They pushed the plank along carefully and were about to signal for a hoist line when Mike lunged backward and would have fallen over the precipice but for Hernando’s timely assistance. The plank was not yet attached to any thing but the rope by which it had been lowered and Mike’s frantic clutchings sent it over the brink. Down, down, down it went, crashing against first one side and then another. At last a faint splash proclaimed that the terrific leap was over and once more “Old Ninety-Nine’s” body had eluded human gaze. The next discoverer will find it minus one ear. Learned men will account for this on scientific principles; they will analyze petrifying fluids and tell us why some portions of the body are affected and others not; but the fascination which clings so tenaciously to the memory of “Old Ninety-Nine” will endure as long as the Shawangunks, and each succeeding generation will continue to be told that “Every seven years a bright light like a candle rises at twelve o’clock over the mine and disappears in the clouds; but no one who has ever seen it has been able by daylight to find from whence it came.”
The belief of the Indians that after they had endured their punishment for sins committed, the Great Spirit would restore to them their hunting-grounds caused them to keep their mines a secret. “Old Ninety-Nine” is one no longer, and let us hope that in richer mines and fairer hunting-grounds than he dreamed of, he is beyond the treachery of his white brother—beyond injustice and unfair dealing, where his great Manitou does not offer him the cup of good-will in the form of an unknown intoxicant as did Henry Hudson when planning the seizure of the land of his forefathers.
Hernando signalled for them to be drawn up and the news of the accident was duly reported.
“After all,” said Mr. De Vere, “it is better so. His body would simply have been an object of curiosity. Let the waters which transformed his flesh into stone receive it again.”
Mike looked relieved. “Shure, Schquire is after schpakin’ the truth. So help me, God, niver agin will I schpile the works of God Almighty!” he said.
Mr. Genung was inclined to be provoked, but Hernando explained the exceedingly dangerous position and how fortunate Mike had been to escape with his life, and somewhat ashamed, he asked what was to be done next.
“Put in a blast,” replied Hernando.
Silently they emerged from the cave and followed Hernando around the eastern side of Wawanda where the fissure was through which they had entered. Excavations were begun in earnest and a heavy charge put in. The report which followed must have startled the good people of Nootwyck. It tore a great piece out of the eastern side of Wawanda and when the smoke cleared Hernando was almost beside himself with joy at the result of the explosion. Like the cave, the whole inner surface was full of bits of gold and some spongy masses intermixed with leaves of yellow metal. Hernando picked some of the latter off with the point of his jack-knife and placing it in Mr. De Vere’s hand, said, in the tone of a seasoned miner, “You have struck it rich, Mr. De Vere, and I congratulate you. It may not run far like that, but the chances are that it will. I never saw anything equal to it. Point Wawanda is literally filled with gold veins. That is the lode cropping out nearly to the top.”
Stepping up to the young man whose eyes beamed with such unselfish pleasure, Mr. De Vere placed his hands on his shoulders and said: “Will you accept the position of superintendent of the Hernando Mine?”
“I will gladly accept the position, but would prefer another name.”