[Illustration: AN UNEXPECTED APPEARANCE.]
THE
MYSTERY
OF
LOST RIVER CANYON
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON
AUTHOR OF “ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES,” “GUNBOAT SERIES,” “BOY TRAPPER
SERIES,” ETC., ETC.
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1896,
BY
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
PROLOGUE, 5
I. GEORGE AND HIS UNCLE, 11
II. UNCLE RUBEN LEARNS SOMETHING, 22
III. A SURPRISE, 34
IV. A HOME IN THE WOODS, 46
V. A CAPSIZE, 58
VI. DICK LANGDON’S SENTIMENTS, 70
VII. A PERSEVERING DIVER, 81
VIII. UNCLE RUBEN CALLS AGAIN, 92
IX. LOST IN THE WOODS, 104
X. THE MASKED ROBBERS, 116
XI. AN ANGRY MISER, 129
XII. A VISIT FROM THE SHERIFF, 141
XIII. THE TABLES TURNED, 154
XIV. THE UPSHOT OF THE WHOLE MATTER, 166
XV. THE RENDEZVOUS, 179
XVI. HOW ONE TELEGRAM WAS RECEIVED, 192
XVII. TWO NEW CHARACTERS, 203
XVIII. HOW THE OTHER WAS RECEIVED, 215
XIX. BOB HEARS SOME STARTLING NEWS, 226
XX. A MERITED REBUKE, 239
XXI. THE MYSTERY OF THE CANYON, 251
XXII. THE IDEA SUGGESTED, 264
XXIII. OFF FOR CAMP, 276
XXIV. THE TERRORS OF THE CANYON, 288
XXV. SAM ASKS FOR HIS PAY, 302
XXVI. ARTHUR TRIES TO HELP HIMSELF, 315
XXVII. THE LISTENER IN THE GROVE, 328
XXVIII. A HURRIED FLIGHT, 340
XXIX. THE MYSTERY SOLVED, 353
XXX. IN THE MOUNTAINS, 366
XXXI. “ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL,” 376
THE
Mystery of Lost River Canyon.
PROLOGUE.
One hot, sultry August afternoon, a weary horse, whose heaving sides and
foam-flecked breast bore evidence to the fact that he had been driven
long and rapidly, was reined up in front of a little station on the
Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad. His rider—a tall,
broad-shouldered, full-bearded man—was dressed in clothing which seems
to have been chosen by the ranchmen of the country of which we write, as
a badge distinctive of their calling—a red shirt, wide-brimmed hat,
corduroy trousers and heavy top boots.
He was armed and equipped as the law of the plains directs—a heavy
Winchester rifle being slung at his back, and a brace of navy revolvers
buckled about his waist.
Before his horse had fairly come to a stand-still, he swung himself from
the saddle, hurried into the telegraph office, drew a couple of blanks
toward him, and, after writing a hasty dispatch upon each, handed them
to the operator.
The latter read them with great deliberation, counted the words they
contained, and no one would have imagined, by looking at his impassive
face, that he had made himself master of a piece of news that was
destined to work the most remarkable changes in the lives of some of the
characters who are to appear in our story.
Having received pay for the dispatches, the operator seated himself at
his instrument and sent them off, while the horseman sprang into his
saddle and rode slowly away.
Let us go with these telegrams and see where they went, and how they
were received by those to whom they were addressed. They both sped over
the same wire until they reached the city of Chicago, and then one
turned off and made its way to the little town of Bolton, in Indiana,
where we will leave it for the present, while we follow the other, which
finally reached its journey’s end in a thriving village in one of our
Eastern States.
The operator at the latter place, when he heard his “call” sounded,
seated himself at his table with his usual nonchalance; but, before he
had written half a dozen words, a surprised and grieved expression
settled on his face, and, when the dispatch had been copied, he leaned
back in his chair and sighed deeply.
“By George!” he exclaimed aloud.
“What’s the matter?” asked a messenger boy, who stood at his elbow.
“That’s telling,” was the answer. “If you are ever able to run a ticker
of your own, you will know that it is against the law to reveal the
contents of the messages you receive. Take this up to Mrs. Butler’s, and
be quick about it. It is for Bob Howard—all the way from Arizona.”
“By George!” repeated the operator, when the messenger boy was out of
hearing. “It’s too bad. It will pretty near kill Bob—and this is his
last day at school, and he is going to start for the West to-morrow
morning. He’ll go to a desolate home, poor fellow! If I had the money he
is heir to, I wouldn’t spend many more hours at this table, I bet you!”
The messenger boy broke into a run as soon as he was out of the office,
and presently mounted the steps leading to the door of a modest house in
a quiet street.
His pull at the bell was answered by a motherly-looking old lady, who
took the message, signed her own name to the receipt book, because she
didn’t believe that Mr. Howard had yet come from the academy, and then
went up-stairs and laid the dispatch upon the centre-table in a nicely
furnished room, propping it up against a book, so that it would be sure
to meet the eye of the person for whom it was intended as soon as he
entered at the door.
He came a few minutes later—a tall, dark youth, with coal-black hair and
eyes, and a countenance so striking, that, when you had taken one look
at it, you always wanted to turn and take another. You knew that he was
a young gentleman as soon as you put your eyes on him.
He was a favorite with the girls because of his handsome face and
figure; with his teachers, because of his studious habits and strict
regard for the rules of school; and with his fellows, because of his
kindness of heart and his proficiency in every athletic sport.
Frail as he looked, he took the lead of them all. No academy boy had
ever taken his measure on the campus, and as for sparring and fencing,
his superiority was acknowledged by everybody. He was a good oarsman, a
lightning pitcher, a terrific batter, and dead sure of making a double
shot on quails or snipe as often as the opportunity was offered. Many a
poor student had his money helped out of a tight place; and, although
Bob never let one hand know what the other hand did, those who were the
recipients of his favors could always tell where they came from.
The companion who followed at his heels was a different sort of boy
altogether. He was short and thick-set, and as homely as he was
good-natured, and his whole appearance indicated that he had not been
born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
His name was George Edwards, and he was janitor of the academy. His lot
had always been a hard one—how hard you will see as our story
progresses—and George could not remember the time when he had not been
dependent upon his own exertions for his daily bread.
Up to the hour he made the acquaintance of Bob Howard, his life had been
one fierce and constant struggle with poverty; but, since that memorable
afternoon, his pathway had been made smoother for him.
Having introduced our heroes, whom we hope you will like, we will
describe the circumstances under which they first met, and then we will
go back to the telegrams, which bear an important part in our story.
CHAPTER I.
GEORGE AND HIS UNCLE.
“Well, George, it is either that or the poorhouse.”
“There’s where I differ with you, Uncle Ruben.”
“You are an ungrateful scamp. Here I am, offerin’ you a good home—”
“I know you offer me shelter, food and clothing, but you can’t give me a
home. I shall never have one again, now that my mother is dead.”
“And your father in prison for stealin’.”
“You might have spared me that, Uncle Ruben. I know he is in prison, and
there is no need that you and everybody else should constantly remind me
of it. I am in no way to blame for what he did.”
“Mebbe you hain’t. But can’t you see how it’s a hurtin’ of you? Who is
there about here that would be willin’ to hire the son of a thief?”
“I don’t care to talk to you now, Uncle Ruben. Leave me alone for a day
or two, and then I will tell you what I have decided to do.”
“Might as well decide now as any time. I reckon you know that this house
an’ everything what’s into it belongs to me, don’t you? I didn’t say
nothing to your mother about it when she was alive, ’cause she was my
brother’s wife, and I didn’t want to pester her; but now—”
“I know you didn’t say anything about the mortgage, but I notice that
you always demanded the interest the moment it was due. You took it,
too, when you knew that my mother didn’t have money enough in the house
to buy a sack of flour.”
“Well, it was my due, an’ I wanted it.”
George Edwards uttered an exclamation of disgust, and, leaning his
elbows on the railing that surrounded the porch, he rested his chin on
his hands, and gazed off towards the distant hills; while Uncle Ruben
paced up and down in front of the house, thrashing his cowhide boots
with his riding whip, and taking a survey of the buildings and grounds
that were soon to come into his possession by virtue of the mortgage he
held upon them.
He was a very mean man, this Ruben Edwards—the meanest man in all that
country, so everybody said—and you would have known it the minute you
looked at him. He loved money, and not unfrequently resorted to
questionable means in order to get it.
He owned several farms in the neighborhood, and was now congratulating
himself on having secured another. True, it was not much of an
acquisition. All he saw, as he looked about him, were a few acres of
stony, unproductive land, a small, unpainted dwelling-house, and a few
outbuildings, all of which showed signs of decay, in spite of the
efforts the industrious George had made to keep them in repair.
It was no wonder that George did not want to talk to his uncle on this
particular morning. He did not believe that there was a boy in the world
who was so utterly miserable as he was, or who had so little to live
for.
He had always been looked down on and shunned by the boys of his
acquaintance on account of the conduct of his father, who was one of the
village vagabonds; and, since the latter had been shut up in the
penitentiary for breaking into a store and stealing money that he was
too lazy to work for, poor George had had a hard time of it. No one in
that village would have anything to do with him.
He left school and tried to find something to do in order to support his
mother, who was an invalid; but nobody needed his services.
“There’s work enough to be done,” he often said to his mother, when he
came home from his long tramps, weary and dusty; “but they won’t give me
a chance. They are all suspicious of me. But never mind; you shan’t
suffer. I have long been thinking of something; and, since no one will
hire me, I shall go into business for myself.”
And he did, just as soon as he could make the necessary arrangements.
The people who would not let him saw their wood, because they were
afraid he would steal something, did not refuse to purchase the
delicious trout and yellow perch that he peddled from door to door, and
neither did the luscious berries he brought in from distant fields and
pastures ever remain long on his hands.
He made money; but he often became disheartened, and angry, too, when he
drew a contrast between his circumstances and those of the boys about
him, and then all that was needed was a smile or a word of praise from
his mother to bring all his courage and determination back to him again.
But now she was gone—the only friend he ever had. She had been dead just
a week, and George was lonely, indeed.
He wanted to get out into the woods by himself, and stay there, and he
was already making preparations to take a final leave of the house which
he could no longer call his home, when he saw his Uncle Ruben’s old
clay-bank pacer coming down the road, and Uncle Ruben himself in the
saddle.
George was not at all pleased to see him, for he knew pretty nearly what
the man would have to say to him.
“’Taint no great shakes of a place,” said Uncle Ruben, after running his
eye over the house and its surroundings. “But mebbe I can sell it for
enough to save myself. Then you won’t go home with me an’ work for your
board and clothes?”
“No, I won’t,” replied George promptly.
He did not thank his relative for his offer, for he knew the object he
had in making it.
George was very strong for a boy of his age, and fully capable of doing
a man’s work in the field; and he knew that his services there would be
worth much more than his board and clothes. So did Uncle Ruben; but the
latter thought it would be a good thing if he could induce his nephew to
agree to his proposition, for it would be a saving to him of twenty or
thirty dollars a month.
“If you will stay with me till you are twenty-one years old, I will give
you a yoke of oxen an’ a good suit of clothes to begin life with,” added
Uncle Ruben. “That’s customary, you know.”
“I know it is,” answered George. “But if I live to see the age of
twenty-one, I shall have more than a yoke of worthless old oxen and a
suit of shoddy clothes, _I_ tell you!”
Uncle Ruben winced a little at this.
“I saw the outfit you gave to one of your bound boys, who had served you
faithfully for six long years,” continued George. “The oxen were not
worth the powder to blow them up, and the clothes fell to pieces in less
than a month. You can’t palm any of your old trash off on me. I can do
better.”
“I don’t see how. Whose goin’ to hire you?”
“I don’t ask any one to hire me. I’ve got a business of my own that
enabled me to support my mother, and to pay your interest on the very
day it became due.”
“But you shan’t foller it no longer,” said Uncle Ruben, decidedly. “Boys
like you don’t know what’s best for themselves. You need a guardeen, an’
I shall ask the selectmen to have you bound out to me until you are of
age.”
“I don’t care if you do,” replied George, in a voice choked with
indignation. “Having no property, I do not need a guardian, and I won’t
have one, either. I can take care of myself.”
“I know what you want to do,” said Uncle Ruben, with a sneer. “You’re
too scandalous lazy to work for a livin’, an’ you want to go back to
that shanty of yours in the woods, an’ live there, trappin’ and fishin’,
jest for all the world like a wild Injun. But that ain’t a respectable
way to live—that way ain’t—an’ I shan’t consent to it.”
“I haven’t asked your consent. I have a right to make an honest living
in any way I can, and I intend to exercise that right. I am not too lazy
to work; but, as you say, there is no one about here who will give me
anything to do. I am not going to starve and go ragged, however, for all
that.”
“Be you goin’ to stay up there in the woods all your life?” inquired
Uncle Ruben.
“No, I am not. I want to be something better than a hermit. I intend to
stay up there until I can save money enough to take me to some place
where I am not known, and then I shall make a new start.”
“Well, we’ll wait until we hear what the selectmen have to say about
that,” answered Uncle Ruben, with a grin and a wink which seemed to
indicate that he felt sure of his ground. “Mebbe they’ll think, as I do,
that it’s best for you to go with me, so that you can have somebody what
knows something to take care on you. You can stay here till I can have
time to go an’ see ’em.”
“I don’t care to stay in this house another night,” replied George,
quickly. “I was getting ready to leave it when I saw you coming. If you
have got through talking, I’ll go now.”
So saying, George disappeared through the open door, and, when he came
out again, he carried over his shoulder a heavy bundle, at which Uncle
Ruben gazed with suspicion.
“Everything in here belongs to me, and was purchased with money that I
earned myself,” said the boy, who understood the look. “If you don’t
believe it—”
Here George threw the bundle down upon the porch within reach of his
uncle’s hand.
But the latter did not offer to touch it. Mean as he was known to be,
and anxious as he was to secure every article about the house that would
clear him a dime or two at public auction, he could not bring himself to
make an examination of his nephew’s bundle.
“Well, then,” said the latter, once more raising his property to his
shoulder, “I will bid you good-by.”
He hurried out of the yard, and up the road toward the hills, while
Uncle Ruben stood in front of the porch and shook his riding-whip at
him.
“That’s a powerful bad boy,” said he to himself, “an’ he’s goin’ to be a
no-account vagabond, like his father was. But there’s a heap of strength
in him, an’ it’s a great pity that he should waste it by foolin’ about
in the woods, instead of puttin’ it on my farm, where it would do some
good. He’d oughter be taken in hand, that boy ought.”
Uncle Ruben gave emphasis to this thought by hitting his boots a vicious
cut with his whip, and then he went into the house, to see what he could
find there.