A deputy summoned the boys and their dog from where they had been left some distance away.
“Is it all over?” asked Chot when the messenger reached them.
“All over—yes.”
“Many—er—now—many killed?” asked Rick, hesitating a bit over the words.
“Nary a one!” was the laughing answer. “Wasn’t a single shot fired.”
“Oh, shucks!” sighed Chot.
“Doesn’t seem a bit like out west,” lamented Rick, mournfully.
“Well, it’s better the way it was,” said the deputy. “Shooting isn’t healthy exercise,” and, rather unwillingly, the boys agreed with him. Still, they would have liked the excitement, they thought.
“Crickety! The water’s running in the old tunnel!” cried Rick, as he and his chum and dog reached the former Lawson camp, and noted the change in the control gates.
“Yes, Rick and Chot, thanks to you, the water’s running where it used to,” said Uncle Tod. “And it’s down at our mine by this time—at least so we hope,” he added, fearful of being too sanguine.