THE DEAD MAN'S MINE.
"How did you come into possession of this paper?" asked Tom, feeling
an irresistible curiosity concerning the matter.
A look of cunning crept into Stapleton's eyes. His tone grew
confidential.
"It's as odd a story as ever you heard," he said. "Do you want to hear
it?"
"By all means."
"Well then, it all happened some years back when I befriended an old
fellow in the Greenhorn Mountains in Californy. He was a prospector
an' had got himself chawed up by a bar. I came across him on the trail
an' took him to my cabin and nursed him as well as I could. But I seen
frum the first that the old fellow was too far gone to get over his
injuries.
"To begin with, he was too old and feeble anyhow, an' then again that
bar had clawed and chawed him till he was a mass of wounds. Well, I
neglected my work on the claim I had located there, and spent the best
part of my time smoothing out the last hours of that old chap's life.
I never knew where he came from or how he came to be a prospector, but
before he crossed the Great Divide he gave me the astonisher of my
life. By his directions I took a package wrapped in oiled paper from
his old ragged coat and laid it on the bed afore him.
"Finally frum some old letters and such truck he produces that there
plan I just showed you. He said I'd been so kind to him and cheered
his last moments, so that having neither chick nor child he wanted to
make me a legacy. He said he'd make me the richest man in the world
for what I'd done for him.
"Well, he explained before he passed away what all them marks and
lines on the plan meant, and made it all as clear as print. Then he
told me the story of Dead Man's Mine.
"About thirty years ago a band of trappers found a rich deposit of
gold in these hills. But on their way to civilization with it, they
were drowned on the Yukon and only one escaped to tell the tale. He
was crazy from his sufferings in gettin' back to civilization, and
when he stumbled across a camp of Aleuts they took care of him, having
a sort of religious reverence for crazy people. He died among those
natives."
"It's a gruesome story," remarked Tom, "but how, then, did the facts
become known?"
"Hold on. I'm gettin' to that. Years later an Aleut told the story to
a white hunter who had been good to him, and gave him the plan which
the crazy man had drawn on a bit of whalebone in lucid intervals. As
you may suppose, the white hunter was all worked up over it, as a
scratched message on the whalebone said there was more gold left in
Dead Man's Mine, that's what the crazy man called it, than had been
taken out.
"Well, an expedition was made up by the white hunter to go after the
gold, but the natives got wind of it and wiped 'em all out, only one
escaping to civilization, and that was the old man who died in my hut
back there in the Sierras. He tried twice to get back to the mine by
the plan he had copied on to paper from the whalebone. But each time
disaster overtook him. Once his men deserted him, declaring he was
insane. Another time, winter caught him napping and he got out to the
coast more dead than alive.
"He drifted down to the Pacific Coast and tried to get capital to back
another expedition, or somebody to grubstake him, but he couldn't do
it, and at last he gave up in disgust. He was all alone in the world
anyhow, he said, and was too old to enjoy the money if he had got it.
Then he wandered off alone, and the bear got him, as I said afore.
Soon after he had told me this story and made me promise to try to
find the gold, he passed out, and I buried him back there on a
hillside under a big pine above the Stanislaus."
"A remarkable story," commented Tom. "And you think that you have
located the Dead Man's Mine at last?"
"Not a doubt of it. Seth and I have spent ten years looking for it,
and _this is the spot_."
"How do you know?"
"It tallies with the plan in every particular. The gold is here."
Again came that strange gleam which every mention of the yellow metal
evoked in Stapleton's wild eyes.
"But where's the lone pine that is pictured on the plan?" objected
Tom.
"Oh, that. Probably some storm blew it down or it rotted away. You
must remember thirty years have passed since that crazy man drew the
plan."
"Hasn't it occurred to you that relying on a plan drawn by a man
whose sufferings had turned his brain is a rather uncertain business?"
"See here, partner,----" began Stapleton, but at this instant the
silent, sullen-faced Seth entered the cavern, and Stapleton, who
appeared to stand rather in awe of him, subsided into silence.
There was something on the mind of Tom Dacre which Stapleton's story
had almost clinched into a certainty. Circumstances forbade his making
his suspicions known to Jack, but he resolved to do so at the first
opportunity. It was a communication that must be made when they were
alone. It would never do for the two men to hear it.
Tom had noticed that when Seth left the cavern he had carried a rifle
and supposed it was for game. Now, however, he began to suspect
another reason when he saw for the first time that the man also had a
spyglass with him. The boy decided to put a leading question to
Stapleton.
"Are you not afraid of anyone else coming to know your secret and
following you here?"
Stapleton's eyes flashed. Then he spoke in low, impressive tones.
"If we caught anyone doing that, we'd shoot him down like a mad dog!"
Tom's heart sank. The inference was only too plain. He was glad that
Jack, who had gone to the mouth of the cave, had not heard Stapleton's
emphatic remark. If the men felt like that, it was unlikely that the
boys would be allowed to go, and this, with the other suspicion
mentioned, had been gnawing at Tom's mind ever since they had entered
the cavern. So sure was he that they were virtually prisoners, that he
did not ask any more questions. He dared not confirm his suspicions in
so many words.
He joined Jack at the door of the cavern. It afforded an extensive
view. Below it, and to the left at the foot of a high conical peak,
were plain traces of the miners' labors. Much of the work looked
fresh, and they noticed that numerous workings had been started and
apparently abandoned. The work must have been going on for quite a
considerable period, judging from the look of things, which indicated,
also, that so far the searchers had not been successful in their
quest.
Tom glanced back into the cave over his shoulder. Rufus was busy
stirring the big stew pot. The two men were conversing with occasional
glances at the boys. Tom drew Jack a little aside and gave a swift
whisper in his ear.
"Do you know that we are prisoners?"
"What!"
"Hush, not so loud. Those men are both as crazy as loons. I suspected
it some time ago. Now I am sure of it. It's a thousand chances to one
that this isn't the location of Dead Man's Mine, even if there is such
a place."
"Good gracious!"
"Even going by the plan, they are way off. But it would be likely to
throw them into a terrible rage even to hint such a thing."
"It looks as if we are in a mighty bad fix!"
"We are. You can be sure from what was said that they don't mean to
let us leave here till gold is found, which will never occur."
"You are sure of what you say?"
Jack looked sick and pale. Tom's face was grave and sober-looking.
"I'm not an alarmist. We are in the hands of a pair of maniacs. We and
that negro are the only sane persons in this camp. We must be very
careful or we may arouse them to violence."
"Then we are virtually _prisoners_?"
"I'm afraid there is no other way of putting it, old fellow. We must
be careful and keep our eyes open night and day, for we are in just
about as bad a dilemma as we ever have experienced."