why the halter-ropes don’t show in the dust.”
“Don’t they?” exclaimed Tom, suddenly sitting bolt upright and clapping his knife and fork down upon the table. “Don’t they? Just you wait a minute.”
With that he jumped up, strode out of the cabin, and went straight across to the stable. In two minutes he was back again, and standing in the doorway, with his hands in his pockets, he said:
“Boys, I’ve got another surprise for you: Yetmore’s saddle’s gone!”
“His saddle gone!” I exclaimed. “Is that why you went to the stable? Did you expect to find it gone?”
“That’s just what I did.”
“You did! Why?”
Without replying directly, Tom came in, sat down, and leaning his elbows on the table, said, with a quiet chuckle, the meaning of which we could not understand:
“Should you like to know, boys, what Yetmore did when he came down for his tobacco this morning? He went to the stable, saddled his horse, untied your two ponies and led them out. Then he mounted his horse and taking the halter-ropes in his hand he led your ponies by a roundabout way through the woods down to the road. After leading them at a walk along the road for half a mile he dismounted – that was where his tracks showed – and either took off the halters and threw them away, or what is more likely, tied them up around the ponies’ necks so that they shouldn’t step on them. Then he mounted again and went off at a gallop, driving your ponies ahead of him.”
As Tom concluded, he leaned back in his chair, bubbling with suppressed merriment, until the sight of our round-eyed wonder was too much for him and he burst into uproarious laughter, which was so infectious that we could not help joining in, though the cause of it was a perfect mystery to us both.
At length, when he had laughed himself out, he leaned forward again, and rubbing the tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand, he said:
“Can’t you guess, boys, why Yetmore has gone off with your horses?”
I shook my head. “No,” said I, “unless he wants to steal them, and he’d hardly do that, I suppose.”
“No; anyhow not in such a bare-faced way as that. What he’s after is to make you boys walk home.”
“Make us walk home!” cried Joe. “What should he want to do that for?”
Tom grinned, and in reply, said: “Yetmore thought that as soon as we uncovered that fine three-foot vein of galena you would be for getting your ponies and galloping off home to tell Mr. Crawford of the great strike, and as he wanted to get there first he stole your ponies – temporarily – to make sure of doing it.”
“But why should he want to get there first?” I asked. “You are talking in riddles, Tom, and we haven’t the key.”
“No, I know you haven’t. You don’t know Yetmore. I do. He’s gone down to buy your father’s share in the claim for next-to-nothing before he hears of the strike!”
The whole thing was plain and clear now; and the hilarity of our friend, Connor, was explained. He had no liking for Yetmore, as we have seen, and it delighted him immeasurably to think of that too astute gentleman rushing off to buy my father’s share of a valuable mine, and, if he succeeded, finding himself the owner of a worthless boulder instead.
For myself, I was much puzzled how to act. Naturally, I felt pretty indignant at Yetmore’s action, and it seemed to me that if, in trying to cheat my father, he should only succeed in cheating himself, it would be no more than just that he should be allowed to do so. But at the same time I thought that my father ought to be informed of the state of the case as soon as possible – he, not I, was the one to judge – and so, turning to Connor, I asked him to lend me his pony so that I might set off at once.
“What! And spoil the deal!” cried Connor; and at first he was disposed to refuse. But on consideration, he added: “Well, perhaps you’re right. Your father’s an honest man, if ever there was one, and I doubt if he’d let even a man like Yetmore cheat himself if he could help it; and so I suppose you must go and tell him the particulars as soon as you can. All I hope is that he will have made his deal before you get there. Yes, you can take the pony.”
But it was not necessary to borrow Connor’s steed after all, for when we stepped outside the cabin, there were our own ponies coming up the road. The halters were fastened up round their necks, and they showed evident signs of having been run hard some time during the morning. Presumably Yetmore had abandoned them somewhere on the road and they had walked leisurely back.
“Well, boys,” said Connor, “we may as well all start together now; but as your ponies have had a good morning’s work already, we can’t expect to make the whole distance this evening. We’ll stop over night at Thornburg’s, twenty miles down, and go on again first thing in the morning.”
This we did, and by ten o’clock we reached home, where the first person we encountered was my father.
“Well, Tom,” he cried, as the miner slipped down from his horse. “So you made a strike, did you?”
At this Tom opened his eyes pretty widely. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I didn’t know,” my father replied, smiling, “but I guessed. Does it amount to much?”
“Well, no, I can’t say it does,” Tom replied, as he covered his mouth with his hand to hide the grin which would come to the surface. “Yetmore’s been here, I suppose?” he added, inquiringly.
“Yes, he has,” answered my father, surprised in his turn. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I just thought he might have, that’s all.”
“Yes, he was here yesterday afternoon. I sold him my one-third share.”
“Did you?” asked Tom, eagerly. “I hope you got a good price.”
“Yes, I made a very satisfactory bargain. I traded my share for his thirty acres here, so that now, at last, I own the whole of Crawford’s Basin, I’m glad to say.”
“Bully!” cried Tom, clapping his hands together with a report which made his pony shy. “That’s great! Tell us about it, Mr. Crawford.”
“Why, Yetmore rode in yesterday afternoon, as I told you, on his way to town – he said. But I rather suspected the truth of his statement. He had come in a desperate hurry, for his horse was in a lather, and if he was in such haste to get to town, why did he waste time talking to me, as he did for twenty minutes? But when, just as he was starting off again, he turned back and asked me if I wanted to sell my share in the drill and claim, I knew that that was what he had come about, and I had a strong suspicion that he had heard of a strike of some sort and was trying to get the better of me. So when he asked what I wanted for my share, I said I would take his thirty acres, and in spite of his protestations that I was asking far too much, I stuck to it. The final result was that I rode on with him to town, where we exchanged deeds and the bargain was completed.”
“That’s great!” exclaimed Connor once more, rubbing his hands. “And now I’ll tell you our part of the story.”
When he had finished, my father stood thinking for a minute, and then said: “Well, the deal will have to stand. Yetmore believed we had a three-foot vein of galena, and it is perfectly evident that he meant to get my share out of me at a trifling price before I was aware of its value. It was a shabby trick. If he had dealt squarely with me, I would have offered to give him back his deed, but, as it is, I shan’t. The deal will have to stand.”
Thus it was that my father became sole owner of Crawford’s Basin.
CHAPTER IV
Lost In The Clouds
The fact that he had lost his little all in the core-boring venture did not trouble Tom Connor in the least; the money was gone, and as worrying about it would not bring it back, Tom decided not to worry. The same thing had happened to him many a time before, for his system of life was to work in the