When Long John Butterfield (it was Yetmore himself who told us all this long afterwards) when Long John, returning from his day’s prospecting up among the foot-hills of Mount Lincoln, had related to his employer the result of his labors, two conclusions instantly presented themselves to the worthy mayor of Sulphide. A man less acute than Yetmore would have understood at once that we had discovered the nature of the black sand in the pool, and that just as he had sent out Long John, so my father had sent out us boys to determine, if possible, which stream it was that had brought down the powdered galena.
Moreover, knowing my father as he did—whose opinions on prospecting as a business were no secret in the community—Yetmore was sure that it was in the interest of Tom Connor we had been sent out; and it was equally plain to him that, such being the case, Tom’s informationon the subject would be just as good as his own. He was, of course, unaware that our information was in reality a good deal better than his own, thanks to the hint given us by our friend, Peter, as to the deposit at the head of Big Reuben’s gorge.
Knowing all this, Yetmore had no doubt that Tom would be starting out the moment the foot-hills were bare, and as Long John could do no more—for it was obviously useless to start before the ground was clear—it would result in a race between the two as to who should get out first and keep ahead of the other; in which case Tom’s chances would be at least equal to his competitor’s.
But was there no way by which Tom Connor might be delayed in starting, if only for a day or two? That was the question; and very earnestly it was discussed between the pair.
Vain, however, were their discussions; they could think of no way of keeping Tom in town. For, though Long John threw out occasional hints as to howhewould manage it, if his employer would only give him leave, his schemes always suggested the use of unlawful means of one sort or another, and Yetmore would havenone of them; for he had at least sufficient respect for the law to be afraid of it.
A gleam of hope appeared when it was rumored about town that Tom Connor was trying to raise money on his house; a rumor which Yetmore very quickly took pains to verify. In this he had no trouble whatever, for everybody knew the circumstances, and everybody, Yetmore found, was loud in his praises of Tom’s self-sacrifice in spending his hard-earned savings for the benefit of Mrs. Murphy and her distressed family.
The fact that his rival was out of funds caused Yetmore to rub his hands with glee. Here, indeed, was a possible chance to keep him tied up in town. It all depended upon his being able to prevent Tom from securing the loan he sought, and diligently did the storekeeper canvass one plan after another in his own mind—but still in vain. The sum desired was so moderate that some one would almost surely be found to advance it.
While his schemes were still fermenting in his head, there came late one night a knock at his door—it was the very night that Tom Connor went boring for oil—and Long John Butterfieldslipped into the house. Long John, too, had heard of Tom’s necessities; he, too, had perceived the value of the opportunity; and being untrammeled by any respect for law as long as there was little likelihood that the law would find him out, he had devised in his own mind a plan which would promptly and effectually prevent Tom from raising any money on his house.
“‘CAN FOLKS SEE IN FROM OUTSIDE?’”“‘CAN FOLKS SEE IN FROM OUTSIDE?’”
This plan he had now come to suggest to his employer.
“Any one in the house with you, Mr. Yetmore?” he inquired.
“No, John, I’m all alone. Come in. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I just wanted to talk to you, and I didn’t want anybody listening, that’s all. Can folks see in from outside?”
“No, not while the curtains are drawn. Come on in. What’s all this mystery about?”
Long John entered, and sitting down close to his friend, he began, speaking in a low tone:
“You’ve heard about Tom Connor trying to raise money on his house, o’ course? Well, I can stop him, if you say so. Any one can see what Tom wants the money for. He’ll get thathundred and fifty, sure, and then off he’ll go. He’s a thorough good prospector, better’n me, and with equal chances the betting will be in his favor. If there’s a big vein, there’s a big fortune for the finder, and it’s for you to say whether Tom Connor is to get a shot at it or not.”
Long John paused a moment, and then, emphasizing each point with an extended finger, he continued: “Without money Tom can’t move—that’s sure; he’s strapped just now—that’s sure; and his only way of getting the cash is by raising it on that house of his—and that’s sure. Now, Mr. Yetmore, you say the word and he shan’t get it. No personal violence that you’re always objecting to. Just the simplest little move; nobody hurt and nobody the wiser.”
Yetmore gazed at him earnestly for a few moments, and then said: “It’s against the law, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes,” replied Long John, with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “It’s against the law all right; but what does that matter to you? I’m the one to do the job, and I’m the only onethe law can touch, if it can touch any one; and I don’t mean that it shall touch me. It’s safe and it’s sure.”
“Well, John, what is it?”
Long John rose from his chair, leaned forward, and whispered in the other’s ear a little sentence of five words.
For a moment Yetmore gazed open-eyed at his henchman, then suddenly turned pale, then shook his head.
“I daren’t, John,” said he. “It’s a simple plan and it looks safe; and even if it were found out it would be about impossible for the law to prove anything against me, whatever it might do to you. But it isn’t the law I’m afraid of—it’s the people. Tom Connor has always been a favorite, and just now he is more of a favorite than ever, and if it should be found out, or even suspected, that I had any part in such a deed my business would be ruined: the whole population would turn their backs upon me. I daren’t do it, John.”
“Well, boss,”said Long John, with an air of resignation, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and thrusting out his long legs to thefire, “if you won’t, you won’t, I suppose; but it seems to me you’re a bit over-timorous. Who’s to suspect, anyhow?”
“Who’s to suspect!”exclaimed Yetmore, sharply. “Why, Tom Connor, himself, and old Crawford and those two meddling boys of his. They’d not only suspect—they’d know that you had done the job and that I’d paid you for it. And if they should go around telling their version of the story, everybody would believe them and nothing I could say would count against them; for they’ve all of them, worse luck, got the reputation of being as truthful as daylight, while, as for me——”
Long John laughed. “As for you, you haven’t, eh? Well, Mr. Yetmore, it’s for you to say, of course, but it seems to me you’re missing the chance of a lifetime. Anyhow, my offer stands good, and if you change your mind you’ve only got to wink at me and I’ll trump Tom Connor’s ace for him so sudden he’ll be dizzy for a week.”
With that, Long John arose, slipped out of the house and sneaked off home by a back alley, leaving Yetmore pacing up and down his room with his hands behind him, thinking over andover again what would be the result if he should authorize Long John to go ahead.
“No,”said he at last, as he took up the lamp to go to bed, “I daren’t. It’s a good idea, simple, sure and probably safe, but I daren’t risk it. No. Law or no law, the public would be down on me for certain. I must think up some other scheme.”
Though he thus dismissed the subject from his mind, as he believed, the idea still lurked in the corners of his brain in spite of himself, and when at six in the morning he awoke, there was the little black imp sitting on the pillow, as it were, waiting to go on with the discussion.
Yetmore, however, brushed aside the tempter, jumped into his clothes and walked off to the store, where he found the putty-faced boy anxiously awaiting his appearance in order that he himself might be off to his breakfast.
“Pht!”exclaimed the proprietor, the moment he set foot inside the store. “What’s this smell of coal oil?”
“I don’t smell it,”replied the boy.
“You don’t! Hm! I suppose you’ve got used to it. Well, get along to your breakfast.”
As the boy ran off, Yetmore walked to theback of the building. Here the scent was so strong that he was convinced the barrel must be leaking, so, seizing hold of it, he gave a mighty heave, when the empty barrel came away in his hands, as the saying is. He almost fell over.
To ascertain the nature of the leak was the work of a moment; to trail the sled to Mrs. Appleby’s back yard was the work of five minutes; but having done this, Yetmore was at fault, for, knowing well enough that neither the widow nor her son were capable of such an undertaking, he was at a loss to imagine who the culprit might be.
It was only when Tom Connor a minute later stepped into the store and arranged that story of the leaky oil-barrel which he had described as being “agreeable”to Yetmore, that the storekeeper arrived at a true understanding of the whole matter. To say that he was enraged would be to put it too mildly, and, as always seems to be the case, the fact that he, himself, had been in the wrong to begin with, only exasperated him the more.
The result was what any one might have expected.
Hardly had Connor turned the corner out ofsight, than there appeared, “snooping”up the street, that sheep in wolfs clothing, Long John Butterfield. Instantly Yetmore’s resolution was taken. Seizing a broom, he stepped outside and made pretense to sweep the sidewalk, and as Long John, with a casual nod, sauntered past, the angry storekeeper caught his eye and whispered:
“I’ve reconsidered. Go ahead.”
“Bully for you,”replied the other in a low tone; and passed on.
No one would have guessed that in that brief instant a criminal act had been arranged. Nor did Tom Connor, as he went chuckling up the street, guess that by his lawless recovery of the widow’s property he had given Yetmore the excuse he longed for to defy the law himself. Least of all did any of them—not even Long John—guess that between them they were to come within an ace of snuffing out the lives of two innocent outsiders, namely, Joe Garnier and myself. Yet such was the case. It was only the accidental putting in of Tom’s second window that saved us.
Long John, being authorized to proceed, at once made his preparations, which were simple enough, and all he wanted now was an opportunity.By an unlooked-for chance, which, with his perverted sense of right and wrong, seemed to him to be providential, his opportunity turned up that very night.
The miner, George Simpson, hastening homeward from Connor’s house, happened to overtake Long John in the street, and as he passed gave him a friendly “Good-night.”
“Good-night,”said John. “You’re late to-night, aren’t you?”
“Yes, a bit late. One of our men’s sick, and I’ve been fixing things so’s he won’t lose his job. Tom Connor and I are going to work his shift for him.”
“So!”cried Long John, with sudden interest. “Which half do you take?”
“The second. Tom’s gone off already, and I’m going to relieve him at eleven. So I must be getting along: I want my supper and two or three hours’ sleep.”
So Tom would be out of his house till eleven o’clock! Such a chance might never occur again. Long John hastened home at once and got everything ready.
As it would not do to start too early, because people might be about, John waited till nearly teno’clock, and then sallied out. As he rounded the corner of his shack a furious blast of wind, driving the rain before it, almost knocked him over.
“Good!”he exclaimed. “There won’t be a soul out o’ doors to-night.”
With his head bent to the storm and his hat pulled down over his ears, John made his way through alleys and bye-streets to the edge of town, and then set off across the intervening empty space towards the house where Joe and I were at that moment playing our last game of checkers. As he approached, he saw dimly through the blur of rain the light of two windows.
“Good!”he exclaimed a second time. “Old Snyder not gone to bed yet. Mighty kind of the old gent to leave his light burning for me to steer by. If it hadn’t been for him I’d ’a’ had a job to tell which was the right house. As it is, I’ve borne more to the right than I thought.”
At this moment the town clock struck ten, and almost immediately afterwards the light in the windows went out.
“Never mind,”remarked John to himself. “I know where I am now.”
Advancing a little further, he caught sight of the dim outline of the house through the rain, and turning short to his left, he measured off one hundred steps along the empty street, a distance which brought him opposite the next house to the east.
All was dark and silent, as he had expected, but to make sure he approached the house and thumped upon the door. There was no reply. Again he thumped and struck the door sharply with the handle of his knife. Silence!
“He’s out all right,”muttered John. “Was there ever such a lucky chance? Howling wind, driving rain, dark as the ace of spades, and Tom Connor not coming back for an hour!”
Dark it surely was. The night was black. Not a glimmer of light in any direction. Even the town itself, only a quarter-mile away, seemed to have been blotted from the face of the earth.
As he had noticed in coming across the flats that there were lights still burning in two of the other houses, the patient plotter, in order to give the inmates a chance to get to bed and to sleep, sat waiting on the leeward side of the building for a full half hour. At the end of that time,however, he arose, moved along a few steps, and then, going down on his hands and knees, crept under the house. Ten minutes later he came crawling out again, feet foremost. Once outside, he struck a match, and sheltering it in his cupped hands he applied the flame to the end of something which looked like a long, stiff cord about as thick as a lead pencil. Presently there was a sharp “spit”from the ignited “cord,” blowing out the match and causing John to shake his hand with a gesture of pain, as though it had been scorched.
Next moment Long John sprang to his feet and fled away into the darkness; not straight across lots as he had come, but by a roundabout way which would bring him into town from the eastern side.
Then, for two minutes, except for the roaring of the wind, all was silence.
Joe and I were sound asleep on the floor of Tom’s back room, when by a single impulse we both sprang out of bed with an irrepressible cry of alarm, and stood for a moment trembling and clinging to each other in the darkness. The sound of a frightful explosion was ringing in our ears!
“What was it, Joe?”I cried. “Which direction?”
“I don’t know,”my companion replied. “I hope it isn’t an accident up at the Pelican. Let’s get into our clothes, Phil.”
Lighting the lamp, we quickly dressed, and putting on our hats and overcoats we went out into the storm. All was dark, except that in the windows of each of the occupied houses in the row we could see a light shining. The whole street had been roused up.
“It must have been a powder-magazine,”Joe shouted in my ear. “Or else the boiler in the engine-house of the Pelican. What do you say, Phil? Shall we go up there? We might be able to help.”
“Yes, come on!”I cried. “Let’s go and see first, though, if Tom hasn’t a second lantern. We shall save time by it if he has.”
Our hurried search for a lantern was vain, however, so we determined to set off without one. As we closed the door behind us, our clock struck eleven, and a moment later we heard faintly the eleven o’clock whistle up at the Pelican.
“Good!”cried Joe. “It isn’t the boilerblown up, anyhow, so Tom’s safe; for he is working underground and the explosion, whatever it was, was on the surface.”
With bent heads we pushed our way against the wind, until, looking up presently, I saw the light of a lantern coming quickly towards us.
“Here’s Tom, Joe,”I shouted. “Pull up!”
We stopped, and as the light swiftly approached we detected the beating footsteps of a man running furiously.
“Then there is an accident!”cried Joe. “Ho, Tom! That you?”he shouted.
It was Tom, who, suddenly stopping, held the lantern high, looking first at one and then at the other of us. He was still in his miner’s cap and slicker, his face was as white as a ghost’s, and he was so out of breath that for a moment he could not speak.
“Hurt, Tom?”I cried, in alarm.
“No,”—with a gasp.
“Anybody hurt?”
“No.”
“What is it, then?”
“Scared!”And then, still panting violently: “Come to the house,”said he.
Once inside, I brought Tom a dipper of water,which quickly restored him, when, turning his still blanched face towards us, he said:
“Boys, I’ve had the worst scare of my life!”
“How, Tom?”I asked. “That explosion? Was it up at the Pelican?”
“No, it wasn’t; and I didn’t know anything about it until I came up at eleven, when George, who was waiting to go on, told me there had been a heavy explosion down in the direction of my house. When he told me that, there rushed into my head all of a sudden an idea which nearly knocked me over—it was like a blow from a hammer. I grabbed the lantern, which I had just lighted, and ran for it. Can you guess what I expected to find?”
We shook our heads.
“I expected to find my house blown to pieces, and you two boys lying dead out in the rain!”
We stared at him in amazement.
“What do you mean?”I asked.
“Look here, boys,”Tom went on. “When George Simpson told me there had been an explosion down this way, it came into my head all at once that Yetmore or Long John—probably Long John—had heard that I was out at work to-night, and not knowing that you werestaying the night with me, had come and wrecked my house.”
“But why should they?”Joe asked.
“So as to prevent my raising money on it, and so keep me tied up in town while they skipped out to look for that vein of galena. I’m glad to find I was wrong. I did ’em an in——”
He stopped short, and following his gaze, we saw that he was staring at the second window.
“When did you put that in?”he cried.
“Just after you left. We finished by nine o’clock.”
“How soon did you go to bed?”
“Just after ten.”
“Come with me!”cried Tom, springing from his chair and seizing the lantern. “I know what’s happened now!”
With us two close at his heels, he led the way to the spot where Yetmore’s empty house had stood. Not a vestige of it remained, except the upper part of the chimney, which lay prone in the great hole dug out by the violence of the explosion.
“Boys,”said Tom, in a tone of unusual gravity, “if you live a hundred years you’ll never have a narrower squeak than you’ve hadto-night. If Long John did this—and I’m pretty sure he did—he meant to blow up my house, but being misled by those two windows, he has blown up Yetmore’s house instead. You never did, and I doubt if you ever will do, a better stroke of work in your lives than when you put in my second window!”
At half past five next morning Joe and I slipped out of bed, leaving Tom Connor, who had to go to work again at seven, still fast asleep. While Joe quietly prepared breakfast, I went out to examine by daylight the scene of last night’s explosion.
The first discovery I made was the imprint in the mud of footsteps, half obliterated by the rain. The tracks were very large and very far apart, proving that the owner of the boots that made them was a big man, and that he had gone off at a great pace; a discovery which tended to confirm in my mind Tom’s guess that it was indeed Long John who had done the mischief.
At this moment the tenant of the house next to the east came out—Hughy Hughes was his name; a Welshman—and as he walked towards me I saw him stoop to pick up something.
“That was a rascally piece of work, wasn’t it?”said he, as he joined me. “Scared us ’most to death, it did. See, here’s the fuse he used.I just picked it up; fifteen feet of it. Wonder who the fellow was. Pretty state of things when folks take to blowing up each other’s houses. Like enough Yetmore has his enemies, but it’s a pretty mean enemy as ’d try to get even by any such scalawag trick as this.”
This speech enlightened me as to what would be the general theory regarding the outrage. It would be set down as an act of revenge on the part of some enemy of Yetmore’s; and so Tom and Joe thought, too, when I went back to the house and told them about it.
“That’ll be the theory, all right,”said Tom. “And as far as I see, we may as well let it go at that. We have no evidence to present, and it would look rather like malice on our part if we were to charge Long John with blowing his best friend’s house to pieces just because we happen to suspect him of it. And so, I guess, boys, we may as well lay low for the present: we shan’t do any good by putting forward our own theories.
“I dare say,”he went on, after a moment’s reflection, “I dare say, if we were to go around telling what we thought and why we thought it, we might influence public opinion; but, whenyou come to think of it, we have no real proof; so we’ll just hold our tongues. Are you in a hurry to get home?”
“No,”I replied. “We shan’t be able to plow for two days at the very least, so there is nothing to hurry home for.”
“Well, then,”said Tom, “I’ll tell you what I wish you’d do. I must go back to work in a few minutes, but I wish you two would go down town and hear what folks have to say about this business, and then come back here and have dinner with me at twelve. Will you?”
“All right,”said I. “We’ll do that.”
We found the town in a great state of excitement. Everybody was talking about the explosion, which, as the newspaper said, “would cast a blight upon the fair fame of Sulphide.”Yetmore’s store was crowded with people, shaking hands with him and expressing their indignation at the outrage; the universal opinion being, as we had anticipated, that some miscreant had done it out of revenge.
Joe and I, squeezing in with the rest, presently found ourselves near the counter, when Yetmore, catching my eye, nodded to me and said:
“How are you, Phil? I didn’t know you were in town.”
“Yes,”said I, “we came in last evening and spent the night in Tom Connor’s house.”
Yetmore started and turned pale.
“In Tom Connor’s house?”he repeated, huskily.
“Yes,”I replied. “We were asleep in his back room when that explosion woke us up.”
At this Yetmore stared at me for a moment, and then, as he realized how narrowly he had missed being party to a murder, he turned a dreadful white color, staggered, and I believe might have fallen had he not sat himself down quickly upon a sack of potatoes.
A draft of water soon brought back his color, when, addressing the sympathizing crowd, Yetmore said:
“It made me feel a bit sick to think what chances these boys ran last night. Every one knows how hard it is to tell those houses apart; and that fellow might easily have made a mistake and blown up Tom Connor’s house on one side or Hughy Hughes’ on the other.”
“Yes,”said I; “and all the more so as Joe and I last evening put a second window intoTom’s house, so that any one coming across lots after dark might just as well have taken Tom’s house for old Snyder’s.”
“Phew!”whistled one of the men in the crowd. “Then it’s Hughy Hughes that’s to be congratulated. If that rascalhadmade such a mistake, and had chosen the second house from Tom’s instead of the second house from Snyder’s we’d have been making arrangements for six funerals about now. Hughy has four children, hasn’t he?”
I could not help feeling sorry for Yetmore. Convinced as I was that he had at least connived in a plot to destroy Tom’s house, I felt sure that he had been far from intending personal injury to any one; and I felt sure, too, that he was thoroughly sincere, when, rising from his seat and addressing the assemblage, he said:
“Men, I’m sorry to lose my house, of course—that goes without saying—but when I think of what might have happened it doesn’t trouble me that much”—snapping his finger and thumb. “I tell you, men, I’m downright thankful it wasmyhouse that was blown up and nobody else’s.”
As he said this he looked at Joe and me, andI felt convinced that it was to us and not to the assembled throng that he addressed his remark. The people, however, not knowing what we did, loudly applauded the magnanimity of the sentiment, and many of them pressed forward to shake hands again.
Yetmore had never been so popular as he was at that moment. Everybody sympathized with him over his loss; everybody admired the dignified way in which he accepted it; and everybody would have been delighted to hear that some compensating piece of good fortune had befallen him.
Strange to say, at that very moment that very thing happened.
Suddenly we were all attracted by a distant shouting up the street. Looking through the front window, we saw that all the people outside had turned and were gazing in that direction. By one impulse everybody in the store surged out through the doorways, when we saw, still some distance away, a man running down the middle of the street, waving his cap and shouting some words we could not distinguish. We were all on tiptoe with expectation.
At length the man approached, broke throughthe group, ran up to Yetmore, who was standing on his door-step, shook hands with him, and then turning round, he shouted out:
“Great strike in the Pelican, boys! In the old workings above the fifth—Yetmore’s lease. One of those pockets of tellurium that’s never been known to run less than twenty thousand to the ton. Hooray for Yetmore!”
The shout that went up was genuinely hearty. Once more the mayor was mobbed by his enthusiastic fellow citizens and once more he shook hands till his arm ached—during which proceeding Joe and I slipped away.
We had not gone far when I heard my name called, and turning round I saw a man on horseback who handed me a letter.
“I’ve just come up through your place,”said he, “and your father asked me to give you this if I should see you.”
The note was to the effect that the rain had been heavy on the ranch, no plowing was possible, and so we were to stay in town that day and come down on the morrow after the mail from the south came in, as he was expecting an important letter, and it would thus save another trip up and down.
We were glad enough to do this, so, making our way up the street past the knots of people, all talking over and over again the two exciting topics of the day, we retraced our steps to Tom’s house, where we got ready the dinner against Tom’s return. Shortly after twelve he came in, when we related to him what we had learned in town; demanding in our turn particulars of the great strike.
“It’s a rich strike, all right,”said Tom, “but there isn’t much of it—about five hundred pounds—just a pocket, and not a very large one. But it is very rich stuff, carrying over three thousand ounces of silver and a thousand of gold to the ton. The five hundred pounds should be worth ten or twelve dollars a pound. They’ve found the same stuff several times before in the Pelican, always unexpectedly and always in pockets.”
“Then,”remarked Joe, “Yetmore will have made, perhaps, six thousand dollars this morning.”
“No, no,”said Tom; “he won’t have done anything of the sort; though I don’t wonder you should think so after the way the people have been carrying on down town. They’ve just beenled away by their enthusiasm. Most of ’em know the terms of Yetmore’s lease well enough, but they have forgotten them for the moment. Yetmore pays the company a certain percentage of all the ore he gets out, and it is specially provided in the lease that should he come upon any of the well-known tellurium ore, the company is to have three-fifths of the proceeds and Yetmore only two-fifths. He’ll make a good thing out of it though, anyway.”
“You say there’s about five hundred pounds of the ore: have they taken it all out already?”asked Joe.
“Yes, taken it out, sorted it, sacked it in little fifty-pound sacks, sewed up the sacks and piled them in one of the drifts, all ready to ship down to San Remo to-morrow by express.”
“Why do they leave it in the mine?”I asked. “Is it safer than taking it down to the express office?”
“Yes: it would be pretty difficult to steal it out of the mine, with all the lights going and all the miners about, whereas, if it was just stacked in the express office, somebody might——”
“Somebody might cut a hole in the floor and drop it through,”remarked Joe, laughing.
“That’s so,”said Tom, adding, “I tell you what it is, boys: I begin to think I wasn’t quite so smart as I thought I was when I got back that coal oil for the widow. I wouldn’t wonder a particle if it wasn’t just that that decided Yetmore to come and blow my house to smithereens.”
“I shouldn’t either,”said Joe.
Tom having departed to his work again, Joe and I once more went into town, where we spent the time going about, listening to the talk of the people, who were still standing in groups on the street corners, discussing the great events of the day.
But if the people were excited, as they certainly were, their excitement was a mere flutter in comparison with the storm which swept over the community next morning.
The ten sacks of high-grade ore had been stolen during the night!
The news came down about eight o’clock in the morning, when, at once, and with one accord, all the men in the place who could get away swarmed up to the Pelican—we among them.
The thief, whoever he was, was evidently familiarwith the workings of the mine, for, going round into Stony Gulch, he had forced the door at the exit of the old tunnel, cutting out the staple with auger and saw, and then, clambering through the disused, waste-encumbered drifts, he had carried out the little sacks one by one and made away with them somehow.
Wrapping his feet in old rags in order to disguise his foot-prints, he had taken the sacks of ore across the gulch to the stony ground beyond, where his boots would leave no impression, and there all trace of him was lost. Whether he had buried the sacks somewhere near by, or, if not, how he had managed to spirit them away, were matters of general speculation; though to most minds the question was settled when one of Yetmore’s clerks came hastily up to the mine and called out that the roan pony and the two-wheeled delivery cart, used to carry packages up to the mines, were missing. The thief, seemingly, had not only stolen Yetmore’s ore, but had borrowed Yetmore’s horse and cart to convey it away.
If this were true, it proved that the thief must have an intimate knowledge of the country, for, in spite of the heavy rain of the night before,not a sign of a wheel-mark was there to be found: the cart had been conducted over the rocks with such skill as to leave no trace whatever. Cart, pony, ore and thief had vanished as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed them.
At first everybody sympathized with Yetmore over his loss, but presently an ugly rumor began to get about when people bethought them of the terms of the lease. Those who did not like the storekeeper, and they were not a few, began to pull long faces, nudge each other with their elbows, and whisper together that perhaps Yetmore knew more of this matter than he pretended.
Joe and I were at a loss to understand what they were driving at, until one man, more malicious or less discreet than the others, spoke up.
“How are we to know,”said he, “that Yetmore didn’t steal this ore himself? Three-fifths of it belongs to the company—he’d make a mighty good thing by it. I’m not saying he did do it, but——”
He ended with a closing of one eye and a sideways jerk of his head more expressive than words.
“Oh, that’s ridiculous!”Joe blurted out. “Yetmore isn’t over-scrupulous, I dare say, but he’s a long way from being a fool, and he’d never make such a blunder as to steal the ore and then use his own horse and cart to carry it off.”
“Well, I don’t know,”said the man. “It might be just a trick of his to put folks off the scent.”
And though Joe and I, for our part, felt sure that Yetmore had had nothing to do with it, we found that many people shared this man’s suspicions; the consequence being that the mayor’s popularity of the day before waned again as suddenly as it had arisen.
In the midst of this excitement the mail-coach from the south came in, when Joe and I, carrying with us the expected letter for my father, set off home again; little suspecting—as how should we suspect—that the ore-thief, whoever he might be, was about to render us a service of greater value by far than the ore and the cart and the pony combined.
We were jogging along on the homeward road, and were just rounding the spur of Elkhorn Mountain which divided our valley fromSulphide, when Joe suddenly laid his hand on my arm and cried: “Pull up, Phil. Stop a minute.”
“What’s the matter?”I asked.
“Get down and come back a few steps,”Joe answered; and on my joining him, he pointed out to me in a sandy patch at the mouth of a steep draw coming in from the left, some deeply-indented wheel-marks.
“Well, what of that, Joe?”said I, laughing. “Are you thinking you’ve found the trail of the ore-thief?”
“No,”Joe replied, “I’m not jumping at any such conclusion; but, at the same time, it’s possible. If the ore-thief started northward from the Pelican, and the chances are he did, for we know he carried the sacks across to the north side of Stony Gulch, this would be the natural place for him to come down into the road; for it is plain to any one that he could never get a loaded cart—or an empty one either, for that matter—over the rocky ridge which crowns this spur. If he was making his way north, he had to get into the road sooner or later, and this gully was his last chance to come down.”
“That’s true,”I assented; “and this cart—it’sa two-wheeler, you see—was heavily loaded. Look how it cuts into the sand.”
“Yes,”said Joe; “and it was drawn by one smallish horse, led by a man; a big man, too: look at his tracks.”
“But the ore-thief, Joe, had his feet wrapped up in rags, and these are the marks of a number twelve boot.”
“Well, you don’t suppose the thief would walk over this rough mountain with his feet wrapped up in rags, do you? In the dark, too. They’d be catching against everything. No; he would take off the rags as soon as he reached hard ground and throw them into the cart; for it is not to be expected either that he would leave them lying on his trail to show people which way he had gone.”
“No, of course not. But which way did he go, Joe; across the road or down it?”
“Down it. See. The wheel-tracks bear to the left. And if you want evidence that he came down in the dark, here you are. Look how one wheel skidded over this half-buried, water-worn boulder and slid off and scraped the spokes against this projecting rock. Look at the blue paint it left on the rock.”
“Blue paint!”I cried. “Joe, Yetmore’s cart was painted blue! I remember it very well. A very strongly-built cart, as it had to be to scramble up those rough roads that lead to the mines, painted blue with black trimmings. Joe, I begin to believe this is the ore-thief, after all.”
“It does look like it. But where was he going? Not down to the smelter at San Remo, surely.”
“Not he,”I replied. “He would know better than that. The smelter has undoubtedly been notified of the robbery by this time, and the character of the Pelican tellurium is so well known that any one offering any of it for sale would have to give a very clear story as to how he came by it. No; this fellow will have to hide or bury the ore and leave it lying till he thinks the robbery is forgotten; and even then he will probably have to dispose of it at a distance in small lots or broken up very fine and mixed with other ore.”
“In that case,”said Joe, “we shall find his trail leaving the road again on one side or the other.”
“I expect so. We’ll keep a lookout. Butcome on, now, Joe: we mustn’t delay any longer.”
The road had been traveled over by several vehicles since last night, and the trail of the cart was undistinguishable with any certainty until we had passed the point where the highway branched off to the right to go down to San Remo; after which it appeared again, apparently headed straight for the ranch.
“Do you suppose he can have crossed our valley, Phil?”asked my companion.
“No, I expect not,”I replied. “Keep your eyes open; we shall find the tracks going off to one side or the other pretty soon—to the left most likely, for the best hiding-places would be up in the mountains.”
Sure enough, after traversing a bare, rocky stretch of road, we found that the tracks no longer showed ahead of us. The man had taken advantage of the hard ground to turn off. Pulling up our ponies, we both jumped to the ground once more, and going back a short distance, we made a cast on the western side of the road. In a few minutes Joe called out:
“Here we are, Phil! See! The wheel touched the edge of this little sandy spot, and if youlook ahead about forty yards you’ll see where it ran over an ant-hill. It seems as though he were heading for our cañon. Do you think that’s likely?”
“Yes,”I replied. “I think it is very likely. There is one place where he can get down, you remember, and then, by following up the bed of the stream for a short distance he will come to a draw which will lead him to the top of the Second Mesa—just the place he would make for. For, to any one knowing the country, as he evidently does, there would be a thousand good hiding-places in which to stow away ten small sacks of ore—you might search for years and not find them.”
“Yes,”said Joe. “But there’s the horse and cart, Phil. How will he dispose of them?”
“Oh, that will be easy enough. He would tumble the cart into some cañon, perhaps, turn loose the horse, and be back in Sulphide before morning. But come on, Joe. We really mustn’t waste any more time; it’s getting on for six now.”
It was fortunate we did not delay any longer, for we found my father anxiously pacing up and down the room, wondering what was keepingus. Without heeding our explanation at the moment, he hastily tore open the letter we had brought, read it through, and then stepping to the foot of the stairs, called out:
“Get your things on, mother. We must start at once. The train leaves at seven forty-five. There’s no time to lose.”
Turning to us, he went on: “Boys, I have to go to Denver. I may be gone five or six days—can’t tell how long. I leave you in charge. If you can get at the plowing, go ahead; but I’m afraid you won’t have the chance. If I’m not mistaken, there’s another rain coming—wettest season I remember. Joe, run out and hitch up the big bay to the buckboard. Phil, you will have to drive down to San Remo with us and bring back the rig. Go in and get some supper now; it’s all ready on the table.”
In ten minutes we were off, I sitting on a little trunk at the back of the carriage, explaining to my father over his shoulder as we drove along the events of the last two days, and how it was we had taken so much time coming down from Sulphide.
“It certainly does look as though the thiefhad come down this way,” said he; “and though we are not personally concerned in the matter, I think one of you ought to ride up to Sulphide again on Monday and give your information. Hunt up Tom Connor and tell him. And I believe”—he paused to consider—“yes, I believe I would tell Yetmore, too. I’m sure he is not concerned in this robbery; and I’m even more sure that if he was a party to the blowing up of that house, he never intended any harm to you. Yes, I think I’d tell Yetmore. It will prove to him that we bear him no ill-will, and may have a good effect.”
Having seen them off on the train, I turned homeward again, going slowly, for the clouds were low and it was very dark. The consequence was that it was nearly ten by the time I reached the ranch, and before I did so the rain was coming down hard once more.
“Wet night, Joe,”said I, as I pulled off my overcoat. “No plowing for a week, I’m afraid.”
“I expect not,”replied my companion. “It isn’t often we have to complain of too much rain in Colorado, but we are certainly getting anover supply just now. There’s one man, though, who’ll be glad of it.”
“Who’s that?”
“That ore-thief. It will wash out his tracks completely.”
The rain, which continued pretty steadily all day, Sunday, had ceased before the following morning, when, looking through the rifts in the clouds to the west we could see that a quantity of new snow had fallen on the mountains.
“There’ll be no trouble about water for irrigating this year, Joe,”said I, as I returned from the stable after feeding the horses. “There’s more snow up there, I believe, than I’ve ever seen before. It ought to last well into the summer, especially as the winds have drifted the gulches full and it has settled into solid masses.”
“Yes, there ought to be a good supply,”answered Joe, who was busy cooking the breakfast. “Which of the ponies do you think I had better take this morning, Phil? The pinto?”
“I thought so. I’ve given him a good feed of oats. He’ll enjoy the outing, I expect, for he’s feeling pretty chipper this morning. Hetried to nip me in the ribs while I was rubbing him down. He needs a little exercise.”
We had arranged between us that Joe should ride to Sulphide that morning to see Tom Connor and Yetmore, as my father had directed; and accordingly, as soon as he could get off, away he went; the pinto pony, very fresh and lively, going off as though he intended to gallop the whole distance.
Left to myself, I first went up to measure the flow of the underground stream, according to custom, and then, taking a shovel, I went to work clearing the headgates of our ditches, which had become more or less encumbered with refuse during the winter. There were two of them, set in niches of the rock on either side of the pool; for, to irrigate the land on both sides of the creek, we necessarily had to have two ditches. I had been at it only a few minutes when I noticed a curious booming noise in the direction of the mountains, which, continuing for a minute or two, presently died out again. From my position close under the wall of the Second Mesa, I could see nothing, and though it seemed to me to be a peculiar and unusual sound, I concluded that it was only a stormgetting up; for, even at a distance of seven miles, we could often hear the roaring of the wind in the pine-trees.
A quarter of an hour later, happening to look up the Sulphide road, I was rather surprised to see a horseman coming down, riding very fast. He was about a mile away when I first caught sight of him, and I could not make out who he was, but presently, as I stood watching, a slight bend in the road allowed the sunlight to fall upon the horse’s side, when I recognized the pinto. It was Joe coming home again.
I knew very well, of course, that he could not have been all the way to Sulphide and back in so short a time, and my first thought was that the spirited pony was running away with him; but as he approached I saw that Joe was leaning forward in the saddle, rather urging forward his steed than restraining him.
“What’s up?”I thought to myself, as I stood leaning on my shovel. “Has he forgotten something? He seems to be in a desperate hurry if he has: Joe doesn’t often push his horse like that. Something the matter, I’m afraid.”
There was a rather steep pitch where the road came down into our valley, and it was a regularpractice with us to descend this hill with some caution. Here, at any rate, I expected Joe to slacken his pace; but when I saw him come flying down at full gallop, where a false step by the pony would endanger both their necks, I knew there was something the matter, and flinging down my shovel, I ran to meet him.
“What is it, Joe?”I cried, as soon as he came within hearing.
Pulling in his pony, which, poor beast, stood trembling, with hanging head and legs astraddle, the breath coming in blasts from its scarlet nostrils, Joe leaped to the ground, crying:
“A snow-slide! A fearful great snow-slide! Right down on Peter’s house!”
For a moment we stood gazing at each other in silence, when Joe, speaking very rapidly, went on:
“We must get up there at once, Phil: we may be able to help Peter. Though if he was in his house when the slide came down, I’m afraid we can do nothing. His cabin must be buried five hundred feet deep, and the heavy snow will pack like ice with its own weight.”
“We’ll take a couple of shovels, anyhow,”I cried. “I’ll get ’em. Pull your saddle off thepinto, Joe, he’s used up, poor fellow, and slap it on to the little gray. Saddle my pony, too, will you? I’ll clap some provisions into a bag and bring ’em along: there’s no knowing how long we’ll be gone!”
“All right,”replied Joe. And without more words, he turned to unsaddle the still panting pony, while I ran to the house.
In five minutes, or less, we were under way.
“Not too fast!”cried Joe. “We mustn’t blow the ponies at the start. It’s a good eight miles up to Peter’s house.”
As we ascended the hill and came up on top of the Second Mesa, I was able to see for the first time the great scar on the mountain where the slide had come down.
“Phew!”I whistled. “It was a big one, and no mistake. Did you see it start, Joe?”
“Yes, I saw it start. I happened to be looking up there, thinking it looked pretty dangerous, when a great mass of snow which was overhanging that little cliff up there near the saddle, fell and started the whole thing. It seemed to begin slowly. I could see three or four big patches of snow fall from the precipice above Peter’s cabin as though pushed over, and thenthe whole great mass, fifteen feet thick, I should think, three hundred yards wide and four or five times as long, came down with a rush, pouring over the cliff with a roar like thunder. I wonder you didn’t hear it.”
“I did,”I replied, remembering the noise I had taken for a wind-storm, “but being under the bluff, and the waterfall making so much noise, I couldn’t hear distinctly, and so thought nothing of it. Why!”I cried, as I looked again. “There used to be a belt of trees running diagonally across the slope. They’re all gone!”
“Yes, every one of them. There were some biggish ones, too, you remember; but the slide snapped them off like so many carrots. It cut a clean swath right through them, as you see.”
“Where were you, Joe, when you saw it come down?”I asked.
“More than half way to Sulphide. I came back in fifteen minutes—four miles.”
“Poor little Pinto! No wonder he was used up!”
We had been riding at a smart lope, side by side, while this conversation was going on, and in due time we reached the foot-hills. Here our pace was necessarily much reduced, but we continuedon up Peter’s creek as rapidly as possible until the gulch became so narrow and rocky, and so encumbered with great patches of snow, that we thought we could make better time on foot.
Leaving our ponies, therefore, we went scrambling forward, until, about half a mile from our destination, Joe suddenly stopped, and holding up his hand, cried eagerly:
“Hark! Keep quiet! Listen!”
“Bow, wow, wow! Bow, wow, wow, wow, wow!”came faintly to our ears from far up the mountain.
“It’s old Sox!”cried Joe. “There are no dogs up here!”And clapping his hands on either side of his mouth, he gave a yell which made the echoes ring. Almost immediately the sharp report of a rifle came down to us, and with a spontaneous cheer we plunged forward once more.
It was hard work, for we were about nine thousand feet above sea level; the further we advanced, too, the more snow we encountered, until presently we found the narrow valley so blocked with it that we had to ascend the mountain-spur on one side to get around it. In doing so, we came in sight of the cliff behindPeter’s house, and then, for the first time, we understood what a snow-slide really meant.
Reaching half way up the thousand-foot precipice was a great slope of snow, completely filling the end of the valley; and projecting from it at all sorts of angles were trees, big and little, some whole, some broken off short, some standing erect as though growing there, some showing nothing but their roots. At the same time, from the edge of the precipice upward to the summit of the ridge, we had a clear view of the long, bare track left by the slide, with the snow-banks, fifteen or twenty feet thick, still standing on either side of it, held back by the trees.
“What a tremendous mass of snow!”I exclaimed, “There must be ten million tons of it! And what an irresistible power! Peter’s house must have been crushed like an eggshell!”
“Yes,”replied Joe. “But meanwhile where’s Peter?”
Once more he shouted; and this time, somewhere straight ahead of us, there was an answering shout which set us hurrying forward again with eager expectancy.
At the same moment, up from the ground flew old Sox, perched upon the root of an inverted tree, where, showing big and black against the snow bank behind him, he set to work to bark a continuous welcome as we struggled forward to the spot, one behind the other.
Beneath a tree, stretched on a mat of fallen pine-needles, just on the very outer edge of the slide, lay our old friend, the hermit, who, when he saw us approaching, raised himself on his elbow, and waving his other hand to us, called out cheerily:
“How are you, boys? Glad to see you! You’re welcome—more than welcome!”
“Hurt, Peter?”cried Joe, running forward and throwing himself upon his knees beside the injured man.
“A trifle. No bones broken, I believe, but pretty badly bruised and strained, especially the right leg above the knee. I find I can’t walk—at least not just yet.”
“How did you escape the slide?”I asked.
“Why, I had warning of it, luckily. I was up pretty early this morning and was just about to leave the house, when a dab of snow—acouple of tons, maybe—came down and knocked off my chimney. I knew what that meant, and I didn’t waste much time, you may be sure, in getting out. I grabbed my rifle and ran for it. I was hardly out of my door when the roar began, and you may guess how I ran then. I had reached almost this spot when down it came. The edge of it caught me and tumbled me about; sometimes on the surface, sometimes on the ground; now on my face and now feet uppermost, I was pitched this way and that like a cork in a torrent, till a big tree—the one Sox is sitting on, I think—slapped me on the back with its branches and hurled me twenty feet away among the rocks. It was then I got hurt; but on the other hand, being flung out of the snow like that saved me from being buried, so I can’t complain. It was as narrow a shave as one could well have.”
“It certainly was,”said I. “And did you hold on to the rifle all the time?”
“Yes; though why, I can’t say. The natural instinct to hold on to something, I suppose. But how is it you are on hand so promptly? It did occur to me as I lay here that one of you might notice that there had been a slide and rememberme, but I never expected to see you here so soon.”
“Well, that was another piece of good fortune,”I replied. “Joe saw the slide come down and rode a four-mile race to come and tell me. We did not lose a minute in getting under way, and we haven’t wasted any time in getting here either. But now we are here, the question is: How are we going to get you out?”
“Where do you propose to take me?”asked Peter.
“Down to our house.”
For a brief instant the hermit looked as though he were going to demur; but if he had entertained such an idea, he thought better of it, and thanked me instead.
“It’s very good of you,”said he; “though it gives me an odd sensation. I haven’t been inside another man’s house for years.”
“Well, don’t you think it’s high time you changed your habits?”ask Joe, laughing. “And you couldn’t have a better opportunity—your own house smashed flat; yourself helpless; and we two all prepared to lug you off whether you like it or not.”
“Well,”said Peter, smiling at Joe’s threat,“then I suppose I may as well give in. You’re very kind, though, boys,”he added, seriously, “and I’m very glad indeed to accept your offer.”
“Then let us pitch in at once and start downward,”said Joe. “Do you think you could walk with help?”
“I doubt it; but I’ll have a try.”
It was no use, though. With one arm over Joe’s shoulder and the other over mine he essayed to walk, but the attempt was a failure. His right leg dragged helplessly behind; he could not take a step.
“We’ve got to think of some other way,”said Joe, as Peter once more stretched himself at full length upon the ground. “Can we——”
But here he was interrupted.
All this time, Sox, with rare backwardness, had remained perched upon his tree-root, looking on and listening, but at this moment down he flew, alighted upon the ground near Peter’s head, made a complete circuit of his master’s prostrate form, then hopped up on his shoulder, and having promenaded the whole length of his body from his neck to his toes, he shook out his feathers and settled himself comfortably upon the hermit’s left foot.
We all supposed he intended to take a nap, but in another two seconds he straightened up again, eyed each of us in turn, and, with an air of having thought it all out and at last decided the matter beyond dispute, he remarked in a tone of gentle resignation:
“John Brown’s body.”
Having delivered this well-considered opinion with becoming solemnity, he threw back his head and laughed a rollicking laugh, as though he had made the very best joke that ever was heard.
“You black heathen, Sox!”cried his master. “I believe you would laugh at a funeral.”
“Lies,”said Sox, opening one eye and shutting it again; a remark which, though it sounded very much as though intended as an insult to Peter, was presumably but the continuation of his previous quotation.
“Get out, you old rascal!”cried the hermit, “shooing”away the bird with his hat. “Your conversation is not desired just now.”And as Sox flew back to his perch, Peter continued: “How far down did you leave your ponies, boys?”
“About a mile,”I replied.
“Then I believe the best way will be for one of you to go down and bring up one of the ponies. I can probably get upon his back with your help, and then, by going carefully, I believe we can get down.”
“All right,”said Joe, springing to his feet. “We’ll try it. I’ll go down. The little gray is the one, Phil, don’t you think?”
“Yes,”I answered. “The little gray’s the one; he’s more sober-minded than my pony and very sure-footed. Bring the gray.”
Without further parley, away went Joe, and in about three-quarters of an hour he appeared again, leading the pony by the bridle.
“It’s pretty rough going,”said he, “but I think we can make it if we take it slowly. The pony came up very well. Now, Peter let’s see if we can hoist you into the saddle.”
It was a difficult piece of work, for Peter, though he had not an ounce of fat on his body, was a pretty heavy man, and being almost helpless himself, the feat was not accomplished without one or two involuntary groans on the part of the patient. At last, however, we had him settled into the saddle, when Joe, carrying the rifle, took the lead, while I, with the two shovelsover my shoulder, brought up the rear. In this order the procession started, but it had no more than started when Peter called to us to stop.
In order to avoid going up the hill more than was necessary, we were skirting along the edge of the great snow-bank, when, as we passed just beneath the big tree upon one of whose roots Socrates was perched, Peter, looking up to call to the bird, espied something which at once attracted his attention.
“Wait a moment, boys, will you?”he requested, checking the pony; and then, turning to me, he continued: “Look up there, Phil. Do you see that black stone stuck among the roots? Poke it out with the shovel, will you? I should like to look at it.”
Wondering rather at his taking any interest in stones at such a time, I nevertheless obeyed his behest, and with two or three vigorous prods I dislodged the black fragment, catching it in my hand as it fell; though it was so unexpectedly heavy that I nearly let it drop.
“Ah!”exclaimed Peter, when I had handed it up to him. “Just what I thought! This will interest Tom Connor.”
“Why?”we both asked. “What is it?”
“A chunk of galena. Look! Do you see how it is made up of shining cubes of some black mineral? Lead—lead and sulphur. There’s a vein up there somewhere.”
“And the big tree, pushing its roots down into the vein, has brought away a piece of it, eh?”asked Joe.
“Yes, that is what I suppose. There are some bits of light-colored rock up there, too, Phil. Pry out one or two of those, will you?”
I did as requested, and on my passing them to Peter, he said:
“These are porphyry rocks. The general formation up there is limestone, I know—I’ve noticed it frequently—but I expect it is crossed somewhere—probably on the line of the belt of trees—by a porphyry dike. Put the specimens into your pocket, Joe; we must keep them to show to Connor. It’s a very important find. And now let us get along.”
The journey down the gulch was very slow and very difficult—we made hardly a mile an hour—though, when we left the mountain and started across the mesa we got along better. When about half way, I left the others and galloped home, where I lighted a fire and heateda lot of water, so that, when at length Peter arrived, I had a steaming hot tubful all ready for him in the spare room on the ground floor.
Though our friend protested against being treated like an invalid, declaring his belief that he would be about right again by morning, he nevertheless consented to take his hot bath and go to bed; though I think he was persuaded to do so more because he was unwilling to disappoint us after all our preparations, than because he really expected to derive any benefit.
Be that as it may—and for my part I shall always hold that it was the hot bath that did it—when we went into Peter’s room next morning, what was our surprise to find our cripple up and dressed. Though his right leg was still so stiff as to be of little use to him, he declined our help, and with the aid of a couple of broomsticks propelled himself out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, where Joe was busy getting the breakfast ready. His rapid recovery was astonishing to both of us; though, as Joe remarked later, we need not be so very much surprised, for, with his hardy life and abstemious habits he was as healthy as any wild animal.
As we sat at our morning meal, we talkedover our find of yesterday, and discussed what was the proper course for us to pursue.
“First, and most important,”said Peter, “Tom Connor must be notified. We must waste no time. The prospectors are beginning to get out, and any one of them, noticing the new scar on the mountain, might go exploring up there. When does Tom quit work on the Pelican?”
“This evening,”replied Joe. “It was this evening, wasn’t it, Phil?”
“Yes,”I replied. “He was to quit at five this evening, and his intention then was to come down here next day and make this place his base of operations.”