The Boys of Crawford's Basin Part 25

"This evening," replied Joe. "It was this evening, wasn't it, Phil?"

"Yes," I replied. "He was to quit at five this evening, and his intention then was to come down here next day and make this place his base of operations."

"Then the thing to do," said Joe, "is for me to ride up there this morning--I started to go yesterday, you know, Peter--and catch Tom up at the mine at noon. When he hears of our discovery, I've not a doubt but that he will pack up and come back with me this evening, so as to get a start first thing to-morrow."

"I expect he will," said I. "And while you are up there, Joe, you can see 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 I explained to him all about the ore-theft, and how we suspected that the thief was in hiding somewhere in the foot-hills. Peter listened attentively, 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 an odd thing that happened only the day before yesterday, which may or may not 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 a hind-quarter of elk, a box of matches, a frying-pan, and--of all queer things to select--a bear-trap. What on earth any one can want with a bear-trap at this season of the year, I can't think, when there is hardly a bear out of his winter-quarters yet; and if he was he'd be as thin as a rail. I found the fellow's tracks easily enough--tall man--big feet--long stride--and trailed them down the gulch to a point where another man had been sitting on a rock waiting for him. This other man's track was peculiar: he was lame--stepped short with his right foot, and the foot itself was out of shape. Their trail went on down the hill towards the mesa, but it was then too dark to follow it, and I was going off to take it up again next morning when that slide came down and changed my programme."

"Well," said Joe, who had sat with his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands, listening closely, "where the lame man springs from I don't know, but if they should be the ore-thieves their stealing the meat and the frying-pan was a natural thing to do; for if they are going into hiding they will need provisions."

"Yes," replied Peter; "and whether they knew of my place before or came upon it by accident, they would probably think it safer to steal from me than to raid one of the ranches and thus risk bringing all the ranchmen about their ears like a swarm of hornets."

"That's true," said Joe. "Yes, I must certainly tell Tom and Yetmore about 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, and then I can bring back Tom's camp-kit and tools for him; otherwise he would have to pack them on his pony and walk himself. I expect you will see us back somewhere about seven this evening."

With that he went out, and soon afterwards we heard the rattle of wheels as he drove away.

CHAPTER XV

THE BIG REUBEN VEIN

But it seemed as though Joe were destined never to get to Sulphide. I was still in the kitchen, when, not more than twenty minutes later, I heard the rattle of wheels again, and looking out of the window, there I saw 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, and throwing his hat down upon the table, said:

"I came back to tell you something. I've a notion, Phil, that we've got to go hunting for that vein ourselves, and not lose time by going up to tell 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 canon only about half a mile up-stream from here? Well, when I drove up the hill out of our valley just now I turned, naturally, to look at the scar on the mountain, when the first thing to catch my eye was the figure of a man standing on top of 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 tell at 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 a minute or so the man turned--I could see that motion distinctly enough--caught sight of me, and instantly jumped down behind the rocks."

"Didn't want to be seen, eh?" remarked Peter. "And what did you do next?"

"I felt sure he was watching me, though I couldn't see him," Joe went on, "and so, to make him suppose I hadn't observed him, I stayed where I was for a minute, and then drove leisurely on again. There's a dip in the road, you know, Phil, a little further on, and as soon as I had driven down into it, out of sight, I pulled up, jumped out of the buckboard, and running up the hill again I crawled to the top of the rise 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 in silence.

"Any idea who he was?" I asked presently.

"Yes," replied Joe, without hesitation. "It was Long John b.u.t.terfield."

"You seem very sure," remarked Peter; "but do you think you could recognize 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 shining full upon him, he looked as tall as a telegraph pole. Yes, I feel certain 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 slide yesterday and came down this way the first thing this morning to get a look at the scar."

"That's it, I expect," Joe answered.

"And you suppose," said Peter, "that he went running back to his camp to 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 my opinion is that Phil and I ought to go up at once, see if we can't find the spot where that big tree was rooted out, and stake the claim for Tom Connor. If we lose a whole day by going up to Sulphide to notify Tom, it would give Long John a chance to get in ahead of us and perhaps beat us after all."

The bare idea of such a catastrophe was too much for me. I sprang out of my chair, crying, "We'll go, Joe! And we'll start at once! How are we to get up there, Peter? There must be any amount of snow; and we are neither of us any good on skis, even if we had them."

"Yes, there's plenty of snow," replied Peter promptly, entering with heartiness into the spirit of the enterprise, "lots of snow, but you can avoid most of it by taking the ridge on the right of the creek and following along its summit to where it connects with the saddle. You'll find a little cliff up there, barring your way, but by turning to your left and keeping along the foot of the precipice you will come presently to the upper end of the slide, and then, by coming down the slide, you will 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 the slide itself now that the trees are gone; though if you are ordinarily careful you ought to be able to make it all right, there being two of you. For a man by himself it would be risky--a very small accident might strand him high and dry on the mountain--but where there are two together 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 staking a claim for Tom Connor; well, suppose you _should_ find the spot where the big tree was rooted out, and _should_ find a vein there--do you know how 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 of them and I remember it well enough, and you can just copy the wording when 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 the paper, we went over to the stable, saddled up, and leaving Peter in charge, away we rode, armed with a pick, a shovel, an ax and a coil of rope.

According to the hermit's directions, instead of following up the bed of the creek which led to his house, we took to the spur on the right, the top of which being treeless, had been swept bare of snow by the winds and presented no serious obstacle to our sure-footed ponies. We were able, therefore, to ride up the mountain so far that we presently found ourselves looking down upon Peter's house, or, rather, upon the mountain of 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.