"Then," said the young engineer, "I am going to carry that precept into practice regarding your mine."

"How?"

"You have tried pumping without avail, have you not?" said Ernest Wilton.

"That's a fact," said Seth Allport, with the full power of his down-east nasal intonation. "Yer couldn't hit nearer the mark than thaat, I guess, sirree."

"And you could never get the water lower than fifty feet off the bottom of the shaft?" pursued the young engineer, stating his case, "could you?"

"No, not a foot lower," said Mr Rawlings.

"Then what think you of a countermine?"

"I don't quite understand you," said Mr Rawlings.

"Don't you?" said Ernest Wilton, smiling, "and yet it is easy enough to answer, as you told me just now, when I wondered how you did not know when the water came into the shaft."

"Pray explain," replied Mr Rawlings. "I didn't keep you in suspense, you know, when you confessed your inability to answer the question."

"No," said the other, "and I'll treat you as fairly now. You see, at present there is only an intervening wall, of about one hundred yards in gross thickness, dividing the shaft from the channel of the gulch outside. The upper part of the stratum is mere gravel, for as you found, in winter the river extends beyond the point where you are sinking. Judging by the eye, I should say that the mouth of the shaft is twenty feet above the level of the water in the river. So far you would naturally find no water. When you began work the water in the river must have been ten feet at least lower than it is at present, consequently it was no higher than the solid rock where you began to work down in the quartz. So long as the river was below that level you naturally would meet with no water whatever, however deep you might sink, but directly it rose so that it was higher than the level of the rock, it would penetrate through the gravel like a sieve, and will fill your shaft as fast as you can pump it out. Gradually the river will sink as the dry season comes on, and in the autumn will be again below the level of the rock. You can't wait for that, and must therefore carry your shaft from the top of the bed rock to the level of the water in the stream, say twelve-feet in all, but of course we will get the levels accurately."

"That sounds right," Seth nodded approvingly. "What's go ter be done?"

"The job is by no means a difficult one," Ernest Wilton answered. "In the first place, we must widen the shaft by a foot down to the level of the rock, that will give six inches all round. Then we must square off and level the top of the rock, which will then be a level shaft six inches wide all round. While you are doing this we must make a drum ready. That is easily made. We must make four circular frameworks, fasten twelve-feet planks, carefully fitted together, and pitched outside them so as to make it perfectly water-tight. We ought to have a layer of hydraulic lime or cement laid on the rock for the drum to rest on; but if we have not got them, some well-puddled clay will do as well.

Then when the drum is in position in the shaft of rock, its upper end will be higher than the level of the water in the river, and if the rock is compact and free from fissures we shall be perfectly dry however deep we may sink. How are you off for strong planks? They must be strong to resist the pressure of the water and gravel."

"I fear that we have no planks of that thickness whatever," Mr Rawlings said. "We only brought enough timber for the scaffolding over the mine, and a little for framework if it wanted lining. You see, we did line it down to the rock. I think we have one balk of nine-inch timber left."

"Let us measure it and see how many two-inch planks it will make."

It was thirty-two feet long. Eight feet was therefore useless for planks, but would come in for the framework. Twenty-four feet would make eight planks of a little over two inches thick, nine inches wide, and twelve-feet long.

"This is less than a fifth of what we require," Ernest Wilton said.

"The shaft is eight feet in diameter, so we shall need some thirty-two nine-inch planks. However, there are trees about, not very large and not very high, but big enough to get one or two nine-inch planks twelve-feet long from each. The first thing to do is to get a supply of them."

"And you feel quite sure that by lining this portion of the mine with a drum, as you describe, we shall get over our difficulty with the water?"

Mr Rawlings said.

"Quite sure," Ernest Wilton replied; "providing always that the rock is solid."

"Then it's as good as done," Seth said emphatically. "You have put us on the right track, Wilton, and we'll carry it through. I never thought about the river, and kept on wondering why that darned gravel kept letting the water through when it was as dry as bones when we drove through it."

While the preparations were being made and parties scouring the country for timber the young engineer bent his mind to the task of inventing some better mode of getting rid of the water than by manual labour--the mine being sadly deficient in a lot of necessary gear, besides steam-power, as Ernest Wilton had quickly perceived, although he had refrained from commenting on the fact.

"You see," said Mr Rawlings, in apology, "I undertook too big an enterprise with the little capital I had: and, consequently, have been unable to work it properly. Indeed," he continued confidentially, "if we don't hit upon a good lead soon I shall have to give up, for my funds now will hardly suffice to pay the hands what I promised them; and if we continue working, I should have to get more stores and planks, and lots of things, which I certainly cannot afford unless we strike visible gold."

"I have a few hundred dollars of my own--" began Ernest; but Mr Rawlings stopped him at once.

"No, no, my dear fellow," said he impulsively, "your natural kindness of heart shall not lead you into throwing away your hard-earned money on my venture. I shall sink or swim on my own bottom, as the saying goes, although I thank you sincerely all the same. But about the mine," he continued, veering away from the delicate subject, "I'm sorry we haven't got a steam-engine; but that was all Seth's fault. He would believe that a mine could be pumped out as easily as a vessel's bilge."

"That's me," said Seth, not a whit annoyed at the imputation. "I hate them donkey enjines. They mostly chokes the pumps, and I'd liefer any day have hand gear an' a decent crew to clear ship with."

"Well, whether you like it better or not," said Ernest Wilton, with good humour and good sense combined, "you haven't one, and we'll have to make the best of a bad bargain."

"That's so!" said Seth, with much satisfaction apparently.

"And that being the case," continued the young engineer, "we'll teach our enemy to beat itself, or in other words, make water fight water."

"Jerusalem!" exclaimed Seth admiringly. "How on airth will you get to do that, mister?"

"Look before you," said Ernest Wilton, pointing to the foaming stream that was dashing along the valley. "Look at the waste of energy there!

Why, with a good undershot wheel that water-power is worth more than a hundred additional hands at the pumps."

If Seth had looked at the speaker admiringly before, no words could express his pleased astonishment now. He seemed to glow all over with gratification.

"I'm jiggered!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, gazing at Ernest Wilton from the tip of his boots to the top of his head. "You air a screamer, an' no mistake!"

Even Mr Rawlings, generally so sedate of demeanour, in contrast to Seth Allport, who usually went into extremes, became enthusiastic.

"My dear boy," said he, grasping both of Ernest's hands and shaking them with much heartiness, "you'll be the making of us all."

"I shall try to be," said the young engineer; "for I certainly don't intend to be content with merely clearing the mine of water. You don't know half the value of your property yet; why, that quartz there,"

waving his hand towards a heap of the debris that had been extracted from the shaft and cast aside as waste, "if pa.s.sed through a crushing mill would yield a handsome premium."

"I know," said Mr Rawlings sadly. "But I couldn't afford the machinery."

"We'll soon manufacture it, with a little help from the nearest town, where we can get some of the articles we can't make," said Ernest Wilton sanguinely; "we've got the power to drive the machinery, and that's the main thing, my dear sir. We'll soon manage the rest."

"I'm sure I hope so," replied Mr Rawlings; but he had received such a chock from the mine already, on account of its turning out so differently to his expectations, that he could not feel sanguine all at once, like the young engineer who had not experienced those weary months of waiting and hope deferred, as he had.

Not so Seth, however. His tone of mind was very opposite to that of Mr Rawlings.

The ex-mate was as confident of their success now as when they had started from Boston, before he or the rest knew the perils and arduous toil they would have to undergo. All those trials vanished as if by magic from his memory, as quickly as the winter snow was now melting away from the landscape around them, and he thought he could see the golden future right in front of his mental gaze, all obstacles being cleared away in a moment by Ernest Wilton's hopeful words.

"Hooray, Rawlings!" he exclaimed excitedly, twirling his "cheese-cutter"

cap round his head, and executing a sort of hop, skip, and jump of delight. "The Britisher's the boy for us! I guess we'll strike ile now, and no flies, you bet, sirree!"

STORY ONE, CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

A HAPPY HUNTING-GROUND.

Within a few days after Ernest Wilton had joined the miners of Minturne Creek, the winter seemed to vanish away at once, the "chinook wind"

coming with its warm breath from the Pacific through the gaps and pa.s.ses of the Rocky Mountains far-away to the west, and dissolving the last remaining evidences of Jack Frost's handiwork.

The region of the Black Hills, as the young engineer had now the opportunity of observing, as the mountains and valleys shook off their snowy mantle and became clothed anew in the fresh green verdure of spring, is one of the most picturesque in the States, partaking alike of the lofty grandeur and rough magnificence of the sierras of the north, and the spreading landscape features to be met with in the middle of the continent adjacent to the watersheds of the Missouri and Mississippi, where the open country extends like a panorama on either side for miles.

The Black Hills proper partly lie in Dakota, occupying the south-west extremity of that state, and partly in Wyoming, and are almost encircled by the Cheyenne river, the princ.i.p.al fork of that stream extending in a curve right round the northern limit of the region, to where it joins the lesser tributary, which similarly skirts the southern side of the hills. On the north-east, the two branches then unite in one large river, styled by way of contrast "The Big Cheyenne," which ultimately falls into the vast rolling tide of the Missouri, some hundred miles further on due east, at a place called Fort Bennett.