Boys of Crawford's Basin

by John Henry Goldfrap

  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 w
hen 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.