A Strange Turn of Fate

“Let’s take Mr. Dean to the courthouse with us, Willis,” said Mr. Allen. “He is very shrewd, and we can depend on his judgment in such matters as we have before us to-day.” Willis found Mr. Dean, and in a short time they were on their way, Mr. Allen explaining to Mr. Dean the possible difficulty that had arisen in regard to the ownership of the cabin.

Upon their arrival at the courthouse, the first thing was to study a United States geological map to find the township, section lines, railroads, and streams. Then began the search through old, yellow volumes of records, one after another, each one bringing them nearer to the desired information.

“Section five, west of range sixty-seven,” read Mr. Dean. “That’s the place, boys; now we must locate an exact point in that section. You say the cabin is located on a stream and a trail. The falls are marked here;” he pointed with his pencil. “Now downstream a little; here we are, three trails marked instead of one. You came over from the railroad, didn’t you?”

“Yes, right here,” said Willis, pointing. “The cabin is where these two trails cross each other.”

In the center of the next volume, for there had been many claims located and recorded on the little stream, they found the record of a property belonging to Willis’s father and a Mr. Kieser. The record showed the date of its refiling, after the country had become a part of the Pike’s Peak Forest Reserve. The survey lines were given, but of course they could not be located on the map. Was the cabin on the property there recorded or not? Willis remembered that his mother had said not, so they pushed further into the books and came to the description of a lode claim, the corner of which, according to the record, was at the intersection of the two trails, just where the stream swings south. It was originally staked and recorded by a man named Briney as a placer claim. Six consecutive assessments were recorded, then two years later the claim was relocated by a Joseph H. Williams. Willis frowned as he made notes and took down the dates of the assessments.

“There you are,” he said despondently; “just as I thought yesterday Mr. Joseph H. Williams, my uncle, owner. Great chance of getting that cabin, isn’t there?”

“Now, hold your horses,” interrupted Mr. Dean. “Let’s finish the rest of this record. Well, that’s the strangest thing I ever heard of. His last assessment is dated last summer, August 3, 19 . This year’s work hasn’t been done yet. Why well, anyway, there must be something worth while around that cabin. ’Claim jumped and re-recorded as a lode claim August 22, 19 .’ Why, that’s the day you started on the trip to look for a cabin!”

“You are right,” exclaimed Mr. Allen. “Let’s look at the list of records filed on August 22d last.” The clerk showed them the page. It read as follows:

“Assessment on Joseph H. Williams lode claim, Cheyenne Mountain.” Then followed the description. Directly under it was the following:

“Lode claim, Buffalo Park, located by Beverly H. Pembroke, as described on page 1162.”

“The cabin then belongs, by right of relocation, to Beverly H. Pembroke,” remarked Mr. Allen, “and we are just exactly four days late. Too bad we didn’t start at this end of the trip.”

“Who is Beverly H. Pembroke?” asked Mr. Dean. No one could tell. “Well, this much is clear,” he went on: “there was some very good reason for the relocation of that claim, and it couldn’t have been for that old cabin. Men don’t locate claims to get possession of old, tumbled-down log cabins nowadays.”

“Well, there’s this much that isn’t clear,” returned Willis: “why that change was made the day we started over this route, and furthermore, how does it come that the same men worked the assessment on the two claims if they belong to different parties? No, sir, men, listen: my Uncle didn’t want that cabin in his possession at this time for some reason, so he transferred the claim to this man, Pembroke. Anyway, I’m glad it doesn’t belong to my uncle now, whether we get it for our purpose or not.”

“Now, you listen,” said Mr. Dean: “let’s go and see Mr. Pembroke at once and inquire about it. He can’t do more than throw us out, and it might be he’d be tickled to let us have the cabin. Every hundred dollars’ worth of work done on that property, whether it’s mine, trail, dam, or housework, is equal to an assessment. If we remodel the house and use it, he can buy the property or, as they say, ‘prove up’ on it. What do you say? I believe we can make a bargain.”

“It’s a go!” cried Mr. Allen. “I was sure we would need your brains for this job, Mr. Dean. Let’s go right now.” They looked up the desired gentleman in the directory, then started for his office.

“Cheer up, old boy,” cried Mr. Allen as he slapped Willis on the back. “Here’s where we win, uncle or no uncle. Isn’t that right, Mr. Dean?”

“You feel too confident,” returned Willis. “I see the game. You don’t. Mr. Beverly H. Pembroke will politely refuse any offer. My uncle has coached him on what to say to any inquiries. See if I’m not right!”

“You haven’t a very good opinion of that uncle of yours, have you?” said Mr. Dean. “I don’t see why he should be so vitally interested in keeping you away from an old cabin. I think you imagine things, boy.”

“You know some things are true that you can’t see,” tersely replied Willis. “You can’t see a pain in your stomach, but you can feel it and it tells you something is wrong. It’s just the same in this case. I can’t see it, but I know something is wrong, and the next thing for us to do is to get our heads together and find out the causes. We’re interested in the causes.”

Mr. Beverly H. Pembroke sat idly in his office. His feet were hoisted up on the window sill, his straw hat tipped far back on his head, while a long, slender cigar was held between his teeth. He was decidedly an Englishman, and a very nervous, fidgety one at that. As the three entered he got to his feet and inquired concerning their wants.

“Log cabin Buffalo Park Lode claim located August 22d.” He puffed meditatively at his cigar, endeavoring to focus his thoughts on the matter before him. A frown clouded his face, then suddenly disappeared.

“Why-a, yes, ba Jove, this ’ot weather ’as nearly set me crazy. My brains ’ave been bemuddled all day, don’t you know. Ba Jove, I most forgot that new claim. Yes, yes, and you want ’ow many shares?”

Mr. Allen looked at Mr. Dean and smiled. “You do the talking,” he said.

“Well, it’s like this,” said Mr. Dean. Then he laid his proposition before the Englishman, who puffed away on his cigar and listened in silence. “Sorry, very sorry, gentlemen,” he began, “but I ’ave just arranged with a party to ’old that site for a summer ’otel or a fruit farm, or some such a thing, don’t you know. Sorry, beastly sorry, though, because I ’ave to refuse you.”

Mr. Allen looked at Mr. Dean, a great disappointment showing on his face. He turned to Willis, who was standing in the background. The boy was squinting out between half-closed eyelids and his fists were clenched hard at his sides. He was gazing steadfastly at the floor. Suddenly he looked up at Mr. Allen, then shoved himself behind the railing that separated them from the Englishman and spoke in clearcut tones.

“Mr. Pembroke ” The little Englishman batted his eyes nervously and straightened noticeably. He was all attention in a second. Willis looked him straight in the eye and continued: “I don’t suppose you know who I am, at least you don’t appear to. I hate to ask favors of any man, or take undue advantage of any one, but in this instance I feel that I have just a little claim upon your attention and your consideration.” Mr. Allen looked at Mr. Dean in utter astonishment.

“Very early this spring you and I were fellow passengers on a D. & P.W. train coming to Colorado Springs. Do you remember? That train was wrecked on a stormy afternoon by the splintering of the rails, which caused a collision with a heavy freight. It was my pleasure at that time to save the life of your little son.”

“Ba Jove,” murmured the Englishman, as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “It was a deucedly nasty business. I’m very pleased to meet you again, Mr. a a

“Thornton,” said Mr. Allen.

“Mr. Thornton, and

“Never mind that,” continued Willis. “All I have to say is that I would count it a very great favor, personally, if you could see your way clear to let us have the use of that cabin for an Association camp, until such time as you are ready to build or make other improvements there.”

“Why a yes, I’ll be pleased to do that,” returned Mr. Pembroke confusedly. “Deucedly glad to ’ave a chance to serve you, don’t you know. Now, just what is your plan again, gentlemen?”

The plan was carefully gone over, this time with Willis as spokesman. Mr. Pembroke listened carefully till he had finished, then he replied, “Ba Jove, I like the idea, it ’as points to it. I’d like to furnish the necessary lumber for the desired addition myself. It will be a deucedly comfortable ’ome for the boys. You know it was the Association boys that returned my dog to me.”

Before leaving his office, a three years’ lease was arranged for and everything looked lovely. What was more, the addition could be started at once.

“Well, by the Great Horn Spoon!” ejaculated Mr. Dean when they were well outside. “You are a wonder! That is what I call nerve. Now tell me all about it.”

“Bah!” replied Willis, “I hated to do it, but I had to. I was going to ask the old boy what Mr. Williams would say to him, but I thought better of it. To-night is when I have my fun. I’ll tell my uncle about our deal and watch him squirm. I wonder if he’ll get mad. I can tell by the way he acts if this recording business was a put-up job. There still remains the question, though why does he want to keep me away from that cabin? It has something to do with my father’s old mine, I’m sure of that much; and I’ll find out, you see if I don’t.”

The evening papers gave a glowing account of the interest of Mr. Beverly H. Pembroke in the new Y.M.C.A. cabin project, and gave the plan of work. A circus was already being planned to raise funds for the building, and a stock company had been organized among the boys of the Boys’ Department to furnish funds with which to begin work at once. Work would be started the next Saturday. The stockholders and some others would go to the cabin on Friday evening, camp around a fire all night, and be ready to begin work in the morning. After supper that evening Willis had a long chat with his mother, and talked over with her all the things that had been disturbing him in regard to his uncle’s recent actions.

“I think you must surely be mistaken,” she said. “What object could he have in doing such things. You must remember that you have a very vivid imagination, and you must watch it.”

“No, mother, it is not imagination, for this is how I know this time: Didn’t you see how red and nervous he got when I told him what Mr. Pembroke had agreed to do. Right after supper he left for down town without a word. I don’t know what it is, but there is some fact relative to father’s death that he has never told us. If we could only find Tad, I’m sure he could help us out. I’m going to find father’s mine, though, and it’s not so very far from that cabin, either. Mother, isn’t it wonderful that we are going to have the very old house that father built so long ago? After I find the mine, I’ll find out about its worth; but it can’t be worth so very much or Tad would never have left it. If the tunnel is still locked up like you said Tad wrote it was, why, we can’t get into it. It belongs to Tad. Perhaps it will never be opened. Mother, some day when you have a chance, talk with Uncle Joe and see what you can find out. Father might have left keys and information concerning the mine with him.”

“No, son, he wouldn’t have keys, because it was Tad that locked up the tunnel. It is Tad that has the keys. But listen, don’t worry over it a bit or build any false hopes on it. School will open in a week, and I want you to take advantage of all it can give you. We’ll be here until Christmas, anyway, I think, unless Aunt Lucy should slip away before that time.”

“I wonder what uncle would say to me if I asked him about Tad when he comes home tonight. I think that’s what I’ll do.”

About nine o’clock he heard the heavy footsteps of his uncle on the veranda, and in another moment heard him in the hall. After hanging up his hat and coat, he came into the library, picked up the Evening Telegraph, and began to read, entirely ignoring Willis. After they had sat thus silently for some minutes, Willis spoke:

“Uncle, did you ever know a man named Tad Kieser, who was a great friend of my father’s?” The man moved uneasily in his chair, but, without looking up from his paper, he inquired of the boy what he knew of Tad Kieser.

“Not much, to be sure,” returned the boy, half sadly, “only what mother has told me about him; but I’d like to know more. I think he must have been a very interesting old character, wasn’t he?”

“An old devil and a cut-throat,” retorted Mr. Williams. “You couldn’t count on him to be square even to his own mother. A sly old fox always on the hunt.”

“That’s very strange,” replied Willis. “He surely was not that sort of a man or my father never would have chosen him for a partner. You surely must be mistaken.” “Your father didn’t have enough dealings with him to find him out; that was all. I know him.”

“Tell me about some of the awful deeds he has committed if he is such a fox,” questioned Willis. “I’ve always thought him absolutely square. I’ve heard he was the finest man in these mountains, years ago.”

“Who told you any such rot? I have enough circumstantial evidence against him to put him behind the bars right now,” growled the uncle.

“Evidence along what lines, Uncle?” persisted Willis.

“Blackmail!” snorted Williams. “What difference does it make to you, anyway? He would be a capital fellow to join in on such an absurdly foolish scheme as you are just about to pull off at the Y.M.C.A. now. Going into somebody else’s property and absorbing its benefits to yourselves. That’s his scheme exactly. He watches my mining claims like a hawk, and if my assessments should be a day late he’d jump my claims. He hates me.”

“What did you ever do to make him hate you?” innocently inquired Willis.

Again Mr. Williams ignored the question and went on: “He’d just love to work on that old cabin again.”

“I should think that cabin would interest him,” calmly replied Willis. “I only wish he was here to join us, for I’d rather know him than any man I can think of just now. A man who builds a house ought to know how best to build onto it, hadn’t he? Personally, I think he must have been a very clever old miner and as true as steel.”

“Yes, true to his own interests.”

“It takes two to make a fight, though, doesn’t it? By the way, Uncle, why did you let that sapheaded Englishman jump your claim last week? I should think you’d hate him for such tricks as you do Tad?” Willis eyed his uncle closely, then in a half undertone he casually remarked, “Anyway, I think a whole lot of this mining business is mighty crooked business.” Then again to his uncle, “Is Tad still around in the mountains somewhere, Uncle?”

Mr. Williams smiled in a preoccupied way and said, “Yes and no.”

“I don’t understand?” questioned Willis.

There was no reply. Soon the man laid down his paper and left the room.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” said Willis half-aloud. “What can he have against the man who was my father’s partner? I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” He closed his book with a slam and went off to bed.

The last Friday night of the summer vacation saw a large group of husky high school boys board the car en route to the cabin. All were equipped with blanket rolls, and several carried picks, shovels, and other tools, for “to-morrow” real work on the cabin was to begin. It seemed that the coloring of the leaves had given everything their delicate tint. The squirrels were already gathering stray acorns that Mother Nature had dropped for them. The little canyon lay in perfect quiet, except for the chattering of the line of boys stretched out along its leafy woodland trail. The whole physical body seemed to respond in a mysterious way to its every call, for “In the city we live, but in the mountains we live more abundantly.”

By eleven o’clock the party sat around a half-dozen blazing campfires, munching at a midnight lunch and speculating on various phases of the work. Ham was keeping the fellows around one fire laughing over his remarks; Fat was giving expression to his views on camp grub and food in general. Mr. Dean entertained another group by his stories of army life, while Mr. Allen and a number of the boys’ Cabinet were laying out a plan of work for the morrow. Shorty Wier advised work on the fireplace first, because, as he pointed out, “the fireplace would be the cabin’s heart.” It might have fine decorations and new rooms, a well-stocked pantry and new furniture, yet what would all these be to a dead thing? The fireplace would be the spot around which all the cabin life would congregate around which every strange experience would be put into words. “Yes, I’ll help cut the logs and pack in the lumber and build the furniture, but first of all let me see the rugged stone chimney with a fire quietly burning on a great, wide, friendly hearth to cheer me as I work.”

“You are right, Shorty,” cried Willis. “I’m with you, for when the old fireplace is built, and the wind is whistling down the canyon, bringing messages of snow, we’ll forget everything outside and just be happy toasting before a great log fire.”

And so the night slipped along. After a while they began to drowse, until one by one the little groups became quiet and fell asleep. Only the glowing, flickering pine knots stayed awake to watch the tired sleepers.

The first streak of dawn found the fellows up and eager for work; besides, there was so much to see and learn before the day’s work was begun. The remains of the midnight lunches were drawn out of their hiding places and eagerly devoured. The fragrant smell of broiling bacon and the delicious aroma of campfire coffee filled the air. The pine-scented smoke from the campfire hung low in the valley, and every sound carried plainly in the morning air. The squirrels were out in great numbers and at their morning play, while every now and then the harsh, rasping cry of a bewildered bluejay would float up the canyon.

The stone crew were strung out in skirmish order across the front of the high ridge and were rolling down every loose stone. Some came with a merry hop, skip, and jump; others with a shower of gravel and a crash as they struck the bottom. One great stone leaped into the top of a spruce tree and stuck fast. Another jumped over the great boulder at the base of the hill and rattled into the open door of the cabin. Still another dashed in mad frenzy down the slope, through the alders and into the stream, throwing spray in every direction. So the pile steadily grew.

In the afternoon the cabin was cleaned out and a part of the back porch demolished, ready for the new addition. It had been decided to build a room eight by twenty-eight feet, and in it lay one great balsam-bough mattress. Under Ham’s direction the aerial bunk was begun, and it very soon showed signs of being built by a master builder. It was what might be termed “rustic,” as Ham said. Logs from the woodpile were substituted for the rotting ones in the floor of the bridge. A great pile of brush, twigs, and trash were set afire and destroyed. So the day slipped away all too quickly. Four o’clock found a group of royal good fellows again on the trail that trail that was soon to become so dear to every one of them. Their muscles were tired with unselfish work, and their minds and hearts were full of the joy of living. There was already something of the great social bond that was later to tie their lives together for all time with a cord of pleasant memories.

Ham had fastened his blanket to a nail away up in the topmost rafter of the cabin, and here he left it for another time.

“Where your blanket is, there will your heart be also, sometimes,” he quoted as they took the trail that led down out of the wilderness.