A TOWN GONE MAD
With a screech of the brakes, the auto came to a stop not far from the
throng that surrounded the two men, who were still digging away with
sticks between the railroad tracks. The three lads leaped out, wormed
their way through the press of persons, and, gaining a place where they
could get a better view, looked on in wonder.
“It’s Jim all right,” murmured Bob.
“Then he must have left our mine to shift for itself,” said Jerry.
“Maybe it’s no good any more,” suggested Ned. “Jim Nestor wouldn’t
leave that gold mine without some good reason.”
Ned had spoke louder than he intended, and at his words one of the men
looked up. A smile illuminated his bronzed face, and he called out:
“By crickey! There are the boys!”
“Jim Nestor!” exclaimed Jerry. “What brings you East? We thought you
were at our mine!”
“I just had to come!” replied he who answered to the name of Jim
Nestor. “Boys, it’s a queer story, but I’ve got something else on hand
just now--me and Harvey Brill here. I’ll be with you in a few minutes,
just as soon as we see how far this lode goes,” and he began digging
again with his stick between the ties.
And now, may I beg your indulgence for just a moment or two--you, my
new readers--while I explain a little bit about the three boys who are
to be the heroes of this story? Those of you who have read the previous
books in this series may skip this part, as I know you will, but others
may care to know a little more about Bob Baker, Jerry Hopkins and Ned
Slade.
The three chums had lived for several years in the New England town of
Cresville. Bob was the son of Mr. Andrew Baker, a rich banker; Jerry
the only son of a well-to-do widow--Mrs. Julia Hopkins; while Ned’s
father, Aaron Slade, was a well-known department store proprietor.
The boys’ acquaintance began when they each became possessed of
bicycles, and went on trips together. Then they got motor cycles, as
related in the first volume of the series, “The Motor Boys,” and,
winning a race, they got an auto as a prize.
In their car they went on a tour overland, with a certain Professor
Snodgrass, an enthusiastic collector of bugs and insects for various
colleges and museums. The professor was quite a character.
After their tour overland, during which many exciting incidents
happened, the motor boys traveled to Mexico, discovering a buried city,
and came home across the plains, on which trip they discovered the
hermit of Lost Lake.
About this time motor boating came much into prominence, and our three
heroes, of course, had to have a water craft. How they got one, and
made many a trip in it, is told in the book, “The Motor Boys Afloat.”
Their voyage on the Atlantic was filled with adventures of moment, and
when they went to the strange waters of the Florida Everglades they had
trials and troubles as well as a good time.
Their journey to the Pacific enabled them to locate a strange derelict,
after considerable hardships.
It was to be expected, with the progress made in navigating the air,
that the motor boys would, sooner or later, want a biplane, or some
craft that could take them above the earth. In the book “The Motor Boys
in the Clouds,” I related how they went on a long trip for fame and
fortune, while later, when they went over the Rockies, they solved a
strange mystery of the air. Then they traveled over the ocean and made
a marvelous rescue in mid-air.
Getting on the wing again, they sought the airship treasure, and in
the book that immediately precedes this one, called “The Motor Boys
After a Fortune,” I related how the three chums sought to locate a
quantity of radium, said to be deposited in the Grand Canyon of the
Colorado. Incidentally they located a hut on Snake Island, and rescued
a celebrated scientist.
The boys had not been back home very long when the present story opens.
I might add that though the lads had many friends they had one or two
enemies, of whom Noddy Nixon, a rival airship enthusiast, was one,
together with his crony, Bill Berry. Noddy and Bill never lost a chance
to do our friends a bad turn.
In one of their many adventures the boys had met with Jim Nestor, an
old miner and prospector, and they had been able to help him locate a
rich gold mine in Arizona. The boys were given shares in it for their
help, and Mr. Nestor remained out West to work the claim, sending the
boys their profits at intervals. It can well be imagined how surprised
the lads were when they saw the old miner in their home town, engaged
in the curious occupation of digging in the dirt between the railroad
tracks.
“He must be crazy!” exclaimed Bob.
“What’s he up to, anyhow?” asked Ned.
“Sure, they’re both crazy!” declared a man in the throng about the
depot. “They got off the through train a little while ago, and one of
them--that big fellow--right away started to dig in the dirt with an
old broom handle. Then the other did the same thing, and they’ve been
at it ever since. Do you boys know ’em?”
“One of them--Jim Nestor--is the foreman at a gold mine in which we
have an interest,” said Jerry. “The other I don’t know, except that Jim
said his name was Harvey Brill.”
“Well, they’re both crazy,” said the man.
“That one chap may be--but not Jim Nestor,” declared Jerry, with a
positive shake of his head. “Jim knows what he is doing, and I guess
his partner does, too.”
“But what are they doing?” asked the man. “Have they lost something?”
“I don’t know,” answered Jerry. “But I’ll soon find out. I’ll ask
Jim----”
He was interrupted by a shout from the man designated as Harvey Brill.
He dropped his stick, caught up a piece of rock, and cried:
“I knew it! You can’t fool me, Jim, when I see pay dirt! I got a
glimpse of it as soon as we hopped off the steam cars. My eyes are good
for something yet. Look there!”
“That’s right. There’s the yellow stuff as sure as you’re born!” agreed
Jim Nestor, as he critically examined the piece of rock his friend held
out to him. “But how in the world do you reckon it ever got here--on
the railroad track?”
“Give it up, but it’s here all right. Now we’ll have to get picks
and shovels, a pan, a cradle maybe, and wash out some of the gravel,
and----”
“Say, do you fellows want to be killed?” yelled Mr. Hitter, the
freight, station and ticket agent, as he pushed through the crowd and
confronted the two men. “Do you want to be run over?”
“Well, we ain’t just hankering after it, stranger,” said Jim Nestor,
slowly. “Were you calculating on having us treated that way?”
“Why the down express is due in another minute!” cried Mr. Hitter. “If
you don’t get off the track you’ll be run down! Get off I say!”
“Not just yet, son,” said Harvey Brill, calmly. “This is too good a
place to leave. If we’ve got a minute I may turn up another bit of pay
dirt. It won’t take me a second to get out of the way of the train, and
that leaves me fifty-nine seconds to dig in.”
“But you must get off the track!” insisted the agent. “You can’t dig up
the ballast that way. The rails may spread and cause an accident. Get
out of the way! There’s the whistle of the train!” and he rushed about,
dancing up and down, pushing the crowd off the rails. “Leave the track
alone!” he shouted. “I’ll call out the police if you don’t.”
“I guess he’s right, Harvey,” said Jim Nestor, slowly. “We had better
postpone our operations a while. Besides, I want to introduce you to
the friends of mine we came East to see.”
“All right, Jim, I’m agreeable,” assented the other, as he picked up
some more bits of rock. “But I sure do hate to leave this pay dirt.”
“Jim--Jim Nestor!” cried Jerry. “What’s it all about, anyhow? Why are
you here? What are you digging on the tracks for?”
“I’ll tell you soon, Jerry,” said the old miner. “We came East on
purpose to see you, and just by accident we happened to see signs of
gold in the track ballast here. Of course it----”
“Gold!” cried half a dozen in the throng.
“Sure, gold!” put in Harvey Brill. “You can’t fool me on the yellow
stuff,” and he held out his hand in which several yellow particles
gleamed dully.
“Gold! Gold!” murmured the crowd, eagerly.
“Come on! Tell us about it!” urged Ned.
“Yes, we’ve got our car here,” added Jerry. “Come on to my house, Jim,
and give us the story.”
“I’m agreeable,” assented the mine foreman. “Harvey, let me make you
acquainted with three of the liveliest boys in the United States,” and
he presented Jerry, Ned and Bob.
“Glad to know you,” spoke Mr. Brill. “I sort of hate to leave these
diggings,” and he glanced back at the tracks; “but if there’s a train
coming I s’pose I’ve got to. But I can come back. It’s as pretty a bit
of pay dirt as I’ve seen in some time. Now where’s the gasoline gig?”
“This way,” spoke Jerry, leading his chums and friends through the
throng. Mr. Hitter was having trouble. The crowd pressed across the
tracks, eager to look at the place where the two miners had been
digging.
“Get back! Get back!” cried the agent. “The express is coming!”
He fairly thrust the curious ones off the track as the whistle of the
approaching train was heard. Into the auto hurried the boys and their
friends and, forbearing to question Mr. Nestor and his acquaintance on
the road, Jerry and his chums soon had them at his house.
“Now tell us all about it!” urged the tall lad. “Why are you here, Jim;
and what do you want us to do?”
“What do I want you to do?” repeated Jim, slowly. “Well, I’ll tell you.
I want you to help my friend here--Harvey Brill--recover sixty nuggets
of gold.”
“Sixty nuggets of gold?” repeated the motor boys, in a chorus.
“That’s it,” said Mr. Brill, calmly. “Sixty nuggets, and all of ’em
fairly big ones.”
“Are they on the railroad track?” asked Bob.
“No, son, they’re in the hardest valley to get to that I ever saw,”
replied the old miser; “and they’re the prettiest nuggets I ever met
up with. Sixty of ’em, and they’re on the border between Montana and
Canada. I need help to get ’em back again, and Jim here suggested you
boys. If you’d like to have a try, and go through some of the wildest
country you ever saw, why----”
But Mr. Brill was interrupted by a cry from without. There was a
pounding of feet on the porch of the Hopkins home, and a shrill voice
yelled:
“Hey, fellows--Bob--Jerry--Ned!--Come on out--big excitement--whole
town gone gold-crazy--they’re tearing up the railroad tracks--going to
order out the militia--blow up the place with dynamite--people gone
wild--taking up the ties--looking for nuggets--Hitter is dancing up and
down--he’s sent for the railroad president in a special train--come
on--lots of fun--it’s great--let’s get some--come on!”
A silence followed, broken only by the rapid breathing of someone just
outside the long windows of the library, opening on the porch, near
which the motor boys and their friends sat.
“What’s that--a phonograph broke loose?” asked Mr. Brill.
“I guess it’s Andy Rush,” said Jerry, laughing. “That’s the way he
always talks.”
“Well, he wants to look out or he’ll bust!” said the man who had
spoken of the sixty nuggets of gold. “I never heard such rapid-fire
conversation.”
“Come on!” burst out Andy. “Everybody’s going--they’re wild--tearing up
the tracks!”
“What do you suppose he means?” asked Ned.
“Give it up,” replied Bob. “It’s just some of his nonsense I guess.”
“No--look!” cried Jerry, pointing through the window at several men and
boys, with picks and shovels over their shoulders, hurrying toward the
railroad. At the same time, from the direction of the station, which
was not far from Jerry’s house, could be heard a murmur of many voices.
“By Jove!” cried Ned. “Andy is right! The whole town has gone
gold-crazy! Come on, fellows!” and he fairly leaped through the long
window.