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.
"'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 wa
lked 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!"
Boys of Crawford's Basin Page 13
