THE MOTOR BOYS ON THUNDER MOUNTAIN

Or

The Treasure Chest of Blue Rock

BY

CLARENCE YOUNG

AUTHOR OF “THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES,” “THE JACK RANGER SERIES,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

BOOKS BY CLARENCE YOUNG

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.

THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES

THE JACK RANGER SERIES

Copyright, 1924, by Cupples & Leon Company

The Motor Boys on Thunder Mountain

Printed in U. S. A.

[iii]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[1]

THE MOTOR BOYS ON THUNDER MOUNTAIN

CHAPTER I GOLD MINE TALK

“What do you think of it, fellows?” asked Jerry Hopkins. The tall lad ruffled in his hand some sheets of paper covered with typewriting. He looked closely at his two chums.

“You mean Tinny Mallison’s gold mine proposition?” inquired Ned Slade, flicking a bit of dust from the trousers of his new suit.

“That’s what I mean,” replied Jerry. “He didn’t say anything else in his letter worth considering, did he?” and the tall lad again referred to the screed.

“Except about chicken,” put in the third member of the trio, a stout, good-natured looking lad with a beaming face.

“Chicken? What do you mean—chicken?” demanded Ned Slade, with just a slight note of impatience in his voice. Jerry, looking hastily through the letter, added:

[2]

“Tinny didn’t say anything about going into the chicken business, did he? Not that I remember. Anyhow, he isn’t in a chicken-raising country. He’s out in the tall timber where the only things they raise are Rocky Mountain goats. Chickens! How do you get that way, Chunky?”

The fat lad flushed, having drawn this much attention to himself, and, to justify his remark, he said:

“I didn’t mean it that way. You know, as well as I do, he didn’t propose to us to go out there to raise chickens. We could do that here at home a lot better.”

“Just what do you mean by harping on fowls?” asked Ned.

“I mean Tinny said in his letter that he was in a restaurant where they served him roast chicken and mushrooms, and he got to thinking of us and——”

“You mean he got to thinking of you!” and Ned exploded into a laugh, at which Bob Baker blushed a deeper pink.

“Oh, I see what Chunky means!” chuckled Jerry. “Tinny did speak of being in a restaurant eating chicken when he found himself remembering us and the measly feeds we sometimes got in the mustering-out camp. That’s what caused him to write us about the gold mine.”

“And you can make up your mind that Bob[3] would pick out that part of the letter first!” exclaimed Ned. “That part about chicken! Did it make you hungry, Chunky?” he demanded, giving the stout youth a poke in his well-covered ribs.

“Oh, cut it out!” snapped Bob, with a trace of annoyance on his face. “I was up early and I didn’t have much breakfast. It’s nearly noon now, and if you want me to give any serious consideration to this gold mine proposition I’ve got to eat—that’s all!”

There was such a tone of resolve in the stout lad’s voice, and such an air of bravado about him, that Ned and Jerry looked at each other in surprise.

“Well, Bob, if that’s the way you feel about it,” began Ned, “we might as well——”

“That’s how I feel about it!” cracked out Bob. “I’m hungry—I don’t care who knows it! Ever since Jerry read that in the letter about Tinny having such a glorious feed of roast chicken and mushrooms—oh, boy!”

Bob did not go on, but Jerry, looking at his watch, remarked:

“It is almost noon, and I happen to know Bob was up early, for I telephoned over just before I ate breakfast and they said he’d gone out in a hurry.”

“I did. And I had nothing for breakfast but some slices of toast, bacon and eggs, and coffee,”[4] broke in Bob. “No breakfast at all! Had to go down on an errand in a hurry for dad in the new car, and I stepped on the gas, let me tell you. Now, what about eating?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, don’t go to sleep, and I’ll go on with my speech of acceptance,” chuckled Jerry. “I was going to say, why not come to lunch at my house? Then we can talk over this gold mine dope.”

“Suits me,” said Ned briefly.

“It more than hits me in the right spot,” sighed fat Bob Baker.

“But it’s queer,” murmured Jerry, as he and his chums arose from a bench where they had been sitting on the edge of Cresville’s only park—the place designated as a meeting place when Jerry had received a letter which was destined to play a momentous part in the lives of the Motor Boys.

“What’s queer?” Ned Slade wanted to know.

“How Bob happened to pick out the three lines in Tinny’s letter that had to do with eating,” Jerry resumed. “The most unimportant part of the whole business, and yet Bob spots it like—like——”

“Like a hawk after a chicken,” supplied Ned, when he saw his tall chum at a loss for a simile.

“Thanks,” murmured Jerry.

“Think you’re a regular moving-picture-art-title writer, don’t you?” mumbled Bob. “All right—go[5] on—poke all the fun you want. But if you fellows get out to Thunder Mountain—or whatever the place is—and starve to death, don’t blame me.”

“We aren’t likely to—not if we die of hunger,” said Ned. “But if we go, won’t you come with us?”

“I don’t know—maybe.” Bob was not quite restored to his usual good-natured self after the bantering to which he had been subjected.

“Well, let’s go!” cried Jerry, and the words recalled vividly to the minds of his chums how often those same words were used when they were in France during the World War.

“Is that you, Jerry?” called Mrs. Hopkins, when a little later she heard the tramp of feet in her hall—feet that unconsciously fell into the swing of a military march.

“Yes, Mother. I’ve brought Ned and Bob home to lunch.”

“That’s nice. I’ll tell Katie to get things ready for you out in the sun parlor. John is polishing the dining room floor.”

“Anywhere as long as there’s something to eat,” murmured Bob.

And then, a little later, when the Motor Boys were sitting about a well laden table in the pleasant sun parlor of the Hopkins home, their discussion turned upon the letter Jerry had received[6] that morning from Tinnith Mallison, a Westerner, whom they had first met as a congenial officer in the training camp where the lads were mustered out of Uncle Sam’s service.

“Just what is his proposition?” asked Bob, who, having the first sharp edge taken from his appetite, could now give more consideration to other matters. “I didn’t listen very closely when you first read it, Jerry.”

“No, I reckon not—chicken and mushrooms,” murmured Ned.

“Shut up!” ordered Bob, but the words were accompanied by a smile which took all malice from them.

“Well, briefly, Tinny’s proposition is this,” said Jerry, as he took out the letter again. They had become sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Mallison to call him by his nickname. “He wants to interest us in an undeveloped gold mine out West near a place called Thunder Mountain. Why it has that name, I don’t know. Maybe the Indians called it that.”

“If we go out there we can find out why,” put in Ned.

“Say, are you fellows really seriously considering taking up this game?” demanded Bob, pausing with a bite of pie half way to his mouth. And when Bob did any pausing in the process of eating[7] one might safely conclude that he was vitally interested in the subject under discussion.

“Well, I’m about as green at the gold-mining business as I would be trying to cut ice with a pair of manicure scissors,” remarked Jerry. “But, fellows, we’ve just got to do something strenuous! After the exciting life we lived in France, I just can’t settle down to any business that we can tackle in this town. And as for going back to Boxwood Hall——”

“Whew! Don’t speak of it!” cried Ned. “Jerry, I’m with you on that gold mine proposition,” he continued. “I don’t just sense what it is all about, but I’ll leave that to you. Anyhow, I can’t stay around this town much longer. It’s all right in its own way, but it doesn’t weigh much after what we’ve gone through. Dad wants me to come in the department store and learn the business from the ground up. But I’m not ready for that yet. That’s why I want to go West.”

“And I can’t see dad’s proposition to become office boy in the bank and work my way up to be a cashier,” said Bob. “Of course I’ll go in the bank some day—but not just yet. I’m for the West.”

“Well, we seem to be pretty much of the same mind about it, and that sounds good to me,” commented Jerry. “Tinny says he will write us more[8] particulars if we are interested, and suggests that we let him know at once.”

“Tell him we are!” exclaimed Ned. “We’ve just got to get into something that will keep us out in the open air. This gold mine would do it.”

“Whether it had any gold in it or not,” commented Jerry.

“Sure! Say, why don’t you send Tinny a wire, telling him we’re hot on his trail and ask him to send on more dope.”

“I’ll do it!” decided Jerry.

“Write out the message,” suggested Bob. “Then we’ll go down to the telegraph office to send it. I’ll get dad’s new car and we’ll try it out. He told me to run it for a while and remove the kinks.”

“Hurray!” yelled Ned.

“Sounds good to me,” commented Jerry. In fact, ever since he had heard that Mr. Baker had a new car his hands had been itching to grip the wheel. Now he might have an opportunity.

“Come on, we’ll get the car,” cried Chunky. “After we leave the message we’ll go for a ride.”

“It will be like old times,” remarked Ned, for the lads had gained more than a local reputation by their journeys about the country in motors.

Finishing their lunch, putting away Tinny’s enthralling letter, and writing the telegram to the Westerner did not take long. A little later the[9] three youths were walking about and admiring Mr. Baker’s new car. It was a beauty—no mistake about that.

“How do you think the new four-wheel brakes will work?” asked Jerry, who knew something about cars. He had one, but not of a late model.

“You’ll soon find out,” remarked Bob. “I’ll let you fellows have a shot at it. Only remember one thing—don’t shove the brakes on too suddenly, for they grip twice as quickly as the old kind. Hop in—I’ll be out in a minute.”

He disappeared into the house on the run, while Ned and Jerry took their places on the front seat. Did any one ever see three lads ride anywhere but on the front seat of an auto, no matter how small?

“It’ll be a tight fit with Chunky in,” remarked Ned, looking at the space behind the wheel.

“Do him good to squeeze him,” chuckled Jerry. “Here he comes.”

Bob did not complain of the small space left for him at the wheel, but climbed in and the three lads were soon riding down the main street of Cresville, their home town.

The message was sent, and then Bob headed the car for the open country. They were bowling along, the fat lad having given several demonstrations of how to apply the new brakes, when he[10] took one hand from the steering wheel and began fishing in his pocket.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jerry.

Bob did not answer, but pulled out a doughnut and began munching on it.

“Well, for the love of pepsin!” cried Ned. “If you aren’t——”

He never finished the sentence, for just then the car rounded a curve in the road and Jerry, pointing ahead, cried:

“Look! There’s a house on fire!”

In pointing he jarred Bob’s hand just as the latter was raising the doughnut for another bite.

“It sure is a fire!” shouted Ned.

“Ug! Ow! Huh! Huh! Heck!” coughed and spluttered Bob.

“What’s the matter?” cried Jerry.

“You—er—guk—made me swallow that—dough—nut the—heck—wrong way!” gasped Bob. “Ugh!”

He pushed suddenly on the brake pedal and the car came to such an abrupt stop that he and his companions nearly went through the windshield as the auto halted within a short distance of the blazing farmhouse from which came frantic cries for help.

[11]

CHAPTER II THE END OF EVERYTHING

“Come on, fellows!” cried Jerry.

He was struggling to get out of the seat where three of them were rather a tight fit, considering Chunky’s plumpness. But Jerry managed it, at the same time thumping Bob on the back to dislodge the bit of doughnut that had gone down the hungry lad’s “wrong throat.”

The boys had arrived at a most critical time. The blaze had quite a start at the rear of the farmhouse, the flames flickering out of a first story window—evidently the kitchen—and eating their way up to the second story.

“I wonder if they’ve telephoned in an alarm?” cried Ned, for though there were no “pull boxes” on the country road that far out of Cresville, nearly every farmer had a telephone.

“Sounds like the new motor engine coming,” said Bob, with a cough, to dislodge the last remaining particles of the doughnut, which, by this time, he had managed to swallow.

“Yes, there she is!” added Ned, as they caught[12] the sound of the siren horn on the new motor apparatus, recently purchased by the town.

“But it won’t get here in time to save them! Look!” shouted Jerry.

He pointed to a window about eight feet above the one-story extension of the house where could be seen a woman and two children. From another window on the left of these frantic and screaming ones smoke was pouring, showing that the fire was close to them.

“We’ve got to save them!” cried Ned.

“That’s right!” added Bob. “We can do it from that low roof. They can drop down and we can help them get to the ground. Or if we could find a short ladder——”

“There’s one!” yelled Ned, pointing to one leaning against a fruit tree at the side of the house. “Come on!”

“We’re just in time!” added Jerry. “It’s a good thing we drove out this way!”

The boys dashed to the rescue of the fire-trapped ones, while they could hear the motor engine approaching; and as they watched neighbors came running across the fields to aid, having seen the pall of smoke.

While the Motor Boys are hastening on their errand of mercy I shall take just a moment to introduce my new readers more formally to the youths who are to be the heroes of this story.

[13]

In the first volume of this series, entitled “The Motor Boys,” the reason for this name being given Jerry Hopkins, Ned Slade and Bob Baker was very fully set forth. Ned Slade’s father was a wealthy department store owner in Cresville, and Bob Baker’s father was president of the richest bank in that section. Jerry Hopkins’ father was dead, but had left his widow, Mrs. Julia Hopkins, very well off, and Jerry managed to keep up his end with his two chums.

Jerry, the tallest of the three lads, was a rather quiet and thoughtful youth, destined to be a leader. Ned was the best dresser of the three, if that is any compliment, and Bob Baker—well, when it is said that his nickname was “Chunky,” more has been told than could be divulged in several pages. Of his appetite, sufficient testimony has been given.

The home of the Motor Boys was in Cresville, in one of the New England states, but from there the boys had traveled to many other parts of their own country and foreign lands. As you know, they had recently come back from the great war.

But before this, when they were not circumventing tricks of the notorious Noddy Nixon and his crony, Jack Pender, the boys had traveled overland, to Mexico, and across the great plains in a motor car. They had been afloat on the Atlantic[14] and in strange waters, voyaging at times in a motor boat, and the various volumes tell of their activities.

As if the earth was not wide enough for them, the lads had even ventured into the clouds in aeroplanes and balloons, and when they had a chance to go in a submarine they did not hesitate. Part of their time they spent at school—Boxwood Hall—but after the war they had voted unanimously that they could not take up their quiet studies again; at least, not at once.

The volume immediately preceding this present one is entitled “The Motor Boys Bound for Home; or, Ned, Bob and Jerry on the Wrecked Troopship.” They had some strenuous times, in part with their old friend, Professor Snodgrass, and they had not long been at home when the letter came from their officer friend, written from his western mining camp.

However, all thoughts of gold mines were now driven from the heads of the lads as they saw the immediate necessity of quick action if they were to save the woman and the two children now appealing for help in the burning farmhouse.

“Get the ladder!” cried Jerry. “We can easily help them down to the roof of that one-story extension. Then they can jump to the ground if they have to.”

[15]

“They won’t have to—we can move the ladder!” shouted Ned, as he dashed for it.

“Help us! Save us!” screamed the woman.

“We’re coming! Don’t jump!” warned Jerry.

Being tall and athletic, he had managed, with the aid of a drain pipe and clinging vine, to scramble up to the flat roof of the one-story extension before the ladder was brought up. Ned could do the same, but Bob was too fat. He had to ascend by the ladder. However, after he was on the roof, he helped pull the ladder up so that it could be raised to the window.

The house appeared to be on fire in the vicinity of the kitchen, and the boys guessed that the woman and girls had been cut off from the front and back stairs.

While the motor engine was chugging its way nearer and while friends and neighbors were gathering to do what they could, the ladder, now on the roof of the extension, was raised to the window at which the three stood frantically calling.

“We’ll get you down in a minute!” shouted Jerry encouragingly, as he ran up the ladder, which was steadied at its foot by Ned and Bob. “Come on!” he cried to the youngest girl, who was crying.

“I—I’m afraid!” she sobbed, leaning out of the window.

[16]

“You needn’t be,” Jerry assured her. “I won’t let you fall.”

“Go on with him, Mary!” urged her mother. “Then take Helen next. And there’s a lame man in here.”

“We’ll get you all out,” declared Jerry, with more confidence when he had looked through the window and saw no flames in the room behind the three. “You’ve got plenty of time.”

He helped the two girls down to the flat roof of the one-story extension, where Ned and Bob took charge of them, calming them and telling them they would soon be on the ground.

“Can you save Mr. Cromley?” gasped the woman, when Jerry went back to assist her. “He’s lame and he’s in that room where the smoke is. The girls and I were up there talking to him when the fire broke out.”

“I’ll get him as soon as you get down,” cried Jerry. “How lame is he? Will he have to be carried?”

“Oh, no, he just walks with a limp—that’s all.”

“Then I guess I can get him down the ladder. But you must come now,” and the mother was soon on the low roof. “I’m going after the lame man, fellows!” Jerry then called to his chums. “Keep the ladder here until I get him to the window.”

[17]

“Corporal” Jerry Hopkins was giving orders as he had done on the battlefields of France, and his chums “snapped into” obedience as they had done in those terrible days.

Up the ladder the tall lad raced, to meet a limping man stumbling toward the window from which Jerry had already assisted the woman and girls to the roof.

“I—I must have swallowed some of the smoke!” the man coughed. “I didn’t know where I was for a minute!”

“Can you get down the ladder if I help you?” asked Jerry, entering the room.

“Sure! I’m not as helpless as all that, even if I have a game leg. I’m spry yet! Where’s the ladder? Is the whole house afire?”