Silver and Gold: A Story of Luck and Love in a Western Mining Camp

“Is that all you think of?” she asked impatiently, “is there nothing but silver and gold?”

“Yes, there is,” he acknowledged, “but–say, Drusilla I’m going to buy out the Dutchman. I believe that stringer of his is rich.”

“What stringer?” she demanded looking up from her own musings and then she nodded and sighed. “Yes, I know,” she said, “you’re back at your mining–but you promised you’d think only of me. I may not be here long and you want to be nice to me; because I almost hated you, once. Now listen, Denver, and let me interpret–don’t you know you’ve got everything wrong?”

“No!” declared Denver, “it has all come out perfectly. I’ve lived clear through it, already. Only I chose the wrong treasure and so I lost them both and suffered a great disgrace. I should have taken the gold.”

“No; listen Denver,” she went on patiently, “and don’t always be thinking of things. A golden treasure isn’t necessarily of gold, it might be even–me.”

“You?” echoed Denver and then he clutched his hands and stared about him wildly.

“Why, yes,” she answered evenly, “haven’t you noticed my hair? Other men are not so blind–and one of them said it reminded him of fine-spun gold. Yes, I was the golden treasure in the shadow of Apache Leap, but all you could think of was mines. The mine was your silver treasure, and you had to choose between us–and you always chose the mine. No matter how I sang, or did up my hair or came around where you were at work; you always went into that black, hateful hole, and I used to go home and cry. But–no, listen, Denver–when you saw me come back, and you wanted to see me, and there was no other way to do it; then you threw away your mine and told Murray to take it–and I knew that you really loved me. You loved me even more than your mine, and so you won us both. Do you like your golden treasure?”

“I was a fool!” moaned Denver but she stroked his rumpled hair and raised his face from his hands.

“We’ve both of us been foolish,” she whispered, “I nearly hated you once, and nearly gave your kiss to a tenor. But–oh Denver, I’ll never sing with those men again! I know you wouldn’t like it.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” he admitted, “and if you’ll only─”

“There it is,” she interrupted, giving him the long-treasured kiss. “I saved it just for you.”