About The Fayetteville news. (Fayetteville, Ga.) 18??-???? | View Entire Issue (March 10, 1922)
"I""" 1 ! FAYETTEVILLE NEWS, FAYETTEVILLE, GEORGIA. /$= The Qirl, a Bij Horse FRATICIS LQTIDE Copyright by Charles Scribner's Sons CHAPTER XVI.—Continued —10— Now the presence of a wagon on our -bench at this early hour in the morn ing might mean either one of two diametrically opposite things: Our deliverance; or the upcoming of re inforcements for the raiders. We were not left long in doubt. Shortly after the rack-rack of the wagon wheels stopped we heard footsteps, and the hair stiffened on Barney’s back. Next we heard Bullerton’s voice, just out side nnd apparently under our window openings. “Broughton!" the voice called; “can you hear me?" “So well that you’d better keep out •of range!” I snapped back. "All right—listen. .You’ve got to get out, Broughton—that's flat. I haven’t wanted to go to extremes. For per fectly obvious and commonplace rea sons I don’t want to have to kill you to get rid of you. But we are not go ing to gentle you any more. You’ve already hurt four of my men. and two of the four are crippled. The next time we hit you, it’ll be for a finish.” “Yes,” said I. “You brought the new club up in a wagon, didn’t you?” He ignored this. “We could starve you out if we chose to take the time. I know pretty well what you’ve got to eat—or rather what you haven’t got. It’s your privi lege to take your life in your own hands, Broughton; that’s up to you. But how about the old man?” “The old man’s a-plenty good and able to speak for hisself!" yapped baddy. “You do your durndost, Charley Bullerton!” "All right, once more. You’ll hefjr from us directly, now; and as I said before, we’ve quit gentling you. That’s my last word." For a time after this the silence, and the darkness, since it was the hour before dawn, were thick enough to he cut with an ax. But the dog was more restless than ever, and we knew ' that something we could neither see nor hear must be going on. After a while I asked the question that had been worrying me ever since I had heard the wagon wheels. “Wliat did they bring up in that wagon, Daddy—a Gatling?” “The Lord only knows, Stalinle—nnd he won’t tell,” was the old prospector’s reply, made with no touch of irrever ence; and the words were scarcely out of his mouth before a thunderbolt struck the sliafthouse. CHAPTER XVII. Tit for Tat. That word “thunderbolt” is hardly a figure of speech. The thing that hit us couldn’t be compared to anything milder than thunder and lightning. There was a Hash, a rending, ripping ronr as if the solid earth were split ting in two, and the air was filled with flying fragments and splinters. Air, I say, but the acrid, choking gas which filled the shufthouse could scarcely be called air. 'Dynamite^—that’s what they fetched in that wagon!” gurgled the old man at my side, and I could have shouted for joy at the mere sound of his voice, since It was an assurance that he hadn’t been killed outright. “It’s only a question of a little time, now, Daddy,” I prophesied. “What you said yesterday—that Bullerton would try to get possession without destroying the property—no longer holds good. He has evidently decided that we’ve got to be ousted, even at the expense, of building a new shaft house and installing new machinery Why has he changed bis mind, when he knows that he could starve us out in a few days?” "I been thinkln’ about that, right, p’intedly, Stannie. Shouldn’t wonder if somethin’s in the wind—somethin’ we don’t know about." "Then there's another thing,” T put in. “Supposing, just for the sake of argument, that our first guess was right: that he did take Jennie to Angels three days ago and that they were 4 married there. YoU know your daughter. Daddy, and I know her, a little. Nobody but an idiot would sup pose that she’d live with Bullerton ns his wife for a single minute if he makes himself your murderer." “It sure does look tlmt-away to a man up a tree," admitted the stout old fighter. "I’m hanging on to the little hope like a dog to a root, Daddy,” I con fessed. “If I can only keep on Reliev ing that they’re not married, 1 can put up a better fight, or be snuffed out—if I have to be—with a good few less heart-burnings." But at this the old man, who, no longer ago 'than the yesterday, had seemed to lean definitely toward the no-marringe hypothesis, suddenly changed front. “Don’t you go to bankin’ on any thing like that, Stannie,. son,” he said ir. a tone of deep discouragement. “Charley Bullerton’s a liar, from the place where they make liars for a livin’, and 'tain’t goin’ to be no trick a-tall for him to make Jennie, and a lot o’ other folks, b’Jleve that we blowed ourselves up with our own dynamite. No, sir; don’t you go to bankin’ on that." “Then you do believe that Jeanie went with Bullertou?" “Looks like there ain’t nothing else left to believe,” he asserted dolefully. “Look at it for yourself, son: she’s been gone three whole days. If she hadn’t gone with him—and the good Lord only, knows where else she could have gone—don’t you reckon she’d 've been back here long afore this? No, Stannie; we been lettin’ the ‘wish It was’ run away with the ‘had to be.’ I reckon we just got to grit our teeth, son, and tough it out the best we can." During this waiting interval, which seemed like hours and was probably, only a few minutes, we were momen tarily expecting another crash. It did not come; but in due course of time we heaftl a stir outside and then voices, and one of the voices, which was not Bullerton’s said: ( “I’ll bet that ca'tridge smoked ’em out good an’ plenty, cap’ll. Gimme th’ ax, Tom, till we bu’st open the door an’ have a squint at ’em.” Just at that moment a submerging wave of depression surged over me ind shoved me down so deep that I think possibly if Bullerton had culled out and demanded our surrender I should have been tempted to tell him that I was not so much of a hog as not to know when I had enough. But the old man squeezed In beside me un der the arched boiler plate was made of better fiber; he was game to the last hair in his beard* With a wlld- Iudian yell, he hunched his Winchester into position and fired once, twice, thrice, at the door, as rapidly as he could pump the reloading lever. A spattering fusillade was the reply to this, but the aim was bad and the only result was to set the air of our prison fortress to buzzing as if a swarm of angry bees had been turned loose on us. After this, (lie raiders withdrew, so we judged; at all events, the silence of the dark hour before daybreak shut down upon us again, and once moi’f we had space in which to “gather our minds,” as Daddy put it. It may lie a dastardly confession of weakness to admit it, blit 1 am free to say that the prolonged struggle was gradually undermining my nerve. If Bullerton had made up his mind to write off the.loss of,the .mine buildings and machinery, it was a battle lost for us. It could be only a question of a little time, and enough daylight to en able the bombers to throw straight, until we should be buried in the wreck of the sliafthouse and hoist—and with out the privilege of dying in a good, old-fashioned, stand-up fight. •All of this 1 hastily pointed out to Daddy Hiram, adding that, for Jennie’s sake, if for no better reason, he ought to take his chance of staying upon earth. As long as I live I shall always have a high respect for the wrath of a mild-mannered man. The old prospector was fairly Berserk, mad. foaming at the mouth, and short of dragging him out by nn'iin strength there was no way of making him let go. “No, sir; I done promised your gran’paw 'at I’d stand by for him, and he paid me money for doin’ it. When them hellions get this here mine, they’jre goin’ to dig a hole somewheres and bury me afterward,” was all 1 could get out of him. We were not. given very much more time for discussion, or for anything else. The first faint graying dawn was coming, and with the partial lighten ing of the inner gloom, we craned our necks—like a double-headed turtle peering out of its shell—and got a glimpse of the damage done by the in itial thunderbolt. We saw it without any trouble: a great hole torn in the sheet!ron roof directly over the hoist and shaft mouth. Knowing the use and effect of explosives pretty well. Daddy said that the bomb bad gone olT prematurely; had exploded before it had fairly lighted upon the roof. “If it hadn’t—if it had been lnyin' on the roof when it went off—we wouldn’t be lookin’ up at that hole right now, Stannie. my son. We’d lie moggin' up the golden stair and a-won- derin’ how much farther it was to the New Jerusalem, and what kind o' harps they was goin’ to give us when we got there. We sure would.” We didn’t keep our heads out very long. While we wefe staring up at the hole and at the patch of sky be yond it. a small dark object with a smoke-blue comet’s tail trailing be hind it crossed our line of sight, and we ducked and held our breath—or at least, I held mine. The crash came almost immediately, and It was fol lowed in swift succession by a second nnd a third. Luckily, none of the three hit the shaft-house, nor. Indeed, fell very near to it; and this uncer tainty of aim told us where the attack was coming from. The bomb throw ers were posted somewhere on the steep slope of the mountain above us; the slope which I have described as running up from the brink of the abrupt cliff overlooking the mine plant. “They’ll get the range, after a while.” Daddy grunted. “And when i hey do, I reckon it’ll be good-by, fair world, for a couple of us and one mighty good dog. I’m a-tellln’ you. Stannie, son. the shot that comes down through that lade fixes us u- plenty. Sufferin’ Methusuleh! what- all is the folks down yonder at 'Tro- pia a-dreamln’ about, to let all this bangin’ and yvhangln’ go on up here without .coinin' up to find out. what’s makin’ it?" The Atropia that I remembered was so neurly moribund that I didn’t won der it wasn’t making any stir in our behalf; so, when a few pattering rifle shots which seemed to originate on the great bench below began to sift in among the bomb echoes, I took If that Bfdlerton had divided his force and was trying to rattle us two ways at once. As for that, however, the bigger bombardment kept us from speculating very curiously upon any thing else. Two more of the giant crackers had fallen to the right of us, one of them into the wreck of the blacksmith shop, to send up a spout ing‘volcano of scrap which fell a sec ond or so later in a thunderous rain; and then. . . . For a Hitting instant it seemed as if it must drop squarely in front of the iron shield under which we were jammed—in which case even the un dertaker wouldn’t have been needed— not any whatsover, as Daddy Hiram would have said. But at the critical point in its flight the hurtling thing “ticked” the top of the hoist frame and its downward course was deflect ed the, needed halr’s-breadth, causing it to come down beyond the machin ery, and not on our side of things. Nevertheless, we were cowering in an ticipation of a blast which would most likely heave the entire machinery ag gregation over bodily upon us when the explosion came. We saw the belching column of flame and gas going skyward beyond the machinery barrier, taking a full half of the roof with it, as if the blast had come from the mouth of a gigan tic cannon. We were dazed .,nd deaf ened by the shock, and half choked by the fumes, but neither of us was so far gone as not to hear distinctly a prolonged and rumbling crash like the thunder of a small Niagara, coming after the smash! | “Thtj shaft!” shrilled Daddy Illram, in a thin, choked voice; “it went off down in the shaft! And, say!— wlmt-all’s that we’re a-listenin’ to now!’’ If there had been a dozen of the bombs raining down I don’t believe the threat of them would have kept us from bursting out of our dodge-hole to go and see what had happened in the mln£ shaft. But before we could determine anything more than that the mouth of the shaft was complete ly hidden under a mass of wreckage, and that the mysterious Niagara roar, dwindled somewhat, but yet hollowly audible, was still going on under the concealing mass of broken timbers and sheet-iron, there was a masterful interruption. Shots, yells, shoutings and hot curses told us that a tiered battle of some kind was staging itself just outside of our wrecked fortress; whereupon Daddy Hiram began paw ing his way to the door, yelling like a man suddenly gone dotty. “That there’s old Ike Beasley— dad-blihne his old hide!" he chittered. "There ain’t nary ’not.her man iii the Timanyonis ’at can cuss like that. .He’s come with a posse, and they’re lnyin’ out Charley Bullerton’s crowd 1" ' There was a fine little tableau spreading itself out for us when we had clambered over the wreckage and boiled to a man, they looked to be— !iud surrounded a fair half of the would-be "jumpers” and were hand cuffing them with a celerity that was truly admirable. And Beasley, him self, square-jawed and peremptory, was shoving Bullerton up against the side of the shaft-house, snapping the irons upon his wrists and counseling him, with cjioice epithets intermin gled, to save up his troubles and tell them to the judge. As we emerged from our wrecked fortress, other members of the posse were scattering to round up the out lying bomb-throwers, who had appar ently taken to the tall timber in a panic-stricken effort to escape. Down on the bench below there were horses and horse-holders; and among the horses one whose boyish-looking rider was just slipping from the saddle. While I was wondering vaguely why the Angels town marshal had let a mere boy come along on such a battle errand, the boyish figure ran up the road and darted in among us to fling itself into Daddy Hiram’s arms, gur gling and half crying and begging to be told if he was hurt. 1 I didn’t know at the time how much or how little the big marshal knew of the various and muddled involvements, which were climaxing right there in the early morning sunshine on the old Cinnabar dump head; but I do know that he quickly turned his captures over to some of his deputies nnd had them promptly hustled down stage and off scene.. While this was going on I was merely waiting for my cue, and I got it, or thought I got it when the boy who wasn’t a boy slipped from Duddy’s arms and faced me. “I’m not hurt, either,” I ventured to say, hoping that the brain storm had subsided sufficiently to make me visible. “Welcome home, Miss Twom- bly—or should I say Mrs. Bullerton?" The look she gave me was just plain deadly; you wouldn’t think that vio let-blue eyes could do it, but they can. Then she drew a folded paper from somewhere inside of her clothes and held it out to me. “There i§. the deed to your mine, Mr. Broughton,” she said nippingly, and with a fairly tragical emphasis on the courtesy title. “You wouldn’t take the trouble to go to. Copali and get it recorded, so I thought I’d better do it. I hope you’ll pardon me for be ing so forward and meddlesome.” It was the super-climax of the en tire Arabian-Nights business, and be cause my feelings would no longer be denied their rightful fling, I sat down on the shaft-house doorstep and shouted and laughed like a fool. Butt after all, it was Mr. Isaac Beasley, deputy sheriff and marshal of Angels, who put the weather-vane, so to speak, upon the fantastic structure. “I been lookin’ ’round for you a right smart while,” he told me gruffly. “When you get plum' over your laugh and feel that you’re needin’ a little sashay over the hills f’r exercise, you can come along with me and go to jail f’r stealin’ that railroad car." there was a good and sufficient reason plainly visible from the pit's mouth. Some twenty feet down, and on the eastern side of the shaft, a stream of water big enough to run a good-sized hydro-electric plant was pouring into the perpendicular cavern, and it was its plunging descent into the bowels of the earth which was making the mimic thunder. Beasley was the first t» find speech. “Where the blazes is all that water cornin’ from?" he exploded. “That’s just what we’re going to find out!" I barked. “Can you and Daddy handle my weight in a rope sling?” They both protested that they could handle two of me if necessary, and a sling was quickly rigged and I was lowered into the pit. At the nearer view thus obtained, some of the mys teries were instantly made clear. The reason why the wooden boxing disap peared below a certain point in the shaft was that it had never extended any farther down. It had been mere ly a box with a bottom!—and all those pipe-dream impressions which had tried to register themselves on the day when I had my struggle with the The Crash Came Almost Immediately. had withdrawn the wooden bar and flung the door wide. Daddy Hiram had called the turn and named the trump. The large, desperadoish-look- lng man who hnd once interviewed me at Angels, and a little later hnd paused m ms combing of the moun tains In search of me to usurp my place at the Twomhlys’ breakfast ta ble, this bewhiskered giant, with a goodish bunch of followers- -ha CHAPTER XVIII. The Hold-Up. Beasley left me sitting on the door step—I’ve a notion he had run out of handcuffs, else he might have clapped a pair of them on me-Mvhile he start ed his posse down to Atropia with the captured raiders and their leader. When he ennu? back we took time, Daddy and I and the big marshal, to size up the damage that had been wrought, and beyond that, to dig into the mystery of the continuous grum bling roar which was still ascending out of the wreck-covered mine shaft. Beasley stayed with us, waiting, as I took It, to get his breakfast before he ran me off to jail, and the three of us fell to work clearing away the fallen timbers and roofing iron, Dad dy Hiram leading the attack and be ing the first to stick his head through what remained of the tangle and hang it over the edge of the shaft’s mouth. “Hooray!” he yelled, his voice sounding as if it came from the inside of a barrel: nnd then again. “Hooray. Stannie. son!—by the ghosts of old Shndraoh. Meshach and Abednego. Charley Bullerton’s done gone and done eggs-zac’ly what he said lie could do—dreened your mine for ye! Climb in here and take a look at her. She’s empty—empty as a gourd—but. at that, she ajn’t goin’ to be, very long!" A few more minutes of the strenu ous toil cleared the pit mouth so that we could all see. The bomb which had exploded in the shaft lmd wrought a complete transformation. The stand ing flood, which all of our pumping attacks had failed to lower 7 by so much as a fraction of an Inch, was gone, and with it hnd vanished the two big centrifugals, the platform upon which they had stood, and their pipe connections. Gone, likewise, was the greater part of the heavy wooden shaft-lining. A little of this remained in the upper part of the shaft, but from a point possibly twenty-five feet down, there was nothing but the hare rock sides of the square pit swept by the receding flood. As for the hollow roaring nois>* which had followed the crash of the explosion, and which still continued ‘Hooray!" He Yelled. “Charley Bull- erton’s Dreened Your Mine for Ye!" suction-pipe octopus were instantly translated into facts. I could have sworn, then, that there was a bottom in the box, and there was a bottom. And that other impression—that 1 had encountered an Inrushing stream of ice-cold water in the chilling depths; here was the stream; a foot-thick, never-failing cataract, pouring in through a perfectly good and substan tial conduit of twelve-inch iron pipej In a flash the whole criminal mys tery involving the ostensibly flooded mine was illuminated for me. “Haul away!” I called to the two above: and when they had drawn me up to the pit’s mouth and I could get upon my feet, I yipped. at Daddy and the marshal to come on, and led'them in an out-door race along the mine ledge to the eastward; a hundred-yards dash which brought us to the banks of the swift little mountain torrent in the right-hand gulch. A brief search revealed precisely what 1 was expecting to find; what anyone in possession of the facts pre cedent would have expected to find. In the middle of a small pool slightly upstream from the path level—a pock eted lilt of water neatly screened and half hidden by a growth of low- branching spruces—we saw a cone- shaped whirlpool swirl into which a good third of the stream flow was vanishing. Below this pool an appar ently accidental heaping of rocks formed a small dam which kept the little reservoir full. Without a word, Daddy Hiram and the Angelic marshal plunged reckless ly into the stream and with their bare hands tore away the loose-rock dam. With the removal of the slight barrier and the consequent clearing of the course of the stream, the pocket reser voir immediately sucked dry. the inlet of the cataracting pipe wqs exposed, and the secret of the flooded Cinnabar was a secret no longer. The scheme which had been elab orated and set in motion to “soak” Grandfather Jasper was a premedi tated “holdup." The Cinnabar, in op eration and producing to Its capacity, was worth, so Beasley asserted, all that my grandfather had paid for It and more. But with the branch rail road built to its very door, its value would be doubled. Two alternatives had thus presented themselves to the owners, who were Cripple Creek mining speculators who had bought in the stock at a low figure while the main vein was as yet unexploited: they could go on mining the ore and star ing it against the time when the rail mad, with its cost-reducing advan ages should come along; or the; could suspend operations for the saint length of time, setting the losses of a shut-down over against the increased profits when they should start up again. With our discoveries of the morning the plan of .the robbery became per fect 1 y plain. Some giant of finance among the speculators had evolved a scheme by which the mine not only might be shut down during the inter val of waiting for the railroad to build over the bpnch. but at the same time bp made to yield a bumper crop of profits. Taking its various steps in their or der, the first move in the game was to sell the mine to Grandfather Jasper while it was still a going proposition; and this was done. But one of the conditions of the sale (Beasley told us this) was that the selling corporation should continue to operate the mine, not as a lessee, but under a contract by which the operating company should receive a certain percentage of the output; an arrangement which gave the holdup artists ample oppor tunity to prepare for the coup de main. How these preparations were made, and the secret of them kept from leak ing out. still remained one of the un solved mysteries, though Beasley sug gested that probably imported work men were employed, and that the work had been done under jealous super vision with ail the needful precautions taken against publicity. The tight wooden box—which would figure as a part of the shaft lining—bad been built, and into the box the creek had been diverted by means of the small dam and the underground conduit. With the water admitted, to rise in the box to the level of its intake in the creek reservoir, the trap was set and was ready to be sprung. Beyond tlds point there was a gap we were obliged to bridge by conjec ture, but the inferences were all plausi ble enough. Doubtless the plotters had notified my grandfather that his mine was flooded and was no longer workable. Doubtless, again, he had authorized them to buy the needful pumping machinery and to install it— which they did. In this barefaced ‘inposture the plot ters had conceivatily builded some thing upon Grandfather Jasper’^ ad vanced age as an insurance against any too-searching investigation; but beyond this they had carefully dis armed any suspicion that lie might otherwise have harbored by encourag ing him—in the actual purchase of the property—to take expert advice, ard by craftily priming him, by under statements of the facts, to trust tlieili. Only rumors of what had occurred at this visit readied Angels; hut Beas ley could testify that my grandfather had come and returned alone, ami that after the pumping demonstration had been made he had seemed disposed to pocket his huge loss and to call it ti had day’s work. The later developments were net hard to figure out. Beasley was able to tell us that the proposed railroad branch to run to the new copper prop erties in Little Cinnabar gulch was now a certainty for the very near fu ture. Hence the time was fully ripe for the recovery of the Cinnabar by the plotters. No doubt they had con fidently assumed that a repurchase of the property—not directly by them selves. of course, but by an agent who would figure as a disinterested third party—would he easy. Beasley said that there had been some talk of an underrunning drainage tunnel, such as Daddy and I had figured upon—this at the time of the springing of the flood trap—and that the cost had been esti mated at half a million. Unquestion ably the robbers had assumed that an old man who had already charged his venture up to profit and loss would sell for a song rather than to venture again; and in this they were probably well within the truth. But at the moment when they were ready to complete the circle of im posture, death—the death of Grand father Jasper—had stepped in to com plicate matters. Somebody—possibly Cousin Percy—had corresponded with whoever was representing the robber syndicate, and by this means the plot ters had learned that they would now hitve to reckon with an heir. How Bullerton came to be employed by them almost at the Instant of his re turn from Soutli America we did not kpow; hut we cojjhl easily understand that with the new complication wiich had risen by reason of Grandfa her Jasper’s death, it was highly acces sary for some emissary of the syndi cate to get on the ground quickly, pre pared to forestall by purchase, gu.’le, or. in the last resort by force, any at tempt of the Dudley heirs to pry into tilings they were not to he permitted to know. The pushing of the fight for posses sion to the finnl and property-destroy ing extremity was another matter that Beasley was aide to explain. “Ye see, it was a case o’ fish ’r cut- hait, and do it quick." the marshal ex plained. "If lie could run you folks out, pronto, and get possession afore anybody come along to ask a lot o’ p’lnted questions, he stood about one chance in a dozen to lie out of it some way. If you-all got killed in the scrimmage, he’d scatter his men in the woods anil try to make me b’lieve that you’d got done up trying to run him off." (TO BE CONTINUED.) CALOMEL GOOD BUT NEXT DOSE I HAY SALIVATE It Is Mercury, Quicksilver, Shocks Liver and Attacks Your Bones. Calomel salivation Is horrible. It swells the tongue, loosens the teeth and starts rheumatism. There’s no rea son why a person should take sicken ing, salivating calomel when a few cents buys a large bottle of Dodson’s Liver Tone—a perfect substitute for calomel. It is a pleasant vegetable liquid which will start your liver just as surely as calomel, but it doesn’t make you sick and can not salivate. Calomel is a dangerous drug; be sides, it may make you feel weak, sick and nauseated tomorrow. Don’t lose a day’s work. 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