The rain, which continued pretty steadily all day, Sunday, had ceased before the following morning, when, looking through the rifts in the clouds to the west we could see that a quantity of new snow had fallen on the mountains.

“There’ll be no trouble about water for irrigating this year, Joe,”said I, as I returned from the stable after feeding the horses. “There’s more snow up there, I believe, than I’ve ever seen before. It ought to last well into the summer, especially as the winds have drifted the gulches full and it has settled into solid masses.”

“Yes, there ought to be a good supply,”answered Joe, who was busy cooking the breakfast. “Which of the ponies do you think I had better take this morning, Phil? The pinto?”

“I thought so. I’ve given him a good feed of oats. He’ll enjoy the outing, I expect, for he’s feeling pretty chipper this morning. He tried to nip me in the ribs while I was rubbing him down. He needs a little exercise.”

We had arranged between us that Joe should ride to Sulphide that morning to see Tom Connor and Yetmore, as my father had directed; and accordingly, as soon as he could get off, away he went; the pinto pony, very fresh and lively, going off as though he intended to gallop the whole distance.

Left to myself, I first went up to measure the flow of the underground stream, according to custom, and then, taking a shovel, I went to work clearing the headgates of our ditches, which had become more or less encumbered with refuse during the winter. There were two of them, set in niches of the rock on either side of the pool; for, to irrigate the land on both sides of the creek, we necessarily had to have two ditches. I had been at it only a few minutes when I noticed a curious booming noise in the direction of the mountains, which, continuing for a minute or two, presently died out again. From my position close under the wall of the Second Mesa, I could see nothing, and though it seemed to me to be a peculiar and unusual sound, I concluded that it was only a storm getting up; for, even at a distance of seven miles, we could often hear the roaring of the wind in the pine-trees.

A quarter of an hour later, happening to look up the Sulphide road, I was rather surprised to see a horseman coming down, riding very fast. He was about a mile away when I first caught sight of him, and I could not make out who he was, but presently, as I stood watching, a slight bend in the road allowed the sunlight to fall upon the horse’s side, when I recognized the pinto. It was Joe coming home again.

I knew very well, of course, that he could not have been all the way to Sulphide and back in so short a time, and my first thought was that the spirited pony was running away with him; but as he approached I saw that Joe was leaning forward in the saddle, rather urging forward his steed than restraining him.

“What’s up?”I thought to myself, as I stood leaning on my shovel. “Has he forgotten something? He seems to be in a desperate hurry if he has: Joe doesn’t often push his horse like that. Something the matter, I’m afraid.”

There was a rather steep pitch where the road came down into our valley, and it was a regular practice with us to descend this hill with some caution. Here, at any rate, I expected Joe to slacken his pace; but when I saw him come flying down at full gallop, where a false step by the pony would endanger both their necks, I knew there was something the matter, and flinging down my shovel, I ran to meet him.

“What is it, Joe?”I cried, as soon as he came within hearing.

Pulling in his pony, which, poor beast, stood trembling, with hanging head and legs astraddle, the breath coming in blasts from its scarlet nostrils, Joe leaped to the ground, crying:

“A snow-slide! A fearful great snow-slide! Right down on Peter’s house!”

For a moment we stood gazing at each other in silence, when Joe, speaking very rapidly, went on:

“We must get up there at once, Phil: we may be able to help Peter. Though if he was in his house when the slide came down, I’m afraid we can do nothing. His cabin must be buried five hundred feet deep, and the heavy snow will pack like ice with its own weight.”

“We’ll take a couple of shovels, anyhow,”I cried. “I’ll get ’em. Pull your saddle off the pinto, Joe, he’s used up, poor fellow, and slap it on to the little gray. Saddle my pony, too, will you? I’ll clap some provisions into a bag and bring ’em along: there’s no knowing how long we’ll be gone!”

“All right,”replied Joe. And without more words, he turned to unsaddle the still panting pony, while I ran to the house.

In five minutes, or less, we were under way.

“Not too fast!”cried Joe. “We mustn’t blow the ponies at the start. It’s a good eight miles up to Peter’s house.”

As we ascended the hill and came up on top of the Second Mesa, I was able to see for the first time the great scar on the mountain where the slide had come down.

“Phew!”I whistled. “It was a big one, and no mistake. Did you see it start, Joe?”

“Yes, I saw it start. I happened to be looking up there, thinking it looked pretty dangerous, when a great mass of snow which was overhanging that little cliff up there near the saddle, fell and started the whole thing. It seemed to begin slowly. I could see three or four big patches of snow fall from the precipice above Peter’s cabin as though pushed over, and then the whole great mass, fifteen feet thick, I should think, three hundred yards wide and four or five times as long, came down with a rush, pouring over the cliff with a roar like thunder. I wonder you didn’t hear it.”

“I did,”I replied, remembering the noise I had taken for a wind-storm, “but being under the bluff, and the waterfall making so much noise, I couldn’t hear distinctly, and so thought nothing of it. Why!”I cried, as I looked again. “There used to be a belt of trees running diagonally across the slope. They’re all gone!”

“Yes, every one of them. There were some biggish ones, too, you remember; but the slide snapped them off like so many carrots. It cut a clean swath right through them, as you see.”

“Where were you, Joe, when you saw it come down?”I asked.

“More than half way to Sulphide. I came back in fifteen minutes—four miles.”

“Poor little Pinto! No wonder he was used up!”

We had been riding at a smart lope, side by side, while this conversation was going on, and in due time we reached the foot-hills. Here our pace was necessarily much reduced, but we continued on up Peter’s creek as rapidly as possible until the gulch became so narrow and rocky, and so encumbered with great patches of snow, that we thought we could make better time on foot.

Leaving our ponies, therefore, we went scrambling forward, until, about half a mile from our destination, Joe suddenly stopped, and holding up his hand, cried eagerly:

“Hark! Keep quiet! Listen!”

“Bow, wow, wow! Bow, wow, wow, wow, wow!”came faintly to our ears from far up the mountain.

“It’s old Sox!”cried Joe. “There are no dogs up here!”And clapping his hands on either side of his mouth, he gave a yell which made the echoes ring. Almost immediately the sharp report of a rifle came down to us, and with a spontaneous cheer we plunged forward once more.

It was hard work, for we were about nine thousand feet above sea level; the further we advanced, too, the more snow we encountered, until presently we found the narrow valley so blocked with it that we had to ascend the mountain-spur on one side to get around it. In doing so, we came in sight of the cliff behind Peter’s house, and then, for the first time, we understood what a snow-slide really meant.

Reaching half way up the thousand-foot precipice was a great slope of snow, completely filling the end of the valley; and projecting from it at all sorts of angles were trees, big and little, some whole, some broken off short, some standing erect as though growing there, some showing nothing but their roots. At the same time, from the edge of the precipice upward to the summit of the ridge, we had a clear view of the long, bare track left by the slide, with the snow-banks, fifteen or twenty feet thick, still standing on either side of it, held back by the trees.

“What a tremendous mass of snow!”I exclaimed, “There must be ten million tons of it! And what an irresistible power! Peter’s house must have been crushed like an eggshell!”

“Yes,”replied Joe. “But meanwhile where’s Peter?”

Once more he shouted; and this time, somewhere straight ahead of us, there was an answering shout which set us hurrying forward again with eager expectancy.

At the same moment, up from the ground flew old Sox, perched upon the root of an inverted tree, where, showing big and black against the snow bank behind him, he set to work to bark a continuous welcome as we struggled forward to the spot, one behind the other.

Beneath a tree, stretched on a mat of fallen pine-needles, just on the very outer edge of the slide, lay our old friend, the hermit, who, when he saw us approaching, raised himself on his elbow, and waving his other hand to us, called out cheerily:

“How are you, boys? Glad to see you! You’re welcome—more than welcome!”

“Hurt, Peter?”cried Joe, running forward and throwing himself upon his knees beside the injured man.

“A trifle. No bones broken, I believe, but pretty badly bruised and strained, especially the right leg above the knee. I find I can’t walk—at least not just yet.”

“How did you escape the slide?”I asked.

“Why, I had warning of it, luckily. I was up pretty early this morning and was just about to leave the house, when a dab of snow—a couple of tons, maybe—came down and knocked off my chimney. I knew what that meant, and I didn’t waste much time, you may be sure, in getting out. I grabbed my rifle and ran for it. I was hardly out of my door when the roar began, and you may guess how I ran then. I had reached almost this spot when down it came. The edge of it caught me and tumbled me about; sometimes on the surface, sometimes on the ground; now on my face and now feet uppermost, I was pitched this way and that like a cork in a torrent, till a big tree—the one Sox is sitting on, I think—slapped me on the back with its branches and hurled me twenty feet away among the rocks. It was then I got hurt; but on the other hand, being flung out of the snow like that saved me from being buried, so I can’t complain. It was as narrow a shave as one could well have.”

“It certainly was,”said I. “And did you hold on to the rifle all the time?”

“Yes; though why, I can’t say. The natural instinct to hold on to something, I suppose. But how is it you are on hand so promptly? It did occur to me as I lay here that one of you might notice that there had been a slide and remember me, but I never expected to see you here so soon.”

“Well, that was another piece of good fortune,”I replied. “Joe saw the slide come down and rode a four-mile race to come and tell me. We did not lose a minute in getting under way, and we haven’t wasted any time in getting here either. But now we are here, the question is: How are we going to get you out?”

“Where do you propose to take me?”asked Peter.

“Down to our house.”

For a brief instant the hermit looked as though he were going to demur; but if he had entertained such an idea, he thought better of it, and thanked me instead.

“It’s very good of you,”said he; “though it gives me an odd sensation. I haven’t been inside another man’s house for years.”

“Well, don’t you think it’s high time you changed your habits?”ask Joe, laughing. “And you couldn’t have a better opportunity—your own house smashed flat; yourself helpless; and we two all prepared to lug you off whether you like it or not.”

“Well,”said Peter, smiling at Joe’s threat, “then I suppose I may as well give in. You’re very kind, though, boys,”he added, seriously, “and I’m very glad indeed to accept your offer.”

“Then let us pitch in at once and start downward,”said Joe. “Do you think you could walk with help?”

“I doubt it; but I’ll have a try.”

It was no use, though. With one arm over Joe’s shoulder and the other over mine he essayed to walk, but the attempt was a failure. His right leg dragged helplessly behind; he could not take a step.

“We’ve got to think of some other way,”said Joe, as Peter once more stretched himself at full length upon the ground. “Can we——”

But here he was interrupted.

All this time, Sox, with rare backwardness, had remained perched upon his tree-root, looking on and listening, but at this moment down he flew, alighted upon the ground near Peter’s head, made a complete circuit of his master’s prostrate form, then hopped up on his shoulder, and having promenaded the whole length of his body from his neck to his toes, he shook out his feathers and settled himself comfortably upon the hermit’s left foot.

We all supposed he intended to take a nap, but in another two seconds he straightened up again, eyed each of us in turn, and, with an air of having thought it all out and at last decided the matter beyond dispute, he remarked in a tone of gentle resignation:

“John Brown’s body.”

Having delivered this well-considered opinion with becoming solemnity, he threw back his head and laughed a rollicking laugh, as though he had made the very best joke that ever was heard.

“You black heathen, Sox!”cried his master. “I believe you would laugh at a funeral.”

“Lies,”said Sox, opening one eye and shutting it again; a remark which, though it sounded very much as though intended as an insult to Peter, was presumably but the continuation of his previous quotation.

“Get out, you old rascal!”cried the hermit, “shooing”away the bird with his hat. “Your conversation is not desired just now.”And as Sox flew back to his perch, Peter continued: “How far down did you leave your ponies, boys?”

“About a mile,”I replied.

“Then I believe the best way will be for one of you to go down and bring up one of the ponies. I can probably get upon his back with your help, and then, by going carefully, I believe we can get down.”

“All right,”said Joe, springing to his feet. “We’ll try it. I’ll go down. The little gray is the one, Phil, don’t you think?”

“Yes,”I answered. “The little gray’s the one; he’s more sober-minded than my pony and very sure-footed. Bring the gray.”

Without further parley, away went Joe, and in about three-quarters of an hour he appeared again, leading the pony by the bridle.

“It’s pretty rough going,”said he, “but I think we can make it if we take it slowly. The pony came up very well. Now, Peter let’s see if we can hoist you into the saddle.”

It was a difficult piece of work, for Peter, though he had not an ounce of fat on his body, was a pretty heavy man, and being almost helpless himself, the feat was not accomplished without one or two involuntary groans on the part of the patient. At last, however, we had him settled into the saddle, when Joe, carrying the rifle, took the lead, while I, with the two shovels over my shoulder, brought up the rear. In this order the procession started, but it had no more than started when Peter called to us to stop.

In order to avoid going up the hill more than was necessary, we were skirting along the edge of the great snow-bank, when, as we passed just beneath the big tree upon one of whose roots Socrates was perched, Peter, looking up to call to the bird, espied something which at once attracted his attention.

“Wait a moment, boys, will you?”he requested, checking the pony; and then, turning to me, he continued: “Look up there, Phil. Do you see that black stone stuck among the roots? Poke it out with the shovel, will you? I should like to look at it.”

Wondering rather at his taking any interest in stones at such a time, I nevertheless obeyed his behest, and with two or three vigorous prods I dislodged the black fragment, catching it in my hand as it fell; though it was so unexpectedly heavy that I nearly let it drop.

“Ah!”exclaimed Peter, when I had handed it up to him. “Just what I thought! This will interest Tom Connor.”

“Why?”we both asked. “What is it?”

“A chunk of galena. Look! Do you see how it is made up of shining cubes of some black mineral? Lead—lead and sulphur. There’s a vein up there somewhere.”

“And the big tree, pushing its roots down into the vein, has brought away a piece of it, eh?”asked Joe.

“Yes, that is what I suppose. There are some bits of light-colored rock up there, too, Phil. Pry out one or two of those, will you?”

I did as requested, and on my passing them to Peter, he said:

“These are porphyry rocks. The general formation up there is limestone, I know—I’ve noticed it frequently—but I expect it is crossed somewhere—probably on the line of the belt of trees—by a porphyry dike. Put the specimens into your pocket, Joe; we must keep them to show to Connor. It’s a very important find. And now let us get along.”

The journey down the gulch was very slow and very difficult—we made hardly a mile an hour—though, when we left the mountain and started across the mesa we got along better. When about half way, I left the others and galloped home, where I lighted a fire and heated a lot of water, so that, when at length Peter arrived, I had a steaming hot tubful all ready for him in the spare room on the ground floor.

Though our friend protested against being treated like an invalid, declaring his belief that he would be about right again by morning, he nevertheless consented to take his hot bath and go to bed; though I think he was persuaded to do so more because he was unwilling to disappoint us after all our preparations, than because he really expected to derive any benefit.

Be that as it may—and for my part I shall always hold that it was the hot bath that did it—when we went into Peter’s room next morning, what was our surprise to find our cripple up and dressed. Though his right leg was still so stiff as to be of little use to him, he declined our help, and with the aid of a couple of broomsticks propelled himself out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, where Joe was busy getting the breakfast ready. His rapid recovery was astonishing to both of us; though, as Joe remarked later, we need not be so very much surprised, for, with his hardy life and abstemious habits he was as healthy as any wild animal.

As we sat at our morning meal, we talked over our find of yesterday, and discussed what was the proper course for us to pursue.

“First, and most important,”said Peter, “Tom Connor must be notified. We must waste no time. The prospectors are beginning to get out, and any one of them, noticing the new scar on the mountain, might go exploring up there. When does Tom quit work on the Pelican?”

“This evening,”replied Joe. “It was this evening, wasn’t it, Phil?”

“Yes,”I replied. “He was to quit at five this evening, and his intention then was to come down here next day and make this place his base of operations.”

“Then the thing to do,”said Joe, “is for me to ride up there this morning—I started to go yesterday, you know, Peter—and catch Tom up at the mine at noon. When he hears of our discovery, I’ve not a doubt but that he will pack up and come back with me this evening, so as to get a start first thing to-morrow.”

“I expect he will,”said I. “And while you are up there, Joe, you can see Yetmore and give him your information about those cart-tracks.”

“What do you mean?”asked Peter. “Information about what cart-tracks?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard of it, of course,”said I; and forthwith I explained to him all about the ore-theft, and how we suspected that the thief was in hiding somewhere in the foot-hills. Peter listened attentively, and then asked:

“Are you sure there was only one of them?”

“Well, that’s the general supposition,”I replied. “Why?”

“I thought there might be a pair of them, that’s all. I’ll tell you an odd thing that happened only the day before yesterday, which may or may not have a bearing on the case. When I got home about dusk that evening, I found that some one had broken into my house and had stolen a hind-quarter of elk, a box of matches, a frying-pan, and—of all queer things to select—a bear-trap. What on earth any one can want with a bear-trap at this season of the year, I can’t think, when there is hardly a bear out of his winter-quarters yet; and if he was he’d be as thin as a rail. I found the fellow’s tracks easily enough—tall man—big feet—long stride—and trailed them down the gulch to a point where another man had been sitting on a rock waiting for him. This other man’s track was peculiar: he was lame—stepped short with his right foot, and the foot itself was out of shape. Their trail went on down the hill towards the mesa, but it was then too dark to follow it, and I was going off to take it up again next morning when that slide came down and changed my programme.”

“Well,”said Joe, who had sat with his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands, listening closely, “where the lame man springs from I don’t know, but if they should be the ore-thieves their stealing the meat and the frying-pan was a natural thing to do; for if they are going into hiding they will need provisions.”

“Yes,”replied Peter; “and whether they knew of my place before or came upon it by accident, they would probably think it safer to steal from me than to raid one of the ranches and thus risk bringing all the ranchmen about their ears like a swarm of hornets.”

“That’s true,”said Joe. “Yes, I must certainly tell Tom and Yetmore about them: it may be important. And I’ll start at once,”he added, rising from the table as he spoke. “I’ll take the buckboard, Phil, and then I can bring back Tom’s camp-kit and tools for him; otherwise he would have to pack them on his pony and walk himself. I expect you will see us back somewhere about seven this evening.”

With that he went out, and soon afterwards we heard the rattle of wheels as he drove away.