CHAPTER XVII

SANDY EXPLORES THE MINE

Sandy’s whoop of joy was the first intimation Dick had of the actual discovery of the mine. Unable to suppress his excitement and eagerness, the young Scotchman had loped down the path well in advance of his two friends, and had reached the coveted goal at least five minutes before Toma and Dick put in their belated appearance.

Sandy was gibbering inanely as Dick stepped up and clapped him on the back. They shook hands all around, and then even Toma so far forgot his dignity and reserve as to join in an impromptu dance that would have shamed a drink-crazed party of South Sea Islanders. Presently Dick held up one hand.

“Enough of this, Sandy. Let’s cool off. We’re actually here at last. But we musn’t take leave of our senses altogether, or play the part of fools. I propose that we make a careful inspection of the mine.”

The mine proper consisted of a single shallow shaft cut down into the rock and shale to a depth of about eight feet. Over the top of the shaft stood a windlass, a huge cumbersome affair made out of spruce logs.

“Our mine is more than half full of water,” laughed Dick, looking down into the shaft. “It’ll take us a day or more to bail the thing out.”

Following a cursory look around, Dick led the way to a small log cabin, which stood a short distance back from the mine. It was old and considerably out of repair. The door had been nailed shut and the windows sealed from the inside. A mud chimney, projecting through the roof, had crumbled to decay; and a good deal of the chinking between the logs of the house had dropped out, leaving gaping holes behind.

“It’s very nearly useless now,” Sandy observed, shaking his head, “but I have no doubt we could make it habitable.”

Dick and Toma attempted to pry open the door. They had no tools at their disposal except a small hatchet, the guide always carried with him. By using the blade as a wedge and then hammering upon it with a rock, they contrived finally to force their way into the dark, musty interior.

Even with the light streaming in from the open doorway, it was at first very difficult to see very clearly to every part of the cabin. A mud fire-place, a rough bench and table comprised the furnishings of the room. Propped against the wall on one side were a few mining tools, including a small pick, a coil of rope and a shovel. A large bucket which, judging from its shape and general appearance, had been carved out of a pine log, stood in one corner.

Further examination on the part of the three boys proved unavailing. Little more of interest was found until Toma, prowling about, discovered a trap door, which had been cut through the scored logs in the floor.

The trap was ponderous and heavy, stubbornly refusing to come up. It was raised, at length, through the combined efforts of the excited trio, who peered down into the dark hole, faces alight with interest.

“Looks very much like a deep cellar,” said Sandy, with a sharp intake of breath. “But what was it used for?”

Dick lit a match in an effort to see below. The tiny flame flared up for a moment, then went out. A second, third and fourth match——

“No use!” impatiently Dick threw the box to the floor and sat down with his feet dangling through the trap. “There’s a draft coming up out of here. Wish I had my old pocket light.”

“Move aside,” ordered Sandy. “I’m going down.”

“It may be deep,” objected Dick. “Let’s get a pole and find out.”

He had risen to go outside for the pole, when Sandy pushed quickly forward, swung out over the trap and let himself down to his full length, holding on by his hands.

“Don’t let go!” warned Dick, swinging around abruptly. “You don’t know what’s down there. Be careful, Sandy!”

Sandy grinned up provokingly, like a young ape bent on mischief, released his grip on the floor and disappeared forthwith. A low thud, coming up from below, attested to the fact that he had reached bottom. Toma’s annoyed grunt and Dick’s terrified exclamation, preceded a short but oppressive silence.

Was Sandy hurt? Pale and trembling, Dick stared into the black pit beneath and attempted to call out. His breath seemed to rattle in his throat.

“Are you hurt?” he finally contrived to squeak.

No answer.

“Are you there, Sandy?”

“Heigh ho up there!” came a firm and confident voice. “Throw down that box of matches.”

Toma and Dick breathed a sigh of relief. The matches were dropped down. In an incredibly short space, a small flame partially lit up the dank interior and soon after began flickering and bobbing about like a large firefly.

“What luck?” Dick called out.

Sandy, bent on exploration, was too busy to reply. Match after match flared brightly, burned down to a stub, and was swallowed up in the inky maw of the hole.

“Can you pull me out of this?” Sandy asked finally, when Dick’s patience had been worn to a shred. “I figure I’m about fourteen feet down. Didn’t I see a coil of rope up there?”

Sandy was pulled up through the trap a short time later, blinking as his eyes met the glare of light from the doorway. In spite of his effort to appear unconcerned, it was apparent that he was gripped in some strong emotion.

“What did you find, Sandy?”

The eyes of the young Scotchman gleamed queerly.

“There’s gold down there,” he exploded. “Loads of it! Sacks and sacks of gold, Dick, piled up down there in moose-hide sacks, waiting to be carried away!”

For a brief interval Dick was incapable of speech.

“Go-o-ld!” he stammered.

“Yes, gold!—thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars worth, I guess.”

Dick’s eyes were popping.

“So they hid it there.”

“Hid nothing!” Sandy was pacing back and forth in his excitement. “The real mine’s down there, I tell you. Right under our feet.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Go down and see for yourself,” shrieked Sandy. “It’s there,—it’s there, I tell you! Passages lead out three ways from that main hole or shaft. I could see them.”

“And those moose-hide sacks?”

“At one side of the shaft, directly under this room.”

“But where did they dump the rock and gravel that came out of those passages?” Dick asked incredulously. “It didn’t just disappear, did it? Tons and tons of earth and rock must have been moved in order to get the gold.”

“I can’t explain it,” Sandy admitted, somewhat defiantly. “All I know is that it was moved somewhere. The real mine is down there.”

“We’ll start exploring it at once,” Dick decided. “I’ll make some sort of miner’s lamp and we’ll all go down. What do you say?”

A fever of excitement had seized upon them. Hunger and weariness, the fear of pursuit—everything was forgotten in the obsession of the moment. Sandy moved about with an accustomed lightness in his step; Dick had become over-eager and impatient. Of the three, Toma alone remained unshaken and indifferent.

“Why you so hurry go see mine?” he demanded of Dick, during a lull in their preparations. “You think mine run away, eh?”

“Why, no.”

“How you feel if Indian come pretty soon an’ no ready for him?”

“What’s that?”

“Indian pretty sure come bye-’n’-bye.”

“Well, what of it?”

“Dick,” admonished the guide, “you, Sandy no think today. No think at all. Crazy like fool. What good is mine today if get killed tomorrow?”

“Look here, old Trouble-Face,” Sandy sang out, “you’re a joy killer. I don’t think there’s the least bit of danger.”

“Danger all time,” stubbornly persisted Toma.

Dick’s eyes wandered back to the trap in the floor. He visualized the moose-hide sacks, bulging with gold. He wondered if Sandy had not been mistaken about those three passages.

“The Indians won’t come today,” he decided.

“Don’t worry, Toma. Besides——”

He paused to watch Sandy throw the coil of rope into the shaft and then walk back and tie the end, still in his hands, to a large iron hook in the wall—a hook that had, apparently, been put there for that express purpose.

He turned again to Toma.

“Come on, let’s go down. It’ll take only a few minutes.”

To his surprise, the guide shrugged his shoulders and turned away. As Dick lowered himself through the trap, Toma strode to the doorway and stood looking out across the shimmering, sunlit vista of rocks and sandstone.