Chapter XVIII: The Man in the Cave

It was late afternoon when 'Merican Joe finished skinning the three foxes and stretching the pelts. As the sun approached the horizon Connie seated himself upon the sled at a point that gave him a clear view of the rock-ledge on the hillside. 'Merican Joe went into the tent and seated himself on his blankets, where he cowered with his thumbs in his ears.

The lower levels were in the shadows, now, and the sunlight was creeping slowly up the hill. Suddenly, from the rock-ledge appeared a black fox. Connie wondered if he, too, wore an ermine skin collar. The fox sniffed the air and trotted off along the hillside, where he disappeared behind a patch of scrub. Again the boy's eyes sought the ledge, another fox was trotting away and still another stood beside the rock. Then it came--the wild quavering yell for which the boy waited. The third fox trotted away as the yell came to its wailing termination, and Connie leaped from the sled. "It's just as I thought!" he cried, excitedly. "_The fox never gave that yell!_" The boy had expected to find just that, nevertheless, the actual discovery of it thrilled him with excitement.

The head of 'Merican Joe peered cautiously from the tent. "Who giv' um den?" he asked in fear and trembling.

"The man that's at the bottom of that fox-hole," answered the boy, impressively, "and if I'm not mistaken, his name is James Dean."

The Indian stared at the boy as though he thought he had taken leave of his senses. "W'at you mean--de bottom of de fox-hole?" he asked "Dat hole so leetle small dat de fox she almos' can't git out!"

"That's just it!" cried the boy. "That's just why the man can't get out."

"How he git in dere?" asked 'Merican Joe, in a tone of such disgust that Connie laughed.

"I'll tell you that tomorrow," he answered, "after James Dean tells me."

"If de yell com' from de hole, den de _tamahnawus_ mak' um," imparted the Indian, fearfully. "An' if he can't get out dat better we let um stay in dere. Ain' no man kin git in dat hole. I ain' know nuttin' 'bout no James Dean."

A half-hour before sunrise the following morning Connie started up the slope, closely followed by 'Merican Joe, who mumbled gruesome forebodings as he crowded so close that he had to keep a sharp lookout against treading upon the tails of Connie's rackets. When they had covered half the distance a black fox broke from a nearby patch of scrub and dashed for the hole in the rock-ledge, and as they approached the place another fox emerged from the thicket, paused abruptly, and circled widely to the shelter of another thicket.

Arriving at the ledge, Connie took up his position squarely in front of the hole, while 'Merican Joe, grimly grasping the helve of his belt ax, sank down beside him, and with trembling fingers untied the thongs of one of his snowshoes.

"What are you doing that for?" asked Connie, in a low voice.

"Me--I'm so scare w'en dat yell com', I'm 'fraid I runaway. If I ain' got jus' wan snowshoe, I can't run."

"You're all right," smiled the boy, as he reached out and laid a reassuring hand upon the Indian's arm, and hardly had the words left his lips than from the mouth of the hole came the wild cry that mounted higher and higher, and then died away in a quavering tremolo. Instantly, Connie thrust his face close to the hole. "Hello!" he cried at the top of his lungs, and again: "Hello, in there!"

A moment of tense silence followed, and then from the hole came the sound of a voice. "Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello! Don't go 'way--for God's sake! Hello, hello, hello----"

"We're not going away," answered the boy, "we've come to get you out--James Dean!"

"James Dean! James Dean!" repeated the voice from the ground. "Get James Dean out!"

"We'll get you out, all right," reassured the boy. "But tell us how you got in, and why you can't get out the same way?"

"There's no way out!" wailed a voice of despair, "I'm buried alive, an' there's no way out!"

"How did you get in?" insisted the boy. "Come, think, because it'll help us to get you out."

"Get in--a long time ago--years and years ago--James Dean is very old. The whole hill is hollow and James Dean is buried alive."

Connie gave up trying to obtain information from the unfortunate man whose inconsistent remarks were of no help. "I'll see if these rocks are loose," he called, as he scraped the snow away from the edges of the hole and tapped at the rock with the back of his belt ax.

"It ain't loose!" came the voice. "It's solid rock--a hundred ton of it caved in my tunnel. The whole hill is quartz inside and I shot a face and the hill caved in."

A hurried examination confirmed the man's statement. Connie found, under the snow, evidences of the mouth of a tunnel, and then he saw that the whole face of the ledge had fallen forward, blocking the tunnel at the mouth. The small triangular opening used by the foxes, had originally been a notch in the old face of the ledge. The boy stared at the mass of rock in dismay. Fully twelve feet of solid rock separated the man from the outside world! Once more he placed his mouth to the hole. "Hello, James Dean!"

"Hello!"

"Isn't there any other opening to the cave?" he asked.

"Opening to the cave? Another opening? No--no--only my window, an' that's too high."

"Window," cried Connie. "Where is your window?"

"'Way up high--a hundred feet high. I've carried forty ton of rock--but I never can reach it--because I've run out of rock--and my powder and drills was buried in the cave-in."

"I'm going to find that window!" cried the boy. "You go back and get as close to the window as you can, and yell and I'll find it, and when I do, we'll pull you out in a jiffy."

"It's too high," wailed the man, "and my rock run out!"

"Go over there and yell!" repeated the boy. "I'll let a line down and we'll pull you out."

Turning to 'Merican Joe, whose nerve had completely returned when he became convinced that the author of the strange yell was a man of flesh and blood, the boy ordered him post-haste to the tent to fetch the three coils of strong _babiche_ line that he had added to the outfit. When the Indian had gone, Connie struck straight up the hill, examining the surface of the snow eagerly for sight of a hole. But it was not until two hours later, after he and the Indian had circled and spiralled the hill in every direction, that he was attracted to a patch of scrawny scrub by the faint sound of a long-drawn yell.

Into the scrub dashed the boy, and there, yawning black and forbidding, beneath a low rock-ledge, was a hole at least four feet in height, and eight or nine feet wide. And from far down in the depths came the sound of the voice, loud and distinct now that he stood directly in front of the hole. The boy called for 'Merican Joe, and while he waited for the Indian to come, he noted that the edges of the hole, and all the bushes that over-hung its mouth were crusted thickly with white frost. Carefully he laid flat on his belly and edged himself along until he could thrust his face into the abyss. The air felt very warm--a dank, damp warmth, such as exudes from the depths of a swamp in summer. He peered downward but his eyes could not penetrate the Stygian blackness out of which rose the monotonous wail of the voice.

"Strike a light down there!" cried the boy. "Or build a fire!"

"Light! Fire! Ha, ha, ha." Thin, hollow laughter that was horrible to hear, floated upward. "I ain't had a fire in years, and years--an' no light."

"Wait a minute!" called the boy, and began to collect dry twigs which he made into a bundle. He lighted the bundle and when it was burning fiercely he shouted, "Look out below!" And leaning far inward, he dropped the blazing twigs. Down, down like a fiery comet they rushed through the darkness, and then suddenly the comet seemed to explode and a million tiny flames shot in all directions as the bundle burst from contact with the rock floor. "Pile the sticks together and make a fire!" called the boy, "and I'll toss you down some more!" He could see the tiny red faggots moving toward a central spot, and presently a small blaze flared up, and as more twigs were added to the pile the flame brightened. Connie collected more wood, and calling a warning, tossed it down. Soon a bright fire was burning far below, and in the flickering light of the flames the boy saw a grotesque shape flitting here and there adding twigs to the fire. He could not see the man clearly but he could see that his head and face were covered with long white hair, and that he was entirely naked except for a flapping piece of cloth that hung from his middle.

'Merican Joe arrived with the _babiche_ lines, and as the boy proceeded to uncoil and knot them together, he sent the Indian to the tent for some blankets. When he returned the line was ready, with a fixed loop in the end.

"All right!" called the boy, "here comes the line. Sit in the loop, and hold on to the rope for all you're worth, and we'll have you out in a few minutes!" He could hear the man talking to himself as he hovered about the fire so closely that the flames seemed to be licking at his skin.

The man looked upward, and Connie paid out the line. When it reached the bottom, the boy noted that there was only about ten feet of slack remaining, and he heaved a sigh of relief. He could feel the man tugging at the rope, and after a moment of silence the voice sounded from below: "Haul away!"

Connie and 'Merican Joe braced their feet on the rocks and pulled. They could feel the rope sway like a pendulum as the man left the floor, and then, hand over hand they drew him to the surface. While the Indian had gone for the blankets, Connie had cut a stout pole to be used to support the load while they got the man out of the hole. Even with the pole to sustain the weight it was no small task to draw the man over the edge, but at last it was accomplished, and James Dean stood once more in the light of day after his years of imprisonment in the bowels of the earth. With a cry of pain the man clapped his hands to his eyes, and Connie immediately bound his handkerchief over them, as 'Merican Joe wrapped the wasted form in thickness after thickness of blankets. When the blankets were secured with the _babiche_ line the Indian lifted the man to his shoulders, and struck out for the tent, as Connie hurried on ahead to build up the fire and prepare some food.

The bandage was left on the man's eyes, for the daylight had proved too strong, but after the tent had warmed, the two dressed him in their extra clothing. The man ate ravenously of broiled caribou steak and drank great quantities of tea, after which, the day being still young, camp was struck, and the outfit headed for the cabin.

It was midnight when they drew up at the door, and soon a roaring fire heated the interior. Connie turned the light very low, and removed the bandage from the man's eyes. For a long time he sat silent, staring about him, his eyes travelling slowly from one object to another, and returning every few moments to linger upon the faces of his rescuers. At times his lips moved slightly, as if to name some familiar object, but no sound came, and his eyes followed every movement with interest, as 'Merican Joe prepared supper.

When the meal was ready the man stepped to the pole-shelf that served as a washstand, and as he caught sight of his face in the little mirror that hung above it, he started back with a cry of horror. Then he stepped to the mirror again, and for a long time he stared into it as though fascinated by what he beheld. In a daze, he turned to Connie. "What--what year is it?" he asked, in a voice that trembled with uncertainty. And when the boy told him, he stood and batted his squinting eyes uncomprehendingly. "Six years," he mumbled, "six years buried alive. Six years living with weasels, and foxes, and fish without eyes. I was thirty, then--and in six years I'm eighty--eighty years old if I'm a day. Look at me! Ain't I eighty?"

In truth, the man looked eighty, thought Connie as he glanced into the face with its faded squinting eyes, the brow wrinkled and white as paper, and the long white hair and beard that hung about his shoulders. Aloud he said, "No, you'll be all right again in a little while. Living in the dark that way has hurt your eyes, and turned your skin white, and the worry about getting out has made your hair turn grey but you can cut your hair, and shave off your whiskers, and the sun will tan you up again. Let's eat now, and after supper if you feel like it you can tell us how it happened."

The man ate ravenously--so ravenously in fact, that Connie who had learned that a starving man should be fed slowly at first, uttered a protest. "You better go a little easy on the grub," he cautioned. "Not that we haven't got plenty, but for your own good. Anyone that hasn't had enough to eat for quite a while has got to take it slow."

The man looked at the boy in surprise. "It ain't the grub--it's the _cooking_. I've had plenty of grub, but I ain't had any fire."

After supper the man begged to be allowed to help wash the dishes, and when the task was finished, he drew his chair directly in front of the stove, and opening the door, sat staring into the flames. "Seems like I just got to look at the fire," he explained, "I ain't seen one in so long."

"And you ate all your grub raw?" asked the boy.

James Dean settled himself in his chair, and shook his head. "No, not raw. I might's well begin at the start. There's times when my head seems to kind of go wrong, but it's all right now."

"Wait a few days, if you'd rather," suggested the boy, but the man shook his head:

"No, I feel fine--I'd about give up ever seein' men again. Let's see where'll I begin. I come north eight year ago. Prospected the Coppermine, but there ain't nothin' there. Then I built me a cabin south of the big lake. From there I prospected an' trapped, an' traded with McTavish at Fort Norman. One time I struck some colour on the shore of the lake, right at the foot of the hill where you found me. Looked like it had come out of rotted quartz, an' I figured the mother lode would maybe be in the hill so I fetched my drills, an' powder, an' run in a drift. I hadn't got very far in when I shot the whole face out and busted into a big cave. The whole inside was lined with rotten quartz, but it wasn't poor man's gold. It was a stamp mill claim.

"I prodded around in the cave all day, an' that evenin' some Injuns come an' camped near my tent. They was goin' to trap fox, an' I didn't want 'em around, so I went over to their camp an' told 'em there was a _tamahnawus_ around. Two of 'em was scairt stiff, but one wasn't. I told 'em they was a fox that could talk like a man. But one buck, he figured I was lyin', so to make the play good, I told 'em I had the medicine to make the _tamahnawus_ do what I told him. I said I would make him burn the snow, so I slips back to my tent and laid a fuse out on the lake, an' put about a pound of powder at the end of it, an' while she was burnin' I went back. The Injuns could see the fuse sputterin' out on the lake, but this one buck said it was a piece of rope I'd set afire. I told him if it was rope it would go out, but if it was _tamahnawus_ I'd tell him to make a big fire. So I yelled at the _tamahnawus_ a couple of times, and when the spark got to the powder she flashed up big, an' like to scairt them Injuns to death. In the morning they beat it--an' that was the end of them. If you're smart you can out-guess them Injuns." The man paused, and Connie, although he said nothing, smiled grimly for well he knew that the man had paid dearly for his trick.

"Nex' day I decided to shoot down a face of the rotten quartz to see how thick she was, an' I drilled my holes an' tamped in the shots, an' fired 'em. I had gone back in the cave, instead of steppin' outside, an' when the shots went off the whole ledge tipped over, an' plugged up my tunnel. I'd shoved my drills an' powder into the tunnel, an they was buried.

"Well, there I was. At first I yelled, an' hollered, an' I clawed at the rock with my hands. Then I come to. The cave was dark as pitch, the only light I could see come through under the rocks where the foxes use--only they wasn't any foxes then. There I was without nothin' to eat an' drink, an' no way out. I had matches, but there wasn't nothin' to burn. Then I started out to explore the cave. It was an awful job in the dark. Now an' then I'd light a match an' hold it till it burnt my fingers. It was a big cave, an' around a corner of rock, five or six hundred foot back from the hole, I found the window you drug me out through. That let in a little light, but it was high up an' no way to get to it. I heard runnin' water, an' found a crick run right through the middle of that room, it was the biggest room of all. In one place there was a rapids not over six inches deep where it run over a ledge of rocks. I crossed it, an' found another long room. It was hot in there an' damp an' it stunk of sulphur. There was a boilin' spring in there, an' a little crick run from it to the big cold crick. I heard a splashin' in the rapids an' I was so scairt I couldn't run. There wouldn't have been no place to run to if I could. So I laid there, an' listened. The splashin' kept up an' I quit bein' so scairt, an' went to the rapids. The splashin' was still goin' on an' it took me quite a while there in the dark to figure out it was fish. Well, when I did figure it, I give a whoop. I wasn't goin' to starve, anyhow--not with fish, an' a boilin' spring to cook 'em. I took off my shoes an' waded in an' stood still in the rapids. Pretty quick I could feel 'em bumpin' my feet. Then I stuck my hands in an' when they bumped into 'em I'd throw 'em out. I got so I never missed after a couple of years. They run in schools, an' it got so I knew when they was up the river, an' when they was down. I'd scoop one or two out, an' carry 'em to the spring, an' I made a sort of pen out of rocks in the boilin' water, an' I'd throw 'em in, an' a half-hour or so later, they'd be done. But they stunk of sulphur, an' tasted rotten, an' at first I couldn't go 'em--but I got used to it after a while.

"The first year, I used to yell out the door, about every couple of hours, then three times a day, an' at last I only yelled when the light in the hole told me the sun was going down, an' again when it come up. In summer a rabbit would now an' then come in the hole an' I got so I could kill 'em with rocks when they set for a minute in the light at the end of the hole. They was plenty o' weasels--ermine they call 'em up here, but they ain't fit to eat. Towards spring a couple of black fox come nosin' into the hole, an' I slipped in a rock so they couldn't get out. I done it first, jest to have company. They was so wild, I couldn't see nothin' but their eyes for a long time. But I scooped fish out for 'em an' fed 'em every day in the same place an' they got tamer. Then they had a litter of young ones! Say, they was the cutest little fellers you ever saw. I fed 'em an' after a while they was so tame I could handle 'em. I never could handle the old ones, but they got so tame they'd take fish out of my hand.

"All this time I used to go to the hole every day, an' two or three times a day, an' lay with my face in it, so my eyes would get the light. I was afraid I'd go blind bein' all the time in the dark. An' between times I'd carry loose rock an' pile it under that window. I spent years of work on pilin' them rocks, an' then I used up all the rocks an' had to quit.

"When the little foxes got about a quarter grow'd I took 'em one at a time, an' shoved 'em out the hole, so their eyes wouldn't go bad. After a while I could let 'em all out together, an' they would always come back. I was careful to keep 'em well fed. But I didn't dare let the old ones go, I was afraid they'd never come back an' would drag off the little ones, too. It wasn't so long before them six little fellows could beat me scoopin' out fish. Well, one day the big ones got out, an' the little ones followed. They'd clawed the rock away where I hadn't jammed it in tight. I never felt so bad in my life. I sat there in the dark and bawled like a baby. It was like losin' yer family all to once. They was all I had. I never expected to see 'em again. They stayed out all night, but in the mornin' back they all come--big ones an' all! After that I left the hole open, an' they come an' went as they pleased. Well, they had more little ones, an' the little ones had little ones, until they was forty or fifty black fox lived with me in the cave--an' I had 'em all named. They used to fetch in ptarmigan an' rabbits an' I'd take 'em away an' eat 'em. Then one or two begun to turn up missin' an' I figured they'd be'n trapped. That give me an idea. If I could tie a message onto 'em, maybe sometime someone would trap one and find out where I was. But I didn't have no pencil nor nothin' to write on. So I begun tearin' strips from my coat an' pants an' tied 'em around their necks, but the goods was gettin' rottin, an' bushes clawed it off, or maybe the foxes did. I used up my coat, an' most of my pants, an' then I used ermine skins. I figured that if any one trapped a black fox wearin' an ermine skin collar it would call for an investigation. If it was a white trapper he would tumble right away that something was wrong, an' if it was an Injun he would brag about it when he traded the fur, an' then the factor would start the investigation. But nothin' come of it till you come along, although they was several of them foxes trapped--as long as three years back. But I kept on yellin' night an' mornin'. Sometime, I know'd someone would hear. An' that's all there is to it, except that my clothes an' shoes was all wore out--but I didn't mind so much because it was warm as summer all the time, an' no mosquitoes in the cave."

"And now you can rest up for a few days, and well take you to Fort Norman," smiled Connie, when the man relapsed into silence, "and you can go out in the summer with the brigade."

"Go out?" asked the man, vaguely. "Go out where?"

"Why!" exclaimed the boy, "go out--wherever you want to go."

The man lapsed into a long silence as he sat with his grey beard resting upon his breast and gazed into the fire. "No," he said, at length, "I'll go to Fort Norman, an' get some drills an' powder, an' shoot me a new tunnel. I'll take a stove so I can have a fire, an' cook. I like the cave. It's all the home I got, an' someone's got to look after them foxes."

"But the gold?" asked the boy. "How about bringing in a stamp mill and turn your hill into a regular outfit?"

James Dean shook his head. "No, it would spoil the cave an' besides where would me and the foxes go? That hill is the only home we've got--an' I'm gettin' old. I'm eighty if I'm a day. When I'm dead you can have the hill--but you'll look after them foxes, won't you, boy?"

A week later Connie and 'Merican Joe and James Dean pulled up before the Hudson's Bay Post at Fort Norman, and, as the boy entered the door, McTavish greeted him in surprise. "You're just the one I want!" he cried. "I was just about to send an Indian runner to your cabin with this letter. It come from the Yukon by special messenger."

Connie tore the document open, and as he read, his eyes hardened. It was from Waseche Bill, and it had not been intrusted to "Roaring Mike O'Reilly" to transcribe. It ran thus:

MR. C. MORGAN,

Cannady.

Son, yo better come back yere. Theys an outfit thats tryin to horn
in on us on Ten Bow. They stack up big back in the states--name's
Guggenhammer, or somethin' like it, an they say we kin take our
choist to either fight or sell out. If we fight they say they'll
clean us out. I ain't goin' to do one thing or nother till I hear
from you. Come a runnin' an' les here you talk.

Your pard, W. BILL.

"What's the matter, son, bad news?" asked McTavish, as he noted the scowling face of the boy.

"Read it," he snapped, and tossed the letter to the big Scotchman. Then stepping to the counter he rapidly wrote a report to Dan McKeever, in re the disappearance of James Dean, after which he turned to 'Merican Joe--"I've got to go back to Ten Bow," he said. "All the traps and the fur and everything we've got here except my sled and dog-team are yours. Stay as long as you want to, and when you are tired of trapping, come on over into the Yukon country, and I'll give you a job--unless the Guggenhammers bust me--but if they do they'll know they've been somewhere when they get through!"

And without waiting to hear the Indian's reply, the boy turned to McTavish and ordered his trail grub, which 'Merican Joe packed on to the boy's sled as fast as the factor's clerk could get it out. "So-long," called Connie, as he stood beside the sled a half-hour later. "Here goes a record trip to the Yukon! And, say, McTavish, give James Dean anything he wants, and charge it to me!"

"All right, lad," called the factor, "but what are ye goin' to do? Dan McKeever'll be wantin' to know, when he comes along?"

"Do?" asked the boy.

"Yes, are ye goin' to sell out, or fight 'em?"

"Fight 'em!" cried the boy. "Fight 'em to the last ditch! If they've told Waseche we've _got_ to sell, I wouldn't sell for a hundred million dollars--and neither would he! We'll fight 'em--and what's more we'll beat 'em--you wait an' see!" And with a yell the boy cracked his whip, and the dogs, with the great Leloo in the lead, sprang out on to the long, long trail to the Yukon.

THE END.

_A Selection from the
Catalogue of_

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Connie Morgan
in the Lumber Camps

By

James B. Hendryx

Author of "Connie Morgan in Alaska," "Connie Morgan
with the Mounted," etc.

All his many friends will be glad to greet Connie Morgan again.

This time we find him in the timber regions of northern Minnesota, where he solves a mystery that robbed him and his partner of thousands of dollars' worth of logs. He is the same straight-forward lad "who finds out what has to be done, and does it the best he knows how."

Mr. Hendryx has lived much in the lumber woods and has written an excellent, exciting story of adventure.

G.P. Putnam's Sons

New York London

Connie Morgan
in Alaska

By

James B. Hendryx

Author of "The Promise," "The Law of the Woods," etc.

_12°. Over twenty illustrations_

Mr. Hendryx, as he has ably demonstrated in his many well-known tales, knows his Northland thoroughly, but he has achieved a reputation as a writer possibly "too strong" for the younger literary digestion. It is a delight, therefore, to find that he can present properly, in a capital story of a boy, full of action and adventure, and one in whom boys delight, the same thorough knowledge of people and customs of the North.

G.P. Putnam's Sons

New York London

Connie Morgan with the
Mounted

By

James B. Hendryx

Author of "Connie Morgan in Alaska"

_Illustrated._

It tells how "Sam Morgan's Boy," well known to readers of Mr. Hendryx's "Connie Morgan in Alaska," daringly rescued a man who was rushing to destruction on an ice floe and how, in recognition of his quick-wittedness and nerve, he was made a Special Constable in the Northwest Mounted Police, with the exceptional adventures that fell to his lot in that perilous service. It is a story of the northern wilderness, clean and bracing as the vigorous, untainted winds that sweep over that region; the story of a boy who wins out against the craft of Indians and the guile of the bad white man of the North; the story of a boy who succeeds where men fail.

G.P. Putnam's Sons

New York London

The Promise

A Tale of the Great Northwest and of a
Man Who Kept His Word

By James B. Hendryx

A tale of a strong man's regeneration--of the transformation of "Broadway Bill" Carmody, millionaire's son, rounder, and sport, whose drunken sprees have finally overtaxed the patience of his father and _the_ girl, into a Man, clear-eyed and clean-lived, a true descendant of the fighting McKims.

The Texan

A Story of the Cattle Country

By James B. Hendryx

Author of "The Promise," etc.

A novel of the cattle country and of the mountains, by James B. Hendryx, will at once commend itself to the host of readers who have enthusiastically followed this brilliant writer's work. Again he has written a red-blooded, romantic story of the great open spaces, of the men who "do" things and of the women who are brave--a tale at once turbulent and tender, impassioned but restrained.

G.P. Putnam's Sons

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The White Blanket

By

Belmore Browne

Author of "The Quest of the Golden Valley," etc.

_12°. Illustrated_

A sequel to _The Quest of the Golden Valley_, this time taking the chums through the vicissitudes of an Alaskan winter. They trap the many fur-bearing animals, hunt the big game, camp with the Indians, do dog-driving, snow-shoeing, etc. With the coming of spring they descend one of the wilderness rivers on a raft and at the eleventh hour, after being wrecked in a dangerous canyon, they discover a fabulous quartz lode, and succeed in reaching the sea coast.

G.P. Putnam's Sons

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