CHAPTER X
HOW TOM CONNOR WENT BORING FOR OIL
One thing was plain at any rate: we could do nothing towards finding thesource of the underground stream until the snow cleared off themountain, and that was likely to be later than usual this year, for thefall had been exceedingly heavy in the higher parts. We could see fromthe ranch that many of the familiar hollows were obliterated--leveledoff by the great masses of snow which had drifted into them and filledthem up.
We therefore went about our work of hauling stone, and so continuedwhile the cold weather lasted, interrupted only once by a heavy stormabout the end of January, which, while it added another two feet to thethick blanket of snow already covering the mountains, quickly melted offdown in the snug hollow where the ranch lay, so that our work was notdelayed more than two or three days.
One advantage to us of this storm was that it enabled us to learnsomething--not much, certainly, but still something--regarding thesource of the stream in the fissure. It did not show us where thatsource was, but it proved to us pretty clearly where it was _not_.
On the morning of the storm, Joe, at breakfast-time, turning to myfather, said:
"Wouldn't it be a good plan to go and measure the flow of the water downin the crevice, Mr. Crawford? We might be able to find out, by watchingits rise and fall, whether the melting of the snow on the Second Mesa,or on the foot-hills beyond, or on the mountain itself affects it most."
"That's a very good idea, Joe," my father replied. "Yes; as soon as wehave fed the stock you can make a measuring-stick and go up there; andwhat's more, you had better make a practice of measuring it every day.The increase or decrease of the flow might be an important guide as towhere it comes from."
This we did, and thereby ascertained pretty conclusively that the sourcewas nowhere on the Second Mesa, for in the course of a couple of weeksthe heavy fall of new snow covering that wide stretch of country meltedoff without making any perceptible difference in the volume of thestream.
Though there were several other falls of snow up in the mountains laterin the season, this was the last one of any consequence down on themesas. The winter was about over as far as we were concerned, and by themiddle of the next month, the surface of "the bottomless forty rods"beginning to soften again, the freighters, who had been coming our wayever since the early part of November, deserted us and once more wentback to the hill road--to our mutual regret. For a few days longer thestage-coach kept to our road, but very soon it, too, abandoned us, afterwhich, except for an occasional horseback-rider, we had scarcely apasser-by.
As was natural, we greatly missed this constant coming and going, thoughwe should have missed it a good deal more but for the fact that with thesoftening of the ground our spring work began, when, Marsden's cattlehaving been removed by their owner, Joe and I started plowing for oats.With the prospect of a steady season's work before us, we entered uponour labors with enthusiasm. We had never felt so "fit" before, for ourlong spell of stone-hauling had put us into such good trim that we werein condition to tackle anything.
At the same time, we did not forget our underground stream, keepingstrict watch upon it as the snow-line retreated up the foot-hills ofMount Lincoln. But though one of us visited the stream every day, takingcareful measurement of the flow, we could not see that it had increasedat all. The intake must be either high on the mountain, or, as I hadsuggested, the spring must come up through the sandstone underlying theSecond Mesa and was therefore not affected by the running off of thesnow-water on the surface.
As the town of Sulphide was so situated that its inhabitants could notsee Mount Lincoln on account of a big spur of Elkhorn Mountain which cutoff their view, any one in that town wishing to find out how the snowwas going off on the former mountain was obliged to ride down in ourdirection about three miles in order to get a sight of it.
Tom Connor, having neither the time to spare nor the money to spend onhorse-hire, could not do this for himself, but, knowing that themountain was visible to us any day and all day, he had requested us tonotify him when the foot-hills began to get bare. This time had nowarrived--it was then towards the end of March--and my fatherconsequently wrote to Tom, telling him so; at the same time inviting himto come down to us and make his start from the ranch whenever he wasready.
To our great surprise, we received a reply from him next afternoon,brought down by young Seth Appleby, the widow Appleby's ten-year-oldboy, in which he stated that he could not start just yet as he was outof funds, but that he was hoping to raise one hundred and fifty dollarsby a mortgage on his little house, which would be all he would need, andmore, to keep him going for the summer.
"Why, what's the meaning of this!" exclaimed my father, when he had readthe letter. "How does Tom come to be out of funds at this time of year?He's been at work all winter at high wages and he ought to have saved upquite a tidy sum--in fact, he was counting on doing so. What's thematter, I wonder? Did he tell you anything about it, Seth?"
"No," replied the youngster, "he didn't tell me, but he did tell mother,and then mother, she asked all the miners who come to our store, andthey told her all about it. It was mother that sent me down with theletter, and she told me I was to be sure and 'splain all about it toyou."
"That was kind of Mrs. Appleby," said my father. "But come in, Seth, andhave something to eat, and then you can give us your mother's message."
Seated at the table, with a big loaf, a plate of honey and a pitcher ofmilk before him, young Seth, after he had taken off the fine edge of aremarkably healthy appetite, related to us between bites the story hehad been sent down to tell. It was a long and complicated story as hetold it, and even when it was finished we could not be quite sure thatwe had it right; but supposing that we had, it came to this:
Tom had worked faithfully on the Pelican, never having missed a day, andhad earned a very considerable sum of money, of which he had, withcommendable--and, for him, unusual--discretion, invested the greaterpart in a little house, putting by one hundred and fifty dollars for hisown use during the coming summer. The fund reserved would have beensufficient to see him through the prospecting season had he stuck toit; but this was just what he had not done.
Two years before, a friend of his had been killed in one of the mines bythat most frequent of accidents: picking out a missed shot; since whichtime the widow, a bustling, hearty Irishwoman, had supported herself andher five children. But during the changeable weather of early spring,Mrs. Murphy had been taken down with a severe attack of pneumonia--adisease particularly dangerous at high altitudes--and distress reignedin the family. As a matter of course, Tom, ever on the lookout to dosomebody a good turn, at once hopped in and took charge of everything;providing a doctor and a nurse for his old friend's widow, and seeingthat the children wanted for nothing; and all with such success that hebrought his patient triumphantly out of her sickness; while as forhimself, when he modestly retired from the fray, he found that he wasjust as poor as he had been at the beginning of winter.
It is not to be supposed, however, that this worried Tom. Not a bit ofit. It was unlucky, of course, but as it could not be helped there wasno more to be said; and so long as he owned that house of his he couldalways raise one hundred and fifty dollars on it--it was worth three orfour times as much, at least.
As the prospecting season was now approaching, he therefore let it beknown that he desired to raise this money, and then quietly went on withhis work again, feeling confident that some one would presently make hisappearance, cash in hand, anxious to secure so good a loan. Up to thatmorning, Seth believed, the expected capitalist had not turned up.
As the boy finished his story, and--with a sigh at having reached hiscapacity--his meal as well, my father rose from his chair, exclaiming:
"What a good fellow that is! When it comes to practical charity, TomConnor leads us all. In fact, he is in a class by himself:--There is noTom but Tom, and"--smiling at the little messenger--"Seth Appleby is hisprophet--on this occasion."
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br /> At which Seth opened his eyes, wondering what on earth my father wastalking about.
"Now, I'll tell you what we'll do," the latter continued. "Seth says hismother wants another thousand pounds of potatoes; so you shall takethem up this afternoon, Phil; have a good talk with her; find out therights of this matter; and then, if there is anything we can do to help,we can do it understandingly."
I was very glad to do this, and with Seth on the seat beside me and hispony tied behind the wagon, away I went.
As I had permission to stay in town over night if I liked, and as Mrs.Appleby urged me to do so, saying that I could share Seth's room, Idecided to accept her offer, and after supper we were seated in thestore talking over Tom Connor's affairs--which I found to be just aboutas Seth had described them--when who should burst in upon us but Tomhimself. Evidently my presence was a surprise to him, for on seeing mehe exclaimed:
"Hallo, Phil! You here! Got my message, did you?"
"Yes," I replied, "we got it all right; and very much astonished wewere."
Forthwith I tackled him on the subject, and though at first Tom wasdisposed to be evasive in his answers, finding that I had all the facts,he at length admitted the truth of the story.
"But, bless you!" cried he. "That's nothing. I can raise a hundred andfifty easy enough on my house and pay it off again next winter, sothere's nothing to fuss about. And now, ma'am," turning to Mrs. Appleby,and abruptly cutting off any further discussion of the topic, "now,ma'am, I'll give you a little order for groceries, if you please--whichwas what I came in for."
So saying, he took a scrap of paper out of his pocket and proceeded toread out item after item: flour and bacon, molasses and dried apples, alittle tea and a great deal of coffee, and so on, and so on, until atlast he crumpled up his list between his two big hands, saying:
"There! And we'll top off with a gallon of coal oil, if you please."
"Ah," said the widow, laying down her pencil--she was a slight, nervouslittle woman--"I was afraid you'd come to coal oil presently. I haven'ta pint of it in the house."
"Well, that's a pity," said her customer. "Then I suppose I'll have togo down to Yetmore's for coal oil after all."
"Yes, Yetmore can let you have it, I know," replied the widow, in atone of voice which caused us both to look at her inquiringly.
"He's got a barrel of it," she continued. "A whole barrel ofit--belonging to me."
"Eh! What's that?" cried Tom. "Belonging to you?"
"Yes. And he won't give it up. You see, it was this way. I ordered abarrel from the wholesale people in San Remo, and they sent it up twodays ago. Here's the bill of lading. 'One barrel coal oil, No. 668, bySlaughter's freight line.' The freighters made a mistake and deliveredit at Yetmore's, and now he won't give it up."
"Won't, eh!" cried Tom, with sudden heat. "We'll just look into that."
"It's no use," interposed Mrs. Appleby, holding up her handdeprecatingly. "You can't take it by force; and I've tried persuasion.He's got my barrel; there's no mistake about that, because Seth wentdown and identified the number; but he says he ordered a barrel himselffrom the same firm and it isn't his fault if they didn't put the rightnumber on."
"Well, that's coming it pretty strong," said Tom, indignantly.
"Yes, and it's hard on me," replied the widow, "because people come inhere for coal oil, and when they find I haven't any they go off toYetmore's, and of course he gets the rest of their order. I might go tolaw," she added, "but I can't afford that; and by the time my case wassettled Yetmore's barrel will have arrived and he'll send it over hereand pretend to be sorry for the mistake."
"I see. Well, ma'am, you put me down for a gallon of coal oil just thesame, and get my order together as soon as you like. I'm going out nowto take a bit of a stroll around town."
Though he spoke calmly, the big miner was, in fact, swelling with wrathat the widow's tale of petty tyranny. Without saying a word more to her,and forgetting my existence, apparently, he marched off down the streetwith the determination of going into Yetmore's and denouncing thestorekeeper before his customers. But, no sooner had he come withinsight of the store than he suddenly changed his mind.
"Ho, ho!" he laughed, stopping short and shoving his hands deep into hispockets. "Ho, ho! Here's a game! He keeps it in the back end of thestore, I know. I'll just meander in and prospect a bit."
The store was a long, plainly-constructed building, such as may be seenin plenty in any Colorado mining camp, standing on the hillside with itsback to the creek. In front its foundation was level with the street,but in the rear it was supported upon posts four feet high, leaving alarge vacant space beneath--a favorite "roosting" place for pigs. It wasthe sight of these four-foot posts which caused the widow's champion sosuddenly to change his mind.
To tell the truth, Tom Connor, in spite of his forty years, was no morethan an overgrown boy, in whose simple character the love of justice andthe love of fun jostled each other for first place. He believed he haddiscovered an opportunity to "take a rise" out of Yetmore and at thesame time to compel the misappropriator of other people's goods torestore the widow's property. That the contemplated act might savor ofillegality did not trouble him--did not occur to him, in fact. He wassure that he had justice on his side, and that was enough for him.
Full of his idea, Tom walked into the store, where he found Yetmorevery busy serving customers, for it was near closing time, and to aninquiry as to what he wanted, he replied:
"Nothing just now, thank ye. I'll just mosey around and take a look atthings."
To this Yetmore nodded assent; for though he and the miner had noaffection for each other, they were outwardly on good terms, and it wasno unusual thing for Tom to come into the store.
Connor "moseyed" accordingly, and kept on "moseying" until he reachedthe back of the building, and there, standing upright against the rearwall, was the barrel, and beside it, mounted on a chair, a putty-facedboy, a stranger to Tom, who was busy boring a hole in the top of it.
"Trade pretty brisk?" inquired Connor, sauntering up.
"You bet," replied the youth, laconically.
"What does '668' stand for?" asked the miner, tapping the top of thebarrel with his finger.
"That's the number of the barrel," was the reply. "The wholesalers downin San Remo always cut a number in their barrels when they send 'emout."
"Your boss must be a right smart business man to run a 'stablishmentlike this," remarked Tom, after a pause, glancing about the store.
"That's what," replied the boy, admiringly. "You'll have to get up earlyto get around the boss. Why, this barrel here----" He stopped short, asthough suddenly remembering the value of silence, and screwing up oneeye as if to indicate that he could tell things if he liked, he added,"Well, when the boss gets his hands on a thing he don't let go easy, Itell you that."
"Ah! Smart fellow, the boss."
"You bet," remarked the youth once more.
All this time Tom had been taking notes. The thin, unplastered wall ofthe store was constructed of upright planks with battens over thejoints. It was pierced with one window; and Tom noted that between theedge of the window and the centre of the barrel were four boards. Henoted also that the barrel stood firm and square upon the floor and thatthe floor itself was water-tight.
While he was making these observations, the boy finished his boringoperation and having inserted a vent-peg in the hole, walked off. Assoon as he was out of sight, Tom stepped up to the barrel, pulled outthe vent-peg, dropped it into his pocket, and having done so, saunteredleisurely up the store again and went out.
For a little while he hung around on the other side of the street andpresently he had the satisfaction of seeing the lights in the storeextinguished, soon after which Yetmore came out and locking the doorbehind him, walked away to his house.
"Ah! So the putty-faced boy sleeps in the store, does he?" remarked Tomto himself; a conclusion in which he was confirmed when he saw a candlelighted and the boy making up his bed
under the counter. A few minuteslater the candle was blown out, when Tom set off briskly up the streetfor the widow's store.
He found Mrs. Appleby and Seth tidying up preparatory to closing thestore, and stepping in, he said, "You don't take in lodgers, I suppose,ma'am? I'm intending to stay down town to-night."
"No, we don't," replied the widow. "The house is not large enough. Butif you've nowhere to sleep, you're welcome to make up a bed on thefloor--I can let you have some blankets."
"Thank ye, ma'am, I'll be glad to do it, if you please."
Accordingly, after the widow had retired up-stairs to her room and Sethand I to ours, Tom spread his blankets on the floor and went to bedhimself.
All was dark and silent when, at one o'clock in the morning, Tom sat upin bed, and after fumbling about for a minute, found a match and lighteda candle.
"Have to get up early to get around the boss, eh?" said he to himself,with a chuckle. "Wonder if this is early enough."
In his stocking-feet he walked to the back door and opened it wide.After pausing for an instant to listen, he came back, and lifting theempty oil barrel from its stand he carried it outside. Next he selectedtwo buckets, and having reached down from a high shelf a large funnel,an auger and a faucet, he carried them and his boots into the back yard,and having locked the door behind him, walked off into the darkness.
In a short time he reappeared, leading a horse, to which was harnessed alow wood-sled. Upon this sled he firmly lashed the barrel, and gatheringup the other implements he took the horse by the bridle and led himaway down the silent street; for the town of Sulphide as yet boastedneither a lighting system nor a police force--or, rather, the policeforce was accustomed to betake himself to bed with the rest of thecommunity--so Tom had the dark and empty street entirely to himself.
In a few minutes he drew up at the rear of Yetmore's store, where,leaving the horse standing, he proceeded to count four planks from theedge of the window. Having marked the right plank, he took the auger,and crawling beneath the store, set to work boring a hole up through thefloor. Presently the auger broke through, coming with a thump againstthe bottom of the barrel above, when Tom withdrew the instrument, andtaking out his knife enlarged the hole considerably.
So far, so good. Next he set a bucket beneath the hole, took the faucetbetween his teeth in order to have it handy, and inserting the auger, heset to, boring a hole in the bottom of the barrel. Soon the tool poppedthrough, when Tom hastily substituted the faucet, which he drove firmlyin with a blow of his horny palm.
The putty-faced boy inside the store stirred in his blankets, mutteredsomething about "them pigs," and went to sleep again.
Tom waited a moment to listen, and then drew off a bucket of oil. Assoon as this was full he replaced it with the other bucket and emptiedthe first one into the barrel on the sled. This process he repeateduntil the oil began to dribble, when he carefully knocked out thefaucet, and having collected his tools and emptied the last bucket intothe barrel, he again took the horse by the bridle and silently led himaway.
Arrived once more in the widow's back yard, Tom unshipped the barrel andwent off to restore the horse to its stable. He soon returned, andhaving unlocked the back door and re-lighted his candle, he proceeded toget the barrel into the house and back upon its stand; a work of immenselabor, rendered all the harder by the necessity of keeping silence. Tomwas a man of great strength, however, and at last he had thesatisfaction of seeing the barrel once more in its place without havingheard a sound from the sleepers overhead. Having washed the buckets andtools, he put them back where they came from, locked the door, and forthe second time that night went to bed.
It was about half-past six in the morning that Tom, happening to lookout of the front window, saw Yetmore coming hurriedly up the street,like a hound following the trail of the sled. Stepping to the littlewindow at the rear, Tom peeped out and saw the storekeeper enter theback yard, walk to the spot where the sled had stopped, and stand for aminute examining the marks in the soil. Having apparently satisfiedhimself, he turned about and went off down the street again.
"What's he going to do about it, I wonder?" said Tom to himself. "ReckonI'll just mosey down to the store and see."
As he heard Seth coming down the stairs, he unlocked the front door andstepping outside, walked down to Yetmore's.
"Morning," said he, cheerfully. "It's a bit early for customers, Isuppose, but I'm in a hurry this morning and I'd like to know whetheryou can let me have a gallon of coal oil."
"Sorry to say I can't," replied the storekeeper. "Our only barrel spranga leak last night and every drop ran out."
"You don't say!" exclaimed Tom, with an air of concern. "Then I supposeI'll have to go up to the widow Appleby's. She's got plenty, I know."
As he said this he looked hard at Yetmore, who in turn looked hard athim.
"Maybe," said the storekeeper presently, "maybe you know something aboutthat leak?"
Tom nodded. "I do," said he. "I know _all_ about it; and I'm the onlyone that does. I know the whole story, too, from one end to the other.The widow has got her barrel of oil; and you and I can make a sort of aguess as to how she got it. As to your barrel, it unfortunately sprung aleak. Is that the story?"
Yetmore stood for a minute glowering at the big miner, and then said,shortly, "That's the story."
"All right," replied Tom; and turning on his heel, he went out.
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