Buffalo Roost Part 13

"I'm glad something is full," interrupted Fat. "We certainly aren't in the same cla.s.s, that cabin and I. It's been so long since I've fed that my floating ribs have run ash.o.r.e. The worst of it is that all I have left is a can of condensed milk, about a teaspoon of sugar, and a little b.u.t.ter that's a second cousin to what's in that grub box yonder. I'm going to borrow a few possibilities from the cabin and beg for food.

Let's have dinner."

"Right here by this old rock," called Willis. "Perhaps we can roast a little information out of these rocks."

Chuck had gone down stream into a grove of large aspens, and at this moment came panting up the trail.

"Bees--peach of a tree--honey galore--millions of them!" he panted.

"That sounds like something to eat," cried Fat. "Come along, Chuck, I'm with you. Do you know how to make that 'milk and honey' that the Good Book speaks about? I've got the milk, let's get the honey." Ham, Chuck, and Fat started for the bee tree, Ham singing his favorite, "A Preacher went a Huntin'."

"Better let up, Ham," shouted Phil. "The bees will be after the sweetness in that melody of yours."

Phil stretched out at full length in the sun while Mr. Allen busily made figures and sketches in his note book. Willis rose and started down the trail toward the bee tree. At the edge of the timber he stopped, and a curious smile spread over his face. Then suddenly, as the real significance of what he saw dawned upon him, he doubled up with a howl and laughed till his sides hurt.

The fellows were unable to roll over the great dead tree, so had decided to "smudge the brutes out," as Ham said. Accordingly, they built a fire at the side where the bees had been seen to enter the tree. Chuck had carried water from the stream in his hat to make the fire smoke, and, as they watched the hole, the bees came swarming out at the end of the log behind them, "with spears sharpened and ready for action," as Ham afterward said. Such lively gymnastics and hurried departures Willis had never before witnessed. Fat completely forgot that he was hungry, and Ham took occasion to severely chastise himself, using his old felt hat for a paddle, while Chuck went ploughing through the underbrush like a young bull-moose, murmuring strange, inarticulate sentences. Fortunately for them all, the bee tree was nothing but a nest of marsh-wasps, and there were nowhere near as many as Chuck declared there were. The damage was slight to all except Fat, and he had enough signs of battle to warrant a leather medal for bravery. The saddest thing was that the hoped-for "milk and honey" did not materialize.

As the party sat together eating the last of their rations, Ham fell into one of his philosophical moods.

"I like this kind of life," he began. "Out here you let go your hold on man-made things and s.h.i.+ft for yourself." He looked cautiously over at Fat, who was trying to scratch a particularly itchy sting just out of reach in the middle of his back. "I like the unchanging condition of nature," he continued. "The wilderness is all yours, and you may take from it all the essentials of primitive living--shelter, warmth, and food."

"Ham, you're an unmitigated prevaricator," cried Fat as he scratched and made faces. Ham paid no attention to him. "Here in the open country you can get mighty close to the great wilderness with its myriads of busy lives, and--" Fat picked up a pine cone and threw it, but Ham disappeared around the end of the big rock.

"Ham, you're just like the loons we have on the Michigan lakes," taunted Willis. "You can do and say more crazy things than all the rest of us ducks put together; but when any one takes a shot at you, you're out of sight."

By this time Fat had managed to make two holes in his can of milk and was drinking the contents. Mr. Allen had returned to his sketching, and Willis had gone over to the little dam to get a drink. Suddenly there was the snort of a horse and the rapid tramping of hoofs. A dog gave two or three barks, then horse, rider, and dog appeared on the trail. In a second another rider, with a pick and shovel thrown over his shoulder, came over the ridge. The first pulled in his horse and, turning in his saddle, looked to see if his companion was coming. Being confident that he was not far behind, he again urged his horse forward, apparently not noticing the group by the big boulder. Ham got to his feet and spoke to the dog. The horseman gave a quick exclamation of surprise, then called out, "Howdy!" Mr. Allen rose.

"Well, well!" called the man. "Seems to me yew fellers are travelin'

some, ain't ye?"

"O, a little," returned Mr. Allen.

"You don't happen to know, do you, whether there are two cabins above here, do you? We was directed to the middle cabin."

"No, only a very badly decayed one--just a pile of tumbled-down logs,"

replied Mr. Allen. The second rider had come up and dismounted, and together they studied a sketch which he had taken from his pocket.

"This must be the one, that's all," he drawled, as he spat out a great quid of tobacco, "'cause he said it was by the bridge. We must o' missed the other cabin in the trees somewhere below here."

Willis was eyeing the newcomers closely. A stern, hard look crossed his face as he quickened his pace. He reached Mr. Allen's side, and the first rider nodded to him. He drew nearer and observed the sketch very closely, listening intently to all the strangers had to say. His heart was beating fast, but just why he could not have told.

"Well, Jim, I guess we'd better unsaddle an' give the nags a drink an' a rest," said the stranger as he carefully folded up the sketch and put it in his pocket. "Seems strange as how we'd meet twice in these mountains in nearly as many days, don't it?" remarked the man, as he began to loosen the saddle girths and to untie the sacks of grub that were fastened on behind.

"How is that?" queried Mr. Allen.

"Why, wasn't it you that went up the trail to the top of Cheyenne the other day?" questioned the man. Then, without waiting for a reply, he went on: "We was doin' an a.s.sessment up there that day an' seed you as you stood talkin' to that crusty old prospector that works that tunnel."

"O yes," said Mr. Allen, "so you are the men that were up there by that black dump?"

"Yep, we're the fellers, Jim an' me."

"Are you going to do more a.s.sessment work here in this canyon?"

questioned Ham.

"Yep, we've got two a.s.sessments to do here somewhere," returned the stranger. "This canyon, or at least part of it, belongs to a real estate company in Colorado Springs. I don't believe there is any gold here, but they are holdin' the property as an investment. Seems like they expect sometime to open this canyon to tourist trade to see some swell falls that's up in it somewheres."

"O, is that so?" returned Mr. Allen. "Then you don't think there is any gold here at all?"

"Nope, I don't, an' I'll tell ye why. Gold, as it's found in these parts, runs in a strata of quartz. Now, there ain't no quartz in this range, except on Cheyenne. The old-timer down at the inn says that there's gold up here, an' he knows where it is, but you can't take no stock in these old fellers. They're daft on the gold question."

Mr. Allen looked at his watch, then, turning to the fellows, he suggested that they had better start for home. After a little more conversation the two parties separated, one to camp for the night in the cabin, the other to return to the city.

Willis motioned Mr. Allen to the back of the line as they worked their way down the trail and into the park.

"The plot thickens," began Willis, with a queer little smile on his face.

Then with a slight chuckle he added: "To be more accurate, I suppose I should say 'The plot thins.' Those are the two men that were at my uncle's house the morning we started on this trip, and my uncle drew that sketch--I'm sure of it. The heading was torn from the paper, but I feel it in my bones that he was the artist. Those are the men that were doing the a.s.sessment on my father's old claim on Cheyenne for my uncle. He never dreamed of my seeing them here and knowing they were in his employ.

I understand now why he didn't want me to come on this trip. A coward is always suspicious. I never would have put the two together in the wide world if he hadn't made such a fuss about my coming. One thing is absolutely certain--my Uncle Williams is crooked, and that isn't all, either. My Uncle Williams owns that cabin, and we'll never get it for our use in this wide world. What will the fellows say when they know it belongs to my uncle and we can't get it? The cabin is ideal, and it could be repaired with very little cost. It is isolated and in a beautiful spot, and is the only thing we have found. Don't tell the fellows about it, please, until I see what I can do. I'll do my very best."

"Now, look here, my boy; don't let that bother you," replied Mr. Allen.

"Wait. Don't trouble trouble till trouble troubles you. He hasn't troubled you yet, he's just getting ready to. Let's beat him at his own game. There are more ways than one to skin a cat."

"But how?" inquired Willis.

"Well, the first thing to do is to get the exact location of the cabin, then go to the county recorder's office and see to whom the property belongs. If it ever belonged to your father, as you are now disposed to believe--"

"Yes, I'd bet my hat, Mr. Allen, that this is the very cabin that my father and Tad Kieser built. O, how I 'd like to have it all for my very own!" Mr. Allen interrupted him. "As I was saying, the records will show very plainly if it was ever transferred or if it was anything but a lode claim. If your father owned it, that settles it. Williams has nothing to say about it. Placer claims can't be taken on deeded property. However, let's not worry about it, but let's count it ours and work toward that end."

"O my, if Tad were only here, we'd soon know a thing or two!" exclaimed Willis.

"Now, boy, listen! Don't go home and spoil all this business. Keep still about it until to-morrow, when we can get at the records and find out for certain just what is what. Will you do that?" questioned Mr. Allen.

"I'll tell my mother," replied Willis, "and to-morrow I'll go with you."

The trail was winding back and forth through a great park of aspens. On every side were prospect holes, remains of old cabins, and places where the wilderness was again reclaiming her own after men had spent their time, money, and energy attempting to force her to give up her gold.

At the top of the hogsback that over-looked Bruin Inn the fellows sat down to rest. They were back in familiar territory, now, and the cabin quest was nearly over.

"Of course, the very first thing to do," Ham was saying, "is to get in stone and get our fireplace built before the frost comes. It will be a simple matter--just throw down stones from the mountain; they are flat slabs and will lay up very easily. We'll use that big, flat stone at the end as a foundation, and run the chimney up outside the house--a real big, life-sized one, too. And we want a grand old-fas.h.i.+oned crane in the grate, and andirons of stone, and a big cement hearth."

"Going to do all your cooking in the fireplace?" asked Chuck.

"Not on your life," put in Fat. "We'll bring up our old camp stove, the one we had on the trip last summer--it's a dandy."

"I've got the only stunt, though," said Ham. "Let's build a great big bed on the rafters that run from wall to wall. We'll just cut a lot of saplings and lay them in close and support the bed from the roof. After it has about two feet of balsam boughs on it, it will be a choice roost, I tell you that. I'm going to be architect and boss carpenter of that job."

"Yes," said Mr. Allen gravely, "but it's not a fireplace, an aerial bunk, or a place to eat that I'm thinking of. There is no use putting our time, effort, and money into this place unless we can take care of at least twenty fellows at a time, and how can we do it?"

"The eating won't be any trouble," advised Fat. "They will get enough to eat some way--I always do." "We'll build an addition," suggested Phil, "a bunk house addition. That will be easy; we can build it out where that old back porch is, can't we? And say, talk about great logs, what's the matter with those aspens right there ready for us?"

"We could buy tin dishes, but where is the money coming from? That is the main question," said Mr. Allen. "Money," snorted Ham, "that will come if we're in earnest, dead earnest. How about that circus? How much money do we need, anyway?"