TINNY’S SHACK
Without replying, Professor Snodgrass hastily left the car. It then
dawned upon the others that the scientist could not have been speaking
of the bully, for a quick observation did not disclose him. Nor was any
one else nor any car in sight.
But Professor Snodgrass was after something--that was evident. Along
the rough mountain trail he ran, and toward the side of a hill of dirt
and rocks, at the same time crying:
“I saw you! I saw you! I’ll get you!”
Then the boys saw what it was--a rather large-sized toad desperately
hopping along, as if it knew Professor Snodgrass was after it, as,
indeed, the little bald-headed man was.
Into the bushes Uriah Snodgrass disappeared, for thither the toad had
hopped, and the boys could not help smiling, in which silent merriment
Tinny and Cromley joined.
Out came the former Boxwood Hall instructor a few seconds later,
holding in his hand the frightened toad. To the boys it was only a
toad, but to the scientist it meant a great deal, and he was proud of
his prize.
“I haven’t seen one like this for years,” he announced, as he put the
creature into a box. “I thought they had vanished from the United
States, and it would have been a pity. But I am glad to see that
my fears were groundless. Yes, hop away, my fine fellow,” went on
Professor Snodgrass, as the toad tried to get out. “I have you and you
shan’t get away. My friend, Professor Doty, will be greatly surprised
when I write and tell him I have you. This has been a lucky day for me!”
“Well, shall we go on?” asked Tinny, with a smile, as the professor
climbed back into the automobile.
“Yes, I don’t see any more toads like this,” was the answer. “Oh, but
won’t Doty be envious of me!”
Professor Doty was another instructor in Boxwood Hall, somewhat of a
rival of Uriah Snodgrass, and the two were always differing on some
theory or idea, and one was always trying to get ahead of the other in
the matter of capturing rare specimens.
“If we had the two of them along,” whispered Jerry to the mine-owner,
“life wouldn’t be worth living. But with just Professor Snodgrass it’s
great.”
“I like him,” Tinny said. “He’s good fun and a real sport. I’m glad you
brought him.”
The mountain country was very wild, and seemingly almost deserted.
Now and then they would pass another car on the road, the occupant or
occupants of which would call a greeting to Tinny. At times the trail
was so narrow that the mine owner would stop at designated spots, sound
his horn, and wait a moment, listening for an answering blast.
“Two cars can’t pass at some places in the trail, so we have to be
careful,” he explained. “It isn’t any fun backing around the edge of a
cliff.”
But with all this, with the wildness and desolation all about them,
the boys were glad they had come. It was just the sort of activity
they needed after their exciting life in France, a life that had
unfitted them--and many others like them--for settling down to a normal
existence.
“Aren’t there any stores out here?” asked Bob, after a period of
silence, following the passage around one of the narrow spots in the
trail.
“Not many,” Tinny answered. “Why?”
“How do you--how do you get stuff to eat?” Bob brought out the words
desperately. But, to his surprise, neither Ned nor Jerry laughed.
“Well, it is a problem at times,” Tinny admitted. “There aren’t any
farms here where you can get fresh vegetables, though Hang Gow has a
sort of garden.”
“Who’s Hang Gow?” asked Ned.
“My Chinese cook, and a good one he is,” Tinny answered. “What he can’t
do with canned goods isn’t worth doing.”
“Oh, then you get canned stuff?” asked Bob, with a sigh of relief.
“Sure we do! And plenty of it. The supplies come in regularly to
Livingston and we get our share. The Yellowstone Park tourists have to
eat, you know. Uncle Sam sees to that.”
Professor Snodgrass was so busily engaged in making notes about the
rare toad he had captured that he took little part in the talk among
the boys and Mallison. Nor was Bill Cromley much given to conversation.
The miner seemed to be satisfied to sit still and look about on scenes
with which he had been familiar for many years. Every now and then he
would breathe in deeply, as if he could not fill his lungs full enough
of the pure mountain air.
“How much farther to your place, Tinny?” asked Ned, when they had
covered about a score of miles along the trail.
“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes more,” the owner of the Thunder
Mountain mine answered, as he looked at the clock on the dash of his
automobile. “I told Hang Gow to have things ready for us.”
“That’s good!” exclaimed Bob, and he visibly brightened. “You mean
something to eat, don’t you?” he inquired, so as not to labor under a
misapprehension.
“That’s what I mean, Chunky!” laughed Mallison, and the other two lads
joined in the merriment.
It was somewhat less than fifteen minutes when the car rounded a sharp
curve in the cliffs and Tinny pointed ahead and exclaimed:
“There’s my shack!”
The boys saw a good-sized building constructed of slabs and boards
perched on the side of a mountain. It stood out in bold relief in the
midst of a clearing, and all about were trees and bushes.
“You get a fine view from up there, don’t you?” asked Jerry.
“I’ll say so!” was the answer.
Mallison brought the car to a stop near a spring of water bubbling out
beside the road.
“What’s the idea?” asked Bob, who was getting very hungry--unusually
hungry for him, even, as he had not had a chance to put any food in his
pockets on leaving the train.
“Got to stop, cool off the engine a bit, and fill the radiator with
water,” explained Tinny, as he got out and began dipping a can into the
spring. “There’s the stiffest climb of the whole trail between here
and my cabin, and I don’t want to take any chances on spoiling my new
car. Most of the time I have to run in second, and part of the way on
first. Safety first’s my motto!”
The boys subscribed to this and got out to walk around while Tinny
filled the radiator, which had already begun to steam, since he had run
on second some distance before stopping.
Then, when the motor meter showed by the shortness of its red column
that the engine was sufficiently cool, they started again. Tinny had
not exaggerated the stiffness of the trail, and at times the Motor Boys
were given a thrill as they climbed.
But Mallison was a careful and expert driver and there was no real
trouble, though when they at last emerged on a level stretch steam was
again coming from the radiator.
“But she’ll soon cool off now,” said the mine owner. “I can run down to
my shack with the motor cut off,” and this he did.
Mallison gave a shout as he neared the slab shack, a shout which was
answered in a queer, high voice from within.
“That one of your men?” asked Jerry.
“I haven’t any men working for me yet,” Tinny explained. “I’ve been
waiting for you fellows to see if you wanted to help develop my mine.
That was Hang Gow. Hello there?” he shouted once more, as he brought
the car to a stop at the side of the shack. “All aboard, Hang Gow! Got
some hungry chaps here--one especially!” and he looked at Bob.
The boys gave a hasty glance about the shack, noting how well, if
simply, it was constructed. They noted that in the rear a start had
been made on a mining shaft. But just as they had got this far in their
observations there emerged from the open door the figure of a fat,
evidently good-natured, smiling Chinese.
“’Lo, Mist Mallison,” he called, for though he could not manage his
R’s, Hang Gow got around the L very cleverly, hence the name Mallison
offered no difficulties to him.
“Grub ready, Hang Gow?” asked Tinny, as he alighted.
“All leddy,” was the smiling answer. “All sammee got li’l bit mlo chow
him fix up.”
The boys assumed that he meant he had a little more to do in the way of
preparing food before they could come to the table.
“All right,” said Tinny. “But hustle it, Hang Gow. These are my
friends--the Motor Boys, Professor Snodgrass, Mr. Bill Cromley,” and he
waved his hand toward his guests.
“All sammee glad to see Mloto Boys, Plosess Snowglass, Mist Bill
Clommy,” murmured Hang Gow, making fearful hash of the names, but not,
thereby, bringing any smiles of derision from the travelers. They had
heard the Chinese talk before.
“Well, boys, here we are!” said Tinny. “Now I reckon you’ll want to
wash before you eat. We’ve got what passes for a bathroom. It hasn’t
a tiled floor, though I have rigged up a shower out of an old five
gallon kerosene tin. I’ll introduce you to that later. Come on, Hang
Gow--chop-chop! Lively’s the word! Get grub on the table!” he ordered,
as he showed the travelers where they could remove some of the grime
they had accumulated on their trip.
“All lite! Much soon have glub!” replied the Chinese, in his sing-song,
and he disappeared into the kitchen.
Tinny was rapidly escorting his guests about the place, having taken
them outside to show them the wonderful view, when suddenly there came
the sound of a sharp explosion. An instant later this was followed by
the shrill screaming voice of Hang Gow.