to help you. 32 THE GOLDENEOD LODE Goldenkod: What? You could? Sonny : I'd lie all day and learn beside the pool — Learn beaver-talk. And I could steal from school Old heavy books, like those you come to buy. Goldenrod: And I could teach you where the eagles fly To feed their nestlings on the canon wall, And then, when my old fingers let it fall, You'd carry on the torch. Sonny: The torch? Goldenrod: I mean Relieve the sentinel. Was this foreseen? Have hill-gods brought you, like the sheets of green Across the prairie only cloudbursts bring? No matter, little dreamer! Everything Is ventured now. Perhaps! Perhaps! Sonny: I still Don't understand about the torch. Goldenrod : You will! And if the hill-gods sent you, you will learn To garrison my fortress in your turn; And if the hill-gods sent you not, the gods That counsel me will set, in Goldenrod's THE GOLDENROD LODE 33 Extremity, some sign upon the peaks To guide him. Sonny: Gods? The kind of thing that speaks Sometimes inside the canon when you call? I know a place where they will answer — all Of them. Goldenrod: That god is Echo, He's the sprite Who tries to lead the children to the sight Of greater spirits. Few of those who hear Him follow. Sonny: I have tried. Before I'm near He's gone, and I am tired. Goldenkod : Well, never mind! If I can teach and hold you, you will find Hushed voices everywhere. Do you suppose, If I should tell you secrets no one knows But beaver-men and me — none anywhere — You'd lock it up forever, till your hair Was white as aspen bark? Sonny : I can! I will! GOLDENBOD : Then listen! Once I straggled down this hill — In April, when those first blue blossoms still Were opening their eyes behind their fur, 34 THE GOLDENEOD LODE Like kittens, scuddling, where the snow-banks were, Against a huge, white mother. Long ago — Before the town began that ugly row Of false-front cabins on the plains below; Before that naaple shrub was high enough To hide the warbler's nest; before the rough. Wide ox-trails to the river towns were made — I came to prospect, early, young, afraid Some other courtier of Mistress Luck Would strike his hammer where I might have struck. Some trace of usage, or a v/ind that blew From other worlds, enticed and led me through The hidden trail you found along the ledge Tonight. Sonny : It's like a stairway down the edge Of cliffs. GOLDENROD : One stair to this green gallery Led out into the caiion hall. Sonny: Were we The first to find it since that day? Were you The first? GOLDENEOD : Oh, no, nor those who last passed thru Before me, first! For here, where two Shy waterways crept from the wood and grew Bolder together, was spread out a book Where men had written since the first man took THE GOLDENROD LODE 35 The drug of yellow metal — here to read Pages of slaughter, elegies of greed! I stopped upon the hillock. Littered here Were heaps of chips and pebbles, where, by sheer Force of their finger-nails, crude, toolless men Had gnawed the mountain; there a pit, and then Fire-smudge and camp-stains everywhere; that hill A kind of fortress, hedged with stones, and still Half-garrisoned with Indian bones. Sonny: They all Had gone? GOLDENKOD : Had gone. But how unwillingly They went. Red man and Spaniard, trapper, and, last, One wanderer like myself, who saw and cast His hammer in the pit; and, as he leaped To follow it, some hidden bowmen heaped Him, tumbled in his buckskin rags, asleep In Eldorado. Sonny: Eldorado? There? Goldenrod: Who knows if Eldorado's anywhere. Or, like the rainbow and most flawless things, Just built from longing men's imaginings? This much 1 know, that, streaked within the pit Where men had pried and gouged and hammered it For ages, there was gold! Oh, gold enough To topple empires — seams of blood-stained stuff 36 THE GOLDENEOD LODE That cheapened Ophir and would leave mankind. In mosque and wigwam, fur or clout, to find New terms of barter and new wealth to hoard! A mother-lode, whose merest sweepings poured Across the canon brim like stars that fell To feed the placers. ^^^' You were rich and well And young. And every trail and dim divide Is beckoning and promising. Why hide It all, old' Goldenrod? Go^^^^^o^- I sat till dusk Beside the earth-wounds, and the musk Of spruce and orchid mingled. Fading light Bound up earth's scars, and in the cave of night The sighing evening laid the wreck away, "Wait," night and talking waters seemed to say. I waited, faltering till the night forbade My grasping what I reached. And I was glad — For I had trod my summit; but the place I trod was stained. Then, somehow, in from space The message and my mission entered me: This splash of gold and slaughter meant to teach That gold was for pursuit and not to reach; That life was spun of longings, but the gain Of life was to endeavor, not obtain; That I could serve and shelter all mankind By mere withholding what they strove to find! Sonny : I understand a part. You are a knight — THE GOLDENEOD LODE 37 Like those in story-books who rode to fight Dragons that came with flaming mouths, and burned The little towns. Goldeneod: ,„, , The dragon's gold! Sonny: „ , . , You ve turned Away, like those old knights, from home and court And wealth. GOLDENBOD : And found, my boy, another sort Of court and wealth, as did the knights of old! A court where statelier tapestries unfold; Where incense never satiates; and none Are rich as he who numbers battles won. Sonny: I think I understand. But can you kill The dragon you have buried? Won't he still Come flaming out to burn the helpless folks, When you are old or gone? Goldeneod: „ ^. Sometimes he smokes. It's so tonight. And then I've wondered who The hill-gods would provide, or what they'd do To keep him smothered, when I didn't wake Some morning. Soon the summer rain would take Away the dam you helped the beaver make. 38 THE GOLDENEOD LODE GOLDENEOD : Some straggler'll find a flake of gold, and so Let loose the dragon. Sonny : Goldenrod, I know! I'll watch the dragon! Keep him buried deep In ferns and water-lilies while you sleep! And if he smokes, there'll just seem water mist. Goldenrod : But, boy, this game, this watch, must stand until- Until — until Sonny: "Until IS far away. But there are knights, the fairy-stories say, Who're watching still — until GOLDENEOD : Until the years Can post another knight, or through its tears The world discerns that what seems yellow gold Is crimson. Sonny: And a dragon's blood. Goldenrod: „ Behold! The godful hills entrust the charge to you. They speak mysteriously, but speak they do. Come, soldier mine, I'll knot your armor on! Your mantle's woodland silence, and your blade Of goldenrod. THE GOLDENROD LODE 39 (He goes dotvn to the margin of the pond, lohen the Sheriff's voice speaks abruptly from the gloom upon the trees at the right.) Sheriff: Wq'W likelier need a spade, (The hoy, already following Goldenrod, hears him and stops. Goldenrod. unmindful of the inter- ruption, dips his hand under the water and brings up a handful of pebbles, sprinkled with golden fragments.) Goldenrod (continuing) : Here, see the dragon-scales that shed, and so Betray the monster, restless down below On such a day as this! The woods are much Too foul with human thoughts. His talons clutch At hope, his nostrils scent the greed of men Through all the forest garlands. But again He's stupored now, and (The Sheriff has come doiim to the center. He shoves the boy roughly toivard the trail. When he speaks Goldenrod notices him for the first time.) Sheriff (to the boy) : ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^, From now I'll play this hand alone. Go comb Them dragon-flies and what-not from your brain! The game is cut-throat now. I'll learn you plain To work your dad with monte. (To Goldenrod) : ^g ^ gj, ^^^^ Old badger, buryin' bones in holes won't fill The bill. The lode is mine. 40 THE GOLDENROD LODE G-oldenrod: ^j^^ ^^^.^ j^ ^^jj^ My own. You do not know its whereabouts. Sheeiff : I reckon, yes. Goldenrod: ^^jj^ ^j^^j.^. Sheriff : There's some as spouts Their names, their own real names, across the bar 'Most every time they're liquored up. You are, Sez I to me — you are a different brand. No show to see your cards; but I presume, Sez I, he's got to talk; there isn't room To hold that much inside a locoed cuss. You thought you'd tenderfooted all of us. I went along a ways, and doubled back. I come still-huntin', and I heard a sack O' moonshine, but I know that there's the lode. Sonny: The other boys — where's Duke? Sheriff : rpj^^y ^jj jj^^g ^.^^g Half-way to town by now. That's their lookout. The claim is mine. Hit out, I said! About A minute and I learn you how. Sonny: j,jj g^! I'm goin'. Dad! I honest didn't know (The hoy plods slowly up the hill to the right, getting scarcely out of sight.) THE GOLDENEOD LODE 41 Goldenkod: The lode's my own! I'm holding it, and by The district rules Sheriff: rj,^^ district, hell! Just try To hold it after this. (He strides to the cabin, tears a sheet from the took that Goldenrod dropped in the struggle, tacks it onto a tree trunk at the left, and writes with a piece of charcoal.) No claim, I guess. Is good in these parts anywhere unless You work the diggin's or you post a sign — Location notice. Where's your own? Here's mine! (Reading) : "Notice: I claim four hundred feet due east, Four hundred west on this" — I might at least Call this claim Goldenrod — "as wide to north And south, as District rules provide, this fourth Of August, by discovery, made this day. Jack Fadden." (The boy limps back from the right onto the stage, absorbed and gazing eagerly off the stage to the right, where a glow is visible in the sky.) Shebiff (to the boy) : Youngster, did you hear me say Back-trail for town? I started, Dad, but there's A fire along the trail, I think. It flares Above the treetops. 42 THE GOLDENEOD LODE Shebiff : Where? A fire? Sonny: It s near, Goldeneod: A fire? Sonny: , , It seems along the ledge. Hark, hear The crackling now! Goldeneod: No forest fire can heap The ashes of this day of mine too deep. Sheriff : I reckon Pinto Sonny : Yes, Otero rode Away with him and said, if just it blowed Northeast awhile, they'd singe old Goldenrod For breaking up their sleep. And Pinto'd nod Sheriff: The ledge, the trail! If once the cinders take The cedars where they're thickest, they will make The ledge a fryin'-pan. I'll make a break For it. GoLDENKOD (wJio is goziug up the stream from the right front): The trail is closed! A fir I know — A slim aristocrat that used to grow Among the shabby cedars on the ledge — THE GOLDENROD LODE 43 Just toppled in the canon from the edge, A flaming falling angel! Shebiff: Angel, hell! You, both of you, would like almighty well To leave me sizzlin' here while you slipped down Some gulch you've marked, and pronto into town. To make a record of this claim of mine Before my own. I reckon not! Sonny (as the Sheriff rushes angrily off to the left) : Dad, Dad! There is no other trail! GOLDENEOD : The dragon's had Its teeth in him, my boy! The flame's as red Within him as the flames that blaze ahead. He'll run the gauntlet safe. Sonny: But you and I Goldenkod: Men who are maddened pass where we should die! Sonny: But, Goldenrod, I am afraid! Goldenkod : Afraid? Sonny: Yes, for I know as well as you we've stayed Too long. The pine sap's dripping. Let us go! 44 THE GOLDENROD LODE Goldenrod: Where? Sonny: Surely there's a rock or cave you know Where we could climb! Goldeneod: What made I know of none. Sonny: That crash? Goldeneod: A deer. Sonny: I'm frightened. Goldeneod (coming over to comfort Mm) : You're afraid? There, boy! The woods are not afraid. The hills Are never sick nor well. And nothing fills The stars with fear or gladness. Only we, Not tall enough to see tomorrow, flee And sob today. Sonny: I do not want to burn! Goldeneod : Nor I, because I'm human, and I learn Too dully from my master, and resent The hand that tears the copy-book I meant So well, but blotted heedlessly. THE GOLDENROD LODE 45 Sonny : The creek! The pool! (He rushes to the water's edge, tugging at Golden- rod's hand. Suddenly a voice in the background. The smoke is dense, and the glow of the fire nearby. The Sheriff stumbles in from the rear, feeling his way among the tree-trunks, his clothing smoldering, his face scorched and sightless, Jiis lungs choked with smoke.) Hello, hello! I heard somebody speak. Where's water — water! Help! Where's Goldenrod? I'll give you half the mine! I will, by God! I hear you talking! Where's the fire? Which way? Don't lead me back to it! I will, I say — I'll give you all the mine. Hello! I'll find That cabin, and (He falls heavily in the center, reaching ahead of himself.) Sonny (underneath his breath) : It's Dad! It's Dad! Goldenrod (the same) : He's blind. (The boy starts to his aid.) Stop! For perhaps the forces that maintain The mountains gather up their strength again. Of all men, only that scorched moth has learned The trust we kept, and now his wings are burned — Who knows how purposely? Some fluttering, 46 THE GOLDENKOD LODE Some moments, and the hurrying moments bring Cool silences to quench his suffering; Cool silences that he must drink, and so Forget forever! Sonny: Do you mean, not go To help him? Surely Goldeneod: What is sure? Should one Brief human torture halt the wheels that run, Relentless, over beast and bird and bough To serve mankind? Sonny: But he is suffering now! Tomorrow we will make him swear to keep The dragon buried. Goldeneod (after a moment) : There's tide too deep And strong toward fellow-men for argument To dam. My reason gives. My heart relents. (He fetches water in Ms hat for the Sheriff, and the hoy lifts the Sheriff's head. Before the water reaches him, the Sheriff raises himself on his elbow.) Sheriff : Hello, you Goldenrod! Don't let me go Back in the fire! The mine is THE GOLDENROD LODE 47 (He collapses. The man and ioy, conscious that his struggle is over, halt where they stand; the hoy, with his head on his knees, heside the Sheriff's tody; Ooldenrod not so near.) GrOLDENEOD (gently letting the water drain from his hat) : The hill-gods take the page they choose to write From our uncertain, meddling hands. Tonight A parchment's crowded with their scrip, and one Bold stroke blots out disaster. They have won Me back again my citadel, my trust Unpillaged Sonny: But the forest fire! We must Be quick! GOLDENKOD : I had forgotten it! Reprieve Was all! Can they be jeering? Sonny: I believe There must be some trail down the cliff. GOLDENKOD : I know There's none. I've watched the mountain-sheep Climb uselessly. Sonny: The beaver-pool would keep Us till the fire rides past! 48 THE GOLDENROD LODE GOLDENROD : Go, boy, and he Beside the ouzel-nests in spray! Not I! I could not flinch and watch one comrade trunk Of these decay in flame; or, when flames sunk, Crawl back to any happiness beside The stumps that told their martyrdom! Sonny (urging Mm toward the water) : So wide And hot a fire will leave no forest here. The beaver-folks will go. They must be near To aspen groves. We'll build another new Home somewhere else; for then (hesitating) Goldenkod: ^r ^x.- i. ,j Nothing can hold The dragon quiet? Then let the beast unfold His wings! Dragon and all mankind's distress, My own oblivion and yours, seem less To me than that the pagan fire should claim These patient woods, a sacrifice to flame! Gods of the hills, tonight I knelt and gave Thanks that you chose to shelter me and save Tempestuous men! Again stretch out your hands For me, if you have hands! The forest stands, Older than men, humble and vast and sweet Past any man! No longings stir its feet With discontent. It asks no strength to meet Its own defaults, but fire is on the way! Gods of the Mountain-Tops, I pray, I pray! (Goldenrod drops to Ms knees. The smoke is dense, and the glare of fire has spread from the THE GOLDENKOD LODE 49 right to all sides of the stage. The boy stands in front of him, staring at the water, paralyzed by the man's intensity. Suddenly his hand in- voluntarily closes over his mouth, a^ if he did not trust himself to speak, his gaze still on the water. He has seen raindrops on the smooth pool surface. He glances to the sky, back to the water, his hand extended in the reaction of a desire to call Goldenrod's attention. Finally the whisper escapes his lips.) Sonny: Rain! (Goldenrod lifts his head and stretches his arms to catch the drops, rising as he does so.) Goldenrod (gently, and finally): The rain! (The lights on the stage are quickly dimmed, and then entirely eclipsed in a torrent of the rain. The audience is conscious of rain on the beaver- pool and little flood torrents down the two streams. The forest fire sinks and is no more apparent. The figures are gone.) On the dark stage the lighted oil-paper win- dow of the cabin becomes visible in the storm. There are no other lights. The rain slackens, the floods subside, and among the dripping leaves th-e fireflies appear again. 50 THE GOLDENEOD LODE An Elder Speuce: Rain of the night, raindrops in flight, Dripping and slipping, erasing away Stains from a crowded world, each in a drop im- pearled — Dripping and traveling, what do you say? A Younger Spruce: Answer the spruce! For we ponder eternally. Fireflies and woodbine and gray wolves and men Hunger and yearn and fly, here where our needles lie, Soiling the woods till you cleanse them again. Raindrops, a-pattering, spattering, thronging. What's at the end of the trail of your longing? Elder Spruce: Striplings! Since first summer showers burst Over the uplands from ocean-made mist, Raindrops are dumb, unless something in their caress Comforts and answers the boughs they have kissed! The End.