For a moment or two both Rick and Chot thought that they had played a trick upon themselves, and that they were gazing upon the headquarters of Uncle Tod and Sam Rockford who might be entertaining guests. The same idea was in the mind of both boys. They jumped to the conclusion that they had circled about in the tunnel, had, somehow or other, gotten into the same shaft they had first explored with Uncle Tod and so had doubled back on their trail.
For there was almost the same outfit as that at Uncle Tod’s camp—the log shack, a tent—and, scattered about, were some mining implements, while at one side a flume box had been set up.
But there was this difference—there was water running into this flume box, while back at Uncle Tod’s camp his box was dry.
It was this welcome sight of the much-needed water that first convinced the boys they were looking at another camp—a strange one—rather than at Uncle Tod’s, though both outfits were much alike. But one camp was dry and the other was wet. Lost River seemed to be favoring this camp as against the other.
Then, too, as the boys looked with less excitement pumping at their hearts, they noticed that all the men were strangers. Neither Uncle Tod nor Sam Rockford was among them, and no men that the boys had ever seen before, though they had met several friends of Uncle Tod and his partner.
Also, as their eyes took in further details of the strange camp, they saw very many points of difference. The log cabin was much smaller and was not so well built, nor was the tent the same. The flume box was much larger, though not so solidly constructed—in short hardly any details of the two camps were alike, though in general one resembled the other. Of course the men were totally different.
“It’s another place all right,” whispered Chot.
“Yes,” agreed Rick, while he cautioned Ruddy, in a low voice, to remain quiet. He did not want a whimper, whine or bark of his dog to betray their presence back there in the tunnel. “Did you think it was our camp?” asked Rick.
“For a minute I did,” assented Chot. “Didn’t you?”
“Yep. I thought we’d doubled back through the tunnel somehow.”
“So did I. But what’s it all about, Rick?”
“I don’t know, Chot. But I can make a guess at one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Those are the men—or, anyhow, they’re in the same gang—that took away Lost River.”
“What do you mean—took away Lost River?”
“Look,” went on Rick, still speaking in a whisper. “You can see where the channel was, running right into this tunnel. There’s the old bed of the river. Now it’s running off to the left so it flows into their flume box. They changed the river, that’s what they did.”
“I believe you’re right,” said Chot, after looking over the outlay that was before them. They could see it well, hidden as they were just inside the tunnel entrance. “But how could they make a river run in a new place?”
“By making a dam, or digging a new channel. I don’t see that they have dug any new channel, so they must have built a dam, or some sort of thing to send the river down the way they wanted it instead of letting it come through the tunnel to Uncle Tod’s mine.”
“But where is the dam, or whatever it is? I don’t see anything like it here.”
“No, it’s probably up above their camp. We’ll have to prospect around a bit and find it.”
“S’posin’ they see us?”
“We mustn’t let ’em. We can mosey around after dark.”
“Then we’re going to stay here all night?”
“I don’t see what else to do. We could hardly get back to camp until very late, anyhow, and we’ve got our blankets and some grub. It won’t be cold in here.”
“That’s right! It’ll be fun!” exclaimed Chot.
“And we don’t want to go back and tell Uncle Tod what we’ve found until we can tell him everything,” went on Rick, who liked to be thorough and complete in his work or play.
“That’s so,” agreed his chum. “Maybe, after all, we’re up the wrong tree and these men didn’t change the river.”
“Oh, I think they did—or somebody in with ’em,” said Rick. “But I’d like to find the dam—or whatever it is—and then we can tell Uncle Tod and let him do what he thinks best.”
“I guess you’re right,” assented Chot. “Well, what’ll we do first, Rick?”
“Well, let’s just stay here and we can see what the men do. Maybe we can hear what they say.”
Ruddy had quieted down, now that he saw his boy chums had no present intentions of engaging in anything that needed his canine wit, and was stretched out on the floor of the cave, making up some of the sleep he evidently thought he had lost. Rick and Chot remained just inside the opening of the tunnel—the opening through which it was evident Lost River had flowed at no very distant date.
The stream, it seemed, was a peculiar one. At times it flowed along in the open, like any other river or creek. Then it would dive underground, proceeding through a tunnel, or a series of tunnels. Then it would emerge again. The boys had been through some of the tunnels of Lost River, and there might be more further up the mountain. Of this they could not be certain.
At any rate they had come out at the end of one tunnel through which could be seen the strange camp, and as water was flowing in the flume box here, probably washing out “pay dirt,” it was reasonable to suppose the men had turned the river for their own use.
Just how such a big undertaking could be accomplished without considerable engineering work the boys did not know. But they had made up their minds to find out.
“We’ll just stay here until after dark,” suggested Rick, “and then, we’ll scout around a bit.”
“Have to go slow on the grub though,” proposed Chot, as, in the dim light that filtered in through the tunnel opening he inspected what food they had left. “We’ve got to get two or three more meals out of this.”
“We can, I guess,” said Rick. “And maybe we can shoot something,” for the boys had brought guns with them, and knew how to use them.
“Won’t they hear us if we shoot?” asked Chot. “Besides, there’s no game in here.”
“Oh, I don’t mean to shoot in here,” chuckled Rick. “We’ll go outside—farther up the mountain where they won’t hear the guns. Besides, we got to work our way farther up to find the dam, or whatever it is that has changed the river.”
“I see,” agreed Chot. “Well, what say we eat now? It’s most supper time.”
“I guess it is,” assented Rick. “They’re getting their grub ready.”
Some of the men could be seen busy about the camp fire, over which hung a kettle, and the boys wished they might have some of the savory soup or stew it undoubtedly contained.
However they were on an important quest, and they did not mind eating a cold meal. This they did, giving Ruddy odds and ends. Their water was getting low, but they were now within sight of Lost River and did not fear thirst.
“We can sneak out in the night and get some,” proposed Chot.
“That’s when we want to scout around—after dark,” said Rick. “I think there’s a moon to-night.”
In silence they sat on rocks, just within the mouth of the tunnel and ate their meal. They watched the miners at their supper not many hundred feet away, and it was plain that the stealers of Lost River, as they might be called, were unaware that they were being spied upon.
They laughed and joked—one even tried to sing—but the wind was blowing the wrong way and though a confused murmur came to the boys they could not distinguish what was said.
Rick had guessed right about the moon. There was one, it was at the full, and gave a glorious light from an unclouded sky. The boys stretched out to rest on their blankets before setting out on their scouting expedition. The men sat around the camp fire smoking and talking, and then one after another “turned in.” They left no one on sentinel or guard duty, the boys noticed.
“It’ll be easy,” whispered Rick as they prepared to leave the tunnel.
“What about Ruddy?” asked Chot. “Won’t he make a noise?”
“Not as much as we do. He’s a game dog and used to going quietly. I wouldn’t want to leave him behind.”
“No, I guess not. Well, let’s go!”
And then in silence the boys, clutching their guns which Uncle Tod had given them, started from the tunnel, followed by Ruddy who moved like a shadow. They skirted the camp of sleeping men and began scouting around for a trail that would lead up the mountain, along Lost River until they could discover where it had been diverted.
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《Umboo, the Elephant 乌姆布大象》
Though the moon shone brightly, there were shadows in the forest that surrounded the mysterious camp—mysterious in the sense that the boys did not know whose it was. And these shadows made silent progress difficult. Rick and Chot were very likely to slip and stumble over a rock or fallen branch, making a noise that would arouse the sleeping men.
Several times they did stumble, and thus Ruddy had the advantage over them, for his padded paws made no sound. But though the boys made several noises none of them seemed to have any effect. It remained dark and quiet in the camp—dark that is save for a glimmering camp fire and the silvery moon, the light of which was very welcome to the boys.
There was little for the lads to discover in the camp itself. They had learned this much while taking observations from their hiding place just within the tunnel. From their vantage point they had seen the water coming down a rocky defile, though its exact source they could only guess at. They could not tell whether it came through another tunnel—part of the series of mysterious underground channels in that part of the country—or whether it flowed along in the open.
This secret they hoped to solve on their night-scouting expedition, and after they had made a detour of the camp they listened for a sound of rippling or gurgling water which would put them on the right track.
“Well, so far so good,” remarked Chot when they had gotten safely some distance up the trail, above the log shack and the sleeping men.
“That’s right,” agreed Rick. “Ruddy, you’re a dandy!” he said to the dog. “You didn’t make a false move.”
“And not as much noise as we did,” added Chot as they both petted their canine companion.
“I should say so!” chuckled Rick. “That time we both nearly fell—I thought sure they’d hear us.”
“So did I. But I reckon we’re all right now.”
“I guess so.”
They had come out from under a clump of trees and were walking along a rough trail that led up the mountain. The moon shone gloriously making objects very plain to see. There was little wind and soon the boys heard the murmur of water off to their left—a sound for which eagerly they had been listening.
“There’s the river,” exclaimed Chot.
“I hear it,” admitted Rick. “Either the one we’re after or another. Let’s head over that way.”
They walked on side by side, with Ruddy trailing them. Rick had ordered his dog to heel, for he did not want the setter rushing on ahead through the brush, perhaps stirring up a skunk or some small wild animal that might cause the dog to bark, thus betraying their presence.
As they went on, the noise of the water became louder to their ears, until at last they emerged in view of a beautiful stream flowing in the centre of a small valley, bordered on either side by trees and bushes.
Though the stream was called Lost River, or by various other names in which the word “river” occurred, it must not be supposed that it was a large waterway. In fact it was not more than a good-sized brook, in places, though in others it attained the width of what, in some parts of the country, is called a creek. But Lost River it had been christened and so it shall remain, as far as I am concerned.
The boys stood for a moment impressed by the beauty of the scene that they had come upon. Under the moon everything was glorified—the rippling, sparkling water, the trees, the bushes and even the rough rocks.
“Say, this is slick!” exclaimed Chot, paying one of the highest compliments in his rather limited vocabulary.
“Nifty!” agreed Rick, adding his tribute.
But, boy like, they did not pause long to admire just the mere beauty of the place, romantic as it was. They had come upon sterner business, and Rick gave a hint of it when he said:
“Chot, I don’t believe this stream has flowed here very long.”
“Why not? How can you tell?”
“Because it’s too near the trees and bushes. And there aren’t many stones along the banks. When a river has run a long time in a place it washes away the dirt and leaves a lot of rocks, and where it washes away the dirt from tree roots the trees partly die. But this looks like a river that has suddenly been turned loose in the woods.”
“That’s what it does,” assented Chot. “Do you think the men turned it in here?”
“I guess they did,” agreed Rick. “And the thing for us to do is to find out where they turned it, and shift it back again so it will run into Uncle Tod’s tunnel.”
“Do you think we can?” asked Chot.
“I hope so,” answered Rick. “Let’s keep on.”
They walked for a few minutes longer and then suddenly, over their heads in a big tree, there was a rustling in the branches—a rustling not caused by the wind, for there was no hint of a breeze then.
“What’s that?” whispered Chot, ready with his gun.
“I don’t know,” answered Rick, as he, too, brought his weapon around. Uncle Tod had given the boys each a light shot gun, and they had learned to pick off small game in the woods, shooting, however, only enough for actual needs.
The lads stared up in the tree. The rustling of the branches continued and Ruddy, seeing that some business in which he ought to take an interest was afoot, stood at attention. Suddenly the dog growled and immediately there was a hiss above the boys’ heads as if an angry cat were there.
“Look!” whispered Chot, and Rick saw that his chum was pointing to two blazing, greenish, reddish spots of light; the eyes of some animal on which the moon reflected.
Chot raised his gun, but Rick said:
“Don’t shoot!”
“Why not?”
“It’s only a small bob cat and he won’t hurt us if we go away. Shooting will only wake up those men, and we haven’t found what we want yet.”
“But aren’t bob cats dangerous?”
“Not if you leave ’em alone, Uncle Tod told me. And we’ll leave this one alone.”
Ruddy had now seen the lithe form of the lynx stretched out on a tree branch overhead. It was not a large animal—in fact not much larger than some overgrown house cat. Of course it was more dangerous if cornered, but, as Rick had observed, it would not needlessly attack them if not molested.
Ruddy growled as if eager for the fray; but Rick knew even a large setter dog is no match for a small bob cat, and he ordered Ruddy away. The lynx continued to snarl as it glared at those it evidently regarded as its enemies, and remained in watchful readiness on the branch as Chot and Rick went on their way.
“I’d like to have taken a pop at him,” said Chot regretfully.
“So’d I,” admitted Rick. “But shot guns aren’t much good against a lynx—not little shot guns like ours. And, anyhow, we don’t want to stir up those men.”
Chot agreed to this, and they kept on up along the river.
“’Tisn’t so much a lost river now,” observed Chot as the stream murmured beside them.
“No, but it’s lost as far as Uncle Tod is concerned,” remarked Rick. “That is until he can shift it back—if he can.”
The boys made a turn in the trail and suddenly became aware of a slightly different sound made by the water. It was a splashing noise, as though a cascade were not far away.
“What do you imagine that is?” asked Chot.
“We’ll soon find out,” said Rick for, as they advanced they heard the strange sound more plainly.
And then, as they pushed their way through a fringe of bushes growing close to the edge of the stream the lads made a strange discovery.
They had solved the secret of Lost River!
“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!”
Uncle Tod, now that the first excitement was over, sat down on a stump near the log cabin shack and looked seriously and quizzically at Rick and Chot. Ruddy had discovered a bone that he had buried a few days before, in case he might get hungry during the night, and the dog now dug up this tidbit and proceeded to enjoy himself. Evidently he was glad to get back home again.
“Look here, boys,” said Uncle Tod seriously, “this is all straight is it—I mean about you finding Lost River?”
“Of course it is,” declared Rick.
“Pretty hard for anything as crooked as Lost River to be straight I guess!” chuckled Sam. This was as near to a joke as he ever got.
“Well, I mean you aren’t playing tricks on your old uncle; are you, Rick,” went on Mr. Belmont. “I know you sometimes do joke, but you aren’t doing that now; are you?” He glanced sharply at the boy.
Uncle Tod was very much in earnest and there was a look on his face which would have caused Rick to feel badly had the lad been playing any tricks. But he was not.
“We really found Lost River,” he said. “And we know how to turn it back again; don’t we Chot?”
“We sure do! I wanted to turn it before we came away, but Rick said we’d better let you do it.”
“Tell us about it!” begged Uncle Tod, and even Sam seemed to glow with a more kindly and happier feeling since hearing the good news.
Thereupon the boys detailed all their experiences on their expedition of discovery, beginning at the time when Rick first suspected that possibly the river might be located somewhere to the south and west of the tunnel passage through which it had ceased to flow.
“You boys had nerve to go through that second dark tunnel, not knowing what you might find,” said Uncle Tod admiringly.
“Nothing happened to amount to anything,” said Rick.
“No, but think of what might have happened!” exclaimed Sam. “You might both have fallen down some hole—yes, and Ruddy, too, and we’d never know what had become of you.”
“But it didn’t happen!” laughed Rick.
“Now about these men in the camp you speak of,” went on Uncle Tod. “Who were they?”
“We don’t know,” answered Rick. “Never saw any of ’em before. We couldn’t get close enough to hear what they said, or any names they used, but they looked like miners.”
“Must be the Lawson gang,” said Sam to Uncle Tod.
“I reckon,” was the answer. “It would be like them to try a game of this sort.”
“The Lawson gang’ll do anything!” Sam asserted.
“But I haven’t heard of them being round this valley in a long time,” said Uncle Tod, who had lived in this part of the west many years before going east to develop his salt land.
“Well it’s the Lawson gang, I’m pretty sure,” said Sam. “Worse luck!”
“What is the Lawson gang?” asked Rick.
“A crowd of men, led by a man named Deck Lawson,” answered Uncle Tod. “They make a speciality of jumping claims and stealing mines, and I suppose they must have heard that we had a good thing here as long as we could have Lost River working for us.”
“Then they went to work and stole a river instead of taking a mine,” said Sam.
“They might just as well have taken the mine as to cut off our water,” observed Uncle Tod. “The mine can’t be worked to advantage without water, and we haven’t been able to locate any other prospect around here that’s anywhere near as good.”
“No, and we never will,” declared Sam, with a return of his former gloom, that had vanished for a time on the receipt of the good news.
“But you say Lost River can be turned back, boys?” asked Uncle Tod.
“Yes,” answered Rick, and he and Chot proceeded to go more into details over the plan of the dam and the water gates. Rick made a drawing of it and showed his first sketch. When they had finished Uncle Tod said:
“Sam, we’ve got to turn that river! We just naturally have to!”
“Sure thing!” assented Mr. Rockford.
“Come on!” cried Rick with shining eyes. “We can make the place before night and open our gates and close theirs. Come on!”
“Easy, boy, easy!” counseled his uncle. “How many men did you say were there in camp?”
“Oh, about a dozen,” answered Rick. “Wouldn’t you say that many, Chot?”
“I reckon so. Maybe ten or eleven, anyhow.”
Rick looked at Uncle Tod expectantly.
“And you expect that we two men and two boys can go up against a dozen hard-shelled members of the Lawson gang?” asked Mr. Belmont with a quizzical smile.
“We got Ruddy, too,” asserted Chot.
“Yes, son, but we don’t want Ruddy to get hurt and I don’t want you boys to go back east in bandages,” said Uncle Tod. “No, we’ll do this thing in regular order and with the law on our side. I know the law will be on my side for I have papers to show that I own the rights to Lost River.”
“Well, let’s get busy then,” suggested Sam. “Will you go down to Bitter Sweet Gulch and tell the sheriff and get a gang to come back and clean out this Lawson crowd?”
“I will,” said Uncle Tod. “I’ll take my papers with me, see a lawyer, if there’s one in town, and then we’ll start Lost River back where she belongs.”
“Want us to come and tell what we saw?” asked Rick.
“It might be a good plan,” agreed his uncle. “You could give first-hand evidence—both of you. We’ll go right after dinner. You boys have been living on light rations and we’ll have to feed you up a bit.”
Seldom had a meal tasted so good, Rick and Chot thought, as the one Sam set before them a little later, and then Uncle Tod got out the rickety old car that sometimes went and sometimes didn’t. This was one of the times it did, and he and the boys rattled to town in the flivver.
Uncle Tod located a lawyer, to whom the case was explained, and the legal individual agreed that Uncle Tod had a right to Lost River if it could be turned back into the tunnel where it had flowed for many years.
“We’ll go before the judge and get an order for the sheriff to enforce your claim,” said Mr. Pitney, the lawyer. “We’ll have something, then, to back us up.”
The proceedings before the judge were brief. Rick and Chot told what they had seen, Uncle Tod showed his papers and gave testimony. There was a signing of some documents, a visit to the office of the sheriff and a promise made that the following morning a posse of deputies, well armed, would be at the disposal of Uncle Tod to see that the orders of the court were carried out; the orders being that Lost River was to be turned back into its old channel.
“Now we have everything legal and in ship-shape,” said Uncle Tod as he and the boys rattled back to camp.
Sam eagerly awaited their arrival, anxious to hear the news, and when told that the deputies would arrive next morning, and would start for the dam, Mr. Rockford began cleaning his rusty gun.
“Do you think there’ll be a fight?” asked Rick.
“I know it!” was the emphatic answer.
“Come on, Chot,” whispered Rick. “We’ll clean our guns, too!”
The boys could hardly wait for morning to come, but it arrived strictly on schedule and almanac time, and soon after breakfast two flivvers loaded with deputy sheriffs rattled into camp.
And now a big disappointment awaited the lads, for, after a conference between the chief deputy and Uncle Tod, the order was given:
“You lads’ll have to stay in camp!”
“Oh, Uncle Tod!” cried Rick. “We just got to go!”
“We want to see the fight—and help!” sang out Chot.
“Maybe you can’t find the place without us,” added Rick, hopefully.
“Oh, I reckon we can,” drawled the chief deputy, Matt Mason by name. “I know where it is—it’s the only location around here where they could turn the stream the way you say they have. I’d like to let you boys come along, but it’s too dangerous.”
But Chot and Rick looked so sad over the prospect of being left behind that finally, after a talk, it was decided they could ride in the flivver with Sam and Uncle Tod as close to the dam as was considered safe, and could then look on from a hidden vantage point, taking, however, no part in the fight—in case there was one.
“But if that Lawson gang gets the best of you, can’t we jump in and help?” asked Rick.
“Oh, yes, maybe,” said Mr. Mason slowly, “but I don’t aim to have them get the best of me. I know that bunch!”
So the start was made. Owing to the use of autos, necessitating journey by a longer trail than the short one taken by the boys, it was afternoon when they reached the vicinity of the dam. The exact location of the water gates were described by Rick and Chot and then they, with Ruddy, were left in a secluded spot, while Uncle Tod, Sam and the deputy sheriffs went on cautiously to compel the Lawson gang to restore the rights they had taken away.
“Crickets! I wish we were there!” sighed Chot.
“So do I,” agreed Rick. “But Dad told me that we were to do what Uncle Tod said.”
“Oh, of course we got to do that,” assented Chot, trying to be cheerful over it.
The sheriff’s men and Uncle Tod proceeded with all due caution until they reached the opening of the second tunnel, through which the water should have flowed.
“There’s the dam,” announced Uncle Tod in a low voice to Mr. Mason, the two being in the lead.
“I see it, and the gates, too. Pretty slick piece of work. But I don’t see any of the gang.”
“Nor I!” said Uncle Tod.
They remained quiet, taking observations. From the camp came not a sound, nor was there any sight of the Lawson crowd.
“They may have heard we were coming and be hiding,” said Mason.
“Trying to ambush us,” agreed Uncle Tod.
“We’d better be careful. They’re desperate men.”
But Mason and his deputies were cunning men, as well as brave, and by scouting around, and by tricks designed to draw the fire of any hidden foe, should there prove to be one, they soon established that the camp was deserted.
“They’ve vamoosed!” exclaimed Sam. “They’ve quit and we can turn the river back.”
“It does look so,” agreed Mason. “But don’t be in too much of a rush. Go slow!”
It was good advice, and was followed. But after another wait and a further cautious scouting around, it was definitely established that not a man was left in camp, though their possessions, scattered about, showed they had not long been away, and also indicated that they had departed in a hurry.
“They heard we were coming and scooted,” said Sam exultantly.
“Looks so,” agreed Uncle Tod. “Well, now let’s turn back our river where it belongs.”
The mechanism of the water gates was easy to understand, and no trouble was experienced in working it. To Uncle Tod fell the honor of closing the first gate that shut off the water from the Lawson flume.
The stream began to back up behind the dam as other gates were closed.
“Better open the second gates now,” suggested Sam.
The levers were depressed and the gates, made of heavy planks, slowly came up. Under them rushed the water, hissing and foaming.
“Hurray!” cried Uncle Tod, as the stream shot into the tunnel whence it had been diverted. “Lost River is back again!”
“Good work!” commented Mason. He and his men helped in raising the other gates that had been closed for several weeks.
And as Lost River was turned back, there came a sudden hail from across the little gully into which the stream had been diverted. A hail full of meaning it was, for a voice said:
“Hands up, you fellows! What do you mean coming in here on my mine?”
The men looked up to see, confronting them, a menacing figure of a man armed with a powerful rifle.
“Deck Lawson!” murmured Uncle Tod.
“Just our luck!” complained Sam gloomily.
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.