CHAPTER V
WHAT WE FOUND IN THE POOL
Though we got back to camp pretty late, we set to work to load our polesat once, fearing that there was going to be a fall of snow which mightprevent our getting them to town. This turned out to be a wiseprecaution, for when we started in the morning the snow was alreadycoming down, and though it did not extend as far as Sulphide, themountains were covered a foot deep before night.
This fall of snow proved to be much to our advantage, for one of thetimber contractors, fearing he might not be able to fill his order,bought our "sticks" from us, to be delivered, cut into certain lengths,at the Senator mine.
This occupied us several days, when, having delivered our last load, wethanked Mrs. Appleby for the use of her back yard--the only payment shewould accept--and then set off home, where we proudly displayed to myfather and mother the money we had earned and related how we had earnedit; including, of course, a description of our meeting with the wild manof the woods.
"And didn't he tell you who he was?" asked my father, when we hadfinished.
"No," I replied; "we were afraid to ask him, and he didn't volunteer anyinformation."
"And you didn't guess who he was?"
"No. Why should we? Who is he?"
"Why, Peter the Hermit, of course. I should have thought the presence ofthe raven would have enlightened you: he is always described as goingabout in company with a raven."
"So he is. I'd forgotten that. But, on the other hand he is alwaysdescribed also as being half crazy, and certainly there was no sign ofsuch a thing about him that we could see. Was there, Joe?"
"No. Nobody could have acted more sensibly. Who is he, Mr. Crawford? Andwhy does he live all by himself like that?"
"I know nothing about him beyond common report. I suppose his name isPeter--though it may not be--and because he chooses to lead a secludedlife, some genius has dubbed him 'Peter the Hermit'; though who hereally is, or why he lives all alone, or where he comes from, I can'tsay. Some people say he is crazy, and some people say he is an escapedcriminal--but then people will say anything, particularly when they knownothing about it. Judging from the reports of the two or three men whohave met him, however, he appears to be quite inoffensive, and evidentlyhe is a friendly-disposed fellow from your description of him. If youshould come across him again you might invite him to come down and seeus. I don't suppose he will, but you might ask him, anyhow."
"All right," said I. "We will if we get the chance." And so the matterended.
It was just as well that we returned to the ranch when we did, for wefound plenty of work ready to our hands, the first thing being thehauling of fire-wood for the year. To procure this, it was not necessaryfor us to go to the mountains: our supply was much nearer to hand. Thewhole region round about us had been at some remote period the scene ofvigorous volcanic action. Both the First and Second Mesas were formed bya series of lava-flows which had come down from Mount Lincoln, andending abruptly about eight miles from the mountains, had built up thecliff which bounded the First Mesa on its eastern side. Then, later, butstill in a remote age, a great strip of this lava-bed, a mile wide andten or twelve miles long, north and south, had broken away and subsidedfrom the general level, forming what the geologists call, I believe, a"fault," thus causing the "step-up" to the Second Mesa. The Second Mesa,because the lava had been hotter perhaps, was distinguished from thelower level by the presence of a number of little hills--"bubbles," theywere called, locally, and solidified bubbles of hot lava perhaps theywere. They were all sorts of sizes, from fifty to four hundred feet highand from a hundred yards to half a mile in diameter. Viewed from adistance, they looked smooth and even, like inverted bowls, though whenyou came near them you found that their sides were rough and broken. Ihad been to the top of a good many of them, and all of those I hadexplored I had found to be depressed in the centre like little craters.From some of them tiny streams of water ran down, helping to swell thevolume of our creek.
Most of these so-called "bubbles," especially the larger ones, were wellcovered with pine-trees, and as there were three or four of them withineasy reach of the ranch, it was here that we used to get our fire-wood.
There was a good week's work in this, and after it was finished therewas more or less repairing of fences to be done, as there always is inthe fall, and the usual mending of sheds, stables and corrals.
The weather by this time had turned cold, and "the bottomless fortyrods" having been frozen solid enough to bear a load, Joe and I werenext put to work hauling oats down to the livery stable men in San Remo,as well as up to Sulphide.
Before this task was accomplished the winter had set in in earnest. Wehad had one or two falls of snow, though in our sheltered Basin the heatof the sun was still sufficient to clear off most of it again, and thefrost had been sharp enough to freeze up our creek at its sources, sothat our little waterfall was now converted into a motionless icicle.Fortunately, we were not dependent upon the creek for the householdsupply of water: we had one pump which never failed in the back kitchenand another one down by the stables.
The creek having ceased to run, the surface of the pool was no longeragitated by the water pouring into it, and very soon it was solidlyfrozen over with a sheet of ice twelve inches thick, when, according toour yearly custom, we proceeded to cut this ice and stow it away in theice-house; having previously been up to the sawmill near Sulphide andbrought away, for packing purposes, several wagon-loads of sawdust,which the sawmill men readily gave us for nothing, being glad to have ithauled out of their way. We had taken the opportunity to do this when wetook our loads of oats up to Sulphide, thus utilizing the empty wagonson the return trip.
The pool, as I have said, measured about a hundred feet each way, thoughon account of its shallowness around the edges we could only cut iceover a surface about fifty feet square. Being frozen a foot thick,however, this gave us an ample supply for all our needs.
The labor of cutting, hauling and housing the ice fell to Joe and me, myfather having generally plenty of other work to do. He had taken in anumber of young cattle for a neighboring cattleman for the winter, andhaving sold him the bulk of our hay crop and at the same time undertakento feed the stock, this daily duty alone took up a large part of histime. Besides this, "the forty rods" having become passable, thefreighters and others now came our way instead of taking the longerhill-road, and their frequent demands for a sack, or a load, of oats,and now and then for hay or potatoes, added to the work ofstock-feeding, kept my father pretty well occupied.
Joe and I, therefore, went to work by ourselves, beginning operations onthat part of the pool nearest the point where the water used to pour in.We had taken out ten or a dozen loads of beautiful, clear ice, when, oneday, Yetmore, who was riding down to San Remo, seeing us at work,stopped to watch us.
He was a queer fellow. Though he must have been perfectly well awarethat we distrusted him; and though, after the late affair of thelead-boulder--a miscarriage of his schemes which was doubtless extremelygalling to him--one would think he would have rather avoided us thannot, he appeared to feel no embarrassment whatever, but with a greetingof well-simulated cordiality he dismounted and walked over to the poolto see what we were doing. Perhaps--and this, I think, is probably theright explanation--if he did entertain the idea of some day "gettingeven" with us, he had decided to postpone any such attempt until he sawan opportunity of doing so at a profit.
"Fine lot of ice," he remarked, after standing for a moment watching Joeas he plied the saw. "Does this creek always freeze up like this?"
"Yes," I replied. "It heads in Mount Lincoln, and is made up of a numberof small streams which always freeze up about the first of November.That reduces the flow to about one-third its usual size; and when thelittle streams which come down from three or four of the 'bubbles'freeze up too, the creek stops entirely; which makes it mightyconvenient for us to cut ice, as you see."
"I see. Is the pool the same depth all over?"
"No," I answered. "Just here, under the fall, it is deepest, but roundthe edges it is so shallow that we can't take a stroke with the saw, thesand comes so close up to the ice. In fact, in some places, the icerests right upon the sand."
"How deep is it here?"
"Four or five feet, I think. Try it, Joe."
Joe, who had just laid down the saw and had taken up the long ice-hookwe used for drawing the blocks of ice within reach, lowered the hook,point downward, into the water. Then, pulling it out again, he stood itup beside him, finding that the wet mark on the staff came up to hischin.
"Five feet and three or four inches," said he.
"Is the bottom solid or sandy?" asked Yetmore.
"I didn't notice. I'll try it."
With that Joe lowered the pole once more.
"Seems solid," he remarked, giving two or three hard prods. But he hadscarcely said so, when, to our surprise, several bits of rough ice aboutas big as my hand bobbed up from the bottom.
"Hallo!" exclaimed Yetmore. "Ground ice!"
"What's ground ice?" I asked.
"Why, ice formed at the bottom of the pool. It is not uncommon, Ibelieve, though I don't remember to have seen any before. Pretty dirtystuff, isn't it? Must be a sandy bottom."
So saying, he stooped down, and picking up the only bit of ice whichhappened to be within reach, he examined its under side. As he did so, Isaw him give a little start, as though there were something about it tocause him surprise, but just as I reached out my hand to ask him to letme see it, he threw it back into the water out of reach--an action whichstruck me as being hardly polite.
"I must be off," said he, in apparent haste, "so, good-bye. Hope youwill get your crop in before it snows. Looks threatening to me; you'llhave to hurry, I think."
This prediction seemed to me rather absurd, with the thermometer at zeroand the sky as clear as crystal; but Yetmore was an indoor man and couldnot be expected to judge as can one whose daily work depends so muchupon what the weather is doing or is going to do. It did not occur to methen--though it did later--that he only wanted us to get to work againat once, and so divert our minds from the subject of the ground ice.
As I made no comment on his remark, Yetmore walked away, remounted hishorse and rode off; while Joe and I went briskly to work again.
We had been at it some time, when Joe stopped sawing, and straighteningup, said:
"It's queer about those bits of ground ice, Phil. Do you notice how theyall float clean side up? Wait a bit and I'll show you."
Taking the ice-hook, he turned over one of the bits with its point,showing its soiled side, but the moment he released it, the bit of ice"turned turtle" again.
"Do you see?" said he. "The sand acts like ballast. It must be heavystuff."
"Yes," said I. "Hook a bit of it out and let's look at it."
This was soon done, when, on examining it, we found the under side to becrusted with very black sand, which, whatever might be its nature, wasevidently heavy enough to upset the balance of a small fragment of ice.
"What is it made of, I wonder?" said Joe.
"I don't know," I replied, "but perhaps it is that black sand which theprospectors are always complaining of as getting in their way when theyare panning for gold."
"That's what it is, Phil, I expect," cried Joe. "And what's more, that'swhat Yetmore thought, too, or else why should he throw that bit of iceback into the water so quickly when you held out your hand for it? Hedidn't want you to see it."
"It does look like it," I assented. "Poke up a few more, Joe, and wewill take them home and show them to my father: perhaps he'll know whatthe stuff is."
Joe took the ice-hook and prodded about on the bottom, every prodbringing up one or two bits of ice, each one as it bobbed to the surfaceshowing its sandy side for a moment and then turning over, clean sideup. Drawing these to the edge of the ice, we picked them out, layingthem on a gunny-sack we had with us, and when, towards sunset, we hadcarried home and housed our last load, and had stabled and fed themules, we took our scraps over to the blacksmith-shop, where the tinkleof a hammer proclaimed that my father was at work doing some mending ofsomething.
He was much interested in hearing of the ground ice and of the way itbrought up the black sand with it, and still more so in our descriptionof Yetmore's action.
"Let me look at it," said he; and taking one of our specimens, hestepped to the door to examine it, the light in the shop being too dim.He came back smiling.
"Queer fellow, Yetmore!" said he. "One would think that the lesson ofthe lead-boulder might have taught him that a man may sometimes be toocrafty. I think this is likely to prove another case of the same kind. Ibelieve he has made a genuine discovery here--though what it may lead tothere is no telling--and if he had had the sense to let you look at thatpiece of dirty ice, instead of throwing it back into the water, thusarousing your curiosity, he would probably have kept his discovery tohimself. As it is, he is likely to have Tom Connor interfering with himagain--that is to say, if this sand is what I think it is. I don't thinkit is the 'black sand' of the prospectors--it is too shiny, and it has abluish tinge besides--I think it is something of far more value. We'llsoon find out. Give me that piece of an iron pot, Phil; it will do tomelt the ice in."
Having broken up some of our ice into small pieces, we placed it in alarge fragment of a broken iron pot, and this being set upon the forge,Joe took the bellows-handle and soon had the fire roaring under it. Itdid not take long to melt the ice, when, pouring off the water, weadded some more, repeating the process until there was no ice left. Thelast of the water being then poured away, there remained nothing butabout a spoonful of very fine, black, shiny sand.
The receptacle was once more placed upon the fire, and while my fatherkept the contents stirred up with a stick, Joe seized the bellows-handleagain and pumped away. Presently he began to cough.
"What's the matter, Joe?" asked my father, laughing.
"Sulphur!" gasped Joe.
"Sulphur!" cried I. "I don't smell any sulphur."
"Come over here, then, and blow the bellows," replied Joe.
I took his place, but no sooner had I done so than I, too, began tocough. The smell of sulphur evidently came from our spoonful of sand,and as I was standing between the door and the window the draft blew thefumes straight into my face. On discovering this, I pulled thebellows-handle over to one side, when I was no more troubled.
The iron pot, being set right down on the "duck's nest" and heaped allaround with glowing coals, had become red-hot, when my father, peeringinto it, held up his hand.
"That'll do, Phil. That's enough," he cried. "Give me the tongs, Joe."
My father removed the melting-pot, and making a hole with his heel inthe sandy floor of the shop, he poured the contents into it.
"Lead!" we both cried, with one voice.
"Yes, lead," my father replied. "Galena ore, ground fine by the actionof water."
"Do you mean," I asked, "that there is a lead-mine in the bottom of thepool?"
"No, no. But there is a vein of galena, size and value unknown,somewhere up on Lincoln Mountain. The fine black sand sticking to theground ice was brought down by our stream, being reduced to powder onthe way, and deposited in the pool, where its weight has kept it frombeing washed out again."
"I see. And do you suppose Yetmore recognized the sand as galena ore?Would he be likely to know it in the form of sand?"
"I expect so. He's a sharp fellow enough. He must have seen pulverizedsamples of galena many a time in the assayers' offices. I've seen themmyself: that was what gave me my clue."
"And what do you suppose he'll do?"
"He is pretty certain, I think, to try to get hold of some of the stuff,so that he may test it and make sure; though how he will go about itthere's no telling. It will be interesting to see how he manages it."
"And what shall you do, father? Go prospecting?"
My father laughed, knowing that this was a joke on my part; for I waswell
aware that he would not think of such a thing.
"Not for us, Phil," he answered. "We have our mine right here. Raisingoats and potatoes may be a slow way of getting rich, but it is a goodbit surer than prospecting. No, we'll tell Tom Connor about it and lethim go prospecting if he likes. You shall go up to Sulphide the firstSaturday after the ice-cutting is finished and give him our information.There's no hurry about it: he can't go prospecting while the mountainsare all under snow. Come along in to supper now. You've fed the mules, Isuppose."
It was a snapping cold night that night, and about half-past eight Iwent into the kitchen to look at the thermometer which hung outside thedoor. As I came back, I happened to glance out of the west window, when,to my surprise, I thought I saw a glimmer of light up by the pool.Stepping quickly into the house again, I went to the front door andlooked out. Yes, there was a light up there!
"Father," I called out, "there's somebody up at the pool with a light."
My father sprang out of his chair. "Is there?" he cried. "Then it'sYetmore, up to some of his tricks. Get into your coats, boys, and let'sgo and see what he's about."
As we went out I took down the unlighted stable-lantern and carried itwith me in case we might need it, and shutting the door softly behindme, ran after the others. We had not covered half the distance to thepool, however, when the light up there suddenly went out, and a minutelater we heard the sound of galloping hoofs, muffled by the thin carpetof snow, going off in the direction of Sulphide. Our visitor, whoever hewas, had departed.
"Well, come on, anyhow," said my father. "Let us see what he was doing."
As the thermometer was then standing at three degrees below zero, weknew that the sheet of clear water we had left in the afternoon shouldhave been solidly frozen over again by this time. What was our surprise,therefore, to find that such was not the case: there was only a thinfilm of ice; it was but just beginning to form.
"That is easily explained," remarked my father. "The ice did form, butsome one has chopped it out and thrown it to one side there. See?"
"Yes," replied Joe, "and then he took the ice-hook, which I know I leftstanding upright against the rocks, and poked up the ground ice. See,there are several bits floating about, and I remember quite well that wecleared out every one of them this afternoon. Didn't we, Phil?"
"Yes," said I, "I'm sure we did, because I remember that those two orthree bits that had no sand in them we threw into that corner instead ofpitching them into the water again. I suppose it's Yetmore, father."
"Oh, not a doubt of it. Did he leave any tracks?"
By the light of the lantern we searched about, and though there were notracks to be seen on the smooth ice, there were plenty in the snow belowthe pool. They were the foot-prints of a smallish man, for his tracks,in spite of his wearing over-shoes, were not so big as the prints madeby Joe's boots--though, as Joe himself remarked, that was not much to goby, he being a six-footer with feet to match, "and a trifle over," ashis friends sometimes considerately assured him.
Following these foot-prints, we were led to the south gate, where, itwas easy to see, a horse had been standing for some time tied to thegate-post.
"Well, he's got off with his samples all right," remarked my father."He's a smart fellow, and enterprising, too. He would deserve to win, ifonly he were not so fond of taking the crooked way of doing things. Comealong. Let's get back to the house. There's nothing more to be doneabout it at present."
Boys of Crawford's Basin Page 6