The Boys of Crawford's Basin Part 22

"Why do they leave it in the mine?" I asked. "Is it safer than taking it down to the express office?"

"Yes: it would be pretty difficult to steal it out of the mine, with all the lights going and all the miners about, whereas, if it was just stacked in the express office, somebody might----"

"Somebody might cut a hole in the floor and drop it through," remarked Joe, laughing.

"That's so," said Tom, adding, "I tell you what it is, boys: I begin to think I wasn't quite so smart as I thought I was when I got back that coal oil for the widow. I wouldn't wonder a particle if it wasn't just that that decided Yetmore to come and blow my house to smithereens."

"I shouldn't either," said Joe.

Tom having departed to his work again, Joe and I once more went into town, where we spent the time going about, listening to the talk of the people, who were still standing in groups on the street corners, discussing the great events of the day.

But if the people were excited, as they certainly were, their excitement was a mere flutter in comparison with the storm which swept over the community next morning.

The ten sacks of high-grade ore had been stolen during the night!

The news came down about eight o'clock in the morning, when, at once, and with one accord, all the men in the place who could get away swarmed up to the Pelican--we among them.

The thief, whoever he was, was evidently familiar with the workings of the mine, for, going round into Stony Gulch, he had forced the door at the exit of the old tunnel, cutting out the staple with auger and saw, and then, clambering through the disused, waste-enc.u.mbered drifts, he had carried out the little sacks one by one and made away with them somehow.

Wrapping his feet in old rags in order to disguise his foot-prints, he had taken the sacks of ore across the gulch to the stony ground beyond, where his boots would leave no impression, and there all trace of him was lost. Whether he had buried the sacks somewhere near by, or, if not, how he had managed to spirit them away, were matters of general speculation; though to most minds the question was settled when one of Yetmore's clerks came hastily up to the mine and called out that the roan pony and the two-wheeled delivery cart, used to carry packages up to the mines, were missing. The thief, seemingly, had not only stolen Yetmore's ore, but had borrowed Yetmore's horse and cart to convey it away.

If this were true, it proved that the thief must have an intimate knowledge of the country, for, in spite of the heavy rain of the night before, not a sign of a wheel-mark was there to be found: the cart had been conducted over the rocks with such skill as to leave no trace whatever. Cart, pony, ore and thief had vanished as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed them.

At first everybody sympathized with Yetmore over his loss, but presently an ugly rumor began to get about when people bethought them of the terms of the lease. Those who did not like the storekeeper, and they were not a few, began to pull long faces, nudge each other with their elbows, and whisper together that perhaps Yetmore knew more of this matter than he pretended.

Joe and I were at a loss to understand what they were driving at, until one man, more malicious or less discreet than the others, spoke up.

"How are we to know," said he, "that Yetmore didn't steal this ore himself? Three-fifths of it belongs to the company--he'd make a mighty good thing by it. I'm not saying he did do it, but----"

He ended with a closing of one eye and a sideways jerk of his head more expressive than words.

"Oh, that's ridiculous!" Joe blurted out. "Yetmore isn't over-scrupulous, I dare say, but he's a long way from being a fool, and he'd never make such a blunder as to steal the ore and then use his own horse and cart to carry it off."

"Well, I don't know," said the man. "It might be just a trick of his to put folks off the scent."

And though Joe and I, for our part, felt sure that Yetmore had had nothing to do with it, we found that many people shared this man's suspicions; the consequence being that the mayor's popularity of the day before waned again as suddenly as it had arisen.

In the midst of this excitement the mail-coach from the south came in, when Joe and I, carrying with us the expected letter for my father, set off home again; little suspecting--as how should we suspect--that the ore-thief, whoever he might be, was about to render us a service of greater value by far than the ore and the cart and the pony combined.

We were jogging along on the homeward road, and were just rounding the spur of Elkhorn Mountain which divided our valley from Sulphide, when Joe suddenly laid his hand on my arm and cried: "Pull up, Phil. Stop a minute."

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Get down and come back a few steps," Joe answered; and on my joining him, he pointed out to me in a sandy patch at the mouth of a steep draw coming in from the left, some deeply-indented wheel-marks.

"Well, what of that, Joe?" said I, laughing. "Are you thinking you've found the trail of the ore-thief?"

"No," Joe replied, "I'm not jumping at any such conclusion; but, at the same time, it's possible. If the ore-thief started northward from the Pelican, and the chances are he did, for we know he carried the sacks across to the north side of Stony Gulch, this would be the natural place for him to come down into the road; for it is plain to any one that he could never get a loaded cart--or an empty one either, for that matter--over the rocky ridge which crowns this spur. If he was making his way north, he had to get into the road sooner or later, and this gully was his last chance to come down."

"That's true," I a.s.sented; "and this cart--it's a two-wheeler, you see--was heavily loaded. Look how it cuts into the sand."

"Yes," said Joe; "and it was drawn by one smallish horse, led by a man; a big man, too: look at his tracks."

"But the ore-thief, Joe, had his feet wrapped up in rags, and these are the marks of a number twelve boot."

"Well, you don't suppose the thief would walk over this rough mountain with his feet wrapped up in rags, do you? In the dark, too. They'd be catching against everything. No; he would take off the rags as soon as he reached hard ground and throw them into the cart; for it is not to be expected either that he would leave them lying on his trail to show people which way he had gone."

"No, of course not. But which way did he go, Joe; across the road or down it?"

"Down it. See. The wheel-tracks bear to the left. And if you want evidence that he came down in the dark, here you are. Look how one wheel skidded over this half-buried, water-worn boulder and slid off and sc.r.a.ped the spokes against this projecting rock. Look at the blue paint it left on the rock."

"Blue paint!" I cried. "Joe, Yetmore's cart was painted blue! I remember it very well. A very strongly-built cart, as it had to be to scramble up those rough roads that lead to the mines, painted blue with black tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. Joe, I begin to believe this is the ore-thief, after all."

"It does look like it. But where was he going? Not down to the smelter at San Remo, surely."

"Not he," I replied. "He would know better than that. The smelter has undoubtedly been notified of the robbery by this time, and the character of the Pelican tellurium is so well known that any one offering any of it for sale would have to give a very clear story as to how he came by it. No; this fellow will have to hide or bury the ore and leave it lying till he thinks the robbery is forgotten; and even then he will probably have to dispose of it at a distance in small lots or broken up very fine and mixed with other ore."

"In that case," said Joe, "we shall find his trail leaving the road again on one side or the other."

"I expect so. We'll keep a lookout. But come on, now, Joe: we mustn't delay any longer."

The road had been traveled over by several vehicles since last night, and the trail of the cart was undistinguishable with any certainty until we had pa.s.sed the point where the highway branched off to the right to go down to San Remo; after which it appeared again, apparently headed straight for the ranch.

"Do you suppose he can have crossed our valley, Phil?" asked my companion.

"No, I expect not," I replied. "Keep your eyes open; we shall find the tracks going off to one side or the other pretty soon--to the left most likely, for the best hiding-places would be up in the mountains."

Sure enough, after traversing a bare, rocky stretch of road, we found that the tracks no longer showed ahead of us. The man had taken advantage of the hard ground to turn off. Pulling up our ponies, we both jumped to the ground once more, and going back a short distance, we made a cast on the western side of the road. In a few minutes Joe called out:

"Here we are, Phil! See! The wheel touched the edge of this little sandy spot, and if you look ahead about forty yards you'll see where it ran over an ant-hill. It seems as though he were heading for our canon. Do you think that's likely?"

"Yes," I replied. "I think it is very likely. There is one place where he can get down, you remember, and then, by following up the bed of the stream for a short distance he will come to a draw which will lead him to the top of the Second Mesa--just the place he would make for. For, to any one knowing the country, as he evidently does, there would be a thousand good hiding-places in which to stow away ten small sacks of ore--you might search for years and not find them."

"Yes," said Joe. "But there's the horse and cart, Phil. How will he dispose of them?"

"Oh, that will be easy enough. He would tumble the cart into some canon, perhaps, turn loose the horse, and be back in Sulphide before morning.

But come on, Joe. We really mustn't waste any more time; it's getting on for six now."

It was fortunate we did not delay any longer, for we found my father anxiously pacing up and down the room, wondering what was keeping us.

Without heeding our explanation at the moment, he hastily tore open the letter we had brought, read it through, and then stepping to the foot of the stairs, called out:

"Get your things on, mother. We must start at once. The train leaves at seven forty-five. There's no time to lose."

Turning to us, he went on: "Boys, I have to go to Denver. I may be gone five or six days--can't tell how long. I leave you in charge. If you can get at the plowing, go ahead; but I'm afraid you won't have the chance.

If I'm not mistaken, there's another rain coming--wettest season I remember. Joe, run out and hitch up the big bay to the buckboard. Phil, you will have to drive down to San Remo with us and bring back the rig.

Go in and get some supper now; it's all ready on the table."

In ten minutes we were off, I sitting on a little trunk at the back of the carriage, explaining to my father over his shoulder as we drove along the events of the last two days, and how it was we had taken so much time coming down from Sulphide.