OFF FOR THE MINES.
“What grand scenery this is!”
It was Oliver who uttered the exclamation. He rode beside Mr. Whyland,
while Gus Gregory was directly behind. Cottle, the guide, was but a
short distance ahead.
For six hours the little party had been journeying directly for the
mountains far back of Sacramento City. The road for the present was a
well-defined one, but Cottle said that before sundown it would become
little better than a wagon-track.
“It will be as nice a road as any one wants to travel in a few years, I
take it,” he added; “but I remember the time when there wasn’t even a
respectable wagon-track. Times change rapidly out here.”
“One would hardly think that a handful of years ago this was little
more than a wilderness,” said Mr. Whyland; “yet such is a fact. The
earlier gold-hunters were indeed pioneers.”
“I wish I had been one of them,” put in Gus. “What excitement it must
have been, expecting that every day would bring fortune!”
“It was exciting; but many a man would have done better to have
remained at home.”
“You’re right there,” said Cottle. “I knew men that got reckless in
the fever and never amounted to shucks after they came away. I’ve had
my fill of it; and if I had my life to lead over again I think I would
steer clear of prospecting.”
The three were now on good terms with the guide. They found him a
rather peculiar individual, but thoroughly honest and obliging. He
spent most of the day in describing the country through which they were
passing, and Oliver never tired of listening to his words.
Yet the boy’s mind was busy with other things. In what condition would
they find the Aurora mine? and what would Colonel Mendix say when they
appeared so unexpectedly upon the scene?
He could well imagine the Spaniard’s surprise. No doubt the man would
do all in his power to ward off their advances. He might even deny all
their rights to the mine. A man who had acted as the colonel had would
not hesitate at anything.
Towards sundown they made camp in a little grove of trees to one side
of the road. To Oliver and Gus the proceedings were novel, for in all
their lives they had never passed a night in the open.
The mules were tethered a short distance away, a fire was started, a
pot of water was set boiling for the purpose of making coffee, and from
out of the various packs the boys and Mr. Whyland took such articles as
they wished for the evening meal.
“To-morrow we will be getting more into a game country,” said Cottle,
as they sat down to eat, “and then maybe I’ll show you one or two good
things to shoot. Can any of you handle a rifle?”
“I can shoot some,” replied Gus.
“I have often gone gunning in the woods back of Rockvale,” replied
Oliver; “but I never tried my hand at any big game.”
“We had better leave the big game alone,” laughed Cottle. “As I
understand it we are not on a hunting tour, and it would take too much
time.”
“You are right,” said Mr. Whyland with a smile; “we are after game of a
different sort.”
There was a general laugh, and then Gus observed,――
“But I would like to have a shy at a bear or something.”
“Better leave bears alone,” put in Cottle with a shudder. “I went after
one once and it nearly cost me my life.”
By the time the meal was finished the sun had set, and then it grew
dark rapidly; while the dew became so heavy that Oliver wrapped a
blanket about him to keep out the cold, and they all gathered together
under a big tree.
Cottle arranged a temporary tent by throwing a double blanket over one
of the lower boughs of the tree. He said this would be ample shelter
so long as it did not rain. Then some dry boughs were strewn upon the
ground, and he invited all hands to turn in as soon as it pleased them
to do so.
It may well be imagined that Oliver slept but little that night. The
novelty of the situation, as well as the strange sounds around him,
kept him awake until far into the small hours of the morning. He was
the first up, and by the time Cottle and the others had their eyes
open, he had the fire started and the water in place.
“I’m as stiff as a starched collar,” groaned Gus as he arose; “if it’s
all the same, I’ll sleep in a bed to-night.”
“You won’t see a bed for several weeks I’m afraid,” laughed Mr.
Whyland; “that is, unless you want to turn back.”
“Turn back? Not much! I think this is a jolly good lark!” And that was
the end of Gus’s grumbling.
They were soon on their way. As Cottle had said, the road now became
little more than a wagon-track, crossed and recrossed in many places.
“It is lucky Cottle is along,” said Mr. Whyland to Oliver, as they
dropped a bit behind. “We could never find the right track by
ourselves. To me half a dozen appear to be the right ones.”
“That is so,” returned the boy. “It isn’t like a city with a signboard
at every corner. One could get completely lost without half trying.”
“We must keep close together. I will warn your friend too. Should one
or the other stray away, much time might be lost in coming together
again.”
The path was now up the side of quite a steep mountain. It was full
of huge bowlders from around which the rain had long since washed all
the sand and gravel. To one side grew small trees and thick bushes,
while on the other was a steep incline, leading far below to a raging
mountain torrent.
“Rather a dangerous place,” observed the boy as he gazed down into the
rushing waters; “if this mule should take a false step”――
“But they never do, as far as I ever heard,” said Mr. Whyland. “They
know the danger quite as well as the rider.”
Instead of getting better the road grew worse, until Cottle stopped and
allowed those in the rear to catch up.
“This path has been partly washed away since I was over it before,” he
said. “You want to be careful. If it gets much worse, we will have to
turn back and take another road that is better, but nearly twice as
long.”
“We will follow you,” said Mr. Whyland. “We trust ourselves entirely in
your hands.”
After this they kept close together. The mules no longer stepped
forward with ease. Each head was down, and every foothold was tested
before the step was taken.
Narrower and narrower grew the path until it was scarcely two feet
wide. Here the decline on the one side became little better than a
precipice.
At last Cottle came to a halt.
“It is no use,” said he; “we will have to take the other path around
this mountain. Last week’s storm has ruined this road for good. Can you
turn around or back to that small turnout?” he asked of Oliver, who was
in the rear.
“I’ll try,” replied the boy. “I guess I had better get off and lead
Dobbins.”
“Be careful,” Mr. Whyland warned him.
“Yes, be careful,” said Cottle; “that mule ain’t the kindest critter in
the world.”
Throwing the reins on the animal’s neck, Oliver essayed to slide to the
ground. As he did so, Dobbins shied nervously to one side.
“Look out there!” yelled Cottle. “Catch him quick!”
“Yes, yes! Catch him!” echoed Mr. Whyland, while Gus sat still, too
terrorized to speak.
Oliver tried to catch the beast as bidden, but again Dobbins shied.
The movement threw the boy to the very edge of the path. He tried
to save himself, but it was useless; and the next instant his body
disappeared over the edge!
[Illustration: THE NEXT INSTANT HIS BODY DISAPPEARED OVER THE EDGE!]