SANDY EXPLORES THE MINE
Sandy’s whoop of joy was the first intimation Dick had of the actual
discovery of the mine. Unable to suppress his excitement and eagerness,
the young Scotchman had loped down the path well in advance of his two
friends, and had reached the coveted goal at least five minutes before
Toma and Dick put in their belated appearance.
Sandy was gibbering inanely as Dick stepped up and clapped him on the
back. They shook hands all around, and then even Toma so far forgot his
dignity and reserve as to join in an impromptu dance that would have
shamed a drink-crazed party of South Sea Islanders. Presently Dick held
up one hand.
“Enough of this, Sandy. Let’s cool off. We’re actually here at last. But
we musn’t take leave of our senses altogether, or play the part of
fools. I propose that we make a careful inspection of the mine.”
The mine proper consisted of a single shallow shaft cut down into the
rock and shale to a depth of about eight feet. Over the top of the shaft
stood a windlass, a huge cumbersome affair made out of spruce logs.
“Our mine is more than half full of water,” laughed Dick, looking down
into the shaft. “It’ll take us a day or more to bail the thing out.”
Following a cursory look around, Dick led the way to a small log cabin,
which stood a short distance back from the mine. It was old and
considerably out of repair. The door had been nailed shut and the
windows sealed from the inside. A mud chimney, projecting through the
roof, had crumbled to decay; and a good deal of the chinking between the
logs of the house had dropped out, leaving gaping holes behind.
“It’s very nearly useless now,” Sandy observed, shaking his head, “but I
have no doubt we could make it habitable.”
Dick and Toma attempted to pry open the door. They had no tools at their
disposal except a small hatchet, the guide always carried with him. By
using the blade as a wedge and then hammering upon it with a rock, they
contrived finally to force their way into the dark, musty interior.
Even with the light streaming in from the open doorway, it was at first
very difficult to see very clearly to every part of the cabin. A mud
fire-place, a rough bench and table comprised the furnishings of the
room. Propped against the wall on one side were a few mining tools,
including a small pick, a coil of rope and a shovel. A large bucket
which, judging from its shape and general appearance, had been carved
out of a pine log, stood in one corner.
Further examination on the part of the three boys proved unavailing.
Little more of interest was found until Toma, prowling about, discovered
a trap door, which had been cut through the scored logs in the floor.
The trap was ponderous and heavy, stubbornly refusing to come up. It was
raised, at length, through the combined efforts of the excited trio, who
peered down into the dark hole, faces alight with interest.
“Looks very much like a deep cellar,” said Sandy, with a sharp intake of
breath. “But what was it used for?”
Dick lit a match in an effort to see below. The tiny flame flared up for
a moment, then went out. A second, third and fourth match——
“No use!” impatiently Dick threw the box to the floor and sat down with
his feet dangling through the trap. “There’s a draft coming up out of
here. Wish I had my old pocket light.”
“Move aside,” ordered Sandy. “I’m going down.”
“It may be deep,” objected Dick. “Let’s get a pole and find out.”
He had risen to go outside for the pole, when Sandy pushed quickly
forward, swung out over the trap and let himself down to his full
length, holding on by his hands.
“Don’t let go!” warned Dick, swinging around abruptly. “You don’t know
what’s down there. Be careful, Sandy!”
Sandy grinned up provokingly, like a young ape bent on mischief,
released his grip on the floor and disappeared forthwith. A low thud,
coming up from below, attested to the fact that he had reached bottom.
Toma’s annoyed grunt and Dick’s terrified exclamation, preceded a short
but oppressive silence.
Was Sandy hurt? Pale and trembling, Dick stared into the black pit
beneath and attempted to call out. His breath seemed to rattle in his
throat.
“Are you hurt?” he finally contrived to squeak.
No answer.
“Are you there, Sandy?”
“Heigh ho up there!” came a firm and confident voice. “Throw down that
box of matches.”
Toma and Dick breathed a sigh of relief. The matches were dropped down.
In an incredibly short space, a small flame partially lit up the dank
interior and soon after began flickering and bobbing about like a large
firefly.
“What luck?” Dick called out.
Sandy, bent on exploration, was too busy to reply. Match after match
flared brightly, burned down to a stub, and was swallowed up in the inky
maw of the hole.
“Can you pull me out of this?” Sandy asked finally, when Dick’s patience
had been worn to a shred. “I figure I’m about fourteen feet down. Didn’t
I see a coil of rope up there?”
Sandy was pulled up through the trap a short time later, blinking as his
eyes met the glare of light from the doorway. In spite of his effort to
appear unconcerned, it was apparent that he was gripped in some strong
emotion.
“What did you find, Sandy?”
The eyes of the young Scotchman gleamed queerly.
“There’s gold down there,” he exploded. “Loads of it! Sacks and sacks of
gold, Dick, piled up down there in moose-hide sacks, waiting to be
carried away!”
For a brief interval Dick was incapable of speech.
“Go-o-ld!” he stammered.
“Yes, gold!—thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars worth, I
guess.”
Dick’s eyes were popping.
“So they hid it there.”
“Hid nothing!” Sandy was pacing back and forth in his excitement. “The
real mine’s down there, I tell you. Right under our feet.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Go down and see for yourself,” shrieked Sandy. “It’s there,—it’s there,
I tell you! Passages lead out three ways from that main hole or shaft. I
could see them.”
“And those moose-hide sacks?”
“At one side of the shaft, directly under this room.”
“But where did they dump the rock and gravel that came out of those
passages?” Dick asked incredulously. “It didn’t just disappear, did it?
Tons and tons of earth and rock must have been moved in order to get the
gold.”
“I can’t explain it,” Sandy admitted, somewhat defiantly. “All I know is
that it was moved somewhere. The real mine is down there.”
“We’ll start exploring it at once,” Dick decided. “I’ll make some sort
of miner’s lamp and we’ll all go down. What do you say?”
A fever of excitement had seized upon them. Hunger and weariness, the
fear of pursuit—everything was forgotten in the obsession of the moment.
Sandy moved about with an accustomed lightness in his step; Dick had
become over-eager and impatient. Of the three, Toma alone remained
unshaken and indifferent.
“Why you so hurry go see mine?” he demanded of Dick, during a lull in
their preparations. “You think mine run away, eh?”
“Why, no.”
“How you feel if Indian come pretty soon an’ no ready for him?”
“What’s that?”
“Indian pretty sure come bye-’n’-bye.”
“Well, what of it?”
“Dick,” admonished the guide, “you, Sandy no think today. No think at
all. Crazy like fool. What good is mine today if get killed tomorrow?”
“Look here, old Trouble-Face,” Sandy sang out, “you’re a joy killer. I
don’t think there’s the least bit of danger.”
“Danger all time,” stubbornly persisted Toma.
Dick’s eyes wandered back to the trap in the floor. He visualized the
moose-hide sacks, bulging with gold. He wondered if Sandy had not been
mistaken about those three passages.
“The Indians won’t come today,” he decided.
“Don’t worry, Toma. Besides——”
He paused to watch Sandy throw the coil of rope into the shaft and then
walk back and tie the end, still in his hands, to a large iron hook in
the wall—a hook that had, apparently, been put there for that express
purpose.
He turned again to Toma.
“Come on, let’s go down. It’ll take only a few minutes.”
To his surprise, the guide shrugged his shoulders and turned away. As
Dick lowered himself through the trap, Toma strode to the doorway and
stood looking out across the shimmering, sunlit vista of rocks and
sandstone.