INTO THE CAVERN
Wondering what turn events were going to take, Rick and Chot awaited the
outcome of the advent of the stranger who had been addressed by Uncle
Tod as “Zeek.”
“Who is he?” whispered Rick to his uncle as the roughly-attired man,
seeming rather crestfallen over his sneaking tactics, approached more
openly.
“Oh, a no-account chap—Zeek Took his name is. Ought to be Zeek _Take_,
for he’ll walk off with anything that isn’t nailed fast—unless you watch
him. Looking for me, Zeek?” he asked as the unprepossessing fellow
shambled forward.
“Sorter,” was the grinning answer.
“Well, here I am,” went on Uncle Tod. “What is it?”
“Er—now—did the water come?” asked Zeek, shuffling his feet like a
bashful schoolboy speaking a Friday afternoon “piece.”
“No, we’re still dry, Zeek, except for what water we tote up on
Esmerelda’s back. But I guess we have enough to give you a drink.”
“Oh, no, thanks, I don’t want no drink!” Zeek hastily protested, and
Rick said, afterward, that he might have asked for some to wash in and
not be far out of the way, as he was somewhat dirty.
“Well, Zeek, is that all you came up to ask about?” went on Uncle Tod,
who seemed to enjoy the fellow’s discomfiture—and bashful and
discomfited Zeek Took certainly was.
“Ya-as—that’s all, I reckon,” and Zeek’s shifty eyes darted here and
there about the camp, as if spying.
“Who sent you?” suddenly asked Uncle Tod.
“Eh?”
Zeek clearly was taken by surprise.
“Who sent you?” repeated Mr. Belmont.
“Why—er—now—nobody sent me! I come myself.”
“Oh, you did? What for?”
“Wa’al,” he slowly drawled as if seeking an excuse, “I—er—now—I thought
maybe if th’ river wa’n’t runnin’ you’d hire me t’ cart water so’s you
could wash out th’ dirt.”
“Oh, you wanted to cart water so we could do our mining, Zeek? Well,
that was very kind of you,” went on Uncle Tod, “but what little washing
my partner did before the river became lost, didn’t pan out enough metal
to make it pay, and I don’t believe we could afford to give you any
wages.”
“Oh, I’d be willin’ t’ work for my grub, Uncle Tod.” Everyone in that
region seemed to have adopted this friendly name.
Mr. Belmont shook his head and smiled in a somewhat sarcastic manner.
“I reckon not, Zeek,” he answered. “We’ve got some new prospectors now,”
Uncle Tod went on. “There’s one,” and he indicated Ruddy. “It’ll be
about all we can feed in a dry camp. But if you’re hungry now, I reckon
we can hand you out a snack.”
“Wa’al,” drawled Zeek, “it’s been a good while since breakfast!”
“Hum!” mused Uncle Tod. “Well, sit over there, Zeek,” indicating a
bench, “and Sam’ll bring you out some grub.”
Then as Rick, Chot and Mr. Campbell entered the cabin, Uncle Tod said,
in a low voice:
“Zeek isn’t just the kind you want to sit down to the table with—even
out in this free and easy place. He goes at his food as if it might come
to life and get away from him. He’ll be more at home out there.”
Uncle Tod’s camp cabin was a more comfortable place than at first
appeared. The food was excellent, though not of the finest sort, but it
was well cooked, and whatever else Sam Rockford might be—gloomy and
inclined to look on the dark side of everything—he certainly knew how to
serve a meal. The boys and Mr. Campbell testified to this, and Ruddy
would have said the same had he been able to speak.
Zeek was fed out in the open, and soon departed, murmuring his thanks.
And then, as the others finished their meal, and pushed back their rough
stools that served for chairs, Mr. Campbell asked:
“Anything special about Took coming here, Mr. Belmont?”
“I don’t know whether there was or not,” was Uncle Tod’s answer. “First
I thought he was only one more of the queer characters to be met with
out west. Then, when he began coming around more frequently—but always
sneaking his way in—I became a bit suspicious.”
“Is he altogether right in his mind?” asked Mr. Campbell.
“I don’t believe he is, and that’s why I think he’s being used by some
one with more brains than he has.”
“Some one trying to get your mine away from you, Uncle Tod?” asked Rick.
“Well, I don’t know’s any one is trying to do _that_,” was the answer.
“Still you never know when you’re playing safe in this mining game. The
best way, I find, is to suspect everybody until you find out they’re
square, and then it isn’t always safe. As for Zeek Took, I don’t want
him hanging around; that’s all, though I don’t want to be mean to him,
especially if he’s hungry. How he lives I don’t know, but I won’t see
even a dog go hungry. Will I, Ruddy?” and Rick’s setter looked up into
the miner’s face and gratefully wagged the plumed tail.
“I don’t know much about mining,” said Mr. Campbell, as he and the other
two men were smoking their pipes, while Rick and Chot listened to the
talk, “but how were things here before you lost the river, or the river
lost itself? And I’d like to know a little about the stream, also.”
“Well, there isn’t a great deal to tell,” said Uncle Tod reflectively.
“Sam, here, bought this claim first and then let me in on it. It looked
good to him—in fact it looked good to me—that was when the river was
running out of the cave. We call it a river though it isn’t much more
than a half-grown brook back in your country, Mr. Campbell where you
have lots of water. But, such as it was, it served to wash out the dirt
we dug.
“You know there are many ways to mine for gold, silver and copper,” he
went on, for the especial benefit of the boys. “In some parts of the
mountains you dig out the ore dry, and you may get fairly big chunks of
gold. Or the ore may be filled with little specks of metal that can be
got at only when the rock is crushed. This crushed rock and dust is
treated in different ways. It may be smelted or mixed with water and
acids or other chemicals. I don’t know much about those methods.
“Then there is a simpler form of mining, the water method. You get a lot
of dirt, gravel or what-not, and in it will be a lot of fine gold
dust—maybe silver dust or copper—or whatever you’re after. We get both
gold and copper here—or, rather, we did.
“The simplest method of getting gold out of the dirt it’s mixed with is
to ‘pan’ it. That is, take half a panful of the gold-bearing gravel and
put water in the pan. By moving the pan with a circular motion you can
wash away, over one edge that you tilt down, most of the water and
gravel and dirt. The gold, being heavier than the dirt, goes to the
bottom of the pan and lodges there. You may get a couple of dollar’s
worth from each pan of dirt you wash, or you may get a cent’s worth—it
depends on the dirt.”
“It’s a sort of chance,” suggested Chot.
“That’s it—just a chance,” agreed Uncle Tod. “If you want to work the
washing-out method on a larger scale, you build a flume box, or a
rocker. Both work on the same principle. A flume box is a long, narrow
box of boards with cross cleats all along the bottom. You wash the sand
and gravel down this flume with water and the gold, being heaviest, goes
to the bottom and lodges against the cross cleats where you take it out
later on—after a day of washing.
“A rocker is a flume box on a small scale, only instead of the water
rushing down an incline you shake, or rock a box with cross pieces in
it, tilting it on a slant while you do it, and the gold—if there is
any—lodges on cross cleats also. A rocker box is like a pan, only
better.”
“Is that what you mean when you say ‘pan out’?” asked Rick.
“That’s it,” assented Uncle Tod. “Some dirt doesn’t pan out worth a cent
after all your work. Well, here, we used the flume method,” he resumed,
“that is we did while Sam had water. But all of a sudden Lost River
proved true to its name and we had to stop work. The gold, what there
is—and the copper—is so fine that we can’t get it out without a deal of
washing. As a matter of fact I don’t believe it’s over going to pay to
go after copper this way—not at the price copper brings now—since the
war is over. But we might make gold mining pay if we could get water.”
“Where’s the water of Lost River gone?” asked Mr. Campbell.
“That’s what we’d like to know,” said Uncle Tod with a smile. “Where is
it?”
“Have you looked in the cave to find out whether it hasn’t dropped
through a hole in the bottom, and is flowing along somewhere beyond
you—farther down the valley?” asked Mr. Campbell.
“We tried it—yes,” assented Uncle Tod. “But it isn’t altogether
healthy—going in that cave,” remarked Sam, with a look over his
shoulder. “I won’t go in again. If I did I wouldn’t come out alive!”
“What’s there?” cried Rick and Chot eagerly.
“That’s what we don’t know,” answered Uncle Tod. “Maybe you can find
out—now you’re here—you and Ruddy.”
“But you must have _some_ idea of it,” insisted Mr. Campbell. “What is
in the cave?”
“Ghosts!” came the unexpected answer of Sam Rockford. “Ghosts!”
“Nonsense!” declared Uncle Tod with a laugh. “I admit we did hear some
spooky noises in there, when Sam and I tried to explore after the water
stopped, but it wasn’t them I feared.”
“What was it?” asked Rick.
“The danger of getting lost and toppling down some hole into unknown
blackness, Rick. It’s awful dark in there. I guess it must be a tunnel
right under the mountain where the river used to come out. Maybe now
it’s dipped into some hole or new channel. Anyhow it’s Lost River in
earnest.”
“This country was once torn by volcanic action,” was the opinion of Mr.
Campbell as he looked around on the rugged peaks and the low valleys.
“There may be all sorts of underground and lost water courses here, and
your river was probably one of them.”
“Very likely,” agreed Uncle Tod. “Well, I only wish it would find itself
again. Without it we can’t do any mining.”
“I’d like to stay and help you,” said Mr. Campbell, “but I must get on
to San Francisco.”
“Oh, yes,” agreed Uncle Tod. “It was very good of you to bring Rick and
his chum—not forgetting Ruddy. Perhaps among us all now, we’ll be able
to solve the mystery.”
Mr. Campbell departed in his auto next morning, after an uneventful
night, though Rick and Chot rather looked for some excitement—perhaps a
return visit of Zeek Took after dark. But nothing like that happened.
“Well, boys, what do you say to some explorations to-day?” asked Uncle
Tod, when breakfast was a thing of the past.
“Explorations in the cave of Lost River?” asked Rick.
“That’s where I mean. Are you game for it?”
“Sure!” answered both boys, and Rick added: “Aren’t we, Ruddy?”
The dog leaped about, barking joyfully, for he liked action of any sort.
“You going in that spooky place again?” asked Sam, as Uncle Tod made
preparations for entering the cavern.
“Of course. Don’t you want to come? We’ve got to find water somehow,
Sam.”
“Not me!” he exclaimed emphatically. “When I want ghosts I like ’em in
the open. And as far as getting back Lost River goes—it’ll never
happen.”
“Hum,” mused Uncle Tod, “gloomy as ever! If I didn’t know you better,
Sam, I’d think you meant that.”
“I do!”
“No you don’t! Come on, boys. Let’s see what we can find.”
Equipped with lanterns and a long rope the three—no, four, for Ruddy
went along—entered the mouth of the gloomy cavern.
What would they find?