"Dear Kate:"You remember I tole you about Maurice Harrisons sister, who was married to a seanatour of the government. Well, his son, Roger Morr has come on to look for that lost mine—wants for me to go on a hunt with him to onse—so as it is good money I am going—start to nite in a hour—you git Nell Davis to stay with you her an Ben I wont be gone morn a weak or to.Abe."
"Dear Kate:
"You remember I tole you about Maurice Harrisons sister, who was married to a seanatour of the government. Well, his son, Roger Morr has come on to look for that lost mine—wants for me to go on a hunt with him to onse—so as it is good money I am going—start to nite in a hour—you git Nell Davis to stay with you her an Ben I wont be gone morn a weak or to.Abe."
"That's the letter Abe sent me yesterday," announced Mrs. Carmody. "You see he says Roger Morr, the son of the senator. If that's you, what does it mean?" and she looked at Roger.
"I'll tell you what it means," answered Dave. "It means that somebody else has pretended he is Roger here—an enemy who wants to locate the lost mine first, if he can."
"O dear! Did you ever hear the like! Who was it, do you suppose?"
"We've got a pretty good idea," said Roger. "Nobody you know. But tell me, where did this letter come from?"
"You mean who brought it?"
"Yes."
"Billy Lane."
"Who is he?"
"Oh, a feller around town, who does all sort o' odd jobs."
"Then you don't know where Mr. Blower was when he sent it?"
"No, I don't. But I guess he wasn't very near, otherwise he would have come here hisself, instead o' writin'—for writin' comes hard to Abe—he never had no chanct for much education. And he would want some o' his clothes."
The boys read the letter a second time. All were convinced that Link Merwell had gotten ahead of them and had perpetrated the fraud by impersonating Roger.
"It was certainly a bold stroke," was Phil's comment.
"Yes, and a clever one too, in a way," replied Dave. "From our talk in the summer-house Link must have learned that Blower and the late Mr. Harrison were warm friends, and, that being so, Blower would be willing to do almost anything for Mr. Harrison's nephew. And Link rushed Blower away in a hurry, so that we wouldn't get at him."
"I wonder if Haskers is with him?" mused Roger.
"I shouldn't wonder. If the mine is found, Link can't claim it, for he would be arrested on sight. But he could let Haskers claim it, and then turn it over to somebody else and thus mix it up, so that you would be out of it," answered Dave.
"What do you think I had best do next?" asked the senator's son. The unexpected turn of affairs had bewildered him almost as much as it had bewildered Mrs. Carmody.
"I don't see what you can do, Roger, excepting to start on a hunt for the Landslide Mine without Blower."
"Yes, let us do that!" cried Phil. "Who knows but that we'll run across Blower and Merwell? And if we do, we can easily prove that Link is a fraud."
"Well, we'll have to get some sort of a guide," answered Roger. "It would be utterly useless for us to start out alone in such a country as this."
"We might ask Mr. Dillon to recommend somebody," said Dave. "He appeared to be a reliable man."
The boys talked to Mrs. Carmody for a few minutes longer. They were on the point of leaving the house when there came a loud rap on the front door.
"Perhaps Blower has come back!" cried Phil.
"I don't think he'd knock," answered Dave.
"No, it isn't Abe," said Mrs. Carmody. "I'll go and see who it is."
She went to the door and opened it,—to find herself confronted by a tall, leathery-looking individual whose breath smelt strongly of liquor.
"Is Abe Blower home?" demanded the man, in a thick voice.
"No, he isn't," replied Mrs. Carmody, stiffly. She did not like the appearance of the visitor.
"When will he be home?" went on the man, and tried to force his way into the house.
"I don't know. You can't come in here, Sol Blugg!" And Mrs. Carmody tried to shut the door in the man's face.
"I am a-comin' in," stormed the newcomer. "I'm a-comin' in to wait fer Abe Blower, an' when I meet him—well, we'll have an account to settle," and the man lurched heavily against the door-frame.
"It's one of the fellows we met on the train!" whispered Phil. "The fellow called Sol Blugg!"
"Yes, and that other man, Larry Jaley, is waiting on the sidewalk for him," announced Dave, after a glance through a window. "And neither of them seem to be very sober."
"You get right out of here, Sol Blugg!" cried Mrs. Carmody, with sudden energy. "Abe ain't home, an' I won't have you hangin' around. You get right out!" And she caught up her broom, which chanced to be behind the door.
"Drop the broom, old woman!" snarled Sol Blugg, and it was plain to see that he was befuddled by liquor. "I'm a-comin' in, and you sha'n't stop me!"
He made a sudden grab and caught Mrs. Carmody by the arm. But as he did this, Dave leaped into the little hallway and shoved him back.
"Let go of this lady!" he said, sternly. "Let go, or I'll knock you down!"
Surprised and bewildered, Sol Blugg dropped his hold on Mrs. Carmody's arm and glared uncertainly at our hero.
"Who—who are you?" he faltered.
"Never mind who I am," replied Dave. "You let this lady alone and go about your business."
"I wanter see Abe Blower."
"He has gone away."
"Say, where have I seen you?" demanded the leathery-looking man, suddenly. "Oh, I remember now, on the train, comin' from the land sale. Say, was you there?"
"No."
"I know better! I saw you on the train—you an' them other fellers, too!" And Sol Blugg pointed unsteadily at Phil and Roger. "I know how it is," he went on, ramblingly. "You went there in place o' Abe—queered the hull thing fer us, you did! I know! You're in with Abe, an' Abe's in with you! Thought you'd do us out o' our little game, eh? Say, Larry!" he called to the man on the sidewalk. "Look at these three fellers—same ones was on the train last night. They are in with Abe—and they queered us—put a crimp in the hull game. Now they say Abe ain't here. Wot are we going to do, tell me that now, what are we goin' to do?"
"Them fellers!" exclaimed Larry Jaley, catching sight of the boys. "I remember 'em. Say, maybe they heard us talkin'!"
"Sure—they must have," mumbled Sol Blugg.
"Do you know these men?" asked Mrs. Carmody.
"We saw them on the train last night, that is all," answered Roger. "They said something about Mr. Blower queering a land deal for them."
"Yes, he told me about that, too. They were going to swindle some folks, and Abe heard about it and gave the thing away. Abe won't stand for anything that ain't strictly honest."
"Say, I want you to know——" commenced Sol Blugg, and tried to catch hold of Mrs. Carmody again. But this time Dave was too quick for him. He pushed the man back, turned him around, and sent him flying down the steps to the street.
"Now, you go on!" he cried. "If you don't, you'll get into trouble!"
"That's what!" said Roger.
"Perhaps you'd like to be arrested," added Phil.
"Come on!" said Larry Jaley, in a low voice. "Come on, Sol. I told you it wouldn't do any good to come here."
"I didn't expect to see them young fellers," growled the leathery-looking man. "But I'm a-goin' to git square with Abe Blower, jest wait an' see," he added, thickly; and then he and his companion started up the street and around the first corner.
"The beasts!" murmured Mrs. Carmody, as she gazed after them. "I do wish I had used the broom over Sol Blugg's head! Maybe it would have done him good!"
"You know these men, then?" asked Dave.
"Oh, yes, and Abe knows 'em, too! It seems that, years ago, before I came here, Abe used to train with those men, in the mining camps. But they were a hard crowd, used to drinkin' and gamblin', and Abe gave 'em up and went with men like Mr. Harrison, and Tom Dillon. That made Sol Blugg and his crowd sore, and they often tried to do Abe harm. Now that Abe queered that land swindle for 'em I suppose they are more sore than ever. But I don't think they would have come here, only they have been drinkin'."
"You had better keep on the lookout—they may come back," said Dave.
"I'll keep on guard, don't fear. I've got one of Abe's pistols in the house, and a club, too. And I'll get that neighbor Abe spoke about to stay with me," returned Mrs. Carmody. "But, say," she added, suddenly. "You better keep on guard, too. 'Tain't no nice thing to run up against that bunch, I can tell you that!"
"Yes, we'll have to be on the watch from the very moment we leave this house," said Roger.
The boys talked for a few minutes longer with the old lady, getting what information they could, and then hurried back to their hotel. On the way they kept a sharp lookout for the leathery-looking man and his cronies, but they did not show themselves.
It was an easy matter for them to find old Mr. Dillon, who was reading a mining journal in the smoking-room. He listened with much interest to what they had to tell. As they felt they could trust such a man, they withheld nothing from him.
"It certainly is some game—this trying to locate that lost Landslide Mine," said the old miner. "I've been thinkin' it over again since you told me about it, and it interests me mightily. So you want somebody to go with you, and help you find the right trail, and find Abe Blower? Well, if you don't think I'm too old, I'll go myself!" And he smiled broadly at the boys.
"You go!" cried Dave.
"I thought you had given up prospecting," exclaimed Roger.
"Not but that we'd be glad to have you along," put in Phil, hastily.
"Well, I have given up prospecting," answered Mr. Dillon, with that broad smile still on his face. "But I like to go out once in a while, just for the sake of old times. Besides that, I was interested in the Landslide Mine myself in a way."
"How so?" asked the senator's son.
"Well, when Maurice Harrison staked the claim I came along and staked a claim a bit further up the trail. It wasn't near so good a prospect as was the Landslide, but it was pretty fair, and I was sorry to see that landslide come along an' knock us all out. So, if we find the lost Landslide Mine maybe we'll locate my mine, too."
"Come by all means, and welcome, Mr. Dillon!" cried Roger. "If you had that mine you speak about you must know as much about that district as Abe Blower—maybe more."
"I think I know as much, but not any more, lads. Abe is a good prospector, and he knows Montana from end to end, an' Idaho, too, as well as other gold fields. He has made money, too, but he allers spent the cash lookin' fer bigger things, while I salted a good bit o' mine away!" And Tom Dillon chuckled broadly.
The matter was talked over for the best part of an hour, and it was decided to begin the hunt for the Landslide Mine on the following morning.
"There ain't no ust bein' in too much o' a hurry," said Mr. Dillon. "That mine ain't goin' to walk away, and Abe Blower an' those with him ain't goin' to find it right plumb to onct, believe me! I guess the only reason those others hurried so was because they feared you would come along and queer their game with Abe."
"I think that myself," said Roger.
"Abe had a prospectin' outfit all ready—he allers has—up to Black Cat Camp. That's the startin'-point for the Rodman trail, on which the Landslide Mine an' my mine was located. Now we haven't any outfit, so we'll have to git one right here in Butte."
"We'll get whatever you say," answered Roger. "Of course, I don't want to make this too expensive," he added, thinking of something his father had told him—that just at present finances in the Morr family were not at their best.
"We can hire hosses—I know where to git just the right animals," said Tom Dillon. "And we won't pay no fortune for 'em either. And then you'll want some different clothes," and he looked critically at the well-dressed youths.
"Oh, we know that—we have roughed it before," returned Dave. And he mentioned their trip to Star Ranch, to Cave Island, and to the South Sea Islands, Norway, and other out-of-the-way places.
"Well, you sure have traveled some!" exclaimed Tom Dillon. "You'll do for this trip. I'm glad you know how to rough it. I onct had a bunch of tenderfeet along—young fellers from the East, who had never roughed it before—and, believe me, what those chaps didn't know would fill a boomer's wagon twict over. Why, they couldn't wash less'n they had a basin to do it in an' a towel to dry on, an' it mixed 'em all up to try to sleep on the ground rolled in a blanket. An' when it come to grub, well, they was a-lookin' for napkins an' bread-an'-butter plates, an' finger bowls, an' I don't know what all! It jest made me plumb tired, it sure did!" And the old miner sighed deeply.
"We won't give you any trouble that way," said Dave, with a grin. "Regular camp food is good enough for us, and I can sleep almost anywhere if I am tired enough."
"And you can't beat Dave riding," broke in Roger. "When he was at Star Ranch he busted the wildest bronco you ever saw."
"Is that so! Well, I don't like no wild broncos. I like a good, steady hoss, one as can climb the mountain trails and is sure-footed on the edge o' a cliff. That's the kind we'll git," concluded Tom Dillon.
The remainder of the day proved a busy one. The boys went out with the old miner to secure the horses and such an outfit as he deemed necessary. Then they spent part of the evening in writing letters to the folks in Yellowstone Park and at home. Only one letter came in for them—one from Senator Morr to his son—and this made Roger look very sober.
"No bad news, I hope," said Dave, kindly.
"It's about dad's private affairs," was the reply. "Things have taken something of a turn for the worse financially." Roger gave a sigh. "Oh, I do hope we can locate that lost mine!"
"We all hope that!" said Dave.
"Indeed, we do!" cried Phil. "We've just got to do it," he added, enthusiastically.
Now that he had made up his mind to undertake the expedition, old Tom Dillon brightened up wonderfully, and to the boys he appeared ten years younger than when they had first met him. He was a fatherly kind of a man, and the more they saw of him the better they liked him. He selected the outfit with care, securing five good horses—one for each of them and an extra animal for the camp stuff, and other things they were to take along.
In a place like Butte, where Tom Dillon was so well known, it soon became noised around that he was going on a prospecting tour. Some asked him where he was going, but he merely replied that he was going along with his young friends to show them the mining districts.
"It won't do to let 'em know we are going to look for a mine," he explained, in private. "If we did that, we'd have a crowd at our heels in no time."
The news concerning the expedition reached the ears of Sol Blugg and his cronies, and this, coupled with the sudden departure of Abe Blower, set that crowd to wondering what was up.
"Maybe it's another gold strike," suggested Larry Jaley.
"It might be," said the fellow called Staver.
"If I thought it was a gold strike I'd follow 'em," announced Sol Blugg. "Tom Dillon allers was a good one at strikes, an' so was Abe Blower. They know enough to keep away from anything thet looks like a wildcat. I'm a-goin' to look into this," he concluded. And after that the Blugg crowd kept close watch on Dave and his friends.
The departure was made from Butte about noon of the next day. It was clear and warm, with a gentle breeze blowing from the west.
"We might have taken a train for the first forty miles," remarked Tom Dillon. "But it wouldn't have helped us a great deal, for we'd have to side-track for ten miles. We'll go the old way—the way we went afore there was any railroads."
"There must be a lot of mines in Montana," remarked Phil, as they rode out of Butte.
"Somebody told me there had been over fifteen thousand minin' claims staked and recorded," answered the old miner. "O' course, lots of 'em ain't never been developed. But a good many of 'em have."
"They must produce a lot of gold," said Dave.
"Yes, lad, the output runs up into the millions every year. Oh, a good mine is a bonanza!" added Tom Dillon, emphatically.
"Then I trust we locate the Landslide Mine, and that it proves a bonanza," returned Roger, eagerly.
On the way they passed mine after mine, and the boys were much interested in watching the process of getting out ore, and also in the work of the huge quartz-crushers. Whenever they passed a mine there would be sure to be somebody to wave a friendly hand to Tom Dillon.
"He certainly is well known," whispered Roger to Dave.
"Yes, and we were mighty lucky to fall in with him—after missing that Abe Blower," was the reply.
It was not until about five o'clock in the afternoon that they reached a small settlement known as Robby's. Here they rested and had supper. They inquired about Abe Blower and his party, but could find out nothing concerning them.
"They must have gone around by Tilton," said Tom Dillon. "That's just as good a trail and about as short. We'll hear from them at Black Cat Camp."
It had been decided to push on to Black Cat Camp after supper, the old miner stating they ought to make the distance in three hours. Soon they were on the way again, just as the sun was sinking behind the great mountains in the west.
"I hope Abe Blower stopped for the day at Black Cat Camp," said Roger to his chums. "I'd like to meet him and confront Link Merwell—and Job Haskers, too, if he is with them."
"So would I," added Dave and Phil, in a breath.
It was more agreeable riding, now that the heat of the day was over. At noon it had been very hot, but none of the boys had complained, although they had perspired freely.
As it became darker they could see the twinkling lights of many a mining town and camp shining out in the mountains and the valleys below.
"It didn't used to be so, when first I came to Montana," remarked Tom Dillon. "In them days you could ride out here all night an' not see a light. But the State has settled putty fast in the last twenty-five years. They are buildin' railroads everywhere, an' towns spring up over night, like toadstools."
"Are there any wild animals out here?" questioned Phil.
"Heaps of 'em, further away from the cities. Bears, an' mountain lions, an' wildcats, an' wolves. An' then we have plenty o' mule an' other deer, an' elk, as well as Rocky Mountain goats, an' mountain sheep."
"Perhaps we'll get a chance to do some hunting!" exclaimed Phil.
"Not much, this time o' year, lad. But you might hunt a bear—if he cornered you!" And Tom Dillon laughed at his little joke.
"Did a bear ever corner you?" asked Dave.
"Onct, just onct, and it was the wust experience I ever had with a wild beast," replied the old miner. "I was out prospectin' when I got on a narrow ledge o' rock. All to onct I discovered a grizzly on the tudder end o' the ledge. We was both sitooated, as the sayin' is, so I couldn't pass the bear an' he couldn't pass me. I had fired my gun an' missed him. When I tried to pass by he riz up an' growled an' when he tried to pass me I swung my gun a-tryin' to knock off his head. An' so we had it fer about an hour, nip an' tuck, an' nobuddy doin' nuthin."
"But you escaped," said Roger. "How did you do it?"
"I didn't do it—your uncle, Maurice Harrison, done it. It was a favor I owed him that I never got paid back," responded Tom Dillon, feelingly. "The bear got mad and all to onct sprung at me. I swung the gun an' he knocked it outer my hand. Then I heerd a report from another ledge above us, and over rolled Mr. Bear, shot through the heart. An' Maurice Harrison done it."
"Good for Uncle Maurice!" cried Roger.
"That shot came just in time," went on the old miner. "If it hadn't—well, I wouldn't be here, lookin' for the Landslide Mine," concluded Tom Dillon.
"I don't know that I want a bear to corner me," said Phil, with a shiver.
"No, we'll leave the bears alone, if they'll leave us alone," returned Dave.
It was a little before nine o'clock when they came in sight of Black Cat Camp, a typical mining community, perched on the side of one of the foothills leading to the mountains. There was one main street, stretched out for the best part of a quarter of a mile. All the buildings were of wood and none of them over two stories in height.
"We'll go to Dick Logan's place," said Mr. Dillon. "That is where Abe Blower used to keep his outfit."
The boys found Logan's place to consist of a general store, with a sort of boarding-house and stables attached. Dick Logan was behind the counter of the store, in his shirtsleeves. He greeted the old miner with a smile, and shook hands cordially.
"Is Abe Blower around?" demanded Tom Dillon, without preliminaries of any kind.
"He was around, Tom, yesterday," was Dick Logan's answer. "But he left here about the middle of the afternoon."
The boys had expected some such answer as this, so they were not greatly surprised. They were introduced to the storekeeper by Tom Dillon, who then asked if Abe Blower had been alone.
"No, he had two others with him—strangers to me," answered Dick Logan.
"Was one of the strangers an elderly man and the other a young fellow like ourselves?" asked Roger.
"Yes, a tall, thin man. The young feller called him Haskers, I think."
"What name did the young man go by?" asked Dave.
"Morse, I think—or something like that."
"Morr?" put in Phil.
"Yes, I reckon that was it. Then you know 'em?" questioned the storekeeper, with interest.
"Yes, we know them, and we'd like to meet them," answered Roger, dryly.
"Well, I dunno where they went—Abe didn't say an' it wasn't my business to question 'em," returned Dick Logan. "Looked to me like the elderly gent was some kind o' a school sharp."
"He used to be," answered Dave. "And we all were under him."
"Oh, I see. Well, I dunno where they went, 'ceptin' they struck out along the Billy Rodman trail," said the storekeeper.
"Abe took his regular outfit, I reckon," remarked Tom Dillon.
"Sure—he never goes up in the mountains without it, Tom; you know that."
"And the three were alone?"
"I didn't see nobody else."
"Can you put us up for the night, Dick?"
"I can if the young fellers will sleep in one room. I got a little room fer you an' a big one I can put three cots in."
"That will do for us," answered Roger. "We have been out in such places as this before," he added, with a faint smile.
"We ain't got no bathrooms, nor electric elevators," returned Dick Logan, with a chuckle. "But we kin give you clean beds an' blankets, and good grub."
"You don't have to tell me that, Dick," put in Tom Dillon. He turned to the others. "It's all right, boys; just make yourselves at home. We'll get a good night's rest here, and follow Abe and the others fust thing in the mornin'."
The room the boys occupied was on the second story, at the corner of the building. Under the side window was a driveway leading back to the stables attached to the establishment. The apartment had two cots already in it and a third was speedily forthcoming, being put in place by a negro man-of-all-work.
"Well, that long ride to-day certainly made me tired," remarked Phil, as he started to undress. "I could sleep standing up, as the saying goes."
"I'm tired myself," answered Roger.
"Wonder how the folks are making out in the Park," came from Dave. "I hope they have better accommodations than this," and he glanced around at the bare walls and bare floor.
"Oh, Yellowstone Park has some fine hotels," declared Roger. "I read all about them in one of the tourists' guides. They have just erected a new one that they say is a dandy."
"Never mind those hotels now!" cried Dave, as he slipped off one shoe after another. "It's get to bed now and an early start in the morning to see if we can't catch Blower, Haskers, and—Morr!" and he grinned.
"The cheek of Link Merwell using my name!" murmured the senator's son. "I'll—I'll knock him down for that, if I get the chance!" And his eyes blazed for the moment.
Soon the boys were abed and it did not take them long to drop into profound slumber. In the next room was Tom Dillon, also sleeping peacefully.
Dave was the first to awaken and he slid off of his cot to look out of the window, to see what kind of weather it was. The window had been left wide open, to let in the fresh air, and as our hero stuck out his head and glanced down in the alleyway leading to the stables, he uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"What is it?" questioned Roger, rousing up, followed by Phil.
"Those men!" murmured Dave. "Look, fellows!"
The others came to his side and looked out of the window. Just emerging from the alleyway were three men on horseback, all equipped for camping out. The three men were Blugg, Jaley, and Staver.
"Well, I declare! What are those fellows doing here?" cried the senator's son.
"Can they be following us?" questioned Phil.
"I don't know. They came from the stables," answered our hero. "Most likely they had their horses there over night. We can find out when we go down."
"Where are they going?" asked the shipowner's son.
All watched for a minute or two and saw the Blugg crowd pass down the main street of the camp and around a warehouse corner. Then they were lost to view.
Tom Dillon had heard the boys rising and was now up himself and getting dressed. He listened with interest to what they had to relate.
"It's queer that crowd should be here, after what happened in Butte," he said. "I'll ask Dick Logan about 'em, when we go to breakfast."
When questioned, the proprietor of the place stated that Blugg and the others had come in late, after the Morr party were abed. As the place was full they had accepted a room in the building across the street, but had put up their horses in the Logan stable. They had paid in advance, stating they were going to leave at daybreak.
"Let us ask the stable man about this," suggested Dave, in a whisper, to his chums, and as soon as breakfast was over, they went out and hunted up that individual.
"Nobody teched your outfit, I dun see to that," said the colored man. "I slept right by your hosses an' things."
"Did you talk to those men who came in late last night?" asked Dave.
"They did most of the talkin', boss. They wanted to know all about your party—whar you was a-gwine, an' all that. But I didn't give 'em no satisfaction, I didn't. Boss Dillon tole me las' night to keep my trap-doah closed, an' when Boss Dillon sez a thing I dun know he means it,—so I didn't tell 'em nuffin'."
"Good for Mr. Dillon!" cried Roger. "They didn't say what brought them here?"
"No, sah. When they see I didn't have nuffin' to tell they jest closed up, too," and the negro grinned, broadly. He had been liberally tipped by Tom Dillon and, besides, he considered it an honor to serve such a well-known personage and one who had "made his pile," as it is often expressed in that part of our country.
The lads and the old miner were soon ready for the trail, and, bidding Dick Logan farewell, they set off through the main street of Black Cat Camp in the direction of the Rodman trail, called by a few old-timers Smoky Hill trail. As they rode along they kept a sharp lookout for Sol Blugg and his cohorts, but that gang did not show itself.
"But they must be watching us, I am almost certain of that," said Dave. And he was right. They were watching from behind one of the buildings of Black Cat Camp, and as soon as it seemed safe to do so, Sol Blugg ordered those with him to take up the trail.
"Abe Blower came this way, in a hurry, too," said Blugg, to his cronies. "Now Tom Dillon is going the same way, and also in a hurry. That means that something is in the wind. Maybe it's another big discovery of gold, like when they opened up Big Bear Camp, and Hitchley's, an' if it is, we want to be in on the ground floor."
"Right you air, Sol," said Larry Jaley. "And if we can cut Abe out o' anything, so much the better, fer the trick he played us in that land deal."
"The two crowds must be in with each other, otherwise wot was them young fellers as is now with Dillon doin' at Abe's house?"
"We'll find out their game, sooner or later," muttered Sol Blugg. "We'll keep on their trail—but we mustn't let 'em see us, or they'll take to some side-trail and put us in blind."
It was another clear day, but the breeze from the mountains was fresher, so that riding was not so tiresome as it had been on the first day out. The trail was wide, in fact often used by wagons and carts, so that our friends could ride two abreast.
"Not much of a farming country around here," remarked Dave, as he looked at the general barrenness of the aspect. Here and there were clumps of trees and patches of rough grass, and that was all.
"The farming country is further down, in the valleys," answered Tom Dillon. "Some pretty good soil, too. But up this way it's only good for mining. But that's good enough—if you've got a paying mine," and his kindly eyes twinkled.
"You bet!" replied Dave, slangily. "Oh, I do hope we find this mine," he added, in a lower tone. "The Morr family need it."
"I thought the senator was putty well fixed."
"He was, but he isn't now—and there is danger of his losing his office this fall. If he does lose it, and we don't find the mine, I am afraid it is going to go rather hard with the family."
"I see. Well, we'll do our best—nobuddy can do more."
"About how much further is that Landslide district from here?"
"Not over sixty miles as the crows fly. But by the trails it's every bit o' twice that distance. An' some putty stiff travelin', too, in some spots, believe me!" added the old miner.
"Do you think you can stand it?"
"Sure I can. And I like it, too, lad. I git tired o' sittin' around the hotel, doin' nuthin' but readin' the papers and trying to be what they call a gent of leisure. I was brought up on hard work, and outdoor life, and I just have to git back to it onct in a while. If you hadn't come along as you did, most likely I would have dug out for the diggin's alone afore long."
"It's a grand life to lead—this one in the open air," said Dave, filling his lungs with the ozone from the mountains.
"Best in the world, lad. It's the only life fer me, too. If I had to sit in an office all day, or around a hotel where I had to wear one of them biled shirts and a coat cut like a tack puller, I'd die, believe me! I'd rather wear a gray shirt, an' eat off a tin plate, any day!"
By noon they came to a little mountain stream of the freshest and purest of water and there they went into temporary camp. A tiny blaze was kindled, and they made some coffee, which they drank while eating some sandwiches Dick Logan had put up for them.
"See that ridge?" asked Tom Dillon, just before they were ready to start again, and he pointed to an elevation to the northwest. And as all three lads said they did, he continued: "Well, just back o' that is the deestrict where that big landslide took place and buried the Landslide Mine out o' sight."
"Why, that doesn't look to be very far away!" cried Roger.
"No, it don't look so, lad. But you must remember that the air up here is very clear an' you can see for a long distance. You'll find it a long, hard ride afore you reach that ridge, let alone the place behind it where the mine was."
"Are there any settlements on the way?" asked Phil.
"None that we will visit. Shaleyville is in that direction, and Tim Dixon's over yonder, with Big Tree back o' it. But we will give them all the go-by an' stick to this trail," concluded Tom Dillon.
All through the long afternoon they rode forward, up and up, the horses panting for breath as the ascent grew more steep. Many times they had to stop to rest. As they mounted higher, the panorama of hills and mountains grew larger.
"What a beautiful spot!" cried Dave, when they were resting. "What a grand painting this would make!"
"You'll find a painting of it—at the capitol building," replied Tom Dillon. "A celebrated painter painted it and sold it to our State government."
Forward they went again. Phil was now in the rear, looking after the horse that was carrying their camping outfit. Just as those in front had turned a dangerous corner of the rocky trail they heard a sharp cry from the shipowner's son.
"Help! Quick, somebody help me! Stop that horse from falling over the cliff!"
"Oh, look!"
"That horse is going over the cliff!"
"Take care, Phil, or he'll drag you with him!"
Such were some of the cries which arose as the others looked back on the rocky trail and saw the situation.
The horse with the outfit had struck against a projecting rock and been thrown sideways, to where the trail crumbled away in some loose stones close to the edge of the dangerous cliff. The animal and the outfit were in danger of going down to the depths below. Phil, on his own horse, had caught hold of the other horse's halter and was trying to haul him to a safer footing. But the youth and his steed were losing ground instead of gaining it.
"Let go, or you'll go over!" screamed Roger, in increasing alarm. "Let the outfit go, Phil!"
The shipowner's son tried to do as bidden. But now a new difficulty presented itself. In his eagerness to hold the halter Phil had twisted it about his hand and wrist. Now it was caught in the very flesh and almost pulling one arm from its socket, as he tried to make his own horse hold back.
Dave turned swiftly and so did the others, and for the moment there was quite a mix-up on the narrow trail, and all were in danger of losing their footing. Then they crowded to Phil's side, and while Dave caught hold of the halter, Tom Dillon and Roger caught the falling horse with the outfit.
"Turn him around—this way!" yelled the old miner, and, old as he was, he showed a wonderful strength in shoving the falling horse back to a firmer footing. The loose stones went clattering over the cliff in a shower, and more than one horse snorted in fright.
It was a moment of dire peril and it looked as if somebody, or at least one of the animals, must go over into that yawning chasm below. A stone was flung up by a hoof, hitting Dave in the cheek. But he retained his hold on the halter and pulled for all he was worth. Then came another struggle, and at last the horse with the outfit stood on the safe portion of the dangerous trail; and the peril was at an end.
"Oh!" gasped Phil, and for the moment that was all he was able to say.
"Give me that halter," said Tom Dillon. "I'll lead him while we are on this narrow part of the trail."
"Are you hurt, Phil?" asked Dave.
"I—I guess not!" was the panting answer. "But I—I sure did think I was going over there!" And the shipowner's son shuddered.
"Your cheek is cut, Dave!" cried Roger. "How did that happen?"
"Oh, it's only a scratch—made by a flying stone," was the answer. "It doesn't amount to anything."
"I didn't dream that this trail would be so dangerous," went on the senator's son. "If I had known it, I wouldn't have asked you fellows to come along."
"Oh, it's not so bad," returned Phil, hastily. "That horse was awkward—he's the worst of the bunch."
"That's right, an' they had no right to hire me such a hoss," put in Tom Dillon. "When we git back I'll give that feller who did it a piece o' my mind. I tole him I wanted critters used to the mountain trails. The hosses we are ridin' are all right, but this one, he's a sure tenderfoot. He ought to be in the city, behind a truck."
Soon the narrow portion of the rocky trail was left behind and then all of the boys breathed easier.
"That trail back thar is bad enough," was Tom Dillon's comment. "But ye ought to see it in the winter time, with ice an' snow on it! Then it's some travelin', believe me!"
"None for mine!" answered Phil. "I want to see the ground when I travel in a spot like that."
As soon as the trail became better they went forward at the best possible speed, for they wished, if they could, to catch up with Abe Blower and those with him.
"You don't suppose Blower would turn off of this trail?" questioned Roger, of the old miner, as they rode along.
"He couldn't turn off until he reached wot we call Talpoll Crossin'," answered Tom Dillon. "And we won't git thar until some time to-morrow."
They were climbing up a steady grade and so had to stop again and again to rest the horses. The trail wound in and out among the hills, and before the party was the big mountain.
"Stop an' I'll show you something!" cried the old miner, presently, and as they halted he pointed toward the mountain with his hand. "See that knob a stickin' out ag'in the sky?" he questioned.
"The one with the yellowish spot on it?" asked Dave.
"Yes. Well, that is where the big landslide took place an' buried the Landslide Mine an' my claim out o' sight."
All of the boys gazed with interest at the spot which, of course, was many miles away. They saw they would have to work their way over two more hills and through several hollows to get to it. Ahead they could occasionally see the trail, but not a soul was in sight.
"Look!" exclaimed Dave, as he turned to gaze below them along the trail they had been pursuing. "I can see something moving!"
"Maybe cattle," suggested Roger, after a long look.
"No, I think it is a crowd on horseback," answered our hero, after another look.
Roger had with him a small pair of field-glasses, and he had brought them forth to gaze at the mountain where the Landslide Mine had been located. Now he turned them on the distant objects Dave had discovered.
"Horsemen true enough," he said, after a look. "Three of them."
"Oh, say, do you think they can be Sol Blugg and his two cronies?" burst out Phil.
"Maybe," answered Roger. "I can't make them out from this distance."
"Let me take a look," suggested Tom Dillon, and adjusted the glasses to his eyes. "You are right—they are three men on horses. But who they are I don't know. Plenty o' miners travel this trail at one time or another."
They looked at the distant horsemen for several minutes. Then the field-glasses were put away and they continued their journey.
Nightfall found them in a district that, to the boys, was desolation itself. Rocks were on every side, with little patches of the coarsest kind of growth, brushwood, stalk-like grass, and cacti. The air was so pure and thin that it fairly made one's nose tingle to breathe it.
All were tired out—indeed the boys were so stiff from the long ride that they could scarcely climb down from their saddles. But not for the world were they going to let Tom Dillon know this. They had told the old miner that they were used to roughing it and they wanted to "make good" in his eyes.
Some brushwood was gathered and a fire started, and the horses were tethered near by. The old miner knew where there was a spring of drinkable water—something occasionally hard to find in a district full of all sorts of minerals—and soon they had some boiling for coffee. Then their outfit was unstrapped, and they prepared supper and got ready to turn in for the night.
"I wonder if we can't see something of the campfire of Abe Blower, if he is ahead," remarked Dave.
"We might have a look for it," answered Roger.
There was a tall rock just behind their camp, and this the two youths climbed, Phil saying he was too tired to stir. It was harder work than Dave and Roger had anticipated, but, once they had started, they hated to give up. Up and up and still up they went, climbing from one elevation to another by means of the rocks themselves and bits of coarse grass and brushwood.
"There, I reckon we are high enough now!" cried the senator's son, after nearly half an hour's climbing. "Anyway, I am going to stop!" And he began to pant for breath.
The two boys looked around them. The sun had sunk to rest behind the mountain in the west, and the hollows between the hills were deep in the gloom of the oncoming night. Far back on the trail they had come they saw a small fire start up.
"That must be the campfire of those three horsemen," said Dave.
"More than likely," responded his chum. "Do you see anything ahead?"
Both looked, but for a long time could see nothing. Then they caught a faint gleam from a point apparently halfway up the mountain, in the direction where the Landslide Mine was supposed to be located.
"Maybe that's Abe Blower's camp!" cried Dave, who was the first to discover the light.
"I'd like to know if Link Merwell and Job Haskers are really with him," said Roger.
"We ought to be able to catch up to them by to-morrow, so Mr. Dillon said."
"Unless Merwell and Haskers fix it so that they throw us off their trail, Roger. You know Mr. Dillon said they could branch off at Talpoll Crossing. That is where a spur of the railroad cuts in, to reach the mines on the other side of the hills—the railroad I suppose the Landslide Mine would have to use in getting out ore."
The boys watched the distant light for a while longer, and then descended to the camping spot. The others listened with interest to what they had to report.
"We'll be after 'em at sun-up," said Tom Dillon. "An' now all o' yer had better turn in an' get what rest you can."
This was sensible advice, and the three youths lost no time in following it. They turned in around the fire, which was kept burning, so as to keep away any possible prowling beasts. Tom Dillon was the last to retire, he looking to it that all of the horses were tethered.
It was just growing daylight when Dave awoke with a start. Something had aroused him—what he could not tell. He sat bolt upright, and at the same moment the old miner, who was beside him, did the same.
"What's up?" asked Tom Dillon, instinctively feeling for the pistol he carried.
"Our horses!" cried Dave. "They are running back on the trail!"
"Somebody is stealin' 'em!" roared Tom Dillon, and was on his feet on the instant.
By this time the noise had awakened Phil and Roger, and all three boys followed the old miner in arising. In the gray light of the morning they could see that their four horses were moving along the back trail on a gallop. A single man seemed to be in charge of them, on a steed of his own.
"Halt!" yelled Tom Dillon. "Halt, or I'll fire on you!" And he raised his pistol.
At this sharp command the man with the horses turned slightly to look back. He crouched low, and wore a sombrero pulled down well over his face. On the instant he rode to the front of the galloping steeds, thus getting out of range of the old miner's weapon.
"Come on, we must get our hosses!" sang out Tom Dillon, and started forward on the run. Then he let out a shrill whistle, one he knew was used for calling the animal he had been riding.
The effect of the whistle was all that could have been desired. The horse dropped to a walk and then turned back. And as Tom Dillon continued to whistle, the intelligent steed came closer and closer, until the old miner was able to grasp it by the halter.
But all this had taken valuable time, and meanwhile the other horses continued to gallop on, led by the man in front, who was now riding like the wind. Who he was they could not make out, but they strongly suspected Sol Blugg or one of his cronies.
"I'd shoot if them hosses wasn't in the way!" cried Tom Dillon, wrathfully.
"Can't you go after them?" asked Dave and Roger, in a breath.
"I can and I will!" answered the old miner. "Stay right here till I get back!" And with those words he saddled his horse with all speed, and in less than a minute later was flying down the back trail after the stolen steeds and the rascal who was making off with them.
"Do you think he'll catch that fellow?"
It was Phil who asked the question, as he and Dave and Roger watched the old miner disappear around a bend of the back trail.
"I don't know about that," returned Dave. "But if he gets the horses back it will be something."
"I should say yes!" cried the senator's son. "Why, we won't be able to go on unless we get them back!" he added, his face showing his worry.
"Listen!" exclaimed Roger a minute later. "Somebody is shooting!"
It was true—a shot had sounded out on the morning air. Soon it was followed by another, at a greater distance—showing that pursued and pursuer were drawing farther from the boys.
The boys walked slowly back to the campfire and commenced to stir it up, and then they finished their morning toilet. Dave heaved a deep sigh.
"I must say I don't feel much like eating," he observed.
"Oh, we might as well fix breakfast," came from Phil. "It will help to pass the time. It won't do any good to just sit around."
Fortunately their provisions were at hand, so it was an easy matter to prepare the morning meal. Before eating, however, Roger and Dave climbed the tall rock behind the camp and looked for some sign of Tom Dillon and the man he was pursuing.
"I can't see a thing," announced Roger, after a long look through the field-glasses. "Here, you try," and he handed the glasses to our hero.
For several minutes Dave surveyed the distant landscape in vain. Then he uttered a cry.
"I see them, Roger! There they go!" And he pointed excitedly with his finger.
At a distance they could not calculate they saw Tom Dillon and the rascal he was after, and also the flying horses. They were all bounding along a rocky trail, the would-be horse thief well in advance. Suddenly they saw this individual make a turn and disappear around some rocks. The free horses kept on, with the old miner after them.
"That rascal has gotten away!" announced Dave. "He has given Mr. Dillon the slip."
"Dave, do you think Mr. Dillon will catch our horses?"
"Yes—sooner or later. They are bound to stop running, to feed or to drink, and then he'll round them up. I guess all we can do is to go down and wait for him to get back."
"But those shots! What if he is wounded!"
"I hope he isn't, Roger."
They climbed down to the camp and told Phil about what they had witnessed. Then all ate breakfast slowly, meanwhile discussing the adventure from all possible standpoints.
"It was one of the Blugg crowd, I feel certain of that," said Dave. "Perhaps it was Sol Blugg himself."
Slowly the morning wore away. When the sun came up it was very hot and the youths were glad enough to draw into the shade of the rocks. Just before noon all three climbed the tall rock again, to look not only for Tom Dillon and the horses, but also for Abe Blower and those with him.
But not a soul was in sight, nor did any horses show themselves. At a distance they made out some mule deer and several goats, but that was all.
"Do you think we ought to walk along the back trail?" asked Roger, when they were getting lunch. "Mr. Dillon may need our services."
"I'll go if you want me to, Roger," answered our hero. "But he was a good distance away when we saw him through the glasses."
"Let us wait awhile—until the awful heat of the midday sun is over," suggested Phil. "The sunshine just now is enough to give one a sun-stroke."
It was a little after three o'clock when the three lads prepared to walk along the back trail, on the lookout for the old miner. But just as they started Dave put up his hand.
"Listen!"
All did so, and from a distance heard the clatter of horses' hoofs on the rocky trail. Then came a cheery call.
"It's Mr. Dillon!" cried Roger, and let out a call in return, and the others did likewise.
Soon the old miner appeared around a bend of the trail. He was seated on his own steed and driving the others in front of him. He looked tired out, and the horses looked the same.
"Are you all right, Mr. Dillon?" sang out Dave, as he ran forward to stop the nearest horse.
"All right, boys!" was the answer. "That is, I will be as soon as I've rested a bit. I've had some ride, believe me!"
Roger and Phil helped Dave to secure the free horses and tether them, and our hero held the old miner's steed while he fairly tumbled to the ground. The horse was in a heavy lather, and Mr. Dillon was covered with dust.
"You weren't shot, were you?" questioned the senator's son, anxiously.
"No, although I come putty nigh to it," was the answer, and the old miner pointed to a hole through the brim of the hat he wore. "The skunk fired twict at me!"
"We heard two shots," said Dave. "We were afraid you might be in trouble. If we had had horses we would have followed you."
"I did better nor he did," went on the old miner, with a satisfied ring in his voice. "I plugged him in the arm."
"You did!" exclaimed Phil. "We heard only two shots!"
"I fired later on, after he left the trail. He was just gittin' ready to aim his gun ag'in when I caught him. His arm went down like lead, an' the gun dropped to the ground; so I know I winged him. He didn't shoot no more, only got into the timber quick as he could. Then I rounded up the hosses an' started back."
"Who was it, do you know?" questioned Dave.
"It was Ham Staver. I suppose Sol Blugg and Larry Jaley sent him ahead to steal the hosses. They thought it would be easy, with us asleep."
"It came pretty near being so," answered Dave, gravely.
Tom Dillon was glad enough to rest, and to partake of the hearty meal the boys prepared for him. The horses were cared for, and the boys were pleased to learn that they had not suffered through the wild run along the rocky trail.
"If that Staver shows himself around Butte I'll settle accounts with him," said the old miner, while eating. "But I reckon he'll stay away for a while."
After an hour's rest the old miner announced that he was ready to go forward once more. The sun was now well in the west, and it was not near so hot as it had been in the middle of the day.
"I wish we could catch up to the Blower party by to-night," said Roger, earnestly. "Mr. Dillon, do you think we can do it?"
"We can try, lad. But you must remember, we'll have to favor the hosses a leetle. They have had a mighty hard run on't."
"I know. Well, don't go any further than you deem wise."
For the distance of half a mile the trail was comparatively good. But then they came to an uneven locality, filled with dangerous holes and pitfalls.
"Careful here, boys!" cried Tom Dillon. "We don't want none o' the hosses to break a leg."
He was in the lead, and under his guidance they advanced slowly. At the top of a short rise of ground he came to a halt.
"Here is where part o' that landslide occurred," he announced, pointing with his hand. "I think myself it was somethin' of an earthquake, although the scientific sharps say not. But if it wasn't an earthquake it was mighty queer that it hit this spot and the other at the same time—both bein' miles apart."
"Perhaps the shock of the falling rocks at one place shook the other," suggested Dave.
"Perhaps, lad. It's a mystery—an' I suppose it will remain a mystery. We know some things about Nater, but there's others she keeps putty well hid."
They went down on the other side of the rise, and then commenced to mount an even larger hill—the last but one, so the old miner told the boys. Far in the distance they could make out the railroad tracks, winding along through the mountains. The sun was setting, and the western sky was aflame with varied colors of most gorgeous hues.
"What a beautiful sunset!" murmured Dave.
Soon the gloom of evening commenced to settle about them. All had their eyes ahead, but so far they had seen no trace of the Blower party.
"Wait a minute!" cried Dave, presently. He had seen something white fluttering among the rocks on the side of the trail.
"What do you see?" asked Phil.
"A newspaper."
"Oh, let it go, Dave. We have all the old newspapers we want."
"I want to see how recent it is," was our hero's reply.
He got down, walked to where the paper rested in a crevice, and drew it forth.
"It's a copy of a mining journal," he announced, as he looked the sheet over. "The issue for last week," he added, gazing at the date. "It's full of grease, too,—that's why they threw it away."
"Do you suppose it belonged to Abe Blower?" questioned Roger, coming up.
"It did!" cried Dave. He had turned to the front page of the paper. "See, here is Abe Blower's name and address, stamped on for mailing purposes. He got it through the mail just before he left and took it along to wrap something in."
"Then that proves we are on the right trail!" cried Roger, joyfully. "I wonder how long ago it was when he threw the paper away?"
"I'm not detective enough to tell you that, Roger," answered Dave, with a grin. "But it's something to know we are on the right trail. They might have taken to that cross trail, you know. We'll catch up to them sooner or later."
Once more our friends went forward, this time along the very edge of the new ridge that had shown itself after the great landslide. They had to advance with caution, for loose stones were numerous and so were dangerous holes.
"We can't go much further to-night," announced Tom Dillon; presently. "This trail ain't safe in the dark."
"All right, Mr. Dillon, we'll stop when you say so," returned Roger, with a bit of a sigh. "How much further to where the Landslide Mine was located?"
"Not over two miles, as the crows fly, lad; but four to five miles by the trail."
They went into camp in the very midst of the rocks. Strange as it may seem, there was water there, coming from a tiny spring under a huge boulder. It had a somewhat unpleasant odor, and the horses at first refused it, but the old miner said it was drinkable.
"Only you don't want to live on it all the year around," he added, with a grin. "A doctor onct tole me if you did that you might turn into stone!"
"I know what I am going to do, as soon as it gets dark enough," said Dave to his chums, while they were preparing supper.
"What?" asked the other boys.
"I am going to look for the campfire of that crowd ahead."
"Of course!" cried Roger. "And, Dave, if it isn't too far off, maybe we can walk to it!" he added, quickly.
"So I was thinking."
Eagerly the three boys waited for the darkness of night to fall, in the meanwhile getting supper and tidying up the camp. Then they climbed to the top of the highest rock that was at hand and looked around them.
"I see a fire!" cried Dave, and pointed it out.
"Yes, and it looks to be less than a mile away!" returned Roger.
"Let's walk to it!" put in Phil.
And on this plan the three chums quickly agreed.
When Tom Dillon heard about the light that had been seen and the determination to walk to it, he wanted to know how far off it was.
"If it's that close we had better all go," he announced, after being told. "If it's Abe Blower's camp it must be in a good spot, for Abe knows this locality as good as I do and maybe better. A mile isn't so far. We can walk an' lead the hosses, if we have to."
Less than quarter of an hour later found them on the way. The old miner was in front, with Roger beside him, and Dave and Phil bringing up the rear. All were on foot, for they had to pick their way in the darkness, which seemed more intense than it had been on previous nights.
"The sky is overcast," observed Dave, as they trudged along the uncertain, rocky trail. "Looks to me like rain."
"We'll catch it sooner or later," announced Tom Dillon. "And maybe we'll have a big blow in the bargain."
"Then it blows up here?" queried Roger.
"Does it? I should say yes, lad! I've been in such a wind up here one could hardly keep his feet. And the rain comes so thick an' fast it nigh drowns you!"
As they advanced, they kept their eyes on the alert for the distant campfire. Twice they found and lost it, but, as they came around another spur of rocks they beheld it quite plainly and saw several figures moving around it.
"Wait!" called Dave, to the others. "If that is Abe Blower's camp, and Merwell and Haskers are with him, I've got an idea."
"What is that?" asked Roger.
"Why not let Mr. Dillon go ahead alone, and find out what Merwell and Haskers have to say? We can sneak up in the darkness and show ourselves later."
This was considered a good plan, and, after a short discussion, it was adopted. The old miner mounted his horse and rode onward, the three boys coming after him on foot and keeping in the shadow of the rocks to one side of the uneven trail.
The clatter of the horse's hoofs on the rocks soon attracted the attention of those around the distant campfire. The three persons came forward, to see who was coming.
"Why, if it ain't Tom Dillon, of all men!" cried one of the three, and his face, that had shown anxiety, broke into a smile. "How are you, Tom, and what brings you up here?"
"I came to find you, Abe," was the old miner's reply. "They told me down in Butte you were off to have another search for the lost Landslide Mine."
"Saw Kate Carmody, I reckon," went on Abe Blower. "Yes, I'm goin' on another hunt fer the mine—account o' these two gents," and Abe Blower pointed to his companions.
"Who is this man?" asked one of the others, who had come from the campfire.
"This is Tom Dillon, one o' the best old-time miners and prospectors in Montany," answered Abe Blower, with a broad smile. "He used to know yer uncle well," he added.
"Is that so? Then—er—perhaps he can help us to locate the lost mine."
"Mebbe—if he wants to spare the time. Ye see, Tom ain't so poor as I be," explained Abe Blower. "He made his pile an' saved it, he did," he added, admiringly.
"Who are your companions, Abe?" asked Tom Dillon, rather abruptly.
"Oh, sure, excuse me fer not introducin' you," cried the other miner. "This here is Mr. Morr, son o' Senator Morr an' nevvy of Maurice Harrison, an' this is his friend, Prefesser Haskers, o' the colledge Morr ust to go to. Gents, this is Mr. Thomas Dillon, a miner an' prospector, an' one o' the richest an' best men in Butte."
"Ah, glad to know you, sir!" exclaimed Job Haskers, and held out his thin hand. But, somehow, Tom Dillon did not seem to see it and he merely bowed.
"And you are Senator Morr's son, eh?" said the old miner, turning to Link Merwell.
"I am," was the bold answer, but when the old miner looked him squarely in the eyes, Merwell had to turn his gaze away.
"I understood that Maurice Harrison, when he died, willed the Landslide Mine to your family," went on Tom Dillon.
"He did, and I and my friend are here to look for it," answered Link Merwell.
"Think you'll find it?"
"Blower here says he will do what he can to discover it," broke in Job Haskers. "He has a great reputation as a prospector."
"I will surely do my best for Maurice Harrison's nevvy," said Abe Blower. "Maurice Harrison was mighty good to me, an' I ain't the one to forgit that."
"Have you a brother?" asked Tom Dillon, turning again to Merwell.
"A brother? Why—er—no," answered the imposter, and then turned suddenly pale. "Why—er—do you ask that question?" he faltered.
"I met another young fellow in Butte named Morr."
"I—I don't know him."
"He was with two other young fellows named Porter and Lawrence."
At this unexpected announcement Link Merwell's face grew paler than ever. Job Haskers, too, showed that he was much disturbed.
"Did this—this Morr say where he was from, or where he was going?" asked the former teacher of Oak Hall.
"Oh, the whole crowd was from the East. I reckon they are coming up here," answered Tom Dillon, dryly. "They want to find you, Abe," he added, with a wink at the other miner.
"Me? What fer?"
"They want you to locate this same Landslide Mine for them."
"The same mine? Say, Tom, what are you drivin' at?" demanded Abe Blower, in astonishment.
"What I'm drivin' at is just this, Abe," answered Tom Dillon, and his voice grew suddenly stern. "This ain't Roger Morr at all. The real fellow you ain't met yet. This chap is a fraud!"
"Say—look here——" began Link Merwell.
"Is the—er—the other Morr—er—coming here?" faltered Job Haskers.
"I am not coming—I am here!" cried a voice, and Roger stepped from the shadow of a near-by rock.
The senator's son faced Link Merwell and Job Haskers, and both stared at him as if they were looking at a ghost, and backed away.
"Roger Morr!" faltered Merwell.
"Yes, Link. You didn't expect I'd follow you so soon, did you?" cried Roger. "Now, I've got a nice account to settle with you. I want to know what you did with my suit-case, and I want to know what you mean by impersonating me."
"I—I——" began Merwell, and then stopped, not knowing how to proceed.
"This is—er—very unfortunate," murmured Job Haskers. He would have retired had there been any place to retire to, which there was not.
"Say, are you Roger Morr?" gasped Abe Blower, gazing fixedly at the senator's son.
"I am. And you are Abe Blower?"
"I sure am. But see here——"
"We'll explain everything in a few minutes, Mr. Blower. These fellows are swindlers! They robbed me of my suit-case and then got ahead of me, and that fellow impersonated me," and Roger pointed to Merwell. "We hired Mr. Dillon to bring us to you—or at least he offered to come. He knows that I am the real Roger Morr, and Maurice Harrison was my mother's brother."
"Well, I never! But wot did they think to gain——"
"They wanted to locate the lost mine before I got here, that was their game. What they intended to do later I don't know, but probably Job Haskers was going to cook up some deal whereby our family could be kept out of the property. He is a rascal——"
"See here, Morr, I won't—er—have you—ahem!—talk about me in this——" commenced the former teacher.
"But I will talk about you!" interrupted Roger. "You are a rascal, almost as bad as Merwell here, and you know it."
"Yes, and we know it, don't we, Phil?" cried another voice, and Dave and Phil stepped into view.
"Porter—and Lawrence!" faltered the former teacher of Oak Hall, and he looked almost ready to drop. "I—I——" He did not know how to finish.
"Say, I want to git the straight o' this!" burst out Abe Blower.
"This young man is givin' it to you straight, Abe," replied Tom Dillon, pointing to Roger. "And these are his friends—all true blue to the core. These other fellers are first-class swindlers. They took you in good an' proper."