"And I don't blame them, either," said one miner, in a low voice, to his companion. "I wouldn't take any part in the singing if I were in their place. They are brave enough now, but wait until they have been up to that mine about two days; then we will see them at our camp, frightened to death."
"Banta has rather taken them under his care, judging by the way he keeps watch over them," said the other miner.
"Yes; he was made acquainted with them by some high man in Denver, and so he keeps an eye on them. But he can't go up to their mine with them. More than that, those ghosts will not stop for him or anybody else."
Julian and Jack were not accustomed to being in the saddle from daylight until dark, and the ride was long and wearisome to them. They stopped at noon to eat their lunch and to let their animals crop the grass for a few minutes; but their packs were never removed from them until they halted for the night at a place which showed that there had been a camp before. Lean-to's were scattered around, partly unroofed by the storms of winter, and remnants of fires were to be seen; and Banta said that no one had been there since he and his party made the camp last fall.
"We made this camp while we were going down to the city," said he. "It was raining when we stopped here, and that accounts for the lean-to's. We had a waterspout that night, this little stream was filled twenty feet deep, and some of us began to look wild."
"A waterspout?" queried Jack. "What is that?"
"Why, I don't know that I can describe it so that you can understand it," answered Banta, scratching his head. "It is caused by the large quantity of water that sometimes falls among the hills up-country, and when it all rushes into these ravines—well, you can imagine how it looks, but I cannot describe it. This stream has not much water in it now—you can step across it anywhere; but I have seen it bank full from rains in the up-country, while there was not a drop of it fell here. I remember that night. I was sound asleep in a lean-to. I had told the boys that before morning we would have to get farther up the bank or run the risk of having some of our things carried off, and about midnight I awoke with a feeling that there was something going on. You don't know anything about that, do you? Well, you wait until you have acted as guide for two or three mule-trains, and then you'll know it. Everything depends upon you to see that the train comes out all right.
"I could not go to sleep again when once I woke up, and so I arose and went out. It was still raining heavily, but the brook didn't show much sign of it. I placed myself on the edge of the bank, and hardly had I got there before a long, creamy wave, which extended clear across this gully, crept with a hissing sound across the sand and rocks. Following with equal speed, and about a hundred feet behind it, was another wave, an unbroken mass of water at least five feet in height. It was not rounded into a wave, as at sea or on the lakes, but rose sheer and straight, a perfect wall of water. I knew that in five minutes this little creek would be brim full, so I raised a yell and awoke everybody in camp. The men I had with me were all veterans, and there was no need that I should explain matters. They took just one look at the water, and then grabbed their things and made a rush for the high bank behind the lean-to's. After placing them where they would be safe, they came back and made a rush for the horses. Pete, there, caught the bell-mare, and by dint of pulling and boosting we finally got them to that level spot you see up there."
Mr. Banta pointed to the bank, which seemed almost as straight as the side of a house, and the boys looked on with perfect astonishment.
"How in the world did you get the mules and horses up there?" inquired Julian.