THE RUDDY MINE
None of the deputies—not even Uncle Tod nor his partner—seemed surprised
at beholding the leader of the Lawson gang. Perhaps they expected him.
And it needed but a second glance to show that in the rear of Lawson
were several other men, all armed with rifles. Still this did not ruffle
Chief Deputy Sheriff Mason.
“Hello, Deck,” he greeted the outlaw—for such he was. “Hello!”
“I don’t say hello to anybody I may have to _shoot_!” was the sneering
reply.
“Shoot? What for?” asked Mason, and he made no move toward a gun. In
fact all of Uncle Tod’s party were now unarmed, having laid down their
weapons to work the water gates. “Why shoot?” asked the chief deputy,
smiling.
“’Cause you’re here where you have no right to be, and ’cause you have
shut off my water rights!” declared Deck Lawson boldly. “That is why
I’ll shoot!”
“_Your_ water rights! That’s pretty good!” chuckled Mason. “Why, you
took water from Mr. Belmont! You changed the course of Lost River;
didn’t you?”
“I had a right to!” insisted Deck menacingly.
“Well, the court doesn’t think so,” asserted the deputy. “I have a paper
here—”
He stepped forward, but Deck, with a quick motion, brought up his rifle
and cried:
“Hands up! I said that before! Now do it!”
“Well, before I do any elevating,” said Mason calmly, “s’pose you just
turn around and take a look behind you. Look around, Deck!”
“You must think I’m foolish!” laughed the other. But a moment later one
of his own men, who had obeyed the suggestion of the deputy cried:
“It’s all up, Deck, they have us covered!”
And it was so. Knowing the character of the men he had to deal with,
Deputy Mason had taken no chances. When the water gates were being
lowered and raised he had sent some of his men off in the bushes by a
roundabout trail, for he suspected that the Lawson crowd would return.
And when they did return, and seemed to have Uncle Tod and his friends
at their mercy, the men Mason had placed in ambush circled around and
executed a rear and flank movement on the enemy. The Lawson gang was
completely under cover of a number of rifles held by steady hands.
“All right—you win!” exclaimed Deck Lawson with an uneasy laugh. “But I
have a right to Lost River.”
“What’s the use of talking foolish?” demanded Mason. “You know me and I
know you. Give up your guns and go away peaceably. If you want to fight
the courts will give you your rights the same as they would anyone else.
But if you want to start a fight here—well, I’m ready for you, that’s
all.”
“All right—you win,” said Deck again, with a bitter laugh. “But I’ll
have my rights!”
“You’re entitled to them, but not to the rights of other people,” said
the deputy. “If you go away quietly there’ll be no further trouble from
me—but I warn you I’ve got plenty of men. You only see half of ’em.
Look!”
He blew a whistle and from another part of the woods there suddenly
appeared ten more deputies.
“Where’d they come from?” asked Uncle Tod, in surprise.
“Oh, just my reserve force,” laughed Mason. “I left word for them to
follow us this morning. I thought we might need them, but I guess we
won’t. How about it, Deck?”
“Oh, I know when I’ve had enough,” was the sullen answer. “But I’ll
fight you in court!” he threatened Uncle Tod.
“Maybe he’ll win out against us after all,” whispered Sam, taking his
usual gloomy view.
“Let him try,” chuckled Uncle Tod. “Anyhow I’ve got my Lost River back.
Or I hope I have,” he added. “Do you reckon it’s running down at my
mine?” he asked Mason.
“Well, you’ll soon see, for there’s no need of staying here. Deck and
his crowd are going, and I don’t believe they’ll come back,” he added
with a chuckle.
This proved to be the case. The outlaw—for he was so reckless and
indifferent to the rights of others as to be called that—knew when he
was beaten, and his men knew it, too. He talked big about going to law,
but Uncle Tod was sure of his own claim.
“Well,” remarked Sam, when the excitement was over, without a shot
having been fired, “this turned out better’n I thought it would. I’ll
say that.”
“And it’s a good deal for you to say,” chuckled Uncle Tod. “But I’m
anxious to get back to the mine and see if the water’s running. And
those boys! What about ’em? Rick and Chot! Think maybe Deck Lawson and
his crowd might have gone where we left ’em?” he asked Mason anxiously.
“If they did—the boys—”
“No, I think not. But you can bring ’em here now. They’ll want to see
the water running where it belongs—and it was their smartness that
brought this about.”
A deputy summoned the boys and their dog from where they had been left
some distance away.
“Is it all over?” asked Chot when the messenger reached them.
“All over—yes.”
“Many—er—now—many killed?” asked Rick, hesitating a bit over the words.
“Nary a one!” was the laughing answer. “Wasn’t a single shot fired.”
“Oh, shucks!” sighed Chot.
“Doesn’t seem a bit like out west,” lamented Rick, mournfully.
“Well, it’s better the way it was,” said the deputy. “Shooting isn’t
healthy exercise,” and, rather unwillingly, the boys agreed with him.
Still, they would have liked the excitement, they thought.
“Crickety! The water’s running in the old tunnel!” cried Rick, as he and
his chum and dog reached the former Lawson camp, and noted the change in
the control gates.
“Yes, Rick and Chot, thanks to you, the water’s running where it used
to,” said Uncle Tod. “And it’s down at our mine by this time—at least so
we hope,” he added, fearful of being too sanguine.
The boys were told the story of the attempted ambush by the Lawson
crowd, and the counter-ambush staged by the special deputy. Then,
leaving some men on guard, lest Lawson try to sneak back and again
divert the water, the remainder of the posse began the journey to Uncle
Tod’s camp.
It was accomplished in better time than going, for the trail was down
hill, and, just as the sun was sinking out of sight, the place was
reached. Mr. Belmont gave one look in the direction of the flume, so
long out of use, and cried:
“She’s running all right! She’s running, Sam! Lost River has come back.”
“Well, I’m mighty glad of it,” said the partner. “If it will only stay
here now until we can wash out some pay dirt—”
“Oh, horned toads!” laughed Uncle Tod. “It’s a wonder you aren’t afraid
the world will come to an end to-night.”
“Well, it might,” conceded Sam, mildly, amid the laughter of the others.
But nothing like that happened, nor did Lost River again disappear. It
remained flowing through the tunnel as before, and was once more in its
own channel.
There were further court proceedings, but these only confirmed Uncle Tod
in his right to the water and the Lawson gang seemed to have finished
for good, making no legal fight as had been threatened, though Sam was
always worrying lest they come back and again divert the stream.
Rick and Ruddy, with Chot, now settled down to an enjoyment of the time
left to them in the west, for they would have to start back east in
September, when school began.
One evening about sunset, when “grub” was ready to be served, a man came
up walking into camp. Rick and Chot looked up as his shadow fell in
front of the shack, and Ruddy growled.
The man—a stranger to the boys—held up his hand, palm out, in a curious
fashion, and tossed a green branch toward them.
“What in the—” began Rick, but just then Uncle Tod came out, took one
look at the newcomer, and cried:
“Jake Teeter! And up to his old tricks, too! Ha! Ha! He chucked you a
laurel branch, boys, to show he was peaceable. Well, well, if it isn’t
Jake! Say, got any more marked bullets on you?” he asked, laughing
heartily.
“Um!” grunted Jake, as an Indian might have done. “All right?” he asked,
questioningly.
“Meaning us and the camp? Yes,” answered Uncle Tod. “Your mysterious
warning came in time, and we cleaned out the Lawson gang. Here, meet
Rick, Chot and Ruddy,” and he presented the boys and the dog. “Sam,
here’s Jake!” called Uncle Tod.
Sam came out of the cook tent. Though he and Jake had not seen each
other in nearly two months they merely nodded silently, and Jake held up
his hand, palm out, in peaceful Indian greeting.
“Isn’t he the limit?” whispered Uncle Tod to the boys, and they agreed
that he was.
Jake was made welcome, and he chuckled as he heard what a stir his
bullet message had caused in quiet Belemere. As Uncle Tod had said, this
queer character just reveled in mysterious actions, for, a little later,
Rick saw Jake trying to coax Ruddy into the bushes.
“What’s the matter?” asked the lad. “Is there something there?”
Jake silently shook his head, and, half surreptitiously, showed Rick a
bone he had for the dog.
“Well, if he isn’t the very cheese!” chuckled Chot, later, when his chum
told him about it. “Can’t even give a dog a bone without making a secret
of it!”
A little later, after supper, Uncle Tod noticed that one of Jake’s
thumbs was sprained.
“How’d that happen?” asked Mr. Belmont.
“Fight—Zeek Took,” was the answer, and partly in sign language, using as
few words as possible, Jake related how, on his way to Uncle Tod’s camp,
he had encountered the sneaking Zeek. Jake had heard from friends on his
way out, of the outcome in the fight to restore Lost River, and knew
Zeek to be a spy in the pay of the Lawson gang. Jake taxed Zeek with
trying to learn things about Uncle Tod’s camp, to report to the Lawsons
(as afterward proved to be the case) and there was a fight between the
two.
“Well, you got a sprained thumb out of it,” commented Uncle Tod. “I
reckon that maybe Zeek—”
“You should see _him_!” was all Jake would say. After this Zeek was not
heard from in that locality.
In spite of his odd ways Jake was welcomed at camp, and began working at
getting out the gold and other metals. It was he who discovered the
secret of the weird noises heard by the boys in the tunnel. Once, when
the water was shut off from Uncle Tod’s camp, to enable some
improvements to be made at the flume, Rick and Chot undertook to show
Jake through the tunnel they had explored.
While in it they heard the same disconcerting noises, and could not
determine what made them until Jake suggested that they sounded like the
voices of men, magnified, or amplified, as if by an echo.
And this proved to be the case. For, emerging from the tunnel, the boys
found Uncle Tod and some men strengthening the water gates, since it was
decided to leave the dam in place to better control the river. And it
was the voices of the men, filtering in through the tunnel, and being
amplified in the various crevices and chasms that caused the weird
groans, howls and shrieks.
The boys tried it for themselves, being able, by making strange noises
such as only boys know how to produce, to cause a veritable bedlam of
sound in the tunnel.
“And it was the Lawson gang, talking and laughing just outside the
tunnel mouth, that we heard,” said Rick.
“It was,” agreed Chot.
Thus all the mysteries of Lost River were cleared up. Rick, however, was
wrong in one theory. The rocks the Lawson gang used to hide the opening
of the second tunnel did not come from the tunnel itself, but from the
higher part of the mountain outside, being rolled down into place.
“Well, now that it’s all over we can work in peace,” said Uncle Tod,
“and make up for lost time.”
Uncle Tod and Sam were kept busy, with their helpers, in washing out pay
dirt and they uncovered a rich streak, now that they had the much-needed
water.
“Well, boys,” said Uncle Tod to the chums and their dog one day, “if you
haven’t anything special to do suppose you come with me.”
“Where to?” asked Rick.
“Over to the old Lawson camp. There’s something I want to see about.”
“Is the gang coming back?” asked Chot. “If they are we’d better get our
guns and—”
“You won’t need any guns!” laughed Uncle Tod.
In the rattling flivver they journeyed to the place where Rick and Chot
had discovered the hidden dam and water gates. As they reached the place
the boys saw some men working over a flume box.
“I thought you said the Lawson crowd hadn’t come back,” remarked Rick
apprehensively.
“They haven’t,” answered his uncle.
“But there are men washing dirt in the flume box, and they’re using some
of Lost River water. They have one of the gates open.”
“That’s all right—they’re my men,” said Uncle Tod. “That’s what I came
to see about—if they were washing out any color.”
“Rick—look!” suddenly exclaimed Chot.
He pointed to a board sign near the flume box. It read:
THE RUDDY MINE
PROPRIETORS
T. Belmont
S. Rockford
Rick, Ruddy and Chot
“Is that true, Uncle Tod?” asked Rick, hardly able to believe it.
“Of course it is. I bought this mine from the real owners, whose claim
the Lawson crowd tried to jump. And I reckon I couldn’t do any more than
name the mine after Ruddy. I thought you’d rather have it that way than
named after either of you boys.”
“Sure!” cried Rick and Chot. “Sure!”
“Then the Ruddy Mine it is!” chuckled Uncle Tod, “and I think the dog
brought us good luck, for both claims are panning out well. Boys, it’s a
good thing you came west.”
“I believe it is!” declared Chot.
“Whoopee, Ruddy! You never thought when you got swept overboard off that
schooner into the sea that you’d ever have a gold mine named after you;
did you, old dog?” cried Rick. He leaped forward to throw his arms
around his dog, but he slipped and down a gentle pine-needle-covered
hill Rick rolled, he and Ruddy together, the dog barking madly and
joyously while Chot and Uncle Tod shook with laughter.
“Well, we sure have had a bunch of jolly adventures!” declared Rick,
when he had untangled himself from Ruddy and walked up the hill.
“We sure have!” agreed Chot. “I wonder if we’ll have any more?”
“Not this season, I hope,” said Uncle Tod. “I had letters from your
folks the other day asking when you were coming home.”
“Don’t mention it!” begged Rick.
“Let’s forget it!” cried Chot. “Oh, boy, but it’s great out here!”
I might say that Rick and Ruddy did have more adventures, and those of
you who care to follow the career of a boy and his dog may do so in the
next volume, to be called: “Rick and Ruddy on the Trail.”
“Well, boys, everything seems to be coming along all right,” remarked
Uncle Tod, when he had looked to the mining operations being conducted
by men he had engaged.
“You’ve got two mines instead of one,” said Chot.
“Oh, I only own part of this one,” said Mr. Belmont. “And, Rick, I want
you to see that Ruddy gets his dividends in the shape of bones!”
“I’ll see to it,” promised Rick with a laugh.
And then, in the pleasant evening glow, they rode back to the main camp.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Rick and Ruddy Out West, by Howard R. Garis