Project Gutenberg's The Motor Boys on Thunder Mountain, by Clarence Young This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: The Motor Boys on Thunder Mountain Or, The Treasure Chest of Blue Rock Author: Clarence Young Release Date: April 24, 2019 [EBook #59340] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOTOR BOYS ON THUNDER MOUNTAIN *** Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net cover THEY RODE OVER IN FRONT OF THE CAVE. THE MOTOR BOYS ON THUNDER MOUNTAIN Or The Treasure Chest of Blue Rock BY CLARENCE YOUNG AUTHOR OF “THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES,” “THE JACK RANGER SERIES,” ETC. ILLUSTRATED NEW YORK CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY BOOKS BY CLARENCE YOUNG 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES THE MOTOR BOYS THE MOTOR BOYS OVERLAND THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS THE MOTOR BOYS AFLOAT THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE ATLANTIC THE MOTOR BOYS IN STRANGE WATERS THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE PACIFIC THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE CLOUDS THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE ROCKIES THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE OCEAN THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE WING THE MOTOR BOYS AFTER A FORTUNE THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE BORDER THE MOTOR BOYS UNDER THE SEA THE MOTOR BOYS ON ROAD AND RIVER THE MOTOR BOYS AT BOXWOOD HALL THE MOTOR BOYS ON A RANCH THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE ARMY THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE FIRING LINE THE MOTOR BOYS BOUND FOR HOME THE MOTOR BOYS ON THUNDER MOUNTAIN THE JACK RANGER SERIES JACK RANGER’S SCHOOLDAYS JACK RANGER’S WESTERN TRIP JACK RANGER’S SCHOOL VICTORIES JACK RANGER’S OCEAN CRUISE JACK RANGER’S GUN CLUB JACK RANGER’S TREASURE BOX Copyright, 1924, by Cupples & Leon Company The Motor Boys on Thunder Mountain Printed in U. S. A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Gold Mine Talk 1 II. The End of Everything 11 III. Noddy Nixon’s Threat 22 IV. Over the Cliff 31 [iii] V. Vain Regrets 38 VI. Laying a Plot 49 VII. In the Barn 56 VIII. A Crash 65 IX. The Fat Man 74 X. The Second Section 83 XI. On the Trail 92 XII. Tinny’s Shack 99 XIII. Echo Canyon 107 XIV. Down a Hole 117 XV. Yellow Eyes 124 XVI. A Strange Disappearance 133 XVII. Searching 142 XVIII. Strange Noises 149 XIX. The Professor’s Story 157 XX. The Posse 166 XXI. An Avalanche 171 XXII. In the Wilderness 180 XXIII. An Escape 188 XXIV. Thunder Mountain 197 XXV. The Storm 206 XXVI. A Blue Rock Slide 213 XXVII. In Dire Peril 220 XXVIII. A Discovery 228 XXIX. To the Rescue 234 XXX. Pay Dirt 241 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS THEY RODE OVER IN FRONT OF THE CAVE. THE BOYS PULLED THE TWO PIECES OF TREE OUT OF THE WAY. EACH OF THE TAWNY BEASTS WAS STUNG BY A SCORE OF FIERCE INSECTS. THE LANDSLIDE WAS ADVANCING NEARER AND NEARER. THE MOTOR BOYS ON THUNDER MOUNTAIN CHAPTER I GOLD MINE TALK “What do you think of it, fellows?” asked Jerry Hopkins. The tall lad ruffled in his hand some sheets of paper covered with typewriting. He looked closely at his two chums. [iv] [1] “You mean Tinny Mallison’s gold mine proposition?” inquired Ned Slade, flicking a bit of dust from the trousers of his new suit. “That’s what I mean,” replied Jerry. “He didn’t say anything else in his letter worth considering, did he?” and the tall lad again referred to the screed. “Except about chicken,” put in the third member of the trio, a stout, good-natured looking lad with a beaming face. “Chicken? What do you mean—chicken?” demanded Ned Slade, with just a slight note of impatience in his voice. Jerry, looking hastily through the letter, added: “Tinny didn’t say anything about going into the chicken business, did he? Not that I remember. Anyhow, he isn’t in a chicken-raising country. He’s out in the tall timber where the only things they raise are Rocky Mountain goats. Chickens! How do you get that way, Chunky?” The fat lad flushed, having drawn this much attention to himself, and, to justify his remark, he said: “I didn’t mean it that way. You know, as well as I do, he didn’t propose to us to go out there to raise chickens. We could do that here at home a lot better.” “Just what do you mean by harping on fowls?” asked Ned. “I mean Tinny said in his letter that he was in a restaurant where they served him roast chicken and mushrooms, and he got to thinking of us and——” “You mean he got to thinking of you!” and Ned exploded into a laugh, at which Bob Baker blushed a deeper pink. “Oh, I see what Chunky means!” chuckled Jerry. “Tinny did speak of being in a restaurant eating chicken when he found himself remembering us and the measly feeds we sometimes got in the mustering-out camp. That’s what caused him to write us about the gold mine.” “And you can make up your mind that Bob would pick out that part of the letter first!” exclaimed Ned. “That part about chicken! Did it make you hungry, Chunky?” he demanded, giving the stout youth a poke in his well-covered ribs. “Oh, cut it out!” snapped Bob, with a trace of annoyance on his face. “I was up early and I didn’t have much breakfast. It’s nearly noon now, and if you want me to give any serious consideration to this gold mine proposition I’ve got to eat—that’s all!” There was such a tone of resolve in the stout lad’s voice, and such an air of bravado about him, that Ned and Jerry looked at each other in surprise. “Well, Bob, if that’s the way you feel about it,” began Ned, “we might as well——” “That’s how I feel about it!” cracked out Bob. “I’m hungry—I don’t care who knows it! Ever since Jerry read that in the letter about Tinny having such a glorious feed of roast chicken and mushrooms—oh, boy!” Bob did not go on, but Jerry, looking at his watch, remarked: “It is almost noon, and I happen to know Bob was up early, for I telephoned over just before I ate breakfast and they said he’d gone out in a hurry.” “I did. And I had nothing for breakfast but some slices of toast, bacon and eggs, and coffee,” broke in Bob. “No breakfast at all! Had to go down on an errand in a hurry for dad in the new car, and I stepped on the gas, let me tell you. Now, what about eating?” he asked eagerly. “Well, don’t go to sleep, and I’ll go on with my speech of acceptance,” chuckled Jerry. “I was going to say, why not come to lunch at my house? Then we can talk over this gold mine dope.” “Suits me,” said Ned briefly. “It more than hits me in the right spot,” sighed fat Bob Baker. “But it’s queer,” murmured Jerry, as he and his chums arose from a bench where they had been sitting on the edge of Cresville’s only park—the place designated as a meeting place when Jerry had received a letter which was destined to play a momentous part in the lives of the Motor Boys. “What’s queer?” Ned Slade wanted to know. “How Bob happened to pick out the three lines in Tinny’s letter that had to do with eating,” Jerry resumed. “The most unimportant part of the whole business, and yet Bob spots it like—like——” “Like a hawk after a chicken,” supplied Ned, when he saw his tall chum at a loss for a simile. “Thanks,” murmured Jerry. “Think you’re a regular moving-picture-art-title writer, don’t you?” mumbled Bob. “All right—go on—poke all the fun you want. But if you fellows get out to Thunder Mountain—or whatever the place is—and starve to death, don’t blame me.” “We aren’t likely to—not if we die of hunger,” said Ned. “But if we go, won’t you come with us?” “I don’t know—maybe.” Bob was not quite restored to his usual good-natured self after the bantering to which he [2] [3] [4] [5] had been subjected. “Well, let’s go!” cried Jerry, and the words recalled vividly to the minds of his chums how often those same words were used when they were in France during the World War. “Is that you, Jerry?” called Mrs. Hopkins, when a little later she heard the tramp of feet in her hall—feet that unconsciously fell into the swing of a military march. “Yes, Mother. I’ve brought Ned and Bob home to lunch.” “That’s nice. I’ll tell Katie to get things ready for you out in the sun parlor. John is polishing the dining room floor.” “Anywhere as long as there’s something to eat,” murmured Bob. And then, a little later, when the Motor Boys were sitting about a well laden table in the pleasant sun parlor of the Hopkins home, their discussion turned upon the letter Jerry had received that morning from Tinnith Mallison, a Westerner, whom they had first met as a congenial officer in the training camp where the lads were mustered out of Uncle Sam’s service. “Just what is his proposition?” asked Bob, who, having the first sharp edge taken from his appetite, could now give more consideration to other matters. “I didn’t listen very closely when you first read it, Jerry.” “No, I reckon not—chicken and mushrooms,” murmured Ned. “Shut up!” ordered Bob, but the words were accompanied by a smile which took all malice from them. “Well, briefly, Tinny’s proposition is this,” said Jerry, as he took out the letter again. They had become sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Mallison to call him by his nickname. “He wants to interest us in an undeveloped gold mine out West near a place called Thunder Mountain. Why it has that name, I don’t know. Maybe the Indians called it that.” “If we go out there we can find out why,” put in Ned. “Say, are you fellows really seriously considering taking up this game?” demanded Bob, pausing with a bite of pie half way to his mouth. And when Bob did any pausing in the process of eating one might safely conclude that he was vitally interested in the subject under discussion. “Well, I’m about as green at the gold-mining business as I would be trying to cut ice with a pair of manicure scissors,” remarked Jerry. “But, fellows, we’ve just got to do something strenuous! After the exciting life we lived in France, I just can’t settle down to any business that we can tackle in this town. And as for going back to Boxwood Hall ——” “Whew! Don’t speak of it!” cried Ned. “Jerry, I’m with you on that gold mine proposition,” he continued. “I don’t just sense what it is all about, but I’ll leave that to you. Anyhow, I can’t stay around this town much longer. It’s all right in its own way, but it doesn’t weigh much after what we’ve gone through. Dad wants me to come in the department store and learn the business from the ground up. But I’m not ready for that yet. That’s why I want to go West.” “And I can’t see dad’s proposition to become office boy in the bank and work my way up to be a cashier,” said Bob. “Of course I’ll go in the bank some day—but not just yet. I’m for the West.” “Well, we seem to be pretty much of the same mind about it, and that sounds good to me,” commented Jerry. “Tinny says he will write us more particulars if we are interested, and suggests that we let him know at once.” “Tell him we are!” exclaimed Ned. “We’ve just got to get into something that will keep us out in the open air. This gold mine would do it.” “Whether it had any gold in it or not,” commented Jerry. “Sure! Say, why don’t you send Tinny a wire, telling him we’re hot on his trail and ask him to send on more dope.” “I’ll do it!” decided Jerry. “Write out the message,” suggested Bob. “Then we’ll go down to the telegraph office to send it. I’ll get dad’s new car and we’ll try it out. He told me to run it for a while and remove the kinks.” “Hurray!” yelled Ned. “Sounds good to me,” commented Jerry. In fact, ever since he had heard that Mr. Baker had a new car his hands had been itching to grip the wheel. Now he might have an opportunity. “Come on, we’ll get the car,” cried Chunky. “After we leave the message we’ll go for a ride.” “It will be like old times,” remarked Ned, for the lads had gained more than a local reputation by their journeys about the country in motors. Finishing their lunch, putting away Tinny’s enthralling letter, and writing the telegram to the Westerner did not take long. A little later the three youths were walking about and admiring Mr. Baker’s new car. It was a beauty—no mistake about that. “How do you think the new four-wheel brakes will work?” asked Jerry, who knew something about cars. He had one, but not of a late model. “You’ll soon find out,” remarked Bob. “I’ll let you fellows have a shot at it. Only remember one thing—don’t shove [6] [7] [8] [9] the brakes on too suddenly, for they grip twice as quickly as the old kind. Hop in—I’ll be out in a minute.” He disappeared into the house on the run, while Ned and Jerry took their places on the front seat. Did any one ever see three lads ride anywhere but on the front seat of an auto, no matter how small? “It’ll be a tight fit with Chunky in,” remarked Ned, looking at the space behind the wheel. “Do him good to squeeze him,” chuckled Jerry. “Here he comes.” Bob did not complain of the small space left for him at the wheel, but climbed in and the three lads were soon riding down the main street of Cresville, their home town. The message was sent, and then Bob headed the car for the open country. They were bowling along, the fat lad having given several demonstrations of how to apply the new brakes, when he took one hand from the steering wheel and began fishing in his pocket. “What’s the matter?” asked Jerry. Bob did not answer, but pulled out a doughnut and began munching on it. “Well, for the love of pepsin!” cried Ned. “If you aren’t——” He never finished the sentence, for just then the car rounded a curve in the road and Jerry, pointing ahead, cried: “Look! There’s a house on fire!” In pointing he jarred Bob’s hand just as the latter was raising the doughnut for another bite. “It sure is a fire!” shouted Ned. “Ug! Ow! Huh! Huh! Heck!” coughed and spluttered Bob. “What’s the matter?” cried Jerry. “You—er—guk—made me swallow that—dough—nut the—heck—wrong way!” gasped Bob. “Ugh!” He pushed suddenly on the brake pedal and the car came to such an abrupt stop that he and his companions nearly went through the windshield as the auto halted within a short distance of the blazing farmhouse from which came frantic cries for help. CHAPTER II THE END OF EVERYTHING “Come on, fellows!” cried Jerry. He was struggling to get out of the seat where three of them were rather a tight fit, considering Chunky’s plumpness. But Jerry managed it, at the same time thumping Bob on the back to dislodge the bit of doughnut that had gone down the hungry lad’s “wrong throat.” The boys had arrived at a most critical time. The blaze had quite a start at the rear of the farmhouse, the flames flickering out of a first story window—evidently the kitchen—and eating their way up to the second story. “I wonder if they’ve telephoned in an alarm?” cried Ned, for though there were no “pull boxes” on the country road that far out of Cresville, nearly every farmer had a telephone. “Sounds like the new motor engine coming,” said Bob, with a cough, to dislodge the last remaining particles of the doughnut, which, by this time, he had managed to swallow. “Yes, there she is!” added Ned, as they caught the sound of the siren horn on the new motor apparatus, recently purchased by the town. “But it won’t get here in time to save them! Look!” shouted Jerry. He pointed to a window about eight feet above the one-story extension of the house where could be seen a woman and two children. From another window on the left of these frantic and screaming ones smoke was pouring, showing that the fire was close to them. “We’ve got to save them!” cried Ned. “That’s right!” added Bob. “We can do it from that low roof. They can drop down and we can help them get to the ground. Or if we could find a short ladder——” “There’s one!” yelled Ned, pointing to one leaning against a fruit tree at the side of the house. “Come on!” “We’re just in time!” added Jerry. “It’s a good thing we drove out this way!” The boys dashed to the rescue of the fire-trapped ones, while they could hear the motor engine approaching; and as they watched neighbors came running across the fields to aid, having seen the pall of smoke. [10] [11] [12] While the Motor Boys are hastening on their errand of mercy I shall take just a moment to introduce my new readers more formally to the youths who are to be the heroes of this story. In the first volume of this series, entitled “The Motor Boys,” the reason for this name being given Jerry Hopkins, Ned Slade and Bob Baker was very fully set forth. Ned Slade’s father was a wealthy department store owner in Cresville, and Bob Baker’s father was president of the richest bank in that section. Jerry Hopkins’ father was dead, but had left his widow, Mrs. Julia Hopkins, very well off, and Jerry managed to keep up his end with his two chums. Jerry, the tallest of the three lads, was a rather quiet and thoughtful youth, destined to be a leader. Ned was the best dresser of the three, if that is any compliment, and Bob Baker—well, when it is said that his nickname was “Chunky,” more has been told than could be divulged in several pages. Of his appetite, sufficient testimony has been given. The home of the Motor Boys was in Cresville, in one of the New England states, but from there the boys had traveled to many other parts of their own country and foreign lands. As you know, they had recently come back from the great war. But before this, when they were not circumventing tricks of the notorious Noddy Nixon and his crony, Jack Pender, the boys had traveled overland, to Mexico, and across the great plains in a motor car. They had been afloat on the Atlantic and in strange waters, voyaging at times in a motor boat, and the various volumes tell of their activities. As if the earth was not wide enough for them, the lads had even ventured into the clouds in aeroplanes and balloons, and when they had a chance to go in a submarine they did not hesitate. Part of their time they spent at school— Boxwood Hall—but after the war they had voted unanimously that they could not take up their quiet studies again; at least, not at once. The volume immediately preceding this present one is entitled “The Motor Boys Bound for Home; or, Ned, Bob and Jerry on the Wrecked Troopship.” They had some strenuous times, in part with their old friend, Professor Snodgrass, and they had not long been at home when the letter came from their officer friend, written from his western mining camp. However, all thoughts of gold mines were now driven from the heads of the lads as they saw the immediate necessity of quick action if they were to save the woman and the two children now appealing for help in the burning farmhouse. “Get the ladder!” cried Jerry. “We can easily help them down to the roof of that one-story extension. Then they can jump to the ground if they have to.” “They won’t have to—we can move the ladder!” shouted Ned, as he dashed for it. “Help us! Save us!” screamed the woman. “We’re coming! Don’t jump!” warned Jerry. Being tall and athletic, he had managed, with the aid of a drain pipe and clinging vine, to scramble up to the flat roof of the one-story extension before the ladder was brought up. Ned could do the same, but Bob was too fat. He had to ascend by the ladder. However, after he was on the roof, he helped pull the ladder up so that it could be raised to the window. The house appeared to be on fire in the vicinity of the kitchen, and the boys guessed that the woman and girls had been cut off from the front and back stairs. While the motor engine was chugging its way nearer and while friends and neighbors were gathering to do what they could, the ladder, now on the roof of the extension, was raised to the window at which the three stood frantically calling. “We’ll get you down in a minute!” shouted Jerry encouragingly, as he ran up the ladder, which was steadied at its foot by Ned and Bob. “Come on!” he cried to the youngest girl, who was crying. “I—I’m afraid!” she sobbed, leaning out of the window. “You needn’t be,” Jerry assured her. “I won’t let you fall.” “Go on with him, Mary!” urged her mother. “Then take Helen next. And there’s a lame man in here.” “We’ll get you all out,” declared Jerry, with more confidence when he had looked through the window and saw no flames in the room behind the three. “You’ve got plenty of time.” He helped the two girls down to the flat roof of the one-story extension, where Ned and Bob took charge of them, calming them and telling them they would soon be on the ground. “Can you save Mr. Cromley?” gasped the woman, when Jerry went back to assist her. “He’s lame and he’s in that room where the smoke is. The girls and I were up there talking to him when the fire broke out.” “I’ll get him as soon as you get down,” cried Jerry. “How lame is he? Will he have to be carried?” “Oh, no, he just walks with a limp—that’s all.” “Then I guess I can get him down the ladder. But you must come now,” and the mother was soon on the low roof. “I’m going after the lame man, fellows!” Jerry then called to his chums. “Keep the ladder here until I get him to the window.” [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] “Corporal” Jerry Hopkins was giving orders as he had done on the battlefields of France, and his chums “snapped into” obedience as they had done in those terrible days. Up the ladder the tall lad raced, to meet a limping man stumbling toward the window from which Jerry had already assisted the woman and girls to the roof. “I—I must have swallowed some of the smoke!” the man coughed. “I didn’t know where I was for a minute!” “Can you get down the ladder if I help you?” asked Jerry, entering the room. “Sure! I’m not as helpless as all that, even if I have a game leg. I’m spry yet! Where’s the ladder? Is the whole house afire?” “No, only part of it. I think they’ll save most of it. Here’s the ladder,” and Jerry led the man to the window, for now a cloud of smoke blew into the room, making them both cough and obscuring their vision for a moment. Mr. Cromley, to give him the name mentioned by the woman, proved that he was no weakling in spite of his age and lameness, and he went down the ladder almost as spryly as did Jerry. “Oh, Uncle Bill, I’m so glad you’re saved!” cried one of the girls. “But we aren’t on the ground yet!” sobbed her sister. “You soon will be,” said Bob. “Come on, let’s move the ladder!” he cried. “Any more up there?” asked Jerry, pointing to the window from which smoke was now pouring more thickly. “No, we’re all out!” answered the woman. It was but the work of a few seconds to shove the ladder over the edge of the low roof, and down it the rescued ones, including the lame man and the Motor Boys, soon made their way to the ground. By this time the fire apparatus had arrived and with it many men and boys to help. In addition to the chemical stream turned into the blazing kitchen, volunteers dashed on the flames as many pails of water as they could. So quick and efficient was the work that the fire was confined to one wing of the house and it was out in half an hour, the kitchen being about the only room burned, though all through the place was the smell and black soot of the smoke. “My kettle of lard that I was heating to fry doughnuts must have boiled over,” explained the woman—a Mrs. Gordon —when something like calmness had been restored. “I left the grease boiling for a minute while I ran upstairs to see if my brother wanted anything,” and she nodded toward Mr. Cromley. “All of a sudden I heard a sort of explosion, and when I tried to get down the stairs I couldn’t. The girls were up in their room, and they ran back to where brother Bill and I were, and so we were all trapped. If you boys hadn’t come along when you did we might all have been burned to death,” she concluded. “Oh, I guess some one else would have saved you,” said Jerry. “The alarm got in quickly enough, anyhow.” “Yes, we have an extension telephone upstairs, and I called from there,” explained Mrs. Gordon. “But I didn’t see how we were going to get out in time.” “Well, it’s all right now,” said Bill Cromley, limping about to inspect the damage done. It was not as much as seemed at first, though it was bad enough. “My husband will feel terrible when he comes home and sees that I can’t cook a meal,” sighed Mrs. Gordon. “You can use my kitchen,” offered one neighbor kindly. “And mine! And mine!” came other proffers. While plans were being made to help the Gordon family, Bill Cromley moved about, limping painfully, and, speaking to the Motor Boys, he said: “Seems like it’s one accident after another with me. Guess I must have run into a streak of bad luck.” “Why, what else happened?” asked Ned. “Well, just before I came away from the West I was in a sort of premature explosion and got this game foot. Then I come to visit my sister and her house catches fire.” “Are you from the West?” asked Jerry, thinking of Tinny’s letter. “Yes, I’m a gold miner out there, or I was. Why? Are you fellows from the West?” Bill Cromley inquired as he saw looks of interest on the boys’ faces. “We’ve been out there,” admitted Bob. “And we may go again. We’ve got an offer to help develop a mine at a place called Thunder Mountain——” Before Ned or Jerry could offer any objection to the stout lad blurting out this rather personal information, Bill Cromley exclaimed: “Thunder Mountain! Why, I know where that is!” “Any gold there?” Ned wanted to know. [17] [18] [19] [20] “Sure there is—if you can find it. It’s in Montana, and Montana is a good gold region. I’ve panned out some pretty good stuff there myself. Course, it wasn’t anything like Blue Rock.” “What’s Blue Rock?” asked Bob. “That’s the kind of soil they find diamonds in, isn’t it?” “You’re thinking of Africa,” remarked Jerry. “Blue Rock is the name of a mine,” resumed Bill Cromley. “I never got a chance at it, but some lucky fellows did, and they took out a whole chest full of gold. But, no—I won’t call them lucky,” he added, with a shake of his head. “Why not?” inquired Ned. “Because of what happened to ’em,” and Bill Cromley shook his head dolefully. “What happened?” demanded Jerry. “The worst that could happen to anybody. They lost their lives, and the gold, too. The miners had about cleaned out the mine—taken a fortune in gold from it. They packed it in a chest and set out for the East, putting the chest of gold on a stage coach. “But the stage horses ran away on the worst part of the trail, the coach was upset and went over a cliff, horses, driver, passengers, chest of gold and all. It was just the end of everything!” CHAPTER III NODDY NIXON’S THREAT Bill Cromley, the old gold miner, abruptly ceased his narration. The scene was rather quieter about the farmhouse now, though the neighbors were still at the farm helping Mrs. Gordon to move out of the kitchen some things that had been saved. The Motor Boys were much interested in what they had heard. “What do you mean—it was the end of everything?” asked Jerry. “Just what I say. It was the end,” replied Cromley. “The horses, stage, chest of gold, and everything went over the cliff. According to what you tell me, it can’t have been far from where you’re going—to Thunder Mountain.” “Didn’t they save anything?” asked Bob, a little awed by the tragic ending of the story. “Nary a thing.” “Wasn’t there any trace of the men or the horses or the stage?” inquired Ned. “Oh, yes, they found the bodies—some of ’em,” said the miner. “And the horses, too. But there wasn’t much left of the coach. It was a rickety old thing to start with, and about all they picked up was some splinters that would do for toothpicks.” “But the chest of gold?” exclaimed Bob. “They never found a trace of it,” answered the miner. “It was never located, though I had more than one look for it, and so did lots of others. There was a fortune of pure gold in that chest, and it was a pity to lose it. But we never found it.” “But what could have become of it?” demanded Jerry. “A big chest having rolled down the side of a mountain, must have landed somewhere.” “It very likely did,” answered Mr. Cromley. “Landed down in some hole or gully. But there are so many of them in that part of the country you might hunt for five years and never strike the right one. It’s a wild bit of territory out there near Blue Rock. Thunder Mountain is another wild region. Let’s see, what did you say the name of your mining friend was out there—Brassy Madison?” “No, Tinny Mallison,” replied Jerry. “His real name is Tinnith, but we call him Tinny.” “Um! Good name for a gold miner,” commented the lame man. “He’ll very likely strike tin instead of gold nine times out of ten. No, I never heard of him.” “He hasn’t been mining very long,” explained Ned. “He just got back from the war—same as we did.” “Do you think you’ll ever go back West to the mines?” asked Bob, as the boys moved on toward their car, for there was little now that they could do. On all sides could be heard murmurs of admiration over their promptness in saving the lives of the imperiled ones. “Oh, yes, I reckon so,” was the answer. “Once you get to be as old as I am it’s hard to give up the gold-mining craze. I reckon I’ll go back. In fact, my sister and I were talking about my going back when this fire happened. Of course I’m going to stay now until I see if I can help them. But I’ll go back before the summer’s over.” “Maybe we’ll see you when we get to Thunder Mountain,” suggested Jerry. [21] [22] [23] [24] “And if the place where that chest of gold was lost is anywhere near Tinny’s mine, we might have a look for it,” remarked Bob. “Better not count on that! You’ll only be disappointed. Of course I can show you the spot where the coach went over the cliff, but there’s no use looking for the gold. It was just the end of everything!” The boys let it go at that for the time being. And, truth to tell, they did not have a chance to consider it any further just then, for there came a sudden interruption to their thoughts in the shape of a small but very excited lad who had driven to the scene of the fire in a rattling little car. Out he sprang, jumping over the fence, and, approaching the Motor Boys, he gasped: “Say—why didn’t you stop for me—I like fires—I could help put ’em out—good on ladder work—anybody killed —say there’ll be a piece in the paper about this—how’d it start—were any of you burned—somebody said a woman jumped from a window—has the engine stopped——” “Yes, and you’d better stop, Andy Rush, if you don’t want to blow up!” laughed Jerry, as he gently placed a hand over the small lad’s mouth, thereby preventing the further outflow of words that came bubbling out, fairly tripping each other up, so excited was Andy. He was an old friend of the trio of lads who had had so many adventures together, and more than once Andy had accompanied them. He was a good little chap, true and stanch, but he had a habit of getting excited easily, and, when he did, he talked so fast and so brokenly that his conversation was all dots and dashes—mostly dashes. “Oh—fire’s all out, is it—too bad—wish I’d gotten here sooner!” exclaimed Andy, in disappointed tones. “I hurried all I could—after I heard about it—jumped into Bachman’s flivver—had a puncture—didn’t stop—came right along— here I am—whoop!” “Do you mean to say you took the butcher’s auto?” asked Ned, as he noted what car the small lad had. “Sure! It was standing in front of his shop. He wasn’t using it—so I hopped in—he won’t care—we get our meat of him, anyhow. I’ll have the puncture fixed—maybe I can do it myself—you’ve got your dad’s new car, haven’t you, Bob? Maybe you have a tire repair outfit—come on—give me a hand—gee, but I’m sorry the fire’s out!” “Guess you’re the only one that’s sorry,” remarked Bob. “Come on, fellows, we’ll help Andy mend his puncture,” he added good-naturedly. “Bachman will put a flea in his ear if he doesn’t come back with the flivver in time for afternoon deliveries.” “Thanks—do as much for you some day—I’ll get the tire off!” spluttered Andy, leaping back over the fence. “You don’t think the fire’ll start up again, do you?” he asked. “If it does I’d like to climb a ladder—jump in a window—slide down a rope—run——” “Oh, cut it out!” laughed Ned. “You’ll have us doing it next.” From his tool box Bob got an emergency tire repair kit, and after the little car belonging to the town butcher had been jacked up, Andy began the not too-easy task of taking off the punctured tire. He had run on it flat to the fire. “Say, jufellers hear about Noddy Nixon?” asked Andy, while he was waiting for the cement to dry somewhat before putting a patch on the inner tube. “No, what about that—rat?” asked Ned. “He’s back in town—that’s all,” was Andy’s information. “Just saw him and Jack Pender get off the train.” “So Jack’s with him, is he?” asked Jerry. “Guess Noddy didn’t dare come back alone,” commented Bob. “He needs some one to back him up.” “I should think he would after what he did in France,” said Jerry bitterly. “Shooting himself to make believe he was wounded in action, so he could be sent to the rear! There isn’t any place too hot for such rats!” “Did Noddy say anything to you, Andy?” asked Ned, as the tire was being put back on the wheel. “Nope! Never talks to me—guess he doesn’t like me—thinks I’m too much of a runt, I guess. He’s laying for you fellers.” “What do you mean—laying for us?” demanded Jerry. “Oh, nothing special, but I mean he was always picking on you, wasn’t he?” “That’s right,” admitted Bob Baker. “But he’d better not try it any more. I’ll tell him where he gets off.” “The same here,” echoed Ned. The puncture having been repaired, Andy hastened back in the small car he had so unceremoniously borrowed to go to the fire. “See you later,” he called. “Watch out for Noddy—bad egg—Jack Pender, too—don’t tell Bachman I had a puncture—what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him—anyhow, it’s mended—maybe there’ll be another fire this afternoon —give me a ride in your new car, Bob—see you later—good-by—whoop!” “Thank goodness, he’s gone!” murmured Jerry, as he and his chums entered the big machine, having said good-by to [25] [26] [27] [28] those whom they had helped. Bill Cromley waved to the boys as he limped about helping his sister salvage things from the burned kitchen. “Come and see me again before you start for Thunder Mountain,” he urged, and the boys promised. The three rode about a bit and then started for town. It was just their luck, as Ned said later, to meet Noddy Nixon and his crony. Jerry was trying his hand on the new car when, as he swung around a corner, he had to jam on quickly the four- wheel brakes to avoid running down two young men who suddenly, and without looking to see if the way was clear, stepped from the curb. “Say, you boob, what’s the idea?” angrily demanded one of the pedestrians. It was Noddy Nixon. “Think you own the whole street just because you have a new car?” sneered Jack Pender. When the two cronies saw who it was that had so nearly run them down, Noddy’s face grew red with anger. “Say you—you!” he spluttered, unable, for rage, to proceed. “Why don’t you look where you’re going when you start to cross a street?” demanded Jerry. “Don’t give me any of your talk!” fairly shouted Noddy, shaking his fist at the Motor Boys. “I’m going to have a settlement with you fellows—that’s what I’m going to do!” “A settlement? You don’t owe us anything, Noddy,” said Ned easily and with a mocking smile. “Yes, I do!” stormed the bully. “You’ve gone about telling everybody I shot myself on purpose in France. I didn’t at all. It’s untrue.” “Is it?” asked Jerry coolly. “Then you’d better take it up with the war department. They put S.I.W., meaning self- inflicted wound, up over your cot—we didn’t!” “It’s not so! It’s untrue!” shouted Noddy. “I’ll fix you for it, too! And for trying to run me down just because you have a new car!” “Drive on, Jerry,” advised Ned, in a low voice. “There’s a crowd collecting,” added Bob. Jerry let in the clutch, having shifted to first, and the auto drew away. Back on the street corner stood Noddy Nixon and his crony. “They think they’re mighty smart!” murmured Jack. “Smart! I’ll show ’em!” muttered Noddy. “I’ll get square for all the things the Motor Boys have done to me if it takes ten years! I’ll get square with them, all right!” Noddy had it firmly fixed in his mind that the Motor Boys had done their best to spread the news that he had shot himself to keep from being sent to the front during the war. He felt terribly humiliated when confronted by the facts and he was ready to do almost anything to “get square” with the boys, and especially with Jerry. CHAPTER IV OVER THE CLIFF “Well, fellows, what do you think of dad’s new car?” asked Bob of his chums, when they had finished the ride and were sitting idly in the machine before dispersing to their several homes. “Great!” declared Ned. “I wouldn’t mind owning it myself.” “You got something off your chest that time,” chuckled Jerry. “Those brakes are a whole lot better than I imagined they could be.” “They’re all right when you get used to ’em,” agreed Bob, as he felt in one pocket after another. “What you looking for?” asked Ned. “Lose something?” “I thought I had another doughnut left,” answered the stout lad, with a sigh. “But I guess we ate ’em all up. Never mind.” “You guess we ate ’em all up!” cried Jerry. “You mean you did!” For a moment neither of the others spoke, and then Jerry continued: “I think we ought to take up with Tinny’s offer, if it looks at all encouraging when we get an answer to our telegram. We may not get to be millionaires out of the gold mine, but at least it will give us something to do. And I just can’t settle [29] [30] [31] [32] down to work so soon after the big fight.” “That’s the way I feel about it,” added Ned. “I had a little talk with dad, and while he wants me to come in the store and learn the business, I’m sure he’ll let me have this summer off. We really need it after what we’ve gone through.” “Sure we do!” asserted Bob. “I guess dad will listen to reason when I tell him I’ve lost about ten pounds.” “Yes, you have!” scoffed Jerry with a laugh. “Sure I have!” declared Chunky. “Anyhow, let’s see if we can’t plan it to get a Western trip.” “Suits me,” said Ned. “I wonder if, by any chance, we could have a shot looking for that lost treasure chest of Blue Rock?” he went on. “Maybe,” said Jerry. “But it’s a pretty long chance, seems to me. If what Bill Cromley says is true there isn’t much hope in trying to locate it after all these years, when so many have failed.” “Well, then, let’s hope that Tinny’s mine will pan out better,” remarked Bob. “What you fellows going to do to- night?” he asked. “There’s going to be a moon,” said Jerry. “If you want to take us out in the new car——” “Nothing doing, pos-i-tive-ly!” exclaimed the fat lad. “Dad is going to take mother out. But there’s a pretty good movie in town. We might take that in, and then go down to the telegraph office afterward and see if any word has come from Tinny.” “Good idea—we’ll do it!” decided Jerry, and the rest agreed. It was rather hard to get interested in even a very good moving picture when the minds of the Motor Boys were so filled with visions of what might happen if they could make the Western trip. Of course nothing was definitely settled about this as yet. The matter had been broached to the respective parents soon after Jerry had received the letter from the Western miner, but at first only indifference was manifested by Mrs. Hopkins, Mr. Slade and Mr. Baker. So it was with no little impatience that the young men waited for the flashing of the last picture on the screen, after which they hurried down to the telegraph office, where they had telephoned word to hold any message that might come for them from the West. “Nothing doing, boys,” were the words the operator greeted them with as they entered. “Guess Tinny has cold feet,” remarked Ned. “Wait a minute; something’s coming in now,” the operator said, holding up his hand for silence. He listened a moment to the clicking of the ticker and then in a low voice said: “Yes, this is for you, Jerry. I’ll have it ready for you shortly.” The boys sat down to wait, the silence broken only by the click of the telegraph sounder and the tap of the typewriter keys as the operator transcribed the message. It was a long one, and when Jerry read it to his chums they let out whoops of delight. Not only did Tinny Mallison assert that there was every chance of his gold mine at Thunder Mountain proving a big winner, but he strongly urged the boys to hasten out to share in the good prospects. He added that he would send letters to their parents giving them every assurance that it would pay the boys financially and in added health to come out to Montana. “This settles it!” declared Jerry. “We’ll go!” “You said it!” chorused Ned and Bob. A few days later, following the receipt of other telegrams from Mallison, the consent of the parents was won and the Motor Boys began preparations to leave for Thunder Mountain. “I wish we could go all the way by auto,” said Jerry, when he and his chums were at his house one afternoon, talking over plans, “but I reckon it’s too much. My old boat wouldn’t stand the strain. But we can go part way by car—I’m going to sell mine, anyhow—and take a train the rest of the way.” It being out of the question to use Mr. Baker’s new machine for the trip, a compromise had to be made, and Jerry’s old, but still serviceable, auto had been selected. As he said, they could sell it when reaching Chicago, or wherever they decided to take the train. The matter of what they would carry with them was easily settled, as it was not the first trip the lads had made across country, and their experience in France was standing them in good stead. Letters had been sent to Tinny, in answer to some received by him, and it only remained now to make the last preparations and then start for Thunder Mountain. “And I hope we find it solid gold!” murmured Bob. “You don’t want much!” laughed Jerry. “What’s up—see something?” he asked Ned, who had suddenly risen from his chair and was gazing from the window. “Yes, I see something, or, rather, somebody,” murmured the department storekeeper’s son. “I wonder if I’m seeing right, though. Come here, fellows, and see if you see the same thing I do!” [33] [34] [35] [36] He pointed toward the figure of a small man hurrying along past Jerry’s house. “Isn’t that Professor Snodgrass?” demanded Ned. “It sure is!” cried Jerry. “What in the world is he doing here?” Bob wanted to know. “What does he ever do but chase bugs?” inquired Jerry. “That’s probably what he’s doing now, and he’s so interested that he forgot to stop here. Very likely he started out to pay me a visit and it has slipped his mind.” “We’d better go after him,” suggested Ned, “or he’ll keep on traveling until he wears his shoes out. Come on!” The lads hurried out of Jerry’s house, and started after the odd, little scientist who had been their instructor at Boxwood Hall. But Professor Snodgrass made such good time that he was around the corner and in a side lane before the boys were within hailing distance. “There he goes!” cried Bob. “And on the run, too!” added Ned. “He must be after a six cylinder June bug.” Indeed, Professor Snodgrass was fairly running now, and it could not be doubted, from what the boys knew of him, that he was after some creature to add to his collection of strange bugs. Suddenly the little man, as if in pursuit of a flying object, turned quickly to the left, and, as he did so, Ned cried: “He’d better watch out! That path leads to the edge of the cliff where they’ve been taking out gravel above Limestone Creek. There’s a sharp fall there, and there was a slide there last week. It’s dangerous!” “We’d better call to him,” suggested Jerry. “Hi, there, Professor Snodgrass!” he shouted, making a megaphone of his hands. “Come back! Don’t go any farther!” The boys redoubled their speed after Ned’s warning and, making a turn in the path, came in view of the little man. All unconscious of his danger, he was running straight ahead, his hat held out as though to catch a butterfly. “Come back! Come back!” cried the Motor Boys. But the professor, unheeding, ran on, and an instant later had fallen, disappearing over the edge of a cliff. “He’s gone!” gasped Bob. “Come on! Maybe we can save him!” shouted Jerry. CHAPTER V VAIN REGRETS Rushing toward the edge of the cliff, but with due regard for the danger they knew existed at the abrupt descent, the Motor Boys looked down the steep side of the place where a construction concern had been getting out gravel. It was the taking away of this material that had made a cliff where, previously, there had been but a gradual slope. Looking down to the bed of Limestone Creek, twenty feet below them, the boys caught sight of Professor Uriah Snodgrass floundering about in the water, which was quite deep. The little scientist seemed able to keep his head above the surface, but that was about all. “Come on! We’ve got to get down there!” cried Ned. “Here’s a path,” said Jerry, pointing to one a short distance off to the side of the spot where Professor Snodgrass had had his abrupt fall. Slipping, sliding, scrambling, and all but tumbling, the three boys made their way to the bottom of the cliff and to the edge of the creek, which really was a small river. By this time Professor Snodgrass had begun to help himself, having got back the breath that was knocked from him in his fall, and he was striking out for shore. In another instant Jerry had waded in, not stopping to take off any of his garments, and was pulling the little man to safety. “Why—bless my soul—why, it’s the Motor Boys!” cried the professor. “Nobody else!” exclaimed Ned. “Didn’t you hear us yelling to you to keep away from here?” asked Bob. “No, Bob, my dear boy, I didn’t hear a thing,” was the answer. “I was after a very rare specimen of a yellow-winged butterfly. I chased it to the edge of the cliff and, just as I was reaching out for it, I noticed, too late, that there was an abrupt descent. I couldn’t help myself—I went over.” [36] [37] [38] [39] “Yes, we saw you,” replied Jerry, as he helped the professor to a flat, raised rock on which he could take a seat. Jerry’s feet were making queer squidgy sounds caused by the water in his shoes. He was wet to his arm pits, but the professor had gone in over his head. “You boys didn’t see anything of that yellow-winged butterfly, did you?” asked the professor, gazing at the trio through his water-dimmed spectacles which, fortunately, had not come off. “It had blue spots.” “No, we didn’t see it,” answered Bob. “Um! Too bad! I guess it must have gotten away,” said the little bald-headed man, with a sigh. His hat had come off and was floating downstream. Ned rescued it with a long stick. “Better take off some of your things and wring the water out,” suggested Jerry, as he looked at the little puddle collecting at the feet of the professor, who sat on the rock. “This is a secluded place—nobody will see you here. You can strip down to your underwear and dry your clothes a bit. We can go to my house by a back way and no one will see us.” “Oh, do you live around here, Jerry?” asked Professor Snodgrass. “Why, of course I do—we all live here! This is Cresville!” “Is this Cresville? Well, I started out for here—I was coming to see you boys, in fact—but I didn’t know I had reached here. I got off the train because I saw a very valuable, large red butterfly fluttering about the station. I caught it, and then I wandered on after that yellow one. I chased it to the edge of the cliff and——” “Yes, we saw the rest of what happened,” put in Bob. “But better do as Jerry says, Professor.” “I will. Thank you for the suggestion.” The bald-headed little scientist began taking off his outer garments, and was down to his underclothing when he suddenly made a jump and cried: “There it is! I see the yellow butterfly! Lend me a hat, somebody!” He caught Ned’s from the head of that astonished lad and then, presenting a most ridiculous sight, Professor Snodgrass raced along the edge of the stream, following a flitting insect. “I’ve got it!” he suddenly cried, clapping the hat down over a milkweed plant, and Ned groaned as he saw the treatment to which his hat was subjected. “I’ve got it! Jerry, please bring me a specimen box from my coat. It’s waterproof and won’t be wet inside. Hurry, please!” There was no resisting the appeal of Uriah Snodgrass, and a little later, fondly gazing at the butterfly which was now enclosed in a sealed glass box containing cyanide that had instantly and painlessly put it to death, the professor walked back to his rock. Glad, indeed, were the boys that it was a secluded place, for had any one gazed at the antics of the half-clothed gentleman racing along after a yellow butterfly, no doubt the police would have been notified that a lunatic had escaped. “My, but I’m glad I caught it!” said the professor fervently, as he pressed the water from his coat and trousers. “It’s worth all the trouble it caused me. A most valuable specimen!” “How is it you aren’t at Boxwood Hall?” asked Bob, as the professor’s garments were hung about on bushes to dry in the hot sun and wind, for it was decided to let some of the moisture get out before having him put them on again....