JIM TRIES THE NEW WAY
"I've attended to the firm's business," exclaimed Jim Ferrers,
wrathfully, on his return to camp. "I filed the papers at Dugout
City, and the claim now stands in my name, though it belongs to
the firm. And now, having attended to the firm's business, I'm
going out to settle some of my own."
"What business is that!" Tom inquired over the supper table.
It was three days after the morning on which Ferrers had ridden
away.
"That mongrel dog, Dolph Gage, took a shot at me this afternoon!"
Ferrers exploded wrathfully. "I'd ought to have gotten him years
ago. Now I'm going to drop all other business and find the fellow."
"What for?" Tom inquired innocently.
"What for?" echoed Jim, then added, ironically: "Why, I want to do
the hyena a favor, of course."
"If you go out to look for him, you're not going armed, are you?"
Reade pursued.
"Armed?" repeated Ferrers, with withering sarcasm. "Oh, no, of
course not. I'm going to ride up to him with my hands high in
the air and let him take a shot at me."
"Jim," drawled Tom, "I'm afraid there's blood in your eye---and not
your own blood, either."
"Didn't that fellow kill my brother in a brawl?" demanded Ferrers.
"Hasn't he pot-shotted at me? And didn't he do it again this
afternoon?"
"Why didn't the law take up Gage's case when your brother was
killed?" Tom inquired.
"Well, you see, Mr. Reade," Ferrers admitted, "my brother had a hasty
temper, and he drew first---but Gage fired the killing shot."
"So that the law would say that Gage fired in self-defense, eh?"
"That's what a coroner's jury did say," Jim admitted angrily.
"But my brother was a young fellow, and hot-headed. Gage knew
he could provoke the boy into firing, and then, when the boy missed,
Gage drilled him through the head."
"I don't want to say anything unkind, Jim," Reade went on,
thoughtfully. "Please don't misunderstand me. But, as I
understand the affair, if your brother hadn't been carrying a
pistol he wouldn't have been killed?"
"Perhaps not," Ferrers grudgingly admitted.
"Then the killing came about through the bad practice of carrying a
revolver?"
"Bad practice!" snorted Jim. "Well, if that's a bad practice
more'n half the men in the state have the vice."
"Popular custom may not make a thing right," argued Reade.
"But what are you going to do when the men who have a grudge against
you pack guns?" Jim queried, opening his eyes very wide.
"I've had a few enemies---bad ones, too, some of them," Tom answered
slowly. "Yet I've always refused to carry an implement of murder,
even when I've been among rough enemies. And yet I'm alive.
If I had carried a pistol ever since I came West I'm almost certain
that I'd be dead by this time."
"But if you won't carry a gun, and let folks suspect you of being
a white-flagger, then you get the reputation of being a coward,"
argued Ferrers.
"Then I suppose I've been voted a coward long ago," Reade nodded.
"No, by the Great Nugget, you're not a coward," retorted Ferrers.
"No man who has seen you in a tough place will ever set you down
for a coward."
"Yet I must be, if I don't tote a gun in a wild country," smiled
Reade.
"But to go back to the case of that good-for-nothing, Dolph Gage,"
Jim Ferrers resumed. "You advise me to forget that he shot at me?"
"Oh, no, I don't," Tom retorted quietly. "But you don't have to go
out and take your own revenge. There are laws in this state,
aren't there?"
"Of course."
"And officers to execute the laws"
"To be sure."
"Then why not go back to Dugout City, there to lay information
against Gage. That done, the sheriff's officers will have to
do the hunting. Having nothing personal against the officers,
Gage will very likely hold up his hands when the officers find
him, and then go back with them as peaceable as a lamb. Jim,
you want to be even with Gage for shooting your brother and for
trying to finish you. Won't it give you more satisfaction to
feel that you've put Gage day for his bread and water? I know
that is the way I'd want to punish a man that I had cause to hate.
At least, I believe it's the way; I don't really know, for I
can't recall any man that I hate hard enough to wish him worse
than out of my sight."
"Say, it would be kinder funny to go up to the state 'pen' some
day, and see Dolph Gage walking lock-step with a lot of rascally
Chinamen, drunken Indians, Knife-sticking foreigners and sassy
bill-collectors, wouldn't it?" grinned Jim Ferrers.
"I'm glad your sense of humor is improving," smiled Tom Reade.
"Now, tomorrow, morning, Jim, you take two of the other men,
and our ponies, and ride into Dugout. If you run across Gage
don't try to pick up any trouble. Of course, I don't mean to say
that you shouldn't shoot in self-defense if you're attacked, but
try, if possible, to keep out of any trouble with Gage. Just
save him for the sheriff. It's the law's business to handle such
fellows. Let the law have its own way."
"I'll do it," promised Ferrers. "Putting it the way you've done,
Mr. Reade, it doesn't seem like such a baby trick to use the sheriff
instead of killing the hyena, myself. Yes; I'll sure leave it
to the law. If Dolph Gage gets caught and sent to the 'pen' I'll
sure go there on some visiting day and see how he looks in his
striped suit!"
Instead of being offended, it was plain that Ferrers was in high
good humor. He went about camp whistling that night, and with
a cheery word for everyone.
Camp had been moved over to the ridge, and the young engineers
were ready to begin blasting operations the following morning.
Ferrers was no longer concerned with cooking, he having engaged
a man to do that work. The new man kept a sharp eye on Alf Drew,
making that youngster do a really honest day's work every day
in the week.
"I hate to take two men from you, Mr. Reade right at the start
of operations," complained Jim, the next morning at breakfast.
"I don't need two men, either, to protect me."
"I don't need the two men here, either, Jim for a few days. As
for you, you don't know how many men you are going to need. All
three of Gage's partners have vanished, and I'm sure that they're
together somewhere out on the Range. They undoubtedly have rifles
again, at that, and if you meet them, three men won't be any too
many to stand off those four rascals."
Tom watched the trio of horsemen out of sight in the morning.
"If Jim doesn't lose his head that trip will mean that we shall
see the last of Dolph Gage," mused the young engineer.
For once Tom Reade was in grave error, as subsequent events proved.
"It's ten minutes of seven," Harry reminded him.
"Get ready, men," Tom shouted to their few laborers, who were
enjoying a few minutes leisure after breakfast.
At seven o'clock the young engineers and their handful of toilers
moved over to the point in the outcropping vein of ore that Reade
had selected for their first blast.
A small portable engine had already been fired, and all was ready
for turning on the steam drill.
Twenty minutes later a satisfactory boring had been made.
"Bring up the dynamite," called Tom.
"Are you going to pack the charge?" Harry inquired.
"Yes," nodded Tom, and received the stick of dynamite from the
miner who brought it.
While this was being made ready, Hazelton superintended the laying
of the wires to the magneto battery. All was soon in readiness.
"The red flag is up," Tom shouted.
The dynamite had been rather loosely tamped home, for young Reade
wanted to begin with light rending force and work up, through
successive blasts, to just the proper amount of force.
"Get back, everybody!" Reade called, and there was a flying of
feet. Tom was last to leave the spot. He ran over to where Harry
stood at a safe distance.
"Pump her up, Harry," nodded the young chief engineer.
"You watch me, and see just how I run this magneto," Hazelton
said to one of their men who stood near by. "This will be your
job after we've fired a few charges. I want you to get the hang
of the trick."
Harry worked the handle of the magneto up and down.
Bang! Over where the drilling had been done a mass of dirt and
rock was shot up into the air.
"What are you running so fast for, Harry?" laughed Tom, as he pursued
his chum back to the scene of the blast.
"I want to see if we stirred up any real ore. I want to know if our
claim is worth the grub it takes to feed the men," was Hazelton's
almost breathless response.