SANDY MCKINNON’S EAVESDROPPING.
Taking the absence of Max and Len as a holiday, Sandy locked the tunnel
entrance, pulled the house-door shut (it never had a lock), and started
off on a long tramp up the mountain, within an hour after his partners
left the cabin. He carried his rifle, intent upon both game and glory,
for apart from the desire for fresh venison in the larder, he thought it
would be a fine thing to go back some day to Scotland and tell how,
single-handed, he had met and killed a grizzly bear on some snowy
pinnacle of the wild Sierra San Juan.
He walked far and reached a great elevation. He looked abroad upon
magnificent pictures, shot an elk and some smaller animals, and had a
variety of interesting experiences, though he got no nearer a grizzly
than to catch sight of one on the further side of an impassable chasm.
But these adventures do not come into our story, which was resumed in
his surprising experiences that afternoon.
Turning homeward, when warned to do so by the declining sun, he was
caught in a thunder-shower, which, at the great altitude where it
encountered him, meant a deluge of sleet, hail, and most uncomfortably
cold rain. Drenched, sore and shivering, Sandy made his way as rapidly
as he was able down toward the crest of the cliff under which the cabin
was sheltered. In the foggy condition of the air,--to those in the
valley this fog was a rain-cloud,--and in his weary and half-dazed
state, he passed beyond the point where the faint trail led down the
precipice; but early discovering his error, turned back, creeping slowly
along the brink of the ledge in search of it.
He had scarcely begun the search, however, when he was startled by the
sound of human voices. The first thought was that his partners had come
back. The next instant, however, he perceived that the voices were
strange to him, and with cautious curiosity he crept stealthily to the
bushy brink and peered over the low cliff.
He found himself squarely above the entrance to the Aurora, which was
hardly fifty feet beneath him. Three rough men were standing on the dump
in front of the tunnel, trying to open the door, but it stood firm under
their pulling. They tried some keys, but none would fit the lock, and
Sandy grinned as he thought of something his grandfather used to
say,--“Lock your door that you may keep your neighbor honest.”
“Let’s smash it!” exclaimed the smallest of the three, whom we know to
be Stevens.
At the sound of his voice Sandy pricked up his ears; he was sure it must
be the same man who had spent a night at their cabin a few days before,
and stolen the knife. He could not see their faces, however, because of
his position and their slouched hats.
“No,” objected the tallest, whose voice also seemed vaguely familiar to
the listener--“No, we don’t want ’em to know we’ve been here; leave no
traces to set ’em a-watching. We musn’t disturb nothing, and we must get
out o’ here as soon as we can, so’s not to be caught prospectin’ their
trail. What we want is to surprise ’em some fine mornin’, when they aint
lookin’ for no visitors, drop on ’em like a gobbler on a June-bug. I
reckon there’ll be some regular squealing fun ’bout that time, eh, old
pard!” and Scotty banged the rheumatic back of his squint-eyed companion
in a way that made Bob howl, and did Sandy’s heart good.
“You bet!” echoed Stevens, “and wont there be a racket afterward! I aint
had a real red-hot blow-out in a coon’s age--I say, pard, it’ll be at my
expense, remember, all at my expense. I’ll have the money and I’ll spend
it too, you’ll see!”
“Nae doot,” was Sandy’s inward soliloquy overhead; “but I’m thinkin’
ye’re cawking the claith ere the wab be in the loom.”
“Oh, dry up!” came the gambler’s rejoinder. “You’re a fool! You haven’t
got inside the mine yet. Now, mates, I reckon this is our best lay:
To-day is Wednesday. We need time to get an outfit to live on cached
near here, somewheres, so that after we’ve captured the place we can
hold the fort for a little while, if they should come back at us. You
see we’ve got to give ’em back their grub and furniture, cause if we
take that it’s _stealin’_, and we aint no thieves, leastwise not in this
deal.”
“A liar should hae a gude memory,” thought Sandy.
“And, besides, they could drop on us for that, whereas this is a free
country and we’ve a perfect right to jump a man’s claim--”
“Pervided we kin hold it!” Old Bob interrupted.
“Yes, of course. Well, as I was a-saying, to-day’s Wednesday; and I
reckon Saturday night’s about our figure. We’ll come up here in the
evening, and then along about twelve o’clock we’ll capture this ’ere
mine, and then bounce ’em right out o’ their beds and send ’em down the
cañon. Next day, if they’re civil, we’ll give ’em their blankets and
notice to leave. And if they aint civil--”
The villain paused and glared right and left at his companions, with a
satanic grin on his face. Slowly drawing from the leg of his rust-red
cowhide boot a huge knife, he finished the sentence with slow and
venomous emphasis,--
“We’ll give ’em this!”
After that boodthirsty remark the three conspirators rose from their
seats and scrambled down the farther slope of the dump.
So cold and stiff was the young Highlander with lying in wet clothes
upon the rough rocks, that at first he could hardly travel; but slowly
picking his way down to the cabin he made haste first to build a fire,
and after
[Illustration: “WE’LL GIVE ’EM THIS.”
Silver Caves, Page 98.]
giving himself a brisk rubbing, to put on dry clothing, so that no ill
result ensued.
He did not enjoy that night, alone among those storm-breeding heights,
nearly as much as he had expected to, yet quickly fell asleep, not to
awake until rather late on the following morning.
Hurrying through breakfast, he set off at once down the trail in hope of
meeting Max and Len, for he thought it important to gain every moment
between that and Saturday in the effort to forestall the enemy.
FACING THE NEW SITUATION.