The stream began to back up behind the dam as other gates were closed.
“Better open the second gates now,” suggested Sam.
The levers were depressed and the gates, made of heavy planks, slowly came up. Under them rushed the water, hissing and foaming.
“Hurray!” cried Uncle Tod, as the stream shot into the tunnel whence it had been diverted. “Lost River is back again!”
“Good work!” commented Mason. He and his men helped in raising the other gates that had been closed for several weeks.
And as Lost River was turned back, there came a sudden hail from across the little gully into which the stream had been diverted. A hail full of meaning it was, for a voice said:
“Hands up, you fellows! What do you mean coming in here on my mine?”
The men looked up to see, confronting them, a menacing figure of a man armed with a powerful rifle.
“Deck Lawson!” murmured Uncle Tod.
“Just our luck!” complained Sam gloomily.