“He wasn’t in the mine, although we found footprints down on one of the levels that looked like his, but we couldn’t find him anywhere. And there was no gold. Well, even then we couldn’t imagine he’d cleared out on us and we waited around there for nearly a week tryin’ to find him and hopin’ he’d show up sometime. But he never showed up. He had just cleared out.”
“That was a dirty trick!” exclaimed Joe indignantly.
“We didn’t mind losin’ the gold so much. It was thinkin’ we’d trusted him so much. He was the last man on earth I’d have thought would do a thing like that. Bill and Jack Coulson, my pardners, they just wouldn’t believe it of him. But after a while we knew we’d never see him, and although we tried to trace him it was no use. We heard from a prospector a few weeks later that he’d seen Dawson in a minin’ camp up North, but that was the last we ever heard of him. He’d gone up and called him by name, but Dawson just looked at him kind o’ funny and said he must be mistaken and that his name wasn’t Dawson at all. So I guess that sort of proved he was crooked.”
“And the mine?” asked Frank.
“It wasn’t no good after that. We worked it a few months longer, but it had petered out and the syndicate wouldn’t take a chance on it and we didn’t have any money to work it any more. So we abandoned it and went away. We had to split up partnership. I prospected around Montana five or six years more but didn’t make any more lucky strikes.
“The last I heard of Jack Coulson he was supposed to be dead, and as for Bill he sort of gave up prospectin’ and left the mining camps for good. I’ve never seen either of them since. I went up on a couple of gold rushes in other parts, but I was always too late. I guess it was just my bad luck. I’ve never had any good luck since. So finally I come East and I’ve been livin’ up here for the last few months, just makin’ a living as best I could. And now look—” he gestured to the interior of the wrecked cabin. “Bad luck’s still follerin’ me.”
The boys gazed at the old man in silence. His story of misfortune had made a profound impression upon them. Ill-luck had certainly pursued him relentlessly.
“The storm’s dyin’ down,” said Jadbury Wilson at last. “You’ll be goin’ back to the city, I guess.”
“But how about you?” asked Frank.
“I’ll just have to stay here and make the best of it. I can build a new cabin, but I’m not goin’ to build it on top of the cliff this time. I’ll build it back in the wood where the worst that can happen is havin’ a tree fall on it.”
“But you won’t be able to work for a few days yet,” Joe pointed out.
“That’s true,” admitted the old man. “I can’t even get up off this cot right now.”
“You’ll have to come to town with us. Have you got a sled here that we could draw you in on?”
“I got a sled all right. But what’s the use? There’s no place for me to go when I do get into town. I ain’t got no money.”
“You can stay at our place,” declared Frank. “I know mother won’t mind. You can stay there until you get on your feet again.”
“I’m sure it’s mighty good of you,” said Wilson gratefully. “But I don’t like to be intrudin’ on people.”
The old man’s simple independence won the boys’ admiration. But Frank and Joe knew it would be impossible to leave him alone in the wrecked cabin in his present condition. It was unthinkable.
“You’ll come with us,” Frank said, with determination. “Let’s get the sled ready, fellows.”
V
Con Riley Under Fire
The blizzard died down as suddenly as it began, and when the Hardy boys and their chums left the cabin they found that the snow had ceased falling and that the sun was shining brightly.
They found Jadbury Wilson’s long sled tied to the outside of one of the cabin walls. It had been unharmed, and it did not take the boys long to place blankets upon it and make the old man comfortable. They had to assist him out of the cabin, so greatly did his injuries pain him. He had two pair of snowshoes, and Chet Morton and Jerry Gilroy donned them, the Hardy boys being content to trudge along in the deep snow of the lake.
In a short time they had left the cabin and were making their way toward Willow River, pausing frequently to rest because the deep snow soon wearied them. However, when they reached the river they found that they made better progress because the stream was protected by high wooded banks and the snow had not drifted as deeply as on the lake. But it was mid-afternoon before they reached the road leading into Bayport.
From there on their progress was easy, and, dragging the sled with Jadbury Wilson wrapped in his blankets, they at length reached the Hardy home on High Street. Here they were all welcomed by Mrs. Hardy and Aunt Gertrude, who had been frantic with anxiety concerning the boys’ whereabouts.
“We were going to send out a searching party for you!” exclaimed Mrs. Hardy, as she kissed her sons and sent Chet and Jerry in to telephone to their parents the news of their arrival.
“I knew they’d get lost. I told them so!” declared Aunt Gertrude vigorously. But if she had a scolding in
