The Rambler Club's Gold Mine

THE "OSPREY"-2

"It won't be difficult, with nearly the whole term before us," said d**k, in positive tones.

"Education is the lever which uplifts the world," sighed Dave. "Now—"

"Switch off!" cried Jack.

"Such gems of thought are lost upon him," laughed Sam.

"Let's get back to business," said Bob. "We needn't expect to have any picnic on this trip." He glanced toward Conroy, whose face failed to indicate the slightest enthusiasm. "If you want to back out, Jack, now's the time."

"Who said anything about backin' out?" growled the big lad.

He walked off and threw himself at full length on a bench at the end of the cabin. His eyes began to rove over the cheerful interior. Somehow, it was just the sort of a den to fill any healthy boy's heart with delight. Seven bunks were built against the walls; two lamps suspended from the ceiling swung over the center table, while a number of tasteful prints were scattered about.

Jack felt that on a cold day, with the wind howling past the corners of the cabin, and the whirr and clank of the windmill blending in with the blasts, it would be a mighty pleasant place in which to stay. And yet here were these boys ready to leave its comforts and start off on a difficult and perhaps dangerous expedition with as much unconcern as though they were merely going on a visit to the sawmills at the base of the cliffs.

"I do wish to thunder old Wanna hadn't said a word 'bout that wonderful secret o' his," reflected Jack, his forehead knit into a frown. Perhaps, even if they did succeed in reaching their destination, it might be to have all their fond hopes dashed to the ground. "But still," the frown vanished and a quizzical smile played about the corners of his lips, "if stout, easy-going Dave Brandon is willing to take the risk—why—"

And just then his eyes caught sight of a youthful face flattened against the window-panes eagerly peering in at the group of boys who still surrounded the table, animatedly discussing their plans.

The pressing process had so weirdly distorted the already irregular features of the youth that Jack began to roar with laughter, whereupon the face suddenly vanished, and the next instant a terrific bang sounded on the door.

CHAPTER II PETE IS AMUSED"Pete Colliver!" gasped Bob Somers. Hastily he snatched up the map and stuffed it into a table drawer, while Tim Lovell sprang to the door, which was shaking under the repeated attacks of a heavy fist.

As it swung wide open, Pete's short, stocky figure was silhouetted sharply against the clear, cold light of the autumn day. A breath of fresh, invigorating air, just sharp enough to send the blood tingling through healthy veins, and laden with the pleasant scent of forest and field, swept in. Several brown and golden leaves, dancing merrily across the clearing, made straight for the sill and flitted inside the door, while through the crisp air came the chatter of a flock of swiftly-flying birds.

Pete Colliver's sun-tanned face wore an odd expression of injured innocence and indignation, and his eyes were blinking curiously.

"Wal, wal!" he exclaimed, in a deep, hoarse voice, "I was a-thinkin' mebbe ye wouldn't let me in. Never used to keep your door locked, did ye? Gettin' kind o' pertic'lar now, hey? What was the whole bunch doin' around that table?"

He stuffed his hands deep in his trousers pockets, and shot a swift glance at Jack's grinning face.

"Awful sorry to have kept you waitin', Mr. Colliver. Please accept our apologies, an' forget it," said the big lad, soothingly.

"Fine words, but they don't answer my question, feller."

"Great day, Pete, isn't it?" began Bob. "Suppose you just came in from the woods? How's work going on? Sit down. No—not tired? Well, I guess if any one of us had been swinging an axe as hard as you do, Pete, we'd be a bit weary, all right."

"Not to mention the hours—the awful long hours, I mean," put in d**k. "Why—honest—"

Pete regarded them calmly, and gave the back of his slouch hat, which always seemed on the point of falling off, a smart tap.

"I've been a-thinkin'," he remarked, slowly, "that I'll quit the camp for a while, an' mebbe," his blinking eyes swept the group, "you fellers wouldn't mind havin' me along with ye? Thar ain't nothin' what I don't know 'bout campin', an' as for shootin', when I p'int me g*n at any warmint it's as good as cookin' over the fire."

"Goodness!" cried Tommy. "Look! Dave's actually fallen asleep. Hi, hi! Wake up, Dave! Hi, hi!"

"Well, did you ever?" roared d**k. "All the same, bet he's been having some dandy inspirations for that great book of his!"

"Inspershuns?" queried Pete, suspiciously.

"Oh, it's not a dangerous disease; you'll never catch it," grinned Jack; "none of these chaps ever did."

"Speak for yourself, Jack Conroy," retorted Tom, with a touch of indignation.

"Wal, this here holler don't answer no questions," said Pete, dryly. "Mind! I ain't beggin' to go; but if ye want a corkin' guide, say the word, an' I'll drop me axe any time like it was red hot."

"Well, the fact is," began d**k, "er—er—that is—"

"Yes, that's the idea exactly," supplemented Bob. "You see, if we needed a guide, Pete, we wouldn't want any one else but you. The crowd—"

"Don't be skeered; I won't hurt ye. Jist say what ye mean; an' I kin see what that is—ye don't want none o' Pete Colliver; an' Pete Colliver ain't a-gettin' down on his knees to beg ye, nuther; no, he ain't. Jist lock yer door arter I gits out, an' fix yer peepers on that 'ere table ag'in. An'"—he paused, his little eyes snapping curiously—"if ye say the word, I'll yank that snoozer out o' his roost in jist three seconds, eh?"

This kind offer was smilingly declined.

Pete turned on his heel.

"Not going, are you?" asked Bob.

"Not afore I tells ye somethin'," he answered, impressively. "I had a wrastlin' match this mornin' with big Jim Lawson, an'—"

"Who won?" asked Jack, mildly.

"Who won!" snorted Pete, with a fierce frown. "That's a fine question ter ask—now, ain't it? Ain't ye all felt me muscle? Did any o' ye ever see a stronger arm'n that, hey?" He held it out for inspection right under little Tom Clifton's nose, whereupon Tom stepped hastily back. "Ye ain't wery good on answerin' questions to-day; but there's an easy one fur ye."

"Not bad—not so bad," grinned Jack, "but a chap loses sometimes."

"Not with an arm like that he don't, young feller. In a couple o' minutes Jim was a-lyin' flatter'n that fat snoozer over there. An' d'ye know what Jim says?"

"We will in a second," murmured Jack.

"'Pete, ye ain't got yer eq'al in ther hull camp!'—them was his words. Come on outside, big un; I'll jist show ye how it's done."

"That makes the twenty-seventh time you've asked me, Pete," laughed Jack; "I'm countin' 'em. Haven't finished readin' my book on wrestlin' rules yet."

"Maybe some o' you'll have to try it one day," said Pete, ominously. "I'm a-goin'."

The boys watched his stocky figure disappear out the door, and pass slowly across the window, while the breeze flung back his loud tuneless whistling.

Then d**k, with a gesture of impatience, slammed the door shut.

"There! What did I tell you, Jacky?" he growled. "But, oh, no; you wouldn't listen. And now your hollering's done the business—Pete knows something, as sure as you live; anybody can see that."

"An' blame it all on me!" cried Jack. "Keep the door locked! Stand around the table like a lot o' ninnies! Get as flustered as a Jabberwock! An' just because Pete sees it imagine he knows all about our gold mine!"

"There he goes again!" wailed d**k. "Let's muzzle him, fellows. We ought to call that—that place some other name. The Jabberwock, eh?"

"Oh, you make me tired," sneered Jack. "Never saw such silly duffers."

"Come—come, fellows!" laughed Bob. "Too bad, if any harm's done, Jack," he added, severely. "If you speak those two words out loud again—"

"There'll be a speedy trial for the offender," laughed Sam, "and summary vengeance of a terrible sort will be wreaked upon him—hello—dinner time already?" He raised his voice: "That you, Booney?"

"'Deed it am, sar!" came an answering voice. "Shall I come in?"

"As far as you like!" yelled d**k.

The door swung open, and Daniel Boone King, a very dark spot in the landscape, stood on the threshold, grinning good-naturedly, and showing a row of dazzling teeth.

"I'se here, sar," he said.

"So our eyes have already told us, Daniel," chuckled Jack.

"An' de dinner am ready."

"A fact which our olfactory nerves have also perceived," remarked Bob, with a smile. "Dave—I say, Dave—dinner!"

"Wonderful thing what a few simple words like that will do," said Sam, as the stout boy sprang up with remarkable alacrity.

His round face beamed forth good nature; a whimsical light deepened in his eyes.

"That's a dandy! And just as I finished my beauty nap, too. Booney—"

"Yes, Mistah Dave."

"Is there plenty of those sweet potatoes and nice corn pone?"

"Yessir!"

"Good! But there won't be very long."

"Not when you're around, Mistah Dave," laughed Booney, as the door promptly slammed behind the group.

Over the air came a steady musical hum from busy sawmills far down on the beach, while columns of yellowish smoke rose lazily against a mass of pale white clouds.

The boys' wild dash across the clearing came to an end when Mr. Lovell, smiling genially, appeared in the doorway of his cabin.

Uncle Stanley was a tall, slight, active man, with a pointed beard. He wore glasses, which gave him quite the air of a college professor. His eyes beamed with a kindly light, while his voice had a cheery ring, which, from the first, had won him the hearts of the crowd.

"Well, boys," he said, "I suppose you are ready for dinner?"

"It won't have time to get cold," laughed Bob.

They hastily fell in behind him, and presently were seated around the table, in a pleasant little dining-room, surveying the good things to eat with great satisfaction. Nothing for which any healthy boy could wish seemed lacking, except pies, tarts and ice-cream. But Booney had made some kind of astonishing pudding, which, at any rate, tasted sweet, and a great quantity soon disappeared.

"I suppose your packing is all done, boys?"

There was a touch of sadness in Uncle Stanley's tone. He looked at the bright faces before him, and sighed at the thought of their parting so soon.

"Everything," answered Tim—"our guns, even, are oiled and polished."

Mr. Lovell pushed back his chair.

"I only wish I could go with you, lads," he said, slowly. "It pleases me to think, however, that in moments of danger you have already proven yourselves cool and resourceful."

Jack grinned complacently.

"Still, I wish to impress you with the fact that, while it is necessary to have the spirit and ability to conquer danger, it is far wiser to go forth with the determination to avoid it. Now, I suppose, none of you feels that it would be best to postpone your trip until the early spring, when—"

A chorus, in which Jack's voice was strangely feeble, assured him that they had not.

"Very well, then! But, boys, don't let your hopes run too high. Wanatoma's gold mine may prove a myth; or, perhaps, if it really does exist, the value may be small. You must, of course, be prepared for disappointment."

"Guess we'll be able to stand it all right," said Tim, with a grin.