The boys were told the story of the attempted ambush by the Lawson crowd, and the counter-ambush staged by the special deputy. Then, leaving some men on guard, lest Lawson try to sneak back and again divert the water, the remainder of the posse began the journey to Uncle Tod’s camp.
It was accomplished in better time than going, for the trail was down hill, and, just as the sun was sinking out of sight, the place was reached. Mr. Belmont gave one look in the direction of the flume, so long out of use, and cried:
“She’s running all right! She’s running, Sam! Lost River has come back.”
“Well, I’m mighty glad of it,” said the partner. “If it will only stay here now until we can wash out some pay dirt—”
“Oh, horned toads!” laughed Uncle Tod. “It’s a wonder you aren’t afraid the world will come to an end to-night.”
“Well, it might,” conceded Sam, mildly, amid the laughter of the others.
But nothing like that happened, nor did Lost River again disappear. It remained flowing through the tunnel as before, and was once more in its own channel.
There were further court proceedings, but these only confirmed Uncle Tod in his right to the water and the Lawson gang seemed to have finished for good, making no legal fight as had been threatened, though Sam was always worrying lest they come back and again divert the stream.
Rick and Ruddy, with Chot, now settled down to an enjoyment of the time left to them in the west, for they would have to start back east in September, when school began.
One evening about sunset, when “grub” was ready to be served, a man came up walking into camp. Rick and Chot looked up as his shadow fell in front of the shack, and Ruddy growled.