Jo crawled as far back as he could into his hiding place, bumping his head and bruising his knees on the rusty chains, and in the remotest corner he crouched much like a scared kitten. He had just got safely hidden when Jim reached the hood of the forecastle.
Then Jim descended in search of the ghosts. No sooner had he lighted a lantern than Pete appeared hobbling down the steps into the dim interior with the bell, that Jo had tied to the ladder, in his hand. This the old sailor felt would give the clue to the mystery, and it did.
“Here, Skipper, I found this tied aft.” Jim took it and recognized it at a glance.
“Ho! ho!” he cried, “this is some of Jo’s work. He and Tom have been up to some devilment. I bet my sombrero that those two rascals were the ghosts you saw.” But the old sailor did not want to give up the dubious honor of having seen some live spirits, and so he stuck to his story.
“But these were real ghosts, sir. I seen ’em with my two eyes, and their faces were white and green, like nothing human.”
“He’s shure roight, sor,” declared the boy who had now put in a cautious appearance. “My grandfather has seen ghosts in his time.”
Jim laughed and began an examination of the floor, whirling the light from the lantern slowly around until he came to some damp footprints in the middle of the floor.
“These ghosts must have worn moccasins,” Jim remarked, “for if I don’t mistake that is the sign of ’em, and they got their feet damp. You stay here long enough and you will probably hear them sneeze.”
“But how was they complected that way?” questioned old Pete, his face growing very red with the possibility of his being made a fool of by a couple of kids.
“I guess they were bilious, those ghosts,” remarked Jim, “or maybe it was sulphur they rubbed on. They once saw me scare some savages that way down in Hawaii.”
“I call it a durned outrage, on an old man like me, to have a couple of fool kids play a trick like that. I hurt my leg too, Skipper.”
“How was that?” inquired Jim, not without malice aforethought.
“Well, you see, it was this a way, Skipper,” explained old Pete shamefacedly, “I seen this peculiar object or two in the forecastle, and I says to myself, ‘The skipper ought to know about this,’ so I jumps up and starts to report it to you——”
“I had the same thought, sor,” cut in the boy.
“Yes, and he got in my way going up the ladder, and I fell and cut my leg.” He showed the place to Jim, and the latter, though trying hard not to laugh at the old chap’s explanations of his scare, was justly indignant when he saw that he was hurt.
“Those beggars must be hiding here,” he said. “They certainly haven’t got aft. We will soon root ’em out and I’ll give them something to remember this performance by as long as they live.”
Then began a systematic search of the forecastle. Of course they did not find Jo, for, as we know, he was safely hidden on deck, but Tom was in the forecastle, and was bound to be discovered sooner or later in so small a space.
“Look under the bunks on that side, boys,” said Jim, “I’ll take this.”
“Aye, aye, sir-sor,” was the reply.
But after a most careful search, turning overblankets and bedding, no one was found. Jim swung the lantern under the dark ladder, but no one was there. Where could they be? They must be within a few feet of them and yet they could not see them.
“It’s odd about them,” remarked Jim, coming to a halt in the middle of the floor. “They seem to have vanished.”
“I reckon it was ghosts, after all,” said old Pete.
The only pieces of furniture in the place were a small trunk belonging to the boy, an impossible hiding place for lads the size of Jo or Tom—and Pete’s battered old sea-chest. This latter Pete opened, it was not locked, and saw only a heap of old clothes.
“Not here, Skipper,” he said, shutting down the lid with a snap.
“They must have got up on deck then,” said Jim, puzzled.
So the party adjourned to the deck, Jim carrying the lantern to aid him in the search.
“What did you find?” roared the captain.
“It was Tom and Jo, sir,” yelled Jim, “but we can’t locate them. Have you seen them skulking aft, Captain?”
“Nobody has gone by me,” cried the captain. “They must be for’ard.”
Just then Juarez joined in the search.
“Look in the bow,” he advised, when he found how matters stood.
So paying no attention to the water and spray that came over the bow, they made their way forward, Jim in the lead with the lantern. He swung the light in among the chains, but a deep shadow cast by the lantern hid Jo, who laid low, making himself as small as possible, his head buried close to the deck.
But Juarez’s keen eyes saw a dark object crouching in the furthest corner. He dived past Jim and caught hold of the cowering Jo and in spite of his struggles pulled him to the surface. Jo appeared like a much disheveled criminal when he was dragged out.
“Well,” said Jim, “you are a pretty looking fellow. Where’s your pal?”
“Tom?” questioned Jo grumpily. “He was in the forecastle when I saw him last.”
“You will have to pay for this night’s rumpus,” warned Jim.
“Near made me break my leg,” growled Pete, “with your foolin’.” In spite of his present predicamentJo could not help laughing heartily at the recollection of old Pete and the boy scrambling like a couple of scared cats up the ladder of the forecastle.
“You won’t feel so gay when we get through with you,” said Jim. He marched him with a heavy hand to the cabin which he occupied, shoved the angry and resisting Joseph within and shut and locked the door. Then they started out in a final search for Tom, the only one of this desperate gang of night marauders that now remained uncaptured.
“I declare, I don’t know what has become of that boy,” said Jim.
“He couldn’t have fallen overboard?” questioned Juarez. Jim negatived that idea emphatically.
“Tom’s too cautious for that,” he said.
Where was he? The reader knows well enough, being an adept on solving all these mysteries. He was in old Pete’s sea-chest hidden down under the clothes, and Pete, whose eyesight was not as good as it once was, had failed to see any sign of him. Now, when he heard Jim and the rest go on deck, he decided that it was time to get out of his uncomfortable prison, which was much too cramped.
What was his dismay to find that he was indeed a prisoner, for when old Pete had shut down the top of the chest it had fastened shut. Tom began to feel stifled for air, partly imagination on his part, and partly fact. It was true that some air could get in, through where the rope handles went, but not much. Tom struggled till he got his hand in his pocket, hoping to find his knife with which he would cut the rope handles and push the pieces through the holes and thus get enough air to sustain life, but as luck would have it, his knife was not there.
He began to pant now, and gasp and think of all the horrible tales he had ever read of people being buried alive and of similar tragedies, until he was almost hysterical. He yelled for help, but his voice was muffled, and besides there was none to hear. He tried to attract attention by beating with his hands against the top of the chest.
After what seemed an interminable time, the half-fainting Tom heard feet clattering down the steep ladder into the forecastle, and this brought him partially to.
“Jim, get me out,” he cried, and his voice came feebly to the ears of the searchers.
“I heard Tom,” cried Juarez.
“tom did not try to make his escape.”—P 119.“tom did not try to make his escape.”—P.119.
“Sounded like a cat mewing,” remarked the unfeeling Jim. “Listen.” Again they heard it and a faint pounding inside the sea-chest.
“He’s in that chest,” cried Jim, and he tried to open it.
“Locked in,” said Juarez. “Let Pete open it.”
Pete came forward, after fishing a key out of the depths of his pocket.
“Lucky I could find it,” he said. Then he flung the top of the chest back. Tom did not try to make his escape, or put up a fight of any kind, for he was all in, and was only too glad to be captured, for, as he figured, and quite correctly, that even the captain could not put him in a worse place than he had put himself.
“You look more like a ghost than the other one,” said Jim with a grin.
After he was sufficiently revived, he, too, was locked up, and further proceedings were put off until the morrow. In the meantime it was decided to have a little fun with these practical jokers on the next day, so as to teach them the seriousness of life on the ocean wave.
So at ten the next morning a court-martial was held in the dining saloon. As the weather still remained dark and overcast, it was necessary to havethe big lamp over the table lit. The judges were the captain, who sat at one end of the table, and Juarez, who was at his left, and Jim, at the right. For once the captain took off his old cap and showed a bald, pink dome, with tufted gray at the side. His face wore a grimness that betokened hanging for the culprits—nothing less. The court was ready.
Then there was a clattering of feet on the stairs, and the prisoners were brought in by the sheriff, who was none other than the tall shepherd. They were tied with ropes, that is, their hands were, and their hang-dog looks were enough to condemn them. They did not dare face the captain, who was regarding them with great severity, but looked askance at Jim, who paid no attention to them, but was busy making notes on a pad of paper before him on the table.
The sheriff was compelled to leave his prisoners in the hands of the court and hasten on deck to take the wheel, as the ship was short-handed, nearly the whole crew being present on court-martial duty. The prisoners were represented by John Berwick, the engineer, who entered into their defense with much interest and eclat. The specifications were in two charges, it being related:
I. “That Joseph Darlington, a native of New York State, and Thomas Darlington, a native of Missouri,” read Jim with sonorous voice. At the word Missouri, John Berwick, the counsel for the defendants, was on his feet in an instant. He said:
“I move this honorable court that specification No. I be quashed, it being therein erroneously stated that my client, Thomas Darlington, comes from Missouri.”
“Motion to squash denied,” said James severely, not being entirely at home in legal phraseology.
“Then, your Honors, I move to amend, by striking out the word ‘Missouri,’ and substituting thatof New York, this being a manifest attempt to prejudice the case of my client, the prosecution, no doubt, being desirous of proving that this innocent lad was one of the notorious Jesse James gang, that operated in Missouri and the Southwest.”
The defendants’ attorney stood tapping the table before him with one long finger and gazing earnestly at the court, which seemed to be struggling hard to suppress some deep and hidden emotion.
“The amendment is allowed,” gasped Jim, gazing over the heads of the two sullen-looking prisoners. Then the first charge, as amended read:
I. “That Joseph Darlington, a native of New York, and Thomas Darlington, likewise a native of New York, are hereby charged with conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, in that they did on the night of August eighteenth, 18—, feloniously steal through the darkness into the apartments (better known as fo’scle) of one, Peter McCloskey, and of one, Aloyisius Durgan (minor), and did with malice aforethought, disturb the peace, quiet and sleep of the said McCloskey and the said Durgan, by representing themselves to be ghosts, with green faces” (here Tom snickered, but one look from the captain at the head of the tablesobered him, indeed, it was the captain’s presence on this trying occasion that lent dignity and reality to the scene, for he evidently meant business, and his sternness was rounded out by the impressiveness of his polished dome. When quiet settled heavily once more upon the trial, James resumed his reading of the charge), “representing themselves to be ghosts with green faces, to the grave detriment of the peace of mind of the said McCloskey and said Durgan, and furthermore, causing them severe bodily contusions and bruises upon their limbs while attempting to escape from said ghosts, at the time and place before mentioned, thus unfitting them for active service aboard their ship, theSea Eagle, James Darlington, Master.” At this last statement Captain Kerns leaned forward over the table, and regarded the two prisoners with great severity, and they felt in their bones that they were going to catch it. They looked appealingly at Juarez, but he appeared entirely oblivious of their presence.
II. “Furthermore, it is charged that the said Joseph Darlington and Thomas Darlington on the night of the 18th of August, 18—, did resist their superior officer——” Here Tom growled something in the ear of his attorney, who immediatelyrose to his feet and said, “My client objects to the word superior, as not being true and applicable, he says that the aforesaid officer only thinks that he is superior.”
“This objection is overruled,” said Jim, the judge, his mouth twitching; “by superior is meant commanding officer.”
“Certainly, Skipper,” rumbled the captain; “you’re right. Don’t let ’em give you any nonsense, you are in command of this ship.”
Nothing more from Tom, and the reading continued. “Therefore, the two defendants are charged with mutiny on the high seas.”
“Are you ready to plead to these specifications?” inquired Jim, looking at the prisoners’ counsel.
“We are,” replied John Berwick.
“What is your plea?”
“Not guilty, your Honors.”
“We will proceed to trial,” said Jim solemnly.
“They deserve the rope’s end for their impudence,” growled the captain.
Old Pete was the first witness and he was much impressed by the dignity of the court, as was evident as he limped in with his hat, or rather cap, in hand. He took the stand, which was an armchair placed facing the court, beyond the end of the table. Nosooner had he seated himself than theSea Eaglegave a sudden lurch to the starboard, and he would have gone, chair and all, into the wall if John Berwick had not caught him.
“Beg pardon, your Honors, but this thing ain’t anchored right.”
“What is your name?” inquired Jim.
“Peter McCloskey, sir.”
“Where were you born, Mr. McCloskey?”
“On a farm near Darien, Connecticut,” was the answer.
“What is your present occupation?”
“I am sailor aboard theSea Eagle, sir.”
“And where were you on the night of August 18th?”
“I was asleep in the fo’scle of theSea Eagle, sir.”
“Tell what occurred, if anything.”
This Peter McCloskey did with much enthusiasm and picturesque detail, and then John Berwick, the attorney for the prisoners, started in to cross-examine the witness, who kept himself firmly anchored by means of two large feet outspread at separate angles.
“Now, Peter,” he commenced suavely, “tell the court how much you drank on the eventful night ofthe 18th of August, when you saw these remarkable apparitions.”
“Well, your Honors,” said Pete, hesitatingly, “you know how it is yourselves. I took a nip before I turned in. Old bones have to be warmed somehow.”
“Exactly,” said the prisoners’ attorney. “Now, McCloskey, tell the court if you were not in a condition to see things on the night in question.”
“No, sir, Mr. Berwick, I was as sober as a judge when I woke up and saw those green things staring at me.”
“Are you sure, Peter, that you didn’t dream all this?” inquired Berwick.
“I didn’t dream this, sir,” replied Peter, showing a bruise on his leg.
This was quite unanswerable, and old Pete was allowed to go with the honors of war, and he was followed on the stand by the Irish lad, who was a willing witness and had many remarkable things to tell about ghosts, their natures and dispositions and their actions on the old sod of Ireland, where green-faced ghosts no doubt abounded. As his story confirmed old Pete’s, things looked dubious for Tom and Jo.
Their attorney, however, made an eloquent pleafor the life and liberty of the two prisoners at the bar. He said in part:
“I ask your Honors to deal leniently with these two lads and to recall how much they have had to contend with in their short young lives. They have had only the harshest surroundings. Having come under the baleful influence of Captain Bill Broom, the former owner of this vessel, you cannot rightly blame them for their strong sense of humor.
“I think that a reprimand is due them for their infraction of the ship’s discipline and for resisting theirsuperiorofficer” (a grin from Jim), “but I ask this Honorable Court to remember their tender years and to deal gently with the prisoners. If you do not, I fear that ghosts with green faces will haunt your fevered sleep forever. I leave their fate in your hands.”
Bowing low, the attorney for the prisoners sat down. Then the culprits were sent back to their cabin-cell while the judges took their fate under advisement. There was quite a lengthy discussion. Juarez being influenced by his friend, the engineer, was in favor of having the captain give them a severe call down, and let it go at that. While the captain himself favored the rope’s end and imprisonmentin the lazaret that had not been used since old Broom’s day.
It was their resistance to the skipper that added to his severity, for he was a firm believer in discipline. But Jim suggested a more reasonable course that would better favor the ends of justice (which was not the rope’s end)—than that which the other two judges recommended. His plan was finally adopted; then the bound prisoners were summoned before the August Court. (That is a pun the writer will have to make for Jo, as he is not in his normal spirits.)
They stood at the end of the table, looking sullen and defiant, and evidently expecting the worst.
“It is the finding of the court that you, Joseph Darlington and Thomas Darlington,” read Jim with much emphasis and in a sonorous voice, “are guilty on both charges of the specifications, and by the unanimous judgment of the court, you are sentenced,” Jim paused to give due impressiveness to the following words; meanwhile the two boys paled slightly, “sentenced to hard labor, shoveling coal, until Pete and the boy get over their lameness. This sentence to be immediately executed.” And it was.
“I’m glad the sentence is going to be executedinstead of us,” said Jo as he was sent below with his comrade in crime to get busy feeding the insatiable furnace. Altogether the boys were pleased to get off without the rope’s end being used on them.
“That was a good sentence, Judge,” said John Berwick to Jim after the court had adjourned. “It met the case, for the real damage done was having Pete and the boy laid off on account of their prank.”
“That’s it,” remarked Jim. “Then, too, Jo and Tom are husky and hard workers, and, with them shoveling coal, we ought to get to the coast now in a few days.”
As the boys drew near the end of the voyage, they began to be anxious to see the land once more, not that they were tired of the sea, for they had come to regard theSea Eagleas their home, and every plank was familiar to them. Moreover, there was nothing equal to the freedom of life on the ocean wave, but they were anxious to start for the Sierras to attempt the discovery of the Lost Mine, so that perchance they could take a trip around the world.
According to their calculations it was now only a question of a few days before they would make the harbor from which they had sailed a few months before. Jim was on the quarter deck talking over matters with Captain Kerns. It was a very pleasant afternoon, with a clear shining sun, and a sparkling sea, and sufficient breeze to make the air alive. The captain was seated in his scarred but comfortable armchair. That was the only piece of furniture which he had brought with him from his cabin on the coast. He wore his heavywoolen jacket buttoned across his chest because it was cool even in the sun. Jim leaned easily against the rail, dressed in his well-remembered blue flannel shirt, and trousers to match, with the gray sombrero pushed back from his forehead. His bronzed face and keen gray eyes determined him to be a very fair specimen of the American boy when in top-notch condition.
“I hope you will be able to look after theSea Eagle, Captain,” propounded Jim, “while we are in the mountains.”
The captain mused for a while, pursing up his eyes, then he took his short blackened pipe out of his mouth.
“I’ll do it, Skipper,” he said. “I’m fond of this yere boat, and it’s like home to me. Then, too, I like you boys. There’s nothin’ of the fresh, gabby kid about any of you. I’ll do it fer you, Skipper.” And the bargain was sealed with a warm grip between the two friends.
“There’s one thing I ought to speak about though,” said Jim, “and that is in regard to old Bill Broom, the pirate, who had theSea Eaglebefore we took her. He is a revengeful old beggar and may make you trouble if he gets a chance.”
“I never really met Broom, though I came nearit once,” remarked the old captain grimly, “but if he is wise, he won’t come bothering around me or theSea Eagleeither.”
“I expect old Pete will stay aboard and the boy,” said Jim, “so you won’t be without some company.”
“I’ve always got ‘Lyssus’ here,” grinned the captain, picking up the big tortoise shell that was purring around his legs. “I don’t want any better company than him.”
“He is a good old fellow,” said Jim, playfully nipping the cat’s ears with his fingers, “and a mighty good sailor, too.” Just then Jim chanced to look up, scanning the expanse of sea ahead, not with the expectation of seeing anything, but just force of habit. Immediately he straightened up and his gray eyes narrowed with interest.
“What is it, Skipper?” questioned the old captain, getting to his feet.
“It looks like smoke,” exclaimed Jim, “about three points on our starboard bow.”
“Maybe it’s a steamer,” said the captain. “We ought to be running across them now once in a while.”
“Possibly it’s a volcano,” suggested Jim.
By this time the captain had got the glass fromhis cabin, and had it focused on the slender blue-gray column of smoke that was rising close to the southeastern horizon.
“It’s a ship, almost burned out,” exclaimed the captain.
“By jove!” cried Jim. “We will see exactly what it is,” and he gave the order to Pete, who was at the wheel, to change theSea Eagle’scourse accordingly.
“I reckon nobody is alive aboard,” remarked the captain. “She looks pretty well burned out.”
No sooner had the ship’s course been changed, than every member of the crew was out on deck to see what was up, and all were intensely interested watching the column of smoke that now could be seen rising from a dark hull close to the water, marking one of those oft-repeated tragedies of the sea. Rapidly the gallant littleSea Eagleplowed the blue surface of the ocean in a straight course towards the burning ship.
Many were the conjectures as to how the destroyed ship came to be in her present hapless condition. Jo thought that she had probably caught afire and the crew had been compelled to abandon her, but the engineer shook his head at this theory.
“I don’t agree with you, Joseph. My idea isthat she is a derelict that has been abandoned possibly years ago. Some ship has crossed her trail recently, and to get rid of her as an uncharted menace to ships in regular travel, has set fire to her, but without completing her destruction.”
“They are bad things to be lying around loose,” said Jim. “If we had been off our course a little, and it had been some hours later, we would have stood a jolly good chance of running plump into this ship, and if we had not gone down, we would have been badly stove up.”
“You would have gone down,” said the engineer briefly.
“I suppose there are a good many of these derelicts floating around the oceans,” remarked Juarez.
“Yes,” said the engineer, “and some of them have most interesting histories. There was a curious incident in regard to a barque named theNortonthat was abandoned in the Atlantic some years ago. The skipper and the crew were rescued by a sailing vessel, and, after a while, they drew near an English port.
“The skipper of theNortonwas pacing the poop deck from force of habit, when he suddenly stopped as if petrified, and his jaw dropped, for there aheadof him alongside of a wharf was his lost and abandoned ship. The explanation was simple. She had been picked up by a passing steamer and towed into port, for salvage.”
TheSea Eaglewas now within a half mile of the derelict and she could be made out quite plainly. She was a good-sized wooden vessel, a three-sticker, but the masts had been broken off and the ship had been rendered entirely helpless. She was rolling sluggishly to the motion of the waves, without life or hope.
“She’s theMaria Crothers, London,” said the captain from the upper deck, looking through the glass, “and she looks like she has been floating around for several years.”
In a few minutes theSea Eaglewas lying to, a short distance from the derelict. It was evident that she had been abandoned a long time. The sides and bottom of the ship were encrusted with barnacles and long green streamers of sea weeds on her sides and bow gave her a most ancient and dilapidated appearance.
In the center of the main deck smoke was slowly rising into the air from the charred timbers.
“She is too water-logged to burn,” said the captain.
“We will try to blow her up, Captain,” cried Jim. “She is a dangerous proposition so near to the coast.”
“It’s a good idea, lad,” agreed the captain.
“Lower the boat, my hearties,” ordered Jim with a grin.
They put two kegs of powder into the boat, and with the material for a couple of long fuses, they started for the derelict, now but a short distance off. None of the boys will ever forget that boarding of the abandoned vessel, not on account of the danger, for there was none, but for the unusualness of the occasion and the picturesqueness of the scene.
The sun was just setting as they rowed towards theMaria Crothers, or what was once that gallant vessel, and the crimson glow came over the slow-rolling swell and touched everything with a lurid light, especially the desolate derelict. As they were nearing the hulk, Tom exclaimed:
“Look, there is a shark coming out from a hole under her bow!”
Sure enough, with sinuous motion a long and ugly-looking shark swam slowly a short distance below the surface, taking on a greenish hue, from the color of the water. There was something singularlyrepellent about him and peculiarly sinister in his every motion.
“If he gets too sassy, we will treat him like we did his friends and brethren near the coast of Maine,” said Jim. “When we were in the canoes. Remember, Jeems?”
“Don’t mention it to me,” warned Jeems. “I’m liable to have a chill.”
It was not difficult to board the derelict, when the boat was brought on the lee side, for the vessel was down well with the water. Jim jumped aboard and the others followed, except old Pete, who was at the oars; he kept the boat close while the barrels of powder were transferred.
The boys found nothing on the old craft of especial interest. They could still see that the cabin had been a handsome one, with dark wood like mahogany and properly gilded, but everything was now mildewed or covered with green slime. There were sea things crawling everywhere.
Jim found his work cut out for him to get the powder planted where it would do the best execution. Darkness came on, and he was busy aft with one keg while Juarez and the engineer were planting the other for’ard. They had got a number oflanterns from the ship to work by, and, from a distance they looked like glow worms on the dark surface of the waters.
It was a most weird and peculiar sight, but after nearly two hours’ work, everything was ready. Only Jim, Juarez and the engineer were left upon the derelict, with old Pete ready at the oars to pull away as soon as the men should jump into the boat after firing the fuses.
“Already for’ard!” yelled Jim.
“Ready,” came Juarez’s reply.
They touched the long fuse and then ran and stepped lightly into the boat. Pete dug the oars into the water and away the boat leapt towards theSea Eagle. She had cleared the derelict about a hundred feet, when with two dull shaking thuds, and a glare of red light at either end, the derelict was blown to destruction, and pieces of broken timber fell all about the boat. Some pieces fell even on the deck of theSea Eagle. In a few minutes the broken hull had sunk below the dark waters of the Pacific. The work had been well done.
Two days later theSea Eagleturned from the windy channel into her own harbor on the southern coast of California with the flag flying,and as the anchor chain rattled down into the quiet water, there came a salute from the two cannon on the upper deck. Then Jim turned and gripped the hand of his old friend.
“Here you are at home, Captain. Now it’s for the Lost Mine, boys.”
“And good luck to you,” said the old captain heartily. “I and theSea Eaglewill be here when you return.”
The boys at parting gave three rousing cheers.
It was indeed a beautiful morning, with the sun shining with a clarity that is characteristic only of the higher altitudes. There was quite a procession coming up the steep mountain trail. As yet they could not be made out distinctly, as they were so far down the mountain side. Then they were lost to view in one of the folds of the slope.
“I wonder whom those tenderfeet are?” The voice came from a man who was crouching behind a granite boulder. He had been watching the approaching party intently for some time. “One thing, sartain,” the voice continued, “them fellars will find trouble if they keep traveling in this neck of the woods.”
The speaker was not a prepossessing-looking party. He was of squat figure, very strongly built. His face and neck burned to a brick red. His shirt of a nondescript color was open at the neck, exposing a hairy throat. A rifle was gripped firmly in one powerful paw, and there was a knife and pistol in his belt.
He was an ugly-looking customer, and it was evident that his mission was not a peaceful one. Once more he took a look down the trail. The approaching party was much nearer now and he could count the individuals.
“Five!” he exclaimed. “Looks like they might give the boys trouble. That fellar in front has sartain got a fine horse.”
Already the voices of the five came clearly to his ears, and it would not be long before they would top the ridge, and the scout, for such he was, would be discovered.
“It’s time for me to scat!” he exclaimed.
And he did, taking long swinging strides that soon took him out of sight of the ridge, into a belt of pines. Here the stranger stopped again and watched for the tenderfoot party to put in an appearance. He did not have long to wait, for there came the strong clear sound of voices, and then he saw a gallant figure on a gray horse ride into full view. This young fellow was dressed in blue, with a flannel shirt of the same color, and a gray sombrero, which was pushed back from his sunburnt forehead.
A perfectly polished rifle was hung across his back, and there was a revolver in the holster athis hip. The young fellow rode his splendid animal with an ease and mastery that showed long experience. Behind the leader rode a shorter lad, but very stockily built, and of extremely dark complexion, with heavy black hair, cut square across.
“That chap must be an Injun,” remarked the watcher in the pines.
But the reader who is more intelligent and better informed, knows otherwise, for he is acquainted with these riders and has been in their company before, and it is not necessary to pass the entire procession in review. The Frontier Boys were all there, and Jeems Howell likewise. The man in the pines was deeply interested in these mounted men, viewing them from his position back of a big pine, in front of which was a screen of brush.
He saw that they were well mounted and armed, nor did they appear entirely like tenderfeet either. There was something in the way they rode and their general air that showed that they could take care of themselves. Once or twice he partially raised his rifle as though about to fire at the leader, but he evidently thought better of it, and contented himself with a mere reconnoissance.
The Frontier Boys were unmindful that they were watched, but they were not careless. Juarez,especially, seemed on the alert, and even suspicious. He kept looking around and once he came to a halt. Swinging off his roan, he began to examine the ground.
“Scent something, comrade?” inquired Jim gravely.
“Something wrong around here,” he said.
“Panther, painter, or mountain lion?” inquired Tom.
“Look out, he will bite you,” volunteered Jo.
Shaking his head, Juarez mounted his horse and took his place in line, and the procession started again, but always the red-faced, red-necked scout kept them in view for his own purposes. He did not have much trouble to keep up, for the boys did not hurry their horses. They had had a hard pull for several hours that morning, and Jim decided it was best to let them take it easy, as there still was plenty of hard work ahead.
“How soon will we reach your ancient castle, Jeems?” inquired Jim.
“In time for dinner, boss, I reckon,” replied Jeems.
“Dinner be ready for us?” inquired Tom hungrily.
“Well, as I haven’t seen my ancestral walls fornigh on to twenty years,” replied Jeems, “I’m much afeard that the dinner is petrified by this time.”
“We don’t mind that,” laughed Jo. “Haven’t we eaten grub in Mexican restaurants and along the border? Nothing is too tough for us.”
“That’s so,” agreed the chorus.
“This country begins to look very familiar,” soliloquized Jeems. “Here’s a rock I’ve sat on many a time to rest coming home from a hunt, and down there are the three pines struck by lightning, on the Fourth of July, too——”
“Go on with you,” jeered Tom, “don’t give us any tall yarn like that.”
“Halt! there he goes!” cried Juarez, bringing his rifle to his shoulder and aiming it at a fleeting shadow among the pines down the mountain slope. He did not fire, however, and without a minute’s hesitation the boys turned their horses down the steep mountain slope towards the woods where the man had been detected by Juarez’s observant eye.
Away they went full tilt, and to an outsider it seemed certain that some one was sure to get his neck broken. Jo’s horse did stumble, plowing its nose into the gravel, and sending Jo forward about a dozen feet, landing on shoulder and neck. Pretty well shaken up, he was too, but not injured.
Tom came near getting mixed up in the mêlée, for he was just back of Jo, but missed him more by good luck than good management. There was no attempt on the part of any of the boys to stop to pick up Jo or to see how badly hurt he was. They presumed that if injured he would say something about it. So on went the gallant 400, their steeds leaping rocks and fallen trees, crashing through brush with powerful recklessness.
A haze of dust soon hung above the cavalry charge, which was destined to come to an end when the line of pine trees was reached. But it seemed that Jim’s Caliente was not going to halt for the solid pines even, for he charged full speed ahead, with all his fighting blood aroused.
“Ahoy there, Jim!” yelled Tom, “better anchor your yacht.”
But James could not head him, pull as hard as he would, and he ducked his head low under a branch which threatened to brain him, scraped between two tall and massive pines, and finally brought his panting horse to a full stop in a dense clump of brush.
But Jeems Howell seemed to be having the most interesting, if not the pleasantest, time of all. He was not a natural centaur anyway. He had triedhis best to keep his little rat of a bay from joining in the chase, but without success. With his long legs stuck out in front and his eyes wide open with astonishment, he was pulling with all his might, but with no effect.
It was a comical sight, the long-legged man yelling “Whoa!” “Whoa!” and the little pony scampering at top speed down the steep and sunny slope with the dust flying back at a great rate. Then of a sudden, the pony leaped right from under the long-shanked Jeems and he sat down upon the warm gravel, while the animal went on into the woods. As for the man, he made his escape into a neighboring gulch where he hid himself under a ledge, and was safe enough.
That one movement which he had noted of Juarez’s rifle when aimed at him, was sufficient to give him an idea of the mettle of the Frontier Boys. He was determined, however, not to get out of that section until he had seen these travelers properly located, so he waited.
Meanwhile, the boys had got together, in a general council with only one absentee, viz: Jeems Howell, who was seated contentedly, if somewhat dazed, upon the mountain side. Then his absence was noted by the other boys.
“Where is Jeems?” inquired Jo, who had recovered his horse and his equilibrium likewise.
They looked around anxiously. “There’s his pony over there,” said Juarez, “having a good time grazing.”
“I suspect we will find Jeems grazing somewhere back here on the mountain,” said Jim. “Jo, you go look for him, if you think you won’t fall off, too.”
With a grunt Jo turned his horse at right angles, and went back up the mountain slope. He soon came upon Jeems seated placidly upon the ground apparently enjoying the view.
“Lost something, Jeems?” he inquired.
“Yes, my pony,” he replied.
“He is grazing down below,” said Jo. “Why don’t you get up?”
“I’m grazing here,” replied Jeems.
“Gazing, I guess,” grinned Jo.
“Is it morning yet?” inquired Jeems.
“It will be night before you get up, if you don’t hustle,” warned Jo. “Better go and get your horse and join the family council.”
“There shall be no vacant chair, I’ll be there,” and Jeems rose by sections.
“Are you sure you saw that fellow, Juarez?” asked Jo.
“Certainly,” replied the chief.
“Of course he did,” said Jim. “You don’t suppose that Juarez would exclaim at a shadow. I got a glimpse of him myself.”
“What did he look like?” inquired Yankee Tom.
Jim’s face took on a look of settled gravity as he answered:
“He was a tall dark-complected man, with a wart over his right eye, and he had a ring on his middle finger with his wife’s picture engraved on it, and——”
“Oh, shut up,” growled Tom, “you are just kidding.”
“I didn’t see anybody,” put in Jeems Howell mildly. This remark was greeted with a roar of laughter.
“I bet you didn’t,” jeered Tom. “All you could do was to yell ‘Whoa!’”
“But he didn’t whoa!” said Jeems sadly, but truthfully.
“You did,” remarked Jim.
“Somebody had to,” explained Jeems, “so I decided it was up to me.”
“You mean,” said the whimsical Jo, “down to you.”
“I suppose so.”
“He has made his escape anyway,” said Tom.
“So have our pack mules,” cried Juarez, looking back up the mountain.
“Maybe they have just grazed off,” said Jim anxiously.
This was serious business indeed, if their mules should take a notion to take the back trail with their grub and camp equipment. So the boys lost no time in getting back to the ridge and all thought of the stranger that they had tried to interview had left their minds for the present. When they got to the top of the ridge they found their worst fears realized. Juarez was the first to take in the situation, because his little roan was the fastest in a short dash. Juarez had urged his horse obliquely across the slope of the hill.
“They have scooted for home, boys,” he yelled.
Sure enough there were the three beasts a miledown the trail and jogging steadily along with an evident intention in their mulish minds to go home and stay there. Now “home” was a hundred miles away, but that made no difference with their plans.
“We have got to head ’em down this other side,” cried Jim. “It’s no use following them on the trail. They have got the start on us and when they see us coming it will make them hike all the faster.”
“You’re right,” said Juarez.
“There is no use for all this bunch going,” said Jim. “Jo, you and Tom and Jeems stay here. Keep my guns, I’m traveling light.” He handed over his rifle and revolver to his brother and Juarez gave his to Jeems. Then they gave the cinches to their saddles an extra tightening, especially the back cinches, then they swung swiftly into the saddles.
“Durn those mules,” they cried and were off. Keeping their horses well in hand, for it promised to be a long hard race, they galloped along the ridge, keeping slightly below the summit. They were now on the opposite side of the ridge from where the trail was up which they had traveled. As the two headers-off got under way the gravel flew back from their horses’ feet. At first the way was not very hard, but at the end of the first mile they came to a great field of broken rocks.
Here they had to slacken speed and find their way among great rocks, broken, and with many miniature canyons and ravines among them. Once they rode under the shadow of a great slab of quartz, some eighty feet long and twenty feet in thickness; like a long flat bridge it was.
“This is a sure interesting country,” remarked Juarez.
“I wish that we had time to look around a bit,” replied Jim, “but I am afraid that those pesky mules are gaining on us right here.”
“We are almost out of this nest of rocks,” encouraged Juarez.
This was true, but now they had ahead of them a long slope with many fallen trees, but the boys could not stop for such trifles. Away they went, leaping the trunks of trees, twisting this way and that, but never slackening speed. If it was not for their anxiety, it would have been fun for the two of them, as there was enough danger and variety to make it interesting. Jim’s big gray, which he had captured in Mexico and had named Caliente, jumped with great power and with remarkable lightness, considering his size, but Juarez’s roan was as quick as a cat and just as light on its feet.
“See that notch in the ridge,” cried Jim, “about half a mile ahead?”
“Yes,” replied Juarez.
“There’s where we will cross and try to get ahead of those bucks.”
“We will make them hustle back,” cried Juarez, grinding his teeth.
“Sure,” agreed Jim with a grin.
In a short time they had reached the notch and found it to be something more than that, as it was quite a deep cut in the back of the ridge, and continued into a narrow ravine, which was quite heavily wooded, and down which ran a pretty little stream of the clearest crystal.
“We ought to see those mules soon now,” said Juarez.
“There’s the trail,” said Jim, “just a bit of it high up.”
“I see it,” replied Juarez.
“We will cut it soon now,” remarked Jim, “then we will head those Missouri runaways.”
But before they did that, a lively dash was before them, for suddenly they came in full view of the upper trail for a mile or more.
“There are those rascals,” cried Juarez, pointing with an excited hand.
“I see them,” said Jim.
“Brethren,” remarked the mule in the lead, to his long-eared comrades, “here come our masters to head us off. Let us run.” He wig-wagged this piece of news with his long ears and a waggle of his short tail. They understood perfectly and acted in unison. They did not trot, but started at a swift, sharp lope down the trail. It was fortunate for the packs that the boys were old mountaineers and knew how to make them secure else they would have been jostled into the ravine below.
The boys cut loose at full gallop down the ravine, utterly reckless of what might be ahead of them. They tore through the brush, crushing down every obstacle in their way, determined to head those mules or die in the attempt. They were mad through and through, and, for one, I can sympathize with them. They won the race by about twenty feet. Caliente with one last leap was in the trail.
The mules saw that they were intercepted and came to a halt, and looked at Jim and Juarez with quiet unconcern, mingled with a slight surprise at being so rudely interrupted in their little jaunt.
“You blasted, long-eared, rat-tailed beggars, get back where you belong,” yelled Jim; “you hustle.”
“Give me a rock, I’ll help ’em,” cried Juarez.
He reached from the saddle and picked up a number of fragments of broken granite, and Jim did the same. Then they began to pepper those mules with carefully aimed stones, sometimes striking their haunches and sometimes their ears, keeping them at a steady jog trot up the grade.
“Take that, Missouri!” Jim would cry, flipping a stone at the leader.
“Here’s one for you, Pike County!” laughed Juarez, aiming at the second target.
So they kept it up, thus getting even for all the trouble the runaways had made them, which was considerable. After a while they reached the top of the ridge, expecting to find Jo, Tom and Jeems waiting for them. But there was no sign of them anywhere.
“What do you suppose has become of them?” inquired Juarez.
“Maybe that mysterious stranger has stolen them,” suggested Jim.
“Let’s see if we cannot find their tracks,” said Juarez. This was done without difficulty.
“Here’s a track that looks like a gorilla’s,” remarked Jim, inspecting the dust of the trail.
“Must be Jeems’,” grinned Juarez.
“These other tootsie tracks are Tommy’s and Jo’s, I reckon,” said Jim.
“But why did they walk instead of ride?” inquired Juarez.
“They didn’t intend to go far and thought it just as easy to walk,” explained Jim.
Just then there came a faint halloo that caused the boys to look up.
“There’s Jeems, the beanstalk,” cried Jim.
“Where?” asked Juarez.
“See that shadow standing on that rock way over yonder?” inquired Jim.
“Yes.”
“That’s him.”
“What do you suppose that they are doing over there?” asked Juarez.
“We won’t be long in finding out,” replied Jim.
“There’s Jeems’ castle,” said Juarez, after they had ridden a few hundred yards, pointing to a speck high up on the mountain side.
Juarez was right, for Jeems and the other boys soon met them with the news that they had located the cabin where they hoped to find the plan that would give them a clue to the location of the Lost Mine.
“Have a hard chase after the mules, Jim?” inquiredJo as they climbed up a steep slope towards the cabin.
“You ought to have been along,” remarked Jim significantly.
“I hope Juarez don’t let ’em get away this time,” said Tom.
“If you must worry, why don’t you take something probable,” remarked Jim severely. “Like Jeems running off to become a circus rider.”
“You would have thought that he was a circus rider sure enough,” laughed Jo, “if you could have seen him riding down that slope this morning, with his feet stuck straight out in front of him, and yelling whoa to ‘Mosquito.’”
“I thought,” said Jeems sadly, “that if I held my feet that way that they would offer enough resistance to the air to stop or slow up Mosquito,—but they didn’t.”
“What’s the use of being a philosopher and a thinker, Jeems,” inquired Jim, after the roar of laughter had spent itself at his ludicrous remark, “if you can’t invent some way to stop a mite of a pony like Mosquito?”
“There isn’t any use trying to be a philosopher,” said Jeems frankly, “when you are traveling with such a hair-brained gang as you fellows. A philosopher has to have time to think, and things keep happening so fast in your company, that you don’t get time to breathe. If it isn’t the mules running away it is Mosquito, and so it goes.”
“Cheer up, Jeems,” said Jo. “Just wait until we begin to cruise around the world on our yacht, then you will get lots of time to philosophize.”
“Don’t believe it,” replied Jeems skeptically. “If it isn’t pirates it will be sharks, and if it isn’t them it will be octopuses.”
“In your case it is more likely to be themal demer,” put in Jim with his easy command of French. I believe he had one other phrase that on occasion he could use.
“I suppose that they sayde merbecause they feel like demurring,” said Jo glibly.
“Sacre bleu, Jo!” cried Jim, using his other phrase. “Don’t be so smart.”
“Can’t help it,” replied Jo.
“There will be a sudden and mysterious disappearance if you don’t,” said Jim darkly. By this time they had climbed into clear view of Jeems’ cabin.
“Somebody has thrown a rock at your castle and caved the roof in, Jeems,” declared Tom.
“Lucky I wasn’t home,” replied Jeems philosophically.
“It does look like an ancient ruin,” said Jim, as they finally reached the little shelf on which the cabin was built.
The passing years had evidently done their worst, a large boulder had come down from the mountain above and crashed the roof in. The rudely built chimney had been partially destroyed, and rats and squirrels were making themselves at home. Jeems stood looking sadly at his former cabin, for Jeems had a strain of sentiment in himand he had spent three interesting and quite happy years at this spot.
“It’s kind of like Rip Van Winkle returning home after his long absence, isn’t it?” inquired Jo.
“Only I don’t see my faithful dog,” replied the shepherd, waking from his reverie.
“You must have built here for the view, Jeems,” remarked Jim.
“I used to sit out here on the shelf many a summer evening,” said Jeems, “and look off towards the east till it got dark. I suspect that’s what helped to make me kind of dreamy; those years.”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” said Jim.
It was a wonderful view, and it held the boys for a minute, accustomed though they were to unusual scenes. There was a vastness and freedom about it that would be hard to equal. Range after range extended to the eastward, pine-clad, with deep valleys intervening; to the south some great rocky summits, blue, impalpable, mysterious, upon the verge of the horizon. Far below over a granite chasm wheeled an eagle on darkening wings. The wonderfully clear air was full of the murmur of the pines; the tone that sings of the days of primeval mystery. Far down below the boys could see Juarez with the horses and mules.
“Hello, Juarez,” cried Jim. Then in a few seconds came the answering call, clear and distinct.
“It’s wonderful how far you can hear, in this country,” said Jo.
“What are you fellows stopping so long to admire, scenery?” inquired Tom. “You would think that you never saw any before. Why don’t you investigate the ruins and see if you can’t find that plan of the ‘Lost Mine.’”
“Don’t get excited, Tommy,” urged Jim. “Maybe you won’t be elected President of ‘The Lost Mine Co.’ anyway.”
“I’d rather be Treasurer anyhow,” replied the practical Tom.
“You’ll be the janitor of the company,” said Jim severely, “because you have had so much experience shoveling coal on theSea Eagle.”
Tom’s face flushed, and there was an early promise of a mixing up, when Jeems intervened.
“Come, boys, never mind about fixing up your company, I’ll show you where I hid that plan about twenty years ago.”
“It won’t be any good now, after all that interval,” declared the pessimistic Tom.
In spite of Tom’s prophecy the boys went heartily to work to clear away the débris so they could getat the particular stone behind which Jeems had hidden the document.
“What shape was it?” inquired Jim.
“Something like this,” replied Jeems, kicking a stone near his foot.
“Maybe that’s it,” said Tom.
“No, it isn’t. That stone was some narrower than this.” After a half hour’s industrious work they finally uncovered it, and very carefully lifted it out of its place. They leaned eagerly forward while Jim swept his hand around trying to locate it.
“Hold a light so,” he ordered.
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Jo. Then under the quick flare of a match, Jim eagerly gripped a piece of yellowed cardboard.
“This is her picture, boys!” he cried, with much sentiment.
“Let’s see the other side,” said Tom.
“It’s going to be difficult to make this out,” remarked Jim, after close scrutiny. He sat down upon a rock and began studying it, with the other boys looking over his shoulder.
“That crooked line must mean a creek,” said Jo.
“I think it represents the top of a ridge,” remarked Tom.
“This other work of art below the ridge-creek appears to me to be a pine tree with a cross on one side of it.”
“You are right, Skipper,” said Jeems. “I got as far as that tree, but that was my limit. I could not make any headway beyond that.”
“It looks to me as if that design further down were a pathway with a mill of some kind on one side and a cabin a little further down.”
“Good head, Tommy,” said Jim patronizingly. “But what are those stars near the end of the line?”
“They represent a snow storm, I guess,” said Jo.
“Oh, they do!” said Jim. “I suppose that is a hint it will be winter before we find anything. But what do these numbers below the stars mean? 400 — + 1500 — 30. Is that yards, feet, dollars, or doughnuts?”
“Isn’t that a cross marked before the 1500?” asked Tom the lynx-eyed.
“I guess you are right,” said Jim, “but I don’t see as it helps any.”
“We might as well adjourn,” remarked Jo, “we have got our plan, and we can spend some time studying it out. We have had plenty of exercisefor one day and we can take our time to make a good camp.”
“All right,” agreed Jim. “To-morrow it’s all hands to try to locate the Lost Mine.”
It was clear sailing now for a ways, at least so it seemed, but things are rarely what they seem, and there was a certain party of men not many miles distant whose business in that part of the country was to locate the Frontier Boys, but of this they only had a dim suspicion from the sight of the man of whom Juarez had caught a fleeting glimpse.
It did not take the boys long to cover the ground between the cabin and the place where they had left Juarez with the horses and mules. It was a little over half a mile from the shelf where the cabin stood to the group of pines where Juarez was. The upper half of the slope was covered with tall tufted grass and scattered rocks. The lower part was a long slide of sand.
“I’ll beat you tenderfeet down,” vaunted Jim.
“Let’s get an even start and I’ll show you,” said Jo, who was in truth a fleet runner. “Jeems will give us the send-off, as he is the only one who has his revolver with him.”
So they lined up on the level place in front of the cabin, while Juarez, who felt that there wassomething in the wind, came out into the open and watched the proceedings with interest. He saw that a race was about to take place and he stood prepared to catch the winner.
“Are you ready?” inquired Jeems in a shrill voice, and the three admitted that they were; then he extended his pistol over his head and fired. There was a sharp report, and away the boys leaped as though they, too, had been shot out of a gun. Down the steep slope they went over the tufted grass and rocks like bounding jack-rabbits. Jim was ten feet in the lead, then Jo, and Tom five feet behind him.
My, but it was fun! I would give a good deal to be in that race. How the boys did jump! Jim with his long legs and stride seemed to have the advantage at first, but when they struck the long sand slide Jo began to pull up on his brother. Even the scout who was watching the race from a distant tree became so interested that he lost his caution for a moment and came into view.
“I bet the little varmint beats the lanky guy,” he said to himself.
It seemed so, for half way down the slide the “little varmint” had crawled up even with Jim. They were going so fast that you could not seethem for the haze, and the gravel and sand flew from before their feet like spray and they leaped fifteen to twenty feet at a stride. I tell you it was exciting work. Jo drew ahead and beat Jim about three feet, it was that close, and Tom “came tumbling after.”
“I get the prize,” cried Jo, as soon as he could get his breath.
“It’s a silver water pitcher,” said Juarez, giving him a big tin cup.
“Look out, here comes Jeems on the warpath,” cried Jim.
They looked up and sure enough there he came full tilt, his long hair streaming in the breeze and his lanky legs reaching out like they were endowed with the wonderful seven-league boots. Here was fun.
“He’s drunk!” cried Juarez.
“He is running away!” yelled Jim.
“Whoa, Mosquito, whoa!” screamed Jo and Tom in unison.