ELAM STORM, THE WOLFER
OR
THE LOST NUGGET
BY HARRY CASTLEMON
AUTHOR OF "GUNBOAT SERIES," "FOREST AND STREAM SERIES,"
"WAR SERIES," ETC., ETC.
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
Copyright, 1895,
BY PORTER & COATES.
[Illustration: THE RED GHOST.]
CONTENTS.
I. SOMETHING ABOUT THE NUGGET
II. TOM MASON AGAIN
III. TOM BEGINS HIS WANDERINGS
IV. THE WRONG BOAT
V. TOM'S LUCK
VI. TOM ADMIRES THE COWBOYS
VII. A TEMPERANCE LECTURE
VIII. A HOME RANCH
IX. LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS
X. THE CAMP OF ELAM, THE WOLFER
XI. UNWELCOME VISITORS
XII. TOM FINDS SOMETHING
XIII. ELAM INTERVIEWS THE MAJOR
XIV. ELAM UNDER FIRE
XV. UNCLE EZRA PUTS HIS FOOT DOWN
XVI. A NEW EXPEDITION
XVII. THE NUGGET IS FOUND
XVIII. CONCLUSION
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE RED GHOST.
TOM'S NEW ACQUAINTANCE.
TOM IN HIDING.
ELAM'S FIGHT WITH THE CHEYENNES.
ELAM STORM, THE WOLFER;
OR,
THE LOST NUGGET.
CHAPTER I.
SOMETHING ABOUT THE NUGGET.
"Yes, sir; it's just like I tell you. Every coyote on this here ranch,
mean and sneaking as he is, is worth forty dollars to the man who can
catch him."
"Then what is the reason Carlos and I can't make some money this
winter?"
"You mout, and then again you moutn't. It aint everybody who can coax
one of them smart prowlers to stick his foot in a trap. If that was the
case, my neighbors would have had more sheep, and Elam Storm would be
worth a bushel of dollars."
"And you are going to grub-stake him again this winter, are you, Uncle
Ezra?"
"Sure. I always do."
"What is the reason you won't let us go with him to the mountains?"
"'Cause I know that your folks aint so tired of you that they are ready
to lose you yet awhile; that's why."
"Only just a few days. We'll come back at the end of the week if you say
so, won't we, Carlos?"
"'Taint no use of talking, Ben; not a bit. Man alive! what would I say
to the major if anything should happen to you? And going off with Elam
Storm! That would be the worst yet."
"But Elam is honest and reliable. You have said so more than once, Uncle
Ezra."
"Oh, he's honest enough, as far as that goes, but shiftless--mighty
shiftless. And I never said he was reliable except in one way. He's
reliable enough to go to the mountains every fall and come back every
spring with a hoss-back load of peltries, and that's all he is reliable
for. I did make out to hold him down to the business of sheep-herding
for a couple of years, but then the roaming fever took him again and
nobody couldn't do nothing with him. He just had to go, and so he asked
for a grub-stake and lit out."
"You think that while he is in the mountains he looks for something
besides wolf-skins, don't you?"
"I know he does. He's got a fool notion that will some day be the death
of him, just as it has been the death of a dozen other men who tried to
follow out the same notion."
"You promised to tell me all about it some day, and about Elam, too; and
what better time can we have than the present? We are here by ourselves,
and there is no one to break in on your story."
"Well, then, I'll tell you if it will ease your minds any. It won't be
long, so you needn't go to settling yourself as though you had an
all-night's job before you to listen. And perhaps when I am done you
will know why I don't want you to go piking about the country with such
a fellow as Elam Storm."
It was just the night for story-telling and pipes. The blizzard, which
had been brewing for a week or more, had burst forth in all its fury,
and the elements were in frightful commotion. The wind howled mournfully
through the branches of the evergreens that covered the bluff behind the
cabin; the rain and sleet, freezing as they fell, rattled harshly upon
the bark roof over our heads; and the whole aspect of nature, as I
caught a momentary glimpse of it when I went out to gather our evening's
supply of fire-wood, was cheerless and desolate in the extreme. Our
party consisted of three (or I should say four, for the Elam Storm whose
name has so often been mentioned was to have shown up two days
before)--Uncle Ezra Norton, who was a sheep-herder in a small way during
the summer, and an untiring hunter and trapper in winter; Ben Hastings,
whose father, an officer of rank in the regular army, was stationed at
the fort fifty miles away; and myself, Carlos Burton, a ne'er-do-well,
who--but I will say no more on that point, as perhaps you will find out
what sort of a fellow I am as my story progresses. We were comfortably
sheltered in our valley home, but we heard all the noise of the tempest
and felt a good deal of its force; and accustomed as I had become to
such things during my wild life in the far West, I did not forget to
breathe a silent but heart-felt prayer for any unfortunate who might be
overtaken by the storm before he had time to reach the shelter of his
cabin.
Under our humble roof there were warmth, comfort, and supreme
contentment. The single room of which the cabin could boast was
brilliantly lighted by the fire on the hearth, which roared back a
defiance to the storm outside; its rough walls of unhewn logs were
heavily draped with the skins of the elk, blacktail, and mountain sheep
that had fallen to our rifles during the hunt, completely shutting out
all the cold and damp and darkness; and Ben and I, with our moccasoned
feet thrust toward the cheerful blaze, reclined luxuriously upon a pile
of genuine Navajo blankets, while our guide, friend, and mentor, Uncle
Ezra Norton, sat upon his couch of balsam sending up from his pipe
clouds of tobacco incense that broke in fleecy folds against the low
roof over our heads. Our minds were in the dreamy, tranquil state that
comes after a good dinner and a brief season of repose following a
period of toil and hard tramping that had been rewarded beyond our
hopes.
Uncle Ezra was a typical borderman, strong as one of his own mules, and
grizzly as any of the numerous specimens of _Ursus ferox_ that had
fallen before his big-bored Henry. Although he took no little pride in
recounting Ben's exploits to the officers of the garrison, he was very
strict with the boy when the latter was under his care, and never
permitted him to wander far out of his sight if he could help it.
Uncle Ezra was my particular friend, and had won my undying gratitude by
his kindness to me. I was in trouble and he helped me out of the deepest
hole I ever was in. When I struck his ranch one dreary day, two years
before this story begins, afoot and alone, almost ready to drop with
fatigue, and told him that every hoof and horn I had in the world had
been rounded up by a gang of cattle thieves who had driven them into the
Bad Lands to be slaughtered for their hides--when I told him this he not
only expressed the profoundest sympathy for my forlorn condition, but
grub-staked me and sent me into the foot-hills to find a gold mine.
Judging from what I know now there was about as much chance of finding
gold in the region to which he sent me as there was of being struck by
lightning, and, more than that, I couldn't have distinguished the
precious metal from iron pyrites; but I had to do something to pay for
my outfit, and so I went, glad to get away by myself and brood over my
great loss. For I had been pretty well off for a boy of fifteen, I want
you to remember, and every dollar I had made was made by the hardest
kind of knocks.
When I first came out West, I began working on a ranch, taking my pay in
stock at twelve dollars a month. My wages soon grew as my services
increased in value, and as I took to riding like an old timer, I learned
rapidly, because I liked the business; and it was not long before I was
the proud possessor of a herd of cattle worth six thousand dollars. But
it was precarious property in those days,--as uncertain as the weather.
You might be fairly well off when you rolled yourself up in your blanket
at night, and as poor as Job's turkey when you awoke in the morning; and
that's the way it was with me. I was moving my herd to another section
of the country in search of better pasturage, and was passing through a
narrow canyon within two days' journey of the new range that one of my
cowboys had selected for me, when all on a sudden there was a yell of
charging men, whom I at first thought to be Indians, a rifle shot which
killed my horse and injured my leg so badly that I could scarcely crawl
into the nearest thicket out of sight, a hurried stampede of frightened
cattle, and I was a beggar or the next thing to it. My three cowboys
disappeared when the cattle did, and that was all the evidence I wanted
to satisfy me that they were in league with the robbers. Ever since that
time I had lived in hopes that it might be my good fortune to meet them
again under different circumstances. When I learned that two of their
number had been hanged somewhere in Arizona for horse-stealing, I was
sorry to hear it, and hoped the other would mend his ways and so escape
lynching, for I wanted to settle with him myself.
At the time my story begins, however, I was on my feet again, as anyone
can be in that Western country who is suffering from reverses. I had a
home ranch and perhaps ten thousand dollars' worth of cattle ranging
near the Bad Lands, into which my small herd had been driven to be
killed for their hides; but I was poor enough and miserable enough when
Uncle Ezra sent me off to hunt up a gold mine. I didn't find it, of
course, but I took back to old Norton's ranch some specimens of quartz
that made him open his eyes. They looked like chunks of granite, with
little pieces of different-colored glass scattered through them. I had
no idea of the value of my find, but so certain was Uncle Ezra that I
had struck it rich that he took the specimens to Denver himself, and
some expert there assured him that he was a millionnaire. But he wasn't,
by a long shot, and neither was I. Uncle Ezra knew no more about
business outside of sheep-herding and trapping than an Apache knows
about astronomy, and the fifteen-year-old boy who was his only
counsellor knew less, and the usual results followed. We were euchred
out of our find, which meant the loss of bushels of dollars to us.
During my prospecting tour I camped on the banks of a little stream,
following through a secluded valley a hundred miles deep in the
mountains, and stumbled upon a rich deposit of rubies and sapphires.
Although there were no true red rubies nor true blue sapphires among
them, they were beautiful gems and worth money. The Denver expert told
Uncle Ezra that there was a sprinkling of fire opals among them, but
this I am inclined to doubt, for I never heard of those stones being
found together. Anyhow, that deposit, whose wealth was first presented
to my inexperienced eyes, covered sixteen acres of ground, and is being
worked by a syndicate with a cash capital of two million dollars. Uncle
Ezra and I saved a small stake for old age; but you bet I will know a
good thing the next time I see it.
Ben Hastings, as I have said, was the son of an army officer who was
stationed at the fort a few miles away, and this was the first time he
had ever been west of the Mississippi. He had the good sense to
acknowledge that he was a tender-foot, and perhaps that made me take to
him from the start. He could ride and shoot a little, and had camped in
small patches of timber like to Adirondacks and up about Moosehead Lake;
but he did not pretend to know it all, as the majority of Eastern men do
when they come out here, and so he had plenty of friends among men who
were willing to assist him. He fairly overflowed with delight when I
took him an invitation from Uncle Ezra to spend a month on his
sheep-ranch. His father was glad to let him accept, for old Ezra was a
particular friend of his, and often acted as guide when the major went
scouting. This hunt to Wind River Mountains had been undertaken for
Ben's especial benefit, and as we pushed him to the front as often as
the opportunity was presented, he shot more elk and blacktail than we
did.
I have spoken of Elam Storm, a particular friend of all of us. He was
somewhere in the mountains now and ought to have joined us two days ago,
but, seeing that it was Elam, we did not pay any attention to it. He was
a professional wolfer whom Uncle Ezra had befriended. Old Ezra said he
was shiftless; but he certainly was not lazy, for he would work harder
at doing nothing than any fellow I ever saw. He was game, too. He had
some sort of a notion in his head that governed all his actions, and
although I was as intimate with him as anybody in the country, I never
could find out what it was. But I did not push my enquiries, I want you
to understand, for Elam had a sharp tongue, which he did not hesitate to
use when he thought occasion demanded it, and, besides, he was handy
with his gun. I had often asked Uncle Ezra to tell me what he knew of
Elam's history, but could never get him started on the subject; so I was
glad to hear him say in response to Ben's importunities that he would
tell the story.
"How long ago was it since Elam came to you?" enquired Ben Hastings,
with a view of hurrying Uncle Ezra, who was refilling his pipe, gazing
with great deliberation the while into the fire, as if he there saw the
incidents he was about to describe.
"He never came to me at all," replied the old man. "I fetched him to my
ranch, and he's been there off and on ever since. He's a different boy
from Carlos, here,"--with a nod in my direction,--"the most
improvidentest fellow you ever saw, and always dead broke, so that I
have to grub-stake him every fall. I have offered more than once to take
him right along and give him his pay in stock, so that he could get a
start with some sheep of his own, but he won't hear to it. That's what
makes me mad at Elam. It's all along of that fool notion that will some
day be the death of him like I told you."
"But what is that fool notion?" asked Ben, as Uncle Ezra paused to light
his pipe with a brand from the fire.
"Wait till I tell you. You see, Elam's history, so far as I know
anything about it, begins with that treasure train that was lost up the
country years ago. An army paymaster started for Grayson with three
government wagons, a guard of twelve soldiers, and thirty thousand
dollars that was to be paid to the garrison at that place. Report says
and always did say that there was one private wagon with the train, and
Elam Storm he sticks to it that that there wagon was his father's. I
don't dispute that part of his history, but I do dispute all the rest,
for it won't hold water. He allows that there was a nugget into that
there wagon, and that it was worth eight thousand dollars; and that's
right where the history of Elam begins.
"Well, sir, none of them men that went out with them wagons was ever
seen or heard of after they left Martin's. When the time came for them
to show up at Grayson and they didn't do it, scouting parties were sent
out to look for them, and I was with the party that found the wreck of
one of the wagons. And there's where I found Elam; but not a live man or
critter or a cent of money did we discover."
"What do you suppose became of them?" enquired Ben.
"Carried off by the robbers that jumped down on the train," replied
Uncle Ezra. "But whether they was Injuns or white men aint known for
certain to this day. There wasn't nothing except hoof-prints and a few
dried spots of blood to show where the attack was made on the train; but
there was a dim trail leading from it, and by following that trail
through the chaparral and down a rocky canyon that was hemmed in on all
sides by mountains we found the wrecked wagon I spoke of. When one of
the axles broke and let the wagon down so that it could not be hauled
any further, the robbers took every blessed thing out of it and went on,
and we never did catch up with them--everything, I say, except Elam. He
was no doubt left in the wagon for dead, for when we came up he was just
alive and that was all. He hadn't been hurt at all. He was scared and
starved almost to the bounds of endurance, but with such care as we
rough men could give him, and being naturally tough and strong, he
managed to worry through. After he got so that he could talk he had
sense enough to remember that his name was the same as his father's,
Elam Storm, and that was everything he did know. He couldn't tell the
first thing about the soldiers who composed the escort, or whether the
men who made the attack were whites or Injuns, or what went with the
money; and the worst of it was when he grew older none of these things
didn't come into his mind, like we hoped and believed they would.
"Seeing that the little waif was friendless and alone, and none of us
didn't know whether he had kith or kin in the world, I offered to take
him and bring him up as if he were my own son, and the rest of the boys
they agreed to it. Although he has always been known around these
diggin's as 'Ezra Norton's kid,' he aint no more relation to me than you
be, and no more use neither, I might say, so far as helping on the ranch
is concerned. He always was a shiftless sort of chap, and liked best to
get away by himself and 'mope,' as I called it, though I believe now
that he was doing a power of thinking, and trying to remember who he
was, where he had once lived, and what happened to him before the train
was lost. I wasn't much surprised when he took to wolfing as a means of
getting his grub and clothes, for that solitary business just suited his
solitary disposition; but I was teetotally dumfoundered and mad, too,
when he told me that his father was alive, and that he would some day
find him and his big nugget together. Mind you, he didn't say this as
though he hoped and believed it might be true, but as positive as though
he knew it was true."
"Where do you suppose they--I mean his father and the nugget--are now?"
asked Ben.
"Pshaw! His father is dead long ago," replied Uncle Ezra, in a very
decided tone. "Leastwise the men who went with the wagons are dead, and
so old Elam must be dead, too. Don't stand to reason that only one man
out of the whole outfit should turn up alive, does it? These things
happened thirteen year ago, and Elam is nigh about twenty now, I should
say. As for his nugget--well, I don't know what to think about that.
When I first come to this country, there was a nugget of that
description in existence, which had been dug up somewhere in those very
mountains, and the finding of it created a rush that reminded old timers
of California and Deadwood. I jined in with the rest, but never dug out
more than enough to pay my expenses; and that's what set me to raising
sheep."
When Uncle Ezra said this, he tipped me a wink, and settled back on his
couch of fragrant boughs, nursing his left leg for company.