CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE ATTACK ON THE RANCHO.

JULIAN was not long in discovering the cause of his brother’s excitement. It was a white horse which was moving along the mountain path a short distance in advance. He ran heavily as if almost ready to drop with fatigue, and carried on his back a man dressed in Mexican costume. The horse was Bob, and his rider was Pedro.

A race ensued at once. Bob was as fleet as the wind, but he was wearied with his night’s travel, and the pursuers, mounted on their fresh horses and led by Silas Roper, who coiled up his lasso as he went, gained rapidly. The white horse disappeared in a thickly wooded ravine; but Silas and his party soon came up with him standing motionless in the path, and Pedro was seen darting into the bushes which lined the base of the cliff. An order to halt, followed by the whistle of a lasso and the ominous click of three revolver locks, brought him to the path again, where he stood holding his hands above his head in token of surrender. Silas and Romez dismounted, bound the prisoner hand and foot, and after concealing him behind a log that lay at the base of the cliff, the party resumed its journey as if nothing had happened, Fred leading the white horse. As this incident had been confidently looked for, it brought no comments from any one except White-horse Fred, who said, as he resumed his place by his brother’s side:

“If Pedro had had half the sense I have given him credit for, he would have known that an iron nag couldn’t stand sixty miles in a full gallop over such roads as these. I hope Bob will recover a little of his wind before we reach Hale’s, for I want to use him then. When we caught sight of Pedro,” he added, “I was about to remark that I had finished what I had to say, and would listen to you. Now, tell me all about yourself. I know you have seen some exciting times.”

Julian’s story was quite as interesting to Fred as the latter’s story had been to Julian. It took him fully half an hour to complete it, and by that time they were in the vicinity of Hale’s rancho. When they reached the chasm which had been such a terror to Julian, they dismounted, and after a short consultation had been held, and Fred had exchanged his red shirt and coarse trowsers for his brother’s natty Mexican suit, he placed himself at the head of the party, and conducted them on foot to Major Mortimer’s prison. As noiselessly as spirits they approached the building and drew up around the door. Not a whisper was uttered, for their plans had been thoroughly discussed, and each one knew just what he was expected to do.

Having seen his companions stationed to his satisfaction, Fred crept back along the path again, and disappeared in the darkness. He was gone nearly half an hour, and then the sound of horse’s hoofs on the hard path told his impatient friends that he was returning. Louder and louder grew the clatter of the hoofs, and presently Julian knew that it had been heard by the robbers, for there was a movement in the cabin, and a small window beside the door, close under the eaves, was slowly and cautiously opened. In a few seconds the horse and his rider appeared dodging about among the thick bushes that grew on each side of the path, and drew up before the door. Fred’s whistle met with a prompt response.

“Ay! ay!” exclaimed the man at the window. “What’s the matter now? Anything wrong?”

“I should say there was,” replied Fred in a voice that trembled with excitement. “The soldiers have sprung a trap and caught every soul of us in it except the captain and me. There isn’t a gentleman of the road left down our way—not one.”

The robber expressed his surprise at this piece of news by a volley of oaths and exclamations that made Julian wonder.

He opened the slide of a dark lantern, and allowing its rays to shine out of the window upon the young horseman, said:

“How can that be possible? Things were all right this morning—the captain said so.”

“Well, if you could see him now he would tell you that things are all wrong,” replied Fred.

“Where is he?”

“He is hiding at Smirker’s. He sent me down here with a note,” replied White-horse Fred, showing the letter that Julian had received from his father. “It’s an order, and an important one, too, I guess, for he told me to give it into the hands of no one but Joe Hale.”

“Now I’ll be blessed if there isn’t something mighty queer about all this,” said the robber after a little reflection. “You had better come in and give an account of yourself.”

“I am perfectly willing to do that. Open the door, and be quick about it too, for I am in a hurry to get through here. I tell you I am not going to stay in this country after what I have seen. I am off for ’Frisco this very night.”

The robber was in no hurry to open the door. He thrust his lantern out of the window and took a good look at White-horse Fred and the animal on which he was mounted; but he could see nothing wrong about them.

The horse, which was covered with foam, stood with his head down and his sides heaving plainly, very nearly exhausted. A single glance at him and at his rider’s pale face was enough to satisfy the robber that there was more truth in the boy’s story than he had at first believed.

“I guess you _have_ seen some strange things, Fred,” said he. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

The boy had nothing to say in reply, but told himself that any one would have shown some nervousness in his circumstances. His father’s life depended upon the movements of that man who was leaning out of the window talking to him. If he opened the door all might be well; but if he carried on all the conversation through the window, and kept the door closed, their expedition would end in failure, and Major Mortimer would be a doomed man. It was no wonder that Fred’s face was pale.

The appearance of the horse and his rider went a long way toward allaying the robber’s suspicions; but ever on the lookout for treachery, he thought it best to examine the ground in front of the rancho before opening the door. He thrust his head and shoulders out of the window and held his lantern down beside the wall. There was some one there, but the robber was not allowed time to see who it was.

Silas Roper was crouching close beside the door, directly under the window, and he knew by the sudden gleam of surprise and intelligence which shot across the man’s face that he had been discovered. Fred knew it too, and gave up all hope; but not so Silas. He was fully equal to the emergency. Crouching lower, for an instant, like a tiger gathering himself for a spring, he bounded into the air with the quickness of thought, and seizing the robber, pulled him bodily from the window to the ground, stifling his cry for help by a strong grasp on his throat.

“Never mind us,” whispered the trapper, as his companions sprung forward to assist in securing the prisoner. “I’ll take care of this fellow, an’ do you open that door while you’ve got the chance.”

Julian saw the necessity of prompt action, and so did Romez. White-horse Fred had told his companions that there was but one man on guard at a time at Hale’s rancho, and now that he had been secured, the next thing was to make good their entry into the building before the other robbers were aroused.

Romez took his stand under the window, and Julian, mounting upon his shoulders, dropped down on the inside of the stable. The locks and bolts with which the door was secured were quickly but noiselessly undone, and Silas and his two companions rushed in and followed Julian, who, with his revolver in one hand and the lantern in the other, led the way to the living-room.

Hale and his companion were found fast asleep on the benches, and were pounced upon and secured by Silas and Romez before they had time to think of their weapons, which were lying close at hand.

White-horse Fred, having seized an ax as he passed through the stable, kept close behind his brother, who led him straight to his father’s prison.

“This is the door!” cried Julian, scarcely able to speak, so great was his excitement and delight—“down with it! Come here, Mexican!” he added, leveling his revolver at the cook, who, having been aroused by the noise, at that moment came out of the kitchen; “you’re a prisoner.”

If the man was too sleepy to comprehend the fact just then, he became fully sensible of it a few seconds later, for Silas and Romez came bounding through the hall and seized and tied him in the twinkling of an eye.

Fred, meanwhile, was showering furious blows upon the door, and when he had loosened the hinges, Silas placed his broad back against it and with one push sent it flying into the middle of the room. Fred and Julian rushed into the apartment side by side, expecting to find their father waiting with open arms to receive them, but stopped suddenly and recoiled with horror before the sight that met their gaze.

The major was sitting limp and motionless in his chair, his chin resting on his breast, and his hands—which had been relieved of the irons, probably to allow him to retire to rest—hanging by his side. His face was paler now than when Julian saw it a few hours before, and at the sight of it he cried out in dismay that they had come too late.

“No, we hain’t nuther!” exclaimed Silas, raising the insensible form of his beloved commander tenderly in his arms. “Thar ain’t nothing the matter with him—all he wants is air.”

Silas carried the major into the living-room and laid him upon a pile of blankets which Fred and Julian had spread upon the floor. There he left him to the care of the boys while he and Romez proceeded to complete the work that had been so well begun. Their first care was to ransack the building and satisfy themselves that no one else was confined there, and their second to dispose of their prisoners so that they could be found again when wanted. They could not take the robbers with them when they returned to the valley, for they had other work to do, and must ride rapidly. It would not be safe to leave them in the rancho, for they might be discovered and released by some of their friends. They must be gagged to insure their silence, and hidden away in the woods where no one would ever think of looking for them.

When they returned to the living-room after performing their work, they found the major standing erect and holding his boys clasped in his arms. Rough men that they were, they were touched by the sight. They remained respectfully apart, watching the happy group and listening to their conversation, now and then glancing at one another, and drawing their hands hastily across their eyes; but when they went up to greet the major they were the every-day Silas and Romez, as calm and indifferent, apparently, as they had been a few moments before while dealing with the horse-thieves.

Romez took off his sombrero, and said, “How do!” in his imperfect English, while Silas gave the major a military salute, and informed him that he was powerful glad to feel his grip once more. The emotion was all exhibited by the rescued man, who clung to the faithful fellows who had labored so long and perseveringly for his release as if he never wanted to let them go again.

The major’s unexpected restoration to his family and to liberty had a wonderful effect upon him. His buoyancy of spirits, his strength and energy, returned at once; and during the ride homeward, he led the way at such a rate of speed that continued conversation was quite out of the question. He rode the bay horse which Julian had brought from Smirker’s cabin, and which the boy regarded as his own special charge. He knew where the animal came from, and he hoped at no distant day to be able to restore him to his rightful owner.

After crossing the valley the party made a wide circuit through the mountains on the opposite side, arriving just at daylight in front of a small cabin. The door was forced without ceremony, and one of the two men who were surprised in their beds was secured before he was fairly awake. The new prisoner was Richard Cordova, and his companion, who armed himself and joined the major’s party, was Ithuriel, his servant. In a little less than five hours Silas and his three companions had ridden more than fifty miles over rough mountain roads, captured eight desperate fellows, and that, too, without having once been called upon to use any weapon more formidable than the ax, with which White-horse Fred had cut down the door of his father’s prison. When Julian thought of it, he told himself that the trapper was indeed a man of action.

The major and his party rode at once to the fort, and his appearance there among the officers, with several of whom he had once been intimately acquainted, produced a great commotion. The commander listened in amazement to his story, and acting upon the information which Silas was able to give him, at once dispatched his cavalry to the mountains in pursuit of the robbers who were yet at large. The history of the wrongs of the major and his family spread like wild-fire, and everybody who heard it was astonished and enraged. The trappers about the fort, and the sutlers and miners flew to arms to assist in hunting down the outlaws, and during the week following Julian and his brother found ample opportunity to gratify their love of excitement. The avengers did their work quickly and well, and the summary manner in which the captured desperadoes were disposed of served as a warning to other lawless spirits in that section for all time to come.

At the end of a fortnight the fighting was all over, the excitement had somewhat abated, the settlers and miners had resumed their various avocations, and the major and his boys were once more in peaceable possession of their home, which soon began to wear its old familiar look again. The high stone wall which surrounded the rancho was leveled to the ground, and flowers planted where it stood. The officers of the fort visited there regularly as of old, and the rooms which had so long been silent and deserted echoed to the sound of laughter and music.

Everybody looked upon Fred and his brother as heroes. The almost inexhaustible fund of stories the former had collected during his connection with the robber band, as well as the adventures he met with while in the performance of his perilous duties, were listened to with interest by all the visitors at the rancho, and none were more delighted with them than the officers who tried so hard to capture him. He and his brother for a few weeks led a life of quiet ease, for the keen and rational enjoyment of which they had been fully prepared by their recent perils and excitements. The time never hung heavily on their hands. They had much to talk about, and when weary of fighting their battles over again, there were their horses, hounds, guns and fishing-rods always at their command. We might relate many interesting incidents that happened in that valley before the boys bade good-by to their father and their mountain home to become students in an Eastern academy, but “A Brave Boy’s Struggles for Home and Fortune” are ended, and our story must end with them.

The few who had remained faithful to their employer during his exile were not forgotten. The major and his boys showed them every kindness and attention in their power, and among all those who had claims upon their gratitude and esteem none commanded a larger share than Silas Roper, the guide.

AN IDEA AND A FORTUNE.

BY OWEN HACKET.

WITH their backs toward Placer Notch two young men of about twenty-one, burdened with prospectors’ kits, came silently down the trail. The well-worn way ran beside the murky stream that for the twenty-five years had run through the sluices of the Placer Notch Mining Company’s claim, which, singularly, included in their four acres the only paying claims that had ever been staked in McGowan’s Pass.

As the young prospectors neared Sol Brunt’s supply depot at the foot of the pass, the latter broke the silence and said moodily:

“I wish I had known three months ago as much as I know now.”

“Three months ago, Tom, we both knew what we had to expect; that was all talked over.”

“Well, it’s one thing to see hardship and failure at a distance, but it’s another thing to go through them. I didn’t know then, as I do now, what real hardship was. I thought I did. Handy man on a farm seemed about as near slavery as we could find in a free country.”

“Our experience is not unusual, Tom. We may succeed yet—we may not. I am going to stick it out another month and so are you——”

“I’m not so sure of that,” interrupted Tom.

“Yes you will, if I know you, Tom, and I guess I do. You like to have your little growl now and then, and I’m glad you do; it makes me argue on the bright side, and to see the pleasant features and the hopeful prospects.”

“It’s a pity hopes don’t sell in the market, Phil; you’d be pretty well off if they did.”

“Come, now! none of your sarcasm, old man. I tell you we are going to stick this for a month yet. We have no money, it is true; but we can work our way, and we are free and are seeing the world. That beats eighteen hours a day on farm work.”

The trail here ran close to the edge of the stream and about a foot above it. Phil Gormley the hopeful, happened to step on a loose stone; it gave way and down went his right leg into the water.

“I like that!” he exclaimed in vexation, as he pulled his foot out with much difficulty. He regarded his shoe with surprise on seeing it covered to the top with soft mud. He sat down on a log and squeezed the water out of his trousers leg, gazing all the while at the muddy shoe in a reverie that attracted Tom Danvers’ attention.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I was trying to account for such deep mud in the bed of a mountain stream. I am certain this mud is the year’s deposit of the dirt that is separated from the gold in the sluices above at Placer Notch.”

“Well, what of it?”

“It simply flashes across me that this silt must be very rich in the waste gold that is washed out with the dirt from the sluices.”

“Are you thinking of staking out a mud claim?”

“Not quite as bad as that. A man might scoop mud out and wash it till doomsday without getting enough to keep his pipe alight from year to year. But just fancy how many millions must have passed down this stream! You heard what the miner said up in the Notch—twenty per cent of the gold product was washed away from the sluices. If they have panned out fifty million dollars there, that would make ten million swept away into the big river below, with more constantly going the same way.”

“That’s all very well in theory, but what does it amount to any way? We can’t get hold of any of these millions.”

“No, of course not. But this I do believe: if any one could afford to turn this stream into a reservoir and wait ten years he would have enough gold silt to tackle in a wholesale sort of way that would pay. It would be only a question of devising a cheap system of washing the silt from the gold more thoroughly than they do at the mines. I’d take the contract to invent the process, too. But come! We won’t waste any more time over it. No one is going to wait ten years to get his good money back.”

They took up their journey again, and had not walked five minutes when a turn in the trail and the stream brought them in sight of the tidy establishment of Sol Brunt. Sol was one of those who came into the hills with the rush when gold was discovered, but had seen fit to find his fortune in trade while others tramped the hills for paying claims. Those who thus went into business invariably had a sure fortune before them. Sol’s place had grown up from a shanty store to a tidy house that in time had received additions, making it a very considerable establishment. The trail had been much used in the past, but besides what he made out of the casual traffic over it, he supplied all the Placer Notch wants by contract, and turned a pretty penny out of it, too.

No man had ever come into sight of Sol Brunt’s while the sun was up and failed to find the Star Spangled Banner flying at the staff head.

Sol’s tidy wife came out to meet the boys, closely followed by the trader himself.

Phil was spokesman.

“Mr. Brunt this is my partner, Tom Danvers; my name is Phil Gormley. We’ve been in the hills three months and haven’t found a grain, but we don’t give up just yet. We have no money between us, but we have been hoping you could give us enough work this week to pay for board and lodging and some stores to give us a lift to the next range.”

“Well, boys, I’m right glad to see you,” said Sol, and Mrs. Brunt looked at them with pitying eyes. “As to the lodging and the things, I’ll just take verbal acknowledgement of the debt when you leave. Young fellows who talk as you do usually get along and pay their debts too. As to the work, I want a little help on my hay this week, and I don’t mind reducing your little bill in that way.”

“Just the thing for us,” exclaimed Tom Danvers. “You’ll find we’re experts in that line.”

“So much the better then, my boy,” responded their genial host.

The shadows were falling in the valley as the sun sank behind the mountain tops, and Mrs. Brunt went inside. Her reappearance was heralded by savory odors from the kitchen, and after a refreshing splash in cool water from a mountain rill the boys sat down with their hosts to a bountiful supper. Then chairs were brought to the doorway, where in the gloom they watched the rising and falling light of Sol’s pipe while he spun countless yarns of mining life which were, in truth, largely interspersed with mining death, mostly tragic in character.

Before bidding the boys good night, Sol delicately offered to give them some advice, which the boys eagerly accepted.

“I like pluck,” said Sol, “and I don’t want to discourage it; but I do hate to see it turned into an empty sluice. You’ve prospected all over the pass here and found nothing. Thousands have done the same before you. What is true of Placer Notch is pretty generally true of all the hills. In the early days the country swarmed with men, and almost every acre was gone over many times. What wasn’t found is not worth looking for. I don’t say the richest pay dirt ever discovered may not yet be turned up, but to waste your best years on a gamble is not the thing for boys with grit in them. Go into some business; it will pay you better if you have to start on three dollars a week; with a head and a backbone you may get to be of some account in a line where every minute sees something to be accomplished.”

As the boys were preparing for bed, Tom remarked:

“It looks like prospectors without a prospect.”

“What Mr. Brunt said as to our chances is probably true, judging from our experience so far; but I wish to prove it to my own satisfaction before I accept it,” replied Phil. “Whatever my judgment may tell me, I can’t help feeling that there is rich pay earth _somewhere_ in the hills.”

“Well, I think you’d better stop right here and tackle the mud yonder.”

“Perhaps I will when the month is up,” replied Phil good-naturedly. “Good night!”

* * * * *

“Good morning, Mrs. Brunt! We’ve had a splendid sleep and are ready to pitch in with the pitchfork,” exclaimed Phil the next morning when the boys came downstairs bright and early.

“I’m glad to hear it,” responded Mrs. Brunt heartily. “You’ve been sleeping on the best mattress within fifty miles, and that accounts for it. Perhaps you’d like to look around a little before breakfast. You’ll find Mr. Brunt milking the cow down by the pond. Just follow the trail and you’ll find him.”

The boys gladly acted on the suggestion, and sauntered over a rustic bridge that spanned the stream. The trail led them into a thick grove of firs filled with the murmurs of the babbling waters, which here flowed over a sharp descent. A sudden turn in the path brought them to the edge of the grove where a splendid prospect burst upon their view.

One feature of it made Phil Gormley stop and clutch Tom by the arm!

The mountain pass widened suddenly at this point in the form of a semicircle on each side, while a quarter of a mile away the flanking mountains swept so close together again that there was only a very narrow outlet between two opposing spurs. A great basin was thus formed of over a quarter of a mile across—how deep, they could not tell, because a great sheet of still water filled the hollow. Beyond, from spur to spur, ran a chain of spile heads, which showed that man, not nature, had made this lake. Over the dam the water lazily trickled, forming the continuation of the stream they had followed from Placer Notch. It was not necessary for Tom to ask the cause of Phil’s agitation. Their conversation of the day before had flashed across him as the artificial lake burst into view. Just below them was Sol, seated on a rock and milking his single cow, in a strip of meadow that fringed the sheet of water.

Phil’s face was flushed and his eyes were very bright, but he made a visible effort to calm himself as he approached.

The boys and their host passed cordial morning greetings, and then Phil said carelessly:

“Such a fine sheet of water is something of a surprise in such a spot. Did you build the dam, Mr. Brunt?”

“Not I,” replied the storekeeper. “There’s a story to that. They say a mining inspector named John Martin, who took in Placer Notch on his circuit twenty-five years ago, saw this hollow when he first passed by and got the idea into his head that if he could trap the muddy water that ran off from the sluices and thus collect the tailings, in the course of time the mass of mud in the bottom would pan out rich from the gold that was constantly going to waste. He located this place in the land office, and had the dam built. Before he could take title he disappeared while on his rounds, and was never again heard of. I finally got the title myself, for it struck me that perhaps some day if the country around here grew up and there was any use for it, I could use the pond for water power: or I could drain it off and plant on the bottom, which ought to be the richest kind of soil. There’s thirty feet of mud on that bottom, I calculate.”

“He must have had a tremendous job to build a dam that would make a pond over thirty feet deep,” commented Tom.

“No; it wasn’t such a big job. Luck was with him and started the work. Just before Martin began, a landslide filled up the narrow space between the two mountains where they come together. You can see this from the other side of the dam. There wasn’t much left to be done; he drove some logs and did some filling in; the stream gradually filled up the hollow, and when the water rose as high as the dam it began to run off down the pass just as it used to, leaving a deposit on the bottom of the basin that has been rising ever since.”

“But, Mr. Brunt,” asked Phil indifferently, “haven’t you ever thought of following up the inspector’s idea of separating the gold that is in the bottom?”

“I can’t say I have—not seriously. There must be a great deal of the dust there, but the proportion is so small that I guess it wouldn’t be worth while to waste any money on such a scheme.”

Hearing this, Tom cast a sly glance at Phil as if to say, “What did _I_ tell you?” but he saw that Phil was driving at something and he had sense enough to say nothing.

The milking was done, and they all went back to breakfast, where they were met by Mrs. Brunt, whose round face was all aglow from the labors of cooking. Then they went down to the strip of meadow again and made an onslaught on the hay-field, in which Tom, who tackled that part not yet mowed, cut such a swath as made old Sol stare. They finished early in the day, and as they turned back to the store the owner surveyed the stack he and Phil had built with the greatest satisfaction imaginable, remarking that the two had accomplished in less than a day what would have taken him the best part of a week.

Phil had indeed worked hard during the day; he had thought hard also. Ideas had been chasing through his head in numbers. How rich in gold was the deposit? How could he test it? How could it be separated in bulk at a cost low enough to pay? Ah, that was the vital question of the whole matter! And yet if that were solved other questions would follow. How to promote or float the scheme? Whom to apply to? How to proportion the profits? Yes, Phil had been thinking very hard, indeed, and thinking to such purpose as to be fully prepared to talk to the point. The subject of the pay bottom was not referred to again during the day; but when they had taken their places in the doorway, as on the previous evening, while the merry rattle of the plates and the “clink” of the knives and forks and spoons betokened dish washing in the kitchen, Phil began to speak his little piece.

“I want to talk to you seriously, Mr. Brunt, about a matter that I have had in mind since yesterday. As we came down from the Notch I noticed the muddy bed of the stream, and remarked to Tom here, that I believed if that sediment could be coraled there would be money in it. I found this morning that another great mind—and Phil laughed at his own conceit—had run in the same channel, and had built twenty-five years ago what I had proposed yesterday as a good thing.

“Now, Mr. Brunt, if I can show you that your idle pond is exceedingly valuable in gold, I want to know if you will share equally with me any profits that I may show you the way to get out of it?”

Sol chuckled good-naturedly, but incredulously, and said:

“Aye, aye, my boy! You can have half the profits and more too.”

“It is agreed seriously?” persisted Phil.

“All right, my boy—only understand I put up no money.”

“That leads me right to the next point. Providing, as before, I could prove value here, a third man or syndicate, or something meaning capital, would have to be brought in. Speaking in a general way, will you agree to give the use of this bottom and your adjoining land on a basis of, say, one-third of the profits to each of the three concerned—you, for your mine; myself, for the process I _know_ I can invent, and the third man for his money to float the enterprise.”

Phil was conscious all the while that he was furnishing Mr. Brunt with more amusement than matter for earnest thought, but having obtained a really serious promise of the donation of land on the basis referred to—always providing of course, it could be proved by actual test that the gold could be separated at a profit—Phil took Sol inside, where in the lamplight he told all his ideas and schemes, his theory of the separating process and a score of other points, while Tom could only stare open mouthed and wonder where his chum had learned all this about stock companies and spiral wheels and hydraulics.

By-and-by the dubious smile vanished from the face of Sol Brunt, and he not only listened seriously and admiringly to Phil, but also supplemented his proposals with suggestions, corrections and advice that his mature experience stamped as very valuable. But Sol’s part in the discussion was taken only on the hypothesis that the twenty per cent of waste gold that was doubtless in the silt could be got at, and it was arranged that the next day a test should begin by hand. If the test panned out, machinery would step in and do in one hour what manual labor would take days to accomplish; and, as Phil shrewdly pointed out, one of Sol’s own original ideas would supply by natural means one of the necessities for the mechanical process—power—which otherwise would be a huge item of running expenses.

Accordingly, next morning the boys sallied out, accompanied by Sol, to overlook their operations. They carried with them a barrel, buckets to carry the silt and a scale to weigh it. They set up a barrel and half filled it with water, then into it they dumped several bucketfuls of silt. With staves they stirred the mixture so violently that each particle of fine silt must have been separated from the others. When at last they stopped they were dripping with perspiration. They gave the muddy water a few minutes to partly settle and allow the grains of gold, if any there were, to make their way to the bottom of the barrel; then by tipping the barrel carefully the water was drained off, leaving only a few inches of residue at the bottom of which was a thin layer of mud—and gold?—that was the question. It was not time to answer yet. In went half a barrelful of water and more buckets of silt. This was agitated as before and the water again drawn off.

When this had been repeated several times it was noticed that the layer of mud on the bottom was a foot deep. Thereupon two washings of this were had in the same way without adding new silt, until the deposit at the bottom had been partly drained off. Then more silt was stirred in, and so they labored nearly all day, until Sol called time, saying there was no use of wearing themselves out.

The next day the work was continued until afternoon when they had at the bottom of the barrel the residue of about two hundred and fifty pounds of silt; in this residue, only some six inches thick, was to be found nearly every grain of gold that the successive lots of silt had contained. It was time for the test. They broke the barrel, and carefully scraped and washed every grain of the muddy residue into the largest porcelain basin that Sol’s store contained, and in this more limited way made many successive washings until at last at the bottom of the white basin there gleamed nothing but a fine golden sand sparking in the sunlight. There _was_ gold in the mud, that was certain. How much and in what proportion was the next question? They thoroughly dried the golden sediment and called Sol’s fine apothecary’s scales into requisition. The dust weighed just five penny-weights.

Phil had no sooner ascertained the weight than he began figuring excitedly on a scrap of paper. This is what he was figuring on: “A layer of mud, quarter mile square and average thickness of thirty feet—how many tons of silt are there?”

His recollection of tables of weights and measures was perfect and he could therefore calculate this approximately, as can any schoolboy. He figured about three hundred and sixty thousand tons. Then he calculated: “Five penny-weights of gold to about two hundred and fifty pounds of silt, makes, say forty dollars per ton and——”

“Mr. Brunt,” said Phil, looking up and with difficulty restraining his excitement, “I figure there is at this moment in that pond nearly FIFTEEN MILLION DOLLARS’ worth of dust!”

* * * * *

Months had passed; Phil and Tom had come to Cheyenne City with a letter from Sol Brunt to the president of the Placer Notch Mining Company—Mr. Van Amrandt—introducing Phil’s scheme and authorizing Phil to represent him in the preliminary discussion of the whole matter.

Phil had impressed Mr. Van Amrandt most favorably as a young man whose youthful enthusiasm was held in check by a thoughtfulness and judgment beyond his years. But time had passed; the president had been very busy with other matters, or there had always been some other reason to keep things at a stand-still for a long while. Finally the president went so far as to have the superintendent of the “P. N.” mine go down to Sol’s place and assay a quantity of the silt. Phil and Tom had been enabled to bide a winter’s delay as far as actual needs went, through the kindness of the president who had given them both subordinate clerical positions in the company’s office; there Phil was looked upon rather suspiciously by his fellow clerks as a sort of upstart who, by some hook or crook, could procure long interviews with the president and engineer, and come out of their respective offices looking as if he had been discussing questions of tremendous importance, as, in fact, he had.

One afternoon in March the door of Mr. Van Amrandt’s private office opened and the president himself stood on the threshold with a paper in his hand.

“I say, Gormley, come here, will you?” and he retired again to his desk.

Phil rose and entered the private room.

“Shut the door and sit down. I have here the report of Jasper who has been assaying up at Brunt’s “duck pond.” He reports forty-one dollars to the ton—a little better than your own estimate.”

Phil’s heart beat away at a tremendous rate all this while, and when the result of the assay was announced it seemed to stop altogether. The president continued in a most matter-of-fact tone:

“I have just told the engineer to go over those plans of yours which he has approved in a general way and, in connection with yourself, perfect the details of your device.”

Phil seemed to hear this from a great distance, and Mr. Van Amrandt seemed to be far off and in a sort of mist. He could not move or speak or even think—he could only comprehend the joyful news.

“By the time the designs are perfected I shall have procured the necessary appropriation from the directors for the machinery. They have terrible tales to tell of the weather up in the Notch it seems, Gormley; only last week there was a heavy fall of snow which the superintendent says is swelling the streams greatly as it melts. To return to the subject, though, I have just sent Jasper’s messenger back with a message to Brunt, asking him to come into town to sign a conveyance of his claim to the company; then we will issue the new stock to Brunt and yourself on the basis we spoke of last month.”

By this time Phil had regained his self-possession. He rose and began:

“Mr. Van Amrandt, I thank you very——” when the door opened and Sol Brunt appeared on the threshold. He advanced dejectedly and said:

“The dam burst yesterday! Twenty streams from the sides of the hollow are tearing into the basin, and what silt is left by to-morrow I will sell you for a ten dollar note!”

The clerks outside were startled by the sound of a heavy fall.

Phil Gormley had given way under the blow.

* * * * *

A fortune lost! you will say. Yes; part of the fourteen millions was washed away, part was covered by the debris of land slides which the unusual freshet of that spring caused. What remained amounted to nothing in comparison. That was five years ago. The Placer Notch Mining Company has been reorganized since—just a few weeks ago, in fact, and this whole matter was only brought back to my mind at this time by the receipt of a letter from a friend of mine, who announced that he has just been put in on the reorganization as secretary of the company. I refer, of course, to Phil Gormley. He lost his lucky fortune, but he is working out a better one, because it is coming slowly and with honest difficulty. But it was his idea of working the “duck pond” that planted this slow-growing tree of fortune, for it was that which took him to the company’s office.

Out here on my quiet farm I do not hear many echoes from the busy outside world, but none could give me greater pleasure than does such news of my dear friend Phil—for I am no other than Doubting Thomas Danvers.

THE GRANTHAM DIAMONDS

BY RUSSELL STOCKTON.

HOW it did snow, to be sure! The flakes, and very small ones they were, came down in slanting drives or bewildering spirals, to be taken up again from the earth in fierce gusts and whisked along in blinding drifts.

John, the austere-looking butler, was putting the finishing touches on a tempting spread in the dining-room of the Grantham mansion. There was a salad and a dish of nuts; there was a generous plate of cake and a heaping pile of gorgeous red apples; but it would never do not to have something hot on such a cold night as this, so, alongside of a silver chafing dish was a fine English cheese and two eggs, which of course meant rarebits, and a tea urn with six dainty and varied tea cups and saucers, which of course meant girls.

The antique hall clock blinked like an old man at the dancing flames in the great fire-place and slowly sounded eight o’clock. Almost at once there came the merry jingle of sleigh bells, then a few shrill shrieks, a ring, and then a fierce stamping of small feet on the veranda.

Almost before John’s dignity could carry him to the hall door, Miss Maud Grantham ran swiftly down the stairs, followed, partly on the stairs, but mainly on the bannisters, by little Bobbie Grantham. Four rosy and very pretty faces came in with the snow gust at the door; there was much embracing and such a chattering, Maud failed to get a word in edgeways, and so resorted to the exorcism of holding aloft the yellow sheet of paper she held in her hand so that every eye could see it. The effect was instantaneous: a hush fell on the quartet at the sight of that dreadful messenger—a telegram.

“Now don’t be afraid, girls! It’s nothing very terrible,” and she handed the sheet to Sadie Stillwell, who read aloud:

“HUDSON, N. Y., Nov. 28, 1891.

“To C. V. Grantham, Yonkers, N. Y.—Train stalled. Don’t expect us till morning.

WES.”

If the girls looked relieved for a moment they certainly showed regret the next, especially Minnie Trumbull; but she said nothing. Ella Bromley, on the contrary, exclaimed in great vexation:

“What a shame! For two whole days I’ve been promising myself _such_ a time teasing that scamp Dick almost to death. I think it’s too bad.”

“Never mind,” replied Sadie; “you will have four days in which to work out your horrible purpose. Why, is not slow torture better than killing him off in one night?”

“Why, girls! How can you stand there joking,” spoke up Grace Waldron, “while those poor boys are slowly freezing to death in the middle of a snow bank?”

“Nonsense!” replied Maud. “Where there’s a telegraph office there must be a station and a stove. It is too bad, indeed, that Wes and Dick must miss the little surprise party. But come along! I’ve done everything to help out for a jolly time. There’s the supper—I’ve had that all fixed, and I’ve told John we wouldn’t want him, so he’s gone off to bed, I suppose. Then mamma and papa have gone to the Bruces’ _musicale_, so there isn’t a soul in the house to disturb. Isn’t that just delightful?”

With a deafening din of joyous exclamations they followed Maud Grantham into the music room, and there all the evening they played games, and gossiped, and danced and sang, totally unsuspicious of the grave proceedings that were taking place within sound of their voices.

While this festive event was in progress Wesley and Richard Grantham, the sons of a wealthy New York banker, were really speeding on toward their home by the Eastern express. About four o’clock in the afternoon they had run into a snow drift just after drawing away from the station at Hudson. Things had looked for a time as if they were to be held in that town over night: so, when the train had backed to the station they had sent the telegram to their father. But when they saw a crowd of laborers file off with spades and shovels toward the deep drift, they had followed and watched the work, done in the faint light of many lamps; and they had of course chafed and grumbled, as well they might at being delayed on the eve of a school holiday and almost at the threshold of their luxurious home, quite oblivious of the fortunate outcome of the delay.

The fierce winds that had swept the drift in place had helped to clear it away, and by six o’clock, when it had long been dark, the laborers had shoveled it nearly all off. The train moved out and plunged into the shallow layer of snow that remained, sweeping it up into the air in great feathery plumes, and the obstruction was vanquished.

“See that group, Dick! What a picture! Did you notice the beautiful effect of the tiny lights on the snow and how weird those grim Italians——”

“How about a good hot cup of coffee and the burning logs in the fireplace—there’s a picture for you!” scoffed young Dick, who had not yet cultivated that eye for the picturesque that his elder brother affected, and little more was said during the remainder of the ride.

It was about ten o’clock when they slowed up at Yonkers. The boys tumbled out of the train and halted to turn up coat collars and pull mufflers more closely around their throats.

“Not a carriage in sight? Well, I like this! It would seem as if everything was contriving to keep us away from home on the eve of Thanksgiving,” growled Dick.

“We can certainly appreciate our good home all the more. Perhaps we can give thanks more heartily for it to-morrow.”

“Oh, bother!” was Dick’s reply. He was an impatient youth, certainly. “Who’d expect a fellow to feel thankful when he had to climb a little St. Bernard in a storm like this. Here goes for footing it, if you’re ready!”

They grasped their traps and plunged into the inky darkness, and in a moment were at the foot of the steep hill. The wind was cutting and the snow blinding. Even if they had not kept their heads well down against the blast they could not have seen an arm’s length before them—only a dimly white sheet under their feet.

Dick, plunging ahead knee deep in the snow suddenly felt a terrific shock; for an instant he knew nothing; then he came to the realization that he was lying on his back in a snow bank with Wesley bending close over him and calling his name anxiously. He sat upright at once and confusedly asked:

“What was that, Wes? I did not see a thing.”

“It seemed to be a man running down the hill. After he collided with you he just brushed me. Look! there he is now!”

Wes was pointing toward the station, where the train, for some reason delayed, was just beginning to move out. What Wes saw through the falling snow was the figure of a tall man dash into the circle of the station’s dim light and leap on the platform of the last car, just passing away. It all occurred in an instant and Dick looked too late to see the hurrying figure.

“Did you recognize him, Wes?”

“No, of course not. The snow blurs everything at such a distance.”

“Worse luck! I wish he’d missed that train. I’d go right back and interview him—yes I would! I think I’m hurt, Wes; that fellow’s elbow or shoulder struck me over the eye.”

“Just a moment and I will light one of those fusees. It is fortunate I bought them from that ragged Italian—nothing else would hold an instant in this gale.”

After some fumbling in pockets with gloved hands the box of vesuvians was found. Wesley struck one and by its sputtering light examined as best he could Dick’s eye. There was only a slight abrasion, apparently, but as Dick complained of a smarting in the eyeball a handkerchief was tied over the injured orb.

“Now how are we ever to find our traps? They must have gone in every direction. Oh, I’d just like to——” Dick shook his fist at the darkness in the direction of the departed train and then began to tramp around in the snow to find his things. First, Wesley put his foot into Dick’s hat which had rolled some distance off; then Dick kicked his bundle of canes and umbrellas and, lastly, he tumbled flat over his large hand satchel. He felt around it and then broke out again:

“I _am_ a stupid. I never strapped this confounded bag in the car and the lock has slipped. The thing is perfectly empty, Wes!”

“Let us see what we can do with the aid of these fusees, Dick. They are a good example of ‘bread upon the waters,’ aren’t they.”

“Hang it! I’m thinking of bread in a better place just now. Come! give me some of those things, too. If we don’t get along soon I shall freeze stiff.”

They burned one after another of the vesuvians and gathered up all sorts of miscellaneous things in the way of clothing and boxes and little packages and what not, and at last they concluded it was useless to look further, as every inch of ground had been gone over for quite some distance. The things were jammed in pell mell and the bag was strapped this time: then they again began the ascent, cold to their very bones.

It was a toilsome tramp up the hill in knee-deep snow, with sometimes a soft drift into which the travelers would plunge and flounder around till they could finally extricate themselves. But at last the warm lights of the brilliantly illuminated mansions on the Crescent began to light the way and cheer them on, and, in a very few minutes the great Grantham house came into sight, all dark excepting the music room. There the windows were a blaze of light, and, when the boys reached the terrace, the sound of a piano almost drowned in girlish laughter, vied with the whistling and wheezing of the wind.

“Methinks there is a ‘sound of revelry by night,’” quoted Dick. “Wonder what’s up.”

The boys tiptoed along the veranda and peeped in on the bright scene.

“Great Scott, Wes! you’re in luck; there’s Minnie Trumbull at the piano,” and he nudged his elder brother in a knowing way; for Minnie, be it known, was a rather serious girl who read deep books, painted in water colors and played the piano brilliantly, and it was toward her that Wes usually gravitated when he was at home.

“I am very sorry for you, Dick, for I see Ella Bromley there, dancing with our sister, and I know you are in for a quarrel;” at which Dick looked a little conscious, for when Dick was at home he wanted nothing better than to quarrel with Ella, just for the pleasure of making up.

At this moment a shrill shriek pierced the air. One of the girls had discovered two faces glaring in at the window: one had a bandaged eye and “Tramps!” was the idea that for an instant filled every mind. But the boys pressed their faces closer to the glass; there was a general recognition and an impetuous rush to the hall door.

Handshaking, questioning, explanation, a great pulling off of coats helped by willing hands—such a hearty welcome home made up for all their trials and misfortunes on the way.

“Maud, if you’ll ring for John to carry these things upstairs, Dick and I will go to _our_ rooms for a few minutes to get into presentable shape,” said Wes.

“I’m sorry, boys, but you’ll have to carry the things yourself, for I sent all the servants off to bed hours ago.”

“Well! it seems we’ve got another climb, after all, Wes,” and the boys disappeared above.

Just as every one was sitting down to the supper table Mr. and Mrs. Grantham came in and another round of loving greeting ensued. When the parents retired upstairs the fun around the supper-table became furious. At its height Mr. Grantham came to the threshold of the room and said:

“Boys, I shall have to take you away for a few minutes.”

The words were said pleasantly enough, but Sadie was sensitive enough to notice something in her father’s tone that placed her in dread. She followed the boys and asked fearfully:

“What is the matter, father—something, I know!”

“Simply this: there has been a cunning thief in the house, and he seems to have taken off some of your mother’s jewels. Don’t alarm your friends, but let them go as soon as they wish to.”

When the trio reached Mrs. Grantham’s bed-room a glance showed that something strange had been going on. The drawers of the bureau had been pulled out and rummaged; the escritoire had been treated in the same way. The shelves of the closets showed signs of confusion, and finally a cedar chest had been pried open. In this the robber had found Mrs. Grantham’s jewel case. Singularly enough he had left some of its contents behind, but he had taken the priceless necklace of large diamonds, the great solitaire earrings and two costly finger rings.

“Dick go up to John’s room and ask him to dress and step down here,” directed the master.

Dick departed, to return in a moment with the exciting news that John was not in his room and his bed was quite undisturbed. It was one of the butler’s nights on duty! Sadie, who arrived a few minutes later, having dismissed her friends, was sent to interrogate each of the female servants. They had seen nothing of the butler. Some of them had heard him go downstairs about nine o’clock, come back and go down again about ten: but they had thought nothing of that.

“Everything points to John Simmons as the thief,” said Mr. Grantham. “But it is so difficult to realize a common burglar in this man, so dignified, so steady, so——”

“Wesley Grantham! didn’t you get some idea of that brute who ran over me?” interrupted Dick excitedly.

“No; only that he was very tall—just as John was. It is likely, I think, that it was he who was in such a hurry to catch the train for New York.”

“Your eye seems to be very much inflamed, Richard,” said Mr. Grantham. “Go to your room and bathe it and then go right to bed. Wesley and I will go into the library and write out a description of this fellow to send to the chief of police early in the morning. Go now, my boy; nothing further can be done to-night.”

Young Dick departed and Wesley sat down to write out a minute pen picture of John Simmons, butler. If their sight could have pierced the wall they would have seen Dick unpacking the disorderly hand satchel that had been burst open on the road. They would have seen him arranging its contents in and on his bureau. Among these things were several small boxes—one for his scarf pins and trinkets, another for his engraved cards, and so on. But one that came to his hands seemed to interest him particularly: the others he had indifferently put in their proper places—this one, about four inches long by three wide, covered with ivory white enameled paper, he examined thoughtfully, opened and——

“Are you quite through with your description of the thief?” asked Dick at the doorway. There was a singular gleam in his eyes, and he seemed to labor under some suppressed excitement.

“All but the eyes. We can’t seem to decide whether they were gray or blue.”

“The person who has those jewels has dark brown eyes—almost black,” answered Dick.

“Why, my son, what a poor memory you have! John was fair and florid—the English complexion, with fairly light eyes. But put it down gray. It really doesn’t——”

“But it is not John who has those diamonds,” insisted Dick. He would have liked to keep his discovery back longer to puzzle his auditors, but he simply couldn’t. He stepped to the library table, and, taking a hand from behind his back, placed a white enameled jeweler’s box on the cloth in the fierce glare of the lamp. His father looking at him in surprise, said under his breath.

“What can be the matter with the boy?”

Wesley mechanically opened the box and both he and his father jumped to their feet in surprise, for the sharp gleam of many diamonds dazzled their eyes!

Mr. Grantham reached for the little box and pulled out, first, a necklace of twelve large pendant diamonds; to this hung one big solitaire diamond earring; the other lay in the box, and with it were a cluster diamond ring and another of rubies, sapphires and diamonds.

“I do not understand,” said Mr. Grantham uncertainly; even the man of affairs was dazed by the sudden and peculiar entrance of these gems, supposed to be in the pocket of a thief in New York City.

“I guess you’re surprised. Fancy how I felt when I found them in my satchel.”

“Your satchel? Who could have put them there!”

“I myself. This is the only explanation I can think of. It must have been the thief—John, supposedly—who was rushing to catch the train. Perhaps he saw the gleam of the head-light up the road from one of the upper windows. He may have bundled on his wraps, thrust the box into his overcoat pocket or somewhere and started out to sprint for the train.

“When he struck my manly form the shock that heeled me over must have knocked this box out of his pocket or wherever it was, and I gathered it in with the things spilled out of my bag in the snow.”

“I think you have found the solution Dick. Your injured eye is not a _very_ large price for sixteen thousand dollars worth of gems,” was the comment of Wes.

“Wonderful! wonderful!” exclaimed Mr. Grantham. “I must go at once and tell your mother. She is quite prostrated at this loss.” He started off, but Dick stopped him by calling:

“Father! What reward did I hear you say you had offered for the finding of these shiners?”

“Ha! ha!” laughed the banker. “I don’t think you heard me state the figure, Dick. But didn’t you say something about a sloop yacht the other day—eh?”

* * * * * *

Transcriber’s note:

—Obvious errors were corrected.

—A Table of Contents was not in the original work; one has been produced and added by the transcriber.