“At that time Arnold Baxter worked for both of us. He was thick with Kennedy, and I soon saw that he was trying to break up the partnership, so that he could form a new deal with Kennedy. But Kennedy was true to me, and in the end we caught Baxter stealing from us, and gave him twenty-four hours’ notice to quit camp.
“Baxter was enraged at this, and went off vowing to get square. About a month after that happened Kennedy tumbled off a cliff, and died of his injuries. In his will he left me all of his mining properties, including the Eclipse claim, which I have never yet seen.
“After Kennedy was buried Arnold Baxter came forward and claimed part of the property, and produced papers to substantiate his claims. But the papers were proved by a dozen miners to be of no value, and in the end he was again drummed out of camp.
“I was making money fast just then, and for the time being paid no attention to Baxter. But he continued to annoy me, and I am pretty certain that on one or two occasions be tried to take my life. But at last he disappeared, and I heard no more of him until you boys brought me back from Africa, and told me that you had had trouble with both him and his good-for-nothing son. He seems bound to shadow me wherever I go.”
“But the Eclipse Mine—” broke in Dick.
“I am getting to that. Kennedy had left his interest in it to me, but Baxter claimed the whole discovery as his own, saying he was out on his own hook when the mine was located, which was a falsehood. But though Baxter claimed the mine he could not locate it, nor could I do so. It was along a creek which a certain Jack Wumble had called Bumble Bee, but we could not locate this creek, and Jack Wumble had departed for fresh fields. But I have located the old miner, and he has told me that Bumble Bee Creek was in reality one of the south branches of the Gunnison River, and is now called the Larkspur. You must remember that in those, early days matters were very unsettled in Colorado, and names changed almost weekly.”
“So this Eclipse Mine is on Larkspur Creek?”
“Yes, at a point three hundred yards above a white cliff which the old miners used to call Rooney’s Ghost, because a miner named Rooney once committed suicide there.”
“And what about Baxter, father? If he has those papers, do you think he or his confederate will go up the Larkspur to locate the Eclipse Mine?”
“Undoubtedly—under another name—that is, if it proves as valuable as my old partner anticipated.”
“But if we can get there before him and locate for ourselves?”
“Ah, if I could do that, Dick, then I would not fear Baxter or anybody else. But if he gets in ahead of me—well, you know, ‘possession is nine points of the law,’ and he can at least make me a lot of trouble.”
Dick sprang from the seat into which he had dropped.
“He shan’t do it, father!” he exclaimed.
“But how are you going to help it, my son? I cannot go West with this sprained ankle.”
“I’ll go West myself and locate that claim in spite of what Arnold Baxter has done.”
“You go West?”
“Yes.”
“Without me? That would be, a—well—”
“Remember, father, I went to Africa to find you.”
“I shall never forget it, Dick. But you had others with you—your Uncle Randolph, and Tom, and Sam, and Aleck.”
“Well, I can take Tom and Sam with me again, if it comes to that.”
“It is a wild country out there among the mining camps of the mountains.”
“It’s no wilder than in the heart of Africa.”
Mr. Anderson Rover shook his head doubtfully. “And then if Baxter found out what you were trying to do he would—” He could not finish, but Dick understood.
“I shall be on my guard, father. I know what a scoundrel he is, and will give him no chance to get at me.”
At that point the conversation was interrupted by the hired girl, who came to call Dick to a late supper. The lad was hungry, so he did not refuse. By the time he had finished, Mr. Rover had gone to bed, so his son also retired, without probing the Eclipse Mine affair any further. But it was a long time before Dick got to sleep, so full was his head of the suddenly proposed trip to the West.
CHAPTER XVII
BOUND FOR THE WEST
On the following morning Tom and Sam arrived, as anxious as Dick had been to learn the particulars of what had occurred. They listened to their father’s story with interest, as he told of how he had heard a noise and gone below to grapple with the midnight intruder who was ransacking the library desk, and of how Randolph Rover had come to his assistance and been seriously wounded, and how all were now certain that the unwelcome visitor had been Arnold Baxter—that is, all but Randolph Baxter, who lay semi-unconscious, in a high fever, and who knew nothing.
The doctor came in at noon, and pronounced Randolph Rover but little better.
“He must be kept very quiet,” said the medical man. “Do not allow anybody to disturb him. If he should become in the least excited I would not answer for his life.” So the boys kept away from his bed-chamber and walked about on tiptoes and spoke in whispers.
It was Dick who called together a council of war, out in the barn, late in the afternoon, after he had had another long talk with his father.
“Here’s the whole thing in a nutshell,” he said. “Arnold Baxter has those papers—or the best part of them—and he means to stake that claim if he can.”
“But he won’t dare to show himself,” said Sam. “If he does, we can turn him over to the police.”
“Of course he won’t show himself, but he’ll get somebody else to stake the claim and whack up,” replied Dick.
“We won’t let him do it,” interposed Tom bluntly. “I’ll go to Colorado myself and stop him.”
“Good for you, Tom! You’ve struck the nail’s head first clip,” said his elder brother.
“Father was going out there this spring, anyway—and he was going to take us.”
“True. Father would go to-day if he could, but he can’t, on account of that hurt ankle,” went on Dick.
“Then let us go for him,” came from Sam. “We can do nothing here but worry Uncle Randolph, and I don’t feel like going back to Putnam Hall while this excitement is on.”
“I told father that I wanted to go, lout he is afraid the trip would be too dangerous.”
“Pooh! we went to Africa,” was Tom’s comment. He was awfully proud of that trip to the Dark Continent.
“It isn’t the trip so much as it is the fact that we may fall in with Arnold Baxter and his confederates.”
“By the way, I wonder if Dan has joined his father?” mused Sam.
“Like as not. Certainly Dan knew what his parent was up to—sotherwise he wouldn’t have written that letter Josiah Crabtree dropped.”
“Then you can be sure the two Baxters have gone to Colorado,” said Tom.
“And the three Rovers will go, too,” said Sam.
“Will you?” asked Dick. “I wanted to say so, but—”
“Yes, we’ll go, and that settles it,” cried Tom. “And the sooner we get off the better. But we must get father to explain everything a little more closely before we leave.”
It was easy to get Anderson Rover to explain, but not so easy to get him to consent to their going out to Colorado. At last he said that if they could get Jack Wumble to go with them they might go.
“Jack Wumble is all right, and if he says he will stick to you I know he will keep his word. He is a crack shot, and besides he knows Larkspur Creek from end to end, and it will save you a lot of hunting around to have him by to give information.”
“And where can we find Jack Wumble?
“The last I heard of him he was in Chicago. He is rather a reckless man, and when he has money is apt to spend it in gambling. But his heart is true blue and honest to the core.”
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“Do you know where he was stopping?”
“At a hotel called the Western Palace. It is a great resort for mining men, and you will be sure to find out all about him if you ask for him there,” concluded Mr. Rover.
A great deal more had to be talked about and considered, but we will pass that over. It was decided that the boys should leave for Chicago early on the following Monday morning. The spare time was used up in getting ready for the trip. The boys had their trunks shipped home from Putnam Hall, and wrote to the master and their friends telling of what was going on, but entering into no particulars. By Saturday night they were all ready, and on Sunday went to church at their aunt’s request.
“I hate to see you go,” said Mrs. Rover, with a sad smile. “It is a big risk. Be sure and come back safe and sound.”
“We will,” answered Tom. “And you be sure and have Uncle Randolph up and well when we do come back,” he added. Poor Tom! little did he think of the grave perils that waited for him in the far West!
The day was a perfect one when they left, the air full of bright sunshine and the music of the birds which had made Valley Brook their summer home for many years. Mrs. Rover saw them to the carriage, while Anderson Rover waved them a serious adieu from his bedroom window. Poor Randolph Rover was as feverish as ever, and knew nothing of their coming or their going. All of the boys were half afraid they would never again see their uncle alive.
But youth is strong and hopeful, and by the time they had entered the cars and made themselves comfortable the scenes around them engrossed their attention, and the past was forgotten for the time being. The train was an express, and flew along at the rate of sixty miles an hour.
“We’ll be in Chicago by this time to-morrow,” said Dick. “It’s quick traveling, isn’t it?”
“I hope we are fortunate enough to catch Jack Wumble,” said Tom. “I don’t want to lose time in Chicago hunting him up.”
The car was but half filled, so that the boys had several seats all to themselves. They had brought with them a map of Colorado, and they spent much of the day in studying this.
When it came time for dinner they entered the dining car. They could not get seats together, and so Tom was compelled to sit opposite to a burly fellow whose appearance did not strike him as altogether favorable.
“Bound for Chicago?” asked the man, after passing the time of day.
“Yes, sir,” answered Tom. “Are you bound there?”
“I am going through that city. You belong there, I suppose?”
“No, sir, I’ve never been there before.”
“Is that so. Going on a pleasure trip, or to try your luck? Or perhaps you are on business?”
“Yes, I am on business.”
“You are rather young to be out on business, it strikes me,” went on the burly stranger, after a pause.
“Oh, I’ve been around a little before,” said Tom coolly.
“Yes, you look like a lad who has seen some thing of the world. Well, I’ve seen something of the world myself.”
“Are you a Western man?” asked Tom, who thought it would not hurt to do a little questioning on his own account.
“Yes, I was born and brought up in Colorado.”
The reply interested Tom.
“But you have traveled, you say?”
“Yes, I’ve been to San Francisco and to New York, and also up in the mining districts of the Northwest Territory, and in the mines of Mexico. I’ve been what they call a rolling stone.” And the burly man laughed lightly, but the laugh was not a pleasant one.
“Then you ought to know a good deal about mining,” Tom ventured. “I am interested in the mines of Colorado. In what part of the State were you located?”
“Well, I lived in Ouray some time, and also in Silverton, but I went here, there, and everywhere, prospecting and buying up old claims cheap.”
“I hope you struck it rich.”
“Oh, I’m fairly well fixed,” was the careless answer. “So you are interested in our mines, eh? Got a claim?”
“No, sir, but I am going out there to look up a claim—if I can.”
“Take my advice and leave mining alone unless you have had experience. The chance for a tenderfoot, as we call ‘em, getting along has gone by.”
“I shan’t waste much time in looking around.”
“And don’t waste your money either. Nine mines out of ten that are offered for sale are not worth buying at any price. I’ve been all through the miff and I know.”
“I suppose you know a great many of the old time miners?” said Tom, after another pause.
“Oh, yes, loads of them, Quray Frank, Bill Peters, Denver Phil, and all the rest.”
“Did you ever meet a man by the name of Jack Wumble?”
The burly man started and spilled a little of the coffee he was holding to drink.
“Why—er—confound the rocking of the train,” he answered. “Why, yes, I met Wumble once or twice, but never had any business with him. Are you going to buy a mine from him?”
“No, I am going to try to get him to help locate one that is missing,” answered Tom, before he had thought twice.
“Indeed! Well, I’ve heard Jack is a good man at locating paying claims. Do you know him personally?”
“I do not.”
A gleam of satisfaction lit up the burly man’s face, but Tom did not notice it.
“Wumble used to hang out in Denver. Going to meet him there, I suppose.”
“No, I’m going to meet him in Chicago, if I can.”
“I see.”
So the talk ran on until the meal was finished. Then the burly man bowed pleasantly and the two separated.
When Tom rejoined his brothers Sam asked him about the man.
“I’m sure I’ve seen him before,” he said. “But where is more than I can say.”
“I think I’ve seen him, too,” said Dick. “And I must say I don’t much like his looks.”
When Tom told of the conversation that had been held, Dick shook his head seriously.
“I wouldn’t talk so much, Tom,” he remarked. “It won’t do any good, and it may do harm, you know.”
“I’ll be more careful hereafter, Dick. I am sorry myself that I had so much to say,” returned Tom.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE ROVER BOYS IN CHICAGO
“Chicago! Change cars for St. Louis and the West!”
The long express had rolled into the great depot and the porters were busy brushing up the passengers in the parlor cars and gathering together their baggage—and incidentally, the tips which were forthcoming.
The Rover boys were soon out on the platform and making for the street.
“Cab, sir; coupe?”
“Mornin’ papers! All de news! Have a paper, boss?”
The crowd of newsboys and hackmen made Dick smile. “It’s a good deal like New York, isn’t it?” he observed.
“Yes, indeed,” replied Sam. “Where shall we go—to the Western Palace?”
“We might as well. The sooner we find this Jack Wumble the better.”
At that moment the burly man who had talked to Tom in the dining car brushed up to them.
“Good-morning, my young friend,” he said to Tom. “Can I be of any assistance to you?”
“It I don’t know as you can,” replied Tom coldly. “I guess we can find our way around.”
“Glad to help you if I can,” went on the man.
“We want to get to the Western Palace,” put in Sam, before his brothers could stop him.
“That is quite a distance from here.” The man hesitated a moment. “I was going there myself. If you don’t mind riding on a street car I’ll show you the way.”
“A street car is good enough for us,” returned Sam. He was anxious to see more of
the stranger, for he wished if possible to recollect where he had seen the fellow before.
A passing car was hailed and they all got on board, each carrying a valise, for the Rover boys had decided that trunks would be too cumbersome for the trip. They sat close together, and during the ride the stranger endeavored to make himself as agreeable as possible.
“My name is Henry Bradner,” he said, introducing himself. “Out in the mines they used to call me Lucky Harry, and a good many of my friends call me that still. May I ask your names?”
“My name is Sam Rover,” said the boy. “This is my brother Dick, and this my brother Tom.”
There were handshakings all around. “Glad to know you,” said Bradner. “I hope you find Jack Wumble and that he locates your mine for you.”
“I’ve been thinking that I’ve seen you before,” said Sam bluntly. “But for the life of me I can’t place you.”
“Perhaps we’ve met somewhere in the East—New York, for instance. Have any of you been in Chicago before?”
“No.”
“It’s a great city and there are many sights worth seeing. If you wished I wouldn’t mind showing you around a bit this afternoon or tomorrow.”
“Thanks, but we won’t have time,” said Dick shortly. This off-handed invitation made him more suspicious than ever.
The talking continued until at last Henry Bradner stopped the car.
“Here we are,” he said. “The Palace of the West is one block down yonder side street.”
“The Palace of the West?” repeated Tom. “I thought it was called the Western Palace.”
“Well, it’s all the same,” laughed the man. But it was not the same by any means. While the Western Palace was a first-class hotel in every respect, the Palace of the West was a weak imitation, run by a man who had once been a notorious San Francisco blackleg.
The hotel was soon reached and Bradner led the way into the office, which was filled with rather rough-looking sports, all smoking and talking loudly.
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