Kitabı oku: «The Boys of Crawford's Basin», sayfa 8

CHAPTER XI
Tom’s Second Window

Mrs. Appleby never did quite understand how her barrel of oil had been recovered for her. All she knew for certain was that her good friend, Mr. Connor, had somehow procured it from Yetmore, and that Yetmore was, as Mr. Connor said, “agreeable.”

As for myself, when Tom that morning, taking me aside, related with many chuckles how he had occupied himself during the night, I must own that my only feeling was one of satisfaction at the thought that Yetmore had been made to restore the widow’s property, and that the fear of ridicule would probably keep him silent on the subject. Sharing with most boys the love of fair play and the hatred of oppression, Tom’s cleverness and promptness of action seemed to me altogether commendable.

Nevertheless, I foresaw one consequence of the transaction which, I thought, was pretty sure to follow, namely, that it would arouse in Yetmore an angry resolve to “get even” with Tom by hook or by crook. That he would resort to active reprisals if the opportunity presented itself I felt certain, and so I warned our friend. But Tom, careless as usual, refused to take any precautions, believing that Yetmore would not venture as long as he – Tom – had, as he expressed it, two such damaging shots in his magazine as the story of the lead boulder and the story of the oil barrel; on both of which subjects he had, with rare discretion, determined to keep silence unless circumstances should warrant their disclosure.

It was not till I had reached home again and had jubilantly retailed the story to my father, that I began to understand how there might be yet another aspect to the matter. Instead of receiving it with a hearty laugh and a “Good for Tom,” as I had anticipated, he shook his head and said:

“I’m sorry to hear it. Tom made a mistake that time. That Yetmore should be made to give up the barrel of oil is proper enough; but what right has Tom to appropriate to himself the duties of judge, jury and executive officer? It is just such cases as this that earn for the American people the reputation of a nation without respect for law. No. Tom meant well, I know, but in my opinion he made a mistake all the same.”

“I never thought of it in that light,” said I; “so it is just as well, probably, that Tom didn’t let me into the secret beforehand, because I’m afraid I should have been only too ready to help if he had asked me.”

“Yes, it is just as well you were not given the choice, I expect,” replied my father, smiling. “I’m glad Tom had the sense to take the whole responsibility on his own shoulders. Does he expect that Yetmore will be content to let the matter rest where it is?”

“He seems to think so; though he is such a heedless fellow that it wouldn’t bother him much if he thought otherwise.”

“Well, in my opinion he will do well to keep his eyes open. As I told you before, I think Yetmore’s natural caution would prompt him to keep within the law, but it is not impossible now, Tom having set him the example – for one such transgression of the law is apt to breed another – that he will think himself justified in resorting to lawless measures in his turn; especially as he will have that fellow, Long John, jogging his elbow and whispering evil counsels in his ear all the time.”

How correct my father was in his presumption; how Long John did devise a scheme of retaliation; and how Joe and I inadvertently got our fingers into the pie, I shall have to relate in due course.

But though my father disapproved of Tom’s action, that fact did not lessen his desire to help his friend when I had related to him how Tom had indeed spent all his savings on Mrs. Murphy and her family.

“What a good-hearted, harum-scarum fellow he is!” exclaimed my father. “He knows – in fact, no one knows better – that there is a possible fortune waiting for him somewhere up here on Lincoln; he saves up all winter so that he may be free to go and hunt for it in the spring; yet at the first note of distress, away he runs and tumbles all his savings into Mrs. Murphy’s lap, who, when all is said and done, has no real claim upon him, thus taking the risk of being stranded in town while Long John goes off and cuts him out. What are we going to do about it, boys? What can you suggest?”

“It would certainly be a shame,” said Joe, “if Tom, by his act of charity, should put himself out of the running in the search for that vein of galena. Yet he will surely do so if he can’t raise that money. And even if he should raise it, he might be late in getting it, in which case Long John would get the start of him.”

“That’s the case in a nutshell,” my father assented; “and, as I said before: What are we going to do about it?”

“Why – ” Joe began; and then he suddenly jumped up and coming across the room he whispered something in my ear. I replied with a nod; whereupon Joe returned to his chair, and addressing my father once more, said:

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Mr. Crawford. Phil and I made forty dollars last fall cutting timbers – it was Tom who got us our order, too – and we have it still. We’ll put that in – eh, Phil? – if it will be any use.”

“Yes,” said I. “Gladly.”

“Good!” exclaimed my father. “Then that settles it. Now, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ll add sixty dollars to it – that is all I can afford just now – and you two shall ride back to Sulphide this afternoon, give Tom the money, and tell him he shall have fifty more in a couple of months if he needs it. And tell him at the same time that he needn’t go mortgaging his little house. We don’t want security from Tom Connor: we know him too well. I’d rather have his word than some men’s bond. You shall ride up to see him this afternoon, and you needn’t hurry back to-day; for that rain of last night has made the ground too wet to continue plowing; and, if I’m not mistaken, we’re in for another storm to-night, in which case the soil won’t be in condition again for two or three days.”

I need hardly say that Joe and I were delighted to undertake this mission, and about four o’clock we reached Mrs. Appleby’s, where we put up our ponies in her stable. Then, as Tom would not be quitting work for another hour, instead of going direct to his house, we climbed up to the Pelican, intending to catch him there and walk home with him.

Presently arriving at the great white dump of bleached porphyry to which the citizens of Sulphide were accustomed to point with pride as an indication of the immense amount of work it had taken to make the Pelican the important mine it was, we scrambled up to the engine-house, where for some minutes we stood watching the busy engine as it whirled to the surface the buckets of waste. Then, stepping over to the mouth of the shaft, we paused again to watch the top-men as they emptied the big buckets into the car and trundled the car itself to the edge of the dump, upset it, and trundled it back again for more.

As we stood there, a miner came up, and stepping out of the cage, nodded to us in passing.

“Want anybody, boys?” he asked.

“We’re waiting for Tom Connor,” I replied. “He’s down below, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he’s down in the fifth. I’ll take you down there if you like. I’m going back in a minute.”

“What do you think, Joe?” I asked.

“Yes, let’s go,” my companion replied. “I’ve never been inside a mine, and I should like to see one.”

“All right,” said the miner. “Come over here to the dressing-room and I’ll give you a lamp and a couple of slickers. It’s a bit wet down there.”

Joe and I were soon provided with water-proof coats, and in company with our new friend we stepped into the cage, when the miner, shutting the door behind us, called out to the engineer, “Fifth level, McPherson,” and instantly the floor of the cage seemed to drop from under us. After a fall of several miles, as it appeared to us, the cage stopped, when, peering through the wire lattice-work, we saw before us a dark passage, upon one side of which hung a white board with a big “5” painted upon it.

“Here you are,” said the miner, stepping out of the cage and handing us a lighted lamp. “Just walk straight along this drift about three hundred feet – it’s all plain sailing – and you’ll find Tom Connor at work there. I’m going on down to the seventh myself.”

With that he stepped back into the cage, rang the bell, and vanished, leaving us standing there eyeing each other a little dubiously at finding ourselves left to our own guidance, four hundred feet below the surface of the earth.

“I hadn’t reckoned on that,” said I. “I thought he was coming with us.”

“So did I,” replied Joe. “But it doesn’t really matter. All we have to do is to walk along this passage; so let’s go ahead.”

That our obliging friend had been right when he stated that it was “a bit wet” down here was evident, for the drops of water from the roof of the drift kept pattering upon our slickers, and presently, when we had advanced something over half the distance, one of them fell plump upon the flame of our lamp and put it out!

We stopped short, not knowing what pitfalls there might be ahead of us, and each felt in all his pockets for a match. We had none! Never anticipating any such contingency as this, we had ventured into this black hole without a match in our possession.

I admit that we were scared – the darkness was so very dark and the silence so very silent – but fortunately it was only for a moment. Standing stock still, for, indeed, we dared not move, we shouted for Tom, when, to our infinite relief, we heard his familiar voice call out:

“Hallo, there! That you, Patsy? I’m coming. Does the boss want me?”

The next moment a light appeared moving towards us, and as soon as we could safely do so we advanced to meet it.

“How are you, Tom?” we both cried, simultaneously, assuming an off-hand manner, as though we had not been scared a bit.

Tom stopped, not recognizing us for a moment, and then exclaimed:

“Hallo, boys! What are you doing down here? Who brought you down?”

We told him how we came to be there, and how our lamp had gone out; at which Tom shook his head.

“Well, it was certainly a smart trick to send you down into this wet hole and not even see that you had a match in your pocket. What would you have done if I’d happened to have left the drift?”

The very idea gave me cold chills all down my back.

“We should have been badly scared, Tom, and that’s a fact,” I replied; “but I hope we should have kept our heads. I believe we should have sat down where we were and shouted till somebody came.”

“Well, that would have been the best thing you could do, though you might have had to shout a pretty long time, for there is nobody working in this level just now but me, and, as a matter of fact, I should have left it myself in another five minutes. But it’s all right as it happens; so now you can come along with me. I’m going out the other way through Yetmore’s ground.”

“Yetmore’s ground?” exclaimed Joe, inquiringly.

“Yes, Yetmore is working the old stopes of the Pelican on a lease – it is one of his many ventures. In the early days of the camp mining was conducted much more carelessly than it is now; freight and smelter charges were a good bit higher, too, so that a considerable amount of ore of too low grade to ship then was left standing in the stopes. Yetmore is taking it out on shares. His ground lies this way. Come on.”

So saying, Tom led the way to the end of the drift, where, going down upon his hands and knees, he crawled through a man-hole, coming out into a little shaft which he called a “winze.” Ascending this by a short ladder, we found ourselves in the old, abandoned workings, and still following our guide, we presently walked out into the daylight – greatly to our surprise.

“Why, where have we got to, Tom?” cried Joe, as we stared about us, not recognizing our surroundings.

Tom laughed. “This is called Stony Gulch,” he replied. “The mine used to be worked through this tunnel where we just came out, but the tunnel isn’t used now except temporarily by Yetmore’s men. He only runs a day shift and at night he closes the place with that big door and locks it up. The Pelican buildings are just over the hill here, and we may as well go up at once: it will be quitting-time by the time we get there.”

We climbed over the hill, therefore, and having restored our slickers, went on with Tom down to his little cottage, which was only about a quarter of a mile from the mine.

It was not until we were inside his house that we explained to Tom the object of our visit, at the same time handing over to him my father’s check for one hundred dollars. The good fellow was quite touched by this very simple token of good-will on our part; for, though he was ever ready to help others, it seemed never to have occurred to him that others might like sometimes to help him.

This little bit of business being settled, we all pitched in to assist in getting supper ready, and presently we were seated round Tom’s table testing the result of our cookery. As we sat there, Joe, pointing to a window-sash and some planed and fitted lumber which stood leaning against the wall, asked:

“What are you going to do with that, Tom? Put in a second window?”

“Yes,” replied our host. “And I was intending to do it this evening. You can help me now you’re here. The stuff is all ready; all we have to do is to cut the hole in the wall and slap it in. It’s just one sash, not intended to open and shut, so it’s a simple job enough.”

“Where does it go?” asked Joe.

“There, on the right-hand side of the door. Old man Snyder, in the next house west, put one in some time ago, and it’s such an improvement that I decided to do the same. We’ll step out presently and look at Snyder’s, and then you’ll see. Hallo! Come in!”

This shout was occasioned by a tapping at the door, and in response to Tom’s call there stepped in a tall miner, whom I recognized as George Simpson, one of the Pelican men.

“Come in, George,” cried our host. “Come in and have some supper. What’s new?”

“No, I won’t take any supper, thank ye,” replied the miner. “I must get along home. I just dropped in to speak to you. You know Arty Burns? – works on the night shift? Well, Arty’s sick. When he came up to the mine to-night he was too sick to stand, so I packed him off home again and told him to go to bed where he belonged and I’d see to it that somebody went on in his place, so that he shouldn’t lose his job. I’m proposing to work half his shift for him myself, and I want to find somebody – ”

“All right, George,” Connor cut in. “I’ll take the other half. Which do you want? First or second?”

“Second, if it’s all the same to you, Tom. If I don’t get home first my old woman will think there’s something the matter. So, if you don’t mind, you can go on first and I’ll relieve you at half-time.”

“All right, George, then I’ll get out at once. You boys can wash up, if you will; and you’ll find a mattress and plenty of blankets in the back room. I’ll be back soon after eleven.”

With that, carrying a lantern in his hand, for it was getting dark, away he went; while the miner hurried off across lots for town; neither of them, apparently, thinking it anything out of the way to do a full day’s work and then, instead of taking his well-earned rest, to go off and do another half-day’s work in order to “hold the job” for a third man, to whom neither of them was under any obligation.

Nor was it anything out of the way; for the silver-miners of Colorado, whatever their faults, did in those days, and probably do still, exercise towards their fellows a practical charity which might well be counted to cover a multitude of sins.

“Look here, Phil!” exclaimed my companion, after we had washed and put away the dishes. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Let’s pitch in and put in Tom’s second window for him!”

“Good idea!” I cried. “We’ll do it! Let’s go out first, though, Joe, and take a look at old Snyder’s house, so that we may see what effect Tom expects to get.”

“Come on, then!”

The row of six little houses, of which Tom’s was the third, counting from the west, had been one of Yetmore’s speculations. They were situated on the southern outskirts of town, and were mostly occupied by miners working on the Pelican. Each house was an exact counterpart of every other, they having been built by contract all on one pattern. Each had a room in front and a room behind; one little brick chimney; a front door with two steps; and a window on the right-hand side of the door as you faced the house. All were painted the same color.

Yetmore having secured the land, had laid it out as “Yetmore’s Addition” to the town of Sulphide; had marked out streets and alleys, and had built the six houses as a starter, hoping thereby to draw people out there. But as yet his building-lots were a drug in the market: they were too far out; there being a vacant space of a quarter of a mile or thereabouts between them and the next nearest houses in town. The streets themselves were undistinguishable from the rest of the country, being merely marked out with stakes and having had no work whatever expended upon them.

The six houses, built about three hundred feet apart, all faced north – towards the town – and being so far apart and all so precisely alike, it was absolutely impossible for any one coming from town on a dark night to tell which house was which. Not even the tenants themselves, coming across the vacant lots after nightfall, could tell their own houses from those of their neighbors; and consequently it was a common event for one of the sleepy inmates, stirred out of bed by a knock at the door, to find a belated citizen outside inquiring whether this was his house or somebody else’s. Not infrequently they neglected to knock first, and walking straight in, found themselves, to their great embarrassment, in the wrong house.

Old man Snyder, a somewhat irritable old gentleman, having been thus disturbed two nights in succession, determined that he would no longer subject himself to the nuisance. He bought a single sash and inserted a second window on the other side of his door; a device which not only saved him from intrusion, but served as a guide to his neighbors in finding their own houses. It was also a very obvious improvement, and we did not wonder that Tom Connor had determined to follow his neighbor’s example.

Old Snyder’s house was the second from the western end of the street, Tom Connor’s, three hundred feet distant, came next, while next to Tom’s, another three hundred feet away, was a house which still belonged to Yetmore and was at that moment standing empty.

You will wonder, very likely, why I should go into all these details, but you will cease to wonder, I think, when you see presently of what transcendent importance to Joe and me was the situation of these three houses.

Joe and I, laying hands on our host’s kit of tools, at once went to work on the window. As Tom had said, it was a simple job, and though it was something of a handicap to work by lamplight, we went at it so vigorously that by nine o’clock we had completed our task – very much to our satisfaction.

Stepping outside to observe the effect, we saw that old Snyder’s windows were lighted up also; but we had hardly noted that fact when his light went out.

“The old fellow goes to bed early, Joe,” said I.

“Yes,” Joe replied; and then, with a sudden laugh, added: “My wig, Phil! I hope there won’t be anybody coming out from town to-night. If they do, there’ll be complications. They will surely be taking our two windows for old Snyder’s, for, now that his light is out, you can’t see his house at all.”

“That’s a fact,” said I. “If Snyder’s right-hand neighbor should come out across the flats to-night he would see our two windows, and, supposing them to be Snyder’s windows, he would be almost sure to go blundering into the old fellow’s house. My! How mad he would be!”

“Wouldn’t he! And any one coming out to visit Tom would pretty certainly go and pound on the door of the empty house to the left.”

“Well, let us hope that nobody does come out,” said I. “Come on, now, Joe. Let’s get back. It’s going to rain pretty soon.”

“Yes; your father was right when he predicted more rain. It’s going to be a biggish one, I should think. How dark it is! I don’t wonder people find a difficulty in telling which house is which when all the lights are out. Here it comes now. Step out, Phil.”

As he spoke, a blast of wind from the mountains struck us, and a few needles of cold rain beat against our right cheeks.

We were soon inside again, when, having shut our door, we sat down to a game of checkers, in which we became so absorbed that we failed to note the lapse of time until Tom’s dollar clock, hanging on the wall, banged out the hour of ten.

“To bed, Joe!” I cried, springing out of my chair. “Why, we haven’t been up so late for weeks.”

Stepping into the back room, we soon had mattress and blankets spread upon the floor, when, quickly undressing, I crept into bed, while Joe, returning to the front room, blew out the light.

Five minutes later we were both asleep, with a comfortable consciousness that we had done a good evening’s work; though we little suspected how good an evening’s work it really was. For it is hardly too much to say that had we not put in Tom’s second window that night we might both have been dead before morning.