Lost in the Canon Part 8

"Wa'al," said Ike when the last of the cargo was safely stored under the cedars, "w'at am de nex' t'ing on de programmy?"

"De nex' t'ing," replied Wah s.h.i.+n as he began getting out his pots, pans and supplies, "is dat we makee file, den we has to gettee hot someting mebbe fol to eat."

This admirable suggestion met with general approval.

That there had been higher floods than this the drift-wood lodged in the crevices of the neighboring rocks abundantly attested.

As it had not only stopped raining by this time, but the clouds had exhausted themselves and vanished from the strip of sky visible above their heads, they had no difficulty in starting a fire.

In the ruddy glow the yellow current, roaring and sweeping near by, took on the hue of blood, but our friends were too hungry, weary and anxious to be impressed by this.

Wah s.h.i.+n had plenty of food cooked, but he very wisely thought that it would be more palatable if warmed over and a cup of good coffee added to the meal.

Despite the dangers that surrounded them and the woful anxiety about his father, that was never absent from Sam Willett's heart, he could not help being impressed by the wild weirdness of the situation.

He kept his feelings bravely to himself and expressed pleasure at the appet.i.tes shown by his friends, while trying to comfort them with a half-felt hope that they might be able to escape from the canon on the morrow.

CHAPTER VIII.-MR. WILLETT AND HANK TIMS.

Mr. Willett and his friend and fellow prisoner, Hank Tims, were kept securely guarded in a tent situated in about the center of the straggling habitations that went to make up the camp at Hurley's Gulch.

Hank, who knew the country and the climate better than any white man in it, was well aware, from the continuence and violence of the storm, that it was spread over a wide area, and that the heavy rainfall and the consequent melting of snow on the crests of the higher mountains would flood all the streams flowing into the great Colorado.

He did not wish voluntarily to confess his fears to Mr. Willett, and yet he felt that it was only right that that gentleman should know what effect the storm might have on their own lives.

"Do you know what I have been thinking ever since night came and the rain has been das.h.i.+ng on the canvas over our heads, as if determined to get in?" said Mr. Willett, along toward morning, on the day following the departure of Ulna for Gold Cave Camp.

"Mebbe ye've been thinkin' that this is a powerful stormy night,"

answered Hank, at a venture.

"Yes, and that the storm will be apt to flood the canon where the boys are."

"Wa'al," drawled Hank, as if weighing his words, "this yar rain'll be mighty apt to raise the creeks in the bottoms of the canons."

"What if Ulna should not be able to get across?"

"He'll get across, no fear of that," said Hank. "But thar's another important pint in the case."

"What is that, Hank?"

"It's can Ulna git back an' fetch yer son with him."

"And what do you think about that, Hank?"

"I don't know what to think."

"But, surely, you have some idea."

"Oh, yes," said Hank, his hand to his ear to measure the sound of the pouring rain, and his gray eyes intently fixed on the ceiling, as if he were trying to find out when the flood would break through and drench them.

"Well," said Mr. Willett, nervously, "what's your opinion?"

"I don't really think that Ulna, or Sam, ken git back to Hurley's for days. Cos why, they can't cross the flood to the trail, an' no man could, onless he chanced to be rigged with wings, like a bird, an' up to this time I ain't run acrost a human mortal fixed in that way, though I'll allow that sich an addition would be powerful convenient at times."

"But if my son can't come here, what then?"

"You mean, how will it fare with us?"

"Yes, Hank, that is what I mean."

"Wa'al, it'll depend on many pints."

"Give me some of them."

"If the men in these diggins keep sober, we ken hope for fair treatment, but if they don't it'll go hard on us. But all that depends on the storm," said Hank, with great deliberation.

"On the storm?" repeated Mr. Willett.

"Yes; that's what I said. Of course, you understand that if the rain keeps on an' raises the creek har at Hurley's, then the miners won't be able to work for days an' days?"

"I understand that, Hank."

"Wa'al, if they don't work, an' have somethink to okerpy their minds, do you know what they will do?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," said Mr. Willett.

"Why, they'll crowd into the saloons an' git drunk. When even a well-meanin' man is drunk he's a beast, but when these rough fellows drink that devil's broth, whisky, why it makes 'em reg'lar out and out fiends."

"I understand you," said Mr. Willett sadly.

The two men relapsed into silence and again lay down on the blankets that had been given them by the vigilance committee.

Hank Tims was right in his surmise.

Morning brought no cessation to the storm, and as a consequence the miners could not work, for Hurley's Gulch was transformed from a little stream into a raging torrent.

As has been before stated, a majority of these miners were industrious, honest men; and their vigilance committee, though apt to do wrong in its efforts to be just, had a repressing effect on the lawless element.

These men were honest in the belief that Mr. Willett and his companion were responsible for the death of Tom Edwards, and it must be confessed that all the circ.u.mstances-circ.u.mstances that were strengthened by the dying man's statements, pointed that way.

The "Grand Union Hotel," the most important establishment at Hurley's Gulch, was composed of three tents, and old dilapidated tents at that.

The front tent was occupied by a bar, the center tent as a kitchen and dining room, and the rear canvas afforded s.p.a.ce for the guests to spread their own blankets and sleep as best they might.