The Boys of Crawford's Basin Part 10

CHAPTER VII

THE HERMIT'S WARNING

As it was now after midday, we concluded to eat our lunch before going any further, so, sitting down on the rocks, we produced the bread and cold bacon we had brought with us and prepared to refresh ourselves.

Observing this, Socrates, who had flown up into a tree when Long John threatened him with the hatchet, now flipped down again and took up his station beside us, having plainly no apprehension that we would do him any harm, and doubtless thinking that if there was any food going he might come in for a share.

I was just about to offer him a sc.r.a.p of bacon, when the bird suddenly gave a croak and flew off up the mountain. Naturally, we both looked up to ascertain the reason for this sudden departure, when we were startled to see a tall, bearded man with a long staff in his hands, skimming down the snow-covered slope of the mountain towards us. One glance showed us that it was our friend, the hermit, though how he could skim over the snow like that without moving his feet was a puzzle to us, until, on approaching to within twenty yards of where we sat, he stuck his staff into the snow and checked his speed, when we perceived that he was traveling on skis.

"How are you, boys?" he cried, shaking hands with us very heartily. "I'm glad to see you again. Much obliged to you, Joe, for interfering on behalf of old Sox. I would not have the bird hurt for a good deal. I saw the whole transaction from where I was standing up there in that grove of aspens. Why did your companion go off so suddenly?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I only just mentioned to him that Sox belonged to you, when he picked up his shovel and skipped."

Peter laughed. "I understand," said he. "The gentleman and I have met before, and have no wish to meet again. Our first and only interview was not conducive to a desire for further acquaintance. He is not a friend of yours, I hope."

"Not at all," I replied. "We never met him before."

"Well, I'm glad of that, because he is not one to be intimate with: he is a thief."

"Why do you say that?" asked Joe, rather startled.

"Because I happen to know it's so. I'll tell you how. I had set a bear-trap once up on the mountain back of my house, and going up next day to see if I had caught anything, I found this fellow busy skinning my bear. He had come upon it by accident, I suppose, and the bear being caught by both front feet, and being therefore perfectly helpless, he had bravely shot it, and was preparing to walk off with the skin when I appeared."

"And what did you say to him?" I asked.

"Nothing," replied Peter. "I just sat down on a rock near by, with my rifle across my knees, and watched him; and he grew so embarra.s.sed and nervous and fidgety that he couldn't stand it any longer, and at last he sneaked off without completing his job and without either of us having said a word."

"That certainly was a queer interview," remarked Joe, laughing, "and a most effective way, I should think, of dealing with a bl.u.s.tering rogue like Long John."

"Long John?" repeated the hermit, inquiringly.

"Yes, Long John b.u.t.terfield; known also as 'The Yellow Pup.'"

"Oh, that's who it is, is it? I've heard of him from my friend, Tom Connor."

"Tom Connor!" we both exclaimed. "Do you know Tom Connor, then?"

"Yes, we have met two or three times in the mountains, and he once spent the night with me in my cabin--he is the 'one exception' I told you about, you remember. He seems like a good, honest fellow, and he has certainly been most obliging to me."

As we looked inquiringly at him, wondering how Tom could have found an opportunity to be of service to one living such a secluded life as the hermit did, our friend went on:

"I happened to mention to him that I had great need of an iron pot, and three days afterwards, on returning home one evening, what should I find standing outside my door but a big iron pot, and in it a chip, upon which was written in pencil, 'Compliments of T. Connor.'"

"Just like Tom," said I, laughing. "He has more friends than any other man in the district, and he deserves it, for when he makes a friend he can't rest easy until he has found some way of doing him a service."

"And he's as honest as they make 'em," Joe continued. "If he's a friend, he's a friend, and if he's an enemy, he's an enemy--he doesn't leave you in doubt."

"Just what I should think," said the hermit. "Very different from Long John, if I'm not mistaken. That gentleman, I suspect, is of the kind that would shake hands with you in the morning and then come in the night and burn your house down. What were you and he doing, by the way?

I've been watching you for an hour. First one and then the other would kneel down in the snow and chop a hole in the bed of the creek, then get up, walk a mile, and do it again. If I may be allowed to say so," he went on, laughing, "it appeared to an outsider like a crazy sort of amus.e.m.e.nt."

"I should think it might," said I, laughing too; and I then proceeded to tell our friend the object of these seemingly senseless actions.

"And do you expect to go prospecting for this vein of galena in the spring?" he inquired, when I had concluded.

"Not we!" I exclaimed. "My father wouldn't let us if we wanted to. We are doing this work for Tom Connor, whom my father is anxious to serve, he having done us, among others, a very good turn."

"I see," said the hermit. "And this man, Yetmore, or, rather, his henchman, Long John, will be coming as soon as the snow is off to hunt for the vein in compet.i.tion with our friend, Connor."

"That is what we expect."

"Well, then, I can help you a little. We will, at least, secure for Connor a start over the enemy."

"How?" I asked.

"You remember, of course," said the hermit, "that sulphurous stuff that was cooking on the flat stone outside my door the day you came down to my house through the clouds? That was galena ore."

"Why, of course!" I exclaimed, slapping my leg. "What pudding-heads we must have been, Joe, not to have thought of it before. I had forgotten all about it. Have you found the vein, then?"

"No, I have not; nor have I ever taken the trouble to look for it, having found a place where I can get a sufficient supply for my purposes to last for years."

"And what do you use it for?" I asked.

"To make bullets from. I get the powdered ore, roast out the sulphur on that flat stone, and then melt down the residue."

"And where do you get it?"

"That is what I am going to tell you. You know that deep, rocky gorge where Big Reuben had his den? Well, near the head of that gorge is a basin in the rock in which is a large quant.i.ty of this powdered galena, all in very fine grains, showing that they have traveled a considerable distance. That stream is one of the four little rills which make up this creek, and if you tell Connor of this deposit it will save him the trouble of prospecting the other three creeks, as he would otherwise naturally do; and as Long John will pretty certainly do, for the creek coming out of Big Reuben's gorge is the last of the four he would come to if he took up his search where he left off to-day--which would be the plan he would surely follow. It should save Connor a day's work at least--perhaps two or three."

"That's true," I responded. "It is an important piece of information. I wonder, though, that n.o.body else has ever found the deposit you speak of."

"Do you? I don't. Considering that Big Reuben was standing guard over it, I think it would have been rather remarkable if any one had discovered it."

"That's true enough," remarked Joe. "But that being the case, how did you come to discover it yourself? Big Reuben was no respecter of persons, that I'm aware of."

"Ah, but that's just it. He was. He was afraid of me; or, to speak more correctly, he was afraid of Sox--the one single thing on earth of which he was afraid. Before I knew of his existence, I was going up the gorge one day when Big Reuben bounced out on me, and almost before I knew what had happened I found myself hanging by my finger-tips to a ledge of rock fifteen feet up the cliff, with the bear standing erect below me trying his best to claw me down. My hold was so precarious that I could not have retained it long, and my case would have been pretty serious had it not been for Socrates. That sagacious bird, seeming to recognize that I was in desperate straits, flew up, perched upon the face of the cliff just out of reach of the bear's claws, and in a tone of authority ordered him to lie down. The astonishment of the bear at being thus addressed by a bird was ludicrous, and at any other time would have made me laugh heartily. He at once dropped upon all fours, and when Socrates flipped down to the ground and walked towards him, using language fit to make your hair stand on end, the bear backed away. And he kept on backing away as Sox advanced upon him, pouring out as he came every word and every fragment of a quotation he had learned in the course of a long and studious career. One of the reasons I have for thinking that he is getting on for a hundred years old is that Sox on that occasion raked up old slang phrases in use in the first years of the century--phrases I had never heard him use before, and which I am sure he cannot have heard since he has been in my possession.

"This stream of vituperation was too much for Big Reuben. He feared no man living, as you know, but a common black raven with a man's voice in his stomach was 'one too many for him,' as the saying is. He turned and bolted; while Socrates, flying just above his head, pursued him with jeers and laughter, until at last he found inglorious safety in the inmost recesses of his den, whither Sox was much too wise to follow him."

"I don't wonder you set a high value on old Sox, then," said I. "He probably saved your life that time."

"He certainly did: I could not have held on five minutes longer."

"And did you ever run across Big Reuben again?" asked Joe.

"Yes. Or, rather, I suppose I should say 'no.' I saw him a good many times, but he never would allow me to come near him. Whether he thought I was in league with the Evil One, I can't say, but, at any rate, one glimpse of me was enough to send him flying; and as I was sure I need have no fear of him, I had no hesitation in walking up the gorge if it happened to be convenient; and thus it was that I discovered the deposit of lead-ore up near its head."

As this piece of information precluded the necessity of our prospecting any further, and as we had by this time finished our meal--which was shared by Peter and his attendant sprite--we informed our friend that it was time for us to be starting back; upon which he remarked that he would go part of the way with us, as, by taking one of the gulches farther on he would find an easier ascent to his house than by returning the way he had come. Hanging his skis over his shoulder, therefore, he trudged along beside us at a pace which made us hustle to keep up with him.