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[Illustration: THEY RODE OVER IN FRONT OF THE CAVE.]
THE MOTOR BOYS ON
THUNDER MOUNTAIN
Or
The Treasure Chest of Blue Rock
BY
CLARENCE YOUNG
AUTHOR OF “THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES,” “THE JACK
RANGER SERIES,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
BOOKS BY CLARENCE YOUNG
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
=THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES=
THE MOTOR BOYS
THE MOTOR BOYS OVERLAND
THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO
THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS
THE MOTOR BOYS AFLOAT
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE ATLANTIC
THE MOTOR BOYS IN STRANGE WATERS
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE PACIFIC
THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE CLOUDS
THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE ROCKIES
THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE OCEAN
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE WING
THE MOTOR BOYS AFTER A FORTUNE
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE BORDER
THE MOTOR BOYS UNDER THE SEA
THE MOTOR BOYS ON ROAD AND RIVER
THE MOTOR BOYS AT BOXWOOD HALL
THE MOTOR BOYS ON A RANCH
THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE ARMY
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE FIRING LINE
THE MOTOR BOYS BOUND FOR HOME
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THUNDER MOUNTAIN
=THE JACK RANGER SERIES=
JACK RANGER’S SCHOOLDAYS
JACK RANGER’S WESTERN TRIP
JACK RANGER’S SCHOOL VICTORIES
JACK RANGER’S OCEAN CRUISE
JACK RANGER’S GUN CLUB
JACK RANGER’S TREASURE BOX
COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THUNDER MOUNTAIN
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. GOLD MINE TALK 1
II. THE END OF EVERYTHING 11
III. NODDY NIXON’S THREAT 22
IV. OVER THE CLIFF 31
V. VAIN REGRETS 38
VI. LAYING A PLOT 49
VII. IN THE BARN 56
VIII. A CRASH 65
IX. THE FAT MAN 74
X. THE SECOND SECTION 83
XI. ON THE TRAIL 92
XII. TINNY’S SHACK 99
XIII. ECHO CANYON 107
XIV. DOWN A HOLE 117
XV. YELLOW EYES 124
XVI. A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE 133
XVII. SEARCHING 142
XVIII. STRANGE NOISES 149
XIX. THE PROFESSOR’S STORY 157
XX. THE POSSE 166
XXI. AN AVALANCHE 171
XXII. IN THE WILDERNESS 180
XXIII. AN ESCAPE 188
XXIV. THUNDER MOUNTAIN 197
XXV. THE STORM 206
XXVI. A BLUE ROCK SLIDE 213
XXVII. IN DIRE PERIL 220
XXVIII. A DISCOVERY 228
XXIX. TO THE RESCUE 234
XXX. PAY DIRT 241
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THUNDER MOUNTAIN
CHAPTER I
GOLD MINE TALK
“What do you think of it, fellows?” asked Jerry Hopkins. The tall lad
ruffled in his hand some sheets of paper covered with typewriting. He
looked closely at his two chums.
“You mean Tinny Mallison’s gold mine proposition?” inquired Ned Slade,
flicking a bit of dust from the trousers of his new suit.
“That’s what I mean,” replied Jerry. “He didn’t say anything else in
his letter worth considering, did he?” and the tall lad again referred
to the screed.
“Except about chicken,” put in the third member of the trio, a stout,
good-natured looking lad with a beaming face.
“Chicken? What do you mean--chicken?” demanded Ned Slade, with just a
slight note of impatience in his voice. Jerry, looking hastily through
the letter, added:
“Tinny didn’t say anything about going into the chicken business, did
he? Not that I remember. Anyhow, he isn’t in a chicken-raising country.
He’s out in the tall timber where the only things they raise are Rocky
Mountain goats. Chickens! How do you get that way, Chunky?”
The fat lad flushed, having drawn this much attention to himself, and,
to justify his remark, he said:
“I didn’t mean it that way. You know, as well as I do, he didn’t
propose to us to go out there to raise _chickens_. We could do that
here at home a lot better.”
“Just what do you mean by harping on fowls?” asked Ned.
“I mean Tinny said in his letter that he was in a restaurant where they
served him roast chicken and mushrooms, and he got to thinking of us
and----”
“You mean he got to thinking of _you_!” and Ned exploded into a laugh,
at which Bob Baker blushed a deeper pink.
“Oh, I see what Chunky means!” chuckled Jerry. “Tinny did speak of
being in a restaurant eating chicken when he found himself remembering
us and the measly feeds we sometimes got in the mustering-out camp.
That’s what caused him to write us about the gold mine.”
“And you can make up your mind that Bob would pick out that part of
the letter first!” exclaimed Ned. “That part about chicken! Did it make
you hungry, Chunky?” he demanded, giving the stout youth a poke in his
well-covered ribs.
“Oh, cut it out!” snapped Bob, with a trace of annoyance on his face.
“I was up early and I didn’t have much breakfast. It’s nearly noon now,
and if you want me to give any serious consideration to this gold mine
proposition I’ve got to eat--that’s all!”
There was such a tone of resolve in the stout lad’s voice, and such an
air of bravado about him, that Ned and Jerry looked at each other in
surprise.
“Well, Bob, if that’s the way you feel about it,” began Ned, “we might
as well----”
“That’s how I feel about it!” cracked out Bob. “I’m hungry--I don’t
care who knows it! Ever since Jerry read that in the letter about Tinny
having such a glorious feed of roast chicken and mushrooms--oh, boy!”
Bob did not go on, but Jerry, looking at his watch, remarked:
“It is almost noon, and I happen to know Bob was up early, for I
telephoned over just before I ate breakfast and they said he’d gone out
in a hurry.”
“I did. And I had nothing for breakfast but some slices of toast, bacon
and eggs, and coffee,” broke in Bob. “No breakfast at all! Had to go
down on an errand in a hurry for dad in the new car, and I stepped on
the gas, let me tell you. Now, what about eating?” he asked eagerly.
“Well, don’t go to sleep, and I’ll go on with my speech of acceptance,”
chuckled Jerry. “I was going to say, why not come to lunch at my house?
Then we can talk over this gold mine dope.”
“Suits me,” said Ned briefly.
“It more than hits me in the right spot,” sighed fat Bob Baker.
“But it’s queer,” murmured Jerry, as he and his chums arose from a
bench where they had been sitting on the edge of Cresville’s only
park--the place designated as a meeting place when Jerry had received a
letter which was destined to play a momentous part in the lives of the
Motor Boys.
“What’s queer?” Ned Slade wanted to know.
“How Bob happened to pick out the three lines in Tinny’s letter that
had to do with eating,” Jerry resumed. “The most unimportant part of
the whole business, and yet Bob spots it like--like----”
“Like a hawk after a chicken,” supplied Ned, when he saw his tall chum
at a loss for a simile.
“Thanks,” murmured Jerry.
“Think you’re a regular moving-picture-art-title writer, don’t you?”
mumbled Bob. “All right--go on--poke all the fun you want. But if you
fellows get out to Thunder Mountain--or whatever the place is--and
starve to death, don’t blame me.”
“We aren’t likely to--not if we die of hunger,” said Ned. “But if we
go, won’t you come with us?”
“I don’t know--maybe.” Bob was not quite restored to his usual
good-natured self after the bantering to which he had been subjected.
“Well, let’s go!” cried Jerry, and the words recalled vividly to the
minds of his chums how often those same words were used when they were
in France during the World War.
“Is that you, Jerry?” called Mrs. Hopkins, when a little later she
heard the tramp of feet in her hall--feet that unconsciously fell into
the swing of a military march.
“Yes, Mother. I’ve brought Ned and Bob home to lunch.”
“That’s nice. I’ll tell Katie to get things ready for you out in the
sun parlor. John is polishing the dining room floor.”
“Anywhere as long as there’s something to eat,” murmured Bob.
And then, a little later, when the Motor Boys were sitting about a
well laden table in the pleasant sun parlor of the Hopkins home, their
discussion turned upon the letter Jerry had received that morning from
Tinnith Mallison, a Westerner, whom they had first met as a congenial
officer in the training camp where the lads were mustered out of Uncle
Sam’s service.
“Just what is his proposition?” asked Bob, who, having the first sharp
edge taken from his appetite, could now give more consideration to
other matters. “I didn’t listen very closely when you first read it,
Jerry.”
“No, I reckon not--chicken and mushrooms,” murmured Ned.
“Shut up!” ordered Bob, but the words were accompanied by a smile which
took all malice from them.
“Well, briefly, Tinny’s proposition is this,” said Jerry, as he took
out the letter again. They had become sufficiently acquainted with Mr.
Mallison to call him by his nickname. “He wants to interest us in an
undeveloped gold mine out West near a place called Thunder Mountain.
Why it has that name, I don’t know. Maybe the Indians called it that.”
“If we go out there we can find out why,” put in Ned.
“Say, are you fellows really seriously considering taking up this
game?” demanded Bob, pausing with a bite of pie half way to his mouth.
And when Bob did any pausing in the process of eating one might safely
conclude that he was vitally interested in the subject under discussion.
“Well, I’m about as green at the gold-mining business as I would be
trying to cut ice with a pair of manicure scissors,” remarked Jerry.
“But, fellows, we’ve just got to do something strenuous! After the
exciting life we lived in France, I just can’t settle down to any
business that we can tackle in this town. And as for going back to
Boxwood Hall----”
“Whew! Don’t speak of it!” cried Ned. “Jerry, I’m with you on that
gold mine proposition,” he continued. “I don’t just sense what it is
all about, but I’ll leave that to you. Anyhow, I can’t stay around
this town much longer. It’s all right in its own way, but it doesn’t
weigh much after what we’ve gone through. Dad wants me to come in the
department store and learn the business from the ground up. But I’m not
ready for that yet. That’s why I want to go West.”
“And I can’t see dad’s proposition to become office boy in the bank and
work my way up to be a cashier,” said Bob. “Of course I’ll go in the
bank some day--but not just yet. I’m for the West.”
“Well, we seem to be pretty much of the same mind about it, and that
sounds good to me,” commented Jerry. “Tinny says he will write us more
particulars if we are interested, and suggests that we let him know at
once.”
“Tell him we are!” exclaimed Ned. “We’ve just got to get into something
that will keep us out in the open air. This gold mine would do it.”
“Whether it had any gold in it or not,” commented Jerry.
“Sure! Say, why don’t you send Tinny a wire, telling him we’re hot on
his trail and ask him to send on more dope.”
“I’ll do it!” decided Jerry.
“Write out the message,” suggested Bob. “Then we’ll go down to the
telegraph office to send it. I’ll get dad’s new car and we’ll try it
out. He told me to run it for a while and remove the kinks.”
“Hurray!” yelled Ned.
“Sounds good to me,” commented Jerry. In fact, ever since he had heard
that Mr. Baker had a new car his hands had been itching to grip the
wheel. Now he might have an opportunity.
“Come on, we’ll get the car,” cried Chunky. “After we leave the message
we’ll go for a ride.”
“It will be like old times,” remarked Ned, for the lads had gained more
than a local reputation by their journeys about the country in motors.
Finishing their lunch, putting away Tinny’s enthralling letter, and
writing the telegram to the Westerner did not take long. A little later
the three youths were walking about and admiring Mr. Baker’s new car.
It was a beauty--no mistake about that.
“How do you think the new four-wheel brakes will work?” asked Jerry,
who knew something about cars. He had one, but not of a late model.
“You’ll soon find out,” remarked Bob. “I’ll let you fellows have a shot
at it. Only remember one thing--don’t shove the brakes on too suddenly,
for they grip twice as quickly as the old kind. Hop in--I’ll be out in
a minute.”
He disappeared into the house on the run, while Ned and Jerry took
their places on the front seat. Did any one ever see three lads ride
anywhere but on the front seat of an auto, no matter how small?
“It’ll be a tight fit with Chunky in,” remarked Ned, looking at the
space behind the wheel.
“Do him good to squeeze him,” chuckled Jerry. “Here he comes.”
Bob did not complain of the small space left for him at the wheel, but
climbed in and the three lads were soon riding down the main street of
Cresville, their home town.
The message was sent, and then Bob headed the car for the open
country. They were bowling along, the fat lad having given several
demonstrations of how to apply the new brakes, when he took one hand
from the steering wheel and began fishing in his pocket.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jerry.
Bob did not answer, but pulled out a doughnut and began munching on it.
“Well, for the love of pepsin!” cried Ned. “If you aren’t----”
He never finished the sentence, for just then the car rounded a curve
in the road and Jerry, pointing ahead, cried:
“Look! There’s a house on fire!”
In pointing he jarred Bob’s hand just as the latter was raising the
doughnut for another bite.
“It sure is a fire!” shouted Ned.
“Ug! Ow! Huh! Huh! Heck!” coughed and spluttered Bob.
“What’s the matter?” cried Jerry.
“You--er--guk--made me swallow that--dough--nut the--heck--wrong way!”
gasped Bob. “Ugh!”
He pushed suddenly on the brake pedal and the car came to such an
abrupt stop that he and his companions nearly went through the
windshield as the auto halted within a short distance of the blazing
farmhouse from which came frantic cries for help.