The Cave of Gold A Tale of California in '49 24 – McNeil · Verses Across
Literature · Western
The Cave of Gold A Tale of California in '49 24On the Shore of Goose Neck Lake
18
Literature · Western
The Cave of Gold A Tale of California in '49 24
On the Shore of Goose Neck Lake
McNeilEnglish
The next morning the camp was again thoroughly examined; but no clues to the identity of the intruder of the night before could be found, nor could they follow his trail beyond the spot where he had apparently stumbled over Pedro. Here the ground, which happened to be a little soft, plainly showed where he had fallen and jumped to his feet and leaped off in the direction of the point of rocks, but farther than this it was impossible to trail him on account of the hardness of the ground. There was absolutely nothing more that they could do; for it would be useless to attempt to run him down in that wilderness of mountains; and they were obliged to leave the mystery of the tent; it was a great mystery to those strong watchful men how the gagging and the binding of Mrs. Dickson had been so quietly and effectively accomplished, unsolved for the present.
"Don't look much as if we'd thrown th' cunnin' devils off our trail, does it?" Ham grumbled, as our little company again started on their journey. "'Pears like as if we'd had all our trouble for our pains so far. Wal, they didn't git th' skin map; but it shows they shore could have got it, if they'd knowed whar it was," and his face clouded. "They might have sneaked up ahind Dickson or Thure jest as easy an' knocked 'em senseless an' bound an' gagged 'em. Reckon we've got tew be more keerful or they'll git th' map yit. 'Bout how much longer will it take us tew git tew that thar canyon?" and he turned anxiously to Mr. Dickson.
"We ought to make it in three days sure," answered Dickson. "Stackpole and I did it in a little over two days from here; but, on account of the pack-horses, it will probably take us a little longer."
"Shore you remember th' trail?"
"Yes," and Dickson's eyes turned northward. "Now that I am on the ground, things come back to me. See that opening between those two mountains?" and Dickson pointed to a ravine-like depression between two mountains some four or five miles away. "Well, I know we went up that ravine, because Stackpole pointed it out to me right from here, just as I am pointing it out to you; and that ravine, after a couple of miles, widens out into quite a little valley, with the mountain, called Three Tree Mountain on the map, near its upper end."
"Wal, we shore was in luck, Dick, when we took you intew th' partnership," Ham declared heartily; "for, I reckon, we'd had a durned long hunt a-findin' our way jest by that map, but now all we've got tew do is jest tew foller y'ur lead. Wal, lead on," and he grinned.
Dickson proved that his memory of the trail was correct; for, after they had entered the ravine between the two mountains and had gone up it for a couple of miles, it opened out into a beautiful little valley; and there, near its upper end, stood a huge round-topped mountain, bald of head, except for three tall trees that stood out against the horizon like three lonely sentinels.
"Hurrah!" yelled Thure, the moment his eyes caught sight of this mountain. "There is Three Tree Mountain! We sure are on the right trail. Bully for Dickson!"
Our friends now had passed beyond the realm of the hitherto ubiquitous miner. The wilderness was supreme. Everywhere around them mountains and forests and valleys and streams stood unchanged, as they came from the hand of God.
Game of all kinds was abundant. Bud shot a young buck elk, which they ate for supper, when they went into camp for the night at the foot of Three Tree Mountain.
The guard was doubled that night and the camp-fire was kept blazing brightly, so that no one could creep into camp unseen under cover of the darkness. These precautions proved effectual; and the night was passed without alarm.
Dickson found no trouble in following the trail during the day. At every turning point some remembered landmark would show him the right way to go. A short time before night they passed over a ridge of rocks and looked down into a quiet little valley, near the center of which lay a beautiful little lake.
"Behold!" cried Dickson, pointing to the water, that shone like red gold in the red rays of the setting sun. "Behold, Goose Neck Lake! It was while standing at this very spot and looking down on the peculiar necklike bend of the lake, that Stackpole gave it the name, Goose Neck Lake. There is a little grove of trees on its north shore that will make us a fine camping place. And tomorrow afternoon sometime we should be in Lot's Canyon! Come on," and he hurried down the ridge toward the lake.
It was dark when they reached the north shore of the lake and pitched their camp in the little grove of trees. All were in high spirits; for on the morrow they would be in Lot's Canyon, almost at their journey's end, almost within reach of the Cave of Gold!
For the last two days they had not seen nor heard a sign of their enemies and they were beginning to hope that, in the maze of deep gulches and ravines and little mountain-enclosed valleys through which they had been passing, they had given them the slip, and this hope added to their cheer. Consequently the little group that gathered around the camp-fire that night was unusually merry--all except Pedro, who went about his camp duties with a sullen troubled look on his face. Ever since the night Mrs. Dickson had been found tightly bound in her tent, his face had worn a troubled expression and his eyes were continually turning to Thure, with a wondering questioning look in them, as if there were something about the boy that he could not understand; and every time he had heard the name of the skin map mentioned he had become instantly alert, but always in such a way as not to attract attention in his direction. Now, on this night, his was the only gloomy face in the company.
"Looks as if we had given th' skunks th' slip at last," Ham said, as he seated himself on his blanket, spread near the blazing fire, and leaned back comfortably on his elbow. "An' I don't wonder; for I don't believe even Kit Carson himself could have kept on our trail through all them short twistin' gulches an' thick woods, through which we've ben passin' for th' past tew days. Howsomever, I reckon, we hadn't better let up none on th' caution bus'ness--But, let us forgit them skunks an' turn our minds tew more pleasant things, like a song from th' Leetle Woman," and he turned to Mrs. Dickson. "I jest sorter feel hungry for music tonight. Please sing 'Old Dan Tucker,' an' Th' Emergrants Lament' an'--"
"'Ben Bolt,'" laughed Thure.
"Shore," grinned Ham. "I couldn't go tew sleep without hearin' 'Ben Bolt,' but let us have 'Old Dan Tucker' first."
Mrs. Dickson was in splendid voice that night and sang with unusual fervor, even for her; and the men kept begging her for "just one more song," until, at last, with a laugh, she declared she just couldn't sing another song, and, bidding them all good night, hurried into her tent.
The guard was again doubled that night and instructed to keep the camp-fire blazing brightly. Hammer Jones, Frank Holt, Mr. Randolph, and Dill Conroyal, were to keep the first watch, through the darkest hours of the night, before the moon came up. The night was clear and the starlight bright enough to make objects dimly visible a few rods away. The grove where they were encamped was not large and the guards were stationed in its outskirts, where they could patrol all around it.
Hammer Jones' post was near the horses, on the opposite side of the grove from the lake. About twenty rods from him, out on the open valley stood a large tree, with three or four smaller trees growing around it. In the starlight he could see the outlines of these trees dimly. He stationed himself in the dark shadows of a large tree, where he could keep one eye on the horses and the camp, illuminated by the blazing camp-fire, and the other on the surrounding valley.
For a couple of hours he neither saw nor heard a suspicious sign or sound. Then from the little clump of trees came the hoot of an owl that caused him to straighten up quickly and to listen intently. Ham had spent the greater part of his life in the wilderness; and the voices of its wild dwellers were as familiar to him as were the voices of his fellow men; and something in the first hoot of that owl had awakened his suspicions. It did not sound exactly right. There was a false quaver at the end. In a minute the hoot was repeated, still with that unnatural quaver at its end.
Along the outskirts of the grove grew a thin line of short bushes. Ham now bent down until his form was hidden by these bushes, and began creeping slowly and very cautiously toward the clump of trees. In this way he was able to get some three or four rods nearer to the spot that had awakened his suspicions. During this cautious forward movement the hoot of the owl had been repeated three times, at intervals of about a minute, and the same false note had been sounded each time.
"I'd bet th' last coonskin in my pack that that's no owl hootin'," Ham muttered softly to himself, fixing his eyes intently on the dark shadows underneath the trees.
Suddenly he fancied he saw one of the shadows move.
"By gum, I'll chance a shot!" and swiftly throwing his rifle to his shoulder, he fired at the spot where he thought he had seen the shadow move.
There was a faint sound, like a smothered exclamation; and then all was still in the little grove of trees, nor could Ham's straining eyes detect any further movements.
But his shot had aroused the camp; and now all the men, except the guard, came running to him, their rifles in their hands, excitedly calling to know what was the matter.
"Jest a suspicious hoot of an owl an' a movin' shader," answered Ham. "I reckon thar was one of them durned skunks a-hidin' in that clump of trees, a-callin' out some signal; an' I shouldn't be none s'prised if my bullet pinked him. Leastwise I thought I heer'd a smothered cry."
"Get torches and we will see," cried Mr. Conroyal excitedly. "Maybe you got him, Ham."
Thure and Bud hurried to the camp-fire and soon were back with blazing pine torches in their hands.
There were no hostile Indians in that part of the country, and they knew that Ugger and his gang could not be there yet in sufficient force to dare venture to attack them, so they did not fear to advance on the little clump of trees with lighted torches in their hands.
There were three small trees and the one large tree and a few low bushes in the clump. The ground around these was as carefully searched as was possible by the light of the torches; but not a sign of Ham's human owl did they find.
"Must have been a real owl after all, Ham," Mr. Conroyal said, as he was about to give up the search and to return to the camp.
But, at this moment, Thure uttered a startled exclamation and, bending quickly, picked up something from the ground and held it up where the light of the torches showed it plainly to all.
It was a little finger freshly severed from a left hand!
"Marked him! By gum, I marked him!" cried Ham exultingly.
"You sure did, Ham," and Mr. Conroyal bent hastily and examined the finger carefully. "It came from the hand of a white man all right," he declared. "And the hand of rather a small man, the left hand. Well, you will know your man the next time you see him, Ham."
"I shore will," grinned Ham. "An', if I dew, I wants tew return him his finger; so I'll jest take charge of that leetle bit of anatominy," and, reaching out, he took the finger from Thure, and, carefully wrapping it up in a piece of buckskin, thrust it into one of his pockets. "Wal, th' excitement is all over now, boys, an' you can return tew y'ur downy couches an' soft pillers. I reckon thar won't be no more owl hootin' tew-night, leastwise not from that bird," and Ham chuckled.
All now returned to the camp and to their blankets; and Ham resumed his watch in the dark shadows under the big tree.
Ham was right. There was no more owl hooting that night. But the finding of that finger had brought uneasy thoughts to all. Evidently they had not succeeded in throwing their cunning enemies off the trail. And now, here they were within a few hours' march of Lot's Canyon, of the Cave of Gold, and with the scoundrels still hot on their track! What was to be done? How could they now hope to throw Ugger and his men off their trail, when all their efforts so far had been in vain? Indeed, how had Ugger and his men been able to keep on their trail, through all the maze of mountains and forests and winding gulches and twisting ravines through which they had been passing? That was a great mystery to all--to all, except Pedro.
