"YE CAN'T STAKE OUT ANY CLAIMS HERE"
"YE CAN'T STAKE OUT ANY CLAIMS HERE"
"YE CAN'T STAKE OUT ANY CLAIMS HERE"
"Ha, ha!" roared Pete. "Feelin' kinder sore, eh? Didn't wanter go in on eq'al shares! Wal, bust it, there ain't a-goin' ter be no eq'al shares! Ha, ha!"
"Don't I feel sorry fur 'em!" snickered Jimmy of Sellade.
"If you uns ain't too all-fired proud ter throw 'round a pick an' shovel fur a rough crowd like us, come acrost an' begin," suggested Tom, his features screwed up into an extraordinary smirk.
A fiery spot in Dick Travers' nature was touched.
"You're a lot of scoundrels!" he cried, shaking his fist. "You haven't a bit of right to that claim, and if there's any law in the country you won't be squatting on it long."
"Put us off, pard," jeered Alf Griffin.
"See here, Jim Reynolds!" exclaimed Bob, as the big lumberman and Woodle, panting from their exertions, joined the others, "did you order Tom Smull and Griffin to hold us up?"
"Nary a bit on't," answered Jim, earnestly. "Didn't know whar they'd gone, or nothing till they gits back an' shoves the drawin' under me nose."
"Then you thought it was all right for them to do it, eh?"
Jim scratched his head.
"'Tain't nateral ter expect a man ter give up a chancet like that, is it? If them fellers is still o' a mind, ye kin come in with us."
"Wal, I ruther guess not!" howled Tom Smull, fiercely, beginning to pace to and fro. "Nix on that."
The bantering expression left his face. He glanced toward Alf Griffin, and the swift interchange of looks between the two told of a determined resolve to keep the Ramblers out.
"An' none o' ye don't darst to cross the crick," came from Pete, as he stalked belligerently to the edge of the bank.
"Get out, grouchy!" scoffed Jack. "Let's call his bluff, fellows, an' get over the splash."
"Come ahead!" cried Dick, excitedly.
"Look hyar!" Smull's warlike tone matched his scowling visage. "Mebbe you fellers is a-sp'ilin' fur trouble, hey? My adwice is: don't start nuthin', but git back ter that lumber camp whar ye belong."
"Ho, ho!" laughed Jimmy.
"And ye kin ask Cap Slater fur our old jobs."
"'Tain't right ter rile the lads," protested Woodle, earnestly. "Quit it, Tom Smull."
"I reckon it ain't you as is runnin' me tongue," retorted Smull. "But fur me an' Griffin, mebbe we uns wouldn't never hev made this strike o' pay dirt."
A strike of pay dirt!
Then Wanatoma's gold mine was a reality—an actual, tangible thing. Bob Somers' eyes ran rapidly over the mountain slope on the opposite side of the torrent.
He saw huge areas of rocks and turf, spotted with scrubby trees and patched with weeds and grass. Here and there grew prickly pear trees, their broad, spiked leaves grayed by yellow dust. Above were the pine forests, and masses of rocks forming great cliffs and precipices, and rising to a stupendous height the crown of perpetual snow. At the base, some distance off, were evidences of ancient landslides—gigantic piles of earth and rocks, with crumbling tree trunks protruding from the mass.
Bob Somers' thoughts were abruptly swung into another channel by a war of words between Pete Colliver and Conroy.
"What! You dare me to come over, eh?"
"I say ye dasn't!"
"Well, by gum, Wengeance Cauliflower, you an' a gatling gun together couldn't keep me back."
"Jack—I say, Jack," interposed Bob Somers, hastily, "hold on; no use in stirring up trouble."
The only answer was a sharp crack of Conroy's quirt.
The sudden leap of his broncho and a loud splash of water set all the other animals prancing about in the narrow gorge. Jack's trusty little steed snorted, as the powerful current bore him along; flying spray soused high above the rider's boots. But Jack, intent upon showing his courage, steered straight toward a deep cut in the opposite bank.
Fearing that the impetuous lad might involve the crowd in a disturbance of tremendous proportions, Bob Somers also plunged his broncho into the stream. Then, one by one, the others followed.
The lumberjacks stood in silence, watching the struggle between the riders and the seething flood. Presently Jack Conroy's dripping horse scrambled ashore.
With a yell of defiance, the lad rode through the cleft, soon finding a place where he was able to ascend.
"Well, here I am, Wengeance!" laughed Jack, making directly toward Pete Colliver.
Pete took a step forward, and there was a curious look in his eyes, as though some resolve he had made afforded him immense satisfaction.
"I see ye, big un!"
Smack! Smack! His open palm struck the sorrel on the flank with terrific force.
The broncho gave a great bound, almost tossing Jack over his head.
Highly indignant, the boy strove desperately to regain control of the animal, while peals of uproarious laughter came from several of the lumberjacks.
Boys and men, too occupied to have eyes for anything beyond their immediate surroundings, failed to observe a horseman emerge from the timber above and stare earnestly toward them.
As Jack Conroy, fuming with anger, at last managed to drop from the saddle and rushed toward Pete, Bob Somers whirled his broncho around and rode between them.
"Hold on, Jack," he pleaded, earnestly. "Stop! Grab him, Dave!"
A hand reached up and gripped his arm. Bob turned quickly, to get a nearer view than he liked of Tom Smull's features.
As he voiced an emphatic protest, fingers were closed tighter about his wrist. Then came a sudden, violent jerk which pulled him over sideways. He was just able to withdraw his feet from the stirrups and swing his leg over the pommel when the frightened broncho bolted.
By a skilful movement, Bob managed to land on his feet.
"I'll show ye, pard," snarled Tom Smull. "Shoved me inter the squash, hey? I reckon as how ye won't feel any ter the best when I gits through with ye."
"Ha, ha, hyar's whar we gits wengeance!" shouted Pete Colliver.
It was a moment of the utmost confusion. Riderless horses were swinging wildly over the uneven ground, while the indignant boys rushed up from different points to give aid to Bob and Jack.
A fierce battle was about to be waged, when a clatter of hoofs, together with a loud yell, caused all eyes to be suddenly turned toward the mountain slope.
"Hey! Leave them fellers alone, or every hair on yer heads'll git blowed off!"
Men and boys recognized that gruff voice and the thick-set figure which sat astride a weary-looking mustang.
"By all that's wonderful; it's old Cap Slater!" yelled Tim Lovell.
It was indeed old Cap Slater who finally came to a halt facing them, and his appearance created such intense astonishment that hostilities were instantly forgotten.
All stared at the burly captain as though some apparition had suddenly risen before their eyes.
"Wal, wal, if there ain't actooally the old feller!" cried Pete in accents of the deepest wonderment. "I never s'picioned as how he'd be mean nuff ter hev went an' follered us."
"It's a great go, all right," said Jimmy, weakly.
"What does all this mean, Reynolds?" bellowed Slater, as his eyes ran over the group in a fierce, questioning stare.
"Means? Why, it means that these men have swiped a claim—a claim that rightfully belongs to us," spoke up Bob, as soon as his astonishment allowed him to speak.
"They hev, hey?" The answer seemed to put Cap Slater into a towering rage; he shook his fist violently in the air. "Ter think that arter all the trouble I has went to it were too late ter prewent this! It's nuff ter make a biled owl blink." Slater's tones, too, spoke volumes of disappointment and chagrin. "I want the hull story; an' I want it quick!"
"These two men, Smull and Griffin"—Bob pointed an accusing finger at the lumberjacks—"held us up and stole our map; and now they want to start a fight."
Captain Slater's face had darkened by degrees, until a heavier scowl had perhaps never rested upon it.
"The most disgracefulest thing I ever hear tell of! Never thought as how ye'd do anything like that, Jim Reynolds."
His voice roared above the steady drone of the torrent.
"Anybody else would hev done the same thing," mumbled Jim.
"I don't wonder yer voice has got weak. I'm a-comin' closer, so ye kin whisper."
Captain Slater eased his burly form from the saddle, shook a cloud of dust from his travel-stained garments, then strode up to the lumbermen. He stood before his former employees, a stern figure of a man, like the symbol of outraged justice. Under his steely glare they seemed to perceptibly wilt and shrink away.
"Now then, Reynolds," his jaws clicked ominously, "I'm a-goin' ter see fair play."
"This hyar ain't yer lumber camp, Cap," growled Tom Smull.
"I want nothing from sich as you. That little shrimp o' a Pete, an' Griffin, an' you orter be tied up together like a bunch o' herrin' an' dropped clean off the earth."
"When ye was cap'n o' a floatin' tub, it's a wonder every man aboard didn't turn pirate," mumbled Griffin, as he and Smull hastily fell back before this outburst.
"Ye'd look 'andsomer if ye'd let out a few reefs in that face o' yourn, Griffin," the captain replied grimly. "Now then—"
"Say, captain!"
Bob Somers stepped up and whispered something in his ear.
"Hey?" Slater's red face took on a bewildered expression. He turned, his eyes roving in all directions. "What, Somers?"
Bob spoke quietly a second time.
The captain's big, flaming handkerchief came out, to mop his face in a vigorous fashion.
"Roll me down a timber slide if—if—"
Words seemed to fail him; he paused, while Pete Colliver looked on in open-mouthed wonder.
"Hey, Jimmy, d'ye pipe that?" he exclaimed, hoarsely. "They're crawlin' a'ready—skeered."
"An' the old un has losted his nerve."
"Yes—bust it; an' his voice, too!"
"Git out, ye little toad. I won't hev ye a-walkin' on the same ground as I do. It's a positive wonder that grin o' yourn don't start a landslide big nuff ter kiver up all the gold. Come on, lads!"
The lumberman began leading his mustang away, while Bob, with a "Get your broncs, fellows!" started after his own, which stood close by.
Not far down the slope, in a little bowl-shaped valley washed at the foot by the swirling torrent, Bob Somers and Captain Slater, sitting on a boulder, awaited the others.
Dick and Jack were the first to arrive.
"Now, for goodness' sake, Bob, what does all this mean?" demanded Dick, impatiently.
"Just this: I believe Reynolds' crowd hasn't located the mine, after all."
"What—what—made a mistake? You don't—you can't mean it! How—"
"Ter my mind, I'll wenture ter say it's as sartin as that a bullfrog can't drive an ox-team," remarked the captain, solemnly.
"Hold on—wait a minute! Here come the other fellows," roared Jack, excitedly.
In a short time they were all together.
"Jehoshaphat!" cried Jack, when Bob had begun again. "Warble your reasons fast."
"Listen: didn't Wanatoma tell us the creek flowed through a level plain at the base of the mountain?"
There was a moment of thoughtful silence.
"I'm sure he did!" cried Sam Randall, excitedly. "I remember now. And all around us it's—"
"Hilly, to beat the Dutch."
"I don't know whether Wanna said the gold was at the point where the stream reached the base or not," supplemented Dave, "but he certainly did mention the fact that it was where Gold Creek took a big bend and that the land was level."
"Well, can you beat it?" gasped Tom. "Oh, if it should only be true! I'll bet the stream changes its course further along."
"Jingo! Perhaps we were just a little bit too quick in gettin' excited an' givin' up the game," murmured Jack. "Bully thought o' yours, Bob!" He seized Tom, and began to waltz him around, to the accompaniment of a very loud, unmusical whistle. "Hooray!"
"Remember that voice, Jacky!" cautioned Tim.
"Oh, my, oh, my! but wouldn't I laugh if Bob is right!" blurted out Jack, hilariously. "Come on—let's beat it!" Deftly tripping Tom, he deposited him in a heap on a patch of dried grass. "Come on!"
"After such an exciting session, I think a recess ought to be taken," demurred Dave, "unless Captain Slater wants the floor."
Dave's words instantly changed thoughts into another channel. All eyes turned toward the captain; a bombardment of questions pelted him from every side.
The former skipper waved his hand.
"Yer git nuff force back o' them woices o' yourn ter work a power boat," he remarked, slowly. "It's a long story, but it's quick told. How did I hear 'bout the mine? Wal, I'll begin at the beginnin'."
The boys listened to the captain's story with the greatest interest, punctuating his remarks at frequent intervals by exclamations. He told them he had ridden back to Lovell's camp, to give warning of the lumbermen's departure, and that the former had provided him with all the information he could—even a rough sketch showing the location. Lastly, Captain Slater said something which caused the biggest surprise of all:
"I hit yer trail once or twicet. 'Member that big cliff 'way back yonder?" He waved his hand.
"Bet your life," answered Jack, with a peculiar grin.
"Wal, I think I seen a couple o' ye from the top."
"Great Cæsar! Was that you?" cried Tim. "Why, the boys had a camp only about three-quarters of a mile from there. How in the world did you miss running into it?"
"I hearn shots a-comin' from the timber; thinks I, mebbe that's Reynolds' gang, so I gallops over."
"Guess it was Dave and I after game," volunteered Bob.
"Wal, I didn't see nothing but the biggest an' blackest bear in all creation." The captain grinned reminiscently. "The old nag can't stand nothing wusser ter look at 'n Tom Smull's face; so he up an' runs; an' splash me in that crick, if I didn't begin ter think he was a-goin' ter take me back ter the lumber camp."
The boys laughed heartily.
"I done the best I could fur ye."
The crowd's answer to this was so hearty and sincere that, for once in his life, old Cap Slater felt slightly embarrassed, and, to conceal it, he again mopped his face with the big red handkerchief.
They sat around for some time, and were on the point of leaving, when two mounted men suddenly appeared on the rim of a rise just above them.
"Sufferin' crickets!" cried Cap Slater, with a steady look. "Bart Reeder an'—an'—must be a circus nigh abouts, an', sartin sure, that feller's the ringmaster."
Mr. Buck James, looking very large and important, in his checkered suit and white vest, sat astride a small dejected-looking mustang, with his long legs dangling close to the ground. Bart Reeder, thin and small by contrast, followed on a dun-colored pony.
"Makes me think of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza," gurgled Dick. "Wondered where the two chaps had gotten to."
"I tell ye, Reeder, this here place is a frost," came from Buck James. "Outside o' one place what Smull an' Griffin acts cracked over, I ain't seen nuff yellow specks to—hello!"
His eyes had suddenly lighted on the party.
"As I live, Cap Slater!" yelled Reeder, in sepulchral tones. "Great Scott! Whar—whar—"
"Captain Slater—the old un I hear so much about?" queried James, interestedly.
"The identical feller," almost stuttered Reeder. "Whar'd ye come from, Cap?"
"Me aeroplane is hitched on to the moon till I gits ready ter leave," answered the captain, gruffly. "Toddle on! An' when ye gits done lookin' at me, checkers—"
"Sir!" said Buck James, haughtily.
"Sir to you, sir! An' I wenture ter say as how a suit like that is handy nuff when you wants ter hev a game, sir!"
"Do you know who I am?"
"I ain't pertic'lar to learn; my eyes is hurt nuff with them clo'es."
Uttering a loud guffaw, the captain turned away, and seized his mustang by the bridle, while Buck James, highly indignant, lost no time in riding away.
"Now, let's follow the stream and see if we can find that level stretch and another bend," said Bob, in low tones. "Hear what James said, Dave—a 'frost'? More I think of it, the more certain I feel they're—"
"Goin' to have an awful awakening," grinned Tim; "eh, Jack? Whoa, little codger!"
He sprang into the saddle.
One by one the bronchos clambered up a steep bank, and were presently cantering briskly over ridges patched with stunted spruce and sage brush. On one side lay "Mount Wanatoma"; on the other, a vast reach extending toward a distant mountain chain.
Gray, threatening-looking clouds, which had stretched all morning on the horizon, were now advancing, and gusts of chilling wind buffeted the riders with unpleasant force.
After about a half hour's steady march, Sam Randall, some distance to the right of the main body, halted, and his shrill whistle wafted over soon brought the echoing hoof-beats to a stop.
"Hello, what's the matter?" called Bob.
"Look—look! See anything ahead?"
Sam's excited tones instantly forced attention upon the distance.
"Goodness gracious! As I live—a couple o' horsemen!" cried Tim, with a whoop.
"Where—where?" demanded Tom, earnestly.
"Don't you see 'em—right by that group of evergreens? There—they moved!"
"Cracky! I believe you're right."
Tom seemed perfectly dumfounded.
"Mebbe a couple o' hunters," suggested Cap Slater. "We ain't quite off the earth yit."
"An'—an'—why, say—is that a bear they have with 'em?" blurted out Jack, his eyebrows knitting in perplexity. "Somethin' whoppin' big, anyhow. Where's your glass, Bob?"
An animal of no small proportions had suddenly popped into view beside the horsemen.
"What do you see, Somers?" cried Jack, eagerly, as the field-glass was leveled.
A very strange expression came over Bob's face. He stared, apparently in speechless astonishment, paying no attention to the impatient queries which came from all sides.
"I say," howled Jack, "can't you speak?"
"It doesn't seem possible," murmured Bob, at length.
His voice indicated the greatest bewilderment.
"What doesn't seem possible?" yelled Dick.
"I can't believe it!"
"Then don't, but tell us what it is," cried Tim, while Tom, highly excited, cracked his quirt so sharply that every broncho immediately began to prance about.
"Well," howled Jack, when the animals had quieted down, "for the last time, Somers—"
"Why—that is Mr. Lovell, Wanatoma, and the Great Dane," was Bob Somers' astonishing answer.
"Unk and Wanna!" cried Tim, incredulously. "Get out, Bob; you can't stuff me!"
"Or me, either!"
"A mighty poor joke!"
"Didn't think that o' you, Somers!"
"Here; look for yourself, Jack!" retorted Bob.
The big lad eagerly seized the field-glass and raised it to his eyes.
"I'm dreamin'—I know I'm dreamin'," he mumbled. "Next minute I'll wake up an' find myself in the cabin. Booney, is breakfast ready?"
"It's sartingly Lovell an' the Injun, when he gabs like that," commented Cap Slater. "Wal, if this hyar ain't nuff ter make a catfish act perlite to a cat I ain't never been scratched by a bramble!"
"Whoop!" cried Dick, delightedly. "Wonder what in thunder it all means?"
"Unk an' Wanna!" murmured Tim. "It—it—well, I give it up."
"Come ahead, fellows!"
Bob cracked his quirt, and the next instant the bronchos were galloping at a reckless rate over the uneven surface.
By degrees the two distant specks began to assume the familiar forms of Mr. Lovell and the aged warrior. Then a deep-throated bay rose above the sound of flying hoofs.
Bubbling over with joy and excitement, the boys gave a chorus of yells; again came a deep bay from the Great Dane, and an answering shout from Uncle Stanley.
Fast as the horses galloped, it was not fast enough to suit the impatient riders. It seemed as though the intervening space would never be covered, and a feeling of relief shot through them as they saw the horsemen begin to canter in their direction.
"Unk—I say, Unk, is that really you?" called out Tim. "I can't believe it's true, even now."
"Yes, Tim; and I'm mighty glad, as well as relieved, to see you, all safe and sound. How are you, captain?"
With the skill of cowboys, the seven brought their bronchos close alongside the two men, while the Great Dane, still uttering his musical bays, capered wildly about.
Amid the confusion, the din of questions and answers, and the stamping of horses' hoofs, Wanatoma, the aged warrior, sat dignified and silent, though the brightening of his eyes told of a feeling of satisfaction.
"Now, Lovell, I'm a-waitin' ter find out what all this means."
The captain's big voice boomed out above the others.
"Wanna, old boy, this is certainly a great surprise."
Jack had ridden up close to the Indian, and was energetically shaking hands.
"Quick, Uncle Stanley, do tell us something," pleaded Tim. "Have you seen those lumberjacks? Do you know what Bob Somers thinks?"
"Boys, boys, give me a chance," laughed Mr. Lovell. "Order, order! Now, Bob, what is your idea?"
"That the men have staked out the wrong place."
Wanatoma, with an approving glance, nodded.
"The white boy is keen, like Indian brave," he said, slowly.
"Then—then do you really mean to say Bob is right?" stammered Tim, with a great flash of hope. "Quick, Uncle Stanley, tell us."
"We have already staked out the Rambler Club's Gold Mine!"
A silence far more impressive than the wildest demonstration could have been followed this amazing announcement. The boys stared at one another, then at the lumberman, and from him to Wanatoma.
"I felt sure of it," said Bob, at length, with a great sigh of relief.
"Just to think of the luck," mumbled Tim.
"Honest, it seems too good to be true," chirped Tom, breathlessly.
"Sartingly beats all creation, that's what it does," remarked Cap Slater, in a tone of positive conviction.
"And—and did you really find gold?" asked Sam.
"The rocks are filled with specks that glitter like the sun," said Wanatoma. "Come, you shall see. Indian's work is done; he is content."
A certain pathos in his voice stilled a wild burst of enthusiasm. The redman, whose once powerful shoulders were bent by the weight of years, presented a picturesque spectacle. Long hair fell loosely over his blanketed shoulders; an eagle feather fluttered in the breeze; age had dimmed the luster of his eyes and lined his face with deep-set wrinkles, but the dignity of the warrior still remained.
"Wal, Wanna, yer the whitest Injun the rain ever beat ag'in," remarked Cap Slater, breaking in upon the silence. "Shake!"
He urged his mustang forward and leaned over.
The gruff old lumberman and the Indian clasped hands. One by one, the boys followed his example; then, with a "Come ahead, boys," Mr. Lovell cracked his quirt and was off.
Their ride, which was not long, took them through a narrow gorge between two low hills. From this they emerged upon a vast level plain, dotted with great clumps of evergreens.
"Aha! There's another bend in Gold Creek! See it?" cried Bob.
"Well, I should say so," shouted Tim, excitedly. "My, what a head you have, Bob Somers. Can it be—can it actually be there? Oh, ginger! Quick—tell us, Uncle Stanley."
Mr. Lovell waved his hand, taking a sweep of the rugged slope and level stretch at its base.
"Boys—The Rambler Club's Gold Mine!"
"Hooray—hooray!" yelled Bob; and the shout which blended in with his grew in volume until old Cap Slater himself seemed affected by the fever of excitement.
Presently quirts were given a final crack; the bronchos leaped forward, and, in another moment, the crowd caught sight of a lean-to near the base of the mountain and in the shelter of a pine woods.
Soon they dropped from the saddle before it.
The efforts of each to be the first to see the interior resulted in considerable confusion, which Jack straightened out in his usual way, Tim and Dick flying off at a tangent.
But there was too much suppressed excitement for the fun to continue long. Hearts were beating fast, and their eyes sparkled.
Wanatoma seized a pick and shovel resting in a corner.
"Come," he said, laconically.
Skirting around the woods, he led the way up the slope, showing a flash of his old-time strength and agility. They scrambled after him, over turf and rocks, Mr. Lovell and Captain Slater bringing up in the rear. It was hard work for the ex-skipper, who grunted and puffed with the exertion.
At a considerable distance from the base, the Indian halted, while the boys, eager and excited, surrounded him.
"Great Scott! to think it's actually here!" murmured Bob.
"Wow! Isn't it grand?" piped Tom, with an almost irresistible desire to break into a wild fit of laughter.
After a few moments' rest, Wanatoma raised his pick, and began the attack. Soon quartz was disclosed. Under the vigorous blows, several pieces were broken off, and rattled downward.
But none got very far—eager hands pounced upon them.
"Gold—gold!" yelled Jack, hilariously, as he held up a chunk and waved it back and forth, to show a number of gleaming specks. "Gold! See, fellows—gold! an' piles of it!"
In a wild burst of enthusiasm, he seized the pick from the Indian's hands, and attacked the ground with furious strokes. Every blow sent a shower of earth and stones and small pieces of quartz flying in the air and over the slope.
With the perspiration standing out on his face, Jack worked away; and when he presently flung aside his pick and knelt beside a pile of quartz which the others had collected, Tim seized it.
As the boys saw outcroppings of gold, they gave vent to their feelings in sibilant shouts. They scrambled still higher up the slope, where the rocks rose in miniature cliffs, tufted with weeds and vegetation, or crowned by bristling prickly pears.
Those who hadn't picks or shovels dug at the surface with stones and sticks, exposing in places the underlying strata of quartz. Small landslides whizzed continuously down. Tom slipped, and rolled until a jutting rock stopped his progress. Jack, too, in a reckless attempt to scale an almost perpendicular wall, lost his footing, and went sliding and bumping in another direction, to pick himself up with a hilarious shout.
But the boys, now in the full grip of the gold fever, paid no attention to these mishaps. From one point to another they climbed, the sharp clink of the pick blending in with their shouts, as new discoveries were made.
"Never expected to see anythin' like this," cried Jack, exultantly. "When the news gets out, won't it make a sensation?"
"The California rush o' forty-nine'll be beaten to a frazzle," laughed Tim.
"And the Klondike forgotten," chirruped Tom.
Again Jack seized the pick, and began to dig frantically. Then, as if suddenly awestruck at the thought of the wealth which might lay hidden beneath the frowning slopes, he straightened up.
"Isn't it wonderful!" he exclaimed, softly.
"Oh, ho!" said Dave Brandon. "I almost have an inspiration for a poem on gold."
The violence of the excitement slowly began to abate. With aching backs and weary arms, they finally flung themselves on the rocks, to take long, deep breaths of cool, refreshing air.
"Now, Uncle Stanley," began Tim.
"Oh, yes; I suppose you are going to tell me that explanations are in order," laughed Mr. Lovell, who had seated himself on a slab of rock.
"That's the idea exactly."
"I have a powerful strong feelin' that the restaurant department ought ter be got a-goin'," observed Cap Slater, bluntly.
"So have I," added Dave.
"Then I proposes an immegiat adjournment," went on the other. "Yarns sound a heap better when ye ain't a-gittin' no wireless signals o' distress."
With a laugh, Bob seconded the motion. Accordingly, the boys rose to their feet, and, in a lively fashion, began scrambling down the slope.
A fire was built, and willing hands kept gathering fuel until a great pile rested in front of the lean-to. While the meal was cooking, Bob, peeping inside, caught sight of a pile of snow-shoes.
"Hello, Wanna," he said; "think you'll need those things?"
The Indian nodded and pointed to the gray sky overhead.
"Yes; soon a heap big snow," he answered, slowly.
When appetites were finally satisfied, and all were content, Mr. Lovell, with the boys forming a circle about him, began again:
"Our friend here"—he indicated the lumberman—"has no doubt told you how he brought me very disquieting news."
"Disquietin' nuff ter make this old salt holler."
"Well, I felt that you must be intercepted at all hazards. The Portland steamer was due to pass that afternoon, so my little sailboat, the 'Penguin,' was hastily made ready. There was a good, stiff wind, and Joe Waller succeeded in putting me aboard the 'Evergreen State.'"
"An' maybe it didn't s'prise us to see you on a real, nautical steamboat," gurgled Jack, with a wink at Tom.
"And all my efforts and the megaphone combined couldn't make you understand?"
"Not a word," said Bob.
"Well, it may be for the best, after all. Naturally, I expected Don Mason to land you at Wild Oak; but weather sometimes alters plans. We arrived in due course at Rawdon, and I immediately hurried back to Wild Oak, expecting to meet you there.
"My disappointment was great on realizing that the 'Osprey' had sailed by. It was absolutely necessary for me to return to the lumber camp that night. What should I do? An answer suggested itself—leave a note at the post-office."
"And did you?" cried Tim.
"Yes; I thought possibly you might think of going there."
"Well, we certainly didn't," said Bob, cheerfully.
"So it seems," laughed Uncle Stanley. "Anyway, I was obliged to hire a rig and leave immediately."
"Wonder how it was we didn't meet somewhere on the road," mused Dick.
"The driver told me we could save time by taking another route."
"Another route?" queried Tim.
"Yes; one which, while not so good as the main thoroughfare, takes a short cut through the woods. As it was, I barely had time to catch the steamer.
"Wanatoma was at the camp; and the story of the lumberjacks' visit to his cabin determined us to follow you."
"It was certainly a dandy thing to do," said Tim.
"A great deal of important business had to be left to Warrington. We bought horses at Rawdon—"
"Not from that 'ere livin' checkerboard, I s'picion," broke in Cap Slater, with a gruff laugh.
"Oh, no!" Mr. Lovell smiled. "We made no attempt to follow your trail, as both Wanatoma and I thought it wiser to push on with all possible speed to the mine, stake it out, and then keep a sharp watch for your coming. What's that, Dick—did we know the lumberjacks had arrived? Oh, yes; and it made us very nervous about you, indeed."
"Glad to see us, I'll bet," piped Tom.
"I don't think I was ever more relieved in my life," confessed Uncle Stanley. "If you hadn't come to-day, Wanatoma proposed starting off on a search."
"Oh, ho," laughed Dave, "you need never have any fear about us."
"The next thing is to get back to civilization and file a formal claim with the government," went on Mr. Lovell. "Wanatoma has most kindly agreed to stay here; and, of course, boys, you will show your skill as carpenters by building him a comfortable cabin."
"Well, we will—I should rather say so!" cried Bob, enthusiastically. "Jolly fun, too!"
"You bet," agreed Dick. "Hooray! An' we'll make him a good one."
"And say, boys, I move we call this 'The Jabberwock Mine,'" grinned Jack.
"Wal," commented the captain, rising to stretch his arms and legs, "if this hain't been an ewentful day, I never fired a lazy logger."
The next few days were busy ones for the seven. The sound of saws and axes reverberated sharply in the woods, and the sturdy little bronchos were used to drag fallen trees to the site of the cabin.
Mr. Lovell was a little fearful, after looking over some extraordinary drawings made by Jack Conroy, that the boys had laid out for themselves a whole winter's work; but, by carefully avoiding any reference to these interesting documents, Bob, as engineer, succeeded in having constructed a strong, commodious cabin. Bunks and benches were built along the walls, and perhaps no architect of a world-famed structure ever felt more proud of his work than did the boys when the cabin was completed.
Buck James and Bart Reeder wandered over, one day, to get the surprise of their lives.
Buck was just as imposing as ever, but his expression indicated a subdued and disconsolate spirit.
"From what I hear, you fellers seem to win out every time," he remarked. "Weren't that claim no good? ye ask. Wal, there was one or two spots whar the rocks showed a few specks o' yaller, but that was all."
"Maybe that suit o' yourn drived the gold away, sir," remarked Cap Slater, casually.
Buck James scowled, but paid no attention to this observation.
"We had sense nuff to soon see thar weren't nuthin' worth while at that claim, but Smull an' Griffin"—he made a deprecating gesture—"couldn't be dragged away. An' Smull told us to chase back to the lumber camp if we didn't like it."
Captain Slater guffawed loudly.
"So we leaves 'em, and, arter prospectin' about to the east, finds sumphin a bit better, an' put up location notices."
"An' where are Smull an' Griffin now?" asked Tim.
Buck James seemed to bristle up.
"Wal, would ye believe it, arter all our trouble, they comes up at last, says as how they hadn't been able to find no more yaller streaks, an', cool as ye please, says they was comin' in with us ag'in."
"An' did you let 'em?"
"We did not!" snorted Buck James, his capacious chest swelling out with indignation. "'Nuthin' like that,' says I. They gits huffy—so does we, eh, Reeder?—an' arter two minutes o' talkin' that ye could have heard fur a mile, we chases 'em."
"An' I guess they know better'n ter ever come back," added Reeder.
Wanatoma patted the Great Dane's head.
"Ugh! It is well," he said, "for they have the spirit of the coyote, who sinks his fangs into his wounded mate."
"I reckon as how checkers ain't sich a bad feller when ye gits ter know 'im," commented Cap Slater, after the two men had gone. "Lovell, the air's gittin' sharper, eh?"
"Yes, captain!"
"An' to-morrer we uns leave Wanna all ter his lonesome. Wal, I s'picion as how some o' us'll git back ag'in afore long."
They were standing around a fire built just outside the cabin. Chilly gusts of wind made the flames crackle and roar, while showers of embers carried off on the breeze danced briskly along over the rocky surface which extended before them. A gray canopy of cloud stretched overhead.
The wind, increasing in force, whistled around the corners of the cabin, its mournful cadence rising high above the sighing of the pines.
"And just to think," remarked Dave, softly, "how soon the scene must change—I mean our scene. Instead of the wilderness and life in the open, it will be the Kingswood High School and hard study."
"But spring and vacation time will come again," said Tom. "I do wonder, Dave, what you will have a chance to write about next?"
"You may be sure that, as historian of the Rambler Club, my services will be required to describe some very interesting and exciting adventures, eh, Bob?"
And Bob agreed.
The Other Books in this Series are:THE RAMBLER CLUB AFLOATTHE RAMBLER CLUB'S WINTER CAMPTHE RAMBLER CLUB IN THE MOUNTAINSTHE RAMBLER CLUB ON CIRCLE T RANCHTHE RAMBLER CLUB AMONG THE LUMBERJACKSTHE RAMBLER CLUB'S AEROPLANE