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Title: The White Crystals: Being an Account of the Adventures of Two Boys

Author: Howard Roger Garis

Illustrator: Bertha Corson Day Bates

Release date: January 12, 2012 [eBook #38558]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Greg Weeks, Jim Towey, Mary Meehan at The
        Adventure Continues and the Online Distributed Proofreading
        Team at http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE CRYSTALS: BEING AN ACCOUNT OF THE ADVENTURES OF TWO BOYS ***




Produced by Greg Weeks, Jim Towey, Mary Meehan at The
Adventure Continues and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net










                           THE WHITE CRYSTALS

             Being an Account of the Adventures of Two Boys

                           BY HOWARD R. GARIS

AUTHOR OF "WITH FORCE AND ARMS," "THE KING OF UNADILLA," "THE WHETSTONE
OF SWORDS," ETC., ETC.


    WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
    BERTHA CORSON DAY

    BOSTON
    LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
    1904

    _Copyright, 1904_,
    BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.

    _All rights reserved_

    Published October, 1904

    TO
    MY SON ROGER
    THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED




[Illustration: "'No, sir,' replied Mrs. Kimball, firmly, 'I won't
sign'"]




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                              PAGE

       I. THE DOCTOR'S ADVICE                             1

      II. THE SALT CITY                                  11

     III. A TEST OF STRENGTH                             20

      IV. IN DEEP WATER                                  31

       V. GATHERING THE HONEY                            41

      VI. A LOAD OF GRAPES                               51

     VII. LOST ON THE MOUNTAIN                           61

    VIII. FIGHTING A WILD-CAT                            69

      IX. OUT OF THE WOODS                               78

       X. BAD NEWS                                       87

      XI. COPPER AND OLD BONES                           99

     XII. JACK FROST                                    110

    XIII. LAFAYETTE HILL                                121

     XIV. A DESPERATE RACE                              131

      XV. STRANGERS IN TOWN                             141

     XVI. QUEER OPERATIONS                              151

    XVII. ROGER SUSPECTS                                160

   XVIII. A BIG BLACK BEAR                              169

     XIX. ROGER MAKES PLANS                             177

      XX. UNDERNEATH THE GROUND                         187

     XXI. ROGER TAKES A JOURNEY                         196

    XXII. A QUESTION OF LAW                             208

   XXIII. THE PLOTTERS FOILED                           220

    XXIV. DIGGING FOR SALT                              229

     XXV. THE LAST WRESTLING MATCH                      237




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS



"'No, sir,' replied Mrs. Kimball, firmly, 'I won't
sign'"                                                   _Frontispiece_

"Roger held up the fish pole so that Adrian could
grasp it"                                                     38

"Its forepaws struck the boy on the shoulders"                76

"The Cardiff sled left the beaten road, and plunged
into the almost unbroken snow of the fields"                 137

"His heart beat suddenly at the idea which came
to him"                                                      188

"Then Roger began to raise the lead to the surface"          191




THE WHITE CRYSTALS




CHAPTER I

THE DOCTOR'S ADVICE


Dr. Glasby looked over the rims of his spectacles at the boy before him.
Then he glanced at Mr. Anderson, cleared his throat with a loud "ahem"
that made Roger start, and said, very ponderously:

"Um!"

"Well?" asked Mr. Anderson, a little anxious tone coming into his voice,
"what's the verdict, doctor?"

"Um!" said the physician again. "Nothing very serious, Mr. Anderson.
Roger, here, is a little run down, that's all. He's been studying too
hard, his eyes are a trifle weak, muscles flabby, and his blood hasn't
enough of the good red stuff in it. In short, he must live out of doors
for a year or so, and then I'll guarantee he will come back with red
cheeks and a pair of arms that will make you proud of him. Eh, Roger?"
and Dr. Glasby pinched the rather small and soft biceps of the boy,
smiling the while, good naturedly.

"No disease, then, doctor?" from Mr. Anderson.

"Nothing, my dear sir, except a general poor condition of the system."

"Don't he need medicine, a tonic, or something? His mother and I are
quite worried about him."

"Not a drop of medicine for this patient," exclaimed Dr. Glasby. "Fresh
air, fresh country air, and more air. That's all."

The physician turned aside to replace the apparatus he had used; the
stethoscope, with which he had listened to the beating of Roger's heart,
the eye-testing mirrors and lights, and the lung-cylinder, into which
the boy had blown more feebly than Dr. Glasby had liked to see.

"Then your prescription is--?" began Mr. Anderson.

"Have him drop his books and studies, stop school, at least for a year,
and get out into the country. You'll have to see for yourself that it is
put up, for no drug store could supply those ingredients. Can you
arrange it?"

"I think so, doctor. I'll try, anyhow," and, with a hearty handshake,
while his face wore a more relieved look than when he entered the
office, Mr. Anderson left Dr. Glasby, taking Roger with him.

The journey home was rather a quiet one between Roger and his father.
They boarded a surface car on Broadway, and, as it swung along through
the turmoil of this principal New York street, they were thinking of
what they had just heard. Moving now fast and now slow, according to the
obstructions of trucks on the tracks, the car clanged on its way. Once
it stopped short, suddenly, to allow a spark-emitting fire engine and a
swaying truck with long ladders to dash by to a blaze. Then Roger leaped
to his feet, watching, as long as possible, the exciting rush of the
red-helmeted and rubber-coated men, his eyes brightening as he noted the
plunging, rearing horses.

"Let's get out and go to the fire!" he called to his father.

"Not now, son," answered Mr. Anderson. "Your mother will be anxious to
hear what Dr. Glasby said, and we don't want to delay and cause her
worry, you know."

"All right," agreed Roger, with just a little disappointment in his
tone, for he did want to see the fire. But he soon forgot that in
wondering what would happen if he didn't have to go to school for a
whole year. The suggestion contained such possibilities that he was lost
in a maze with plans of what he would do with his time.

Meanwhile the car continued along more rapidly, and it was not a great
while before father and son reached home. Then, as Roger helped his
five-year-old brother Edward to build a castle out of blocks, Mr.
Anderson told his wife the result of the visit to Dr. Glasby. She was
much relieved when she learned there was nothing serious the matter with
her son, and there was a happy look in her eyes as she glanced at her
two boys playing together on the floor.

The Andersons lived in a large but pleasant apartment house on the "west
side," as it is called in New York. It was on Thirty-third Street, just
west of Ninth Avenue, along which thoroughfare the elevated railroad
passed. It was so near this, that in warm weather, when the windows were
open nights, Roger could hear the rattle of the trains and the clatter
and hum of the electric motor cars. In fact it was quite a noisy place,
where Roger lived, but no one in the neighborhood seemed to mind it, or,
if they did, they had grown so used to it that they never spoke of it.
Of course there was no yard, and no place to play, except in the street,
for space is too valuable in New York to have yards to houses. But there
was the flat roof of the big apartment, where scores of families lived,
and Roger and his boy friends sometimes enjoyed their sports up there.

Roger Anderson was just past his fifteenth year, rather small for his
age, and not nearly as strong and sturdy as his parents wished he was.
Lately his eyes had been troubling him, and he had complained of
frequent headaches. He was in his first season at high school, and what,
with taking up Latin and algebra, two new worlds of study for the boy,
he had been rather closely applied to his books at night. As he was
ambitious he threw himself into the vim of learning with an energy that
was pleasing to his parents and teachers, though it had a bad effect on
his health. For, after a few weeks of school, it was noticed that he was
failing in energy. There were many days when, in spite of his desire, he
felt disinclined to go to his classes, and he was troubled with
dizziness. In short he seemed in such poor shape that Mr. Anderson
determined on a visit to Dr. Glasby, the old family physician. That
night, after the consultation with the medical man, when Roger had gone
to bed, his father and mother sat up to talk the matter over.

"I don't like to think of his losing a year's schooling," said Mr.
Anderson, as he thought how valuable education was.

"Better that than to have him get really ill and have to stop
altogether," replied Mrs. Anderson.

Both were silent a few minutes, turning the question over in their
minds.

"I suppose we should follow Dr. Glasby's advice as soon as possible,"
said Mrs. Anderson, at length. "I wonder what we ought to do. Where can
we send him? Oh dear! I don't at all like the idea of his going away
from us. I just know he'll sit about in damp shoes, and his buttons will
all come off, for they are always loose, and no one to sew them on."

"Well," said Mr. Anderson, a little twinkle in his eyes, "losing buttons
isn't to be compared to having one's health break down, and, as for wet
shoes, he can take pairs enough along to change whenever he gets in the
water. Still I must confess I don't like to think of Roger being away
from us, but he'll have to leave home some day, I suppose, and there's
nothing like getting used to it. I went away from my home when I was
fourteen years old."

"It was different when you were a boy," said Mrs. Anderson, and her
husband smiled, while he wondered how it was.

"Where do you suppose we can send him?" went on Mr. Anderson. "Dr.
Glasby says a year in the country. Now we can't afford to pay heavy
expenses, yet I am determined the boy shall have a free run in the fresh
air, and live out doors for a change."

Mrs. Anderson thought for a moment.

"I have it!" she cried, suddenly. "He can go to his Uncle Bert's, at
Cardiff. It will be the very thing for him, and when you get your
vacation next summer we can all go up there and see him."

Mr. Anderson hesitated a minute, for that idea had never come to him.

"I believe it will be a good plan," he said heartily. "Yes, I'm sure it
will. I'm glad you thought of it. We'll send Roger to Cardiff."

Thus it was settled that Roger was to give up his studies, which
announcement, when he heard it next morning, made him both glad and
sorry.

It was a fine day in October, and school had been in session a little
more than a month of the fall term. The visit to the doctor had been
made on Saturday. Sunday was spent in talking over the subject more
fully in the Anderson household, and in writing a letter to "Albertus
Kimball, Esq., Cardiff, Onondaga County, N. Y." This man was Mrs.
Anderson's farmer brother. On Monday, instead of going to school, Roger
accompanied his father down town, where they did considerable shopping
in the way of buying some clothing and underwear for the boy's outfit.
Mr. Anderson also got a stout valise, and filled it with articles he
thought his son might need. Then, rather tired with tramping about, they
had dinner in a busy restaurant on Barclay Street, much to Roger's
delight, for he seldom ate in such places, and it was quite a treat to
order just what he liked best.

After lunch Mr. Anderson went to the high school where his son was
enrolled, to give notice to the principal of Roger's withdrawal.

They arrived just before school assembled for the afternoon session,
and, while Mr. Anderson was talking with Mr. Blake, the principal, Roger
wandered into the familiar court-yard, where he met a number of
classmates.

"Going to leave, eh?" they all questioned as the news got around. "Say,
Roger, you're a lucky chap. I wish my father would take me out of
school."

"I believe I'd rather stay," said Roger.

"Oh, cut that out! What you giving us!" called several, sincerely, if
not politely.

"No, I would, really," insisted Roger, and he honestly meant it, though
he could not help feeling a little important over the small excitement
he was creating among his companions. Still he did like his studies very
much, for he was just beginning to appreciate the inspiration of Virgil,
the wonders of the science work, and the sturdy exactness of algebraic
equations.

A few minutes later Mr. Anderson came out of Mr. Blake's office, and the
two men walked over to where Roger stood. Mr. Blake shook hands with
him, gravely, and, while expressing regret that his pupil was leaving
school, agreed that it was best, under the circumstances. He hoped to
see Roger back again, he said, much improved in health, and, with cheery
good-byes from his companions, the boy walked out of the school-yard
with his father. There was just the trace of tears in Roger's eyes,
which he hoped his father wouldn't see, for, after all, it was rather
hard to leave such a lot of fine chums as he had.

For the next few days there were busy times in the Anderson home. Such
an overhauling of Roger's clothes, such a sewing on of buttons, double
strong, almost enough for a small army of boys, such a darning of
stockings, and a mending of rents in coats and trousers, and such
admonition and advice as his mother gave him, from never forgetting to
say his prayers, to not neglecting to clean his teeth. For he had never
been away from his parents before, in all his short life, and it was a
momentous occasion.

The novelty of the affair, and the anticipation of adventures in store
for him, kept Roger from thoughts that he might possibly be lonesome or
homesick, after he had started away. Under the stimulus of preparation
he even began to feel better in health. His pale cheeks showed a little
color, and his head had not ached since he had been to the doctor's.

On Thursday a letter came from Uncle Bert, telling Mrs. Anderson to send
Roger right along; that they would all try to make him comfortable and
happy. So it was arranged he was to start next Monday night, and, to
Mrs. Anderson, the time, until then, seemed altogether too short,
though, boylike, Roger thought the intervening days would never pass.
His ticket had been purchased, his valise packed, and by Sunday night
everything was in readiness. At church that day the boy felt his eyes
grow a little misty as the choir sang the solemn songs, but he made up
his mind that he must play the part of a man now, at least as far as
appearances went. So he gulped down the lump in his throat.

The train was to leave the Grand Central Station of the New York Central
Railroad at nine o'clock Monday night. The last arrangements had been
made, and Mr. Anderson prepared to accompany his son to the depot.

"Bwing me back suffin' nice, Roggy," called little Edward, sleepily, as
he put up his cheek to be kissed.

"I will, Eddie, I will," said Roger, his voice trembling a bit, in spite
of his determination to be firm. He cuddled his baby brother close to
him.

"Now be very careful, my boy," said Mrs. Anderson, for at least the
twentieth time. "Clean your teeth every day, and change your shoes as
soon as you get your feet wet."

Her motherly eyes showed a suspicious brilliancy, and her voice was not
as steady as it usually sounded. She hugged Roger closely to her, and
gave him a kiss that he long remembered, and then, with a broken
good-bye, she turned and went into the house, while Roger and Mr.
Anderson started for the station.

They stepped out briskly, boarded a surface car, and were soon rattling
toward Forty-second Street, where the depot was located. Roger was to
take a train for Syracuse, a city twelve miles from Cardiff, to which
village he would go by wagon or stage. There was plenty of time before
nine o'clock, but Mr. Anderson believed in being a little ahead of a
train, instead of behind it. He didn't give his son much advice, for he
knew Mrs. Anderson had said all there was to say, and he realized that
Roger was a boy who didn't need to be cautioned after what his mother
had told him.

The train Roger was to go in had already been made up, and the porter
showed him to his place in the sleeping-car, where he had a lower berth.

"Now, my boy," said Mr. Anderson, looking at his watch, "you have ten
minutes before starting time. I think I'll leave you, as you are in good
shape here, and I want to get back to your mother. I know you will get
along nicely, and I needn't say I know you'll do what's right, at all
times, for I'm sure you will. Your Uncle Bert will meet you in Syracuse,
when you arrive there in the morning, and you don't have to change cars.
The porter will look after you occasionally. Now, good-bye," and with a
hearty handshake Mr. Anderson left Roger alone.




CHAPTER II

THE SALT CITY


With a toot of the whistle, a squeak of the wheels and a sharp hissing,
as the air brakes were released, the train started. The journey was
uneventful, no delays or accidents occurring to mar it. About eleven
o'clock the porter made up Roger's berth, and, though the boy wondered
at the novelty of a bed on what looked much like a shelf, he soon fell
asleep, and did not wake up until the sun was a half hour high, which
time found him within a few miles of Syracuse.

The colored porter, grinning expansively and good naturedly, for he had
been well remembered by Mr. Anderson, brought Roger a steaming hot cup
of coffee, which was most agreeable.

"What time do we get in?" asked the boy traveller as he sipped the
beverage.

"We'd ought a' be in at 7.42," replied the colored man, "but we's a
leetle late this mornin', sah. Probably we'll arrive 'bout eight
o'clock. Feelin' purty peart this mornin', sah?"

"Yes, I do feel pretty good," replied Roger, who really did seem better
than he had in some weeks. "I didn't think I'd sleep much, but I did."

"Oh, these here is great beds fo' sleepin'," commented the porter,
grinning once more, and causing Roger to wonder, if he smiled any
larger, whether the top of his head wouldn't come off.

It was just ten minutes past eight when the train rolled along one of
the main streets of Syracuse, and into the dingy depot, near the centre
of the city. Roger was out on the vestibuled platform before the wheels
stopped screeching under the force of the brakes. He was watching among
the crowd under the shed for a tall man, with a big nose, a light sandy
moustache and bright blue eyes, for thus his mother had described his
Uncle Bert to him. He looked at several men.

The first one had everything but the blue eyes. The second one all the
characteristics save the sandy moustache. But the third man, on whom he
fixed his attention, Roger knew was Mr. Kimball. He waved his hand, and
was glad to see the man wave back. The next minute the train stopped,
and the blue-eyed uncle was ready to reach up for his nephew.

"Is this here Roger Anderson?" came from beneath the light sandy
moustache, in a pleasant though high-pitched voice.

"I'm Roger; are you Uncle Bert?" asked the boy.

"Wa'al, I reckon thet's what! Guessed ye th' fust time, didn't I," and
this fact seemed to give Mr. Kimball so much pleasure that he laughed
with a heartiness which made several smile.

"Wa'al now, but d'ye know, I'm glad t' see ye! Ye're a leetle late, but
land love ye, comin' three hunderd miles is no joke. I calalate I'd be a
trifle behindhand myself. Now, let's hev yer satchel, 'n' we'll go 'n'
git some breakfust. I ain't eat yit. Ye see I come out from Cardiff
yist'day, hevin' t' do some tradin', 'n' I stayed over night at th'
Candee House, so's t' be on hand t' meet ye. I told th' waiter at my
table I'd hev a hungry boy back 'ith me soon. Ye be hungry, ain't ye?"
with rather an anxious look at Roger.

"Well, not so very," admitted the boy, wondering a little at the strange
sounding talk of his uncle, who spoke the central New York farmers'
homely but comprehensive dialect.

"Oh, shucks now!" exclaimed Mr. Kimball. "I were calalatin' on seein' ye
race 'ith me eatin' ham 'n' eggs 'n' bread 'n' butter," and he seemed a
bit disappointed. "Howsomever we'll remedy thet when we git ye out t'
Cardiff. 'Fore ye've been thar a week I'll hev ye eatin' salt-risin'
bread, covered 'ith butter 'n' honey--say 'j ever tackle real fresh
salt-risin' bread, spread thick 'ith nice brown buckwheat honey, right
outen th' hives?"

"I never did," confessed Roger.

"Wa'al, then, ye've got a lot a' pleasure ahead on ye," remarked Mr.
Kimball, "thet's all I've got t' say. But Land o' Goshen, here I be
talkin', 'stid a leadin' th' way t' th' hotel. Come 'long now, 't ain't
fer," and they started off in lively fashion, while Roger wondered what
sort of a man his uncle was.

Though he did not eat a hearty meal, the boy, under the eyes of Mr.
Kimball, made out quite a breakfast, while his companion put away a
hearty one, with evident relish. The waiter was kept busy, and Roger
wondered vaguely how a man could drink so many cups of coffee as his
uncle did; no less than four large ones being disposed of.

"We don't start back 'til three o'clock," said Mr. Kimball, using his
napkin rapidly. "Porter Amidown's stage leaves then. I'd a druv out 'ith
th' Democrat wagin, but it needs a new wheel, so I calalated I'd better
come in 'n' go out by th' stage."

"Is that Democratic too?" asked Roger, who, like nearly every New York
boy, was of the political faith of his father, who was a Republican.

"Democrat? Th' stage Democrat? Land no, Porter's a rip-snortin' Prohib.
Oh, I see, ye thought my wagin was a Democrat one, 'stid a' bein'
Republican. Ha! ha! Why we call them vehicles thet name, not 'cause
they're in politics, but jist t' hev a way a' speakin' 'bout 'em, thet's
all, same's a phaeton er runabout. Th' stage a Democrat! Ho! ho! Don't
ye let Porter hear ye say thet," and Mr. Kimball seemed quite tickled
over Roger's natural mistake.

"So's we don't start back 'til three o'clock," he went on, occasionally
chuckling over the joke, "we'll hev some time t' do a leetle tradin',
fer I didn't finish yist'day. Thet'll give ye a chanst t' look around
th' city. Ade, he's yer cousin, ye know, wanted me t' bring him 'long,
but I calalated there'd be trouble ef I did, so I left him hum. He'd
want ye t' rassal right here in th' street."

"Rassal?" inquired Roger, wondering what was meant.

"Yep, rassal. Ketch 's ketch kin, collar 'n' elbow, ye know. Ade 's dead
set on rassalin'. Do ye do it much?"

"No," said Roger, "I'm not much good at wrestling," and he began to be a
little apprehensive as to the character of his cousin Adrian.

"Wa'al, ye'll hev t' rassal 'ith him when ye git hum," remarked Mr.
Kimball, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "He's allers
a rassalin' all th' boys, th' hired men, 'n' so on."

"Is he pretty strong?" asked Roger.

"Tol'able, jest tol'able," replied Mr. Kimball. "But ye needn't worry,
he'll let ye alone ef he finds out he kin throw ye. He never rassals th'
second time 'ith anybody he kin throw, lessen it's fer practice. He's
allers tryin' t' tackle some un a leetle better 'n' what he is. Wants t'
git a reputation, he says. His mother says he wants t' git a busted
neck, 'n' say, d' ye know," and Mr. Kimball whispered, "sometimes I
think she's more 'n' half right, I do, honest Injun, I do," and he shook
his head warningly.

"Wa'al, I guess we might 's well be goin'," he remarked, after a pause,
and he led the way from the dining-room.

Mr. Kimball had several places where he wanted to do some trading. He
had to buy some dress goods for his wife, a book for Adrian, some sewing
silk for his daughter Clara, and some tools for himself. He finished by
noon, and after dinner he asked Roger if he didn't want to pay a visit
to the salt works, for which Syracuse is noted.

"Indeed, I'd like to go, first rate," said the boy.

So they walked up to the northern part of the pretty town, where,
stretched out in the sun, were the big shallow wooden vats for the
evaporation of the brine which was pumped into them. On the way through
the works Mr. Kimball explained how the salt springs were underneath the
ground on which they were walking, and how the brine was brought to the
surface of the earth by machinery. Then it was left for the sun to draw
off the water, leaving behind the shining particles that formed the salt
of commerce.

The place was filled with buildings, large and small, with pumps,
engines and vats, with sheds about which hurried scores of men, and
Roger took a great interest looking at everything. He never knew before
what a lot of salt came from Syracuse, nor what an important industry it
was in the trade of the world, and particularly of New York State.

"My, but we'll hev t' hustle," remarked Mr. Kimball, suddenly, looking
at his big silver watch. "It's nigh two o'clock, 'n' Porter leaves at
three smack. I guess we'll postpone the rest a' th' salt investigation
'til another time."

So Roger and his uncle made a hurried trip to the Candee House, from
which the stage started. They reached it with about five minutes to
spare, which Mr. Kimball used in getting together his packages and
Roger's baggage, and putting them all snugly in the lumbering vehicle.
As he finished, the stage driver came out to see to the hitching up of
the horses.

"Porter, this is my nephew I were tellin' ye of," said Mr. Kimball.

Mr. Amidown looked Roger over carefully.

"Leetle spindlin', ain't he?" he suggested after a pause.

"Wa'al, he ain't's stout's he will be when we git through 'ith him,"
replied Mr. Kimball with a hearty laugh, as he poked Porter playfully in
the ribs. Then he helped Roger up to the high seat, and followed nimbly
himself. There was a crack of the long whip, a rattle of the harness
chains, a rumble of the wheels and the stage started off.

There were several other passengers making the trip from Syracuse by
stage that day, but Roger and his uncle were the only ones on the
outside. The big wagon rolled along, first on the asphalt streets, under
tall elm and maple trees that lined the thoroughfares, where the houses
were so close together that they reminded the boy of New York. Then the
residences became more scattered, and farther and farther apart, as the
suburbs were reached.

During the early part of the journey Porter was too busy guiding his
team of horses in and out among other vehicles to do much talking. Mr.
Kimball was engaged in looking over an account book, and making notes of
his recent purchases, with the amounts they cost, and so was too much
occupied to talk. Thus Roger was left to himself for a while. He was
much interested in all that he saw, though of course the city sights
were almost like those of New York, except there was not the same bustle
and excitement, nor such big, towering buildings.

But when he came into the pretty suburbs it was different. The air was
pure and fresh, and the wind was just cool enough to be delightful that
October afternoon. Soon the horses were jogging along, the reins
flapping loose on their broad backs. Mr. Kimball, putting up his account
book, turned to Porter, and asked:

"How's everything in Cardiff?"

"Oh, so-so," replied Mr. Amidown. "Ain't changed much sence ye come out
yist'day."

"No, I don't calalate it has hed much chanst," agreed Mr. Kimball.

Then the two men began to talk of crops, of cows and horses, of the farm
of this one and the garden of that one, the grape and the honey outlook,
until Roger wondered how they could remember so many different names and
the kinds of things that grew.

Finally Mr. Kimball bethought himself that his nephew might be lonesome,
with no one to talk to, so he turned his attention to the boy, and told
him of the country through which they were passing. He showed him where
Enos Jones had a good field of wheat, and where Nathan Parks was
expecting to gather in a fine yield of corn, and so on, until the city
boy felt some of the importance of farming, and how much the people of
this country depend on it.

The stage rumbled on, up hill and down dale, along the twelve miles.
About five o'clock they came within sight of the white-spired church of
Cardiff, and it was not long before they reached the outskirts of the
village. The big vehicle stopped at the post-office. Porter threw off a
bag of mail, called to the horses to resume their pulling again, and,
five minutes later he drew up in front of a comfortable farmhouse, in
the yard of which stood a pleasant-faced woman and a boy about Roger's
age.




CHAPTER III

A TEST OF STRENGTH


"Hey, Pop! Have you brought him?" shouted the sturdy youngster whom
Roger looked down at from the top of the stage. It seemed to him as if
the boy was inquiring for some new kind of wild animal.

"He's here all right, Ade," replied Mr. Kimball, as he assisted his
nephew down. "He's on time t' th' minute, 'n' I hope yer mother's got
suthin' good fer us both t' eat."

"Land sakes! Allers thinkin' a' suthin' t' put in yer stomach,"
exclaimed Mrs. Kimball, laughing as she came forward to meet Roger and
give him a hearty kiss.

"Here! You two boys git acquainted," commanded Mr. Kimball, and he and
his wife stood aside until Roger could advance and meet his country
cousin. Adrian and Roger were about the same age, and, though they were
both nearly of equal height, Adrian was the more sturdy of the two, and
it was easily seen what an advantage he had because of his life in the
open air. He was tanned, and as brown as a butternut on his hands and
face, and there was a clearness to his skin and a brightness to his eyes
that Roger lacked, for the latter was pale, and his eyes showed the
effects of hard study. Perhaps for a minute the two boys sized each
other up, almost like two dogs that meet for the first time, and when
each is uncertain as to the other's intention.

Roger held out his hand, and Adrian took it in a firm grasp, shaking it
up and down, pump-handle fashion.

"Can you wrestle?" asked the country boy suddenly. It was his first
greeting.

"A little," admitted Roger, "but I haven't had much chance at it. I know
I'm not very good."

"Come on, then; right here in the grass," said Adrian. He started
peeling off his coat.

"Not now, wait until arter supper," commanded Mr. Kimball. "Why, Ade,"
he went on, "I'm ashamed on ye. Don't ye know Roger's bin travellin' a
good while, 'n' he ain't hed much rest. I'm s'prised at ye. 'T ain't
fair t' rassal now."

"I'd just as soon," broke in Roger. "I never claimed to be much of a
wrestler, but I'm not afraid to try."

He made up his mind he was not going to be stumped by any boy of his own
age, in a test of strength, without an endeavor. So off came his coat in
a hurry.

"Which way are you used to?" asked Adrian.

"Oh, I'm not particular."

"Well, catch-as-catch-can then," said the country boy, advancing toward
Roger slowly.

It would seem that the two were hardly a match for each other, since the
life Adrian led had made him much more sturdy than was his cousin. At
the same time, though Roger was not as strong and well set-up as a lad
of his age should have been, he was of wiry frame and quick on his
feet. So, after all, the contest might not be so one-sided as it
appeared at first.

For a minute the two boys circled about each other, looking for an
opening. They had their hands extended, seeking for good holds, and
ready to break any too dangerous grip on the part of the other. Their
faces were set, and their eyes brightened with excitement, but, as it
was all in fun, there was not a trace of anger.

Suddenly Adrian reached out and caught Roger's left hand with his own
left. At the same moment he tried to get his right arm about the city
boy's neck. But Roger was too quick for him, and, instead of gaining
this advantage, Adrian found himself circled about by Roger's arm. Then
there was a straining of muscles; the two boys closed in a tight grip,
and the struggle was on.

Mr. Kimball watched them with great delight, for he was fond of a
contest of this kind; but his wife, while used to the rough play of her
own boy with his comrades, was somewhat alarmed for the effects of the
wrestling on her nephew, whose frame was not trained to such rough
exercise, she thought. However, she said nothing, thinking there was not
much likelihood of any serious harm resulting from the tussle. The most
that might happen would be a good shaking up, and soreness.

The boys were now wrestling away in earnest. To Roger it was no surprise
to feel the sturdy muscles of his opponent, but it was some small wonder
to Adrian to find Roger meeting his advance with a force he did not
expect was in his cousin's rather thin arms. At first Adrian tried to
duck his head out from the encircling hold of Roger. When he could not
succeed in this he endeavored to pull the city boy off his feet. That
was of little avail, for Roger was lighter than Adrian, and shuffled
quickly about on the grass.

When a few minutes of this pulling and hauling had passed, the boys were
panting a little, and breathing rapidly. Feeling the need of wind,
Roger, for a short while, acted solely on the defensive. Then, seeing he
was not making out as poorly as he feared he would, he ventured to try
something on the offence. He put out his right leg, and planted it
firmly behind that of Adrian's, and then tried to push his cousin over
it backward, thinking to throw him in this fashion.

If Roger could have seen the smile that came over Adrian's face as he
did this, perhaps he would not have been so ready to try the old trick.
The country boy let himself be shoved over, ever so slightly. He even
became limp in his opponent's hands, and Roger thought he saw victory
most unexpectedly before him.

"Wa'al, ef Roger ain't a goin' t' throw him!" exclaimed Mr. Kimball,
though not displeased because he was going to see his own son defeated.
"Go at him, Roger!" he cried. "You're th' stuff!"

Then suddenly Adrian's body stiffened out. His arms that had been limp
became rigid. From tilting backward he straightened up. He twisted his
neck from the crook of Roger's arm, grabbed his cousin by the shoulders,
shifted rapidly on his feet, and, with a quick push, sent Roger over
backward, pinning him squarely upon his back on the sod.

"A fair fall! A fair fall!" cried Mr. Kimball, dancing about like a
youngster himself. "I thought ye had him, Roger, but he fooled ye. Guess
ye'll hev t' eat a leetle mite more, 'fore ye kin throw him," and the
farmer chuckled in delight.

Roger got up from the ground. He was smiling slightly, but there was a
determined look on his face that was good to see, for it showed he had
met defeat bravely, and was not daunted by it.

"That's one," he said, breathing a trifle hard. "Maybe I'll do better
next time. Are you ready?" and he stood waiting for another trial.

"What! Do you want to go at it again?" asked Adrian, somewhat surprised.

"Of course," answered Roger. "And if you throw me this time I'll try
once more, and then to-morrow, and next day, and the next, until I've
thrown you!"

"That's th' way t' talk!" exclaimed Mr. Kimball. "That's what I like t'
hear. Never say die!" and he capered about as wild as a boy.

"Paw, how you talk!" said Mrs. Kimball. "Them boys sha'n't rassal any
more t'night. Adrian, I'm s'prised at ye, throwin' yer cousin that has
jest come out t' see ye."

"Oh, he's game, mother. He don't care," replied Adrian, smiling, and
much pleased at Roger's pluck. "But we won't try any more falls right
away," he added. "I'll give you another chance, though, Roger."

"Wa'al, I guess thet's th' best view t' take," said Mr. Kimball. "Ye
know ye come out here t' Cardiff, Roger, t' git fattened up, 'n' ye
won't do thet ef ye keep on rassalin'. I guess I'll declare a flag a'
truce. Now mind," and his voice became stern, "no more rassalin' 'til I
give ye leave. Ef ye want t' rassal, Ade, ye'll hev t' take on some un
else."

"All right, dad," replied Adrian, good naturedly.

Roger said nothing, but he made up his mind that, though the contest was
postponed for a while, he would not rest until he had thrown his cousin
in a fair struggle. For the time, however, he was satisfied to wait.

"Come on 'n' wash up fer supper!" cried Mr. Kimball, as the boys were
putting on their coats. "Land a' Goshen, I'm 's hungry 's th' b'ar what
sees his shadder on Candlemas Day. Come on, Roger, 'n' I'll interduce ye
t' yer cousin Clara, 'n' let ye set yer teeth in some a' th' finest
salt-risin' bread in Cardiff, 'n' th' best buckwheat honey growed in
Onondaga County," and he started for the house, followed by the two boys
and Mrs. Kimball, who began to ask Roger a score of questions about his
father and mother and the baby, which the boy answered as best he could.

For the first time since he had alighted from the stage Roger had a
chance to look about him. The comfortable large farmhouse, painted white
with green shutters, stood on the east side of the road, which ran along
the edge of the beautiful Onondaga valley. Behind the house rose a
gently sloping hill, on the sunny declivities of which was a large
vineyard, belonging to Mr. Kimball. In front of the house was a stretch
of fields, forming the bottom part of the valley, and some of these
broad acres belonged to Adrian's father. The valley was about three
miles wide, and, if one should walk across that space he would come to
the opposite hills that framed it in, towering up, with densely wooded
sides, broken here and there with little farm clearings. It was a most
pleasant place to live, Roger thought. He paused for a minute, and
turned to look at the view behind him.

The sun was just sinking down behind the topmost trees of the western
hills, and the slanting beams, sifting through the red and yellow leaves
of the autumn forest, caused the woods to appear as if they were blazing
with golden fire. The beauty of the sunset made all pause to look at it,
and Roger was sure he had never before seen such a happy, calm, peaceful
valley as the one in the centre of which nestled the village of Cardiff.

The Kimball house was of the large roomy kind the early farmers built,
with tall white pillars supporting the roof of the front porch, on top
of which was a balcony. A gravel driveway passed along the south side of
the building leading to the barn in the rear. Instead of going in the
front door, which was, as is usual in the country, seldom opened, Mr.
Kimball led the way around the side. Roger, following, heard the splash
of running water, and, turning the corner, he saw a pipe spouting a
sparkling stream which fell into a big basin, chiselled out of a single
solid stone. This was right at the side door of the house.

"Thar!" exclaimed Mr. Kimball, "thar, Roger, you'll find thet th' best
water in th' State. Nothin' like it at Saratogy er New York City. It
comes from a spring right up thar on my hill, 'n' we're th' fust family
t' git it, jest 's it bubbles up from th' ground. Here!" taking down the
half of an empty cocoanut shell, which served as a dipper, "here, sample
it," and he let the spout fill the brown vessel with the babbling,
laughing water.

Roger drank deep of the refreshing liquid, for he was thirsty from the
long drive, and, when he handed back the empty dipper, with a grateful
breath of contentment, his uncle needed no better evidence that the
water was good, as indeed any one who has been to Cardiff and tasted of
it will bear witness.

Now there was the flutter of a red dress in the doorway, and Roger
looked up to meet the gaze of a pretty, brown-eyed girl, whose flushed
cheeks took on a deeper color as she smiled at the boy.

"That's him, Clara," called out Adrian. "That's him, 'n' I threw him,
too."

"Thet's your cousin Clara," put in Mr. Kimball. "I guess ye never seen
her before, 'cause th' last time yer mother were here, Clara wa'n't born
yit, 'n' I vum, ye was such' a leetle chap, thet it were hard work t'
locate ye, in yer long dresses," and he laughed heartily at the
remembrance.

Clara held out her hand, which Roger shook warmly. She was a girl of
fourteen, and was almost as large as Roger. He thought her one of the
prettiest girls he had ever seen.

"I'm so glad you got here safely," she said. "I suppose Ade made you
wrestle as soon as you got off the stage. I believe he would rather roll
in the dirt that way than eat," and she glanced at her brother, who was
turning a handspring nimbly.

"Not much I wouldn't! Not when I know supper's so near ready," answered
Adrian, landing on his feet near Clara.

Then Roger became aware of the nicest odor coming from the region of the
kitchen. He thought it was the best he had ever smelled, for he was
hungry, more hungry than he had been in several weeks, as his appetite
had not been good of late. Now it seemed as if he could not get to the
table quickly enough.

Once in the house Mrs. Kimball lost no time. She led Roger to his room,
a pleasant chamber next to where Adrian slept, and, when she had seen
his valise and trunk brought up, and showed him where the washbowl and
pitcher of water could be found, she left him to prepare for supper.

For a minute or two Roger felt a flood of lonesomeness come over him. It
was so very quiet, out there in the country, more quiet than he had ever
supposed it possible to be. Even though it was only six o'clock, it was
more silent than at midnight in New York, where, indeed, there is never
lack of noise. Through the open window of the room came only the faint
rattle of a distant wagon down the dusty road, and the chirp of
crickets, that had begun their evening song early. For the first time
since Roger had started he wished himself home again. It wasn't half as
nice, this going away, as he had thought it would be. He felt a lump
coming into his throat and a trace of moisture into his eyes.

Surely he couldn't be going to cry? What, cry? Of course not. Who ever
heard of such a thing, even though it did seem lonesome just at first,
you know, and even though he couldn't help feeling a trifle homesick. He
controlled his feelings, poured out the water, and dashed it into his
face vigorously. When he had finished using the towel he broke into a
cheery whistle that penetrated to the rooms below; and then he bethought
himself of his determination to wrestle and throw Adrian some day. He
was ready to go downstairs now.

It was a very merry supper. Roger had his first taste of salt-rising
bread, which is made without yeast, and he voted it the best he ever
ate. He had fresh buckwheat honey, which had been taken from the hives
that same day, his uncle told him. Then there was crisp, brown ham, and
golden eggs, sugar-coated crullers, and rich creamy milk, and Roger
surprised himself by the manner in which he put away the victuals.

The evening was spent in the "settin' room," as Mrs. Kimball called it,
where they had kerosene lamps, which seemed strange to the city boy,
used only to gas or electricity. About nine o'clock Roger's eyes began
to get heavy, and to feel as if they had sticks in them. His head
nodded once or twice, even while his uncle was talking to him.

"Bedtime," announced Mr. Kimball, suddenly, and Roger was glad to hear
him say so. With a small lamp his aunt lighted the way to his room.

"I say!" called Adrian from his apartment, when Roger had settled snug
between the cool sheets,--"I say, Roger."

"Well?"

"We'll go fishing to-morrow. I know a deep hole where we can get some
dandy fat chubs."

"Good," called Roger, through his open door. "That will be sport."

He fell to listening to the dreamy chirp of the crickets and the
trilling of the tree-toads. Gradually these sounds became fainter and
fainter, and at last he could only hear them as if the insects were a
score of miles away. Roger was sound asleep.




CHAPTER IV

IN DEEP WATER


The sun was well up over the eastern hills, shining down warm and mellow
on Cardiff valley when Roger awoke next morning. At first he could
scarcely remember where he was, so many changes of location had he gone
through lately. He looked at the old-fashioned wall paper, listened to
the rustling of the wind in the trees, and wondered if he was not
dreaming. Then he gradually recalled the events of the day before. He
got out of bed with a jump, and was dressing when Adrian came in.

"Hello, Roger," was the greeting, "how'd you sleep?"

"Fine," answered Roger.

Then Adrian looked at the clothes his cousin was putting on. It was the
same suit Roger had worn when he arrived.

"Oh, I say," exclaimed Adrian. "Don't tog out in these. We're going
fishing, you know, and you'll need your old duds to go through the woods
with. You'll spoil a good suit."

Then for the first time Roger realized that he didn't have to dress for
school. He remembered that he was not going to study his lessons, and
had only to go out into the air and sunshine, to listen to the birds,
and to tramp through the fields. For the first time it came to him
that, even though he was not as well and strong as many other boys,
there was a good time ahead of him, and a chance for him to become as
sturdy as Adrian.

"That's so, we are going fishing to-day," remarked Roger. "I'd forgotten
all about it, I slept so soundly. I thought I was back in New York."

He made haste to replace his good suit with an older though serviceable
one, which would stand hard usage. Then the two boys went down to
breakfast, which meal, Roger was sure, tasted even better than the
supper of the night previous.

"Wa'al, what's th' schedule fer t'-day?" asked Mr. Kimball, as he gulped
down his second cup of coffee. "You boys goin' arter b'ar er mountain
lions?"

"Are there bears in these woods?" inquired Roger, eagerly.

"Mussy sakes, no!" exclaimed Mrs. Kimball, "but 't wouldn't be yer Uncle
Bert ef he did n't fool some un. Skunks 'n' squirrels, 'n' onct in a
while a wild-cat, is th' biggest beasts in these parts."

"Now, mother," began Mr. Kimball, his mouth half full of potato, "ye
know there is b'ars in th' woods. Didn't ye run away from one last fall,
when ye were pickin' blackberries? Now, own up, did n't ye?"

"Oh, thet one," answered Mrs. Kimball, as she set a plate of buckwheat
cakes in front of Roger. "He was th' tame b'ar thet got away from th'
Italian organ grinder."

"Scared ye most int' a spasm, though," commented Mr. Kimball, laughing
so heartily that he nearly choked on a piece of bread.

"Go along 'n' eat yer breakfust, 'n' git at th' chores," advised Mrs.
Kimball, smiling a bit at the recollection of the incident.

"We're going over to Limestone creek, fishing," said Adrian. "George
Bennett was there yesterday and got fifteen chub."

"Got any bait?" asked Mr. Kimball.

"Going to dig some right away," replied Adrian, trying to make short
work of the meal. Roger, too, was busy with the victuals.

"Now I don't know 'bout this," began Mr. Kimball with a grave air, in
contrast to his former jolly tone. "Roger didn't come out here t' start
right in 'n' tramp eight er ten miles, 'n' git all tired out. His mother
'n' father wants him t' rest up, 'n' git lots a' fresh air. Now, Ade, I
don't know's I ought t' let you two go. What d' ye say, Roger?"

"I don't feel at all tired," answered the boy. "I am not sure I could
walk eight miles, but--"

"It's less than two miles there, pop," broke in Adrian, "and, say, you
need n't worry, but I'll take care of Roger. We'll walk slow."

"I guess I can tramp as far as the creek," put in Roger, feeling a
little nettled that his physical ability should so often come up for
discussion.

"Wa'al, all right," assented Mr. Kimball. "It's a nice day, 'n' I guess
it won't hurt ye none. Look out ye don't fall in, that's all. It's deep
near th' hole where th' best fishin' is."

"We'll be careful," promised Adrian.

Breakfast over Adrian got out the fishing tackle and a spade with which
to dig the worms for bait. Roger was provided with a bamboo pole and the
necessary line, hooks, and sinkers. Then, when Adrian announced, after
spading a good-sized patch of the barnyard up, that they had bait enough
in the tin can, the two boys shouldered their poles and started off.

The way to the creek was along the main street of Cardiff, which ran
through the centre of the village, up to the cross-road, that led
eastward to the town of Lafayette. At this point the path went west,
twisting and turning along the highway, over the hills to Onondaga Lake,
twenty miles away. This was the first glimpse Roger had of the hamlet of
Cardiff, except for the hasty glances as he had passed through on the
stage the evening before. There were not more than sixty houses in the
place, all comfortably close together, on the two sides of the main
street.

Here and there, spread out along other roads, were scattered farms, with
big, roomy, white houses and weather-stained barns and corn-cribs.

The boys passed over the little brook that ran across the road, just
beyond Adrian's home, the stream being spanned by a wooden bridge. Soon
they came to Hank Mack's general store, where you could buy a plow or a
yard of red calico, a stick of candy or some gunpowder, a loaf of bread
or a salt mackerel. Then there was the blacksmith shop, in the door of
which stood Sam Bennett, and, next, the grist mill, kept by Truem
Wright, as jolly a chap as one would care to meet in the course of a
day's travel. The last building, save some houses, before the boys came
to the turn of the road, was the public inn or tavern, which bore the
name "The Pine Tree. Abe Crownheart, Proprietor," in big faded blue
letters over the door.

It was still early in the day, but nearly all the people in Cardiff
seemed to be up and about. The men and women whom Adrian met nodded or
spoke to him, and glanced rather curiously at Roger, for strangers were
not common in town. A walk of half a mile brought the boys to the
cross-road, and they went down that some distance before Adrian
indicated the place where they were to cut across lots to reach the
creek. Through the fields they went, most of the land they found
themselves travelling over having been given up to the raising of corn,
which was now gathered in shocks, ready to be husked, leaving the heavy
brown stubble sticking out of the earth.

"Don't know's we'll have much luck to-day," said Adrian, rather
dubiously, as he wet his finger and held it up in the air to note which
side felt coolest, and so determine the direction of the breeze.

"Why not?"

"South wind."

"What's that got to do with fishing?"

"Lots. Didn't you ever hear that? Why we never go fishing if the wind's
south. It wasn't there when we started, but I guess it shifted. There's
a verse that says: 'When the wind's in the west the fish bite best;
when the wind's in the south it blows the hook out their mouth.' But
maybe we'll get a few."

"I hope so, after all our work," said Roger.

"If I don't, it won't be the first time, for me," added Adrian, as
though to prepare for the worst.

They tramped for half a mile more, and then, turning down a well-beaten
path, Adrian led the way to an opening amid a grove of willow trees,
along the edge of the creek. The stream, which was broad and deep here,
curved around from a point, and formed an eddy that had eaten quite a
distance into the bank. This eddy was used as a swimming hole by the
boys of the village, but now the water was a little too cool for that
sport, so the fish were not disturbed in what Adrian knew was one of
their favorite haunts.

It did not take long to rig the lines on the poles, bait the hooks, and
cast in. Though Roger never had much chance to go fishing in the city,
the necessity of keeping quiet was apparent to him, and he moved about
as slowly and as easily as he could, standing in a place Adrian had
pointed out. Then he softly dropped the hook, with the wiggling,
dangling worm, into the water. Adrian did likewise, and then the boys
began to exercise that patience which all good fishermen are supposed to
be blessed with.

Roger felt a little tired from the tramp, and, after he had stood for
several minutes, he ventured to sit down on a piece of drift-wood that
was on the edge of the bank. Adrian, not feeling the strain of walking,
preferred to stand. It was very quiet along the edge of the creek,
screened as it was by the fringe of willows. Now and then a late-staying
bird, that had not yet flown south, darted in and out among the trees.
The dried cornstalks rustled in the wind, and there was a pleasant smell
in the air. Altogether it was a most delightful place to fish.

"I've got a bite," whispered Adrian, suddenly, and Roger noticed his
cousin's line trembling and shaking just where it entered the water.
"Watch me pull him out," went on Adrian softly.

The next instant he yanked his pole high in the air, and, dangling on
the end of the line, twisting and flopping so that its silvery sides
reflected the sun, was a good-sized fish. Roger leaped to his feet to
see the catch, which his cousin landed on the ground with a thud. He
started back to where the prize lay on the grassy bank, and then he felt
something give way beneath him. He seemed to be falling down, and in
desperation he clutched wildly at the air. He heard Adrian shouting, as
though he was miles away, and the next he knew the waters of the creek
closed above his head. A part of the bank where he had been sitting had
broken off, and carried him into the stream with a splash of the deep
water.

Roger thought he would never stop sinking down and down into the pool,
and, though at this point it was only about ten feet deep, the boy
imagined it must be three times that. He had kept hold of the pole when
he fell, and he dimly knew that his hands still grasped it as he tried
to strike out and spring to the surface. It was black as night all
around him, and the waters roared and sang in his ears.

For a half minute Adrian was so frightened by his cousin's disappearance
he did not know what to do. He felt sure Roger would be drowned, and,
already, he was charging himself with the responsibility for it.

Then a determination to save him came into the boy's mind. With a quick
motion he peeled off his coat, cast aside his cap, and, with his knife,
rapidly slit the laces of his shoes, as the easiest and most expeditious
way of undoing them. He kicked the leathers from him, leaped to the edge
of the bank, and was about to dive into the water when he saw Roger's
head bob up.

"Don't be afraid!" called Adrian. "I'll save you!"

He poised for the spring, but, to his surprise, instead of seeing Roger
helplessly floundering in the creek, he noticed that his cousin was
calmly treading water to keep himself afloat, for it was hard to swim
weighed down by clothes and shoes.

"Look out! Here I come!" cried Adrian.

"D-don't d-don't," stuttered Roger, his teeth chattering. He was a
little out of breath. "I c-c-can get o-o-out a-all r-r-right! I was a
l-l-little s-s-surprised a-at first!"

[Illustration: "Roger held up the fish pole so that Adrian could grasp
it"]

Adrian noticed that his cousin was making his way slowly toward more
shallow water. When he got to a point half way to the bank Roger held up
the fish pole, so that Adrian could grasp it. The latter saw the idea at
once, and, with a quick motion, he took hold of the bamboo rod, and
pulled his cousin along until it was an easy matter for the boy to
walk out. Roger stepped on the shelving bank, below the swimming hole,
dripping water like a big Newfoundland dog. His breathing was rather
uncertain, and his teeth chattered, for the water was cold.

"I thought at first you were a goner," said Adrian, grasping Roger's
hand heartily. "I never imagined you could swim."

"I learned how in the free baths down at the Battery, in New York, where
we fellows used to go Saturdays," explained Roger. "Only that's salt
water, and it's easier to keep afloat in than this. I wasn't scared
after the first few seconds. It took me by surprise, and knocked the
breath out of me, that's all. I didn't know where I was for a little
while."

"I don't blame you," agreed Adrian. "Well, I guess that'll be about all
the fishing to-day," he went on. "You'd better hurry home with me, and
get dry clothes on, so you won't catch cold. If it was July instead of
October it wouldn't matter so much. So come on; let's run for it."

They started off across the fields at a smart trot, and soon reached the
road. They got there just as a man came along, driving a light wagon.

"It's Enberry Took, who lives right below us," explained Adrian. "He'll
give us a lift. Hey, Enberry!"

"Whoa!" exclaimed the man in the wagon, pulling the horse up. "Been
fishin', boys, or swimmin'?" he asked as he looked at Roger dripping
water, and at the solitary fish Adrian carried. Then Mr. Took smiled
grimly, perhaps suspecting what had happened.

"We've been doing a little of both," explained Adrian. "Can we ride home
with you, Enberry? This is my cousin, Roger, from New York. He's here on
a visit."

"Hop in," invited Mr. Took, shortly, and, when the two boys were settled
in the bottom of the wagon, he whipped up his horse, which trotted over
the ground in good shape. Almost before Roger and Adrian knew it they
were at the gate of their house, greatly surprising Mrs. Kimball and
amusing her husband, who laughed heartily when he learned there was no
harm done.

"You'll make out all right," he said to Roger, as the boy went to change
his wet clothes for dry ones; "you've got a level head on your
shoulders, even if ye do live in New York. I'm proud on ye, thet's what
I am; I'm proud on ye, Roger."




CHAPTER V

GATHERING THE HONEY


Whether it was the country air, or the exercise Roger took after his
sudden bath, he did not know, but he felt no ill effects from the plunge
into the creek, nor did he catch cold. There was merry laughter over the
affair when he came downstairs dressed in a dry suit, and, on Mr.
Kimball's suggestion, the boys decided they had gone through enough
excitement for one day.

"I would think Roger needed a rest," said Clara.

"Ef ye ain't got nothin' else t' do this arternoon, Ade," said Mr.
Kimball, "ye might git off some a' th' clover honey. I'm goin' t' send a
load a' stuff t' Syracuse in th' mornin', 'n' I'll want some honey t'
take 'long."

"Would you like to help at that?" asked Adrian of Roger. "It's easy
work."

"I guess so," replied Roger, who thought it would be interesting to see
how the busy little bees worked and made the sweet stuff he had eaten
the first night he came. So the boys made their preparations after
dinner, which was soon served.

Mr. Kimball had about two hundred swarms, or hives, of bees, the little
houses for the insects being arranged in rows in an orchard just south
of the farm dwelling. The honey crop had been nearly all gathered in
when Roger came, but some of the later swarms were still busy filling up
the "caps" with the sweet juices of flowers. Adrian got out two big
straw hats, around the edges and coming down on all sides of which was
mosquito netting like a long veil. He put on one hat and gave the other
to Roger.

"What's it for?" asked the city boy.

"To keep you from getting stung."

"But," began Roger, his ardor cooling as he thought for the first time
of the chances of being nipped by the bees, "isn't it dangerous to go
out among the hives, even with these veils on?"

"Not a bit," replied Adrian.

But when he saw his cousin heading for the midst of the collection of
hives, Roger became somewhat apprehensive, in spite of the assurance. He
hung back a bit.

"There won't be any danger for you," said Adrian, observing his
hesitation. "I'll put you in a safe place, but if a buzzer or two does
come singing around you once in a while just keep perfectly still and it
won't hurt you. In fact it can't get at you with the veil on. You can
have a pair of gloves, too, so every part of you will be protected. Come
on."

Thus assured, though still a trifle doubtful, Roger advanced. As they
walked along the path to the orchard Roger noticed that Adrian carried
what looked like a big funnel, on the bottom or large part of which was
a leather bellows.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"To smoke the bees."

"Smoke the bees?"

"Yes; you'll see in a minute."

On the edge of the apiary was a tool house and another building where
the honey and bee hives were stored in for winter, for here in the north
bees cannot exist through the cold weather out of doors. Entering the
tool house Adrian collected some small pieces of wood and some shavings,
and built a little fire in the tin funnel, to which the bellows was
attached, using the folded leather arrangement to make a good draught.

Adjusting his hat so that the mosquito netting veil hung down all around
his head, Adrian started out with the smoke-machine trailing a fleecy
cloud behind him.

"Come on," he called to Roger, handing him a pair of gloves. "Put these
on. They're rubber, you see, and the bees can't put their stingers
through them."

"Where's yours?" asked Roger, as he drew the gauntlets well over his
wrists.

"Oh, I couldn't take off honey in gloves. They'd be too clumsy. But I
seldom get stung barehanded, and if I do I don't mind one or two. Got
used to 'em. A little ammonia on the sting takes the pain out."

He kept on toward the cluster of hives, and Roger could not help
noticing how much his cousin seemed like a diver, with the big head
piece on. He, himself, must look the same, he thought.

"You see," explained Adrian, as he saw Roger glancing curiously at the
rows of bee houses, "each hive is divided into two parts, top and
bottom. In the lower part the bees live, raise their young, and store
honey in what we call the big sections. These are beeswax combs, set in
light wooden frames. In the top part of the hive are several smaller,
square, wooden frames, into which the bees build the comb and fill it
with honey. When they have these upper sections filled and capped up, or
sealed over, we lift them off and sell them."

"It's rather rough on the bees," observed Roger.

"We always leave them enough," explained Adrian.

As he talked Adrian approached the bee colonies.

"You'd better stay back, now, under that tree," he called to Roger, and
the latter was glad enough not to be asked to go any nearer the hives,
from which he could hear a busy, droning hum. He much preferred to watch
Adrian from this vantage point.

He saw his cousin come up to one of the bee houses from the rear. First
the top cover was carefully lifted off, and this was set on the ground,
edge up. Next Adrian lifted up a piece of oilcloth that kept all
possible dampness from the honey. As soon as this was moved aside Roger
saw a black moving mass of bees crawling upward. Adrian quickly took the
smoker and puffed a gentle white cloud of vapor on the insects. In an
instant they melted away, scurrying downward. The smoke irritated them
and made them drowsy, and they wanted to get away from its smarting
vapor. This made it safe for any one to work about the hive, under the
protection of fumes from the burning wood.

This left free the upper section of the hive, which was filled with caps
full of the clear white, or darker buckwheat honey, the bees being
below. Adrian then lifted off the whole top part of the little house,
and Roger could see that it contained a number of the full caps, in this
case there being only the white clover honey. Setting his load down on
top of the hive next to him, Adrian replaced the cover on the first
hive. Then he puffed several more clouds of smoke on the top section he
had just removed, to drive away the few remaining bees that were loath
to leave their property.

Adrian carried the section, which contained twenty-four small caps, to
the bee house, and returned to repeat the operation on other hives.
Roger looked on with much interest as Adrian worked rapidly.

"Got stung yet?" he called to his busy cousin.

"One nipped me on the finger a bit, but I don't mind that. I'm used to
it. Are they bothering you?"

"Well," answered Roger, moving his head from side to side, "some of 'em
seem anxious to make my acquaintance, but the veil keeps 'em away. All
the same they make me nervous."

"We'll soon go inside," called back Adrian. "I'm only going to take off
a few more. Then we'll box it and be through."

He removed half a dozen more hive-tops, with the honey-filled sections,
each one containing twenty-four pounds of the sweet stuff, a pound to a
cap. Then, when he had given the few bees that got in the storehouse a
chance to escape, Adrian prepared to pack the honey for market. To do
this it was first necessary to scrape from each wooden cap, or the
small, one-pound honey boxes, the beeswax that, here and there, marred
the clean white wood. Roger wanted to help at this, and, as he could do
it safely, Adrian got two dull knives, and he and his cousin began.

"Be sure to keep the caps standing on the same end they are on now,"
cautioned Adrian.

"Why? What difference does it make?"

"A good deal. If you change 'em around any, and there happens to be some
cells that aren't capped over, the honey will run out."

Then Adrian showed Roger that the honey-comb, which is familiar to
almost every one, was composed of a number of openings or cells, shaped
like a hexagon. These cells were double, there being two sets of them,
back and front, in each cap, and they were divided down the middle by a
wall of wax. The wise bees gave to each cell a downward slant toward
this dividing wall, so that when they had filled them with honey the
sweet stuff would not run out. Then, as a further precaution, each tiny
opening was sealed over with wax. But sometimes the bees neglected to
seal up one or two cells in a cap, and unless these particular ones were
kept upright, with the openings slanting downward, there would be a fine
mess.

"These caps are pretty well sealed," observed Adrian, "but you always
have to be careful," and he was on the lookout to see that no mistakes
were made.

The two boys now busied themselves with scraping off the dried wax from
the outside of the caps, and, as each one was finished it was placed in
a pasteboard box, labelled with the contents "White clover honey," and
with Mr. Kimball's name and address.

"Dad's got a good honey crop this year," commented Adrian. "Plenty of
white clover, which sells better than buckwheat, though I don't like it
so well as the dark honey."

"What do they call it buckwheat for? Because it's made from buckwheat
flour?"

"Land no. Because it's from the sweet juices of the buckwheat flowers.
Lots of people say buckwheat honey is too strong for 'em, but we all
like it better than clover, which is made from clover blossoms.
Buckwheat seems to have a sort of 'whang' to it, dad says."

"Wa'al, boys, how ye makin' out?" asked a deep voice from the doorway,
and Mr. Kimball entered the storeroom.

"All right, I guess," answered Roger.

"Glad t' hear it. We'll make a reg'lar bee-farmer out a' ye 'fore ye git
home."

He carefully inspected the boys' work and seemed satisfied with it.

"I guess that'll do fer this trip," he remarked to Adrian, counting the
caps. "Say, Ade," he went on, "how'd you 'n' Roger like t' take a load
a' grapes over t' Tully t'-morrow? Andrews wrote me he could use some."

"I thought you were going to take the horses to the city with your
load," replied Adrian.

"So I be, but I'll borrow Truem Wright's hoss 'n' wagon ef ye think ye
kin git over Tully hill 'ith th' rig. I'd send Jim, th' hired man, only
I want him t' pick grapes t'-morrow when I'm gone. What d' ye say? Want
t' go?"

"Do you?" asked Adrian of Roger.

"I think it would be lots of fun," replied the city boy. "I'll be glad
to go along."

"All right, dad; you go and ask Truem for the horse, and to-night Roger
and I'll load up the wagon so's to start early in the morning," said
Adrian.

"Aren't you boys hungry?" asked some one standing in the doorway, and
they all looked up to see Clara with a big plate of freshly baked
molasses cookies.

"Hungry? Well, I just guess we are," exclaimed Adrian, as he held the
plate and passed it to Roger, who took a cake. Adrian helped himself to
two, and Mr. Kimball was not satisfied with less than three, which he
munched successively with every indication of satisfaction.

"No use talkin'," he said, looking at Roger with a twinkle in his blue
eyes, "your aunt does bake the best cookies in Onondaga County," and he
took a fourth one, while Clara laughed merrily to see her father's
enjoyment of the little lunch she had provided.

"They are certainly fine," agreed Roger, finishing his second one.

The plate was soon emptied, and Clara offered to go for more, but they
all voted they had enough for the present. Then Mr. Kimball cut open one
of the caps of honey, and he and the boys ate the sweet stuff, which, a
short time before had been in the hive.

"Don't you want some?" asked Roger of Clara, offering her a thick slice
of the comb.

"No, thank you," she replied. "I've eaten so much this last month I'm
afraid I'll turn into a bee," and she hurried back to the house with a
ringing laugh.

It was only four o'clock when the honey had all been packed ready for
shipment, and Mr. Kimball left to make arrangements for the trip
to-morrow. Adrian, for whom there was no more work that afternoon,
proposed to Roger that they take a walk to Truem Wright's grist mill. So
they tramped up the street to where the mill stood on the edge of a
pond.

They met quite a number of boys and girls carrying tin pails and books,
and most of the youngsters spoke to Adrian as he passed them.

"Where are they from?" asked Roger.

"School's out."

"Oh, sure enough. I'd almost forgotten there was such a thing. But don't
you go?"

"Not until winter sets in," said Adrian. "You see there's too much to do
about the farm, and then I'm pretty well along in what they teach here.
They're going to have a higher class for the older pupils in January,
and I'll start in then."

The boys soon came to the mill.

"Hello, Ade!" cried a man, who seemed to be covered from head to foot
with white dust. "Heard ye went fishin' yist'day," he went on. "Ketched
a whale, didn't ye?" and he laughed so heartily that he almost shook the
side of the building.

"Well, we did have some such luck," admitted Adrian. "But, say, Truem,
can we come in? Are you running now? This is my cousin Roger, from New
York."

"He were th' whale I were referrin' t'," said Mr. Wright, laughing
again.

Roger smiled and bowed to the dusty miller, who held out a huge white
hand for him to shake.

"Yep, come right in," said Mr. Wright, genially. "I'm grindin' a bit a'
flour fer George Bennett."

The boys advanced into the dusty place, which shook and trembled with
the whirring vibrations of the two big millstones. They watched these
spinning around, grinding the wheat into a fine, light dust.

"What power does he use?" asked Roger, who was somewhat surprised to see
no sign of an engine.

"Turbine water wheel," said Adrian. "Come along and I'll show you." He
led the way to where, at the bottom of a deep pit, the turbine roared
around and around with the weight and force of the water that fell on it
from above, a dam giving the necessary head. This furnished the power
for the entire mill. It was all very interesting to Roger, who had never
seen anything of the kind. Before he realized how quickly time passed,
it was almost the hour for supper, so he and Adrian raced home, both
bearing good appetites.




CHAPTER VI

A LOAD OF GRAPES


When the boys reached the house they found Mrs. Kimball just putting
supper on the table. There was a delicious smell, which Roger at first
did not recognize.

"Hurrah!" cried Adrian. "That's what I like!"

"What?"

"Fried chicken and corn bread. Can't anybody beat mother at that."

"Nor at anything else in the cooking line, I guess," agreed Roger.

The two boys made short work of washing up and combing their hair, and
when they hurried down to the kitchen they had hungry looks that did
Mrs. Kimball good to see.

"I can't abide a poor eater," she said, as she heaped Roger's plate with
the crisp brown chicken, fried in sweet butter, and handed him a plate
of smoking hot golden-yellow corn bread. "I do like t' see a body pitch
in 'n' eat th' victuals set afore 'em," she went on. "After a body goes
t' work 'n' gits up a good meal, it's mighty disparagin' t' see th'
things scorned down on. I'm glad t' see ye eat, Roger. Yer appetite's
improved wonderful already. Yer uncle 'n' cousin usually don't need
much urgin' in th' eatin' line," she added significantly, as she
glanced at her husband's and son's well-heaped plates.

"I guess not," mumbled Mr. Kimball, picking up a nicely browned wing,
and munching it with every indication of enjoyment. "I guess not, Mrs.
Kimball."

Clara and her mother now sat down, and the meal progressed merrily.
Roger almost forgot the homesickness that had twinged him once or twice
during the day. The supper was about over when some one knocked at the
kitchen door, opening it at the same time and calling out:

"I brought your mail, neighbor Kimball."

"Thanks, Enberry," said the farmer, as he got up to take several letters
which Mr. Took had brought from the post-office. "Won't ye set down 'n'
hev a bite, Enberry?"

"No, thanks; got t' do my chores yit. How's th' drowned boy?"

"Oh, I'm all right," called out Roger, "and I'm much obliged for getting
me home so quick."

"Allers willin' t' do a neighborly turn," said Mr. Took, as he went out.

"Hello!" exclaimed Roger's uncle, looking at the addresses on the
envelopes by the light of the kerosene lamp, "Hello! Here's a letter for
you, Mr. Roger Anderson."

"It's from mother," cried the boy, as he caught sight of the beloved
writing, and for a few minutes he paid no attention to what went on
around him, as he read the news from the dear ones at home. It told him
all were well, and how they missed him greatly.

"Take good care of yourself," Mrs. Anderson wrote, "and, though I shall
miss you very much, though we all miss you, we hope your visit to
Cardiff will do you good."

There was a little mist in the boy's eyes as he saw, in memory, the
pleasant little circle about the table at home; his father reading, his
mother sewing, and the baby building a wonderful house of blocks.

"Wa'al, what's th' news?" asked Mr. Kimball, in his deep hearty voice,
and Roger told him what his mother had written.

It was not long before supper was over, and, while Mrs. Kimball and
Clara were clearing away the dishes, Roger, with his uncle and cousin,
went out to the barn, where, by the light of a lantern, the two wagons
were loaded up, ready for an early start on the next day's trip. Mr.
Kimball was to take his own horses and wagon to Syracuse with a load of
produce, while Roger and Adrian would have Truem Wright's rig.

The last basket of grapes, the last crate of honey, and the celery,
potatoes, and cabbage had been piled securely on the vehicles. Mr.
Kimball pulled out his big silver watch.

"Hello!" he cried. "Nine o'clock. Time to go t' bed, fer we'll hev t' be
up early in th' mornin'. Skedaddle, all on ye!"

The boys hurried to the house, laughing and shouting in anticipation of
the pleasant trip next day.

That night Roger dreamed he was swimming in a big green pond, while a
swarm of bees carrying bunches of grapes flew buzzing after him. He
thought a whole hive of the insects were about to settle down on him,
when he was caught by a big fish that shook him in its mouth as a dog
might a rat. Then he awoke suddenly to find that the shaking was being
done by his cousin Adrian, who stood bending over him, pulling him by
the arm. A lamp burned in the room.

"What's the matter? Is the house afire?" asked Roger, as he jumped up in
alarm.

"Land sakes, no," said Adrian, "but if we're going to Tully with the
grapes, we'll have to start pretty soon. Dad went some time ago. Dress,
and we'll have breakfast."

Roger looked out of the window while putting his clothes on. It was just
getting faintly light, and some stars were still to be seen. From the
kitchen there came the good smell of hot coffee and buckwheat cakes with
fried sausage, and Roger knew his aunt was up.

While the boys were eating the excellent breakfast Mrs. Kimball set on
the table, she put them up a good lunch in a basket, as they would not
be home to dinner. In a short time they were ready for the start, and
the wagon clattered out the side yard, Adrian driving the big white
horse.

It was a pleasant trip to Tully, a town about eight miles from Cardiff.
The first part of the journey was along the valley road, but at the
upper end of this there began an ascent, which led up a steep hill to a
sort of plateau on the small mountain top.

Past the scattered farmhouses they drove in the early dawn, and they
had proceeded nearly a mile before the sun peeped up smiling from behind
the hills, to send the gray, misty fog swirling lazily upward. The white
horse pulled nobly up the incline, stopping now and then to rest at the
"thank-'e-ma'ams," as certain places in the road were called; being
mounds of earth dug across the highway, designed to prevent the too
sudden rush of water down the hill during a rain. These hummocks served
to divert the water to one side like a gutter, and also made good
resting places, for they held the rear wheels of the wagon. At length
the boys reached the top of the hill and started off on a level stretch
for Tully, where Andrews Brothers had a store, at which Mr. Kimball sold
considerable produce.

James Andrews, one of the brothers, was arranging some barrels of apples
outside the place when Adrian drove up.

"Good morning, Mr. Andrews," called Adrian.

"Same to you," replied the store-keeper, heartily. "What brings you over
here so early?"

"I've got that load of grapes you ordered of my father."

"Load of grapes?" with a puzzled air.

"Yes. Father got your letter, and he didn't have time to come over
himself to-day, so I made the trip."

"But I didn't order any grapes--Oh, yes, I did, come to think of it;
but, Ade, I didn't want 'em until next week. I said so in my letter.
Let's see, to-day is the 18th. I ordered 'em for the 26th. Can't
possibly use 'em this week, for I've got all I need. Sorry," as he saw
the disappointed look on the boy's face. "Just tell your father if he
looks at my letter he'll see I asked him to send a load over next week.
Better try some of the other stores, they might need 'em."

"Well," said Adrian, slowly, "I s'pose you're right, Mr. Andrews, and
father must have read your letter wrong. So I guess the only thing to do
is to try to get rid of this load over at Smith's or Brown's."

"Don't forget I 'll want some a week from to-day," cautioned Mr. Andrews
as Adrian drove off. "Be sure and tell your father."

"I will," called back Adrian.

Two rather sober-faced boys watched the white horse slowly jog along the
Tully street. They had expected to unload the grapes, get the money and
have a nice drive back, taking their time. But the wrong date had upset
their plans. However there was a chance that Mr. Brown or Mr. Smith
might need grapes, and the prospect of selling their produce there
brightened matters for a little while. But their hopes were soon
shattered, for, at both places, the supply of this fruit was large
enough to last several days, though both proprietors said they would be
in the market next week.

"Well," said Roger, slowly, as they turned about from a visit to the
last store, "I suppose the only thing to do is to go back home."

"What? And with this load of grapes unsold?" exclaimed Adrian. "Not
much! I came to Tully to sell them, and I'm going to do it."

"How?"

"By peddling them from house to house. Dad expects me back with the
money for these, and I'm going to bring it if I can. You needn't help if
you don't want to. I suppose you're not used to peddling, but I've done
it before."

"Well, I guess I will help," replied Roger, a little hurt to think that
his cousin felt he wouldn't stand by him in an emergency. "Here, we'll
drive along, and I'll take one side of the street, and you can go on the
other."

"That'll be just the thing," said Adrian.

So the two boys started in to get rid of the fruit. They went from house
to house, carrying the baskets with the covers off to show the big red,
white, and purple clusters. They inquired politely of the villagers
whether they didn't need some freshly picked grapes, at ten or fifteen
cents a basket, and, before they had been in half a dozen places each
one had sold four. The bony old white horse jogged slowly along the
road, contentedly stopping now and then to nibble a sweet bunch of
grass.

At first Roger was a little bashful about going to houses peddling, for
he had never done that sort of thing before. But he soon got the knack
of it, and, though at several places the old ladies said they thought
they wanted no fruit that day, he didn't mind the refusals. Adrian had
good luck on his side of the road, and sold many baskets. By noon they
had gone over all of the main and only street in Tully, and had disposed
of a little more than half the load.

"I guess we can't sell any more here," said Adrian as he counted over
his money.

"What'll we do? Go back home?"

"No, I guess we'll push on to Dagman's Corners. That's only four miles
farther, and we can peddle some on the way. But, come to think of it,
I'm hungry. Ain't you?"

"A little bit," admitted Roger with a laugh.

So the boys drove a short way out of the village, and pulled the white
horse up along side of a grassy bank. After Adrian had fixed the oats,
which they had brought with them, so that the patient nag could eat, he
opened the lunch his mother had put up for him and Roger. There was a
clear spring of water near by, and from this the boys and the horse
drank. It was like a picnic instead of work, Roger thought, as he
breathed in the pure, cool air, and felt his cheeks glowing in the
October sun.

The meal over they took a brief rest, and then resumed the trip. In the
next village they succeeded in disposing of all the remaining grapes,
the dusty miller of the town taking the last four baskets. Thus, with
about fifteen dollars snugly tucked away in his pocket, Adrian felt that
he and Roger had accomplished something worth while, for he had received
a little higher price for the fruit by peddling it around than if he had
sold it to Mr. Andrews, who would have paid wholesale rates, while the
boys had done business at retail.

"I don't call this bad," commented Adrian as he turned the horse for the
journey home.

"I should say not," agreed Roger, heartily.

It was the first time he had ever taken an active part in any real
business transactions, and it made him want to do more in that line when
he saw how self-reliant Adrian had been in the trading.

When the boys reached Tully on the return trip it was five o'clock. They
had eight miles to drive, but, as Adrian knew the road, he didn't mind
the gathering darkness, though to Roger it seemed strange, for he had
never driven in the country after nightfall. In the city it was very
light after dark, but here in Cardiff it was almost as black as ink when
twilight had faded, for there were no street lamps to dispel the gloom.

It was mostly down-hill going now, and the old white horse, knowing his
stable and a manger full of oats was ahead of him, jogged rapidly along.
It grew darker and darker, until, when they reached the top of the long
slope of Tully hill, the last vestige of the slanting rays of the sun
disappeared, and night had settled down. Calling cheerfully to the horse
Adrian whistled a merry tune, and Roger joined in. Then they talked of
various topics,--of the success of their trip, and what they would do
to-morrow and next day.

"That's the last house in the village of Tully," said Adrian, suddenly,
indicating a lonely cabin. "Pete Hallenbeck lives there, but he can't be
home to-night, or there'd be a light in the window. He's lived all alone
since his wife died. After we pass this there's not a place where
anybody lives for three miles, until we get to the edge of Cardiff."

They went along for a mile or so, whistling and singing. Suddenly there
was a jolt of the wagon, and Roger, who was sitting well toward the
front of the seat, felt himself thrown forward with considerable force.
Instinctively he stuck out his hands, and he felt them strike the broad
haunches of the horse. Then, with a rattle and bang he kept on falling
down until he had rolled out completely on the animal's back, and thence
off to one side, into the soft grass along the road, where he lay
stunned.

He could hear, as in a dream, Adrian faintly shouting to him, and then
something seemed to flash by him. There was a confused rattle and rumble
that grew fainter and fainter, and the blackness became more intense.

As if he was falling fast asleep he heard a voice calling: "Roger!
Roger!"

Then his eyes seemed to close tightly and he knew nothing more, as he
lay in a huddled heap on the ground.




CHAPTER VII

LOST ON THE MOUNTAIN


Roger seemed to be sinking down into some dark pit, falling lower and
lower, until he appeared to strike against something and bound upward. A
myriad of stars danced before his eyes, and, as he thus floated upward,
he instinctively put up his hands to avoid contact with whatever might
be above him. Then, with a suddenness that startled him, he came to his
senses and found himself sitting at the side of the road, in the damp
grass, while all around was pitchy blackness.

He rubbed his eyes and the back of his head, and he was somewhat alarmed
when his hand came away wet with blood from a slight wound. He tried to
stand, but found he was too tottery on his legs.

"Well," he managed to say, "there must have been an accident. I fell off
the wagon, that's sure, and from the way my head feels I must have
struck on a stone. Guess I cut myself too, but not badly," as he failed
to find any serious wound on his scalp.

He rubbed his hands in the damp grass and drew them out dripping with
dew. He dabbled this water on his forehead and felt better.

"I think the horse must have run away," he went on, "or else I'd see
something of Adrian by this time, though it's as dark as a pocket here,
and hard enough to locate your hand before your face, let alone somebody
away down the road."

Roger listened intently, but could catch no sound of rattling wheels,
nor the beating of a horse's hoofs, which might have indicated that the
wagon was coming back. All about was silence and darkness. The boy tried
again to stand up, and found that his momentary weakness had passed.

"I guess I'd better walk on until I meet Adrian," he said to himself.
"He'll be sure to be coming back soon," and he started off in the
direction he thought was toward Cardiff.

Now if Roger had lived all his life in the country, or if he had been
more familiar with the road, he probably would have had no trouble in
starting on the right way back home. Very likely he would have done so
instinctively; or he might have gotten his bearings from the stars,
which shone overhead, though somewhat dimly. As it was, he became
confused in the darkness, and, owing to a slight dizziness caused by his
fall, instead of going toward Cardiff, he began walking back toward
Tully.

He was a little sore and stiff at first, but, as he went on, this
disappeared, and he stepped out briskly enough. He thought he would not
have far to go before meeting his cousin, but, as he walked farther and
farther, he commenced to wonder what had become of Adrian. But then, he
reassured himself, perhaps Adrian had had some trouble in bringing the
old white horse to a stop, though the animal had not seemed to be such a
mettlesome steed.

"But I'll meet him soon, now," said Roger, trying to comfort himself.

He could feel the soft dusty road under his feet, and its whiteness was
like a big indistinct chalk mark on a large blackboard, as it came
faintly through the darkness. But, somehow or other, in a little while
the white mark seemed to be fading away. It grew so dim that even by the
hardest squinting of the eyes, it could no longer be seen. It appeared
also that the character of the road was changing. It was no longer dusty
and soft, but hard, and firm, and, instead of going down hill, Roger
found himself ascending the grade.

"Hold on!" exclaimed the boy, "this is queer. I must have turned
around."

He came to a sudden stop. Was he off the road? Was he lost? He hurriedly
searched through his pockets and found a single match. Here was
something that would aid him, though ever so slightly. With unsteady
fingers he struck the little fire-stick. It flared up, sputtered and
flickered, and, a second later, blazed brightly. Holding it above his
head, so the glow might light all around him, he peered about in the
gloom which was but faintly illuminated by the tiny flame.

What was his terror to see, on every side of him, a tall and thick
undergrowth of bushes and lofty trees. Beneath his feet was a narrow
path, while the forest appeared to meet above his head in a black arch.
Then, with a start, he realized he was lost; lost on the mountain, lost
in the dense woods about Cardiff. He did not know which way to turn.

Now if Roger had been an older boy or a sturdy country lad, he would
have laughed at the plight in which he found himself,--laughed a bit and
then tramped on and sat down, to wait until morning. But, as it was,
Roger was never more frightened in his life. Once he had been lost in
New York, when he was a little chap. But a big policeman had picked him
up and taken him to a precinct station-house, where he was kept until
his father, missing him, came after the lost boy.

But out here in the country there were no blue-coated officers on the
lookout for lost people. There were no police stations, no street
lights, no lights at all, in fact, save the little flicker that had died
away when Roger's single match went out.

When the last spark had become dim the boy's breath came with a gasp. He
wanted to run away from the blackness, but where could he flee to escape
it, for it was all about him. He felt like crying out; like shouting for
help. Then he suddenly recalled something his father had once said to
him.

"Roger, if you ever find yourself in danger, in a fire, or in any
position where you feel you'll lose your presence of mind, just stop,
and count ten. Then you'll be able to think calmly, and be able to help
yourself, and perhaps others."

This came back to the boy like a flash. He resolved to put it into
practice. Slowly he counted--1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. He said each
number in a loud voice. Even hearing his own tones did him good, and,
before he had reached the "nine" he felt himself growing calmer. At the
end he was less frightened, and he could think more clearly. Then he
began to reason, and before he knew it, he was turning a plan over in
his mind.

"I must have branched off the road into a path that goes through the
woods," he said, "and, at the same time, I must have got turned around,
and gone up hill, instead of down. Now let's see. If I turn back and
walk in just the opposite direction from which I'm facing now, and if I
am careful to keep going down hill, and stay in this path until I strike
the road again, I'll probably come out safely. So, then, right about
face! Forward, march!" He executed the command and started off bravely
in the other direction.

Roger now went along more slowly. He was cautious about where he set his
feet, that he might not stray from the path, and occasionally he stooped
down, and with his hands he felt the dirt under foot, to be positive he
was on the hard, packed path and not travelling over the wood-carpet. He
was in better spirits now and was sure he was going back the right way.
He even began to whistle a little tune and already saw himself safe in
his uncle's house, laughing with Adrian over their adventure.

But when he had gone on for some time in this way, there came over him a
nameless sense of disquietude. After all, was he really retracing his
steps, or was he advancing deeper into the woods? If he had a match or
two he could have easily seen his position. But he had not one. However,
he reflected, the nature of the ground he was travelling over might now
be of assistance to him. He leaned over again to feel of the way. As he
did so he brushed against some low-hanging branches of the trees, and
then, when his hand came in contact with the earth, Roger was startled
to find it met neither the hard packed clay of the path, nor the dust of
the road, but the dead leaves, the little twigs and broken limbs of
trees, and the soft moss of the forest.

Now, indeed, he knew he was fairly lost, and, when he stopped, and
listened intently, he heard, all around him, the rustle of the foliage,
the creaking of the boughs and the rattle of the branches of the deep
woods. He had now absolutely no sense of direction, no knowledge of
which way to turn. He caught his breath with a gasp, and then, feeling
his legs giving way beneath him, he put out his hands, which came
sharply up against a tree trunk, as he sank down on a fallen log.

For a few minutes Roger thought the fierce beating of his heart would
smother him. Then, realizing he must play the man now, he shut his lips
firmly, clenched his hands, and stared determinedly into the blackness
that was all around him.

"What a baby I am," he said. "All I have to do is to sit here until it's
light. Then I can easily get back into the path, or some one will find
me. That's what I'll do. I'll not move from this spot until I can see
where I am going."

So he made himself as comfortable as possible on the log, turned up his
coat collar, for it was cold, braced his back against the tree, and made
ready to sit out his vigil until morning. His first fear over, he now
looked upon the occurrence as a sort of queer little adventure.

"It will be something to write to mother about," he said, as he pulled
his hat on tightly.

For perhaps half an hour the boy sat there. He thought of all sorts of
things,--of his father, of his mother, and his little brother at
home--of how he had come to Cardiff. He went over all that he and Adrian
had done since he arrived.

Then he began to nod; a little at first, then more and more, until he
caught himself falling forward, almost asleep.

"My, my! I mustn't go off like this," he said, rubbing his eyes. "It
won't do to take a snooze here."

For a time he fought off the drowsiness, only to find it coming over
him more and more strongly. Oh, how nice it was out here in the woods.
There was a gentle wind, the leaves seemed to rustle and whisper
to him. Ah! He was floating away--away--off--off--to the land--of
nod--to--the--land--of--nod--the--land--of--nod--nod--nod!

Then! Roger was fast asleep!

No! Not asleep! He was on the verge. Just going to tumble over into the
finest feather bed he ever knew, when there was a noise that sounded
like a clap of thunder.

Crash!

Roger sat up, clutching the tree, against which he leaned, with a grip
of terror. His heart was going like a trip-hammer. There was the echo of
a great roaring in his ears. For a second he could not tell where he
was. Then came another noise, less loud.

Snap!

Ah! It was only the breaking of a twig. He calmed down. But what did it
mean? Somebody must be coming to find him. Of course, that was it.
Adrian and his father were searching.

Roger leaped to his feet. He peered into the darkness.

"Here I am, Adrian!" he called. "Here I am! Hey! Here's Roger!"

The echo of his own cry was the only answer. Then came another crackle
of the twigs, as if some one was approaching nearer. Roger strained his
eyes into the black depths of the forest. He could make out nothing.

Then, as he kept his gaze fixed on one spot, he saw something which
seemed to chill his heart. It was two small balls of greenish-red fire,
and they looked right at him. At the same time there came to the boy's
ears the sound of an angry snarl.




CHAPTER VIII

FIGHTING A WILD-CAT


For one fearful moment Roger felt a cold chill go creeping down his
spine, and he shivered in dread at the nameless thing which stood
growling there before him. He knew it must be some kind of a wild beast,
but what he hardly dared think.

"A bear!" he whispered, and he shrank closer against the tree. Then he
recalled what his aunt had said when Mr. Kimball had joked about the
denizens of the forest. She said there were no bears.

"Nothing worse than wild-cats," he remembered she had told him, and,
though to the frightened boy this was terrible enough, he was glad to
know it was not a bear which he could dimly see the outline of.

The thing, whatever it was, kept up its short, angry snarls, and Roger
could hear the sharp claws tearing at the bark of the fallen log. He
gazed at the two circles of greenish-red fire in a sort of fascination.

Just then the whole forest seemed to be flooded with a soft light that
stole in among the trees and sifted down through the leaves. It was the
moon that had risen high enough above the hills to give its illumination
to the scene. By the glowing beams Roger could make out the animal
about fifteen feet from him, crouching low on a fallen tree. It was a
beast perhaps two feet long, with a tail that swished from side to side,
and it had little short ears that seemed pointed toward him, to catch
the sound of any movement he might make. He could see the paws with
which the wild-cat, for such he knew it must be, held its position on
the log, by digging the knife-like claws into the soft bark. He could
see the little chips and slivers fly off, while the growls changed to a
half-whining cry.

For a moment the boy looked about in desperation, seeking which way to
flee. Off to the left he seemed to observe a little larger opening
between the trees than anywhere else. He sprang toward it with a bound.

Ere he had gone a dozen steps, stumbling in the half darkness over
sticks and stones, the wild-cat turned quickly, and with a light leap
was before him, waiting, waiting, waiting. The boy stopped short with a
shudder. He was very much afraid. Though the beast was not large, and
though it did not impress him half as much as did the tigers and lions
he had seen in Central Park, yet there was something terrifying in the
calm way it faced him.

It appeared to know there was nothing between itself and the defenceless
boy, and that no help was at hand. Though the beast was not half as big
as Roger, he knew the sharp claws and sharper teeth would cause death,
if once the animal got up courage enough to attack him. That this was
its intention the boy had no doubt, though he was sure the wild-cats to
be found in the mountains about Cardiff were more a danger and menace to
chickens and lambs than to human beings. The brutes were usually too
cowardly to attack man. But perhaps the night, the smallness of the boy
and his apparent terror had made the cat devoid of fear. At any rate, it
seemed to Roger to be ugly and bold enough to spring at him any minute.

Foiled in his plan to escape, the boy returned to the log where he had
been sitting. This was close against a big tree, and he felt that, with
his back to this, he was, in some measure, protected; at least from an
attack in the rear. As he retraced his steps the cat kept pace with him,
until both boy and beast were in the same relative positions they had
first occupied.

Roger now saw that it was to be a battle between himself and the
wild-cat, and he nerved himself for the fight. Had he dared, he would
have turned and run, but he seemed to see the cat come bounding after
him, with big leaps and jumps, and crouching for a final spring upon his
back. Then he recalled, with a shudder, what he had read of the terrible
tearing power of the claws of these animals. So there was but one thing
to do with any hope of success. That was to stand and fight off the
beast as long as possible. But what weapons had he? He hurriedly felt in
his pockets and all he could find was a small knife, which he knew would
be of little use when it came to close quarters. A stick, a club, or a
stone would be of more service. Yes, that would be better; a club, so
Roger stooped down, and while he kept his eyes fastened on the cat he
groped about on the ground with his hands to see what was there. He felt
his fingers close over a stout cudgel, and he rose, grasping it firmly,
and stood with his feet braced for the shock. He was less frightened now
that he had some sort of a weapon, poor as it was, and he knew he could
meet the attack on more even terms.

And it was high time he had thus prepared, for the cat now crouched
lower than before on the log and its claws worked more quickly, as Roger
could see by the light of the moon, which had risen higher.

He noticed the short ears pointed forward on the ugly head and the
parted lips disclosed the sharp white teeth. There was a convulsive
tremor of the lithe body, and then, from the opened mouth came a cry so
dismal, so weird and terrifying to the boy that he shivered in fear, and
felt his heart go thumping away under his ribs. The next instant the
wild-cat launched itself forward with a spring, straight at the boyish
figure that stood ready to meet it.

With a quick motion Roger lifted the short, heavy club, and then, as he
saw the beast directly in front of him, he gave a half turn, so that the
animal would sail past to the left. At the same time he brought the
stick down with all his force, aiming at the ugly head. He missed this
spot, but struck just behind it, as the brute passed him, and so close
was the cat that the claws in its nearest hind leg caught the lower part
of the boy's coat and tore it as if a sharp knife had cut it. The brute
landed some five feet beyond Roger, letting out a mingled howl of pain
and rage.

But the fight had only begun, and Roger knew if the wild thing returned
to the attack with the energy it had displayed at first he could
scarcely hope to beat it off again. However, the animal seemed disposed
to practise a little caution now and to be a trifle wary about repeating
its jump. The boy turned partly around and saw the beast come to a
sudden stop. Then it swung about and, making a little circle, ran
quickly and leaped lightly upon the fallen log, where it crouched, ready
for another spring.

But now Roger seemed to feel the deadly fear leaving him, and he almost
rejoiced in the thought of the battle that was to come, even though he
knew it was likely to result badly for himself. He had passed through
the first scrimmage and, like a soldier who has once been under fire, he
almost wished for another skirmish in the struggle.

He watched the animal with sharp eyes and was glad to find the light
increasing, as the moon rose more above the trees, though the leaves
through which the beams came made uncertain shadows. Then the boy
detected some movement on the part of the beast and saw that the cat,
instead of crouching for another spring, had crawled out on the log
toward the end that was in deepest gloom.

"I wonder what he's up to now?" said Roger, softly.

He could hear the brute leap on the soft wood-carpet of moss and dried
leaves, and then the grayish body seemed to fade away. But Roger knew
the animal had not left him. It was trying to sneak up behind him, so as
to leap on his back, he felt, and the boy turned to face in that
direction. As he did so he heard a noise near the log where the cat had
just been crouching, and he turned quickly to catch a glimpse of the
long slender form passing rapidly by in the semi-darkness. For a moment
Roger was puzzled, and then it came to him like a flash. The beast was
racing about him in a circle!

He did not know what to do, and while he hesitated sorely alarmed, with
the fear tugging at his heart again, the cat passed in front of him once
more.

Only this time the animal was farther from the log and nearer to the
boy. Roger knew that the brute would narrow the circles until it was
close enough to spring at him, and, under these circumstances, it was
impossible to tell from which point the dangerous leap might come.
Surely the boy was in grave danger now, and he felt it keenly. He backed
up close against the tree, but this was scarcely any protection, as the
trunk was not large enough. Yet he dared not leave it to seek another.

The cat continued to run about him in ever smaller curves. Roger raised
his club and waited in an agony of suspense--waited to see the tense
body come sailing toward him--waited to feel the sharp claws and cruel
teeth.

Up to this moment he had held the club in one hand, but, thinking to use
it with greater force, he now took hold with both right and left. As he
did so, he noticed that in his left hand he still held his knife. He was
about to cast it from him, not wanting to risk putting it in his pocket,
when his fingers touched something that seemed to be caught in the
slot-like opening of the handle where the blades went. The knife was a
two-bladed one, but the smaller bit of steel had been broken off, and,
where this should have fitted Roger was conscious that something had
lodged in the handle. He hurriedly felt of it.

It was a match!

How his heart thrilled. Here was a means of safety. Wild animals fear a
blaze. With this match which he had found so unexpectedly he could
kindle a fire.

Now he had a chance of holding the wild-cat at bay until morning. With
his feet he scraped together some dry leaves into a little heap. Then,
watching until the animal had once more passed between him and the log,
he stooped over.

But, after all, there was only a slim chance in his favor. The match
might be a burned one, it might miss fire, or go out before he had an
opportunity to kindle the leaves, or the leaves themselves might be too
damp to burn. All these thoughts came to him on the instant. But there
was no time to lose. He struck the match on the leg of his trousers. It
sputtered, fused, and flared brightly. Then it almost died away, and
Roger's heart grew like lead. A little wind sprang up and threatened to
extinguish the tiny flame. But though it almost left the wood it did not
blow off altogether, and once again it burned strongly.

Roger leaned over toward the pile of debris. He held the match to it.
Some of the dried foliage hissed and smoked, for it was damp. But a
little wisp of dried grass caught. This blazed up with a crackle. The
flames communicated to the leaves, which soon began to ignite, though
not brightly, and with more smoke than fire. How anxiously did the boy
watch them, for it meant safety, if not life, to him. His heart seemed
almost to be suffocating him with its beating. Then the dried stuff
caught the flames well and burned with a spurt of fire and sparks.

The next instant there was a rush from behind Roger. He half turned and
rose from his stooping position over the blaze. There came whizzing
through the air the body of the beast, as if shot from a catapult.

Its forepaws struck the boy on the shoulders, and he could feel, for a
half second, the prick of the sharp claws through his coat. The force of
the leap threw him forward, and though he tried to save himself, though
he bravely endeavored to strike the beast with his club, he felt himself
sinking beneath the weight of the cat. He hit the ground with
considerable force, close to the fire, so near, indeed, that the flames,
which had increased, felt hot on his face.

[Illustration: "Its forepaws struck the boy on the shoulders" ]

Then there was a howl and a yelp of pain and surprise from the brute,
followed by a roar. Roger felt the cruel claws sinking deeper into his
flesh. He screamed in agony, and then to his great wonderment he noted a
sudden ceasing of the weight that was pressing him down. The claws no
longer stuck into him, and the cat leaped from his back. Like a flash
the boy rolled over, to get away from the fire which had spread and was
scorching him.

Then he ventured to rise to his knees. He saw the wild-cat sneaking off
in the darkness. The burning leaves had served their purpose and
frightened the animal away.

While the boy stood there, his heart palpitating with fright, he
suddenly saw a bright streak, like a sliver of flame, shoot through the
trees in front of him. Accompanying it there was the sharp report of a
rifle, followed by a wild howl of agony. By the combined light of the
fire and the moon Roger saw the cat leap high in the air.

There was a crackle of broken tree limbs, as the beast fell back. Then
something else stirred in the woods, and into the circle of the blaze
stalked a tall dark man whose face exhibited the features of an Indian,
and who, after a glance at the boy, uttered one word:

"Sagoola!"




CHAPTER IX

OUT OF THE WOODS


For nearly a minute Roger stood and stared at the Indian, who, despite
his modern clothes was yet sufficiently a redman to make the boy wonder
how in the world he ever came there. On his side the newcomer glanced at
Roger by the light of the flickering fire, and a smile came on his
bronzed face.

"Sagoola! Sagoola!" he repeated. "How do!"

"Oh!" said Roger, faintly comprehending that his companion had only
greeted him in the Indian tongue. "Oh, how do you do yourself?"

"Fine--good," answered the Indian.

"I'm glad you came along just when you did," went on Roger. "The
wild-cat had me down, and I thought I was a goner."

"Hu!" grunted the redman. "Smart boy. Light fire. Wild-cat heap 'fraid
fire. Ole Johnny Green shoot 'um."

"Johnny Green?" repeated Roger in an inquiring tone.

"Yep. Me ole Johnny Green. My boy, he young Johnny Green."

"Why, I thought Indians had different names from that," said the boy.
"Names like Yellow Tail, Eagle Eye, and Big Thunder."

"Hu! Good names wild Injun. Me tame Injun. Have tame name. Live to
Reservation at Castle. Where yo' from?"

"My name is Roger Anderson," and he spoke slowly, so his new friend
would have no trouble in understanding, "I am staying with my uncle,
Bert Kimball, at Cardiff, and got lost in the woods. I was riding with
my cousin, and the horse ran away."

"Bert Kimball yo' say yo' uncle?"

"Yes."

"Over by Cardiff?"

"Yes, do you know him?"

"Sure, sartin. Bert an' me good frens. Yo' loss?"

"Well, I guess that's what you'd call it; I'm lost," admitted Roger,
whose spirits had improved very much in the last few minutes. He was no
longer in fear of the wild-cat, and, as for the Indian, he thought,
rightly, that he need be in no worry as to his intentions, though it was
the first time he knew how near he was to an Indian encampment.

He briefly explained how he had come to be in the woods, and then he
waited to see what Johnny Green would propose. The Indian stood his
rifle up against a tree, stalked off into the darkness, and returned
presently, lugging the body of the wild-cat, which he threw on the
ground near the smouldering fire. Seeing that the blaze was dying out
for lack of fuel, Roger cast on some twigs and branches, until the
flames leaped up brightly. Johnny Green squatted down on a log, and
Roger followed his example. For a moment there was silence between them.
Then the Indian spoke.

"Not much good for eat," he said, indicating the carcass of the dead
animal he had shot. "Radder have coon. Fur of 'um good; that all."

"Were you out hunting coons?" asked Roger, and Johnny Green nodded that
he was.

"Will you show me the way back home, when you are through hunting?"
asked the boy, after a pause.

The Indian nodded his head once more, to indicate that he would act as
guide. He looked to the loading of his rifle, and then proceeded to tie
the legs of his prize. He slung the body about his neck, picked up his
gun, and looking at Roger, said: "Come 'long. We go to Bert Kimball. I
show yo'."

He paused to trample out the embers of the fire, that it might not
spread in the dry woods, and then he started off through the forest,
seeming to strike the path without even looking for it. Roger hesitated
a moment, then followed.

The boy kept close behind his guide, who walked at rather a swift pace,
as though he was on a country road, instead of being in the depths of
the wood, with only a pale moon, now half obscured by clouds to light
him. The boy could not help admiring the unhesitating manner in which
the Indian picked his way through the maze of trees. It was what might
be expected of a wild Indian, Roger thought; of one who had lived all
his life in the open. But here was apparently a civilized redman, who
had not a chance to exercise his woodcraft in years, perhaps. Yet he
made no false steps and moved as swiftly through the dark woods as Roger
could have done on a brilliantly lighted street. It must be a sort of
animal instinct the boy concluded.

For a few minutes after he started Roger could not help feeling a bit
distrustful. How could he be sure that the Indian was what he said he
was? How could he know that Johnny Green would guide him safely to his
uncle's house? Once he was almost on the point of turning back, but the
thought of the dark forest into which he would have to plunge, without
knowing where the path was, and the fear that there were hiding behind
the trees more and uglier wild animals than he had yet encountered,
deterred him.

Besides, Johnny Green did not seem to care much whether the boy followed
him or not. He had promised to guide him out of the wood, and if Roger
didn't want to be taken home, what concern was it of Johnny Green's?
Reasoning thus, the boy concluded it must be all right, and then he
began to follow with swift steps, keeping up as well as he was able,
with his silent leader.

In what seemed to Roger to be a very short time, he and Johnny Green
emerged from the deeper forest into a sort of clearing, where a number
of trees had been cut down. Traversing this was a rough wagon road,
used, it seemed, by the wood choppers. Johnny Green struck into this
with a grunt of satisfaction at the easier going, and he increased his
pace so that Roger, exhausted and wearied as he was, found it difficult
to keep his guide in sight. Perhaps the Indian heard the boy breathing
rather heavy because of the exertions, or he might have recalled that
his legs were longer and tougher than his companion's. At any rate,
Johnny Green slackened his pace, and Roger was glad of it. Half a mile
of travel along the wood trail brought the two out into the main road,
and Roger, feeling the hard-packed dirt under his feet, saw that he was
on the same highway where he and Adrian had driven with the grapes. It
seemed almost a week ago, though it was but a few hours. There was
considerable light now, even though the clouds did darken the moon at
times, and Roger could distinguish dimly the fields, fenced in and
extending to right and left away from the road.

"Tree mile now," grunted Johnny Green. It was the first time he had
spoken since they started.

"To where?" asked Roger.

"Tree mile Bert Kimball," and the boy was glad to learn how near home he
was. It was slightly down hill going now, and the walking was good, so
both stepped out at a lively pace. The night was chilly, and the damp
wind made Roger shiver, so he was glad of the vigorous exercise that
kept his blood in circulation. It was lonesome too, even though Johnny
Green was just ahead of him, and the boy listened, with a sort of dread,
to the mournful hooting of the owls, the cheeping of the tree-toads and
the chirping of the crickets. For some time the two kept on in silence.
Then the Indian suddenly halted in the middle of the road. He bent his
head as if to catch some sound in the distance.

"Hark!" he cautioned, and held up his hand warningly.

Roger stopped. Yes, there was some noise quite a way in front, but at
first its character could not be distinguished. Then in a few moments it
resolved into a sort of confused shouting.

"What yo' name?" asked Johnny Green, turning quickly to the boy at his
side.

"Roger."

"They callin' yo'," he announced. "Bert Kimball I tink"

"Is it?" joyfully.

"Yep. Listen."

Faintly Roger heard a voice shouting. He could make out no words,
however. It increased his respect for Johnny Green's attainments that
the Indian could understand a name called from such a distance.

Then Roger's companion raised his voice in a long, loud, shrill,
far-carrying halloo: "Hi! Bert Kimball! Here yo' boy Roger!"

There came an answering shout, in which the boy could scarcely
distinguish his own name, and he, too, cried out: "Here I am, Uncle
Bert! I'm all right!"

A few minutes later there flashed from behind a bend in the road the
gleam of a lantern, and soon another flickering light appeared. Roger
ran toward them, and Johnny Green hurried on also. Nearer and nearer
came the lights, and then in a few minutes the seekers and the lost
were together.

While Adrian, who was with his father, was shaking hands with Roger and
telling him how glad he was to see him again, Mr. Kimball was exchanging
greetings with the Indian and looking at the wild-cat slung across his
shoulders. It didn't take long for Roger to tell his experience, and the
words of praise that came from his uncle and cousin, at his wise and
brave conduct in the fight with the beast, more than repaid him for the
fright and discomfort he had undergone. The cuts and scratches on his
back proved to be only slight ones, when Mr. Kimball insisted on looking
at them by the light of the lanterns.

"Ye got off mighty lucky," commented the farmer, as Roger put on his
coat again.

"What happened?" asked Roger of Adrian. "Did something scare the horse?"

"The wagon struck a stone," explained Adrian, "and you were pitched out.
I suppose you must have lost your senses by hitting your head on the
hard ground. I tried to grab you when I saw you going, and I must have
frightened the horse, for he bolted as if a bear was after him. I guess
it was the first time he ever ran away and he rather liked it, for he
never stopped galloping until I got to Enberry Took's house, though I
sawed on the lines for all I was worth. When I found I was so near home
I thought I'd better go on, put the rig up, and get dad to come back
with me to find you, for I thought we'd meet you walking in. We figured
on seeing you within the first mile, but you must have turned around
and gone back toward Tully. We went slow, for it was dark at first, and
we didn't want to miss you. It was lucky you happened to find that one
match in your knife, wasn't it?"

"It was luckier that Johnny Green came along just when he did," said
Roger, "or the fire might not have done me much good."

"Wa'al, I reckon it's lucky all around," interposed Mr. Kimball. "Now,
ef it's all th' same t' ye two boys, we'll git 'long hum, 'n' relieve
th' women folks, fer they most hed a caniption fit when they heard what
happened."

So the four started on toward Cardiff, the two boys walking behind Mr.
Kimball and Johnny Green.

"Say," began Roger in a low tone, "is he a real Indian?"

"Sure," replied Adrian. "He's one of the Onondaga tribe. There's a
reservation of them at a place they call the Castle, which is what they
name their Council House. It's about three miles from Cardiff. I meant
to tell you about them, but I forgot it. They're full-blooded Indians,
but they're not wild, though some of the older ones were once, I
suppose. We'll take a trip down and see 'em soon, and get 'em to make us
some bows and arrows. Most of 'em know dad, from buying honey from him."

Without further incident the little party reached Cardiff. While Roger,
with his uncle and cousin turned in at the welcome farmhouse, Johnny
Green, with a grunted good night, kept on to his cabin. Roger found his
aunt and pretty cousin waiting for him in great anxiety, and very glad
indeed were they to see him again, and to learn that he had come to no
great harm, though he had been in grave danger. Mrs. Kimball insisted on
putting some home-made salve on the cuts and scratches in Roger's back,
which were now beginning to smart a little, though they were not deep.

"That stuff'll draw the soreness out," said Mrs. Kimball.

"It feels good, at any rate," said Roger.

"Now I reckon you'll like some supper," went on his aunt, bustling
about.

"Supper? Breakfust'd be nearer th' mark," spoke up Mr. Kimball, looking
at his big silver watch, which showed two o'clock.

"Anything, as long as it's something to eat," said Roger. "I'm as hungry
as a bear."

"Or a wild-cat," laughed Clara, as she set the coffee on to boil.

A few minutes later they all drew up to the table with good appetites,
for when the others heard what happened to Roger they had been in no
mood for supper earlier in the evening.

The whole story had to be gone over again by Roger, and when he had
finished Mr. Kimball packed them all off to bed.




CHAPTER X

BAD NEWS


Roger slept late that morning, and his aunt would not let Adrian awaken
him, much as the country boy desired to hear more of his cousin's
adventures. It was almost ten o'clock when Roger came downstairs,
rubbing his eyes. He found no one about the house but Clara, who greeted
him with a smile and an invitation to sit down to a fresh hot breakfast
she had prepared.

"Well, I must say I'm getting into lazy ways," was the boy's remark.
"I'm used to getting up earlier than this when I'm home. Where's
everybody except you?"

"Oh, father's picking some apples, Ade's gone up in the vineyard,
mother's gone over to Mrs. Took's to borrow some molasses, the hired
man's picking cucumbers, and I--"

"You have to stay home to bother getting me some breakfast," finished
Roger. "I'm sorry to put you to so much trouble."

"It isn't any trouble at all," protested Clara, earnestly. "Mother said
you must have a good sleep to make up for what you lost last night. My!
But you must have been frightened. How's your back? We're all so glad
you are safe that you can sleep until noon if you want to. Did you dream
of wild-cats and Indians?"

"Answering your last question first, I will say I didn't dream at all,"
said Roger, smiling. "As for my back, I'd hardly know I was scratched.
That's fine salve. I've had plenty of sleep, thank you, and I feel very
well. Quite ready for breakfast, too, for I'm hungry," he added, as he
sat down in front of the nicely browned cakes, the hot coffee, and the
meat. He ate heartily, and just as he finished his aunt came in from the
neighbor's. She was glad to see he had suffered no ill effects from his
exposure in the woods, and his encounter with the wild-cat. While he was
talking to Mrs. Kimball and Clara, Adrian came to the house.

"Sagoola!" said the country boy, smiling at his cousin.

"Sagoola!" replied Roger. "Say, Ade, what does that mean? Johnny Green
called it to me when he met me in the woods. I had to guess at it."

"That's Onondaga Indian for 'How do you do?' or 'Hello!' just as it
happens."

"Oh," said Roger, comprehending. "Well, I sagoola pretty well. How are
you?"

"Same."

"Say," broke in Mr. Kimball, who had come in unperceived, "I want t' say
you boys was purty smart t' pitch in 'n' sell them grapes th' way ye did
arter ye found Andrews didn't want 'em. Mighty smart 'n' good I call
it. Too bad ye hed t' hev a accident jest when ye was gittin' back, but
then it come out all right. Each a' ye is entitled t' a dollar fer th'
day's work."

"We didn't do it for money," spoke up Roger, "and besides, I only helped
a little bit."

"I know all 'bout thet," said Mr. Kimball, "but ye got a leetle better
price 'n Andrews would 'a' paid, 'n' I'm used t' givin' commissions on
sales, so it's a matter a' business 'ith me."

He pulled out a canvas bag from deep in his trousers pocket, extracted
from it two big shining silver dollars, and gave one to each of the
boys.

"Thar's yer pay," he said. "Mind, I ain't givin' it t' ye. Ye airned it
fair 'n' square, 'n' ye kin do jest's ye like 'ith it."

The money was more than either of the boys were in the habit of
receiving except, perhaps, around Christmas, and they hardly knew what
to do with the coin. Roger held his in an undecided manner.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Adrian. "This will do to buy some
ammunition with, and we can go squirrel hunting. I was just wishing for
some cash to get the cartridges, and now we have it. Did you ever go
after squirrels, Roger?"

"I never had a chance."

"Well, we'll go some day next week. I've got a gun, and I can borrow
Porter Amidown's for you. It'll be lots of sport, and besides, we can
get a mess of squirrels for dinner, and that'll save buying meat."

"I'll wait 'til I see yer squirrels 'fore I let th' butcher go by,"
remarked Mrs. Kimball, dryly.

"Wa'al, I've got t' git back t' th' orchard," said Mr. Kimball, after a
pause, and he left to resume his work.

"Want to come up in the vineyard and watch me pick grapes?" asked Adrian
of his cousin.

"I'll come up if you'll let me help a little," agreed the city boy. "I
don't want to simply look on."

"Now ye must be careful, Roger," cautioned Mrs. Kimball. "Land, a body'd
never think ye'd spent all night in th' woods, keepin' company 'ith a
wild-cat thet most took yer skin off. Don't ye go t' pickin' grapes 'n'
openin' th' sores agin. Ef ye go Ade'll hev t' make ye keep still."

"All right, mother," agreed Roger's cousin, and the two boys started
off.

The place where the grapes grew was on the side of a gently sloping
hill, about a quarter of a mile back of the house. The vines were twined
over wires strung between posts, and were planted in rows about ten feet
apart, so there was plenty of chance for the sun to get at the fruit,
Old Sol's rays being needed to ripen the big purple, red, and white
clusters. The boys walked up a little path back of the farmhouse,
through the barnyard, up past the corn-crib, and the melon patch, past
the yard where a flock of white Wyandotte chickens were cackling, and so
on, up to where the air was fragrant with the bloom of the grapes.

"I'm picking Wordens," said Adrian, referring to the variety of the
fruit he was gathering.

"How many kinds have you?" asked Roger.

"Well, we've got Concords, Isabellas, Niagaras, Delawares, Wordens, and
Catawbas."

"I thought all grapes were alike."

"They're as different as people," said Adrian. "Some folks won't eat
anything but Concords. Others want Wordens, and I like them best myself,
but dad, he won't eat any but the white Niagaras."

Adrian reached over, cut off a big bunch of purple beauties, and ate
them, while Roger did likewise, and it seemed that he had never before
tasted such sweet grapes. The ones he occasionally had in New York were
not nearly as fresh and good as these, right off the vines.

"Well," announced Adrian finally, throwing down the cleaned-off stem, "I
must get to work. I've only got to fill forty more baskets, and then I
can have the rest of the day to myself."

In between the rows of vines he had scattered small unfilled grape
baskets. These were to be packed with the ripe bunches and loaded on a
wheelbarrow, to be taken to the barn, and then the next day they would
be sent to Syracuse. Adrian began to work, and Roger insisted that at
least he be allowed to scatter the empty receptacles where they would be
handy for his cousin. He also took the filled ones out to the end of the
rows as Adrian finished with each.

Snip-snap went the scissors Adrian used to cut off the finest bunches.
Before laying them in the baskets he removed any spoiled or imperfect
fruit, so that the clusters would present a uniformly fine appearance,
and bring a better price than if sent to market carelessly. Adrian
worked rapidly, now that he did not have to stop to distribute the empty
baskets or carry the full ones to the end of the row, and in much
shorter time than Roger expected the forty were filled. As he placed the
last one on the wheelbarrow Adrian remarked:

"Well, that's done. Want to go to Cardiff now?" for that was the way
every one spoke of going up to the centre of the village.

"Would we have time to go to the Indian Reservation?" asked Roger,
eagerly, for he had been thinking with anticipation all the morning of
the news he had heard concerning the near location of the redmen.

"Well, hardly before dinner," replied Adrian. "It's three miles there.
But we can go this afternoon."

"Then let's go."

"All right. We'll take a rest until the dinner horn blows."

So the boys went down to the barn with the last of the grapes. As they
approached they were greeted by the barking of a dog, and a brown setter
ran out to gambol about Adrian.

"Whose dog?" asked Roger, looking at the beautiful animal.

"Mine," replied Adrian. "He ran off to the woods Saturday, and he must
have just come back. He does it every once in a while. Gets sort of
wild and likes to strike out for himself. But he's always glad to come
back. Hi! Jack, old fellow!" and Adrian, setting the wheelbarrow down,
ran along swiftly, to be followed by the joyfully barking dog.

The two had a regular romp on the grass.

"Here, old chap!" called Adrian, suddenly, and Jack stopped short in his
running to look at his young master with bright eyes and cocked-up ears.
"Come here, sir! I'll introduce you to my cousin Roger."

Adrian led the dog by one ear up to Roger. The intelligent animal
sniffed the boy a bit, and then the tail which had dropped began to wag
quickly to and fro.

"He likes you all right," announced Adrian. "Shake hands with him,
Jack."

The animal lifted his right paw up to Roger, who took it in his hand.

"He's a fine bird dog," commented Adrian, the introduction over. "We'll
take him along when we go hunting."

Then Jack decided he was hungry, so he raced to the house, barking
loudly. The boys took the grapes into the barn, and after they had been
stowed away, Adrian lifted from a basket two large fine muskmelons. Next
he produced a knife and a small bag of salt, when he and Roger proceeded
to eat the fruit.

"This is the way dad and I like our melons," he announced to his cousin,
as he cut off a luscious slice. It didn't take long to finish the fruit,
and about an hour later, after they had amused themselves by jumping
around in the hay, they were quite ready for dinner, when they heard
Mrs. Kimball blow the horn vigorously. They announced at the table their
intention of going to the Indian Castle, and after the meal was over and
they had rested up a bit they started, Jack the dog barking joyously on
ahead of them.

The way to the Reservation, or the Castle, as every one in Cardiff
called it, was up the main road to the north, a long level stretch of
highway, lying between pleasant farm lands. The three miles seemed
rather short to Roger, and after a little more than an hour's tramp,
they came to a group of log cabins.

"What are those?" asked the city boy.

"Indian houses."

"Is that where they live? I thought they had tents," and Roger's voice
showed his disappointment.

"These aren't wild Indians," said Adrian. "They have to live here all
the year. The government gives them this land and they raise crops on
it, or rather their squaws do; for the Indians let the women do most of
the work, same as they did when Columbus discovered this country, as we
read in our history books."

Just then, at the door of one of the cabins, appeared a man who seemed
to be a negro, and Roger could see several dark-skinned children peeping
out from behind the man.

"What are colored folks doing on the Reservation, Adrian?"

"They're not colored; that's an Indian. He's Pete Smith. You see lots of
the Indians are very dark, and they look a little like negroes at a
distance."

"Well, he certainly don't look like the Indians you see in pictures,"
commented Roger.

The boys kept on. The little log cabins became more numerous now, and in
the fields about them could be observed many Indian squaws at work,
husking corn or gathering pumpkins and tomatoes. Once in a while a male
Indian would be seen at work, probably because he had no squaw.

The boys now approached a cabin larger than any of the others near it.
Adrian, coming opposite it, pointed to something fastened on the front
wall.

"Do you know what that is?" he asked his cousin.

"What? Where?"

"Tacked up on the side of the cabin."

"Oh, that? Why, it looks like a piece of fur."

"Don't you know what it is?"

"No."

"That's the varmint which tried to eat you up last night."

"Not the wild-cat?"

"The very same. This is where Johnny Green lives. He's skinned the
animal. That's its hide."

Roger stared with much interest at the fur, stretched out to tan. A few
hours before it had been a wild-cat bent on doing him mischief. Just
then Johnny Green stalked out of his cabin.

"Sagoola!" he exclaimed, pleasantly, grinning expansively in recognition
of Roger and Adrian.

"Sagoola!" replied Adrian. "Glad to see you, Johnny. Get home all right
last night?"

"Sartin, sure. Got coon, too."

"You did? Where?"

"Down back Bill Eaton's place. Here um hide," and he held up the pelt of
a raccoon he had shot and skinned.

"Have you got any bows and arrows you don't want?" asked Adrian, with
the freedom of an old acquaintance.

"Mebby so," grinned Johnny, and he went back into his cabin to return
with two small but well-made hickory bows and several arrows, feather
tipped, but with blunt ends. He gave the weapons to the boys, who
thanked him heartily.

"Stop and get some honey when you're up our way," said Adrian, giving
the invitation as a sort of payment for the gift. Then the boys kept on.

They walked to nearly the centre of the Reservation, where the Castle,
as the long white Council House was called, stood. It was the most
substantial building in the Indian village, being constructed of boards.

"The braves have their green corn and succotash dance here every year,"
explained Adrian. "They had one about two months ago. I wish you'd been
here. They give a regular performance like a war dance, only it's to
make the Great Spirit, so they think, give a good corn harvest. The
Indians rattle dried corn in bladders and circle about the middle of the
room, howling and shouting as if they were crazy. It's great, I tell
you. Dad took me once."

"I'd like to have seen it," said Roger. "Maybe I'll stay until next
year; then I can."

From the Castle the boys went to the bridge which spanned a little
stream that flowed through the Indian village.

"They say a terrible battle was once fought along this creek," said
Adrian, as they cast pebbles into the brook. "The early white settlers
in this part of the country and the old Onondaga Indians pitched into
each other right on the bank of this stream, and lots were killed on
both sides. The story goes that the waters ran red with blood that day,
and even to the present time the Indians here have a name for this creek
which means 'bloody water.'"

"Well," said Roger, after they had been walking about for some time
looking at the different sights, "I guess we'd better be getting back.
Hadn't we? It'll be pretty near dark when we reach Cardiff."

Adrian agreed with him. The sun was already dipping well over toward the
western hills, and whistling to Jack, who was romping about with some
Indian dogs, Adrian and Roger started homeward. They tried shooting with
their bows, sending the arrows far on ahead of them and then picking
them up, to give them another flight into the air. They moved on
briskly, and just as the sun was sinking out of sight, they arrived at
Hank Mack's store. A few minutes later the boys were at their home.
They stopped at the spouting spring for a drink of cool, sparkling
water, and then entered the house.

They had no sooner reached the kitchen than they were aware that
something had occurred. Mr. Kimball was standing in the middle of the
floor, holding a letter in his hand. Mrs. Kimball sat in a chair, and it
could be seen that she had been crying. Clara stood near her mother.

"Wh--what's the matter?" asked Adrian, in great alarm. "Has something
happened?"

For a moment no one answered him.

"What is it, dad," he persisted, "bad news?"

"Yep, son, it's bad news," replied his father, brokenly.

"What is it?"

"Th' money your father invested in railroad sheers is all lost," burst
out Mrs. Kimball, "'n' Nate Jackson has wrote t' say he's goin' t'
foreclose th' mortgage."

This was bad news indeed, and Adrian sank limply in a chair, while Roger
looked helplessly on.




CHAPTER XI

COPPER AND OLD BONES


Though Roger and Adrian knew little of the business connected with
mortgages and railroad shares, they realized nevertheless, that
something serious had occurred. Adrian never recalled seeing his father
look so helpless and worried but once before, and that had been when his
mother was dangerously ill. Mr. Kimball's face was pale, and his blue
eyes, usually so bright and snapping, were dull, and seemed to be gazing
at something far away.

For a moment after Mrs. Kimball's announcement no one spoke. Then, as a
man recovering from some heavy blow, the farmer straightened up, shook
himself like a big dog emerging from the water, and said:

"Wa'al, boys, it's true, jest's mother here says. It's bad news, sure
'nuff, 'n' I don't know when I've bin so knocked out. It's so suddint,
jest like one a' them heavy thunder claps thet comes on ye 'fore ye know
there's a storm brewin'."

"Is it very bad?" asked Adrian, softly. "Is all the money gone? Can't
you get any of it back?"

"Seems not, son. Leastwise ef I kin, it won't be soon 'nuff fer me,
'cause th' mortgage is agoin' t' be foreclosed, 'n' t' stave thet off
I've got t' hev ready cash. Ef either a' th' calamaties hed happened
one at a time, I could a' stood it, but havin' 'em both together kinder
flambusts me, thet's what it does. I'm reg'lar flambusted, thet's what I
be; flambusted, thet's it," and he sank down in a chair, muttering this
one word over and over.

Then, by degrees, Roger and Adrian gathered enough of the matter to
understand it somewhat. When Mr. Kimball purchased his farm, some years
ago, he did not have enough money to pay all of the price, and he gave a
mortgage for the balance, that being a paper, by the terms of which he
agreed, after a certain number of years, to pay the rest of the money
due or forfeit the farm.

As time went on he prospered with his crops and paid off some of the
mortgage. Then his father died and left him a neat sum of money. But
instead of using this to cancel the mortgage, Mr. Kimball was induced by
his brother Seth to invest it in the stock of a certain railroad. Seth
told him that there the money would earn good interest, and when the
time came to pay off the mortgage, Mr. Kimball could sell his railroad
stock and with the money settle the debt on his farm, with something
left.

This would have been a good plan if matters in the financial world
hadn't gone wrong just before Mr. Kimball was to draw his money from the
investment in the railroad shares. The mortgage was nearly due, and he
expected to pay it off. But there came a panic in the stock market, and
the shares the honest farmer had put his money in dropped below par, so
far, in fact, that it seemed hopeless ever to expect them to rise
again. And then, with all his money gone, to be informed that unless he
paid off the balance of the mortgage the farm would be taken from him
was blow enough to discourage any one.

"Wa'al," said Mr. Kimball, after a long silence, and with more
cheerfulness in his tones than his family had heard since he got the bad
news, "wa'al, there's no use cryin' over spilt milk, 'n' what can't be
cured must be endured. Th' money's gone, thet's sure. Now I'll hev t'
pitch in 'n' airn some more. I'm young yit. I guess I kin do it. Never
say die, 'n' don't guv up th' ship. Them's my mottoes," and he blew his
nose with a vigor that seemed to be uncalled for.

"It's turrible," spoke up Mrs. Kimball, "jest 's ye were gittin' ready
t' take things a leetle easier, Bert. It's a shame, thet's what 't is,
'n' ef I could see some a' them railroad directors I'd tell 'em so,
thet's what I would."

"Easy, easy," said Mr. Kimball. "It's tough luck, t' be sure, but from
what th' newspapers says, I ain't th' only one. There's lots went down
in the Wall Street crash. Plenty a' others lost their money. Th' thing
fer me 'n' you t' do now, is t' consider what's t' be done. No use
settin' down 'n' foldin' our hands. Cryin' never mended matters yit. I
must go t' th' city t' see Jackson 'bout th' mortgage. Ef he'll hold off
a bit mebby I kin straighten things out. Ef he won't--"

He didn't finish the sentence, but they all knew what he meant.

"I'm hungry," announced Mr. Kimball, suddenly. "Why," looking at the
clock, "here 't is near seven, 'n' th' chores ain't done yit, 'n' no
table set."

"I didn't think any 'bout eatin'," said Mrs. Kimball, "but I'll git
supper right away."

She and Clara started to put the meal on, and in bustling about they
forgot for a time the bad news. Roger and Adrian went out to help lock
up the barn and various out-houses, to bed down the horses, and see that
everything was in good shape for the night.

"It's too bad, isn't it?" ventured Roger, noting his cousin's unusual
silence and guessing the cause.

"Well, as dad says, it might be worse," answered Adrian. "I'm going to
pitch in and help all I can."

"And I will too, as long as I'm here," said Roger heartily, and by
reason of this trouble the two boys felt more like brothers than
cousins.

"I don't s'pose there's much we can do though, Ade."

"I know how I can make considerable loose change," replied the country
boy. "If it wasn't so near winter I could clear twenty-five dollars
easy, and that'd pay some of the interest."

"How could you make twenty-five dollars?" asked Roger.

"I'll show you to-morrow. There goes the supper horn," and the two boys
hurried into the house.

If Roger expected the bad news to have any immediate effect on life at
his uncle's house, he was agreeably disappointed. He looked at the table
closely to see if there had been any change made in the quality or
quantity of the food, but the board seemed more bountifully spread than
ever. There were meat and potatoes, a big plate of salt-rising bread, a
large pat of sweet golden butter, cakes, cookies, preserves, cheese, and
some dark brown buckwheat honey, enough for a dozen hungry boys. Then
Roger felt his heart a little lighter when he saw there was no need to
put the household on short rations. Adrian too, appeared relieved when
he saw the well-spread table, and he gazed on it with a feeling of
thankfulness that things were not as bad as they might have been.

Under other circumstances there might have been a more cheerful party
gathered around the board, but then it is hard to be light-hearted when
trouble is in the air and when there are worries to be met. However, Mr.
Kimball did his best to shake off the feeling of gloom, and he really
succeeded so well that, before the meal was over, he had Roger laughing
at his recital of some of the queer doings of the people of Cardiff.

After supper, which was not finished until rather later than usual, Mr.
Kimball busied himself with various papers and account books. Roger and
Adrian feeling tired from their day's tramp went to bed, where, in spite
of the memory of the trouble hanging over the house, they slept soundly.
In the morning Mr. Kimball went to Syracuse by the early stage, and as
the hired man had to take a load of grapes to the city, the two boys
were left with the farm to themselves. There were a few chores to do,
which they made short work of, and then Adrian, taking a large bag from
the barn, started off across the fields.

"Where to now?" asked Roger.

"I told you I'd show you how to make a little money, didn't I?" said
Adrian. "This is one of the ways. I used to do it when I was a small
chap, but lately I haven't had much chance, so now I'm going to start in
again."

"What are you going to do?"

"Gather bones."

"Bones?"

"Yes, bones."

Roger thought his cousin was joking, but a look at the face of the
country lad convinced the city boy there was a serious purpose back of
the words.

"You see it's this way," explained Adrian. "Bones are good to make
fertilizer of, and there's a factory over to Tully where they buy 'em.
They pay half a cent a pound, and farmers that have lots of bones around
send 'em to the factory. But there's plenty of bones lying around loose
in the fields, and at the back doors of houses. When I was about ten
years old, me and Chot Ramsey used to make a half dollar, easy,
gathering up the old bones and selling 'em when the collecting wagon
came from Tully. That's what I'm going to do now. But I'm going to do it
different. I know a number of women folks that'll save their meat bones
for me if I ask 'em, and I'm going to. Besides collecting all I can
lying around loose, you see I'll have a sort of private supply to
collect from. But maybe you don't want to come along. It's not much fun,
but it's not dirty, for the bones are all clean ones."

"Of course I'll come along and help," said Roger. "Didn't I say I
would?"

It was rather a novel idea, this one of Adrian's, so Roger thought. But
plenty of country boys know the value of bones, though they may never
have taken the trouble to collect and sell them. Roger and Adrian
started off over the fields. The country lad seemed to know just where
to go, and, before proceeding far, he had come across several big beef
bones, clean and white.

They were tossed into the bag which the boys carried between them, slung
on a long pole. They visited several back-yards of houses, where Adrian
knew the people, and, when he had collected all the bones in sight, he
asked the women if they wouldn't save any more they might have, as he
would be around again in a week. Most of them promised, for they liked
the boy, who had often done favors for them.

"Just throw 'em in one place always, and I can gather 'em up every
week," said Adrian, at house after house.

Good luck seemed to be with the boys, for they found more bones than
ever Adrian had hoped for. The bag got so heavy they could hardly carry
it, and so were forced to make a trip back to the house, to get rid of
the load.

"We must have fifty pounds there," reckoned Adrian, proudly, as he piled
the contents of the bag in a heap back of the barn, "and there's fifty
more we can get to-day. Not bad for a start, eh, Roger? One hundred
pounds of fertilizer. That's fifty cents."

"I call it fine," said Roger. "But of course we can't expect to do as
well as this every day."

"No, we'll have to tramp farther for our next hundred pounds," agreed
Adrian, as they started off on their second trip.

They went over the fields and roads. The bag was almost full a second
time when Adrian, who had picked up a smooth, round stone to throw,
stopped short as it fell in the midst of some corn stubble, with a
resounding clang.

"That hit something," he declared, as he set off on a run, much to the
surprise of Roger. "Hurrah! I thought so," shouted Adrian a second
later, as he stooped over where he had seen the stone fall. He held up
to view a battered old wash-boiler.

"What good is that?" asked Roger.

"Good? Why, can't you see it has a copper bottom. Copper brings fifteen
cents a pound from the junk man, and there's three pounds here."

He caught up a heavy sharp rock and soon had cut and hammered the bottom
off the boiler, the upper part of which was of tin. The copper he beat
up into a compact mass and placed it in the bag with the bones. Then
having a pretty good load, the boys started home. On the way Adrian came
across a large bottle, which he picked up.

"I wish I knew where there were a lot of these," he remarked.

"Why?" asked Roger.

"'Cause George Bennett gives three cents apiece for large ones like
this. We must keep our eyes peeled for 'em as we go along."

And they did, but they found no more that day.

"Let's see," said Adrian, as they were washing up for dinner. "A hundred
pounds of bones is fifty cents, and we'll reckon forty cents for the
copper. With three cents for the bottle, that makes ninety-three cents
for the morning. My half is forty-six and a half cents; not bad for a
starter, eh?"

"Well, I guess you're a little wrong in the figuring," said Roger.

"How so?"

"Why, it's all yours. I won't take half. I'm only helping you in this. I
don't want any share."

"But you've got to take it."

"Well, I won't. It's all going into a general fund to help pay that
mortgage," said Roger, stoutly. "Probably we'll not get an awful lot,
but every little helps, and your father is going to have all my share."

"Well--well," began Adrian, somewhat affected by his cousin's offer, but
what he would have said was never known, for the dinner horn blew just
then, and the boys were so hungry they forgot everything else save their
appetites.

In the afternoon they picked more grapes, and neither of them suggested
stopping to rest or play. The fascination of business was on them, and
they seemed to have taken the responsibility of wanting to do all they
could.

"Might as well get a lot picked," suggested Adrian, as he and Roger
snipped away at the big bunches, "then dad can hurry to the city with
them while the price is high;" and they gathered the fruit as long as
they could see.

When Mr. Kimball returned home from the city that night he seemed to
feel a little easier than when he left. He told his wife, and the boys
overheard him, that he had succeeded in getting a delay of the mortgage
foreclosure until May first, and that would give him several months to
try to get the money together. True, it seemed but a respite, for there
was not much chance of his securing the cash, he said, since later news
of the failure of the railroad shares only confirmed the first report,
that they were gone beyond hope of ever getting anything from them. But
for all that, Mr. Kimball was hopeful. There was not much chance of
using the money he would get from the present crops, as that would be
needed for ordinary household expenses. Nevertheless the farmer found a
chance to laugh a little, and he was greatly pleased and touched when he
learned what the boys had done.

"We must hurry 'n' git th' rest a' th' grapes picked to-morrow," he
said. "Cold spell's a-comin', 'n' a frost'll nip 'em so they won't sell.
My! But I'm hungry, though, mother. Hungry's a b'ar. So we'll hev
supper, 'n' talk arterwards."

The meal progressed more pleasantly than the one of the night before,
and when it was over and the dishes and chores were done, they all took
their chairs in the "settin' room," as Mrs. Kimball called it. There
Clara played the organ, and the boys sang songs and hymns until it was
time to go to bed. Roger was tired with the day's experience, and he was
anxious, too, about his uncle. But this did not prevent him from
sleeping, and he dropped off, feeling that busy and exciting as his life
in the country had been, it had already done him good. But there were
more lively times ahead of him.




CHAPTER XII

JACK FROST


Roger had been at his uncle's a week when he received a second letter
from home. It told him all the folks were well and were hoping he was
improving in health. He answered it as soon as he had read it, for
beyond the short note he had sent off telling of his safe arrival, he
had not yet written much to his mother. So in this second letter he
related all of his experiences since coming to Cardiff, from the
wrestling match to the adventure with the wild-cat and his partnership
with his cousin in the old bone and copper business.

For the next few days the two boys were busy about the farm and garden,
Roger helping Adrian as much as he could in the various tasks the
country boy had to look after, or which he undertook of his own accord.
When there was nothing else to do they gathered old bones, until they
had quite a heap back of the barn. One day the collector came from the
fertilizer factory and paid Adrian two dollars for what there was, and
the boys were as much pleased as older persons would have been over a
larger sum.

Thus the time passed for several weeks, during which the remainder of
the crops were gathered in. The potatoes were stored in bins in the
cellar, and along side of them were the beets, the turnips, the carrots,
the cabbages and onions; enough vegetables, Roger thought, to feed a
regiment. Barrels of apples were stowed away in dark corners, with the
promise of many pies and dishes of sauce. The swing shelves of the
cellar groaned and squeaked under the weight of canned fruit,--peaches,
pears, quinces, plum-sauce, apple-butter, and grape jelly,--and it was
quite a treat for the boys to go down and gaze at the rows of glass jars
which held the sweets in reserve.

The barn was well filled with hay, the oat-bin bulged with fodder, and
the silo, where the cornstalks were kept as feed for the cows, seemed
like to split apart with its rich contents. The corn-crib, through the
openings on the sides, showed a wealth of golden grains, which indicated
not only johnny-cake for the house, but plenty of eating for the
chickens. In short, there was every indication that whatever else
happened there would be no lack of meals in the Kimball home that
winter.

While grim care was not altogether absent from Mr. Kimball, owing to the
fear that his money matters were hopelessly involved, he seemed to have
lost some of his outward signs of worry. He became more cheerful, and as
the days went by and the others tried to imitate his example, the
household was a more happy place. At any rate, nothing was likely to
happen until spring, and by that time something might turn up. At least
that is what they all hoped.

The weather was getting colder now, the mornings being rather raw and
chill, though there was an invigorating feeling in the air which was
noticeably absent from the atmosphere of the city. The nights, too, had
grown frosty, though so far only a thin white coating on the ground had
greeted the boys as they crawled, shivering, out of bed. But winter was
at hand and its coming was anticipated by the animals who, in the woods
and fields, were busy laying up their food supplies.

One evening, when Roger and Adrian were returning from Hank Mack's
store, they noticed the clear brightness of the stars overhead.

"Whew!" whistled Adrian, as he turned his coat collar up, "there's going
to be a black frost to-night," and he ran on a few steps, with hops and
jumps, to warm up his blood.

"What's a black frost?" asked Roger.

"I don't know, only that's what they call it when it freezes real hard
and there ain't any white frost on the ground. A white frost is a white
frost, and a black frost is a black frost, that's all I know."

"And you think there'll be a black frost to-night?"

"I bet there will. Then we can go chestnutting to-morrow. The burs will
be down by the wagonload, and I know where we can get bushels of nuts."

"Bushels of chestnuts?" questioned Roger, who had only seen as many of
the shiny brown fellows at one time as could be heaped on some street
vendor's stand.

"Yes, sir, bushels," maintained Adrian, "and, do you know, they'll sell
for about five dollars a bushel this year."

"I should think they might, judging by the few you get from the Italians
for a dime," said Roger, thinking of how often he had bought the roasted
or boiled nuts from the stand at the corner near his home.

The boys now set off, racing towards the house. They spent the evening
reading and talking. About nine o'clock, when Adrian stepped to the
spout at the side door to get a fresh drink of water, he came back with
red cheeks and announced that it was growing much colder.

That night Jack Frost descended on Cardiff valley with all his forces.
It got colder and colder, a tingling, vigorous cold that snapped the
nails in the clapboards on the house. The morning dawned clear, and a
breath of the fresh bracing air made the blood race through the veins.

"This is suthin' like weather," observed Mr. Kimball, rubbing his hands
briskly, as he went out to the barn before breakfast to feed and water
the cows and horses. "I'm glad it didn't catch us nappin', 'ith th'
grapes not picked."

He broke a thin sheet of ice on the horse trough.

"Thar'll be skatin' ef this keeps on," he added with a twinkle in his
blue eyes, as he saw Roger and Adrian racing out after him. They leaped
and bounded, for the bracing air made them feel like young colts running
in a big field. Roger seemed to have improved very much in his health in
a short time, and he was now a good second to his cousin, a most sturdy
youth.

"Reckon it's goin' t' snow," said Mr. Kimball, as he carried a pail of
water into the barn.

"To-day, dad?" asked Adrian, anxiously.

"Not afore night, I guess," said the farmer, "but I kin smell snow," and
he sniffed hard.

"Well, I'm glad you can't smell it until night," laughed Adrian. "Roger
'n' I are going after chestnuts to-day."

"Wa'al, I haint no objections," remarked Mr. Kimball, holding the pail
of water where Ned, the horse, could reach it. "Guess a trip
chestnuttin' 'll be good fer both on ye. I'm goin' t' kill hogs
t'-morrow, snow er no snow."

"That'll be lots of fun," said Adrian to Roger. "Come on, let's eat, 'n'
then we'll go."

The boys made a hurried breakfast and then, warmly clad, they started
for the woods, carrying bags in which to gather the nuts. They had about
two miles to walk, and when they reached the chestnut grove, Adrian saw
he had not been wrong in his surmise that there would be a heavy fall.
They found the ground covered with the burs, which had burst open,
showing the shining brown nuts inside.

"Hurrah!" shouted Adrian. "Get to work! Here they are! Don't let the
squirrels and chipmunks beat us."

Indeed, it was high time the boys started in, for there were scores of
red and gray squirrels and the prettily striped chipmunks scampering
about on the ground and in the trees, filling their pouch-like cheeks
with the nuts, and then leaping and bounding away to their nests with
the store of winter provender. The boys began to hustle, threshing the
burs from the nuts, and then scooping the latter into the bags they had
brought. It wasn't long before they had gathered several pecks, and they
didn't have to cover much ground to get them either.

Adrian packed nearly a bushel into his sack before he was satisfied, but
Roger was content to lug home a little more than two pecks, as he was
hardly strong enough to bear the weight of more. They tramped slowly
back, stopping frequently to rest. Emptying the nuts into baskets they
went again to the woods for more, for as Adrian said, the squirrels
would soon make short work of the harvest unless the boys were lively.
On their second trip the hired man went with them, trundling' a
wheelbarrow, and this time they brought away over three bushels, leaving
as many more piled in a heap, the hired man going after them alone
later.

"Got about seven bushels," announced Adrian, proudly, at the supper
table. "Not bad, eh, pop?"

"I should say not," replied Mr. Kimball. "'N Porter Amidown were tellin'
me yist'day they'd gone t' six dollars a bushel."

"Then we'll send out six bushels in the morning, when Porter goes to the
city," said Adrian. "One bushel'll be more than we can eat. That'll be
thirty-six dollars toward the mortgage, dad."

"Bless yer heart," exclaimed Mr. Kimball, pretending that he suddenly
had a very bad cold. "Bless yer hearts, boys, I--I--don't want yer
money."

"But you've got to take it," decided Adrian and Roger in one breath,
immensely pleased with their day's work, which had only been a pleasure,
and feeling proud that it would amount to so much in money.

There was a light flurry of snow that night, and when the boys awoke
next morning they found the ground hidden under a white, fleecy blanket.
They were not up early enough to see their chestnuts put on the stage to
be sent to Syracuse, but Mrs. Kimball told them at the breakfast table
that they went all right.

"Where's dad?" asked Adrian.

"Gittin' ready t' kill pigs," answered Mrs. Kimball.

"Hurrah! Roger! That'll be sport! Hurry up. Who's going to help him,
mother?"

"I guess old man Hounson's comin' over. I heard yer father say suthin'
'bout him."

"Well, I reckon we can lend a hand at starting the fire, or something,"
said Adrian.

The boys went out to the barnyard as soon as possible, where they found
Mr. Kimball getting ready to start a fire under a big caldron of water
that was to be used at a later stage in the proceedings.

"Let us make the fire, dad," begged Adrian, and getting permission, he
and Roger soon had a fine blaze going.

The snow was soon trampled down and melting near the fire of hickory
logs, which crackled, sputtered, and sparked, filling the cold, bracing
air with a pleasant nutty smell. The boys as well as Mr. Kimball and his
hired man had heavy boots on, and they wore their oldest clothing,
since preparing pigs for sausage and pork chops is not exactly clean
work.

"Wa'al, I see yer gettin' ready fer me," spoke a high-pitched voice
suddenly, and a tall, spare man, with a much wrinkled face and a little
bunch of gray beard on his chin, walked up the driveway to where Mr.
Kimball and the boys were gathered about the heat. He too wore boots and
an old overcoat. His arms were long and his hands bony and knotted.

"Yep, we're prepared fer ye, Hounson," said Mr. Kimball. "I see ye've
got yer instruments a' death 'n' destruction 'ith ye," noting some hooks
and a number of long, shining, sharp knives which the old man laid on
the rough plank bench near the boiling water.

"Good nippin' weather fer th' middle a' November," observed Hounson,
warming his hands at the crackling blaze and nodding to the boys.

"'T is thet," replied Mr. Kimball, while he tried the temperature of the
water with his finger. "Hot 'nuff," he said, as he drew his hand
hurriedly away from the boiling fluid. "Might's well start in," and he
motioned to the hired man. Hounson took up a long sharp knife, and the
three men started for the pig-sty, which contained half a dozen
squealing porkers, all unconscious of the fate in store for them.

Then came a busy period. While Mr. Kimball and his hired man held the
hog down on its back, old man Hounson skilfully and quickly killed it by
cutting its throat. Cruel as it seemed to Roger, the animals really
suffered very little pain, so rapidly was the knife thrust into a vital
part. Then the carcass was dragged over to the incline, made of planks,
which led down into a barrel of hot water filled from the steaming
caldron, and soused up and down in this until the bristles were
softened, so they could easily be removed by the three-sided iron
scraper. Next the pig was cleaned and made ready for the market, or for
storing away for winter. The boys got the bladders, which they carefully
preserved, as Adrian said he could sell them to the Indians at the
Reservation, who put dried corn in them and rattled them at their
dances.

It was hard work for the three men, this business of pig killing and
cutting up and preparing the meat for winter use, and it took the most
of the day. The next two were spent in separating the various portions
of the hogs, while preparations were made for smoking the hams, with a
fire started in the smoke-house, the smouldering blaze being fed with
hickory chips, sawdust, and corncobs.

Next Mrs. Kimball, Clara, and Mrs. Hounson, who had been called in to
help, got ready to make sausage into links. This work was kept up late
one night, when several neighbors dropped in to give assistance. Roger
and Adrian took spells at turning the crank of the machine which ground
the meat up, and then they worked the lever which forced the plunger
down and shoved the sausage into the links. Mrs. Kimball stood near as
the long slender skin was filled. About every four inches she gave the
skin a twist, which separated the sausage into the familiar lengths.
Clara held a big needle, and whenever an air bubble appeared on the
surface of the skin, she skilfully pricked it, that the sausage might
last better, the admission of air to the meat hindering it from keeping
well. It was a new and interesting experience to the city boy, and he
enjoyed it very much.

When the work was finished there was a lunch of doughnuts, cheese,
cookies, apples, cider, and nuts, and the boys listened while the
womenfolks talked of the doings in Cardiff.

Thus was the long, cold, severe winter provided against in the Kimball
homestead, which now held a bountiful supply of the various meats that
pigs are noted for,--sausage, hams, bacon, salt pork, and spare-ribs.
Never was there such sweet cured hams, never such clean, cunning,
appetizing links of sausage, never such evenly streaked bacon, and never
such lean pork chops, with just enough fat on. There might come great
blizzards, but in the big farmhouse none would be hungry.

The days passed swiftly now, and the weather grew more severe.
Preparations for enduring the winter went on in all the Cardiff homes,
and Roger began to anticipate the delights of this season in the
country, where the snow comes down to stay for months at a time.

It was the end of November, and a cold, blustery night, with banks of
big gray clouds blowing up from the west.

"Thar's snow in 'em," prophesied Mr. Kimball.

And so it proved, for the next morning when the boys peered from the
frost-encrusted window, they saw the air full of swirling, feathery
flakes which covered the ground to a depth of two feet.

"This is fine!" shouted Adrian. "This means coasting on Lafayette hill."

The boys hurried into their clothes, for there was no fire in their
bedrooms, and the only heat upstairs came from the stove-pipe, which
passed up through the chambers. From the kitchen came the smell of
hickory wood burning in the range. It mingled with the odor of buckwheat
cakes, fried sausage, and hot coffee.

"My! But that smells good!" cried Roger.

"You bet!" agreed Adrian, earnestly. "I can eat a dozen cakes this
morning, with the maple syrup and the sausage gravy mother makes."




CHAPTER XIII

LAFAYETTE HILL


It was, indeed, good coasting down Lafayette hill. This was a long and,
at certain places, a steep slope, which led from Cardiff village, over
the mountain, to the town of Lafayette. A few miles beyond Lafayette was
another settlement called Onativia. The long hill wound in and out, with
queer twists and turns and an abundance of thank-'e-ma'ams, which made
the sleds leap up in the air as the runners struck those spots.

The snow storm ceased in the afternoon, when Roger and Adrian, donning
their boots, mufflers, and short jackets, trudged off to the hill,
dragging clipper sleds with them. They found the coasting-place black
and swarming with boys and girls,--hearty, sturdy youngsters, who
laughed and shouted as they pelted each other with snowballs. The white
flakes had not become packed down hard enough yet to make the going
good, but beneath the hundreds of tramping feet and the scores of sled
runners, that process would not take long. The really swift and exciting
coasting, however, would not begin until the bill was worn smooth and
icy.

Roger and Adrian joined the happy throng of young people. Like the
others they dragged their sleds part way up the hill, and then, leaping
skilfully upon the narrow board, they slid down, going faster and faster
as they gathered momentum. The hill was two miles in extent, but none of
the youngsters cared to go to the top to get the benefit of the long
slide. It took too much time to walk up, and they preferred the more
rapid, though shorter skimming over the snowy surface.

"It isn't very good yet," said Adrian, as they reached the bottom of the
slope, after an invigorating ride. "Wait two or three days, though,
until the sun thaws it a bit, and it freezes some more, and then you'll
see coasting that is coasting. You'll see a race that I bet you never
saw one like before."

"What kind of a race?"

"A two-mile coasting race down this hill, for the championship of the
valley, among the boys of Cardiff, Lafayette, and Onativia."

"You don't mean to say they race down this hill?"

"Sure. On big bob sleds. I'm captain of our bob, and you can go 'long
this year. We'll have the race in about a week."

Just then Adrian saw some boy acquaintances.

"Hey, Ed," he called to one of them, "come here. And you, too, Jim."

Two boys joined Adrian, big, sturdy, red-cheeked lads, panting with
their exercise in the crisp air. Roger was introduced to the newcomers,
Edward Johnson and James Smather.

"I was just telling my cousin about our yearly championship race,"
explained Adrian, "when I happened to see you two. I suppose we'll have
the contest, as usual?"

"Of course," said Ed, and Jim agreed with him.

"Looks as if we could have it by Saturday," said Jim, carefully noting
the condition of the hill.

"I guess it'll be packed hard enough by then," assented Ed. "I s'pose
you fellers are ready for another lickin'," he added, grinning a bit at
Adrian.

"If you can beat this time you're welcome to," was the reply, and Adrian
seemed a little nettled.

"I reckon you won't walk away from the Lafayette boys as easily as you
did last winter," said Jim to Ed. "We beat you the year before, and we
can do it again, and Cardiff too."

"Don't holler 'til you're out of the woods," advised Adrian. "I've put
new runners on our bob."

"You'll need 'em, from the way she hung back last winter," laughed
Edward, who had been captain of the victorious Onativia team the
previous year.

The three-cornered race had been won by Lafayette two years in
succession, and, as in the contests over which Adrian had been
commander, his crew had lost in the struggle, their hearts were not
exactly happy, though neither captain nor crew was discouraged.

"Shall we say Saturday for the race?" asked Adrian at length.

"Suits me," came from James.

"I'm agreeable," assented Edward, and thus the three captains arranged.

This was Tuesday when the date for the contest was set. After making up
the details with his opponents, Adrian proposed a few more coasts down
the hill, and then he and Roger trudged off home.

"Do you think you'll win?" asked Roger anxiously as he plodded along the
scarcely broken road. He was almost as interested as Adrian, for, though
he had so recently come to Cardiff, he already felt himself one of the
boys there.

"It's hard telling," answered Adrian, after a pause. "The Onativia boys
have a very swift bob, and they usually manage to get off a little
quicker than we do. We'd have won last year, if they hadn't got to the
narrow part of the road before we did."

"What happened?" asked Roger.

"Why, we couldn't pass 'em, as there was only room for one sled there.
So they came in first. But I've got a plan for this race, though, that
ought to bring us in ahead, if I can only work it out. You just wait,
that's all."

Roger thought Saturday would never come. There was little to do about
the farm now, so he and Adrian overhauled the big Cardiff bob, which was
stored in Mr. Kimball's barn. In this work they were assisted by such of
the crew as could spare time from their duties.

The runners of the sled were filed, and polished bright and smooth.
Several extra braces were put in to stiffen the long board. The carpet,
on top of this, was stuffed again, so as to afford a softer seat going
over the bumps, and the foot-rests were altered a bit. Adrian also put
on a louder sounding gong.

Then he made a change which most of the boys declared was a foolish one.
This was to make the rear as well as the front small sled movable, so
that either and both could be steered separately. The front bob was
turned from side to side, by means of an iron wheel on an upright rod,
just as the regular coasting bob is. But it was rather an innovation to
have the rear sled steerable also. This was Adrian's idea, worked out
from something he had seen on a recent visit to Syracuse. This was the
sight of a long fire ladder truck turning short and sharp around corners
because of both front and rear trucks being movable. He reasoned if a
long wagon could be handled to advantage this way a long bob-sled might
also.

There was a particular reason why Adrian wanted to steer quickly and
turn short, as developed later. At first some of the boys who formed the
crew of the bob were inclined to protest at the use of the second
steering-wheel. But Adrian silenced them.

"Look here," he said, "I'm captain of this shebang and as long as I am
I'm going to steer it the way I think best. If anybody don't like it,
they needn't ride. I can get plenty to take those fellows' places. And
if you don't want me for captain, just sing out," and Adrian paused for
an answer.

"Of course we want you for captain," cried several.

"All right, then, just let me manage it. I'm going to have two
steering-wheels, and we're going to win the race this time."

"I hope so," commented Thomas Archer, and the others joined him in the
wish.

Finally the day of the triple contest came. On Friday the snow melted
and thawed on Lafayette hill; but that night it grew colder and froze,
until the surface of the slope was one long stretch of ice and snow,
making a perfect covering for coasting. Saturday dawned clear and cold,
but with no biting wind--a rare day for the sport.

All Cardiff seemed to be astir early that morning, though the contest
would not begin until two o'clock. An hour before that time, however,
crowds began to gather along the hill, a number of the men and boys
tramping up the steep slope to the top, that they might witness the
start.

The majority of the spectators, however, preferred to remain where they
could see the finish, and that was near Hank Mack's store, in the centre
of Cardiff, where the road from Lafayette joined with the main
thoroughfare leading to Syracuse. This was a vantage point where might
be observed the ending of the struggle, which meant so much to the boys,
and in a measure to their elders. On the far side of the main road,
opposite the end of the hill, was a big bank of snow into which the
racers might steer, if, perchance, they found themselves, at the swift
completion of the journey, unable to turn to left or right. Thus the
chance of accidents was lessened.

The boys of Lafayette and Onativia had one advantage, for they did not
have to drag their heavy bob up the hill for the start, as the Cardiff
crew did. But for this race, at least, that labor was saved Adrian and
his chums, for Mr. Kimball got out his team of horses, hitched them to
the big sled, and the animals, which were sharp-shod, easily dragged the
racer up the two-mile incline, for which aid the boys were very
thankful.

The Cardiff crew, at the head of which marched Adrian and Roger,
followed the team, walking leisurely along and keeping a sharp watch
that the bob came to no mishap. All but two of the boys would be merely
passengers, for to manage the affair only a pair of steersmen were
needed, the others being there simply to give weight and to make the
contest more interesting and exciting.

With the Cardiff crew marched a crowd of youngsters from the village.
They knew they must miss the thrilling finish of the race if they went
to the top of the hill, but they wanted to lend the fellowship of their
presence to the tail-enders of the series of contests, much the same as
a crowd of "rooters" accompany their favorite nine or eleven. Besides,
the Cardiff crew was going into a sort of hostile country and would need
some support.

When the delegation marching with Adrian reached the top of the hill
they found themselves the centre of a throng of perhaps two hundred
people, mostly boys, though there were a goodly number of young men, and
even some graybeards who still felt the joys of youth in their blood.
The Onativia crew was surrounded by their friends, and the Lafayette
contenders by theirs, and though the Cardiff organization was greatly
outnumbered, they did not feel at all disheartened when they saw how
confident their captain was.

Scores of spectators and several members of the rival crews crowded
about Adrian's bob, and the two steering-wheels at once attracted
attention. There were dozens of questions about the second wheel, to all
of which Adrian, as well as his followers, returned polite but evasive
answers.

"Mebby th' Cardiff boys calalate on slidin' back'ards 's well 's
for'ards," commented a Lafayette supporter. "Thet seems t' be their
fav'rite mode a' locomotion, jedgin' from th' last two trys."

A hot reply for this taunt was on Adrian's lips, but he checked himself.
It would not do to boast of his plan, for it was yet untried, and he
could not say what would be the outcome. So he merely motioned for his
crew to keep near him, and answered nothing to the laugh that went up at
the attempted wit of the Lafayette young man. Adrian took his cousin to
one side.

"I haven't said much to you, Roger, about making this trip," he said,
"but I want you to go along with me. You're not afraid, are you?"

"Not a bit," replied Roger, stoutly, though in his heart he was a little
apprehensive, as he saw the big white stretch sloping steeply before him
and thought of the twists, the turns, and bumps in it. "I'll go if
you'll let me, but maybe some of the crew won't like it. Besides, it
will make thirteen on the sled, and you know--"

"Can't make me believe in bad luck signs of any sort," laughed Adrian.
"As for the crew not wanting you, I've spoken to them about it, and
they're all agreeable. There are no regular rules to this race, anyhow.
You can take as many as the bob will carry."

So it was arranged Roger was to go. The preparations were nearly
completed, the judges of the start had been selected, and those for the
finish named. The latter set off on their ride down the incline ahead of
the three big sleds, so as to be at the foot of the hill on time.

There was no danger of any teams coming up the incline, as the custom of
the race was well known in the valley, and farmers gave Lafayette hill a
wide berth on that day. As Roger watched the sleds of the judges for the
finish whizz down the slope, he felt less and less inclined to make the
racing trip. But he did not like to back out now, so he nerved himself
for the ordeal.

The three captains held a short conversation and drew straws to see
which should have the choice of position at the start. This fell to
Adrian for the first time in the last three years, and he felt it was
the beginning of success.

The preliminaries were soon arranged, and the starters, who were to
shove the sleds to the edge of the hill and over the brow, were
selected. There was the last look at the bobs on the part of the
captains to see that these were in good shape and nothing loose or
dangling, and a final trying of the steering-wheels to ascertain if they
worked easily. The boys who formed the three crews began to fasten up
stray ends of scarfs and clothing, buttoning their coats tightly, for it
would be a fierce and swift journey.

Adrian wore an anxious air, which he tried to shake off, for though he
did not need to depend much on his crew, he wanted them to feel there
was a good chance for victory, as he honestly believed there was. He
tested the two wheels on his bob, made sure that his assistant helmsman
understood his duties, and he was ready. As his aid in guiding the big
sled Adrian had selected Thomas Baker, a lad of considerable muscle,
quick, and reliable.

"I guess we're in shape," announced Adrian in a low voice to his crew,
as he saw the starters coming toward him.




CHAPTER XIV

A DESPERATE RACE


"Well, boys, take your places," called the starting-judge to the three
crews.

The lads all scrambled to their seats on the rival bobs, to which they
had been assigned. Roger found himself placed second from Adrian, and
though this gave him a fine view of the road stretching before him, he
would gladly have changed his position for one farther back. It looked a
little too much like taking a ride on the front end of a comet.

It did not take long for the three cargoes of human freight to be
loaded. Adrian braced his feet against the cleats he had nailed on the
first bob and grasped the steering-wheel firmly. Tom Baker did the same
at his rear end, and, between them, came the eleven sturdy youngsters,
all from Cardiff, save Roger, though he considered himself at least a
temporary resident of that village now.

On the other two bobs the arrangements were just the same, save that
there was only one steersman on each, and twelve boys in all instead of
thirteen. The significance of the so-called unlucky number was noted by
some of the Lafayette crew.

"Ain't you fellers Jonah enough without goin' out of your way to look
for a hoodoo?" asked Jim Smather as he glanced at Adrian and laughed.

"This will be the luckiest thirteen you ever saw," rejoined the Cardiff
captain, and that was the only prediction of victory he allowed himself.

"I s'pose ye all know th' conditions of th' race well 'nuff by this
time," remarked the chief starter, Abe Crownheart. "Ye'll all git shoved
at th' same time, 'n' th' bob that gits t' th' bottom a' th' hill fust
wins, no matter how it gits thar, pervided it ain't upside down or
downside up."

There were nods of assent from the captains, and those detailed for the
purpose pulled the three big sleds to within a short distance of the top
of the hill. Adrian, having had the choice, had selected the position
farthest to the right. Next to him was Lafayette, and at the extreme
left the Onativia bob.

"You starters are t' begin t' shove when ye hear th' pistol crack, 'n'
not afore," cautioned Mr. Crownheart. "Anybody that tries t' git a false
start so 's t' go ahead'll be fined half a minute headway. So be
careful. Are ye all ready, captains?"

"Yes," answered Adrian, shortly, the light of battle coming into his
eyes. He meant to win!

"All ready," announced Jim Smather.

"Shove away!" called Ed Johnson.

There was a moment of silence and hesitation.

"One!" counted Mr. Crownheart, raising the revolver slowly.

"Two!" and he extended his hand, holding the weapon high in the air.

"Three! Crack!"

The word and the report of the blank cartridge came together. There was
a straining of backs and legs, a bending forward, and a mighty shove
from the starters. They were as eager as colts tugging at the harness,
for on the first shove or impetus depended much of the early speed of
the bobs.

The steel runners squeaked on the snow, the big sleds moved forward,
slowly at first, but then more easily and quickly. Now they had reached
the very brow of the hill and poised for an instant.

The next second they started down the slope, with a whizz and plunge,
amid a roar of cheers.

It was a perfect beginning, and the sharp points of the runners of the
three foremost sleds of the bobs were almost in a line. It was to be a
fair race. From one single cheer at the successful start the shouts
broke up into cries for the different village crews, each one doing
honor to his native town. Anxiously did the crowd watch the sleds
shooting down the hill. In a few minutes those who had sleighs would
coast down also, to find out how the race ended.

The rival bobs were skimming along like birds. At first Roger could
distinguish nothing, for a mist came into his eyes, caused by the
rushing wind that surged past him. Then he began to see more clearly. He
glanced across to the left and was surprised to see no sign of the other
sleds. Could they have passed the Cardiff boys? His heart gave a mighty
thump at this fear. Then he was reassured, as he heard a bumping and
scraping behind him and saw the other two bobs plunge into the line of
his vision. They had hung back a little, owing to an unevenness in the
road.

The three racers were once more in line and were gathering speed with
every foot they swayed forward. That the Cardiff boys had a good chance
was early seen as they noted their sled fairly lift itself from the
ground under the momentum which increased each second. Roger held on
tightly for fear of being pitched off. The wind was whistling loudly in
his ears, and his face was bitten by the cold. He had never ridden so
fast in his life before.

Lafayette hill consisted of a series of little slopes and ascents, with
small level stretches in between. The road curved in and out, now to the
left, now to the right, and every once in a while would come a
"thank-ye-ma'am." Over these bumps the bob flew, and when it came down,
after taking the leap, it jolted every member of the Cardiff crew.

The pace was comparatively slow for the first quarter of a mile. Then
the hill, which had not curved yet, became steeper. When the bobs
reached this point the speed really became very swift, and the heavy
sleds seemed to merely glide over the frozen ice and snow.

It was now a race in earnest, with the three contesting crews on even
terms. They were about ten feet apart from side to side. The captains,
with tense muscles, were guiding their easily swerved bobs, their eyes
fastened on the slope before them.

Up to this time there had been no use for the stern wheel on the Cardiff
sled, Tom Baker merely holding the rear bob rigid with it and keeping it
straight in place, while Adrian did all the guiding necessary, which so
far had been little, as the hill was without a turn. The wind was so
strong, as the bobs skimmed through it, that talking was hardly
possible. If a boy opened his mouth, not thinking, he was liable to find
himself gasping for breath.

From somewhere behind him Roger heard an exclamation coming from a
member of the Cardiff crew. He turned his head and was startled to see
that instead of the Lafayette and Onativia sleds being in line with him,
both bobs were now ahead of Cardiff, the Lafayette boys being half a
length in advance and the other a quarter. It began to look as though
the happenings of past years were to be repeated and Cardiff beaten. But
Adrian showed no evidence of fear that he might be defeated again.
Indeed he smiled a bit as he noted the two other bobs leaving him
behind. He kept on smiling as they drew ahead, urged on by greater
weight, better runners, or a smoother condition of the snowy roadbed.

The first turn of the hill was now reached and the three bobs took it at
a speed that caused them to careen to one side and skim along on single
runners for a time, while the boys momentarily feared an upset.

The big sleds righted, however, and whizzed along, covering a half mile
in about two minutes, and thus being about a quarter way over the
course.

After the first turn of the road the Cardiff sled caught up somewhat on
its competitors, so that when the second curve in the hill came the
three bobs were almost in line again. Thus seesawing, one losing and
another gaining a slight advantage, a fourth quarter mile was passed in
quicker speed, leaving about half the two-mile journey to finish.

The contestants were now approaching the biggest turn in the hill, a
long swing to the left, around a very steep part, the most dangerous
place in the race, and one that all the captains dreaded. They gripped
the steering-wheels more strongly, and every member of the crews clung
to their seats and braced their feet.

Once again did the Cardiff sled seem to lag behind, and its crew noted
with dismay that the two other coasters had passed them. As they were
about to round the turn Adrian's bob was two lengths in the rear, and
his comrades feared the race was lost to them, as there was little
chance of catching up, once the Lafayette and Onativia sleds began to
whizz down the steep incline.

Then something unexpected happened,--something that made Roger and the
other members of the Cardiff crew catch their breaths--something that
Adrian had planned and had been waiting anxiously for.

Just for one brief instant Roger noted that the turn of the road now hid
the other two sleds. Had the road kept straight on, instead of curving
to the left as it did, it would have crossed a wide field, and then
joined itself, so to speak, farther on. It was as if the curve was a big
bent bow, and the road, if continued straight, would be represented by
the bowstring. Though there was a path which cut off the curve and
shortened the road for pedestrians, it was considered too steep and
risky for teams, hence the curve. And it was down this incline, this
cut-off, that Adrian proposed to guide his sled.

By so doing he would save a quarter of a mile, and if all went well he
would come out into the main road again ahead of his rivals. But the way
was dangerous, inasmuch as at the end it was necessary to make a sudden
turn to the left to avoid a huge rock and to get back into the main
thoroughfare.

With a whizz and a scraping of snow and ice the Cardiff sled left the
beaten road and plunged into the almost unbroken snow of the fields. A
fence lined the highway, but when Adrian steered the bob toward it the
bars were down. The captain had seen to that. Before Roger and the other
boys knew what was happening, they found themselves skimming across the
field that stretched white and untrampled before them. Some thought it
was an accident and cried out in alarm, but a shout from Adrian
reassured every one.

[Illustration: "The Cardiff sled left the beaten road, and plunged into
the almost unbroken snow of the fields"]

The way was full of perils, for the field through which the straight
path lay was not as level as the road. Fortunately the snow had melted
and frozen again very hard, so that the surface was almost like a sheet
of ice.

My, but how that sled did glide along! The runners rang in the cold air
as they rubbed along the snow and ice, which flew up on both sides of
the boys like a miniature storm of white flakes. On and on went the
Cardiff bob, like a big bird skimming along. In less than a minute it
had approached the dangerous turn, around which it was necessary to
swing to get back into the road. Could Adrian make it?

"All ready, Tom!" sung out Adrian. "Look out for the turn!" and Tom
Baker tightened his grip on the rear steering-wheel.

"I'm ready," he called back.

The next instant they were at the curve. If the bob, heavy with the load
of boys, kept straight on, it would hit the huge rock with a terrible
crash. Could Adrian pass it safely?

It was a second of intense expectation on the part of the crew. Then
they felt a sudden swerve, and instinctively leaned to the left, to
bring all the weight possible on the runners on that side, to keep them
from skidding. There was a shrill screeching and squeaking of the snow
and a shower of white flakes. Adrian tugged with all his might at his
wheel. And then the wisdom and the great necessity of having the rear
sled movable and steerable was apparent. For, had it not been, the
sudden and short sweep could never have been made.

A second after Adrian twisted his wheel Tom Baker did likewise. The rear
end of the bob swung as if a giant hand had sent it around. It almost
grazed the big boulder, missing it by a few inches. The sled hung and
quivered for an instant on the very edge of the turn, and suddenly,
with a motion that almost upset it, the bob righted and swept into the
main road.

The great feat had been accomplished safely, and Adrian felt his heart
thrill.

Once fairly in the road, every one looked for a sign of the other sleds.
Was the Cardiff bob too late? Was their racer ahead or behind the
others? These were questions that tugged anxiously at the hearts of the
boys. But there was little time for Adrian to think of this, for the
control of the bob, moving like a locomotive, needed all his attention,
and Tom Baker's as well. There was another sharp turn to make, and it
took all of the two steersmen's strength to twist the wheels. Then the
sled shot into a straight incline, the last quarter mile of the course.

As the Cardiff sled was speeding on there came a shout of dismay from
behind it, for the Lafayette racer, and that of Onativia, on a line with
it, whizzed around the curve. Well might they shout, for they were
distanced, and with no chance to regain the intervening ground which
Adrian had so daringly and so skilfully covered.

In another minute the race was over. The Cardiff sled glided down the
last declivity, and into the main street of the town, through the crowd
of admiring people who had gathered. Adrian steered to a patch of ashes
that had been sprinkled to retard the speed of the bobs at the end. As
the Cardiff boys leaped from their still slowly moving racer, to be
greeted with hearty hand clasps and shouts of victory, the Lafayette
sled came along, with that of Onativia behind it. It was a clean-cut,
decisive victory for Cardiff, and even the vanquished ones had to admit
it. Adrian's plan had worked out exactly as he hoped, and had saved the
day; and to him the credit of the race was due, as all Cardiff joyfully
admitted.

For a few minutes Adrian, Roger, and the other members of the crew could
not break away from the admiring crowd.

"Three cheers for the Cardiff boys!" called some one, and they were
given with a will.

"And three cheers for Adrian Kimball!" shouted Captain Smather of the
Lafayette bob.

The shouts rang out louder than before, and Adrian got even redder in
the face than the biting wind had made him.

It was a great day for Cardiff.




CHAPTER XV

STRANGERS IN TOWN


It was several days before the people of Cardiff were done talking about
the bob sled race, and it was much longer ere the boys of the crew and
Roger and Adrian got beyond telling each other their feelings at the
various stages of the perilous journey. Mr. Kimball was proud of his
son's achievement, and Mrs. Kimball was thankful no one had been hurt.
So the memorable contest passed into local history, and no doubt if you
should go to Cardiff now, you would learn all about it much better than
it is told here.

Winter now settled down over the valley, and it was a severe season, as
Roger found. Yet, though it was much colder than ever he had known it to
be in New York, the lower temperature did not affect him so much as the
frosty weather at home, since the atmosphere was a dry one, differing in
this respect from the penetrating damp cold of the region near the
Atlantic.

Thanksgiving came, with its feasting, its gathering of old friends and
relatives about the fireside, and all its happiness, and Roger thought
it was the jolliest holiday of the year. Never was there such a big,
crisp-brown roasted turkey, never so much cranberry sauce, never such
stacks of white celery, never such good gravy, such sweet hickory nuts,
such white popcorn, such rosy-cheeked apples, nor such fine cider. The
meal lasted all day, and at night every one voted they had enough to
last them a week.

December saw Cardiff snowbound, and for a week the village was cut off
from communication with the other towns because of the big drifts that
filled the valley. Christmas brought the usual joys, and Roger was well
remembered by the folks at home. There was a welcome letter, also, from
his father, in which Mr. Anderson said how glad he was that his son's
health was improving so rapidly. Then there was a box that contained
some books that he had long wished for and a bright five-dollar
gold-piece.

The new year came, and winter, with all its old-fashioned severity, held
Cardiff tight and fast. It snowed, and snowed, and snowed again.

Then there was nothing to do but stay in the house, or after a trip to
the barn and the finishing of the chores to journey to the village
store. Adrian began to attend school, and occasionally Roger went with
him, to sit in the classroom, and listen to the recitations. But there
was plenty of time before and after school, for fun. The two boys went
coasting and skating, and it was at these sports Roger found he had much
to learn from his cousin and the other country boys, who could glide
along over the frozen mill pond, from morning until night, and never
seem to tire.

"Wa'al," remarked Mr. Kimball, as he came home from Hank Mack's store,
one cold night, stamping the snow from his boots in the wood-shed,
"wa'al, I hope it's cloudy t'-morrow."

"Why?" asked Roger, who thought the more sun there was in winter the
better it must be.

"Why? So's thi' b'ar won't see his shadder."

"What if he does see his shadow?"

"Land a' Goshen, th' boy never hearn tell a' Candlemas Day," ejaculated
Mr. Kimball. "You see," he explained, "there's an ole sayin' 'n' I got
it from my granddad, thet goes suthin' like this: Candlemas Day, half
yer pork, 'n' half yer hay.' Thet means, 'cordin' t' my way a' thinkin'
thet t'-morrow's 'bout th' middle a' winter, 'n' a keerful farmer'll
only hev half his produce eat up. Ye know b'ars go inter holler logs t'
sleep all winter. Come February second, which is Candlemas Day, there's
a theory they come out t' see how th' weather is.

"Ef th' sun shines so's t' throw a shadder on th' ground, it skeers th'
b'ar so, he skedaddles back inter his holler log, 'n' sleeps fer six
weeks more, durin' which time we hev winter. But, ef th' sun don't
shine, 'n' thar ain't no shadder, th' b'ar's satisfied. He don't git
skeered, 'n' only goes back in his log fer four weeks more sleep, which
means an early spring. So ye see why I don't want th' sun t' shine
t'-morrow."

"I see," laughed Roger, as Mr. Kimball finished his explanation. "Will
you have half your pork and half your hay left by to-morrow?"

"I calalate so," responded Mr. Kimball, "I calalate so."

The sun didn't shine next day, and Mr. Kimball was happy. For the
following few days it snowed, and Roger began to feel that there would
be several months more of winter, instead of the proverbial four weeks,
but his uncle didn't seem to worry.

Whether it was due to the bear's action or not, there was an early
spring that year. The bluebirds came about the middle of March, and
farmers began their plowing several weeks ahead of the usual time. Every
one was glad that winter was over, though Roger and the other boys in
Cardiff had enjoyed it very much, and many of them wished for a second
contest with the bobs down Lafayette hill. Gradually the days got
warmer, and the damp earth gave out a pleasant odor that promised a
ready sprouting of the seeds.

One pleasant evening toward the end of April, when the sun peeped out,
just before setting, after a smart little shower, Roger went to the
post-office, to wait for the stage to come in with the mail. Adrian was
not with him, for he had some chores to do, and of late Roger had fallen
into the habit of going to the village alone occasionally.

He sat on the steps of Hank Mack's general store, which also contained
the post-office, talking with several boys, whose acquaintance he had
made since he arrived in Cardiff.

"There she comes," cried Frank Dobbs, as he pointed to a moving object
half a mile away. Roger looked and saw the stage, which advanced rapidly
and in a few minutes drew up at the steps with a flourish. Porter
Amidown jumped off, lugging the heavy mail bag into the little room
partitioned off from the main store, where the letters and papers would
be sorted and put in the different boxes.

Most of the boys followed Porter inside, but Roger lingered on the steps
to see if the stage brought any passengers. He saw Enberry Took alight
from the driver's high seat, and the boy nodded to him. Then from inside
the vehicle two men got out. One was an elderly gentleman, bearing a
valise of which he seemed to take great care. His companion was younger,
and, when he had stepped out he lifted after him a long, three-legged
instrument, of the kind Roger had often seen surveyors use. The younger
man also carried a small satchel, which he handled as if it contained
something of value.

"Where's the hotel; that is, Crownheart's hotel?" asked the younger man
of Roger, who just then was the only person at hand.

"Right over there, sir," pointing to the single inn of which the village
boasted, and which stood a little way up the hill, beyond the
post-office.

"Thanks, my boy," said the inquirer. Then to his companion, "This way,
Mr. Dudley. It doesn't look very promising, to be sure, but then, you
know, you never can tell by the looks of a toad how far it can jump. I
guess we can stand it for a night or two, until we find out whether
there is any truth in this report or not," and the two men started
toward the Pine Tree Inn, as Abe Crownheart called his hotel.

Roger stood looking at the strangers for a minute, wondering what their
object might be in coming to Cardiff with their instrument and the
valises, and he puzzled over the younger man's last words. Then
dismissing the matter from his mind, he went in for the mail. When he
found a letter for him from home, he was so delighted that he forgot all
about the two new arrivals.

Abe Crownheart was considerably surprised when Mr. Dudley and Mr.
Ranquist, as the men introduced themselves, appeared at his hotel and
asked for accommodations.

"I suppose we can have a bed," suggested Mr. Dudley.

"And something to eat, don't forget that," put in Mr. Ranquist. "That
twelve-mile stage journey has given me a tremendous appetite."

"Wa'al," began Mr. Crownheart, slowly, as if trying to think of
something to say,--"wa'al, t' be honest 'ith ye, we don't hev much call
fer lodgins fer man 'n' beast here. Cou'se I kin guv ye suthin' t' eat,
but th' bed--um--d' ye mind both sleepin' in th' same room?"

"We would prefer it, if there are separate beds," said Mr. Dudley.

"I guess Mrs. Crownheart kin fix ye up then. Ye see we ain't very strong
on sleepin' quarters, 'ceptin' fer our own family. Last time we hed
boarders were quite a number a' years ago, in fact when th' Cardiff
giant were first diskivered. I s'pose ye hearn tell a' thet," and he
paused for an answer.

Mr. Dudley nodded.

"Yep," went on Abe, "th' figger were diskivered right acrost th' valley
here, 'n' I boarded some a' th' men what were exhibitin' it. I recollect
how--"

"I dare say," broke in Mr. Dudley, shortly, "I have heard considerable
about that giant fraud, and some future day I will be glad to discuss
the various features of it with you, but now, my dear Mr. Crowhead--"

"Crownheart, sir, that's my name,--Crownheart, not Crowhead," said Abe,
a little nettled. "It's right on the sign."

"Oh, yes, to be sure, Crownheart, I beg your pardon, exceedingly stupid
of me. No offence, I assure you, my eyesight is not as good as it once
was."

"Least said soonest mended," answered Mr. Crownheart, smiling
good-naturedly. "Thet giant--"

"I was about to suggest," broke in Mr. Dudley once more, "that if it was
all the same to you, Mr. Crownheart, Mr. Ranquist and I would go to our
room, and get ready for supper, which at the present time is something I
would rather discuss than any number of stone giants."

"If you'll kindly allow us to register, we'll go upstairs, I think,"
said Mr. Ranquist.

"Wa'al, 's I were sayin'," went on Mr. Crownheart, apparently not
heeding the suggestions, "we ain't been called on t' lodge anybody sence
th' giant were dug up. Howsomever, I guess I kin accommodate ye.
Supper's a leetle easier t' figger out than th' beddin' question. A
meal is suthin' we kin rassal 'ith t' some advantage."

"Shall we register?" asked Mr. Dudley, getting a little impatient. "We
don't know how long we may stay. Probably a week."

"Wa'al, we ain't in th' habit a' havin' folks register," said the
inn-keeper. "To be honest 'ith ye, I don't know's we got any convenience
fer it. Uster be a book 'round here sommers, but I swan I don't know
what's become of it. Prob'ly th' boys hev used it t' keep th' score a'
their cribbage games in. Here, scribble yer names down on thet, 'n' ef I
come acrost th' book some day, I'll fill 'em in. 'T ain't no ways
particular, anyhow," and he shoved over a bit of rough brown
wrapping-paper, on which his guests wrote their names, adding after
them, "New York City."

"From N' York, eh?" said Mr. Crownheart, looking at what the two men had
put down. "Wa'al, we've got another N' Yorker here."

"You don't say so," began Mr. Dudley, eagerly, "who is he, an engin--"
and he stopped suddenly, as his companion nudged him warningly.

"Why, he's Bert Kimball's nephew," said Mr. Crownheart. "Mebby ye seen
th' lad. He were 'ith a lot a' others on th' steps a' th' post-office,
waitin' fer th' stage t' come in."

"Oh, yes, that must have been the boy who showed us your hotel," said
Mr. Ranquist, quickly, and Mr. Dudley appeared much relieved.

"He's up here fer his health," went on Abe. "Cardiff's healthy 'nuff fer
anybody. Be you two out here fer thet, or be ye surveyin' fer a
railroad?" and the inn-keeper looked significantly at the instrument Mr.
Ranquist had.

"Well, we heard this village was a healthy place," put in Mr. Dudley,
the older man, "and so we thought we'd come and see for ourselves. We
might do a little surveying also, but whether for a railroad or not
isn't for us to say. Suppose you show us to our room now."

"All right," answered Mr. Crownheart, a little miffed that his guests
had not declared their business in response to his gentle hint. "Jest
come along. 'T ain't fixed up yet, but I'll hev it 'tended t' right
away," and he led the men to the upper floor.

At the supper table that evening Roger recalled the arrival of the two
strangers in the stage, and remarked casually to his uncle that Mr.
Crownheart had some one at his hotel at last.

"I saw them come in and showed them where to go," said Roger, detailing
the circumstances.

"I wonder what they want?" remarked Mr. Kimball, in a musing tone.
"Don't seem 's ef any railroad 'd run out here, yet ye say they hed a
surveyor's three-legged contraption with 'em, Roger. Wa'al, I don't
know's it concerns me any, 'less they want t' buy some a' my land, so's
I could git money t' meet thet ole mortgage 'ith. I've got a hard
scrabble ahead a' me," and the farmer's face took on a worried look,
just as on the night when he received the letter containing the bad
news about the loss of his savings.

Yet, though Mr. Kimball did not know it, the arrival of the two
strangers was destined to be of considerable concern and importance to
him, and that not very far distant.




CHAPTER XVI

QUEER OPERATIONS


It was a few days after the arrival of the two strangers in town that
Roger and Adrian were walking along the road that led to the village of
Tully. There was nothing for them to do about the farm just then, and
Adrian thought it would be a good plan to "prospect" a bit, as he called
it, to see if he might come upon a deposit of old bones anywhere. For he
had not forgotten his plan of selling them, or anything else he might
happen upon, to raise all the money he could.

It was a fine, warm spring day, with the air full of sweet smells from
the damp earth, with the tender green grass just showing above the brown
soil and tiny leaves bursting from the trees. The two boys hurried on,
for they too felt the sap running up in their veins, and they wanted to
hop and skip and shout aloud in the very enjoyment of being alive. As
for Roger, he never felt better in his life, and he knew that even his
short stay in the country, though it had been during a severe and cold
winter, had been of great benefit to him.

"I'll beat you down to the old button-ball tree," cried Adrian suddenly,
pointing to a big sycamore about six hundred feet ahead of them on the
road.

"I'll go you."

"One, two, three," counted Adrian, "Ready!" and the boys were off at the
word.

For nearly three quarters of the distance Roger held his own with his
cousin. Then the more sturdy legs of the country boy and his better wind
told, and he drew gradually away, though Roger did not give up until the
very end, when Adrian finished five feet in advance.

"You--did--better--than--I thought--you would," panted Adrian, as he
flopped down on the grass under the tree to rest.

"I'm picking up," admitted Roger, modestly. "I didn't think I could keep
up at all. I never could run as far as this without getting a pain in my
side. But it don't seem to bother me a bit now."

"Keep at it, and when you get back home, you'll be able to challenge the
best of 'em," said Adrian, as he jumped up to throw a stone at a tin can
in the road, hitting the object with a resounding clang.

The boys resumed their walk, talking on topics of interest to them and
keeping their eyes "peeled," as Adrian expressed it, for old bones, that
they might know where to locate them when they came another day. They
had gone about two miles, rambling slowly along, when, as they turned a
bend in the road, they caught sight of two men carrying valises,
hurrying on, just ahead of them.

"They look like book agents," ventured Adrian.

Roger glanced sharply at the receding figures.

"Why," he exclaimed, "they are the two men who are boarding at
Crownheart's hotel, the ones who came in on the stage the other night. I
guess they must be looking over the ground for the new railroad."

"Let's chase after them and see what they do," suggested Adrian, and
then the boys, having some object in their walk, quickened their pace to
catch up to Mr. Dudley and Mr. Ranquist. In a few minutes the men
reached an open field on the left side of the road,--a pasture filled
with big stones and bowlders that had fallen from a great ledge of rock
two hundred feet high or more, which cropped out about seven hundred
feet from the highway, and rose, almost abruptly, from the level of the
field.

"Hold on a minute," cautioned Adrian, as he saw the men stop. "Don't let
them catch us playing 'I spy'; they might not want us to follow them,
even though we have a right to go where we please. We'll just wait by
the tree until we see which way they turn."

The boys sat down in the shade of a big maple.

"What's that queer smell," asked Roger suddenly, sniffing the air.

"Sulphur spring," explained Adrian. "This is what they call 'Stony
Farm.' Belongs to Jim Eaton, and about all it's good for is to pasture
sheep. The sulphur spring comes out of that rocky ledge and runs across
under the road. Some folks say the water's healthy, but it tastes too
much like rotten eggs for me. The cattle won't drink it. But say, those
men are going in," and he rose to peer at them.

Mr. Dudley could be seen pointing toward the big rocky hill, and he
appeared to be urging his companion to advance toward it. The younger
man seemed to be in favor of going farther on before turning off the
road, and he indicated a place about half a mile distant. But in the end
the older man prevailed, and the two, after a cautious glance on all
sides, struck into the field and made their way to a path that led up on
top of the out-cropping rock. After waiting until the men had well
advanced, Roger and Adrian took after them.

Proceeding slowly along, the boys saw the men ascend to the top of the
big ledge, and then turn to the left, going back in the direction they
had come from. On top of the rocks was a sort of path, made by the sheep
and cows that used it to pass into the woods during hot days. The men
walked along this, for perhaps a mile, stopping every now and then to
examine the ground closely. Once in a while the younger man would chip
off a bit of rock, which he and his companion would look at carefully.

"I guess they're geologists getting specimens," ventured Roger.

"Maybe," admitted Adrian, who was beginning to lose interest in the men
since they seemed to be doing nothing out of the ordinary. The boys
followed along in silence, taking care to keep from observation.

Suddenly the two men stopped. The older one set his valise down and took
something from it. This he seemed to be fitting together, and when he
had finished he had a long, slender steel rod, which Mr. Ranquist,
after carefully selecting a place on the surface, shoved into the soil.
He twisted it about and then drew it up, after which he and Mr. Dudley
carefully examined the end that had gone down into the earth.

"I have it!" exclaimed Roger. "They're prospecting for oil, that's what
they are. They're not railroad surveyors at all."

"Perhaps they're after gold," suggested Adrian, all excited at the very
thought. "Cracky! If there should be gold in Cardiff, wouldn't it be
great? If there was only a little on dad's land, he wouldn't have to
worry about that mortgage."

Adrian had started forward, forgetting the caution he previously used to
prevent the men from observing him, and as he did so he dislodged a big
stone, which crashed down the hillside with a clatter and bang. At the
sound both men looked up suddenly and saw the startled and surprised
boys. Mr. Dudley made a quick motion of closing the valise and seemed
about to hurry on. But with a hasty gesture Mr. Ranquist detained him
and spoke a few hurried words to his companion. Then, turning, the young
engineer came slowly toward the boys, who did not know whether to go or
stay.

"Live around here?" asked Mr. Ranquist, as he drew near Roger and
Adrian.

"'Bout two miles--over to Cardiff," answered Adrian.

"Oh, yes. Um. Nice day, isn't it? Are you hunting?" the man asked,
suddenly.

"Nope," from Adrian.

"Fishing?"

"Nope."

"What, then?"

"Prospecting."

"Prospecting?"

"Yep."

"What after?"

"Old bones."

"Old bones? Are you joking, my lad?"

"No, sir, not a bit. We're looking for old bones. They'll bring half a
cent a pound, you know," and there was not the trace of a smile on
Adrian's face.

"Oh, I see. Of course. Old bones. Humph! Well," and Mr. Ranquist did not
seem to know whether to smile or frown. "Well, my friend and I were not
exactly looking for old bones. Old stones are more in our line. You see
we came out here on a visit and thought we'd take a walk out this way.
We've found a fine lot of old stones," and Mr. Ranquist motioned rather
vaguely toward his companion. "What are you boys after, anyhow?" he
finished, suddenly.

"Nothing in particular," put in Roger, and at the sound of his voice,
Mr. Ranquist turned quickly.

"Oh, it's our friend of the post-office," he exclaimed. "I remember you
now. How are you?"

"Pretty well," replied Roger.

"Hum. Glad to hear it," responded Mr. Ranquist. "You're from New York,
aren't you? Well, so are we, Mr. Dudley and I. Came here to sort of
rest up and look around. Nice place, isn't it?"

"I think so," from Roger.

"Yes. Um. Well, Mr. Dudley and I had nothing to do so we sauntered out
here."

"Is the railroad going through this place?" asked Adrian. "We heard you
were railroad surveyors," he went on.

Mr. Ranquist glanced quickly at the two boys and seemed to be weighing
something in his mind. Advancing toward Adrian, he said:

"Now you two young men appear to be smart and bright. If I tell you
something can you keep it secret?"

"Yes, sir," chorused the two boys.

"Well, then, we are getting ready to lay out a line through here. But we
don't want people to know it yet, because if they did they'd ask a good
deal more for their land, which we might need, than it would be worth to
us. We're willing, or that is the men who are putting the line through,
are ready to pay a good price for the property, but not too much. So we
came out here, without letting any one know, to look the ground over and
see how it lays. Then if we like it we'll make an offer. But we don't
want it talked about until we're ready to have it, that a railroad is
likely to come through the valley. Do you understand?"

The boys nodded gravely.

"Now," went on Mr. Ranquist, "I like your looks, and as we need two
bright, smart boys who know this part of the country well, we might
like to engage you. How would you consider such a proposition?"

Adrian and Roger were silent a moment, thinking. They were wondering if
they could properly accept the offer.

"It won't interfere with anything else you have to do," continued Mr.
Ranquist. "We shall want you only once in a while to guide us around
these parts. What do you say?"

"How much?" asked Adrian, always practical.

"Five dollars each," said Mr. Ranquist, quickly.

"For which we're to show you around when you want us and say nothing
about a railroad line coming through," stipulated the boy.

"Exactly. I don't mind you telling your folks, but no one else."

"It's a go, if Roger agrees."

"Oh, I'll agree fast enough," put in Roger.

"Then here's your money," said Mr. Ranquist, as if he feared the boys
might change their minds. He drew some bills from his pocket, stripped
off two crisp bank notes, and passed five dollars each to Roger and
Adrian. The boys took the cash as if they had been used to that sort of
thing all their lives.

"Now," said Mr. Ranquist, "I guess we won't need you to-day, for as a
matter of fact we're going back to the hotel. But can you come with us
the day after to-morrow? We want to travel along this ridge, back into
the hills, and we don't want to run the chance of getting lost. So can
you meet us at the Cardiff Inn right after dinner?"

"I guess so," answered Adrian. "Yes, sir, we'll be there," and he slyly
nudged Roger, warning him to make no answer.

Then the boys turned to go back down the hill, leaving Mr. Dudley and
Mr. Ranquist to follow when they pleased. As Roger was about to go away
he fancied he heard the older man remonstrating with Mr. Ranquist.

"We need those boys," he thought he heard the younger man say. "They'll
come in handy, and I had to hire them. They were altogether too
suspicious and knowing, and now I have thrown them off the track."

At which expression Roger wondered somewhat, and all the way home he was
busy thinking of the mysterious operations of the new arrivals in
Cardiff.




CHAPTER XVII

ROGER SUSPECTS


So quickly had it all happened that Roger and Adrian hardly realized
they had just received what was, to them, quite a sum of money. They
entered the house all excitement, after a brisk walk, and Adrian told
his father how he and his cousin had been engaged as guides.

"Wa'al, I must say ye airned th' money easy," said Mr. Kimball.

"Yes, and we can get more," Adrian exclaimed. "We're to go with the men
day after to-morrow, to show them the way. Say, dad, what do you s'pose
they want of a railroad out here?"

"It's hard t' say what them railroad fellers is up t'," answered Mr.
Kimball. "Ye can't even tell whether they're goin' t' put a railroad
through er not."

"But they said they were," asserted Adrian.

"Humph!" was all his father answered, with a little snort. He was too
concerned with his own matters to think about the possibility of a
railroad, especially at this time.

But the news soon spread around Cardiff, in spite of the fact that the
boys maintained a strict silence, that a railroad or a trolley line was
to go through the valley, and the residents were all talking about the
possibility of it the next day after Roger and Adrian had met the two
engineers. For the secret of the cousins having been hired as guides got
out somehow, though the boys did not tell, and they were the envy of
their companions. The less fortunate lads of Cardiff determined to take
the first opportunities of offering their services to Mr. Dudley and Mr.
Ranquist.

The day after the boys' engagement Mr. Kimball announced that a lot of
brush in the vineyard needed burning, so that the ground might be
cultivated. Adrian and Roger thought the task so much like play they
asked to be allowed to build the fires.

Mr. Kimball was glad enough to have them undertake the task. Armed with
long rakes the boys started up the hill and soon had heaped up several
big piles of brush, dry leaves and twigs, which Adrian set fire to,
taking care that none of the vines were scorched. A little wearied by
his labors, Roger laid aside his rake, and while the flames were eating
their way well into the debris, he strolled farther up the hill. It was
rather a warm, pleasant day, and the woods, which stretched out before
him, seemed to invite him to come in and see how the trees were putting
on their full summer outfits of green leaves.

Before he realized it Roger had gone some distance from the vineyard,
and only occasionally could he catch a glimpse of the smoke from the
brush-wood fires. There was scarcely a sound to break the silence, save
the piping of some early birds, and the boy sat down on a rock under a
big chestnut tree to rest. On a fallen log near him a bright green
lizard crawled out to bask in the sunshine. Then a rustling in the dried
leaves on the ground caught his ear. He looked in that direction to see
a snake wriggle into view. He tossed a bit of bark toward the reptile
and in an instant it had disappeared in alarm. The lad drew a long, deep
breath, filling his lungs with the sweet, balmy spring odor of the
woods,--a smell that seemed laden with health.

"My! But that's fine!" he exclaimed.

The next minute he was startled by a sound, as if some one had stepped
on and broken a tree branch. Glancing up the hill he saw, rather
indistinctly, some moving body.

"I guess it's a cow," he remarked.

Then he looked more closely.

"Two cows," he added, as he noted a second form. "No, it isn't either,"
he corrected himself a moment later, "it's two men," and he rose to get
a better view. "It's Mr. Dudley and Mr. Ranquist. I guess they didn't
want to wait until to-morrow to go prospecting. I wonder what they're
doing on Uncle Bert's hill. I guess it won't do any harm to watch and
find out. If they strike gold, or decide to run a railroad here, I might
as well know it. I suspect those men are after something, and they're
not telling what it is either," he concluded, rather wisely. "Well, here
goes for a little detective work."

Using as much caution as if he was trailing some wild and timid animal,
Roger slowly made his way up the hill and through the woods in the
direction the two men had taken. He trod lightly, being careful not to
step on any twigs or branches, which might snap and betray his presence.
For he did not want the men to discover him. Not that he was doing
anything wrong, or anything he had not a right to do, for the men were
on his uncle's land, and Roger felt he should be interested in whatever
they did. For a quarter of a mile he trailed after Mr. Dudley and Mr.
Ranquist, easily keeping them in sight, yet remaining hidden himself,
since they seemed to have no suspicion they were being followed.

In a little hollow, about three hundred feet away from the spring which
burst out of the side hill, and which served to furnish drinking water
for Mr. Kimball's house, the two men came to a halt. Roger hid himself
behind a big stone, somewhat above them, to watch. Mr. Ranquist drew
from his valise a number of pieces of metal, which he screwed together
until he had a rod about a yard long. Then, with a hammer, he proceeded
to drive this downward into the earth. When it had been forced almost
out of sight he screwed another section on from above and drove this
down, and so on, until he had sent the slender steel rod to a depth of
twenty feet into the earth. Roger noticed that the blows of the hammer,
as they struck, produced no sound beyond a dull thud, which, close as he
was, he could scarcely hear.

"He must have rubber on the hammer," said the boy, "or something to
deaden the blows. He's afraid some one will hear him. I wonder what in
the world they can be up to? I must get a little nearer, so I can
listen to what they are saying."

He was a little fearful about advancing any farther as he could not tell
but that the sound of his movements might come to the ears of the men,
now they had stopped walking and could hear better. He looked to see if
he could approach under cover, and then he spied a fallen log, extending
down hill, toward the centre of the little glade, in which the men were
at work on their mysterious errand.

The farther end of the tree trunk was up against a large bowlder, behind
which Roger might lie hidden, as secure as he was in the position he had
first selected, if he could but reach it unobserved, and he thought he
might by crawling along under the protecting shadow of the log. So with
this end in view, he proceeded to act. He stretched out on his stomach,
regardless of his clothes, like a big snake, and then he began to slowly
wriggle toward the men.

It was not easy work, as he dared not raise himself more than a few
inches from the ground without the danger of being seen above the log.
Along the dried leaves and grass he went, pausing every few minutes to
peep cautiously over his screen to see if the men were aware of his
presence. They seemed all unsuspicious that they were being watched by a
sharp-eyed lad, and continued to drive the rod deeper into the earth. At
length, after about five minutes of cautious crawling, Roger reached the
rock, and he curled himself up behind it with a sigh of satisfaction.

He was now within sixty feet of the men and could easily hear all they
said, unless they spoke in whispers, which they were not likely to do.
But the boy seemed to have had his trouble for his pains, for Mr. Dudley
and Mr. Ranquist were not saying a word to each other. They were intent
on the work, and Roger was keenly disappointed as, just before he
started to crawl nearer, he had heard the murmur of their voices in
earnest conversation.

But now Mr. Ranquist appeared to have used up all the sections of the
steel rod. However, his valise had more tools in it, for he drew out a
short iron handle, from which dangled a length of stout chain links.
This chain he wound about the top part of the rod, which projected about
a foot from the ground. The loose end of the links he fastened to the
handle again. Then he and Mr. Dudley, taking a firm hold of the short
bar, proceeded to twist the rod around in the earth. Roger watched them
wonderingly. They spent five minutes in this operation, and then ceased,
to sit down on the grass and rest.

"Do you think we'll strike it?" Roger heard Mr. Dudley ask his
companion.

"Can't say for sure, but it looks very promising," was the reply.

"Is it gold, or is it oil?" Roger asked himself, softly.

Next, as he watched, he saw Mr. Ranquist take another tool from his
valise, which seemed to contain the outfit of a small machine shop. This
last instrument was like a lifting jack, very small and light, but
exceedingly powerful. With it the two men easily pulled the rod up from
where they had driven it in the ground, lifting it section by section
and unscrewing each one. They seemed to be eager and anxious as they
came toward the end, and as the last piece of steel emerged from the
small hole, they both bent forward and looked at it closely. They
appeared much excited at what they saw, and Mr. Ranquist threw his hat
in the air and capered about like a boy.

"Hurrah!" Roger heard him shout, softly, to be sure, for even in his
excitement the engineer did not forget his caution. "Hurrah! We've
struck it all right. Now to get hold of the land before any of the
people about here suspect. I'll tell you, Dudley, our fortunes are
made."

The older man seemed scarcely less excited than Mr. Ranquist. He wet his
forefinger, touched the end of the rod with it, and then brought his
finger to his tongue. He appeared to be tasting some substance. In a
moment Mr. Ranquist followed his example, and then the look of triumph
came on Mr. Dudley's face, as it had on the countenance of the younger
engineer. Roger, forgetting his role of detective, raised himself up,
trying to get a sight of the mysterious substance. In the gleam of the
sun, on the point of the rod which Mr. Ranquist held, the boy beheld,
rather faintly, however, the glitter of something white and sparkling,
something that looked like the white crystals of snow.

Mr. Ranquist quickly whittled out a little stake from a tree branch and
drove it into the small hole in the earth, whence he had drawn the rod.
This done the men carefully packed their tools in the valise and started
away. Roger watched them until they were out of sight. Then he hurried
to the spot. He pulled up the stake, expecting to see something to
disclose the mystery and reward him for his investigation. But there was
nothing to indicate what the men had found that pleased them so.

Roger was greatly disappointed. But he comforted himself with the
reflection that, at least, he was on the track of the mystery. He
thought quickly and realized that some older head than his must take up
the problem now. Yet whom could he tell? Mr. Kimball, he reasoned, would
hardly be in a position to give an expert opinion as to what was under
the earth. Then, too, he did not want to raise false hopes for his uncle
that might be shattered after investigation. He could not imagine what
it was the men had found, that they regarded as of such value. They
evidently expected to find it, which added to the complications. How did
they know at about that spot something was hidden under the surface?
Clearly it must be some mineral substance Roger thought, but what? It
didn't seem to be gold, unless it was in some peculiar form. Whatever it
was, would it be worth the trouble that might be necessary before it
could be come upon and dug out, unless some one, who knew just what they
were searching after, did the work? And it was evident that the two men
did possess this knowledge, which was so needful.

Roger was in a dilemma, but he resolved to discover a way out, if
possible. Carefully marking the location of the stake, that he might
find it again, he started home. He came into the vineyard just as his
cousin was clearing up the last of the brush.

"Well," said Adrian, "I thought maybe you had gone to the house."

"No," answered Roger, "I was just walking in the woods for my health,"
and he smiled a little.

For certain reasons he did not want even Adrian to know what he had
seen.

"We'll take a long walk to-morrow," said Adrian, breaking into a merry
whistle. "But something tells me it is nearly supper-time. I'm as hungry
as a bear. Hi, Jack!" he called to the dog, and all three started for
home, Roger in a sort of day-dream over what he had discovered.




CHAPTER XVIII

A BIG BLACK BEAR


Roger said nothing to the folks at the house of what he had observed. He
had a plan, partly worked out in his mind, and he wanted to see whether
or not he could accomplish anything before he told his uncle or cousin.
He resolved to wait until after the next day and observe what happened
when he and Adrian went to guide Mr. Dudley and Mr. Ranquist over the
hills, for Roger shrewdly suspected that the men required no piloting to
find what they sought. However, he thought it was not necessary to
mention that to any one.

At the time appointed he and Adrian presented themselves at the Pine
Tree Inn and asked for the two engineers. Mr. Ranquist came down.

"Ah," he said, looking at his watch and smiling, "you are prompt, I see.
Mr. Dudley and I will be with you in a few minutes."

In a little while the two men appeared, both dressed in rough clothes
suitable for a tramp through the woods.

"Well, boys," began Mr. Ranquist, pleasantly, "my friend and I are very
anxious to take a little trip about the valley, and we would like
particularly to visit the place where the Cardiff giant was found. Can
you show that spot to us?"

"Of course I can," said Adrian. "It's right over there," and he pointed
to a broad stretch of meadows across the valley flats about three miles
off.

"Over there, eh?" remarked Mr. Ranquist, "I had an idea it was back up
this way," and he pointed in the opposite direction. "However, as long
as it is not where I thought it was, we will defer our trip to see the
resting-place of the big stone man until some other time. Mr. Dudley and
I would like to get the lay of the land on this side of the hills that
slope down into this part of the country," and he waved his hands toward
the place where Roger had seen the two engineers at their mysterious
operations. "Is there a good path up along there, and could you show us
the way? We don't mind roughing it, but we dislike getting lost,"
finished Mr. Ranquist.

"I guess we can show you all right," said Adrian. "Do you want to start
now?"

"I think so," Mr. Ranquist answered, so all four began their walk.
Instead of going down the road toward the sulphur spring, which was the
way the two engineers had taken first, Adrian suggested a shorter path.
This, he said, would be to go up the Lafayette hill about a mile and
then bear off to the right, where he knew of a fairly good trail. So it
was decided to take this route. During the climb up the hill Roger
recalled the thrilling ride down it a few months before. The boys kept
slightly in advance of the men, who walked more slowly than their
younger companions, for the lads, in the excess of their muscular
energy, wandered from side to side in the road, going over about twice
as much ground as was really necessary. But they never noticed such a
little thing as that.

Roger glanced back to see if the men were within earshot, and when he
found they were not, he spoke to Adrian in a low voice.

"Say, Adrian, is there any way of getting near the spring on your
father's place from the path we are to take?" he asked.

"Yes, but what do you want to do that for?"

"Why, if these men are looking for a location for a railroad it might
not be a bad plan to show 'em some of your father's land. They might
want a bit of it, and if they gave him a good price, as I've heard
railroads do, he could pay off that mortgage. No harm in trying."

"Say! That's a good idea," exclaimed Adrian. "I'll do it."

"Don't say anything," cautioned Roger. "Just kind of edge off in the
right direction, and when we get to a certain place, I'll say something.
You leave it to me."

"But what's up? What do you mean?" asked Adrian, with sudden interest.

"Oh, nothing in particular," answered Roger. "Look at that fox!" he
shouted, quickly, as he picked up a stone and threw it at the animal.

"Where? Where is it?" yelled Adrian, all excitement.

"He's gone now," said Roger, "but he was right there by that old
stump."

"We'll have to come up here with a trap and a gun if there's foxes,"
decided Adrian. "Their skins bring good money."

The boys kept on up the hill and soon came to the place where they were
to leave the main road and strike into the woods. They waited a few
minutes for their older companions to catch up, and then took up the
lead again. All four kept closely together now, so there was little
chance for the boys to converse without being overheard. Accordingly
they confined their talk to comment on what they saw along the path.
Both listened intently to what the two men were saying, but Mr. Dudley
and Mr. Ranquist were apparently exchanging opinions on past
occurrences.

They talked of something which had taken place in New York. Not once did
they refer to a railroad or anything like it. They seemed content to
tramp along, paying no attention to the beauties of nature on every side
of them. The trees, that bore more than half their summer suits of
green, the soft moss under foot, the flitting of the birds from branch
to branch--all these had no attractions for them. But to Roger such
sights were a constant enjoyment, and he took in deep breaths of the
balmy air, laden, as it was, with health.

They had gone about a mile along the path on the side of the hill,
during which time the men had seemed content to follow the boys' lead.
At length Adrian nudged Roger and pointed to a path that branched off
from the main one.

"That will take you to our spring," he said, in a low tone.

"Go ahead down it then," replied Roger. "Maybe you'll see something
happen soon."

Wondering what his cousin could mean, Adrian advanced, and Roger
glancing back noticed with satisfaction that the two men had followed
them without question.

For ten minutes the boys led the way with never a word of protest from
Mr. Dudley or Mr. Ranquist, who did not seem to notice they were going
in a different direction from that which they desired. Suddenly a big
rabbit darted across the path, almost at Mr. Dudley's feet. He started,
looked at the animal, as if wondering how it came there, and then he
glanced up, seeming to realize that he was at a spot he had not intended
to reach.

"Why! Why! Boys!" he exclaimed, turning to the younger engineer.

"What is it?" broke in Mr. Ranquist.

"What are we coming this way for?" asked Mr. Dudley. "I thought we were
going straight along the side of the hill. Instead, we are going down."

At this Mr. Ranquist looked alarmed as he glanced at the two boys.

"Well," said Roger, coming forward a few steps, "you see this path goes
to a spring down in a little glade. We thought you might like to see it.
If you're going to build a railroad the spring would furnish water for
the locomotives. There's a good place for a depot down in the little
glade, too."

"Why, why--," stammered Mr. Dudley.

"It looks as if there was coal there, too,--coal or--or something," he
finished, looking narrowly at the men, "and coal and water might be good
things for a railroad, it seems to me."

For a brief instant there came a dangerous look into Mr. Ranquist's
eyes. His face grew pale, and he seemed to control himself with a great
effort. Mr. Dudley also appeared very much surprised. Mr. Ranquist
forced himself to burst into a laugh that had no mirth in it.

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" he shouted. "Not bad, eh, Mr. Dudley? Water for the
engine. Well! Well! Well!"

He laughed again.

"Coal upon this hill! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Well, my boy," he went on,
clapping Roger on the back good-naturedly, "it's very nice of you to
think of these things for our railroad, but, bless you, we wouldn't want
to stop in a place like this for coal or water. If the line goes through
here," with a significant look at Mr. Dudley, "it will make only flying
stops. I suppose this land, where the coal and water is, belongs to some
friend of yours, eh?" and he looked at the boys narrowly.

"It's my father's," broke in Adrian. "But I never knew there was coal on
it. There's a spring, and a good one, but nobody ever thought of looking
for coal. I wish there was some."

"Why?" from Mr. Dudley, suddenly.

"Because," answered Adrian, "my father might get a good enough price for
it, so's he could sell some and pay off the mortgage on the rest."

"Oh, then the farm is mortgaged?"

"Yes." And then the boy seemed to realize that he was talking too freely
to strangers, and he stopped.

"Well," went on Mr. Dudley, "I'm sorry to say as far as I can see
there's not the least chance of any coal ever being found in this
section of the country. It is not the kind of land where coal is
located."

Adrian looked the disappointment he felt. He had really hoped there
might be coal on his father's farm.

"Do you want to go down by the spring?" persisted Roger, starting off in
that direction.

"Um, ah--yes. I think we might as well as not," said Mr. Ranquist, in
spite of the obvious efforts Mr. Dudley made to have him say something
different.

All four started off, but at that instant there came a sudden sound to
the left. It was a crashing of the under-brush and bushes, as if some
heavy, lumbering body was being forced through them. Then a black shape
burst into view, and the next second a big, ungainly animal, tall and
covered with dark fur, thrust itself into the open, while the
wide-stretched mouth showed the lolling red tongue and glistening white
fangs of an immense black bear.

For a moment neither men nor boys knew which way to turn. The beast,
however, was not at all undecided in his movements. With a savage growl
he came lurching clumsily forward, and the sight of his fierce anger
filled the members of the little party with terror. Adrian was the first
to appreciate the danger.

"Every one to a tree!" he shouted, "and take the smallest and thinest
that will hold you, or he'll climb up after!"

He made for a slender sapling and scrambled quickly up it, while the
others lost no time in following his example. Mr. Dudley, in spite of
his years, sprinted like a college chap getting down on a kick in the
football field when he wants to nail the other man in his tracks. But
though the engineer was quick, the brute was almost as nimble.

Just as Mr. Dudley got safely above the ground, in a tree that
fortunately was directly in his path and not far away, the bear made a
dangerous lunge for him with its front paws. The sharp claws caught the
cloth of the man's trousers and held on for an instant. The bear pulled
savagely, but, with a rip, the garments gave way and the claws slipped
from the rent, leaving Mr. Dudley free.

The men and boys were now secure in trees above the ground, while below
them, going from one sapling to another, the bear growled and foamed in
his rage at seeing his enemies escape him. After making a tour of the
place, and trying in vain to climb the tree where Mr. Dudley was
perched, the beast squatted down on his haunches, in the centre of the
group, and sat thus, awaiting developments.

"Well," remarked Mr. Ranquist, after a pause, "this is a pretty kettle
of fish, I must admit."

"I would say it was four kettles," said Mr. Dudley, with an attempt at
cheerfulness.




CHAPTER XIX

ROGER MAKES PLANS


For a few minutes after the exciting scrabble for trees, there was a
deep silence among the four. They were all interested in the movements
of the bear. Having squatted on his haunches for a little while, the
beast dropped to a walking position, and strolled about, sniffing deeply
at the foot of each sapling which held a human occupant. He uttered loud
"woofs" of disgust, and then, standing under the tree where Mr. Dudley
was, the animal acted as if he was going to climb up.

The brute's sharp claws tore showers of bark and wood from the slender
trunk, and his efforts caused the sapling to shake considerable, making
Mr. Dudley's perch somewhat insecure.

"Hold on there! Hold on!" exclaimed the engineer in a protesting tone.
Then, as he saw the uselessness of ordering a bear he added more gently,
"Oh, say, Bruin. Ho! ho! Easy now, that's a good fellow!" It seemed as
though Mr. Dudley was talking to a restive horse.

The man's voice apparently angered the bear, which redoubled its efforts
to get up the tree, though the slender trunk proved an effective
barrier.

"Oh, I say now!" cried Mr. Dudley, looking helplessly at his companions,
"call him off, some of you. This won't do at all. He'll shake me down
and eat me. Call him off, can't you?"

"I'm afraid he doesn't care to be called," said Mr. Ranquist, with just
the suspicion of a smile on his face. "He seems an obstinate sort of
brute."

"But what's to be done, what's to be done?" inquired Mr. Dudley,
testily. "We can't stay here all day, Ranquist, like ripe apples,
waiting to be shaken down by this beast. Something must be done; I
insist on it. I'll--I'll--What did you boys want to lead us into a
bear's den for?" he asked, turning toward Roger and Adrian.

"We didn't know there were bears about," answered Adrian, a little
crestfallen at the mishap. "There hasn't been any bears near Cardiff
before in ten years."

"Stuff and nonsense! Stuff and nonsense!" interrupted Mr. Dudley
shortly. "I believe you boys did this for a joke. If you did--"

"Oh, pshaw!" came from Mr. Ranquist, "of course it isn't the boys'
fault. How could they help it?"

"Well, perhaps they couldn't," admitted Mr. Dudley, "but it's very
unpleasant, to say the least."

Then the bear began another attack on the tree where Mr. Dudley was,
with such savage energy that it needed all the engineer's strength to
prevent himself from being shaken down.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Mr. Dudley, desperately. "Something will have to be
done at once. Help! Help!" he yelled.

"Haven't either of you men a revolver?" called Roger.

"By Jove! I never thought of it!" said Mr. Ranquist, suddenly. "Of
course I have. But I'm not a very good shot, and, if I was, I'm afraid
the small bullets in my gun wouldn't cause his bearship much annoyance.
It's only a .22 calibre," he added.

Carefully balancing himself, the young engineer drew the weapon from his
pocket. His movement seemed to interest bruin, who left his position
under Mr. Dudley's tree, and ambled over to the sapling where Mr.
Ranquist was perched, much to the relief of the older prospector.

"I'm going to shoot," said Mr. Ranquist. "I don't know what will happen
after it, so look out, every one."

Taking as good aim as he could, Mr. Ranquist fired at the brute. There
was no evidence that the bullet hit, so he blazed away again. This was
another miss, but the third attempt was more effective, for, with an
angry roar, the animal dropped on all fours, and began clawing his snout
with his left paw. A few spots of blood showed on the ground.

"You hit him! You hit him!" exclaimed Mr. Dudley, and, in his delight,
he tried to caper about on his slender perch, with the result that he
nearly tumbled off.

"Oh, yes, I hit him," admitted Mr. Ranquist, showing just a little pride
in the achievement. "I winged him, but I'll have to do better than that,
if I want to persuade him to go away. These bullets are only flea-bites
to him."

The little leaden pellet did not seem to cause the bear much suffering,
but the pain angered him, and, with savage growls, he made fierce
efforts to get at the man he apparently knew had fired the shot. In
rapid succession Mr. Ranquist pulled the trigger four times more, but
none of these balls touched a vital spot, though two of them struck the
beast in the head. He was now wild with rage.

Mr. Ranquist began to reload his revolver.

"I've only one more round--seven shots," he called.

"Hold on then!" shouted Adrian. "You can't kill him with those. If
you'll hold his attention long enough, by firing at him, I'll shin down,
and go for help. We'll need somebody with a gun for this bear."

"Do you think you can do it?" asked Mr. Ranquist, anxiously. "I wouldn't
want you to get hurt."

"Sure I can do it," replied Adrian, with all a boy's ability in his
power to do something he has never tried before.

"I rather dislike the idea, for I'm afraid he'll get away from me, even
if I keep firing at him, and take after you," objected Mr. Ranquist.

"I'll chance it," was Adrian's answer. "Go ahead with loading up, and,
when you're ready I'll scramble down. His back is toward me, when he's
under your tree."

"All right," called Mr. Ranquist, slipping in the last cartridge.

He took as careful aim as he could, and fired a shot. This time he had
the luck to hit the beast on its tender snout, which so enraged and
pained the bear that he did not notice Adrian's quick movement. In
order to fully cover the retreat Mr. Ranquist kept blazing away, and hit
bruin twice more, though the wounds were slight. However, they served to
keep the bear's attention on the man with the revolver, and Adrian
slipped to the ground, edging away cautiously through the trees. When at
a safe distance to prevent the noise being heard, he broke into a run.

With his last bullet gone, Mr. Ranquist settled back in the crotch of
his tree. He, Mr. Dudley, and Roger made themselves as comfortable as
possible, to wait until help arrived.

Meanwhile the bear went sniffing from tree to tree, getting more fierce
in his rage every minute. Only the small diameter of the saplings
prevented him from climbing up them. For perhaps half an hour the three
were thus held prisoners, though it seemed much longer to them, all
cramped as they were. Suddenly they noticed that the brute was acting
strangely. He sniffed the air, and growled yet more savagely, and the
hair on his back bristled up.

"I'll bet some one is coming," said Mr. Ranquist. "I only hope they have
a gun. I wouldn't care to meet his bearship on the ground without one,
in his present frame of mind."

The next instant there was a sharp crack. The bear gave a convulsive
jump, and staggered back, clawing the air with his forepaws, and
growling. Then he fell over backward in a heap.

"Good!" shouted Mr. Dudley.

A little cloud of smoke floated out from behind a big chestnut tree.
Next there came another rifle shot. The body of the beast shivered in a
spasm, and then was very still.

"Him very much dead now. Yo' all kin come down," called a guttural
voice, and Indian Johnny Green came into view, followed by Adrian.

Mr. Dudley, Mr. Ranquist and Roger lost no time in descending. They were
somewhat stiff from standing in a cramped position in the tree so long,
but, otherwise, and aside from the scare, no worse for the adventure.

"Well, it didn't take you long to bring help," observed Mr. Dudley,
grateful to the boy, though a little while before he had been inclined
to blame him.

"I happened to meet Johnny Green when I'd gone about a mile," said
Adrian. "It's lucky he had his gun."

"It's rather a lucky affair all around," said Mr. Ranquist.

The Indian paid no more attention to the party, but proceeded to examine
his prize, for the bear rightfully belonged to him. The animal was fat
and of good size, and Johnny Green was well pleased.

"I guess we'll call this exploring expedition off for the rest of the
day," suggested Mr. Ranquist. "I'm sure we are much obliged to you boys
for coming along, and especially to you, Adrian, for being brave enough
to go for help when you did."

"That was nothing," answered the boy, a little abashed at the praise.

"We shall expect you to go with us some other day this week," went on
the engineer. "Now, if you'll lead the way we will go back to the
hotel."

The two boys talked of nothing but the bear on the road home, but the
men maintained a silence. The Indian had remained behind to look after
his game. The party soon reached the inn, and, while the men went to
their room Roger and Adrian hurried home to tell the news.

"Say, Roger," asked Adrian, "what made you so anxious to lead 'em on to
our land by the spring?"

"Because," answered Roger, as if the matter was of no importance, "I
thought they might like to get a drink. I know I did, and that's very
good water you see."

"You're right about that," agreed Adrian, and by this time the two boys
were at the house, where, in the excitement of telling his father and
mother about the bear, Adrian forgot all else.

As soon as Roger could slip off without attracting notice from the
folks, he made his way up the village street. Pausing before a pretty
vine-covered cottage, he looked back to see that Adrian was not in
sight, and then entered the gate.

"Is Professor Bailey in?" he asked, when Mrs. Bailey opened the door.

"He is," she answered.

"Tell him, please, that Adrian Kimball's cousin, Roger, would like to
see him."

"Come right in," invited Mrs. Bailey. "You'll find him in the front
room."

And there, surrounded by heaps of books, Roger found the professor, Guy
Bailey, principal of the Cardiff school. The boy knew him from having
occasionally gone to the institution with Adrian.

"Well, Roger," began the professor, "I'm glad to see you. Come in and
sit down. Can I do anything for you?"

"I think so," answered the boy. "I've come for a little information."
Then he plunged at once into the object of his visit.

"Professor," he asked, "do you think anybody would dig for gold in the
hills around Cardiff?"

"Bless my soul, no! What do you mean? This is not a gold country, like
California or the Klondike. What put that idea into your head?"

"I'll tell you a little later. Do you s'pose they would dig for coal?"

"Hardly that, either. There isn't the kind of land black diamonds grow
in around here, that is, as far as I know."

"Or iron?"

"Scarcely iron," answered Professor Bailey, with a puzzled look at the
boy. "But why do you ask me these questions? Are you thinking of turning
miner instead of farmer?" with a smile.

"Perhaps," said Roger, and his serious air convinced the professor that
the boy had some motive in his inquiries. "You see I can't tell you all
about it just now, nor why I want to know this, Professor, but I will
some day. I want, most of all, to find out what, if anything, of value
could be in the Cardiff hills, that would make men, or a company of
capitalists, want to get possession of certain land. It might be, I
suppose, coal, or iron, or gold, or something else. The question is,
what is it?"

"You are asking me to go ahead pretty much in the dark," objected
Professor Bailey.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid those are all the clues I can give you now,"
said Roger.

"Well, I'll do my best to answer your puzzle," went on the teacher.
"From what I've read and know of the geological formation about here, I
cannot think of any mineral or other deposit that would naturally be
expected in this section. But of course it might be that, unknown to any
one, except a certain person, there would be a valuable mine of
something beneath the surface. Some mineral or quartz, but hardly coal,
nor iron, nor gold."

"Perhaps it might be oil," suggested Roger.

"I'm afraid not," was the reply, "though, as I said, almost anything is
possible, but in this instance, not very probable. If you were to show
me a certain spot, I might be able to say, with more certainty than I
can now, whether or not a particular mineral would be apt to be
present."

"I can't take you to the place," said Roger, who was determined to guard
his secret well, "because I want to keep this quiet as long as I can.
But, Professor, if I brought you a sample of rocks, or minerals,
or--or--something--could you tell me then?"

"Possibly I could."

"Then I'll see if I can't get some samples for you. But, please don't
tell any one I was in to see you about this. Not that there's anything
wrong," quickly added Roger, "but," and he advanced closer, "this may
mean a good deal to some people, and I don't want to raise hopes and
have them disappointed."

"Very well," answered the Professor, a little puzzled about it all, but
knowing, from Roger's frank and honest face that there could be nothing
but what was right. "Very well. I'll keep quiet, you may depend on it.
And, when you bring me something more definite to work on, I'll help you
all I can," and, with a hearty handshake, Professor Bailey showed Roger
to the door.

"Now," said the boy to himself, as he walked slowly toward his uncle's
house, "now to find out what they were digging for. I must get some of
that stuff they brought up on the end of the drill. And I'll have to
work quickly, for I think Mr. Ranquist suspects that I know."




CHAPTER XX

UNDERNEATH THE GROUND


For several days after the adventure with the bear Roger had no
opportunity of going to the glade where the spring bubbled up, in order
to find, if possible, what object the two engineers had in drilling
there. Adrian was obliged to busy himself with various duties about the
farm and garden, in order to get ready for the advanced spring planting,
and Roger felt that he ought to help his cousin. But, all this time,
Roger was busy thinking how he might accomplish his object, and get some
of that mysterious substance which Mr. Dudley and Mr. Ranquist examined
so eagerly.

He thought of a number of plans, but rejected them all as impracticable.
Most of them would have necessitated the bringing in of some one to help
him, and this he did not want to do. Even when busiest at his tasks with
Adrian, his mind was continually on this one subject, and, after a few
days, it seemed it would be impossible for him, with his own unaided
efforts, to dig down into the earth and find what was beneath the
surface. But Roger was not a boy who gave a thing up because it was
difficult.

One night, after a somewhat hard day in the garden, during which the
boys had set out a lot of cabbage plants, and hoed the early beans,
they were sitting in the parlor, Adrian showing Roger some books. One
was a sea story, and there was a picture of a sailor heaving the log, in
the old-fashioned way. Roger glanced at the reading matter, which told
how, on board ship, the lead was sounded, and how the speed of the ship,
as well as the depth of the water through which she was sailing, was
ascertained.

The tale went on to relate how sometimes, the sailors used a piece of
lead, with a hollow scooped in the lower end, into which space they
would place some tallow. Then they would throw the weighted line
overboard, and when the lead struck bottom, some of the mud and shells,
of which the ocean bed is composed, would adhere to the grease in the
hollow, scooped-out place. When the sinker was hauled to the surface and
examined, experienced seamen could tell what sort of an anchorage they
might find.

Roger started when he read this. He glanced over it again, carefully,
and his heart beat suddenly, at the idea which came to him. His cheeks
burned red with the happy thought, and he was almost afraid that Adrian
would see his excitement, and question him. He made an excuse to go to
his room, and busied himself there some time before he blew out his
light and went to bed.

[Illustration: "His heart beat suddenly at the idea which came to him"]

He dreamed, that night, of climbing down into a deep, dark mine, which
sparkled and glittered with the gold and diamonds lining the steep
sides.

The next day Roger made a hasty breakfast. To his relief Adrian did not
ask him to help with the farm work, nor did the country lad suggest, as
he often did, a tramp through the woods; and Roger was very glad, for
he had a plan to put in operation.

So, as soon as Adrian had left the house, having to go on an errand to a
neighbor's, Roger stepped out of the back door, and made his way slowly
to the path that led up through the vineyard, and, so on, to the spring
glade. His pocket bulged with a number of objects, and, though he tried
not to show it, he was considerably excited. It did not take him long to
reach the spot where he had hidden himself from sight the day he watched
Mr. Ranquist and Mr. Dudley drill down into the earth. He was almost
afraid something might have happened to the place, but a careful look,
showed him nothing had been disturbed.

There was the stone, behind which he first took his position, and the
log, in the protecting shadow of which he had worked his way to a spot
whence he might hear better. There was the second stone, and, after a
little searching about he was able to discover the stick that the men
had driven into the hole in the ground. He remembered pulling this up,
after they had gone, and his disappointment at not finding anything
there. Now he was resolved to be more careful in his method.

He looked warily about, to see that he was unobserved, and then he
slowly took up the small stake, so as not to disturb the dirt around the
edges of the opening. In this he was successful, and, after a few
seconds he was able to lift out the stick, and was rewarded by seeing a
small circular shaft, about two inches in diameter, extending down into
the unfathomable blackness. Now Roger was soon to know whether his plan
would succeed.

From his pocket he drew a long, stout fishline, at one end of which was
fastened a lead weight, slightly smaller around than the hole, and
having a saucer-shaped depression in one end. He made sure that the
sinker was tight on the string. From a small bottle he took a little
rosin and beeswax, which he had decided to use instead of the tallow
that served the sailors. He could get the wax more easily, and he
thought that by stiffening it with rosin, it would answer just as well.
Now he was all ready to put his scheme into execution.

Lying down flat on his face, he carefully lowered the weight into the
hole, keeping a strong hold of the string, so it would not pay out too
fast. How anxiously did he watch the slender cord slipping down and down
into the depths, the leaden messenger pulling it with a gentle force.
Farther and farther it went into the black hole. What would it come to
rest on? Would it fulfil its mission, and get to the bottom of the
opening? Or would the line be cut by sharp rocks? Once, when it had gone
a quarter of the length of the string, the lead caught on some
projection. How Roger's heart beat, fearing it would go no farther. He
cautiously pulled the weight up a little and let it fall gently. This
served to pass it beyond the stone that probably jutted out and stopped
the progress momentarily. Then it kept on going down. The boy was
straining every nerve in his eagerness to see what was down there, at
the bottom of that little hole.

At length, after a few minutes, during which time the line had slid
through his fingers, it suddenly slackened. Was this the end of the tiny
shaft, or only another catch and temporary stopping on the downward
journey? The boy pressed himself closer to the ground. He raised the
string and from slackness it became taut with the heft of lead. Then
Roger let it fall again, and it seemed to strike solid earth, or
something. The cord no longer payed out. Once, twice, three times, he
tried this, raising the weight and letting it fall suddenly, so that the
wax and rosin in the saucer-shaped end might catch whatever there was at
the bottom of the hole, and retain it.

Then Roger began to raise the lead to the surface. He worked slowly, and
more cautiously than he had in lowering it, as, if the string caught on
a projection now, it would be almost impossible to pull it up without
tearing off the weight, and that would mean the failure of the whole
plan. It was necessary to be careful, also, in order that whatever was
imbedded in the wax might not be shaken off. Hand over hand he drew the
cord up, and, with a fiercely beating heart, he saw the sinker come into
view. He reached for it with trembling hands. Then, in the glow of the
sunlight which streamed down on him, he turned the lead so that he might
behold what the wax contained.

[Illustration: "Then Roger began to raise the lead to the surface"]

If he expected to see glittering specks of yellow gold, he was sorely
disappointed. Nor was there anything he could think represented wealth,
not even pieces of some mineral which would account for the great
interest Mr. Dudley and Mr. Ranquist showed in their discovery.

With eyes that were a trifle dim from a sense that he had failed, Roger
gazed at the waxed end of the weight. Imbedded in the sticky surface the
boy saw some white crystals, which glinted and sparkled in the sun. Only
some white crystals, that might have been chipped off a light-colored
rock. To Roger they meant nothing. Almost idly he brushed them into the
palm of his hand and rose to his feet. This, then, was the end of his
hopes. The hole in the earth meant nothing, or else had been drilled for
some object he could not discover. His golden dream of hidden wealth
beneath his uncle's farm, by which the mortgage could be paid, was over
now.

He turned away, and was about to throw the white crystals aside, when a
sound behind caused him to start. He saw, emerging from the woods, Mr.
Ranquist. The engineer appeared much disturbed at the sight of the boy.
He stood still a moment, and then came forward rapidly. In his hand he
carried a valise, which, as he dropped it on the ground, gave forth a
metallic, clanking sound. Mr. Ranquist came close to Roger, who scarcely
knew what to do.

"Well," began the man, and his voice was so strange that the boy felt
vaguely alarmed, "well--" and he stopped.

"How do you do, Mr. Ranquist?" said the lad, as politely as he knew how.

"Humph! What right--I mean, what are you doing here? Spying on me? If
you are, I warn you, boy, you'll be sorry for it. I have been suspicious
of you, since the other day when you offered to lead us here. Now," and
the engineer spoke sternly, "what do you mean?"

"Why, Mr. Ranquist--I--er--I--"

"No nonsense, now!"

For a moment Roger was somewhat frightened. Then his natural courage
came back to him, and he felt a just resentment at the tone and manner
of the man.

"Mr. Ranquist," he said. "I have as much right, and more, than you have,
on this property. I--"

"What have you in your hand?" interrupted the engineer, looking at the
fist which Roger unconsciously had closed over the white crystals. "And
what are you doing with that string and weight," as he caught sight of
the fishline and sinker. "Answer me!"

Mr. Ranquist darted suddenly at Roger, exclaiming:

"You have been trying to discover the secret of the hole we drilled!
Well I'll spoil that game for you, my young friend!"

With a violent spring the engineer was almost upon the boy, but Roger
was too quick for him. He leaped to one side, his fist tightly clenched
over the crystals, which now seemed of considerable value to him, when
he saw what importance Mr. Ranquist attached to the matter. With a cry
of astonishment and anger at the threatened attack, but showing no sign
of fear, Roger bounded out of the glade and ran through the woods, and
down the hill, with Mr. Ranquist crashing through the brush after him.
The chase was on.

After the first rush and surprise Roger collected his thoughts, and
determined that Mr. Ranquist should not catch him. Or if the man outran
him, he resolved he would not give up what he had without a fierce
struggle. The excitement of the desperate race urged him on, and he felt
he could run a mile or more. He knew he was in a better condition for
sprinting than he had been in many months. So when he heard the engineer
coming after him, he was almost pleased at the idea of the running
contest. He believed he could win.

So he kept on, now stumbling over a low stump or a projecting root, now
tripping on a fallen log, or sinking into a soft spot, but never
slacking pace. The sounds made by his pursuer came more faintly to him.
Presently they died away altogether, and the boy felt he could safely
stop. He listened intently, but there came not a noise from the woods
behind him. Mr. Ranquist had given up.

"Well," thought Roger, defiantly, "he didn't make me give him these
crystals, and he didn't catch me. Now I wonder what I had better do?"

He thought over the situation for a few minutes, while he rested from
the chase, and then he decided on a plan.

"I'll bet Mr. Ranquist and Mr. Dudley will do something very soon now,"
he said to himself. "He thinks I have discovered his secret, and so I
have, though I don't know exactly what it is. But as long as he thinks I
have found him out, he'll be likely to get possession of Uncle Bert's
land. And Uncle Bert will sell it to him because he needs the money so
much, and he'll never know there's something valuable hidden under the
surface until it is too late. I must hurry to Professor Bailey and see
what he says. He ought to be able to tell what these crystals are."

With a heart that beat very hopefully Roger went down the path, and by a
roundabout way to the professor's house. He did not want Mr. Kimball to
see him. The boy knocked on the door, which was answered by Mrs. Bailey.

"Sorry," she said, in response to Roger's question, "but Professor
Bailey is not home. He went away this morning, to be gone several weeks.
Can I do anything for you?"

"No," replied Roger, and his heart sank. It would be too late, unless he
could soon find out what the white crystals were, for his uncle was not
likely to delay in the sale of the land on merely a boy's suspicion.
What was he to do? Pondering on this problem, he left the front gate of
the professor's house just as a wagon rattled up.




CHAPTER XXI

ROGER TAKES A JOURNEY


Roger was uncertain for a few minutes what to do. He heard the wagon
rumbling past him, but gave no notice to the driver until the latter
called out:

"Hello, young man! Want a ride?"

Then the boy saw that the man was his uncle's neighbor, Enberry Took. Up
to that minute Roger had not the remotest idea of taking a ride, but for
some reason he could not explain, he resolved to get into the wagon. He
wanted time to think of some new plan. So he nodded in answer to Mr.
Took's invitation.

"Whoa, Kate!" called Enberry to his mare, and pulled up opposite
Professor Bailey's gate. Roger climbed to the seat, having first wrapped
his precious crystals in a piece of paper before placing them in an
inside pocket.

"G'lang!" shouted Mr. Took to Kate in a loud voice. "She's a little
deef," the driver explained, indicating his mare. "Gittin' wuss, too.
Hev t' git her a ear trumpet soon, ef it keeps on. Look kinder queer,
wouldn't it, a mare 'ith a ear trumpet?"

"I think it would," replied Roger, smiling at the idea.

"G'lang!" shouted Mr. Took again, and this time the mare started off at
a slow pace.

The two rode for a few minutes in silence.

"Nice day," ventured Enberry at length.

"Fine," assented Roger.

"Goin' fer?" went on Mr. Took, flicking a fly from the mare's back.

"Why, yes--er--that is--I don't know. I mean I can't say."

"Wa'al, we'll git at it arter a while," laughed Enberry. "Which is it?"

"Where are you going?" asked Roger, a sudden thought coming to him.

"Syracuse. Why?"

"That's where I'm going then."

"Humph! Made up yer mind rather suddint," commented Enberry, with a
grin. "But ye're welcome, all th' same. I won't be comin' back 'til
rather late though, 'long about nine o'clock," he added.

"That will suit me good enough," said Roger. "I'll tell you what it is,"
growing confidential, and knowing he could trust Mr. Took. "I want to go
to Syracuse to find a chemist. I have something, and I want to find out
what it is. I was going to ask Professor Bailey, but he has gone away,
and I'm in a hurry. I don't s'pose you know of a man out to the city who
could tell all about minerals and such things, do you?"

"Ye say ye've got suthin' 'n' don't know what it is?" asked Mr. Took,
with rather a puzzled look on his face.

Roger nodded.

"Then I know th' very place fer ye," said Enberry, suddenly. "Perfessor
Bootsky 's th' man fer ye. He's a fortune teller. That's what ye want.
He'll reveal th' past, present, 'n' future. I went t' him onct. Told me
I'd hev bad luck inside of a month, 'n' I'll be gol-swizzled ef one a'
my cows didn't up 'n' die on me. He's th' chap fer ye. Tell ye anythin'
'bout nothin' 'n' nothin' 'bout everythin', jest's ye like. I'll take ye
t' him. G'lang, Kate!" and fired with sudden energy and enthusiasm, Mr.
Took sent the mare along at a flying pace.

"No! No!" exclaimed Roger, trying not to laugh.

"No?" with a puzzled air, from Enberry.

"I have something I want analyzed, to find out what sort of stuff it
is," said Roger.

"Hain't nobody been tryin' t' pizen ye, hev they?" asked Enberry, with a
startled look. "I read 'bout a case like thet in th' papers onct. Feller
most died from drinkin' well water. Had a green scum on it. Took it t' a
perfessor, 'n' what d' he s'pose he said?"

"What?"

"Paris Green! G'lang, Kate!"

"Oh, this is nothing like that," said Roger. "At least I do not believe
what I have is poison."

"And you want jest a ordinary chemist 'n' not a fortune teller, eh?"

"I do."

"Wa'al," said Mr. Took, at length, "ye come t' th' right place fere
information fer onct in yer life, Roger. I know jest th' feller ye want.
He used t' live out here 'fore he growed up, got a eddercation, 'n'
become one a' them chaps what looks through a glass, 'n' tells ye 'bout
bugs in th' drinkin' water, 'n' wigglers turnin inter musquiters. 'N' he
looks through a thing like a telescope, 'n' tells ye 'bout lines, 'n'
angles, 'n' feet, 'n' chains, 'n' links, 'n' so on. What d' ye call them
fellers?"

"Surveyors," ventured Roger.

"That's it. He's a surveyor. Addison Vanter is his name. He's one of 'em
employed by the city, 'n' his office is in th' town hall. I'll take ye
right t' him; I know him, 'n' he'll fix ye up. G'lang, Kate!"

"I didn't tell the folks I was coming away," said Roger, "so I hope
we'll be back before very late. I wouldn't like them to be worried on my
account."

"We'll git back all right," answered Mr. Took. "'Long 'bout haf-past
eight er nine o'clock. Bert's folks won't miss ye 'til then, 'specially
as boys is allers traipsin' off sommers er other."

"I guess nine o'clock will not be too late," said Roger. "Would you
mind, Mr. Took," the boy went on, "not speaking about this trip to
people in Cardiff? You see I want to surprise my uncle, and I don't want
him to know anything about what I am doing. There's nothing wrong in it,
though."

Mr. Took promised readily enough, as he knew he could trust the boy, and
he did not ask any questions, for which Roger was grateful. They were
well on their journey now, driving along the pleasant valley road in the
sunshine. It yet lacked considerable of noon, but Roger began to feel
hungry, for, in the excitement, he had not eaten much breakfast. Mr.
Took seemed to know this, and with a good-natured smile, he reached
under the seat and pulled out a pail.

"My wife allers puts this snack up for me when I go t' th' city," he
said. "Here, help yerself," and he extended the pail filled with crisp,
brown doughnuts and some cream cheese. Roger did full justice to Mrs.
Took's excellent cooking, and, when he had finished the fifth cake he
felt much better. Nor had Mr. Took been a whit behind him in disposing
of the toothsome fried cakes.

"They're fine," was Roger's verdict.

"Allers make me thirsty," commented Mr. Took, "but I know where I kin
git a drink."

He shook the reins, and Kate trotted on.

"Whoa up!" shouted Enberry, suddenly pulling the mare in. "Here we be."

Beside the road was a hollowed-out tree trunk, moss lined, filled to the
edges and running over with clear, cool, sparkling water, that flowed
and bubbled into the trough from a wooden pipe, made from a hollow log,
which extended back to the spring. There was a dried yellow gourd for a
dipper, and Mr. Took and Roger drank their fill, while Kate stuck her
nose deep into the liquid, and sucked it up with queer little noises.

"Finest water in th' state," said Mr. Took, wiping his mouth dry on the
back of his hand, "finest water in th' state."

And Roger agreed with him.

"Wa'al, we'll git along I guess," said Enberry, after a pause, and they
made no other stop until they reached Syracuse. Mr. Took drove under the
sheds back of the Candee House, where the Cardiff stage put up. This
lumbering vehicle had arrived a few minutes before them.

"Not so bad," said Mr. Took, glancing at his big silver watch. "It's one
o'clock. Now we'll git some dinner. Hello, Porter!" he called to the
stage driver, who just then emerged from the barn. "How be ye? Most got
in ahead on ye, didn't I?"

"Had t' make a few extra stops," explained Mr. Amidown. "Made me a
leetle late," and, with a nod, he passed on.

Now Roger was almost as hungry as if he had not eaten the doughnuts, and
he wanted his dinner very much. But he knew hotels charged for food,
even if it was for a small boy, and he realized, for the first time,
that, in his hurry he had come away without any money. So he began to
wonder how he could pay for a meal, or even a half of one, providing
they had that kind. He did not like to go in with Mr. Took, under the
circumstances, so he rather hung back, when his friend followed the
stage driver into the public parlor of the Candee House. But Enberry was
quick to notice the boy's diffidence, and, rightly guessing the cause,
he said:

"I'm standin' treat t'-day, Porter. You 'n' Roger here, is invited t'
dine at my expense. 'T ain't often I git a chanst t' hev company at my
hotel, 'n' when I do I make th' most on it. Now, now," as he saw Roger
hesitating, "no excuses, jest come right along. I've got lots t' do, 'n'
no time t' stand on ceremony. 'Sides, I'm 's hungry's a b'ar 'n' her
four cubs."

So there was nothing to do but accept the invitation, and soon all three
were sitting down to a plain, but bountifully spread table.

"I'll take ye t' thet feller I spoke about, Roger," said Mr. Took, as he
began on his second piece of pie. "Then I'll hev t' leave ye. Be back
here by six o'clock, 's I'll start then. Can't do my tradin' much afore
thet. That'll give us a chanst t' git a bite a' supper, 'n' we kin be in
Cardiff by nine o'clock. Th' moon's full, 'n' it'll be good drivin'."

"He kin go back 'ith me, 'bout three o'clock," spoke up Mr. Amidown.
"I'd like t' hev him on th' stage."

Roger thanked his friend for the offer, but said he was not sure he
could be through with what he had to do in that short time, and so he
decided to stick to his original plan and go back with Mr. Took. It
would be more fun, too, he thought, driving home by moonlight. The
dinner was soon over, and, when Mr. Took had paid the bill, he and Roger
walked up the main street of Syracuse.

They made their way to the city hall, and Enberry soon located his
acquaintance. Mr. Vanter was glad to see some one from Cardiff,
especially Mr. Took, with whom he was quite friendly. Roger was
introduced.

"He's a N' York city boy, out on a visit to his uncle, a neighbor a'
mine," explained Enberry. "He has a notion he wants t' see ye 'bout
suthin', jest what, I don't know, but he'll tell ye. Now I've got t' go.
Remember, Roger, be at th' Candee House by six o'clock."

"I will," replied the boy, as Mr. Took left.

"Now, my young friend, what can I do for you?" asked Mr. Vanter,
pleasantly.

Roger pulled from his pocket the paper containing the mysterious white
crystals. He held them toward the surveyor.

"What are they?" the boy asked.

Mr. Vanter took them in his hand. He smelled of them, once, twice. Then,
taking a tiny piece of one of the particles he touched it on the tip of
his tongue. He made a wry face.

"Humph!" he remarked, and tasted again. "It must be," he muttered to
himself, as Roger looked anxiously on. Then the chemist got a test tube,
put some of the crystals in it, and poured a little water on them. He
shook the glass violently, until the white particles had all dissolved.
Then he brought out several bottles of chemicals, and began his tests.
Roger was much interested, and, at the conclusion of the experimenting,
when Mr. Vanter put his materials aside, the boy leaned forward, and
asked breathlessly:

"What is it?"

"You have here," said Mr. Vanter, smiling a little, "a very fine sample
of--pure rock salt."

"Salt?"

Roger's heart went away down into his shoes. Why, he thought, should
Mr. Ranquist and Mr. Dudley have been so elated over a little salt.

"Just ordinary salt, though a very fine grade," repeated the surveyor.

"Only salt," and there was a world of disappointment in Roger's tone.

"But salt is not to be despised, by any means," went on Mr. Vanter. "If
it wasn't for the salt wells, Syracuse would not be such a fine city as
it is. Besides, if there was no salt, the people of the whole world
would be very badly off. Is there something behind all this, Roger?
Perhaps if you tell me I may be able to help you more than I can now. As
it is I am working in the dark."

"Then I'll tell you everything," said Roger, and he did so, from the
arrival of the two strangers in Cardiff, and his suspicions of them, the
manner in which he had discovered them drilling the hole, how they
sought to keep him away from the spring glade, and, finally, his escape
from Mr. Ranquist that morning, ending with his journey to Syracuse.

"Hum," remarked Mr. Vanter at length. "Hum." He pursed up his lips, and
wrinkled his forehead in deep thought as he paced rapidly back and forth
in his office. Then he clapped his hands together with a resounding
whack, and cried aloud:

"That's it! By the Great Horn Spoon, but that's it! No wonder they want
to keep it secret."

"What?" asked Roger, Mr. Vanter's excitement infecting him. "What is
it?"

"Well," began the surveyor, cautiously, "I wouldn't want to raise any
false hopes, but, Roger, my boy, I think you have stumbled across a big
discovery, or, rather, you have probably done so at the same time these
two men did. And it's a mighty good thing for you and your uncle. You
say he is greatly in need of money to pay off this mortgage. Does Mr.
Ranquist or Mr. Dudley know about that?"

"I'm afraid they do," said Roger, thinking of how Adrian had
incautiously told something of his father's affairs to the engineers
that day.

"That's bad, that's bad," went on Mr. Vanter, half to himself. "Now,
since they know you are on the track of their secret, they'll act
promptly. Every minute is valuable. They may get your uncle to sign an
agreement to-day promising to sell his land to them, and if he does so,
it's as binding as if he deeded it away, if they choose to make him
fulfil the contract, as, no doubt, they would do. If I had only known of
this yesterday. But perhaps we can catch them yet." He looked quickly at
his watch.

"But what's it all about?" asked Roger, who did not yet understand what
made Mr. Vanter so excited, all over a little salt.

"It's this," replied the surveyor. "Unless I 'm very much mistaken,
those men have discovered on your uncle's farm a valuable deposit of
rock salt. Of its extent and worth I can only guess, but, from the
actions of Mr. Ranquist, the mine must be a rich one. His object will be
to secure Mr. Kimball's land, or that part of it in the spring-glade,
before the fact becomes known that there is salt under the surface. Thus
he can obtain, for the price of ordinary farming real estate, property
that may be worth thousands and thousands of dollars."

Roger felt his breath come with a gasp.

"And it's our business to prevent this," said Mr. Vanter. "Now," he went
on, "I'll tell you what we'll do."

He seemed to be thinking out a plan, and Roger waited, all impatience.

"You take the stage back to Cardiff," continued the surveyor. "I'll come
on after you with Mr. Took, and that will give me time to make some
arrangements here. Now be careful what you do. Don't tell any one you
have seen me, and, when I arrive in Cardiff, don't recognize me if you
meet me in the road. Above all, hurry. You have only just time to catch
the stage. When you get home, say to your uncle the first thing: 'Don't
sign any papers to sell the spring-glade land for at least a week.' If
he wants to know why, tell him, and say you have seen me. But, if he
hasn't signed, don't let him. Now hurry, and good luck go with you."

With wildly beating heart, thinking of what might happen in the next few
hours, Roger made his way to the Candee House, where he found the stage
just pulling out.

"Hi there! Mr. Amidown! Please take me along!" shouted the boy.

"Oh! Eh! Changed yer mind, did ye?" said Porter, as he pulled up his
team and helped Roger to climb on the high seat. "Wa'al, I'm glad t' hev
ye come along. I didn't hev no one t' ride 'ith me. Nothin' but a lot a'
weemin passengers this trip. G'lang, Pete 'n' Jim," and he nicked the
horses lightly.

Roger thought the ride to Cardiff would never come to an end. But, at
last, he came in sight of the white church. He jumped off the stage at
the post-office, and ran all the way to his uncle's house. He burst into
the kitchen, where he saw Mr. Kimball looking at a paper.

"Fer th' land sakes," burst out Mrs. Kimball, "we thought a b'ar had
carried ye off, Roger."

"Uncle Bert!" cried the boy, earnestly, "don't sign any papers, agreeing
to sell the land near the spring!"

Mr. Kimball gazed slowly over the rims of his spectacles at his nephew.

"Wa'al," he began slowly, "I didn't know 's ye knew anythin' 'bout this
transaction, but ye're a leetle too late. I signed an hour ago. Mr.
Ranquist brought th' agreement t' me, 'n' I must say I think I got a
good price. Enough t' pay off th' mortgage, 'n' a leetle over."

"Then you have signed?" spoke the boy, waiting in fear for the answer.

"I hev."

"I'm too late," exclaimed Roger, bitterly. "They got ahead of me, after
all."




CHAPTER XXII

A QUESTION OF LAW


The sudden entrance of Roger, his words and manner, and his earnestness,
created no small excitement in the Kimball household. Adrian and Clara,
who had been in the sitting-room, discussing the situation, and
rejoicing over the sale of the land, by means of which the mortgage
could be paid, came hurrying into the kitchen as they heard their cousin
speak.

"Hello, Roger!" exclaimed Adrian. "I was just going out to hunt you up.
Where were you?"

"Out to Syracuse," answered Roger, briefly.

Mr. Kimball folded up the agreement of sale he had been reading, and
came over to where his nephew stood.

"Roger, my boy," he began, "what do ye mean? What is all this about,
anyhow? Ain't I got a right t' sell my land ef I want t'? 'N' ain't two
thousand dollars a good price fer th' spring-glade?"

"No, sir! It is not!" burst out the boy. "That's just it. You've gone
and bargained away land worth probably twenty times what you have agreed
to sell it for."

"What's that? I guess ye don't know what ye're talkin' about, Roger."

"I guess I do," said Roger, stoutly, but not forgetting the deference
due his uncle. "Look here!" and he held out a few of the white crystals.

"What's them?" asked Mr. Kimball.

"Rock salt."

"Rock salt. Wa'al, what of it? There's lots of it, out t' Syracuse."

"And there's lots of it on that land you've agreed to sell," exclaimed
Roger. "That's what I went to the city for. That's what I've been
following Mr. Ranquist and Mr. Dudley for. Uncle Bert, your farm, or
part of it, anyhow, is right over a salt mine. I know this, though I
can't say how big the mine is. But a man who knows something about such
things believes it will be worth lots of money. That's why I tried to
hurry home, to prevent you from signing the property away."

"Oh! Why didn't ye wait, Bert?" said Mrs. Kimball, in a sorrowful voice.

"Wa'al," spoke Mr. Kimball, in rather a husky tone, "I s'pose I ought t'
hev, but how'd I know there was salt on my land? There ain't never been
no evidences of it. How d'ye know there is?" turning suddenly to Roger.

"Because," answered the boy, earnestly, "I saw Mr. Ranquist and Mr.
Dudley drilling a hole near the spring. I saw them pull up something on
the end of a rod, from deep down under the earth. This morning I lowered
a weight on a string down the hole, and these white crystals stuck to
the wax on the end of the lead. Mr. Ranquist saw me, and he chased me,
but I beat him running. Then I went to a man in Syracuse. Enberry Took
gave me a ride out. The man told me what this stuff was, and wanted me
to warn you not to agree to sell."

Then Roger related the whole story to his uncle and the rest of the
family, just as he had told Mr. Vanter. When he had finished a silence
fell on the little group in the farmhouse kitchen.

"Humph!" ejaculated Mr. Kimball, at length. "I guess th' boy's right. I
wonder I didn't smell a rat when this feller Ranquist come so hot arter
my land, when there's plenty other t' be hed in Cardiff. I never
suspicioned nothin'. He offered me one thousand dollars, 'n' I says make
it two thousand, so's I could pay off th' mortgage."

"Did he do it?" asked Roger.

"Never hesitated a minute," went on Mr. Kimball. "Agreed to it right
away. 'N' then he hed me go up t' Squire Bimmer's office, 'n' sign th'
agreement. Paid me five hundred dollars down," and Mr. Kimball drew out
a crisp bank-note, and gazed rather sorrowfully at it. "He said he'd pay
th' balance 's soon 's we could draw th' deed, t'-morrow er next day,
but he said th' agreement were's bindin' 's ef he hed a deed."

"I guess it is," said Roger, remembering what Mr. Vanter had told him.

"Plowshares 'n' hoe handles, but why didn't I wait!" lamented Mr.
Kimball. "Though how in th' name a' th' sacred cat was I t' know there
were salt on th' land. My! My! But I guess I've made a bad mistake."

So, instead of being glad because the land was sold, Mr. Kimball, and
all the family, were greatly downcast after they had listened to Roger's
story. And he, too, took very much to heart the disappointment of his
uncle. If he had only acted a day sooner, all this trouble would have
been avoided. But it was too late for regrets now, and the only thing to
do, was to make the best of it, the boy thought. Yet it was very hard to
see valuable land sold for such a small sum, particularly when his uncle
needed money so badly. There was just a faint hope in Roger's heart,
that perhaps Mr. Vanter might be able to suggest a way out of the
difficulty. But the hope was so faint that he hardly dared speak of it.
He could only wait until the promised arrival of the surveyor, and see
what would come of it.

Troubled dreams disturbed the usually quiet slumbers of more than one
member of the Kimball home that night. Roger's uncle was so restless,
tossing to and fro on the bed, and thinking of his lost opportunity,
that he was glad when morning came, so he could get up and go to work.
The others, also, thought too much of what had happened to sleep well.

After the chores were done up Mr. Kimball paid a visit to the spring
glade. To his eyes, not experienced in looking for signs of mineral
wealth, there were no indications of a salt mine beneath the surface,
and he felt himself almost wishing such a thing could not be true. But
he could scarcely doubt it, after what had occurred. With a heavy heart
he took up the duties of the day.

"Come on, Roger," called Adrian, as soon as he had done his part of the
morning's work about the farm, "let's go up by the spring, and see where
the salt mine is. Cracky! I wish I'd been along when you went fishing on
dry land. I'll bet I'd fired a stone at Ranquist."

"I wish you had been along," said Roger. "Your father would not have
signed then. But I thought I was acting for the best."

"Of course you did. It isn't your fault," replied Adrian.

The two boys walked up the hill, and were soon at the place. On the way
Roger was wondering whether Mr. Vanter had come out. He remembered his
instructions, to pretend not to recognize the surveyor. As the lads
approached the spring they could hear through the trees, the noise of
men digging, and voices in conversation. The click of spades and shovels
was plainly audible.

"They're at it already!" exclaimed Adrian. "Hurry up, and let's see 'em
get the salt out."

"I guess they won't reach it very soon," said Roger. "It's about
twenty-five feet under the surface."

The boys quickened their steps, and soon came to the open glade. Three
men were busy at work, two of them laborers, while the third was a
familiar figure to Roger, who gave a start of surprise as he recognized
Mr. Vanter directing operations. But even in the intense excitement of
the moment, Roger did not forget his promise, and he was prepared to
show by no sign that he had ever seen the surveyor before.

"Why, there's a new man," said Adrian, as he caught sight of Mr. Vanter.
"I thought, at first, it was Mr. Dudley or Mr. Ranquist, but it isn't. I
wonder who he is. Anyhow, let's see what they are doing."

The cousins watched the laborers with great interest. Mr. Vanter glanced
up and saw Roger, but, though he gave just the faintest smile, to show
he knew his young friend, he made no motion to indicate that the order
of last night was not to be obeyed, so Roger kept silent.

The two laborers were digging a sort of inclined shaft, sinking it about
the place where Mr. Ranquist had drilled the small hole. Their picks and
shovels made the brown dirt fly, and Mr. Vanter urged them on, as though
they were working against time. The boys watched for perhaps ten
minutes, when there came a sound, as if some one was approaching. The
next instant Mr. Dudley and Mr. Ranquist appeared on the scene. Roger
started in surprise, wondering what would happen now, but Mr. Vanter
gave no indication that he saw the engineers, and the laborers kept on
digging.

"Well," said Mr. Ranquist, at length, "I must say I consider this a
rather high-handed proceeding. By what right, sir, are you working on my
property? Do you know," addressing Mr. Vanter, "that you and your men
are trespassing, and are liable to arrest?"

"Since when have you owned this land?" asked the surveyor, coolly. "This
belongs to Bert Kimball, a friend of mine, and--"

"It doesn't belong to him any more," broke in Mr. Ranquist.

"Since when has he ceased to own it?"

"Well, I don't know as that is any of your affair, but I'll tell you.
Since yesterday afternoon Mr. Kimball ceased to be the owner, when he
signed an agreement to sell this piece to the Universal Salt Company."

Mr. Vanter started, and looked at Roger, who sorrowfully nodded in
confirmation of what the engineer had said.

"There's his son; ask him," went on Mr. Ranquist, pointing to Adrian.

"I guess it's true," said the boy, in response to Mr. Vanter's look.
"But," he added, "my father would never have agreed to sell it if he had
known there was salt on it."

"I would imagine not," said Mr. Vanter, softly, to himself.

"That was his lookout, not mine," came from Mr. Ranquist. Turning to Mr.
Vanter, he added: "I advise you to leave here, my friend. I'll overlook
the trespass for once, but don't let it happen again," and he frowned in
a significant manner.

"Suppose I refuse to go until you prove to me that you own this land, or
have a legal right, by virtue of an agreement, to order me off," asked
Mr. Vanter.

"Then I'm afraid there'll be an unpleasant scene," exclaimed Mr.
Ranquist, in a harsh voice, and with a sudden motion he drew a revolver,
and aimed it full at the surveyor. "I don't want to resort to forceful
measures," he went on, "but I'll have no hesitation in using this if you
remain here three minutes longer." He drew out his watch.

"You needn't worry," spoke up Mr. Vanter, calmly. "I'm not afraid of
that popgun, for I've faced bigger ones than that, but at present you
seem to have the law on your side. However, Mr. Ranquist, we may meet
again, when perhaps the shoe will be on the other foot. I'll bid you
good-morning," and, bowing politely, with not a trace of anger in his
face, Mr. Vanter walked slowly down the hill, followed by the two
laborers. Roger and Adrian remained behind for a minute or so.

"I guess I can get along without you two boys," remarked Mr. Ranquist,
in strange contrast to his pleasant tones of a few days before. "And as
for you, Master Roger, if I catch you on this land after to-day, it
won't be well for you. Mind what I say, and keep off. I'll see your
father, Adrian, and have him keep you away also."

"You needn't trouble yourself," said Adrian, quickly. He was as angry as
ever a boy could be. "We don't have any great hankering to get on your
land, which you had to cheat to get control of," and with this parting
shot Adrian and Roger made their way in the direction taken by Mr.
Vanter. They caught up to him before he had gone very far, and though
Roger, in obedience to his instructions, was not going to speak, the
surveyor addressed him.

"Well, Roger," he said, "I see you were too late. Your uncle must have
signed before you got home last night."

"He had," answered the boy. "He was reading the agreement when I got in.
I think he said he is to sign the deed to-morrow."

"Too bad," remarked Mr. Vanter, sympathetically, "but I suppose it
couldn't be helped. I think I'll go down and see Mr. Kimball, anyhow. He
used to know me when I was a Cardiff boy. I suppose," turning to Adrian,
"this is his son?"

Adrian nodded pleasantly, and while the party advanced Roger told his
cousin in a low tone who Mr. Vanter was, and how he had met him. At the
foot of the hill the surveyor dismissed his laborers and went on with
the boys.

"I didn't have a chance to do much in the way of examining the land,"
said Mr. Vanter to Roger. "I would have dug deeper if I hadn't been
interrupted. But from what I saw, and the way Ranquist acted, I am
pretty sure the salt deposit is a large one, and valuable. I wish, for
Mr. Kimball's sake, I had known this two days ago."

When the three reached the house, they found Mr. Kimball reading a
letter. Roger introduced Mr. Vanter, and the farmer at once recalled the
man who, as a youngster, used to play about the village streets.

"I ain't forgot ye," he said, clapping Mr. Vanter heartily on the back.
"I remember onct when I ketched ye in my melon patch," and he laughed
at the recollection, Mr. Vanter joining in.

"I have even better cause than you have not to forget that little
incident," responded the surveyor, as he rubbed the back of his legs
reflectively.

"I reckon I switched ye good 'n' proper," commented Mr. Kimball, a smile
playing about the corners of his mouth.

"I hear you have been selling a salt mine just as if it was ordinary
pasture land," said Mr. Vanter, to change the subject.

"Why, how'd ye know thet?" asked Mr. Kimball, in a wondering tone. "I
calalated nobody--Oh! You're th' feller Roger went to see in Syracuse,"
he cried suddenly. "I understand now. Wa'al, it ain't th' boy's fault.
He made a noble try. I took up Ranquist's offer too quick, thet's th'
hull trouble. But I needed th' money bad. In fact, here's a letter now,
tellin' me thet onless I raise th' cash by th' end a' th' week, th'
mortgage'll be foreclosed, 'n' I'll lose th' farm. By sellin' th'
spring-glade when I did, I've got nuff t' make th' payment. Ha'f a
loaf's better'n' no bread, ye know. But I s'pose I ought t' hev waited."

"When do you sign the deed?" asked Mr. Vanter. "I understand you have
given a binding agreement to sell, so it's no use trying to get out of
that."

"Why, me 'n' Mrs. Kimball are t' put our signatures on th' deed
t'-morrow," replied the farmer, "'n' I git th' balance a' th' two
thousand dollars then. Handy 'nuff it'll be, too, but I wish now it
were more. I'll be pretty heavily in debt, even arter I pay off th'
mortgage. Yes, sir, me 'n' mother here signs t'-morrow," and he motioned
to his wife who had come to the door.

At the mention of Mrs. Kimball's name in connection with signing the
deed, Mr. Vanter gave a start of surprise. He seemed to have an idea
that proved a pleasant thought, for he rubbed his hands together, and
began pacing up and down the room, as he had done when Roger saw him the
first time, in the Syracuse office.

"Tell me," said Mr. Vanter, coming toward Mr. Kimball, and speaking very
earnestly, "did Mrs. Kimball sign the agreement?"

"Why, no, she didn't, come t' think on 't," replied the farmer,
scratching his head. "She were out when Mr. Ranquist brought th' paper.
I guess she'd gone over t' Mrs. Took's. It were only a matter a' form,
havin' her sign, Ranquist said, 'n' he mentioned she could sign th'
deed. 'N' so, he bein' in a hurry, he left 'fore she got back. So th'
agreement's got only my name on 't."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at that agreement," said Mr.
Vanter, smiling as though something pleased him.

"Wa'al, I guess ye kin hev it," remarked Mr. Kimball. "'Tain't much use
t' me, seein' 's how Ranquist has a copy. But what in th' name a' th'
Cardiff giant d'ye want it fer?"

"To keep Mrs. Kimball from signing it by mistake," replied Mr. Vanter.

"How's thet? Is there any hope thet I won't hev t' deed away thet land?"
asked Mr. Kimball, in great excitement.

"Oh, no; I guess you'll have t' sign the deed, as you have agreed to,"
was the answer.

"What then?"

"Well," said the surveyor slowly, "I may think of a plan to outwit Mr.
Ranquist yet. Put on your hat and coat, and we'll go to Squire Bimmer's
office."

"Hurrah!" shouted Roger, gaily, as he saw his uncle and Mr. Vanter leave
the house. "Hurrah! Maybe it will come out right after all!"

But Mrs. Kimball, who had heard the talk, did not see how, and she was
in no happy frame of mind, over the prospect of selling the valuable
land for such a small sum.




CHAPTER XXIII

THE PLOTTERS FOILED


The news of salt being discovered on Mr. Kimball's farm soon became
known all over Cardiff. People rubbed their eyes, and wondered if
something of the kind wouldn't happen on their land. Several began to
dig in their gardens and back-yards, others on their hillsides, while a
number hurried to the spring-glade to see what a salt mine looked like.
These persons were much disappointed, however, as the only thing they
saw was what digging Mr. Vanter's men had done. Mr. Ranquist was on
guard, also, and warned all curious ones away.

The deed was to be signed at ten o'clock the next day, and, from the
time Mr. Vanter took Mr. Kimball off with him, until that night, the two
spent many busy hours. There was much looking over of legal books and
records, and a number of consultations in Squire Bimmer's office. Toward
the close of the day, that had been so full of exciting incidents, Mr.
Kimball seemed a little more cheerful.

"I think," said Mr. Vanter, as he and the farmer left the squire's
house, "that we'll have a little surprise for Mr. Ranquist to-morrow."

"I'm sure I hope it'll come out right," remarked Mr. Kimball.

Mr. Vanter started off toward the Pine Tree Inn.

"Whar ye goin'?" demanded Mr. Kimball.

"Why I thought I'd put up at the tavern, just as I did last night,"
rejoined Mr. Vanter.

"Not much, ye won't," interposed Mr. Kimball. "I ain't goin' t' hev a
friend a' mine eatin' th' kind a fodder ye'll find up at th' Pine Tree.
Ye're comin' home 'ith me. I guess we'll be able t' give ye suthin' t'
eat, 'n' a place t' sleep."

"Well, if you insist," agreed Mr. Vanter, to whom the prospect of
another night in the tavern, under the same roof with Mr. Ranquist and
Mr. Dudley, was not a pleasant one. So he and Mr. Kimball went back to
the big, comfortable farmhouse, where a smoking-hot supper was waiting
for them. And Mr. Vanter did full justice to the tender chicken, fried
crisp in sweet butter, the salt-rising bread, the buckwheat honey, the
preserved plums, the generously frosted fruit and chocolate cakes, and a
lot besides.

"It's the best meal I've had in a year," he told the delighted Mrs.
Kimball, while Clara blushed at the praise bestowed on her cakes.

Every one was up early next morning, and, soon after breakfast, Squire
Bimmer came along, bearing his seal as Commissioner of Deeds, his law
books, and various legal papers.

"I don't calalate I'll hev much need a' this," said the squire,
indicating his seal.

"I hope not," replied Mr. Vanter. "But we can't tell. It all depends on
Mrs. Kimball," and he smiled a little as he said this.

"Wa'al I guess I kin make out t' act jest 's ye told me to," remarked
that lady. "Ye needn't be afraid a' me goin' back on ye."

"No danger," chuckled Mr. Kimball.

It was about ten o'clock, when Mr. Ranquist, accompanied by Mr. Dudley
and a lawyer, appeared at the farmhouse. They were led into the parlor,
a table was cleared, and Mr. Vanter, Mr. Kimball, and Squire Bimmer drew
up close to it. Mr. Ranquist glared at Mr. Vanter, and smiled in an easy
sort of fashion, as though he already had the property in his
possession. He slowly drew from his valise a bundle of bank-bills.

"There's fifteen hundred dollars in that package," he said, addressing
no one in particular.

"I suppose everything is in readiness," said Mr. Dudley to his lawyer.
"Here is the agreement Mr. Kimball has signed. All that is necessary now
is for him to put his name on the deed."

"'N' I'm ready to do thet," spoke up the farmer. Roger and Adrian, who
had entered the room, wondered at his easy compliance. They had expected
him to refuse, and looked to see Mr. Ranquist compel him, by means of
the agreement. Pens and ink were ready, and, in a few seconds Mr.
Kimball had affixed his signature to the deed, by the terms of which he
conveyed a certain tract of land, described very carefully, to the
Universal Salt Company, to have and to hold, and so on, with a lot of
legal terms.

"Now," remarked the lawyer for the two engineers, when he had blotted
Mr. Kimball's name, "as soon as Mrs. Kimball has signed you will get the
fifteen hundred dollars."

"Oh, yes, ye want Mrs. Kimball now," said her husband, smiling a bit,
and not at all like a man who has been cheated into selling a valuable
salt mine for a small sum. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Kimball. Wait; I'll call her.
Here, mother," he said, going to the door, "come in. We need ye fer a
minute."

Mrs. Kimball entered as her husband went out. She was a little excited
over the part she was to play.

"Sign right there, please," said the lawyer, pointing to the space below
Mr. Kimball's name, and seeing to it, as the law requires, that the
husband was not present when the wife signed the deed.

Mrs. Kimball did not seem to understand. She made no motion to pick up
the pen. The lawyer waited expectantly, and then said:

"Just sign your name, will you, please?"

"No, sir," replied Mrs. Kimball, firmly, "I won't sign. I've made up my
mind not to put my name to this deed, 'n' I ain't agoin' to."

"What?" exclaimed the lawyer.

"What?" cried Mr. Ranquist.

"What?" almost shouted Mr. Dudley.

Then all three said, "What!" in a chorus.

"No, sir!" repeated Mrs. Kimball, "I'm not agoin' t' sign, 'n' thet's
th' end on 't," and she shut her lips firmly.

"Why this is ridiculous. I never heard of such a thing," began the
lawyer. "Why, my dear Mrs. Kimball, your husband can't convey this
property unless you sign the deed also. That is the law. Husband and
wife must both sign the deed. This puts us in a pretty predicament!"

"I thought it would," said Mr. Vanter, softly; and at the words, Mr.
Ranquist turned angrily toward him.

"Oh, so you've been meddling," the engineer remarked, with a sneer.

"If you call it that," rejoined Mr. Vanter coolly.

"Can't you induce your wife to sign?" asked the lawyer of Mr. Kimball.

The grizzled farmer, who had returned, smiled good naturedly.

"I don't like t' be disobligin'," he said, slowly, "but from long
experience I know thet whenever Mrs. Kimball makes up her mind not t' do
a thing, she won't do it. I've tried her before, 'n' I know. Ef she says
she won't sign, there's no use a' me, er any one else tryin' t' make
her," and Mr. Kimball sat down.

"And I suppose I hardly need point out," interposed Mr. Vanter, "that,
without the consent of Mrs. Kimball her husband cannot legally sell that
property. I rather guess the Universal Salt Company will have to get
along without the spring-glade, Mr. Ranquist. What do you think of the
situation now?"

Mr. Ranquist, without replying, turned angrily to his lawyer.

"I'm afraid he's right," assented the legal representative of the foiled
plotters. "The law requires the unenforced consent of the wife if the
husband sells any of his property. This is a woman's dower right, and
amounts to a third interest in her husband's real estate. We can't get
this land unless Mrs. Kimball signs the deed, and she--"

"She's not goin' t' sign, 'n' ye needn't try t' make her," interrupted
that lady. "I guess that'll put a spoke in yer wheel," she added as she
swept out of the room.

"I rather think th' deal's off, gentlemen," said Mr. Kimball as he laid
a five hundred dollar bill with the other money. "I'm sorry, but it
can't be helped. Curi's how obstinate some womenfolks be," and he
chuckled loudly. "That's yer money back."

For a little while Mr. Ranquist looked very angry and disappointed.

"I think you are all making a mistake," he said. "We made a fair bargain
for the land, and gave you just what you asked. There may be salt on it,
and, then, there may not be. If there is, it may not be that there will
be enough to make it pay. But we are willing to take the risk. However,
if you think you should have more money, why perhaps five hundred
dollars additional--"

Mr. Kimball made a gesture of dissent.

"Or say one thousand more," said Mr. Ranquist, eagerly.

"I reckon we won't do any tradin' t'-day," broke in Mr. Kimball. "I
calalate I'll farm thet salt mine myself. I guess I kin make out t' dig
'nuff t' make it pay."

"All right, suit yourself," came from Mr. Ranquist, as if he was ready
to give up. He turned to the lawyer, who handed him a paper.

"I'm sorry," said the engineer, and his lips showed a cruel smile, that
indicated just the opposite feeling, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'll be
obliged to ask Mr. Kimball to pay off this mortgage. It is some time
overdue, and has been assigned to us. I presume you have the money
handy, Mr. Kimball, otherwise we shall at once begin action to
foreclose, and take the farm from you. In the meantime we shall, as a
matter of precaution, retain control of that part of the land known as
the spring-glade."

"Wh--What?" stammered poor Mr. Kimball, for the demand of Mr. Ranquist
came like a stab in the back. "Why-why, I thought--"

"Never mind what you thought," interrupted Mr. Ranquist. "The question
is, have you the cash to pay off this mortgage with?" and his tone held
a threat.

"N-no, sir--I can't say--wa'al, I ain't got it, 'n' thet's th'--"

"Oh, yes, he has it all right," broke in Mr. Vanter. "Here is the
money!"

He threw a roll of crisp bills on the table.

"I think you'll find the amount correct," he went on, turning to Mr.
Ranquist, who showed every sign of deep chagrin. "I rather guess I've
beaten you at your own game," proceeded the surveyor. "I was prepared
for this little move on your part. Now, if you will kindly cancel the
mortgage I guess that will be about all to-day."

There was nothing for Mr. Ranquist to do, but accept the offer, and take
the money. He would much have preferred foreclosing the mortgage, since
then he would be in possession of the farm and the valuable salt mine.

"How--how's this?" began Mr. Kimball brokenly. "I didn't know--"

"That's enough, now," said Mr. Vanter kindly. "I'm attending to this for
you. The mine on your land will be worked by the Pipe Line Salt Company,
and not by the Universal," he said to Mr. Ranquist. "Still, if you care
to make us an offer, we may be willing to consider it. And, now, let me
bid you good day."

Silently receipting for the money, and cancelling the mortgage, Mr.
Ranquist, followed by Mr. Dudley and the lawyer, left the room, neither
one speaking.

"Hurrah!" cried Adrian, as the door closed on the plotters, "we beat
'em, Roger. Hurrah!"

"And it's all due to Roger, here," said Mr. Vanter as he shook hands
heartily with the boy. "If he hadn't discovered the white crystals, and
called to see me, these men would now be in possession of the salt mine.
As it is, Mr. Kimball still owns it."

"But ye paid th' mortgage," insisted the farmer, to whom the whole
transaction was still much of a mystery. "That entitles ye t' th' farm,
don't it?"

"You may look upon that as a loan from me," said Mr. Vanter. "A sort of
investment. But we are all still pretty much in the dark. Suppose there
is salt in such a small quantity that it will not pay to mine it?"

This idea made every one feel quite anxious.

"We'll soon find out, however," went on the surveyor, "for I'm going to
sink a shaft to-morrow. Until then we shall have to be patient."




CHAPTER XXIV

DIGGING FOR SALT


Early the next morning Mr. Vanter went to the spring-glade, and started
the two men at work, sinking the shaft, which they had to abandon so
suddenly the day before. The surveyor decided on going straight down,
instead of in at a slant, which he had at first believed best. Roger and
Adrian watched the operations with interest, as did a throng of people,
who were not disturbed as they gathered about the spot. The good news
had gone all over Cardiff, and there was not a person, excepting the
plotters, but what rejoiced at Mr. Kimball's fortune in saving his land.

The digging progressed slowly, as only a small shaft was to be sunk, and
but one man could work in it at a time. For three anxious days the labor
went on, the hole in the ground becoming deeper and deeper. The man
whose turn it was to go into the excavation was below the level of the
surface now. Mr. Kimball, and all his family, as well as the neighbors,
were wondering whether or not salt would be struck in sufficient
quantities to make the venture pay. If not, it would have been better
had Mr. Kimball accepted the offer of Mr. Ranquist. Two days more of
digging would tell the story. And those two days were filled with
anxious uneasiness on the part of all in the farmhouse. The work went on
early and late, and Mr. Kimball neglected all but the most necessary of
his duties to watch the progress.

The sinking of the shaft was done in rather a primitive fashion. A hole,
almost like that dug for a well, was started, and, when the bottom got
so far below the surface that the earth could no longer be tossed out,
the men rigged up a windlass and rope, on the end of which was a large
bucket, into which the dirt was placed to be hauled up and dumped.

It happened on Wednesday, just a week after the day when the farm was
saved, that the men had dug down about thirty feet. Toward the close of
the afternoon Roger and Adrian, who were constantly at the mine, had
strolled away, and were up in the woods, looking for signs of foxes,
which were plentiful that year. They were sitting on a log, idly tossing
stones at an old stump, when Adrian suddenly called: "Hark!"

They both listened intently. A faint cry came to them.

"Sounds like some one hollering," said Roger.

"It is!" exclaimed Adrian. "And it's down by the salt mine. Maybe
they've struck the white crystals. Let's hurry up and see."

Together they started off. As they came nearer the sounds were louder,
and then, they seemed to be, not shouts of delight at the discovery of
something long wished for, but, rather, cries of distress.

"Some one's hurt!" said Roger, increasing his pace.

The boys had reached the edge of the spring-glade now, and could see the
mouth of the shaft. But there was no one near it, not even the usual
crowd of curious people, Mr. Vanter and Mr. Kimball had, for the time
being, gone away, so the scene was deserted. Neither of the two workmen,
one of whom should have been at the windlass, was to be noticed.

"There's been an accident!" exclaimed Adrian.

"I guess the man's fallen down the shaft," said Roger, referring to the
missing laborer. "That's it," he added excitedly. "They're both down
there! Hear 'em calling?"

And, sure enough, that was where the cries for help came from. The boys
ran and peered down into the depths of the hole. For a moment, because
of the darkness, they could make out nothing. Then, as their eyes became
used to the blackness, they observed, dimly, two figures, at the bottom
of the deep excavation. And the figures were those of the two workmen,
who seemed to be struggling in desperation. Every now and then would
come a terrified cry from one of them:

"Help! Help! Help!"

"What shall we do?" shouted Adrian, almost trembling in the excitement.

"We must get them out!" exclaimed Roger. "Let's call to them, to let 'em
know we're on hand."

"Hello! Hello!" yelled Adrian down the shaft. "Hello! What's the matter?
What shall we do to help you?"

"Wind up--the--rope! Turn the--windlass!" came faintly from below.

"That's it!" cried Roger, as he seized the crank. "Turn, Ade! Turn!"

The two boys worked the windlass, straining in desperation. It taxed
their strength to the utmost, for the weight at the other end of the
rope was very heavy. Roger was the first to realize that, in their fear,
both men were clinging to the cable, and trying to be brought to the
surface at the same time.

"Stop turning," said Roger to Adrian. Then the boys fastened the
windlass by the catch at the side of the cog wheel, put there for the
purpose. Next, Roger leaned over and shouted down:

"One on the rope at a time! We can't haul you both up together!"

"All right!" came the answer from the black depths. "Jim'll try it
first."

There was a perceptible slacking of the rope, and then Roger and Adrian
began winding up the windlass again. This time it was much easier to
turn the handle. As the strands of the cable coiled over the drum, foot
by foot, they brought up, into the light of day, first the head, then
the body of one of the laborers. His face showed the terror he felt, and
the boys noticed, with great surprise, that he was dripping wet.

"Hurry!" called Jim. "Tom's down there yet. Lower the rope."

He unfastened it, from where he had looped it beneath his arms, and
tossed it dangling into the hole. It ran out quickly over the drum.
There came a cry from below to indicate that Tom had the end. Then,
giving him time to adjust it, Jim began to turn quickly, replacing the
boys, and soon the other workman was brought up. He too was soaking wet.

"I tell you, that was a narrow squeak!" exclaimed Tom, removing the
rope.

"You're right," chimed in Jim. "As close as I ever want."

"Did you fall in a well?" asked Roger, wondering why the men were so
damp.

"Indeed we did, my boy," answered Tom. "And it was a salt well, of the
saltiest water I ever tasted. Pah! My mouth is full of it yet."

"Then there isn't any salt mine down there," went on Roger in a
disappointed tone, his interest in that matter overshadowing, for a
moment, his joy at having helped save the men.

"Nary a bit of a salt mine," said Tom. "But I'll back the salt lake down
there, against most anything outside of Utah. Hey, Jim?"

"That's right," assented his companion, wiping the salt water from his
eyes.

"How did it happen?" asked Adrian.

"Now you're talkin'," said Tom. "We were diggin' away, or rather I was,
and Jim was up above. I'd got about as deep as where Mr. Vanter said we
ought to strike rock salt, and I was givin' some hearty blows with my
pick, when, all on a sudden, the pick goes through with a pop, jest
like when you stick a pin in one of them red balloons you buy at the
circus. First thing I knew I was up to my neck in water saltier 'n' any
ever tasted. Wow! But I didn't know what I'd struck, the Atlantic Ocean
or the Dead Sea."

"I guess it was a little of both," interposed Jim.

"Right you are, Jim. Well, as it happened I landed right on a ledge of
rock, or I might have gone on clean through to China," resumed Tom. "As
soon as I got my wind I sung out to Jim. All the while I was holdin' on
to a projectin' stone in the side of the shaft. When I yelled to Jim I
wanted him to lower the rope to me. But he got excited, or something
and, after he had unwound it, and lowered it, he shinned down it
himself, hand over hand. Then before he could stop himself he was in the
water with me, both of us as wet as drowned rats, at the bottom of a
shaft thirty feet deep. We could just make out to find room on the
narrow ledge, or we'd both been in the bottomless pit. We tried to climb
up the rope, but, not bein' sailors or circus fellows, we didn't make
out worth a cent. So we both began to yell as hard as we could,
and--well, you know the rest. My! Oh! But it's glad we are that you boys
came along when you did, or we'd both be fairly pickled away in brine
for the winter. How about it, Jim?"

"That's what," said Jim, heartily, wringing about a quart of salt water
from his coat.

"But I can't understand how the brine got down there," said Roger. "Mr.
Vanter expected to strike rock salt, and the white crystals I brought up
were certainly solid enough. I can't see why there should be salt water,
unless there's a spring of fresh water that has become brine from
dissolving the rock salt. I must hurry to tell Mr. Vanter."

The boys and men went toward the farmhouse together. On the way they met
Mr. Vanter, who was much surprised when he heard what had happened. He
hurried to the mine to make sure of it. The men went back with him, not
minding the wetting, for the day was warm. Though they tried to deter
him, Mr. Vanter insisted on being lowered down the shaft. The boys, who
had also come back, were a little apprehensive, when they saw their
friend the surveyor disappear down the black hole, but they were soon
reassured when they heard his cheery voice shouting from the depths that
he was all right, and that he had found a place to stand. In a few
minutes he signalled to be drawn up, and, when he reached the surface he
looked delighted, instead of disappointed, as the boys had expected.

"Is the salt mine a failure?" asked Roger, anxiously.

"The salt mine is," said Mr. Vanter.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Roger and Adrian together.

"But the salt spring is the biggest kind of a success," added Mr.
Vanter, smiling. "In fact, we've struck the same conditions that exist
beneath the city of Syracuse. Instead of mining for salt we shall have
to pump for it, which is cheaper and better. Boys, I can see big things
in this for you. A pipe line can be run out to Syracuse, and
transportation charges will be saved. Tom, that last pick stroke of
yours was a mighty lucky one."

"I didn't think so at the time," remarked Tom, as he saw the white salt
crystals appearing on his clothes, now that the sun was evaporating the
water.

"Hurrah for the Kimball Salt Spring!" cried Adrian, throwing his hat
high in the air, and Roger joined in heartily, turning a summersault to
show how glad he felt.

"Now to test the brine," said Mr. Vanter, as he sent the men for a pump
and the necessary pipes. "But I have no doubt, from the fact that the
general character of this valley is the same from here to Syracuse, that
we have a fine quality of solution. You have struck it rich, Mr.
Kimball," he went on, as the farmer approached, all excitement over the
news. "We haven't a mine for you, but we have something better," and he
told him what had taken place.

"Wa'al, I knowed suthin' good 'd come outen what seemed dark prospects
at fust," said the old farmer, calling to mind the bad news of the loss
of his money in the railroad shares, and the mortgage foreclosure. "I
knowed suthin' good 'd come, 'n' it's all along a' Roger here. I sha'n't
forgit it, nuther," he added, and Roger, fearing some one was going to
praise him in public, hurried to the house.




CHAPTER XXV

THE LAST WRESTLING MATCH


The Cardiff stage, next day, took to Syracuse three very much chagrined
and disappointed men,--Mr. Ranquist, Mr. Dudley, and their lawyer. They
maintained a silence as they climbed aboard the lumbering vehicle, early
in the morning, and the usual crowd that gathered to see the stage
depart had no words of farewell for the men who had sought to take such
an unfair advantage of Mr. Kimball.

"G'lang!" cried Porter Amidown, cracking his whip, and the horses leaped
forward with a jingle of harness. It was the last Cardiff saw of the
conspirators.

As for the salt well on Mr. Kimball's farm, it turned out better than
even Mr. Vanter dared to hope. The brine was of a heavy and saturated
quality, and, when evaporated, gave a residue of excellent salt. It
compared favorably with the condiment manufactured in Syracuse, which is
considered about the best in the world. One day, when Roger and Adrian
were at the well, Mr. Vanter told how, in his opinion, the salt springs
beneath the surface of the earth came there.

Geologists were agreed, he said, that, thousands of years ago, the whole
Onondaga valley was part of an immense sea. This was evidenced by the
fossils found in the hills. As the ages passed, there were eruptions
and upheavals of the earth's surface. Then the salt water from the sea
might have been condensed into solid rocks of salt, or the rock salt
away down deep in the earth might have been brought nearer the surface.
At any rate, in time, the white crystals were formed in great masses.
Then, beneath the surface of the ground, there welled up springs of
fresh water, which dissolved, and held in solution, the salt. When the
shaft had been sunk on Mr. Kimball's land, Mr. Vanter said, meaning the
small hole Mr. Ranquist had bored with his sectional drill, the steel
had probably only gone into the thin crust of salt, formed over one of
the immense and deep underground springs. He was thus deluded, as was
Mr. Vanter himself, into the belief that a mine of rock salt had been
discovered.

"Mr. Ranquist must have studied the matter up," said Mr. Vanter, "and he
reasoned that there ought to be salt in this section of the country. He
found it, but not as he expected. I have no doubt that other farmers in
this vicinity will be just as lucky as Mr. Kimball has been, and will
strike salt springs on their land."

And so it proved. Urged by the example of their neighbor, many farmers
had shafts sunk on their hillsides and, in several cases, especially on
land near Mr. Kimball's, valuable springs were come upon. The news soon
spread to all parts of the county, and, shortly, Cardiff was overrun
with prospectors, and men who wished to buy up all the property and
develop the salt wells. The owners, under the advice of Mr. Kimball,
consulted with Mr. Vanter, who told them all to be cautious about
signing away their rights. Under the guidance of the surveyor, a
corporation, called the Pipe Line Salt Company, was formed to work the
springs, and pump the brine through big black pipes, into Syracuse,
twelve miles away, where the salt water was evaporated, and the
resulting crystals purified and sold. For his spring-glade Mr. Kimball
received thirty-five thousand dollars and some shares in the new
company, which proved very valuable in a short time.

Of all the persons made glad by the discovery of salt in Cardiff, there
were none more happy than the two boys, Roger and Adrian. Their part in
the transactions was well known, and they were praised on every side.

One day, not long after these events, Roger received a letter by mail
that made him want to stand on his head in delight. He raced home from
the post-office with the missive half read, and burst into the kitchen,
where Mrs. Kimball and Clara were baking bread.

"Hurrah!" he cried. "Father, mother, and baby Edward are coming! They'll
be here day after to-morrow. Oh! But won't I be glad to see them!"

"Land sakes!" cried Mrs. Kimball. "Wa'al, now I'm real glad t' hear it.
Mussy sakes, Clara! We'll hev t' double this bakin'," and she began to
bustle about harder than ever with the salt-rising bread, while Roger
ran to tell Adrian the good news.

How the time did drag until Mr. and Mrs. Anderson and the baby arrived
on the stage! Roger and Adrian were at the gate to meet them, and Roger
hugged his mother so tightly that she said he nearly took her breath,
and was as bad as the bear he wrote about, which treed them all in the
woods that day.

How good it was to grasp his father's hand again! And to bounce baby
Edward high into the air, and hear him crow and shout in delight! Roger
didn't know whether he was on his head or his feet in the gladness at
seeing his parents after more than six months' absence from them. Mr.
and Mrs. Kimball, Adrian, and Clara gave no less enthusiastic greeting
to the newcomers, and, altogether, it was a jolly time.

"My, but how brown you are, and how you've grown!" said Roger's mother
to him.

"Wa'al, I calalate he does look a leetle mite more like a boy should
than when I fust see him," admitted Mr. Kimball. "He were kinder
white-livered 'n' spindlin' then. But come inter th' house er supper'll
spile, 'n' I know ye don't want anythin' like thet t' happen, 'specially
ef yer appetites is anythin' like mine."

Such a happy meal as it was. Mr. Anderson told how he had, unexpectedly,
received a vacation, and had determined to use it in coming to see how
his son was getting along. Of course Mrs. Anderson and the baby must
come too.

"'N' I hope ye kin all stay a year," said Mr. Kimball, heartily.

Mrs. Kimball was so "flustrated," as she put it, that she hardly knew
whether she was passing the bread or the cake. But every one agreed that
she did most excellently, and there was so much talking and laughing
that nobody seemed to care much whether they ate or not. The day was
dying off into a perfect evening. The June sun was sinking down behind
the wooded hills. Farmers were returning from their fields, tired but
happy. The crickets and tree-toads were beginning their night songs.
Darkness was settling down over peaceful Cardiff valley.

"How does it agree with you out here, Roger?" asked Mr. Anderson. "Do
you think you would like to stay?"

"Would I?" began Roger. Then he glanced lovingly at his father, mother,
and the baby. "I would, if all of you could stay too," he finished.

They had come out on the broad stone porch to sit in the cool twilight.

"We won't know how t' git along 'ithout him," said Mr. Kimball, and then
he told all about the salt well, to the secret delight of Mr. Anderson,
who felt very proud of his son.

"I'm afraid we'll have to have Roger back soon, however," said the boy's
father. "His school principal came to see me the other day, and wanted
to know when he was coming home to take up his lessons."

Books and studies, save such as beautiful Mother Nature provided, had
been almost forgotten by Roger.

"Wa'al," began Mr. Kimball, "when it comes t' school, I've a sort a'
proposition t' make. Ye see, ef it hadn't bin fer Roger, I wouldn't 'a'
had any salt spring, 'n' 't ain't no more 'n' common justice thet he
should hev a part on it."

"Uncle Bert!" cried Roger.

"Now, young man," interposed Mr. Kimball, good-naturedly, "young folks
should be seen 'n' not heard, ye know. 'S I were sayin'," turning to Mr.
Anderson, "Roger's got t' hev some sheers in my salt spring. Now I hed
thought a' puttin' a certain sum t' his credit in th' bank."

Mr. Anderson made a gesture of dissent.

"Jest wait 'til I git through," said Mr. Kimball. "I ain't give up th'
notion yet, but what I want t' say is, I think Roger ought t' use part
of it t' go t' college 'ith. That's what I've planned t' do fer Adrian,
here, 'cause there ain't nothin' like eddercation fer a boy, er a man
either fer thet matter. I didn't hev no chanst when I were young. Hed t'
git out 'n' hustle on th' farm when I were ten year old, so I know th'
value a' larnin'. 'N' t' college my boy goes, now I'm well enough off t'
send him," and Mr. Kimball clapped his hand down on his leg with a
report like a small gun.

"I'm sure I don't know how to thank you," began Mr. Anderson. "I--"

"Then jest don't try," broke in Mr. Kimball, very practically. "We'll
consider it all settled."

The women folks started to go in the house, while Mr. Kimball and Mr.
Anderson walked a little way toward the road. Presently they heard a
great shouting.

"What's that?" asked Mr. Anderson.

"Reckon it's th' boys, skylarkin'," replied Mr. Kimball. "They're allers
up t' suthin' er other."

The men walked over toward the sounds, which were evidently of mirth.
There, under the two big cherry trees that stood at the gate, rolling
in the sweet grass, were the two cousins; and Roger was sitting astride
of Adrian, shouting at the top of his voice:

"I threw him! I threw him! It was a fair fall! Now who's the best
wrestler?"

"Yes, but you can't do it again," panted Adrian, as he struggled
unsuccessfully to rise.

"Roger throwed him!" cried Mr. Kimball, capering about, almost as much
pleased over his nephew's victory as Roger himself was. "So ye throwed
him fair, eh? Wa'al, I told ye we'd make a Cardiff boy outen ye, ef ye
stayed long 'nuff. By Gum! Throwed him good 'n' proper! Now mebby he'll
think some un 'sides him kin rassal."

"Well, well, but that's a big improvement in Roger," said Mr. Anderson,
coming up as the boys resumed their feet. "He's twice as strong as when
I sent him up here. The air and sunshine of the country have made him
what he ought to be--a healthy, sturdy boy."

The lads clenched again, rolling over and over in the long grass. The
last vestige of daylight disappeared, the chirping of the crickets
became louder, the tree-toads croaked with stronger voices, and it was
night in the valley of Cardiff.


THE END







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