“On, Chet!” gasped Digby Fordham. “This is awful! Isn’t there any other
old mine that touches the Silent Sue’s tunnels?”
“Not that I ever heard of,” replied his chum seriously. “_This_ was only
a chance, of course; but father spoke of this old mine so recently—”
Chet was staring about the opening in the forest. Like the place at
which they had seen the lame Indian boy, it was an abandoned camp.
Several other claims had been worked here; but the shafts of the other
mines had caved in years and years before.
There was something peculiar about the filling-in of the Crayton shaft.
Chet began to scrutinise the vicinity—as Dig said, “sniffing around
like a hound on a cold scent.”
“No, sir!” muttered Chet. “It is not a cold scent.”
“Heh?” growled Digby.
“There’s been somebody here lately.”
“Well?”
“Here’s a campfire—fresh ashes. It rained three days ago. These ashes
are perfectly dry and feathery. Never have been rained on.”
“Quite true! Good for ‘Trailer Joe, the Young Scout of the Rockies,’”
chuckled Dig.
“That’s all right. You can laugh,” said his chum. “But I haven’t
forgotten the things old Rafe has told us when we have been out hunting.
It’s well to remember such things.”
“But what’s the good now?” demanded Dig. “We can’t get into the mine,
and it doesn’t matter who was here before us. Unless you think there’s
somebody gone down this shaft and the cave-in’s shut them down there,”
he added quickly.
“I don’t believe that’s happened,” said Chet thoughtfully. He was
walking around and around the mouth of the old shaft. He stopped and
picked up the end of a tough, straight sapling.
“Why the lever, I wonder?” Chet continued. “It’s been used to pry
something—The old windlass, of course. That windlass was knocked over
purposely.”
“What for?” cried Dig.
“I bet the cave-in was started with this lever, too. They pried out some
of the heavy timbering. This old shaft was shored-up with oak and was a
good job. You know that, Dig.”
“But I don’t know what you’re getting at,” answered Digby.
“I’m getting at just this: The mouth of this old mine was closed on
purpose, and very recently.”
“Oh!”
“Somebody must have had a reason for doing this, though I don’t see
what. And father was interested in the Crayton claim. I know that. He
spoke of having got control of it at a low price.”
“Petered out before you and I were born, Chet,” cried Digby Fordham,
with impatience.
“Perhaps. But father had a reason for getting hold of it. Perhaps he
thought the pay-streak of our mine was leading this way.”
“Then he wouldn’t have caved in this shaft,” Dig said slowly.
“No, no! Somebody else did it. I—don’t—see—”
“Whew!” ejaculated his chum, suddenly. “By the last hoptoad that was
chased out of Ireland! I know who did it, _sure_!”
“Who?” queried the other boy wonderingly.
“Who told us we couldn’t get into this shaft? Why, that lame Indian!”
“John Peep?” muttered Chet.
“Yes! Don’t you remember?”
“Of course he must have known the shaft was filled up,” agreed Chet
Havens. “But do you suppose he had anything to do with it? Why should he
cave in the pit?”
“Dunno,” grumbled Dig. “But it looks funny. You don’t suppose one
cave-in had anything to do with the other, do you?”
“Of course not!” exclaimed Chet. “Only, the Indian boy knew of this. He
may have been over here recently. You can see that the marks on this
sapling are fresh. Well, this isn’t going to help us any,” he added
hopelessly. “We might as well go back. Oh dear, Dig! how will they get
father and the boys out of tunnel Number Two?”
“They’re working hard, Chet,” his chum said, trying to speak hopefully.
“We’d better go back, I expect.”
“Let’s breathe the horses a little,” proposed his friend. “There’s no
particular hurry, goodness knows! I hate to go back to Silver Run and
tell mother just how the matter stands. It’s a terrible thing, Dig.”
“I know,” muttered his chum, and walked away, unable to talk about Mr.
Havens’ peril in the caved-in mine.
Dig walked to the brow of a sharp slope. The opening into the Crayton
mine was on a small plateau, one side of which gave right up on the
steep slope of the mountain. Landslides in the past had raked this side
of the mountain quite bare. Here and there a ledge cropped out, or a
boulder, in rolling down the slope, had found lodgment; the trees that
had taken root in the thin soil were stunted and the bushes meagre.
Digby rested a booted foot upon a boulder that hung poised upon the very
edge of the plateau. He leaned forward to look down the hill, and as he
did so he felt the huge stone tip forward.
“Whew!” he ejaculated, leaping back, expecting to see the boulder slide
over the precipice.
“What’s the matter, Dig?” demanded Chet, turning to look at him.
“Look there!” and the other pointed to the boulder, which, instead of
slipping over the edge, rocked back into its bed, and dipped again and
again while it gradually settled into its usual position.
“A rocking stone,” said Chet with a smile, seeing that his chum was
greatly excited. “What about it?”
“Whew!” and Dig expelled his breath as he frequently did to express
emotion. “I thought I was a goner. The old rock pitched forward as if it
were going to dive right down the side of the mountain.”
“If it ever does get the right push,” said Chet, looking down the slope,
“it will start something. It’s a big one—and if it hits that gully
yonder,” pointing to a groove in the mountainside below, that marked the
course of some ancient avalanche or watercourse, “it will tear straight
down to the foot of the mountain—and that’s ten miles, Dig, if it’s an
inch.”
“Uh-huh!” admitted his chum. “Be some ruction. I’d like to see it.”
He rested his weight on the rocking stone again and tried to throw it
forward; but its balance seemed perfect. Just the same, when they
mounted their horses and took the back track for the Silent Sue, the
rocking stone still was balancing to and fro as though about to plunge
over the brink of the plateau.
From the level of the caved-in shaft the boys descended a slanting path
just within the border of the forest. Through openings in the trees on
the right hand they occasionally caught a view of the avalanche-swept
space which they had seen a few moments before from the higher level.
Chet’s thought was naturally upon the trouble at the Silent Sue and his
father’s fate; so it was Dig, visually the less observant, who stopped
his mustang suddenly and put out a warning hand to his chum.
“Hey! look there!” said Dig.
Chet glanced out upon the barren mountainside. A figure was just coming
into sight, walking up the gully. The sides of this gulch were so steep
that the boys could see right down into it.
“Lame John!” exclaimed Dig. “Now, what d’you suppose he’s followed us
over here for?”
“Maybe he didn’t follow us,” Chet said slowly. “I reckon this side of
the mountain is free, too.”
“See him sneaking up?” growled Dig. “Of course he’s following us. He
told us that old shaft was caved in—”
“No. He only told us we couldn’t get down into the mine by that shaft.”
“Well, he’s followed us over to see what we are going to do about it—My
glo-ree! Look at that!”
There was reason for Digby Fordham’s cry. With a smash and a rumble, the
rocking stone pitched over the brink of the hill. Whatever had held it
in its bed had broken away without warning and the huge rock commenced
to descend the slope at a speed that momentarily increased.
It was headed directly for the gully in which the lame Indian youth was
walking. So steep were the sides of the gully, and so swiftly was the
rock descending the hill, that it seemed impossible for the endangered
Indian to escape.
On the heels of Dig’s cry, however, Chet Havens spurred his horse out
into the open ground. He unslung the lariat from his saddle-bow as Hero
galloped to the edge of the gully.
Chet arrived there just as John Peep looked up and saw the thundering
slab plunging down upon him. He might possibly escape it; then again he
might be caught by it. The avalanche descending with the huge rock was
of considerable compass, and even should the Indian youth try to scale
the side of the gully, he might be swept away by some broken tree or the
like.
[Illustration: Dig spurred his horse over to the place and leaped down
to give his chum a helping hand]
For the boulder was sweeping all before it. Dust rose in a cloud, and
through that cloud, limbs of trees, brush, smaller stones, and other
debris could be seen whirling.
Chet paid little attention to it, however, as he was above the gully and
was out of the course of the slide. But he doubted if the Indian lad
could easily escape, and he sent the coils of his lariat whirling down
into the hollow.
“Catch hold and I’ll haul you up!” yelled the white boy.
The Indian could not possibly have heard him. By this time the roar of
the landslide drowned all other sounds. The red youth, however,
understood.
He had already started to scramble up the high wall of the gully; but
the climb was steep and difficult. He seized upon the rope and Chet
Havens leaped down from his saddle.
Chet was a strong boy, despite his slender figure. He pulled in the
rope, hand over hand, and swung the Indian youth, kicking now and then
at the rocks, above and clear of the descending avalanche.
Dig spurred his horse over to the place and leaped down to give his chum
a helping hand.
“By the last hoptoad that was chased out of Ireland!” he ejaculated.
“That redskin sure had a close shave, Chet! What d’you know about it,
old man? Whew!”
Chet gave his hand to John Peep and helped him up to their level. The
Indian youth was breathless; but his countenance displayed no fear. He
gazed down the gulch after the roaring landslide, and shook his head.
“Much danger in that,” he grunted.
“You bet your life!” exclaimed the slangy Digby. “You were never nearer
the Happy Hunting Grounds in your life.”
John Peep turned sharply on Digby. “You think it is funny to talk that
way to me because I am an Indian,” he said. “I do not believe in any
Happy Hunting Grounds any more than you white boys believe you go to a
Big Candy-Shop when you die. That is silly.”
“Oh! Ugh!” gasped Dig, surprised. “All right. Needn’t get mad over it,
old man.”
With a gravity that seemed quite beyond his years, John Peep turned to
Chet. He had not changed colour in the least, nor was he disturbed by
his perilous adventure in any way.
There were not many Indians about Silver Run; and those who were there
were, as a rule, miserable creatures. Even this youth’s own family were
hopeless, lazy and dirty in the extreme, prone to the use of “white
man’s firewater” when they could get it.
But John Peep was more like what an Indian should be—or so Chet Havens
thought. He was odd; but the white boy liked him, and when John put out
his hand Chet accepted it and shook it warmly.
“You saved me. I will not forget. Thanks!” said the Indian lad.
“Don’t say anything more about it,” Chet said quickly. “You’d have done
as much for me.”
John Peep looked at him curiously for a moment. Digby, getting
impatient, blurted out:
“Well! are we going to stay here all day? We might as well get back to
the Silent Sue.”
“You knew the shaft up there was caved in,” Chet said to the Indian.
“How did it happen? I wanted dreadfully to go down. I believe we could
reach my father and the other men entombed in the Silent Sue through the
old tunnel from the Crayton shaft.”
“Can’t they be dug out through your shaft?” asked the Indian.
“I’m afraid it will take a week,” said Chet huskily.
“Oh, come on, Chet!” exclaimed Dig sympathetically. “Maybe some other
way will turn up.”
“White boy know any other way?” queried John Peep quickly.
“No; of course he doesn’t,” cried Chet. “We’re at our wits’ end. There
is an awful mass of stuff fallen into the Silent Sue shaft. As much as
has fallen into this old shaft up yonder,” and he pointed up the hill.
The Indian lad seemed to hesitate; but finally he turned and spoke
directly to Chet again.
“You come. Tie horses there,” pointing to the woods. “I show you
something. Be quick.”
He started off abruptly, going toward the forest. Of course, he could
not travel very fast because of his lameness. Chet and Dig looked at
each other in both surprise and doubt.
“What does he mean, d’you s’pose?” whispered Dig.
“I don’t know. But it won’t hurt to humour him,” returned his chum.
To tell the truth, Chet Havens felt hope suddenly aflame in his heart;
yet why, he could not tell.