SCOUTING AROUND
For a moment or two both Rick and Chot thought that they had played a
trick upon themselves, and that they were gazing upon the headquarters
of Uncle Tod and Sam Rockford who might be entertaining guests. The same
idea was in the mind of both boys. They jumped to the conclusion that
they had circled about in the tunnel, had, somehow or other, gotten into
the same shaft they had first explored with Uncle Tod and so had doubled
back on their trail.
For there was almost the same outfit as that at Uncle Tod’s camp—the log
shack, a tent—and, scattered about, were some mining implements, while
at one side a flume box had been set up.
But there was this difference—there was water running into _this_ flume
box, while back at Uncle Tod’s camp his box was dry.
It was this welcome sight of the much-needed water that first convinced
the boys they were looking at another camp—a strange one—rather than at
Uncle Tod’s, though both outfits were much alike. But one camp was dry
and the other was wet. Lost River seemed to be favoring this camp as
against the other.
Then, too, as the boys looked with less excitement pumping at their
hearts, they noticed that all the men were strangers. Neither Uncle Tod
nor Sam Rockford was among them, and no men that the boys had ever seen
before, though they had met several friends of Uncle Tod and his
partner.
Also, as their eyes took in further details of the strange camp, they
saw very many points of difference. The log cabin was much smaller and
was not so well built, nor was the tent the same. The flume box was much
larger, though not so solidly constructed—in short hardly any details of
the two camps were alike, though in general one resembled the other. Of
course the men were totally different.
“It’s another place all right,” whispered Chot.
“Yes,” agreed Rick, while he cautioned Ruddy, in a low voice, to remain
quiet. He did not want a whimper, whine or bark of his dog to betray
their presence back there in the tunnel. “Did you think it was our
camp?” asked Rick.
“For a minute I did,” assented Chot. “Didn’t you?”
“Yep. I thought we’d doubled back through the tunnel somehow.”
“So did I. But what’s it all about, Rick?”
“I don’t know, Chot. But I can make a guess at one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Those are the men—or, anyhow, they’re in the same gang—that took away
Lost River.”
“What do you mean—took away Lost River?”
“Look,” went on Rick, still speaking in a whisper. “You can see where
the channel was, running right into this tunnel. There’s the old bed of
the river. Now it’s running off to the left so it flows into their flume
box. They changed the river, that’s what they did.”
“I believe you’re right,” said Chot, after looking over the outlay that
was before them. They could see it well, hidden as they were just inside
the tunnel entrance. “But how could they make a river run in a new
place?”
“By making a dam, or digging a new channel. I don’t see that they have
dug any new channel, so they must have built a dam, or some sort of
thing to send the river down the way they wanted it instead of letting
it come through the tunnel to Uncle Tod’s mine.”
“But where is the dam, or whatever it is? I don’t see anything like it
here.”
“No, it’s probably up above their camp. We’ll have to prospect around a
bit and find it.”
“S’posin’ they see us?”
“We mustn’t let ’em. We can mosey around after dark.”
“Then we’re going to stay here all night?”
“I don’t see what else to do. We could hardly get back to camp until
very late, anyhow, and we’ve got our blankets and some grub. It won’t be
cold in here.”
“That’s right! It’ll be fun!” exclaimed Chot.
“And we don’t want to go back and tell Uncle Tod what we’ve found until
we can tell him everything,” went on Rick, who liked to be thorough and
complete in his work or play.
“That’s so,” agreed his chum. “Maybe, after all, we’re up the wrong tree
and these men didn’t change the river.”
“Oh, I think they did—or somebody in with ’em,” said Rick. “But I’d like
to find the dam—or whatever it is—and then we can tell Uncle Tod and let
him do what he thinks best.”
“I guess you’re right,” assented Chot. “Well, what’ll we do first,
Rick?”
“Well, let’s just stay here and we can see what the men do. Maybe we can
hear what they say.”
Ruddy had quieted down, now that he saw his boy chums had no present
intentions of engaging in anything that needed his canine wit, and was
stretched out on the floor of the cave, making up some of the sleep he
evidently thought he had lost. Rick and Chot remained just inside the
opening of the tunnel—the opening through which it was evident Lost
River had flowed at no very distant date.
The stream, it seemed, was a peculiar one. At times it flowed along in
the open, like any other river or creek. Then it would dive underground,
proceeding through a tunnel, or a series of tunnels. Then it would
emerge again. The boys had been through some of the tunnels of Lost
River, and there might be more further up the mountain. Of this they
could not be certain.
At any rate they had come out at the end of one tunnel through which
could be seen the strange camp, and as water was flowing in the flume
box here, probably washing out “pay dirt,” it was reasonable to suppose
the men had turned the river for their own use.
Just how such a big undertaking could be accomplished without
considerable engineering work the boys did not know. But they had made
up their minds to find out.
“We’ll just stay here until after dark,” suggested Rick, “and then,
we’ll scout around a bit.”
“Have to go slow on the grub though,” proposed Chot, as, in the dim
light that filtered in through the tunnel opening he inspected what food
they had left. “We’ve got to get two or three more meals out of this.”
“We can, I guess,” said Rick. “And maybe we can shoot something,” for
the boys had brought guns with them, and knew how to use them.
“Won’t they hear us if we shoot?” asked Chot. “Besides, there’s no game
in here.”
“Oh, I don’t mean to shoot in _here_,” chuckled Rick. “We’ll go
outside—farther up the mountain where they won’t hear the guns. Besides,
we got to work our way farther up to find the dam, or whatever it is
that has changed the river.”
“I see,” agreed Chot. “Well, what say we eat now? It’s most supper
time.”
“I guess it is,” assented Rick. “They’re getting their grub ready.”
Some of the men could be seen busy about the camp fire, over which hung
a kettle, and the boys wished they might have some of the savory soup or
stew it undoubtedly contained.
However they were on an important quest, and they did not mind eating a
cold meal. This they did, giving Ruddy odds and ends. Their water was
getting low, but they were now within sight of Lost River and did not
fear thirst.
“We can sneak out in the night and get some,” proposed Chot.
“That’s when we want to scout around—after dark,” said Rick. “I think
there’s a moon to-night.”
In silence they sat on rocks, just within the mouth of the tunnel and
ate their meal. They watched the miners at their supper not many hundred
feet away, and it was plain that the stealers of Lost River, as they
might be called, were unaware that they were being spied upon.
They laughed and joked—one even tried to sing—but the wind was blowing
the wrong way and though a confused murmur came to the boys they could
not distinguish what was said.
Rick had guessed right about the moon. There was one, it was at the
full, and gave a glorious light from an unclouded sky. The boys
stretched out to rest on their blankets before setting out on their
scouting expedition. The men sat around the camp fire smoking and
talking, and then one after another “turned in.” They left no one on
sentinel or guard duty, the boys noticed.
“It’ll be easy,” whispered Rick as they prepared to leave the tunnel.
“What about Ruddy?” asked Chot. “Won’t he make a noise?”
“Not as much as we do. He’s a game dog and used to going quietly. I
wouldn’t want to leave him behind.”
“No, I guess not. Well, let’s go!”
And then in silence the boys, clutching their guns which Uncle Tod had
given them, started from the tunnel, followed by Ruddy who moved like a
shadow. They skirted the camp of sleeping men and began scouting around
for a trail that would lead up the mountain, along Lost River until they
could discover where it had been diverted.