Mr. Willett and his friend and fellow prisoner, Hank Tims, were kept
securely guarded in a tent situated in about the center of the
straggling habitations that went to make up the camp at Hurley's Gulch.
Hank, who knew the country and the climate better than any white man in
it, was well aware, from the continuence and violence of the storm, that
it was spread over a wide area, and that the heavy rainfall and the
consequent melting of snow on the crests of the higher mountains would
flood all the streams flowing into the great Colorado.
He did not wish voluntarily to confess his fears to Mr. Willett, and yet
he felt that it was only right that that gentleman should know what
effect the storm might have on their own lives.
"Do you know what I have been thinking ever since night came and the
rain has been dashing on the canvas over our heads, as if determined to
get in?" said Mr. Willett, along toward morning, on the day following
the departure of Ulna for Gold Cave Camp.
"Mebbe ye've been thinkin' that this is a powerful stormy night,"
answered Hank, at a venture.
"Yes, and that the storm will be apt to flood the canyon where the boys
are."
"Wa'al," drawled Hank, as if weighing his words, "this yar rain'll be
mighty apt to raise the creeks in the bottoms of the canyons."
"What if Ulna should not be able to get across?"
"He'll get across, no fear of that," said Hank. "But thar's another
important pint in the case."
"What is that, Hank?"
"It's can Ulna git back an' fetch yer son with him."
"And what do you think about that, Hank?"
"I don't know what to think."
"But, surely, you have some idea."
"Oh, yes," said Hank, his hand to his ear to measure the sound of the
pouring rain, and his gray eyes intently fixed on the ceiling, as if he
were trying to find out when the flood would break through and drench
them.
"Well," said Mr. Willett, nervously, "what's your opinion?"
"I don't really think that Ulna, or Sam, ken git back to Hurley's for
days. Cos why, they can't cross the flood to the trail, an' no man
could, onless he chanced to be rigged with wings, like a bird, an' up to
this time I ain't run acrost a human mortal fixed in that way, though
I'll allow that sich an addition would be powerful convenient at times."
"But if my son can't come here, what then?"
"You mean, how will it fare with us?"
"Yes, Hank, that is what I mean."
"Wa'al, it'll depend on many pints."
"Give me some of them."
"If the men in these diggins keep sober, we ken hope for fair treatment,
but if they don't it'll go hard on us. But all that depends on the
storm," said Hank, with great deliberation.
"On the storm?" repeated Mr. Willett.
"Yes; that's what I said. Of course, you understand that if the rain
keeps on an' raises the creek har at Hurley's, then the miners won't be
able to work for days an' days?"
"I understand that, Hank."
"Wa'al, if they don't work, an' have somethink to okerpy their minds, do
you know what they will do?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," said Mr. Willett.
"Why, they'll crowd into the saloons an' git drunk. When even a
well-meanin' man is drunk he's a beast, but when these rough fellows
drink that devil's broth, whisky, why it makes 'em reg'lar out and out
fiends."
"I understand you," said Mr. Willett sadly.
The two men relapsed into silence and again lay down on the blankets
that had been given them by the vigilance committee.
Hank Tims was right in his surmise.
Morning brought no cessation to the storm, and as a consequence the
miners could not work, for Hurley's Gulch was transformed from a little
stream into a raging torrent.
As has been before stated, a majority of these miners were industrious,
honest men; and their vigilance committee, though apt to do wrong in its
efforts to be just, had a repressing effect on the lawless element.
These men were honest in the belief that Mr. Willett and his companion
were responsible for the death of Tom Edwards, and it must be confessed
that all the circumstances--circumstances that were strengthened by the
dying man's statements, pointed that way.
The "Grand Union Hotel," the most important establishment at Hurley's
Gulch, was composed of three tents, and old dilapidated tents at that.
The front tent was occupied by a bar, the center tent as a kitchen and
dining room, and the rear canvas afforded space for the guests to spread
their own blankets and sleep as best they might.
Frank Shirley and Badger had their headquarters at the Grand Union.
Here, the following day, the miners gathered to discuss the effect the
storm might have on the return of the messenger with the paper that was
to show that Mr. Willett had paid Edwards in full for his claim at Gold
Cave Camp.
A few men believed Mr. Willett's story, but yet, in deference to the
wishes of the majority they were willing to have a trial, but not till a
sufficient time had passed for the floods to subside so that the
messenger might have a chance to return.
Frank Shirley saw the drift of affairs, and, without seeming to do so,
he made up his mind to direct it.
He was well supplied with money, and feeling that he had a large fortune
to fall back on, if he managed his game properly, he decided to give
every man, for nothing, all the whisky he could drink, and then when he
had the camp crazed with liquor to turn them at once against Mr.
Willett.
In carrying out this monstrous scheme, Frank Shirley was ably seconded
by Badger.
The storm continued throughout the day, but the sound of its fury was
gradually deadened by the uproar of the drunken men in and about the
Grand Union Hotel.
From being a well-meaning crowd of miners, they gradually became a mob
of fierce and profane drunken men, with no more moral conception of
their conduct than the inmates of a mad-house.
By the time night came again, they had forgotten their promise to give
the accused men a hearing, and were resolved to slay them at once.