The Boys of Crawford's Basin Part 16

He's got my barrel; there's no mistake about that, because Seth went down and identified the number; but he says he ordered a barrel himself from the same firm and it isn't his fault if they didn't put the right number on."

"Well, that's coming it pretty strong," said Tom, indignantly.

"Yes, and it's hard on me," replied the widow, "because people come in here for coal oil, and when they find I haven't any they go off to Yetmore's, and of course he gets the rest of their order. I might go to law," she added, "but I can't afford that; and by the time my case was settled Yetmore's barrel will have arrived and he'll send it over here and pretend to be sorry for the mistake."

"I see. Well, ma'am, you put me down for a gallon of coal oil just the same, and get my order together as soon as you like. I'm going out now to take a bit of a stroll around town."

Though he spoke calmly, the big miner was, in fact, swelling with wrath at the widow's tale of petty tyranny. Without saying a word more to her, and forgetting my existence, apparently, he marched off down the street with the determination of going into Yetmore's and denouncing the storekeeper before his customers. But, no sooner had he come within sight of the store than he suddenly changed his mind.

"Ho, ho!" he laughed, stopping short and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "Ho, ho! Here's a game! He keeps it in the back end of the store, I know. I'll just meander in and prospect a bit."

The store was a long, plainly-constructed building, such as may be seen in plenty in any Colorado mining camp, standing on the hillside with its back to the creek. In front its foundation was level with the street, but in the rear it was supported upon posts four feet high, leaving a large vacant s.p.a.ce beneath--a favorite "roosting" place for pigs. It was the sight of these four-foot posts which caused the widow's champion so suddenly to change his mind.

To tell the truth, Tom Connor, in spite of his forty years, was no more than an overgrown boy, in whose simple character the love of justice and the love of fun jostled each other for first place. He believed he had discovered an opportunity to "take a rise" out of Yetmore and at the same time to compel the misappropriator of other people's goods to restore the widow's property. That the contemplated act might savor of illegality did not trouble him--did not occur to him, in fact. He was sure that he had justice on his side, and that was enough for him.

Full of his idea, Tom walked into the store, where he found Yetmore very busy serving customers, for it was near closing time, and to an inquiry as to what he wanted, he replied:

"Nothing just now, thank ye. I'll just mosey around and take a look at things."

To this Yetmore nodded a.s.sent; for though he and the miner had no affection for each other, they were outwardly on good terms, and it was no unusual thing for Tom to come into the store.

Connor "moseyed" accordingly, and kept on "moseying" until he reached the back of the building, and there, standing upright against the rear wall, was the barrel, and beside it, mounted on a chair, a putty-faced boy, a stranger to Tom, who was busy boring a hole in the top of it.

"Trade pretty brisk?" inquired Connor, sauntering up.

"You bet," replied the youth, laconically.

"What does '668' stand for?" asked the miner, tapping the top of the barrel with his finger.

"That's the number of the barrel," was the reply. "The wholesalers down in San Remo always cut a number in their barrels when they send 'em out."

"Your boss must be a right smart business man to run a 'stablishment like this," remarked Tom, after a pause, glancing about the store.

"That's what," replied the boy, admiringly. "You'll have to get up early to get around the boss. Why, this barrel here----" He stopped short, as though suddenly remembering the value of silence, and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up one eye as if to indicate that he could tell things if he liked, he added, "Well, when the boss gets his hands on a thing he don't let go easy, I tell you that."

"Ah! Smart fellow, the boss."

"You bet," remarked the youth once more.

All this time Tom had been taking notes. The thin, unplastered wall of the store was constructed of upright planks with battens over the joints. It was pierced with one window; and Tom noted that between the edge of the window and the centre of the barrel were four boards. He noted also that the barrel stood firm and square upon the floor and that the floor itself was water-tight.

While he was making these observations, the boy finished his boring operation and having inserted a vent-peg in the hole, walked off. As soon as he was out of sight, Tom stepped up to the barrel, pulled out the vent-peg, dropped it into his pocket, and having done so, sauntered leisurely up the store again and went out.

For a little while he hung around on the other side of the street and presently he had the satisfaction of seeing the lights in the store extinguished, soon after which Yetmore came out and locking the door behind him, walked away to his house.

"Ah! So the putty-faced boy sleeps in the store, does he?" remarked Tom to himself; a conclusion in which he was confirmed when he saw a candle lighted and the boy making up his bed under the counter. A few minutes later the candle was blown out, when Tom set off briskly up the street for the widow's store.

He found Mrs. Appleby and Seth tidying up preparatory to closing the store, and stepping in, he said, "You don't take in lodgers, I suppose, ma'am? I'm intending to stay down town to-night."

"No, we don't," replied the widow. "The house is not large enough. But if you've nowhere to sleep, you're welcome to make up a bed on the floor--I can let you have some blankets."

"Thank ye, ma'am, I'll be glad to do it, if you please."

Accordingly, after the widow had retired up-stairs to her room and Seth and I to ours, Tom spread his blankets on the floor and went to bed himself.

All was dark and silent when, at one o'clock in the morning, Tom sat up in bed, and after fumbling about for a minute, found a match and lighted a candle.

"Have to get up early to get around the boss, eh?" said he to himself, with a chuckle. "Wonder if this is early enough."

In his stocking-feet he walked to the back door and opened it wide.

After pausing for an instant to listen, he came back, and lifting the empty oil barrel from its stand he carried it outside. Next he selected two buckets, and having reached down from a high shelf a large funnel, an auger and a faucet, he carried them and his boots into the back yard, and having locked the door behind him, walked off into the darkness.

In a short time he reappeared, leading a horse, to which was harnessed a low wood-sled. Upon this sled he firmly lashed the barrel, and gathering up the other implements he took the horse by the bridle and led him away down the silent street; for the town of Sulphide as yet boasted neither a lighting system nor a police force--or, rather, the police force was accustomed to betake himself to bed with the rest of the community--so Tom had the dark and empty street entirely to himself.

In a few minutes he drew up at the rear of Yetmore's store, where, leaving the horse standing, he proceeded to count four planks from the edge of the window. Having marked the right plank, he took the auger, and crawling beneath the store, set to work boring a hole up through the floor. Presently the auger broke through, coming with a thump against the bottom of the barrel above, when Tom withdrew the instrument, and taking out his knife enlarged the hole considerably.

So far, so good. Next he set a bucket beneath the hole, took the faucet between his teeth in order to have it handy, and inserting the auger, he set to, boring a hole in the bottom of the barrel. Soon the tool popped through, when Tom hastily subst.i.tuted the faucet, which he drove firmly in with a blow of his h.o.r.n.y palm.

The putty-faced boy inside the store stirred in his blankets, muttered something about "them pigs," and went to sleep again.

Tom waited a moment to listen, and then drew off a bucket of oil. As soon as this was full he replaced it with the other bucket and emptied the first one into the barrel on the sled. This process he repeated until the oil began to dribble, when he carefully knocked out the faucet, and having collected his tools and emptied the last bucket into the barrel, he again took the horse by the bridle and silently led him away.

Arrived once more in the widow's back yard, Tom uns.h.i.+pped the barrel and went off to restore the horse to its stable. He soon returned, and having unlocked the back door and re-lighted his candle, he proceeded to get the barrel into the house and back upon its stand; a work of immense labor, rendered all the harder by the necessity of keeping silence. Tom was a man of great strength, however, and at last he had the satisfaction of seeing the barrel once more in its place without having heard a sound from the sleepers overhead. Having washed the buckets and tools, he put them back where they came from, locked the door, and for the second time that night went to bed.

It was about half-past six in the morning that Tom, happening to look out of the front window, saw Yetmore coming hurriedly up the street, like a hound following the trail of the sled. Stepping to the little window at the rear, Tom peeped out and saw the storekeeper enter the back yard, walk to the spot where the sled had stopped, and stand for a minute examining the marks in the soil. Having apparently satisfied himself, he turned about and went off down the street again.

"What's he going to do about it, I wonder?" said Tom to himself. "Reckon I'll just mosey down to the store and see."

As he heard Seth coming down the stairs, he unlocked the front door and stepping outside, walked down to Yetmore's.

"Morning," said he, cheerfully. "It's a bit early for customers, I suppose, but I'm in a hurry this morning and I'd like to know whether you can let me have a gallon of coal oil."

"Sorry to say I can't," replied the storekeeper. "Our only barrel sprang a leak last night and every drop ran out."

"You don't say!" exclaimed Tom, with an air of concern. "Then I suppose I'll have to go up to the widow Appleby's. She's got plenty, I know."

As he said this he looked hard at Yetmore, who in turn looked hard at him.

"Maybe," said the storekeeper presently, "maybe you know something about that leak?"

Tom nodded. "I do," said he. "I know _all_ about it; and I'm the only one that does. I know the whole story, too, from one end to the other.

The widow has got her barrel of oil; and you and I can make a sort of a guess as to how she got it. As to your barrel, it unfortunately sprung a leak. Is that the story?"

Yetmore stood for a minute glowering at the big miner, and then said, shortly, "That's the story."

"All right," replied Tom; and turning on his heel, he went out.