"Finally Dad came to Colorado—just why, I don't know; but he prospected hereabouts a good deal in the early days, and when gold was discovered in Cripple Creek he was right on hand. In 1873, I think it was, the county built the Cripple Creek Stage Road. Dad was a pretty old man then, but not too old to see his opportunity. With a little outside capital, he constructed that famous mountain inn, the Road House. In a short time after it opened for business it became a very popular place, and was soon producing a nice little revenue for Dad.
"The night the house was burned, you remember, I said was dark and stormy. It was in the summer, and a typical mountain storm was in full blast. The thunder and lightning were terrific. When the down stage pulled up at the inn, just before dark, they decided to stay for the night, fearing a possible cloudburst. It happened that the stage was full of passengers that night. There was a little Irishman who had just discovered a fine ledge of onyx out north of Cripple Creek, and a couple of engineers who had been surveying for a mine over in Cookstove Gulch. Besides these there was a hard-looking old scalawag, who kept his business all to himself. As they sat at supper, Dad noticed that the old-timer eyed him very closely, yet had nothing to say; and as he looked back on that night, long after the fire, he remembered a lot of little incidents that gave evidence to his own theory. For instance, several times during the evening the old stranger rose from his seat and went out into the night. He seemed very nervous about something. He did not mingle with the other men, but sat well back in the corner by himself. When it became time to go to bed, the old man insisted on sleeping on a couch near the fireplace. Old Ben, who was there at the time, said afterward he remembered some one moving about the cabin in the night.
"The storm was at its worst. Suddenly out of the raging storm Dad's dog let out a long, fierce yelp, followed by several low growls. Dad shouted down to him to be quiet, supposing he had smelled a coyote or a pole-cat outside. He was quiet for a few moments, then a second time he howled and scratched at the door. There was a loud cursing, that was nearly lost in a peal of thunder, then the cry of 'Fire!' The smoke of the burning logs was already streaming up the open stairway. The outside door opened and shut, yet the dog was left inside. Almost before the sleeping guests could grab their clothes, the whole house was a sheet of flame. There was a wild scramble for the back stairway. Dad hurried down the front way, stumbling through the smoke to the door. The dog gave a joyous bark and sprang toward him. As he opened the door, he stumbled over a large oil-can that always stood just under the stairway. He didn't think of it at the time because of his excitement, but later, as he puzzled over the real cause of the fire, he remembered with startling distinctness his stumbling over the empty oil-can, which he knew had been full the day before. As months went by he put this with other little bits of information, and he believed he understood, yet he had no proof. The old man who had slept downstairs had oiled the entire first floor, then set it afire. But why? That was the question.
"He remembered how the old man had insisted that the house had been struck by lightning. Dad never saw him again after that night, but a few months afterwards he recognized him in a description of one of the robbers of a stage coach, held up at Duffield's. Then, like a flash, it came to Dad. The old-timer was his enemy of the river pirates, old Shorty Thunder. He had accidently stumbled onto Dad here in these mountains, and had determined to settle scores once for all. He had meant by setting fire to the cabin to burn Dad alive, and if it hadn't been for the dog he probably would have succeeded."
"Great old tale," sighed Phil, as he arose and stretched himself.
"Let's turn in," suggested Fat, "for you know we have some walking ahead of us to-morrow." "Second the motion," joined in Ham. "Me for a good, big drink, though, to wash that fairy tale down. How about it?"
The little party gathered close about the fire after all final arrangements had been made for the night. Boots were pulled off and set away from the fire. Watches were wound and trousers unbuckled. They had all instinctively looked toward the "Chief." He had drawn close to the fire, and was turning over the leaves of a pocket Testament.
"What will you have to-night, fellows, from the Great Spirit's Message before we sleep?"
"The one about the lilies," said Ham thoughtfully. "There are several big ones in bloom just at the head of my bed." The "Chief" began to read in low, reverent tones.
"And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." So he went on reading till he came to the end of the chapter, after which there was a short, reverent prayer, and they were ready for bed.