Part 30 (1/2)
”'Sall the same,” shrugged Obed Pence. ”Le's ride down an' get a couple o' drinks, an' then I'll fog it down to Lime Rock with ye. T'h.e.l.l with Digger Foss an' his orderin' me 'round!”
They rode away in silence, winding their way down into Clinker Creek Canon when a mile or more below the forty acres of Oliver Drew. They dismounted at Sulphur Spring and pushed through the growth surrounding it.
Only a little water now remained in the clay-lined reservoir. The protruding end of the three-quarter-inch pipe was now plainly visible, eight inches above the surface of the tiny pool.
”Just think,” Obed Pence observed: ”That pipe's took water down the canon for us for years; and s'long's the pool was full o' water n.o.body ever found the end of it here. At least they never let on they did. An'
now comes this Drew an' puts the kibosh on everything! I'll tell a man I'm gettin' sore about it, Chuck. I want my booze, and I want my share o' what we could get out of it. I'm bettin' Standard'll be wild when he learns Old Man won't distil any more.”
”Can't,” corrected Chuck.
”Can't, eh? Who's stoppin' 'im? Drew, that's who, and n.o.body else! And he won't send Drew over the hills talkin' to 'imself, like he's done to many a better man before 'im. I'm sore, I tell you. And I'm gonta find out what's doin', or know the reason why.”
”Le's get clay an' cover the end o' the pipe,” suggested Chuck. ”Some deer hunter's likely to see it if we don't, now that the water's pretty near gone.”
They solemnly administered this rite in remembrance of dead days, and rode on down the canon single-file.
Over three-quarters of a mile from the spring they left their horses in the creek bottom and clambered up a steep slope, slipping on the polished pine needles underfoot. Near the summit the trees thinned, and heavy chaparral usurped the land. On hands and knees they plunged into it, and presently were crawling on their stomachs over an unmarked route.
In the heart of the chaparral they came suddenly upon a circular opening made by the hand of man. Here was a high ledge of schist, and under it a small cave. Gra.s.s grew here, for the spot marked the other end of the pipe line from Sulphur Spring, and the water that had represented the spring's overflow had trickled out to cool the copper coil of the Poison Oakers' still, incidentally refres.h.i.+ng the barren land.
The pipe line represented a great amount of toil and patience, but, as the pipe had been stolen from a railroad s.h.i.+pment, no great outlay of funds. Clinker Creek Canon dipped so steadily below Sulphur Spring that it had been possible to lay the pipe to this hidden spot in the heart of the chaparral, far up on the hillside, and still maintain a goodly fall for the flow of water.
Only by crawling flat on his face could one reach this secluded rendezvous; and in all the years that they had made mola.s.ses rum here the Poison Oakers had not been disturbed. Not even a hunter would find it necessary to penetrate this fastness. Men would have laughed if told that water was flowing up here on the dry, rocky eminence.
Before the cave's mouth was an adobe furnace for the fire, and over it the now dry end of the pipe hung uselessly. The still was removable, and was now in the cave, together with distilled stock on hand and kegs of mola.s.ses that had been packed into the canon on burros' backs, then trundled laboriously up into the chaparral.
Chuck and Obed entered the open cave and sat themselves down beside a barrel with a wooden spigot. They found gla.s.ses and wiped soil and cobwebs from them with their thumbs, and soon the water-coloured liquor flowed to the temporary gladdening of their hearts.
But as it flowed again and again they began renewing their grievances, and shook their heads over ”the good old days,” and mouthed vague threats, and forgot all about Lime Rock and the breachy cow.
In the midst of their maudlin conversation Obed Pence heard a sound, despite his rum-dulled sensibilities.
”Cut it out!” he husked. ”Somebody's beatin' it in here.”
He lay flat in the mouth of the cave and looked down the hillside under the chaparral.
”Old Man and Bolar,” he announced.
”Le's get out an' beat it over the hill, and back down to our _caballos_--and they won't know we been here,” Chuck suggested.
”Huh! Not me!” retorted Pence. ”They already seen our horses, I'll bet.
Anyway, I'm liquored up just right to tell Old Man how the war broke out. I'm glad he's comin'. I'm gonta know what's what right p.r.o.nto!”
CHAPTER XX
”WAIT!”
For over an hour Oliver Drew was obliged to lie flat at the bottom of the shallow prospect hole, while Foss remained astride the limb of the digger pine and Tommy My-Ma kept hidden under the pile of brush.