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Updated: May 8, 2025
They would either have to be right in front of us or right behind, and in that case we'd have as much of a show at them as they would have at us." "That's a good plan," exclaimed Dick. "Let us adopt it, by all means." Slowly the afternoon wore away, until the sun was lost to view behind the great Rocky Mountains in the west. As soon as the shadows became long and deep Jack Wumble arose.
A lamp burned with a ruddy glow in the room behind the shop, where all the birds were sleeping. Martindale put his charge in a chair by the hearth, and made gin-and-beer hot for everybody. The Seraph kissed the girl, and she said that she was glad after all that she was safe out of Wumble Pool. "What is your name, my dear?" questioned Martindale.
There was no need to call out, for all realized that they were in a dangerous position. It was Arnold Baxter who fired on Dick. Now Tom fired in return, and so true was his aim that the elder Baxter was hit in the left shoulder. As soon as our friends were under cover they held a council of war. "We ought to round 'em up," muttered Jack Wumble. "Don't you think so, Jim?"
"Thank you, but I don't smoke, and I guess it would only make me feel worse," answered Tom. He began to drop further and further behind. The other boys spoke to him, but they were in reality nearly as much worn out as their brother, and had all they could do to keep Wumble in sight. At last Tom's head fell forward on his breast, and on the instant he went fast asleep.
Angel and The Seraph and I clutched hands, and looked shudderingly into Wumble Pool. "That seemed to scare me like," went on the girl, "and I couldn't jump right in, but I just crept, a step at a time, fearing I'd step on the body." "No danger," said The Seraph complacently, "there's no bottom."
At Gunnison the entire party procured horses from a dealer Jack Wumble knew, beasts that were strong and used to mountain traveling. "We might go on for twenty miles or so by rail, but this is the best place for fitting out," said the old miner. "We can strike a putty fair trail from here, leading directly, to Larkspur Creek." "And how far is that mining district from here?" asked Tom.
Jack Wumble, and he tells us that he never stopped at the Palace of the West in his life." "Mr. Jack Wimple, you mean. Why, he is certainly at the hotel or was." "We were looking for Mr. Wumble and you know it. I care nothing for your Mr. Wimple. And besides, you told us that the Western Palace and the Palace of the West were one and the same. That was a deliberate falsehood."
A good night's rest did wonders for all hands, and they were stirring bright and early. Slim Jim knew every foot of the way, and he told Wumble of a short cut to the creek which was even better to travel than the short trail the old miner had selected. For two days the party went on, over hills and mountains and across marvelous canyons and valleys, thick with pines and firs.
The boys had never seen such scenery, and for the time being their enemies were forgotten. Late in the afternoon of the second day they came out on the side of a low mountain which overlooked Larkspur Creek. "Here we are at the Larkspur at last," cried Jack Wumble. "And how far still to Kennedy's claim, do you think?" asked Dick eagerly. "Not more than two or three miles.
Here the landslide had been at its worst, and rocks and trees had been torn up and cast down as by a giant's hand. Not a trace of the enemy was to be discovered, until Jack Wumble at last made out a part of a man's coat lying a hundred feet away. They ran to the spot, and soon uncovered the lifeless form of Roebuck. The man had been literally mauled to death by the fury of the elements.
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