ALONG THE CREEK
The lumberjacks had taken possession of land which the boys considered
as rightfully belonging to them. Disappointment, chagrin, and a
whirlwind of strange feelings surged through their beings. They had
matched uncertainty with hopefulness, and the realization that defeat
had actually come was a stunning blow.
For some moments Bob and his companions sat almost motionless in their
saddles.
"It's all up!" groaned Tom Clifton.
"We've traveled a long way for this," wailed Dick, with a choking
sensation in his throat.
"Did you ever hear of such awful luck?" growled Tim, directing a look
of intense anger and scorn toward Jack Conroy.
"I wonder--I wonder if they've found any trace of gold," murmured Sam,
in a tone of the deepest dejection. "Who are those fellows on the
nearest ridge?"
"Look like Reynolds and Woodle to me," answered Dave, with a sigh.
"There's Pete, away down at the bottom; see him?--Just a little square
dot."
"Christopher! I don't think we ought to stand for this!" cried Jack
Conroy, hotly, shaking his fist in the air. "Haven't we enough spunk
to--"
"The odds are against us, Jack," put in Bob, quietly.
"Nothin' doin'," said Tim.
"I don't know about that!" fumed Dick. His voice trembled with
indignation. "It makes me so wild I can't even think straight. Come on,
fellows!"
A long, undulating slope of treacherous soil stretched downward. The
bronchos slipped and slid along it, and, occasionally, the boys had
to dismount and lead the way on foot, or prospect around to find some
reasonably safe route. It was, therefore, a long time before they came
abreast of the men.
The rushing torrent at this point was too dangerous to ford, so they
kept steadily on, paying no attention to a number of loud salutations.
Hails from several figures below soon followed, sounding astonishingly
loud and distinct, and among them Pete Colliver's voice was easily
recognizable. As the seven caught it, the scowls on their faces
deepened.
The stream swept around in a great snake-like curve, cutting its way
between two sharply gashed ridges. Fifteen minutes of careful riding
brought the boys near the pebble-covered bottom of one of these
miniature gorges.
Upon the opposite bank, Smull, Griffin, Pete Colliver and Jimmy stood
lined up, grinning broadly, while the two men who had been working on
the slope were slipping and scrambling down the rocks and turf toward
them.
"Wal, wal, if hyar they ain't, at last!" laughed Pete, boisterously.
"Didn't git losted, arter all, hey?"
"Ye can't stake out any claims here, pards," said Tom Smull, "but if
yer a-lookin' fur jobs as laborers mebbe we kin perwide 'em."
[Illustration: "YE CAN'T STAKE OUT ANY CLAIMS HERE"]
"Ha, ha!" roared Pete. "Feelin' kinder sore, eh? Didn't wanter go in
on eq'al shares! Wal, bust it, there ain't a-goin' ter be no eq'al
shares! Ha, ha!"
"Don't I feel sorry fur 'em!" snickered Jimmy of Sellade.
"If you uns ain't too all-fired proud ter throw 'round a pick an'
shovel fur a rough crowd like us, come acrost an' begin," suggested
Tom, his features screwed up into an extraordinary smirk.
A fiery spot in Dick Travers' nature was touched.
"You're a lot of scoundrels!" he cried, shaking his fist. "You haven't
a bit of right to that claim, and if there's any law in the country you
won't be squatting on it long."
"Put us off, pard," jeered Alf Griffin.
"See here, Jim Reynolds!" exclaimed Bob, as the big lumberman and
Woodle, panting from their exertions, joined the others, "did you order
Tom Smull and Griffin to hold us up?"
"Nary a bit on't," answered Jim, earnestly. "Didn't know whar they'd
gone, or nothing till they gits back an' shoves the drawin' under me
nose."
"Then you thought it was all right for them to do it, eh?"
Jim scratched his head.
"'Tain't nateral ter expect a man ter give up a chancet like that, is
it? If them fellers is still o' a mind, ye kin come in with us."
"Wal, I ruther guess not!" howled Tom Smull, fiercely, beginning to
pace to and fro. "Nix on that."
The bantering expression left his face. He glanced toward Alf Griffin,
and the swift interchange of looks between the two told of a determined
resolve to keep the Ramblers out.
"An' none o' ye don't darst to cross the crick," came from Pete, as he
stalked belligerently to the edge of the bank.
"Get out, grouchy!" scoffed Jack. "Let's call his bluff, fellows, an'
get over the splash."
"Come ahead!" cried Dick, excitedly.
"Look hyar!" Smull's warlike tone matched his scowling visage. "Mebbe
you fellers is a-sp'ilin' fur trouble, hey? My adwice is: don't start
nuthin', but git back ter that lumber camp whar ye belong."
"Ho, ho!" laughed Jimmy.
"And ye kin ask Cap Slater fur our old jobs."
"'Tain't right ter rile the lads," protested Woodle, earnestly. "Quit
it, Tom Smull."
"I reckon it ain't you as is runnin' me tongue," retorted Smull. "But
fur me an' Griffin, mebbe we uns wouldn't never hev made this strike o'
pay dirt."
A strike of pay dirt!
Then Wanatoma's gold mine was a reality--an actual, tangible thing. Bob
Somers' eyes ran rapidly over the mountain slope on the opposite side
of the torrent.
He saw huge areas of rocks and turf, spotted with scrubby trees and
patched with weeds and grass. Here and there grew prickly pear trees,
their broad, spiked leaves grayed by yellow dust. Above were the pine
forests, and masses of rocks forming great cliffs and precipices, and
rising to a stupendous height the crown of perpetual snow. At the base,
some distance off, were evidences of ancient landslides--gigantic piles
of earth and rocks, with crumbling tree trunks protruding from the mass.
Bob Somers' thoughts were abruptly swung into another channel by a war
of words between Pete Colliver and Conroy.
"What! You dare me to come over, eh?"
"I say ye dasn't!"
"Well, by gum, Wengeance Cauliflower, you an' a gatling gun together
couldn't keep me back."
"Jack--I say, Jack," interposed Bob Somers, hastily, "hold on; no use
in stirring up trouble."
The only answer was a sharp crack of Conroy's quirt.
The sudden leap of his broncho and a loud splash of water set all the
other animals prancing about in the narrow gorge. Jack's trusty little
steed snorted, as the powerful current bore him along; flying spray
soused high above the rider's boots. But Jack, intent upon showing his
courage, steered straight toward a deep cut in the opposite bank.
Fearing that the impetuous lad might involve the crowd in a disturbance
of tremendous proportions, Bob Somers also plunged his broncho into the
stream. Then, one by one, the others followed.
The lumberjacks stood in silence, watching the struggle between the
riders and the seething flood. Presently Jack Conroy's dripping horse
scrambled ashore.
With a yell of defiance, the lad rode through the cleft, soon finding a
place where he was able to ascend.
"Well, here I am, Wengeance!" laughed Jack, making directly toward Pete
Colliver.
Pete took a step forward, and there was a curious look in his eyes, as
though some resolve he had made afforded him immense satisfaction.
"I see ye, big un!"
Smack! Smack! His open palm struck the sorrel on the flank with
terrific force.
The broncho gave a great bound, almost tossing Jack over his head.
Highly indignant, the boy strove desperately to regain control of the
animal, while peals of uproarious laughter came from several of the
lumberjacks.
Boys and men, too occupied to have eyes for anything beyond their
immediate surroundings, failed to observe a horseman emerge from the
timber above and stare earnestly toward them.
As Jack Conroy, fuming with anger, at last managed to drop from the
saddle and rushed toward Pete, Bob Somers whirled his broncho around
and rode between them.
"Hold on, Jack," he pleaded, earnestly. "Stop! Grab him, Dave!"
A hand reached up and gripped his arm. Bob turned quickly, to get a
nearer view than he liked of Tom Smull's features.
As he voiced an emphatic protest, fingers were closed tighter about his
wrist. Then came a sudden, violent jerk which pulled him over sideways.
He was just able to withdraw his feet from the stirrups and swing his
leg over the pommel when the frightened broncho bolted.
By a skilful movement, Bob managed to land on his feet.
"I'll show ye, pard," snarled Tom Smull. "Shoved me inter the squash,
hey? I reckon as how ye won't feel any ter the best when I gits through
with ye."
"Ha, ha, hyar's whar we gits wengeance!" shouted Pete Colliver.
It was a moment of the utmost confusion. Riderless horses were swinging
wildly over the uneven ground, while the indignant boys rushed up from
different points to give aid to Bob and Jack.
A fierce battle was about to be waged, when a clatter of hoofs,
together with a loud yell, caused all eyes to be suddenly turned toward
the mountain slope.
"Hey! Leave them fellers alone, or every hair on yer heads'll git
blowed off!"
Men and boys recognized that gruff voice and the thick-set figure which
sat astride a weary-looking mustang.
"By all that's wonderful; it's old Cap Slater!" yelled Tim Lovell.