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 !
NO

WAY Sp e c ta c u la r

Sports

Stories
Consultants
Timothy Rasinski, Ph.D.

Kent State University

Lori Oczkus, M.A.

Literacy Consultant

Publishing Credits

Rachelle Cracchiolo, M.S.Ed., Publisher

Conni Medina, M.A.Ed., Managing Editor

Dona Herweck Rice, Series D eveloper

Emily R. Smith, M.A.Ed., Content Director

Stephanie Bernard/Susan Daddis, M.A.Ed., Editors

Robin Erickson, Senior Graphic Designer

The TIME logo is a registered trademark of TIME Inc. Used under license.

Image Credits: Cover and p.1 Philip Oldham/Cal Sport Media/Newscom;

pp.6, 8, 12–13 John Biever/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images; p.9 Ronald

C. Modra/Sports Imager y/Getty Images; pp.14–15 LOC [LC-DIG-

ggbain-21542]; p.16 B Bennett/Getty Images; p.18 Aflo Co. Ltd./Alamy

Stock Photo; p.19 Photo by: Melinda Sue Gordon/Production Co.s: Scott

Rudin Productions/Michael De Luca Productions/Plan B Entertainment/

AF archive/Alamy Stock Photo; p.20 Springfield College, Babson Library,

Archives and Special Collections; p.23 (back) Copyright 2013 NBAE (Photo

by Ned Dishman/NBAE via Getty Images), (front) Copyright 2004 WNBAE

(Photo by D. Clarke Evans/NBAE via Getty Images); p.25 Copyright 2003

NBAE (Photo by Andrew D. Bernstein/NBAE/Getty Images); p.26 David E.

Klutho/Sports I llustrated/Getty Images; p.28 Dave Sandford/Getty Images;

p.29 Creative Commons File:Stanley Cup, 2015.jpg by Alex Goykhman

used under CC BY-SA 4.0; p.30 Dave Sandford/Getty Images; pp.32–33

Popperfoto/Getty Images; pp.34–35 Bob Thomas/Popperfoto/Getty

Images; pp.36, 38 Michael Regan/Getty Images; p.39 GLYN KIRK/AFP/Getty

Images; p.41 Razzle- dazzle/Wikimedia Commons/Public Domain; all other

images from iStock and/or Shutterstock.

All teams, companies, and/or products mentioned in this book are

registered trademarks of their respective owners or developers and

are used in this book strictly for editorial purposes. No commercial

claim to their use is made by the author or the publisher.

Note: The answers to the mathematics problems posed throughout

this book are provided on page 48.

 Table of Contents

The Weird, Wild, and Wonderful . . . . . . . 4

The Biggest Comeback in NFL History . . 6

The Longest Undefeated Streaks

in Baseball . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

The Highest-Scoring

Basketball Game . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20

The First Outdoor NHL Game . . . . . . . . 26

History’s Most Crowded

Soccer Stadium . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32

The Three-Day Tennis Match . . . . . . . . . 36

A Celebration of Inspiration . . . . . . . . . . 42

Glossary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45

Check It Out! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46

Try It!. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47

About the Author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48

The Weird, Wild,

and Wonderful

Imagine sitting in a seat in a packed stadium.You’re

surrounded by thousands of excited, screaming fans.You

start conversations with people around you, asking, “Who

are you cheering for?” The game begins. Just as you think

your team is about to win, the opponents swoop in and take

the lead.You become completely captivated, and you get a

rush of adrenaline when the game gets too close to call.

 The most entertaining part of watching a sport, be it

tennis, hockey, or football, is how unpredictable a game

can be. We can examine statistics and make guesses about

what will happen, but many of the nest moments in sports

come as surprises to spectators.

In honor of the sporting world’s unpredictability, we

will delve into some of the most exciting sports moments

in history. There will be number crunching and lots of

head scratching.You might even think we are making these

numbers up. (Please feel free to double‑check—we promise

we are telling the truth!)

It’s a Numbers
Game!
Do you love sport
s and math? If so
, you should lea
rn about
sports statistician
s. Sports are all
about numbe
d
The Biggest Comeback

in NFL History

You are halfway through one of the most important

football games of the season. A peek at the scoreboard

reveals that your team is down 32 points. The chance of

your team winning seems impossibly slim.

While it can be tempting to give up when your team

is trailing so far behind, take heart and look back to the

most spectacular comeback in National Football League

(NFL) history.

Warre
 Football Factor y
made
Over 700,000 footballs are

tball Factor y
yearly at the Wilson Foo

for the
in Ada, Ohio, exclusivel y

made each
NFL. If 2,800 footballs are

days per year is

business day, how many

the factor y open?

It Was a Chilly January Day

in 1993 . . .
The January 3, 1993, matchup between the Buffalo

Bills and the Houston Oilers was to be remembered

as the wildest of all wild card games. Set in Buffalo,

New York, the game pitted the two teams against each

other, and both were eager to keep their Super Bowl

dreamsalive.

The first half of the game was a showcase for the

skills of Warren Moon, the Oilers’ quarterback. Moon

completed 19 out of 22 passes, and his commanding

performance yielded four touchdowns. The Bills were

down 28–3 by halftime. The Oilers controlled over

21minutes of possession in the first 30 minutes of the

game and owned both the field and the scoreboard.

 When the players returned for the second half, the

Bills still seemed down on their luck. Within the rst two

minutes of the third quarter, the Oilers intercepted a Bills’

play and quickly scored another touchdown. The Bills were

now down a seemingly hopeless 35–3. Buffalo fans had

already begun to leave the stadium, predicting there was no

way the Bills could come back from such a huge decit.

They were mistaken.

A Comeback Like No Other

With little more than 13 minutes to go in the third

quarter, the momentum began to shift slowly. The Bills

scored their rst touchdown of the game, driving 50 yards

in 10 plays.

All eyes were on the next play when the Bills’ kicker

Steve Christie recovered his onside kick. The end result was

a 38‑yard touchdown pass. Frank Reich, the

Bills’ quarterback, had been shaky from

the game’s beginning but was starting to

build plays with condence.

On the football field, wild weather can force teams

to rethink strategy, such as during the infamous

December 31, 1988, “Fog Bowl.” The fog during this

crazy game, played in Chicago, was so thick that

players could barely see where they were going, let

alone a ball hurtling toward them.

o What would you do in this scenario as a player?

How about as a coach or an official?

o What would be the worst weather conditions to

play football in?
 The Buffalo Bills were tackling the game with

renewed energy and hope, and they promptly scored two

moretouchdowns.

It took the Bills a grand total of six minutes and

52seconds to claw their way back from a 32‑point decit.

They were now a mere four points down, had scored four

touchdowns in less than seven minutes, and were staring

down a decidedly nervous Oilers team. The score was

35–31 in favor of the Oilers.

On the Edges of Our Seats

There were less than ve minutes to play in regulation

when the Bills scored their fth touchdown of the game and

pulled ahead of the Oilers for the rst time. They were now

three points ahead, and the Bills’ fans had been whipped

into a feverish frenzy.

But the Oilers were not going to let the game slip away

from them that easily.

 Count It Out! Active pla
11 minutes

Shots of players

standing around

67 minutes

Commerc
63 minutes

Shots of

coaches/crowd/

cheerleaders

35 minutes

A typical televised football game lasts about

3hours and 11 minutes. Official g ame play

is 60 minutes in four 15 minute quarters

 The seconds were ticking down when the Oilers tied the

game with a eld goal. The game headed into overtime—

something no one could have foreseen at halftime.

Overtime and Over-the-Moon

Bills’ Fans
Tension was high as the Oilers won the coin ip.

However, any luck the Oilers had quickly evaporated. The

Bills intercepted the ball in Oilers’ territory, and suddenly,

victory was within kicking distance for the Bills.

The Bills scored a 32‑yard eld goal three minutes and

six seconds into overtime, and the NFL’s most spectacular

comeback ended with a nal score of 41–38. It was a game

for the history books.

The next time you see a lopsided

score, remember the Bills. There

really is no better reminder of

the age‑old advice, “Never

give up!”
It’s Not Over Until0:00
game at
Fans who left the Bills/Oilers

find the
halftime were astonished to

the game
Bills had completely turned

tr y at
around! Since there’s no reen

e fans
football stadiums, desperat

g to
began climbing fences, tryin

all
return. In the end, they were

let back in!

The Longe
st Field
It ’s no
t easy to kick
a 32-yard
field goal, bu
t it ’s all in a
day ’s
work for an
NFL kicker. How
e ver,
bragging rig
hts to the longest

field goal in
NFL histor y
belong
to the Denv
er Broncos.
In 2013,
their kicker
put a 64-yar
d goal
through the
uprights!
 Hits
Two Teams, Two
get hits for two
onl y MLB player to
Joel Youngblood is the
ust 4, 1982, he
the same day. On Aug
different teams on
he went one for
ld for the Mets, where
started at Wrigley Fie
s
left in the third inning with the new
two at the plate. He
os. Youngblood
to the Montreal Exp
that he’d been traded
elphia to play for
, and flew to Philad
showered, ate dinner
ing and had a hit
ived in the third inn
his new team. He arr

in his only at bat!

The Longest Undefeated

Streaks in Baseball

Winning streaks are legendary. Stringing a row of

wins together is difficult to accomplish in any sport,

which makes winning streaks rare and unique.

In baseball, an undefeated streak is not the result

of one person carrying a team to repeated victories.

Instead, it means an entire team is knocking game after

game out of the park.

1916 New York Giants

The longest undefeated streak in Major League

Baseball (MLB) history belongs to the New York

Giants. The 1916 team went an astonishing 26 games

without a single loss. This streak is even more incredible

considering it was the second one that season. Only a few

months earlier, the Giants had a winning streak of 17

games in a row.

Some people are quick to point out that this is not

the longest winning streak. The Giants had a single

tie tucked in the middle of the 26 games. However,

the most wonky part of this season is that the Giants

1935 Chicago Cubs
The record holder for the longest undefeated streak

in MLB history is widely debated. Non-Giants fans will

direct your attention to the 1935 Chicago Cubs as the

true record holder.

The 1935 Cubs were a talented team, and their

season record proved their potential. That year, they had

a winning streak of 21 games. Unlike the 1916 Giants,

not a single tie broke their winning momentum. They

also won 100 games in the season—a feat that teams

still strive for today. The team would go on to become

National League Champions.

 Sadly, their tremendous season closed on a sour

note. The Cubs headed to the World Series with high

expectations, but they were unable to continue their

success. Their opponents, the Detroit Tigers, claimed the

World Series title in Game 6.

ds
Muddy Han istine
ch thing as a pr
there is no su
Did you know
ed with
y ball is coat
league baseball? Ever
major
Delaware
n along the
secret locatio
mud from a
!
it better g rip
River to give

Calculating
Batting Average
To calculate
a player’s ba
tting averag
e, take
his number
of base hits an
d divide that
by the total
number of of
ficial at bats. A
player’s aver
age is counted to
three decim
al
places. Babe
Ruth’s career
batting aver
age
was 0 342
2002 Oakland Athletics
Perhaps the most inspiring winning streak is one from

the early twenty‑rst century. The “small budget team that

could,” the 2002 Oakland Athletics (A’s), had a season that

still sparks conversation.

Baseball Stats
s a lot to
tistics in sports ha
Determining sta
por tant
e of the most im
do with math. On
S.
all today is the OP
statistics in baseb

-base (pe rcentage) plus

This stands for on
, how
). In other words
slugging (average

yer get on base and hit

often does the pla
B
st hitters in the ML
for power? The be

out 0.95.
have an OPS of ab
 Facing the departure of three key players, the A’s had

an uncertain future. The team did not have a deep budget

to court big name players, so they reinvented their strategy

to sign new ones. They began choosing players with high

on-base percentages to round out their roster.

The Oakland A’s went on to have an amazing season.

The highlight was their 20‑game winning streak, an

American League record. Unfortunately, winning streaks

do not guarantee championship titles. The A’s ended their

season losing in the opening round of the playoffs.

Moneyball
To learn more abo
ut the Oakland A’s

game-changing sea
son, read Michael

Lewis’s book Money

ball: The Art of

Winning an Unfair
Game. If a film is

more up your alle

y, Moneyball the

movie was released

in 2011.
The Highest-Scoring

Basketball Game

There are very few basketball games that can

lay claim to breaking multiple National Basketball

Association (NBA) records in one fell swoop. However,

if you backpedal into the ’80s, you will stumble upon

an NBA game with jaw-dropping statistics—the

December 13, 1983, matchup between the Detroit

Pistons and the Denver Nuggets.

Peachy Keen
Before the creation of symmetrical

steel-and-aluminum hoops with

nylon nets, players shot baskets

into ver y different kinds of nets.

The first basketball players actually

scored in peach baskets!

 Basketball Overtimes
A regulation NBA gam
e contains four qua
rters
that are each twelve
minutes long. If the
score is
tied at the end of the
game, the two teams
then
enter an overtime per
iod , which is five minute
s
long. How long would
a basketball game be
if it
included six overtim
es?

A Standard Start
This record-breaking game started off without

great fanfare but was a good matchup. The Pistons and

Nuggets were both hot on offense, exchanging points

back and forth. It appeared both teams could not miss

a shot. At halftime, the teams were tied 74–74 and were

still running rapidly up and down the court. By the end

of regulation, the score had leaped to 145–145.

It was a sizable score, but no one was

rushing to alert the record books. The

NBA record for the highest-scoring

Eye-Popping Overtimes
The rst overtime started with the Nuggets pulling

ahead. The win seemed to be within their grasp. But the

Pistons responded with a nimble run, scoring their only

three‑pointer of the night to tie the game

at 159–159.

Both teams wanted the game to

end, but neither was willing to back

down. Nuggets’ player Kelly Tripucka scored 12 points in

the second overtime, and the Pistons matched him point for

point. The game was tied again, 171–171. The record for the

highest‑scoring NBA game had ofcially been broken—

and the game was still on!

In the third overtime, with just over a minute left, the

Pistons took the lead. The game ended after three hours of

play with an astonishing score of 186–184, tipped in the

Detroit Pistons’ favor.

Startling Statistics
That 1983 game tallied up seven NBA records. These

include the most points scored by two teams (370) and

the most points scored by one team (186). Four different

players scored over 40 points each! Most NBA teams score

around 100 points per game, so breaking these records will

 Margo Dyd
ek

WNBA Heights
Professional female bas
ketball

players play in the Wom

en ’s
Shannon Bobbitt
National Basketball Ass
ociation

(WNBA). Margo Dydek

holds

the record for being

the tallest

WNBA player in history

at 7 feet

2 inches (2.18 meters

). Standing

a full two feet (0.61 me

ters)

shorter than Dydek is

Shannon

Bobbitt, 5'2", the sho

rtest

WNBA pl i
 Height vs. Shoe Size

Basketball players are not only known for their sky-high heights but also

for owning some of the largest shoes on Earth. Let’s look at some of the

world’s best players and how their heights compare to their shoe sizes.

Big Shoes to Fill

22

21

20

19

18

17

16
Shoe Size

15

14
 Shoe
Name Height
Size

Muggsy Bogues 5'3" (63") 8.5

Nate Robinson 5'9" (69") 10.5

Isaiah Thomas 5'9" (69") 12

Michael Jordan 6'6" (78") 13

Kobe Bryant 6'6" (78") 14

LeBron James 6'8" (80") 15

Carmelo Anthony 6'8" (80") 15

Larr y Bird 6'9" (81") 17

Magic Johnson 6'9" (81") 14.5

Kevin Durant 6'9" (81") 18

Shaquille O’Neal 7'1" (85") 22

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar 7'2" (86") 16

Yao Ming 7'6" (90") 18

Manute Bol 7'7" (91") 16.5

Shaquille O’Neal’s shoe

The First Outdoor

NHLGame

Ice hockey was born on the frosty outdoor rinks of

Canada, but in the past, National Hockey League (NHL)

games were always played indoors. An outdoor NHL

game was a dream for both players and fans for many

years; however, the idea seemed far fetched. That was

the case until 2003, when the Canadian city of Edmonton

hosted the Heritage Classic.

The 2003 Heritage Classic

The historic event was to feature two games. The rst

would be the headline of the event, a Legends Game. It

matched up former members of the Edmonton Oilers and the

Montreal Canadiens. The second game would have current

players for both teams. The Legends Game would have

some of hockey’s greatest players facing off again, including

Wayne Gretzky and Guy Laeur. There was a mountain of

excitement behind the event. Gretzky’s name alone inspired

much of the anticipation. However, before this dream could

become a reality, a rink was needed.

 Hockey Darlings
Some countries—Canada,
Russia, and the United Stat
es, for
instance—are known as hock
ey darlings. And they have the

rinks to prove it! Take a peek

at the surprising statistics for
the
five countries with the mos
t indoor and outdoor rinks
.

Number of
Number of
Countr y
Indoor Rinks
Outdoor Rinks

Canada
2,631
5,000

Russia
450
2,553

United States
1,900
500

Sweden
358
136

Finland
260
24
Source: www.iihf.com/iihf-ho
me/countries

Use the data from Hockey Darlings

to answer the questions.

o Wh d t i ti
 Most major cities in North America have several indoor

hockey arenas. But how do you nd an outdoor rink that

meets NHL arena standards and can accommodate over

50,000 fans?You build it.

It was decided to host the event on the football eld in

Edmonton’s Commonwealth Stadium, which could hold

about 60,000 fans. The transformation of the eld to an ice

rink started with the following materials:

• 35 trucks full of sand

• 1,000 plywood sheets

• 800 feet of pipe

• 205 tons of refrigerated brine

• 70 rink boards

®
• 120 Plexiglas sections

• 100 workers
 The plywood was set down rst, followed by the sand.

The pipes were then laid on top and were pumped full

of refrigerated brine to make sure the ice would freeze

properly. It took 12 days for the 100 crew members to

create the makeshift outdoor rink.

The Stanley Cup

GoesAdventuring
The Stanley Cup is the top prize
in

the NHL. Each player on the winn

ing

team is allowed to keep the Cup

for one

day. So, despite its stature, the

Cup has

been on some strange adventur

es. It has

spent time as a planter for gera

niums, a

dish for ice cream sundaes, and

a feed

bowl for a Kentucky Derby winn

er!
 On the day of the Heritage Classic, 57,167 fans swept

into the stands to watch history in action. Despite the

severe cold, fans cheered with excitement as the Legends

Game began. People were thrilled to see Gretzky and other

hockey greats lacing up their skates. The game was lively,

and players even picked up shovels to clear ice shavings

between periods.

The Great One

t Wayne Gretzky
Few people doubt tha

in the histor y of
is the greatest player

rse of his 20-season

hockey. Over the cou

to earn 61 NHL
career, he managed

st career
records, including mo

ls in a single
goals(894), most goa

st car eer
season (92), and mo

key, points
points (2,857). In hoc

ed number
are a player’s combin

What is
of goals and assists.

of points
the average number

his 20
he scored in each of

r answer to
seasons? Round you

ber.
the nearest whole num
 Bundle Up!
Do you wish yo
u had attended
this
once-in-a-lifetim
e game? You wo
uld
have needed yo
ur warmest winter

coat, two pairs

of thermal underw
ear,
and at least th
ree pairs of thick so
cks.
The temperatur
e on game day wa
sa
bone-chilling –2
2°F (–30°C)!

The regular season game between the Oilers and the

Canadiens ended with the Oilers losing 4–3. But even the

loss could not drag down the fans’ spirits, many of whom
History’s Most Crowded

Soccer Stadium

How many people do you suppose could fit in a

soccer stadium? You have to look back to 1950 for the

highest number. That year, Brazil hosted the Federation

Internationale de Football Association (FIFA) World

Cup final in Rio de Janeiro’s Maracanã Stadium. People

from all over the world came to Brazil to watch the

match. The word crowded took on a whole new meaning

that day!

Exactly how many people were crammed into the

stands that day in Brazil? There were a whopping 173,850

people in the stadium! What’s even more astonishing is

that the number only accounts for fans with paid tickets.

There were even more people who snuck into the stadium

without tickets. Many people believe the actual number of

spectators was closer to 220,000.

 Fútbol Fanatics
In 2011, the 51
,998 fútbol (socce
r in Spanish) fans
at the
Turk Telekon Ar
ena in Istanbul
, Turkey, cheered
at a level
that made it on
e of the loudest
stadiums in the
world.
The crowd’s roa
r got as loud as
131.76 decibels
. That’s
nearly the same
as a jet engine
at takeoff !
Why Was It So Crowded?
Back in 1950, Brazil was given the opportunity to

host the first FIFA World Cup in 12 years. The people

of Brazil were honored to host the World Cup—not only

because it was the first since before World War II, but

also because the Brazilian soccer team was thought to be

one of the top contenders. The Cup was sure to attract

a massive number of spectators. To prepare for the

crowds, the Maracanã Stadium was built especially for

the World Cup.

The final match was a legendary contest between Brazil

and UruguayThe
. people of Brazil were ecstatic that their

team had made it to the finals. A victory on home soil

looked within reach. This combination led to an incredible

record for the largest number of fans at a sporting event—

and the most cramped stadium in the world!

 ..
And the Winner Is .
enal
Despite the phenom

or y for
cheering section, a vict

to be.
Brazil was not meant

y 2–1 .
Brazil lost to Urugua
The Three-Day

Tennis Match

During Wimbledon on June 22, 2010, anticipation

hung thick in the air. John Isner of the United States

and France’s Nicolas Mahut walked on to the court at

6:13p.m. for a match they thought would conclude by

sunset. Fans crowded into the stands, eager to watch

two top tennis players compete.

No one had any idea they

were settling in for history’s

longest tennis match.

 Game, Set, Match!
A tennis match is made up of
g ames and sets. To win

a game, a player must score

at least three points and

be two points ahead of an oppo

nent. Then, a player

needs to win a minimum of

six games. For the match,

a player needs to win two out

of three games. The

exception in some men’s prof

essional tournaments is

that a player must win three

out of five games.

Day 1
The match started off in a fairly routine manner.

Isner won the first set 6–4 in 32 minutes, but Mahut

quickly bounced back, winning the next two sets.

Only29 minutes were spent on the second set, while

it took Mahut 49 minutes to win 7–6 in the third set.

The fourth set ran the longest on the first day,

lasting 64 minutes before Isner won. The two

opponents were tied with two sets each, and all eyes

were on the deciding final set. However, the day was

getting late and light was fading fast. The decision

was made to suspend play until the next day, and

a conclusion to the match seemed just beyond the

horizon.
Day 2
Neither player was willing to let the match slip out of

reach. To win a set, you must win at least two games more

than your opponent—and neither Isner nor Mahut would

concede defeat!

The hours began to march by. At 5:45 p.m. on Day 2,

the match was ofcially the longest in history, with the

score of the fth set standing at 32 games each! There

seemed to be no end in sight.

By 9:10 p.m., ofcials were forced to suspend

play again. At this point, the score of the set was an

astronomical 59–59, and the two men had been playing

against each other for more than seven hours over two days.

Shor test Match

It took Isner and Mahut 665 minutes to

settle their Wimbledon match. The shortest

tennis match in Wimbledon histor y was

between Susan Tutt and Marion Bandy in

1969. Tutt beat Bandy, scoring 6–0 and 6–0

to win in only 20 minutes!

Day 3
Back and forth, Isner and Mahut continued the

thwack‑thwack of a captivating set. Finally, an hour and

seven minutes into play on the third day, Isner served the

match point and won the game. The nal score was an

astounding 70–68.

It took Isner and Mahut 11 hours and 5 minutes (and

183 games) to declare a victor in the match of a lifetime. It

was a trial that tested their physical and mental strengths,

one that has been memorialized in countless articles and

record books. Rest assured, this is a tennis match that will

not be forgotten.
 Grand Slams

These four tournaments are the most reputable in the tennis world

and offer the most prize money for players.

U.S. Open

National Tennis Center

Queens, New York

• based on the U.S. National

Championship, which be gan

in 1881

• played in late summer each year

• Arthur Ashe—1997, stadium

named in his honor as the first

African American winner of the

men’s singles

Australian Open

Melbourne Park
Other documents randomly have
different content
 CHAPTER XIII.

A FLAG OF TRUCE.

The younger man reached the bottom the sooner, and sitting down began to
shy pebbles at a bowlder a few yards below, to see how far they would
glance.
Bob came lumbering down the slope of loose stones, took a seat pretty
near Len, and slowly drawing his knife from his pocket, opened it with
great deliberation and began to whittle at a bit of spruce bark.
Nothing was said for some time, and neither took any notice of the other.
Each was waiting for his opponent to begin. At last the eager disposition of
the young Virginian, who never could bear to waste time in going about
whatever he had to do, and who in consequence had often exemplified the
maxim “more haste less speed,” overcame his reserve and broke the silence.
“Well, Bob,” he began in a careless manner, “I never expected to see you
in as mean a scrape as this.”
If our embassador had studied over it for a week, he could not have
made a remark which would better serve his purpose. Bob had long deemed
himself a very wily old dog indeed. He had boasted of this to his associates
more than once, and had assured them that they would see how, on this
occasion, he would “argify and bamboozle that young cub of a Bushwick”
until, figuratively speaking, he had tied him all up in a bundle and laid him
away on a shelf in safe storage.
But Len’s cool remark, driving straight home to the very heart and spirit
of all his pretensions, let the wind out of Old Bob’s behavior and arguments
together. It angered him in an instant, and when a diplomat gets angry he
loses his power. Instead of the soft words and sly reasoning by which he
had hoped to fool his antagonist into opening his doors to the treachery
which it was intended should follow; instead of the pretty speeches which
Bob had carefully thought out and talked over, came furious retorts, bad
language, and threats, to which Len listened with the utmost composure.
 The substance of it all was, that Bob and his precious accomplices had
jumped the mine, and yet they hadn’t jumped it, rightly speaking, because
they had as much right there as anybody. The claim had been abandoned,
and if anybody had gone to work at it why that was at their own risk, and
they mustn’t complain when another man came along and took it away from
the first party.
“Now I’ve got this yere ’Rora mine,” Bob shouted excitedly, “and I’m
goin’ to keep it, don’t you forget that! An’ wot’s more, my friend Mr.
Stevens is agoin’ to jump that claim you’re holdin’ now, ’n’ that cabin. That
cabin belonged to my friend Pickens, ’n’ he told me, before he went away,
that if I wanted it I could have it, and I can prove it.”
“Now,” Bob kept on, “you young roosters ’d better give up and crawl
out. We’ll give you a chance to get away and take your blankets and things
if you’ll quit peaceable-like and git out. We don’t want no trouble, nor
nobody hurted.”
“Then why did you put a ball into our doorpost?” interrupted his listener.
“Scotty did that. I told him’t wa’n’t on the squar, an’ ’twas kinder
haxidental anyhow. If you’ll quit shootin’ at us we wont shoot at you,—an’ I
wouldn’t nohow.”
“We haven’t fired a shot.”
“You’re jist ready to all the time,” Bob persisted, “so’s we gentlemen
can’t work our property for fear of you.”
“You ‘gentlemen’! Your ‘property’!” repeated Lennox, with infinite
scorn.
“Yes, ours. And, as I was sayin’, we’ll go to town and get help, if we
arn’t enough alone, and we’ll bounce you out o’ that cabin which we want
for ourselves, and you may thank your stars if you yet out with whole skins.
The hull filin’ of ye must pack up and scoot ’fore sundown.”
“That’s rather sudden,” Len pleaded; “can’t you give us till to-morrow
morning? It looks like it was going to rain to-night.”
“Well, we don’t want to be rough on young chaps like you, though
you’re too cheeky for these parts,” Bob conceded, thinking he had
frightened the lad; “and we wont crowd ye to-night. But, by this, that and
the other! if you don’t skip out early to-morrow you’ll hear from us, you
bet!”
 “All right!” Len rejoined. “I’ll tell the boys. I’m glad you gave us till to-
morrow to get out, for it looks mighty like a storm to-night.”
It required only a very brief report from Lennox to acquaint the firm
with what Bob had threatened, and, no doubt, would try to carry out.
“They have no suspicion,” Len asserted, “that Morris is with us, and it
will be a good thing if we can continue to keep it secret.”
“They’ll find it out mighty sudden and pointed-like,” muttered Morris,
“if they don’t play cautious.”
There was a pause for a moment or two, until Len remarked that he
supposed something should be said, or the enemy would think they
intended to act upon Bob’s bluster and abandon the claim, “which, of
course, nobody thinks of doing for an instant.”
“I understand it’s ours, fair and square,” said Sandy, “and sin’
possession’s nine points of the law, we might as well haud on for the other
point. I remember that my grandfeyther used to say to us bairns,—‘better to
keep the deil wi’oot the door, than drive him oot o’ the hoose.’ I’m thinking,
though, I’d like to take that gambler-man by the nape of his neck and gie
him the name of an auld Scotch dance down the bank,—I mean the
Highland fling, ye ken?”
Max did not join in the laugh; in his despondent way, he was filled with
hesitation which none of the others felt. Had he been quite alone, I’m not
sure how much he might have wavered, postponed, and yielded; but while
all were waiting for him to say something, a shout came across from the
other dump:
“What’re you fellers a-goin’ to do?”
Len was roused. The indignation he had repressed hitherto now came to
the surface.
“I’ll show those miserable sneaks that they can’t bluff me!” he
exclaimed; and springing upon a heap of stones, he yelled back:
“You know you lied about your right to this mine. We bought it and
we’re going to keep it. If you want it you’ve got to take it, and you’d better
look right sharp after your own stake. This is ‘what we’re a-goin’ to do!’ ”
“Well,” said Max, as the excited lad leaped down out of rifle-range,
“you’ve declared war for certain, and I imagine we’ll have to fight it out on
this line if it takes all—”
 “Don’t say ‘summer’; there’s snow and frost enough in this wind to
furnish a Virginia January.”
“Well—all Winter, then. But they wont try it on—they know better.”
Evidently Max’s indecisions were over.
“No,” Morris agreed, “I don’t think they’ll attack by themselves, but
they can make about as much trouble for you by simply staying there.”
“Besides,” Sandy put in, “one of ’em’ll start to town as soon as it comes
dark, and na doot can find plenty o’ their own kind, who wad like na better
sport than to join in a scheme o’ this nature.”
“I can put a stop to that,” said Morris.
“How?”
“Nobody’ll try to get away till night, and by that time I’ll be down there
to stop him, whoever he is, and send him back again with a flea in his ear.”
“How will you get down the cañon without their spotting you?”
“I’ll climb up the cliff and work my way down about a quarter of a mile
away. I know a spot that’ll suit me to a T. I wish Buckeye Jim was here,
we’d make a break for those jumpers and clean out the whole nest in no
time. He’d ought to a’ been here before this. Mebbe he’s in town now—
there’s no telling.”
“Likely enough Mr. Anderson is there by this time, too,” said Len.
“Why, would it not be a good plan, borrowing a hint from the adversary,
for one of us to go to town and be ready to hasten these gentlemen, or
perhaps get assistance otherwise?”
It was Sandy who made this suggestion, to which, at first, there was only
silent attention.
“I’m thinkin’ that the three of us left can stand off, as ye say, those
fellows yonder, and if we can manage to hold ’em all in, our agent would
come back with an overwhelming force and put ’em wholly to rout.”
“I guess you’re right, Sandy—but who shall go?”
“Weel, I’m vera willing to do that, or anything as ye weel ken, but I’m so
much of a stranger in town, that probably I could be of more use here.”
“I reckon I’m your man,” said Len. “Max and Morris are both too heavy
weights to be spared from the garrison, while I can do as well on this errand
as any one else, I suppose.”
 “It’s no fun for you to walk all the way down that mountain trail, with
the weather so threatening, but undoubtedly you might gain a great deal for
us,” Max interposed.
“If he didn’t get any more men to come up,” Morris suggested, “he
might be able to stop the other crowd’s getting any recruits.”
“Yes, that’s so. When shall I start?”
“The sooner the better,” said Max and Sandy in the same breath.
“Meaning after dark this evening,” added Morris. “You go along down
with me, and mebbe I’ll show you a bit of fun to cheer you up. It’ll be early
moonlight; you wont have a bad tramp.”
SOME DANGEROUS TARGET PRACTICE.
 CHAPTER XIV.

SOME DANGEROUS TARGET PRACTICE.

This settled, Max and Sandy returned to their mining, while Len and Morris
lay down behind the newly-strengthened breastwork. The elder man filled
his pipe and stretched himself in the sunshine, while Len brought out one of
the few books they had and read the stirring story of the robber Doones, and
the giant farmer who got his sweetheart from among them by such a
pleasant mixture of strategy and strength.
Morris was interested, but his position was easy, the pipe was soothing,
the sun was warm, and Len’s steady tones were slumberous in their
influence. The reader, therefore, presently found his listener asleep, in spite
of his interest and his resolution. Seeing this he shut the book, and fell into
a reverie over the strange series of circumstances that had brought him to
this remote spot and outlandish surroundings, how—Crack—ping!
Morris was wide-awake. Len’s dreams had vanished. Both men were on
their knees behind the breastwork, guns in hand and every sense alert.
On the opposite dump they saw all three of the jumpers sitting with guns
by their sides. They were gesticulating toward the smooth, whitish panel on
the cliff walk which showed where the dyke had been cut through by the ice
and floods that in ages past had carved this channel in the mountain side;
they seemed to be paying no attention to the Last Chance people, but were
pointing as though at a target, on the face of the cliff. After a short time
Scotty raised his rifle and took steady aim, apparently at the target
previously pointed out. The report of his gun was followed by the sharp
click of the ball against the porphyry wall, and then by its rattling among
the rock on the slope of the dump in front of our sentinel friends.
“What do you suppose they’re shooting at?” muttered Len, straining his
eyes to find some mark.
Morris did not reply. He was watching the enemy going through another
pantomime, which looked as though Bob was explaining something wrong
in the shot. This was speedily concluded by Scotty’s moving his position
and aiming a third time at the face of the cliff, sighting at a little different
angle than before.
Crack!—ping! went the report, and almost at the same instant a spruce
log which lay just in front of Morris’s face jarred under the blow of a half-
ounce of lead, which sank deeply into its tough core.
“Great Harry!” shouted the incensed miner. “They’re caroming on us!”
And before Len could interfere, Morris rose on one knee, brought his
rifle to bear on the gambler, and pulled the trigger.
Scotty’s hat flew off, and he tumbled over, while Bob and Stephens let
loose a volley, which rattled harmlessly against the breastwork.
But Morris’s snap shot had not gone quite true, for Scotty picked himself
up almost instantly and scrambled out of range, followed by his two
companions.
This firing had brought Sandy and Max to the door of the mine with
anxious faces, and you may believe they were not only enraged, but made
very solicitous by the incident.
“It’s clear,” remarked Max, “that they mean to kill us if they can do so
without open-handed murder. Of course they intended those balls to glance
and hurt somebody.”
“I meant mine to, anyhow!” exclaimed Morris.
“I am glad you fired; it’ll teach those scoundrels that we are wide-awake.
But do you not think they knew you!”
“No, they couldn’t see well enough. I was kneeling behind the wall.”
“There is a’ the mair necessity, Mr. Bushwick,” remarked Sandy, “why
you should go to town to-night.”
“I feel it strongly, and Morris and I’ll get away as soon as it is dark. You
fellows have worked enough to-day, haven’t you? Suppose you stay out
now.”
“All right; we will. We’ve got a fair sort of a hole in there, anyhow. It’s
pretty deep, and a man can walk upright all the way except in one or two
places.”
They saw no more of the enemy that day, however, and Sandy occupied
himself by cooking an extra good supper.
 By seven o’clock that evening a deep gloom filled the gulch, and was
scarcely less heavy on the cliffs, for thick clouds stretched like a canopy
from peak to peak.
The only means by which the jumpers could get away from their camp
was by the trail down the cañon, along which, during daylight, any one
would be exposed for some distance to the fire of our friends in the
garrison.
From the Last Chance, however, a man might easily ascend, as we know,
and then, by care and trouble, he could pass along ledges above the Aurora,
to where, some distance beyond, a crevice enabled him to clamber down to
the bottom of the gulch, a few hundred yards below where the trail crossed
the creek.
This is what Morris and Len did, as soon as the shadows of the range
enveloped them in its curtaining gloom. When they had made their way far
enough, they crept to the edge of the cliff, and could see the jumpers eating
their supper around their fire on the safe side of the dump. A horse was
hitched near by, and Old Bob was saddling him.
“You are right,” Lennox whispered. “He’s going to town to-night, and is
most ready to start. We’d better hurry up, if you want to get into ambush
ahead of him.”
Moving as quietly as possible, they hastened to where the shelving of the
cliff let them get down to the bed of the creek.
 A SHORT CUT.
Silver Caves, Page 159.

Just as they reached this point, where they most needed the light to aid
them, a fierce squall swept down upon the groaning and cracking branches
of the spruce fringing the border of the crags, the air became suddenly
colder, and whirling volleys of snowflakes were dashed in the faces of the
wanderers.
“This is bad!” growled Morris. “ ’Taint none too easy a job to crawl
down here in daylight, let alone trying to do it in this pitch; look out!”
Len had slipped on a wet stone and started to make the descent by an
extremely short cut, but caught hold of a young tree stem just in time to
stop himself. Warned by this, they felt their way with more caution, and
finally succeeded in clambering down to the creek-bed without serious
mishap. On reaching the trail the coating of snow was found undisturbed,
showing that as yet no one had passed over it.
A few rods below, the path was crowded into a narrow passage between
a steep bank and the water. This place Morris thought would suit his
purpose capitally, and here he proposed to meet the unsuspecting enemy
and turn him back.
His first movement was to cut and carefully trim a stout cudgel.
“Quakin-asp is the kind of a stick to make his bones ache,” said Morris,
as he trimmed away the twigs.
“I’ve no doubt of it, and I’d like to stay and see the fun, but I reckon I’d
better mosey if I’m to get to town before this snow buries me.”
“You bet you had!” was the earnest advice of his roughly-speaking but
good-hearted comrade. “It’s no soft job you’ve got on hand, and you want
to be mighty careful. Got a thick overcoat?”
“Yes.”
“Any matches?”
“Yes, lots of ’em.”
“Got your pistol?”
“Yes, borrowed Max’s. Thought I might meet wolves. I’ve heard ’em
howl down here once or twice.”
“They’re ’round on snowy nights, but they’re cowardly. Any whisky?”
“No; and I don’t want any.”
“Hm! I’m not so sure about it. Whisky’s always good, I’m thinkin’,
especially on a cold night like this.”
“You and Old Bob could agree on one point, at any rate.”
“Me and Squint-eyes agree?—not much! Still,—whisky’s good.”
“Well, I’ll wager you a jug o’ molasses, or a new hat, that I can get to
town better to-night without whisky than with it.”
“Mebbe you’re right. I know whisky’s done me a heap more harm ’n it
ever did me good, or any other fellow I ever heard of. Still, whisky’s good!”
Len laughed at this defiance of rhyme and reason, and shaking hands,
started away, Morris calling out as a last word that if he lost the trail in the
snow, or got bewildered, the only proper thing to do was to build a fire and
camp “right there,” instead of working into worse difficulties.
 The brief gale with which the storm had leaped down from its
headquarters in the heights of the Sierra had wholly subsided now, or only
reappeared in occasional momentary squalls. The snow continued falling
steadily, nevertheless, and already the ground, tops of the bushes, and all
the protruding rocks were white. The stars of course were blotted out, but
there was a pale, unearthly luminosity in the air which showed that
somewhere the moon was shining.
“How splendid a sight it would be,” thought the plucky young traveler as
he pushed steadily on, “to be above this storm, and able to look down upon
the wide sea of heaving, billowy snow-clouds, a sea of wan, soft vapor,
gleaming in the moonlight here and there as rounded masses are rolled
upward, and showing shadowy hollows or curving wrinkles, coming and
going, forming and changing before one’s eyes.”
Len had no great difficulty in keeping upon the trail, though he often felt
himself in very delicate places where a wrong step might mean a bad fall, if
not death.
In the wooded district lying between the Panther Creek gorge and the
village side of the mountain, he got bewildered once or twice, but by
keeping his wits about him passed safely beyond the forest, and felt
thereafter in no great danger of going astray. Yet he was not prepared for the
way the storm had quickly disguised all the landmarks, so that he found the
trail unexpectedly hard to follow.
This latter half of the journey was the strangest part of all. Now that he
had got out of the gorge and past the woods upon the ridge, he could see
abroad for the most part; but the whole wide and beautiful landscape with
which he had grown familiar was so lost and transformed that it was hard to
recognize its most familiar features. Where in the summer daylight, of that
wonderfully crystal-clear daylight of the alpine air, he had been confronted
by bold bluffs and clearly cut, prominent peaks, only the vaguest outlines of
a few of the nearest headlands now appeared. Everything else was hidden
under a veil of snowflakes. To his left, as he reached the opening, half-way
down, which allowed the broadest view, a misty expanse took the place of a
well-known rank of towering peaks; in front, an undefined, Titanic shadow
against the sky showed dimly the wall of guardian cliffs enclosing the
valley; while at the right, clusters of rugged and spruce-grown foot-hills
were merged and invisible under the graceful arch of a mighty dome, faintly
outlined in the tumult of the storm, which was wrapping its mantle so
swiftly round every mountain.
In spite of his haste, and of the cold wind which hurled the powdered
snow against his face and drove it into the crevices of his clothing, Lennox
stood still here to gaze upon this shadowy picture of a new world, this
ghostly Walpurgis Night, which formed the most impressive scene he had
ever beheld. And as he gazed, there came faintly to his ear, from far up the
mountain behind him, a long, shrill scream as of some one in deadly
distress.
Len knew it was the cry of the mountain lion, but in that palely-lighted
dance of the snow-spirits among these awful rocks, it might well have been
taken for the last cry of some forlorn and freezing witch.
Shaking off these fancies and the snow together, our hero turned his
steps downward, and an hour later aroused the astonished landlord and went
to bed at the hotel, thoroughly tired, but safe and far ahead of his
adversaries.
OLD BOB TAKES A THRASHING.
 CHAPTER XV.

OLD BOB TAKES A THRASHING.

Morris had not to wait more than fifteen minutes after Len’s departure
before he found his work at hand. The snow so softened the trail that the
sound of the horse’s hoofs were not heard until they had approached within
a few feet of the ambush, and amid the blinding flakes, it was impossible to
recognize the face of the well-muffled rider.
It was certainly Old Bob, however, who had been seen saddling the
horse, and Morris concluded that the man before him was he. Had it been
Scotty, he might have hardened his heart to almost any degree of severity,
but heretofore he had had no quarrel with Bob, for whom he felt contempt
chiefly, and he intended to let him off as easily as it would be safe to do.
Rousing himself at the sound of the stumbling nag, Morris had but half a
minute to pause, before suddenly springing in front of the horse, with a
blow at the animal’s head and a yell like a wild Shoshone.
The startled and punished animal reared, spun round in the narrow trail
as nimbly as a deer could have done, slipped on the wet stones, and fell
headlong over the low bank at the edge of the trail, flinging his astounded
rider over his head into the creek.
Morris, delighted at the effect of his first charge, followed it up with a
second whoop, hearing which the horse picked himself up and rushed up
the trail at break-neck speed, frightened out of its senses.
Old Bob, panic-stricken, dumb-founded, and shocked by his fall, was
just rising from the shallow water, when Morris got down the bank. Leaping
upon him, he seized the wretched victim by collar, and shook him by both
hands as a terrier does a rat. Then snatching up his stick he began to lay it
vigorously over Bob’s shoulders, keeping at it until the old fellow could
find enough of his scattered wits and tangled legs to enable him to run
away.
“Get back in your hole, you old sarpint!” Morris yelled, as he flung his
cudgel after the retreating enemy. “Next time you thieves want to sneak off
to town, mind you get permission of your betters!”
To this Bob replied, as was expected, by a couple of shots from his
revolver, which, up to this time, he had fairly forgotten in the surprise of the
unexpected attack, but Morris dodged behind a rock at the first flash, and no
harm was done.
He did not return this random fire, but kept wide-awake for a few
minutes, thinking Bob might come back with his companions. This,
however, he did not do, and Morris lost no further time in starting home.
Bob admitted afterward, that he thought that at least two men had
attacked him, which spoke well for Morris’s activity, and that it was Max
who was giving him the shaking. Wet, sore, chilled and altogether dazed, he
was in no condition to lead an attack against an ambushed enemy in the
middle of a snowy night, nor were his accomplices eager to go and avenge
his wrongs, preferring, so long as their own precious skins remained whole,
to stay where they were and scold at him for his failure.
All this happened on Friday night, and to that fact the superstitious miner
attributed his misfortunes.
The storm ceased before daybreak. Then what a strange, new, glorious
landscape was that the sun rose upon! Its beams streamed athwart limitless
spaces of snow. Overhead, the height Sandy had partly ascended rose in
rounded outlines, a huge dome of unblemished white. Ahead, as if a mighty
drift had been heaped across the gap between the mountains, lay the saddle
over which the trail led through the woods; and inside the gorge all the
roughnesses were smoothed, all the bowlders and prostrate logs, the boughs
of the spruces and cottonwoods, bushes, ferns, and weeds, were packed full
and weighed down with the soft and flurry flakes.
Beyond calling for a little shoveling inside the fort, the snow was no
hindrance, of course, to the underground work of the firm of B. B. & Co.
They hammered away at improving their tunnel all day on Saturday and
until late at night, and followed it by a pleasant Sunday’s rest, in spite of
their cramped quarters and tedious guard-duty.
The case was far different with the unfortunate jumpers, who, at the
Aurora, had no shelter, and no way of getting free from the snow and the
wet.
This misfortune was doubled by a thaw on Sunday afternoon, suddenly
letting loose a great flood of melted snow, and turning the creek into a
torrent, which, before Monday morning, had so swollen as to cover the trail
and ford with a rushing flood six or eight feet deep, that it would have been
madness to cross.
Old Bob and his companions, therefore, were not only very
uncomfortable, but between the impassable creek and the unscalable wall
on one side, and the rifles of our friends on the other, they were really
prisoners.
“I reckon they’re getting hungry over yonder, too,” remarked Morris,
when a heavy rain on Monday night had produced a second flood in the
creek. “I don’t believe they have grub enough to last much longer. They
couldn’t have brought a great deal with ’em, and it must be about used up.”
That was the fact of the case. Rations were growing very short in the
enemy’s camp, and if the end had not come pretty soon they would have
been obliged to surrender, since it was impossible to get to where their
provisions had been cached with such great labor preparatory to this
campaign.
Even to our friends, who had no such miseries to fret them, the situation
was becoming extremely monotonous and annoying. Max was glum and
anxious. Sandy had lost his humor. Morris would growl softly at himself
first for letting Old Bob get away with a single unbroken bone, and then for
having allowed that kid, as he called Len, to go on alone to town in the
storm. It was tedious enough to be shut up in this cabin, in the midst of such
miserable weather, and in hourly danger of a bullet in one’s brain, but when
to that was added the worry over Len’s safety, the suspense became nearly
unendurable.
THE FIGHT AT THE FORD.
 CHAPTER XVI.

THE FIGHT AT THE FORD.

“I tell you what it is!” exclaimed Morris, as Wednesday morning brought

no tidings, and the clouds began to break away, “if that kid, or somebody
else, don’t show up to-day, I’m going to look him up. I oughtn’t to ’a’ been
such a dod rotted fool as to let him go nohow.”
No one opposed an objection; in fact it would have done no good if they
had, since Morris was his own master, while at the same time, every one
hoped he would be saved the journey.
The two went to work after breakfast, as usual, in the tunnel, and
rejoined Sandy, who had combined sentinel with kitchen duty, to eat a
famous dinner about one o’clock. The sun had been out an hour or two, and
the creek had fallen so rapidly, that Max thought it might now be crossed at
a pinch.
“Heard anything from our neighbors this morning?” the guard was
asked.
“Not a word. I was a leetle suspeecious in consequence, and kept my een
peeled as ye say out here, but I kenned naething wrong.”
“They’re up to some trick or other, you can bet your boots,” was the
opinion of Morris, who followed his words by going out and peering
through crevices in the barricade at the enemy’s fortifications.
He had no more than got there, when they heard him yell out in angry
astonishment, and when they hurried out of the cabin were amazed to see
him standing on top of the wall, rifle in hand, like a picture of Sergeant
Jasper at New Orleans.
“Look there, will you?” he shouted, pointing down the cañon.
The place where the trail was visible from the cabin was a stretch of
about forty yards, so situated between the cliff and the creek, that any one
going up or down could not escape coming under rifle range from the fort.
At its further end was the ford of the creek, which with the rise of the
opposite bank could also be seen, a protruding bastion of rock cutting off all
further view of the trail for a mile or more.
At the instant Morris had glanced through the crevice in the wall, he had
seen his old enemy Scotty riding his horse at the top of its speed toward the
creek, into which he was about to plunge, when he suddenly reined up, and
seizing his rifle from the leathern sling, which held it balanced on the horn
of his saddle, lifted it toward his shoulder. His horse, however, alarmed at
the rapid motion, gave a shying jump, which nearly dislodged the man from
the saddle, and the gun went off before any aim had been taken.
It was at this juncture that Morris had leaped upon the wall, and Sandy
and Max had followed. Before they had time to speculate upon the matter,
there rushed into view down the opposite bank of the creek the stalwart,
buckskin-clothed form of Buckeye Jim, leveling a revolver at the
disconcerted horseman, who with quick presence of mind threw his hands
above his head in sign of surrender and so saved his life,—“a great peety!”
in Sandy’s opinion.
Close behind Jim was to be seen Lennox with a stranger whom nobody
at first recognized; and a moment later Mr. Anderson rode into view,
driving slowly ahead of him the horses of the other three.
Jim still kept Scotty under his eye, while the others mounted and waded
the stream. The stranger approached Scotty and took his rifle away from
him, while Len seized the bridle of his horse. Then the hands came down
and were placed behind his back, where they remained as though fastened,
after which the cavalcade started up the trail toward the mines.
“Scotty’s been handcuffed,” Morris explained, when he saw these
movements. “I can tell by the way he rides.”
Suddenly Max exclaimed, “They’re running right against the others’
guns,” and leaping over the wall he hurried, revolver in hand, straight
toward the Aurora’s dump.
Divining his intention, the others followed him, stumbling over the
slushy and rolling stones in hot haste, and rushed up the face of the enemy’s
embankment like a storming party. They had almost as far to go as the
others, and must make haste, breath or no breath. It was well they did so,
for the first thing that met their eyes when they had reached the top of the
dump, was Old Bob and Stevens lying behind two logs, guns in hand, ready
to shoot the instant the approaching party should get clear of the last
thicket.
Waiting for no orders or permission, Morris drew bead on the nearest
man and fired, and with an awful cry Stevens sprang to his feet and fell
back a senseless heap on the ground.
Bob, thunder-struck, whirled round to find the three men above him and
all hope gone. Dropping on his knees in abject terror, and green with fright,
the miserable poltroon shrieked for mercy, and he received the boon with
the contempt of his foes not only, but of his friends, for the captured Scotty
at once began pouring upon his head the most bitter revilings.
Except to take away his gun and give him a kick, nobody else paid any
attention to him, for all were hurrying to congratulate Lennox upon his safe
return, to welcome Mr. Anderson, to be introduced to Buckeye Jim and the
stranger, who proved to be a Deputy Sheriff from Denver with a warrant for
Scotty’s arrest, and to clap each other on the back over the fortunate escapes
and successes which had marked the last five minutes with so much
excitement.
Until this hand-shaking had been gone through with, no one thought of
the wounded man. The time had not been long, however, and at first it was
more needful to make sure of the living than to attend to the dead.
But was he dead?
“Na,” replied Sandy, who was the first to kneel by his side and place a
hand within his shirt-bosom to feel if any life remained. “His hairt beats.”
“Glad to hear he’s got one; where is he wounded?” asked Morris, also
kneeling by his side. “Oh, here,” pointing to where the blood was slowly
dripping from the left arm of the prostrate and unconscious man.
“We maun cut away his sleeve,” commanded Sandy, who seemed to
know precisely what to do, “or he may bleed to death.”
To slit up the sleeves of the coat and woolen shirt was the work of only
half a moment, and the pain caused by the chill air striking the lacerated
flesh, brought back consciousness in short order.
Glancing around the circle of strange faces, catching sight of the
handcuffed Scotty and mournful Bob, and feeling the numb pain in his
naked arm, which Sandy was washing, the poor fellow turned aside his
face, closed his eyes, and muttered in complete disgust:
 “Why in thunder didn’t ye let me die?”
“There’s naething but mends for misdeeds,” was Sandy’s sententious
rejoinder, as he cleansed the wound of blood, picked the shreds of cloth out
of it, and lifted the arm to examine its extent.
“The ball ha’ passed quite through the muscles,” he announced, “and
entered the man’s side. I’m not so sure, my fair body, that it was worth
while to bring you to.”
“Eh! What’s that? you don’t mean to say—?”
“Keep cool!” commanded Sandy sternly “D’ye want to bleed to death,
ye fool, before we can bind ye up? Keep quiet!”
Dipping a handkerchief in cold water he bound it tightly round the
perforated arm, a proceeding which set Stevens groaning pitifully.
“Now let’s see what else,” he said; and began to search the chest of his
patient for marks of harm.
The hole in the outside of the coat made by the bullet was plain enough,
but no blood was visible on the vest or shirt. Opening his coat Sandy found
the bullet-hole just over a pocket; and as he moved the garment farther, out
tumbled a thick slab of tobacco holding a flattened bullet, which had not
been able to force its way through. There was a black bruise on the skin, but
to this ignoble agent the wicked man owed his life.
“Thank God!” he ejaculated, when it was shown him. No one echoed the
words more fervently then Morris, for though he could have acquitted his
conscience, had his bullet, in defence of his friends against reckless
ruffians, proved the death of one of them, yet he was heartily relieved to
know that his hand had sent no human soul to judgment.
“Aye, thank God!” retorted Sandy with deep sarcasm, “who, in His
inscrutable wisdom, sends the greatest fuils the greatest fortunes.”
Having had his arm bandaged, Stevens was able to get upon his feet and
walk, supported by Old Bob. The whole party then slowly made their way
to the cabin, Sandy running in advance to get the cooking started again.
The wounded Stevens is given a bunk to lie in, and Scotty a box to sit
on, but the Sheriff declines to take off the handcuffs.
“What is the charge against him?” the Sheriff is asked.
“Horse-stealing and various other things,” replied the deputy. “Mr.
Anderson can tell you more about it than I, who am acting on a requisition
from the Governor of Illinois.”
“He stole some valuable horses from my farm near Aurora, Illinois,
several months ago,” said that gentleman, “and we only lately heard that he
was in this region. It’s a sore subject with Buckeye Jim here,” continued
Mr. Anderson, smiling on that big man, “for we suspected him for a while.”
“That’s all right now,” Jim responded heartily. “A man who is fool
enough to keep the bad company I’ve been in sometimes, must share their
color, I suppose, whether he deserves it or not. We’ll say no more about it.”
While this conversation is going on, and dinner is preparing, Max and
Old Bob are talking outside the door.
“Why do you make all this trouble, Bob?” Max asked—“What did you
expect you’d get out of it?”
“Reckoned I’d get a good mine. I lowed you wasn’t staying up here for
nothin’.”
“And you thought it was the Aurora I was at work in?”
“To be sure; where else? this is no good!”
“Isn’t it? Well, we’ll see about that. At any rate the Aurora is worthless,
and I have merely been using that as a runway to get to the back end of this
mine easily, through a cross-cut. We’re not working the Aurora, we’re
working the Last Chance. You could a’ jumped that all day and we wouldn’t
have objected enough to fight, but when you came over here we had to.”
“And you’ve won the turn,” said Bob dejectedly.
“Yes I’ve won, just as I did once before, Bob,—maybe you remember—
when a couple of burglars tired to crawl into my window.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about that,” Bob replied, in a dogged tone.
“Don’t you? Well now, Bob, this makes twice you escaped being shot in
your rascalities with me, and if you ever see your way out of this present
scrape, I’m thinking you’d better leave the gulch.”
“Leave; you bet I’ll leave. I ’low you wouldn’t be none too friendly, but
that there Scotty would murder me the first day he got loose, though this
bust-up aint no more my fault ’n’ ’tis his’n.”
“Do you think so?”
“Think so; I know it! And I’ve got to get clear away from this country, or
I’m a dead man!”
 “Maybe I can be of some use to you—I mean in saving you from Scotty;
but you must tell me who was with you that night you came to our cabin.”
“It was Stevens,” said Bob quietly.
“Could you prove it, if you were wanted to?”
“Yes, I could.”
“Well, Bob, there’s your horse, and a trail clear to Denver. Good-by. I
hope you’ll do better hereafter than I’ve known you to yet.”
Max turned his back and went into the cabin, where all the rest were
gathering around the table. By the time he had filled his plate and had found
a seat on an inverted powder-can, Squint-eyed Old Bob was taking his
unworthy self out of the cañon, and out of my story, at the best pace he
knew how.
He got safely away and never came back; but I am sorry to say he
behaved no better, and probably only escaped hanging at last by getting
crushed in a snowslide.
Before dinner was ended, a new arrival, and a hungry one, appeared in
the person of the Superintendent of Mr. Anderson’s mine near the village, a
gentleman whom our firm knew well, and had a high respect for, both as an
expert in mining and as an honest man.
THE CAPITALIST EXAMINES THE MINE.
 CHAPTER XVII.

THE CAPITALIST EXAMINES THE MINE.

The capitalist frankly told Max and Len, as the three sat a little apart from
the others, that he had great faith in that region, and was willing to invest a
reasonable amount of money in any prospect that gave him sufficient
encouragement.
He recalled how the attempt had been made to dupe him at Old Bob’s
diggings a short distance below, and said that he had felt so well satisfied
that nothing this creek could show was good, that he had resolved never to
look at any property on its banks again.
At the same time, the behavior of Mr. Brehm, during the examination of
Bob’s prospect-hole to which he had just alluded, was so upright and
intelligent, that when he heard that something different had been discovered
on Panther Creek, and by whom, he had readily consented to come and see
it. “Now I want to see all you have to show me; and if you have anything
good, I’ve no doubt we can make some sort of a bargain. But I don’t profess
to understand these things as well as some, and at any rate two heads are
better than one. ‘In a multitude of counsellors there is wisdom,’ the Wise
Man says. Therefore I shall ask you to let my superintendent go in with us.”
This long speech was not in the least tiresome to its hearers, as you may
well believe; indeed they took a great liking to Mr. Anderson’s frank, bluff,
and business-like manner, which inspired both respect and confidence.
At once, therefore, the little lamps were lighted, old canvas coats were
lent to the visitors, and the four started into the Last Chance tunnel, Max
leading the way, and Len bringing up the rear.
Sandy remained at the cabin, partly because he felt himself an outside
factor, and partly to bear company with Buckeye Jim, Morris, and the
Deputy Sheriff, who were guarding the prisoner, and chatting over Rocky
Mountain adventures in a way very entertaining to the Scotchman.
Apologies for the unworkman-like condition of the mine were
unnecessary, since everybody knew the history of the undertaking, so that
nothing was said until the inner chamber had been reached, at the crosscut,
the shape and situation of which was first explained to the visitors.
“Is your title unquestionable?” asked Mr. Anderson.
“Yes; we had the papers examined by a lawyer, and the transfer properly
recorded. There is no flaw, that we can discover.”
“Where does this water come from?”
“Mainly from a surface seam. I think it could be drained off above
ground by a little engineering, and thus stopped entirely without much
expense.”
While this colloquy was in progress, the superintendent had taken up a
pick and chipped off some pieces of rock from the roof and sides of the
vein, at which he was looking very sharply under the flame of his smoky
lamp. Lennox noticed with a thrill of gratification how his expert eye, with
the instinctive perception acquired by a long training, threw away what they
had learned was worthless rock, while the brown stuff, which they had
proved to be valuable, was selected for closer examination.
“This is queer-looking stuff,” he remarked, “I never came across
anything just like it. What do you take it to be, Mr. Brehm?”
“That, sir,” Max replied, with a bit of tremor in his voice, for this was the
first announcement, “that, sir, I suppose to be a telluride of gold, carrying
about twenty-eight ounces to the ton.”
“Great Scott! That’s the best show of gold in these parts! And this black
grit must be a lead-carbonate!”
“So we are told by Denver assayers. They pronounce it a soft carbonate,
rich in lead and iron, and worth—here’s the letter—about one hundred and
twenty dollars to the ton.”
Both Mr. Anderson and the superintendent were vastly interested by this
information, which evidently they accepted as true. The latter gentleman
read aloud the assayer’s statement of his analysis of the ore, and pointed out
that it gave very little black-jack, antimony, etc., which indicated that the
ore would be easy to smelt, a most important consideration in estimating its
value.
“Is the whole vein, so far as you have gone, like this?” Mr. Anderson
asked, as he held up his light, and scrutinized the walls and roof of the small
chamber.
 “No; there is not much at the very entrance, though, after we learned to
recognize them, we could find traces of both the carbonate and telluride
clear to the door-way, but we saw much more in the interior, and argued that
the deeper we went the richer the mine would grow, which has proved true
up to the present time. If it hadn’t been for those pesky jumpers, we should
have gone several yards deeper.”
“The vein doesn’t seem to be uniformly composed of the ore minerals.”
“No, it has been growing very strange in its distribution of late, a fact we
began to notice when we were about two-thirds of the way to this point. The
lode gradually became filled with more or less globular cavities, which
steadily increased in size. The wall of each of these cavities is formed
almost wholly of the telluride, and the spaces between are pretty nearly
dead rock. Inside, whenever they are small,—there are some little ones in
the roof, just over your head, which show it well,—they are quite filled with
nearly solid carbonate; but when they are larger—the last one we struck,
you can see a remnant of it in the breast, was as big as a barrel—they are
only partly full, and the ore of the interior soft and crumbling.”
“They are like miniature caves or monstrous geodes,” said Mr.
Anderson.
“Yes,” Len put in—he had been quiet as long as he could stand it, “and
sometimes we are warned of what is ahead by the hollow sound.”
“Maybe we can find one now, to show you,” Max suggested; and, taking
a pick, he moved toward the extremity of the tunnel, whither the rest
followed him.
Tapping here and there the breast of rock forming the head of the tunnel,
Max presently detected near the floor a peculiar echo; all listened, and
agreed that this sound denoted a hollow.
“I’m not very sure, but I’ll try it,” he said, and slipping aside swung back
his sturdy arms preparatory to delivering a tremendous stroke.
Down came the pick, crashed through a shell of rock, and sank out of
sight, except a few inches of handle.
“You’ve hit it, sure!” exclaimed Mr. Anderson. “Make the hole a little
bigger, so that we can see in.”
Max did so, knocking off the edges until Len could put head and arms in,
whereupon he reported that he could neither touch nor see the further side.
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