There was a bend in the gorge just here, and we could not see ahead, but the instant we detected the sound of water, Dick, with a shout, sprang forward, and with me close on his heels and the short-legged Pedro some distance in the rear, dashed up the bed of the ravine and round the corner.

What a wonderful sight met our gaze! Out of the great cliff I mentioned just now there came roaring down a magnificent stream, which, falling into a deep pool it had worn for itself in the rocks, went boiling and foaming off through a second ravine to the right—a fine thing to see!

But what was finer, and infinitely more interesting, was the original Pueblo head-gate, so set in the narrow gorge in which we stood that the water, which, if left to itself, would have flowed down our ravine, was forced to run off through the other channel.

It was a remarkable piece of work for such a primitive people to have performed, considering especially the very inferior tools they had to do it with. The walls of the gorge came together at this point in such a manner that they were not more than five feet apart and were so straight-up-and-down that they looked as though they had been trimmed by hand—as possibly they had been to some extent. Taking advantage of this narrow gap, the Pueblos had cut a deep groove in the rocks on either side of the ravine, and in these grooves they had set up on end a great flat stone about five feet high and three inches thick—it must have weighed a thousand pounds or more.

Against this stone head-gate, on its inner side, the water stood four feet deep, and it was obvious that when the gate was raised the flood would go raging down the gorge we had just ascended into the little lake below, leaving the bed in which it now ran high and dry.

Undoubtedly, it was this stone door with which the Pueblos used to regulate their water-supply, prying it up and holding it in position, perhaps, with blocks of wood, which, after the Indians deserted the valley, had in time rotted away, allowing the gate to fall, thus shutting off the water entirely.

However that may have been, one thing at any rate was certain:—Whenever our flume and our ditch were ready, here was water enough for thousands of acres only waiting to be let loose.

For a long time Dick and I stood with our hands resting on the top of the head-gate and our chins resting on our hands, watching the water as it went foaming and splashing down the other ravine, and as we stood there, there came over us by degrees a sense of the real importance to us of this discovery. We were only boys, after all, and we had gone into this enterprise more or less in the spirit of adventure, but now it gradually dawned upon us that we had in reality arrived at a point where the roads forked:—Here, ready to our hands, was work for a lifetime, and we had to decide whether we were going into it heart and soul or whether we were not. Every boy arrives at this fork in the roads sooner or later, and when he does, he is apt to feel pretty serious. I know we did.

With us, however, the question seemed to settle itself, for Dick, presently straightening up and turning to me, said:

"Frank! What will your Uncle Tom say? Will he be willing that you should stay out in this country and take to wheat-raising and ditch-building and so forth?"

"If I know Uncle Tom," I replied, "he'll be not only willing but delighted. If we make a success of this thing—as we will if hard work will do it—just imagine how proudly he will point to us as proofs of his theory that a fellow may sometimes learn more out of school than in it. In fact, if I'm not much mistaken, he will be eager to help; and if we need money for the work, as we certainly shall, I shan't hesitate to ask him for it. I shall inherit a little when I come of age, and I'm pretty sure Uncle Tom will advance me some if I need it. But how about the professor, Dick? How will he fancy the idea of your settling down in this valley? For if we do go into this thing in earnest, that is what it means."

"I know it does," replied my companion, seriously. "And I'm glad of it. I'll let you into a little secret, Frank. For some time past the professor has been worrying himself as to what was to become of me: what business or occupation I was fit for with my peculiar bringing-up—for there is no getting over the fact that it has been peculiar—and the professor, considering himself responsible for it, has been pretty anxious about the result. Now, here is an occupation all laid out for me, and nobody will be so pleased to hear of it as the professor. It will take a burden off his mind; and I'm mighty glad to think it will."

"I see," said I. "I should think you would be: such a fine old fellow as he is. So, then, Dick, it is settled, is it, that we go ahead? What's the first move, then?"

"Why, the first move of all, I think, is to get back to the lake and eat our lunch, and while we are doing so we can consult as to what work to start upon and how to set about it. What time is it, Pedro?"

"Midday and ten minutes," promptly replied the Mexican, casting an eye at the sun; while I, pulling out my watch, saw that he had hit it exactly, as he always did, I found later.

"Then let us get back to the lake," said Dick. "Hark! What was that? The water makes so much noise that I can't be sure, but it sounded to me like wolves howling."

Pedro nodded his big head. "It will be well to go down to where there are some trees," said he. "This arroyo, with its high walls, is not a good place."

As we walked down the ravine and got further away from the water, we could hear more distinctly the cry of the wolves. Pedro stopped short and listened intently.

"There is a good many of them," said he. "I think they come hunting us. Let us get up on this rock here and wait a little."

In the middle of the ravine lay a great flat-topped stone, about six feet high, and to the top of this we soon scrambled—there was plenty of room—and there for a minute or two we waited. The cry of the hunting wolves grew louder and louder, and presently, around a bend a short distance below, loping along with their noses to the ground, there came a band of sixteen of them. At sight of us they stopped short, and then—showing plainly that they knew of no danger to themselves—with a yell of delight at having run down their prey, as they supposed, they came charging up the ravine!

CHAPTER XVII The Bridge

As the pack came racing up the gulch, we waited an instant until a narrow place crowded them into a bunch, when Dick called out, "Now!" and we all fired together into the midst of them. Three of the wolves fell, two dead—I could see the feather of Pedro's arrow sticking out of the ribs of one of them—and one with its back broken.

I had hoped that the strange thunder of the rifles would send them flying—but no. They all stopped again for a moment, and then, maddened seemingly at the sight of the broken-backed wolf dragging itself about and screeching with pain—poor beast—they all fell upon the unfortunate creature and worried it to death. Then, with yells of rage, on they came again.

The pause had given us time to re-load. Dick and Pedro, quicker than I, fired a second shot, and once more two wolves fell writhing among the stones. The next moment we were surrounded, and for a minute or two after that I was too much engaged myself to note what the others were doing.

A gaunt, long-legged wolf sprang up on the rock within three feet of me. I fired my rifle into his chest. Another, close beside him, was within an ace of scrambling up when I hit him across the side of his head a fearful crack with the empty rifle-barrel and knocked him off again. Then, seeing a third with his feet on top of the rock, his head thrown back in his straining efforts to get up, I sprang to that side, kicked the beast under his chin and knocked him down.

Meanwhile my companions had been similarly engaged and similarly successful. Pedro in particular, having dropped his bow and taken in one hand the short-handled ax he always carried with him, while in the other he held his big sheath-knife, had laid about him to such effect that he had put four of the enemy out of the fight—two of them permanently.

Dick was the only one who had received any damage, and that was to his clothes and not to himself. His rifle being empty, he had used it to push back the wolves as they jumped up. In doing so he had stepped too near the edge of the rock, and one of the watchful beasts, springing up at that moment, had caught the leg of his trousers with its teeth, tearing it from end to end and coming dangerously near to pulling my partner down. Pedro, however, quick as a flash, had delivered a back-handed "swipe" with his ax at the wolf's neck, nearly cutting off its head, and Dick was saved. It was an unpleasantly close thing, though.

It was a short, sharp tussle, and at the end of it nine of the sixteen wolves lay scattered about the bed of the ravine, dead or helpless. This seemed to take the fight out of the remaining seven—as well it might—who retreated down the arroyo, turning at the corner and looking back at us with their lips drawn up and their teeth showing, seeming to convey a threat, as though they would say, "Your turn this time—but just you wait a bit."

Such unexpected fierceness and such determination on the part of the wolves—by daylight, too—scared me rather; Dick also, I noted, looked pretty sober, as, turning to the Mexican, he said:

"You were right, Pedro: these wolves are dangerous—a good deal more so than I had supposed. Our chances would have been pretty slim if we hadn't had this rock so handy. If this sort of thing is going to happen at any time, day or night, it will add very much to the difficulty of the work up here. We shall have to be continuously on the lookout; it won't do to separate; and wherever we are at work, we shall have to prepare a place of refuge near at hand. I don't like it. I've seen wolves by the hundred, but I never saw any before so savage and so persistent as these. I tell you, I don't half like it."

"And I don't either," said I, glad to find that I was not the only one to feel uneasy. "Did you notice, Dick, how thin they all were? I've often heard the expression, 'gaunt as a wolf,' and now I know what it means. They seemed half-starved."

"That is it, senor," remarked Pedro. "The wolves up here are very many—too many for the space they have. Here they are, the cañons all round them, they cannot get away. All the time they are half-starved, all the time they hunt for food, all the time they are dangerous. Often in winter they eat each other. It is well if we move away from here. Pretty soon there will come another pack to eat up these dead ones."

"Let us get out, then!" I cried. "I've had enough of them for one day!"

The others were quite ready to move, so, jumping down from our fortress we started along the ravine again, this time keeping our ears wide open for suspicious sounds, and feeling a good deal relieved when, on the edge of the lake, we sat down to our lunch with an old low-branching pine tree close by, up which we could go in a jiffy if need be.

But though the presence of so many wolves on the "island" was something we had not anticipated, something, moreover, which was likely to add very much to the difficulty of our undertaking, we did not for a moment contemplate its abandonment. It meant the use of great caution in going about the work, but as to backing out, I do not think the idea so much as occurred to either of us.

As soon as we had sat down to our lunch, therefore, we began the discussion of the best method of procedure.

"It is a big undertaking, Dick," said I, "a very big undertaking; but it looks like a straightforward piece of work; and it seems to me that what has been done once can certainly be done again, especially as we have our line already laid out for us. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, I certainly think so," replied my partner. "What those Pueblos accomplished with their poor implements, we can surely do again with our superior tools. And some of it, at least, we can do ourselves, I believe—with our own hands, I mean. When it comes to digging out the ditch on the other side of the cañon, it will pay us to hire Mexicans; but the preliminary work of bringing the water down to the cañon, and, perhaps, the building of the flume, I believe we can do ourselves."

"The building of the flume," said I, "is likely to be a pretty big job by itself. We can undoubtedly get the water down that far—that is simple—but the building of the flume is quite another thing. A small flume won't do; it has to be a big, strong, solid structure, and it strikes me that the very first thing to be done—the laying of the two big stringers across the cañon—is going to take us all we know, and a trifle over. In fact, I don't see myself how we are to do it."

"I think I do," rejoined my partner; "but we shall need tools for the purpose. We can't build a big, solid flume with one pick, one shovel and two axes."

"No, we certainly can't," I replied.

"We shall need, too, a large amount of lumber," continued Dick, "heavy pieces, besides boards for floor and sides—two inch planks, at least—three inch would be better. We shall need several thousand feet altogether."

"Well?"

"Well, there is no lumber to be had nearer than Mosby, and to bring it from Mosby is out of the question. In the first place it would cost too much; and in the second place it is too far to pack it on mule-back."

I nodded. "You mean we shall have to cut it out ourselves, here on the spot."

"Yes; and to do that we shall need a long, two-handled rip-saw, and a saw-pit to work in. Besides this, the other tools we shall require, as far as I can think of them on the spur of the moment, are two or three pulley-blocks for placing the big timbers, hammers, nails, cross-cut saws and a big auger; for I propose that we pin the heavy parts together with wooden pins: it will save the carriage on spikes, and be just as good, if not better. Don't you think so, Pedro?"

Pedro approved of the idea, and we were about to continue the discussion, when there broke out a great yelling and snarling of wolves up the arroyo. Dick and I sprang to our feet, and instinctively cast an eye up into the adjacent tree in search of a convenient limb; but Pedro, unconcernedly continuing his meal, remarked:

"It is only that they eat the dead ones."

"Well, they're a deal too close to be pleasant," said Dick. "I vote we move on down to the cañon and get a little further away from them."

As I was heartily of the same opinion, we moved down accordingly, and there on the brink of the gorge surveyed the scene of our future labors.

"Look here," said Dick. "Here's where we shall have to cut our timbers—on this side. See what a splendid supply there is right at hand."

He pointed to a scar on the mountain close by where a landslide had brought down scores of trees of all sizes.

"When did that come down, Pedro?" he asked.

"Only last spring, señor," replied the Mexican. "And the trees are sound and good."

"Mighty lucky for us," continued my partner; "for, you see, on the other side trees are scarce and they average rather small. But on this side, there are not only seasoned trees of all sizes in abundance, but it will be a down-hill pull to get them into place—a big item by itself. Besides that, just back here on this little level spot we can dig our saw-pit very conveniently. The only question to my mind is, whether we should not move our camp over to this side. If it were not for the wolves I should certainly say, 'Yes'; but as it is, I feel rather doubtful. The nearest water is up there at the lake, and if we did move over to this side that is where we should have to make our camp."

"It's a long way up to the lake, Dick," said I, "and it might be dangerous going to and from our work—especially going back in the evening. In fact, it might easily happen that we couldn't get back at all."

"That's what I was thinking of," replied my partner.

"On the other hand," I continued, "if we keep our present camp, it will be very inconvenient, and will waste a great deal of time, to come to our work every day by way of those stone steps we climbed this morning."

"Yes, that's it. But there's yet another way which, I think, would get us over both difficulties; one which would combine all the advantages and at the same time do away with the danger—or, to say the least, the inconvenience—of being harried by the wolves, and that is to build a bridge here. Then, if we move our camp to that little 'park' just below here, where we found that spring yesterday, it would only take us five minutes in the morning to come up here, cross the bridge and go to work. How does that strike you? What do you think, Pedro?"

"It is good," replied Pedro. "First thing of everything a bridge; and that is easy. We make it to-day before the sun set."

"We do, do we?" cried Dick, laughing. "That will be pretty expeditious; but if you think you know how, Pedro, go ahead and we'll follow."

Pedro's eye twinkled. "The señor means it?" he asked.

"Certainly," replied Dick.

"Bueno," said Pedro, briefly.

There was a little pine tree growing just on the brink of the chasm, and without another word the Mexican drew his ax from his belt, stepped up to the tree and cut it off about four feet from the ground, allowing the top to fall from the precipice into the stream below.

"What's that for, Pedro?" I asked, in surprise.

Pedro grinned. "I show you pretty quick," said he. "Come, now. We go back to the other side."

Though we could not fathom his plan, having voluntarily made him captain for the time being we could not do less than obey orders; so away we went at a brisk walk back to the crack in the wall, down the steps in the rock, along the bank of the creek to camp—where we picked up our own ax—then up the ledge to the point opposite the one we had just left—a two-mile walk to accomplish thirty feet.

Here, the first thing Pedro did was to take his lariat, a beautifully-made rawhide rope strong enough to hold a thousand-pound steer, tie a stone to one end and throw the stone across the cañon. I could not think what he was doing it for, until I saw that he was measuring the width. We made it about twenty-seven feet, its remarkable narrowness being accounted for by the great overhang of the cliff on our side.

We soon found the place, and there we cut off three poles about thirty feet long and eight inches thick at the small end. These we trimmed down to about the same thickness at the butt, and having roughly squared them, we dragged them down to the edge of the gorge.

So far it had been a simple proceeding, but what puzzled me was how Pedro proposed to lay these sticks across the cañon. This, too, as it turned out, proved to be a simple matter, but its first step was one to make your hair stand on end to look at, nevertheless.

It was now we found out why Pedro had cut off the little tree on the other side. Taking his lariat, he swung the loop above his head a time or two and cast it across the gorge. The loop settled over the tree-stump, when the Mexican pulled it tight and then proceeded with great care to tie the other end of the rope to a tree which stood very convenient on our side.

What was he up to?

Dick and I stood watching him in silence, when he stepped to the edge of the cliff, took hold of the rope with both hands, and swung himself off into space!

My! It gave me cold shivers all down my back to see him hanging there with nothing but that thread of a rope to prevent his falling on the rocks a thousand feet below!

Motionless and breathless, Dick and I watched him as he went swinging across, hand over hand—the rope sagging in the middle in an alarming manner—and profound was our relief when he drew himself up and stepped safely upon the opposite wall.

But though this tight-rope performance had given us palpitation of the heart, Pedro himself appeared to be absolutely unaffected. With perfect calmness and unconcern, he turned round and said in the most matter-of-fact tone:

"Now undo the rope and tie it to the end of one of those poles."

As Pedro evidently regarded his feat of gymnastics as nothing out of the common, we affected to look upon it in the same light, so, following his directions, we tied the rope to one of the poles, when the Mexican began pulling it toward him, we pushing at the other end. Presently the pole was so far over the edge that it began to teeter, when Pedro called to us to go slowly. Then, while we pried it forward inch by inch, Pedro retreated backward up the gully until the end of the pole bumped against the wall on his side, when he came forward, keeping the rope taut all the time, lifted the pole and set its end on the rocks. The first beam of our bridge was laid.

The other two poles we sent across by the same process, and then, scraping a bed for them in the sand and gravel, we laid them side by side, two with their butt-ends on our side, the other—the middle one—reversed.

Pedro then took from his pocket a long strip of deer-hide with which he bound the three poles together, when we, at his request, having once more tied the rope to the tree, he laid his hand upon it, using it as a hand-rail, and walked across to our side, where with a second buckskin thong he bound the poles together at that end.

Next he walked back to the middle of the bridge, and holding the rope with both hands, jumped up and down upon the poles, to make sure of their solidity, and finding them all right, he went to the far end, loosened the loop from the tree-stump, threw it across to us, and then, without any hand-rail this time, walked back across the flimsy-looking bridge to our side!

What a head the man must have had! The bridge at its widest did not measure thirty inches, and yet the Mexican—barefooted, to be sure—walked erect across that fearful chasm without a thought of turning dizzy. I suppose he was born without nerves, and had never cultivated any, as we more civilized people do by our habits of life. For years he had lived out-of-doors, always at exercise, used to climbing in all sorts of dangerous places, and what perhaps may have counted for as much as anything else, he was one of the few Mexicans I have known who abjured that habit so common among his people—the habit of smoking cigarettes.

I know very well that I, though I did not smoke cigarettes either, and though I thought myself pretty clear-headed, would never have dared such a thing, unless under pressure of great and imminent danger.

"What did you untie the rope for, Pedro?" I asked. "Why not leave it for a hand-rail?"

"Because the wolves will eat it," replied Pedro. "We will bring one of your hempen ropes and tie there: the wolves will not trouble that."

"By the way, Pedro!" cried Dick. "How about those wolves? Won't they come across the bridge?"

"I think not," the Mexican answered. "They are wary and suspicious—it is the nature of a wolf—and I think they will fear to venture."

At that moment the sun set behind the peak, and as though its setting had been a signal, there arose in three or four different directions the howls of wolves. They were coming out for their nightly hunt.

"Señores," said Pedro, "we will see very soon if the wolves will cross the bridge. It will not be long before they find our trail and then they will come down here. Let us hide us and watch. Up here, behind these rocks, is a good place."

A little way up the bank, only a few steps back from the edge of the gorge, we lay down and waited. Presently, from the direction of the lake, there suddenly arose a joyous chorus of yelps, which proclaimed that our trail had been discovered. And not to us only was the "find" proclaimed. A second pack, hearing the call, hastened to join the hunt, hoping for a share in the spoil; we caught a glimpse of them as they came racing down one of the slopes which bordered the gully. The swelling clamor drew nearer and nearer, and pretty soon, with a rush of pattering feet, the wolves appeared; there must have been thirty of them.

Down to the edge of the cañon they came, and there they drew up. One of them, a big, gray old fellow, the leader of one of the packs, probably, advanced to the end of the bridge, sniffed at it and drew hastily back. One after another, other wolves came forward, sniffed and withdrew. It was evident that Pedro had guessed right: they dared not cross.

At this balking of their hopes they set up a howl of disappointment. Poor things! I felt quite sorry for them. They were so hungry; and yet they dared not cross. Nevertheless, though I might feel sorry for them, I was more than glad that they feared to venture, for against such a pack as that our chances would have been small indeed.

"Señores," whispered Pedro, "I try them yet a little more. It is quite safe. Stay you here and watch."

With that, taking his ax in his hand, he rose up in full view of the pack and walked down to the end of the bridge.

Such an uproar as broke forth I never heard. Many of the wolves ran up the banks on either side of the gully in order to get a sight of Pedro, and every one of them, those in front, those behind and those on the sides, lifted their heads and yelled at the man calmly standing there, scarce ten steps away.

But they dared not cross.

One of them, indeed, crowded forward against his will by those behind, was pushed out on to the bridge a little way, when, striving to get back, his hind feet slipped off. I thought he was gone, but by desperate scratching he succeeded in saving himself, when, rendered crazy by fright and rage he attacked the nearest wolves, fought his way through to the rear and fled straight away up the gully.

This seemed to settle the matter. The whole pack, as though struck with panic, turned and pursued him. In ten seconds not one of them was to be seen.

As Dick and I rose up from our hiding-place, Pedro came back to us.

"You see," said he, "we are quite safe."

"Yes," replied Dick. "It is evident we have nothing to fear from them on this side—and I'm mighty glad of it. Well, let us get down to camp. I think we've done a pretty good day's work, taking it all round, and I shall be glad of a good supper and a good rest."

"So shall I," was my response. "And as to our day's work, Dick, I'm much mistaken if it isn't by long odds the most important one to us that either you or I ever put in."

CHAPTER XVIII The Big Flume

As the first step in restoring the old Pueblo irrigation system, we moved camp next morning as arranged. Packing our scanty belongings upon old Fritz, we rode up the ledge, past the site of the proposed flume, and down the mountain a short distance to a point between two of the big claw-like spurs, where, two days before, in riding down to speak to Galvez, we had come across a little spring which would furnish water enough for ourselves and our animals.

Thence, walking back to the bridge, taking with us, besides our rifles, the two axes and one of our long picket-ropes, Pedro first tied the latter to the tree on our side, and then, taking the other end in his hand, he walked across and fastened it to the stump on the far side.

It was now our turn to cross, and very little did either of us relish the idea. Dick, who had volunteered to go first, took hold of the rope, set one foot on the bridge, and then—he could not resist it—did just what he ought not to have done:—looked down. The inevitable consequence was that he took his foot off again and retreated a few steps.

"My word, Frank!" said he. "You may laugh if you like, but I'll be shot if I'm going to walk across that place. Crawling's good enough for me."

So saying, he again approached the bridge, and going down on his hands and knees, crawled carefully over.

For myself, I found it equally impossible to screw up my courage far enough to attempt the passage on foot. In fact, even crawling seemed too risky, so I just sat myself astride of the three poles and "humped" myself along with my hands to the other side, where the grinning Pedro gave me a hand to help me to my feet again.

It was ignominious, perhaps, to be thus outdone by an ignorant, semi-savage Mexican; but, as Dick said, "You may laugh if you like": I was not going to break my neck just to prove that I was not afraid—when I was.

At that hour in the morning the wolves, I suppose, were all asleep. At any rate we heard nothing of them. But knowing very well that they might turn up again at any moment, we wasted no time in starting our first piece of work, namely, preparing a place of refuge against them.

Choosing a spot on the level near the point where we expected to dig our saw-pit, we cut a number of good, heavy logs, with which, after carefully notching and fitting them, we erected a pen, seven feet high and about ten feet square inside. It was the plainest kind of a structure: merely four walls, without even a doorway; but as it was not chinked it would be a simple matter for us to clamber up and get inside; whereas, for a wolf to do the same—with safety—would be far from simple with us waiting in there to crack him on the head with an ax as soon as he showed it above the top log.

It may be that we were unnecessarily cautious in providing this refuge. If the wolves should molest us—a contingency pretty sure to occur some time or other—it was probable that we should hear them coming in time to retreat by the bridge, which was not more than a hundred yards distant. But on the other hand, if they should not give us timely notice of their approach, it might be very awkward, not to say dangerous—for Dick and me, at least.

"For Pedro it might be all right," was my partner's comment, "but for us—no, thank you. I have no desire to be hustled across that bridge in a hurry. Just imagine how it would paralyze you to try to crawl across those poles, knowing that there was a wolf standing at the far end trying to make up his mind to follow you. No, thank you; not for me. We'll have a refuge here on 'dry land.'"

It was a long day's work, the building of this pen, for we were careful to make it strong and solid; indeed, we had not yet quite finished it, when, about four in the afternoon, we heard the first faint whimperings of the wolves, a long way off somewhere. So, fearing they might come down upon us before we were quite ready for them, we postponed the completion of the job until the morrow, and re-crossing the bridge in the same order and the same manner as before, we went back to camp, where we spent the remaining hours of daylight in making things comfortable for a lengthened stay.

To this end we built a little three-sided shelter of logs about four feet high, the side to the east, facing down the mountain, being left open. This we roofed with a wagon-sheet we had brought with us in place of a tent, dug a trench all round it to drain off the rain-water, covered the floor with a thick mat of pine-boughs, and there we were, prepared for a residence of six months or more, if necessary.

"Now, Frank," said my partner, as we sat by the fire that evening, "we have about got to a point where we have to have tools. One of us has got to go to Mosby to get them, while the other stays here with Pedro. The question is, which shall go. Take your choice. I'll stay or go, just as you like."

"Then I think you had better go, Dick," I replied. "You know better than I do what tools we shall need; you are far more handy at packing a mule than I am; and besides all that, it will give you an opportunity to see the professor."

"Thanks, old chap," said Dick, heartily. "That is a consideration. Yes, I shall be glad to go, if you don't mind staying here with Pedro."

"Not a bit," I replied. "He's an interesting companion; and if one needed a protector it would be hard to find a better one. No; I'll stay. I don't at all mind it."

"Very well," said Dick. "Then I think I'll dig out the first thing in the morning. It will take me, I expect, about six days: two days each way and perhaps two days in Mosby. It depends on whether I can get the tools there that I want."

"I should think you could," said I, "unless it is the big rip-saw."

"I don't think there'll be any trouble about that," replied my partner. "Before the saw-mill came in, two or three of the mines used to cut their own big timbers by hand, and I've no doubt the old saws are lying around somewhere still. If they are, I'm pretty sure I can get one for next-to-nothing, for, of course, they are never used now."

"There's one thing, Dick," said I, after a thoughtful pause, "which makes me feel a little doubtful about your going alone, and that is lest Galvez should interfere with you. If he caught sight of you, either going or returning, he might make trouble."

"He might," replied Dick. "Though I don't much think he is likely to trouble you or me. Anyhow, when I leave to-morrow, you can take the glass and just keep watch on the village for an hour or so to see that he doesn't make any attempt to cut me off. If he should, you can raise a big smoke here to warn me and ride down to help."

"All right. I will. But how about when you come back?"

"Why, I'll arrange to leave The Foolscap, as we did before, at four o'clock in the morning, which would bring me about half way across the valley by sunrise. On the sixth morning, and every morning after till I turn up, you can take the field-glass and look out for me. From this elevation you would be able to see me long before Galvez could, and then you might ride down to meet me."

"That's a good idea. Yes; I'll do that."

Our camp was so placed that we could not only see the whole stretch of the valley between us and The Foolscap, but also the village and the country beyond it for many miles, and for about two hours after Dick's departure I sat there with the glass in my hand watching his retreating figure, and more especially watching the village. For, though in reality I had little fear that Galvez would attempt to play any tricks on him, particularly after Dick's exhibition of rifle-shooting, I was not going to take any avoidable chances.

At the end of that time, however, I rose up, put away the glass, and in company with Pedro went over to the other side of the cañon, where we first finished up the building of the pen, and then, picking out a big, straight tree suitable for a stringer, I went to work upon it, trimming off the branches, while Pedro with the shovel began the task of digging out the saw-pit.

That evening, and each succeeding evening, just before the sun set, we stopped work and retreated across the bridge in order to avoid any trouble with the wolves, which, as a rule, did not come out in force until about that hour. Once only during the time that Pedro and I were at work there by ourselves did any of them venture on an attack. It was a pack of about a dozen which came down on us one evening just before quitting-time, but as we heard them coming, we retired into the pen, whence I shot one of them before they had found out where we were; whereupon the rest bolted.

I think the survivors of the fight in Wolf Arroyo—as we had named the ravine where we had had our battle—must have imparted to all the others the intelligence that we were dangerous creatures to deal with, for the wolves in general were certainly much less venturesome than they had been that first day. At night, though, they came out in droves, and continuous were the howlings, especially when the wind was south and they could smell us and our animals only a hundred yards away on the other side of the cañon.

At sunrise on the sixth day, and again on the seventh, I searched the valley with the glass to see if Dick was within sight, but it was not until the morning of the eighth day that I saw him and old Fritz coming along, not more than five miles away. He must have made a very early start.

Jumping on my pony, I rode to meet him, while Pedro remained behind to watch the village.

I was very glad to see my partner safely back again, and especially pleased to hear the news he brought.

The professor, he told me, was delighted with the turn of events which bade fair to provide Dick with a settled occupation, and one so well suited to his tastes and training; while as to Uncle Tom, Dick had written to him an account of the present condition of the King Philip mine, and had given him a full description of the undertaking upon which we proposed to enter. In reply, my genial guardian had sent to me a characteristic telegram, delivered the very morning Dick left Mosby. It read thus:

"Go ahead. Money when wanted. How about book-learning now?"

"How's that, Dick?" said I, handing it over to my companion to read.

Dick laughed. "You made a pretty good guess, didn't you?" he replied.

It was a matter of intense satisfaction to both of us to find our guardians so heartily in favor of the prosecution of our design, and it was with high spirits and a firm determination to "do or die" that we carried over the bridge the assortment of tools with which old Fritz was laden, and that very afternoon went systematically to work.

It was not until we really went about it in earnest that we fully realized the magnitude of the task we had set ourselves when we undertook to build that flume. We were determined that if we did it at all we would do it thoroughly well, and in consequence the timbers we selected for the stringers were of such size and weight that we should have been beaten at the word "go" if we had not had for an assistant a man like Pedro, who combined in his own person the strength of five ordinary men. It was a pleasure to see him when he put forth all his powers. Give him a lever, and let him take his own time, and the most obstinate log was made to travel sulkily down hill when Pedro took it in hand.

After measuring with particular accuracy the space between the sockets on either side of the gorge, we sawed off one big timber to the right length, and getting it into position over the saw-pit we squared its two ends and then sawed it flat on one side, leaving the other sides untouched.

I had always understood that working in a saw-pit was a disagreeable job, but not till I had practical experience of it did I discover how correct my understanding had been. I discovered also why the expression, "top sawyer," was meant to indicate an enviable position.

It fell to Pedro to be top sawyer, for the harder part of the work is the continuous lifting of the saw; but for all that, the man below has the worst of it, for if he looks up he gets a stream of sawdust into his eyes, and if he looks down he gets it in the back of his neck. There is no escape, as Dick and I found—for we took it in turns to go below and pull at the saw-handle.

However, we were not going to shirk the task just because it happened to be unpleasant, and being fairly in for it, we made the best of it.

Our first big timber being at length prepared, we got it down to the edge of the cañon, and then were ready for the next move—the most important move of all—getting it across the gorge. This could not be done by main strength, as had been the case with our bridge-timbers, for this stick, twenty-nine feet long and sixteen inches square, though pretty well seasoned, was an immense weight.

But what could not be done by force might be accomplished by contrivance. The most bulky part of old Fritz's load had been composed of ropes and pulley-blocks, and it was with these that we intended to coax our big stick across the gap.

Going over to the other side, we set up a framework of stout poles—a derrick, we called it—to the top of which we attached a big pulley. Threading a strong rope through this pulley, we carried it back and fastened it to a windlass which Dick built; he having seen dozens of them at work among the mines, having observed, fortunately, how they were made, and being himself a very handy fellow with tools. The windlass was securely anchored to two trees, when, the other end of the rope having been carried over and tied to our big log, we were ready to try the experiment of placing it athwart the chasm.

With this object, Dick and Pedro turned the windlass, while I, crossing the bridge once more, pried the log forward from behind. It was a slow and laborious operation, but inch by inch the great log went grating and grinding forward, until at length its end overlapped the further edge of the gorge. Soon, with a sullen thump, my end fell into its socket, when Dick lowered his end into the socket opposite, and our first big stringer was successfully laid.

It was a good start and greatly heartened us up to tackle the rest of the work.

Our second big stringer we prepared and laid in the same manner—flat side up—and then came the most ticklish job of all—the placing of the two supports beneath each stringer. Without Pedro, with his steady nerves and his cat-like agility, we could not have done it.

Tying a rope to the stringer, Pedro descended the face of the cliff and set the butt-end of the supporting beam in its socket—the other end being temporarily tied in place—repeating the same process on the other side. These beams we had measured and prepared with great care, so that when their bases were set, the beveled smaller ends, by persistent pounding, could be tightly jammed into the notch previously cut for their reception in the under side of the big stringer. It was a good piece of work, and very thankful I was when it was safely accomplished; for though to one with a clear head it might not be very dangerous, it looked so, and I was, as I say, greatly relieved when it was done.

It might seem that we made these stringers unnecessarily strong, and perhaps we did. But we intended to be on the safe side if we could. Our flume was designed to be eight feet wide and five feet deep, and though the pitch was considerable and the water in consequence would run fast, if it should by chance ever fill to the top there would be by our calculation thirty-three or thirty-four tons of water in it.

Having now our foundation laid, the rest of the work was plain, straightforward building, in which there was no special mechanical difficulty. One part of our task, however—the sawing of the lumber—we soon found to be so slow that we decided, if we could get them, to procure the assistance of two or three Mexicans from Hermanos, and with that object in view we sought an interview with our friend, José Santanna.

To do this we supposed we should have to go down to Hermanos, but on consulting Pedro, we found that there was another and a much easier way.

I had often wondered if Pedro, during all the years he had lived on the mountain, had subsisted exclusively on meat, or whether he had some means of obtaining other supplies, and now I found out. I found that he had a regular system of exchange with the villagers, by which he traded deer-meat and bear-meat for other provisions, and that by an arranged code of signals, familiar to everybody in the village, with the single exception of Galvez himself, he was accustomed to let it be known when he desired to communicate with the inhabitants.

Accordingly, Pedro that day at noon went down to a certain spot on one of the spurs, and there built a fire, and piling on it a number of green boughs he soon had a column of smoke rising skyward. This was the signal, and that same evening he and we two boys, going down to the same spot, sat down there and waited, until about an hour after dark, we heard the sound of a horse's hoofs, and presently a man rode into sight. It proved to be Santanna himself, much to our satisfaction.

He, as soon as he learned what we wanted, engaged to send us up three stout young Mexicans, an engagement he duly fulfilled—to the rage and bewilderment of Galvez, as we afterward heard, who could not for the life of him make out what had become of them.

With this accession of strength we needed a second saw, and Dick went off to Mosby to get one. In a few days he returned with two saws instead of one, and with a load of dried apples, sugar and coffee with which to feed our hungry Mexicans. Flour—of a kind—we could get from the village, and deer-meat, though poor and tough at that season of the year, we could always procure.

Dick also brought back with him that commodity so necessary in all business undertakings—some money. The professor had insisted on advancing him some, while Uncle Tom had enclosed fifty dollars in a registered letter to me.

Thus armed, we procured two more Mexicans, and setting Pedro and his five compatriots to work with the three saws, while Dick and I did the carpenter work, we very soon began to make a showing.

As it was obviously too dangerous to attempt to work on the bare stringers, we first laid a solid temporary floor of three-inch planks, and having then a good platform we could proceed in safety to set our big cross-pieces—upon which the permanent floor was afterward laid—and to go ahead with the rest of the building.

There being no stint of timber, we could afford to make our flume immensely strong—and we did. The framework was composed mostly of ten-by-ten pieces, while the planks for the floor and sides were three inches thick. The wings at each end of the flume were extended up stream and down stream eight feet in either direction; and to prevent the water from getting around these ends we built rough stone walls on the edge of the gorge and filled in the spaces with well-tamped clay, of which we were fortunate enough to find a great supply close at hand.

I do not intend to go into all the many details of the work, or to relate our mistakes or the accidents—all of them slight, fortunately—which now and then befell us. There was one little item of construction, however, which seemed to me so ingenious and withal so simple and so effective that I think it is worth special mention.

When we came to lay our floor and build the sides, the question of leakage cropped up, when Dick suggested a plan which he said he had heard of as being adopted by sheepmen on the plains in building dipping-troughs.

Each three-inch plank, before being spiked in place, was set up on edge, and along the middle of its whole length we hammered a dent about half an inch wide and half an inch deep. Then, taking the jack-plane, we planed off the projecting edges to the same level. The consequence was that when the plank became water-soaked, this dented line swelled up and completely closed any crack between itself and the plank above or beside it. It was an ingenious trick, and proved so successful that it was well worth the time and trouble it took.

In fact, by the expenditure of time and trouble, in addition to a very modest sum of money, we did at length put together a flume which, I think I may say, was a very creditable piece of work. It was strenuous and unceasing labor, and at first it was pretty hard on me, but as my muscles became used to the strain I enjoyed it more and more, especially as every evening showed a forward step—a small one, perhaps, but still a forward step—toward the accomplishment of our object.

Week after week we kept at it, steadily and perseveringly pegging away, and at last, one day near the end of July, summoning our six Mexicans to witness the ceremony, Dick and I, in alternate "licks" drove the last spike, and the flume was finished!

CHAPTER XIX Pedro's Bold Stroke

All this time the wolves had let us alone. Frequently, toward evening, we would detect them standing on the hillsides watching us, but they were afraid to come near: the hammering and sawing, the stir and bustle checked them and they kept aloof—by daylight.

Every night, though, they came down to the edge of the cañon to howl at us, and as the flume neared completion there was danger that they might summon courage to cross by it—the old bridge we had long ago tumbled into the stream. To prevent this, we at first set up every night a temporary gate across it, but later, we adopted a safer and better plan. We set two doors in our flume, one in the down-stream end, the other in the side, about the middle, so that by closing the former and opening the latter, all the water could be made to fall into the stream below. Our supply could thus be regulated at the flume instead of going all the way up to the old head-gate for the purpose.

These gates being set, Pedro and another Mexican went up and opened connection between the lake and the low place where we had stirred up the deer the first day we were up there, and very soon there was a second little lake formed. Then, the flume being ready, we two and Pedro went up and raised the stone head-gate three inches. The rush with which the water came out was astonishing, and before the day was over it had come on down to the flume and was pouring through the side gate into the gorge—making a perfect defence against the wolves.

During the two months, or thereabouts, that we had been engaged in this work, Dick had made altogether three trips to Mosby, on which occasions he had written to Arthur, detailing our progress. Arthur, on his part, had written to us—or, rather, somewhat to our surprise, he had written to the professor instead of directly to Dick—once from Santa Fé and once from the City of Mexico, whither he had been sent to institute a search of the records there. His last letter stated that up to that time no trace of the old patent had been found, but that, in spite of that drawback, his father was vigorously stirring things up at his end of the line, and that we might expect to see "something doing" in the enemy's camp at any time. He stated also that he had hopes of rejoining us some time early in July.

In consequence, we had been constantly on the watch for him for nearly a month, but here was the end of July approaching and no Arthur had appeared.

As we were very anxious to know when to expect him, and as we were also in need of new supplies, the moment the flume was finished Dick set off once more for Mosby, while Pedro and I, transferring all our tools from the far side of the gorge, picked out a new working-ground on our side.

There was nothing further to be done on the "island," but though the flume was finished and ready for use, we still had need of a large amount of lumber in the construction of our ditch, for at the head of every draw it would be necessary to build a short flume, or, in some places, a culvert, to allow a passage for the rain-water which otherwise during the summer thunder-storm season would wash our ditch full of earth and rubbish.

As it would be too inconvenient, unfortunately, to cut lumber in the old place and carry it across the flume, we moved all the tools, as I said, over to our side, and following along the line of the ditch for about half a mile, we selected a spot above it on the mountain and there set our Mexicans to work felling trees and digging new saw-pits.

From the place selected we could see out over the plain in all directions; a fact which had been one of our reasons for choosing that particular spot.

Indeed it had become a matter of great importance that we should be able to keep a watch on the valley, for we believed we had more than ever reason to fear some act of hostility on the part of the padron. Dick had no more than gone that day, when we were surprised by receiving a daylight visit from our friend, José Santanna, who informed us that Galvez of late had been showing unwonted signs of unrest; that he was growing more and more suspicious, irritable and evil-tempered. That the evening before a man had ridden into the village and had handed Galvez a paper—some legal notice, I guessed—upon receipt of which the padron had at first broken into a towering rage; had then gone about for half a day in a mood so morose and snappish that no one dared go near him; and that finally he had ordered his horse and ridden away, saying that he was going to Taos.

"To Taos!" I exclaimed. "What has he gone to Taos for?"

José shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands, palms upward, as much as to say, "Who knows?"

"Have we scared him out after all, I wonder," said I. "Did he say anything about coming back, José?"

"He said he would return in four days," replied the Mexican.

"And is that all you know about it?"

"Si, señor, that is all. I know no more."

From this conversation it was plain to me that the law was beginning to work, and that Galvez was becoming uneasy. Knowing his character, I, too, became uneasy, for, should he be rendered desperate, there was no telling what tactics he might resort to. It was this consideration that made me so anxious for the safe return of my two partners.

From my vantage-point on the mountain I kept up a pretty constant watch for the next few days; no one could come across the valley from any direction without my seeing them—during daylight, that is—and unless Galvez had slipped into Hermanos after dark I was sure he had not returned, when, about three o'clock on the afternoon of the fourth day I espied Dick, a long way off, coming back from Mosby. It was twelve hours earlier than I had expected him, and wondering if he had any special reason for making such a quick trip, I got my pony and hurried off to meet him.

I had a feeling that Dick was bringing news of some sort, and his first words after shaking hands proved the correctness of my impression.

"Well, old chap!" he exclaimed. "I've got news for you this time that will make you 'sit up and take notice':—Arthur may be here any day; and he has at last got track of that patent."

"Got a letter from him, then, did you?" I asked.

"Yes; written from Cadiz, in Spain, more than three weeks ago."

"From Cadiz!" I cried. "What's he doing there?"

"His father sent him over to go through a chest of old papers they have in their house there. Arthur says—I'll give you his letter to read as soon as we get to camp—he says that he spent a fortnight reading all sorts of musty documents, without success, when at last he came upon an old note-book with the name of Arthur the First on its fly-leaf, and in that he found a single line referring to the patent—the only mention that has turned up anywhere."

"And what does that say?"

"It says—— Here, wait a minute; hold my rifle. I'll show you what it says."

So saying, Dick took the letter out of his pocket, and finding the right place, handed it to me. The passage read: "It was an old memorandum-book in which my very great-grandfather used to note down all the particulars of the copper shipments and other matters dealing with the K. P. mine; but on the last fly-leaf was this entry, written in English: 'Mem. In case of accident to myself: The King's patent and the King's commission are in a hole in the wall above the door of the strong-room.' Where the strong-room may have been," Arthur went on, "I don't know, unless it is in the Casa. Ask Pedro."

"What do you think of that?" asked Dick.

"I think—— Well, I think we'll do as Arthur says: ask Pedro."

In the course of an hour we had reached camp, when Dick, as soon as he had greeted the faithful Mexican, at once propounded the important question.

"Pedro," said he, without any preface, "did you ever hear of the 'strong-room'?"

"Surely," replied Pedro, with an air of surprise at being asked such a question. "Everybody knows the strong-room. It is a little room on the east side of the Casa; it has a door and no window; it is where one time the copper was stored, waiting for the pack-trains to come and take it away."

"It is, is it!" cried Dick. "Then, Frank, I shouldn't be a bit surprised if those deeds were in there now. How are we to find out?"

"Go and look!" I exclaimed, springing to my feet. "Now's our chance! Galvez is away—gone to Taos. Let us make a try for it at once. He's due to be back to-day, and then it will be too late. Come on! Let's get out! We haven't a minute to lose! Will you come with us, Pedro?"

To my surprise, and, I must confess, to my disappointment also, Pedro shook his head. I supposed he was afraid to leave his mountain, and for a moment my opinion of his courage suffered a relapse. But I was doing him an injustice, as I heartily owned to myself, when, pointing out over the valley, he said, quietly:

"It is too late already, señor. Look there!"

Half a mile the other side of Hermanos, riding toward the village, were three horsemen, one of whom we recognized as Galvez. Who the others might be, and why the padron should be bringing them to Hermanos, we could not guess. We were destined, however, to learn all about them later in the day.

As a matter of course, the sole subject of our thoughts and our conversation was the King's patent, and whether or not it was still in its hiding-place above the door of the strong-room. The only way to find out was to get in there and search for it, but how to do that was the question. Many plans did we discuss and discard, and we were still discussing as we sat round the fire that night—our Mexican workmen being encamped some distance away—when Pedro suddenly jumped up, and signaling to us to keep quiet, stood for a moment with his head bent forward, listening intently. His sharp ears had detected some sound inaudible to our less practised hearing.

Making a quick backward motion with his hand, he whispered sharply: "Get away! Get away back from the light of the fire while I go see!"

We speedily retreated up the hill a little way and hid ourselves among the trees, while Pedro, with the stealth of a wild animal, slipped silently off into the darkness. So quick and so noiseless were the movements of the clumsy-looking Mexican that I thought to myself I had rather be hunted by wolves than by that skilful woodsman, with his keen senses, his giant strength and his deadly, silent bow and arrow. I did not wonder any more that Galvez kept himself aloof.

For two or three minutes silence prevailed, when we saw Pedro step back into the circle of light, and with him another man. It was our friend, José Santanna, again.

"Well, José!" cried Dick. "What can we do for you?"

"Señor," replied the Mexican, "I came up to tell you something—to warn you. The padron is come back. He has been to Taos and he has brought back with him two men. They are bad—like himself. I go up to the Casa this evening while they are at supper and I hear them talking and laughing together through the door which is open. They say they like now to see three boys and a stupid peon"—he nodded toward Pedro—"get them out. They say if they catch Pedro they hang him, and if they catch 'that young Blake' they shoot him. They are dangerous, señor."

"We shall have to keep our eyes wide open," said Dick. "Do you think they'll venture up here, José?"

"I think not," replied the Mexican. "One of the men say, 'Let us go up on the mountain and catch them,' but the padron, he say very quick, 'No, no. I do not go up on the mountain. While they are there they do no harm, but if they come down here, then——!'"

"I see," said Dick. "They mean to hold the fort against all comers. It is pretty evident, I think, that Galvez has been back to his old haunts, hunted out a couple of his old-time cronies, and brought them back to garrison the Casa, meaning to defy the law to get him out."

"That's it, I expect," said I. "And our chances of getting into the strong-room are a good deal slimmer than ever."

It certainly did look so; yet, as it happened, I never made a greater mistake.

Who would have guessed how soon we were to get that chance? And who would have guessed that the man who was to provide the opportunity—and that by a plan so bold that I am astonished at it yet—was the man whom I had that day mentally accused of cowardice? How I did apologize to him in my thoughts!

"José," said Pedro, "does the padron still go to bed every night at ten o'clock, as he used to do?"

"Si," replied the cowman.

"Does he always come out to the well to get a drink of cold water just before he goes to bed, as he used to do?"

"Si," replied the cowman once more.

"Those two men, are they to sleep in that room next the padron's?"

"Si," replied the cowman for the third time.

"Good!" exclaimed Pedro. "What time is it, señor?" turning suddenly to Dick.

"Half past eight," replied my partner, looking at his watch.

"Good!" exclaimed Pedro once more.

For a minute he sat silent, his lower lip stuck out, frowning at the fire, while we sat watching him, wondering what he was thinking about, when, with an angry grunt he muttered to himself, "Stupid peon, eh! Humph! We'll see!" Then, jumping up, he said briskly: "Señores, get your horses. We will search the strong-room to-night."

Still wondering what scheme he had in his head, we saddled up and followed him as he rode down the mountain and out upon the plain, too much engaged for the moment in picking our way to find an opportunity to ask questions.

It seemed to me that our guide must have something of the wild animal in him, for, though it was very dark, he never hesitated for a moment, but went jogging along, threading his way through the sage-brush without a pause or a stumble. Either he or his burro must have had the cat-like gift of being able to see in the dark.

In about an hour we saw dimly the walls of the Casa looming up near us, and passing by it, we went on down to the creek where we dismounted and tied up our horses to the trees. Then, following down the creek for a short distance, we presently came opposite the front gate of the Casa, about a hundred yards distant. The village on the other side of the stream was dark and silent, but in one of the rooms in the Casa, facing the gateway, we could see a light burning.

"That is the padron's room," whispered José. "He has not gone to bed yet."

Against the light of the open door we could see between us and the house the long, black arm of the well-sweep, and advancing toward it, we had come within about thirty steps of it when Pedro requested us to stop there and lie down, while he himself went on and crouched behind the curbing of the well. We could not see him; in fact we could see nothing but the lights in the window and doorway, the well-sweep, and, very dimly, the outline of the building.

There we lay in dead silence for a quarter of an hour, wondering what Pedro expected to do, when we heard voices, and the next moment the figures of two men showed themselves in the lighted doorway. One of them carried a candle, and the pair of them went into the next room—all the rooms opened into the courtyard—and shut the door. For five minutes the light showed through the little window and then went out. The padron's friends had gone to bed.

For another five minutes we waited, and then the padron himself appeared. We could hear the jingle of his spurs as he came leisurely down to the well to get his nightly drink of cold water. We lay still, hardly daring to breathe.

Presently, we heard the squeak of the well-sweep and saw it come round, dip down and rise again. Then we heard the clink of a cup: Galvez was taking his drink. He never finished it!

At that moment Pedro's burly form rose up from behind the curbing; he took two steps forward, and with his great right hand he seized Galvez by the neck from behind, giving it such a squeeze that the unfortunate man could not utter a sound. We heard the cup fall to the ground with a clatter.