[Illustration:
“LANDED WITH BOTH KNEES UPON THE MIDDLE OF OUR JAILER’S
BACK.” _Frontispiece._
(See page 208.)]
THE TREASURE OF
MUSHROOM ROCK
A STORY OF PROSPECTING IN THE
ROCKY MOUNTAINS
BY
SIDFORD F. HAMP
ILLUSTRATED
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1899
BY
SIDFORD F. HAMP
Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I--MOSELEY’S 1
II--THE FLIGHT 19
III--A FALSE START 40
IV--THE MAN WITH THE SQUEAKY VOICE 60
V--JACK; AND WHAT HE HAD TO SAY 77
VI--TWO OLD ACQUAINTANCES 96
VII--INTO THE WILDERNESS 113
VIII--A QUEER COUNTRY 131
IX--SQUEAKY SCORES ONE 151
X--THE VALLEY OF THE MUSHROOM ROCK 174
XI--A COUNTER-STROKE 194
XII--A GOOD RIDDANCE 211
XIII--THE CLEANING OF THE POT-HOLES 230
XIV--HIGH TIME TO LEAVE 248
XV--A WAY OUT 274
XVI--ALL ACCOUNTS SQUARED 294
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“LANDED WITH BOTH KNEES UPON THE MIDDLE OF OUR
JAILER’S BACK” _Frontispiece_
“I WAVED THE LIGHT TO AND FRO IN FRONT OF ME” 70
“HE LOOKED DOWN UPON THE TWO UNSUSPECTING CAMPERS” 107
“DROP THAT!” 164
“OUT CAME A LITTLE PATCH OF YELLOW GOLD.” 247
“IT WAS WITH A FEELING OF AWE THAT WE GATHERED
AROUND THE DEAD MAN” 312
[Illustration]
THE TREASURE OF MUSHROOM ROCK
CHAPTER I
MOSELEY’S
One windy night in April, some five-and-twenty years ago, the young
moon, peeping now and then between the scudding wisps of cloud, seemed
to be maintaining a careful watch upon a little incident which was
taking place outside the windows of Moseley’s school--a large brick
building standing in a walled enclosure.
Save for the roaring of the wind in the elm-trees, no sound was to
be heard until, presently, the clock in the old church-tower struck
eleven. As if the striking of the hour had been a signal, a boy
suddenly appeared, stepping softly from the shadow of the enclosure
wall. Picking up a small pebble, he cast it up at one of the windows.
The window opened immediately and a second boy appeared. The one below
gave two clicks with his tongue; whereupon the boy above let fall from
the window a white bundle, which, instead of dropping upon the ground,
unfolded itself and hung suspended. In the half-darkness the object
looked very like two sheets knotted together to form a rope. That it
was indeed intended to serve as a rope became at once evident, for
the second boy, getting astride of the window-ledge, seized the sheet
with one hand, and letting go his hold of the ledge came squirming and
twisting down to the ground.
Having paused for an instant to listen, the two boys tiptoed away and
were presently lost in the shadow. A moment later they reappeared on
the top of the wall, dropped upon the outer side, stood still again for
an instant to listen and peer about, and then, seemingly satisfied that
there was nobody moving, they turned their faces southward and went
running, _pit-pat_, down the white chalk road until they vanished among
the trees at the bottom of the hill.
How it came about that Percy Goodall, an American boy, and I, Tom
Swayne, an English boy, were running away together that windy night in
April from Moseley’s school in the south of England, what led to our
flight, and what came of it, form the subjects of the tale I have set
out to chronicle; having been urged to undertake the task by Percy’s
father and mine, and by our kind old friend, Sir Anthony Ringwood.
Percy’s father was the American Consul at one of the large seaport
towns on the English Channel. His duties, of course, obliged him to
live on the spot, but thinking that a smoky town, swarming with rough
sailors of all nations and with many undesirable characters, was not
the best place for a boy, he cast about for a good school to which he
might send his son. After many and careful inquiries he settled upon
Moseley’s, and accordingly, at the end of one Christmas holidays, Percy
being then fourteen years old, his father took him up there and left
him, a forlorn little scrap of humanity, alone in a land of strangers.
He was not alone for long, however, nor did he long continue to feel
like a stranger, for on the following day we boys all came trooping
back to school. There were about sixty of us, varying in ages from
nine to nineteen. Most of us boarded in the houses of the different
masters, but a few were day-boys, whose homes were in the village. Of
these, I, Tom Swayne, the vicar’s son, was one.
As soon as it was discovered that there was a new boy, and that boy an
American, Percy became a centre of attraction to the whole school. None
of us had ever seen an American before, and we therefore inspected the
newcomer with great interest. We found a sturdy, active, bright-eyed
youngster, who, instead of being arrayed, as we had half expected, in
striped trousers, a star-spangled coat, and a “chimney-pot” hat with
the fur all turned the wrong way, was clothed like any of ourselves.
In fact, except for the mispronunciation--as it seemed to us--of a few
words, we could not see wherein an American differed from anybody else.
Percy and I very soon became friends. We had our desks next to each
other in school, and we were put into the same class, occupying at
first the two bottom places; an arrangement, however, which did not
last very long, for Percy, as soon as he “got the hang of things,” to
use his own expression, began to move up in the class, leaving me to
occupy my accustomed place at the bottom by myself. He was quick at
learning Latin and Greek; whereas I never could do anything in the
classical languages--and unfortunately for me Latin and Greek formed
the backbone of our studies at Moseley’s.
But though in the matter of scholarship there was a good deal of
difference between Percy and me, that fact did not prevent us from
becoming the best of friends; for in most other respects there were
many points of resemblance between us. We were both fond of all
kinds of athletic exercise, and both were good at any game requiring
strength and agility. Many a time did the spirit of adventure get us
into scrapes with Sir Anthony Ringwood’s keepers; many an exploring
expedition did we make together, far out upon Salisbury Plain in one
direction, and down to the New Forest in the other; and, to be honest,
I fear I must admit that when any particularly ingenious piece of
mischief was reported to old Moseley, the Head-master, it was pretty
sure to have been Percy who had thought of it, and the pair of us who
had taken the lead in carrying it out.
Of all the attractive places in the neighbourhood, however, the one
to which we most resorted was Hengist’s Castle, a handsome old ruin
standing on a small elevation about a mile from Moseley’s; and there is
one incident connected with our explorations of this ancient edifice
which is so closely associated with our subsequent adventures that I
must not pass it over in silence.
My father and mother took a great liking for my American chum--they
admired his brightness and his transparent honesty--and both of them,
my mother especially, to make him feel that though a stranger in the
land he was not exactly a foreigner, as a French boy would have been,
made him welcome to the vicarage whenever he chose to come, and as we
were always together, that was pretty often. On one of these occasions,
a wet Saturday afternoon, Percy, poking about among the neglected
volumes on the top shelves of the library, came upon a musty old
leather-bound history of Hengist’s Castle. Among the many anecdotes
scattered through this book there was one in particular which attracted
his attention. It told how, “once upon a time,” a certain Sir Gregory
Powlett had taken refuge in the castle; how he was at supper in the
dining-hall one evening, when there came a clank of mailed feet and
a thundering at the door, and the soldiers of that vengeful tyrant,
Richard III., had burst upon the scene; and how Sir Gregory had but
time to fly to the fireplace, whence, though there was a fire burning
at the time, he had succeeded in gaining the secret passage.
This story set Percy thinking. If there had been a secret passage
in the days of Richard III., why should it not be there yet? He
communicated his idea to me, and we determined to set about a
systematic search for it. From the diagrams and pictures with which the
history was embellished we made out the situation of the dining-hall
and the fireplace, and one half-holiday, without a word of our
intention to anybody, we commenced our exploration.
Of the original walls of the dining-hall there was but one left
standing; the others had been knocked to pieces by Cromwell’s men. This
wall abutted against the ancient Keep, a square tower of considerable
altitude, and was itself some seven feet thick and thirty feet high;
covered, in many places to the top, with a heavy mat of ivy. In the
thickness of the wall the chimney was built, a shaft five feet square
at the bottom, but diminishing in size a short distance from the
ground to one half those dimensions.
Standing in the fireplace, Percy and I peered about for an opening
somewhere, but could see none. There was no stone panel working on a
hinge, which was what we had rather expected to find, nor anything in
the nature of steps by which we might climb the chimney. Overhead all
was dark, for the shaft, besides contracting suddenly, had in it a bend
which prevented us from seeing out at the top.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Percy: “we must get upon the top of the wall
somehow and look down. I expect we can climb up by the ivy.”
The ivy outside was probably older than that inside the hall; at any
rate it was thicker and reached higher. We therefore went outside,
and choosing a spot where the mass of leaves was at least three feet
in thickness and the stem of the plant about six inches in diameter,
we went scrambling to the top and then made our way along the uneven
surface of the broken wall until we came to the hole we were seeking,
which we found to be level with the top of the wall and half concealed
by the ivy.
Apparently we were no better off than before, however. We could see
nothing, and we were afraid to attempt the descent of the inside of the
chimney, for a fall to the bottom would pretty certainly result in some
broken bones, to say nothing of a broken neck.
“Look here, Percy,” said I, “let us go back to the vicarage and bring
up a rope--there is one in the gardener’s tool-house, I know--and then
we will fasten it to something and climb down the chimney.”
This suggestion met with Percy’s approval; and in half an hour we were
back again, rope in hand.
“Do you think you can hold it, Tom, while I go down?” asked Percy.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “The rope is rather small, and it might slip
through my hands. If we can take a turn with it round something I could
hold it then.”
After a short search we found, some distance below the top of the wall,
a dressed stone imbedded in the masonry and projecting about eighteen
inches into the dining-hall. What it was there for we did not know, nor
did we care, so long as it would serve our purpose. After one or two
casts I succeeded in looping the rope under the stone, when, firmly
holding one end, I sat down on the edge of the chimney With my feet
braced against the other side and gave the word to Percy to descend.
Having the rope to hold by, Percy found no difficulty in scrambling
down the dark hole until his feet came against the uppermost of three
little ledges built in the sloping wall of the chimney. Securing a firm
foothold, he took from his pocket a fragment of candle, lighted it,
and commenced spying up and down for an opening. None was to be seen;
three of the walls, at any rate, were solid. He turned round on the
ledge. There, close against his face, was a dark passage about two feet
square, so cleverly placed in the overhanging wall as to be invisible
either from above or below.
“Tom!” My name came booming up the chimney.
“Hallo!” I shouted in reply.
“I’ve found it!”
“Found what? The passage?”
“Yes. Right here. Can you see the candle?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, it is right in front of me; but it is as dark as pitch inside.
Wait a moment; I will reach in as far as I can and see if I can see
anything.”
He did so; and immediately, fluff!--out went the candle, and I heard
him exclaim, “Hi! B-rrr! Get out!”
“What is it?” I shouted.
“Bats. A dozen of them. They flew right into my face.”
“I say, Percy,” I called down to him, “can you stand without the rope?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, then, let go. I’m going to tie the two ends together and come
down too.”
This was soon done, and down I went, my knees braced against one side
of the chimney and my shoulders against the other. Standing upon the
top ledge, while Percy stood upon the lowest one, I lit my candle--for
we had “annexed” a couple of candle-ends when we went down for the rope.
“That’s the passage, all right,” said I. “But how did that old buffer
in the history-book ever get up to it? Ah, I see. Look here--come up a
step. Do you see this big iron staple with three rusty links of chain
attached to it? The chain must have hung down into the fireplace once,
so that an active fellow might pull himself up by it and draw it up
after him. But I suppose the rain, running down the chimney for two
hundred years, has rusted it all away. These links look pretty rotten
themselves.”
They were, indeed, pretty rotten; for, as I spoke, I picked up one of
them and broke it to pieces with my finger and thumb quite easily. The
staple itself, however, being thicker, and being placed farther inside
the passage, was still perfectly sound.
“Come on,” said Percy. “Let us crawl down the passage and see where it
leads to.”
After crawling for a short distance we found that the roof of the
passage rose sufficiently to enable us to stand upright, and directly
afterwards we came upon a flight of stone stairs ascending into the
darkness. Up these we went, ten steps, emerging presently through a
square hole into a little room, in which were a small fireplace and a
window, the latter covered with ivy. Looking through this window we
could see the school and the village, and we guessed at once that the
room was built in the wall of the Keep, which we knew to be immensely
thick.
As may be supposed, we were highly jubilant over our discovery.
We decided at once that we would keep our secret to ourselves, if
possible; that the room should be our own private den, to which
nobody, on any pretence whatever, should be admitted.
The first thing to be done was to provide some ready means of access to
the passage, and this we accomplished before the day was out.
Procuring from the village blacksmith a stout iron bar, we laid it
across one corner of the chimney-top in receptacles made for the
purpose by prying up some of the stones, and having reset the stones as
well as we could, the first part of our task was completed. The next
thing was to attach to the bar one half of the rope, which I had begged
from my father, and after tying a short, stout piece of wood every two
feet of its length, to drop it down the chimney. The other half of the
rope we tied in like manner to the big staple in the entrance of the
passage, and as it reached to within seven feet of the hearthstone we
were able to go up or down as we liked. There was little chance that
anybody would discover the end of the rope in the chimney, for, though
the boys were in the habit of playing hide-and-seek about the castle,
they were all aware that there was nowhere to hide in the fireplace,
while the occasional tourist was unlikely to go in there at all.
As our den contained a fireplace of its own, and as the weather
was chilly, for it was just after the Christmas holidays,--Percy’s
second Christmas at the school,--it naturally occurred to us that
we ought to have a supply of fire-wood. But fire-wood is a scarce
article in England, and we were obliged to search the hedge-rows and
spinneys for a long distance around for dead sticks ere we could
collect a sufficient supply. With infinite labour we succeeded in
getting together about a cart-load, which we hoisted in small bundles
up the chimney and carried to the den; and then, of course, we must
straightway light a fire to test the drawing qualities of our fireplace.
We had been standing by the fire, warming ourselves, for a quarter
of an hour, or so, when Percy, happening to look out of the window,
exclaimed:
“Why! What is the matter down in the village? The whole population
seems to be coming up here.”
“It’s the smoke!” I cried. “It’s the smoke pouring out of the top of
the Keep. They are coming up to see what is the cause of it. We must
hurry out and pull up our ropes; they might find them.”
Back we went in great haste; detached the ropes and pulled them up;
drew the ivy over the iron bar, and scrambled down the wall. Then,
Percy taking one of the ropes and I the other, we wound them round
and round our bodies and buttoned our coats over them. They made us
look absurdly fat, but that could not be helped. Then we ran round the
bottom of the hill and joined the procession of villagers from behind.
It was not surprising that their attention had been attracted. We had
built a roaring fire in the hope of taking the chill out of the walls
of the den, and some of the wood being rather damp, an immense volume
of smoke was rolling away from the summit of the old tower.
The men and boys, including Percy and myself, at once dispersed all
over the castle in search of the fire; every spot, likely or unlikely,
was inspected, without result, and presently everybody congregated
again at the base of the Keep, whence the mysterious smoke was still
pouring in clouds, to discuss the meaning of this wonderful phenomenon.
Percy and I were in perfect ecstasies of delight as we listened to the
varied opinions of the astonished villagers; it was with the greatest
difficulty we could restrain our laughter.
“Do’ee know what ’tis makes thicky smo-ak?” said one old fellow in a
smock-frock. “’Tis my opinion it be gho-asts.”
“Or witches,” added another, turning pale at his own idea.
Everybody shook his head and looked serious; for the farm-labourer
of the south of England firmly believed in witches at that time--and
probably he does so still, for he is of a slow-moving race.
One man, however, a big young fellow in a velveteen coat, scouted the
idea. He was one of Sir Anthony Ringwood’s keepers.
“Witches and ghosts!” he exclaimed, scornfully. “’Tain’t neither one
nor t’other; ’tis poachers, that’s what ’tis. They’ve bin and found
some room in the castle as nobody knows on, and ’tis them as is making
this’ere smoke.”
But this very reasonable idea of our friend in velveteen was received
with equal scorn by the others. They preferred the witch theory. I
have no doubt but that every single one of them took care to stop up
his keyhole that night, in case one of the witches, offended at this
officious prying into her affairs, should think fit to pay him a visit.
Having concluded their fruitless search, the party returned to their
homes; while Percy and I, readjusting the ropes, went back to the
den, where we spent the rest of the afternoon sitting by the fire and
chuckling over the mystification of the villagers.
But though the villagers had no trouble in deciding that the
supernatural smoke was due to the agency of witchcraft, Sir Anthony
was by no means so easily satisfied. The old Baronet was the largest
landowner and chief magnate of the neighbourhood. He had been a
great sportsman in his day, having shot buffaloes on the plains of
America and tigers in the Indian jungles, and though he was now too
old for such enterprises, he was still as keen as ever with his gun,
and preserved the game upon his large estates with great strictness.
Poachers were the bane of his existence; and his declaration that he
would prosecute to the utmost extent of the law anyone found infringing
upon his game-rights was well known to us and to everybody else in the
village.
The poachers happened to be particularly active at this time, and
the young keeper’s theory that some of that troublesome fraternity
had discovered a secret chamber in the castle found favour with the
better-educated people of the neighbourhood; Sir Anthony in particular
was convinced of its correctness. In consequence, he ordered a strict
examination of the old ruin to be made under the direction of the
head-keeper, a very intelligent man; but Percy and I, getting wind
of his intention, removed the telltale ropes, and as the ivy was not
strong enough to bear the weight of a grown man, none of the keepers
could get upon the top of the wall, and our secret therefore remained a
secret, its value being only enhanced by the wonder which the mystery
excited in the whole community.
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