it looked pretty much to me like we were giving up—sort of deserting the ship. there we had been where we could actually see uncle and jiggins and collins, and we were going some place else. it seemed as if getting down off that roof and losing sight of them was about the same thing as running away. but then i looked at mark. his chin stuck out like the cow-catcher on an engine. if i was going to draw a picture of determination i’d have it look just like mark did then. that was a little comfort.
“we got to hurry,” says i, sort of nervous-like.
“hurry where?” says mark, with just the commencement of a grin.
well, there i was. i hadn’t any more idea what we ought to do than the man in the moon.
mark started through the yard for the street. we climbed the first fence and that took us back of a hardware store—an area full of boxes and crates and all sorts of rubbish. we had to pick our way up close to the building. as we passed the door i saw mark stop and stoop down. when he got up there was a coil of old half-inch rope in his hands—and he was grinning. i could see in a minnit he’d got his idea.
“wait a s-s-second,” says he, and he hurried into the store and up to a man standing by the counter.
“l-l-lemme take this r-rope,” he stuttered, all out of breath. “i need it b-bad. bring it back s-s-sure.” you never heard such stuttering!
“say that over ag’in, young feller,” says the man.
“i want to b-b-borrow this rope,” spluttered mark, getting sort of mad.
the man grinned. “that there’s a perty valuable rope,” he said. “i dun’no’s i got a more valuable piece’n that. i’m right down proud of that rope, i am. don’t no-ways calc’late to lose it. got any security, young feller?”
in a second mark had out his watch, snapped it off his chain, and laid it down on the counter.
“there,” says he, and fairly ran out of the store with the rope in his hand. he went out the front door, and i after him.
“now what?” i asked.
he didn’t say a word, but just began coiling that rope as careful as if it was made of solid gold and he was afraid of scratching it. and all the time uncle hieronymous was in that room with those two men. by this time, maybe, they had his mine all taken away from him.
“hurry!” says i. “hurry! hurry!”
“don’t do to h-hurry too much,” says he. “slow and careful. take no chances.”
by this time his rope was all coiled, and he began making a little loop in one end—a little loop about two inches long.
“what’s that?” i asked, too anxious to keep still. it made me almost crazy to see him so deliberate.
he didn’t answer, but just doubled the rope a ways from the noose and shoved it through the little loop. then i saw. he was making a lasso.
it sort of disgusted me, for i couldn’t see what good in the world a lasso could do, but he seemed satisfied. he made his noose just the right size to suit him and stretched it and put his foot in it to pull out all the crinkles.
“there,” says he, just like he’d been trying to invent an airship and it had turned out to suit him. “now,” says he to me, “listen c-careful and don’t make any mistakes.”
“go ahead,” says i.
“we’re going to the st-st-stairs where collins is,” says he. “when we g-get there you start to go up. stamp with your feet and m-make a lot of noise. as soon as collins sees you, begin to m-make fun of him. get him mad! get him awful mad!”
“fine!” says i. “and let him catch me and give me a wallopin’, too, i expect.”
“no,” says mark. “make him ch-ch-chase you.”
“great!” i says, sarcastic-like.
“make him chase you,” he repeated, “and be sure to turn this way. remember, turn this way. be sure he’s so mad he’ll chase you.”
“well,” says i, “i don’t see any sense to it, but maybe you know what you’re up to with your chases and your lasso and one thing and another. here goes!”
i started for the stairs, leaving mark standing close to a telephone-pole with his lasso in his hand. when i turned in the doorway i saw collins at the head of the stairs with his back turned. i stamped on the first step. quick as a wink he turned around.
“git out of there,” says he.
“peanuts,” says i, aggravating-like, and took another step up.
“binney,” says collins, “don’t go making any monkey-shines. go on away before i have to spank you.”
“huh!” i says. “spank! a-a-aw!”
he began to look cross, and i went up two more steps, ready, you can bet, to turn and run just the minnit he looked like he was after me.
“don’t be sassy, binney,” collins says. “it isn’t becoming to small boys.”
i went up another step. he started to come down, but not fast. i could see he wasn’t real good and mad yet, so i didn’t run. then i had an idea myself. it isn’t very often i get one, so i want credit for this. i remembered that i had a few bits of gravel in my pocket—round pebbles i’d figured on using some day in my sling-shot. i reached for one and shot it at collins just like you shoot a marble. it went whizz past his ear.
now that would make anybody mad, wouldn’t it—to have a kid shooting pebbles at him? he said something sharp. i shot another pebble, and it hit his hat. at that he let out a yell—a mad yell—and jumped for me.
maybe you think i didn’t get down those stairs quick. i don’t remember touching my feet at all. seems like i made it in one leap and lit running. collins was right at my heels, and i could almost feel his hand on my collar. i was scairt, all right, but i didn’t forget to turn the way mark told me to. in a second i scudded past him where he stood by the telephone-pole holding his lasso. as i passed i saw him begin to twirl the noose.
then i heard collins say something that sounded like, “wo-oo-of!” only louder and more surprised; and there was a scrape and a scuffle. i grabbed a hitching-post and stopped sudden. there was collins in a heap on the sidewalk, with the lasso around his body and one arm, and mark giving the rope a turn around his post and pulling like all-git-out.
“q-quick!” he stuttered. “up-stairs.”
i understood then and dived for the stairway. mark gave another jerk on the lasso, sprawling collins over, and came after me. up we went, making a clatter like a runaway team crossing a wooden bridge. we were pretty nearly at the top before collins got loose and reached the bottom.
the way was clear before us to the door of the lawyer’s office where uncle hieronymous was, but collins was coming fast. he came up so fast his feet on the stairs sounded like he was playing a snare-drum. but he couldn’t catch us. there was only thirty feet to go, and it was plain running. we ran!
and then! when we were not more than six feet from that door it opened and out stepped jiggins!
maybe he’d heard the racket, maybe he wanted a breath of air—i don’t know what brought him, but there he was. he was no slow thinker, either. one glance showed him what was up, showed him collins’s head just coming into sight. his mouth set, and he plunged for mark, who was at my side, made a grab at him with one hand and at me with the other.
he got mark, but missed me. i stopped up and then dove at his legs just like i was playing football. he and mark went down with a bang, and collins, who was coming a mile a minute, went sprawling over them. in the scrimmage i got hold of one leg of jiggins’s and one of collins’s and held on. i couldn’t see, because somebody rolled on top of me.
next thing i knew i heard something rip, and saw mark squirm and roll away toward the door. he was heavy and fat, but you should have seen how he got to his feet! then he fairly dived at the door. it banged open, and he went down, rolling over and over on the floor right up to uncle hieronymous’s feet.
he went down, rolling over and over right up to uncle hieronymous’s feet
uncle hieronymous yelled, “woosh!” frightened-like, and jumped up on his feet.
mark didn’t wait to get up; he just laid there and hollered as loud as he could.
“don’t s-s-sell it! don’t have anything to d-do with ’em. they’re—”
at that collins, mad as the very dickens, got into the room and started to go for mark. uncle didn’t know very clear what was going on, but he did know there was a man looking like he didn’t mean anything friendly to a boy, so what does he do but step spry over mark and take holt of collins. i hadn’t any idea uncle was so strong. why, he put his hands under collins’s arms and just naturally lifted him up into the air.
“stiddy! stiddy, there!” he says, mild-like. “what’s this here, eh? what’s all this rollin’ and plungin’ and rampagin’ around?” he sort of grinned friendly into collins’s face, still holdin’ him in the air.
by that time mark was up, and i got into the room, with jiggins at my heels. i stole a look at jiggins, and he sure did look queer—he looked beaten.
mark looked at him too. “you’re beat, mr. jiggins,” says he. “you’re b-b-beat.”
jiggins never said a word. then uncle hieronymous put collins down on his feet.
“easy, now,” he told him. “stand without hitchin’, mister.” then he turned to mark and me. “what in tunket be you boys doin’ here?” he asked, looking puzzled and sort of vague. “didn’t i leave you back to baldwin, eh? didn’t i?”
“have you signed anything?” asked mark.
“nary thing,” says uncle hieronymous.
“hurray!” says mark, and i joined in.
“what’s all this rumpus about?” uncle asked, wagging his head and tugging at his mustache.
jiggins pushed past me and tried to speak, but uncle looked at him queer-like, and says:
“mister, i guess you better let this here boy talk a spell. seems like i’m hankerin’ to hear him worse’n i be you.”
“but—” says jiggins.
“i don’t want to speak to you noways but kind,” says uncle, beginning to frown a little, “but it runs in my head you been up to somethin’, mister. now you jest keep still till marcus tidd gits in his say.”
jiggins remembered how uncle had hoisted collins, and didn’t say another word. as for the lawyer-man, he was edging toward the door.
“well?” says uncle hieronymous.
then we told him, each of us trying to talk at once. we told him everything from the beginning. we described how we got suspicious of collins, and how we found the letter and the telegram, and what we overheard on the lake, and how we escaped from the cabin, and all about our race down the river.
uncle kept saying “oh!” and “ah!” and “goodness gracious!” and grunting like he was astonished most out of his head.
“a mine!” says he, when we were through. “copper! um! who’d ’a’ thought it? not me. nor alfred. hain’t that fine, now? i’m happy, eh? alfred’s happy. marthy and mary’ll be happy.” for a minnit he didn’t say a word; then he turned to collins and jiggins, and you wouldn’t believe how dignified he looked in that minnit. “and,” says he, gentle-like, but accusingly, “you tried to git it away from me for three hundred dollars. i hadn’t never done you no despite, had i? no. then why did you fellers try to do this? don’t seem noways decent nor christian to act like you done. i guess,” he says, sorry-like, “that i don’t want to talk to you no more. come on, boys. let’s go away from here.”
we went out of the door and left jiggins & co. standing there. i looked back. they looked ashamed. yes, sir; ashamed is the word. they weren’t looking at each other at all, but at the floor. somehow i felt ashamed for them. i didn’t say a word to them, nor did mark.
when we got out into the street uncle stopped and grabbed his leg between his thumb and finger and pinched it good.
“’tain’t no nightmare, is it?” he asked. “them men was there, and there is a mine, eh? no mistake?”
“there’s a mine,” says mark, “and it’s worth a l-l-lot of money.”
“to be sure,” says uncle hieronymous. “mines generally is. well, well! who’d ’a’ thought it? copper under that ol’ forty. marcy me! what had i best do? i dun’no’ what to do about it.”
“see a good lawyer,” says mark. “he’ll know.”
“dun’no’ any lawyer,” says uncle hieronymous.
mark slapped his leg. “i know one,” says he, “and he’s one you can t-t-trust, too. name’s macmillan. we met him fishin’ b-b-back of your house.”
i remembered him right off and knew in a second he’d be a good man to go to.
“come on,” says mark. “let’s find him.”
so off we went looking for mr. macmillan. uncle made up another poem as we went along:
“i never seen sich a surprise;
it most knocks out a feller’s eyes.”
i expect it did pretty nearly surprise him to death.
