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 canyon, 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 thecanyon 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 canyon-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 canyon.
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 canyon 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 canyon, 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, appar
ently 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."
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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!"
Boys of Crawford's Basin Page 17
