The Boys of Crawford's Basin

 _THE STORY OF A MOUNTAIN RANCH IN THE EARLY DAYS OF COLORADO_

 BY SIDFORD F. HAMP

 _Author of "Dale and Fraser, Sheepmen, " etc. _

 ILLUSTRATED BY CHASE EMERSON

 W. A. WILDE COMPANY BOSTON CHICAGO

 _Copyrighted, 1907_

 BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY

 _All rights reserved_

 THE BOYS OF CRAWFORD'S BASIN

[Illustration: "THERE WAS BIG REUBEN LOOKING DOWN AT US"]

PREFACE

In relating the adventures of "The Boys of Crawford's Basin, " theauthor has endeavored to depict the life of the ranchman in themountains of Colorado as he knew it towards the end of the "seventies"of the century just past. 

At that date, the railroads, after their long climb from the MissouriRiver to the foot of the Rocky Mountains, were still seeking apracticable passage westward over that formidable barrier, and inconsequence, the mountain ranchman--who, by the way, was also sometimesa prospector and frequently a hunter--having no means of shipping hisproduce to the outside world, depended for his market upon one oranother of the many little silver-mining camps scattered over the State. 

That infant State was but just learning to walk without leading-strings;and it has been the aim of the author to show how two stout youngfellows, prone to honesty and not afraid of hard work, were able to dotheir share in advancing the prosperity of the growing Commonwealth inwhich their lot was cast. 

It may not be out of place, perhaps, to mention that, besides having hadconsiderable experience in ranching, the author was, about the date ofthe story, himself prospecting for silver and working as a miner. Hewould add, too, that several of the incidents related therein, and thosein his opinion the most remarkable, are drawn from actual facts. 

CONTENTS

 I. BIG REUBEN'S RAID 11

 II. CRAWFORD'S BASIN 27

 III. YETMORE'S MISTAKE 42

 IV. LOST IN THE CLOUDS 64

 V. WHAT WE FOUND IN THE POOL 82

 VI. LONG JOHN BUTTERFIELD 101

 VII. THE HERMIT'S WARNING 119

 VIII. THE WILD CAT'S TRAIL 134

 IX. THE UNDERGROUND STREAM 150

 X. HOW TOM CONNOR WENT BORING FOR OIL 169

 XI. TOM'S SECOND WINDOW 190

 XII. TOM CONNOR'S SCARE 210

 XIII. THE ORE-THEFT 229

 XIV. THE SNOW-SLIDE 250

 XV. THE BIG REUBEN VEIN 271

 XVI. THE WOLF WITH WET FEET 289

 XVII. THE DRAINING OF THE "FORTY RODS" 313

ILLUSTRATIONS

 PAGE

"THERE WAS BIG REUBEN LOOKING DOWNAT US" _Frontispiece_ 22

"AH, SOX, IS THAT YOU?'" 78

"WE SAW BEFORE US A VERY CURIOUSSIGHT" 155

"'CAN FOLKS SEE IN FROM OUTSIDE?'" 213

"HE SHOT DOWNWARD LIKE AN ARROW" 281

The Boys of Crawford's Basin

CHAPTER I

BIG REUBEN'S RAID

"Wake up, boys! Wake up! Tumble out, there! Quick! Big Reuben's into thepig-pen again!"

Our bedroom door was banged wide open, and my father stood before us--astartling apparition--dressed only in his night-shirt and a pair ofboots, carrying a stable-lantern in one hand and a rifle in the other. 

"What is it?" cried Joe, as he bounced out of bed; and, "Where is it?"cried I, both of us half dazed by the sudden awakening. 

"It's Big Reuben raiding the pig-pen again! Can't you hear 'emsquealing? Come on at once! Bring the eight-bore, Joe; and you, Phil, get the torch and the revolver. Quick; or he'll kill every hog in thepen!"

Big Reuben was not a two-legged thief, as one might suppose from hisname. He was a grizzly bear, a notorious old criminal, who, for the pasttwo or three years, had done much harm to the ranchmen of ourneighborhood, killing calves and colts and pigs--especially pigs. 

Like a robber-baron of old, he laid tribute on the whole community, raiding all the ranches in turn, traveling great distances during thenight, but always retreating to his lair among the rocks before morning. This had gone on for a long time, when one day, in broad daylight, whileOle Johnson, the Swede, was plowing his upper potato-patch, the grizzlyjumped down from a ledge of rocks and with one blow of his paw broke theback of Ole's best work-steer; Ole himself, frightened half to death, flying for refuge to his stable, where he shut himself up in thehay-loft for the rest of the day. 

This outrage had the effect of waking up the county commissioners, who, understanding at last that we had been terrorized long enough, nowoffered a reward of one hundred dollars for bruin's scalp--an offerwhich stimulated all the hunters round about to run the marauder to hislair. 

But Big Reuben was as crafty as he was bold. His home was up in one ofthe rocky gorges of Mount Lincoln to the west of us, where it would beuseless to try to trail him; and after Jed Smith had been almost torn topieces, and his partner, Baldy Atkins, had spent two nights and a day upa tree, the enthusiasm of the hunters had suddenly waned and BigReuben's closer acquaintance had been shunned by all alike. Thereafter, the bear had continued his depredations unchecked. 

Among his many other pieces of mischief, he had killed a valuable calffor us once, once before he had raided the pig-pen, and now here he wasagain. 

Without waiting to put on any extra clothing, Joe and I followed myfather through the kitchen, I grabbing a revolver from its nail in thewall, and Joe snatching down the great eight-bore duck-gun and slippinginto it two cartridges prepared for this very contingency, eachcartridge containing twelve buck-shot and a big spherical bullet--aterrific charge for close quarters. Once outside the kitchen-door, I ranto the wood-shed and seized the torch which, like the cartridges, hadbeen made ready for this emergency. It consisted of a broom-handle witha great wad of waste, soaked in kerosene, bound with wire to one end ofit. 

Lighting the torch, I held it high and followed two paces behind theothers as they advanced towards the pig-pen. We had not progressedtwenty yards, however--luckily for us, as it turned out--when thereissued through the roof of the pen a great dark body, dimly seen by thelight of the torch. 

"There he is!" cried my father, as the bear dropped out of sight behindthe corral fence. "Look out, now! We'll get a shot at him as he runs upthe hill!"

But Big Reuben had no intention whatever of running up the hill; hefeared neither man nor beast, and the next moment he appeared round thecorner of the corral, charging full upon us, open-mouthed. 

With a single impulse, we all fired one shot at him and then turned andfled, helter-skelter, for the kitchen, all tumbling in together, treading on each others' heels; my father slamming behind us the door, which fortunately opened outward. 

The kitchen was a slight frame structure, built on to the back of thehouse as a T-shaped addition. We were barely inside when bang! came aheavy body against the door, with such force as to send severalmilk-pans clashing to the floor. 

My father had hastily loaded again, and now, hearing the bear's pawspatting high up on the door, he fired a chance shot through it. The bearwas hit, seemingly, for we heard him grunt; but that he was not killedby any means was evident, for the next moment, with a clattering crash, the kitchen window, glass, frame and all, was knocked into the room, anda great hairy arm and fierce, grinning head were thrust through the gap. 

Joe, who was standing just opposite the window, jumped backward, andcatching his heels against the great tub wherein the week's wash wassoaking, he sat down in it with a splash. Seeing this, I sprang forwardand thrust my torch into the bear's face; upon which he dropped to theground again. A half-second later, Joe, still sitting in the tub, firedhis second barrel. It was a good shot, but just a trifle too late, andits only effect was to blow my torch to shreds, leaving us with the dimlight of the lantern only. 

"Into the house!" shouted my father; whereupon we all retreated from thekitchen into the main building. There, while Joe held the door partlyopen and I held the lantern so as to throw a light into the kitchen, myfather knelt upon the floor waiting for the bear to give him anotherchance. But Big Reuben was much too clever to do anything of the sort;he was not going to put himself into any such trap as that; andpresently my mother from up-stairs called out that she could see himgoing off. 

We waited about for half an hour, but as there was no more disturbancewe all went back to bed, where for another half-hour Joe and I laytalking, unable, naturally, to go to sleep at once after such a livelystirring-up. 

By sunrise next morning we were all out to see what damage had beendone. The bear had torn a great hole in the roof of the pen, had jumpedin and had killed and partly eaten one pig, choosing, as a bear of hissagacity naturally would, the best one. We were fortunate, though, tohave come off so cheaply; doubtless the light of our torch shiningthrough the chinks of the logs had disturbed him. 

If there had been any question as to the marauder's identity, that wassettled at once. His tracks were plain in the dust, and as one of hishind feet showed no marks of claws, we knew it was Big Reuben; for BigReuben had once been caught in a trap and had only freed himself byleaving his toe-nails behind him. 

Outside the kitchen door and window the tracks were very plain; therewas also a good deal of blood, showing that he had been hit at leastonce. But it was evident also that he had not been hurt very seriously, for there was no irregularity in his trail--no swaying from side toside, as from weakness--though we followed it up to the point where, atthe upper end of our valley, the bear had climbed the cliff whichbounded the Second Mesa. Though on this occasion he had thought fit torun away, there was little doubt but that he would live to fight anotherday. 

"Father, " said I, as we sat together at breakfast, "may Joe and I go andtrail him up? If he keeps on bleeding it ought to be easy, and it isjust possible that we might find him dead. "

My father at first shook his head, but presently, reconsidering, hereplied: "Well, you may go; but you must go on your ponies: it's toodangerous to go a-foot. And in any case, if the trail leads you up tothe loose rocks or into the big timber you must stop. You know what atricky beast Big Reuben is. If he sees that he is followed he will liein hiding and jump out on you. That's how he caught Jed Smith, youremember. "

"We'll take care, father, " said I. "We'll stick to our ponies, and thenwe shall be all safe. "

"Very well, then; be off with you. "

With this permission we set off, I carrying a rifle and Joe his "oldcannon, " as he called the big shotgun; each with a crust of bread and aslice or two of bacon in his pocket by way of lunch. Picking up thetrail where we had left it at the foot of the Second Mesa, we scrambledup the little cliff, looking out very sharply lest Big Reuben should belying in wait for us in some crevice, and finding that the tracks ledstraight away for Mount Lincoln, we followed them, I doing the trackingwhile Joe kept watch ahead. The surface of the Second Mesa was veryuneven: there were many little rocky hills and many small caņons, someof the latter as much as a hundred feet deep, so, keeping in mind thebear's crafty nature, whenever the trail led us near any of theseobstacles I would stand still while Joe examined the caņon or the rocks, as the case might be. 

Every time we did this, however, we drew a blank. The trail continued tolead straight away for the mountain without diverging to one side or theother, and for five or six miles we followed it until the stunted cedarsbegan to give place to pine trees, when we decided that we might as wellstop, especially as for some time past there had ceased to be anyblood-marks on the stones and we had been following only the occasionalimprint of the bear's paws in the patches of sand. 

"The trail is headed straight for that rocky gorge, Phil, " said mycompanion, pointing forward, "and it's no use going on. Even if yourfather hadn't forbidden it, I wouldn't go into that gorge, knowing thatBig Reuben was in there somewhere, not if the county commissionersshould offer me the whole county as a reward. "

"Nor I, either, " said I. "Big Reuben may have his mountain all tohimself as far as I'm concerned. So, come on; let's get back. What timeis it?"

"After noon, " replied Joe, looking up at the sun. "We've been a longtime coming, but it won't take us more than half the time going back. Let's dig out at once. "

Turning our ponies, we set off at an easy lope, and had ridden about twomiles on the back track when, skirting along the edge of one of thelittle caņons I have mentioned, we noticed a tiny spring of water, which, issuing from the face of the cliff close to the top, fell in athin thread into the chasm. 

"Joe, " said I, "let's stop here and eat our lunch. I'm getting prettyhungry. "

"All right, " said Joe; and in another minute we were seated on the edgeof the cliff with our feet dangling in space, munching our bread andbacon, while the ponies, with the reins hanging loose, were cropping thescanty grass just behind us. 

About five feet below where we sat was a little ledge some eighteeninches wide, which, on our left, gradually sloped upward until it cameto the top, while in the other direction it sloped downward, diminishingin width until it "petered out" entirely. The little spring fell uponthis ledge, and running along it, fell off again at its lower end. Asthe best place to fill our tin cup was where the water struck the ledge, we, when we had finished our lunch, walked down to that point. 

Filling the cup, I was in the act of handing it to Joe, who was behindme, when a sudden clatter of hoofs caused us to straighten up. Our eyescame just above the level of the cliff, and the first thing theyencountered was Big Reuben himself, not ten feet away, coming straightfor us at a run!

"Duck!" yelled Joe; and down we went--only just in time, too, for thebear's great claws rattled on the surface of the rock as he made a slapat us. 

Where had he come from? Had he followed us back from the mountain?Hardly: we had come too quickly. Had he seen us coming in the earlymorning, and, making a circuit out of our sight, lain in wait for us aswe returned? Such uncanny cleverness seemed hardly possible, even forBig Reuben, clever as he was known to be. 

These questions, however, did not occur to us at the moment. All thatconcerned us just then was that there was Big Reuben, looking down at usfrom the edge of the cliff. 

There was no doubt that it was the same bear we had interviewed in thenight, for all the hair on one side of his face was singed off where Ihad thrust at him with the torch, while one of his ears was tattered andbloody, showing that some of Joe's buck-shot, at least, had got him ashe dropped from the window. 

Joe and I were on our hands and knees, when the bear, going down uponhis chest, reached for us with one of his paws. He could not quite touchus, but he came so uncomfortably close that we crept away down theledge, which, dipping pretty sharply, soon put us out of his reachaltogether. 

Seeing this, the bear rose to his feet again, gazed at us for a moment, and then stepped back out of sight. 

"Has he gone?" I whispered; but before Joe could answer Big Reubenappeared again, walking down the ledge towards us. Of course we sidledaway from him, until the ledge had become so narrow that I could go nofarther; and lucky it was for us that the ledge was narrow, for whatwas standing-room for us was by no means standing-room for the bear: hisbody was much too thick to allow him to come near us, or even toapproach the spot whence we had just retreated. 

As it was obvious that the bear could advance no farther, for he wasstanding on the very edge of the ledge and there was a bulge in the rockbefore him which would inevitably have pushed him off into the chasm hadhe attempted to pass it, Joe and I returned to the spring, where we hadroom to stand or to sit down as we wished. 

The enemy watched our approach, with a glint of malice in his littlepiggy eyes, but when he saw that we intended to come no nearer, he laydown where he was and began unconcernedly licking his paws. 

"He thinks he can starve us out, " said Joe; "but if I'm not mistaken wecan stand it longer than he can, even if he did eat half a pig lastnight. And there's one thing certain, Phil: if we don't get hometo-night, somebody will come to look for us in the morning. "

"Yes, " I assented. "But they'll get a pretty bad scare at home if wedon't turn up. Is there no way of sending that beast off? If we couldonly get hold of one of the guns----"

By standing upright we could see my rifle lying on the ground and Joe'sbig gun standing with its muzzle pointed skyward, leaning against aboulder. They were only six feet away, but six feet were six feet: wecould not reach them without climbing up, and that was out of thequestion--the bear could get there much more quickly than we could. 

"Phil!" exclaimed my companion, suddenly. "Have you got any twine inyour pocket?"

"Yes, " I replied, pulling out a long, stout piece of string. "Why?"

"Perhaps we can 'rope' my gun. See, its muzzle stands clear. Then wecould drag it within reach. "

I very soon had a noose made, and being the more expert roper of the twoI swung it round and round my head, keeping the loop wide open, andthrew it. My very first cast was successful. The noose fell over themuzzle of the gun and settled half way down the barrel, where it wasstopped by the rock. 

"Good!" whispered Joe. "Now, tighten it up gently and pull the gunover. "

I followed these directions, and presently we heard the gun fall with aclatter upon the rocks; for, fearing it might go off when it fell, wehad both ducked below the rim of the wall. 

Our actions had made the bear suspicious, and when the gun cameclattering down he rose upon his hind feet and looked about him. Seeingnothing moving, however, he came down again, when I at once began topull the gun gently towards me, keeping my head down all the time lestone of the hammers, catching against a rock, should explode the charge. 

At length, thinking it should be near enough, I ceased pulling, when Joestraightened up, reached out, and, to my great delight, when he withdrewhis hand the gun was in it. 

Ah! What a difference it made in our situation!

Joe, first opening the breach to make sure the gun was loaded, advancedas near the bear as he dared, and kneeling down took careful aim at hischest. But presently he lowered the gun again, and turning to me, said:

"Phil, can you do anything to make him turn his head so that I can get achance at him behind the ear? I'm afraid a shot in front may only woundhim. "

"All right, " said I. "I'll try. "

With my knife I pried out of the face of the cliff a piece of stoneabout the size and shape of the palm of my hand, and aiming carefully Ithrew it at the bear. It struck him on the very point of his nose--atender spot--and seemingly hurt him a good deal, for, with an angrysnarl, he rose upright on his hind feet. 

At that instant a terrific report resounded up and down the caņon, thewhole charge of Joe's ponderous weapon struck the bear full in thechest--I could see the hole it made--and without a sound the great beastdropped from the ledge, fell a hundred feet upon the rocks below, bounded two or three times and then lay still, all doubled up in a heapat the bottom. 

Big Reuben had killed his last pig!

CHAPTER II

CRAWFORD'S BASIN

You might think, perhaps, as many people in our neighborhood thought, that Joe was my brother. As a matter of fact he was no relation at all;he had dropped in upon us, a stranger, two years before, and had stayedwith us ever since. 

It was in the haying season that he came, at a moment when my father andI were overwhelmed with work; for it was the summer of 1879, the year of"the Leadville excitement, " when all the able-bodied men in the districtwere either rushing off to Leadville itself or going off prospecting allover the mountains in the hope of unearthing other Leadvilles. Ranchwork was much too slow for them, and as a consequence it was impossiblefor us to secure any help that was worth having. 

What made it all the more provoking was that we had that year anextra-fine stand of grass--the weather, too, was magnificent--yet, unless we could get help, it was hardly likely that we could take fulladvantage of our splendid hay-crop. 

Nevertheless, as what could not be cured must be endured, my father andI tackled the job ourselves, working early and late, and we were makingvery good progress, all things considered, when we had the misfortune tobreak a small casting in our mowing-machine; a mishap which wouldprobably entail a delay of several days until we could get the piecereplaced. 

It was just before noon that this happened, and we had brought themachine up to the wagon-shed and had put up the horses, when, onstepping out of the stable, we were accosted by a tall, black haired, blue eyed young fellow of about my own age, who asked if he could get ajob with us. 

"Yes, you can, " replied my father, promptly; and then, remembering theaccident to the machine, he added, "at least, you can as soon as I getthis casting replaced, " holding out the broken piece as he spoke. 

"May I look at it?" asked the young fellow; and taking it in his hand hewent on: "I see you have a blacksmith-shop over there; I think I canduplicate this for you if you'll let me try: I was a blacksmith'sapprentice only a month ago. "

"Do you think you can? Well, you shall certainly be allowed to try. Butcome in now: dinner will be ready in five minutes; you shall try yourhand at blacksmithing afterwards. What's your name?"

"Joe Garnier, " replied the boy. "I come from Iowa. I was going toLeadville, but I met so many men coming back, with tales of what numbersof idle men there were up there unable to get work, that, hearing of aplace called Sulphide as a rising camp, I decided to go there instead. This is the right way to get there, isn't it?"

"Yes, this is the way to Sulphide. Did you expect to get work as aminer?"

"Well, I intended to take any work I could get, but if you can give meemployment here, I'd a good deal rather work out in the sun than down ina hole in the ground. "

"You replace that casting if you can, and I'll give you work for amonth, at least, and longer if we get on well together. "

"Thank you, " said the stranger; and with that we went into the house. 

The newcomer started well: he won my mother's good opinion at once bywiping his boots carefully before entering, and by giving himself asousing good wash at the pump before sitting down to table. It was plainhe was no ordinary tramp--though, for that matter, the genus "tramp" hadnot yet invaded the three-year-old state of Colorado--for his mannerswere good; while his clear blue eyes, in contrast with his brown faceand wavy black hair, gave him a remarkably bright and wide-awake look. 

As soon as dinner was over, we all repaired to the blacksmith-shop, where Joe at once went to work. It was very evident that he knew what hewas about: every blow seemed to count in the right direction; so that inabout half an hour he had fashioned his piece of iron into the desiredshape, when he plunged it into the tub of water, and then, clapping itinto the vise, went to work on it with a file; every now and thencomparing it with the broken casting which lay on the bench beside him. 

"There!" he exclaimed at last. "I believe that will fit. " And, indeed, when he laid them side by side, one would have been puzzled to tellwhich was which, had not the old piece been painted red while the otherwas not painted at all. 

Joe was right: the piece did fit; and in less than an hour from the timewe had finished dinner we were at work again in the hay-field. 

The month which followed was a strenuous one, but by the end of it wehad the satisfaction of knowing that we had put up the biggest crop ofhay ever cut on the ranch. 

Our new helper, who was a tall, stout fellow for his age, and anuntiring worker, proved to be a capital hand, and though at first he wassomewhat awkward, being unused to farm labor, before we had finished hecould do a better day's work than I could, in spite of the fact that Ihad been a ranch boy ever since I had been a boy at all. 

We all took a great liking for Joe, and we were very pleased, therefore, when, the hay being in, it was arranged that he should stay on. Forthere was plenty of work to be done that year--extra work, I mean--suchas building fences, putting up an ice-house and so forth, in which Joe, having a decided mechanical turn, proved a valuable assistant. So, whenthe spring came round again it found Joe still with us; and with us hecontinued to stay, becoming so much one of the family that many people, as I said, who did not know his story, supposed that he and I werebrothers in fact, as we soon learned to become brothers in feeling. 

Long before this, of course, Joe had told us all about himself and howhe had come to leave his old home and make his way westward. 

Of French-Canadian descent, the boy, left an orphan at three years ofage, had been taken in by a neighbor, a kind-hearted blacksmith, andwith him he had lived for the twelve years following, when theblacksmith, now an old man, had decided to go out of business. Just atthis time "the Leadville excitement" was making a great stir in thecountry; thousands of men were heading for the new Eldorado, and Joe, his old friend consenting, determined to join the throng. 

It was, perhaps, lucky for the young blacksmith that he started ratherlate, for, on his approach to the mountains, he encountered files ofdisappointed men streaming in the opposite direction, and hearing theirstories of the overcrowded condition of things in Leadville, hedetermined to try instead the mining camp of Sulphide, when, passing ourplace on the way he was caught by my father, as I have described, andturned into a ranchman. 

Such was the condition of affairs with us when Big Reuben made his finalraid upon our pig-pen. 

The reward of one hundred dollars which the county paid us for ourexploit in ridding the community of Big Reuben's presence came in veryhandily for Joe and me. It enabled us to achieve an object for which wehad long been hoarding our savings--the purchase of a pair of mules. 

For the past two years, in the slack season, after the gathering of ourhay and potato crops, we had hired out during the fine weather remainingto a man whose business it was to cut and haul timbers for the mines inand around the town of Sulphide, which lay in the mountains seven milessouthwestward from our ranch. We found it congenial work, and Joe and I, who were now seventeen years old, hardened to labor with ax, shovel orpitchfork, saw no reason why we should not put in these odd five or sixweeks cutting timbers on our own account. No reason but one, that is tosay. My father would readily lend us one of his wagons, but he could notspare a team, and so, until we could procure a team of our own, we wereobliged to forego the honor and glory--to say nothing of the expectedprofits--of setting up as an independent firm. 

Now, however, we had suddenly and unexpectedly acquired the necessaryfunds, and with the money in our pockets away we went at once to OleJohnson's, from whom we bought a stout little pair of mouse-coloredmules upon which we had long had an eye. 

But though the firm of Crawford and Garnier might now, if it pleased, consider itself established, it could not enter upon the practice of itsbusiness for some time yet. It was still the middle of summer, and therewas plenty to do on the ranch: the hay and the oats would be ready tocut in two weeks, while after that there were the potatoes to gather--avery heavy piece of work. 

All these tasks had to be cleared out of the way before we could move upto Sulphide to begin on our timber-cutting enterprise. But between theharvesting of the oats and the gathering of the potato-crop thereoccurred an incident, which, besides being remarkable in itself, had avery notable effect upon my father's fortunes--and, incidentally, uponour own. 

To make understandable the ins and outs of this matter, I must pause amoment to describe the situation of our ranch; for it is upon thepeculiarity of its situation that much of my story hinges. 

Anybody traveling westward from San Remo, the county seat, with the ideaof getting up into the mountains, would encounter, about a mile fromtown, a rocky ridge, which, running north and south, extended forseveral miles each way. Ascending this bluff and still going westward, he would presently encounter a second ridge, the counterpart of thefirst, and climbing that in turn he would find himself upon thewide-spreading plateau known as the Second Mesa, which extended, withoutpresenting any serious impediment, to the foot of the range--itself oneof the finest and ruggedest masses of mountains in the whole state ofColorado. 

In a deep depression of the First Mesa--known as Crawford's Basin--layour ranch. This "Basin" was evidently an ancient lake-bed--as one couldtell by the "benches" surrounding it--but the water of the lake havingin the course of ages sawed its way out through the rocky barrier, nowran off through a little caņon about a quarter of a mile long. 

The natural way for us to get from the ranch down to San Remo was tofollow the stream down this caņon, but, curiously enough, for more thanhalf the year this road was impassable. The lower end of Crawford'sBasin, for a quarter of a mile back from the entrance of the caņon, wasso soft and water-logged that not even an empty wagon could pass overit. In fact, so soft was it that we could not get upon it to cut hay andwere obliged to leave the splendid stand of grass that grew there as awinter pasture. In the cold weather, when the ground froze up, it wasall right, but at the first breath of spring it began to soften, andfrom then until winter again we could do nothing with it. It was, infact, little better than a source of annoyance to us, for, until wefenced it off, our milk cows, tempted by the luxuriant grass, werealways getting themselves mired there. 

This wet patch was known to every teamster in the county as "thebottomless forty rods, " and was shunned by them like a pestilence. Itsexistence was a great drawback to us, for, between San Remo, where thesmelters were, and the town of Sulphide, where the mines were, therewas a constant stream of wagons passing up and down, carrying ore to thesmelters and bringing back provisions, tools and all the othermultitudinous necessaries required by the population of a busy miningtown. Had it not been for the presence of "the bottomless forty rods, "all these wagons would have come through our place and we should havedone a great trade in oats and hay with the teamsters. But as it was, they all took the mesa road, which, though three miles longer andnecessitating the descent of a long, steep hill where the road came downfrom the First Mesa to the plains, had the advantage of being hard andsound at all seasons of the year. 

My father had spent much time and labor in the attempt to make apermanent road through this morass, cutting trenches and throwing inload after load of stones and brush and earth, but all in vain, and atlength he gave it up--though with great reluctance. For, not only didthe teamsters avoid us, but we, ourselves, when we wished to go with aload to San Remo, were obliged to ascend to the mesa and go down by thehill road. 

The cause of this wet spot was apparently an underground stream whichcame to the surface at that point. The creek which supplied us withwater for irrigation had its sources on Mount Lincoln and falling fromthe Second Mesa into our Basin in a little waterfall some twelve feethigh, it had scooped out a circular hole in the rock about a hundredfeet across and then, running down the length of the valley, found itsway out through the caņon. Now this creek received no accession from anyother stream in its course across the Basin, but for all that the amountof water in the caņon was twice as great as that which came over thefall; showing conclusively that the marsh whence the increase came mustbe supplied by a very strong underground stream. 

The greater part of Crawford's Basin was owned by my father, PhilipCrawford, the elder, but a portion of it, about thirty acres at theupper end, including the pool, the waterfall and the best part of thepotato land, was owned by Simon Yetmore, of Sulphide. 

My father was very desirous of purchasing this piece of ground, for itwould round out the ranch to perfection, but Yetmore, knowing how muchhe desired it, asked such an unreasonable price that their bargainingalways fell through. Being unable to buy it, my father therefore leasedit, paying the rent in the form of potatoes delivered at Yetmore's storein Sulphide--for Simon, besides being mayor of Sulphide and otherwise aperson of importance, was proprietor of Yetmore's Emporium, by far thelargest general store in town. 

He was an enterprising citizen, Simon was, always having many irons inthe fire; a clever fellow, too, in his way; though his way was notexactly to the taste of some people: he drove too hard a bargain. Infact, the opinion was pretty general that his name fitted him to anicety, for, however much he might get, he always wanted yet more. 

My father distrusted him; yet, strange to say, in spite of that fact, and of the added fact that he had always fought shy of all miningschemes, he and Yetmore were partners in a prospecting venture. It was, in a measure, an accident, and it came about in this way:

The smelter-men down at San Remo were always crying out for morelead-ores to mix with the "refractory" ores produced by most of themines in our district, publishing a standing offer of an extra-goodprice for all ores containing more than a stated percentage of lead. Inspite of the stimulus this offer gave to the prospecting of themountains, north, south and west of us, there had been found but onemine, the Samson, of which the chief product was lead, and this did notfurnish nearly enough to satisfy the wants of the smelter-men. 

Its discovery, however, proved the existence of veins of galena--the orefrom which lead chiefly comes--in one part of the district, and theprospectors became more active than ever; though without result. Thatsection of country where the Samson had been discovered was deeplyoverlaid with "wash, " and as the veins were "blanket" veins--lying flat, that is--and did not crop out above the surface, their discovery waspretty much a matter of chance. 

Among the prospectors was one, Tom Connor, who, having had experience inthe lead-mines of Missouri, proposed to adopt one of the methods ofprospecting in use in that country, to wit, the core-drill. But toprocure and operate a core-drill required money, and this Tom Connor hadnot. He therefore applied to Simon Yetmore, who agreed to supply partof the necessary funds--making good terms for himself, you may besure--if Tom would provide the rest. The rest, however, was rather morethan the sum-total of Tom's scanty capital, and so he came to my father, who was an old friend of his, and asked him to make up the difference. 

My father declined to take any share in the enterprise, for, though mostof the ranchmen round about were more or less interested in mining, hehimself looked upon it as being too near akin to gambling; but feelingwell disposed towards Tom, and the sum required being very moderate, helent his friend the money, quite prepared, knowing Tom's optimistic, harum-scarum character, never to see it again. 

In this expectation, however, he was happily deceived. It is true he didnot get back his money, but he received his money's worth, and that in avery curious way. 

CHAPTER III

YETMORE'S MISTAKE

Three months had elapsed when Tom Connor turned up one day with a verylong face. All his drilling had brought no result; he was at the end ofhis tether; he could see no possible chance of ever repaying theborrowed money, and so, said he, would my father take his interest inthe drill in settlement of the debt?

Very reluctantly my father consented--for what did he want with aone-third share in a core-drill?--whereupon Tom, the load of debt beingoff his mind, brightened up again in an instant--he was a most mercurialfellow--and forthwith he fell to begging my father's consent to hismaking one more attempt--just one. He was sure of striking it this time, he had studied the formation carefully and he had selected a spot wherethe chances of disappointment were, as he declared, "next-to-nothing. "

My father knew Tom well enough to know that he had been just as suretwenty times before, but Tom was so eager and so plausible that at lasthe agreed that he should sink one more hole--but no more. 

"And mind you, Tom, " said he, "I won't spend more than fifty dollars;that is the very utmost I can afford, and I believe I am only throwingthat away. But I'll spend fifty just to satisfy you--but that's all, mind you. "

"Fifty dollars!" exclaimed Tom. "Fifty! Bless you, that'll be more thanenough. Twenty ought to do it. I'm going to make your fortune for twentydollars, Mr. Crawford, and glad of the chance. You've treated me'white, ' and the more I can make for you the better I'll be pleased. Inside of a week I'll be coming back here with a lead-mine in mypocket--you see if I don't. "

"All right, Tom, " said my father, laughing, as he shook hands with him. "I shall be glad to have it, even if it is only a pocket edition. So, good-bye, old man, and good luck to you. "

It was two days after this that my father at breakfast time turned to usand said:

"Boys, how would you like to take your ponies and go and see Tom Connorat work? There is not much to do on the ranch just now, and an outing oftwo or three days will do you good. "

Needless to say, we jumped at the chance, and as soon as we could getoff, away we went, delighted at the prospect of making an expeditioninto the mountains. 

The place where Tom was at work was thirty miles beyond Sulphide, a longride, nearly all up hill, and it was not till towards sunset that weapproached his camp. As we did so, a very surprising sight met our gaze:three men, close together, with their backs to us, down on their handsand knees, like Mahomedans saying their prayers. 

"What are they up to?" asked Joe. "Have they lost something?"

At this moment, my horse's hoof striking a stone caused the three men tolook up. One was Connor, one was his helper, and the other, to oursurprise, was Yetmore. 

Connor sprang to his feet and ran towards us, crying:

"What did I tell you, boys! What did I tell you! Get off your ponies, quick, and come and see!"

He was wild with excitement. 

We slid from our horses, and joining the other two, went down on ourknees beside them. Upon the ground before them lay the object of theirworship: a "core" from the drill, neatly pieced together, about eightfeet long and something less than an inch in diameter. Of this core, four feet or more at one end and about half a foot at the other wascomposed of some kind of stone, but in between, for a length of threefeet and an inch or two, it was all smooth, shining lead-ore. 

Tom Connor had struck it, and no mistake!

"Tom, " said Yetmore, as we all rose to our feet again, "this _looks_like a pretty fair strike; but you've got to remember that we knownothing about the extent of the vein--one hole doesn't prove much. It isthree feet thick at this particular point, but it may be only threeinches five feet away; and as to its length and breadth, why, that's allpure speculation. All the same I'm ready to make a deal with you. I'llbuy your interest or I'll sell you mine. What do you say?"

"What's the use of that kind of talk?" growled Connor. "You know Ihaven't a cent to my name. Besides, I haven't any interest. "

"You--what!--you haven't any interest!" cried the other. "What do youmean?"

"I've sold it. "

"Sold it! Who to?"

"To Mr. Crawford, two days ago. "

"Well, you are a----" Yetmore began; but catching sight of Tom'sglowering face he stopped and substituted, "Well, I'm sorry to hear it. "

"Well, I ain't, " said Tom, shortly. "If Mr. Crawford makes a fortune outof it I'll be mighty well pleased. He's treated me 'white, ' _he_ has. "

From the tone and manner of this remark it was easy to guess that Tomdid not love Mr. Yetmore: he had found him a difficult partner to getalong with, probably. 

"I certainly hope he will, " said Yetmore, smiling, "for if he does Ishall. Sold it to Mr. Crawford, eh? So that accounts for you two boysbeing up here. Got here just in time, didn't you? You'll stay overto-morrow, of course, and see Tom uncover the vein?"

"Are you proposing to uncover it, Tom?" I asked. 

"Yes. It's only four feet down; one shot will do it. You'll stay too, Isuppose, Mr. Yetmore?"

"Certainly, " replied the other. But as he said it, I saw a change comeover his face--it was a leathery face, with a large, long nose. Someidea had occurred to him I was sure, especially when, seeing that I waslooking at him, he dropped his eyes, as though fearing they might betrayhim. 

Whatever the idea might be, however, I ceased to think of it when Tomsuggested that it was getting late and that we had better adjourn to thecabin for supper. 

Taking our ponies over to the log stable, therefore, we gave them a goodfeed of oats, and soon afterwards were ourselves seated before asteaming hot meal of ham, bread and coffee; after which we spent an hourtalking over the great strike, and then, crawling into the bunks, wevery quickly fell asleep. 

Early next morning we walked about half a mile up the mountain to thescene of the strike, when, having first shoveled away two or three feetof loose stuff, Tom and his helper set to work, one holding the drilland the other plying the hammer, drilling a hole a little to one side ofthe spot whence the core had come. 

They were no more than well started when Yetmore, remarking that he hadforgotten his tobacco, walked back to the cabin to get it--an action towhich Joe and I, being interested in the drilling, paid littleattention. It was only when Connor, turning to select a fresh drill, asked where he was, that we remembered how long he had been gone. 

"Gone back to the cabin, has he?" remarked Tom. "Well, he's welcome tostay there as far as I'm concerned. "

The work went on, until presently Tom declared that they had gone deepenough, and while we others cleared away the tools, Connor himselfloaded and tamped the hole. 

"Now, get out of the way!" cried he; and while we ran off and hid behindconvenient trees, Tom struck a match and lighted the fuse. The dull thudof an explosion shortly followed; but on walking back to the spot wewere all greatly surprised to see that the rock had remained intact--itwas as solid as ever. 

"Well, that beats all!" exclaimed Tom. "The thing has shot downward; itmust be hollow underneath. We'll have to put in some short holes andcrack it up. "

It did not take long to put in three short holes, and these beingcharged and tamped, we once more took refuge behind the trees while Tomtouched them off. This time there were three sharp explosions, a showerof fragments rattled through the branches above our heads, and on goingto inspect the result we found that the rock had been so shattered thatit was an easy matter to pry out the pieces with pick and crowbar--atask of which Joe and I did our share. 

At length, the hole being now about three feet deep, Joe, who wasworking with a crowbar, gave a mighty prod at a loose piece of rock, when, to the astonishment of himself and everybody else, the bottom ofthe hole fell through, and rock, crowbar and all, disappeared into thecavity beneath. 

"Well, what kind of a vein is it, anyhow?" cried Tom, going down uponhis knees and peering into the darkness. "Blest if there isn't a sort ofcave down here. Knock out some more, boys, and let me get down. This isthe queerest thing I've struck in a long time. "

We soon had the hole sufficiently enlarged, when, by means of a ropeattached to a tree, Tom slid down into it, and lighting a candle, peeredabout. 

Poor old Tom! The change on his face would have been ludicrous had wenot felt so sorry for him, when, looking up at us he said in lugubrioustones: "Done again, boys! Come down and see for yourselves. "

We quickly slid down the rope, when, our eyes having become accustomedto the light, Tom pointed out to us the extraordinary accident that hadcaused him to believe he had struck a three-foot vein of galena. 

Though there was no sign of such a thing on the surface, it was evidentthat the place in which we stood had at one time been a narrow, water-worn gully in the mountain-side. Ages ago there had been alandslide, filling the little gully with enormous boulders. That theserocks came from the vein of the Samson higher up the mountain was alsopretty certain, for among them was one pear-shaped boulder of galenaore, standing upright, upon the apex of which rested the immensefour-foot slab of stone through which Tom had bored his drill-hole. By achance that was truly marvelous, the drill, after piercing the greatslab, had struck the very point of the galena boulder and had gonethrough it from end to end, so that when the core came up it was nowonder that even Tom, experienced miner though he was, should have beendeceived into the belief that he had discovered a three-foot vein oflead-ore. 

As a matter of fact, there was no vein at all--just one single chunk ofgalena, not worth the trouble of getting it out. Connor's lead-mineafter all had turned out to be only a "pocket edition. "

Tom's disappointment was naturally extreme, but, as usual, his lowspirits were only momentary. We had hardly climbed up out of the holeagain when he suddenly burst out laughing. 

"Ho, ho, ho!" he went, slapping his leg. "What will Yetmore say? I'msorry, Phil, that I couldn't keep my promise to your father, but I'llown up that as far as Yetmore is concerned I'm rather glad. I don't likethe Honorable Simon, and that's a fact. What's he doing down at thecabin all this time, I wonder. Come! Let's gather up the tools and godown there: there's nothing more to be done here. "

On arriving at the cabin, Yetmore's non-appearance was at onceexplained. Fastened to the table with a fork was a piece of paper, uponwhich was written in pencil, "Gone to look for the horses. "

Of course, Joe and I at once ran over to the stable. It was empty; allthree of the horses were gone. 

"Queer, " remarked Joe. "I feel sure I tied mine securely, but you seehalters and all are gone. "

"Yes, " I replied. "And I should have relied upon our ponies' stayingeven if they had not been tied up; you know what good camp horses theyare. Let's go out and see which way they went. "

We made a cast all round the stable, and presently Joe called out, "Herethey are, all three of them. " I thought he had found the horses, but itwas only their tracks he had discovered, which with much difficulty wefollowed over the stony ground, until, after half an hour of carefultrailing, they led us to the dusty road some distance below camp, wherethey were plainly visible. 

"Our ponies have followed Yetmore's horse, " said Joe, after a briefinspection. "Do you see, Phil, they tread in his tracks all the time?"

For the tracks left by our own ponies were easily distinguishable fromthose of Yetmore's big horse, our animals being unshod. 

"What puzzles me though, Joe, " said I, "is that there are no marks ofthe halter-ropes trailing in the dust; and yet they went off with theirhalters. "

"That's true. I don't understand it. And there's another thing, Phil:Yetmore hasn't got on their trail yet, apparently; see, the marks of hisboots don't show anywhere. He must be wandering in the woods still. "

"I suppose so. Well, let us go on and see if they haven't stopped tofeed somewhere. "

We went on for half a mile when we came to a spot where the trackspuzzled us still more. For the first time a man's footmarks appeared. That they were Yetmore's I knew, for I had noticed the pattern of thenails in the soles of his boots as he had sat with his feet resting on achair the night before. But where had he dropped from so suddenly? Wecould find no tracks on either side of the road--though certainly theground was stony and would not take an impression easily--yet here theywere all at once right on top of the horses' hoof-prints. 

Moreover, his appearance seemed to have been the signal for a newarrangement in the position of the horses, for our ponies had here takenthe lead, while Yetmore's horse came treading in their tracks. Moreover, again, twenty yards farther on, the horses had all broken intoa gallop. What did it mean?

"Well, this is a puzzler!" exclaimed Joe, taking off his hat andrumpling his hair, as his habit was in such circumstances. "How do youfigure it out, Phil?"

"Why, " said I. "I'll tell you what I think. Yetmore has caught sight ofthe horses strolling down the road and has followed them, keeping awayfrom the road himself for fear they should see him and take alarm. Dodging through the scrub-oak and cutting across corners, he has comenear enough to them to speak to his own horse; the horse has stopped andYetmore has caught him. That was where his tracks first showed in theroad. Then he has jumped upon his horse and galloped after our ponies, which appear to have bolted. "

"That sounds reasonable, " Joe assented; "and in that case he'll headthem and drive them back; so we may as well walk up to the cabin againand wait for him. "

To this I agreed, and we therefore turned round and retraced our steps. 

"There's only one thing about this that I can't understand, " remarkedJoe, as we trudged up the hill, "and that is about the halters--why theyleave no trail. That does beat me. "

"Yes, that is certainly a queer thing; unless they managed to scrapethem off against the trees before they took to the road. In that case, though, we ought to have found them; and anyhow it is hard to believethat all three horses should have done the same thing. "

We found Tom very busy packing up when we reached the cabin, and on ourtelling him the result of our horse-hunt he merely nodded, saying, "Well, they'll be back soon, I suppose, and then I'll ride down withyou. "

"Why, are you going to quit, Tom?" I asked. 

"Yes, " he replied. "Your father limited me to one more hole, youremember, and if I know him he'll stick to it; and as to working anylonger for Yetmore, no thank you; I've had enough of it. "

So saying, Tom, who had already cleaned and put away the tools, begantumbling his scanty wardrobe into a gunny-sack, and this being done, heturned to us and said:

"I've got a pony out at pasture about a mile up the valley. I'll go andbring him down; and while I'm gone you might as well pitch in and getdinner ready. You needn't provide for Sandy Yates: he's gone off alreadyto see if he can get a job up at the Samson. "

Sandy Yates was the helper. 

In an hour or less Tom was back and we were seated at dinner, withoutYetmore, who had not yet turned up, when the conversation naturally fellupon the subject of the runaway horses. We related to Tom how we hadtrailed them through the woods down to the road, told him of the suddenappearance of Yetmore's tracks, and how the horses had then set off at arun, followed by Yetmore. 

"But the thing I can_not_ understand, " said Joe, harking back to the oldsubject, "is why the halter-ropes don't show in the dust. "

"Don't they?" exclaimed Tom, suddenly sitting bolt upright and clappinghis knife and fork down upon the table. "Don't they? Just you wait aminute. "

With that he jumped up, strode out of the cabin, and went straightacross to the stable. In two minutes he was back again, and standing inthe doorway, with his hands in his pockets, he said:

"Boys, I've got another surprise for you: Yetmore's saddle's gone!"

"His saddle gone!" I exclaimed. "Is that why you went to the stable? Didyou expect to find it gone?"

"That's just what I did. "

"You did! Why?"

Without replying directly, Tom came in, sat down, and leaning his elbowson the table, said, with a quiet chuckle, the meaning of which we couldnot understand:

"Should you like to know, boys, what Yetmore did when he came down forhis tobacco this morning? He went to the stable, saddled his horse, untied your two ponies and led them out. Then he mounted his horse andtaking the halter-ropes in his hand he led your ponies by a roundaboutway through the woods down to the road. After leading them at a walkalong the road for half a mile he dismounted--that was where his tracksshowed--and either took off the halters and threw them away, or what ismore likely, tied them up around the ponies' necks so that theyshouldn't step on them. Then he mounted again and went off at a gallop, driving your ponies ahead of him. "

As Tom concluded, he leaned back in his chair, bubbling with suppressedmerriment, until the sight of our round-eyed wonder was too much for himand he burst into uproarious laughter, which was so infectious that wecould not help joining in, though the cause of it was a perfect mysteryto us both. 

At length, when he had laughed himself out, he leaned forward again, andrubbing the tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand, he said:

"Can't you guess, boys, why Yetmore has gone off with your horses?"

I shook my head. "No, " said I, "unless he wants to steal them, and he'dhardly do that, I suppose. "

"No; anyhow not in such a bare-faced way as that. What he's after is tomake you boys walk home. "

"Make us walk home!" cried Joe. "What should he want to do that for?"

Tom grinned, and in reply, said: "Yetmore thought that as soon as weuncovered that fine three-foot vein of galena you would be for gettingyour ponies and galloping off home to tell Mr. Crawford of the greatstrike, and as he wanted to get there first he stole yourponies--temporarily--to make sure of doing it. "

"But why should he want to get there first?" I asked. "You are talkingin riddles, Tom, and we haven't the key. "

"No, I know you haven't. You don't know Yetmore. I do. He's gone down tobuy your father's share in the claim for next-to-nothing before he hearsof the strike!"

The whole thing was plain and clear now; and the hilarity of our friend, Connor, was explained. He had no liking for Yetmore, as we have seen, and it delighted him immeasurably to think of that too astute gentlemanrushing off to buy my father's share of a valuable mine, and, if hesucceeded, finding himself the owner of a worthless boulder instead. 

For myself, I was much puzzled how to act. Naturally, I felt prettyindignant at Yetmore's action, and it seemed to me that if, in trying tocheat my father, he should only succeed in cheating himself, it would beno more than just that he should be allowed to do so. But at the sametime I thought that my father ought to be informed of the state of thecase as soon as possible--he, not I, was the one to judge--and so, turning to Connor, I asked him to lend me his pony so that I might setoff at once. 

"What! And spoil the deal!" cried Connor; and at first he was disposedto refuse. But on consideration, he added: "Well, perhaps you're right. Your father's an honest man, if ever there was one, and I doubt if he'dlet even a man like Yetmore cheat himself if he could help it; and so Isuppose you must go and tell him the particulars as soon as you can. AllI hope is that he will have made his deal before you get there. Yes, youcan take the pony. "

But it was not necessary to borrow Connor's steed after all, for when westepped outside the cabin, there were our own ponies coming up the road. The halters were fastened up round their necks, and they showed evidentsigns of having been run hard some time during the morning. PresumablyYetmore had abandoned them somewhere on the road and they had walkedleisurely back. 

"Well, boys, " said Connor, "we may as well all start together now; butas your ponies have had a good morning's work already, we can't expectto make the whole distance this evening. We'll stop over night atThornburg's, twenty miles down, and go on again first thing in themorning. "

This we did, and by ten o'clock we reached home, where the first personwe encountered was my father. 

"Well, Tom, " he cried, as the miner slipped down from his horse. "So youmade a strike, did you?"

At this Tom opened his eyes pretty widely. "How did you know?" he asked. 

"I didn't know, " my father replied, smiling, "but I guessed. Does itamount to much?"

"Well, no, I can't say it does, " Tom replied, as he covered his mouthwith his hand to hide the grin which would come to the surface. "Yetmore's been here, I suppose?" he added, inquiringly. 

"Yes, he has, " answered my father, surprised in his turn. "Why do youask?"

"Oh, I just thought he might have, that's all. "

"Yes, he was here yesterday afternoon. I sold him my one-third share. "

"Did you?" asked Tom, eagerly. "I hope you got a good price. "

"Yes, I made a very satisfactory bargain. I traded my share for histhirty acres here, so that now, at last, I own the whole of Crawford'sBasin, I'm glad to say. "

"Bully!" cried Tom, clapping his hands together with a report which madehis pony shy. "That's great! Tell us about it, Mr. Crawford. "

"Why, Yetmore rode in yesterday afternoon, as I told you, on his way totown--he said. But I rather suspected the truth of his statement. He hadcome in a desperate hurry, for his horse was in a lather, and if he wasin such haste to get to town, why did he waste time talking to me, as hedid for twenty minutes? But when, just as he was starting off again, heturned back and asked me if I wanted to sell my share in the drill andclaim, I knew that that was what he had come about, and I had a strongsuspicion that he had heard of a strike of some sort and was trying toget the better of me. So when he asked what I wanted for my share, Isaid I would take his thirty acres, and in spite of his protestationsthat I was asking far too much, I stuck to it. The final result was thatI rode on with him to town, where we exchanged deeds and the bargain wascompleted. "

"That's great!" exclaimed Connor once more, rubbing his hands. "And nowI'll tell you our part of the story. "

When he had finished, my father stood thinking for a minute, and thensaid: "Well, the deal will have to stand. Yetmore believed we had athree-foot vein of galena, and it is perfectly evident that he meant toget my share out of me at a trifling price before I was aware of itsvalue. It was a shabby trick. If he had dealt squarely with me, I wouldhave offered to give him back his deed, but, as it is, I shan't. Thedeal will have to stand. "

Thus it was that my father became sole owner of Crawford's Basin. 

CHAPTER IV

LOST IN THE CLOUDS

The fact that he had lost his little all in the core-boring venture didnot trouble Tom Connor in the least; the money was gone, and as worryingabout it would not bring it back, Tom decided not to worry. The samething had happened to him many a time before, for his system of life wasto work in the mines until he had accumulated a respectable sum, andthen go off prospecting till such time as the imminence of starvationdrove him back again to regular work. 

It was so in this case; and being known all over the district as askilful miner, his specialty being timber-work, he very soon got a goodjob on the Pelican as boss timberman on a section of that importantmine. 

One effect of Tom's getting work on the Pelican was that he secured forJoe and me an order for lagging--small poles used in the mines to holdup the ore and waste--and our potato-crop being gathered and marketed, my father gave us permission to go off and earn some extra money forourselves by filling the order which Tom's kindly thoughtfulness hadsecured for us. 

The place we had chosen as the scene of our operations was on thenorthern slope of Elkhorn Mountain, which lay next south of MountLincoln, and one bright morning in the late fall Joe and I packed ourbedding and provisions into a wagon borrowed from my father and set out. 

We had chosen this spot, after making a preliminary survey for thepurpose, partly because the growth of timber was--as it nearly alwaysis--much thicker on the northern slopes of Elkhorn than on the southside of Lincoln, and also because, being a rather long haul, it had notyet been encroached upon by the timber-cutters of Sulphide. 

On a little branch creek of the stream which ran through Sulphide weselected a favorable spot and went to work. It was rather high up, andthe country being steep and rocky, we had to make our camp about a milebelow our working-ground, snaking out the poles as we cut them. This, ofcourse, was a rather slow process, but it had its compensation in thefact that from the foot of the mountain nearly all the way to Sulphideour course lay across the Second Mesa, which was fairly smooth going, and as it was down hill for the whole distance we could haul a very bigload when we did start. In due time we filled our contract and receivedour pay, after which, by advice of Tom Connor, we branched out onanother line of the same business. 

Being unable to get a second contract, and being, in fact, afraid totake one if we could get it on account of the lateness of theseason--for the snow might come at any moment and prevent our carryingit out--we consulted Tom, who suggested that we put in the rest of thefine weather cutting big timbers, hauling them to town, and storing themon a vacant lot, or, what would be better, in somebody's back yard. 

"For, " said he, "though the Pelican and most of the other mines havetheir supplies for the winter on hand or contracted for, it is alwayslikely they may want a few more stulls or other big timbers than theythink. I'll keep you in mind, and if I hear of any such I'll try andmake a deal for you, either for the whole stick or cut in lengths toorder. "

As this seemed like good sense to us, we at once went off to find astorage place, a quest in which we were successful at the first attempt. 

Among my father's customers was the widow Appleby, who conducted a smallgrocery store on a side street in town. She was accustomed to buy herpotatoes from us, and my father, knowing that she had a hard struggle tomake both ends meet, had always been very easy with her in the matter ofpayment, giving her all the time she needed. 

This act of consideration had its effect, for, when we went to her andsuggested that she rent us her back yard for storage purposes, shereadily assented, and not only refused to take any rent, but gave us aswell the use of an old stable which stood empty on the back of her lot. 

This was very convenient for us, for though a twenty-foot pole, measuring twelve inches at the butt is not the sort of thing that athief would pick up and run away with, it was less likely that he wouldattempt it from an enclosed back yard than if the poles were stored inan open lot. Besides this, a stable rent-free for our mules, and a loftabove it rent-free for ourselves to sleep in was a great accommodation. 

Returning to the Elkhorn, therefore, we went to work in a new place, a place where some time previously a fire had swept through a stripof the woods, killing the trees, but leaving them standing, stark andbare, but still sound as nuts--just the thing we wanted. Our chiefdifficulty this time was in getting the felled timbers out from amidsttheir fellows--for the dead trees were very thick and the mountain-sidevery steep--but by taking great care we accomplished this withoutaccident. The loading of these big "sticks" would have been an awkwardtask, too, had we not fortunately found a cut bank alongside of which weran our wagon, and having snaked the logs into place upon the bank wekidded them across the gap into the wagon without much difficulty. 

We had made three loads, and the fine weather still holding, we had goneback for a fourth and last one, when, having got our logs in place onthe cut bank all ready to load, Joe and I, after due consultation, decided that we would take a day off and climb up to the saddle whichconnected the two mountains. We had never been up there before, and wewere curious to see what the country was like on the other side. 

Knowing that it would be a long and hard climb, we started aboutsunrise, taking a rifle with us; not that we expected to use it, butbecause it is not good to be entirely defenseless in those wild, out-of-the-way places. Following at first our little creek, we went onup and up, taking it slowly, until presently the pines began to thinout, the weather-beaten trees, gnarled, twisted and stunted, becomingfew and far between, and pretty soon we left even these behind andemerged upon the bare rocks above timber-line. Here, too, we left behindour little creek. 

For another thousand feet we scrambled up the rocks, clambering overgreat boulders, picking our way along the edges of little precipices, until at last we stood upon the summit of the saddle. 

To right and left were the two great peaks, still three thousand feetabove us, but westward the view was clear. As far as we could see--andthat, I expect, was near two hundred miles--were ranges and masses ofmountains, some of them already capped with snow, a magnificent sight. 

"That is fine!" cried Joe, enthusiastically. "It's well worth thetrouble of the climb. I only wish we had a map so that we could tellwhich range is which. "

"Yes, it's a great sight, " said I. "And the view eastward is about asfine, I think. Look! That cloud of smoke, due east about ten miles away, comes from the smelters of San Remo, and that other smoke a little tothe left of it is where the coal-mines are. There's the ranch, too, thatgreen spot in the mesa; you wouldn't think it was nearly a mile square, would you?"

"That's Sulphide down there, of course, " remarked Joe, pointing offtowards the right. "But what are those other, smaller, clouds of smoke?"

"Those are three other little mining-camps, all tributary to thesmelters at San Remo, and all producing refractory ores like the minesof Sulphide. My! Joe!" I exclaimed, as my thoughts reverted to TomConnor and his late core-boring failure. "What a great thing a good veinof lead ore would be! Better than a gold mine!"

"I expect it would. Poor old Tom! He bears his disappointment prettywell, doesn't he?"

"He certainly does. He says, now, that he's going to stick tostraightforward mining and leave prospecting alone; but he's said thatevery year for the past ten years at least, and if there's anythingcertain about Tom it is that when spring comes and he finds himself oncemore with money in his pocket, he'll be off again hunting for hislead-mine. "

"Sure to. Well, Phil, let's sit down somewhere and eat our lunch. Wemustn't stay here too long. "

"All right. Here's a good place behind this big rock. It will shelter usfrom the east wind, which has a decided edge to it up here. "

For half an hour we sat comfortably in the sun eating our lunch, allaround us space and silence, when Joe, rising to his feet, gave vent toa soft whistle. 

"Phil, " said he, "we must be off. No time to waste. Look eastward. "

I jumped up. A wonderful change had taken place. The view of the plainswas completely cut off by masses of soft cloud, which, coming from theeast, struck the mountain-side about two thousand feet below us and wereswiftly and softly drifting up to where we stood. 

"Yes, we must be off, " said I. "It won't do to be caught up here in theclouds: it would be dangerous getting down over the rocks. And besidesthat, it might turn cold and come on to snow. Let us be off at once. "

It was fortunate we did so, for, though we traveled as fast as we dared, the cloud, coming at first in thin whisps and then in dense masses, enveloped us before we reached timber-line, and the difficulty weexperienced in covering the small intervening space showed us how riskyit would have been had the cloud caught us while we were still on thesummit of the ridge. 

As it was, we lost our bearings immediately, for the chilly mist filledall the spaces between the trees, so that we could not see more thantwenty yards in any direction. As to our proper course, we could tellnothing about it, so that the only thing left for us to do was to keepon going down hill. We expected every moment to see or hear our littlecreek, but we must have missed it somehow, for, though we ought to havereached it long before, we had been picking our way over loose rocks andfallen trees for two hours before we came upon a stream--whether theright or the wrong one we could not tell. Right or wrong, however, wewere glad to see it, for by following it we should sooner or later reachthe foot of the mountain and get below the cloud. 

But to follow it was by no means easy: the country was so unexpectedlyrough--a fact which convinced us that we had struck the wrong creek. Aswe progressed, we presently found ourselves upon the edge of a littlecaņon which, being too steep to descend, obliged us to diverge to theleft, and not only so, but compelled us to go up hill to get around it, which did not suit us at all. 

After a time, however, we began to go down once more, but though we keptedging to the right we could not find our creek again. The fog, too, hadbecome more dense than ever, and whether our faces were turned north, south or east we had no idea. 

We were going on side by side, when suddenly we were astonished to heara dog bark, somewhere close by; but though we shouted and whistled therewas no reply. 

"It must be a prospector's dog, " said Joe, "and the man himself must beunderground and can't hear us. "

"Perhaps that's it, " I replied. "Well, let's take the direction of thesound--if we can. It seemed to me to be that way, " pointing with myhand. "I wish the dog would bark again. "

The dog, however, did not bark again, but instead there happened anothersurprising thing. We were walking near together, carefully picking ourway, when suddenly a big raven, coming from we knew not where, flewbetween us, so close that we felt the flap of his wings and heard theirsoft _fluff-fluff_ in the moisture-laden air, and disappeared again intothe fog before us with a single croak. 

It was rather startling, but beyond that we thought nothing of it, andon we went again, until Joe stopped short, exclaiming:

"Phil, I smell smoke!"

I stopped, too, and gave a sniff. "So do I, " I said; "and there'ssomething queer about it. It isn't plain wood-smoke. What is it?"

"Sulphur, " replied Joe. 

"Sulphur! So it is. What can any one be burning sulphur up here for?Anyhow, sulphur or no sulphur, some one must have lighted the fire, solet us follow the smoke. "

We had not gone far when we perceived the light of a fire glowing redlythrough the fog, and hurried on, expecting to find some man beside it. 

But not only was there nobody about, which was surprising enough, butthe fire itself was something to arouse our curiosity. Beneath a large, flat stone, supported at the corners by four other stones, was a hot bedof "coals, " while upon the stone itself was spread a thin layer of blacksand. It was from these grains of sand, apparently, that the smell ofsulphur came; though what they were or why they should be there we couldnot guess. 

We were standing there, wondering, when, suddenly, close behind us, thedog barked again. Round we whirled. There was no dog there! Instead, perched upon the stump of a dead tree, sat a big black raven, who eyedus as though enjoying our bewilderment. Bewildered we certainly were, and still more so when the bird, after staring us out of countenance fora few seconds, cocked his head on one side and said in a hoarse voice:

"Gim'me a chew of tobacco!"

And then, throwing back his head, he produced such a perfect imitationof the howl of a coyote, that a real coyote, somewhere up on themountain, howled in reply. 

All this--the talking raven, the mysterious fire, the encompassingshroud of fog--made us wonder whether we were awake or asleep, when wewere still more startled by a voice behind us saying, genially:

"Good-evening, boys. "

Round we whirled once more, to find standing beside us a man, a tall, bony, bearded man, about fifty years old, carrying in his hand a long, old-fashioned muzzle-loading rifle. He was dressed all in buckskin, while the moccasins on his feet explained how it was he had been able toslip up on us so silently. 

Naturally, we were somewhat taken aback by the sudden appearance of thiswild-looking specimen of humanity, when, thinking that he had alarmedus, perhaps, the man asked, pleasantly: "Lost, boys?"

"Yes, " I replied, reassured by his kindly manner. "We have been up tothe saddle and got caught in the clouds. We don't know where we are. Weare trying to get back to our camp on a branch of Sulphide creek. "

"Ah! You are the two boys I've seen cutting timbers down there, are you?Well, your troubles are over: I can put you on the road to your camp inan hour or so; I know every foot of these mountains. "

"But come in, " he continued. "I suppose you are hungry, and a littlesomething to eat won't be amiss. "

When the man said, "Come in, " we naturally glanced about us to see wherehis house was, but none being visible we concluded it must be somedistance off in the mist. In this, however, we were mistaken. The sideof the mountain just here was covered with enormous rocks--a whole cliffmust have tumbled down at once--and between two of these our guide ledthe way. In a few steps the passage widened out, when we saw before us, neatly fitted in between three of these immense blocks of stone--one oneither side and one behind--a little log cabin, with chimney, door andwindow all complete; while just to one side was another, a smaller one, which was doubtless a storehouse. Past his front door ran a small streamof water which evidently fell from a cliff near by, for, though we couldnot see the waterfall we could hear it plainly enough. 

"Well!" I exclaimed. "Whoever would have thought there was a house inhere?"

"No one, I expect, " replied the man. "At any rate, with one exception, you are the first strangers to cross the threshold; and yet I havelived here a good many years, too. Come in and make yourselves at home. "

Though we wondered greatly who our host could be and were burning to askhim his name, there was something in his manner which warned us to holdour tongues. But whatever his name might be, there was little doubtabout his occupation. He was evidently a mighty hunter, for, coveringthe walls, the floor and his sleeping-place were skins innumerable, including foxes, wolves and bears, some of the last-named being ofremarkable size; while one magnificent elk-head and several heads ofmountain-sheep adorned the space over his fireplace. 

Our host having lighted a fire, was busying himself preparing a simplemeal for us, when there came a gentle cough from the direction of thedoorway, and there on the threshold stood the raven as though waitingfor permission to enter. 

The man turned, and seeing the bird standing there with its head on oneside, said, laughingly: "Ah, Sox, is that you? Come in, old fellow, andbe introduced. These gentlemen are friends of mine. Say 'Good-morning. '"

[Illustration: "'AH, SOX, IS THAT YOU?'"]

"Good-morning, " repeated the raven; and having thus displayed his goodmanners, he half-opened his wings and danced a solemn jig up and downthe floor, finally throwing back his head and laughing so heartily thatwe could not help joining in. 

"Clever fellow, isn't he?" said the man. "His proper name is Socrates, though I call him Sox, for short. He is supposed to be getting on for ahundred years old, though as far as I can see he is just as young as hewas when I first got him, twenty years ago. Here, "--handing us each apiece of meat--"give him these and he will accept you as friends forlife. "

Whether he accepted us as friends remained to be seen, but he certainlyaccepted our offerings, bolting each piece at a single gulp; after whichhe hopped up on to a peg driven into the wall, evidently his own privateperch, and announced in a self-satisfied tone: "First in war, first inpeace, " ending up with a modest cough, as though he would have usbelieve that he knew the rest well enough but was not going to troubleus with any such threadbare quotation. 

This solemn display of learning set us laughing again, upon whichSocrates, seemingly offended, sank his head between his shoulders andpretended to go to sleep; though, that it was only pretense was evident, for, do what he would, he could not refrain from occasionally openingone eye to see what was going on. 

Having presently finished the meal provided for us, we suggested that weought to be moving on, so, bidding adieu to Socrates, and receiving noresponse from that sulky philosopher, we followed our host into theopen. 

That he had not exaggerated when he said he knew every foot of thesemountains, seemed to be borne out by the facts. He went straight away, regardless of the fog, up hill and down, without an instant'shesitation, we trotting at his heels, until, in about an hour we foundourselves once more below the clouds, and could see not far away our twomules quietly feeding. 

"Now, " said our guide, "I'll leave you. If ever you come my way again Ishall be glad to see you; though I expect it would puzzle you to find mydwelling unless you should come upon it by accident. Good-bye. "

"Good-bye, " we repeated, "and many thanks for your kindness. If we cando anything in return at any time we shall be glad of the chance. Welive in Crawford's Basin. "

"Oh, do you?" said our friend. "You are Mr. Crawford's boys, then, areyou? Well, many thanks. I'll remember. And now, good-bye to you. "

With that, this strange man turned round and walked up into the cloudsagain. In two minutes he had vanished. 

"Well, that was a queer adventure, " remarked Joe. "I wonder who he is, and why he chooses to live all by himself like that. "

"Yes. It's a miserable sort of existence for such a man; for he seemslike a sociable, good-hearted fellow. It isn't every one, for instance, who would walk three or four miles over these rough mountains just tohelp a couple of boys, whom he never saw before and may never see again. I wish we could make him some return. "

"Well, perhaps we may, some day, " Joe replied. 

Whether we did or not will be seen later. 

CHAPTER V

WHAT WE FOUND IN THE POOL

Though we got back to camp pretty late, we set to work to load our polesat once, fearing that there was going to be a fall of snow which mightprevent our getting them to town. This turned out to be a wiseprecaution, for when we started in the morning the snow was alreadycoming down, and though it did not extend as far as Sulphide, themountains were covered a foot deep before night. 

This fall of snow proved to be much to our advantage, for one of thetimber contractors, fearing he might not be able to fill his order, bought our "sticks" from us, to be delivered, cut into certain lengths, at the Senator mine. 

This occupied us several days, when, having delivered our last load, wethanked Mrs. Appleby for the use of her back yard--the only payment shewould accept--and then set off home, where we proudly displayed to myfather and mother the money we had earned and related how we had earnedit; including, of course, a description of our meeting with the wild manof the woods. 

"And didn't he tell you who he was?" asked my father, when we hadfinished. 

"No, " I replied; "we were afraid to ask him, and he didn't volunteer anyinformation. "

"And you didn't guess who he was?"

"No. Why should we? Who is he?"

"Why, Peter the Hermit, of course. I should have thought the presence ofthe raven would have enlightened you: he is always described as goingabout in company with a raven. "

"So he is. I'd forgotten that. But, on the other hand he is alwaysdescribed also as being half crazy, and certainly there was no sign ofsuch a thing about him that we could see. Was there, Joe?"

"No. Nobody could have acted more sensibly. Who is he, Mr. Crawford? Andwhy does he live all by himself like that?"

"I know nothing about him beyond common report. I suppose his name isPeter--though it may not be--and because he chooses to lead a secludedlife, some genius has dubbed him 'Peter the Hermit'; though who hereally is, or why he lives all alone, or where he comes from, I can'tsay. Some people say he is crazy, and some people say he is an escapedcriminal--but then people will say anything, particularly when they knownothing about it. Judging from the reports of the two or three men whohave met him, however, he appears to be quite inoffensive, and evidentlyhe is a friendly-disposed fellow from your description of him. If youshould come across him again you might invite him to come down and seeus. I don't suppose he will, but you might ask him, anyhow. "

"All right, " said I. "We will if we get the chance. " And so the matterended. 

It was just as well that we returned to the ranch when we did, for wefound plenty of work ready to our hands, the first thing being thehauling of fire-wood for the year. To procure this, it was not necessaryfor us to go to the mountains: our supply was much nearer to hand. Thewhole region round about us had been at some remote period the scene ofvigorous volcanic action. Both the First and Second Mesas were formed bya series of lava-flows which had come down from Mount Lincoln, andending abruptly about eight miles from the mountains, had built up thecliff which bounded the First Mesa on its eastern side. Then, later, butstill in a remote age, a great strip of this lava-bed, a mile wide andten or twelve miles long, north and south, had broken away and subsidedfrom the general level, forming what the geologists call, I believe, a"fault, " thus causing the "step-up" to the Second Mesa. The Second Mesa, because the lava had been hotter perhaps, was distinguished from thelower level by the presence of a number of little hills--"bubbles, " theywere called, locally, and solidified bubbles of hot lava perhaps theywere. They were all sorts of sizes, from fifty to four hundred feet highand from a hundred yards to half a mile in diameter. Viewed from adistance, they looked smooth and even, like inverted bowls, though whenyou came near them you found that their sides were rough and broken. Ihad been to the top of a good many of them, and all of those I hadexplored I had found to be depressed in the centre like little craters. From some of them tiny streams of water ran down, helping to swell thevolume of our creek. 

Most of these so-called "bubbles, " especially the larger ones, were wellcovered with pine-trees, and as there were three or four of them withineasy reach of the ranch, it was here that we used to get our fire-wood. 

There was a good week's work in this, and after it was finished therewas more or less repairing of fences to be done, as there always is inthe fall, and the usual mending of sheds, stables and corrals. 

The weather by this time had turned cold, and "the bottomless fortyrods" having been frozen solid enough to bear a load, Joe and I werenext put to work hauling oats down to the livery stable men in San Remo, as well as up to Sulphide. 

Before this task was accomplished the winter had set in in earnest. Wehad had one or two falls of snow, though in our sheltered Basin the heatof the sun was still sufficient to clear off most of it again, and thefrost had been sharp enough to freeze up our creek at its sources, sothat our little waterfall was now converted into a motionless icicle. Fortunately, we were not dependent upon the creek for the householdsupply of water: we had one pump which never failed in the back kitchenand another one down by the stables. 

The creek having ceased to run, the surface of the pool was no longeragitated by the water pouring into it, and very soon it was solidlyfrozen over with a sheet of ice twelve inches thick, when, according toour yearly custom, we proceeded to cut this ice and stow it away in theice-house; having previously been up to the sawmill near Sulphide andbrought away, for packing purposes, several wagon-loads of sawdust, which the sawmill men readily gave us for nothing, being glad to have ithauled out of their way. We had taken the opportunity to do this when wetook our loads of oats up to Sulphide, thus utilizing the empty wagonson the return trip. 

The pool, as I have said, measured about a hundred feet each way, thoughon account of its shallowness around the edges we could only cut iceover a surface about fifty feet square. Being frozen a foot thick, however, this gave us an ample supply for all our needs. 

The labor of cutting, hauling and housing the ice fell to Joe and me, myfather having generally plenty of other work to do. He had taken in anumber of young cattle for a neighboring cattleman for the winter, andhaving sold him the bulk of our hay crop and at the same time undertakento feed the stock, this daily duty alone took up a large part of histime. Besides this, "the forty rods" having become passable, thefreighters and others now came our way instead of taking the longerhill-road, and their frequent demands for a sack, or a load, of oats, and now and then for hay or potatoes, added to the work ofstock-feeding, kept my father pretty well occupied. 

Joe and I, therefore, went to work by ourselves, beginning operations onthat part of the pool nearest the point where the water used to pour in. We had taken out ten or a dozen loads of beautiful, clear ice, when, oneday, Yetmore, who was riding down to San Remo, seeing us at work, stopped to watch us. 

He was a queer fellow. Though he must have been perfectly well awarethat we distrusted him; and though, after the late affair of thelead-boulder--a miscarriage of his schemes which was doubtless extremelygalling to him--one would think he would have rather avoided us thannot, he appeared to feel no embarrassment whatever, but with a greetingof well-simulated cordiality he dismounted and walked over to the poolto see what we were doing. Perhaps--and this, I think, is probably theright explanation--if he did entertain the idea of some day "gettingeven" with us, he had decided to postpone any such attempt until he sawan opportunity of doing so at a profit. 

"Fine lot of ice, " he remarked, after standing for a moment watching Joeas he plied the saw. "Does this creek always freeze up like this?"

"Yes, " I replied. "It heads in Mount Lincoln, and is made up of a numberof small streams which always freeze up about the first of November. That reduces the flow to about one-third its usual size; and when thelittle streams which come down from three or four of the 'bubbles'freeze up too, the creek stops entirely; which makes it mightyconvenient for us to cut ice, as you see. "

"I see. Is the pool the same depth all over?"

"No, " I answered. "Just here, under the fall, it is deepest, but roundthe edges it is so shallow that we can't take a stroke with the saw, thesand comes so close up to the ice. In fact, in some places, the icerests right upon the sand. "

"How deep is it here?"

"Four or five feet, I think. Try it, Joe. "

Joe, who had just laid down the saw and had taken up the long ice-hookwe used for drawing the blocks of ice within reach, lowered the hook, point downward, into the water. Then, pulling it out again, he stood itup beside him, finding that the wet mark on the staff came up to hischin. 

"Five feet and three or four inches, " said he. 

"Is the bottom solid or sandy?" asked Yetmore. 

"I didn't notice. I'll try it. "

With that Joe lowered the pole once more. 

"Seems solid, " he remarked, giving two or three hard prods. But he hadscarcely said so, when, to our surprise, several bits of rough ice aboutas big as my hand bobbed up from the bottom. 

"Hallo!" exclaimed Yetmore. "Ground ice!"

"What's ground ice?" I asked. 

"Why, ice formed at the bottom of the pool. It is not uncommon, Ibelieve, though I don't remember to have seen any before. Pretty dirtystuff, isn't it? Must be a sandy bottom. "

So saying, he stooped down, and picking up the only bit of ice whichhappened to be within reach, he examined its under side. As he did so, Isaw him give a little start, as though there were something about it tocause him surprise, but just as I reached out my hand to ask him to letme see it, he threw it back into the water out of reach--an action whichstruck me as being hardly polite. 

"I must be off, " said he, in apparent haste, "so, good-bye. Hope youwill get your crop in before it snows. Looks threatening to me; you'llhave to hurry, I think. "

This prediction seemed to me rather absurd, with the thermometer at zeroand the sky as clear as crystal; but Yetmore was an indoor man and couldnot be expected to judge as can one whose daily work depends so muchupon what the weather is doing or is going to do. It did not occur to methen--though it did later--that he only wanted us to get to work againat once, and so divert our minds from the subject of the ground ice. 

As I made no comment on his remark, Yetmore walked away, remounted hishorse and rode off; while Joe and I went briskly to work again. 

We had been at it some time, when Joe stopped sawing, and straighteningup, said:

"It's queer about those bits of ground ice, Phil. Do you notice how theyall float clean side up? Wait a bit and I'll show you. "

Taking the ice-hook, he turned over one of the bits with its point, showing its soiled side, but the moment he released it, the bit of ice"turned turtle" again. 

"Do you see?" said he. "The sand acts like ballast. It must be heavystuff. "

"Yes, " said I. "Hook a bit of it out and let's look at it. "

This was soon done, when, on examining it, we found the under side to becrusted with very black sand, which, whatever might be its nature, wasevidently heavy enough to upset the balance of a small fragment of ice. 

"What is it made of, I wonder?" said Joe. 

"I don't know, " I replied, "but perhaps it is that black sand which theprospectors are always complaining of as getting in their way when theyare panning for gold. "

"That's what it is, Phil, I expect, " cried Joe. "And what's more, that'swhat Yetmore thought, too, or else why should he throw that bit of iceback into the water so quickly when you held out your hand for it? Hedidn't want you to see it. "

"It does look like it, " I assented. "Poke up a few more, Joe, and wewill take them home and show them to my father: perhaps he'll know whatthe stuff is. "

Joe took the ice-hook and prodded about on the bottom, every prodbringing up one or two bits of ice, each one as it bobbed to the surfaceshowing its sandy side for a moment and then turning over, clean sideup. Drawing these to the edge of the ice, we picked them out, layingthem on a gunny-sack we had with us, and when, towards sunset, we hadcarried home and housed our last load, and had stabled and fed themules, we took our scraps over to the blacksmith-shop, where the tinkleof a hammer proclaimed that my father was at work doing some mending ofsomething. 

He was much interested in hearing of the ground ice and of the way itbrought up the black sand with it, and still more so in our descriptionof Yetmore's action. 

"Let me look at it, " said he; and taking one of our specimens, hestepped to the door to examine it, the light in the shop being too dim. He came back smiling. 

"Queer fellow, Yetmore!" said he. "One would think that the lesson ofthe lead-boulder might have taught him that a man may sometimes be toocrafty. I think this is likely to prove another case of the same kind. Ibelieve he has made a genuine discovery here--though what it may lead tothere is no telling--and if he had had the sense to let you look at thatpiece of dirty ice, instead of throwing it back into the water, thusarousing your curiosity, he would probably have kept his discovery tohimself. As it is, he is likely to have Tom Connor interfering with himagain--that is to say, if this sand is what I think it is. I don't thinkit is the 'black sand' of the prospectors--it is too shiny, and it has abluish tinge besides--I think it is something of far more value. We'llsoon find out. Give me that piece of an iron pot, Phil; it will do tomelt the ice in. "

Having broken up some of our ice into small pieces, we placed it in alarge fragment of a broken iron pot, and this being set upon the forge, Joe took the bellows-handle and soon had the fire roaring under it. Itdid not take long to melt the ice, when, pouring off the water, weadded some more, repeating the process until there was no ice left. Thelast of the water being then poured away, there remained nothing butabout a spoonful of very fine, black, shiny sand. 

The receptacle was once more placed upon the fire, and while my fatherkept the contents stirred up with a stick, Joe seized the bellows-handleagain and pumped away. Presently he began to cough. 

"What's the matter, Joe?" asked my father, laughing. 

"Sulphur!" gasped Joe. 

"Sulphur!" cried I. "I don't smell any sulphur. "

"Come over here, then, and blow the bellows, " replied Joe. 

I took his place, but no sooner had I done so than I, too, began tocough. The smell of sulphur evidently came from our spoonful of sand, and as I was standing between the door and the window the draft blew thefumes straight into my face. On discovering this, I pulled thebellows-handle over to one side, when I was no more troubled. 

The iron pot, being set right down on the "duck's nest" and heaped allaround with glowing coals, had become red-hot, when my father, peeringinto it, held up his hand. 

"That'll do, Phil. That's enough, " he cried. "Give me the tongs, Joe. "

My father removed the melting-pot, and making a hole with his heel inthe sandy floor of the shop, he poured the contents into it. 

"Lead!" we both cried, with one voice. 

"Yes, lead, " my father replied. "Galena ore, ground fine by the actionof water. "

"Do you mean, " I asked, "that there is a lead-mine in the bottom of thepool?"

"No, no. But there is a vein of galena, size and value unknown, somewhere up on Lincoln Mountain. The fine black sand sticking to theground ice was brought down by our stream, being reduced to powder onthe way, and deposited in the pool, where its weight has kept it frombeing washed out again. "

"I see. And do you suppose Yetmore recognized the sand as galena ore?Would he be likely to know it in the form of sand?"

"I expect so. He's a sharp fellow enough. He must have seen pulverizedsamples of galena many a time in the assayers' offices. I've seen themmyself: that was what gave me my clue. "

"And what do you suppose he'll do?"

"He is pretty certain, I think, to try to get hold of some of the stuff, so that he may test it and make sure; though how he will go about itthere's no telling. It will be interesting to see how he manages it. "

"And what shall you do, father? Go prospecting?"

My father laughed, knowing that this was a joke on my part; for I waswell aware that he would not think of such a thing. 

"Not for us, Phil, " he answered. "We have our mine right here. Raisingoats and potatoes may be a slow way of getting rich, but it is a goodbit surer than prospecting. No, we'll tell Tom Connor about it and lethim go prospecting if he likes. You shall go up to Sulphide the firstSaturday after the ice-cutting is finished and give him our information. There's no hurry about it: he can't go prospecting while the mountainsare all under snow. Come along in to supper now. You've fed the mules, Isuppose. "

It was a snapping cold night that night, and about half-past eight Iwent into the kitchen to look at the thermometer which hung outside thedoor. As I came back, I happened to glance out of the west window, when, to my surprise, I thought I saw a glimmer of light up by the pool. Stepping quickly into the house again, I went to the front door andlooked out. Yes, there was a light up there!

"Father, " I called out, "there's somebody up at the pool with a light. "

My father sprang out of his chair. "Is there?" he cried. "Then it'sYetmore, up to some of his tricks. Get into your coats, boys, and let'sgo and see what he's about. "

As we went out I took down the unlighted stable-lantern and carried itwith me in case we might need it, and shutting the door softly behindme, ran after the others. We had not covered half the distance to thepool, however, when the light up there suddenly went out, and a minutelater we heard the sound of galloping hoofs, muffled by the thin carpetof snow, going off in the direction of Sulphide. Our visitor, whoever hewas, had departed. 

"Well, come on, anyhow, " said my father. "Let us see what he was doing. "

As the thermometer was then standing at three degrees below zero, weknew that the sheet of clear water we had left in the afternoon shouldhave been solidly frozen over again by this time. What was our surprise, therefore, to find that such was not the case: there was only a thinfilm of ice; it was but just beginning to form. 

"That is easily explained, " remarked my father. "The ice did form, butsome one has chopped it out and thrown it to one side there. See?"

"Yes, " replied Joe, "and then he took the ice-hook, which I know I leftstanding upright against the rocks, and poked up the ground ice. See, there are several bits floating about, and I remember quite well that wecleared out every one of them this afternoon. Didn't we, Phil?"

"Yes, " said I, "I'm sure we did, because I remember that those two orthree bits that had no sand in them we threw into that corner instead ofpitching them into the water again. I suppose it's Yetmore, father. "

"Oh, not a doubt of it. Did he leave any tracks?"

By the light of the lantern we searched about, and though there were notracks to be seen on the smooth ice, there were plenty in the snow belowthe pool. They were the foot-prints of a smallish man, for his tracks, in spite of his wearing over-shoes, were not so big as the prints madeby Joe's boots--though, as Joe himself remarked, that was not much to goby, he being a six-footer with feet to match, "and a trifle over, " ashis friends sometimes considerately assured him. 

Following these foot-prints, we were led to the south gate, where, itwas easy to see, a horse had been standing for some time tied to thegate-post. 

"Well, he's got off with his samples all right, " remarked my father. "He's a smart fellow, and enterprising, too. He would deserve to win, ifonly he were not so fond of taking the crooked way of doing things. Comealong. Let's get back to the house. There's nothing more to be doneabout it at present. "

CHAPTER VI

LONG JOHN BUTTERFIELD

"Boys, " said my father next morning, "I've been thinking over thisdiscovery of ours. It won't do to wait till you've finished theice-cutting to notify Tom Connor. He has been a good friend to us, and Ifeel that we owe him some return for enabling me to get this piece ofland from Yetmore, even though it was, in a manner, accidental; and asTom is sure to go off prospecting in the spring, whether or no, we mayas well give him the chance--if he wants it--to go hunting for thissupposed vein of galena. "

"He's pretty sure to want to, " said I. 

"Yes, I think he is. And as Yetmore will certainly find out the natureof the black sand, and will be sending out a prospector or two himselfas soon as the snow clears off, we must at least give Tom an equalchance. So, instead of waiting for you to finish cutting the ice, I'llwrite him a letter at once, telling him all about it, and send it up bythis morning's coach. "

One of the advantages to us of the frosty weather was that the mailcoach between San Remo and Sulphide came our way instead of taking thehill-road, so that during the winter months we received our mail daily, whereas, through the greater part of the year, while the "forty rods"were "bottomless, " we had to go ourselves to San Remo to get it. Thecoach, going up, passed our place about ten in the morning, and by it myfather sent the promised letter. 

We quite expected that Tom would come flying down at once, but insteadwe received from him next morning a reply, stating that he could notleave his work, and asking my father to allow us boys to do a littleprospecting for him--which, I may say, we boys were ready enough to doif my father did not object. 

He did not object; being, indeed, very willing that we should put in aday's work for the benefit of our friend. For, as he said, to undertakeone day's prospecting for a friend was a very different matter fromtaking to prospecting as a business. 

It is a fascinating pursuit; men who contract the prospecting diseaseseldom get the fever entirely out of their systems again, and it wasfor this reason my father was so set against it, considering that nogreater misfortune could befall two farmer-boys like ourselves than tobe drawn into such a way of life. Now that we were seventeen years old, however, and might be supposed to have some discretion, he had littlefear for Joe and me, knowing, as he did, that we shared his sentiments. We had seen enough of the life of the prospector to understand that amore precarious way of making a living could hardly be invented. 

How many men get rich at it? I have heard it estimated at one man infive thousand; and whether this estimate--or, rather, this guess--isright or wrong, it shows the trend of opinion. 

Suppose a prospector does strike a vein of ore: what is the commonresult? By the time he has sunk a shaft ten feet deep he must have awindlass and a man to work it, and being in most cases too poor to hirea miner, his only way of getting help is to take in a partner. The twogo on sinking, until presently the hole is too deep to use a windlassany more--a horse-whim is needed and then a hoisting engine. But it isseldom that the ore dug out of a shaft will pay the expense of sinkingit--for powder and drills, ropes, buckets and timbers, are expensivethings--much less enable the owner to lay by anything, and theprobability is that to buy a hoisting engine he must sell anotherportion of his claim. And so it goes, until, by the time his claim hasbeen turned into a mine--for, as the common and very true saying is, "Mines are made, not found"--his share of it will probably have beenreduced to one-quarter or less; while it is quite within the limits ofprobability that, becoming wearied by long waiting for the slowdevelopment of his prospect, he will have sold out for what he can getand gone back to his old life. 

But though I do not advocate the business of prospecting as a way ofmaking a living--I had rather pitch hay or dig potatoes myself--I am farfrom wishing to disparage the prospector himself or to belittle theresults of his work. He is the pioneer of civilization; and personallyhe is generally a fine fellow. At the same time, as in every otherprofession, the ranks of the prospectors include their share of theriff-raff. It was so in our district, and we were destined shortly tocome in contact with one of them. 

Tom Connor in his letter instructed us as to what he wished us to do: itwas very simple. He asked us to walk up the little caņon along which ourstream flowed, when it did flow, and to examine the bed of each of itsfeeders as we came to them, to determine, if possible, which of thebranch streams it was that brought down the powdered lead-ore. He alsosuggested that we get out some more of the black sand from the bottom ofthe pool for him to see, and at the same time ascertain, if we could, how much of a deposit there was there. 

The last request we performed first. Taking down to the pool a long, pointed iron rod, we lowered it into the water, marking the depth bytying a bit of string round the rod at high-water-mark, and then bored ahole down through the frozen sand until we struck bed-rock. By thismeans we discovered that the deposit was five inches thick at the upperend of the pool. A few feet further from the waterfall, however, thedeposit was thicker, but we noticed at the same time that the ground icewhich came up carried with it more or less yellow sand. The further weretreated from the waterfall, too, the larger became the proportion ofyellow sand, until towards the edge of the pool it had taken the placeof the black sand altogether. 

Having done this, we poked up a lot of the ground ice, which wecollected and put into a tin bucket, and taking this home we melted theice, poured off the water, and made a little parcel of the sand thatremained. 

A few days later we had finished our ice-cutting and had stowed away thecrop in the ice-house, when we were at length free to go off and makethe little prospecting expedition that Tom had asked us to undertake. 

First walking up the bed of the caņon, where the water was nowrepresented by sheets of crackling white ice, we arrived presently atthe first branch creek which came in on the right. This we ascended inturn, going some distance up it before we found a likely patch of sand, into which we chopped a hole with the old hatchet we had brought for thepurpose, disclosing a little of the black material at the bottom; thoughthe amount was so scanty that we could not be sure it was really theblack sand we were seeking. 

Going on up this branch creek, much impeded by the snow which becamedeeper and deeper the higher we ascended, we were nearing one of thebends when Joe, who was in advance, suddenly stopped, exclaiming:

"Look there, Phil! Tracks coming down the bank. Somebody is ahead ofus. "

"So there is, " said I. "What can he be doing, I wonder?"

Following these tracks a short distance, we very soon discovered thereason for their being there. The man was on the same quest asourselves!

In a bend of the stream where the snow lay two feet thick, he had dug ahole down to the sand, and then through the sand itself to bed-rock. Atthe bottom of the hole was a little black sand, showing the marks of ahatchet or knife-blade where it had been gouged out, but all around thehole, between the bed-rock and the yellow sand above, was a black linean inch thick, composed of the shiny, powdered galena ore. There couldbe no doubt that the man ahead of us was hunting the same game as wewere. 

"Do you suppose it's Yetmore, Joe?" said I. 

"No, " Joe answered, emphatically, "I'm sure it isn't. Look at histracks: they are bigger than mine. "

"It can't be Tom, himself, can it?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it isn't Tom either. Tom is a big, powerful fellow, all right, but he's not more than five feet ten, while this man, Ithink, is extra-tall--see the length of his stride where he came downthe bank. Whoever he is, though, Phil, he's an experienced prospector. He hasn't wasted his time, as we have, trying unlikely places, but haschosen this spot and gone slap down through snow and everything, just asif he knew that the black sand would be found at the bottom. "

"That's true, " said I. "I wonder who it is. We must find out if we can, Joe, so that we may be able to tell Tom who his competitor is. Let'sfollow his tracks. "

Getting out of the creek-bed again, we walked along the bank for nearlya mile, until Joe, stopping short, held up his finger. 

"Hark!" he whispered. "Somebody chopping. "

There was a sound as of metal being struck against stone somewhere aheadof us, so on we went again, making as little noise as possible, untilpresently Joe stopped again, and pointing forward, said softly, "Therehe is, look!"

The man was down in the creek-bed again, and all we could see of himabove the bank was his hat. We therefore went forward once more, timingour steps by the blows of the hatchet, until we could see the man's headand shoulders; but we did not gain much by that, as he had his back tous and was too intent upon his work to turn round. At length, however, he ceased chopping, and gathering the chips of frozen sand in his hands, he cast them to one side. In doing so, he showed his face for a moment, and in that brief glimpse I recognized who it was. 

Joe looked at me with raised eyebrows, as much as to say, "Do you knowhim?" to which I replied with a nod, and laying my hand on mycompanion's arm, I drew him back until only the top of the man's hat wasvisible again, when I whispered, "It's Long John Butterfield. "

"What! The man they call 'The Yellow Pup'? How do you suppose _he_ cameto hear of the black sand?"

"From Yetmore. He is a prospector whom Yetmore grub-stakes everysummer. "

"'Grub-stakes, '" repeated Joe, inquiringly. 

"Yes. Some prospectors go out on their own account, you know, but someof them are 'grub-staked. ' This man is employed by Yetmore. He sendshim out prospecting every spring, providing him with tools and 'grub'and paying him some small wages. Whether it is part of the bargain thatLong John is to get any share of what he may find, I don't know, butprobably it is--that is the general rule. There is very little doubtthat Yetmore has sent him out now, just as Tom has sent us out, to seewhich stream the lead-ore in the pool came from. "

"Not a doubt of it. Well, shall we go ahead and speak to him?"

Before I could reply, the man himself rose up, looked about him, and atonce espied us. At seeing us standing there silently watching him, hegave a not-unnatural start of alarm, but perceiving that he had only twoboys to deal with, even if we were pretty big, he climbed up the bankand advanced towards us with a threatening air. 

Standing six feet five inches in his over-shoes, he was a ratherformidable-looking object as he came striding down upon us, a shovel inone hand and a hatchet in the other; but as we knew him by reputationfor a blusterer and a coward, we awaited his coming without any alarmfor our safety. 

Long John Butterfield was a well-known character in Sulphide. Though aprospector all summer, he was a bar-room loafer all winter, spending histime hanging around the saloons, and doing only work enough in the wayof odd jobs to keep himself from starving until spring came round again, when Yetmore would provide for him once more. 

It had formerly been his ambition to pass for a "bad man, " though hefound it difficult to maintain that reputation among the unbelievingcitizens of Sulphide, who knew that he valued his own skin far toohighly to risk it seriously. He had been wont to call himself "TheWolf, " desiring to be known by that title as sounding sufficientlyfierce and "bad, " and being of a most unprepossessing appearance, withhis matted hair, retreating forehead, long, sharp nose and projectingears, he did represent a wolf pretty well--though, still better, acoyote. 

As the people of Sulphide, however, declined to take him at his ownvaluation, greeting his frequent outbreaks of simulated ferocity withderisive jeers--even the small boys used to scoff at him--he was reducedto practising his arts upon strangers, which he always hastened to dowhen he thought it was not likely to be dangerous. Unluckily for him, though, he once tried one of his tricks upon an inoffensive newcomer, with a result so unexpected and unwelcome that his only desirethereafter was that people should forget that he had ever called himself"The Wolf"--a desire in which his many acquaintances, whetherworking-men or loafers, readily accommodated him. But as they playfullysubstituted the less desirable title of "The Yellow Pup, " Long Johngained little by the move. 

It happened in this way: There came out from New York at one time ayoung fellow named Bertie Van Ness, a nephew of Marsden, the cattle man, some of whose stock we were feeding that winter. He arrived at Sulphideby coach one morning, and before going on to Marsden's he stepped intoYetmore's store to buy himself a pair of riding gauntlets. Long John wasin there, and seeing the well-dressed, dapper little man, with his whitecollar and eastern complexion--not burned red by the Colorado sun, asall of ours are--he winked to the assembled company as much as to say, "See me take a rise out of the tenderfoot, " sidled up to Bertie, who wasa foot shorter than himself, leaned over him, and putting on his worstexpression, said, in a harsh, growling voice, "I'm 'The Wolf. '"

It was a trick that had often been successful before: peace-lovingstrangers, not knowing whom they had to deal with, would usually backaway and sometimes even take to their heels, which was all that LongJohn desired. In the present instance, however, the "bad man"miscalculated. The little stranger, seeing the ugly face within a footof his own, withdrew a step, and without waiting for the formality of anintroduction, struck "The Wolf" a very sharp blow upon the end of hisnose, at the same time remarking, "Howl, then, you beast. "

Long John did howl. Clapping his hands over his face, he retreated, roaring, from the store, amid the enthusiastic plaudits of thosepresent. 

Thus it was that the name of "The Wolf" fell into disuse and the title, "Yellow Pup, " was substituted; and if at any time thereafter Long Johnbecame obstreperous or in any way made himself objectionable, it wasonly necessary for some one in company to say "Bow-wow, " when theoffender would forthwith efface himself, with promptness and dispatch. 

This was the man who came striding down upon Joe and me, looking asthough he were going to eat us up at a mouthful and think nothing of it. Doubtless he supposed that, being country boys, we had not heard thestory of Bertie Van Ness, for, advancing close to us he said fiercely:

"What you doing here? Be off home! Do you know who _I_ am? I'm 'TheWolf'!"

"So I've heard, " said I, calmly; a remark which took all the wind out ofthe gentleman's sails at once. He collapsed with ridiculous suddenness, and with a sheepish grin, said, "I was only just a-trying you, boys, tosee if you was easy scart. "

"Well, you see we're not, " remarked Joe. "What are _you_ doing up here?Pretty early for prospecting, isn't it?"

"Not any earlier for me than it is for you, " replied Long John, with aglance at the hatchet in Joe's hand. He was sharp enough. 

Joe laughed. "That's true, " said he. "I suppose we're both hunting thesame thing. Did you find any of it in that hole up there?"

Long John hesitated. He would have preferred to lie about it, probably, but knowing that we could go and see for ourselves in a couple ofminutes, he made a virtue of necessity and replied:

"Yes, there's some of it there; but it don't amount to much. I guess thevein ain't worth looking for. Come and see. "

We walked forward and looked into the hole Long John had chopped, whenwe saw that his prospector's instinct had hit upon the right placeagain. Here also was a black streak an inch thick below the yellow sand. 

It was evident that the vein of galena was somewhere up-stream, thoughwe ourselves were unable to judge from the amount of the deposit whetherit was likely to be big or little. Long John might be telling the truthwhen he "guessed" that it was not worth looking for, though, from whatwe knew of him, we, in turn, "guessed" that what he said was most likelyto be the opposite of what he thought. 

We could not tell, either, whether our new acquaintance was speakingthe truth when he declared that he was satisfied with his day's work andhad already decided to go home again; I think it rather likely that, being unable to devise any scheme for shaking us off, and not caring toact as prospector for us as well as for Yetmore, he preferred to go backat once and report progress. He was right, at any rate, in saying thatthe drifts ahead were too deep to admit of further prospecting; for themountains began to close in just here, and the snow was becoming prettyheavy. 

Nevertheless, Joe and I thought we would try a little further, if onlyfor the reason that Long John would not, and we were about to partcompany, when we were startled to hear a voice above our heads say, "Good-morning, " and, looking quickly up, we saw, seated on a deadbranch, a raven, to all appearance asleep, with his feathers fluffed outand his head sunk between his shoulders. 

That it was our friend, Socrates, we could not doubt, and we looked allaround for the hermit, but as there was no one to be seen, Joe, addressing the raven, said:

"Hallo, Sox! Where's your master?"

"Chew o' tobacco, " replied the raven. 

At this Long John burst out laughing. "Well, you're a cute one, " saidhe; and thrusting his hand into his pocket he brought out a piece oftobacco which he invited Socrates to come and get. Sox flew down to aconvenient rock and reached for the morsel, but the moment he perceivedthat it was not anything he could eat, he drew back in disdain, andeying Long John with severity, remarked, "Bow-wow. "

Now, as I have intimated, nothing was so exasperating to Long John as tohave any one say "bow-wow" to him, and not considering that the offenderwas only a bird, he raised his hatchet and would have ended Sox's careerthen and there had not Joe stayed his arm. 

At being thus thwarted, Long John turned upon my companion, and for amoment I felt a little uneasy lest his temper should for once get thebetter of his discretion; but I need not have alarmed myself, for LongJohn's outbreaks of rage were always carefully calculated when directedagainst any one or anything capable of retaliation in kind, and veryprobably he had already concluded that two well-grown boys likeourselves, used to all kinds of hard work, might prove an awkwardhandful for one whose muscles had been rendered flabby by lack ofexercise. 

At any rate, he quickly calmed down again, pretending to laugh at theincident; but though he made some remark about "a real smart bird, " Iguessed from the gleam in his little ferrety eyes that if he could layhands on Socrates, that aged scholar's chances of ever celebrating hisone hundredth anniversary would be slim indeed. 

"Who's the thing belong to, anyhow?" asked John. "There's no one livingaround here that I know of. "

"He belongs to a man who lives somewhere up on this mountain, " Ireplied. "You've probably heard of him: Peter the Hermit. "

"Him!" exclaimed Long John, looking quickly all around, as though hefeared the owner might make his appearance. "Well, I'm off. I've got toget back to Sulphide to-night, so I'll dig out at once. "

So saying, he picked up his long-handled shovel, and using itupside-down as a walking-staff, away he went, striding over the snow ata great pace; while Socrates, seeing him depart, very appropriatelycalled after him, "Good-bye, John. "

CHAPTER VII

THE HERMIT'S WARNING

As it was now after midday, we concluded to eat our lunch before goingany further, so, sitting down on the rocks, we produced the bread andcold bacon we had brought with us and prepared to refresh ourselves. Observing this, Socrates, who had flown up into a tree when Long Johnthreatened him with the hatchet, now flipped down again and took up hisstation beside us, having plainly no apprehension that we would do himany harm, and doubtless thinking that if there was any food going hemight come in for a share. 

I was just about to offer him a scrap of bacon, when the bird suddenlygave a croak and flew off up the mountain. Naturally, we both looked upto ascertain the reason for this sudden departure, when we were startledto see a tall, bearded man with a long staff in his hands, skimming downthe snow-covered slope of the mountain towards us. One glance showed usthat it was our friend, the hermit, though how he could skim over thesnow like that without moving his feet was a puzzle to us, until, onapproaching to within twenty yards of where we sat, he stuck his staffinto the snow and checked his speed, when we perceived that he wastraveling on skis. 

"How are you, boys?" he cried, shaking hands with us very heartily. "I'mglad to see you again. Much obliged to you, Joe, for interfering onbehalf of old Sox. I would not have the bird hurt for a good deal. I sawthe whole transaction from where I was standing up there in that groveof aspens. Why did your companion go off so suddenly?"

"I don't know, " I replied. "I only just mentioned to him that Soxbelonged to you, when he picked up his shovel and skipped. "

Peter laughed. "I understand, " said he. "The gentleman and I have metbefore, and have no wish to meet again. Our first and only interview wasnot conducive to a desire for further acquaintance. He is not a friendof yours, I hope. "

"Not at all, " I replied. "We never met him before. "

"Well, I'm glad of that, because he is not one to be intimate with: heis a thief. "

"Why do you say that?" asked Joe, rather startled. 

"Because I happen to know it's so. I'll tell you how. I had set abear-trap once up on the mountain back of my house, and going up nextday to see if I had caught anything, I found this fellow busy skinningmy bear. He had come upon it by accident, I suppose, and the bear beingcaught by both front feet, and being therefore perfectly helpless, hehad bravely shot it, and was preparing to walk off with the skin when Iappeared. "

"And what did you say to him?" I asked. 

"Nothing, " replied Peter. "I just sat down on a rock near by, with myrifle across my knees, and watched him; and he grew so embarrassed andnervous and fidgety that he couldn't stand it any longer, and at last hesneaked off without completing his job and without either of us havingsaid a word. "

"That certainly was a queer interview, " remarked Joe, laughing, "and amost effective way, I should think, of dealing with a blustering roguelike Long John. "

"Long John?" repeated the hermit, inquiringly. 

"Yes, Long John Butterfield; known also as 'The Yellow Pup. '"

"Oh, that's who it is, is it? I've heard of him from my friend, TomConnor. "

"Tom Connor!" we both exclaimed. "Do you know Tom Connor, then?"

"Yes, we have met two or three times in the mountains, and he once spentthe night with me in my cabin--he is the 'one exception' I told youabout, you remember. He seems like a good, honest fellow, and he hascertainly been most obliging to me. "

As we looked inquiringly at him, wondering how Tom could have found anopportunity to be of service to one living such a secluded life as thehermit did, our friend went on:

"I happened to mention to him that I had great need of an iron pot, andthree days afterwards, on returning home one evening, what should I findstanding outside my door but a big iron pot, and in it a chip, uponwhich was written in pencil, 'Compliments of T. Connor. '"

"Just like Tom, " said I, laughing. "He has more friends than any otherman in the district, and he deserves it, for when he makes a friend hecan't rest easy until he has found some way of doing him a service. "

"And he's as honest as they make 'em, " Joe continued. "If he's a friend, he's a friend, and if he's an enemy, he's an enemy--he doesn't leave youin doubt. "

"Just what I should think, " said the hermit. "Very different from LongJohn, if I'm not mistaken. That gentleman, I suspect, is of the kindthat would shake hands with you in the morning and then come in thenight and burn your house down. What were you and he doing, by the way?I've been watching you for an hour. First one and then the other wouldkneel down in the snow and chop a hole in the bed of the creek, then getup, walk a mile, and do it again. If I may be allowed to say so, " hewent on, laughing, "it appeared to an outsider like a crazy sort ofamusement. "

"I should think it might, " said I, laughing too; and I then proceeded totell our friend the object of these seemingly senseless actions. 

"And do you expect to go prospecting for this vein of galena in thespring?" he inquired, when I had concluded. 

"Not we!" I exclaimed. "My father wouldn't let us if we wanted to. Weare doing this work for Tom Connor, whom my father is anxious to serve, he having done us, among others, a very good turn. "

"I see, " said the hermit. "And this man, Yetmore, or, rather, hishenchman, Long John, will be coming as soon as the snow is off to huntfor the vein in competition with our friend, Connor. "

"That is what we expect. "

"Well, then, I can help you a little. We will, at least, secure forConnor a start over the enemy. "

"How?" I asked. 

"You remember, of course, " said the hermit, "that sulphurous stuff thatwas cooking on the flat stone outside my door the day you came down tomy house through the clouds? That was galena ore. "

"Why, of course!" I exclaimed, slapping my leg. "What pudding-heads wemust have been, Joe, not to have thought of it before. I had forgottenall about it. Have you found the vein, then?"

"No, I have not; nor have I ever taken the trouble to look for it, having found a place where I can get a sufficient supply for my purposesto last for years. "

"And what do you use it for?" I asked. 

"To make bullets from. I get the powdered ore, roast out the sulphur onthat flat stone, and then melt down the residue. "

"And where do you get it?"

"That is what I am going to tell you. You know that deep, rocky gorgewhere Big Reuben had his den? Well, near the head of that gorge is abasin in the rock in which is a large quantity of this powdered galena, all in very fine grains, showing that they have traveled a considerabledistance. That stream is one of the four little rills which make up thiscreek, and if you tell Connor of this deposit it will save him thetrouble of prospecting the other three creeks, as he would otherwisenaturally do; and as Long John will pretty certainly do, for the creekcoming out of Big Reuben's gorge is the last of the four he would cometo if he took up his search where he left off to-day--which would be theplan he would surely follow. It should save Connor a day's work atleast--perhaps two or three. "

"That's true, " I responded. "It is an important piece of information. Iwonder, though, that nobody else has ever found the deposit you speakof. "

"Do you? I don't. Considering that Big Reuben was standing guard overit, I think it would have been rather remarkable if any one haddiscovered it. "

"That's true enough, " remarked Joe. "But that being the case, how didyou come to discover it yourself? Big Reuben was no respecter ofpersons, that I'm aware of. "

"Ah, but that's just it. He was. He was afraid of me; or, to speak morecorrectly, he was afraid of Sox--the one single thing on earth of whichhe was afraid. Before I knew of his existence, I was going up the gorgeone day when Big Reuben bounced out on me, and almost before I knew whathad happened I found myself hanging by my finger-tips to a ledge of rockfifteen feet up the cliff, with the bear standing erect below me tryinghis best to claw me down. My hold was so precarious that I could nothave retained it long, and my case would have been pretty serious had itnot been for Socrates. That sagacious bird, seeming to recognize that Iwas in desperate straits, flew up, perched upon the face of the cliffjust out of reach of the bear's claws, and in a tone of authorityordered him to lie down. The astonishment of the bear at being thusaddressed by a bird was ludicrous, and at any other time would have mademe laugh heartily. He at once dropped upon all fours, and when Socratesflipped down to the ground and walked towards him, using language fit tomake your hair stand on end, the bear backed away. And he kept onbacking away as Sox advanced upon him, pouring out as he came every wordand every fragment of a quotation he had learned in the course of a longand studious career. One of the reasons I have for thinking that he isgetting on for a hundred years old is that Sox on that occasion raked upold slang phrases in use in the first years of the century--phrases Ihad never heard him use before, and which I am sure he cannot have heardsince he has been in my possession. 

"This stream of vituperation was too much for Big Reuben. He feared noman living, as you know, but a common black raven with a man's voice inhis stomach was 'one too many for him, ' as the saying is. He turned andbolted; while Socrates, flying just above his head, pursued him withjeers and laughter, until at last he found inglorious safety in theinmost recesses of his den, whither Sox was much too wise to followhim. "

"I don't wonder you set a high value on old Sox, then, " said I. "Heprobably saved your life that time. "

"He certainly did: I could not have held on five minutes longer. "

"And did you ever run across Big Reuben again?" asked Joe. 

"Yes. Or, rather, I suppose I should say 'no. ' I saw him a good manytimes, but he never would allow me to come near him. Whether he thoughtI was in league with the Evil One, I can't say, but, at any rate, oneglimpse of me was enough to send him flying; and as I was sure I needhave no fear of him, I had no hesitation in walking up the gorge if ithappened to be convenient; and thus it was that I discovered the depositof lead-ore up near its head. "

As this piece of information precluded the necessity of our prospectingany further, and as we had by this time finished our meal--which wasshared by Peter and his attendant sprite--we informed our friend that itwas time for us to be starting back; upon which he remarked that hewould go part of the way with us, as, by taking one of the gulchesfarther on he would find an easier ascent to his house than by returningthe way he had come. Hanging his skis over his shoulder, therefore, hetrudged along beside us at a pace which made us hustle to keep up withhim. 

"Do you think you would be able to find my house again?" asked thehermit as we walked along. 

"No, " I replied, "I'm sure we couldn't. When we came down the mountainin the clouds that day we were so mixed up that we did not even knowwhether we were on Lincoln or Elkhorn, though we had kept away so muchto the left coming down that we rather thought we must have got on toone of the spurs of Lincoln. "

"Well, you had. I'll show you directly what line you took. "

Half a mile farther on, at the point where the stream we were followingjoined our own creek, our friend stopped, and pointing up the mountain, said:

"If you ever have occasion to come and look me up, all you have to do isto follow your own creek up to its head, when you will come to a high, unscalable cliff, and right at the foot of that cliff you will see thegreat pile of fallen rocks in which my house is hidden. You can see thecliff from here. When you came down that day you missed the head of thecreek you had followed in going up, and by unconsciously bearing to yourleft all the time you passed the heads of several others as well, and soat length you got into the valley which would have brought you out hereif you had continued to follow it. "

"I see. How far up is it to your house?"

"About five miles from where we stand. "

"It must be all under snow up there, " remarked Joe. "I wonder you arenot afraid of being buried alive. "

The hermit smiled. "I'm not afraid of that, " said he. "It is true thegulch below me gets drifted pretty full--there is probably forty feet ofsnow in it at this moment--but the point where my house stands alwaysseems to escape; a fact which is due, I think, to the shape of the cliffbehind it. It is in the form of a horseshoe, and whichever way the windblows, the cliff seems to give it a twist which sends the snow off inone direction or another, so that, while the drifts are piled up allaround me, the head of the gulch is always fairly free. "

"That's convenient, " said Joe. "But for all that, I think I should beafraid to live there myself, especially in the spring. "

"Why?" asked the hermit. "Why in the spring particularly?"

"I should be afraid of snowslides. The mountain above the cliff is verysteep--at least it looks so from here. "

"It is very steep, extremely steep, and the snow up there is very heavythis winter--I went up to examine it two days ago. But at the same timeI saw no traces of there ever having been a slide. There are a good manytrees growing on the slope, some of them of large size, which is prettyfair evidence that there has been no slide for a long time--not for ahundred years probably. For as you see, there and there"--pointing totwo long, bare tracks on the mountain-side--"when the slides do comedown they clean off every tree in their course. No, I have no fear ofsnowslides. 

"By the way, " he continued, "there is one thing you might tell TomConnor when you see him, and that is that Big Reuben's creek heads in ashallow draw on the mountain above my house. If you follow with your eyefrom the summit of the cliff upward, you will notice a stretch of barerock, and above it a strip of trees extending downward from left toright. It is among those trees that the creek heads. 

"You might mention that to Connor, " he went on, "in case he shouldprefer to begin his prospecting downward from the head of the creekinstead of upward from Big Reuben's gorge. And tell him, too, that if hewill come to me, I shall be glad to take him up there at any time. "

"Very well, " said I, "we'll do so. "

"Yes, we'll certainly tell him, " said Joe. "It might very well happenthat Tom would prefer to begin at the top, especially if he should findthat Long John had got ahead of him and was already working up frombelow. "

"Exactly. That is what I was thinking of. Well, I must be off. I have alongish tramp before me, and the sunset comes pretty early under mycliff. "

"Won't you come home with us to-night?" I asked. "We have only two milesto go. My father told me to ask you the next time we met, and this issuch a fine opportunity. I wish you would. "

"Yes; do, " Joe chimed in. 

But the hermit shook his head. "You are very kind to suggest it, " saidhe, "and I am really greatly obliged to you, and to Mr. Crawford also, but I think not. Thank you, all the same; but I'll go back home. So, good-bye. "

"Some other time, perhaps, " suggested Joe. 

"Perhaps--we'll see. By the way, there was one other thing I intended tosay, and that is:--look out for Long John! He is a dangerous man if heis a coward; in fact, all the more dangerous _because_ he is a coward. So now, good-bye; and remember"--holding up a warning finger--"look outfor Long John!"

With that, he slipped his feet into his skis and away he went; while Joeand I turned our own faces homeward. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE WILD CAT'S TRAIL

"He is quite right, " said my father, when, on reaching home again, werelated to him the results of our day's work and told him how the hermithad warned us against Long John. "He is quite right. Your hermit is aman of sense in spite of his reputation to the contrary. Yetmore, ofcourse, will do anything he can to forestall Tom Connor, but, if I amnot mistaken, he will not venture beyond the law; whereas Long John, Ifeel sure, would not be restrained by any such consideration. He wouldbe quite ready to resort to violence, provided always that he could doit without risk to his own precious person. The hermit is right, too, insaying that Long John is all the more dangerous for being the cowardlycreature that he is: whatever he may do to head off Tom will be done inthe dark--you may be sure of that. We must warn Tom, so that he may beon his guard. "

"I'm afraid it won't be much use warning Tom, " said I. "He is such aheedless fellow and so chuck full of courage that he won't trouble totake any precautions. "

"I don't suppose he will, but we will warn him, all the same, so that hemay at least go about with his eyes open. I'll write to him againto-morrow. And now to our own business. Come into the back room. I wantyour opinion. "

It had been my father's custom for some time back--and a very goodcustom, too, I think--whenever there arose a question of managementabout the affairs of the ranch, to take Joe and me into consultationwith him. It is probable enough that our opinion, when he got it, wasnot worth much, but the mere fact that we were asked for it gave us afeeling of responsibility and grown-up-ness which had a good effect. Whenever, therefore, any question of importance turned up, the wholemale population of Crawford's Basin voted upon it, and though it is truethat nine times out of ten any proposition advanced by my father wouldreceive a unanimous vote, it did happen every now and then that one ofus would make a suggestion which would be adopted, much to oursatisfaction, thus adding a zest to the work, whatever it might be. Forwhether the plan originated with my father or with one of us, as we allvoted on it we thereby made it our own, and having made it our own; wetook infinitely more interest in its accomplishment than does theordinary hired man, who is told to do this or do that without reason orexplanation. 

It will be readily understood, too, how flattering it was to a couple ofyoung fellows like ourselves to be asked for our opinion by a man likemy father, for whose good sense and practical knowledge we had thegreatest respect, and of course we were all attention at once, when, seating himself in his desk chair, he began:

"You remember that when Marsden's cattle first came they broke a coupleof the posts around the hay-corral, and that when we re-set them wefound that the butt-ends of the posts were beginning to get prettyrotten?"

He happened to catch Joe's eye, who replied:

"I remember; and you said at the time that we should have to renew thefence entirely in two years or less. "

"Exactly. Well, now, this is what I've been thinking: instead ofrenewing with posts and poles, why not build a rough stone wall allround the present fence, which, when once done, would last forever?Within a half-mile of the corral there is material in plenty fallen fromthe face of the Second Mesa; and everything on the ranch being in goodworking order, you two boys would be free to put in several weekshauling stones and dumping them outside the fence--the actual building Iwould leave till next fall. It will mean a long spell of pretty hardwork, for you will hardly gather material enough if you keep at it allthe rest of the winter. Now, what do you think?"

"It seems to me like a good plan, " Joe answered. "We can take two teamsand wagons, help each other to load, drive down together, and help eachother to unload; for I suppose you would use stones as big as we canhandle by preference. "

"Yes, the bigger the better; especially for the lower courses and forthe corners. What's your opinion, Phil?"

"I agree with Joe, " I replied. "And with such a short haul--for it willaverage nearer a quarter than half a mile--I should think we might evencollect stones enough for the purpose this winter, provided theredoesn't come a big fall of snow and stop us. "

"Then you shall begin to-morrow, " said my father. 

"But here's another question, " he continued. "Should we build the wallclose around the present fence, or should we increase the size of thecorral while we are about it?"

"I should keep to the present dimensions, " said I. "There is no chancethat I see of our ever increasing the size of our hay-crop to any greatextent, and the corral we have now has always held it all, even thatvery big crop we had the summer Joe came. If----"

"Yes, 'if, '" my father interrupted, knowing very well what I had inmind. "_If_ we could drain 'the bottomless forty rods' we should need acorral half as big again; but I'm afraid that is beyond us, so we may aswell confine ourselves to providing for present needs. "

"My wig!" exclaimed Joe--his favorite exclamation--at the same timerumpling his hair, as though that were the wig he referred to. "What agreat thing it would be if we could but drain those forty rods!"

"It undoubtedly would, " replied my father. "It would about double thevalue of the ranch, I think; for, besides diverting the present countyroad between San Remo and Sulphide--for everybody would then leave theold hill-road and come past our door instead--it would give us a largepiece of new land for growing oats and hay. And, do you know, I begin tothink it is very possible that within a couple of years we shall have amarket for more oats and hay than we can grow, even including the 'fortyrods. '"

"Why?" I asked, in surprise; for, at present, though we disposed of ourproduce readily enough, it could not be said that there was a boomingmarket. 

"It is just guess-work, " my father replied, "pure guess-work on my part, with a number of good big 'ifs' about it; but if Tom Connor or LongJohn, or, indeed, any one else, should discover a big vein of lead-oreup on Mount Lincoln--and the chances, I think, begin to lookfavorable--what would be the result?"

"I don't know, " said I. "What?"

"Why, this whole district would take a big leap forward--that is whatwould happen. You see, as things stand now, the smelters, not being ableto procure in the district lead-ores enough for fluxing purposes, areobliged to bring them in by railroad from other camps. This is veryexpensive, and the consequence is that they are obliged to make suchhigh charges for smelting that any ore of less value than thirty dollarsto the ton is at present worthless to the miner: the cost of hauling itto the smelter and the smelter-charges when it gets there eat up all theproceeds. "

"I see, " said Joe. "And the discovery of a mine which would provide thesmelters with all the lead-ore they wanted would bring down the chargesof smelting and enable the producers of thirty dollar ore to work theirclaims at a profit. "

"Precisely. And as nine-tenths of the claims in the district producemainly low-grade ore, which is now left lying on the dumps as worthless, and as even the big mines take out, and throw aside, probably ten tonsof low-grade in getting out one ton of high-grade, you can see what a'boost' the district would receive if all this unavailable material weresuddenly to become a valuable and marketable commodity. "

"I should think it would!" exclaimed Joe, enthusiastically. "Theprospectors would be getting out by hundreds; the population of Sulphidewould double; San Remo would take a great jump forward; while we--why, we shouldn't _begin_ to be able to grow oats and hay enough to meet thedemand. "

My father nodded. "That's what I think, " said he. 

"And there's another thing, " cried I, taking up Joe's line of prophecy. "If a big vein of lead-ore should be discovered anywhere about the headof our creek, the natural way for the freighters to get down to San Remowould be through here, if----"

"That's it, " interrupted my father. "That's the whole thing. I-F, IF. "

Dear me! What a big, big little word that was. To represent it of thesize it looked to us, it would be necessary to paint it on the sky withthe tail of a comet dipped in an ocean of ink!

After a pause of a minute or two, during which we all sat silent, considering over again what we had considered many and many a timebefore: whether there were not some possible way of draining off the"forty rods, " Joe suddenly straightened himself in his seat, rumpled hishair once more--by which sign I knew he had some idea in his head--andsaid:

"I suppose you have thought of it before, Mr. Crawford, but would it bepossible to run a tunnel up from the lower edge of the First Mesa, andso draw off the water?"

"I have thought of it before, Joe, " replied my father, "and while Ithink it might work, I have concluded that it is out of the question. How long a tunnel would it take, do you calculate?"

"Well, a little more than a quarter of a mile, I suppose. "

"Yes. Say twelve hundred feet, at least. Well, to run a tunnel of thatlength would be cheap at ten dollars a foot. "

"Phew!" Joe whistled, opening his eyes widely. "That is a staggerer, sure enough. It does look as if there was no way out of it. "

"No, I'm afraid not, " said my father. "And as to making a permanent roadacross the marsh, I have tried everything I can think of includingcorduroying with long poles covered with brush and earth. But it was nouse. We had a very wet season that summer, and the road, poles and all, was covered with water. That settled it to my mind; we could not expectthe freighters and others to come our way when, at any time, they mightfind the road under water. "

"No; that did seem to be a clincher. Well, as there appears to be nomore to be said, let's get to bed, Phil. If we are going to haul rocksto-morrow, we shall need a good night's sleep as a starter. "

The cliff which bounded the eastern edge of the Second Mesa--at the sametime bounding the ranch on its western side--was made up of layers ofrock of an average thickness of about a foot, having been evidentlybuilt up by successive small flows of lava. The stones piled at the footof the bluff being flat on both sides were therefore very convenient forwall-building, and so plentiful that we made rapid progress at first inhauling them down to the corral. At the end of three weeks, however, wehad picked up all those fragments that were most accessible, and werenow obliged to loosen up the great heaps of larger slabs and crack thestones with a sledgehammer. Some of these heaps were so large, and thestones composing them of such great size, that when we came to dislodgethem we found that an ordinary crowbar made no impression; but weovercame that difficulty, at Joe's suggestion, by using a big pine poleas a lever. Inserting the butt-end of the pole between two big rocks, we would tie a rope to the other end and hitch the mules to it. Theleverage thus obtained was tremendous, and unless the pole broke, something had to come. In this way we could sometimes bring down at onepull rock enough to keep us busy for a week. 

Day after day, without a break, we continued this work, and though itwas certainly hard labor we enjoyed it, especially when, by constantpractice we found ourselves handling all the time bigger and biggerstones with less and less exertion. 

It would seem that there could not be much art in so simple a matter asputting a stone into a wagon, and as far as stones of moderate size areconcerned there is not. But when you come to deal with slabs of rockweighing a thousand pounds or more, you will find that the "know how"counts for very much more than mere strength. 

Of course, to handle pieces of this size it was necessary to use skidsand crowbars, with which, aided by little rollers made of bits ofgas-pipe, we did not hesitate to tackle stones which, when we firstbegan, we should have cracked into two or three pieces. 

We had been at it, as I have said, for more than three weeks, when ithappened one day that while driving down with our last load, we were metface to face by a wildcat, with one of our chickens in its mouth. Therewere a good many of these animals having their lairs among the fallenrocks at the foot of the mesa, and they caused us some trouble, but thiswas the first time I had known one to make a raid on the chicken-yard inbroad daylight. I suppose rabbits were scarce, and the poor beast wasdriven to this unusual course by hunger. 

I was driving the mules at the moment, but Joe, who was walking besidethe wagon, picked up a stone and hurled it at the cat. The animal, ofcourse, bolted--taking his chicken with him, though--and disappearedamong the rocks close to where we had just been at work. 

"Joe, " said I, "we'll bring up the shotgun to-morrow. We may stir thatfellow out and get a shot at him. "

Accordingly, next day, we took the gun with us, and leaning it against atree near the wagon, set about our usual work. The first stone we loadedthat morning was an extra-large one, and Joe on one side of the wagonand I on the other were prying it into position with our pinch-bars, when my companion, who was facing the bluff, gently laid down his barand whispered:

"Keep quiet, Phil! Don't move! I see that wildcat! Get hold of the linesin case the mules should scare, while I see if I can reach the gun. "

Stooping behind the wagon, he slipped away to where the gun stood, camestooping back, and then, straightening up, he raised the gun to hisshoulder. Up to that moment the cat had stood so still that I had beenunable to distinguish it, but just as Joe raised the gun it bolted. Mypartner fired a snap-shot, and down came the cat, tumbling over andover. 

"Good shot!" I cried. But hardly had I done so when the animal jumped upagain and popped into a hole between two rocks before Joe could get asecond shot. 

"Let's dig him out, Joe, " I cried. And seizing a crowbar, I led the wayto the foot of the cliff. 

Working away with the bar, while Joe stood ready with the gun, I soonenlarged the hole enough to let me look in, but it was so dark inside, and I got into my own light so much that I could see nothing. 

I happened to have a letter in my pocket, and taking the envelope Idropped a little stone into it, screwed up the corner, and lighting theother end, threw the bit of paper into the hole. My little fire-brandflickered for a moment, and then burned up brightly, when I saw thewildcat lying flat upon its side, evidently quite dead. 

Thereupon we both set to work and enlarged the hole so that Joe couldcrawl in, which he immediately did. I expected him to come out again ina moment, but it was a full minute before he reappeared, and when he didso he only poked out his head and said, in an excited tone:

"Come in here, Phil! Here's the queerest thing--just come in here for aminute!"

Of course I at once crept through the hole, to find myself in a littlechamber about ten feet long, six feet wide and four feet high, built upof great flat slabs of stone, which, falling from above, hadaccidentally so arranged themselves as to form this little room. 

At first I thought it was the little room itself to which Joe hadreferred as "queer, " but Joe, scouting such an idea, exclaimed:

"No, no, bless you! I didn't mean that. That's nothing. Look here!"

So saying, he struck a match and showed me, along one side of thechamber, a great crack in the ground, three feet wide, extending to theleft an unknown distance--for in that direction it was covered by looserocks of large size--while to the right it pinched out entirely. 

It was evident to me that this crevice had existed ever since the greatbreak had occurred which had separated the First from the Second Mesa, but that, being covered by the fragments which had fallen from thecliff--itself formed by the subsidence of the First Mesa from what hadonce been the general level--it had hitherto remained concealed. 

"Well, that certainly is 'queer, '" said I. "How deep is it, I wonder?"

"Don't know. Pitch a stone into it. "

I did so; judging from the sound that the crevice was probably thirty orforty feet deep. 

"That's what I should guess, " said Joe. "But there's another thing, Phil, a good deal queerer than a mere crack in the ground. Lie down andput your ear over the hole and listen. "

I did as directed, and then at length I understood where the "queerness"came in. I could distinctly hear the rush of water down below!

Rising to my knees, I stared at Joe, who, kneeling also, stared back atme, both keeping silence for a few seconds. At length:

"Where does it come from, Joe?" I asked. 

"I don't know, " Joe replied. "Mount Lincoln, perhaps. But I do knowwhere it goes to. "

"You do? Where?"

"Down to 'the forty rods, ' of course. "

"That's it!" I cried, thumping my fist into the palm of the other hand. "That's certainly it! Look here, Joe. I'll tell you what we'll do. We'llquit hauling rock for this morning, go and get a long rope, climb downinto this crack, see how much water there is, and find out if we canwhere it goes to. "

"All right, " said Joe. "Your father won't object, I'm sure. "

"No, he won't object. Though he relies on our doing a good day's workwithout supervision, he relies, too, on our using our common sense, andI'm sure he'll agree that this is a matter that ought to be investigatedwithout delay. It may be of the greatest importance. "

"All right!" cried Joe. "Then let us get about it at once!"

CHAPTER IX

THE UNDERGROUND STREAM

It was on a Saturday morning that we made this discovery, and as myfather and mother had both driven down to San Remo and would not be backtill sunset, we could not ask permission to abandon our regular work andgo exploring. But, as I had said to Joe, though he trusted us to workfaithfully at any task we might undertake, my father also expected us touse our own discretion in any matter which might turn up when he was notat hand to advise with us. 

I had, therefore, no hesitation in driving back to the ranch, when, having unloaded our one stone and stabled the mules, Joe and I, takingwith us a long, stout rope and the stable-lantern, retraced our steps tothe wildcat's house. 

The first thing to be done was to enlarge the entrance so that we mighthave daylight to work by, and this being accomplished, we lighted thelantern and lowered it by a cord into the hole. We found, however, thata bulge in the rock prevented our seeing to the bottom, and all wegained by this move was to ascertain that the crevice was about fortyfeet deep, as we had guessed. The next thing, therefore, was for one ofus to go down, and the only way to do this was to slide down a rope. 

This, doubtless, would be easy enough, but the climbing up again mightbe another matter. We were not afraid to venture on this score, however, for, as it happened, we had both often amused ourselves by climbing arope hung from one of the rafters in the hay-barn, and though that was aclimb of only twenty feet, we had done it so often and so easily that wedid not question our ability to ascend a rope of double the length. 

"Who's to go down, Joe, you or I?" I asked. 

"Whichever you like, Phil, " replied my companion. "I suppose you'd liketo be the first, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes, that's a matter of course, " I answered, "but as you are thediscoverer you ought to have first chance, so down you go, old chap!"

"Very well, then, " said Joe, "if you say so, I'll go. "

"Well, I do--so that settles it. "

I knew Joe well enough to be sure he would be eager to be the first, andthough I should have liked very much to take the lead myself, it seemedto me only just that Joe, as the original discoverer, should, as I hadsaid, be given the choice. 

This question being decided, we tied one end of the rope around a bigstone, heavy enough to hold an elephant, and dropped the other end intothe hole. The descent at first was very easy, for the walls being onlythree feet apart, and there being many rough projections on either side, it was not much more difficult than going down a ladder, especially asI, standing a little to one side, lowered the lantern bit by bit, thatJoe might have a light all the time to see where to set his feet. 

Arrived at the bulge, Joe stopped, and standing with one foot on eitherwall, looked up and said:

"It opens out below here, Phil; I shall have to slide the rest of theway. You might lower the lantern down to the bottom now, if you please. "

I did so at once, and then asked:

"Can you see the bottom, Joe?"

"Yes, " he replied. "The crevice is much wider down there, and the floorseems to be smooth and dry. I can't see any sign of water anywhere, butI can hear it plainly enough. Good-bye for the present; I'm going downnow. "

With that he disappeared under the bulge in the wall, while I, placingmy hand upon the rope, presently felt the strain slacken, whereupon Icalled out:

"All right, Joe?"

"All right, " came the answer. 

"How's the air down there?"

"Seems to be perfectly fresh. "

"Can you see the water?"

"No, I can't; but I can hear it. There's a heap of big rocks in thepassage to the south and the splashing comes from the other side of it. I'm going to untie the lantern, Phil, and go and explore a bit. Justwait a minute. "

Very soon I heard his voice again calling up to me. 

"It's all right, Phil. I've found the water. You may as well come down. "

"Look here, Joe, " I replied. "Before I come down, it might be as wellto make sure that you can come up. "

"There's something in that, " said Joe, with a laugh. "Well, then, I'llcome up first. "

I felt the rope tauten again, and pretty soon my companion's headappeared, when, scrambling over the bulge, he once more stood astride ofthe crevice, and looking up said:

"It's perfectly safe, Phil. The only troublesome bit is in getting overthe bulge, and that doesn't amount to anything. It's safe enough for youto come down. "

"Very well, then, I'll come; so go on down again. "

Taking a candle we had brought with us, I set it on a projection whereit would cast a light into the fissure, and seizing the rope, down Iwent. The descent was perfectly easy, and in a few seconds I foundmyself standing beside Joe at the bottom. 

The crevice down here was much wider than above--ten or twelve feet--thefloor, composed of sandstone, having a decided downward tilt towards thesouth. In this direction Joe, lantern in hand, led the way. 

Piled up in the passage was a large heap of lava-blocks which hadfallen, presumably, through the opening above, and climbing over these, we saw before us a very curious sight. 

[Illustration: "WE SAW BEFORE US A VERY CURIOUS SIGHT"]

On the right hand side of the crevice--that is to say, on the western orSecond Mesa side--between the sandstone floor and the lowest ledge oflava, there issued a thin sheet of water, coming out with such forcethat it swept right across, and striking the opposite wall, turned andran off southward--away from us, that is. Only for a short distance, however, it ran in that direction, for we could see that the streampresently took another turn, this time to the eastward, presumablyfinding its way through a crack in the lava of the First Mesa. 

"I'm going to see where it goes to, " cried Joe; and pulling off hisboots and rolling up his trousers, he waded in. He expected to find thewater as cold as the iced water of any other mountain stream, but to hissurprise it was quite pleasantly warm. 

"I'll tell you what it is, Phil, " said he, stepping back again for amoment. "This water must run under ground for a long distance to be aswarm as it is. And what's more, there must be a good-sized reservoirsomewhere between the lava and the sandstone to furnish pressure enoughto make the water squirt out so viciously as it does. "

Entering the stream again, which, though hardly an inch deep, came outof the rock with such "vim" that when it struck his feet it flew upnearly to his knees, Joe waded through, and then turning, shouted to me:

"It goes down this way, Phil, through a big crack in the lava. It justgoes flying. Don't trouble to come"--observing that I was about to pulloff my own boots--"you can't see any distance down the crack. "

But whatever there was to be seen, I wanted to see too, and disregardinghis admonition, I pretty soon found myself standing beside my companion. 

The great cleft into which we were peering was about six feet wide atthe bottom, coming together some twenty feet above our heads, havingbeen apparently widened at the base by the action of the water, which, being here ankle-deep, rushed foaming over and around the many blocks oflava with which the channel was encumbered. As far as we could see, thefissure led straight away without a bend; and Joe was for trying towalk down it at once. I suggested, however, that we leave that for thepresent and try another plan. 

"Look here, Joe, " said I. "If we try to do that we shall probably getpretty wet, and stand a good chance besides of hurting our feet amongthe rocks. Now, I propose that we go down to the ranch again, get ourrubber boots, and at the same time bring back with us my father'scompass and the tape-measure and try to survey this water-course. Bydoing that, and then by following the same line on the surface, we maybe able to decide whether it is really this stream which keeps 'theforty rods' so wet. "

"I don't think there can be any doubt about that, " Joe replied; "but Ithink your plan is a good one, all the same, so let us do it. "

We did not waste much time in getting down to the ranch and back again, when, pulling on our rubber boots, we proceeded to make our survey. Itwas not an easy task. 

With the ring at the end of the tape-measure hooked over my littlefinger, I took a candle in that hand and the compass in the other, andhaving ascertained that the course of the stream was due southeast, Itold Joe to go ahead. My partner, therefore, with his arm slippedthrough the handle of the lantern and with a pole in his hand with whichto test the depth of the stream, thereupon started down the passage, stepping from rock to rock when possible, and taking to the water whenthe rocks were too far apart, until, having reached the limit of thetape-measure, he made a mark upon the wall with a piece of white chalk. 

This being done, I noted on a bit of paper the direction and thedistance, when Joe advanced once more, I following as far as to thechalk-mark, when the operation was repeated. 

In this manner we worked our way, slowly and carefully, down thepassage, the direction of which varied only two or three degrees to oneside or the other of southeast, until, having advanced a little morethan a thousand feet, we found our further progress barred. 

For some time it had appeared to us that the sound of splashing waterwas increasing in distinctness, though the stream itself made so muchnoise in that hollow passage that we could not be sure whether we wereright or not. At length, however, having made his twentieth chalk-mark, indicating one thousand feet, Joe, waving his lantern for me to comeon, advanced once more; but before I had come to his last mark, hestopped and shouted back to me that he could go no farther. 

Wondering why not, I slowly waded forward, Joe himself winding up thetape-measure as I approached, until I found myself standing beside mycompanion, when I saw at once "why not. "

The stream here took a sudden dive down hill, falling about three feetinto a large pool, the limits of which we could not discern--for wecould see neither sides nor end--its surface unbroken, except in a fewplaces where we could detect the ragged points of big lava-blocksprojecting above the water, while here and there a rounded bouldershowed its smooth and shining head. 

Joe, very carefully descending to the edge of the pool, measured thedepth with his rod, when, finding it to be about four feet deep, weconcluded that we would let well enough alone and end our survey at thispoint. 

"Come on up, Joe, " I called out. "No use trying to go any farther: it'stoo dangerous; we might get in over our heads. "

"Just a minute, " Joe replied. "Let's see if we can't find out which waythe current sets in the pool. "

With that he took from his pocket a newspaper he had brought with him incase for any purpose we should need to make a "flare, " and crumplingthis into a loose ball he set it afloat in the pool. Away it sailed, quickly at first, and then more slowly; and taking a sight on it as faras it was distinguishable, I found that the set of the current continuedas before--due southeast. 

"All right, Joe, " I cried. "Come on, now. " And Joe, giving me the end ofhis stick to take hold of, quickly rejoined me, when together we madeour way carefully up the stream again, and climbing the rope, once morefound ourselves out in the daylight. 

"Now, Joe, " said I, "let us run our line and find out where it takesus. "

Having previously measured the distance from the point where theunderground stream turned southeast to where the rope hung down, we nowmeasured the same distance back again along the foot of the bluff, andthence, ourselves turning southeastward, we measured off a thousandfeet. This brought us down to the lowest of the old lake-benches, abouta hundred yards back of the house, when, sighting along the same linewith the compass, we found that that faithful little servant pointed usstraight to the entrance of the lower caņon. 

"Then that does settle it!" cried Joe. "We've found the stream thatkeeps 'the forty rods' wet; there can be no doubt of it. "

It did, indeed seem certain that we had at last discovered the streamwhich supplied "the forty rods" with water; but allowing that we _had_discovered it:--what then? How much better off were we?

Beneath our feet, as we had now every reason to believe, ran thelong-sought water-course, but between us and it was a solid bed of lavaabout forty feet thick; and how to get the water to the surface, andthus prevent it from continuing to render useless the meadow below, wasa problem beyond our powers. 

"It beats me, " said Joe, taking off his hat and tousling his hairaccording to custom. "I can see no possible way of doing it. We shallhave to leave it to your father. Perhaps he may be able to think of aplan. Do you suppose he'll venture to go down the rope, Phil?"

"No, I don't, " I replied. "It is all very well for you and me, with ourone hundred and seventy pounds, or thereabouts, but as my father weighsforty pounds more than either of us, and has not been in the habit ofclimbing ropes for amusement as long as I can remember, I think thechances are that he won't try it. "

"I suppose not. It's a pity, though, for I'm sure he would betremendously interested to see the stream down there in the crevice. Couldn't we----Look here, Phil: couldn't we set up a ladder to reachfrom the bottom up to the bulge?"

I shook my head. 

"I don't think so, " I answered. "It would take a ladder twenty feetlong, and the bulge in the wall would prevent its going down. "

"That's true. Well, then, I'll tell you what we can do. We'll make twoladders of ten feet each--a ten-foot pole will go down easilyenough--set one on the floor of the crevice and the other on that wideledge about half way up to the bulge. What do you think of that?"

"Yes, I think we could do that, " I replied. "We'll try it anyhow. But wemust go in and get some dinner now: it's close to noon. "

We did not take long over our dinner--we were too anxious to get towork again--and as soon as we had finished we selected from our supplyof fire-wood four straight poles, each about ten feet long, and withthese, a number of short pieces of six-inch plank, a hammer, a saw and abag of nails, we drove back to the scene of action. 

Even a ten-foot pole, we found, was an awkward thing to get down to thebottom of the fissure, but after a good deal of coaxing we succeeded inlowering them all, when we at once set to work building our ladders. 

The first one, standing on the floor of the crevice, reached as high asthe ledge Joe had mentioned, while the second, planted upon the ledgeitself, leaned across the chasm, its upper end resting against the rockjust below the bulge, so that, with the rope to hold on by, it ought tobe easy enough to get up and down. It is true that the second ladderbeing almost perpendicular, looked a little precarious, but we had takengreat care to set it up solidly and were certain it could not slip. Asto the strength of the ladders, there was nothing to fear on that score, for the smallest of the poles was five inches in diameter at the littleend. 

This work took us so long, for we were very careful to make thingsstrong and firm, that it was within half an hour of sunset ere we hadfinished, and as it was then too late to begin hauling rocks, we drovedown to the ranch again at once. 

As we came within sight of the house, we had the pleasure of seeing thebuggy with my father and mother in it draw up at the door. Observing uscoming, they waited for us, when, the moment we jumped out of the wagon, before we could say a word ourselves, my father exclaimed:

"Hallo, boys! What are you wearing your rubber boots for?"

My mother, however, looking at our faces instead of at our feet, withthat quickness of vision most mothers of boys seem to possess, saw atonce that something unusual had occurred. 

"What's happened, Phil?" she asked. 

"We've made a discovery, " I replied, "and we want father to come and seeit. "

"Can't I come, too?" she inquired, smiling at my eagerness. 

"I'm afraid not, " I answered. "I wish you could, but I'm afraid yourpetticoats would get in the way. "

To this, perceiving easily enough that we had some surprise in store formy father, and not wishing to spoil the fun, my mother merely replied:

"Oh, would they? Well, I'm afraid I couldn't come anyhow: I must go inand prepare supper. So, be off with you at once, and don't be late. Youcan tell me all about it this evening. "

"One minute, father!" I cried; and thereupon I ran to the house, reappearing in a few seconds with his rubber boots, which I thrust intothe back of the buggy, and then, climbing in on one side while Joescrambled in on the other, I called out:

"Now, father, go ahead!"

"Where to?" he asked, laughing. 

"Oh, I forgot, " said I. "Up to our stone-quarry. "

If we had expected my father to be surprised, we were not disappointed. At first he rather demurred at going down our carefully preparedladders, not seeing sufficient reason, as he declared, to risk his neck;but the moment we called his attention to the sound of water down below, and he began to understand what the presence of the rubber boots meant, he became as eager as either Joe or I had been. 

In short, he went with us over the whole ground, even down to the pool;and so interested was he in the matter that he quite forgot the flightof time, until, having reascended the ladders and followed with us ourline on the surface down to the heap of stones with which we had markedthe thousand-foot point, he--and we, too--were recalled to our duties bymy mother, who, seeing us standing there talking, came to the back-doorof the kitchen and called to us to come in at once if we wanted anysupper. 

Long was the discussion that ensued that evening as we sat around thefire in the big stone fireplace; but long as it was, it ended as it hadbegun with a remark made by my father. 

"Well, " said he, as he leaned back in his chair and crossed hisslippered feet before the fire, "it appears to come to this: instead ofdiscovering a way to drain 'the forty rods, ' you have only provided uswith another insoluble problem to puzzle our heads over. There seems tobe no way that we can figure out--at present, anyhow--by which the watercan be brought to the surface, and consequently our only resource is, apparently, to discover, if possible, where it first runs in under thelava-bed, to come squirting out again down in that fissure--an almosthopeless task, I fear. "

"It does look pretty hopeless, " Joe assented; "though we have found outone thing, at least, which may be of service in our search, and that isthat the water runs between the lava and the sandstone. That fact shouldbe of some help to us, for it removes from the list of streams to beexamined all those whose beds lie below the sandstone. "

"That's true enough, " I agreed. "But, then again, the source may not besome mountain stream running off under the lava, as we have beensupposing. It is quite possible that it is a spring which comes upthrough the sandstone, and not being able to get up to daylight becauseof the lava-cap, goes worming its way through innumerable crevices tothe underground reservoir we suppose to exist somewhere beneath thesurface of the Second Mesa. "

"That is certainly a possibility, " replied my father. "Nevertheless, itis my opinion that it will be well worth while making an examination ofthe creeks on Mount Lincoln. The streams to search would be thoserunning on a sandstone bed and coming against the upper face of thelava-flow. It is worth the attempt, at least, and when the snow clearsoff you boys shall employ any off-days you may have in that way. "

"It would be well, wouldn't it, to tell Tom Connor about it?" suggestedJoe. "He would keep his eyes open for us. I suppose prospectors as arule don't take much note of such things, but Tom would do so, I'm sure, if we asked him. "

"Yes, " replied my father. "That is a good idea; and if either of youshould come across your friend, the hermit, again, be sure to ask him. He knows Mount Lincoln as nobody else does, and if he had ever noticedanything of the sort he would tell us. Don't forget that. And now tobed. "

CHAPTER X

HOW TOM CONNOR WENT BORING FOR OIL

One thing was plain at any rate: we could do nothing towards finding thesource of the underground stream until the snow cleared off themountain, and that was likely to be later than usual this year, for thefall had been exceedingly heavy in the higher parts. We could see fromthe ranch that many of the familiar hollows were obliterated--leveledoff by the great masses of snow which had drifted into them and filledthem up. 

We therefore went about our work of hauling stone, and so continuedwhile the cold weather lasted, interrupted only once by a heavy stormabout the end of January, which, while it added another two feet to thethick blanket of snow already covering the mountains, quickly melted offdown in the snug hollow where the ranch lay, so that our work was notdelayed more than two or three days. 

One advantage to us of this storm was that it enabled us to learnsomething--not much, certainly, but still something--regarding thesource of the stream in the fissure. It did not show us where thatsource was, but it proved to us pretty clearly where it was _not_. 

On the morning of the storm, Joe, at breakfast-time, turning to myfather, said:

"Wouldn't it be a good plan to go and measure the flow of the water downin the crevice, Mr. Crawford? We might be able to find out, by watchingits rise and fall, whether the melting of the snow on the Second Mesa, or on the foot-hills beyond, or on the mountain itself affects it most. "

"That's a very good idea, Joe, " my father replied. "Yes; as soon as wehave fed the stock you can make a measuring-stick and go up there; andwhat's more, you had better make a practice of measuring it every day. The increase or decrease of the flow might be an important guide as towhere it comes from. "

This we did, and thereby ascertained pretty conclusively that the sourcewas nowhere on the Second Mesa, for in the course of a couple of weeksthe heavy fall of new snow covering that wide stretch of country meltedoff without making any perceptible difference in the volume of thestream. 

Though there were several other falls of snow up in the mountains laterin the season, this was the last one of any consequence down on themesas. The winter was about over as far as we were concerned, and by themiddle of the next month, the surface of "the bottomless forty rods"beginning to soften again, the freighters, who had been coming our wayever since the early part of November, deserted us and once more wentback to the hill road--to our mutual regret. For a few days longer thestage-coach kept to our road, but very soon it, too, abandoned us, afterwhich, except for an occasional horseback-rider, we had scarcely apasser-by. 

As was natural, we greatly missed this constant coming and going, thoughwe should have missed it a good deal more but for the fact that with thesoftening of the ground our spring work began, when, Marsden's cattlehaving been removed by their owner, Joe and I started plowing for oats. With the prospect of a steady season's work before us, we entered uponour labors with enthusiasm. We had never felt so "fit" before, for ourlong spell of stone-hauling had put us into such good trim that we werein condition to tackle anything. 

At the same time, we did not forget our underground stream, keepingstrict watch upon it as the snow-line retreated up the foot-hills ofMount Lincoln. But though one of us visited the stream every day, takingcareful measurement of the flow, we could not see that it had increasedat all. The intake must be either high on the mountain, or, as I hadsuggested, the spring must come up through the sandstone underlying theSecond Mesa and was therefore not affected by the running off of thesnow-water on the surface. 

As the town of Sulphide was so situated that its inhabitants could notsee Mount Lincoln on account of a big spur of Elkhorn Mountain which cutoff their view, any one in that town wishing to find out how the snowwas going off on the former mountain was obliged to ride down in ourdirection about three miles in order to get a sight of it. 

Tom Connor, having neither the time to spare nor the money to spend onhorse-hire, could not do this for himself, but, knowing that themountain was visible to us any day and all day, he had requested us tonotify him when the foot-hills began to get bare. This time had nowarrived--it was then towards the end of March--and my fatherconsequently wrote to Tom, telling him so; at the same time inviting himto come down to us and make his start from the ranch whenever he wasready. 

To our great surprise, we received a reply from him next afternoon, brought down by young Seth Appleby, the widow Appleby's ten-year-oldboy, in which he stated that he could not start just yet as he was outof funds, but that he was hoping to raise one hundred and fifty dollarsby a mortgage on his little house, which would be all he would need, andmore, to keep him going for the summer. 

"Why, what's the meaning of this!" exclaimed my father, when he had readthe letter. "How does Tom come to be out of funds at this time of year?He's been at work all winter at high wages and he ought to have saved upquite a tidy sum--in fact, he was counting on doing so. What's thematter, I wonder? Did he tell you anything about it, Seth?"

"No, " replied the youngster, "he didn't tell me, but he did tell mother, and then mother, she asked all the miners who come to our store, andthey told her all about it. It was mother that sent me down with theletter, and she told me I was to be sure and 'splain all about it toyou. "

"That was kind of Mrs. Appleby, " said my father. "But come in, Seth, andhave something to eat, and then you can give us your mother's message. "

Seated at the table, with a big loaf, a plate of honey and a pitcher ofmilk before him, young Seth, after he had taken off the fine edge of aremarkably healthy appetite, related to us between bites the story hehad been sent down to tell. It was a long and complicated story as hetold it, and even when it was finished we could not be quite sure thatwe had it right; but supposing that we had, it came to this:

Tom had worked faithfully on the Pelican, never having missed a day, andhad earned a very considerable sum of money, of which he had, withcommendable--and, for him, unusual--discretion, invested the greaterpart in a little house, putting by one hundred and fifty dollars for hisown use during the coming summer. The fund reserved would have beensufficient to see him through the prospecting season had he stuck toit; but this was just what he had not done. 

Two years before, a friend of his had been killed in one of the mines bythat most frequent of accidents: picking out a missed shot; since whichtime the widow, a bustling, hearty Irishwoman, had supported herself andher five children. But during the changeable weather of early spring, Mrs. Murphy had been taken down with a severe attack of pneumonia--adisease particularly dangerous at high altitudes--and distress reignedin the family. As a matter of course, Tom, ever on the lookout to dosomebody a good turn, at once hopped in and took charge of everything;providing a doctor and a nurse for his old friend's widow, and seeingthat the children wanted for nothing; and all with such success that hebrought his patient triumphantly out of her sickness; while as forhimself, when he modestly retired from the fray, he found that he wasjust as poor as he had been at the beginning of winter. 

It is not to be supposed, however, that this worried Tom. Not a bit ofit. It was unlucky, of course, but as it could not be helped there wasno more to be said; and so long as he owned that house of his he couldalways raise one hundred and fifty dollars on it--it was worth three orfour times as much, at least. 

As the prospecting season was now approaching, he therefore let it beknown that he desired to raise this money, and then quietly went on withhis work again, feeling confident that some one would presently make hisappearance, cash in hand, anxious to secure so good a loan. Up to thatmorning, Seth believed, the expected capitalist had not turned up. 

As the boy finished his story, and--with a sigh at having reached hiscapacity--his meal as well, my father rose from his chair, exclaiming:

"What a good fellow that is! When it comes to practical charity, TomConnor leads us all. In fact, he is in a class by himself:--There is noTom but Tom, and"--smiling at the little messenger--"Seth Appleby is hisprophet--on this occasion. "

At which Seth opened his eyes, wondering what on earth my father wastalking about. 

"Now, I'll tell you what we'll do, " the latter continued. "Seth says hismother wants another thousand pounds of potatoes; so you shall takethem up this afternoon, Phil; have a good talk with her; find out therights of this matter; and then, if there is anything we can do to help, we can do it understandingly. "

I was very glad to do this, and with Seth on the seat beside me and hispony tied behind the wagon, away I went. 

As I had permission to stay in town over night if I liked, and as Mrs. Appleby urged me to do so, saying that I could share Seth's room, Idecided to accept her offer, and after supper we were seated in thestore talking over Tom Connor's affairs--which I found to be just aboutas Seth had described them--when who should burst in upon us but Tomhimself. Evidently my presence was a surprise to him, for on seeing mehe exclaimed:

"Hallo, Phil! You here! Got my message, did you?"

"Yes, " I replied, "we got it all right; and very much astonished wewere. "

Forthwith I tackled him on the subject, and though at first Tom wasdisposed to be evasive in his answers, finding that I had all the facts, he at length admitted the truth of the story. 

"But, bless you!" cried he. "That's nothing. I can raise a hundred andfifty easy enough on my house and pay it off again next winter, sothere's nothing to fuss about. And now, ma'am, " turning to Mrs. Appleby, and abruptly cutting off any further discussion of the topic, "now, ma'am, I'll give you a little order for groceries, if you please--whichwas what I came in for. "

So saying, he took a scrap of paper out of his pocket and proceeded toread out item after item: flour and bacon, molasses and dried apples, alittle tea and a great deal of coffee, and so on, and so on, until atlast he crumpled up his list between his two big hands, saying:

"There! And we'll top off with a gallon of coal oil, if you please. "

"Ah, " said the widow, laying down her pencil--she was a slight, nervouslittle woman--"I was afraid you'd come to coal oil presently. I haven'ta pint of it in the house. "

"Well, that's a pity, " said her customer. "Then I suppose I'll have togo down to Yetmore's for coal oil after all. "

"Yes, Yetmore can let you have it, I know, " replied the widow, in atone of voice which caused us both to look at her inquiringly. 

"He's got a barrel of it, " she continued. "A whole barrel ofit--belonging to me. "

"Eh! What's that?" cried Tom. "Belonging to you?"

"Yes. And he won't give it up. You see, it was this way. I ordered abarrel from the wholesale people in San Remo, and they sent it up twodays ago. Here's the bill of lading. 'One barrel coal oil, No. 668, bySlaughter's freight line. ' The freighters made a mistake and deliveredit at Yetmore's, and now he won't give it up. "

"Won't, eh!" cried Tom, with sudden heat. "We'll just look into that. "

"It's no use, " interposed Mrs. Appleby, holding up her handdeprecatingly. "You can't take it by force; and I've tried persuasion. He's got my barrel; there's no mistake about that, because Seth wentdown and identified the number; but he says he ordered a barrel himselffrom the same firm and it isn't his fault if they didn't put the rightnumber on. "

"Well, that's coming it pretty strong, " said Tom, indignantly. 

"Yes, and it's hard on me, " replied the widow, "because people come inhere for coal oil, and when they find I haven't any they go off toYetmore's, and of course he gets the rest of their order. I might go tolaw, " she added, "but I can't afford that; and by the time my case wassettled Yetmore's barrel will have arrived and he'll send it over hereand pretend to be sorry for the mistake. "

"I see. Well, ma'am, you put me down for a gallon of coal oil just thesame, and get my order together as soon as you like. I'm going out nowto take a bit of a stroll around town. "

Though he spoke calmly, the big miner was, in fact, swelling with wrathat the widow's tale of petty tyranny. Without saying a word more to her, and forgetting my existence, apparently, he marched off down the streetwith the determination of going into Yetmore's and denouncing thestorekeeper before his customers. But, no sooner had he come withinsight of the store than he suddenly changed his mind. 

"Ho, ho!" he laughed, stopping short and shoving his hands deep into hispockets. "Ho, ho! Here's a game! He keeps it in the back end of thestore, I know. I'll just meander in and prospect a bit. "

The store was a long, plainly-constructed building, such as may be seenin plenty in any Colorado mining camp, standing on the hillside with itsback to the creek. In front its foundation was level with the street, but in the rear it was supported upon posts four feet high, leaving alarge vacant space beneath--a favorite "roosting" place for pigs. It wasthe sight of these four-foot posts which caused the widow's champion sosuddenly to change his mind. 

To tell the truth, Tom Connor, in spite of his forty years, was no morethan an overgrown boy, in whose simple character the love of justice andthe love of fun jostled each other for first place. He believed he haddiscovered an opportunity to "take a rise" out of Yetmore and at thesame time to compel the misappropriator of other people's goods torestore the widow's property. That the contemplated act might savor ofillegality did not trouble him--did not occur to him, in fact. He wassure that he had justice on his side, and that was enough for him. 

Full of his idea, Tom walked into the store, where he found Yetmorevery busy serving customers, for it was near closing time, and to aninquiry as to what he wanted, he replied:

"Nothing just now, thank ye. I'll just mosey around and take a look atthings. "

To this Yetmore nodded assent; for though he and the miner had noaffection for each other, they were outwardly on good terms, and it wasno unusual thing for Tom to come into the store. 

Connor "moseyed" accordingly, and kept on "moseying" until he reachedthe back of the building, and there, standing upright against the rearwall, was the barrel, and beside it, mounted on a chair, a putty-facedboy, a stranger to Tom, who was busy boring a hole in the top of it. 

"Trade pretty brisk?" inquired Connor, sauntering up. 

"You bet, " replied the youth, laconically. 

"What does '668' stand for?" asked the miner, tapping the top of thebarrel with his finger. 

"That's the number of the barrel, " was the reply. "The wholesalers downin San Remo always cut a number in their barrels when they send 'emout. "

"Your boss must be a right smart business man to run a 'stablishmentlike this, " remarked Tom, after a pause, glancing about the store. 

"That's what, " replied the boy, admiringly. "You'll have to get up earlyto get around the boss. Why, this barrel here----" He stopped short, asthough suddenly remembering the value of silence, and screwing up oneeye as if to indicate that he could tell things if he liked, he added, "Well, when the boss gets his hands on a thing he don't let go easy, Itell you that. "

"Ah! Smart fellow, the boss. "

"You bet, " remarked the youth once more. 

All this time Tom had been taking notes. The thin, unplastered wall ofthe store was constructed of upright planks with battens over thejoints. It was pierced with one window; and Tom noted that between theedge of the window and the centre of the barrel were four boards. Henoted also that the barrel stood firm and square upon the floor and thatthe floor itself was water-tight. 

While he was making these observations, the boy finished his boringoperation and having inserted a vent-peg in the hole, walked off. Assoon as he was out of sight, Tom stepped up to the barrel, pulled outthe vent-peg, dropped it into his pocket, and having done so, saunteredleisurely up the store again and went out. 

For a little while he hung around on the other side of the street andpresently he had the satisfaction of seeing the lights in the storeextinguished, soon after which Yetmore came out and locking the doorbehind him, walked away to his house. 

"Ah! So the putty-faced boy sleeps in the store, does he?" remarked Tomto himself; a conclusion in which he was confirmed when he saw a candlelighted and the boy making up his bed under the counter. A few minuteslater the candle was blown out, when Tom set off briskly up the streetfor the widow's store. 

He found Mrs. Appleby and Seth tidying up preparatory to closing thestore, and stepping in, he said, "You don't take in lodgers, I suppose, ma'am? I'm intending to stay down town to-night. "

"No, we don't, " replied the widow. "The house is not large enough. Butif you've nowhere to sleep, you're welcome to make up a bed on thefloor--I can let you have some blankets. "

"Thank ye, ma'am, I'll be glad to do it, if you please. "

Accordingly, after the widow had retired up-stairs to her room and Sethand I to ours, Tom spread his blankets on the floor and went to bedhimself. 

All was dark and silent when, at one o'clock in the morning, Tom sat upin bed, and after fumbling about for a minute, found a match and lighteda candle. 

"Have to get up early to get around the boss, eh?" said he to himself, with a chuckle. "Wonder if this is early enough. "

In his stocking-feet he walked to the back door and opened it wide. After pausing for an instant to listen, he came back, and lifting theempty oil barrel from its stand he carried it outside. Next he selectedtwo buckets, and having reached down from a high shelf a large funnel, an auger and a faucet, he carried them and his boots into the back yard, and having locked the door behind him, walked off into the darkness. 

In a short time he reappeared, leading a horse, to which was harnessed alow wood-sled. Upon this sled he firmly lashed the barrel, and gatheringup the other implements he took the horse by the bridle and led himaway down the silent street; for the town of Sulphide as yet boastedneither a lighting system nor a police force--or, rather, the policeforce was accustomed to betake himself to bed with the rest of thecommunity--so Tom had the dark and empty street entirely to himself. 

In a few minutes he drew up at the rear of Yetmore's store, where, leaving the horse standing, he proceeded to count four planks from theedge of the window. Having marked the right plank, he took the auger, and crawling beneath the store, set to work boring a hole up through thefloor. Presently the auger broke through, coming with a thump againstthe bottom of the barrel above, when Tom withdrew the instrument, andtaking out his knife enlarged the hole considerably. 

So far, so good. Next he set a bucket beneath the hole, took the faucetbetween his teeth in order to have it handy, and inserting the auger, heset to, boring a hole in the bottom of the barrel. Soon the tool poppedthrough, when Tom hastily substituted the faucet, which he drove firmlyin with a blow of his horny palm. 

The putty-faced boy inside the store stirred in his blankets, mutteredsomething about "them pigs, " and went to sleep again. 

Tom waited a moment to listen, and then drew off a bucket of oil. Assoon as this was full he replaced it with the other bucket and emptiedthe first one into the barrel on the sled. This process he repeateduntil the oil began to dribble, when he carefully knocked out thefaucet, and having collected his tools and emptied the last bucket intothe barrel, he again took the horse by the bridle and silently led himaway. 

Arrived once more in the widow's back yard, Tom unshipped the barrel andwent off to restore the horse to its stable. He soon returned, andhaving unlocked the back door and re-lighted his candle, he proceeded toget the barrel into the house and back upon its stand; a work of immenselabor, rendered all the harder by the necessity of keeping silence. Tomwas a man of great strength, however, and at last he had thesatisfaction of seeing the barrel once more in its place without havingheard a sound from the sleepers overhead. Having washed the buckets andtools, he put them back where they came from, locked the door, and forthe second time that night went to bed. 

It was about half-past six in the morning that Tom, happening to lookout of the front window, saw Yetmore coming hurriedly up the street, like a hound following the trail of the sled. Stepping to the littlewindow at the rear, Tom peeped out and saw the storekeeper enter theback yard, walk to the spot where the sled had stopped, and stand for aminute examining the marks in the soil. Having apparently satisfiedhimself, he turned about and went off down the street again. 

"What's he going to do about it, I wonder?" said Tom to himself. "ReckonI'll just mosey down to the store and see. "

As he heard Seth coming down the stairs, he unlocked the front door andstepping outside, walked down to Yetmore's. 

"Morning, " said he, cheerfully. "It's a bit early for customers, Isuppose, but I'm in a hurry this morning and I'd like to know whetheryou can let me have a gallon of coal oil. "

"Sorry to say I can't, " replied the storekeeper. "Our only barrel spranga leak last night and every drop ran out. "

"You don't say!" exclaimed Tom, with an air of concern. "Then I supposeI'll have to go up to the widow Appleby's. She's got plenty, I know. "

As he said this he looked hard at Yetmore, who in turn looked hard athim. 

"Maybe, " said the storekeeper presently, "maybe you know something aboutthat leak?"

Tom nodded. "I do, " said he. "I know _all_ about it; and I'm the onlyone that does. I know the whole story, too, from one end to the other. The widow has got her barrel of oil; and you and I can make a sort of aguess as to how she got it. As to your barrel, it unfortunately sprung aleak. Is that the story?"

Yetmore stood for a minute glowering at the big miner, and then said, shortly, "That's the story. "

"All right, " replied Tom; and turning on his heel, he went out. 

CHAPTER XI

TOM'S SECOND WINDOW

Mrs. Appleby never did quite understand how her barrel of oil had beenrecovered for her. All she knew for certain was that her good friend, Mr. Connor, had somehow procured it from Yetmore, and that Yetmore was, as Mr. Connor said, "agreeable. "

As for myself, when Tom that morning, taking me aside, related with manychuckles how he had occupied himself during the night, I must own thatmy only feeling was one of satisfaction at the thought that Yetmore hadbeen made to restore the widow's property, and that the fear of ridiculewould probably keep him silent on the subject. Sharing with most boysthe love of fair play and the hatred of oppression, Tom's cleverness andpromptness of action seemed to me altogether commendable. 

Nevertheless, I foresaw one consequence of the transaction which, Ithought, was pretty sure to follow, namely, that it would arouse inYetmore an angry resolve to "get even" with Tom by hook or by crook. That he would resort to active reprisals if the opportunity presenteditself I felt certain, and so I warned our friend. But Tom, careless asusual, refused to take any precautions, believing that Yetmore would notventure as long as he--Tom--had, as he expressed it, two such damagingshots in his magazine as the story of the lead boulder and the story ofthe oil barrel; on both of which subjects he had, with rare discretion, determined to keep silence unless circumstances should warrant theirdisclosure. 

It was not till I had reached home again and had jubilantly retailed thestory to my father, that I began to understand how there might be yetanother aspect to the matter. Instead of receiving it with a heartylaugh and a "Good for Tom, " as I had anticipated, he shook his head andsaid:

"I'm sorry to hear it. Tom made a mistake that time. That Yetmore shouldbe made to give up the barrel of oil is proper enough; but what righthas Tom to appropriate to himself the duties of judge, jury andexecutive officer? It is just such cases as this that earn for theAmerican people the reputation of a nation without respect for law. No. Tom meant well, I know, but in my opinion he made a mistake all thesame. "

"I never thought of it in that light, " said I; "so it is just as well, probably, that Tom didn't let me into the secret beforehand, because I'mafraid I should have been only too ready to help if he had asked me. "

"Yes, it is just as well you were not given the choice, I expect, "replied my father, smiling. "I'm glad Tom had the sense to take thewhole responsibility on his own shoulders. Does he expect that Yetmorewill be content to let the matter rest where it is?"

"He seems to think so; though he is such a heedless fellow that itwouldn't bother him much if he thought otherwise. "

"Well, in my opinion he will do well to keep his eyes open. As I toldyou before, I think Yetmore's natural caution would prompt him to keepwithin the law, but it is not impossible now, Tom having set him theexample--for one such transgression of the law is apt to breedanother--that he will think himself justified in resorting to lawlessmeasures in his turn; especially as he will have that fellow, Long John, jogging his elbow and whispering evil counsels in his ear all thetime. "

How correct my father was in his presumption; how Long John did devise ascheme of retaliation; and how Joe and I inadvertently got our fingersinto the pie, I shall have to relate in due course. 

But though my father disapproved of Tom's action, that fact did notlessen his desire to help his friend when I had related to him how Tomhad indeed spent all his savings on Mrs. Murphy and her family. 

"What a good-hearted, harum-scarum fellow he is!" exclaimed my father. "He knows--in fact, no one knows better--that there is a possiblefortune waiting for him somewhere up here on Lincoln; he saves up allwinter so that he may be free to go and hunt for it in the spring; yetat the first note of distress, away he runs and tumbles all his savingsinto Mrs. Murphy's lap, who, when all is said and done, has no realclaim upon him, thus taking the risk of being stranded in town whileLong John goes off and cuts him out. What are we going to do about it, boys? What can you suggest?"

"It would certainly be a shame, " said Joe, "if Tom, by his act ofcharity, should put himself out of the running in the search for thatvein of galena. Yet he will surely do so if he can't raise that money. And even if he should raise it, he might be late in getting it, in whichcase Long John would get the start of him. "

"That's the case in a nutshell, " my father assented; "and, as I saidbefore: What are we going to do about it?"

"Why----" Joe began; and then he suddenly jumped up and coming acrossthe room he whispered something in my ear. I replied with a nod;whereupon Joe returned to his chair, and addressing my father once more, said:

"I'll tell you what we'll do, Mr. Crawford. Phil and I made fortydollars last fall cutting timbers--it was Tom who got us our order, too--and we have it still. We'll put that in--eh, Phil?--if it will beany use. "

"Yes, " said I. "Gladly. "

"Good!" exclaimed my father. "Then that settles it. Now, _I'll_ tell youwhat we'll do. I'll add sixty dollars to it--that is all I can affordjust now--and you two shall ride back to Sulphide this afternoon, giveTom the money, and tell him he shall have fifty more in a couple ofmonths if he needs it. And tell him at the same time that he needn't gomortgaging his little house. We don't want security from Tom Connor: weknow him too well. I'd rather have his word than some men's bond. Youshall ride up to see him this afternoon, and you needn't hurry backto-day; for that rain of last night has made the ground too wet tocontinue plowing; and, if I'm not mistaken, we're in for another stormto-night, in which case the soil won't be in condition again for two orthree days. "

I need hardly say that Joe and I were delighted to undertake thismission, and about four o'clock we reached Mrs. Appleby's, where we putup our ponies in her stable. Then, as Tom would not be quitting work foranother hour, instead of going direct to his house, we climbed up to thePelican, intending to catch him there and walk home with him. 

Presently arriving at the great white dump of bleached porphyry to whichthe citizens of Sulphide were accustomed to point with pride as anindication of the immense amount of work it had taken to make thePelican the important mine it was, we scrambled up to the engine-house, where for some minutes we stood watching the busy engine as it whirledto the surface the buckets of waste. Then, stepping over to the mouth ofthe shaft, we paused again to watch the top-men as they emptied the bigbuckets into the car and trundled the car itself to the edge of thedump, upset it, and trundled it back again for more. 

As we stood there, a miner came up, and stepping out of the cage, noddedto us in passing. 

"Want anybody, boys?" he asked. 

"We're waiting for Tom Connor, " I replied. "He's down below, isn't he?"

"Yes, he's down in the fifth. I'll take you down there if you like. I'mgoing back in a minute. "

"What do you think, Joe?" I asked. 

"Yes, let's go, " my companion replied. "I've never been inside a mine, and I should like to see one. "

"All right, " said the miner. "Come over here to the dressing-room andI'll give you a lamp and a couple of slickers. It's a bit wet downthere. "

Joe and I were soon provided with water-proof coats, and in company withour new friend we stepped into the cage, when the miner, shutting thedoor behind us, called out to the engineer, "Fifth level, McPherson, "and instantly the floor of the cage seemed to drop from under us. Aftera fall of several miles, as it appeared to us, the cage stopped, when, peering through the wire lattice-work, we saw before us a dark passage, upon one side of which hung a white board with a big "5" painted uponit. 

"Here you are, " said the miner, stepping out of the cage and handing usa lighted lamp. "Just walk straight along this drift about three hundredfeet--it's all plain sailing--and you'll find Tom Connor at work there. I'm going on down to the seventh myself. "

With that he stepped back into the cage, rang the bell, and vanished, leaving us standing there eyeing each other a little dubiously atfinding ourselves left to our own guidance, four hundred feet below thesurface of the earth. 

"I hadn't reckoned on that, " said I. "I thought he was coming with us. "

"So did I, " replied Joe. "But it doesn't really matter. All we have todo is to walk along this passage; so let's go ahead. "

That our obliging friend had been right when he stated that it was "abit wet" down here was evident, for the drops of water from the roof ofthe drift kept pattering upon our slickers, and presently, when we hadadvanced something over half the distance, one of them fell plump uponthe flame of our lamp and put it out!

We stopped short, not knowing what pitfalls there might be ahead of us, and each felt in all his pockets for a match. We had none! Neveranticipating any such contingency as this, we had ventured into thisblack hole without a match in our possession. 

I admit that we were scared--the darkness was so very dark and thesilence so very silent--but fortunately it was only for a moment. Standing stock still, for, indeed, we dared not move, we shouted forTom, when, to our infinite relief, we heard his familiar voice call out:

"Hallo, there! That you, Patsy? I'm coming. Does the boss want me?"

The next moment a light appeared moving towards us, and as soon as wecould safely do so we advanced to meet it. 

"How are you, Tom?" we both cried, simultaneously, assuming an off-handmanner, as though we had not been scared a bit. 

Tom stopped, not recognizing us for a moment, and then exclaimed:

"Hallo, boys! What are you doing down here? Who brought you down?"

We told him how we came to be there, and how our lamp had gone out; atwhich Tom shook his head. 

"Well, it was certainly a smart trick to send you down into this wethole and not even see that you had a match in your pocket. What wouldyou have done if I'd happened to have left the drift?"

The very idea gave me cold chills all down my back. 

"We should have been badly scared, Tom, and that's a fact, " I replied;"but I hope we should have kept our heads. I believe we should have satdown where we were and shouted till somebody came. "

"Well, that would have been the best thing you could do, though youmight have had to shout a pretty long time, for there is nobody workingin this level just now but me, and, as a matter of fact, I should haveleft it myself in another five minutes. But it's all right as ithappens; so now you can come along with me. I'm going out the other waythrough Yetmore's ground. "

"Yetmore's ground?" exclaimed Joe, inquiringly. 

"Yes, Yetmore is working the old stopes of the Pelican on a lease--it isone of his many ventures. In the early days of the camp mining wasconducted much more carelessly than it is now; freight and smeltercharges were a good bit higher, too, so that a considerable amount ofore of too low grade to ship then was left standing in the stopes. Yetmore is taking it out on shares. His ground lies this way. Come on. "

So saying, Tom led the way to the end of the drift, where, going downupon his hands and knees, he crawled through a man-hole, coming out intoa little shaft which he called a "winze. " Ascending this by a shortladder, we found ourselves in the old, abandoned workings, and stillfollowing our guide, we presently walked out into the daylight--greatlyto our surprise. 

"Why, where have we got to, Tom?" cried Joe, as we stared about us, notrecognizing our surroundings. 

Tom laughed. "This is called Stony Gulch, " he replied. "The mine usedto be worked through this tunnel where we just came out, but the tunnelisn't used now except temporarily by Yetmore's men. He only runs a dayshift and at night he closes the place with that big door and locks itup. The Pelican buildings are just over the hill here, and we may aswell go up at once: it will be quitting-time by the time we get there. "

We climbed over the hill, therefore, and having restored our slickers, went on with Tom down to his little cottage, which was only about aquarter of a mile from the mine. 

It was not until we were inside his house that we explained to Tom theobject of our visit, at the same time handing over to him my father'scheck for one hundred dollars. The good fellow was quite touched by thisvery simple token of good-will on our part; for, though he was everready to help others, it seemed never to have occurred to him thatothers might like sometimes to help him. 

This little bit of business being settled, we all pitched in to assistin getting supper ready, and presently we were seated round Tom's tabletesting the result of our cookery. As we sat there, Joe, pointing to awindow-sash and some planed and fitted lumber which stood leaningagainst the wall, asked:

"What are you going to do with that, Tom? Put in a second window?"

"Yes, " replied our host. "And I was intending to do it this evening. Youcan help me now you're here. The stuff is all ready; all we have to dois to cut the hole in the wall and slap it in. It's just one sash, notintended to open and shut, so it's a simple job enough. "

"Where does it go?" asked Joe. 

"There, on the right-hand side of the door. Old man Snyder, in the nexthouse west, put one in some time ago, and it's such an improvement thatI decided to do the same. We'll step out presently and look at Snyder's, and then you'll see. Hallo! Come in!"

This shout was occasioned by a tapping at the door, and in response toTom's call there stepped in a tall miner, whom I recognized as GeorgeSimpson, one of the Pelican men. 

"Come in, George, " cried our host. "Come in and have some supper. What'snew?"

"No, I won't take any supper, thank ye, " replied the miner. "I must getalong home. I just dropped in to speak to you. You know ArtyBurns?--works on the night shift? Well, Arty's sick. When he came up tothe mine to-night he was too sick to stand, so I packed him off homeagain and told him to go to bed where he belonged and I'd see to it thatsomebody went on in his place, so that he shouldn't lose his job. I'mproposing to work half his shift for him myself, and I want to findsomebody----"

"All right, George, " Connor cut in. "I'll take the other half. Which doyou want? First or second?"

"Second, if it's all the same to you, Tom. If I don't get home first myold woman will think there's something the matter. So, if you don'tmind, you can go on first and I'll relieve you at half-time. "

"All right, George, then I'll get out at once. You boys can wash up, ifyou will; and you'll find a mattress and plenty of blankets in the backroom. I'll be back soon after eleven. "

With that, carrying a lantern in his hand, for it was getting dark, awayhe went; while the miner hurried off across lots for town; neither ofthem, apparently, thinking it anything out of the way to do a full day'swork and then, instead of taking his well-earned rest, to go off and doanother half-day's work in order to "hold the job" for a third man, towhom neither of them was under any obligation. 

Nor _was_ it anything out of the way; for the silver-miners of Colorado, whatever their faults, did in those days, and probably do still, exercise towards their fellows a practical charity which might well becounted to cover a multitude of sins. 

"Look here, Phil!" exclaimed my companion, after we had washed and putaway the dishes. "I'll tell you what we'll do. Let's pitch in and put inTom's second window for him!"

"Good idea!" I cried. "We'll do it! Let's go out first, though, Joe, andtake a look at old Snyder's house, so that we may see what effect Tomexpects to get. "

"Come on, then!"

The row of six little houses, of which Tom's was the third, countingfrom the west, had been one of Yetmore's speculations. They weresituated on the southern outskirts of town, and were mostly occupied byminers working on the Pelican. Each house was an exact counterpart ofevery other, they having been built by contract all on one pattern. Each had a room in front and a room behind; one little brick chimney; afront door with two steps; and a window on the right-hand side of thedoor as you faced the house. All were painted the same color. 

Yetmore having secured the land, had laid it out as "Yetmore's Addition"to the town of Sulphide; had marked out streets and alleys, and hadbuilt the six houses as a starter, hoping thereby to draw people outthere. But as yet his building-lots were a drug in the market: they weretoo far out; there being a vacant space of a quarter of a mile orthereabouts between them and the next nearest houses in town. Thestreets themselves were undistinguishable from the rest of the country, being merely marked out with stakes and having had no work whateverexpended upon them. 

The six houses, built about three hundred feet apart, all facednorth--towards the town--and being so far apart and all so preciselyalike, it was absolutely impossible for any one coming from town on adark night to tell which house was which. Not even the tenantsthemselves, coming across the vacant lots after nightfall, could telltheir own houses from those of their neighbors; and consequently it wasa common event for one of the sleepy inmates, stirred out of bed by aknock at the door, to find a belated citizen outside inquiring whetherthis was his house or somebody else's. Not infrequently they neglectedto knock first, and walking straight in, found themselves, to theirgreat embarrassment, in the wrong house. 

Old man Snyder, a somewhat irritable old gentleman, having been thusdisturbed two nights in succession, determined that he would no longersubject himself to the nuisance. He bought a single sash and inserted asecond window on the other side of his door; a device which not onlysaved him from intrusion, but served as a guide to his neighbors infinding their own houses. It was also a very obvious improvement, and wedid not wonder that Tom Connor had determined to follow his neighbor'sexample. 

Old Snyder's house was the second from the western end of the street, Tom Connor's, three hundred feet distant, came next, while next toTom's, another three hundred feet away, was a house which stillbelonged to Yetmore and was at that moment standing empty. 

You will wonder, very likely, why I should go into all these details, but you will cease to wonder, I think, when you see presently of whattranscendent importance to Joe and me was the situation of these threehouses. 

Joe and I, laying hands on our host's kit of tools, at once went to workon the window. As Tom had said, it was a simple job, and though it wassomething of a handicap to work by lamplight, we went at it sovigorously that by nine o'clock we had completed our task--very much toour satisfaction. 

Stepping outside to observe the effect, we saw that old Snyder's windowswere lighted up also; but we had hardly noted that fact when his lightwent out. 

"The old fellow goes to bed early, Joe, " said I. 

"Yes, " Joe replied; and then, with a sudden laugh, added: "My wig, Phil!I hope there won't be anybody coming out from town to-night. If they do, there'll be complications. They will surely be taking our two windowsfor old Snyder's, for, now that his light is out, you can't see hishouse at all. "

"That's a fact, " said I. "If Snyder's right-hand neighbor should comeout across the flats to-night he would see our two windows, and, supposing them to be Snyder's windows, he would be almost sure to goblundering into the old fellow's house. My! How mad he would be!"

"Wouldn't he! And any one coming out to visit Tom would pretty certainlygo and pound on the door of the empty house to the left. "

"Well, let us hope that nobody does come out, " said I. "Come on, now, Joe. Let's get back. It's going to rain pretty soon. "

"Yes; your father was right when he predicted more rain. It's going tobe a biggish one, I should think. How dark it is! I don't wonder peoplefind a difficulty in telling which house is which when all the lightsare out. Here it comes now. Step out, Phil. "

As he spoke, a blast of wind from the mountains struck us, and a fewneedles of cold rain beat against our right cheeks. 

We were soon inside again, when, having shut our door, we sat down to agame of checkers, in which we became so absorbed that we failed to notethe lapse of time until Tom's dollar clock, hanging on the wall, bangedout the hour of ten. 

"To bed, Joe!" I cried, springing out of my chair. "Why, we haven't beenup so late for weeks. "

Stepping into the back room, we soon had mattress and blankets spreadupon the floor, when, quickly undressing, I crept into bed, while Joe, returning to the front room, blew out the light. 

Five minutes later we were both asleep, with a comfortable consciousnessthat we had done a good evening's work; though we little suspected howgood an evening's work it really was. For it is hardly too much to saythat had we _not_ put in Tom's second window that night we might bothhave been dead before morning. 

CHAPTER XII

TOM CONNOR'S SCARE

When Long John Butterfield (it was Yetmore himself who told us all thislong afterwards) when Long John, returning from his day's prospecting upamong the foot-hills of Mount Lincoln, had related to his employer theresult of his labors, two conclusions instantly presented themselves tothe worthy mayor of Sulphide. A man less acute than Yetmore would haveunderstood at once that we had discovered the nature of the black sandin the pool, and that just as he had sent out Long John, so my fatherhad sent out us boys to determine, if possible, which stream it was thathad brought down the powdered galena. 

Moreover, knowing my father as he did--whose opinions on prospecting asa business were no secret in the community--Yetmore was sure that it wasin the interest of Tom Connor we had been sent out; and it was equallyplain to him that, such being the case, Tom's information on thesubject would be just as good as his own. He was, of course, unawarethat our information was in reality a good deal better than his own, thanks to the hint given us by our friend, Peter, as to the deposit atthe head of Big Reuben's gorge. 

Knowing all this, Yetmore had no doubt that Tom would be starting outthe moment the foot-hills were bare, and as Long John could do nomore--for it was obviously useless to start before the ground wasclear--it would result in a race between the two as to who should getout first and keep ahead of the other; in which case Tom's chances wouldbe at least equal to his competitor's. 

But was there no way by which Tom Connor might be delayed in starting, if only for a day or two? That was the question; and very earnestly itwas discussed between the pair. 

Vain, however, were their discussions; they could think of no way ofkeeping Tom in town. For, though Long John threw out occasional hints asto how _he_ would manage it, if his employer would only give him leave, his schemes always suggested the use of unlawful means of one sort oranother, and Yetmore would have none of them; for he had at leastsufficient respect for the law to be afraid of it. 

A gleam of hope appeared when it was rumored about town that Tom Connorwas trying to raise money on his house; a rumor which Yetmore veryquickly took pains to verify. In this he had no trouble whatever, foreverybody knew the circumstances, and everybody, Yetmore found, was loudin his praises of Tom's self-sacrifice in spending his hard-earnedsavings for the benefit of Mrs. Murphy and her distressed family. 

The fact that his rival was out of funds caused Yetmore to rub his handswith glee. Here, indeed, was a possible chance to keep him tied up intown. It all depended upon his being able to prevent Tom from securingthe loan he sought, and diligently did the storekeeper canvass one planafter another in his own mind--but still in vain. The sum desired was somoderate that some one would almost surely be found to advance it. 

While his schemes were still fermenting in his head, there came late onenight a knock at his door--it was the very night that Tom Connor wentboring for oil--and Long John Butterfield slipped into the house. Long John, too, had heard of Tom's necessities; he, too, had perceivedthe value of the opportunity; and being untrammeled by any respect forlaw as long as there was little likelihood that the law would find himout, he had devised in his own mind a plan which would promptly andeffectually prevent Tom from raising any money on his house. 

[Illustration: "'CAN FOLKS SEE IN FROM OUTSIDE?'"]

This plan he had now come to suggest to his employer. 

"Any one in the house with you, Mr. Yetmore?" he inquired. 

"No, John, I'm all alone. Come in. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I just wanted to talk to you, and I didn't want anybody listening, that's all. Can folks see in from outside?"

"No, not while the curtains are drawn. Come on in. What's all thismystery about?"

Long John entered, and sitting down close to his friend, he began, speaking in a low tone:

"You've heard about Tom Connor trying to raise money on his house, o'course? Well, I can stop him, if you say so. Any one can see what Tomwants the money for. He'll get that hundred and fifty, sure, and thenoff he'll go. He's a thorough good prospector, better'n me, and withequal chances the betting will be in his favor. If there's a big vein, there's a big fortune for the finder, and it's for you to say whetherTom Connor is to get a shot at it or not. "

Long John paused a moment, and then, emphasizing each point with anextended finger, he continued: "Without money Tom can't move--that'ssure; he's strapped just now--that's sure; and his only way of gettingthe cash is by raising it on that house of his--and that's sure. Now, Mr. Yetmore, you say the word and he shan't get it. No personal violencethat you're always objecting to. Just the simplest little move; nobodyhurt and nobody the wiser. "

Yetmore gazed at him earnestly for a few moments, and then said: "It'sagainst the law, I suppose. "

"Oh, yes, " replied Long John, with a careless shrug of his shoulders. "It's against the law all right; but what does that matter to you? I'mthe one to do the job, and I'm the only one the law can touch, if itcan touch any one; and I don't mean that it shall touch me. It's safeand it's sure. "

"Well, John, what is it?"

Long John rose from his chair, leaned forward, and whispered in theother's ear a little sentence of five words. 

For a moment Yetmore gazed open-eyed at his henchman, then suddenlyturned pale, then shook his head. 

"I daren't, John, " said he. "It's a simple plan and it looks safe; andeven if it were found out it would be about impossible for the law toprove anything against me, whatever it might do to you. But it isn't thelaw I'm afraid of--it's the people. Tom Connor has always been afavorite, and just now he is more of a favorite than ever, and if itshould be found out, or even suspected, that I had any part in such adeed my business would be ruined: the whole population would turn theirbacks upon me. I daren't do it, John. "

"Well, boss, " said Long John, with an air of resignation, shoving hishands deep into his pockets and thrusting out his long legs to thefire, "if you won't, you won't, I suppose; but it seems to me you're abit over-timorous. Who's to suspect, anyhow?"

"Who's to suspect!" exclaimed Yetmore, sharply. "Why, Tom Connor, himself, and old Crawford and those two meddling boys of his. They'd notonly suspect--they'd know that you had done the job and that I'd paidyou for it. And if they should go around telling their version of thestory, everybody would believe them and nothing I could say would countagainst them; for they've all of them, worse luck, got the reputation ofbeing as truthful as daylight, while, as for me----"

Long John laughed. "As for you, you haven't, eh? Well, Mr. Yetmore, it'sfor you to say, of course, but it seems to me you're missing the chanceof a lifetime. Anyhow, my offer stands good, and if you change your mindyou've only got to wink at me and I'll trump Tom Connor's ace for him sosudden he'll be dizzy for a week. "

With that, Long John arose, slipped out of the house and sneaked offhome by a back alley, leaving Yetmore pacing up and down his room withhis hands behind him, thinking over and over again what would be theresult if he should authorize Long John to go ahead. 

"No, " said he at last, as he took up the lamp to go to bed, "I daren't. It's a good idea, simple, sure and probably safe, but I daren't risk it. No. Law or no law, the public would be down on me for certain. I mustthink up some other scheme. "

Though he thus dismissed the subject from his mind, as he believed, theidea still lurked in the corners of his brain in spite of himself, andwhen at six in the morning he awoke, there was the little black impsitting on the pillow, as it were, waiting to go on with the discussion. 

Yetmore, however, brushed aside the tempter, jumped into his clothes andwalked off to the store, where he found the putty-faced boy anxiouslyawaiting his appearance in order that he himself might be off to hisbreakfast. 

"Pht!" exclaimed the proprietor, the moment he set foot inside thestore. "What's this smell of coal oil?"

"I don't smell it, " replied the boy. 

"You don't! Hm! I suppose you've got used to it. Well, get along to yourbreakfast. "

As the boy ran off, Yetmore walked to the back of the building. Herethe scent was so strong that he was convinced the barrel must beleaking, so, seizing hold of it, he gave a mighty heave, when the emptybarrel came away in his hands, as the saying is. He almost fell over. 

To ascertain the nature of the leak was the work of a moment; to trailthe sled to Mrs. Appleby's back yard was the work of five minutes; buthaving done this, Yetmore was at fault, for, knowing well enough thatneither the widow nor her son were capable of such an undertaking, hewas at a loss to imagine who the culprit might be. 

It was only when Tom Connor a minute later stepped into the store andarranged that story of the leaky oil-barrel which he had described asbeing "agreeable" to Yetmore, that the storekeeper arrived at a trueunderstanding of the whole matter. To say that he was enraged would beto put it too mildly, and, as always seems to be the case, the fact thathe, himself, had been in the wrong to begin with, only exasperated himthe more. 

The result was what any one might have expected. 

Hardly had Connor turned the corner out of sight, than there appeared, "snooping" up the street, that sheep in wolfs clothing, Long JohnButterfield. Instantly Yetmore's resolution was taken. Seizing a broom, he stepped outside and made pretense to sweep the sidewalk, and as LongJohn, with a casual nod, sauntered past, the angry storekeeper caughthis eye and whispered:

"I've reconsidered. Go ahead. "

"Bully for you, " replied the other in a low tone; and passed on. 

No one would have guessed that in that brief instant a criminal act hadbeen arranged. Nor did Tom Connor, as he went chuckling up the street, guess that by his lawless recovery of the widow's property he had givenYetmore the excuse he longed for to defy the law himself. Least of alldid any of them--not even Long John--guess that between them they wereto come within an ace of snuffing out the lives of two innocentoutsiders, namely, Joe Garnier and myself. Yet such was the case. It wasonly the accidental putting in of Tom's second window that saved us. 

Long John, being authorized to proceed, at once made his preparations, which were simple enough, and all he wanted now was an opportunity. Byan unlooked-for chance, which, with his perverted sense of right andwrong, seemed to him to be providential, his opportunity turned up thatvery night. 

The miner, George Simpson, hastening homeward from Connor's house, happened to overtake Long John in the street, and as he passed gave hima friendly "Good-night. "

"Good-night, " said John. "You're late to-night, aren't you?"

"Yes, a bit late. One of our men's sick, and I've been fixing thingsso's he won't lose his job. Tom Connor and I are going to work his shiftfor him. "

"So!" cried Long John, with sudden interest. "Which half do you take?"

"The second. Tom's gone off already, and I'm going to relieve him ateleven. So I must be getting along: I want my supper and two or threehours' sleep. "

So Tom would be out of his house till eleven o'clock! Such a chancemight never occur again. Long John hastened home at once and goteverything ready. 

As it would not do to start too early, because people might be about, John waited till nearly ten o'clock, and then sallied out. As herounded the corner of his shack a furious blast of wind, driving therain before it, almost knocked him over. 

"Good!" he exclaimed. "There won't be a soul out o' doors to-night. "

With his head bent to the storm and his hat pulled down over his ears, John made his way through alleys and bye-streets to the edge of town, and then set off across the intervening empty space towards the housewhere Joe and I were at that moment playing our last game of checkers. As he approached, he saw dimly through the blur of rain the light of twowindows. 

"Good!" he exclaimed a second time. "Old Snyder not gone to bed yet. Mighty kind of the old gent to leave his light burning for me to steerby. If it hadn't been for him I'd 'a' had a job to tell which was theright house. As it is, I've borne more to the right than I thought. "

At this moment the town clock struck ten, and almost immediatelyafterwards the light in the windows went out. 

"Never mind, " remarked John to himself. "I know where I am now. "

Advancing a little further, he caught sight of the dim outline of thehouse through the rain, and turning short to his left, he measured offone hundred steps along the empty street, a distance which brought himopposite the next house to the east. 

All was dark and silent, as he had expected, but to make sure heapproached the house and thumped upon the door. There was no reply. Again he thumped and struck the door sharply with the handle of hisknife. Silence!

"He's out all right, " muttered John. "Was there ever such a luckychance? Howling wind, driving rain, dark as the ace of spades, and TomConnor not coming back for an hour!"

Dark it surely was. The night was black. Not a glimmer of light in anydirection. Even the town itself, only a quarter-mile away, seemed tohave been blotted from the face of the earth. 

As he had noticed in coming across the flats that there were lightsstill burning in two of the other houses, the patient plotter, in orderto give the inmates a chance to get to bed and to sleep, sat waiting onthe leeward side of the building for a full half hour. At the end ofthat time, however, he arose, moved along a few steps, and then, goingdown on his hands and knees, crept under the house. Ten minutes later hecame crawling out again, feet foremost. Once outside, he struck a match, and sheltering it in his cupped hands he applied the flame to the end ofsomething which looked like a long, stiff cord about as thick as a leadpencil. Presently there was a sharp "spit" from the ignited "cord, "blowing out the match and causing John to shake his hand with a gestureof pain, as though it had been scorched. 

Next moment Long John sprang to his feet and fled away into thedarkness; not straight across lots as he had come, but by a roundaboutway which would bring him into town from the eastern side. 

Then, for two minutes, except for the roaring of the wind, all wassilence. 

Joe and I were sound asleep on the floor of Tom's back room, when by asingle impulse we both sprang out of bed with an irrepressible cry ofalarm, and stood for a moment trembling and clinging to each other inthe darkness. The sound of a frightful explosion was ringing in ourears!

"What was it, Joe?" I cried. "Which direction?"

"I don't know, " my companion replied. "I hope it isn't an accident up atthe Pelican. Let's get into our clothes, Phil. "

Lighting the lamp, we quickly dressed, and putting on our hats andovercoats we went out into the storm. All was dark, except that in thewindows of each of the occupied houses in the row we could see a lightshining. The whole street had been roused up. 

"It must have been a powder-magazine, " Joe shouted in my ear. "Or elsethe boiler in the engine-house of the Pelican. What do you say, Phil?Shall we go up there? We might be able to help. "

"Yes, come on!" I cried. "Let's go and see first, though, if Tom hasn'ta second lantern. We shall save time by it if he has. "

Our hurried search for a lantern was vain, however, so we determined toset off without one. As we closed the door behind us, our clock struckeleven, and a moment later we heard faintly the eleven o'clock whistleup at the Pelican. 

"Good!" cried Joe. "It isn't the boiler blown up, anyhow, so Tom'ssafe; for he is working underground and the explosion, whatever it was, was on the surface. "

With bent heads we pushed our way against the wind, until, looking uppresently, I saw the light of a lantern coming quickly towards us. 

"Here's Tom, Joe, " I shouted. "Pull up!"

We stopped, and as the light swiftly approached we detected the beatingfootsteps of a man running furiously. 

"Then there is an accident!" cried Joe. "Ho, Tom! That you?" he shouted. 

It was Tom, who, suddenly stopping, held the lantern high, looking firstat one and then at the other of us. He was still in his miner's cap andslicker, his face was as white as a ghost's, and he was so out of breaththat for a moment he could not speak. 

"Hurt, Tom?" I cried, in alarm. 

"No, "--with a gasp. 

"Anybody hurt?"

"No. "

"What is it, then?"

"Scared!" And then, still panting violently: "Come to the house, " saidhe. 

Once inside, I brought Tom a dipper of water, which quickly restoredhim, when, turning his still blanched face towards us, he said:

"Boys, I've had the worst scare of my life!"

"How, Tom?" I asked. "That explosion? Was it up at the Pelican?"

"No, it wasn't; and I didn't know anything about it until I came up ateleven, when George, who was waiting to go on, told me there had been aheavy explosion down in the direction of my house. When he told me that, there rushed into my head all of a sudden an idea which nearly knockedme over--it was like a blow from a hammer. I grabbed the lantern, whichI had just lighted, and ran for it. Can you guess what I expected tofind?"

We shook our heads. 

"I expected to find my house blown to pieces, and you two boys lyingdead out in the rain!"

We stared at him in amazement. 

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

"Look here, boys, " Tom went on. "When George Simpson told me there hadbeen an explosion down this way, it came into my head all at once thatYetmore or Long John--probably Long John--had heard that I was out atwork to-night, and not knowing that you were staying the night with me, had come and wrecked my house. "

"But why should they?" Joe asked. 

"So as to prevent my raising money on it, and so keep me tied up in townwhile they skipped out to look for that vein of galena. I'm glad to findI was wrong. I did 'em an in----"

He stopped short, and following his gaze, we saw that he was staring atthe second window. 

"When did you put that in?" he cried. 

"Just after you left. We finished by nine o'clock. "

"How soon did you go to bed?"

"Just after ten. "

"Come with me!" cried Tom, springing from his chair and seizing thelantern. "I know what's happened now!"

With us two close at his heels, he led the way to the spot whereYetmore's empty house had stood. Not a vestige of it remained, exceptthe upper part of the chimney, which lay prone in the great hole dug outby the violence of the explosion. 

"Boys, " said Tom, in a tone of unusual gravity, "if you live a hundredyears you'll never have a narrower squeak than you've had to-night. IfLong John did this--and I'm pretty sure he did--he meant to blow up myhouse, but being misled by those two windows, he has blown up Yetmore'shouse instead. You never did, and I doubt if you ever will do, a betterstroke of work in your lives than when you put in my second window!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE ORE-THEFT

At half past five next morning Joe and I slipped out of bed, leaving TomConnor, who had to go to work again at seven, still fast asleep. WhileJoe quietly prepared breakfast, I went out to examine by daylight thescene of last night's explosion. 

The first discovery I made was the imprint in the mud of footsteps, halfobliterated by the rain. The tracks were very large and very far apart, proving that the owner of the boots that made them was a big man, andthat he had gone off at a great pace; a discovery which tended toconfirm in my mind Tom's guess that it was indeed Long John who had donethe mischief. 

At this moment the tenant of the house next to the east came out--HughyHughes was his name; a Welshman--and as he walked towards me I saw himstoop to pick up something. 

"That was a rascally piece of work, wasn't it?" said he, as he joinedme. "Scared us 'most to death, it did. See, here's the fuse he used. Ijust picked it up; fifteen feet of it. Wonder who the fellow was. Prettystate of things when folks take to blowing up each other's houses. Likeenough Yetmore has his enemies, but it's a pretty mean enemy as 'd tryto get even by any such scalawag trick as this. "

This speech enlightened me as to what would be the general theoryregarding the outrage. It would be set down as an act of revenge on thepart of some enemy of Yetmore's; and so Tom and Joe thought, too, when Iwent back to the house and told them about it. 

"That'll be the theory, all right, " said Tom. "And as far as I see, wemay as well let it go at that. We have no evidence to present, and itwould look rather like malice on our part if we were to charge Long Johnwith blowing his best friend's house to pieces just because we happen tosuspect him of it. And so, I guess, boys, we may as well lay low for thepresent: we shan't do any good by putting forward our own theories. 

"I dare say, " he went on, after a moment's reflection, "I dare say, ifwe were to go around telling what we thought and why we thought it, wemight influence public opinion; but, when you come to think of it, wehave no real proof; so we'll just hold our tongues. Are you in a hurryto get home?"

"No, " I replied. "We shan't be able to plow for two days at the veryleast, so there is nothing to hurry home for. "

"Well, then, " said Tom, "I'll tell you what I wish you'd do. I must goback to work in a few minutes, but I wish you two would go down town andhear what folks have to say about this business, and then come back hereand have dinner with me at twelve. Will you?"

"All right, " said I. "We'll do that. "

We found the town in a great state of excitement. Everybody was talkingabout the explosion, which, as the newspaper said, "would cast a blightupon the fair fame of Sulphide. " Yetmore's store was crowded withpeople, shaking hands with him and expressing their indignation at theoutrage; the universal opinion being, as we had anticipated, that somemiscreant had done it out of revenge. 

Joe and I, squeezing in with the rest, presently found ourselves nearthe counter, when Yetmore, catching my eye, nodded to me and said:

"How are you, Phil? I didn't know you were in town. "

"Yes, " said I, "we came in last evening and spent the night in TomConnor's house. "

Yetmore started and turned pale. 

"In Tom Connor's house?" he repeated, huskily. 

"Yes, " I replied. "We were asleep in his back room when that explosionwoke us up. "

At this Yetmore stared at me for a moment, and then, as he realized hownarrowly he had missed being party to a murder, he turned a dreadfulwhite color, staggered, and I believe might have fallen had he not sathimself down quickly upon a sack of potatoes. 

A draft of water soon brought back his color, when, addressing thesympathizing crowd, Yetmore said:

"It made me feel a bit sick to think what chances these boys ran lastnight. Every one knows how hard it is to tell those houses apart; andthat fellow might easily have made a mistake and blown up Tom Connor'shouse on one side or Hughy Hughes' on the other. "

"Yes, " said I; "and all the more so as Joe and I last evening put asecond window into Tom's house, so that any one coming across lotsafter dark might just as well have taken Tom's house for old Snyder's. "

"Phew!" whistled one of the men in the crowd. "Then it's Hughy Hughesthat's to be congratulated. If that rascal _had_ made such a mistake, and had chosen the second house from Tom's instead of the second housefrom Snyder's we'd have been making arrangements for six funerals aboutnow. Hughy has four children, hasn't he?"

I could not help feeling sorry for Yetmore. Convinced as I was that hehad at least connived in a plot to destroy Tom's house, I felt sure thathe had been far from intending personal injury to any one; and I feltsure, too, that he was thoroughly sincere, when, rising from his seatand addressing the assemblage, he said:

"Men, I'm sorry to lose my house, of course--that goes withoutsaying--but when I think of what might have happened it doesn't troubleme that much"--snapping his finger and thumb. "I tell you, men, I'mdownright thankful it was _my_ house that was blown up and nobodyelse's. "

As he said this he looked at Joe and me, and I felt convinced that itwas to us and not to the assembled throng that he addressed his remark. The people, however, not knowing what we did, loudly applauded themagnanimity of the sentiment, and many of them pressed forward to shakehands again. 

Yetmore had never been so popular as he was at that moment. Everybodysympathized with him over his loss; everybody admired the dignified wayin which he accepted it; and everybody would have been delighted to hearthat some compensating piece of good fortune had befallen him. 

Strange to say, at that very moment that very thing happened. 

Suddenly we were all attracted by a distant shouting up the street. Looking through the front window, we saw that all the people outside hadturned and were gazing in that direction. By one impulse everybody inthe store surged out through the doorways, when we saw, still somedistance away, a man running down the middle of the street, waving hiscap and shouting some words we could not distinguish. We were all ontiptoe with expectation. 

At length the man approached, broke through the group, ran up toYetmore, who was standing on his door-step, shook hands with him, andthen turning round, he shouted out:

"Great strike in the Pelican, boys! In the old workings above thefifth--Yetmore's lease. One of those pockets of tellurium that's neverbeen known to run less than twenty thousand to the ton. Hooray forYetmore!"

The shout that went up was genuinely hearty. Once more the mayor wasmobbed by his enthusiastic fellow citizens and once more he shook handstill his arm ached--during which proceeding Joe and I slipped away. 

We had not gone far when I heard my name called, and turning round I sawa man on horseback who handed me a letter. 

"I've just come up through your place, " said he, "and your father askedme to give you this if I should see you. "

The note was to the effect that the rain had been heavy on the ranch, noplowing was possible, and so we were to stay in town that day and comedown on the morrow after the mail from the south came in, as he wasexpecting an important letter, and it would thus save another trip upand down. 

We were glad enough to do this, so, making our way up the street pastthe knots of people, all talking over and over again the two excitingtopics of the day, we retraced our steps to Tom's house, where we gotready the dinner against Tom's return. Shortly after twelve he came in, when we related to him what we had learned in town; demanding in ourturn particulars of the great strike. 

"It's a rich strike, all right, " said Tom, "but there isn't much ofit--about five hundred pounds--just a pocket, and not a very large one. But it is very rich stuff, carrying over three thousand ounces of silverand a thousand of gold to the ton. The five hundred pounds should beworth ten or twelve dollars a pound. They've found the same stuffseveral times before in the Pelican, always unexpectedly and always inpockets. "

"Then, " remarked Joe, "Yetmore will have made, perhaps, six thousanddollars this morning. "

"No, no, " said Tom; "he won't have done anything of the sort; though Idon't wonder you should think so after the way the people have beencarrying on down town. They've just been led away by their enthusiasm. Most of 'em know the terms of Yetmore's lease well enough, but they haveforgotten them for the moment. Yetmore pays the company a certainpercentage of all the ore he gets out, and it is specially provided inthe lease that should he come upon any of the well-known tellurium ore, the company is to have three-fifths of the proceeds and Yetmore onlytwo-fifths. He'll make a good thing out of it though, anyway. "

"You say there's about five hundred pounds of the ore: have they takenit all out already?" asked Joe. 

"Yes, taken it out, sorted it, sacked it in little fifty-pound sacks, sewed up the sacks and piled them in one of the drifts, all ready toship down to San Remo to-morrow by express. "

"Why do they leave it in the mine?" I asked. "Is it safer than taking itdown to the express office?"

"Yes: it would be pretty difficult to steal it out of the mine, with allthe lights going and all the miners about, whereas, if it was juststacked in the express office, somebody might----"

"Somebody might cut a hole in the floor and drop it through, " remarkedJoe, laughing. 

"That's so, " said Tom, adding, "I tell you what it is, boys: I begin tothink I wasn't quite so smart as I thought I was when I got back thatcoal oil for the widow. I wouldn't wonder a particle if it wasn't justthat that decided Yetmore to come and blow my house to smithereens. "

"I shouldn't either, " said Joe. 

Tom having departed to his work again, Joe and I once more went intotown, where we spent the time going about, listening to the talk of thepeople, who were still standing in groups on the street corners, discussing the great events of the day. 

But if the people were excited, as they certainly were, their excitementwas a mere flutter in comparison with the storm which swept over thecommunity next morning. 

The ten sacks of high-grade ore had been stolen during the night!

The news came down about eight o'clock in the morning, when, at once, and with one accord, all the men in the place who could get away swarmedup to the Pelican--we among them. 

The thief, whoever he was, was evidently familiar with the workings ofthe mine, for, going round into Stony Gulch, he had forced the door atthe exit of the old tunnel, cutting out the staple with auger and saw, and then, clambering through the disused, waste-encumbered drifts, hehad carried out the little sacks one by one and made away with themsomehow. 

Wrapping his feet in old rags in order to disguise his foot-prints, hehad taken the sacks of ore across the gulch to the stony ground beyond, where his boots would leave no impression, and there all trace of himwas lost. Whether he had buried the sacks somewhere near by, or, if not, how he had managed to spirit them away, were matters of generalspeculation; though to most minds the question was settled when one ofYetmore's clerks came hastily up to the mine and called out that theroan pony and the two-wheeled delivery cart, used to carry packages upto the mines, were missing. The thief, seemingly, had not only stolenYetmore's ore, but had borrowed Yetmore's horse and cart to convey itaway. 

If this were true, it proved that the thief must have an intimateknowledge of the country, for, in spite of the heavy rain of the nightbefore, not a sign of a wheel-mark was there to be found: the cart hadbeen conducted over the rocks with such skill as to leave no tracewhatever. Cart, pony, ore and thief had vanished as completely as thoughthe earth had opened and swallowed them. 

At first everybody sympathized with Yetmore over his loss, but presentlyan ugly rumor began to get about when people bethought them of the termsof the lease. Those who did not like the storekeeper, and they were nota few, began to pull long faces, nudge each other with their elbows, andwhisper together that perhaps Yetmore knew more of this matter than hepretended. 

Joe and I were at a loss to understand what they were driving at, untilone man, more malicious or less discreet than the others, spoke up. 

"How are we to know, " said he, "that Yetmore didn't steal this orehimself? Three-fifths of it belongs to the company--he'd make a mightygood thing by it. I'm not saying he did do it, but----"

He ended with a closing of one eye and a sideways jerk of his head moreexpressive than words. 

"Oh, that's ridiculous!" Joe blurted out. "Yetmore isn'tover-scrupulous, I dare say, but he's a long way from being a fool, andhe'd never make such a blunder as to steal the ore and then use his ownhorse and cart to carry it off. "

"Well, I don't know, " said the man. "It might be just a trick of his toput folks off the scent. "

And though Joe and I, for our part, felt sure that Yetmore had hadnothing to do with it, we found that many people shared this man'ssuspicions; the consequence being that the mayor's popularity of the daybefore waned again as suddenly as it had arisen. 

In the midst of this excitement the mail-coach from the south came in, when Joe and I, carrying with us the expected letter for my father, setoff home again; little suspecting--as how should we suspect--that theore-thief, whoever he might be, was about to render us a service ofgreater value by far than the ore and the cart and the pony combined. 

We were jogging along on the homeward road, and were just rounding thespur of Elkhorn Mountain which divided our valley from Sulphide, whenJoe suddenly laid his hand on my arm and cried: "Pull up, Phil. Stop aminute. "

"What's the matter?" I asked. 

"Get down and come back a few steps, " Joe answered; and on my joininghim, he pointed out to me in a sandy patch at the mouth of a steep drawcoming in from the left, some deeply-indented wheel-marks. 

"Well, what of that, Joe?" said I, laughing. "Are you thinking you'vefound the trail of the ore-thief?"

"No, " Joe replied, "I'm not jumping at any such conclusion; but, at thesame time, it's possible. If the ore-thief started northward from thePelican, and the chances are he did, for we know he carried the sacksacross to the north side of Stony Gulch, this would be the natural placefor him to come down into the road; for it is plain to any one that hecould never get a loaded cart--or an empty one either, for thatmatter--over the rocky ridge which crowns this spur. If he was makinghis way north, he had to get into the road sooner or later, and thisgully was his last chance to come down. "

"That's true, " I assented; "and this cart--it's a two-wheeler, yousee--was heavily loaded. Look how it cuts into the sand. "

"Yes, " said Joe; "and it was drawn by one smallish horse, led by a man;a big man, too: look at his tracks. "

"But the ore-thief, Joe, had his feet wrapped up in rags, and these arethe marks of a number twelve boot. "

"Well, you don't suppose the thief would walk over this rough mountainwith his feet wrapped up in rags, do you? In the dark, too. They'd becatching against everything. No; he would take off the rags as soon ashe reached hard ground and throw them into the cart; for it is not to beexpected either that he would leave them lying on his trail to showpeople which way he had gone. "

"No, of course not. But which way did he go, Joe; across the road ordown it?"

"Down it. See. The wheel-tracks bear to the left. And if you wantevidence that he came down in the dark, here you are. Look how one wheelskidded over this half-buried, water-worn boulder and slid off andscraped the spokes against this projecting rock. Look at the blue paintit left on the rock. "

"Blue paint!" I cried. "Joe, Yetmore's cart was painted blue! I rememberit very well. A very strongly-built cart, as it had to be to scramble upthose rough roads that lead to the mines, painted blue with blacktrimmings. Joe, I begin to believe this is the ore-thief, after all. "

"It does look like it. But where was he going? Not down to the smelterat San Remo, surely. "

"Not he, " I replied. "He would know better than that. The smelter hasundoubtedly been notified of the robbery by this time, and the characterof the Pelican tellurium is so well known that any one offering any ofit for sale would have to give a very clear story as to how he came byit. No; this fellow will have to hide or bury the ore and leave it lyingtill he thinks the robbery is forgotten; and even then he will probablyhave to dispose of it at a distance in small lots or broken up very fineand mixed with other ore. "

"In that case, " said Joe, "we shall find his trail leaving the roadagain on one side or the other. "

"I expect so. We'll keep a lookout. But come on, now, Joe: we mustn'tdelay any longer. "

The road had been traveled over by several vehicles since last night, and the trail of the cart was undistinguishable with any certainty untilwe had passed the point where the highway branched off to the right togo down to San Remo; after which it appeared again, apparently headedstraight for the ranch. 

"Do you suppose he can have crossed our valley, Phil?" asked mycompanion. 

"No, I expect not, " I replied. "Keep your eyes open; we shall find thetracks going off to one side or the other pretty soon--to the left mostlikely, for the best hiding-places would be up in the mountains. "

Sure enough, after traversing a bare, rocky stretch of road, we foundthat the tracks no longer showed ahead of us. The man had takenadvantage of the hard ground to turn off. Pulling up our ponies, we bothjumped to the ground once more, and going back a short distance, we madea cast on the western side of the road. In a few minutes Joe called out:

"Here we are, Phil! See! The wheel touched the edge of this little sandyspot, and if you look ahead about forty yards you'll see where it ranover an ant-hill. It seems as though he were heading for our caņon. Doyou think that's likely?"

"Yes, " I replied. "I think it is very likely. There is one place wherehe can get down, you remember, and then, by following up the bed of thestream for a short distance he will come to a draw which will lead himto the top of the Second Mesa--just the place he would make for. For, toany one knowing the country, as he evidently does, there would be athousand good hiding-places in which to stow away ten small sacks ofore--you might search for years and not find them. "

"Yes, " said Joe. "But there's the horse and cart, Phil. How will hedispose of them?"

"Oh, that will be easy enough. He would tumble the cart into some caņon, perhaps, turn loose the horse, and be back in Sulphide before morning. But come on, Joe. We really mustn't waste any more time; it's getting onfor six now. "

It was fortunate we did not delay any longer, for we found my fatheranxiously pacing up and down the room, wondering what was keeping us. Without heeding our explanation at the moment, he hastily tore open theletter we had brought, read it through, and then stepping to the foot ofthe stairs, called out:

"Get your things on, mother. We must start at once. The train leaves atseven forty-five. There's no time to lose. "

Turning to us, he went on: "Boys, I have to go to Denver. I may be gonefive or six days--can't tell how long. I leave you in charge. If you canget at the plowing, go ahead; but I'm afraid you won't have the chance. If I'm not mistaken, there's another rain coming--wettest season Iremember. Joe, run out and hitch up the big bay to the buckboard. Phil, you will have to drive down to San Remo with us and bring back the rig. Go in and get some supper now; it's all ready on the table. "

In ten minutes we were off, I sitting on a little trunk at the back ofthe carriage, explaining to my father over his shoulder as we drovealong the events of the last two days, and how it was we had taken somuch time coming down from Sulphide. 

"It certainly does look as though the thief had come down this way, "said he; "and though we are not personally concerned in the matter, Ithink one of you ought to ride up to Sulphide again on Monday and giveyour information. Hunt up Tom Connor and tell him. And I believe"--hepaused to consider--"yes, I believe I would tell Yetmore, too. I'm surehe is not concerned in this robbery; and I'm even more sure that if hewas a party to the blowing up of that house, he never intended any harmto you. Yes, I think I'd tell Yetmore. It will prove to him that we bearhim no ill-will, and may have a good effect. "

Having seen them off on the train, I turned homeward again, goingslowly, for the clouds were low and it was very dark. The consequencewas that it was nearly ten by the time I reached the ranch, and before Idid so the rain was coming down hard once more. 

"Wet night, Joe, " said I, as I pulled off my overcoat. "No plowing for aweek, I'm afraid. "

"I expect not, " replied my companion. "It isn't often we have tocomplain of too much rain in Colorado, but we are certainly getting anover supply just now. There's one man, though, who'll be glad of it. "

"Who's that?"

"That ore-thief. It will wash out his tracks completely. "

CHAPTER XIV

THE SNOW-SLIDE

The rain, which continued pretty steadily all day, Sunday, had ceasedbefore the following morning, when, looking through the rifts in theclouds to the west we could see that a quantity of new snow had fallenon the mountains. 

"There'll be no trouble about water for irrigating this year, Joe, " saidI, as I returned from the stable after feeding the horses. "There's moresnow up there, I believe, than I've ever seen before. It ought to lastwell into the summer, especially as the winds have drifted the gulchesfull and it has settled into solid masses. "

"Yes, there ought to be a good supply, " answered Joe, who was busycooking the breakfast. "Which of the ponies do you think I had bettertake this morning, Phil? The pinto?"

"I thought so. I've given him a good feed of oats. He'll enjoy theouting, I expect, for he's feeling pretty chipper this morning. Hetried to nip me in the ribs while I was rubbing him down. He needs alittle exercise. "

We had arranged between us that Joe should ride to Sulphide that morningto see Tom Connor and Yetmore, as my father had directed; andaccordingly, as soon as he could get off, away he went; the pinto pony, very fresh and lively, going off as though he intended to gallop thewhole distance. 

Left to myself, I first went up to measure the flow of the undergroundstream, according to custom, and then, taking a shovel, I went to workclearing the headgates of our ditches, which had become more or lessencumbered with refuse during the winter. There were two of them, set inniches of the rock on either side of the pool; for, to irrigate the landon both sides of the creek, we necessarily had to have two ditches. Ihad been at it only a few minutes when I noticed a curious booming noisein the direction of the mountains, which, continuing for a minute ortwo, presently died out again. From my position close under the wall ofthe Second Mesa, I could see nothing, and though it seemed to me to be apeculiar and unusual sound, I concluded that it was only a stormgetting up; for, even at a distance of seven miles, we could often hearthe roaring of the wind in the pine-trees. 

A quarter of an hour later, happening to look up the Sulphide road, Iwas rather surprised to see a horseman coming down, riding very fast. Hewas about a mile away when I first caught sight of him, and I could notmake out who he was, but presently, as I stood watching, a slight bendin the road allowed the sunlight to fall upon the horse's side, when Irecognized the pinto. It was Joe coming home again. 

I knew very well, of course, that he could not have been all the way toSulphide and back in so short a time, and my first thought was that thespirited pony was running away with him; but as he approached I saw thatJoe was leaning forward in the saddle, rather urging forward his steedthan restraining him. 

"What's up?" I thought to myself, as I stood leaning on my shovel. "Hashe forgotten something? He seems to be in a desperate hurry if he has:Joe doesn't often push his horse like that. Something the matter, I'mafraid. "

There was a rather steep pitch where the road came down into our valley, and it was a regular practice with us to descend this hill with somecaution. Here, at any rate, I expected Joe to slacken his pace; but whenI saw him come flying down at full gallop, where a false step by thepony would endanger both their necks, I knew there was something thematter, and flinging down my shovel, I ran to meet him. 

"What is it, Joe?" I cried, as soon as he came within hearing. 

Pulling in his pony, which, poor beast, stood trembling, with hanginghead and legs astraddle, the breath coming in blasts from its scarletnostrils, Joe leaped to the ground, crying:

"A snow-slide! A fearful great snow-slide! Right down on Peter's house!"

For a moment we stood gazing at each other in silence, when Joe, speaking very rapidly, went on:

"We must get up there at once, Phil: we may be able to help Peter. Though if he was in his house when the slide came down, I'm afraid wecan do nothing. His cabin must be buried five hundred feet deep, and theheavy snow will pack like ice with its own weight. "

"We'll take a couple of shovels, anyhow, " I cried. "I'll get 'em. Pullyour saddle off the pinto, Joe, he's used up, poor fellow, and slap iton to the little gray. Saddle my pony, too, will you? I'll clap someprovisions into a bag and bring 'em along: there's no knowing how longwe'll be gone!"

"All right, " replied Joe. And without more words, he turned to unsaddlethe still panting pony, while I ran to the house. 

In five minutes, or less, we were under way. 

"Not too fast!" cried Joe. "We mustn't blow the ponies at the start. It's a good eight miles up to Peter's house. "

As we ascended the hill and came up on top of the Second Mesa, I wasable to see for the first time the great scar on the mountain where theslide had come down. 

"Phew!" I whistled. "It was a big one, and no mistake. Did you see itstart, Joe?"

"Yes, I saw it start. I happened to be looking up there, thinking itlooked pretty dangerous, when a great mass of snow which was overhangingthat little cliff up there near the saddle, fell and started the wholething. It seemed to begin slowly. I could see three or four big patchesof snow fall from the precipice above Peter's cabin as though pushedover, and then the whole great mass, fifteen feet thick, I shouldthink, three hundred yards wide and four or five times as long, camedown with a rush, pouring over the cliff with a roar like thunder. Iwonder you didn't hear it. "

"I did, " I replied, remembering the noise I had taken for a wind-storm, "but being under the bluff, and the waterfall making so much noise, Icouldn't hear distinctly, and so thought nothing of it. Why!" I cried, as I looked again. "There used to be a belt of trees running diagonallyacross the slope. They're all gone!"

"Yes, every one of them. There were some biggish ones, too, youremember; but the slide snapped them off like so many carrots. It cut aclean swath right through them, as you see. "

"Where were you, Joe, when you saw it come down?" I asked. 

"More than half way to Sulphide. I came back in fifteen minutes--fourmiles. "

"Poor little Pinto! No wonder he was used up!"

We had been riding at a smart lope, side by side, while thisconversation was going on, and in due time we reached the foot-hills. Here our pace was necessarily much reduced, but we continued on upPeter's creek as rapidly as possible until the gulch became so narrowand rocky, and so encumbered with great patches of snow, that we thoughtwe could make better time on foot. 

Leaving our ponies, therefore, we went scrambling forward, until, abouthalf a mile from our destination, Joe suddenly stopped, and holding uphis hand, cried eagerly:

"Hark! Keep quiet! Listen!"

"Bow, wow, wow! Bow, wow, wow, wow, wow!" came faintly to our ears fromfar up the mountain. 

"It's old Sox!" cried Joe. "There are no dogs up here!" And clapping hishands on either side of his mouth, he gave a yell which made the echoesring. Almost immediately the sharp report of a rifle came down to us, and with a spontaneous cheer we plunged forward once more. 

It was hard work, for we were about nine thousand feet above sea level;the further we advanced, too, the more snow we encountered, untilpresently we found the narrow valley so blocked with it that we had toascend the mountain-spur on one side to get around it. In doing so, wecame in sight of the cliff behind Peter's house, and then, for thefirst time, we understood what a snow-slide really meant. 

Reaching half way up the thousand-foot precipice was a great slope ofsnow, completely filling the end of the valley; and projecting from itat all sorts of angles were trees, big and little, some whole, somebroken off short, some standing erect as though growing there, someshowing nothing but their roots. At the same time, from the edge of theprecipice upward to the summit of the ridge, we had a clear view of thelong, bare track left by the slide, with the snow-banks, fifteen ortwenty feet thick, still standing on either side of it, held back by thetrees. 

"What a tremendous mass of snow!" I exclaimed, "There must be tenmillion tons of it! And what an irresistible power! Peter's house musthave been crushed like an eggshell!"

"Yes, " replied Joe. "But meanwhile where's Peter?"

Once more he shouted; and this time, somewhere straight ahead of us, there was an answering shout which set us hurrying forward again witheager expectancy. 

At the same moment, up from the ground flew old Sox, perched upon theroot of an inverted tree, where, showing big and black against the snowbank behind him, he set to work to bark a continuous welcome as westruggled forward to the spot, one behind the other. 

Beneath a tree, stretched on a mat of fallen pine-needles, just on thevery outer edge of the slide, lay our old friend, the hermit, who, whenhe saw us approaching, raised himself on his elbow, and waving his otherhand to us, called out cheerily:

"How are you, boys? Glad to see you! You're welcome--more than welcome!"

"Hurt, Peter?" cried Joe, running forward and throwing himself upon hisknees beside the injured man. 

"A trifle. No bones broken, I believe, but pretty badly bruised andstrained, especially the right leg above the knee. I find I can'twalk--at least not just yet. "

"How did you escape the slide?" I asked. 

"Why, I had warning of it, luckily. I was up pretty early this morningand was just about to leave the house, when a dab of snow--a couple oftons, maybe--came down and knocked off my chimney. I knew what thatmeant, and I didn't waste much time, you may be sure, in getting out. Igrabbed my rifle and ran for it. I was hardly out of my door when theroar began, and you may guess how I ran then. I had reached almost thisspot when down it came. The edge of it caught me and tumbled me about;sometimes on the surface, sometimes on the ground; now on my face andnow feet uppermost, I was pitched this way and that like a cork in atorrent, till a big tree--the one Sox is sitting on, I think--slapped meon the back with its branches and hurled me twenty feet away among therocks. It was then I got hurt; but on the other hand, being flung out ofthe snow like that saved me from being buried, so I can't complain. Itwas as narrow a shave as one could well have. "

"It certainly was, " said I. "And did you hold on to the rifle all thetime?"

"Yes; though why, I can't say. The natural instinct to hold on tosomething, I suppose. But how is it you are on hand so promptly? It didoccur to me as I lay here that one of you might notice that there hadbeen a slide and remember me, but I never expected to see you here sosoon. "

"Well, that was another piece of good fortune, " I replied. "Joe saw theslide come down and rode a four-mile race to come and tell me. We didnot lose a minute in getting under way, and we haven't wasted any timein getting here either. But now we are here, the question is: How are wegoing to get you out?"

"Where do you propose to take me?" asked Peter. 

"Down to our house. "

For a brief instant the hermit looked as though he were going to demur;but if he had entertained such an idea, he thought better of it, andthanked me instead. 

"It's very good of you, " said he; "though it gives me an odd sensation. I haven't been inside another man's house for years. "

"Well, don't you think it's high time you changed your habits?" ask Joe, laughing. "And you couldn't have a better opportunity--your own housesmashed flat; yourself helpless; and we two all prepared to lug you offwhether you like it or not. "

"Well, " said Peter, smiling at Joe's threat, "then I suppose I may aswell give in. You're very kind, though, boys, " he added, seriously, "andI'm very glad indeed to accept your offer. "

"Then let us pitch in at once and start downward, " said Joe. "Do youthink you could walk with help?"

"I doubt it; but I'll have a try. "

It was no use, though. With one arm over Joe's shoulder and the otherover mine he essayed to walk, but the attempt was a failure. His rightleg dragged helplessly behind; he could not take a step. 

"We've got to think of some other way, " said Joe, as Peter once morestretched himself at full length upon the ground. "Can we----"

But here he was interrupted. 

All this time, Sox, with rare backwardness, had remained perched uponhis tree-root, looking on and listening, but at this moment down heflew, alighted upon the ground near Peter's head, made a completecircuit of his master's prostrate form, then hopped up on his shoulder, and having promenaded the whole length of his body from his neck to histoes, he shook out his feathers and settled himself comfortably upon thehermit's left foot. 

We all supposed he intended to take a nap, but in another two seconds hestraightened up again, eyed each of us in turn, and, with an air ofhaving thought it all out and at last decided the matter beyond dispute, he remarked in a tone of gentle resignation:

"John Brown's body. "

Having delivered this well-considered opinion with becoming solemnity, he threw back his head and laughed a rollicking laugh, as though he hadmade the very best joke that ever was heard. 

"You black heathen, Sox!" cried his master. "I believe you would laughat a funeral. "

"Lies, " said Sox, opening one eye and shutting it again; a remark which, though it sounded very much as though intended as an insult to Peter, was presumably but the continuation of his previous quotation. 

"Get out, you old rascal!" cried the hermit, "shooing" away the birdwith his hat. "Your conversation is not desired just now. " And as Soxflew back to his perch, Peter continued: "How far down did you leaveyour ponies, boys?"

"About a mile, " I replied. 

"Then I believe the best way will be for one of you to go down and bringup one of the ponies. I can probably get upon his back with your help, and then, by going carefully, I believe we can get down. "

"All right, " said Joe, springing to his feet. "We'll try it. I'll godown. The little gray is the one, Phil, don't you think?"

"Yes, " I answered. "The little gray's the one; he's more sober-mindedthan my pony and very sure-footed. Bring the gray. "

Without further parley, away went Joe, and in about three-quarters of anhour he appeared again, leading the pony by the bridle. 

"It's pretty rough going, " said he, "but I think we can make it if wetake it slowly. The pony came up very well. Now, Peter let's see if wecan hoist you into the saddle. "

It was a difficult piece of work, for Peter, though he had not an ounceof fat on his body, was a pretty heavy man, and being almost helplesshimself, the feat was not accomplished without one or two involuntarygroans on the part of the patient. At last, however, we had him settledinto the saddle, when Joe, carrying the rifle, took the lead, while I, with the two shovels over my shoulder, brought up the rear. In thisorder the procession started, but it had no more than started when Petercalled to us to stop. 

In order to avoid going up the hill more than was necessary, we wereskirting along the edge of the great snow-bank, when, as we passed justbeneath the big tree upon one of whose roots Socrates was perched, Peter, looking up to call to the bird, espied something which at onceattracted his attention. 

"Wait a moment, boys, will you?" he requested, checking the pony; andthen, turning to me, he continued: "Look up there, Phil. Do you see thatblack stone stuck among the roots? Poke it out with the shovel, willyou? I should like to look at it. "

Wondering rather at his taking any interest in stones at such a time, Inevertheless obeyed his behest, and with two or three vigorous prods Idislodged the black fragment, catching it in my hand as it fell; thoughit was so unexpectedly heavy that I nearly let it drop. 

"Ah!" exclaimed Peter, when I had handed it up to him. "Just what Ithought! This will interest Tom Connor. "

"Why?" we both asked. "What is it?"

"A chunk of galena. Look! Do you see how it is made up of shining cubesof some black mineral? Lead--lead and sulphur. There's a vein up theresomewhere. "

"And the big tree, pushing its roots down into the vein, has broughtaway a piece of it, eh?" asked Joe. 

"Yes, that is what I suppose. There are some bits of light-colored rockup there, too, Phil. Pry out one or two of those, will you?"

I did as requested, and on my passing them to Peter, he said:

"These are porphyry rocks. The general formation up there is limestone, I know--I've noticed it frequently--but I expect it is crossedsomewhere--probably on the line of the belt of trees--by a porphyrydike. Put the specimens into your pocket, Joe; we must keep them to showto Connor. It's a very important find. And now let us get along. "

The journey down the gulch was very slow and very difficult--we madehardly a mile an hour--though, when we left the mountain and startedacross the mesa we got along better. When about half way, I left theothers and galloped home, where I lighted a fire and heated a lot ofwater, so that, when at length Peter arrived, I had a steaming hottubful all ready for him in the spare room on the ground floor. 

Though our friend protested against being treated like an invalid, declaring his belief that he would be about right again by morning, henevertheless consented to take his hot bath and go to bed; though Ithink he was persuaded to do so more because he was unwilling todisappoint us after all our preparations, than because he reallyexpected to derive any benefit. 

Be that as it may--and for my part I shall always hold that it was thehot bath that did it--when we went into Peter's room next morning, whatwas our surprise to find our cripple up and dressed. Though his rightleg was still so stiff as to be of little use to him, he declined ourhelp, and with the aid of a couple of broomsticks propelled himself outof his bedroom and into the kitchen, where Joe was busy getting thebreakfast ready. His rapid recovery was astonishing to both of us;though, as Joe remarked later, we need not be so very much surprised, for, with his hardy life and abstemious habits he was as healthy as anywild animal. 

As we sat at our morning meal, we talked over our find of yesterday, and discussed what was the proper course for us to pursue. 

"First, and most important, " said Peter, "Tom Connor must be notified. We must waste no time. The prospectors are beginning to get out, and anyone of them, noticing the new scar on the mountain, might go exploringup there. When does Tom quit work on the Pelican?"

"This evening, " replied Joe. "It was this evening, wasn't it, Phil?"

"Yes, " I replied. "He was to quit at five this evening, and hisintention then was to come down here next day and make this place hisbase of operations. "

"Then the thing to do, " said Joe, "is for me to ride up there thismorning--I started to go yesterday, you know, Peter--and catch Tom up atthe mine at noon. When he hears of our discovery, I've not a doubt butthat he will pack up and come back with me this evening, so as to get astart first thing to-morrow. "

"I expect he will, " said I. "And while you are up there, Joe, you cansee Yetmore and give him your information about those cart-tracks. "

"What do you mean?" asked Peter. "Information about what cart-tracks?"

"Oh, you haven't heard of it, of course, " said I; and forthwith Iexplained to him all about the ore-theft, and how we suspected that thethief was in hiding somewhere in the foot-hills. Peter listenedattentively, and then asked:

"Are you sure there was only one of them?"

"Well, that's the general supposition, " I replied. "Why?"

"I thought there might be a pair of them, that's all. I'll tell you anodd thing that happened only the day before yesterday, which may or maynot have a bearing on the case. When I got home about dusk that evening, I found that some one had broken into my house and had stolen ahind-quarter of elk, a box of matches, a frying-pan, and--of all queerthings to select--a bear-trap. What on earth any one can want with abear-trap at this season of the year, I can't think, when there ishardly a bear out of his winter-quarters yet; and if he was he'd be asthin as a rail. I found the fellow's tracks easily enough--tall man--bigfeet--long stride--and trailed them down the gulch to a point whereanother man had been sitting on a rock waiting for him. This other man'strack was peculiar: he was lame--stepped short with his right foot, andthe foot itself was out of shape. Their trail went on down the hilltowards the mesa, but it was then too dark to follow it, and I was goingoff to take it up again next morning when that slide came down andchanged my programme. "

"Well, " said Joe, who had sat with his elbows on the table and his chinon his hands, listening closely, "where the lame man springs from Idon't know, but if they should be the ore-thieves their stealing themeat and the frying-pan was a natural thing to do; for if they are goinginto hiding they will need provisions. "

"Yes, " replied Peter; "and whether they knew of my place before or cameupon it by accident, they would probably think it safer to steal from methan to raid one of the ranches and thus risk bringing all the ranchmenabout their ears like a swarm of hornets. "

"That's true, " said Joe. "Yes, I must certainly tell Tom and Yetmoreabout them: it may be important. And I'll start at once, " he added, rising from the table as he spoke. "I'll take the buckboard, Phil, andthen I can bring back Tom's camp-kit and tools for him; otherwise hewould have to pack them on his pony and walk himself. I expect you willsee us back somewhere about seven this evening. "

With that he went out, and soon afterwards we heard the rattle of wheelsas he drove away. 

CHAPTER XV

THE BIG REUBEN VEIN

But it seemed as though Joe were destined never to get to Sulphide. Iwas still in the kitchen, when, not more than twenty minutes later, Iheard the rattle of wheels again, and looking out of the window, there Isaw my partner by the stable tying up his horse. 

"Hallo, Joe!" I cried, throwing open the door. "What's up?"

Without replying at the moment, Joe came striding in, shut the door, andthrowing his hat down upon the table, said:

"I came back to tell you something. I've a notion, Phil, that we've gotto go hunting for that vein ourselves, and not lose time by going up totell Tom. "

"Why? What makes you think that, Joe?" I asked, in surprise. 

"That's what I came back to tell you. You know that little treeless'bubble' that stands on the edge of the caņon only about half a mileup-stream from here? Well, when I drove up the hill out of our valleyjust now I turned, naturally, to look at the scar on the mountain, whenthe first thing to catch my eye was the figure of a man standing on topof the 'bubble. '"

"Is that so? What was he doing?"

"He was looking at the scar, too. "

"How do you know that, Joe?" I asked, incredulously. "You couldn't tellat that distance whether he had his back to you or his face. "

"Ah, but I could, though, " Joe replied; "and I'll tell you how. After aminute or so the man turned--I could see that motion distinctlyenough--caught sight of me, and instantly jumped down behind the rocks. "

"Didn't want to be seen, eh?" remarked Peter. "And what did you donext?"

"I felt sure he was watching me, though I couldn't see him, " Joe wenton, "and so, to make him suppose I hadn't observed him, I stayed where Iwas for a minute, and then drove leisurely on again. There's a dip inthe road, you know, Phil, a little further on, and as soon as I haddriven down into it, out of sight, I pulled up, jumped out of thebuckboard, and running up the hill again I crawled to the top of therise and looked back. There was the man, going across the mesa at a run, headed straight for Big Reuben's gorge!"

Joe paused, and for a moment we all sat looking at each other insilence. 

"Any idea who he was?" I asked presently. 

"Yes, " replied Joe, without hesitation. "It was Long John Butterfield. "

"You seem very sure, " remarked Peter; "but do you think you couldrecognize him so far off?"

"I feel sure it was Long John, " Joe answered. "I have very long sight;and as the man stood there on top of the 'bubble, ' with the sun shiningfull upon him, he looked as tall as a telegraph pole. Yes, I feelcertain it was Long John. "

"Then Yetmore has started him out to prospect for that vein!" I cried. "He is probably camped in the neighborhood of Big Reuben's gorge, following up the stream, and I suppose he heard the roar of the slideyesterday and came down this way the first thing this morning to get alook at the scar. "

"That's it, I expect, " Joe answered. 

"And you suppose, " said Peter, "that he went running back to his campto get his tools and go prospecting up on the scar. "

Joe nodded. 

"Then, what do you propose to do?" asked the hermit. 

"I've been thinking about it as I drove back, " replied Joe, "and myopinion is that Phil and I ought to go up at once, see if we can't findthe spot where that big tree was rooted out, and stake the claim for TomConnor. If we lose a whole day by going up to Sulphide to notify Tom, itwould give Long John a chance to get in ahead of us and perhaps beat usafter all. "

The bare idea of such a catastrophe was too much for me. I sprang out ofmy chair, crying, "We'll go, Joe! And we'll start at once! How are we toget up there, Peter? There must be any amount of snow; and we areneither of us any good on skis, even if we had them. "

"Yes, there's plenty of snow, " replied Peter promptly, entering withheartiness into the spirit of the enterprise, "lots of snow, but you canavoid most of it by taking the ridge on the right of the creek andfollowing along its summit to where it connects with the saddle. You'llfind a little cliff up there, barring your way, but by turning to yourleft and keeping along the foot of the precipice you will come presentlyto the upper end of the slide, and then, by coming down the slide, youwill be able to reach the place where the line of trees used to stand, which is the place you want to reach. "

"Is it at all dangerous?" asked Joe. 

"Why, yes, " replied Peter, "it is a bit dangerous, especially on theslide itself now that the trees are gone; though if you are ordinarilycareful you ought to be able to make it all right, there being two ofyou. For a man by himself it would be risky--a very small accident mightstrand him high and dry on the mountain--but where there are twotogether it is reasonably safe. "

"Come on, then, Joe, " said I. "Let's be off. "

"Wait a bit!" cried our guest, holding up his hand. "You talk of stakinga claim for Tom Connor; well, suppose you _should_ find the spot wherethe big tree was rooted out, and _should_ find a vein there--do you knowhow to write a location-notice?"

"No, " said I, blankly. "We don't. "

"Well, I'll write you out the form, " said Peter. "I've read hundreds ofthem and I remember it well enough, and you can just copy the wordingwhen you set up your stake--if you have occasion to set one up at all. "

He sat down and quickly wrote out the form for us, when, pocketing thepaper, we went over to the stable, saddled up, and leaving Peter incharge, away we rode, armed with a pick, a shovel, an ax and a coil ofrope. 

According to the hermit's directions, instead of following up the bed ofthe creek which led to his house, we took to the spur on the right, thetop of which being treeless, had been swept bare of snow by the windsand presented no serious obstacle to our sure-footed ponies. We wereable, therefore, to ride up the mountain so far that we presently foundourselves looking down upon Peter's house, or, rather, upon the mountainof snow which covered it. But here the character of the spur changed, or, to speak more accurately, here the spur ended and another one began. Between the two, half-filled with well-packed snow, lay a deep crevice, which, bearing away down hill to our right, was presently lost among thetrees. 

"From the lay of the land, " said Joe, "I should judge that this is thehead of the creek which runs through Big Reuben's gorge--Peter told usit started up here, you remember. And from the look of it, " hecontinued, "I should suppose that the shortest way of getting over tothe slide would be to cut right across here to the left through thetrees. But that is out of the question: the snow would be ten feet overour heads; so our only way is to cross this gulch and go on up as far aswe can along the top of the next ridge, as Peter said. "

"Then we shall have to leave the ponies here, " I remarked, "and do therest on foot: there's no getting them across this place. "

Accordingly, we abandoned our ponies at this point, and having with somedifficulty scrambled across the gulch ourselves, we ascended to theridge of the next spur and continued our way upward. This spur wascrowned by an outcrop of rock, which being much broken up and the cracksbeing filled with snow, made the walking not only difficult butdangerous. By taking care, however, we avoided any accident, and, aftera pretty stiff climb arrived at the foot of a perpendicular ledge ofrocks which cut across our course at right angles--the little cliffPeter had told us we should find barring our way. 

Here, turning to the left, as directed, we skirted along the base of thecliff, sometimes on the rocks and sometimes on the edge of the snowwhich rested against them, until at last we reached a point whence wecould look right down the steep slope of the slide. 

Covered with loose shale, the slope for its whole length appeared to besmooth and of uniform pitch, except that about three-quarters of the waydown we could see a line of snow hummocks stretching all across itscourse, indicating pretty surely that here had grown a strip of trees, which being most of them broken off short had caught and held a littlesnow against the stumps. 

"There's where we want to get, Joe!" I cried, eagerly. "Down there tothat row of stumps! This is a limestone country--all this shale, yousee, is composed of limestone chips--but that tree-root in which wefound the chunk of galena held two or three bits of porphyry as well, you remember, and if it did come from down there, there's a good chancethat that line of stumps indicates the course of a porphyry outcrop, asPeter guessed, cutting across the limestone formation. "

"Well, what of that?" asked Joe. "Is a porphyry outcrop a desirablething to find? Is it an 'indication'?"

"It's plain you're no prospector, Joe, " said I, laughing; "and though Idon't set up to know much about it myself, I've learned enough fromhearing Tom Connor talk of 'contact veins' to know that if there's avein in the neighborhood the most promising place to look for it iswhere the limestone and the porphyry come in contact. "

"Is that so?" cried Joe, beginning to get excited. "Then let us get downthere at once; for, ten to one, that's where our big tree came from. "

"That's all very well, " said I. "The row of stumps is our goal, allright, but how are we going to get down there? I don't feel at allinclined to trust myself on this loose shale. The pitch is so steep thatI should be afraid of its starting to slide and carrying us with it, when I don't see anything to stop us from going down to the bottom andover the precipice at the lower end. "

"That's true, " Joe assented. "No, it won't do to trust ourselves on thistreacherous shale; it's too dangerous. What we must do, Phil, is to getacross to that long spur of rocks over there and climb down that. Itwill bring us close down to the line of stumps. "

The spur to which Joe referred, connecting at its upper end with thecliff at the foot of which we were then standing, reached downward likea great claw to within a short distance of the chain of snow hummocks, and undoubtedly our safest course would be to follow it to its lowestextremity and begin our descent from there. It was near the further edgeof the slide, however, and to get over to it we had to take a courseclose under the cliff, holding on to the rocks with our right hands aswe skirted along the upper edge of the shaly slope. It was rather slowwork, for we had to be careful, but at length we reached ourdestination, when, turning once more to our left, we scrambled down thespur to its lowest point. 

"Now, Phil, " cried Joe, "you stay where you are while I go down. No useto take unnecessary risks by both going down together. You sit here, ifyou don't mind, and wait for me; I won't be any longer than I can help. "

"All right, " said I; "but take the end of the rope in your hand, Joe. No use for _you_ to take unnecessary risks, either. "

[Illustration: "HE SHOT DOWNWARD LIKE AN ARROW"]

"That's a fact, " replied my companion. "Yes, I'll take the rope. "

With a shovel in one hand and the end of the rope in the other, Joestarted downward, but presently, having advanced as far as the ropeextended, he dropped it and went cautiously on, using the shovel-handleas a staff. Down to this point he had had little difficulty, but a fewsteps further on, reaching presumably the change of formation we hadexpected to find, where the smooth, icy rock beneath the shale wascovered only by an inch or so of the loose material, the moment hestepped upon it Joe's feet slipped from under him and falling on hisback he shot downward like an arrow. 

I held my breath as I watched him, horribly scared lest he should goflying down the whole remaining length of the slope and over theprecipice; but my suspense lasted only a few seconds, for presently agreat jet of snow flew into the air, in the midst of which Joe vanished. The next moment, however, he appeared again, hooking the snow out of hisneck with his finger, and called out to me:

"All right, Phil! I fell into a hole where a tree came out. I'm going toshovel out the snow now. Don't let go of that rope whatever you do. "

So saying he set to work with the shovel, making the snow fly, while Isat on the rocks a hundred feet above, watching him. In about a quarterof an hour he looked up and called out to me:

"I've found it, Phil. Right in this hole. It's the hole our big treecame out of, I believe. Can't tell how much of a vein, though, theground is frozen too hard. Bring down the pick, will you? Come down tothe end of the rope and throw it to me. "

In response to this request, having first tied a knot in the end of therope and fixed it firmly in a crack in the rocks, I went carefully downas far as it reached, when, with a back-handed fling, I sent the picksliding down to my partner. 

"Don't you think I might venture down and help you, Joe?" I called out. 

"No!" replied Joe with much emphasis. "You stay where you are, Phil. Itwould be too risky. I can do the work by myself all right. "

Still keeping my hold on the rope, therefore, I sat myself down on theshale, while Joe, pick in hand, went to work again. Pretty soon hestraightened up and said:

"I've found the vein all right, Phil; I don't think there can be a doubtof it. Good strong vein, too, I should say. "

"How wide is it?" I asked. 

"Can't tell how wide it is. I've found what I suppose to be the porphyryhanging-wall, right here"--tapping the rock with his pick--"and I'vebeen trying to trench across the vein to find the foot-wall, but theshale runs in on me faster than I can dig it out. "

"What do you propose to do, then, Joe?"

"Try one of those other holes further along and see if I can't find thevein again and get its direction. You sit still there, Phil. I shallwant you to give me a hand out of here soon. "

With extreme caution he made his way along the line of stumps, helpinghimself with the pick in one hand and the shovel in the other, until, about a hundred yards distant, he arrived at another hole where a treehad been rooted out, and here he went to work again. This time he keptat it for a good half hour, but at length he laid down his tools, andfor a few minutes occupied himself by building with loose pieces of rocka little pillar about eighteen inches high. 

"Can you see that, Phil?" he shouted. 

"Yes, I can see it, " I called back. 

This seemed to be all Joe wanted, for he at once picked up his toolsagain, and with the same caution made his way back to the first hole. 

"What's your pile of stones for, Joe?" I asked. 

"Why, I found the vein again, hanging-wall and all, and I set up thatlittle monument so as to get the line of the vein from here. "

Taking out of his pocket a little compass we had brought for thepurpose, he laid it on the rock, and sighting back over his "monument, "he found that the vein ran northeast and southwest. 

"Phil, " said he, "do you see that dead pine, broken off at the top, witha hawk's nest in it, away back there on the upper side of the gulchwhere we left the ponies?"

"Yes, " I replied, "I see it. What of it?"

"The line of the vein runs right to that tree, and I propose we getback and hunt for it there. I don't want to set up the location-stakehere: this place is too difficult to get at and too dangerous to workin. So I vote we get back to the dead tree and try again there. What doyou say?"

"All right, " I replied. "We'll do so. "

"Very well, then I'll come up now. "

But this was more easily said than done. Do what he would, Joe could notget up to where I sat, holding out to him first a hand and then a foot. He tried walking and he tried crawling, but in vain; the rock beneaththe shale was too steep and too smooth and too slippery. At length, atmy suggestion, Joe threw the shovel up to me, when, on my lying flat andreaching downward as far as I could stretch, he succeeded in hooking thepick over the shoulder of the shovel-blade, after which he had no moredifficulty. 

"Well, Joe, " said I, when we had safely reached the rocks again, "it'sjust as well we didn't both go down together after all, isn't it?"

"That's what it is, " replied my partner, heartily. "If you had tried tocome down with me we should both probably have tumbled into that holetogether, and there we should have had to stay till somebody came up tolook for us; and there'd have been precious little fun in that. Did itscare you when I went scooting down the slide on my back?"

"It certainly did, " I replied. "I expected to have to go down to Peter'shouse and lug _you_ home next--if there was any of you left. "

"Well, to tell you the truth, I was a bit scared myself. It was a greatpiece of luck my falling into that hole. It's a dangerous place, this, and the sooner we get out of it the better; so, let us start back, atonce. "

Making our way up the spur, we again skirted along between the upperedge of the slide and the foot of the cliff, and ascending once more tothe ridge, we retraced our steps down it until we presently arrived atthe dead tree with the hawk's nest in it. 

Here, after a careful inspection of the ground, we went to work, Joewith the pick, and I, following behind him, throwing out the loose stuffwith the shovel and searching through each shovelful for bits of galena. In this way we worked, cutting a narrow trench across the line where wesupposed the vein ought to run, until presently Joe himself gave agreat shout which brought me to his side in an instant. 

With the point of his pick he had hooked out a lump of galena as big ashis head!

My! How excited we were! And how we did work! We just flew at it, toothand nail--or, rather, pick and shovel. If our lives had depended on itwe could not have worked any harder, I firmly believe. The consequencewas that at the end of an hour we had uncovered a vein fifteen feetwide, disclosing a porphyry wall on one side and a limestone wall on theother. 

The vein was not, of course, a solid body of ore. Very far from it. Though there were bits of galena scattered pretty thickly all across it, the bulk of the vein-matter was composed of scraps of quartz mixed withyellow earth--the latter, as we afterwards learned, being itselfdecomposed lead-ore--to say nothing of grass-roots, tree-roots and otherrubbish which helped to make up the mass. 

But that we had found a real, genuine vein, even we, novices as we wereat the business, could not doubt, and very heartily we shook hands witheach other when our trenching at length brought us up against thelimestone foot-wall. With the discovery of this foot-wall, Joe called ahalt. 

"Enough!" he cried. "Enough, Phil! Let's stop now. We've got the vein, all right, and a staving good vein it is, and all we have to do for thepresent is to set up our location-stake. To-morrow Tom will come uphere, when he can make his camp and get to work at it regularly, sinkinghis ten-foot prospect-hole. What are we going to name it? The 'Hermit'?The 'Raven'? The 'Socrates'?"

"Call it the 'Big Reuben, '" I suggested. 

"Good!" exclaimed Joe. "That's it! The 'Big Reuben' it shall be. "

This, therefore, was the title we wrote upon our location-notice, bywhich we claimed for Tom Connor a strip of ground fifteen hundred feetin length along the course of the vein and one hundred and fifty feetwide on either side of it; and thus did our old enemy, Big Reuben, lendhis name to a "prospect" which was destined later to take its placeamong the foremost mines of our district. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE WOLF WITH WET FEET

We had been so expeditious, thanks largely to Joe's good judgment intumbling into the right hole at the start when he slid down the shale, that we reached home well before sunset, when, according to thearrangement we had made as we rode down, Joe started again that sameevening for Sulphide. This time he made the trip without interruption, and when at eight o'clock next morning he drove up to our house, TomConnor was with him. 

"How are you, old man?" cried the latter, springing to the ground andshaking hands very heartily with our guest. "That was a pretty narrowsqueak you had. "

"It certainly was, " replied Peter. "And if it hadn't been for theseboys, I'd have been up there yet. What's the news, Connor? Any clue toyour ore-thieves?"

"Not much but what you and the boys have furnished. But ask Joe, he'lltell you. "

"Well, " said Joe, "in the first place, Long John has disappeared. He hasnot been seen since the evening before the robbery. No one knows what'sbecome of him. "

"Is that so?" I cried. "Then I suppose the robbery is laid to him. "

"Yes, to him and another man. I'll tell you all about it. After I hadbeen to the mine and given Tom our news, I went down town to Yetmore'sand had a long talk with him. That was a good idea of your father's, Phil, that we should go and tell Yetmore: he took it very kindly, andrepeated several times how much obliged he felt. He seems most anxiousto be friendly. "

"It's my opinion, " Tom Connor cut in, "that he got such a thorough scarethat night of the explosion, and is so desperate thankful he didn't blowyou two sky-high, that he can't do enough to make amends. "

"That's it, I think, " said Joe. "And I believe it is a great relief tohim also to find that we are not trying to lay the blame on him. Anyhow, he couldn't have been more friendly than he was; and he told me thingswhich seem to throw some light on the matter of the ore-theft. There_was_ seemingly a second man concerned in it; a man with a club-foot, Peter. "

"Ah, ha!" said Peter. "Is that so?"

"Yes. There used to be a man about town known as 'Clubfoot, ' a crony ofLong John's, " Joe continued. "He was convicted of ore-stealing aboutthree years ago, and was sent to the penitentiary. A few days ago heescaped, and it is Yetmore's opinion that he ran straight to Long Johnfor shelter. On the night after the explosion he--Yetmore, I mean, youknow--went to John's house 'to give the blundering numskull a piece ofhis mind, ' as he said--we can guess what about--and John wouldn't lethim in; so they held their interview outside in the dark. I gatheredthat there was a pretty lively quarrel, which ended in Yetmore tellingLong John that he had done with him, and that he needn't expect him togrub-stake him this spring. 

"It is Yetmore's belief that the reason John wouldn't let him into hishouse--it's only a one-roomed shanty, you know--was that Clubfoot wasthen inside; and he further believes that John, finding himself deprivedof his expected summer's work, and no doubt incensed besides atYetmore's going back on him, as he would consider it, then and thereplanned with Clubfoot the robbery of the ore; both of them beingfamiliar with the workings of the Pelican. "

"That sounds reasonable, " remarked Peter; "though, when all is said anddone, it amounts to no more than a guess on Yetmore's part. But, lookhere!" he went on, as the thought suddenly occurred to him. "If LongJohn is not prospecting for Yetmore or himself either, being supposedlyin hiding, what was he doing on the 'bubble' yesterday?"

"But perhaps he is prospecting for himself, " Tom Connor broke in. "Herewe are, theorizing away like a house afire on the idea that he is thethief, when maybe he had nothing to do with it. And if he is prospectingfor himself, the sooner I get up to that claim the better if I don'twant to be interfered with. I reckon I'll dig out right away. If youboys, " turning to us, "can spare the time and the buckboard you can helpme a good bit by carrying up my things for me. "

"All right, Tom, " said I. "We can do so. "

Starting at once, therefore, with a load of provisions, tools andbedding, we carried them up the mountain as far as we could on wheels, and then packed them the rest of the way on horseback, when, having seenTom comfortably established in camp near the Big Reuben--with the lookof which he expressed himself as immensely pleased--Joe and I turnedhomeward again about four in the afternoon. 

We were driving along, skirting the rim of our caņon, and were passingbetween the stream and the little treeless "bubble" upon which Joe had, as he believed, seen Long John standing the day before, when mycompanion remarked:

"I should very much like to know, Phil, what Long John was doing upthere. Do you suppose----Whoa! Whoa, there, Josephus! What's the matterwith you?"

This exclamation was addressed to the horse; for at this moment theordinarily well-behaved Josephus shied, snorted, and standing up on hishind feet struck out with his fore hoofs at a big timber-wolf, which, springing out from the shelter of some boulders on the margin of thecaņon and passing almost under his nose, ran off and disappeared amongthe rocks. 

"He must have been down to the stream to get a drink, " suggested Joe. 

"He couldn't, " said I; "the caņon-wall is too steep; no wolf couldscramble up. "

"Well, if he didn't, " remarked my companion, "how did he get his feetwet? Look here at his tracks. "

As he said this, Joe pointed to the bare stone before us, where thewolf's wet tracks were plainly visible. 

"Well, " said I, "then I suppose there must be a way up after all. Wait amoment, Joe, while I take a look. "

Jumping from the buckboard, I stepped over to the boulders whence thewolf had appeared, where, to my surprise, I found a pool, or, rather, abig puddle of water, which, overflowing, dripped into the caņon. 

Where the water came from I could not at first detect, but on a morecareful inspection I found that it ran, a tiny thread, along a crack inthe lava not more than a couple of inches wide, which, on tracing itback, I found we had driven over without noticing. Apparently the watercame down from the "bubble" through a rift in the crater-wall. 

As I have stated before, several of the little craters contributed smallstreams of water to our creek, but this was not one of them, so, turning to my companion, I said:

"Joe, this is the first time I have ever seen any water come down fromthat 'bubble. ' Let us climb up to the top and take a look inside. "

Away we went, therefore, scrambling up the rocky slope, when, havingreached the rim, we looked down into the little crater. The area of itsfloor was only about an acre in extent, but instead of being grown overwith grass and sagebrush, as was the case with most of them, this onewas covered with blocks of stone of all sizes, some of them weighingseveral tons. It was evident that the walls, which were only aboutthirty feet in height, had at one time been much higher, but that in thecourse of ages they had broken down and thus littered the littlebowl-shaped depression with the fragments. 

The thread of water which had drawn us up there came trickling out fromamong these blocks of stone, and we set out at once to trace it up toits source while we still had daylight. But this, we found, was by nomeans easy, for, though the stream did not dodge about much, but ranpretty directly down to the crack in the wall, its course was so muchimpeded by rocks, under and around which it had to make its way--whileover and around them we had to make _our_ way--that it was ten orfifteen minutes before we discovered where it came from. 

We had expected to find a pool of rain-water, more or less extensive, seeping through the sand and slowly draining away. What we actually didfind was something very different: something which filled us with wonderand excitement!

About the middle of the little crater there came boiling out of theground a strong spring, which, running along a deep, narrow channel ithad in the course of many centuries worn in the solid stone floor of thecrater, disappeared in turn beneath the litter of rocks. A shortdistance below the spring the channel was half filled for some distancewith fragments of stone of no great size, which, checking the rush ofthe water, caused it to lap over the edge. It was this slight overflowwhich supplied the driblet we had followed up from the caņon below. 

"Joe!" I exclaimed, greatly excited. "Do you know what I think?"

"Yes, I do, " my companion answered like a flash. "I think so, too. Comeon! Let's find out at once!"

Following the channel, we went clambering over the rocks, which justhere were not quite so plentiful, until, at a distance from the springof about fifty yards, we came upon a large circular pool in which thewater flowed continuously round and round as though stirred with agigantic spoon, while in the centre it spun round violently, a perfectlittle whirlpool, and sank with a gurgle into the earth. 

For a moment we stood gazing spellbound at this natural phenomenon, hardly realizing what it meant, and then, with one impulse, we boththrew our hats into the air with a shout, seized each other's hands, anddanced a wild and unconventional dance, with no witness but a solitaryeagle, which, passing high overhead, paused for an instant in his flightto wonder, probably, what those crazy, unaccountable human beings wereup to now. 

At length, out of breath, we stopped, when Joe, clapping his handstogether to emphasize his words, cried:

"At last we've found it, Phil! This, _surely_, is the water-supply thatkeeps the 'forty rods' wet!"

"It must be, " I replied, no less excited than my partner. "It must be;it can't be anything else. But how are we going to prove it, Joe?"

"The only way I see is to divert the flow here; then, if our undergroundstream stops, we shall know this is it. "

"Yes, but how are we to divert it?"

"Why, look here, " Joe answered. "The spring, I suppose, is a littleextra-strong just now, causing that slight overflow up above here. Well, what we must do is to take the line marked out for us by the overflow, and following it from the channel down to the crack in the crater-wall, break up and throw aside all the rocks that get in the way; then cut anew channel and send the whole stream off through the crack, when itwill pour into the caņon, run across the ranch on the surface, and the'forty rods' will dry up!"

He gazed at me eagerly, with his fists shut tight, as though he were allready to spring upon the impeding rocks and fling them out of the way atonce. 

"That's all right, Joe, " I replied. "It's a good programme. But it's atremendous piece of work, all the same. There are scores of rocks to bebroken up and moved; and when that is done, there is still the newchannel to be cut in the solid stone bed of the crater. The presentchannel is about eighteen inches deep; we shall have to make the new onesix inches deeper, and something like a hundred feet long: a big job byitself, Joe. "

"I know that, " Joe answered. "It's a big job, sure enough, and will taketime and lots of hard work. Still, we can do it----"

"And what's more we will do it!" I cried. "What's the best way ofsetting about it?"

"We shall have to blast out the channel and blow to pieces all thebigger rocks, " Joe replied. "It would take forever to do it with pickand sledge--in fact, it couldn't be done. We shall have to use powderand drill. "

"Well, then, " said I, "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll borrow thetools from Tom Connor. He left a number of drills, you know, stored inour blacksmith-shop, and he'll lend 'em to us I'm sure. One of us hadbetter drive back to the Big Reuben to-morrow morning and ask him. "

"All right, Phil, we'll do so. My! I wish--it doesn't sound verycomplimentary--but I wish your father would stay away another week. Ibelieve we can do this work in a week, and wouldn't it be grand if wecould have the stream headed off before he got home! But how about theplowing, Phil? I was forgetting that. "

"Why, the only plowing left, " I replied, "is the potato land, and that, fortunately, is not urgent; whereas the turning of this stream isurgent--extremely urgent--and my opinion is that we ought to get at it. Anyhow, we'll begin on it, and if my father thinks proper to set us toplowing instead when he gets home--all right. "

"Well, then, we'll begin on this work as soon as we can. And now, Phil, let us get along home. "

We had been seated on a big stone while this discussion was going on, and were just about to rise, when Joe, suddenly laying his hand on myarm, held up a warning finger. "Sh!" he whispered. "Don't speak. Don'tstir. I hear some one moving about!"

Squatting behind the rocks, I held my breath and listened, andpresently I heard distinctly, somewhere close by, the tinkle of two orthree chips of stone as they rolled down into the crater. Some one wassoftly approaching the place where we sat. 

Though to move was to risk detection, our anxiety to see who was therewas too strong to resist, so Joe, taking off his hat, slowly arose untilhe was able to peep through a chink between two of the big fragmentswhich sheltered us. For a moment he stood there motionless, and then, tapping me on the shoulder, he signed to me to stand up too. 

Peeping between the stones, I saw, not fifty yards away, a man comingcarefully down the crater-wall on the side opposite from that by whichwe ourselves had entered. In spite of his care, however, he every nowand then dislodged a little fragment of stone, which came clatteringdown the steep slope. It was one of these that had given us notice ofhis approach. 

There was no mistaking the tall, gaunt figure, even though the light ofthe sunset sky behind him made him look a veritable giant. It was LongJohn Butterfield. 

He was headed straight for our hiding-place, and it was with someuneasiness that I observed he had a revolver strapped about his waist. In appearance he looked wilder and more unkempt than ever, while thesharp, suspicious manner in which he would every now and then stop shortand glance quickly all around, showed him to be nervous and ill at ease. 

While Joe and I stood there silent and rigid as statues, Long John cameon down the slope, until presently he stopped scarce ten steps from usbeside a big, flat stone. There, for a moment, he stood, his hand on hisrevolver, his body bent and his head thrust forward, his ears cocked andhis little eyes roving all about the crater--the picture of a watchfulwild animal--when, satisfied apparently that he was alone andunobserved, he went down upon his knees, threw aside several pieces ofrock, and thrusting his arm under the flat stone, he pulled out--a sack!

So close to us was he, that even in that uncertain light we coulddistinguish the word, "Pelican, " stenciled upon it in big black letters. 

Laying this sack upon the flat stone, John reached into the hole again, and, one after another, brought out four others. Apparently there wereno more in there, for, having done this, he rose to his feet again, looked all about him once more, and then walked off a short distanceup-stream. At the point where the channel overflowed he stopped again, when, to our wonderment he pulled off his coat, rolled up one sleeve, and going down upon his knees, began scratching around in the water. Ina few seconds he fished out one at a time five dripping sacks, all ofwhich he carried over and set down beside the first five. 

Evidently he was working with some set purpose; though to us watchers itwas all a perfectly mysterious proceeding. 

A few steps from where the sacks were piled was a little ledge of rockless than a foot high, above which was a steep slope covered with loosefragments of stone. Taking up the sacks, two at a time, John carriedthem over to this spot, laid them all, end to end, close under thelittle ledge, and then, climbing up above them, he sat down, and withhis big, flat feet sent the loose shale running down until the row ofsacks was completely buried. 

This seemed to be all he wanted, for, having examined the result of hiswork and satisfied himself apparently that the sacks were perfectlyconcealed, he turned and went straight off up the crater-wall again, pausing at the crest for a minute to inspect the country ahead of him, and then, stepping over the rim, in another moment he had vanished. 

"Come on, Phil!" whispered my companion, eagerly. "Let us see whichdirection he takes. "

"Wait a bit, " I replied. "Give him five minutes: he might come back. "

We waited a short time, therefore, when, feeling pretty sure that Johnhad gone for good, we scrambled to the summit of the ridge and lookedout over the mesa. There we could see Long John striding away at a greatpace, apparently making straight for Big Reuben's gorge. 

"Then Yetmore was right, " said Joe. "Those fellows were the ore-thievesafter all. I wonder if they haven't taken up their quarters in BigReuben's old cave. It would be a pretty good place for their purpose. "

"Quite likely, " I assented. "But what do you suppose, Joe, can have beenLong John's object in coming down here and moving those ore-sacks?--for, of course, they are the Pelican ore-sacks. They were well enoughconcealed before. "

"It does look mysterious at first sight, " replied Joe, "but I expect theexplanation is simple enough. I think it is probable that when theybrought the ore up here the two men divided the spoils on the spot, eachhiding his own share in a place of his own choosing; and our respectedfriend, John, thinking to get ahead of the other thief, has just comeand stolen his partner's share. "

"That would be a pretty shabby trick, but I expect it is just what hehas done. He'll be a bit surprised when he finds that some one hasplayed a similar trick on him. For, of course, we can't leave the sacksthere, to be moved again if Long John should take the notion that thehiding place is not safe enough. How shall we manage it, Joe? If we aregoing to do anything this evening we must do it quickly: there won't bedaylight much longer. "

After a moment's consideration, Joe replied: "Let us go down and carrythose sacks outside the crater. Then get along home, and come back herewith the wagon and team by daylight to-morrow and haul them off. It istoo much of a load for the buckboard, even if we walked ourselves, so itwon't do to take them with us now. "

"All right, " said I. "Then we'll do that; and afterwards you can ride upto see Tom Connor about those tools, while I drive to Sulphide with theore. Won't Yetmore be glad to see me!"

There was no time to lose, and even as it was, the waning light made itpretty difficult to pick our way across the rock-strewn bottom of thecrater with a fifty-pound sack under each arm, but at length we had themall safely laid away in a crack in the rocks just outside the crater, whence it would be handy to remove them in the morning. 

By the time we had finished it was dark, and we hurriedly drove offhome, contemplating with some reluctance the chores which were still tobe done. From this duty, however, we had a happy relief, for our goodfriend, Peter, anxious to make himself of some use, and taking his timeabout it, had managed to feed the horses and pigs, milk the cows, shutup the chickens and start the fire for supper--a service on his partwhich we very thoroughly appreciated. 

We had just sat down to our evening meal, and were telling Peter allabout our two great finds of the afternoon, when our guest, whose longand solitary life as a hunter had made his hearing preternaturallysharp, straightened himself in his chair, and holding up one finger, said:

"Hark! I hear a horse coming up the valley at a gallop!"

At first Joe and I could hear nothing, but presently we detected therhythmical beat of the hoofs of a horse approaching at a smart canter. Somebody was coming up from San Remo--for though a wheeled vehicle couldnot pass over the "forty rods, " a horseman could pick his way--andknowing that nobody ever came that way in the "soft" season unless ourhouse was his destination, I stepped to the door, wondering who ourvisitor could be. Great was my surprise when the horseman, riding intothe streak of light thrown through the open doorway, proved to beYetmore!

"Why, Mr. Yetmore!" I cried. "Is it you? Come in! You're just in timefor supper. "

"Thank you, Phil, " replied the storekeeper, "but I won't stop. I wasdown at San Remo this afternoon, and it occurred to me to ride home thisway and inquire of you if you'd seen or heard anything more of thoseore-thieves. By the way, before I forget it: I brought your mail foryou;" at the same time handing me one letter and two or threenewspapers. 

"Thank you, " said I, thrusting the letter into my pocket. "And as to theore-thieves, Mr. Yetmore, we've seen one of them; but we've donesomething a good deal better than that--we've found the ore. "

"What!" shouted Yetmore, so loudly that Joe came running out, thinkingthere must be something the matter. "What! You've found the ore!"

So saying, he leaped from his horse and seizing me by the arm, cried:"You're not joking, are you, Phil? For goodness' sake, don't fool me, boys. It's a matter of life and death to me, almost!"

His anxiety was plainly expressed in his eager eyes and trembling hand, and I was glad to note the look of relief which came over his face whenI replied:

"I'm not fooling, Mr. Yetmore. We've found it all right--this evening. Come in and have some supper, and we'll tell you all about it. "

Yetmore did not decline a second time, but forgetting even to tie up hishorse, which Joe did for him, he followed me at once into the kitchen, where, hardly noticing Peter, to whom I introduced him, and neglectingentirely the food placed before him, he sat down and instantlyexclaimed:

"Now, Phil! Quick! Go ahead! Go ahead! Don't keep me waiting, there's agood fellow! How did you find the ore? Where is it? What have you donewith it?"

Not to prolong his suspense, I at once related to him as briefly aspossible the whole incident, winding up with the statement that weproposed to go and bring in the sacks by daylight on the morrow. 

At this conclusion Yetmore sprang to his feet. 

"Boys, " said he, in a tremulous voice, "you've done me an immenseservice; now do me one more favor: lend me your big gun. I'll ride rightup to the 'bubble' and stand guard over the ore till morning. If Ishould lose it a second time I believe it would turn my head. "

That he was desperately in earnest was plain to be seen: his voice wasshaky, and his hand, I noticed, was shaky, too, when he held it outentreating us to lend him our big gun. 

I was about to say he might take it, and welcome, when Joe pulled me bythe sleeve and whispered in my ear; I nodded my acquiescence; upon whichmy companion, turning to Yetmore, said:

"We can do better than that, Mr. Yetmore. We'll hitch up the littlemules and go and bring away the ore to-night. "

I have no doubt that to our anxious visitor the time seemed interminablewhile Joe and I were finishing our supper, but at length we rose fromthe table, and within a few minutes thereafter we were off; Yetmorehimself sitting in the bed of the wagon with the big shotgun across hisknees. 

As it was then quite dark, and as we did not wish to attract anypossible notice by carrying a light, we were obliged to take it veryslowly, one or other of us now and then descending from the wagon andwalking ahead as a pilot. In due time, however, we reached the foot ofthe "bubble, " when, leaving Yetmore to take care of the mules, Joe and Iclimbed up to the crevice, and having presently, by feeling around withour hands, found the hiding-place of the sacks, we pulled them out andcarried them, one at a time down to the wagon. All this, being done inthe dark, took a long time, and it was pretty late when we drew up againat our own door. 

Here, for the first time, Yetmore, striking a match, examined the tenlittle sacks. 

"It's all right, boys, " said he, with a great sigh of relief. "These arethe sacks; and none of them has been opened, either. " He paused for amoment, and then, with much earnestness of manner, went on: "How am I tothank you, boys? You've done me a service of infinite importance. Theloss of that ore almost distracted me: I needed the money so badly. Butnow, thanks to you, I shall be all right again. You don't know how greata service you have done me. I shan't forget it. We've not always been onthe best of terms, I'm sorry to say--my fault, though, my faultentirely--but I should be very glad, if it suits you, to start freshto-night and begin again as friends. "

He was so evidently in earnest, that Joe and I by one impulse shookhands with him and declared that nothing would suit us better. 

"And how about the ore, Mr. Yetmore?" I asked. "What will you do now?"

"If you don't mind, " he replied, "I should like to drive straight up toSulphide at once. If you will lend me the mules and wagon, I'll setright off. I'll return them to-morrow. "

"Very well, " said I. "And you can leave your own horse in the stable, sothat whoever brings down the team will have a horse to ride home on. "

Yetmore, accordingly, climbed up to the seat and drove off at once, calling back over his shoulder: "Good-night, boys; and thank you again. I feel ten years younger than I did this morning!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE DRAINING OF THE "FORTY RODS"

As soon as Yetmore was out of sight, Joe and I turned into the house, where we found that Peter, wise man, had gone to bed; an example wespeedily followed. But, tired though we were, we could neither of us goto sleep. For a long time we lay talking over the exciting events of theday, and going over the probable consequences, if, as now seemedcertain, we had indeed discovered the source of our underground stream. First and foremost, by diverting it we should dry up the "forty rods"and render productive a large piece of land which at present was morebane than benefit; we should bring the county road past our door; weshould more than double our supply of water for irrigation purposes--afact which, by itself, would be of immense advantage to us. 

At present we had no more than enough water--sometimes hardly enough--toirrigate our crops, but by doubling the supply we could bring into useanother hundred acres or more. On either side of our present cultivatedarea, and only three feet above it, spread the first of the oldlake-benches, a fine, level tract of land, capable of growing any crop, but which, for lack of water, we had hitherto utilized only as a drypasture for our stock. By a test we had once made of a little patch ofit, we had found that it was well adapted to the cultivation of wheat;and as I lay there thinking--Joe having by this time departed to theland of dreams--I pictured in my mind the whole area converted into oneflourishing wheat-field; I built a castle in the air in the shape of aflour-mill which I ran by power derived from our waterfall; and with atwo-ton load of flour I was in imagination driving down to San Remo overthe splendid road which traversed the now solid "forty rods, " when alight shining in my face disturbed me. 

It was the sun pouring in at our east window!

Half-past seven! And we still in bed! Such a thing had not happened tome since that time when, a rebellious infant, I had been kept in bedperforce with a light attack of the measles. 

Needless to say, we were up and dressed in next to no time, when, ondescending to the kitchen, we found another surprise in store for us. Peter was gone! He must have been gone some hours, too, for the fire inthe range had burned out. He had not deserted us, however, for on thetable was a bit of paper upon which he had written, "Back pretty soon. Wait for me"--a behest we duly obeyed, not knowing what else to do. 

About an hour later I heard the trampling of horses outside the frontdoor, and going out, there I saw Peter stiffly descending from the backof our gray pony; while beside him, with a broad grin on his jolly face, stood Tom Connor. 

"Why, Tom!" I cried. "What brings you here?"

Tom laughed. "Didn't expect to see me, eh, Phil, " said he. "It's Peter'sdoing. While you two lazy young rascals were snoring away in bed, hestarted out at four-thirty this morning and rode all the way up to mycamp to borrow my tools for you. And when he told me what you wanted 'emfor, I decided to come down, too. You did me a good turn in finding theBig Reuben for me--and 'big' is the word for it, Phil, I can tellyou--and so I thought I couldn't do less than come down here for a dayor two and give you a hand. It's probable I can help you a good bitwith your trench-cutting. "

"There's no doubt about that, Tom, " I replied. "We shall be mighty gladof your help. You can give us a starter, anyhow. But you, Peter, wecouldn't think what had become of you. Don't you think it was a bitrisky to go galloping about the country with that game leg of yours?"

"I couldn't very well go without it, " replied our guest, laughing. "No, I don't think so, " he added, more seriously. "It was easy enough, allexcept the mounting and dismounting. In fact, Phil, I'm so nearly allright again that I should have no excuse to be hanging around here anylonger if it were not that I can be of use to you by taking all thechores off your hands, thus leaving you and Joe free to get about yourwork in the crater. "

"That will be a great help, " I replied. "Though as to letting you go, Peter, we don't intend to do that, at least till my father and motherget home. "

"When _do_ they get home?" asked Tom. "Have you heard from them sincethey left?"

"Why!" I cried, suddenly remembering the letter Yetmore had brought upfrom San Remo the previous evening. "I have a letter from my father inmy pocket now. I'd forgotten all about it. "

Quickly tearing it open, I read it through. It was very short, beingwritten mainly with the object of informing me that he was delayed andwould not be home until the afternoon of the following Wednesday. Thiswas Friday. 

"Joe!" I shouted; and Joe, who was in the stable, came running at thecall. "Joe, " I cried, "we have till Wednesday afternoon to turn thatstream. Four full days. Tom is going to help us. Peter will take thechores. Can we make it?"

"Good!" cried Joe. "Great! Make it? I should think so. We'll do it if wehave to work night and day. My! But this is fine!"

He rubbed his hands in anticipation of the task ahead of him. I neverdid know a fellow who took such delight in tackling a job which hadevery appearance of being just a little too big for him. 

We did not waste any time, you may be sure. Having picked out thenecessary tools, we went off at once, taking our dinners with us, andarriving at the foot of the "bubble, " we carried up into the crater thedrills, hammers and other munitions of war we had brought with us. 

"I thought you said there was a driblet of water running out at thecrevice, " remarked Tom. "I don't see it. "

"There was yesterday, " I replied, "but it seems to have stopped. Iwonder why. "

"That's easily accounted for, " said Joe. "It was those sacks lying inthe channel which backed up the water and made it overflow, and whenLong John cleared the course by pulling out the sacks it didn't overflowany more. "

"Then it's to Long John you owe this discovery!" cried Tom. "If 'TheWolf' hadn't blocked that channel the water would not have run down tothe caņon, and the other wolf would not have got his feet wet; and ifthe other wolf had not got his feet wet, you would never have thought ofcoming up here. "

"That's all true, " I assented. "In fact, you may go further than thatand say that if John had not stolen the ore he would not have blockedthe channel with it, and we should not have found the spring; if Yetmorehad not given John leave to blow up your house, John would not havestolen the ore; if you had not bored a hole in Yetmore's oil-barrel, Yetmore would not have given John leave--it's like the story of 'TheHouse that Jack Built. ' And so, after all, it is to you we owe thisdiscovery, Tom. "

"Well, that's one way of getting at it, " said Tom, laughing. "But, comeon! Let's pick out our line and get to work. "

"This won't be so much of a job, " he remarked, when we had gone over theground. "You ought to make quick work of it. We'll follow the wet markleft by the overflow, throw all these rocks out of the way, and thenpitch in and cut our trench. Come on, now; let's begin at once. Phil, you throw aside all the rocks you can lift; Joe, take the sledge andcrack all those too heavy to handle; I'll take the single-hand drill andhammer and put some shots into the big ones. Now, boys, blaze away, andlet's see how much of a mark we can make before sunset. "

Blaze away we did! Never before had Joe and I worked so hard for so longa stretch; not a minute did we lose, except on those four or fiveoccasions when Tom, having put down a hole into one of the largepieces, called out to us to get to cover, when, running for shelter, wecrouched behind some friendly rock until a sharp, cracking explosiontold us that another of the big obstructions was out of the way. 

So hard did we work, in fact, and so systematically, that by sunset wehad cleared a path six feet wide. There remained only one more of thebig rocks to break up, and into this Tom put a three-foot hole, which hecharged and tamped, when, sending us ahead to hitch up the horse, hetouched off the fuse, the explosion following just as we startedhomeward. 

"A great day's work, boys!" cried Tom. "If it wasn't for the trainingyou've had all winter handling rocks, you never could have done it. There is a good chance now, I think, of getting the trench cut beforeWednesday evening. I'll work with you all day to-morrow--I must get backto my camp then--and that will leave you two days and a half to finishup the job. You ought to do it if you keep hard at it. "

By sunrise next morning we were at it again, working under Tom'sdirection, in the same systematic manner. 

"Take the sledge, Joe, " said he, "and crack up the fragments of thatbig rock we shot to pieces last night. Phil, you and I will put down ourfirst hole, beginning here at the crevice and working upward. Now! Let'sget to work!"

Tom and I, therefore, went to work with drill and hammer, Tom taking thelarger share of the striking; for though the swinging of the seven-poundhammer is the harder part of the work, the turning of the drill is themore particular, and as our instructor justly remarked, it was as well Ishould have all the practice I could get while he was on hand tosuperintend. 

The hole being deep enough, Tom made me load and tamp it with my ownhands, using black powder, which, though perhaps less effective for thisparticular kind of work than giant powder would have been, he regardedas safer for novices like ourselves to handle. 

Our first shot broke out the rock in very good style, and then, while Ibusied myself cracking up the big pieces and throwing them aside, Joetook my place. 

The second hole was loaded and tamped by Joe, under Tom's supervision;after which my partner once more took the sledge, while I turned drillagain. 

In this order we worked all day, making, before quitting time, suchencouraging progress that we felt very hopeful of getting the taskcompleted before my father's return. 

Tom having fairly started us, went back to his camp on Lincoln, leavingJoe and me to continue the work by ourselves; and sorely did we miss ourexpert miner when, on the Monday morning, we returned to the crater. Though we kept steadily at it all day, our progress was noticeablyslower than it had been the first day, for, besides the fact that therewere only two of us, and those the least skilful, as we ascended towardsthe stream each hole was a little deeper than the last, each charge alittle stronger, and each shot blew out a greater amount of rock to bebroken up and cast aside. 

Nevertheless, we made very satisfactory headway, and continuing our workthe next two days with unabated energy and some increase of skill withevery hole we put down, we made such progress that by two o'clock on theWednesday afternoon there remained but three feet of rock to be shot outto make connection with the channel. 

I was for blasting this out forthwith, but Joe on the other handsuggested that we trim up our trench a little before turning in thewater; for, hitherto, we had merely thrown out the loose pieces, andthere were in consequence many projections and jagged corners both inthe sides and bottom of our proposed water-course. These we attackedwith sledge and crowbar, and in two hours or so had them pretty wellcleared out of the way, when we went to work putting down our last hole. 

As we wanted to make a sure thing of it, we sank this hole ratherdeeper than any of the others, charging it with an extra allowanceof powder. Then, the tools having been removed, I touched off the fuseand ran for shelter behind the big rock where Joe was already crouching, making himself as small as possible. Presently there was a tremendousbang! Rocks of every size and shape were flung broadcast all overthe crater--some of them coming down uncomfortably close to ourhiding-place--but as soon as the clatter ceased, up we both jumped andran to see the result. 

Nothing could have been better. Our last shot had torn a great hole, extending across almost the whole width of the old channel, and ourtrench being six inches or more below the original level, the wholestream at once rushed into it, leaving its former bed high and dry. 

"Hooray, for us!" shouted Joe. "Come on, Phil! Let us run down and seeit go into the caņon. "

Away we went; but as the crater-side was pretty steep we had to descendwith some caution; whereas the water, having no neck to break, went downheadlong. The consequence was that the stream beat us to the caņon by ahundred yards, and by the time we arrived it was pouring over the edgein a sixty-foot cascade. 

We were in time, however, to see a wall of foam flying down the caņon; asight which, while it delighted us, at the same time gave us somethingof a start. 

"Joe!" I cried. "How about our bridge?"

"Pht!" Joe whistled. "I never thought of it. It will go out, I'm afraid. Let us get down there at once. "

Off we ran to where our horse was standing, eating hay out of the backof the buckboard, threw on the harness, hitched him up, and scramblingin, one on either side, away we went as fast as we dared over theuneven, rocky stretch of the mesa which lay between us and home. 

The course of the stream being more circuitous than the one we tookacross country, we beat the water down to the ranch; but only by a fewseconds. We had hardly reached the bridge when the swollen stream leapedinto the pool in such volume that I felt convinced it would sweep itclear of all the sand in it whether black or yellow; rushed under thebridge, and went tearing down the valley--a sight to see! Luckily thecreek-bed was fairly wide and straight, so that the banks did not suffermuch. 

As to the bridge, the stringers being very long and well set, and thefloor being composed of stout poles roughly squared and firmly spikeddown, it did not go out, though the water came squirting up between thepoles in a way which made us fear it might tear them loose at anymoment. 

To prevent this, we ran quickly to the stable, harnessed up the mules tothe wood-sled, loaded the sled with some of our big flat lava-rocks, anddriving back to the bridge, we laid these rocks upon the ends of thepoles, leaving a causeway between them wide enough for the passage of awagon. 

We had just finished this piece of work, when we heard a rattle ofwheels, and looking up the road we saw coming down the hill anexpress-wagon, driven by Sam Tobin, a San Remo liveryman, and in thewagon sat my father and mother. 

"Why, what's all this?" cried the former, as the driver pulled up on thefar side of the bridge. "Where does all this water come from?"

Then did the pent-up excitement of the past week burst forth. The floodof water going under the bridge was a trifle compared with the flood ofwords we poured out upon my bewildered parents; both of us talking atthe same time, interrupting each other at every turn, explaining eachother's explanations, and tumbling over each other, as it were, in oureagerness. All the details of the strenuous days since the snow-slidecame down--the discovery of the Big Reuben, the recovery of the stolenore, and above all the heading-off of the underground stream--were setforth with breathless volubility; so that if the hearers were a littledazed by the recital and a trifle confused as to the particulars, itwas not to be wondered at. One thing, at least, was clear to them: wehad found and turned the underground stream; and when he understoodthat, my father leaped from the wagon, and shaking hands with both of usat once, he cried:

"Boys, you certainly _have_ done a stroke of work! If it had taken you ayear instead of a week it would have been more than worth the labor. Asto its actual money value, it is hard to judge yet; but whether thatshall turn out to be much or little, there is one thing sure:--we haveour work cut out for us for years to come--a grand thing by itself forall of us. And now, let us go on up to the house: Sam Tobin wants to getback home as soon as possible. "

This the driver was able to do at once, for the livery horses, frightened by the water which came spurting up through the floor of thebridge, declined to cross, so Joe and I, taking out the trunk, placed iton the wood-sled and thus drew it up to the house. 

As we walked along, my mother said:

"So the hermit has been staying with you, has he? And what sort of a man_is_ your wild man now you've caught him?"

"He isn't a wild man at all, " cried Joe, somewhat indignantly. "He's afine fellow--isn't he, Phil? He has been of great help to us these lastfew days. We could never have finished our trench in time if he hadn'ttaken the chores off our hands. He is in the kitchen now, getting thesupper ready. I'll run and bring him out. "

So saying, Joe ran forward--we others walking on more leisurely--and aswe approached the house the pair came out of the front door side byside. 

In spite of Joe's assurance to the contrary, my parents still had intheir minds the idea that any one going by the name of "Peter, theHermit" must be a rough, hirsute, unkempt specimen of humanity. Greatwas their surprise, therefore, when Peter, always clean and tidy, hishair and beard neatly trimmed in honor of their return, issued from thedoorway, looking, with his clear gray eyes, his ruddy complexion and hisspare, erect figure, remarkably young and alert. 

There was an added heartiness in their welcome, therefore, when Joeproudly introduced him; and though Peter threw out hints about sleepingin the hay-loft that night and taking himself off the first thing in themorning, my mother scouted the idea, telling him how she had longdesired to make his acquaintance, and intimating that she should take itas a very poor compliment to herself if he should run off the moment shegot home. 

So Peter, set quite at his ease, said no more about it, but went backinto the kitchen, whence he presently issued again to announce thatsupper was ready. 

A very hearty and a very merry supper it was, too, and long and animatedwas the talk which followed, as we sat before the open fire thatevening. 

"I feel almost bewildered, " said my father, "when I think of the amountand the variety of the work we have before us; it is astonishing thatthe turning of that stream should carry with it so many consequences, asI foresee it will--that and Tom Connor's strike. "

"There's no end to it!" cried Joe, jumping out of his chair, striding upand down the room, and, for the last time in this history, rumpling hishair in his excitement. "There's no end to it! There's the hay-corral toenlarge--rock hauling all winter for you and me, Phil! We shall need anew ice-pond; for this new water-supply won't freeze up in winter likethe old one did! Then, when the 'forty rods' dries up, there will be theextension of our ditches down there; besides making a first-class roadto bring all the travel our way--plenty of work in that, too! Then, whenwe bring the old lake-benches under cultivation, there will be newheadgates needed and two new ditches to lay out, besides breaking theground! Then----Oh, what's the use? There's no end to it--just no end toit!"

Joe was quite right. There was, and there still seems to be, no end toit. 

 * * * * *

The effect of Tom Connor's strike on Mount Lincoln was just what myfather had predicted: our whole district took a great stride forward;the mountains swarmed with prospectors; the town of Sulphide hummed withbusiness; our new friend, Yetmore, doing a thriving trade, while our oldfriend, Mrs. Appleby, followed close behind, a good second. 

As for Tom, himself, he is one of our local capitalists now, but he isthe same old Tom for all that. Just as he used to do when he was poor, so he continues to do now he is rich: any tale of distress will emptyhis pocket on the spot. Though my father remonstrates with himsometimes, Tom only laughs and remarks that it is no use trying to teachold dogs new tricks; and moreover he does not see why he should notspend his money to suit himself. And so he goes his own way, more thansatisfied with the knowledge that every man, woman and child in thedistrict counts Tom Connor as a friend. 

The fate of those two poor ore-thieves was so horrible that I hesitateto mention it. It was six months later that a prospector on one of thenorthern spurs of Lincoln came upon two dead bodies. One, a club-footedman, had been shot through the head; the other, unmistakably Long John, was lying on his back, an empty revolver beside him, and one foot caughtin a bear-trap. Though the truth will never be known, the presumption isthat, setting the stolen trap in a deer run in the hope of catching adeer, they had got into a quarrel; Clubfoot, striking at his companion, had caused him to step backward into the trap, when, in his pain andrage, Long John had whipped out his revolver and shot the other. Whathis own fate must have been is too dreadful to contemplate. 

And the Crawford ranch? Well, the Crawford ranch is the busiest place inthe county. 

Peter, for whom my parents, like ourselves, took a great liking, quicklythawed out under my mother's influence, and related to us briefly thereason for his having taken to his solitary life. He had been aschool-teacher in Denver, but losing his wife and two children in anaccident, he had fled from the place and had hidden himself up in ourmountains, where for several years he had spent a lonely existence withno company but old Socrates. Now, however, his house destroyed and hismountain overrun with prospectors, he needed little inducement toabandon his old hermit-life; and accepting gladly my father's suggestionthat he stay and work on the ranch, he built for himself a good logcabin up near the waterfall, and there he and Socrates took up theirresidence. 

There was plenty of work for him and for all of us--indeed, for thefirst two years there was almost more than we could do. It took thatlength of time for the "forty rods" to drain off thoroughly, but by themiddle of the third summer we were cutting hay upon it; the ore wagonsfrom Sulphide and from the Big Reuben were passing through in acontinuous stream; the stage-coach was coming our way; the old hill roadwas abandoned. 

In fact, everybody is busy, and more than busy--with one singleexception. 

The only loafer on the place is old Sox--tolerated on account of hisadvanced age. That veteran, whose love of mischief and whose unfailingimpudence would lead any stranger to suppose he had but just come out ofthe egg, spends most of his time strutting about the ranch, stealing thefood of the dogs and chickens; awing them into submission by hissupernatural gift of speech. And as though that were not enough, hiscrop distended with his pilferings to the point of bursting, he comesunabashed to the kitchen door and blandly requests my mother, of allpeople, to give him a chew of tobacco!

But the mail-coach has just gone through, and I hear Joe shouting forme; I must run. 

"Yetmore wants fifty-hundred of oats, Phil, " he calls out. "You and Iare to take it up. We must dig out at once if we are to get backto-night. To-morrow we break ground on our new ditches. A month or moreof good stiff work for us, old chap!"

He rubs his hands in anticipation; for the bigger he grows--and he hasgrown into a tremendous fellow now--the more work he wants. There is nosatisfying him. 

We have been very fortunate, wonderfully fortunate; but I am inclined toset apart as pre-eminently our lucky day that one in the summer of '79, when young Joe Garnier, the blacksmith's apprentice, stopped at ourstable-door to ask for work!

 THE END

_By Amy E. Blanchard_

War of the Revolution Series

The books comprising this series have become well known among the girlsand are alike chosen by readers themselves, by parents and by teacherson account of their value from the historical standpoint, their purityof style and their interest in general. 

_A Girl of '76_

ABOUT COLONIAL BOSTON. 331 pp. 

It is one of the best stories of old Boston and its vicinity which hasever been written. Its value as real history and as an incentive tofurther study can hardly be overestimated. 

_A Revolutionary Maid_

A STORY OF THE MIDDLE PERIOD IN THE WAR FOR INDEPENDENCE. 312 pp. 

No better material could be found for a story than the New Jerseycampaign, the Battle of Germantown, and the winter at Valley Forge. MissBlanchard has made the most of a large opportunity and produced a happycompanion volume to "A Girl of '76. "

_A Daughter of Freedom_

A STORY OF THE LATTER PERIOD OF THE WAR FOR INDEPENDENCE. 312 pp. 

In this story the South supplies the scenery, and good use is made ofthe familiar fact that a family often was divided in its allegiance. Itis romantic but not sensational, well-written and rich in entertainment. 

War of 1812 Series

This period is divided into two historical volumes for girls, the oneupon the early portion describing the causes, etc. , of the war, thelatter showing the strife along the Northern border. 

_A Heroine of 1812_

A MARYLAND ROMANCE. 335 pp. 

This Maryland romance is of the author's best; strong in historicalaccuracy and intimate knowledge of the locality. Its characters are ofmarked individuality, and there are no dull or weak spots in the story. 

_A Loyal Lass. _

A STORY OF THE NIAGARA CAMPAIGN OF 1814. 319 pp. 

This volume shows the intense feeling that existed all along the borderline between the United States and Canada, and as was the case in ourCivil War even divided families fought on opposite sides during thiscontest. It is a sweet and wholesome romance. 

EACH VOLUME FULLY ILLUSTRATED. Price, $1. 50

W. A. WILDE COMPANY, --Boston and Chicago

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words andintent.