Meg of Mystery Mountain

Gerald leaped to his feet when he heard the summons. Then, when he grasped the fact that they were nearly at their destination, he gave a whoop of joy.

“Hurry up, Julie,” he shook his still sleeping young sister. “We are ’most to Mystery Mountain, and, Oh, boy, what jolly fun we’re going to have.”

Half an hour later, Mr. Packard and the young Abbotts stood on a platform watching the departing train. Then they turned to gaze about them. It surely was a desolate scene. The low log depot was the only building in sight, and, closing in about them on every side were silent, dark, fir-clad mountains that looked bold and stern in the chill gray light of early dawn. Jane shuddered. How tragically far away from civilization, from the gay life she so enjoyed – all this seemed.

The station master, a native grown too old for more active duty, shuffled toward them, chewing tobacco in a manner that made his long gray beard move sideways. His near-sighted eyes peered through his brass-rimmed spectacles, but, when he recognized one of the new arrivals, he grinned broadly. In a high, cracked voice he exclaimed: “Wall, if ’tain’t Silas Packard home again from the East. Glad to git back to God’s country, ain’t you now, Si? Brought a parcel of young folks along this trip? Wall, I don’t wonder at it. Your big place is sort o’ lonesome wi’ no wimmin folks into it. What? You don’ mean to tell me these here are Dan Abbott’s kids! Wall, wall. How-de-do? Did I know yer pa? Did I know Danny Abbott? I reckon I was the furst man in these here parts that did know him. He come to my camp, nigh to the top of Redfords’ Peak, the week he landed here from college.” The old man took off his bearskin cap and scratched his head. “Nigh onto twenty-five year, I make it. Yep, that’s jest what ’twas. That’s the year we struck the payin’ streak over t’other side of the mountain, and folks flocked in here thicker’n buzzards arter a dead sheep. Yep, that’s the year the Crazy Creek Camp sprung up, and that’s how yer pa come to buy where he did.”

Then, encouraged by the interest exhibited by at least three of the young people, the old man continued:

“The payin’ streak, where the camp was built, headed straight that way, and I sez to him, sez I – ‘Dan Abbott,’ sez I, ‘If I was you I’d use the money I’d fetched to get aholt of that 160 acres afore it’s nabbed by these rich folks that’s tryin’ to grab all the mines,’ sez I. ‘That’s what I’d do.’ And so Dan tuk it, but as luck would have it, that vein petered out to nothin’ an’ I allays felt mighty mean, havin’ Dan stuck that way wi’ so much land an’ no gold on it, but he sez to me, ‘Gabby,’ that’s my name; ‘Gabby,’ sez he, ‘don’ go to feelin’ bad about it, not one mite. That place is jest what I’ve allays wanted. When a fellow’s tired out, there’s nothin’ so soothin’,’ sez he, ‘as a retreat,’ that’s what he called it, ‘a retreat in the mountains.’ But he didn’t need 160 acres to retreat on, so he let go all but ten. He’d built a log cabin on it that had some style, not jest a shack like the rest of us miners run up, then Dan went away for a spell – but by and by he come back.” The old man’s leathery face wrinkled into a broad smile. “An’ he didn’t come back alone! I reckon you young Abbotts know who ’twas he fetched back with him. It was the purtiest gal ’ceptin’ one that I ever laid eyes on. You’re the splittin’ image of the bride Danny brought.” The small blue eyes that were almost hidden under shaggy gray brows turned toward Jane. “Yep, you look powerful like your ma.”

But Jane had heard only one thing, which was that even this garrulous old man knew one other person whom he considered more beautiful. How she wanted to ask the question, but there was no time, for “Gabby” never hesitated except to change the location of his tobacco quid or to do some long distance expectorating.

Turning to Mr. Packard, he began again: “Meg Heger’s took to comin’ down to Redfords school ag’in. She’s packin’ a gun now. That ol’ sneakin’ Ute is still trailin’ her. I can’t figger out what he wants wi’ her. The slinkin’ coyote! She ain’t got nothin’ but beauty, and Indians ain’t so powerful set on that. Thar sure sartin is a mystery somewhere.”

The old man stopped talking to peer through near-sighted eyes at the canon road.

“I reckon here’s the stage coach,” he told them, “late, like it allays is. If ’tain’t the ho’ses as falls asleep on the way, then it’s Sourface his self. Si, do yo’ mind the time when the stage was a-goin’ down the Toboggan Grade – ”

It was quite evident that Gabby was launched on another long yarn, but Mr. Packard laughingly interrupted, placing a kindly hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“Tell us about that at another time, Gab,” he said. “We’re eager to get to the town and have some breakfast.”

He picked up Jane’s satchel and Dan’s also, and led the way to the edge of the platform, where an old-fashioned stage was waiting. Four white horses stood with drooping heads and on the high seat another old man was huddled in a heap as though he felt the need of seizing a few moments’ rest before making the return trip to Redfords.

“They have just come up the steep Toboggan Grade,” Mr. Packard said by way of explanation. “That’s why the horses look tired.”

Then in his cheerful way he shouted: “Hello, there, Wallace. How goes it?”

The man on the seat sat up and looked down at the passengers with an expression so surly on his leathery countenance that it was not hard for the young people to know why he had been given his nickname, but he said nothing, nor was there in his eyes a light of recognition. With a grunt, which might have been intended as a greeting, he motioned them to get into the lower part of the stage, which they did.

Then he jerked at the reins and the horses came to life and started back the way they had so recently come. Gabby had followed them to the edge of the platform, and as far as the Abbotts could make out, he was still telling them the story which Mr. Packard had interrupted.

“How cold it is!” Julie shivered as she spoke and cuddled close to Dan. He smiled down at her and then said:

“Mr. Packard, this is wonderful air, so crisp and invigorating. I feel better already. Honestly, I’ll confess now, the last two days on the train I feared you would have to carry me off when we got here, but now” – the lad paused and took a long breath of the mountain air – “I feel as though I had been given a new lease on life.”

The older man laid a bronzed hand on the boy’s sleeve.

“Dan,” he said, “you have. When you leave here in three months you’ll be as well as I am, and that’s saying a good deal.”

Then the lad surprised Jane by exclaiming: “Perhaps I won’t want to leave. There’s a fascination to me about all this.”

He waved his free arm out toward the mountains. “And your native characters, Mr. Packard, interest me exceedingly. You see,” Dan smilingly confessed, “my ambition is to become a writer. I would like to put ‘Gabby’ into a story.”

Mr. Packard’s eyes brightened. “Do it, Dan! Do it!” he said with real enthusiasm. “Personally I can’t write a line, not easily, but I have real admiration for men who can, and I am a great reader. Come over soon and see my library.”

Then he cautioned: “I told you to write, but don’t begin yet. Not until you are stronger. Stay outdoors for a time, boy. Climb to the rim rock, take notes, and then later, when you are strong, you will find them of value.”

While they had been talking, the stage had started down a steep, narrow canon. The mountain walls on both sides were almost perpendicular, and for a time nothing else was to be seen. It was more than a mile in length, and they could soon see the valley opening below them.

“Redfords proper,” Mr. Packard smilingly told them as he nodded in that direction. “It is not much of a metropolis.”

The young Abbotts looked curiously ahead, wondering what the town would be like.

CHAPTER XI

REDFORDS

“Is that all there is to the town of Redfords?” Jane gasped when the stage, leaving Toboggan Grade, reached a small circular valley which was apparently surrounded on all sides by towering timber-covered mountains. A stream of clear, sparkling water rushed and swirled on its way through the narrow, barren, rock-strewn lowland. The rocks, the very dust of the road, were of a reddish cast.

“That road yonder climbs your mountain in a zig-zag fashion, and then circles around it to the old abandoned mining camp.” Then to Gerald, he said: “Youngster, if you’re pining for mystery, that’s where you ought to find one. That deserted mining camp always looks to me as though it must have a secret, perhaps more than one, that it could tell and will not.”

“Ohee!” squealed Julie. “How interesting! Gerry and I are wild to find a mystery to unravel. Why do you think that old mining camp has secrets, Mr. Packard?”

Smiling at the little girl’s eagerness, the rancher replied: “Because it looks so deserted and haunted.” Then to Dan, “You heard what Gabby said at the depot. Well, he did not exaggerate. A rich vein of gold was found on the other side of your mountain, and a throng of men came swarming in from everywhere, and just overnight, or so it seemed, buildings of every description were erected. They did not take time to make them of permanent logs, though there are a few of that description. For several months they worked untiringly, digging, blasting, searching everywhere, but the vein which had promised so much ended abruptly.

“Of course, when the horde of men found that there was no gold, they departed as they had come. For a time after that a wandering tribe of Ute Indians lived there, but the hunting was poor, and as they, too, moved on farther into the Rockies, where there are many fertile valleys. Only one old Indian, of whom Gabby spoke, has remained. They call him Slinking Coyote. Why he stayed behind when his tribe went in search of better hunting grounds surely is a mystery.”

Julie gave another little bounce of joy. “Oh, goodie!” she cried. “Gerry, there’s two mysteries and maybe we’ll find the answers to both of them.”

“I would rather find something to eat,” Jane said rather peevishly. “I never was obliged to wait so long for my breakfast in all my life. It’s one whole hour since we left the train.” She glanced at her wrist watch as she spoke.

Mr. Packard looked at her meditatively. The other three Abbotts were as amiable as any young people he had ever met, but Jane was surely the most fretful and discontented. Although he knew nothing of all that had happened, he could easily see that she, at least, was in the West quite against her will.

“Well, my dear young lady,” he said as he reached for her bag, “you won’t have long to wait, for even now we are in the town, approaching the inn.”

“What?” Jane’s eyes were wide and unbelieving. “Is this wretched log cabin place the only hotel?” She peered out of the stage window and saw two cowboys lounging on the porch, and each was chewing a toothpick. They were picturesquely dressed in fringed buckskin trousers, soft shirts, carelessly knotted bandannas and wide Stetson hats. Their ponies were tied in front, as were several other lean, restless horses.

Mr. Packard nodded. “Yes, this is the inn and the general store and the postoffice. Across the road is another building just like it and that has a room in front which is used as a church on Sunday and a school on weekdays, while in back there is a billiard room. There are no saloons now,” this was addressed to Dan, “which is certainly a good thing for Redfords.”

“Billiard room, church and a school house all in one building,” Jane repeated in scornful amazement. “But where are the houses? Where do the townspeople live?”

Mr. Packard smiled at her. “There aren’t any,” he said. “The ranchers, cowboys, mountaineers and summer tourists are the patrons of the inn and billiard rooms. But here we are!” The stage had stopped in front of the rambling log building and reluctantly Jane followed the others.