"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 Dick. "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 gun 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 Dick. "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 Dick, "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 Dick, 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 Dick. "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 Dick.
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.
"That is the proper spirit. And now, lads, I have a message for you."
"A message for us!" cried Tim.
"Yes; from our friend Captain Slater, the lumberman and former Columbia River skipper."
"Old Cap Slater!" gasped Jack.
"Yes, again. It seems that in spite of his rough exterior the captain has a warm spot in his heart for those he likes, and, much as it may surprise you, the crowd seems to have won his favor."
The boys looked at each other in astonishment, and Jack, quite forgetting his table manners, burst into a roar of laughter, while a chorus of exclamations ran around the table.
"Well, can you ever believe it!" cried Sam.
"An' he used to say such real rude things to us," chirped Tim.
"And was so sorry when we came here," laughed Bob. "I told him it was only because he didn't know us."
"That's exactly what the captain says." Uncle Stanley smiled genially, as his eyes ran from one to another. "He thinks you're a plucky lot."
"But he handed me out a few big knocks, though," grinned Jack.
"None this time, I assure you; he has quite reversed his opinion, and intends to come over and see you off."
"Bully for the Cap!" cried Tim. "He's not a bad old sort, after all!"
For some time they remained, talking over their plans with Tim's uncle, then trooped out, to roam idly about the clearing. The seven stopped for a moment in the long cabin used by the men and finally wandered over toward the edge of a high bluff, where they stopped to gaze at the always enchanting panorama of river and rugged shore. The broad Columbia stretched off, to finally become lost in a gray-purple haze.
Beyond the mills, and close in shore, a lumber schooner, piled high above the gunwales with short planks, lay at anchor, ready for her long trip down the river.
"Feast your eyes on the 'Osprey,' fellows," remarked Bob Somers; "Don Mason, Master."
"The staunch little craft which is to be entrusted with the precious cargo of Rambler boys," said Sam. "Say, it's pretty low in the water now; don't you think when Dave steps aboard it may be in danger of foundering?"
"Most likely there'll be nothing but groaning till she gets used to the additional strain," grinned Dave. "Mighty good of your uncle, Tim, to arrange it for us."
"You bet it was! Unk's a dandy."
"Doesn't look as if there was room for the crowd," sighed Jack, dismally.
"A thin affair like you doesn't need very much," quoth Tom, satirically. "Dave's the only one that counts. Hello—what's that?"
He pounced upon a roll of paper which had slipped from Dave Brandon's coat pocket, and, eluding the stout boy's outstretched hand, dashed away with a yell of triumph.
"Bet it's some of that great volume he's writing, fellows," he chuckled, gleefully. "Yes! Get away, Dave Brandon. Listen! Whew! What do you think? Pages 698 to—to—gee! 700! Did you get that—698 to 700?"
"Read it, slowpoke!" commanded Tim.
"Then keep him away."
"Go ahead," said Dave, good-naturedly. "My limit of resistance is four against one; you're six."
"Foxy lad," murmured Tom, keeping a good distance off. "Ah! First, is the heading, 'Life in a Lumber Camp'—sounds pretty fine, eh?"
"Read it!" yelled Tim.
"'In the dense, somber forest surrounding the clearing lumberjacks, with axe and saw, were hard at work. Donkey engines, by means of wire cables of great length, were dragging redwood trunks from the place where they had been felled over skid-roads to flumes which sent them rumbling down to the sawmills below.'"
"Great!" cried Dick. "Bully!"
"'The crack of ox-drivers' whips often echoed through the forest, as these slow-footed animals drew heavy vehicles, piled high with short logs, toward the timber slides.'"
"Wow!" quoth Sam. "Be-au-ti-ful!"
"'Altogether, life in a lumber camp must not only appeal to the lover of nature, but to those artistically inclined. Toward the dusk of evening, when—'"
A swift movement on Dave's part suddenly interrupted the reading. With a cheery laugh, the stout boy stepped back, stuffing his precious pages into an inside pocket.
"Oh, you rude thing!" sniffed the highly disgusted Tom.
"A thousand pities not to let us hear all of that perfectly lovely effusion," said Tim. "Come, Dave, that's a good chap, hand it out."
But no amount of withering comments, gentle persuasion, or direful threats had the least effect. So Jack Conroy merely sat upon Tommy, figuratively and actually, for being so easy.
There was nothing for them to do but patiently await the time when the "Osprey," Don Mason, Master, should weigh anchor. Jack Conroy and Dave Brandon were the only lads who didn't bubble over with enthusiasm, and long for the great moment to arrive.
That night, after the lamps in their cabin were lighted, Pete Colliver again pressed his face against the window-pane.
He was promptly admitted.
Pete immediately plumped himself down on the most comfortable chair, crossed his legs, and proceeded, by winks and extraordinary grimaces, to attract more than usual attention.
"Hello! Got anythin' in your eye, Pete?" asked Jack.
"Naw, young feller; there ain't nothin' what can even make 'em blink."
"Well, what's the matter?"
Pete's answer to this was a series of chuckles and other weird sounds even more astonishing than his facial contortions.
"If you could tell us where you feel the worst," suggested Tim, kindly, "why—"
Pete guffawed loudly.
"If there's anything on your mind, then"—Tim beamed pleasantly—"out with it."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Pete. "An' ye don't want no guide, hey? Don't have to go to—to Africa to git big game, do ye? Expect to bag somethin' whoppin'! Ha, ha!"
"Africa—Africa! Why, the extent o' your knowledge is simply surprisin'," murmured Jack.
Pete's grimaces and chuckles began again. Suddenly he burst into a roar of laughter, slapped his knees, then rose to his feet, while the deeply interested crowd stared at him in amazement.
"For goodness' sake, Peter," cried Bob, "tell us!"
"I was jist a-thinkin' o' somethin' kinder funny," explained Pete, "an' I guess ye don't need ter know nuthin' 'bout it."
"And after all our suspense!" protested Bob.
"How can you be so cruel?" added Sam.
"Peter is only jokin'," said Jack, hopefully.
"Not much he ain't, feller!"
Thereupon the whole crowd, with the exception of Dave, did their best to draw from the stocky boy the secret of his mirth.
But Pete could not be in any way cajoled, so they finally gave it up.
Presently, with a huge grin, he started toward the door, bade them good-night, and was gone.
The boys looked at each other inquiringly.
"Well," remarked Tim, drawing a long breath, "that chap certainly knows something, eh, Jack? Do you deny it?"
"How can a fellow deny what he doesn't know, you silly duffer?" demanded Jack, frowning fiercely.
"Now it's certain you've given the whole thing away!"
"Like fun I have!"
"You'll see! Most likely everybody in camp'll be taggin' after us."
"Oh, get out, Timmy; you've said just as much about Wanna's gold mine as I have."
Tim gave a gesture of despair.
"Can you beat it, fellows?" he wailed. "There he goes again—actually—after all the mess he's made, too. Help—help—I mean help needed to make Jacky forget those two fateful words."
"Oh, dry up!" howled Jack, wrathfully. "Remember what happened to Tommy."
"My regular job seems to be stopping a row every few minutes," laughed Bob. "If Pete does know our secret, scrapping about it won't do a bit of good."
"And no one can prevent us from finding—from finding that—er—er—Jabberwock," added Dick.