The Boys of Crawford's Basin

We had just sat down to our evening meal, and were telling Peter all about our two great finds of the afternoon, when our guest, whose long and solitary life as a hunter had made his hearing preternaturally sharp, straightened himself in his chair, and holding up one finger, said:

“Hark! I hear a horse coming up the valley at a gallop!”

At first Joe and I could hear nothing, but presently we detected the rhythmical beat of the hoofs of a horse approaching at a smart canter. Somebody was coming up from San Remo – for though a wheeled vehicle could not pass over the “forty rods,”a horseman could pick his way – and knowing that nobody ever came that way in the “soft”season unless our house was his destination, I stepped to the door, wondering who our visitor could be. Great was my surprise when the horseman, riding into the streak of light thrown through the open doorway, proved to be Yetmore!

“Why, Mr. Yetmore!”I cried. “Is it you? Come in! You’re just in time for supper.”

“Thank you, Phil,”replied the storekeeper, “but I won’t stop. I was down at San Remo this afternoon, and it occurred to me to ride home this way and inquire of you if you’d seen or heard anything more of those ore-thieves. By the way, before I forget it: I brought your mail for you;”at the same time handing me one letter and two or three newspapers.

“Thank you,”said I, thrusting the letter into my pocket. “And as to the ore-thieves, Mr. Yetmore, we’ve seen one of them; but we’ve done something a good deal better than that – we’ve found the ore.”

“What!”shouted Yetmore, so loudly that Joe came running out, thinking there must be something the matter. “What! You’ve found the ore!”

So saying, he leaped from his horse and seizing me by the arm, cried: “You’re not joking, are you, Phil? For goodness’ sake, don’t fool me, boys. It’s a matter of life and death to me, almost!”

His anxiety was plainly expressed in his eager eyes and trembling hand, and I was glad to note the look of relief which came over his face when I replied:

“I’m not fooling, Mr. Yetmore. We’ve found it all right – this evening. Come in and have some supper, and we’ll tell you all about it.”

Yetmore did not decline a second time, but forgetting even to tie up his horse, which Joe did for him, he followed me at once into the kitchen, where, hardly noticing Peter, to whom I introduced him, and neglecting entirely the food placed before him, he sat down and instantly exclaimed:

“Now, Phil! Quick! Go ahead! Go ahead! Don’t keep me waiting, there’s a good fellow! How did you find the ore? Where is it? What have you done with it?”

Not to prolong his suspense, I at once related to him as briefly as possible the whole incident, winding up with the statement that we proposed to go and bring in the sacks by daylight on the morrow.

At this conclusion Yetmore sprang to his feet.

“Boys,”said he, in a tremulous voice, “you’ve done me an immense service; now do me one more favor: lend me your big gun. I’ll ride right up to the ‘bubble’ and stand guard over the ore till morning. If I should lose it a second time I believe it would turn my head.”

That he was desperately in earnest was plain to be seen: his voice was shaky, and his hand, I noticed, was shaky, too, when he held it out entreating us to lend him our big gun.

I was about to say he might take it, and welcome, when Joe pulled me by the sleeve and whispered in my ear; I nodded my acquiescence; upon which my companion, turning to Yetmore, said:

“We can do better than that, Mr. Yetmore. We’ll hitch up the little mules and go and bring away the ore to-night.”

I have no doubt that to our anxious visitor the time seemed interminable while Joe and I were finishing our supper, but at length we rose from the table, and within a few minutes thereafter we were off; Yetmore himself sitting in the bed of the wagon with the big shotgun across his knees.

As it was then quite dark, and as we did not wish to attract any possible notice by carrying a light, we were obliged to take it very slowly, one or other of us now and then descending from the wagon and walking ahead as a pilot. In due time, however, we reached the foot of the “bubble,”when, leaving Yetmore to take care of the mules, Joe and I climbed up to the crevice, and having presently, by feeling around with our hands, found the hiding-place of the sacks, we pulled them out and carried them, one at a time down to the wagon. All this, being done in the dark, took a long time, and it was pretty late when we drew up again at our own door.

Here, for the first time, Yetmore, striking a match, examined the ten little sacks.

“It’s all right, boys,”said he, with a great sigh of relief. “These are the sacks; and none of them has been opened, either.”He paused for a moment, and then, with much earnestness of manner, went on: “How am I to thank you, boys? You’ve done me a service of infinite importance. The loss of that ore almost distracted me: I needed the money so badly. But now, thanks to you, I shall be all right again. You don’t know how great a service you have done me. I shan’t forget it. We’ve not always been on the best of terms, I’m sorry to say – my fault, though, my fault entirely – but I should be very glad, if it suits you, to start fresh to-night and begin again as friends.”

He was so evidently in earnest, that Joe and I by one impulse shook hands with him and declared that nothing would suit us better.

“And how about the ore, Mr. Yetmore?”I asked. “What will you do now?”

“If you don’t mind,”he replied, “I should like to drive straight up to Sulphide at once. If you will lend me the mules and wagon, I’ll set right off. I’ll return them to-morrow.”

“Very well,”said I. “And you can leave your own horse in the stable, so that whoever brings down the team will have a horse to ride home on.”

Yetmore, accordingly, climbed up to the seat and drove off at once, calling back over his shoulder: “Good-night, boys; and thank you again. I feel ten years younger than I did this morning!”

CHAPTER XVII

The Draining of the “Forty Rods“

As soon as Yetmore was out of sight, Joe and I turned into the house, where we found that Peter, wise man, had gone to bed; an example we speedily followed. But, tired though we were, we could neither of us go to sleep. For a long time we lay talking over the exciting events of the day, and going over the probable consequences, if, as now seemed certain, we had indeed discovered the source of our underground stream. First and foremost, by diverting it we should dry up the “forty rods” and render productive a large piece of land which at present was more bane than benefit; we should bring the county road past our door; we should more than double our supply of water for irrigation purposes – a fact which, by itself, would be of immense advantage to us.

At present we had no more than enough water – sometimes hardly enough – to irrigate our crops, but by doubling the supply we could bring into use another hundred acres or more. On either side of our present cultivated area, and only three feet above it, spread the first of the old lake-benches, a fine, level tract of land, capable of growing any crop, but which, for lack of water, we had hitherto utilized only as a dry pasture for our stock. By a test we had once made of a little patch of it, we had found that it was well adapted to the cultivation of wheat; and as I lay there thinking – Joe having by this time departed to the land of dreams – I pictured in my mind the whole area converted into one flourishing wheat-field; I built a castle in the air in the shape of a flour-mill which I ran by power derived from our waterfall; and with a two-ton load of flour I was in imagination driving down to San Remo over the splendid road which traversed the now solid “forty rods,”when a light shining in my face disturbed me.

It was the sun pouring in at our east window!

Half-past seven! And we still in bed! Such a thing had not happened to me since that time when, a rebellious infant, I had been kept in bed perforce with a light attack of the measles.

Needless to say, we were up and dressed in next to no time, when, on descending to the kitchen, we found another surprise in store for us. Peter was gone! He must have been gone some hours, too, for the fire in the range had burned out. He had not deserted us, however, for on the table was a bit of paper upon which he had written, “Back pretty soon. Wait for me“ – a behest we duly obeyed, not knowing what else to do.

About an hour later I heard the trampling of horses outside the front door, and going out, there I saw Peter stiffly descending from the back of our gray pony; while beside him, with a broad grin on his jolly face, stood Tom Connor.

“Why, Tom!”I cried. “What brings you here?”

Tom laughed. “Didn’t expect to see me, eh, Phil,”said he. “It’s Peter’s doing. While you two lazy young rascals were snoring away in bed, he started out at four-thirty this morning and rode all the way up to my camp to borrow my tools for you. And when he told me what you wanted ’em for, I decided to come down, too. You did me a good turn in finding the Big Reuben for me – and ‘big’ is the word for it, Phil, I can tell you – and so I thought I couldn’t do less than come down here for a day or two and give you a hand. It’s probable I can help you a good bit with your trench-cutting.”

“There’s no doubt about that, Tom,”I replied. “We shall be mighty glad of your help. You can give us a starter, anyhow. But you, Peter, we couldn’t think what had become of you. Don’t you think it was a bit risky to go galloping about the country with that game leg of yours?”

“I couldn’t very well go without it,”replied our guest, laughing. “No, I don’t think so,”he added, more seriously. “It was easy enough, all except the mounting and dismounting. In fact, Phil, I’m so nearly all right again that I should have no excuse to be hanging around here any longer if it were not that I can be of use to you by taking all the chores off your hands, thus leaving you and Joe free to get about your work in the crater.”

“That will be a great help,”I replied. “Though as to letting you go, Peter, we don’t intend to do that, at least till my father and mother get home.”

“When do they get home?”asked Tom. “Have you heard from them since they left?”

“Why!”I cried, suddenly remembering the letter Yetmore had brought up from San Remo the previous evening. “I have a letter from my father in my pocket now. I’d forgotten all about it.”

Quickly tearing it open, I read it through. It was very short, being written mainly with the object of informing me that he was delayed and would not be home until the afternoon of the following Wednesday. This was Friday.

“Joe!”I shouted; and Joe, who was in the stable, came running at the call. “Joe,”I cried, “we have till Wednesday afternoon to turn that stream. Four full days. Tom is going to help us. Peter will take the chores. Can we make it?”

“Good!”cried Joe. “Great! Make it? I should think so. We’ll do it if we have to work night and day. My! But this is fine!”

He rubbed his hands in anticipation of the task ahead of him. I never did know a fellow who took such delight in tackling a job which had every appearance of being just a little too big for him.

We did not waste any time, you may be sure. Having picked out the necessary tools, we went off at once, taking our dinners with us, and arriving at the foot of the “bubble,”we carried up into the crater the drills, hammers and other munitions of war we had brought with us.

“I thought you said there was a driblet of water running out at the crevice,”remarked Tom. “I don’t see it.”

“There was yesterday,”I replied, “but it seems to have stopped. I wonder why.”

“That’s easily accounted for,”said Joe. “It was those sacks lying in the channel which backed up the water and made it overflow, and when Long John cleared the course by pulling out the sacks it didn’t overflow any more.”

“Then it’s to Long John you owe this discovery!”cried Tom. “If ‘The Wolf’ hadn’t blocked that channel the water would not have run down to the cañon, and the other wolf would not have got his feet wet; and if the other wolf had not got his feet wet, you would never have thought of coming up here.”

“That’s all true,”I assented. “In fact, you may go further than that and say that if John had not stolen the ore he would not have blocked the channel with it, and we should not have found the spring; if Yetmore had not given John leave to blow up your house, John would not have stolen the ore; if you had not bored a hole in Yetmore’s oil-barrel, Yetmore would not have given John leave – it’s like the story of ‘The House that Jack Built.’ And so, after all, it is to you we owe this discovery, Tom.”

“Well, that’s one way of getting at it,”said Tom, laughing. “But, come on! Let’s pick out our line and get to work.”

“This won’t be so much of a job,”he remarked, when we had gone over the ground. “You ought to make quick work of it. We’ll follow the wet mark left by the overflow, throw all these rocks out of the way, and then pitch in and cut our trench. Come on, now; let’s begin at once. Phil, you throw aside all the rocks you can lift; Joe, take the sledge and crack all those too heavy to handle; I’ll take the single-hand drill and hammer and put some shots into the big ones. Now, boys, blaze away, and let’s see how much of a mark we can make before sunset.”

Blaze away we did! Never before had Joe and I worked so hard for so long a stretch; not a minute did we lose, except on those four or five occasions when Tom, having put down a hole into one of the large pieces, called out to us to get to cover, when, running for shelter, we crouched behind some friendly rock until a sharp, cracking explosion told us that another of the big obstructions was out of the way.

So hard did we work, in fact, and so systematically, that by sunset we had cleared a path six feet wide. There remained only one more of the big rocks to break up, and into this Tom put a three-foot hole, which he charged and tamped, when, sending us ahead to hitch up the horse, he touched off the fuse, the explosion following just as we started homeward.

“A great day’s work, boys!”cried Tom. “If it wasn’t for the training you’ve had all winter handling rocks, you never could have done it. There is a good chance now, I think, of getting the trench cut before Wednesday evening. I’ll work with you all day to-morrow – I must get back to my camp then – and that will leave you two days and a half to finish up the job. You ought to do it if you keep hard at it.”

By sunrise next morning we were at it again, working under Tom’s direction, in the same systematic manner.

“Take the sledge, Joe,”said he, “and crack up the fragments of that big rock we shot to pieces last night. Phil, you and I will put down our first hole, beginning here at the crevice and working upward. Now! Let’s get to work!”

Tom and I, therefore, went to work with drill and hammer, Tom taking the larger share of the striking; for though the swinging of the seven-pound hammer is the harder part of the work, the turning of the drill is the more particular, and as our instructor justly remarked, it was as well I should have all the practice I could get while he was on hand to superintend.

The hole being deep enough, Tom made me load and tamp it with my own hands, using black powder, which, though perhaps less effective for this particular kind of work than giant powder would have been, he regarded as safer for novices like ourselves to handle.

Our first shot broke out the rock in very good style, and then, while I busied myself cracking up the big pieces and throwing them aside, Joe took my place.

The second hole was loaded and tamped by Joe, under Tom’s supervision; after which my partner once more took the sledge, while I turned drill again.

In this order we worked all day, making, before quitting time, such encouraging progress that we felt very hopeful of getting the task completed before my father’s return.

Tom having fairly started us, went back to his camp on Lincoln, leaving Joe and me to continue the work by ourselves; and sorely did we miss our expert miner when, on the Monday morning, we returned to the crater. Though we kept steadily at it all day, our progress was noticeably slower than it had been the first day, for, besides the fact that there were only two of us, and those the least skilful, as we ascended towards the stream each hole was a little deeper than the last, each charge a little stronger, and each shot blew out a greater amount of rock to be broken up and cast aside.

Nevertheless, we made very satisfactory headway, and continuing our work the next two days with unabated energy and some increase of skill with every hole we put down, we made such progress that by two o’clock on the Wednesday afternoon there remained but three feet of rock to be shot out to make connection with the channel.

I was for blasting this out forthwith, but Joe on the other hand suggested that we trim up our trench a little before turning in the water; for, hitherto, we had merely thrown out the loose pieces, and there were in consequence many projections and jagged corners both in the sides and bottom of our proposed water-course. These we attacked with sledge and crowbar, and in two hours or so had them pretty well cleared out of the way, when we went to work putting down our last hole.

As we wanted to make a sure thing of it, we sank this hole rather deeper than any of the others, charging it with an extra allowance of powder. Then, the tools having been removed, I touched off the fuse and ran for shelter behind the big rock where Joe was already crouching, making himself as small as possible. Presently there was a tremendous bang! Rocks of every size and shape were flung broadcast all over the crater – some of them coming down uncomfortably close to our hiding-place – but as soon as the clatter ceased, up we both jumped and ran to see the result.

Nothing could have been better. Our last shot had torn a great hole, extending across almost the whole width of the old channel, and our trench being six inches or more below the original level, the whole stream at once rushed into it, leaving its former bed high and dry.

“Hooray, for us!”shouted Joe. “Come on, Phil! Let us run down and see it go into the cañon.”

Away we went; but as the crater-side was pretty steep we had to descend with some caution; whereas the water, having no neck to break, went down headlong. The consequence was that the stream beat us to the cañon by a hundred yards, and by the time we arrived it was pouring over the edge in a sixty-foot cascade.

We were in time, however, to see a wall of foam flying down the cañon; a sight which, while it delighted us, at the same time gave us something of a start.

“Joe!”I cried. “How about our bridge?”

“Pht!”Joe whistled. “I never thought of it. It will go out, I’m afraid. Let us get down there at once.”

Off we ran to where our horse was standing, eating hay out of the back of the buckboard, threw on the harness, hitched him up, and scrambling in, one on either side, away we went as fast as we dared over the uneven, rocky stretch of the mesa which lay between us and home.

The course of the stream being more circuitous than the one we took across country, we beat the water down to the ranch; but only by a few seconds. We had hardly reached the bridge when the swollen stream leaped into the pool in such volume that I felt convinced it would sweep it clear of all the sand in it whether black or yellow; rushed under the bridge, and went tearing down the valley – a sight to see! Luckily the creek-bed was fairly wide and straight, so that the banks did not suffer much.

As to the bridge, the stringers being very long and well set, and the floor being composed of stout poles roughly squared and firmly spiked down, it did not go out, though the water came squirting up between the poles in a way which made us fear it might tear them loose at any moment.

To prevent this, we ran quickly to the stable, harnessed up the mules to the wood-sled, loaded the sled with some of our big flat lava-rocks, and driving back to the bridge, we laid these rocks upon the ends of the poles, leaving a causeway between them wide enough for the passage of a wagon.

We had just finished this piece of work, when we heard a rattle of wheels, and looking up the road we saw coming down the hill an express-wagon, driven by Sam Tobin, a San Remo liveryman, and in the wagon sat my father and mother.

“Why, what’s all this?”cried the former, as the driver pulled up on the far side of the bridge. “Where does all this water come from?”

Then did the pent-up excitement of the past week burst forth. The flood of water going under the bridge was a trifle compared with the flood of words we poured out upon my bewildered parents; both of us talking at the same time, interrupting each other at every turn, explaining each other’s explanations, and tumbling over each other, as it were, in our eagerness. All the details of the strenuous days since the snow-slide came down – the discovery of the Big Reuben, the recovery of the stolen ore, and above all the heading-off of the underground stream – were set forth with breathless volubility; so that if the hearers were a little dazed by the recital and a trifle confused as to the particulars, it was not to be wondered at. One thing, at least, was clear to them: we had found and turned the underground stream; and when he understood that, my father leaped from the wagon, and shaking hands with both of us at once, he cried:

“Boys, you certainly have done a stroke of work! If it had taken you a year instead of a week it would have been more than worth the labor. As to its actual money value, it is hard to judge yet; but whether that shall turn out to be much or little, there is one thing sure: – we have our work cut out for us for years to come – a grand thing by itself for all of us. And now, let us go on up to the house: Sam Tobin wants to get back home as soon as possible.”

This the driver was able to do at once, for the livery horses, frightened by the water which came spurting up through the floor of the bridge, declined to cross, so Joe and I, taking out the trunk, placed it on the wood-sled and thus drew it up to the house.

As we walked along, my mother said:

“So the hermit has been staying with you, has he? And what sort of a man is your wild man now you’ve caught him?”

“He isn’t a wild man at all,”cried Joe, somewhat indignantly. “He’s a fine fellow – isn’t he, Phil? He has been of great help to us these last few days. We could never have finished our trench in time if he hadn’t taken the chores off our hands. He is in the kitchen now, getting the supper ready. I’ll run and bring him out.”

So saying, Joe ran forward – we others walking on more leisurely – and as we approached the house the pair came out of the front door side by side.

In spite of Joe’s assurance to the contrary, my parents still had in their minds the idea that any one going by the name of “Peter, the Hermit”must be a rough, hirsute, unkempt specimen of humanity. Great was their surprise, therefore, when Peter, always clean and tidy, his hair and beard neatly trimmed in honor of their return, issued from the doorway, looking, with his clear gray eyes, his ruddy complexion and his spare, erect figure, remarkably young and alert.

There was an added heartiness in their welcome, therefore, when Joe proudly introduced him; and though Peter threw out hints about sleeping in the hay-loft that night and taking himself off the first thing in the morning, my mother scouted the idea, telling him how she had long desired to make his acquaintance, and intimating that she should take it as a very poor compliment to herself if he should run off the moment she got home.

So Peter, set quite at his ease, said no more about it, but went back into the kitchen, whence he presently issued again to announce that supper was ready.

A very hearty and a very merry supper it was, too, and long and animated was the talk which followed, as we sat before the open fire that evening.

“I feel almost bewildered,”said my father, “when I think of the amount and the variety of the work we have before us; it is astonishing that the turning of that stream should carry with it so many consequences, as I foresee it will – that and Tom Connor’s strike.”