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He had found a deserted lean-to, half way up the cañon, where he had arranged to camp while the work went on. As he thought of Chittenden and Allery Jones and the rest, cooped up there in the town, still anxiously watching the fluctuations of the stock-market, he was filled with compassion for them, and he determined to have them out now and then and give them a camp stew.
Peckham sat somewhat apart from the others on his high revolving stool, sometimes listening, without a sign of interest in his face, sometimes twirling his stool around and sitting with his back to the company, apparently immersed in figures. Allery Jones, the Springtown wag, had once remarked that Peckham's back was more expressive than his face.
He was off for "the mines" with Dick Dayton, Allery Jones, and Frank Discombe, a young mining engineer who was far more proud of his attainments as "Jehu," than of his really brilliant professional reputation. They rattled noisily along the main street of the camp in a loose-jointed vehicle drawn by two ambitious steeds which Allery Jones characterized as "fiery skeletons."
By this time they had effected an entrance into the shed, the door of which was securely locked, while the boards of one entire side of the tumble-down structure swung in at a touch. The three men stood looking down the pitch black hole into which the rope disappeared. "Looks kind of pokey, doesn't it?" said Allery Jones. "Think you'd better try it, Fetherbee?" For answer, Mr.
At the Mountain Lion were Allery Jones, Harry de Luce, Dick Dayton "the mascot," and half a dozen other Springtown men, and they pounced upon the new-comer with every flattering indication of delight. Mr. Fetherbee had been but six months a resident of Springtown, but it had hardly taken as many days for Springtown to make the discovery that he was the king of story-tellers.
Dayton and Allery Jones were frankly puffing and groaning, but Mr. Fetherbee scorned to make any such concession to circumstances. He was wondering whether his gait would be permanently out of kilter after this complicated and violent scramble, when he became aware that the lateral slant was gradually lessening.
"First rate!" came the answer, in a voice of suppressed elation, which Allery Jones noted and was at something of a loss to interpret. "Was it all your fancy pictured?" he asked, in rather a sceptical tone. "All and more!" Mr. Fetherbee declared.
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