The Boys of Crawford's Basin Part 15

"It would be well, wouldn't it, to tell Tom Connor about it?" suggested Joe. "He would keep his eyes open for us. I suppose prospectors as a rule 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 you should come across your friend, the hermit, again, be sure to ask him.

He knows Mount Lincoln as n.o.body else does, and if he had ever noticed anything of the sort he would tell us. Don't forget that. And now to bed."

CHAPTER X

HOW TOM CONNOR WENT BORING FOR OIL

One thing was plain at any rate: we could do nothing towards finding the source of the underground stream until the snow cleared off the mountain, and that was likely to be later than usual this year, for the fall had been exceedingly heavy in the higher parts. We could see from the ranch that many of the familiar hollows were obliterated--leveled off by the great ma.s.ses of snow which had drifted into them and filled them up.

We therefore went about our work of hauling stone, and so continued while the cold weather lasted, interrupted only once by a heavy storm about the end of January, which, while it added another two feet to the thick blanket of snow already covering the mountains, quickly melted off down in the snug hollow where the ranch lay, so that our work was not delayed more than two or three days.

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

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

"Wouldn't it be a good plan to go and measure the flow of the water down in the crevice, Mr. Crawford? We might be able to find out, by watching its 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 we have fed the stock you can make a measuring-stick and go up there; and what'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 to where it comes from."

This we did, and thereby ascertained pretty conclusively that the source was nowhere on the Second Mesa, for in the course of a couple of weeks the heavy fall of new snow covering that wide stretch of country melted off without making any perceptible difference in the volume of the stream.

Though there were several other falls of snow up in the mountains later in the season, this was the last one of any consequence down on the mesas. The winter was about over as far as we were concerned, and by the middle of the next month, the surface of "the bottomless forty rods"

beginning to soften again, the freighters, who had been coming our way ever since the early part of November, deserted us and once more went back to the hill road--to our mutual regret. For a few days longer the stage-coach kept to our road, but very soon it, too, abandoned us, after which, except for an occasional horseback-rider, we had scarcely a pa.s.ser-by.

As was natural, we greatly missed this constant coming and going, though we should have missed it a good deal more but for the fact that with the softening of the ground our spring work began, when, Marsden's cattle having 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 upon our labors with enthusiasm. We had never felt so "fit" before, for our long spell of stone-hauling had put us into such good trim that we were in condition to tackle anything.

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

As the town of Sulphide was so situated that its inhabitants could not see Mount Lincoln on account of a big spur of Elkhorn Mountain which cut off their view, any one in that town wishing to find out how the snow was going off on the former mountain was obliged to ride down in our direction about three miles in order to get a sight of it.

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

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

"Why, what's the meaning of this!" exclaimed my father, when he had read the 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 up quite a tidy sum--in fact, he was counting on doing so. What's the matter, 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, and they told her all about it. It was mother that sent me down with the letter, and she told me I was to be sure and 'splain all about it to you."

"That was kind of Mrs. Appleby," said my father. "But come in, Seth, and have 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 of milk before him, young Seth, after he had taken off the fine edge of a remarkably healthy appet.i.te, related to us between bites the story he had been sent down to tell. It was a long and complicated story as he told it, and even when it was finished we could not be quite sure that we had it right; but supposing that we had, it came to this:

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

Two years before, a friend of his had been killed in one of the mines by that most frequent of accidents: picking out a missed shot; since which time the widow, a bustling, hearty Irishwoman, had supported herself and her five children. But during the changeable weather of early spring, Mrs. Murphy had been taken down with a severe attack of pneumonia--a disease particularly dangerous at high alt.i.tudes--and distress reigned in the family. As a matter of course, Tom, ever on the lookout to do somebody 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 seeing that the children wanted for nothing; and all with such success that he brought his patient triumphantly out of her sickness; while as for himself, when he modestly retired from the fray, he found that he was just 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 of it. It was unlucky, of course, but as it could not be helped there was no more to be said; and so long as he owned that house of his he could always raise one hundred and fifty dollars on it--it was worth three or four times as much, at least.

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

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

"What a good fellow that is! When it comes to practical charity, Tom Connor leads us all. In fact, he is in a cla.s.s by himself:--There is no Tom but Tom, and"--smiling at the little messenger--"Seth Appleby is his prophet--on this occasion."

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

"Now, I'll tell you what we'll do," the latter continued. "Seth says his mother wants another thousand pounds of potatoes; so you shall take them up this afternoon, Phil; have a good talk with her; find out the rights 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 his pony 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, I decided to accept her offer, and after supper we were seated in the store talking over Tom Connor's affairs--which I found to be just about as Seth had described them--when who should burst in upon us but Tom himself. Evidently my presence was a surprise to him, for on seeing me he exclaimed:

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

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

Forthwith I tackled him on the subject, and though at first Tom was disposed 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 and fifty easy enough on my house and pay it off again next winter, so there'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--which was what I came in for."

So saying, he took a sc.r.a.p of paper out of his pocket and proceeded to read out item after item: flour and bacon, mola.s.ses and dried apples, a little tea and a great deal of coffee, and so on, and so on, until at last 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, nervous little woman--"I was afraid you'd come to coal oil presently. I haven't a pint of it in the house."

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

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

"He's got a barrel of it," she continued. "A whole barrel of it--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 a barrel from the wholesale people in San Remo, and they sent it up two days ago. Here's the bill of lading. 'One barrel coal oil, No. 668, by Slaughter's freight line.' The freighters made a mistake and delivered it 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 hand deprecatingly. "You can't take it by force; and I've tried persuasion.