"THE THREE BUTTES."
"The Injun bein' dead, the guv'ner did the nex' best thing. He
questioned his squaw. But she couldn't tell 'em much 'cept that the
Injun told her he got his last water at t'other side of Smith Mountain
and then traveled toward ther sun till erbout mid-afternoon when he
found mucho, mucho oro.
"The guv'ner made two or three tries to locate them buttes, but he
failed. Then come along a man named McGuire, who said he knew where
the buttes was and showed black rocks with gold in 'em to prove it,
jes' like the ones Peg-leg and ther Injun had found, they was. Well,
McGuire he gets five other dern fools and off they starts and that's
the end of them. They ain't never heard of ag'in.
"Then comes a prospector who gets lost, and in hunting for water
finds these same three buttes and the black, gold-specked rocks that
are scattered about. But he wasn't bothering about gold just then, so
he keeps on and in time finds the water hole at the foot of Smith
Mountain.
"He comes back to Los Angeles and tries to organize a company to go to
ther three buttes. But he falls ill and when he learns he's goin' ter
die he tells Dr. De Courcy, that's his physician, that he knows whar
Peg-leg's lost mine is an' gives him a map an' directions. Arter ther
man dies, Dr. De Courcy spends all his money trying ter find ther
buttes, but he fails. Then comes a young chap named Tom Cover of
Riverside. He's wealthy and fits out a dozen or more outfits to hunt
fer ther three buttes. But after setting out on his twelfth trip he
never comes back, so they know that Peg-leg Smith's mine has claimed
another victim."
"Is there anything to prove that Peg-leg really ever found the Three
Buttes?" asked Tom, whom this romance of the desert, like his
companions, had strangely interested.
"You tell 'em, Zeb," said the old man. "Likely they wouldn't believe
me."
"Proofs?" said Zeb, "plenty of 'em. The records of the old Bank of San
Francisco show that McGuire deposited thousands of dollars' worth of
gold nuggets there, and my old dad knew Peg-leg Smith and saw the
black rocks with the gold fillings that he brought out uv ther desert.
Them three golden buttes is out thar somewhar's, and some day
somebody's goin' to locate 'em and then there'll be another
millionaire in the country."
Old McGee chuckled over his pipe. It was clear that, ancient and
feeble as he was, he still believed with all the fanaticism and
optimism of a prospector that he would be the one to find the three
buttes of gold.
"It stands ter reason thar's gold out thar," declared old man McGee,
waving his pipe about argumentatively. "Ther good Lord never made
nuthin' thet wasn't of some use, even ther fleas on a houn' dawg, for
they keep him frum thinkin' uv his troubles. Very well, then, the
desert is good fer nuthin' else but mineral wealth, and Providence
made it so plagued hard ter git at so that everyone couldn't git rich
at oncet."
The boys had to laugh at this bit of philosophy, but as they went to
bed they could not help thinking of the toll of lives the great barren
stretches of the Colorado desert has exacted from gold-seekers. In
Jack's dreams he seemed to be traversing vast solitudes of sand and
desolation dotted with bleaching bones, and he woke with a start to
find that it was daybreak and that Tom was shaking him out of his
sleep.
Below, old man McGee was ready with his team and had already got on
his wagon some of the crates from the freight shed. They made a hasty
breakfast and then started out. There was hardly anybody about and
they congratulated Zeb on his strategy in conducting affairs with such
secrecy.
But as they passed into the outskirts of the town, where the Mexicans
and Indians lived, Dick Donovan uttered a sudden exclamation.
"Hopping horn-toads!" he gasped.
"What's up?" asked Jack, who sat beside him.
"Oh, nothing," said Dick, "the wagon gave an extra hard jolt, that was
all, and I thought my head was coming off."
But the cause of Dick's exclamation had been this: From behind a
squalid hut he caught sight of three shadowy figures, dimly seen in
the half light, apparently watching the wagon and its occupants.
They quickly withdrew as they saw Dick looking at them, but not before
the young reporter had received a startling impression that one of
them at least was familiar to him. The wagon drove out over the desert
and rumbled along till it came to a deep arroyo, or gulch, in which
stood a deserted, bleaching hut.
"This is the place," said Zeb.
"Sure, you can stay thar fer a year an' a day an' nuthin' but
tarant'las an' rattlers ull ever bother ye," said old McGee
cheerfully.
The cases they had brought were quickly unloaded and lowered into the
arroyo which led down to where they could see the turgid flood of the
Colorado flowing between low banks. For at this spot the river is a
very different stream from what it is above and below, where it makes
its way to the Gulf of California between unscalable walls of cliffs
and is a succession of cruel rapids and unpassable falls.
When old McGee drove back for the second and last load, for the
Wondership was constructed so as to "take-down" very compactly, Dick
elected to go with him. When they arrived at the freight depot the
young reporter took the first opportunity to wire his paper in Boston.
"Find out if Bill Masterson is in town," was the substance of his
message.
They were not to return to the camp till after the mid-day meal, so he
had plenty of time to receive an answer. This is it:
"Masterson and two others left for the West five days ago."
* * * * *
"The same day that we did," mused Dick. "I wonder--but no, I'm sure.
One of those three figures lurking behind that hut was Masterson, and
he's planning some mischief, sure as a gun."