CHAPTER XXV

EUREKA! THE ELDORADO!

"So the boat's brawny crew the current stem And, slow advancing, struggle with the stream; But if they slack their hands or cease to strive, Then down the flood with headlong haste they drive."

--_Dryden_.

It was still early dawn when Hugh Lark reached the hunter's cabin. Hunter Tom was cleaning his rifle and before the door was a pot of lead melting o'er a slow fire. A bullet mould was lying near by ready for use.

"Halloo, Tom!" said Hugh, as he dismounted.

"Good-morning," said the old hunter, a little curtly and yet with some dignity, for he liked not the unceremonious manner of Hugh, though Hugh was the only intimate acquaintance he had resident in the neighbourhood.

"Going hunting?"

"No," said the old hunter, a little more friendly. "I was down the creek and saw some Shawnese."

"Why, ye don't expect a brush with them in these days of peace?"

"I tell ye," said the old man, testily, "those were the enemies of my father and, peace or no peace, I trust them not unless I have Brown Bess ready and a quantity of powder and ball nigh at hand," and he continued his polishing and oiling.

"Well, we have some work and we would like to have ye along, if ye can go." The old man made room for him on the rude bench, and looked at him inquiringly. Hugh related the purposed expedition.

"And ye think there is a silver mine, and ye want me to help find it, and if I do I go fair shares?"

"Aye," and Hugh nodded. "Ye see there are two young chaps, travellers, prospectors; they say they know ye----"

"Aye! ye mean the English travellers, Mr. Ande and Mr. Dick."

"Well, ye see they are prospectors and know the real stuff when they see it."

"So they told me," said the old man, nodding.

"Well, we want ye to go along and use your big canoe. I calculate between your intimate knowledge of the section and their prospecting science and my divining rod that we can get at the bottom of this. To-night will be full moon and we would like to start from your place for up stream about eight o'clock."

"Aye," said the old hunter, but he looked a bit dubious when Hugh mentioned the divining rod. Hugh was a firm believer in the accuracy of the rod that he had constructed. It was witch-hazel, curiously carved and with a bit of silver at the end of it. The principle, according to Hugh's statement, was like attracted like.

"Well, I'll go," said the old man, after some thought. "I warn ye, though, to take your guns with ye, for the Shawnese are here."

"Oh, they'll give us no trouble, but we'll take our guns. There may be a chance of shooting a deer or so," said Hugh as he departed. The old man shook his head, forebodingly, as Hugh's form disappeared down the trail. On his way back to Burgtown the pilot met the Shawnese, a full fifteen in number, great, strong, athletic fellows, but beyond a brief, cursory "Howdy!" and a glance they passed on.

* * * * *

At about seven o'clock that evening Hugh Lark rode up to the tavern of Burgtown. Burke, the tavern keeper, met him at the entrance.

"Going rafting, Hugh?"

"No. Air the two strangers here?"

"Been rafting?"

"No. Air Mr. Ande and Mr. Dick here?"

"But ye surely have more rafts to run, Hugh?"

"Ye ken well enou' that I'm not a-going rafting. How could I go rafting a-horse-back. But perhaps ye think that I can get the gray mare to pull an oar, and I've no doubt that she could do that, for she has a heap more sense than some men I know that are not very far from me," said Hugh, exasperated.

"Yes, the mare has great sense," replied Peter, gazing at the animal with a bland eye. "I kalkilate you uns air going to find that mine, Hugh?"

"We are going a-hunting," said the nettled Hugh.

At this moment Ande and Dick came forth upon the long porch, and Hugh's anger was mollified.

"Are ye ready?"

"Yes," said Ande, and the next moment two horses were led around to the front by the stable lad and they vaulted into their saddles and prepared to leave.

"I say, Mr. Ande,"--the tavern keeper had the habit of calling them by their first names, perhaps from Hugh's custom--"I say, air you uns a-going hunting fer thet mine?"

Ande gazed at the curious tavern keeper gravely and then responded:

"The primary intention of our nocturnal expedition is to reconnoitre the situation of the argentiferous fissures indigenous to this locality, the elucidation of which will be beneficial to us and of salient value to the community at large."

"Oh, I thought you uns were a-going to find the mine," said Burke, apologetically, and as they rode off he said, to himself, "Wot langwidge! wot a scholard! He beats Bill, but,--dang it, if I believe they're going fishing, though. They hain't no hooks or rods and who ever hearn tell of a man going fishing with a gun."

So saying, he went within.

The sun had gone down and twilight was creeping on, enveloping the earth with its soft hazy light, as the three rode over the lower bridge and o'er the trail to the forks of the creek. The moon was not up, but it was twilight still when they forded the Big Creek and turned up the trail to Hunter Tom's cabin. A short distance, and a glimmering light penetrated the trees and underbrush ahead.

"Some one on the trail," said Dick.

"No," responded the pilot, "'tis a light from Hunter Tom's cabin. The old man must be getting ready to start."

The light was dimmed by a brighter effulgence beyond. A rim of silver shoved itself above the neighbouring hills, and then a semi-circular disc, gradually growing in brightness and flooding hill and ravine with mellow light. Giant boulders and tree trunks were silhouetted against its rising disc, and on a tree branch just athwart the centre was, grotesque and huge, the figure of the lone bird of night--an owl.

"Plenty of light to-night," said Hugh.

"But not more than we need; the search will require all the light we can get," said Ande.

They arrived at Hunter Tom's cabin and dismounted. The horses were hobbled and turned out to graze in the clearing. Tom, hearing the noise, opened the door, and cheerfully welcomed them within. The hunter was clothed in his customary fringed buckskin and home-made moccasins, but in his belt, in addition to the usual hunting knife, was a small Indian tomahawk.

"Why, Tom, one would think ye were on the warpath," said the pilot, jokingly.

"Aye, and a warpath it may prove," soberly, and then seeing the look of the pilot concentrated on the tomahawk in his belt: "This tomahawk I secured in the Indian country of the Ohio in 1812. It is an effective weapon."

"But surely you don't expect a fight," said Dick.

The old man shook his hoary locks mysteriously and muttered, "The Shawnese."

By the light of the turnip lamp the pilot brought forth his map and spread it out on the rough wooden table. The hunter scanned it approvingly, and then:

"Where did ye get it, Hugh?"

The pilot related his experience with the Canadian Indian, and the hunter nodded his head as the pilot repeated the Indian legend and directions.

"I know the place so well that ye have no need of a map."

"Ye ken the place without a map?" said Hugh.

"Aye! haven't I searched for it full eighteen years ago, and ten years ago, before there was a settler in the region; I hunted until I was weary. If ye find no more success than I found, ye will have your labour for your pains. But we can try. The place where we will land is there." The hunter placed his knotty finger on a portion of the map. All crowded around the table.

The old hunter's finger was placed on the map at the mouth of a small stream. A moment passed in silent contemplation.

"And now we must be off if we would do much to-night." The old hunter's words aroused all to action. A couple of pickaxes, a shovel and a crowbar, that were in readiness, were shouldered by the pilot, and Dick, at the hunter's suggestion, took up an old tin lantern, pierced with holes and having a candle within, to be used in an emergency. The hunter carefully extinguished the turnip lamp and drawing the door shut behind him led the way to the canoe. The tools were placed in the stern and then the pilot, followed in regular sequence by the hunter, Dick and Ande, took their stations, and soon under the steady sweep of four stout paddles the canoe, though heavily laden, glided up stream.

The evening was still, save for the cry of some wild bird of night and the plash of some wavelet breaking on the shelving shore. Trees and shrubbery, underbrush of the shores, glided by slowly, and were swallowed up in the obscurity of the regions passed. Here and there with a skilful sweep of the paddle the pilot changed the course of the canoe to escape contact with some rock or sunken log. Now and then the hunter would give a sign of silence, and the paddles in their incessant sweep would be stilled into inactivity, while the canoe would drift for a moment until the hand of the pilot in the bow grasped some over-swinging tree branch and stayed her downward course. A moment of silence, in which the hunter strained his ears, would ensue, and then with a shake of the head he would give the sign to proceed. Once he insisted much to the protests of the pilot of going ashore. They drew in to the heavily wooded bank and he disappeared with no change on his immovable countenance. The pilot grumbled to himself at this unnecessary caution. The old man was in his dotage or had become filled with childish fear, thought he, and so he informed the others when the hunter was absent.

Who was going to hurt them? Not the settlers, for they were all safe abed by this time. Not that wandering band of Shawnese. It would be too perilous for them in these days of peace and in a section already vacated by their fathers to make room for the settlers. After the first hour the work of paddling became less arduous, the force of the current had abated, and they shot into a long stretch of slightly moving water.

"Still Water," said the pilot. "It'll be easy from now on until we reach some distance above."

"Aye," murmured the hunter; "but it'll not be still for long."

"No sign of rain; the sky up there is so closely studded with stars that there's not room for a cloud. There'll be no rain, or I'm no pilot. Haven't I piloted here for years, and before I came to this region I run as many rafts down the Susquehanna as any raftsman in the State."

The hunter raised his hand as if deprecating the sound of the pilot's voice, and then said in low tones:

"I have lived in the cabin at the Loop for nigh ten years, and have tramped these regions before my cabin was built, and I can read the stream as well as a scholar reads his book. In three hours what we call the 'Still Water' will be running like a mill race."

The pilot smiled a smile of superior wisdom.

"Look," said the hunter, as he dipped his palm in the water and drew up a little for the pilot's inspection. "The stream is turbid and discoloured, the first sign of the coming flood. There has been great rain at the headwaters. I can see it in the water; I can smell it in the air."

The pilot's smile left his features and he scanned the bosom of the Still Water and then:

"There's some truth in that."

"Aye," said the hunter, "and if we would get to the place we must paddle as strongly as possible. There's the swifter water beyond."

All bent to the paddles again with renewed efforts and the Still Water was soon passed, and the heavier paddling in the swifter water of the upper stream followed. Now they were in the shadow of some towering hill or under the dark tree boughs--that interlaced and formed a dark canopy overhead; now again the canoe shot out into a flood of pale moonlight. The latter the hunter disapproved and the pilot, grumbling, changed the course at times, avoiding the moonlight sections of the stream for the shadowy regions along the shores. At length the hills receded from the stream on the right and gave place to a gently rising plain, burdened with oaks and wild grasses, while the hills to the left seemed to be higher and more precipitous than those down stream.

"The place is nigh here," said the hunter.

They rested on their paddles for a moment in the shadow of a great boulder that stayed the downward drift of the canoe. Ande and the pilot instinctively felt for their maps and tried to refresh their memory in reference to the directions, but the dim light almost made it useless. Hunter Tom, in the meantime, was scanning the stream and shores and seemed to be ill at ease.

"The mouth of the little run is but a dozen rods up stream. Ye can put away the maps, lads, for I know the place." At the words of Hunter Tom both Ande and the pilot dropped their maps in the canoe, and all bending to the paddles while the hunter with his keen sight directed their movements, they moved on. Then came the babbling, rippling sound of a little run as it leaped, gurgling with delight, into the stream, like a child into the arms of its mother. The craft was turned to shore and soon grated on the pebbly beach. They stepped ashore and stretched their cramped limbs, while Hunter Tom tied the canoe to a swaying pine, and then pursuing his directions, they followed up the run. Ten yards up the run a divided oak was located.

"Now," said the Hunter, as he gazed around uneasily, "fifty yards due north."

Dick, having a pocket compass, now took the lead, following a course due north, and in the rear was the pilot balancing his divining rod, while Ande as closely as possible measured the distance. Hunter Tom, taking little interest in the affair, seemed to concentrate his attention on the trees, underbrush and regions around about.

"'Tis here, as near as I can calculate it, that the fifty yards end," said Ande.

"And the divining rod says the same, and it tells truth," said Hugh, the pilot, with a little triumph in his tones.

"My calculations, heretofore, located the spot a bit beyond," said the hunter, with the first interest he had betrayed since they landed. "Ye may be right."

Dick and the pilot grasped the pickaxes and set to work with vigour, while Ande used the shovel and occasionally removed with his hands some large boulder that impeded their work. The hunter seemed to constitute himself watchman and was incessantly on guard. The work went on for an hour, and considerable debris was removed when Dick's pickaxe slipped from his hands and disappeared from sight. With an exclamation he leaned forward and found that it had disappeared in an old excavation a few feet in depth. The excavation was widened and the pilot, leaping in, began to work with increased vigour. Hunter Tom now became as deeply interested as the others. It was at a spot that he had not investigated before. That old excavation must mean something, he thought.

There was the sound of a metallic click as the pilot's implement struck something hard. With an exclamation of "I've found it," he reached down and grasped something which he handed up to Ande for investigation. It was a small tobacco or snuff-box of ancient make.

"Time enough to look at that when we find the ore," said Ande, as he placed it in his inside pocket. The work was again resumed. The labour of excavation now became harder and Dick with his great strength took the pilot's place. At length a peculiar, grey, metallic substance rewarded their labour. A handful of small cubes and octahedral pebbles were passed up for inspection.

The tin lantern was lighted and around about clustered the pilot, Dick, and the hunter, while Ande held the handful close to the flame.

"The grey, metallic lustre looks like silver glance. It may be the blossom of sulphide of silver or sulphide of lead. We ought to have daylight for a better examination," said Ande; "now----"

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Crack! Crack! Crack!

There was the whistling of bullets in the trees around them, and spiteful thuds as leaden missiles flattened themselves against the rocks. The lantern fell with a crash to the ground, perforated with a dozen bullets. The candle sputtered and went out.

"Quick!" shouted Hunter Tom. "'Tis the Shawnese. Aye, I feared it."

The pilot grasped his rifle and the prospectors theirs.

"This way! To the canoe!" roared Tom, and slipping from tree to tree, they reached the landing in breathless haste. Then came a yell that echoed through the hills, a yell--hellish and replete with rage. Trusting in their numbers, scorning concealment and fearing their victims would escape, the Shawnese charged after them. At the landing there was a sanguine scene, and now it was that old Tom showed the experience and skill he had gained in the Ohio region. Stationing himself behind a tree the old hoary-headed hunter fired, loaded, and fired again and again, and each time by the yell the bullet had found a mark. But the Shawnese were now close at hand and a hand to hand conflict ensued that was savage in the extreme. Hunter Tom seemed to be possessed with the fury of a madman. The presence of the foes that had tortured his father seemed to fill him with a wrath that was demoniacal. With clubbed rifle he beat back the foremost and sent him to the ground, lifeless, then with a swift turn he flung the useless weapon into the canoe, and with knife and tomahawk gave blows right and left. Swifter than a weaver's shuttle the bright weapons flashed in the pale moonlight. Nor was the hunter alone active in the fray, for Dick--great Dick, made more effective use of the butt of his gun than the muzzle by using it as a farmer would his flail. Ande and the pilot, for a time, had fired from a natural breast-works of boulders along the shore, but the proximity of the enemy was so close that they, too, were compelled to resort to the butts of their guns. At one time the pilot was down, but the dusky face over him went down a moment later under a crashing sweep of Ande's gun. The desperate valour of these few men was beginning to tell upon the spirits of their foes. One-third of their number were upon the ground, dead or helpless. There was a shout and a few unintelligible words among them, and then, as if in concert, they began to retreat slowly, followed by the impetuosity of Dick and Ande. Tom thanked his good fortune then for his understanding of the Shawnese tongue; he understood their plan to draw them from the shore and to give chance for two or three skulking forms to gain the rear.

"To the canoe! Back for your lives!" he shouted, and simultaneously rushed for the shore. Dick and Ande were either too confused by the yells around them or hard pressed in the conflict to give heed. Not so the crafty pilot. With instinct he seemed to understand the import of the retreat, and rushed headlong into the water after the canoe. The rope by which it was attached had stretched itself to its full length and the canoe had edged out by the force of the rising current. He had almost reached it when a shot rang out from the shore, and the pilot, flinging up his arms, plunged into the muddy tide. Hunter Tom who was next to him, tried ineffectually to grasp his falling form, but the next moment the swirling waters bore him away. There was no time for regret. The canoe was hauled in and Tom in its bow, with knife ready to sever the rope, looked shoreward for his friends.

Ah! What a scene! A sight that, though it filled the old hunter with alarm, yet thrilled him with admiration. Ande, apparently deeply wounded, was on the ground and Dick--did he ever appear so heroic? Standing head and shoulders above the tall savages, he seemed like a pine surrounded by scrub oaks. Nor was the giant Cornishman idle for, like a child's toy, the heavy rifle whirled and whistled around his head and shoulders. Death lurked in its sweeping circle. Nor was strategy of any avail. One sought to run in under his guard, while another was receiving the attack, but the attacking party went down under a terrific swing, while the stooping, swiftly moving strategist received, the next moment, a jolt from the end of the gun barrel that was as disastrous as the blow of the butt. Four had already fallen under those sweeping blows. Old Tom paused not for an instant. While some occupied Dick's attention in front, one or two were edging toward the rear, and should they accomplish their purpose the end was certain. With a cry of "Have at them," the hunter leaped from the canoe, beat off the skulking forms in the rear, and then reaching down he grasped the unconscious Ande, like a father would a child, and hurriedly placed him in the canoe.

"Back, Dick, lad!" he shouted as he pushed out a little from the shore.

Dick heard the call, and with another sweep of his weapon cleared a broader circle, but the rifle unused to the unnatural strain, broke at the lock. Flinging the shattered piece in the face of an advancing enemy he leaped to the shore. Two Shawnese, one a powerful built fellow, strove to intercept him, but there were other defences.

Crack! A shot rang out from the canoe. It was the trapper's gun that spoke, and one fell under that unerring aim. Crash! went Dick's great fist on the countenance of the other, and the dazed Shawnese sat down in a heap. Hunter Tom could have laughed then and there at the repulse of the latter, but there was not much time for sentiments of any kind. Dick had leaped into the stream after the canoe and was pushing toward it through the swift current. There were a few yells of disappointment on shore, and then a perfect fusillade of bullets hissed spitefully on the waters and crashed through the underbrush on the farther shore and then--like the falling of a forest giant that had felt the biting steel in its vitals, Dick fell. He struggled for a moment to reach the hunter's outstretched hand and then sank, and the swift current, now a roaring turbulent, gyrating mass, swelled to foaming madness by the rain at the headwaters, whirled his great body under the bellying bow of the canoe--and he was gone from sight.

With a quick sweep of the knife Hunter Tom cut the rope, and the canoe, freed, bounded away on the surface of the flood like a thing of life. Carefully pillowing Ande's head on his rolled up wamus in the rear, he lay down in the bow and with one hand over the gunwale, holding the paddle, he sought to guide the swiftly floating craft, while with his head slightly raised he kept a keen lookout for the bodies of Dick and the pilot. The Shawnese kept up a running fire on shore for the distance of a half a mile, when the fire slackened, and evidently the swiftness of the current and the gloom cast by the heavy foliage overhead had caused pursuit to be abandoned. The Still Water was reached and the aged hunter perceived with grim satisfaction that his prediction had come true. What was some hours before a still, softly flowing body was now a rollicking, turbulent mass that glowed with a yellow, dunnish hue in the moonlight. Onwards bounded the canoe, the hunter guiding it with unerring hand, now avoiding a towering rock, now bending with the full power of his muscles to guide the craft around a sharp bend in the stream. Fear of pursuit having long been left behind, he had arose to a sitting posture, and was lending to the onward force of the current the might of his own arms. No vessel ever scudded before a gale faster than the canoe on that eventful night. Once the sole, lone canoeist thought he saw the body of Dick floating before him on the surface of the tide and he redoubled his efforts to overtake him. The object was reached, but proved but a piece of driftwood, darkly dappling the yellow flood. With the first feeling of relief that he had experienced that night he saw the winding course of the Loop before him. Once more the paddle was brought into vigorous requisition, and then with a sigh of relief he turned the prow toward shore and the keel grated on the shelving beach. Tenderly he lifted Ande from the stern and laid him on the sward, then turning to the canoe he lifted it bodily from the water and, taking it a few yards inland, hid it securely in the underbrush. Then returning to his unconscious companion he carried him to his cabin home. Knowing that he dared not leave his wounded friend, and yet wishing to arouse the citizens of Burgtown, he went without, unhobbled the horses, and with a smart blow sent each galloping home to town. This done he returned to the cabin, barricaded the house, both window and door, loaded his rifle, and feeling secure, turned to resuscitate the wounded man. With a woodsman's skill he laboured through the long hours of the night until the dawn appeared, examining, with muttered commentations.

"Ah, a wound in the arm. It could not have been the last. A brave young man and fought like an old Indian fighter. Aye, another wound in the leg; 'tis only a flesh wound and will heal soon or old Tom doesn't know his art. And here's a slash of a knife in the breast. Ah! 'twas a cruel stroke, that. But none of them are strong enough to lay such a man out. He has the strength of a young lion and Tom will bring him through. But what's this?" In handling the unconscious man's head the hair had fallen aside and revealed the stroke of a tomahawk or knife. "Zounds! A ghastly wound that. It must have stunned him." With water taken from an earthen basin in the corner of the cabin he bathed the wounds, poured in some healing lotion and bound them up with a rude skill. Then, having poured a little brandy down his throat, he began to chafe his hands and wrists until, with the glimmering light of dawn, the light of consciousness returned.

"Where am I?"

"Safe here in my cabin, lad."

"And Dick and the pilot?"

"They are gone, my lad, the Lord knows where," answered the old hunter, and with his eyes glistening with tears he related the closing scenes of the fight, and how Dick and the pilot were shot and swallowed up in the flood.

"Poor Dick--I have lost in him the pearl, and my dream is fulfilled."

He sank back in weariness and closed his eyes. Suddenly the wounded man started to a sitting position and whispered with excited face:

"The Shawnese. Don't you hear them, Tom, Hunter Tom? They are stealing through the woods and around the house. I hear them. Give me a gun, and we'll defend the cabin."

The effort was too much, and he sank back again on the couch of deerskins in a semi-conscious condition.

Tom, too, had heard something, but it was not the tread of Indians. The next moment there was a shout without and the clatter of approaching horses' feet. 'Twas the settlers.