THE ATTACK ON THE RANCHO.
JULIAN was not long in discovering the cause of his brother’s
excitement. It was a white horse which was moving along the mountain
path a short distance in advance. He ran heavily as if almost ready to
drop with fatigue, and carried on his back a man dressed in Mexican
costume. The horse was Bob, and his rider was Pedro.
A race ensued at once. Bob was as fleet as the wind, but he was wearied
with his night’s travel, and the pursuers, mounted on their fresh
horses and led by Silas Roper, who coiled up his lasso as he went,
gained rapidly. The white horse disappeared in a thickly wooded ravine;
but Silas and his party soon came up with him standing motionless in
the path, and Pedro was seen darting into the bushes which lined the
base of the cliff. An order to halt, followed by the whistle of a lasso
and the ominous click of three revolver locks, brought him to the
path again, where he stood holding his hands above his head in token
of surrender. Silas and Romez dismounted, bound the prisoner hand and
foot, and after concealing him behind a log that lay at the base of the
cliff, the party resumed its journey as if nothing had happened, Fred
leading the white horse. As this incident had been confidently looked
for, it brought no comments from any one except White-horse Fred, who
said, as he resumed his place by his brother’s side:
“If Pedro had had half the sense I have given him credit for, he would
have known that an iron nag couldn’t stand sixty miles in a full gallop
over such roads as these. I hope Bob will recover a little of his wind
before we reach Hale’s, for I want to use him then. When we caught
sight of Pedro,” he added, “I was about to remark that I had finished
what I had to say, and would listen to you. Now, tell me all about
yourself. I know you have seen some exciting times.”
Julian’s story was quite as interesting to Fred as the latter’s story
had been to Julian. It took him fully half an hour to complete it,
and by that time they were in the vicinity of Hale’s rancho. When
they reached the chasm which had been such a terror to Julian, they
dismounted, and after a short consultation had been held, and Fred had
exchanged his red shirt and coarse trowsers for his brother’s natty
Mexican suit, he placed himself at the head of the party, and conducted
them on foot to Major Mortimer’s prison. As noiselessly as spirits they
approached the building and drew up around the door. Not a whisper was
uttered, for their plans had been thoroughly discussed, and each one
knew just what he was expected to do.
Having seen his companions stationed to his satisfaction, Fred crept
back along the path again, and disappeared in the darkness. He was
gone nearly half an hour, and then the sound of horse’s hoofs on the
hard path told his impatient friends that he was returning. Louder
and louder grew the clatter of the hoofs, and presently Julian knew
that it had been heard by the robbers, for there was a movement in the
cabin, and a small window beside the door, close under the eaves, was
slowly and cautiously opened. In a few seconds the horse and his rider
appeared dodging about among the thick bushes that grew on each side of
the path, and drew up before the door. Fred’s whistle met with a prompt
response.
“Ay! ay!” exclaimed the man at the window. “What’s the matter now?
Anything wrong?”
“I should say there was,” replied Fred in a voice that trembled with
excitement. “The soldiers have sprung a trap and caught every soul of
us in it except the captain and me. There isn’t a gentleman of the road
left down our way—not one.”
The robber expressed his surprise at this piece of news by a volley of
oaths and exclamations that made Julian wonder.
He opened the slide of a dark lantern, and allowing its rays to shine
out of the window upon the young horseman, said:
“How can that be possible? Things were all right this morning—the
captain said so.”
“Well, if you could see him now he would tell you that things are all
wrong,” replied Fred.
“Where is he?”
“He is hiding at Smirker’s. He sent me down here with a note,” replied
White-horse Fred, showing the letter that Julian had received from his
father. “It’s an order, and an important one, too, I guess, for he told
me to give it into the hands of no one but Joe Hale.”
“Now I’ll be blessed if there isn’t something mighty queer about all
this,” said the robber after a little reflection. “You had better come
in and give an account of yourself.”
“I am perfectly willing to do that. Open the door, and be quick about
it too, for I am in a hurry to get through here. I tell you I am not
going to stay in this country after what I have seen. I am off for
’Frisco this very night.”
The robber was in no hurry to open the door. He thrust his lantern out
of the window and took a good look at White-horse Fred and the animal
on which he was mounted; but he could see nothing wrong about them.
The horse, which was covered with foam, stood with his head down and
his sides heaving plainly, very nearly exhausted. A single glance at
him and at his rider’s pale face was enough to satisfy the robber that
there was more truth in the boy’s story than he had at first believed.
“I guess you _have_ seen some strange things, Fred,” said he. “You’re
as white as a sheet.”
The boy had nothing to say in reply, but told himself that any one
would have shown some nervousness in his circumstances. His father’s
life depended upon the movements of that man who was leaning out of the
window talking to him. If he opened the door all might be well; but if
he carried on all the conversation through the window, and kept the
door closed, their expedition would end in failure, and Major Mortimer
would be a doomed man. It was no wonder that Fred’s face was pale.
The appearance of the horse and his rider went a long way toward
allaying the robber’s suspicions; but ever on the lookout for
treachery, he thought it best to examine the ground in front of the
rancho before opening the door. He thrust his head and shoulders out of
the window and held his lantern down beside the wall. There was some
one there, but the robber was not allowed time to see who it was.
Silas Roper was crouching close beside the door, directly under the
window, and he knew by the sudden gleam of surprise and intelligence
which shot across the man’s face that he had been discovered. Fred knew
it too, and gave up all hope; but not so Silas. He was fully equal to
the emergency. Crouching lower, for an instant, like a tiger gathering
himself for a spring, he bounded into the air with the quickness of
thought, and seizing the robber, pulled him bodily from the window to
the ground, stifling his cry for help by a strong grasp on his throat.
“Never mind us,” whispered the trapper, as his companions sprung
forward to assist in securing the prisoner. “I’ll take care of this
fellow, an’ do you open that door while you’ve got the chance.”
Julian saw the necessity of prompt action, and so did Romez.
White-horse Fred had told his companions that there was but one man on
guard at a time at Hale’s rancho, and now that he had been secured, the
next thing was to make good their entry into the building before the
other robbers were aroused.
Romez took his stand under the window, and Julian, mounting upon his
shoulders, dropped down on the inside of the stable. The locks and
bolts with which the door was secured were quickly but noiselessly
undone, and Silas and his two companions rushed in and followed Julian,
who, with his revolver in one hand and the lantern in the other, led
the way to the living-room.
Hale and his companion were found fast asleep on the benches, and were
pounced upon and secured by Silas and Romez before they had time to
think of their weapons, which were lying close at hand.
White-horse Fred, having seized an ax as he passed through the stable,
kept close behind his brother, who led him straight to his father’s
prison.
“This is the door!” cried Julian, scarcely able to speak, so great was
his excitement and delight—“down with it! Come here, Mexican!” he
added, leveling his revolver at the cook, who, having been aroused by
the noise, at that moment came out of the kitchen; “you’re a prisoner.”
If the man was too sleepy to comprehend the fact just then, he became
fully sensible of it a few seconds later, for Silas and Romez came
bounding through the hall and seized and tied him in the twinkling of
an eye.
Fred, meanwhile, was showering furious blows upon the door, and when
he had loosened the hinges, Silas placed his broad back against it and
with one push sent it flying into the middle of the room. Fred and
Julian rushed into the apartment side by side, expecting to find their
father waiting with open arms to receive them, but stopped suddenly and
recoiled with horror before the sight that met their gaze.
The major was sitting limp and motionless in his chair, his chin
resting on his breast, and his hands—which had been relieved of the
irons, probably to allow him to retire to rest—hanging by his side.
His face was paler now than when Julian saw it a few hours before, and
at the sight of it he cried out in dismay that they had come too late.
“No, we hain’t nuther!” exclaimed Silas, raising the insensible form
of his beloved commander tenderly in his arms. “Thar ain’t nothing the
matter with him—all he wants is air.”
Silas carried the major into the living-room and laid him upon a pile
of blankets which Fred and Julian had spread upon the floor. There
he left him to the care of the boys while he and Romez proceeded to
complete the work that had been so well begun. Their first care was
to ransack the building and satisfy themselves that no one else was
confined there, and their second to dispose of their prisoners so that
they could be found again when wanted. They could not take the robbers
with them when they returned to the valley, for they had other work
to do, and must ride rapidly. It would not be safe to leave them in
the rancho, for they might be discovered and released by some of their
friends. They must be gagged to insure their silence, and hidden away
in the woods where no one would ever think of looking for them.
When they returned to the living-room after performing their work, they
found the major standing erect and holding his boys clasped in his
arms. Rough men that they were, they were touched by the sight. They
remained respectfully apart, watching the happy group and listening
to their conversation, now and then glancing at one another, and
drawing their hands hastily across their eyes; but when they went up to
greet the major they were the every-day Silas and Romez, as calm and
indifferent, apparently, as they had been a few moments before while
dealing with the horse-thieves.
Romez took off his sombrero, and said, “How do!” in his imperfect
English, while Silas gave the major a military salute, and informed him
that he was powerful glad to feel his grip once more. The emotion was
all exhibited by the rescued man, who clung to the faithful fellows who
had labored so long and perseveringly for his release as if he never
wanted to let them go again.
The major’s unexpected restoration to his family and to liberty had a
wonderful effect upon him. His buoyancy of spirits, his strength and
energy, returned at once; and during the ride homeward, he led the way
at such a rate of speed that continued conversation was quite out
of the question. He rode the bay horse which Julian had brought from
Smirker’s cabin, and which the boy regarded as his own special charge.
He knew where the animal came from, and he hoped at no distant day to
be able to restore him to his rightful owner.
After crossing the valley the party made a wide circuit through the
mountains on the opposite side, arriving just at daylight in front of a
small cabin. The door was forced without ceremony, and one of the two
men who were surprised in their beds was secured before he was fairly
awake. The new prisoner was Richard Cordova, and his companion, who
armed himself and joined the major’s party, was Ithuriel, his servant.
In a little less than five hours Silas and his three companions had
ridden more than fifty miles over rough mountain roads, captured eight
desperate fellows, and that, too, without having once been called upon
to use any weapon more formidable than the ax, with which White-horse
Fred had cut down the door of his father’s prison. When Julian thought
of it, he told himself that the trapper was indeed a man of action.
The major and his party rode at once to the fort, and his appearance
there among the officers, with several of whom he had once been
intimately acquainted, produced a great commotion. The commander
listened in amazement to his story, and acting upon the information
which Silas was able to give him, at once dispatched his cavalry to the
mountains in pursuit of the robbers who were yet at large. The history
of the wrongs of the major and his family spread like wild-fire, and
everybody who heard it was astonished and enraged. The trappers about
the fort, and the sutlers and miners flew to arms to assist in hunting
down the outlaws, and during the week following Julian and his brother
found ample opportunity to gratify their love of excitement. The
avengers did their work quickly and well, and the summary manner in
which the captured desperadoes were disposed of served as a warning to
other lawless spirits in that section for all time to come.
At the end of a fortnight the fighting was all over, the excitement
had somewhat abated, the settlers and miners had resumed their various
avocations, and the major and his boys were once more in peaceable
possession of their home, which soon began to wear its old familiar
look again. The high stone wall which surrounded the rancho was leveled
to the ground, and flowers planted where it stood. The officers of the
fort visited there regularly as of old, and the rooms which had so long
been silent and deserted echoed to the sound of laughter and music.
Everybody looked upon Fred and his brother as heroes. The almost
inexhaustible fund of stories the former had collected during his
connection with the robber band, as well as the adventures he met with
while in the performance of his perilous duties, were listened to
with interest by all the visitors at the rancho, and none were more
delighted with them than the officers who tried so hard to capture him.
He and his brother for a few weeks led a life of quiet ease, for the
keen and rational enjoyment of which they had been fully prepared by
their recent perils and excitements. The time never hung heavily on
their hands. They had much to talk about, and when weary of fighting
their battles over again, there were their horses, hounds, guns and
fishing-rods always at their command. We might relate many interesting
incidents that happened in that valley before the boys bade good-by to
their father and their mountain home to become students in an Eastern
academy, but “A Brave Boy’s Struggles for Home and Fortune” are ended,
and our story must end with them.
The few who had remained faithful to their employer during his exile
were not forgotten. The major and his boys showed them every kindness
and attention in their power, and among all those who had claims upon
their gratitude and esteem none commanded a larger share than Silas
Roper, the guide.
AN IDEA AND A FORTUNE.
BY OWEN HACKET.
WITH their backs toward Placer Notch two young men of about twenty-one,
burdened with prospectors’ kits, came silently down the trail. The
well-worn way ran beside the murky stream that for the twenty-five
years had run through the sluices of the Placer Notch Mining Company’s
claim, which, singularly, included in their four acres the only paying
claims that had ever been staked in McGowan’s Pass.
As the young prospectors neared Sol Brunt’s supply depot at the foot of
the pass, the latter broke the silence and said moodily:
“I wish I had known three months ago as much as I know now.”
“Three months ago, Tom, we both knew what we had to expect; that was
all talked over.”
“Well, it’s one thing to see hardship and failure at a distance, but
it’s another thing to go through them. I didn’t know then, as I do now,
what real hardship was. I thought I did. Handy man on a farm seemed
about as near slavery as we could find in a free country.”
“Our experience is not unusual, Tom. We may succeed yet—we may not. I
am going to stick it out another month and so are you——”
“I’m not so sure of that,” interrupted Tom.
“Yes you will, if I know you, Tom, and I guess I do. You like to have
your little growl now and then, and I’m glad you do; it makes me argue
on the bright side, and to see the pleasant features and the hopeful
prospects.”
“It’s a pity hopes don’t sell in the market, Phil; you’d be pretty well
off if they did.”
“Come, now! none of your sarcasm, old man. I tell you we are going to
stick this for a month yet. We have no money, it is true; but we can
work our way, and we are free and are seeing the world. That beats
eighteen hours a day on farm work.”
The trail here ran close to the edge of the stream and about a foot
above it. Phil Gormley the hopeful, happened to step on a loose stone;
it gave way and down went his right leg into the water.
“I like that!” he exclaimed in vexation, as he pulled his foot out
with much difficulty. He regarded his shoe with surprise on seeing it
covered to the top with soft mud. He sat down on a log and squeezed the
water out of his trousers leg, gazing all the while at the muddy shoe
in a reverie that attracted Tom Danvers’ attention.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I was trying to account for such deep mud in the bed of a mountain
stream. I am certain this mud is the year’s deposit of the dirt that
is separated from the gold in the sluices above at Placer Notch.”
“Well, what of it?”
“It simply flashes across me that this silt must be very rich in the
waste gold that is washed out with the dirt from the sluices.”
“Are you thinking of staking out a mud claim?”
“Not quite as bad as that. A man might scoop mud out and wash it till
doomsday without getting enough to keep his pipe alight from year to
year. But just fancy how many millions must have passed down this
stream! You heard what the miner said up in the Notch—twenty per cent
of the gold product was washed away from the sluices. If they have
panned out fifty million dollars there, that would make ten million
swept away into the big river below, with more constantly going the
same way.”
“That’s all very well in theory, but what does it amount to any way? We
can’t get hold of any of these millions.”
“No, of course not. But this I do believe: if any one could afford to
turn this stream into a reservoir and wait ten years he would have
enough gold silt to tackle in a wholesale sort of way that would pay.
It would be only a question of devising a cheap system of washing the
silt from the gold more thoroughly than they do at the mines. I’d take
the contract to invent the process, too. But come! We won’t waste any
more time over it. No one is going to wait ten years to get his good
money back.”
They took up their journey again, and had not walked five minutes when
a turn in the trail and the stream brought them in sight of the tidy
establishment of Sol Brunt. Sol was one of those who came into the
hills with the rush when gold was discovered, but had seen fit to find
his fortune in trade while others tramped the hills for paying claims.
Those who thus went into business invariably had a sure fortune before
them. Sol’s place had grown up from a shanty store to a tidy house
that in time had received additions, making it a very considerable
establishment. The trail had been much used in the past, but besides
what he made out of the casual traffic over it, he supplied all the
Placer Notch wants by contract, and turned a pretty penny out of it,
too.
No man had ever come into sight of Sol Brunt’s while the sun was up and
failed to find the Star Spangled Banner flying at the staff head.
Sol’s tidy wife came out to meet the boys, closely followed by the
trader himself.
Phil was spokesman.
“Mr. Brunt this is my partner, Tom Danvers; my name is Phil Gormley.
We’ve been in the hills three months and haven’t found a grain, but we
don’t give up just yet. We have no money between us, but we have been
hoping you could give us enough work this week to pay for board and
lodging and some stores to give us a lift to the next range.”
“Well, boys, I’m right glad to see you,” said Sol, and Mrs. Brunt
looked at them with pitying eyes. “As to the lodging and the things,
I’ll just take verbal acknowledgement of the debt when you leave. Young
fellows who talk as you do usually get along and pay their debts too.
As to the work, I want a little help on my hay this week, and I don’t
mind reducing your little bill in that way.”
“Just the thing for us,” exclaimed Tom Danvers. “You’ll find we’re
experts in that line.”
“So much the better then, my boy,” responded their genial host.
The shadows were falling in the valley as the sun sank behind the
mountain tops, and Mrs. Brunt went inside. Her reappearance was
heralded by savory odors from the kitchen, and after a refreshing
splash in cool water from a mountain rill the boys sat down with their
hosts to a bountiful supper. Then chairs were brought to the doorway,
where in the gloom they watched the rising and falling light of Sol’s
pipe while he spun countless yarns of mining life which were, in truth,
largely interspersed with mining death, mostly tragic in character.
Before bidding the boys good night, Sol delicately offered to give them
some advice, which the boys eagerly accepted.
“I like pluck,” said Sol, “and I don’t want to discourage it; but I do
hate to see it turned into an empty sluice. You’ve prospected all over
the pass here and found nothing. Thousands have done the same before
you. What is true of Placer Notch is pretty generally true of all the
hills. In the early days the country swarmed with men, and almost every
acre was gone over many times. What wasn’t found is not worth looking
for. I don’t say the richest pay dirt ever discovered may not yet be
turned up, but to waste your best years on a gamble is not the thing
for boys with grit in them. Go into some business; it will pay you
better if you have to start on three dollars a week; with a head and a
backbone you may get to be of some account in a line where every minute
sees something to be accomplished.”
As the boys were preparing for bed, Tom remarked:
“It looks like prospectors without a prospect.”
“What Mr. Brunt said as to our chances is probably true, judging from
our experience so far; but I wish to prove it to my own satisfaction
before I accept it,” replied Phil. “Whatever my judgment may tell me,
I can’t help feeling that there is rich pay earth _somewhere_ in the
hills.”
“Well, I think you’d better stop right here and tackle the mud yonder.”
“Perhaps I will when the month is up,” replied Phil good-naturedly.
“Good night!”
* * * * *
“Good morning, Mrs. Brunt! We’ve had a splendid sleep and are ready to
pitch in with the pitchfork,” exclaimed Phil the next morning when the
boys came downstairs bright and early.
“I’m glad to hear it,” responded Mrs. Brunt heartily. “You’ve been
sleeping on the best mattress within fifty miles, and that accounts for
it. Perhaps you’d like to look around a little before breakfast. You’ll
find Mr. Brunt milking the cow down by the pond. Just follow the trail
and you’ll find him.”
The boys gladly acted on the suggestion, and sauntered over a rustic
bridge that spanned the stream. The trail led them into a thick grove
of firs filled with the murmurs of the babbling waters, which here
flowed over a sharp descent. A sudden turn in the path brought them to
the edge of the grove where a splendid prospect burst upon their view.
One feature of it made Phil Gormley stop and clutch Tom by the arm!
The mountain pass widened suddenly at this point in the form of a
semicircle on each side, while a quarter of a mile away the flanking
mountains swept so close together again that there was only a very
narrow outlet between two opposing spurs. A great basin was thus
formed of over a quarter of a mile across—how deep, they could not
tell, because a great sheet of still water filled the hollow. Beyond,
from spur to spur, ran a chain of spile heads, which showed that
man, not nature, had made this lake. Over the dam the water lazily
trickled, forming the continuation of the stream they had followed from
Placer Notch. It was not necessary for Tom to ask the cause of Phil’s
agitation. Their conversation of the day before had flashed across him
as the artificial lake burst into view. Just below them was Sol, seated
on a rock and milking his single cow, in a strip of meadow that fringed
the sheet of water.
Phil’s face was flushed and his eyes were very bright, but he made a
visible effort to calm himself as he approached.
The boys and their host passed cordial morning greetings, and then Phil
said carelessly:
“Such a fine sheet of water is something of a surprise in such a spot.
Did you build the dam, Mr. Brunt?”
“Not I,” replied the storekeeper. “There’s a story to that. They say a
mining inspector named John Martin, who took in Placer Notch on his
circuit twenty-five years ago, saw this hollow when he first passed by
and got the idea into his head that if he could trap the muddy water
that ran off from the sluices and thus collect the tailings, in the
course of time the mass of mud in the bottom would pan out rich from
the gold that was constantly going to waste. He located this place in
the land office, and had the dam built. Before he could take title
he disappeared while on his rounds, and was never again heard of. I
finally got the title myself, for it struck me that perhaps some day if
the country around here grew up and there was any use for it, I could
use the pond for water power: or I could drain it off and plant on the
bottom, which ought to be the richest kind of soil. There’s thirty feet
of mud on that bottom, I calculate.”
“He must have had a tremendous job to build a dam that would make a
pond over thirty feet deep,” commented Tom.
“No; it wasn’t such a big job. Luck was with him and started the work.
Just before Martin began, a landslide filled up the narrow space
between the two mountains where they come together. You can see this
from the other side of the dam. There wasn’t much left to be done; he
drove some logs and did some filling in; the stream gradually filled up
the hollow, and when the water rose as high as the dam it began to run
off down the pass just as it used to, leaving a deposit on the bottom
of the basin that has been rising ever since.”
“But, Mr. Brunt,” asked Phil indifferently, “haven’t you ever thought
of following up the inspector’s idea of separating the gold that is in
the bottom?”
“I can’t say I have—not seriously. There must be a great deal of the
dust there, but the proportion is so small that I guess it wouldn’t be
worth while to waste any money on such a scheme.”
Hearing this, Tom cast a sly glance at Phil as if to say, “What did _I_
tell you?” but he saw that Phil was driving at something and he had
sense enough to say nothing.
The milking was done, and they all went back to breakfast, where they
were met by Mrs. Brunt, whose round face was all aglow from the labors
of cooking. Then they went down to the strip of meadow again and made
an onslaught on the hay-field, in which Tom, who tackled that part not
yet mowed, cut such a swath as made old Sol stare. They finished early
in the day, and as they turned back to the store the owner surveyed the
stack he and Phil had built with the greatest satisfaction imaginable,
remarking that the two had accomplished in less than a day what would
have taken him the best part of a week.
Phil had indeed worked hard during the day; he had thought hard also.
Ideas had been chasing through his head in numbers. How rich in gold
was the deposit? How could he test it? How could it be separated in
bulk at a cost low enough to pay? Ah, that was the vital question of
the whole matter! And yet if that were solved other questions would
follow. How to promote or float the scheme? Whom to apply to? How to
proportion the profits? Yes, Phil had been thinking very hard, indeed,
and thinking to such purpose as to be fully prepared to talk to the
point. The subject of the pay bottom was not referred to again during
the day; but when they had taken their places in the doorway, as on
the previous evening, while the merry rattle of the plates and the
“clink” of the knives and forks and spoons betokened dish washing in
the kitchen, Phil began to speak his little piece.
“I want to talk to you seriously, Mr. Brunt, about a matter that I have
had in mind since yesterday. As we came down from the Notch I noticed
the muddy bed of the stream, and remarked to Tom here, that I believed
if that sediment could be coraled there would be money in it. I found
this morning that another great mind—and Phil laughed at his own
conceit—had run in the same channel, and had built twenty-five years
ago what I had proposed yesterday as a good thing.
“Now, Mr. Brunt, if I can show you that your idle pond is exceedingly
valuable in gold, I want to know if you will share equally with me any
profits that I may show you the way to get out of it?”
Sol chuckled good-naturedly, but incredulously, and said:
“Aye, aye, my boy! You can have half the profits and more too.”
“It is agreed seriously?” persisted Phil.
“All right, my boy—only understand I put up no money.”
“That leads me right to the next point. Providing, as before, I could
prove value here, a third man or syndicate, or something meaning
capital, would have to be brought in. Speaking in a general way, will
you agree to give the use of this bottom and your adjoining land
on a basis of, say, one-third of the profits to each of the three
concerned—you, for your mine; myself, for the process I _know_ I can
invent, and the third man for his money to float the enterprise.”
Phil was conscious all the while that he was furnishing Mr. Brunt with
more amusement than matter for earnest thought, but having obtained a
really serious promise of the donation of land on the basis referred
to—always providing of course, it could be proved by actual test that
the gold could be separated at a profit—Phil took Sol inside, where
in the lamplight he told all his ideas and schemes, his theory of the
separating process and a score of other points, while Tom could only
stare open mouthed and wonder where his chum had learned all this about
stock companies and spiral wheels and hydraulics.
By-and-by the dubious smile vanished from the face of Sol Brunt,
and he not only listened seriously and admiringly to Phil, but also
supplemented his proposals with suggestions, corrections and advice
that his mature experience stamped as very valuable. But Sol’s part in
the discussion was taken only on the hypothesis that the twenty per
cent of waste gold that was doubtless in the silt could be got at, and
it was arranged that the next day a test should begin by hand. If the
test panned out, machinery would step in and do in one hour what manual
labor would take days to accomplish; and, as Phil shrewdly pointed
out, one of Sol’s own original ideas would supply by natural means one
of the necessities for the mechanical process—power—which otherwise
would be a huge item of running expenses.
Accordingly, next morning the boys sallied out, accompanied by Sol,
to overlook their operations. They carried with them a barrel, buckets
to carry the silt and a scale to weigh it. They set up a barrel and
half filled it with water, then into it they dumped several bucketfuls
of silt. With staves they stirred the mixture so violently that each
particle of fine silt must have been separated from the others. When
at last they stopped they were dripping with perspiration. They gave
the muddy water a few minutes to partly settle and allow the grains of
gold, if any there were, to make their way to the bottom of the barrel;
then by tipping the barrel carefully the water was drained off, leaving
only a few inches of residue at the bottom of which was a thin layer of
mud—and gold?—that was the question. It was not time to answer yet.
In went half a barrelful of water and more buckets of silt. This was
agitated as before and the water again drawn off.
When this had been repeated several times it was noticed that the layer
of mud on the bottom was a foot deep. Thereupon two washings of this
were had in the same way without adding new silt, until the deposit at
the bottom had been partly drained off. Then more silt was stirred in,
and so they labored nearly all day, until Sol called time, saying there
was no use of wearing themselves out.
The next day the work was continued until afternoon when they had at
the bottom of the barrel the residue of about two hundred and fifty
pounds of silt; in this residue, only some six inches thick, was to
be found nearly every grain of gold that the successive lots of silt
had contained. It was time for the test. They broke the barrel, and
carefully scraped and washed every grain of the muddy residue into
the largest porcelain basin that Sol’s store contained, and in this
more limited way made many successive washings until at last at the
bottom of the white basin there gleamed nothing but a fine golden
sand sparking in the sunlight. There _was_ gold in the mud, that was
certain. How much and in what proportion was the next question? They
thoroughly dried the golden sediment and called Sol’s fine apothecary’s
scales into requisition. The dust weighed just five penny-weights.
Phil had no sooner ascertained the weight than he began figuring
excitedly on a scrap of paper. This is what he was figuring on: “A
layer of mud, quarter mile square and average thickness of thirty
feet—how many tons of silt are there?”
His recollection of tables of weights and measures was perfect and he
could therefore calculate this approximately, as can any schoolboy.
He figured about three hundred and sixty thousand tons. Then he
calculated: “Five penny-weights of gold to about two hundred and fifty
pounds of silt, makes, say forty dollars per ton and——”
“Mr. Brunt,” said Phil, looking up and with difficulty restraining
his excitement, “I figure there is at this moment in that pond nearly
FIFTEEN MILLION DOLLARS’ worth of dust!”
* * * * *
Months had passed; Phil and Tom had come to Cheyenne City with a
letter from Sol Brunt to the president of the Placer Notch Mining
Company—Mr. Van Amrandt—introducing Phil’s scheme and authorizing
Phil to represent him in the preliminary discussion of the whole matter.
Phil had impressed Mr. Van Amrandt most favorably as a young man whose
youthful enthusiasm was held in check by a thoughtfulness and judgment
beyond his years. But time had passed; the president had been very busy
with other matters, or there had always been some other reason to keep
things at a stand-still for a long while. Finally the president went so
far as to have the superintendent of the “P. N.” mine go down to Sol’s
place and assay a quantity of the silt. Phil and Tom had been enabled
to bide a winter’s delay as far as actual needs went, through the
kindness of the president who had given them both subordinate clerical
positions in the company’s office; there Phil was looked upon rather
suspiciously by his fellow clerks as a sort of upstart who, by some
hook or crook, could procure long interviews with the president and
engineer, and come out of their respective offices looking as if he had
been discussing questions of tremendous importance, as, in fact, he had.
One afternoon in March the door of Mr. Van Amrandt’s private office
opened and the president himself stood on the threshold with a paper in
his hand.
“I say, Gormley, come here, will you?” and he retired again to his desk.
Phil rose and entered the private room.
“Shut the door and sit down. I have here the report of Jasper who has
been assaying up at Brunt’s “duck pond.” He reports forty-one dollars
to the ton—a little better than your own estimate.”
Phil’s heart beat away at a tremendous rate all this while, and when
the result of the assay was announced it seemed to stop altogether. The
president continued in a most matter-of-fact tone:
“I have just told the engineer to go over those plans of yours which he
has approved in a general way and, in connection with yourself, perfect
the details of your device.”
Phil seemed to hear this from a great distance, and Mr. Van Amrandt
seemed to be far off and in a sort of mist. He could not move or speak
or even think—he could only comprehend the joyful news.
“By the time the designs are perfected I shall have procured the
necessary appropriation from the directors for the machinery. They
have terrible tales to tell of the weather up in the Notch it seems,
Gormley; only last week there was a heavy fall of snow which the
superintendent says is swelling the streams greatly as it melts. To
return to the subject, though, I have just sent Jasper’s messenger
back with a message to Brunt, asking him to come into town to sign a
conveyance of his claim to the company; then we will issue the new
stock to Brunt and yourself on the basis we spoke of last month.”
By this time Phil had regained his self-possession. He rose and began:
“Mr. Van Amrandt, I thank you very——” when the door opened and Sol
Brunt appeared on the threshold. He advanced dejectedly and said:
“The dam burst yesterday! Twenty streams from the sides of the hollow
are tearing into the basin, and what silt is left by to-morrow I will
sell you for a ten dollar note!”
The clerks outside were startled by the sound of a heavy fall.
Phil Gormley had given way under the blow.
* * * * *
A fortune lost! you will say. Yes; part of the fourteen millions was
washed away, part was covered by the debris of land slides which the
unusual freshet of that spring caused. What remained amounted to
nothing in comparison. That was five years ago. The Placer Notch Mining
Company has been reorganized since—just a few weeks ago, in fact, and
this whole matter was only brought back to my mind at this time by the
receipt of a letter from a friend of mine, who announced that he has
just been put in on the reorganization as secretary of the company. I
refer, of course, to Phil Gormley. He lost his lucky fortune, but he is
working out a better one, because it is coming slowly and with honest
difficulty. But it was his idea of working the “duck pond” that planted
this slow-growing tree of fortune, for it was that which took him to
the company’s office.
Out here on my quiet farm I do not hear many echoes from the busy
outside world, but none could give me greater pleasure than does such
news of my dear friend Phil—for I am no other than Doubting Thomas
Danvers.
THE GRANTHAM DIAMONDS
BY RUSSELL STOCKTON.
HOW it did snow, to be sure! The flakes, and very small ones they were,
came down in slanting drives or bewildering spirals, to be taken up
again from the earth in fierce gusts and whisked along in blinding
drifts.
John, the austere-looking butler, was putting the finishing touches on
a tempting spread in the dining-room of the Grantham mansion. There was
a salad and a dish of nuts; there was a generous plate of cake and a
heaping pile of gorgeous red apples; but it would never do not to have
something hot on such a cold night as this, so, alongside of a silver
chafing dish was a fine English cheese and two eggs, which of course
meant rarebits, and a tea urn with six dainty and varied tea cups and
saucers, which of course meant girls.
The antique hall clock blinked like an old man at the dancing flames
in the great fire-place and slowly sounded eight o’clock. Almost at
once there came the merry jingle of sleigh bells, then a few shrill
shrieks, a ring, and then a fierce stamping of small feet on the
veranda.
Almost before John’s dignity could carry him to the hall door, Miss
Maud Grantham ran swiftly down the stairs, followed, partly on the
stairs, but mainly on the bannisters, by little Bobbie Grantham. Four
rosy and very pretty faces came in with the snow gust at the door;
there was much embracing and such a chattering, Maud failed to get a
word in edgeways, and so resorted to the exorcism of holding aloft the
yellow sheet of paper she held in her hand so that every eye could see
it. The effect was instantaneous: a hush fell on the quartet at the
sight of that dreadful messenger—a telegram.
“Now don’t be afraid, girls! It’s nothing very terrible,” and she
handed the sheet to Sadie Stillwell, who read aloud:
“HUDSON, N. Y., Nov. 28, 1891.
“To C. V. Grantham, Yonkers, N. Y.—Train stalled. Don’t expect us
till morning.
WES.”
If the girls looked relieved for a moment they certainly showed regret
the next, especially Minnie Trumbull; but she said nothing. Ella
Bromley, on the contrary, exclaimed in great vexation:
“What a shame! For two whole days I’ve been promising myself _such_ a
time teasing that scamp Dick almost to death. I think it’s too bad.”
“Never mind,” replied Sadie; “you will have four days in which to work
out your horrible purpose. Why, is not slow torture better than killing
him off in one night?”
“Why, girls! How can you stand there joking,” spoke up Grace Waldron,
“while those poor boys are slowly freezing to death in the middle of a
snow bank?”
“Nonsense!” replied Maud. “Where there’s a telegraph office there must
be a station and a stove. It is too bad, indeed, that Wes and Dick must
miss the little surprise party. But come along! I’ve done everything to
help out for a jolly time. There’s the supper—I’ve had that all fixed,
and I’ve told John we wouldn’t want him, so he’s gone off to bed, I
suppose. Then mamma and papa have gone to the Bruces’ _musicale_, so
there isn’t a soul in the house to disturb. Isn’t that just delightful?”
With a deafening din of joyous exclamations they followed Maud Grantham
into the music room, and there all the evening they played games,
and gossiped, and danced and sang, totally unsuspicious of the grave
proceedings that were taking place within sound of their voices.
While this festive event was in progress Wesley and Richard Grantham,
the sons of a wealthy New York banker, were really speeding on toward
their home by the Eastern express. About four o’clock in the afternoon
they had run into a snow drift just after drawing away from the station
at Hudson. Things had looked for a time as if they were to be held in
that town over night: so, when the train had backed to the station
they had sent the telegram to their father. But when they saw a crowd
of laborers file off with spades and shovels toward the deep drift,
they had followed and watched the work, done in the faint light of
many lamps; and they had of course chafed and grumbled, as well they
might at being delayed on the eve of a school holiday and almost at
the threshold of their luxurious home, quite oblivious of the fortunate
outcome of the delay.
The fierce winds that had swept the drift in place had helped to clear
it away, and by six o’clock, when it had long been dark, the laborers
had shoveled it nearly all off. The train moved out and plunged into
the shallow layer of snow that remained, sweeping it up into the air in
great feathery plumes, and the obstruction was vanquished.
“See that group, Dick! What a picture! Did you notice the beautiful
effect of the tiny lights on the snow and how weird those grim
Italians——”
“How about a good hot cup of coffee and the burning logs in the
fireplace—there’s a picture for you!” scoffed young Dick, who had not
yet cultivated that eye for the picturesque that his elder brother
affected, and little more was said during the remainder of the ride.
It was about ten o’clock when they slowed up at Yonkers. The boys
tumbled out of the train and halted to turn up coat collars and pull
mufflers more closely around their throats.
“Not a carriage in sight? Well, I like this! It would seem as if
everything was contriving to keep us away from home on the eve of
Thanksgiving,” growled Dick.
“We can certainly appreciate our good home all the more. Perhaps we can
give thanks more heartily for it to-morrow.”
“Oh, bother!” was Dick’s reply. He was an impatient youth, certainly.
“Who’d expect a fellow to feel thankful when he had to climb a little
St. Bernard in a storm like this. Here goes for footing it, if you’re
ready!”
They grasped their traps and plunged into the inky darkness, and in a
moment were at the foot of the steep hill. The wind was cutting and the
snow blinding. Even if they had not kept their heads well down against
the blast they could not have seen an arm’s length before them—only a
dimly white sheet under their feet.
Dick, plunging ahead knee deep in the snow suddenly felt a terrific
shock; for an instant he knew nothing; then he came to the realization
that he was lying on his back in a snow bank with Wesley bending close
over him and calling his name anxiously. He sat upright at once and
confusedly asked:
“What was that, Wes? I did not see a thing.”
“It seemed to be a man running down the hill. After he collided with
you he just brushed me. Look! there he is now!”
Wes was pointing toward the station, where the train, for some reason
delayed, was just beginning to move out. What Wes saw through the
falling snow was the figure of a tall man dash into the circle of the
station’s dim light and leap on the platform of the last car, just
passing away. It all occurred in an instant and Dick looked too late to
see the hurrying figure.
“Did you recognize him, Wes?”
“No, of course not. The snow blurs everything at such a distance.”
“Worse luck! I wish he’d missed that train. I’d go right back and
interview him—yes I would! I think I’m hurt, Wes; that fellow’s elbow
or shoulder struck me over the eye.”
“Just a moment and I will light one of those fusees. It is fortunate
I bought them from that ragged Italian—nothing else would hold an
instant in this gale.”
After some fumbling in pockets with gloved hands the box of vesuvians
was found. Wesley struck one and by its sputtering light examined as
best he could Dick’s eye. There was only a slight abrasion, apparently,
but as Dick complained of a smarting in the eyeball a handkerchief was
tied over the injured orb.
“Now how are we ever to find our traps? They must have gone in every
direction. Oh, I’d just like to——” Dick shook his fist at the
darkness in the direction of the departed train and then began to tramp
around in the snow to find his things. First, Wesley put his foot into
Dick’s hat which had rolled some distance off; then Dick kicked his
bundle of canes and umbrellas and, lastly, he tumbled flat over his
large hand satchel. He felt around it and then broke out again:
“I _am_ a stupid. I never strapped this confounded bag in the car and
the lock has slipped. The thing is perfectly empty, Wes!”
“Let us see what we can do with the aid of these fusees, Dick. They are
a good example of ‘bread upon the waters,’ aren’t they.”
“Hang it! I’m thinking of bread in a better place just now. Come! give
me some of those things, too. If we don’t get along soon I shall freeze
stiff.”
They burned one after another of the vesuvians and gathered up all
sorts of miscellaneous things in the way of clothing and boxes and
little packages and what not, and at last they concluded it was useless
to look further, as every inch of ground had been gone over for quite
some distance. The things were jammed in pell mell and the bag was
strapped this time: then they again began the ascent, cold to their
very bones.
It was a toilsome tramp up the hill in knee-deep snow, with sometimes
a soft drift into which the travelers would plunge and flounder around
till they could finally extricate themselves. But at last the warm
lights of the brilliantly illuminated mansions on the Crescent began to
light the way and cheer them on, and, in a very few minutes the great
Grantham house came into sight, all dark excepting the music room.
There the windows were a blaze of light, and, when the boys reached the
terrace, the sound of a piano almost drowned in girlish laughter, vied
with the whistling and wheezing of the wind.
“Methinks there is a ‘sound of revelry by night,’” quoted Dick. “Wonder
what’s up.”
The boys tiptoed along the veranda and peeped in on the bright scene.
“Great Scott, Wes! you’re in luck; there’s Minnie Trumbull at the
piano,” and he nudged his elder brother in a knowing way; for Minnie,
be it known, was a rather serious girl who read deep books, painted in
water colors and played the piano brilliantly, and it was toward her
that Wes usually gravitated when he was at home.
“I am very sorry for you, Dick, for I see Ella Bromley there, dancing
with our sister, and I know you are in for a quarrel;” at which Dick
looked a little conscious, for when Dick was at home he wanted nothing
better than to quarrel with Ella, just for the pleasure of making up.
At this moment a shrill shriek pierced the air. One of the girls had
discovered two faces glaring in at the window: one had a bandaged eye
and “Tramps!” was the idea that for an instant filled every mind. But
the boys pressed their faces closer to the glass; there was a general
recognition and an impetuous rush to the hall door.
Handshaking, questioning, explanation, a great pulling off of coats
helped by willing hands—such a hearty welcome home made up for all
their trials and misfortunes on the way.
“Maud, if you’ll ring for John to carry these things upstairs, Dick
and I will go to _our_ rooms for a few minutes to get into presentable
shape,” said Wes.
“I’m sorry, boys, but you’ll have to carry the things yourself, for I
sent all the servants off to bed hours ago.”
“Well! it seems we’ve got another climb, after all, Wes,” and the boys
disappeared above.
Just as every one was sitting down to the supper table Mr. and Mrs.
Grantham came in and another round of loving greeting ensued. When
the parents retired upstairs the fun around the supper-table became
furious. At its height Mr. Grantham came to the threshold of the room
and said:
“Boys, I shall have to take you away for a few minutes.”
The words were said pleasantly enough, but Sadie was sensitive enough
to notice something in her father’s tone that placed her in dread. She
followed the boys and asked fearfully:
“What is the matter, father—something, I know!”
“Simply this: there has been a cunning thief in the house, and he
seems to have taken off some of your mother’s jewels. Don’t alarm your
friends, but let them go as soon as they wish to.”
When the trio reached Mrs. Grantham’s bed-room a glance showed that
something strange had been going on. The drawers of the bureau had
been pulled out and rummaged; the escritoire had been treated in the
same way. The shelves of the closets showed signs of confusion, and
finally a cedar chest had been pried open. In this the robber had found
Mrs. Grantham’s jewel case. Singularly enough he had left some of its
contents behind, but he had taken the priceless necklace of large
diamonds, the great solitaire earrings and two costly finger rings.
“Dick go up to John’s room and ask him to dress and step down here,”
directed the master.
Dick departed, to return in a moment with the exciting news that John
was not in his room and his bed was quite undisturbed. It was one of
the butler’s nights on duty! Sadie, who arrived a few minutes later,
having dismissed her friends, was sent to interrogate each of the
female servants. They had seen nothing of the butler. Some of them had
heard him go downstairs about nine o’clock, come back and go down again
about ten: but they had thought nothing of that.
“Everything points to John Simmons as the thief,” said Mr. Grantham.
“But it is so difficult to realize a common burglar in this man, so
dignified, so steady, so——”
“Wesley Grantham! didn’t you get some idea of that brute who ran over
me?” interrupted Dick excitedly.
“No; only that he was very tall—just as John was. It is likely, I
think, that it was he who was in such a hurry to catch the train for
New York.”
“Your eye seems to be very much inflamed, Richard,” said Mr. Grantham.
“Go to your room and bathe it and then go right to bed. Wesley and I
will go into the library and write out a description of this fellow
to send to the chief of police early in the morning. Go now, my boy;
nothing further can be done to-night.”
Young Dick departed and Wesley sat down to write out a minute pen
picture of John Simmons, butler. If their sight could have pierced
the wall they would have seen Dick unpacking the disorderly hand
satchel that had been burst open on the road. They would have seen him
arranging its contents in and on his bureau. Among these things were
several small boxes—one for his scarf pins and trinkets, another for
his engraved cards, and so on. But one that came to his hands seemed to
interest him particularly: the others he had indifferently put in their
proper places—this one, about four inches long by three wide, covered
with ivory white enameled paper, he examined thoughtfully, opened
and——
“Are you quite through with your description of the thief?” asked Dick
at the doorway. There was a singular gleam in his eyes, and he seemed
to labor under some suppressed excitement.
“All but the eyes. We can’t seem to decide whether they were gray or
blue.”
“The person who has those jewels has dark brown eyes—almost black,”
answered Dick.
“Why, my son, what a poor memory you have! John was fair and
florid—the English complexion, with fairly light eyes. But put it down
gray. It really doesn’t——”
“But it is not John who has those diamonds,” insisted Dick. He would
have liked to keep his discovery back longer to puzzle his auditors,
but he simply couldn’t. He stepped to the library table, and, taking
a hand from behind his back, placed a white enameled jeweler’s box on
the cloth in the fierce glare of the lamp. His father looking at him in
surprise, said under his breath.
“What can be the matter with the boy?”
Wesley mechanically opened the box and both he and his father jumped to
their feet in surprise, for the sharp gleam of many diamonds dazzled
their eyes!
Mr. Grantham reached for the little box and pulled out, first, a
necklace of twelve large pendant diamonds; to this hung one big
solitaire diamond earring; the other lay in the box, and with it were a
cluster diamond ring and another of rubies, sapphires and diamonds.
“I do not understand,” said Mr. Grantham uncertainly; even the man of
affairs was dazed by the sudden and peculiar entrance of these gems,
supposed to be in the pocket of a thief in New York City.
“I guess you’re surprised. Fancy how I felt when I found them in my
satchel.”
“Your satchel? Who could have put them there!”
“I myself. This is the only explanation I can think of. It must have
been the thief—John, supposedly—who was rushing to catch the train.
Perhaps he saw the gleam of the head-light up the road from one of the
upper windows. He may have bundled on his wraps, thrust the box into
his overcoat pocket or somewhere and started out to sprint for the
train.
“When he struck my manly form the shock that heeled me over must have
knocked this box out of his pocket or wherever it was, and I gathered
it in with the things spilled out of my bag in the snow.”
“I think you have found the solution Dick. Your injured eye is not a
_very_ large price for sixteen thousand dollars worth of gems,” was the
comment of Wes.
“Wonderful! wonderful!” exclaimed Mr. Grantham. “I must go at once and
tell your mother. She is quite prostrated at this loss.” He started
off, but Dick stopped him by calling:
“Father! What reward did I hear you say you had offered for the finding
of these shiners?”
“Ha! ha!” laughed the banker. “I don’t think you heard me state the
figure, Dick. But didn’t you say something about a sloop yacht the
other day—eh?”
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
—Obvious errors were corrected.
—A Table of Contents was not in the original work; one has been
produced and added by the transcriber.