IN THE BLACK BOTTLE
It isastonishing what a tremendous medley of sound usually follows the smashing of a window, especially in the dead of night, with everything around gripped in silence.
Frank had a sensation almost of panic, hardly knowing what had happened. Paul, on his part, involuntarily ducked down, as if under the impression that the runt outside had hurled his spade through the window and would possibly follow it with other things still more dangerous.
Lanky, who was himself the culprit, appeared to grasp the situation and its undoubted disastrous consequences better than either of his companions. This was proved when he made a vigorous bolt for the exit of the room, leading outdoors.
"Let's grab him, fellows!" he shouted back over his shoulder, just before tearing open the door and leaping headlong through.
In his haste he made some sort of miscalculation, and the next thing he knew he tripped over some object and went headlong to the ground.
Frank and Paul, having caught his idea, and being nimble enough to follow close on his heels, also had the experience of taking headers, so for a few seconds there was something of a mix-up.
When they managed to untie the tangle and gain their feet, look as they might there was no sign of the little man to be seen. He had vanished as quietly as the wreaths of fog do in the morning when a puff of air welcomes the rising of the sun.
"Please somebody kick me for a duffer!" pleaded the disgusted Lanky.
Loud voices attested to the fact that the smash and jingle of falling fragments of glass had instantly awakened every sleeper in the near-by bunk-house.
Out they came running, helter-skelter, some in pajamas, others partly dressed, as was their habit while sleeping, but all wildly excited.
"What happened, boys?" bellowed Lige Smith, racing up barefooted.
"That measly little runt with the big head's been nosing around here again! But he got scared off when my elbow slipped and broke the window."
It was Lanky who made this hurried explanation, ready to shoulder all the blame of the mishap. No one had accepted his invitation to indulge in kicking him, he felt sure both Frank and Paul must feel as disgusted as he was himself.
"Which way did the critter vamoose?" asked Hoptoad Atkins, quite savagely for such a diminutive specimen of a puncher.
"None of us saw him skip out," admitted Lanky, "But say, he came from over that way," and he pointed toward that part of the sky where some time before the bright star had set beyond the level horizon.
There was an immediate rush on the part of the rustlers, and Frank, on noting their scantiness of attire, could not keep from chuckling. He felt positive he would never see the equal of that picture again, and its memory would always bring a laugh to his lips.
Of course no vigorous search could be made, for many reasons. In the first place, none of the punchers were more than half clad; besides, chasing over the wide stretches of the prairie after such a will-o'-the-wisp as that unknown but slippery runt, was out of the question.
Then again it might be he was only "tolling" them away, so that during their absence he could stampede the horses or accomplish some other species of mischief, such as might take form in a rattlebox brain.
They went as far as the corral, to make sure the ponies were safe, and then came drifting back again, their curiosity having been awakened by seeing Frank hard at work with a spade, enlarging a hole in the ground that some one had dug.
Some of the punchers had gone back into the bunk-house to get into warmer garments, sensing that the end of the strange midnight adventure was not yet. These wise ones came straggling back, to find Frank had handed over his task to the eager Lanky, who was making the dirt fly.
Then came a sudden rifle shot and the thump of a bullet as it buried itself in the tree trunk just over Lanky's head.
Frank happened to be looking in a direction that enabled him to glimpse the distant flash.
"Git tuh kiver!" bawled Jerry Brime.
Some dodged around the house while others flattened themselves out on the ground, which they hugged assiduously. Frank was one of those on the ground, while Lanky and Paul hurried around the corner of the building.
Two of those who had secured weapons as well as clothes when in the bunk-house started on the run toward the quarter from which the shot had come. Just then a second shot sounded, and the whine of the projectile as it winged past close to their heads could be plainly heard, giving the boys a queer sensation.
Cowboy yells sounded as the pair of runnersstarted directly toward the marksman's stand, but it was answered by a mocking laugh. Then followed the rapid pounding of a horse's hoofs, telling them that their intended quarry was in no hurry for the punishment which they would only too willingly bestow upon him, could he be overtaken.
Of course, they could not pursue on foot, for cowboys as a rule are badly handicapped when out of the saddle. After blazing away several times in the vague hope of crippling the unseen pony or winging its rider by a lucky shot, the two armed men ran for the corral, to get astride their mounts.
But all that of course consumed time, and when they were ready to start it was too late. Listen as they might, the keenest of ears proved unable to catch the least sound. Even the faint night breeze was against them, for it came out of the wrong quarter.
It was an angry bunch of punchers that gathered around where Frank once more assumed the task of digging. He had seen how recklessly Lanky worked, and considered it the part of wisdom to exercise a little more caution, not knowing whether there might be dynamite or some other explosive that lay buried there, and this action of the stranger only a trap to lure them on to their own sorrow.
It proved a wise move on Frank's part, as succeeding events turned out. Those hovering closearound him, watching with more or less curiosity, heard a queer clicking sound. Evidently the carefully handled spade had come in contact with some object.
"Another iron box, I bet my dandy new quirt!" ejaculated Zander Forbes, showing signs of unusual excitement. Probably he or the rest of the bunch had never before been at the digging up of a treasure-trove until that night when Josh Kinney's secret receptacle was unearthed deep down in the cellar under the ranch pantry.
"Pull off another one, Zander, old hoss!" snorted Hoptoad Atkins. "Reckon I know the sound of metal hittin' glass."
"Shoot, Frank, and let's see who's got the correct answer!" Buster urged.
Frank Allen was not to be hurried an atom.
He leaned toward Hoptoad's guess, for the peculiar clink that followed his gently striking some object made him think of a glass bottle. The times were such that bootleggers drifted all over the prairie, disposing of their illegal wares to customers on different ranches.
Could it be possible that there was a regular cache of bottled goods hidden here so close to the ranch house? He had heard that Lanky's Uncle George had had more or less trouble with some ofhis former employees along these very lines; for they seemed able to get the stuff and go on protracted sprees in spite of all his precautions.
So when he reached over and lifted a bottle out of the hole it was with a feeling akin to bitter disappointment. Would this explain the persistent attempts of the queer little man to carry out some plan?
Low laughter and then grunts came from the group of punchers.
"Nothin' but a leetle moonshine, looks to me," old Jerry remarked, as he rubbed his pointed chin with finger and thumb.
"No brand on the pesky bottle, you-uns notice," ventured Lige, the foreman, trying to make the best of a bad bargain.
"Mighty queer that little runt taking such big chances just to get hold of a bottle of hot stuff," Zander Forbes from Yale remarked shrewdly.
"Jerry, they tell me you used to be a good judge of such things," observed Sally Keating. "Take a sniff, and see if you can name the brand."
"Hold on boys, you're all away off your trolley," Frank told them. "This bottle has been buried here for a good many years, I'd say; as long, it might be, as that old chest was in the cellar!"
"Bully boy!" snapped Lanky enthusiastically. "Hit her again, Frank! Put the pins up on theother alley and make a spare or a strike. Now go on and tell ushowyou know?"
"Here, fetch that lantern over, Charlie Gin Sing," Frank called out to the cook who had just appeared on the scene, understanding that all firing had stopped and that it was safe for him to venture abroad.
"Say, it does look mighty like the old bottle's been under the soil for ages, boys," agreed Zander, after a close scrutiny of the object. "Shake it, Frank, and see if you hear something gurgle."
"Nixey! Never a solitary gurgle!" gloated Lanky. "There's something else than liquid lightning inside that black bottle. Frank, knock the head off, or I'll explode, I'm that stuffed with curiosity."
Bang! went the bottle against the edge of the spade. As the glass flew in a shower a curled paper yellowed with age, fell to the ground. On this Frank pounced and straightened it out. Everybody crowded around, eager to see, and among them old Jerry Brime pushed his beak forward, to immediately cry out something that sent a thrill through the three boys.
CHAPTER VIII
STARTING FOR GOLD FORK
"Byhokey!" Jerry ejaculated, mightily interested in the age-stained paper. "Sure I've seen thet thar figgerin', 'fore now! Yep! It seems like I kin' 'member ole Josh Kinney bottlin' the paper up wid a big grin an' askin' how it looked fur a drawin' prize. I done tole him it seemed to me a hen went an' crawled acrost the paper wid muddy feet!"
It certainly did look a bit that way, as Frank and Lanky were forced to admit. They studied their find for a few minutes; then Lanky rubbed his nose and went on to remark sarcastically:
"And, say, that same hen must have been some loco, to make such a bunch of crooked tracks."
"Well, it must be some sort of chart, or map," suggested Paul.
"I take it that's right," Frank observed, nodding his head. "Perhaps you might call it a supplementary one to the first we found."
"Now you're shouting, Frank!" snapped Lanky eagerly. "We know that other was mostly aboutthe route to the place where Kinney pulled out his nuggets. All right! Then this tells in some Greek way that he undersold, but is a mystery to us, how to walk up and help yourself at the feed-trough, after you get inside the cave."
"About ah I can make out of it," said Mr. Wallace, "is that there seems to be a five-fingered cave, and the stuff is located in the central zone."
"Well, that's something of a clue, anyhow," Lanky decided. "Besides when we get to studying these queer marks closer maybe we'll run across some sort of key that'll make it all plain as print."
Frank noticed that Minnie was leaning out of the window of the small room she occupied, clad in a pretty and becoming kimono. She seemed to be drinking in every word that was being uttered.
"Chances are," Frank told himself shrewdly, "Minnie will beg like everything to go along with us. But of course that would be out of the question! There'll be all kinds of danger afoot. Besides, I don't think it's the trip for a girl to take, good pal as Min is."
Since the enemy had been chased off, and, besides, what he sought to secure possession of was already safe in their keeping, Mr. Wallace decided it was useless to cheat themselves any longer of their sleep.
As the boys had been chiefly instrumental in getting hold of this second chart, buried in such a peculiar fashion by the old pioneer, just as had been the case with the other, he asked Frank to keep it safely.
"We'll have plenty of time to pore over them both between now and our start, as well as while on the trails," he told them, before going back to his sleeping room.
"How soon can we get a move on, Dad?" asked Lanky eagerly. "Gee whiz! I'm all cluttered up with thinking about that trip and what strange things we'll be apt to see in the mountain regions."
"Not many days more, son," was all the reply his father gave, and with this Lanky had to rest content; though as time passed he would likely grumble more or less and show signs of ever growing restlessness.
There was no further alarm that night, nor on the succeeding nights. It seemed as though the activity of the Rockspur crowd had entirely broken up any plans the conspirators may have formed, and a change of base became necessary on their part.
"Huh! bet you a cookey they've set out for Gold Fork ahead of us, and we'll find the whole shooting-match camped on the ground when we get there," Lanky said to Frank on the third day after the night disturbance.
"What's the odds if they are?" his chum demanded, unmoved by all this display of feverish anxiety on Lanky's part. "They are no more apt to find the location of Kinney's claim than those hundreds of miners were in the old days, when Gold Fork was a bustling camp and men digging like wild-fire in the hope of striking a bonanza deposit of nuggets."
"Reckon that's so, Frank," Lanky acknowledged, won over by the coolness and good judgment of his chum. "If we're going to have trouble getting our paws on that cache of nuggets with both maps to set us on the right track, why, those four-flushers haven't even a look-in."
"Well, I've got a little news for you, Lanky, that ought to fetch a grin to your face. Your father told me not ten minutes ago that it's all settled."
"Meaning when we start for Gold Forge? Is that the racket, Frank?"
"To-morrow will be Sunday. We say good-by to Rockspur for a little while on next Tuesday morning!"
Lanky's face lighted up with joy. He threw his hat into the air and gave a whoop that would have shamed almost any reckless, care-free puncher.
"That's bully news, Frank Allen!" he burst out. "When dad saps a thing he sticks to it like a leech. My stuff is all packed, and I've even knocked offnearly half I laid out in the start to pack along. Dad told me we'd have to go light, as only one pack horse would be taken."
Great excitement followed, particularly among the younger element at Rockspur Ranch. Minnie hovered around and listened to everything the boys said. She examined the two crude maps several times, as though they held a strong fascination for her.
Frank often shook his head as he noted these things.
"She certainly does want to be one of the bunch, all right!" he told himself. "I'm dead sure Mr. Wallace will never consent, although his wife would let Minnie do anything she liked, she's so easy going, and thinks such a courageous girl could always take care of herself. But while I'm sorry to see her disappointed, I don't think she ought to go on what may turn out to be a fighting trip."
Of course the party would ride, and the ponies of the three boys were carefully groomed, also allowed to rest as much as possible, so they might be in the best of condition when the time arrived for the start.
It was not to be a large party, just old Jerry Brime, Zander Forbes, and Mr. Wallace, besides the trio of boys, with a pack animal to carry suchstores and necessities as they must take along in order to insure a fair degree of comfort.
They had secured all the information possible from Jerry, as well as any of the other punchers who had by chance set eyes on the deserted mining camp in the mountains or knew something about the route hither.
To the best of their understanding, the boys figured they would have to ride something like forty miles toward the southwest, then change to face the setting sun. After going, possibly, for several days, in the end they would reach the foothills along the base of the mighty Rocky Mountains.
It gave them many a thrill, just the picturing in their minds of the new and wonderful sights that in all probability awaited them, while making their way to their intended destination.
"Wonder if well see any antelopes or mebbe a stray buffalo," Lanky said to Paul, as they discussed things on Monday morning—the probable state of the weather for the great day, now close at hand, how they would stand the long gallop in the hot sun, whether those persistent enemies who had pestered them so long would be lying in wait with other evil designs in view, and kindred topics, of which there seemed to be legions cropping up.
"Somehow," Paul returned, with a note of yearning in his voice, "I've been telling myself that I might have the ambition of my life granted before we left the Rockies."
"Now what could that be, I wonder?" quizzed Lanky.
"Set eyes on a real Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep," explained the other, with a little laugh. "Sounds queer, I know, Lanky, but I've never forgotten one I saw in a zoo, and it's haunted me ever since—those big curving horns on which they say it often alights when bounding from a cliff to a plateau thirty feet lower down. I've even dreamed of seeing that marvellous stunt."
Lanky rubbed the tip of his nose reflectively.
"I never thought of seeing a genuine bighorn in its native haunts, Paul. But if only I could have the glory of knocking a rousing big chap off his perch and getting a pair of horns to take back to Columbia as a trophy! Shucks I wouldn't mind going to some trouble oversucha job!"
That was the difference between Lanky and Paul. Paul seemed satisfied just to see and admire objects in Nature's vast domain; but Lanky, having the hunter instinct developed in his nature, thought only of possession—the monster bass swimming in the shallow water of the lake did not interest him one-tenth as much as when it was leaping at the endof his line and giving him a succession of thrills in a frantic endeavor to escape.
Tuesday morning dawned with a dear sky. It promised to be a hot day, as all the weather sharps could easily predict; but then such a minor detail did not bother any of the members of the expedition a particle.
The boys were keyed up to a high tension, and ready—as Lanky put it, "to buck up against any old thing that might come along, from cyclones and waterspouts to attacks from hostile men who might take them for government agents spying on boot-legger operations."
Every soul on the ranch from Charlie Gin Sing to Mrs. Wallace was on the spot to wish them a safe and prosperous journey. Minnie hovered around and smiled in a way that puzzled Frank.
"Now I wonder what kind of a bee that girl has got working in her brain?" Frank said to himself more than once. Somehow, it made him a bit uneasy. "I hope she hasn't the feast idea of trying to follow us! That would be the maddest of pranks."
The good-byes were said, and the little cavalcade rode bravely off, those in the saddle turning to send back last words to those left behind, and particularly Minnie and Mrs. Wallace.
The cowboys who were to stay at home and perform the regular routine of ranch duties accompanied the party for several miles; then at a sign from Lige Smith they gave a parting yell and turned back.
At last the treasure seekers were off in good shape, with all sorts of possible adventures lying ahead in the unknown lands they must traverse. Frank, however, could not keep Minnie's queer manner from filling his thoughts as he rode on his way.
CHAPTER IX
LANKY'S SCHEME WOBBLES
Knowingthe magnitude of the journey they had before them, the adventurers did not intend to make any attempt at speed. They must preserve the strength of their mounts for the hard part of the trip after arriving in the rough region of the mountainous country.
They had a cold snack and rested their mounts at noon. The forty miles in a southwesterly direction was passed over before a halt was again made for supper. Jerry and Zander Forbes were in charge, the one as "big boss," the other in the guise of a guide; though most of Jerry's work was apt to come after they reached their goal and found themselves at the old mining camp.
When they put saddles on the ponies, and started off, they faced due west and a setting sun.
"Only for that heat haze over there," raid Zander to the boys close at his side, "you might glimpse the tops of the mountains if you happened to have sharp eyes and knew just where to look. Most green-horns would be apt to reckon it was only the dim outline of a low-hanging line of white clouds."
Lanky strained his eyes to stare in that direction. Sometimes he felt pretty certain he could just discern a faint line above the level horizon, which he fondly told himself must really be the outline of the lofty Rockies, the object of their long ride.
When the day was done the sun had finally disappeared and the glorious bed of crimson and gold that awakened lively feelings of admiration in the souls of the boys had turned to dark blue, it was decided to camp for the night on the prairie.
This was now nothing new to Frank and his chums, since they had been out overnight several times with some of the punchers, riding range after straying stock.
"I'm glad of one thing, though," Lanky told Paul, as a fire was kindled of such stuff as they had managed to pick up on the way.
"Shoot!" exclaimed the other, when Lanky held back, as was his habit when he wanted, to enliven the curiosity of those in his company.
"We didn't run across the rough-house gang of punchers that hold out over at the Double Z Ranch, nor yet any of the sheep-herders from over near Skidmore Station. We're trying to mind our own business and looking for trouble with no outfit, though of course we don't mean to be stood on."
The night passed in comparative peace, though a pack of coyotes persisted in keeping up an all-night chorus of yelps and long-drawn howls that sounded more wolf than otherwise.
With the morning they were early in the saddle. It was so hot that Mr. Wallace had decided to lay off for several hours toward the middle of the day, making up for lost time by the early start, also a ride after nightfall, when the cooler airs would creep down from the mountains ahead.
They could plainly see these mighty elevations now at any time they chose to cast their eyes up and down the horizon toward the west.
"But the atmosphere out here on the level plains is mighty deceptive, you must remember, boys," Zander Forbes had warned them. "A horseman can keep riding for ten hours steadily in a straight line, and at the end of that time seem to be hardly any closer to the mountains than when he started."
"But we understood there'd be only two days of hard riding after we headed into the west!" remonstrated Lanky.
"Well, by late afternoon to-morrow we ought to be inside of fifteen or twenty miles of the foothills. But like as not we'll have to make a third camp on the prairie."
This turned out to be the case; and when the towering Rockies seemed to be so close, the boyswondered why Mr. Wallace decided to defer the remainder of their ride until the next morning.
"Fresh mounts in good condition," the gentleman explained, "are worth much more to us than the gaining of a little time."
In his younger years Mr. Wallace had been considerable of a sportsman, taking his holidays each fall in a camping trip to the Canada bush, where he hunted the moose in a primitive wilderness.
Of late he had not taken any such trips, and his health had suffered in consequence, which helped to bring about this present outing.
The coyotes were as noisy as ever that night. Besides, Lanky heard a new and more thrilling sound, with which he was making his first acquaintance. Jerry told them it was the long-drawl howl of the big gray timber wolf, savage creatures that traveled in packs, and when beset by hunger seldom hesitated to attack a lone hunter.
"If yuh find yuhself beset by sech a pack o' varmints," was the sage advice of the veteran range rider and hunter, "don't keer a picayune 'bout showin' the white feather. If so be thar's a tree handy, shin up it like a streak. Then take yuh pick o' the pesky wolves an' knock 'em over in a row."
"I tried fighting a pack once," observed Zander, with a grimace. "Got the marks of them fangs on my legs and arms to this day. I'd have gone underto boot, only a storm broke and a terrific peal of thunder and a blinking flash of lightning as a tree was struck close by scared the graycoats off and gave me a chance to climb a tree."
With the coming of morning the journey was resumed, and the rising sun saw them almost half-way to the base of the foothills that served as an advance guard to the mountains themselves.
It was just nine by Frank's wrist watch when they arrived. Jerry showed them a trail that led over the range of hills to a canyon zigzagging up the great divide, it having once been the bed of a mighty torrent.
By noon they were fairly over the ridge. Beyond lay a small valley, and Jerry was able to locate and point out the canyon he expected to utilize in climbing to the plateau where Gold Fork lay. The place, they understood, was now the picture of desolation, with tumble-down shanties and stores marking it as a long since abandoned mining camp, where an alluring boomlet bubble had burst, to disappoint and ruin hundreds.
The ponies were somewhat winded after that stiff climb, so when the ride was continued they took their time in making the descent.
"Shucks! two to one we've got to lay over in this washbowl of a valley," grumbled Lanky, "and won't get to the old camp till to-morrow night."
Frank, being more disposed to take things as they came and not show undue eagerness, only laughed at his disappointed chum.
"Plenty of time, your dad told you, Lanky," he remarked.
"Yes, he's always telling me that Rome wasn't built in a day. But I certainly hate to waste the hours. What makes you look up at the sky so often, Frank? Expecting to have a storm break loose on our heads, are you?"
"Nothing in sight to say so," replied the other. "I was watching the wheeling movements of those big birds a mile or so high. Jerry tells me they are vultures, the largest carrion birds we have in this country, known as California vultures."
"Wow, sothat'swhat they are! I saw them some time ago, but took it for granted they must be only turkey buzzards skimming around on the lookout for some eats. Vultures! Are they related to the monster South American condor?"
"First cousins, Zander Forbes told me, and nearly as big, though not so powerful. Why, those condors can carry off a good-sized lamb, I've read. The buzzard of the East and South belongs to the same family, as does the fish-crow of Florida, though of course they're a lot smaller."
"Vultures! Well, I never expected to set eyes on such birds on this trip. When Zander was tellingthat story the other night about an adventure he had when trying to secure an egg for a big museum and near losing his eyes from pecks of the mother, he said this California specimen was hardly ever seen except west of the Rockies; and just now we're on the east side of the big divide."
"I don't know anything about that, but he seemed a bit surprised to see them around here. I reckon they go where the feeding is best, even if it takes them across the snow-capped summits of the Rockies."
Lanky kept looking up frequently after that, as though some freakish scheme had been hatched in that fertile brain of his which he meant to try out, if only an opportunity offered.
At least, his guess concerning their camping in that valley turned out quite true, for when they were half-way across the basin Zander gave the order to pull up.
They were going to enjoy a hunter's feast that night, for the first time on the trip. Zander had managed to creep up on a feeding antelope, by keeping to leeward of the timid animal, and with a remarkably long and clever shot dropped his quarry.
So they expected to eat fresh venison to their hearts' content, and the three boys anticipated a delightful meal.
"Say, Frank, they're scooping down closer rightnow," Lanky observed, as he caught hold of his chum. "I wonder if they smell our fresh meat and hope to get the leavings of our supper."
Frank, however, shook his head skeptically.
"More than likely they've sighted some sort of carrion lying in the valley here, and are making for that. You can see that they keep wheeling in big circles over a spot lying to the north of us, and not more than a couple of hundred yards away from here."
"I'm glad it's to the north," said Paul; "for if there's a dead animal over yonder, so long as the breeze keeps in the southwest we're not going to hold our breath half the night. See! One of the big birds has dropped down to the ground. What monster wings they have; and they keep flapping them up and down as if ready for a scrap as they hop around sideways."
"Zander told me these vultures are about four feet in length from beak to the end of their tails, but that they have a wing spread of over ten feet!"
"Some birds, I'd say," replied Paul. Lanky was only grinning as he eagerly watched the other scavengers of the air drop down and commence to copy the gyrations of the first pilgrim.
"Gee! I'd sure like to try it out," Frank heard him mutter. But what Lanky meant he did notbother to explain, and Frank in the rush of other things forgot to ask him.
"I wonder now," mused Frank, as he watched the big birds hopping about with their wings often used in fighting one another over the spoils, "if he remembers how old Sindbad the Sailor caught a giant roc when a prisoner in that valley and climbing on its back was carried to safety? That would be just like harem-scarem Lanky, with his queer schemes for fun."
A little later he noticed Lanky talking with Zander Forbes, who seemed to be more or less amused at what the boy was saying. The others were all busily engaged at various tasks, and so Lanky was left to his own devices.
Frank's attention was later on attracted to the vultures when he heard a confused sound as of many great wings in motion. Looking out toward the spot they had been feeding he saw they had jumped off the ground and were circling in the air, but keeping within landing distance of their supper table. And there was Lanky, as big as life, stalking toward the spot!
Frank whistled softly in surprise, and then chuckled.
"What under the sun is that chum of mine figuring on doing?" he asked himself. "He's got something on his arm that looks mighty like the fresh skin Zander peeled from the antelope he shot to-day. Yes, and that's a rope he's trailing, too. Something's up, it strikes me."
He kept an eye on Lanky, to see the other stretch himself on the earth and draw the deerskin over him, hair-side down.
"Well, that sticks in my craw," Paul remarked disgustedly as he joined Frank and stared toward the scene of operations. "That chump must have a tougher stomach than I happen to own, to deliberately camp down out there so close to where those monster birds were feeding. Ugh! what wouldn't Lanky risk just to carry out what he'd call a joke?"
"We can soon get a wrinkle on his game by keeping an eye on the spot," vouchsafed Frank. "You see the vultures are already getting over their alarm and are swinging closer to the place with every circle they make."
"You hit the nail on the head that time for keeps, Frank. He keeps lying there as if asleep. What's he got covering him, do you happen to know?"
"Looked to me like the fresh skin of that little deer Zander brought down at such a long distance to-day." Frank informed Paul. "Besides, I saw Lanky talking to Zander, who seemed tickled at something our chum was explaining."
"Oh, well, there's got to be something doing allthe time with Lanky, and when it doesn't come along promptly, trust him to rig up a trick to fetch out a little excitement."
"All I hope," added Frank uneasily, "is that he doesn't find he's bitten off more than he can chew this time."
"You don't like the looks of those vultures, then, I take it?" queried Paul.
"No. They're powerful and ugly-tempered birds, Paul. There, the boldest in the bunch has dropped down, and is heading up to his feed trough again, with those queer jumps and his wings flopping, as if in challenge to the gang to beat him to it."
"Yes, and the rest have forgotten their alarm, for they're dropping down in hot haste. I reckon they're afraid that chap will gobble the whole meal before they can carry off a snack. Now one curious bird is making for that fresh deer-hide, thinking it's manna that dropped down from the clouds. What fool game has Lanky got up his sleeve?"
"No telling," was the brief reply.
A couple of minutes passed. Then suddenly the entire assemblage of giant birds once more jumped off the ground, just as the boys had often seen buzzards do, to start their circling again on wide-spread pinions.
"Look! Oh, look, Frank," cried the excited Paul. "Lanky's slipped a noose around the leg of that biggest one, for it's only gone up a short way and is beating its wings like a crazy thing! There's Lanky now, trailing along the ground. But, Frank, why's he going feet first?"
"He's made a fool play, and got the rope twisted around one of his legs!" exclaimed the astounded as well as alarmed Frank. "He's being dragged along by the vulture! Paul, he may be killed!"
CHAPTER X
THE LOCOED BUFFALO
Theloud talking of the two boys and the flight of the flock of scavengers—of all but that lone captive—soon attracted the attention of the other members of the party.
Mr. Wallace gaped in wonder and annoyance at seeing his son being dragged along, frantically clutching at every object in sight, in the hope of anchoring, and thus staying, his progress. Jerry Brime stared, hardly believing his eyes at witnessing such a curious happening. But Zander Forbes, who had been made Lanky's confidant in the matter, stopped laughing and jumped toward the spot where his rifle lay, the gravity of the situation coming to him like a sudden blow.
Lanky had fortunately succeeded in laying hold of what looked like a sturdy tuft of wiry buffalo grass, and to this he was clinging with might and main. At the same time with his other hand he was stretching down, trying to release his leg from the binding coil of rope.
As long as the strong wings of the frightened andnow angry vulture continued to beat the air so wildly, this was rendered utterly out of the question; for the rope was kept taut, and all Lanky's desperate efforts to unfasten it failed.
"The bird's got tired of trying to yank him up into the air, Frank!" called out Paul. "See, he's dropped back to the ground again, and, as sure as you live, he's hopping straight at Lanky as if he meant to give him a licking for his meanness! Wow! I'm glad it isn't me out there."
"Lanky doesn't seem able to get clear of that loop of the rope!" snapped Frank, "and unless something happens to prevent it he's going to be in danger of having that terrible bird pecking at his eyes!"
"What can we do, Frank, to stop that?" gasped the aroused and now alarmed Paul.
"Let's run, and shout to try and scare the bird off!" suggested the other loyal chum of the reckless Lanky.
"Wait! There's Zander with his gun, Frank. I guess he's got the number of that bird's mess, all right."
Paul had hardly spoken when there came the sharp report of a rifle. Frank, to his great joy, saw the angry vulture fall over and kick as though its finish had indeed come with the pressure of Zander's fore-finger on the trigger.
"Bully! Bully!" shouted the relieved Paul."He cooked that old fighter's goose for him all right! Now Lanky's managed to get his leg free, and is coming back to camp, carrying the rope and the antelope hide. His little game worked all to the good, but took a turn he didn't count on. See him limp, will you? That left leg feels sore, I bet you!"
"I reckon it serves him about right, as his dad will tell him," observed Frank. "Of all the fool tricks I've ever known that boy to try out, this wanting to lasso a live vulture takes the cake! Most people wouldn't want to touch the horrible things with a ten-foot pole."
Lanky looked foolish as he reached the place where Jerry had a little cooking fire burning, although he grinned, and tried to pass the whole thing off as a mere incident.
His father said nothing to him just then. But Frank and Paul knew that in the end Mr. Wallace would have a confidential talk with his son, in which Lanky would "eat humble pie," admitting that his had been a silly scheme that gave him only what he deserved.
Jerry managed to broil enough of the antelope meat for all, even though the three boys did come back repeatedly for further portions, things tasted so good to them.
Mr. Wallace understood, for he had eaten in the open many times himself.
"Food always does taste different when the surroundings are Nature's," he said, as they still sat around and "stoked up," as Lanky termed it.
"It does to me, for one," admitted Frank. "Chances are that if we had this spread at home, with a white tablecloth and china to serve it on, none of us would care a great deal for this venison. It might seem tough and dry unless cooked with bacon slices between. But out here, with appetites like woodchoppers in the cold North, it's a whole lot different."
Lanky was unusually quiet that evening, Frank noticed. Undoubtedly he realized that sometimes what are meant to be pranks turn out to border perilously close to tragedies.
When morning came the boys noticed that no haste was made to get started, and presently the reason for this was made known.
"Would you believe it," said Frank, coming over to where the other two boys were sitting after breakfast was over, "that miserable pack pony has wandered off during the night. It's going to bother us a heap, I reckon."
"Do you mean we'll be held up here in this little valley while a hunt is made for the pony?" demanded Lanky, looking anything but pleased over the possibility of further delay.
"All of us are to start out and search," admitted Frank. "Your father's given us the job of combing the valley to the north, while the others head south. We are to get back to camp by noon, and if the beast hasn't been found by that time we'll have to divide the stores among the bunch, for your dad says he can't be delayed any longer."
"I know what he's thinking about," said Lanky. "He's expecting a mighty important letter from New York that means a whole lot to him in the way of money. It may not arrive before we get back to Rockspur; but if it does I heard him telling Lige to send along one of the other boys to find us at Gold Fork."
According to the plan resolved on, the three boys left camp, going to the north in search of the pack pony, just as Zander and Jerry started toward the south.
"It'll be a nice little gallop for us, anyway," said Frank, who always looked at the bright side of things.
Paul, however, shrugged his shoulders and he called out:
"I'm not quite so keen about a side gallop as you fellows. Fact is, I'm getting pretty well filled up on pony riding. Three days straight is going some for a greenhorn like me. But I'm game to stick itout to a finish. Only I do hope we run across that Wandering Willie of a pony inside of an hour or two, so as to strike back to camp again."
For some time the boys rode along, keeping a lookout on every side. It kept growing warmer all the while, for the mountains shut off any breeze from the west, while a ridge called foothills did the same in the opposite quarter.
An hour passed, and not a single glimpse did the boys get of the missing pack pony.
"Looks as if he had gone south instead of this way," commented Frank. "Though it's possible the beast had intelligence enough to head over the rise and start back home."
"Homesick, you mean, Frank?" laughed Paul.
"Some horses are affected that way, I'm told."
Lanky was unusually quiet all this while. Frank wondered whether the ludicrous adventure with the lassoed vulture had given him a lesson in prudence he would not soon forget.
He looked toward the towering peaks to the immediate west, as though aggrieved because things had happened in such a fashion as to prevent their ascent of those rugged slopes by way of the friendly canyon.
That was what Frank was thinking, but after all it appeared that he did Lanky an injustice, for presently the other broke his silence to say:
"Once or twice last evening, just before dark set in, boys, I had a sort of hunch I could faintly glimpse smoke rising up on the side of the mountains."
"But you didn't mention a word about it to us, Lanky!" Frank put it to him reproachfully.
"I didn't, for a fact," admitted the lad. "To tell the truth, I was feeling kind of punk over the fool game I set out to pull off, and so I just concluded to keep mum and not jump out of the frying pan into the fire. But the more I think about it, the stronger is my belief that it was an occasional wreath of blue smoke I glimpsed."
"That would mean a campfire," said Frank. "And of course you feel dead certain you could say who'd be sitting near that same blaze, having supper?"
"Just what I could!" Lanky chuckled. "For one, Nash Yesson. Then, close by, you'd see a slinking sort of chap known in Columbia as a bully, and chock full of meanness. Lef Seller, who robbed his own father. Yes, and just as like as not you'd set eyes on a queer little runt with a head three sizes too big for his body, name unknown to us, but particularly fond of trying to find hidden things on moonlight nights."
"Well, I agree with you, Lanky," admitted Frank. "If there was a fire, those were the three chaps who'd be sitting beside it and talking about their chancesfor finding Kinney's secret cave where the gold nuggets were cached."
"Frank," said Paul just then, "did you hear what Zander was saying about the report brought to Rockspur one day last week?"
"What was that?"
"That Buffalo Smith's herd of bison had broken from their range and gone back to the free life of their kind. They skedaddled in a night."
"Yes, I heard about that," came the reply. "And Zander told me as his own private opinion that Captain Smith would have trouble rounding up the run-aways, because they'd separated in every direction, each seeming to want to look out for himself."
"Wasn't that a queer way for buffaloes to act?" queried Lanky. "I always understood they kept together in a bunch, just as our cattle do unless they've been stampeded and badly frightened, when they go into a panic."
"Zander, who seems to know lots about the animals, told me," commented Frank, "that you never can tell what a buffalo will do. He says they often seem to get wild and crazy, as if they'd been eating the loco weed that's found sometimes on the plains. But what made you bring up that subject, if it's a fair question, Paul?"
"Oh, just because we're pretty close to one ofthat same run-away herd right now," came the cool and astonishing reply.
"What's that?" exclaimed Lanky, perking up instantly.
"Where do you see a buffalo?" asked Frank, also interested, although believing the other must have deceived himself.
Paul pulled in his pony and pointed toward the foot of the mountain chain.
"Right alongside that patch of trees growing in front of the big boulder. There, he's raised his shaggy head and is staring straight at us!"
The others took one good look, and then while Lanky whistled to mark his surprise, also delight, Frank hastened to give his opinion.
"Good eyes you've certainly got, Paul, for I looked that way myself, and if I noticed anything at all I must have believed that object was only a shadow. But it's as plain as print to me now. That's a buffalo bull—his bulk tells us that."
"Shall we ride over and take a squint at the beast?" asked Lanky.
"For one," Paul told him, "I'd like to say I'd seen a genuine wild buffalo on his native ground, and me astride a cow pony."
"Let's go!" was Frank's terse way of saying he found himself of the same mind as the others. Noone had to ask Lanky what he wanted to do, since he invariably proved ready for action of any kind.
Accordingly they turned to the left and cantered forward. Already did the cow ponies scent the presence of the lumbering beast near by. This was made evident by the way in which they snorted and took brisk, chopping steps, indicating their extreme excitement.
"They're not used to coming so close to buffaloes," explained Frank. "Fact is, I hardly think any one of the three has ever before glimpsed such a sight as this."
"But their noses have caught the wild animal scent, you can see," Lanky ventured, he being much at home in the doings of four-footed creatures.
"Why doesn't the silly thing start running off?" cried Paul. "I thought they were always reckoned a timid bunch in spite of their bulk and savage-looking mop of hair about their heads."
"Slow up, fellows!" called out Frank just then.
"Why, what's the matter?" demanded Paul, turning toward Frank.
Lanky kept going on, as if to say:
"Shucks! who's afraid of a lonely lost buffalo? Not me!"
"I don't quite like the way old Boss acts," continued Frank. "See him shake his head and lower his ugly black horns. You've both seen a bull inthe pasture do that many a time, boys, when he was getting primed for a charge."
"Yes; and I don't like the looks of it!" asserted Paul emphatically.
"Say, do you think he's got the same objection to my red handkerchief that a tame Jersey bull shows?" and Paul threw up his hand, ready to tear the offending fiery cowboy neck-piece loose, so he might cram it into his pocket.
"It might be that," Frank told him. "Then again, wasn't there something said about the herd of bison having made a meal off that terrible loco weed that grows in places and affects cows and sends 'em off like mad dogs?"
Even Lanky pulled up when Frank said that. His recent experience in the realm of adventure was too fresh for him to forget the humiliation that followed close on its heels; and prudence, as his father had counseled him, began to urge that from now on he go a bit slow.
The ponies seemed to understand intuitively that the buffalo was not the ordinary docile domestic beast, accustomed to the presence of man. They snorted worse than ever, acting as though eager to whirl about and leave that part of the valley as fast as four legs could carry them.
"Whoop! here he comes licketty-split!" yelled Lanky. "I've got a date somewhere else, believe me!I sure haven't lost any buffalo! Tra-la-la! Old Boss, here's giving you the grand bounce! It's not me you want!"
He let his frantic pony turn as on a pivot, and shoot away, with Frank a good second.
Paul, never a good rider, tried to do likewise. He had the ill-fortune to lose his seat, and be thrown to the ground. He looked back to see that black-horned and shaggy-headed beast charging wildly toward him!
CHAPTER XI
A CAMP IN THE CANYON
"Holdup, Lanky!"
Hearing these words shouted suddenly by Frank, Lanky Wallace turned in his saddle. Seeing Paul's peril, he drew his unwilling pony's head around, and commenced to gallop back again just as fast as he had taken flight.
"Look lively, Paul!" shrilled Frank, fervently wishing he had his rifle along, when he might trust everything to a shot, in the hope of at least crippling the locoed buffalo bull.
"Hi! Paul!" bellowed Lanky. "The tree! Make for the tree! Only chance to give him the grand laugh! Hey! Side-step it in a hurry! Good jump, Paul, old boy! See him get over the ground for that tree, will you, Frank? Talk to me about home-runs, Paul's got it all plastered over his old mates on the Columbia High team. He's after you, Paul! Dodge those shiny horns again! One more whirl like that, and you'll arrive! Got him again, but he's on to your curves. Beat it!"
Paul did, and in great shape. He arrived at the lonesome tree in time to scramble up amidst its low-hanging branches before the furious buffalo came lumbering along, foam flecking each corner of his mouth.
"Hold up, Lanky!" cried Frank.
"What's the next thing on the program?" asked the impetuous one, pulling in his rearing steed and holding the bridle as tight as he could—one run-away pony was surely sufficient without having the others take their leave.
"Chase Paul's nag and fetch him back." Frank had assumed charge of the situation; for he was accustomed to being the captain in baseball and football games, his companions gladly looking to him for leadership.
"You'll find a way to get Paul out of his fix, will you, Frank? All right, here goes for a pony chase!"
With that Lanky was off on the jump. He never even bothered to ask Frank how he meant to maneuver, in order to get Paul out of the bison's reach.
When Frank next turned his attention to the strange scene before him he found that Paul, having recovered his breath, was taking things in a matter-of-fact way that rather amused his chum.
Leaning down from his safe perch he was talking to his guard. The buffalo bull was staring up at his prisoner in the tree with those small but wicked-looking eyes and at certain points in Paul's harangue Frank was highly amused to see the animal scrape the ground violently with a fore hoof, as if he did not agree with the argument at all.
"Looks as if the old scamp might be saying," chuckled Frank, "'you just drop down here once, and I'll show you how I can polish you off slicker than anything you ever saw. Try me, that's all.'"
"Hey! Frank!" called out the boy up in the tree, noticing for the first time that his chum had drawn somewhat closer and was holding in his prancing and snorting pony with a firm hand.
"All right, Paul. You sure did climb some that time!"
"Well, anybody would be apt to, with those black horns right behind him," the other retorted in self-defense.
"They say a miss is as good as a mile, and you did have a close shave."
"But how'm I going to get out of this scrape? That's what's bothering me!"
"Forget it, and trust to your Dutch uncle to hatch up a scheme to fool old Woolly Head. Now listen, and I'll unfold the plan."
"Shoot!"
"Notice that Lanky's galloped after your run-away pony?"
"That's mighty fine of him," ventured Paul. "I'dbegun to believe I'd have to do considerable hiking before landing in camp again; or else double-up with one of you fellows. Well, what's next?"
"I'm going to lure that bison of yours off by his lonesome, if I can fix things right."
"Sounds good to me," came the reply. "But first of all, don't denominate thisshaggymonster asmyproperty. I don't claim to own a solitary share in him hair, hide, or horns. He belongs to Buffalo Smith; though I'd like to convert him into tough steaks, if only I had a rifle handy."
"I've managed to snatch up that offensive red handkerchief of yours," explained Frank, "from where you threw it when chasing for refuge. It must have been the innocent cause of all your trouble and as tit-for-tat I mean to make it help you out of this pickle."
"Oh! now I get you! You expect to coax the old lummix to chase after you for a mile or so, and so give me a chance to climb down?"
"That's the little game, partner. When you see me wave my hat get a move on, and drop."
"But if he sees me on the ground he's dead sure to come back with a rush, and I'd have to take to the mountains to keep clear of those shiny short horns!"
"Oh, I expect to keep him employed till I see thatLanky's shown up, leading your pony. Get that, Paul?"
"A regular old booster of a scheme, Frank, if only everything works in a groove. Get busy then, and flag him. I'll lie low, so he'll forget all about poor little Paul up a tree!"
Frank delayed no longer, but started waving the red neckerchief violently in the most insolent fashion he could devise. At the same time he called out tantalizingly at the buffalo, daring him to come out and have a nice little run for his money.
More pawing at the ground followed, accompanied with low, hollow sounds that stood for bellows. Evidently the bull was thus engaged in working himself up to a certain pitch of rage, when he would be unable to resist the lure of that flaunting and much hated red flag.
"Whoop! he's off. Frank, get going before he takes a whack at you!" shouted Paul, as the animal suddenly tore away with lowered head, eager to give battle to the reckless enemy who thus dared him.
If Frank had possessed three hands to pull at the reins he could not have held in that frantic cow pony when the little beast saw that lumbering bull charging.
Whirling around, he went off like a shot, only desirous of placing plenty of ground between himself and the mad creature. Accustomed to cattle as he must be, nevertheless there was something terrifying about the bunchy-headed buffalo that sent the pony into equine spasms.
Frank managed to pull him in a bit, so as not to outdistance the charging bull, lest he go back to his prisoner again. He also continued to flaunt that offensive red flag and send jeering whoops over his shoulder that kept his pursuer spurred up to fever heat.
A full mile was covered in a short time. Then a distant shout was borne to Frank's ears. On investigating he discovered that Lanky had succeeded in capturing the run-away mount and was already close to the tree, from which Paul could be seen descending in eager haste.
"Now then, get a move on you, Chestnut!" Frank called out to his pony, at the same time kicking his heels into the animal's sides.
Gradually he began to gain on the bull, which after another mile lost heart, and dropped out of the race. Frank, seeing his two chums coming in a round-about way, waited for them to join him. Paul was grinning amiably, as if he had rather enjoyed having been in the spotlight. Things looked different to him, now that it was all over but the shouting.
They again took up the search for the pony thatwas so badly needed to carry the pack, and were fortunate enough to glimpse the animal feeding on some luxuriant grass that had tempted him to forget his love of freedom.
Having captured the run-away, the boys once more turned their faces toward the south, and in due time reached camp. The others did not return for another hour or more, and were of course pleased to learn of the recovery of the pack animal.
It was now noon, so they had a bit of cold lunch, and after that a start was made.
Jerry was in the lead, it being their intention to make for the canyon. If this was followed up the face of the mountain range it would in due time take them to the plateau where Gold Fork lay in its desolation.
The boys now had a chance to see a real Rocky Mountain canyon, where ages ago a torrent used to come tearing down from the snow-capped peaks above, gradually to wear away the earth lying between solid walls of rock, until they loomed up a hundred feet or more on either hand.
It was now a dry defile, the lads noticed, although they fancied that once in a great while, during some cloudburst, there might be a deluge of water come roaring and tossing down the canyon, carrying everything before it.
They found it hard work picking their way upward; but Jerry knew pretty well how to avoid the worst of the difficulties.
"This means we're going to pitch camp in this channel of an old-time torrent," remarked Frank, as the long afternoon wore away and their hard-worked ponies gave signs of being very tired.
"It'll be a new experience," observed Lanky, looking around at the lofty walls that rose on either side. "Gee whiz! but I'd hate to be caught in this hole if a storm broke and the rain came down as it does sometimes out here in the Rockies. We'd soon be swimming I reckon."
Paul Bird looked uneasy, but made no remark, for he rather suspected that Lanky was saying what he did in anticipation of "getting a rise" from him. As long as Paul had known Lanky, he had never learned to tell with certainty when the tall fellow was joking and when he was serious.
As evening approached Jerry called a halt. He must have had reasons for choosing that particular spot to pitch camp, Frank decided, after noticing how the veteran puncher and prospector looked around him from time to time, as if renewing old-time recollections of the place.
A fire was made, there being an abundance of dead wood at hand, coming from the stunted trees that grew out of clefts in the surrounding walls.
"What makes it seem so hot here?" asked Paul, wiping his reeking forehead with the same red neckerchief that had excited the buffalo bull.
"Oh, it's nearly always hot around these mountains," replied the artful Lanky. "Folks say it's because some of them used to be volcanoes ages and ages ago, and the fires must still be burning deep down."
But Paul scoffed at the fantastic idea, knowing full well Lanky was only "drawing the long bow" for his especial benefit.
"If you look," remarked Frank quietly, "you'll notice that it's clouded up; and with all this high temperature I wouldn't be surprised if we had some rain before morning."
"Let's hope, then," added Lanky, and really meaning what he said, "that it isn't to be one of those terrific cloudbursts Zander was telling us about at supper. I like swimming, all right! But excuse me from being swept on a boiling torrent down an old canyon half a mile long, to be kicked out on the prairie like a knocked-about bag of meal."
"Well, Jerry knew what he was about when he picked out this particular point for our camp," Frank went on to say confidently.
"We'll pin our faith on Jerry, then," said Paul, trying to appear quite unconcerned, though his heart did beat faster than its wont as he surveyed the myriad of sharp-pointed rocks and enormous boulders marking the course of the crooked defile.
Another thing the watchful Frank noticed later on told him Jerry Brime did not mean to be caught entirely unprepared, should any sort of impending disaster break over their heads.
He himself took the trouble to do up their pack of stores after supper was over, a most unusual thing, and arrange so that at a moment's notice it could be secured on the back of the pony.
The animals, too, were kept saddled and bridled, as though in readiness for sudden flight. Frank wondered what sort of time they could make going down that dreadful gap in the face of the mountains in the dead of night, and with a million obstacles lying in wait to bring about trouble.
They needed no blaze that night to keep the chill away; it seemed strangely suffocating, a fact that might account for the unusual wakefulness on the part of the three boys.
"Don't know what ails me," grumbled Lanky who was stretched out in his beloved checkered blanket close to Frank. "I keep turning from one side to the other, and just can't get asleep, tired as I am. Guess mom would say I'd got the 'fidgets,' while dad'd likely tell me I was too greedy with that campfire-cooked venison. Shucks! something's going to happen, I reckon."
"It sure will, if you don't quit that mumbling," chuckled Frank, "for I can see Zander popping his head up and looking this way, as if he had half a mind to make you go off and herd by yourself."
"You said it, Frank," came from Paul, on the other side of Lanky. "I'm no knocker, but he keeps digging his elbows into my ribs every time he turns over. Please quit it, Lanky, and settle down."
Somehow or other, the uneasy one did manage to control his restlessness, and he soon lay sprawled out on his back and breathing hard, which was a pretty good indication that he had passed over into dream-land.
Frank did not have the slightest idea how long he was lost to the world after Lanky quieted down. It may have been several hours, for there was nothing to tell him what the time was when he was aroused by a frightful crash of thunder that seemed to make the solid rocks under him tremble with the vibration.
Then came a dash of rain that almost instantly deluged every one, so that clothes and blankets were soaking wet.
When a flash of lightning lit up the canyon as by bright sunlight, Lanky was seen threshing around in the endeavor to get free from his blanket that had crept up about his ears as he slept. At the same came his triumphant shout:
"What did I tell you? Something's happened all right, hasn't it?"
But Jerry Brime gave them no time to dispute.
"We got to git outen this right smart, 'case that looks like a cloudburst to me. This hyah canyon she'll be ten feet deep in a flood afore yuh knows what's comin' down on yuh. Everybody git yuh duffle, an' foller old Jerry!"
CHAPTER XII
A RACE WITH THE CLOUDBURST
Itwas a scene of the wildest commotion, as the almost continually flashing lightning depicted. The three boys had it seared on their minds so that they would never forget the thrill of the occasion as long as they lived.