Buffalo Roost Part 19

"Sure thing!" cried Fat.

"Of course we will!" echoed Phil.

"Three cheers for Smith!" came from the others.

"Thanks," was all Smith said, then he sat down and Mr. Allen took the floor. He had caught his cue from what Smith had said:

"Fellows, I think we, too, have made a mistake, and as long as Smith has been man enough to square himself with us, let us be men enough to square ourselves with him. We have always called him Sleepy, and he has been true to the name; but I never knew a boy yet who didn't live up to what his best friends expected of him. Smith always knew we didn't expect much, didn't you, boy? Now, let's expect more, and we'll get more. Smith, we, too, are sorry. Let's expect the best from every fellow and every fellow will give his best, although it will take real manhood to do it sometimes."

Ham and Willis went out to take a last look at the donkeys before going to bed. As they stood on the step, talking things over, they were startled to hear, somewhere in the night air, the long-drawn bark of a dog. It came again and again. "Over in the next canyon," was Ham's remark. "Up by the old mine," was Willis's thought, as he turned and went into the cabin.

After breakfast Willis took the trail that led to his father's mine. He went alone, for he had told no one of its discovery, not even Ham. He was not at all surprised to find the footprints of three men and a dog on the upper trail, and found no difficulty in following them to the mine. Once there, the first thing that attracted his attention was a new sign, nailed up in the place of the old tin one; on it, in bold, black letters, was written, "Private property, keep off!" The snow had been shoveled from one end of the dump, and it looked very much as if some of the rocks had been carried away. Willis wondered, but his reflections gave him no light. He noticed, however, that the tracks did not return down the trail, but ran off over the hill and into the next canyon. He made some careful observations, then returned to the cabin.

Upon Mr. Dean's suggestion, the morning was spent in tobogganing in wood while the snow was good. It was great fun to see the great logs slide down with a long swish and pile up in front of the cabin. The fellows worked with a will, and by noon a large supply had been pulled in. The next thing was to cut it and pile it away in the house. Smith undertook to build a sawbuck, and, with Mr. Allen's help, the job was soon accomplished. Every fellow then took his turn sawing off blocks until dinner time.

As they sat around the table enjoying a camp meal of fried ham, boiled rice, potatoes, rye bread, and coffee, a general discussion arose as to what the cabin should be named. They hoped to get the big bed filled with balsam boughs that afternoon before they started home, then the place would be ready for real use on a big scale; and, of course, it must have a name.

"Let's call it s...o...b..rd Retreat," suggested Fat naively.

"Not on your life!" called Smith good-naturedly. "No s...o...b..rds about this house; you want a good, warm, comfortable name. I'd freeze to death, or maybe get scared, if you called it that."

"St. Mary's Inn," suggested Ham.

"O fiddle, sounds like an old Spanish mission," objected another.

"The House that Ham Built," suggested Mr. Dean.

"Buffalo Roost," suggested Willis. "We certainly do love to roost around in here, and it's in Buffalo Canyon." After a very heated discussion, Buffalo Roost was chosen for the name, and Willis set about gathering twigs to make a rustic sign for over the door.

The wood all in, the dinner dishes washed, and the cabin put in order, the next thing to do was to thatch the big bed. O, what mountains of sweet-scented green boughs it took! One party, under Mr. Dean, pulled in pile after pile of boughs from up on the snow-covered hillside, while the other party cut and trimmed and laid them in. Choice large fans were laid in the bottom, the b.u.t.ts toward the foot, the bow of the branch uppermost. Then a thick layer of fine sprigs to fill in every hollow.

Smith worked with a will, and enjoyed the day like he had no other since the work on the cabin had begun.

Never before had they so hated to leave the Roost, for every fellow was coming to love it and its companions.h.i.+p. It gave plenty of healthful action, good things to think about, and warm friends. It was building character and they did not know it. It was fitting a choice group of older fellows to work together in the community life about them, working for the welfare and comfort of others, forgetting themselves in their unselfish service.

In the late afternoon it began to snow again, and by the time they were well on their way home it was falling fast.

"Getting in that wood was a wise stunt," observed Smith, "for the next time we see the old Roost it will probably be s...o...b..und."

Old Ben had been watching for their return most of the afternoon. As they came across the stream and up to the road below the inn, he called Mr.

Allen to the door.

"I jist want t' ask ye if that tarnal varmit, Williams, has been botherin' yew fellers any sence he started work on that new claim o'

hisn. If they ever was a sneakin' whelp, he's it. He couldn't get possession o' Tad's tunnel; he da.r.s.ent touch it, so he's gone an' started a tunnel on the other side o' that d.y.k.e. He's been workin' it, now, off an' on all this fall, but I didn't know it till they brought a wounded man from there yesterday. Seem a stone mashed his foot bad. They stopped here to rest a bit, an' I seed the feller. I've knowed him these ten years, an' he's a devil. Does dirty work fer any tarnal critter at'll pay him well fer it. Served him right. I s'pose you saw something of them last night, as they went back up to the mine. There was three of 'em and a mean lookin' dog." Mr. Allen listened in silence. He was wondering just what Old Ben knew of this Williams, and why he should be so interested in the boys at the cabin.

"Ben," he said, and he looked the old man straight in the eye, "do you know a man named Tad Kieser?" Ben dropped his eyes and shuffled his foot aimlessly on the floor.

"Yep, I know him, boy, an' a finer man never walked these here hills. Too fine a man to get along with varmits!"

"Is he still living, Ben?"

"Yep, still livin'. He'll be a poppin' up in these parts one o' these days, an' then you'll see who's boss at that tunnel up yonder. I've always said they was gold there, but Tad never would go into the mine again after the accident. That varmit, Williams, believes same as I do, or he wouldn't be a diggin' that hole on t' other side o' the d.y.k.e. If he er any o' the rest o' them fellers bothers ye any at the cabin, jist let me know; I'll take ker o' them fer ye. Good-night." He went inside and closed the door. Mr. Allen hurried along, and, catching up with the crowd, he called Willis aside to tell him what Ben had said--all except that Tad was living and Ben knew where he was. That much he kept secret.

Willis listened intently, then he told of how he heard the dog bark in the night.

When Willis reached the a.s.sociation that evening he was handed a telephone call. He noted that it was the home number, and he realized in an instant what had happened. His aunt had grown very much worse Friday night, and had died early Sat.u.r.day morning. He hastened home to do what he could and to comfort his mother.

CHAPTER XIV

The Opened Door

It was nearly Thanksgiving time, and it seemed months to Willis since he had been to Buffalo Roost. Mrs. Thornton had almost decided to return to her father's since the death of her sister, but Willis had objected seriously. He was determined to unravel the mine mystery before they left. They were still living at the Williams's home, but they saw very little of the uncle. The death of his wife had been a severe blow to him, and he had been spending long periods of time in the mountains--no one seemed to know just where.

During Thanksgiving vacation Mr. Allen was going to have a three days'

camp at the Roost, so Ham and Willis were planning on making a preliminary trip, to find out how deep the snow was and just what condition the canyon was in.

The circus was over, and had been a big success; enough money had been raised to pay all the debts and leave a nice amount for future improvements. Meanwhile Ham and Willis had become inseparable companions, so much so, that Willis had taken him into the mystery of his father's mine. Very often they had talked it over together, but neither had yet arrived at any satisfactory conclusions. The day chosen for their trip turned out to be bitter cold; but the other fellows were depending on them, and they must not fail. They found it very difficult to climb the hogsback because of the snow, so when they reached the railroad they decided to follow it to Fairview rather than attempt the canyon trail. As they plodded on they grew very cold.

"There is a dandy little pile of pitch-pine shavings on the hearth," said Ham; "it won't take long to get a fire. We'll play a joke on this cold snap yet, when we get inside the cabin." The walking was not bad until they reached the crest, but here the trail lay on the south side and was completely filled with snow. Many of the drifts were shoulder-deep, so it took them nearly an hour to force their way from the ridge to the cabin. Ham, to his surprise, had great difficulty in opening the lock; it was evident that it had been tampered with. As they entered, he noticed that his little pile of shavings were gone from the hearth. Some one had been inside!

How much heat it seemed to take that night to warm that frigid air! They piled in the great logs until the fireplace was full, and still they had to sit close to keep warm. Slowly the cold was driven out, and the cabin became more comfortable. Willis took the water bucket and an ax and went out to the stream for water, but the ice was a foot thick and the water so cold that it froze in the bucket before he got it back to the cabin.

As he set the bucket on the shelf, he noticed that the mirror which hung above the bucket was broken into a thousand pieces. No doubt a bullet had come in through the c.h.i.n.king. Was this a declaration of war? Or had some rowdy just been showing off? They examined things carefully, but found nothing missing but the chips, not even food. Ham could not imagine why the kindling had been removed from the hearth, for he was positive that no fire had been built in either the stove or the fireplace since they had last been there.

After they had warmed sufficiently, they began to think of supper. Ham selected a can of clam soup from the shelf and opened it, but it was frozen solid. He set it by the fire to thaw out and made a second selection. This time he chose a can of beans, but found them in the same condition. He looked in the bread box--the rye-bread was as hard as a bullet. They pulled the table close up before the fire and made out a supper, the best thing on the menu being a pot of boiling-hot tea.

After supper they pulled down the blankets and carefully warmed them before the fire. Then the two boys sat and planned concerning the coming camp until they grew sleepy. After a great pine knot had been placed for the night log, the boys slipped into bed between at least a dozen blankets.

Just before going to bed, Willis prepared a few choice slivers so that a fire could be quickly started in the morning, and he left them in a little pile on the hearth. In the night he heard strange noises down on the floor, but, because it was so cold, he did not venture out to investigate, and in the morning every chip was gone. The mystery of the chips grew deeper.

They lay in bed late next morning, for the cabin was cold and dark and they were so comfortable. Time was nothing to them that day. As they lay, chatting, Ham suddenly squeezed Willis's arm, then raised on his elbow to listen. He heard voices, and they were coming up the canyon. He crawled to where he could peep out of the window, but all he could see were the feet of two men and a dog. The cabin was very cold, so he slipped back between the blankets to warm and talk it over with Willis. About nine o'clock they got up, still wondering what could have brought men into that canyon on such a morning.

Surely there was no hunting, and why should men from the claim in the other gulch be coming up through Buffalo Park? The boys were bothered.

They were just sitting down to a breakfast of steaming-hot cakes when from somewhere up in the timber came the clear sound of some one hammering on metal, heavy blow after blow. Ham paused, listened attentively, a forkful of hot cake raised half-way to his mouth. The sound came very clearly and at regular intervals.

"Sounds like some one pounding a stone drill; perhaps they are going to do some blasting!"

Willis rose from his seat, threw open the door, and looked up the snowy hillside. He was right--the sound came from the direction of his father's mine.

"What on earth would any one be blasting up there for?" he said, half to himself. He was thinking of what Ben had told him the last time he was at the Roost. Ham had also risen from the table and stood looking out over Willis's shoulder. The bark of a dog came floating down the canyon.

Suddenly there was a sharp rattle in the corner of the cabin, followed by a heavy thud. Ham turned quickly, just in time to see the ax fall to the floor from its place in the corner. Willis felt a long, cold s.h.i.+ver creep up his back. The ax had been laid on top of the little stove in the corner, and something had caused it to fall.

"Spooks," laughed Ham dryly.

"What made that ax fall?" questioned Willis in a voice which betrayed his feeling. They advanced cautiously toward the corner. There was a scamper of tiny feet, and a large gray rat bounded across the floor and dropped out of sight through a long opening between the floor and the wall. In a moment Willis was down on his hands and knees, investigating.