A chorus of exclamations rang out.
"Mr. Lovell! Can't be possible—you don't mean it?" screeched Tommy.
"Yes, I do—sure as you're sixty-three inches high."
"I'm over sixty-four!" cried Tom, hotly. "How in the world could Mr.—it's a joke; and a mighty poor one, Dick Travers."
"Joke nothing!" thundered Dick, excitedly. "See him—see him—there he is, waving a handkerchief; shouting, too—saw his mouth open. He's right by that little boat—life-boat, I mean. Get away—"
Jack had the glass again.
A moment's breathless silence; every eye was upon him. They saw his eyebrows arch in surprise, his lips move.
"Well?" cried Tim, hoarsely.
The glass slipped into Bob's outstretched hand, while:
"It's Uncle Stanley, sure as shootin'," fell from Jack Conroy's lips.
Steadying himself, Bob leveled the instrument. The "Evergreen State" flashed into view with delightful clearness; she seemed to be but a stone's throw away.
Eagerly Bob scanned the passengers crowding to the rail. Yes! That man with the handkerchief was certainly Mr. Lovell. He saw him raise a megaphone to his lips; over the air came a string of words, but the steady splashing of water and the briskly rushing wind made them but a confused medley of sound.
They strained their ears, and again came the voice.
Too bad! Not a word could be understood.
Bob saw the megaphone lowered, then waved in the air. The people, cabins, rails, life-boats, ropes and tackle—every little object looked so exasperatingly near—and yet they could not hope to learn what Mr. Lovell had said. The "Evergreen State" was already forging ahead.
"What does it mean?" gasped Dick, with a wild fear that something was destined to prevent them from continuing their trip.
"Mean?" howled Tim, savagely. "Why, you can just bet your boots that Uncle Stanley has heard something—all Jacky's doin's—he never expected to go on that boat; I know he didn't—"
"And he'll try to meet us," interposed Sam, "and—and—"
They stared gloomily at each other, quite forgetting the presence of the steersman and the curious glances he turned toward them.
"Bring out that plank!" cried Dick. "I hate to use the 'Osprey' for such a purpose, but let the ancient custom be revived."
"Is it fur the tall un to walk?" The man grinned. "What has he went an' done, lad?"
Dick turned sharply around.
"Why, he—he—"
"Jabberwock! Jabberwock!" roared Jack. "An' he has the cheek to blame it all on me!"
Silence for a moment; then:
"There's something in the wind," came from Dick.
"We all are," drawled Dave; "I'm going for shelter."
As they gloomily struggled along the deck, the "Osprey" was rolling heavily; spray flew over the gunwale and splashed their faces; tiny pools trickled along the deck. The wind was steadily rising into a gale; dark, ominous clouds in the distance scudded along, flinging ragged edges off into areas of rain.
Bending over to escape the blasts, the crowd made their way to a more comfortable spot between the piles of lumber.
What was the meaning of Mr. Lovell's presence on the "Evergreen State"?
No one knew; but all had certain ideas. The discussion grew animated. Jack defended himself with spirit; he also tried the effect of vigorous thrusts with his fists—his usual way of ending an argument—and presently all but Bob and Dave had moved well out of reach.
"The 'Evergreen State' stops at Rawdon," remarked Bob, reflectively; "that's about five miles the other side of Wild Oak landing, where we get off. So, if Mr. Lovell is really after us, he intends to come back from the steamboat wharf."
"Most likely," admitted Dave; "but it's no use to bother now."
"Bet he's found out that we're goin' to a whole lot o' trouble for nothin'," suggested Jack. "Better know it now'n later on."
"Old pullback! Scared?" jeered Tim, from a distance of ten feet.
"Well, don't let this great boat-ride be spoiled," said Dave, sniffing the air with keen relish. "Hello! Seems to me that Sam and Tom are looking rather pale."
The two lads, wearing strange, woebegone expressions, stood silent. Quite suddenly they had begun to lose all interest in the gold mine, in Mr. Lovell, and everything else. They only wanted to quietly slink away and be alone.
"Poor chap!" murmured Bob.
Several heavy showers finally chased the boys to cover; but each time it cleared away all were up on deck again, gathered in the most sheltered spot they could find.
The mountains had dropped low on the horizon, a somber mass of jagged peaks through the heavy gray atmosphere. The "Osprey" continued to stagger and roll amidst a flood of surging waves and creamy foam, her timbers seeming to jar and creak as she plunged her bow deep into the water.
Toward mid-afternoon, Wild Oak finally came into view as a mass of tiny white dashes against darker surroundings. The field-glass revealed a collection of buildings, behind which rose a series of rugged hills and frowning cliffs.
"Boys!" said Captain Mason, coming upon them suddenly, "I can't land you in this gale o' wind; no, sir! Wouldn't dare to risk it—I've been obliged to take in my topsails." He cast a glance of commiseration toward the two with the woebegone expressions.
"What—what in the dickens shall we do?" wailed Tommy.
"Keep aboard as far as Rawdon, or further."
"Goodness gracious!" groaned Sam. "Isn't it awful?"
"It might be a great deal more awful if you tried to land," said the captain, dryly. "However, don't lose heart, boys." He shot a glance at the sky. "This blow will probably soon simmer down."
But they didn't believe him; and, as Wild Oak became stronger and stronger in the landscape, stared gloomily toward it. Perhaps never before had a town appeared quite so attractive to them.
"Only to think," murmured Bob.
"Don't think," said Jack.
They gazed at the buildings and long wharf for some moments in silence. A sawmill and lumber-yard stood near the water's edge, beyond rose a structure with a tower, while straggling up over the hill were a number of frame houses, some partly hidden by clumps of trees.
"This field-glass makes me tired," grumbled Jack. "Hold me back, fellows, or I may forget an' try to jump it. That wharf seems just a few feet away. An' what do you think? A goat just winked at me; honest he did. Why, Jehoshaphat, I can almost touch the sawmill with my hand."
"I always wanted to see Portland, anyway," observed Dick.
A howl followed his words.
"If necessary," said Jack, "I shall take charge o' this vessel myself, an' sail it around in circles till the weather changes."
But an hour later, in spite of gloomy predictions, it did seem as though the wind was lessening; hope quickly revived. Rawdon, a town of considerable size, was already in view.
"I'll lay to until you can make it."
The captain had hailed them.
"Isn't he a daisy!" cried Tim, delighted enough to dance a jig, if space had allowed. "Cheer up, Sam and Tommy; you'll be all right soon."
"Get out," mumbled Sam, ungratefully.
Fifteen minutes later came the sound of Captain Mason's commands. Eagerly the boys watched his crew, as they executed order after order with speed and precision. The mainsail, flapping furiously, was lowered; the jib hauled down; then, as the anchor shot out of sight with a splash, the "Osprey" was rolling under bare poles, with the town of Rawdon directly before them.
But it was an hour later when the good-natured and careful skipper decided at last that it would be safe for them to make a start.
"I can't afford to take any chances with future statesmen, lawyers, or doctors," he chuckled, as he finally turned to his men and gave orders to get the boat ready.
It was quickly lowered, and piled up with luggage. The two indisposed boys tumbled in—another moment, and they were off.
On the next trip, Jack, Tim and Dick were taken ashore, and, at length, came the turn of Bob and Dave. With hearty thanks to Captain Don Mason, they took their places in the rocking boat, to land, after a rough passage, at a long, rickety-looking wharf.
"Hooray!" cried Tim, regardless of the stares bestowed upon them by several natives. "Hooray! Now the fun begins! First of all, let's hunt up Uncle Stanley."
Captain Jere Slater had never been more astonished in his life; there was something in Pete Colliver's manner which had almost assured him that the stocky boy spoke the truth. Standing with his hands behind his back, the captain glared after the departing boat, and uttered a peculiar grunt, as the crowd at length waved a salute from the "Osprey's" deck.
Then, nodding to Mr. Lovell, he unceremoniously inserted his hand under Pete Colliver's arm, and, with a gruff "Come along, young feller," fairly dragged him away.
A huge grin overspread Pete's face, while he winked expressively at Jimmy, who stood aghast at such familiarity on the captain's part.
"Now, Pete,"—Slater's tone spoke of a determination not to be trifled with—"I want ye to talk, an' talk purty fast; or you an' me will have the wust fallin' out we's ever had yit."
"If ye'll stop pinchin' me arm black an' blue, I'll tell yer everythin' I know."
Pete chuckled gleefully, tapped his slouch hat, and executed a clumsy jig which made Cap Slater's temper rise to the boiling point.
"Out with it, ye little lubber; quick now!" With an effort, he kept his voice down.
"Oh, ye can't skeer me none," jeered Pete. "Ye'd best cool off. I ain't never looked inter a face what was redder."
This remark did not in the least appease Cap Slater's impatience. But before the fierce scowl which tied his forehead into little knots had subsided, Pete was speaking.
"I hearn it from the big un a-talkin'," he said. "Fust, I says ter meself, 'It ain't nuthin' but gab.' Then, of a suddent, I hears 'im ag'in. Oh, I'm a purty smart feller, I am." He poked Slater playfully in the ribs. "Says I: 'Mebbe 'tain't all guff, neither'—see? So I inwestigates; an' it weren't hard, with a voice like hisn—the big un, I mean. It's a gold mine they's after."
"IT'S A GOLD MINE THEY'RE AFTER"
"IT'S A GOLD MINE THEY'RE AFTER"
"IT'S A GOLD MINE THEY'RE AFTER"
"If this ain't 'bout the queerest thing I ever hear tell of, throw me in the crick!" said Captain Slater, hoarsely. "A parcel o' lads like them a-totin' theirselves off, to git chawed up by warmints—if they don't run up ag'in somethin' wuss! How d'ye know some o' my men knows about this?"
"'Cause I told 'em," answered Pete, calmly.
Jimmy, his eyes fixed upon the lumberman's face, stepped back a pace or two and prepared to run.
But Captain Slater was controlling his temper splendidly.
"An' what fur, ye little sardine?"
"Was there anythin' ter prewent me, old feller?" Pete squared his shoulders aggressively. "Would they let me in on it? No, sir! Would any o' 'em give me a wrastle? No, sir!"
"Wal, yer even a little wusser'n I thought." Captain Slater's words were jerked out with angry emphasis. "Ye kin git now; an' git fast; an' don't never let me see yer ag'in!"
Pete's mouth flew open with astonishment; he saw the lumberman turn and begin striding hurriedly after Mr. Lovell, who was already well on his way up the cliff.
"If that ain't gratitood fur ye!" Pete clenched his fists and made a series of wild motions. Jimmy felt like taking it on the run again. "Kin ye beat it? What's a-git-tin' inter the old codger's head, anyway? Kin git, kin I? So I kin; an' it's after 'im!"
"Ye ain't goin' to hurt him none, are ye?" asked Jimmy, anxiously.
But Pete, striking the back of his hat a violent blow, and muttering angrily to himself, made no reply.
On the top of the cliff, near Mr. Lovell's cabin, Captain Slater, panting from his exertions, hoarse and perspiring, stopped a moment to get his breath. He again mopped his face with the huge red handkerchief, then, with a grunt, strode toward the partly open door, almost colliding with Mr. Lovell, who was about to step outside.
"Captain Slater!" said the lumberman, in surprise.
"It's me, fast enough. I most tumbled over myself a-gittin' here. Lovell—"
"Yes, captain!"
"I wants a word with ye; an' if ye've got a chair as won't break down, I'll plump myself where I kin rest a bit."
"Come in, come in!" responded Mr. Lovell, with a smile; "I'm mighty glad to have you pay me a visit. As neighbors, we don't see each other often enough."
"I didn't come here to spill no fine-soundin' words," growled the captain, ungraciously. "What I'se got ter say is a-comin' straight from the shoulder." He dropped heavily on a chair in the office, and puffed a moment, finally exclaiming:
"Lovell, is them boys goin' after a gold mine?"
The two men looked each other squarely in the eye.
"They are," answered Mr. Lovell, calmly; "I suspected from Colliver's actions that he knew something about it, and now I know."
"Ye sartingly do! Lovell"—Cap Slater leaned over; his brawny fist banged down on a near-by desk—"Lovell, them two young lubbers ain't the only ones what knows it, either." He paused impressively. "Pete has went an' told some o' my men."
"I'm sorry to hear that, captain!"
"Ye know what the talk o' findin' gold will do, hey? It kin bust up a lumber camp, or anything else, quicker'n ye kin fire a lazy logger. An', wusser'n that, in this case, it kin put them lads in danger. They'll be follered."
Uncle Stanley, sorely disturbed, paced the room.
"You think so, Captain Slater?" he queried, anxiously.
"I sartingly do!"
"I only wish I had known this an hour ago. They never should have been allowed to go—never!"
A shadow fell across the doorway; Pete Colliver, his face wearing an impudent grin, was staring in.
"There's the little sardine what done it, now!" said Cap Slater, wrathfully. "If I was you, Lovell, I wouldn't stan' him an' his impudence around this camp three minutes longer; I'd chuck 'im out so hard he'd never stop rollin'."
"It ain't ye what could do it, old feller," snarled Pete, with a leer, "an' I gives ye a bit o' adwice—don't start nothin'!"
Highly enraged, Captain Slater sprang to his feet, but Mr. Lovell's restraining hand stopped him.
"One moment, captain!" he said, firmly. "Pete!" he turned toward the stocky lad. "I am amazed at your conduct. Do you know that your reckless talk may put boys who have always treated you well to annoyance, and, perhaps, danger? What have you to say for yourself?"
"I has plenty to say; an' I ain't skeered to say it, nuther," answered Pete, defiantly folding his arms and stepping inside. "Nobody has anythin' on me. That there crowd thought I wasn't good nuff fur 'em. An' if I couldn't t'row any one o' the lot in five seconds, my name ain't Pete. None o' 'em didn't want me along, hey? An' jist 'cause I work in the woods an' don't wear no swell suits with fancy fixin's! Ye needn't wobble yer head, old codger; it weren't fur nothin' else. An' I says," Pete's face grew redder with excitement and anger, "'I don't keer if I does spile their little game.' They ain't got nuthin' on me."
"Ye rewengeful young toad!" bellowed Captain Slater.
Mr. Lovell again interposed.
"Leave the room, Pete," he said, sternly, "and you needn't return to the woods at present—not until—"
"Fired, eh—fired!" howled Pete, misunderstanding. "Wal, did ye ever hear anythin' to beat that? An' all 'cause Old Slater ain't got the sense o' a grasshopper. Fired, hey? Wal, I'm glad o' it! Mebbe I wasn't sick of this place, anyway. Jimmy, I say, Jimmy—I'm t'row'd out! Wal, Pete ain't askin' ter stay, is he? If this isn't the meanest—"
"Colliver, leave the room instantly!" thundered Mr. Lovell.
Shaking with anger, Pete flourished his fist toward Captain Slater, turned on his heel and stamped outside, where Jimmy, who had been eagerly peering in at the window, joined him.
"Is it true, Pete?" he asked, breathlessly. "Fired?"
"Yes! An' old Cap Slater done it! Here, you Jimmy, come along with me." And in the same fashion that the captain had served him a short time before he dragged Jimmy to the edge of the clearing, where he tripped him up on the dry grass.
Pete's eyes were now shining with a peculiar light. He glanced around to see that no one was near, then, flopping himself beside Jimmy, he exclaimed in a hoarse voice:
"Say! What's to prewent me an' you from a-follerin' that fine crowd, hey?"
"Oh!" cried Jimmy, somewhat bewildered.
"I say, what's ter prewent our lookin' fur the gold mine ourselves? Ain't I been t'row'd right down afore the capting? Ain't that the limit? Think I'll stan' fur anythin' like that, Jimmy?"
Jimmy thought not.
"Wal, ye ain't wrong there. Mebbe we kin find out where it is. They ain't got no more right to it'n we have. 'Sides, can't we have the bulliest time a-huntin'? Are you with me in this?"
Jimmy was now sitting bolt upright.
"In with ye, Pete?" he gasped; "I reckon I be! Whoop! Won't we—"
"Close down!" Pete's hand fell sharply on Jimmy's shoulder. "Don't be like the big un. What are ye a-starin' at?"
"I ain't starin' at nothin'. I was a-wonderin' how in the dickens we could git to that 'ere gold mine fust."
A fierce scowl passed across Pete's face; his fists were clenched; he rose to his feet, and, after an instant, picked up a switch with which, to Jimmy's relief, he began to lash the tops of the grass.
"I knows a heap sight more'n anybody thinks I does," he growled. "One day, I—I—is any one a-comin'? No! Wal, one day, I seen 'em all lookin' at a drawin' clos't to the winder—heard the big un say as how Bob Somers done it."
Jimmy grunted rather dubiously.
"So up I crep'," went on Pete. "Jist fur fun, ye understan'—there ain't nothin' mean 'bout me. An'—say—if we could git a-holt o' that thing, eh?" He wagged his head knowingly.
"Ye—ye wouldn't swipe it?" cried Jimmy, aghast.
"Of course not; but—but, if Somers was ketched alone some day! See the p'int, Jimmy? He might git kind o' scared, eh?"
Pete felt his muscular arms.
"Wouldn't s'prise me," admitted Jimmy.
"An' he'd fork it out fur a spell. If I'd know'd I was a-goin', it wouldn't have been me who would have gived the thing away to Slater's men." He kicked the turf spitefully.
"An' them fellers ain't got sense nuff to git over the mountains fast, like you an' me," remarked Jimmy, presently. "Think we kin ketch up with 'em, Pete?"
"Bet yer life! Let's hit the trail fur Wild Oak to onct. Why, even if we only jist gits there as soon as them, Jimmy, they can't stake off the hull earth; a little piece'll be left fur me an' you. A gold mine is worth bil-bil-billions."
"Billions!" said Jimmy, staggered. "Why—why, that's an awful lot, ain't it?"
"Ye kin bet it is. We'll git our guns now; an' beat it afore old Cap Slater comes out; 'cause, if he gives me any more o' his gab, I'd be fur a-huntin' wengeance, sure. Fired, eh!—fired! Pete Colliver'll show 'em; by gum, he will! I can't hardly wait, Jimmy; come on!" And, shaking his fist toward Mr. Lovell's cabin, the stocky boy walked away, closely followed by his chum.
It didn't take them very long to gather together what belongings they could readily carry. The two had practically lived all their lives in the deep forest, and, as long as they had a few rounds of ammunition, felt perfectly safe.
When the two, a few minutes later, hurriedly left the men's cabin, fired with new and strange feelings, neither heard the call which Mr. Lovell sent through the air nor saw the lumberman trying to attract their attention.
"If them two loses theirselves off the face o' the earth, it 'ud be a mighty good thing fur the old planet, I'm a-thinkin'," growled Cap Slater. "Let 'em toddle. I'm a-goin', Lovell." And, without further ceremony, the former steamboat captain turned and began to walk toward a logging road which connected the two camps.
Old Cap Slater felt in no mood to enjoy the sights and sounds of the forest. His feet ploughed through the dry leaves and sent them flying. He had no eye for the swiftly changing effects of sunlight and shadow, which one moment made the woods extend off into fairylike traceries of brown and gold, and the next transformed their depths into gray, somber masses. His brow was still contracted, and sometimes he grunted in an angry fashion.
In a little more than half an hour the captain came in sight of a collection of log buildings, and heard the sound of his own sawmills mingling their hum with the soughing of the tree tops. Leaving the road, he made for the heart of the forest, soon reaching a snorting donkey engine, the cable of which, winding slowly around a drum, dragged a prostrate tree along a skid road.
"Daubert!" he yelled, hoarsely; "Daubert!" And, as no answer was returned, he drew from his pocket a whistle, and sent a piercing sound over the air.
Ted Daubert, foreman, soon located the lumberman, and came hurrying toward him, with a worried look on his bronzed, weather-beaten face.
"Daubert,"—Slater folded his arms—"how many o' the men has quit work this mornin'?"
"Eh?" The foreman seemed to start. "How did ye know, Cap'n? Why, ye left camp afore—"
"I'm askin' questions, not answerin' 'em; quick now!"
"Five!"
"An', by gum, I s'picion I knows who some o' 'em is, too—big Jim Reynolds, eh? Wal, he ain't so bad! Who else?"
"Tom Smull, Alf Griffin, Bart Reeder, an' Dan Woodle."
"As sartain as ye ain't a speckled trout, Daubert, I know'd Smull an' Griffin had toted theirselves off; they's the wust o' the lot. Git my horse ready; an' tell that lazy cook o' ourn to stuff every scrap o' grub he kin find inter the saddle-bags—d'ye hear? What's yer mouth open fur, hey?"
"Kin I ask where yer a-goin', Cap'n?"
"Ye kin ask, but you'll git no answer. Do what I tell yer. An', Daubert"—the captain raised a stubby forefinger and shook it warningly under the foreman's nose—"if everything ain't all right when I gits back ter camp there'll be an explosion that'll fire the hull shootin' match clean inter the next state—understan'? That's somethin' fur ye all to bear in mind."
Daubert knew from experience that further questions were useless. He walked, grimly silent, by the captain's side, as they made their way to the log buildings. The lumberman's instructions were immediately followed.
At length Captain Slater, mounted on a speckled horse and resting an old-fashioned gun across the saddle, uttered a gruff command and flapped his reins.
There was no backward glance from the cold gray eyes as he rode away, a stern, commanding figure, erect as a general on the field. His form scarcely seemed to sway, though the animal crashed through tall grass and bushes, on a steady gallop toward the road.
The captain's grizzled, weather-beaten face wore a look which plainly showed that, like a knight errant of old, he was ready and eager for battle; no danger—nothing—could daunt him.
A moment more, and the intervening trees shut from view the speckled horse and his determined rider.
Wanatoma, aged warrior and friend of the boys, sat before his log cabin in the midst of the forest wilderness. He had retreated to this lonely spot when increasing years robbed him of his power as chieftain. Wanatoma could not bear to see himself supplanted by a younger man. The braves no longer circled before him in wild, fantastic dances; his voice in the council of the tribe carried with it but little weight; so, proudly, he had withdrawn to the solitude, where nature, kinder than man, makes no distinction between youth and age.
The Indian's black hair was streaked with gray; his once powerful shoulders were slightly bent; his eyes were dimmed, but the fiery spirit of the warrior still smouldered within him; he quailed before neither man nor beast.
For a companion he had a Great Dane, a dog of enormous size and strength, generally tractable, but which his master, if he chose, could transform into a savage animal almost as formidable as a panther.
Wanatoma's log cabin was situated upon a level stretch on the side of a high hill. Close by towered a wall of barren rock crowned by a thick growth of timber.
It was early on the evening preceding the departure of the boys. The Indian, wrapped in a blanket, had taken a position near a good-sized fire, for the gusts of wind sweeping by were chill and frosty. The Great Dane, stretched at full length, lay a few feet away.
As Wanatoma saw the dog's head suddenly raised and his ears twitch forward, he stopped his almost ceaseless rocking to peer intently toward the west. In another moment, the Dane, with a low, ominous growl, rose to his feet and started off; but a soft word from Wanatoma brought him to a halt.
"Ugh!" grunted the Indian.
Presently he walked to the brow of the hill, keeping his eyes stolidly fixed on the line of woods below. Although the sky was still bright and clear, the landscape was fast deepening in the twilight. Trees, bushes and tangled thickets seemed rapidly merging together in somber masses; the rocks alone maintained their sharpness.
Wanatoma's eyes and ears did not serve him well, so, with a sigh, he leaned against a sapling and waited, while the Dane began to growl and show an array of dangerous-looking teeth. Only a few sharply-spoken words prevented him from dashing down the slope, and when, several minutes later, a sudden crackling of twigs sounded he answered with a deep bay that echoed weirdly from the surrounding hills.
"I wonder what for the white man come now?" murmured the Indian. "Mebbe boys; mebbe not—we see."
The crackling which had ceased began again; voices, too, came over the intervening space; evidently a party was forcing its way through the brush, and an occasional angry exclamation showed it to be not an altogether pleasant task. Then shadowy shapes came into view, gradually detaching themselves from the background, until five separate forms stood upon a rocky ledge a short distance below the Indian.
"Hello—hello, Wanna!" came a salutation, in a rough voice. "Is your dog loose?"
"He no hurt white man. Who?"
There was no answer to this, but the crackling began once more; the men, panting from their exertions, disappeared behind a mass of bushes, then reappeared, and soon four struggled up the remaining stretch to where Wanatoma, with folded arms, stood waiting.
The fifth held back; in the dim light, he had caught a glimpse of a huge dusky form from which now and then came an angry growl.
"How!" exclaimed Wanatoma. He solemnly shook the hands extended toward him. "Cap Slater's men! What for you come—not to see Indian?"
"Jist to hev a few words with ye," laughed one. He was a big powerful man with a deep voice. "Hey, Tom Smull," he yelled, "don't be skeered. Some o' me fren's, Wanna; Alf Griffin, Bart Reeder an' Dan Woodle. Come up here, Tom Smull! 'Member me, Injun—Jim Reynolds?"
"Hey thar, make 'im tie up that critter; he's big nuff to chaw a man's leg off," came from Tom Smull.
"Dog no hurt." Wanatoma looked at his visitors searchingly. "You have something to say to Indian? What?"
"I kin tell ye mighty quick," began Griffin, but a sharp thrust in the ribs stopped him.
"We jist wanted to ask ye a few questions, friendly like." Jim Reynolds grinned, shot a glance over his shoulder at the indistinct form of Tom Smull, and patted Wanatoma's shoulder. "Me an' you has allus been good friends, eh?" he asked.
The Indian nodded gravely and walked forward, speaking sharply to the Great Dane.
Tom Smull, seeing that nothing had happened to his friends, and not enjoying the rough sallies flung toward him, took courage, coming up as the others ranged themselves around the fire. He was a short man of powerful physique, with long, sandy hair and bushy eyebrows, and wore a thick, stubby beard. The ends of a red handkerchief tucked around his neck flapped in the breeze. Nature had been sparing of its favors to the lumberman. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why Tom Smull's disposition resembled that of a surly bear.
"Yes, Wanna, we jist wanted to ask a few friendly questions," repeated Jim Reynolds. "We've hearn tell that ye know somethin' 'bout a gold mine; an' that ye've told them boys what has been stayin' over to Lovell's camp whar it is."
"An' if that ain't a fine thing to do, when men as ye hev know'd fur years is a-slavin' in the woods; an' ye could jist as well hev—"
"Cut it out, Tom Smull!" roared Jim Reynolds. "Now, Wanna, bein' as you an' me hev been sich good fren's, we kinder thought as how ye might let us in on it. Ye kin count on big Jim Reynolds doin' the squar' thing by the boys—an' you, too, Injun. An' 'sides, it ain't a bit likely them youngsters kin find it. So we know'd we jist had to ask ye, an' out ye'd come with it, eh, Wanna?"
But little daylight now filtered between the trees; gloomy darkness was fast settling over the forest; a brisk fire threw a dancing glimmer upon Wanatoma's picturesquely garbed figure and bronzed face. For an instant his beady eyes flashed strongly, then the stolid expression returned. He looked calmly at Reynolds and his rough companions, all of whom were glaring eagerly toward him.
"How does white man know?" he asked.
"How?" echoed Griffin. "Don't make no difference, Injun; we know it, an' that's enough."
"We'll do the squar' thing by ye, Wanna," Reynolds again said, persuasively. "Whar is the mine?"
Wanatoma stood silent.
"Yes! Whar is it?" roared Tom Smull, paying no heed to Reynolds' warning glances. "We're bound to know, Injun. Ain't that right, boys?"
A loud chorus of gruff assents came from the lumbermen.
"Indian does not choose to tell," said Wanatoma, quietly.
Tom Smull and Alf Griffin's voices rose in angry protest.
"Ye'd better tell us peaceable-like," roared Tom, "or it'll be the wuss fur ye. We hain't walked our legs 'most off, besides fallin' over rocks, an' gittin' ketched in all sorts o' thickets, to hear no sich words as them."
"I should say we hain't!" cried Griffin; "an' it won't pay to go ag'in what we says, nuther, Injun."
"Go slow, boys," whispered Jim Reynolds; "yer spilin' the hull business."
"Git out! Smull an' me kin do the trick," growled Griffin. He cast an anxious look at the Great Dane, which sat on his haunches close beside his master. "Will ye answer, Wanna—yes or no?"
"Indian no tell."
"But see here, Injun—"
Reynolds, with an emphatic wave of his hand, cut short Griffin's angry voice, and said:
"Honest, Wanna, it ain't right to let a parcel o' boys have it all, when hard-workin' men, an' fren's o' yourn at that, need it so much wusser'n they."
"Ye couldn't expect none o' us to stan' fur it, nuther," said Bart Reeder, a tall, slender, freckle-faced man.
"We ain't a-wantin' to rob the boys, understan'," put in Dan Woodle. "Did ye ever hear anybody say a word ag'in big Jim Reynolds? He's a squar' man, all right; an' when he says the boys'll have their share he means it, eh, Jim?"
Jim nodded earnestly.
"Ye kin bet I do," he said. "It'll be share and share alike."
"Prowidin' me an' you agree to it," remarked Griffin, in a low tone, to his chum, Tom Smull.
There was an instant of silence. The lumbermen crowded eagerly around the aged warrior, whose stolid face, turned full toward them, shone brightly in the firelight. From the mysterious, somber depths of the forest came a low, mournful roar, as the ever-increasing breeze swayed the tree tops.
"Indian has spoken," said Wanatoma, slowly. "He is a friend of the white man. But boys save Indian's life, and Wanatoma can no forget. I give promise, and always does the Indian keep his promise. Is the white man like that, or does he change as the wind?"
His voice was stern; he stood out among the rough lumbermen a dignified figure, unyielding to either flattery or threats.
"Wal, kin ye beat that?" cried Tom Smull, violently. "We didn't come this far to hear all them fine words, eh, Griffin? Are you fellers a-goin' to stan' fur this?"
"No—no!" yelled Griffin.
"If ye don't tell us to onct, ye'll be the sorriest-lookin' Injun what ever hit this part o' the state!" Tom Smull shook his fist. "I asks ye ag'in, will ye tell us whar that gold mine is?"
"No!"
Wanatoma's stern voice vibrated with decision.
"Ye won't, hey?" snarled Tom Smull. "Ye'll be changin' yer mind purty quick, I'm a-thinkin', Injun!"
"An' that's whar ye're right, Tom!" yelled Griffin. "We'll see! If soft chatter don't bring him, somethin' else will!"
Forgetting caution, in his rage and disappointment, and hoping to frighten the Indian by strenuous methods, the lumberman sprang forward. Wanatoma, calm and unflinching, faced him.
A great dusky form suddenly rose high from the ground, while a deep-toned bay sent the astonished men falling back in a panic. Alf Griffin had a glimpse of a pair of savage eyes and an open mouth, but his wild howl of terror was stifled, as a crushing weight thudded against his chest.
He went flying over backward, rolled into a mass of brush, and, next instant, the Great Dane, snarling savagely, was standing over his prostrate form. Griffin, too terrified to move, felt a hot breath fan his cheek, and gave a smothered yell for help. He was convinced that his last moment had come.
The lumbermen stood motionless, none daring to approach the infuriated dog. Smull flashed a weapon.
But Wanatoma, with upraised hand, sprang forward. A few sharp commands, and the Dane backed slowly away, uttering another thrilling bay.
"He who has no respect for Indian's white hair must suffer," said Wanatoma, in a voice that trembled. "I want peace; but, listen, Big Jim, always is the Indian ready for battle, and has no fear."
He stood erect, facing the silent men, defiance in every line of his bronzed, aged face.
Still shaking with terror, Alf Griffin struggled to his feet, and, with his eyes fixed on the Great Dane, slunk quickly behind his companions.
There was something in the old warrior's manner which impressed the rough lumbermen with a feeling of awe. Jim Reynolds spoke up:
"Ye only got what ye desarved, Alf Griffin, an' I tell you right now that any man what tries to do Wanatoma harm has Big Jim Reynolds to reckon with. Me an' him is still fren's, even if he won't tell us 'bout the mine. But, Wanna," he paused an instant, "I'm a squar' man, an' gives ye fair warnin'; I s'picion we knows nigh 'bout whar that mine is located. Anyhow, it won't be hard to trail them boys; an' I reckon if a gold strike is ever staked out the ones that are goin' to do it are standin' right here. So-long, Wanna."
The Indian, with folded arms, nodded gravely, and watched the men file out into the darkness.
But a moment more, and the flaring light had detached them from the somber background for the last time; their forms suddenly melted into gloom, and only the sound of crackling twigs and stumbling feet told of the presence in the wilderness of other human beings beside the Indian.
Wanatoma, almost motionless as a statue, gazed at the gloom of the hillside, at the stars which were beginning to show faintly above; then, as the weird, shrill cry of some nocturnal bird jarred over the air, he sighed, and turned toward the fire.
The blanket was wrapped around his form again. With his hand on the Great Dane's head, he began to rock to and fro on his rude log seat, gazing into the depths of the fire, as though he could read in the glowing flames what the future held in store for the youthful searchers after the Rambler Club's Gold Mine.
"Well, how are you goin' to find Mr. Lovell among about five thousand people?" asked Jack Conroy. "Say somethin', Timmy."
"Let's hunt up the steamboat landing," suggested Tim. "Don't believe many people got off the boat, and everybody 'ud notice a stranger. If Uncle Stanley intended going to a hotel, maybe he asked directions, an' one of the natives still lazying on the string-piece heard him."
"How do you know one's lazying there?" asked Tom.
"There always is, son; it's a universal custom. Where's the steamboat landing, boy?"
An urchin, holding a fishing pole in one hand, and staring open-mouthed at the crowd, pointed along the wharves.
"'Tain't more'n ten minutes' walk," he answered. "Want me to help carry yer stuff? Sure ye do."
Hearing his words, four other boys dashed over, and the owner of the fishing pole was unceremoniously pushed aside.
Bob laughingly settled the loud wrangle which began.
"Each one of you chaps grab something," he commanded. "Come on, fellows."
Armed with their guns, the seven walked briskly to the street, a wide thoroughfare running along the water-front, with low buildings and an occasional sleepy-looking warehouse.
There were but few people about. A goat, defiantly tossing its head, blocked the way, so the boys laughingly walked around it.
Soon the street rose steeply, winding close to the edge of a hill, where they stopped a moment to look at the waves breaking against its base. A hundred yards further along, a picturesque wooden bridge spanned a small stream which came into view from behind a mass of tumble-down shacks.
Then they reached a level stretch bordered on both sides by tall trees. A long pier with a glaring white sign indicating its use was soon after sighted.
"By Jove, if he isn't actually there, Tim!" cried Jack, with a chuckle.
"Who—who—Uncle Stanley?" exclaimed Tim.
"No; the lazy chap I spoke about. And there's another one, besides."
"Then let's interview the two who typify the universal custom," laughed Dave.
In a few moments the seven, with Jack Conroy in the lead, walked out on the wharf, and approached a small, grizzly-faced man who sat near the far end, dangling his feet over the edge.
His eyes ran over them curiously, but he did not change his position.
"Afternoon!" remarked Jack, pleasantly. "How do you do, sir? Takin' it easy, eh?"
"Middlin'; can't say no more," answered the old man, with a drawl. "I ain't got nuthin' to do, an' hev plenty o' time to do it in."
"Better'n bein' rushed about it," grinned Jack. "Say, were you here when the boat came in?"
"I reckon!"
"Did you see a gentleman with a brown beard and wearing spectacles get off?"
The old man appeared to meditate.
"Did I see a gentleman with a brown beard, an' wearin' specs git off?" he repeated, slowly.
"How about it?" asked Tim, eagerly. "Did you?"
"No; I calc'late as how I didn't. Why?"
"Oh, ginger! We just wanted to know."
"That's what most people asks questions fur; an' allus they wants sumphin fur nothin'. Whar d'ye come from, hey?"
"From the place we last stopped," laughed Jack. He fished out a dime from his pocket. "Would you mind accepting this?"
"Never declined nothin' in me life; an' I ain't young nuff ter begin now," grumbled the old chap, extending his hand. "Thank'ee. Ask Luke Jarrett over thar. Everybody looks alike to me ten feet away."
Luke Jarrett admitted having watched a brown-bearded man wearing glasses until he disappeared down the road. "An' he was a-walkin' like all creation," he confided.
"In the direction o' Wild Oak?" asked Jack, eagerly.
"Ye hit it right. No, I didn't hear 'im ask no questions o' nobody; he jest lit out."
"Which means," said Bob, "that we'll have to light out, too. How far is it—about five miles, eh?"
Dave groaned, while Jack protested vigorously.
"Five miles! Great Scott! An' with all our stuff! Let's find a rig."
"Get out," sniffed Dick. "We can hire Luke and the biggest of these boys; how about it, Bob?"
Bob's eyes lighted up quizzically.
"If we can't stand five miles on a nice, smooth road, fellows—why—"
"It would look mighty bad for us ever reaching that Jabberwock," said Dave, very softly. He smiled. "Anyway, we've proved that universal customs are sometimes good things."
A bargain was quickly made with Luke and two of the boys; then, flinging a good-bye to the old chap on the string-piece, the crowd started off.
It was just the kind of weather for walking. The cool, brisk air sent the blood tingling through their veins. The road fell steadily behind, and within a quarter of an hour houses were passed only at intervals. Upon looking back from a height, they saw Rawdon spread out, a confused mass of grayish buildings climbing up and down gentle slopes, while beyond lay farmhouses and rugged hills. Range after range extended off, until the gloomy gray sky seemed to creep down and shut them from view.
The road soon left the Columbia River, keeping so far inland that it disappeared entirely.
"Wouldn't it be fine if we should meet Uncle Stanley on the way?" remarked Tim; "eh, Bob?"
"It might not be so fine for the Jabberwock," answered Bob, with a grim smile. "Unless," he added, a sudden thought having come to him, "your uncle's changed his mind, Tim, and intends going with us."
"Ginger; I wonder if that can be!" murmured Tim. "Say, Bobby—I wonder!"
One by one the chipped and dingy milestones were passed, and by late afternoon Wild Oak came into view. All heaved a great sigh of relief.
"I couldn't have stood it for another twenty-four hours," grinned Dick. "Who'd want to live in a hilly place like this, eh, Sam?"
The way led down the side of a steep slope, and rose again, looming up grimly in shadow, on the opposite side. Between great oak trees which lined the road glimpses of houses and whitewashed fences were seen; and, presently, Tom exclaimed:
"Hello, there's that building with a tower; what is it, Luke?"
"Wild Oak Hotel," answered Jarrett.
"Is there any other?"
"Nope!"
"Let's steer for it," advised Bob; "most likely Mr. Lovell went straight there."
"'Twon't do ye a bit o' good," said Luke; "it ain't open now; only ketches visitors as is daffy enough to come hyar durin' the summer."
"Oh!" cried Tim, disappointedly.
"The feller as owns it is Phil Irwin, a ranchman; has a cattle ranch over to Marlin Springs, seven mile from 'ere; owns lots o' hosses, too. They calls 'im 'Cattle King Irwin.'"
"Good!" cried Bob, in a tone which instantly caused the other boys to stare toward him.
"Good?" murmured Dick. "Why? I can't quite catch the point."
"Oh, it isn't a sticker," laughed Bob. "A ranchman, ranch-house and horses! Catch on?"
"The idea has lodged within," exclaimed Tim, tapping his forehead. "Bully for you, Bob. Only hope the cattle king'll spare us about nine good mustangs."
Another fifteen minutes took them down by the shore, along the main street of Wild Oak. Several roads branched off from this, all lined with small houses and stores.
The crowd, with their retinue of baggage-carriers, immediately created an enormous sensation. Children, a scattering of men, besides numerous feminine members of the population, viewed them with absorbing interest.
Jack Conroy, cool as usual and grinning broadly, began to ask questions right and left. Had any one seen a brown-bearded gentleman wearing spectacles?
Several had.
"He was walkin' up an' down this here street fur a spell," volunteered a tall lad.
"No; didn't see where he got to. Hev ye tried the mill?"
"I'll go over and find out," said Tim.
"The rest of us had better divide up into parties, and do a bit of scouting," suggested Bob.
This idea was applauded.
"Go ahead, boys," urged Dave, laughingly. He sprawled down on a bit of turf. "If Mr. Lovell comes this way I won't let him get by."
"Goodness, what tremendous energy!" snickered Jack.
Luke Jarrett and the two boys agreed to lend their assistance, and within a few minutes the stout boy was left alone to guard their stuff and keep a lookout for the lumberman.
He had not been settled in a comfortable position very long before he saw Sam Randall and Dick Travers pushing toward him on a loping trot.
"I say, Dave," almost yelled the latter, in a state of great excitement, "Mr. Lovell hired a rig and went back to Rawdon; some man saw him. Gee! Wish those other chaps would come up. Just think of having to hoof it all the way back there to-night."
"That's all I'm going to do—think about it," said Dave, decidedly.
"But—but—"
"No force could possibly budge me."
The others finally came up, and listened gloomily.
"There isn't a particle o' use in the whole crowd going," argued Tim; "let's draw lots."
"All right," agreed Bob.
A few minutes later six were howling with merriment, while Tommy Clifton, highly indignant, held a paper which had written upon it the word "stung."
"Tommy's scared," grinned Jack.
"Scared nothing!" snapped Tom, hotly. "I'll show you if I'm scared."
Bob leaned over and whispered in the stout boy's ear:
"I'll go with him, Dave. Mind? Not a bit of it."
Tommy was scowling suspiciously.
"Quit your kidding, Bob," he said. "Come on, Luke, and you chaps. Humph—scared! Jacky might be, but I'm not; no siree! What! you're coming along? Gee!" A smile of keen satisfaction lighted his eyes, but Tommy's voice was still grumbling as he added: "Huh, but you fellows do sometimes make me tired."
After arranging where to meet, Bob Somers and Clifton began trudging off, with the others straggling in the rear. The crowd watched them until their figures had disappeared around a curve.
Sam Randall declared that there was nothing very pleasant in the prospect of loafing about Wild Oak for goodness knows how many hours, and all but Dave agreed.
Nothing could induce the latter to budge from a comfortable position; he treated threats, scorn and persuasion with equal indifference, smiling broadly all the time. And so they lingered until dusk began to settle down; then the five picked up their luggage, and, with many sighs and groans under its weight, sauntered down in the direction of the lumber-yard and sawmill.
It was a dingy, dark locality by the board fence, with piles of lumber towering high above. Pools had collected in the street; heaps of refuse lay about. So the crowd hurried along at a good clip. They walked out on the sawmill wharf to look at the Columbia, still tossing angrily, while dark, stormy clouds scudded before the wind.
"Seems that the universal custom is not in force here," remarked Dave, dryly.
"Oh, it's only because it's too near a place where people have to work," said Tim. "Let's skip."
The lamplighter was leaving a trail of feeble, glimmering spots to mark his progress; lights began to sparkle from cottage windows; starlike points, seemingly poised in space, suddenly started up on the hills. It was all very dark and dreary; and voices which they occasionally heard had a strange, uncanny sound.
Jack Conroy began to have uncomfortable thoughts of moonless nights in the mountain wilderness, with, perhaps, wild animals prowling about, or high precipices, unseen in the blackness, close to their camp.
"If finding that Jabberwock is as hard as finding supper in Wild Oak, we're going to have a tough time," grumbled Dick, softly. "Don't people have to eat out here, I wonder?"
"An' some o' these natives may hear a few wild croaks if we don't get it mighty soon," laughed Tim. "Hadn't we better yell for help?"
But the difficulty was at length solved by a passer-by, who directed them to a very hilly street where they found the Wild Oak Restaurant, a little frame building surrounded by a group of stately trees.
With sighs of thankfulness, they entered; each threw his load in a corner, while the astonished and agitated proprietor, who would have bravely faced a band of outlaws, stood nervously wondering whether their guns were loaded and might be accidentally discharged.
Of course they ordered the best in the house, and managed to spend a wonderful amount of time over each dish that was set before them. It was the only known occasion when a piece of pie remained on Dave Brandon's plate for more than one minute and thirty seconds.
An anxious expression settled over the proprietor's face, and finally he approached, smiling discreetly.
"I—er—er—I generally close up 'bout nine o'clock," he began, hesitatingly, "an'—"
"There isn't much chance o' your doin' it to-night, old chap," grinned Jack Conroy, calmly.
"Eh?" said the man, looking bewildered.
The big boy quickly explained, and then Dave, with eyes blinking, spoke up:
"If you have any extra mattresses and a lot of straw you might be able to put us up for the night."
"Ha, ha! Nice way o' puttin' it! Ye kin hev a room, sure," answered the man, promptly, "an' some o' them blankets you've toted with yer ought to take the hardness out o' the floor. I'll keep open as late as ye like; but day prices don't go at night—understan'? I can't afford to lose nothing."
"You won't," assured Jack.
A bargain was finally struck, and the boys, with minds at ease, settled back contentedly. The hours slipped by with provoking slowness; conversation lagged; Dave fell asleep, while the others yawned and stretched.
Finally a dingy old clock on the dingiest of old mantelpieces rang out in quavering strokes the hour of eleven.
"Can't stand this any more, fellows," exclaimed Dick, drowsily. "Who wants to take a spin—you, Jack? Well, come ahead. I say, Dave—Dave!"
"Lemme be," mumbled the stout boy. And Dick, who had leaned over to tickle him with a straw, found his wrists seized in a vise-like grip. "Don't bother," laughed Dave; "I'm coming."
The proprietor opened the door to let them out.
A shaft of light fell across the street, and lighted up in ghostlike patches the old rugged oak whose branches almost swept against the corner of the house. In the silence of the night, their footsteps clattered noisily, as they began to trudge down a steep slope.
From one street into another the boys turned, each seeming more dismal than the last. Here and there oil lamps threw weird-shaped lights over gray stuccoed walls, and fantastic shadows trailed across, to lose all outlines in shapeless patches of dark.
At the base of a hill, a lonely lamp shot its rays upon a wooden bridge, and disclosed high banks upon its borders, while a fresh rippling gurgle told of a stream rushing swiftly over a rocky bed. The strong odor of weeds and moisture-laden air came up from the dark depths into which they peered.
"Ugh!" shivered Jack. "Spookish, eh? Worse'n bein' right out in the woods."
"It's something to stir the imagination, fellows," yawned Dave, sleepily.
"And send cold chills down one's spine, too," said Sam. "Listen—was that anything? Bob's going to signal, you know."
"Nothin' but a dog barkin'," answered Jack, presently.
"And Bob's voice never sounded anything like that," chuckled Dick. "Feels like the edge of the world here; Hobgoblinville. Are those buildings or trees back there?"
"Suit yourself," said Dave. He drew from his pocket a huge note-book, and, leaning against the rail, began to write.
"Another inspiration," chirped Sam.
"Those illusive words!" sighed the stout boy. "I can feel the whole thing—but how to grasp it!" He hastily dashed off several lines. "Anyway, the idea is there. Going?"
"Smell's already pushed me a yard," responded Jack.
They climbed another hill, walking slowly and sleepily, and, as time wore on, wandered through narrow lanes where the trees met overhead, trod the wooden sidewalks of broad, open streets, or stopped on some eminence to gaze off into the expanse of darkness.
"Midnight!"
Dave spoke the word as he stood, watch in hand, beneath a lamp which flickered in the breeze and sent forth through a broken pane a strong odor of coal-oil.
"If those chaps would only come!" sighed Sam.
Another half hour passed, then:
"Hello—there's the signal!" cried Dick Travers, excitedly.
Tired, sleepy feelings were as instantly swept away as though they had been treated to a cold shower-bath. All came to a halt, listening eagerly.
Another moment, and a peculiar call suggesting the hoot of an owl was borne to their ears.
"Hooray," burst out Tim, "it's Bob and Tommy sure!"
Regardless of the sensation which might be caused in sleepy Wild Oak, the five responded with tremendous effect.
An answer almost instantly followed the echoes of their lusty yells, and joyously the crowd walked toward Cattle King Irwin's hotel, the rendezvous agreed upon.
It was not long before a couple of shadowy figures appeared in view, passing before the dim light thrown by a far-off lamp.
With a whoop, Tim darted forward, the others following close at his heels.
They arrived panting, to find the envoys seated calmly on a door-step, with a head gazing wonderingly down upon them from a second story window.
"Well, well," cried Tim, breathlessly, "did you see Uncle Stanley?"
"We did not," answered Tom, wearily, "and for a very good reason, too; eh, Bob?"
"Why—why—"
The chorus of questions was stilled by Bob Somers.
"It's this way," he said; "one of the steamers bound east stopped at Rawdon this afternoon. We hunted up the agent, and he was sure, from our description, that Mr. Lovell got aboard. So the whole—"
"Thing is still a mystery," finished Tom.
A gruff voice floated down from above.
"Go on now—get away from here with all that gab, or 'twon't be no mystery what happens next."
A head thrust out of a window nodded vigorously.
"Oh!" cried Bob, looking up, somewhat startled.
"Where'd ye come from?"
"That's what they all ask. Beg your pardon, sir!"
"Beg your pardon, sir, also!" added Jack, with a grin.
Several other similarly polite remarks did not appease the wrath of the man above, so they started off, quite oblivious to the words hurled after them.
"Grouchy old gent!" murmured Jack.
"Never had such a walk before," Bob was saying. "Black as pitch; couldn't even see the road. Tired? Well, just a bit. Found a place for us to sleep, eh? That's great."
Tim's thoughts were running in another channel.
"See here, Bob," he asked, "what—what are we goin' to do about this thing?"
"Do!" Bob squared his broad shoulders aggressively. "Why, there's only one thing for us to do, Tim; and that is—" He waved his arm toward the north.
And the others understood, and cheered.