MYSTERIES MULTIPLY
“Miss Briggs, do you feel equal to starting back to Silver Creek?”
questioned the guide as she returned. “The sooner we get away from
here the better it may be for us.”
“Yes. Anything to get away from this haunt of tragedy. How far are
we from there?”
“About thirty-five kilometers, I should say, though it may be more.”
Elfreda glanced at him quickly.
“Were you in service in France during the war?” she questioned.
“Yes.”
“May I ask in what capacity? You know the girls of this party were
there with the Overton College unit.”
“I was with the signal corps. To return to the subject of our
journey, I have a horse a short distance from here. You may ride
him, and Mr. Brown and I will walk.”
“Walk! Walk thirty-five miles?” demanded Stacy in a tone that was
almost a wail.
“I said thirty-five kilometers, not thirty-five miles,” corrected
the guide.
“I don’t care which it is; thirty-five of anything is too far for
me. I can’t walk. I have a sore finger. I stuck it on a fishhook
yesterday,” protested the fat boy.
“Very well, you may remain here if you wish. Come, Miss Briggs. We
must take along some of the provisions that are in the cabin.”
“Mr. White found those too,” thought Elfreda, then aloud: “Have we
the right to do that?”
“Within reason, yes. This is a forest ranger’s cabin, and one is
free to help himself.” Stacy ran in and filled his pockets with
cans, and the guide took a can of beans for himself and one for Miss
Briggs, directing Stacy to put back all but one of those he had
taken. The three then set out at a brisk walk, and at about a mile
from the cabin they turned off, and soon found the horse, on which
they placed the Overland girl. After mounting, she secretly tucked
the canvas bag into the saddle pocket.
It was a relief to Elfreda not to have to walk, and further, it gave
her opportunity to study the wiry figure of Hamilton White as he
strode along in the rear of Stacy, whom he was urging along, much to
that young man’s freely voiced disgust.
Shortly after noon they stopped to water the horse and to give the
rider an opportunity to rest. They then pressed on, for the way was
rough and progress slow. It was near night when they came within
hailing distance of Silver Creek village, and a great shout went up
from the Overlanders when they saw Elfreda.
During the absence of the guide, the Overlanders’ missing horse had
come in, enabling the Overland Riders to resume their journey to the
Cascade Range. It was an evening of rejoicing for them, in which the
villagers joined, for the young women of the Overland party had been
of great assistance to them in their trouble. Not alone that, but it
was freely admitted that Ham White and the Overlanders had saved the
village from destruction.
Early on the following morning, after bidding good-bye to the
villagers, the Overlanders rode away. On the way, Miss Briggs told
her companions of her experiences during her absence, omitting any
reference to the bag of gold and the diary. Even Hamilton White had
no idea that she possessed it, so far as she was aware, though
Elfreda was not so certain that he did not suspect her having the
bag of gold.
It was noticed by at least one of the party that Miss Briggs and the
guide had little to say to each other that day; in fact, they seemed
to avoid each other. Not so with Emma Dean, who kept as close to
Hamilton White as she could, hanging on his words and showing her
keen interest in him in the expression of her eyes. At supper that
evening, however, Elfreda asked him a direct question.
“Mr. White, have you ever heard of a stream known as Lost River?”
she asked.
“I have,” spoke up Stacy Brown. “I fell in it the other night when
they had the fireworks at Silver Creek village.”
“I believe there is an old Indian legend of some sort about Lost
River—something to do with gold or silver,” replied the guide,
giving her a swift, appraising glance.
“Is there such a thing as an Indian legend about ‘Grandma and the
Children’?” persisted Elfreda.
“Ha, ha! That’s a good one. Did they fall into the foaming flood
also?” demanded Chunky in a loud voice.
“Children should be seen and not heard,” rebuked Emma sternly.
“Is that why you are so quiet to-day, Miss Dean?” asked the boy.
“I am quiet, Stacy Brown, because you so disturb the atmosphere that
one has to shout to make herself heard at all,” returned Emma with
great dignity.
The Overlanders laughed heartily.
“I reckon that will hold you for a few moments,” interjected Hippy
Wingate. “Got anything more to say on the subject, young man?”
“Not a word.”
Stacy did not even join in the laugh that followed.
By this time they had finished their supper, and Elfreda nodded to
Grace to indicate that she wished to speak with her, and the two
strolled off without attracting attention. They were soon out of
earshot, and Grace suggested that they go no farther.
“Now what is it that is troubling you, J. Elfreda?” she asked.
“I have a guilty conscience, dear Loyalheart, and I must confess to
you.”
“I knew you had something on your mind,” nodded Grace. “So far as
concerns your having a guilty conscience, that is impossible. You
only imagine it.”
“After you have heard my story you will think differently. Grace,
you don’t know all that took place in the forest cabin—all that
occurred in connection with the death of the old prospector.”
Elfreda then related the story in detail, giving the real reason, as
told to her by Petersen, for the attack of the Murrays. “Have you
your lamp, your pocket lamp?”
Grace produced her flashlight, and Miss Briggs, taking it from her,
turned a bar of light on the diary that she had removed from her
blouse.
“This is it, Grace, and here are the notes I made of what Mr.
Petersen told me. I haven’t read the writing in Mr. Petersen’s
diary—I haven’t had the heart or the inclination to do so. I feel
like a thief.”
“Elfreda!” rebuked Grace.
“Then you think I have a right to keep this—this thing?”
“Why not? You say he has no family, no relatives. What you have
shown me is, in reality, the will of a dying man. He gave you what
he had in payment for your kindness to him. So far as his story of
finding the lost mine is concerned, I am inclined to think it a
myth. At any rate, don’t trouble your head over the matter any more.
The chances are that, even if the mine really exists, we never shall
find it, but when Tom joins us in the Cascades I will lay the facts
before him. Tom knows this country pretty well. That is why the
Government is employing him to make a timber survey, and at the same
time, to look into some other matters.”
“But, Grace, this is going to be a terrible weight on my mind,”
protested Elfreda.
“And you a successful lawyer!” laughed Grace. “I never thought that
a lawyer could be so conscientious. And think of the romance of all
this,” went on Grace Harlowe with growing enthusiasm. “Have you no
romance in your soul?”
Miss Briggs shook her head.
“It is not given to many girls to play a leading part in a search
for a lost gold mine. Even the suggestion of courting peril ought to
appeal to you, Elfreda. I should like to go through the diary with
care. I don’t like doing that now when we can’t see about us, as we
have reason to believe that there may be people in this vicinity who
would stop at nothing to obtain possession of it. Of course, we are
safe here, though. What about the bag of nuggets and dust that
Petersen gave you?”
“I have the bag. The contents I threw away.”
“Elfreda Briggs!” cried Grace indignantly. “Threw away a bag of gold
nuggets and gold dust! Are you crazy?”
“I may be, Grace dear. When I opened the bag, after putting Mr.
Petersen’s horse away, I found that it contained nothing but
worthless quartz rock. There was no gold there. The nuggets and gold
dust had been taken out. Someone had stolen the nuggets and dust in
the short time that I was away from the shack.”
Grace uttered an exclamation.
“When Stacy and I returned to the shack, we found Mr. White sitting
in the cabin. I asked him to go outside for a moment, and while he
was away I got the bag. Then I made an excuse for going out into the
forest. On emptying the contents of the bag into my lap I found that
I was the proud possessor of only a bag of worthless stones!”
“Elfreda! You don’t mean to infer that Mr. White took it—you can’t
think such a terrible thing of him!” begged Grace.
“I don’t know what to think. He was there; he has acted peculiarly
ever since, and has avoided me. Isn’t it a natural thing for me at
least to wonder?” demanded Miss Briggs.
“Elfreda Briggs, I am amazed!” cried Grace Harlowe. “Is that why you
have been so cold and distant towards the guide? He does not deserve
such treatment. Were I in your place I should, in the light of what
you have told me, tell him the story that you have related to me.”
“No, no!” Elfreda said with strong emphasis. “I have no reason for
confiding in anyone but you. Neither shall I do anything farther in
this matter. Gold mines—gold doesn’t bring happiness. Quite the
contrary, so far as my experience goes.”
“Yes, that is true, but after one has found happiness, gold is a
mighty good thing to keep that happiness from getting wobbly. I—”
Grace paused abruptly. She thought she had heard a sound close at
hand. Grabbing the flashlight, she swung the bar of light about with
one hand, the other hand holding the prospector’s diary.
An amazing thing occurred.
The prospector’s diary was whisked away from Grace Harlowe, leaving
in her hand only a leaf out of it that she had held between her
fingers.
“Overland!” It was the shrill rallying cry of the Overland Riders,
and hearing it, they sprang to their feet and ran up, as Grace
Harlowe’s cry for assistance was echoing through the forest.
Ham White reached the two girls first, calling out his name as he
charged to them.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“Someone was here, Mr. White. At least someone or something snatched
a book out of my hands. I saw no one, but am positive that I heard
someone just before the occurrence,” Grace informed him.
The rest of the party, with the exception of Stacy Brown, were on
the scene a moment or so later, each with an eager question.
“Why, Hamilton, you went out that way a few moments before the girls
were disturbed. Didn’t you see anyone?” wondered Emma.
The guide shook his head. He was regarding Grace and Elfreda with a
curious expression on his face as they came within range of the
campfire.
“Was the book of value?” he asked, meeting Miss Briggs’ eyes. She
returned his gaze with a level glance.
“It may have been, Mr. White,” replied the girl, turning away.
Grace laughed. The incident had not disturbed her, but the mystery
of it did. That a prowler could get so close to her without
attracting her attention hurt her pride. Her companions were much
more upset than was either of the two active participants. Stacy
slept through it all, and did not awaken until morning.
It was some time after that before the camp settled down for the
night, but the guide sat in the shadows, smoking his pipe and
thinking.
“Did you hear what Emma said?” questioned Elfreda in a whisper to
Grace as they snuggled under their blankets.
“About what?”
“About Mr. White. It seems he may have been somewhere near us out
there.”
“This affair has several queer phases,” admitted Grace.
“I don’t care. I’m glad the diary is out of my hands; now I can wash
them of it all, and my conscience at the same time. My gold mine has
gone a-glimmering.” Elfreda laughed, but without much mirth.
“My dear J. Elfreda, you are not going to get off so easily. Here is
the page on which you wrote the location of the gold mine at Mr.
Petersen’s direction. I had the leaf in my hand when the book was
snatched away, and it just tore itself loose and remained with me.
So you see you are still fated to be a millionaire. Reason will tell
you that the book may not be of value to the possessor.”
Miss Briggs asked why.
“Because,” replied Grace, “there can be nothing very definite in the
diary or it would not have been necessary for Mr. Petersen to give
you the definite directions that he did. The matter of real value,
you will find, is on the sheet that I still have. I’ll give it to
you in the morning. My advice to you is to commit those lines to
memory, and then burn the slip of paper.”
“Yes. I will burn it all right,” agreed Miss Briggs. “Don’t say gold
to me again to-night. I wish to sleep—to sleep peacefully.” Elfreda
made good her word on the following morning, and destroyed the slip
of paper.
Before the others were awake the guide went out and was away from
the camp for more than an hour. He was just returning when Hippy
Wingate came out.
“Find anything exciting this morning?” asked Hippy jovially.
“Yes. Someone was prowling about the camp last night. I found the
spot where the young ladies were sitting, and I also found the
imprints of booted feet. About a quarter of a mile to the west of us
a horse was tethered, and the fellow who was here undoubtedly rode
it, and went north, after leaving this vicinity. Is it your wish
that I run his trail out, Lieutenant?”
“No. What’s the use? If he is particularly interested in us he will
come again, and maybe he will come once too often and get caught,”
suggested Hippy.
The guide bowed and went about getting breakfast. The party was in
their saddles at an early hour, turning their faces toward the
north, and the Cascade Range, which was their destination. It was a
glorious day, and even Hamilton White thawed under the sweet lure of
the forest, and talked forest and woodcraft to his party.
They camped that night in a rocky pass, well sheltered, and with a
mountain stream at their feet. Everyone was tired, and chilled from
the mist that was settling over the pass. Before anything else was
done, a fire was built and coffee prepared by the girls. Then Ham
White began making camp, and Stacy and Lieutenant Wingate cared for
the horses.
Stacy, very proud of his saddle, which he had ridden for a long
time, in fact ever since he had ridden with the Pony Rider Boys on
their many adventurous journeys, brought the saddle in and threw it
down near the fire. Something fell out of the saddle pocket. Stacy
picked it up and looked at the object frowningly.
“What’s that?” demanded Grace a little sharply.
“That? I’m blest if I know,” answered Stacy, his face showing some
perplexity.
Grace took the object from him, glanced into it, and looking up at
Elfreda, laughed.
“Here is the book—the diary,” announced Grace, extending it to Miss
Briggs. “Remember what I told you last night? Did I not say that you
would not get off so easily? Stacy, how did you come by this?”
demanded the Overland girl, turning to the fat boy.
“What’s all the fuss about? I picked it up when I went after my
horse this morning and forgot all about it. Why the excitement?”
“There is no excitement,” answered Miss Briggs with dignity as she
tucked the old prospector’s diary into her blouse. “Mr. White, Mr.
Brown found the missing book and has returned it to us.”
Before anyone could comment on the find or ask questions about it,
Ham White held up a hand for silence.
From far away came a shot. After a little it was followed by two
shots, an interval and one shot.
“A signal,” announced the guide.
Hippy Wingate raised his revolver to fire.
“Stop!” commanded Ham White. “Let the other fellow do the shooting.
We aren’t certain that we want to know him.” There was meaning in
the guide’s words, a warning, and the Overlanders fell silent. There
was also the vivid memory with Elfreda and Grace of the mysterious
hand that had snatched the prospector’s diary, and both girls felt
an intuition of other mysteries to come.