CARRYING THE GOOD NEWS
“Chot, would you look at that!” exclaimed Rick.
“I am looking at it!” Chot fairly shouted. No longer was it necessary to
subdue their voices. They were far enough away from the strange camp so
that no sound they made could be heard in it. “What do you reckon that
is, Rick?”
Without answering, Rick and Ruddy, followed by Chot, drew nearer to some
form of rude, rough-and-ready engineering work built across a place
where the stream took a sharp turn, curving down through a channel that
nature, or perhaps Lost River itself, had carved out through the long
centuries.
And right at the curve was a sort of dam, fitted with water gates and
levers, like those of a mill, or canal lock, so the water, at will,
could be diverted into a new channel.
And that Lost River was now flowing into a new channel could not be
doubted. Even in the moonlight, veiled as it was now and then by clouds,
could be seen where the stream had once flowed. There was the rocky
bed—now dry—but evidence enough that had the stream been left to itself
it would have come through the various tunnels and so reach Uncle Tod’s
camp.
But the dam had changed its course—had switched the stream so that it
ran into the flume of the strange men just at the point where it should
have gone into the long tunnel through which the boys had made their
perilous way.
“This is how they turned the trick, Chot,” said Rick, as they walked out
on a plank bridge over the dam, and saw where the wooden gates had been
put in. The gates, of which there were two sets, slid up and down in
grooves and could be raised or lowered by long wooden levers.
“This is how it works!” exclaimed Chot. “Look, Rick, when they want
water down in their camp they open the gates on the right and close them
on the left.”
“You said it!” cried Rick. “And when they want to let water run down to
Uncle Tod’s camp they would have to close the right gates and open the
left ones.”
“But they don’t want to let water run down to Uncle Tod’s camp—that’s
just the trouble,” said Chot.
“It’s part of the trouble, but not all,” went on Rick. “Why did they put
gates in here if, sometime, they didn’t want to let water run down the
underground tunnels as it used to?”
“I don’t quite get that,” said Chot.
“Well, here is my notion,” proceeded Rick. “Here, you, Ruddy! Come
back!” ordered his master, for the setter, sensing that he was not to be
held in such restraint as heretofore, was nosing about more freely.
The dog obediently came to his master and Rick went on with what he
started to say.
“It’s like this, I think,” he resumed. “These miners, whoever they are,
struck some such pay streak as Uncle Tod did, but they needed water to
work it. They couldn’t get water to their place with Lost River running
where it was, and so they changed the course of the stream. They built
this dam right where it curves and that was easy. But they must have had
an idea that, sometime, they’d want to turn the water back again into
the tunnel, so they made these gates. Then all they have to do is to
open one set and close the other and the trick is done.”
“But why would they want to turn the water back into the tunnel?” asked
Chot.
“There’s two reasons,” answered Rick. “One is Uncle Tod might make
’em—he could bring a lawsuit or something and make ’em put the river
back where it was before.”
“That’s a good reason, but I guess from the way Sam Rockford talked
there isn’t much law out here,” said Chot.
“Well, there’s _some_ law, or it can be brought here,” declared Rick.
“But the main reason, I think, why the men made gates to turn the river
back into the tunnel, is so they could use the water themselves. Use it
at Uncle Tod’s camp, I mean.”
“How could they use it there?” Chot wanted to know. “Your Uncle wouldn’t
let ’em!”
“Not while he was there,” agreed Rick. “But—s’posin’ he left—gave
up—then anybody that wanted to could jump the claim.”
“That’s so,” burst out Chot. “You mean your uncle might give up if he
thought Lost River wouldn’t come back?”
“That’s it,” answered Rick. “And maybe these men figure on that.”
Chot paused for a moment to let this “sink in,” as he afterward said,
and then exclaimed:
“You mean they moved the river just to make his mine go dry, and they
want to drive him out and jump the claim themselves—is that it, Rick?”
“That’s my idea,” answered Ruddy’s master. “They built this dam and put
in the water gates. Then they shut off Uncle Tod’s water supply and his
mine went dry, while theirs could be worked. I reckon they figured that
he’d give up—not knowing what happened to Lost River. Then, when he quit
they planned to come in and take his claim.”
“But that’s mean! That isn’t fair!” cried Chot.
“Sure it’s mean!” assented Rick. “But I don’t reckon those men care.
There isn’t much law out here.”
“We’ll show ’em!” muttered Chot. “We’ll show ’em there is! What are you
going to do, Rick?”
“Well, I guess we’d better—”
Before he finished his answer Chot burst out with:
“Let’s turn the water ourselves! Let’s close their gates and open the
others and send Lost River back where it belongs!”
Impulsively Chot started toward one of the levers.
“Don’t!” cried Rick.
“Why not?”
“Better let Uncle Tod and his partner attend to this,” suggested Rick.
“They’ll know what to do. We’ll hike back and tell them what we’ve
found.”
“Oh, shucks!” exclaimed Chot. “Let’s do it ourselves! We can easy lift
the gates and close the others!”
Rick was half tempted. It would be a fine thing to boast of—to have
discovered the secret of Lost River and to have turned the water back
where it belonged. But there were other things to think of. True there
was little law out in this part of the west, but there might be enough
to uphold the men in what they had done to divert the stream. It was
better to let older heads settle this point.
“No, well go tell Uncle Tod,” decided Rick.
Chot whistled dismally.
“It’s a long hike back there,” he said.
“We won’t start until morning,” decided Rick. “We’ll camp here until
then. We have our blankets.”
Even though they were Boy Scouts, and accustomed to sleeping in the open
with not much more than a blanket, it cannot be said that the boys
passed a very comfortable night. It was unusually cold in the mountains.
But Ruddy snuggled down with them and they managed to get a little
sleep.
They made a slim breakfast, gave one look at the construction of the dam
and water gates so that they could report the plan of it to Uncle Tod,
and then started back, going a roundabout way to escape the camp.
This necessitated proceeding “overland” so to speak, instead of through
the tunnel, and was longer, but they had the advantage of daylight and
really made better time.
“Well, where in the name of the great horned toad have you boys been?”
greeted Uncle Tod as they entered the camp and found two rather worried
men to welcome them.
“Oh, we’ve been prospecting,” said Rick.
“Find anything?” asked Sam, dismally.
“Yes—something,” answered Rick, trying not to have his voice too eager.
“Pay dirt?” inquired Uncle Tod eagerly.
“Well it’s _water_ instead of _dirt_,” answered Rick. “We went
prospecting for Lost River and—”
“We found it!” burst out Chot, unable to keep still longer.
“You found what?” fairly shouted Uncle Tod.
“Lost River,” said Rick, modestly enough. “We found where it has been
turned off and we can show you how to turn it back again.”
“Whoop!” yelled Sam, joyful for once in his life. “That’s the best news
I’ve heard since the doctor said I had the measles and couldn’t go to
school! Oh, whoopee!”