But for that rare forethought and preparedness on the part of Jerry Brime, it would have been many times worse. His arrangements for sudden flight allowed the party to make a move without wasting a single minute of precious time.
The ponies gave them some trouble, for they seemed to sense impending calamity, and were nearly frantic. But by now even the tenderfeet had learned how to manage frightened mounts; and as each one had his own cayuse to lead, once he got a firm grip on tin bridle near the bit it was not a very difficult task.
At least the lightning, coming so incessantly, proved of immense advantage to the party. Frank shuddered to think what dreadful stumbling, withresulting injuries, would have been their portion had they been compelled to make their way down the defile in utter darkness, with those flinty and jagged-edged rocks strewing their path.
So the camp was abandoned in much less time than it had taken them to arrange things. There was great need of haste, too, it soon proved.
"Oh! listen, Frank!" cried Paul, as he turned toward his chum, who managed to keep close by, ready to give a helping hand should the need arise.
"Yes, I hear it, Paul!"
"It sounds like a river broken loose!" continued the other, in an agitated voice.
"Just what it is, I reckon—a fresh river—the flood!" Frank told him.
"Faster, everybody!" called Mr. Wallace, conscious of the magnitude of their danger.
"Yep, move lively, 'case she's a-tearin' down the mountain like greased lightning!" Zander Forbes called out; lapsing into cowboy lingo, college graduate as he claimed to be.
As Jerry had to be in the van to serve as their guide, Zander had taken it upon himself to tow the pack-pony as well as his own mount. This was a tremendous responsibility under such conditions, and few punchers there were who could have managed it; but then Zander seemed to be little short of a wizard among animals.
The thunder still bellowed, while the rain fell in almost solid sheets, so that in all there was a hurricane of sound around the fleeing party. Still above this noise they could plainly distinguish that awful roar of rushing waters on the rampage, than which there can be no more terrifying sound possible.
Paul Bird had to clinch his teeth until his lips bled in order to master the deadly fear that gripped his very soul and made him feel sick. In imagination he was picturing the scene Lanky had drawn when he spoke so jokingly about "swimming down on the boiling flood to be swept out into the little valley with broken bones and life extinct."
So far as Frank could see, those grim and lofty and forbidding walls continued to hem them in on either side—utterly unscalable, and looking like the jaws of a trap that was destined to be their doom. But he felt positive that Jerry knew of some avenue of escape from the canyon, if only they were given the time required to reach the opening. Once the flood caught up with them, all would be lost.
He had never looked upon such a spectacle in all his life, but he understood that the first wave might be something like ten feet high, and making the descent of the abrupt mountainside with incredible velocity, so that it was bound to carry horses and human being off their feet when it struck them, andas the downpour still continued the chances were that the torrent would gain additional volume with every rod it rushed along.
On the fugitives pressed, making better time than could have been attained under any other conditions, for there is nothing equal to the dread of death to spur men and beasts on to herculean efforts.
Fortunately none of the ponies had thus far stumbled. Although the time lost by such an accident might be only the fraction of a minute, even such a brief delay was apt to cost them dear when the race was so close. Frank's pony seemed to lag a bit, having hit upon a section of ground that was rougher than the rest, being strewn with more loose rocks, and in this way the lad found himself the last member of the sextette.
In a flight such as this, it is usually every one for himself, since there is no time given to double-up. As Lanky would have stated it, "Every chap must look out for himself."
Jerry was calling out now at the top of his voice, and despite all the other booming sounds they could catch the drift of his words, meant solely to encourage them at this crisis.
"It's right ahead of us! We're bound to git thar all hunk! Keep a-goin' like hot cakes, fellers! I know whar I'm at, yuh kin bet yuh boots!"
He finished this rush of shouted words with hisfamiliar old cowboy yell, as if to defy the rush of the flood and the fury of the summer storm.
If they attained their goal and managed to get out of reach of the avalanche of water, it would be by the skin of their teeth. Lanky could not have uttered a word just then, no matter how desperately he tried, for his lips felt as dry as those of a fever-stricken mule-skinner in a caravan, and his breath was coming in pants, as of a hound that had run a long race in chase of a hare.
Just when he was almost on the point of despairing and under the belief that Jerry must have miscalculated the time required to reach his escape valve from the canyon trap, Lanky heard the veteran give a joyous cry:
"Hyah she is, boys, and the kentry's saved!"
Never had such welcome words come to the ears of those fugitive treasure-seekers. It inspired them to keep up their efforts a fraction of a minute longer, though the closeness of the coming flood was enough in itself to urge them to astonishing agility.
Jerry and his mount were turning abruptly to the left. Lanky wondered how it came he had failed to notice this single break in the continuity of those cruel granite walls when they were slowly ascending the face of the mountain chain. But it was there, just the same, and a good thing for the hard-pressed outfit.
They straggled out of the canyon bed and climbed to higher ground with all the speed they could muster. There were not half a dozen seconds to spare, Lanky realized, with a shiver of horror, when he heard the sweep of the crest of the flood go rushing madly past, and even found his legs in water up to his ankles.
How thankful they must feel, and with what lighter hearts would they stick to their isle of safety until the flood went down again. Paul could not contain himself, even though his wind was scant after his recent efforts.
"Lanky, look! Oh, look! Here's Frank's pony close at my heels! But where is Frank?"
At the words all of the party came to an abrupt halt, a feeling like ice gripping every heart. The roar and sweep of the flood was not quite so frightful as before, since its crest had gone by but a new terror now seized them.
Was Frank caught in its terrifying grip?
CHAPTER XIII
WASHED AWAY
Whathad actually happened to Frank Allen might easily be termed tragedy. What made it all the stranger was the fact that he owed it to the frantic eagerness of his pony to escape the clutch of the oncoming flood.
Having been detained a little because meeting more obstacles than the others of the party, Frank was still in the canyon when the others turned out of it. Fascinated by the spectacle behind him, he turned his head in the act of climbing out to take one last fleeting look up the cut.
What he saw by the aid of the lightning was a sight that must always give him a queer chill, because of what followed so closely in its train.
A mighty wave was pouring down upon him, its crest foamy and leaping as if in glee. It was eight or ten feet high at most, but to the excited imagination of the boy it seemed doubly that.
The mere turning of his head as he did caused him to lose a fraction of his steadiness. At the same instant the pony made such a frantic leap forwardthat Frank lost his hold on the bridle. The next thing he knew something hit him squarely in the chest as with a sledge hammer, knocking him backward. It must have been one of the pony's recklessly flung hind hoofs, in the way of which Frank had tumbled.
Before the starred boy could more than struggle to his knees in the effort to escape his fate he was picked up by that roaring flood and borne swiftly along.
Fortunately for his own good, Frank managed to retain his wits, awkward and perilous as his situation now was. He threw out both arms and tried to clutch hold of such rocks as he came in contact with, usually the projecting knobs that were connected with the near wall, and perhaps six or more feet from the bed of the canyon.
Several times he managed to get some sort of a grip on such a welcome anchor, only to find he was utterly unable to maintain his hold. On each occasion the fierce current snatched him loose again, after almost dislocating his shoulder or his elbow.
One thing these several detentions did accomplish, and that was to retard his downward rush a little each separate time. So he was gradually falling back a dozen feet or more from the apex of that leading billow. Thus he presently found the water somewhat less agitated, though still mighty in its pull.
Buffeted and tossed like a chip, Frank Allen was fast losing the best of his strength, although his grit still held out. The never-say-die spirit such as he had exhibited on many a hard fought football field or a struggle for supremacy on the diamond, was fated to stand back of him again in this tussle with the on-rushing torrent.
When for the fourth time he managed to fasten his fingers, like the talons of that vulture Zander had shot on a projecting point of rock, he summoned every fibre of his whole being to conquer the drag of the current.
Inch by inch he felt he was succeeding. Past him the torrent still rushed, but he had reason to believe it did not have him wholly in its power as before.
So in another minute Frank was able to drag himself on to a friendly rock. He was so nearly spent by that time that it was with extreme difficulty he managed to keep his seat. Several times he almost toppled off his perch, which would have undoubtedly been his end, since he was now very weak.
By slow degrees his strength and will power came back, and a sense of deep gratitude filled his heart because of the Hand that seemed to have thus plucked him directly out of deadly danger.
But what should he do next?
He realized that of course the others of his partywould be mystified on account of his absence and the appearance of his pony among the rest of the animals. There was no possible way, however, by which he could acquaint them with his wonderful escape from a terrible fate.
His first plan was to remain where he was until hours had passed and the flood fully subsided. Then, by dropping down into the canyon's bed once more, he could ascend its tortuous course until he found the fissure by means of which the party had climbed as he hoped, to safety.
Moving backward in order to make more certain that he would not slip and thus get into fresh trouble, Frank found that a crevice opened up in the wall of the cleft, wide enough for him to pass along.
It ascended, too, which was a plain invitation for him to continue as long as the going proved to be possible. All the while, he realized, he must be getting nearer the top of the lofty canyon wall, where he would find the surface of the mountainside.
One thing he discovered that pleased him—the rain had ceased. Also the roar of the thunder had dwindled to mere growlings in the distance.
"The storm's gone past," Frank told himself, eager to hear the sound of his own voice once more, for it would make his strange surroundings seem less gruesome. "At the worst, I'll only have to spendthe rest of the night by myself on the mountain."
Such a possibility did not much concern a boy who had made many a lone camp in his days of hiking. Sometimes this had even been across an entire state, so as to enlarge his faculties and observe the wonders of nature, as well as rub up against such people as could be found in country backwoods and charcoal burners' camps.
Then came still another discovery. On looking up to find just how far above him the surface might be, what was his delight to see a bright star peeping in between the sides of the cleft in the rocks.
When three minutes afterwards Frank crept out of his "Jacob's Ladder," as he meant to call the friendly fissure, he found that the clouds had begun to roll away to leeward and many stars dotted the heavens overhead.
At any rate, he had nothing more to fear from the storm. But it had come close to being an expensive experience for him. As his nerves quieted down by degrees he felt more like himself, and able to grapple with any ordinary difficulty that might come along.
Everything was soaking wet, water even running from each outlying rock's surface. He himself was completely saturated; but as it still remained fairly warm Frank minded that not at all.
"Now what's to be done?" he asked himself, meaning to form his plan on the spot and then carry it out as best he could.
Of course, it was utterly useless to dream of attempting to find his party while darkness lasted. They might be far distant, unable to hear his shouts in case he raised his voice.
"More than that," Frank added, as an after-thought, "it would be a crime to tempt Lanky, or any of the others, to come down the face of this rocky mountain, risking all sorts of dangers they would not see in the dark. There must be many a precipice between their new camp and here, where a slip would spell death."
That point settled, Frank decided to try to pick out some half-way decent camp site and make the best of a bad bargain.
He had much to be grateful for, and, besides that, Frank Allen was never the boy to grumble because things did not chance to run as smoothly as he might have wished.
After looking as best he could around the vicinity, he settled on a certain spot as well adapted for his purposes. For one thing, there were several stumps of trees near by; and if only he could knock one of these to flinders by using a big rock in lieu of an ax, he conceived the idea that he would yet have a cheery blaze started.
Among other symptoms of eternal preparednessthat were characteristic of Frank was his always making sure to carry a waterproof metal matchsafe, filled with "fire-sticks," in his pocket.
He had not been immersed in the water a great while, and felt absolutely certain his precious matches would be dry and ready for use. With this desire for comfort, as well as an opportunity for drying his clothes, spurring him on, Frank started work on what seemed to be the most promising of three stumps.
There was an abundance of half-dead wood lying around, wet, of course, after such a deluge; but he fancied he would have little difficulty in keeping a fire going, if only he found enough dry stuff to start kindling it.
His guess in connection with the heart of that stump proved to be a good one, for he soon had taken out sufficient dry stuff to answer all purposes. So, striking a match, he applied it to the tinder thus collected, and had the satisfaction of seeing a flame start up at once.
This he carefully and assiduously cherished and fed until he had collected quite a nice mess of red embers. Then he began to put on some of the other wood, and, as he anticipated it soon burst into a crackling blaze.
How good it felt to the wet boy, words could hardly tell. By degrees he managed to dry hisclothes by keeping turning around like a teetotum, from one side to another, standing the heat as long as possible.
An hour had perhaps gone—Frank could tell only by the movement of the heavenly bodies, since water had got into his wrist watch and stopped the wheels from turning.
He found himself turning every little while toward the east, in the hope of seeing signs of dawn, even though good common sense told him that must still be an hour and more away.
Just as he began to feel what he called "dopey," sitting there by the warm fire, his head nodding, Frank caught a sound that disturbed his growing confidence that the worst was past. It was a series of queer, blood-curdling yelps that he guessed came from a pack of those fierce, mountain gray wolves Jerry had told him about. From the tenor of their eager howls, the boy knew they must be hunting for something toothsome with which to sate their ferocious appetites!
CHAPTER XIV
THE TIMBER-WOLF PACK
"Thatsounds bad to me," Frank told himself, as he listened to the long-drawn howls of the carniverous wolves, echoing so drearily along the side of the mountain. "Seems like this is my night for shaking hands with Old Man Trouble right along. Whew, there must be as many as half a dozen hungry creatures in that pack!"
He fed more sticks to his snapping blaze, and a minute or two later had made up his mind.
"Doesn't seem to be a decent-sized tree left around these diggings. I reckon an avalanche must have carried them all down to the foot of the mountain, and these saplings are second-growth timber. That means I'm not going to follow Paul's example, and roost in a tree."
Frank, of course, was well acquainted with the fact that nearly all wild animals to be found in western wilds are afraid of fire. That would mean he must have sufficient fuel close at hand to keep his blaze going for several hours; really until thecoming of dawn should send the ravenous beasts skulking off to their dens, they being creatures of the night.
"Time I got busy and collected all the stuff that will burn," he said, after making this decision to stand by the fire as his best resort. "It might even be I'll have to start a second blaze, to keep them from creeping up from the rear and taking me off my guard."
He went to the task with great energy, forgetting all about sore arms in his desire to pile up the wood.
Crash! and down came the heavy rock again and again, breaking the wood in short lengths suitable for his purpose. It was wonderful how rapidly his pile grew, but then Frank was fully aware of the tremendous amount of fuel an open campfire can devour in the course of several hours, and if his supply gave out just at a critical moment he would be undone.
Now and then he would stop to listen.
"Their keen ears must have heard this noise of my wood-smasher at work, and chances are they'll get wise," he remarked between his gasps for breath at one period of his energetic labors. "Yes, their howls are a whole lot closer than when I first heard them."
That caused a quick return to work, for his wood-pile was not as large as caution dictated. HowFrank wished he had his rifle with him, for then he could rapidly diminish the pack until the rest took fright and left for some distant refuge.
The doleful sounds continued to break the silence of the night with a horrible significance. No one who has never heard the howling of wolves, with not any weapon other than his hunting-knife to defend himself against their sharp teeth and terrible claws, can realize what a strange feeling assails even a valiant heart as the sounds draw steadily nearer and nearer.
Frank picked out a good stout cudgel, and kept it handy for use in case it came to a fight with the pack. Still the boy hoped he might fend off the animals by a judicious use of flaming brands, hurled from time to time into their midst.
So rapidly had they come that now he felt sure he could hear the rush of their bodies through the bushes close by. Then he caught sight of a moving figure seen dimly by the firelight, and which crouched low as it came toward him.
Frank uttered a yell, and, springing to his fire, stirred it to greater efforts. Not content with this, since the wolf still lay only thirty feet or so away, he snatched up a burning brand and sent it whizzing through the air.
"My old cunning as a baseball pitcher comes in handy on such an occasion as this," chucked Frank,when he plainly caught the "plunk" that announced the collision of the whirling faggot of wood with the crouching beast.
He heard the surprised beast give a snap and a snarl. The hard-flung, blazing missile had burnt its hide, and Frank saw the animal scuttle off in great haste.
"So long, Mr. Wolf!" he shouted, in great glee over the success of his initial effort at bombardment. "Got your number that time, and three strikes means you're out! Plenty more tricks in the bag, you want to know. Who's the next victim? Don't be backward about stepping forward; all coons look alike to me when I'm pitching gilt-edged ball."
Before long he was aware that his enemies had his camp completely surrounded. Glance whichever way he might, Frank could glimpse a pair of yellow, wicked-looking eyes fixed hungrily upon him.
"Now I've got to mind myself, all right," he muttered, holding in readiness for quick action in case the beasts attempted to rush his fortress in a body. "I don't like them creeping so near, and I'd better put a few more of these red brands to good use."
He seized upon one, and sent it hurdling through space; then a second followed in rapid succession, the bombardment being maintained until he had given the whole circle a share of the blazing faggots.
"All pins down, and a count for me," the undaunted boy called out, partly because the sound of his own voice helped keep his spirits up. "Set 'em up in the other alley, boy! Huh! didn't just like having it rain fire, did you, old Graybacks? Moved back a bit, too. And I'd feel a whole lot easier, if you'd keep that distance from now till daylight!"
But the scare of the wolves was of short duration. Inside of ten minutes they had crept back once more to their former advanced line, so that again the boy could see those glaring orbs whichever way he looked.
He had to repeat the barrage, using up more of his precious wood than he could well spare.
"Retreated again," he told himself, though with a lack of his former enthusiasm. "But I can't keep that sort of thing going right along. I'll hold off longer, and then jump for them with a brand in each hand."
He waited until he could actually glimpse the grim crouching figures of the determined wolves flattened on the ground, just as he had many times seen the pet cat at home do when ready to pounce on a robin or a sparrow. Then he started for them, shouting at the top of his now hoarse voice, and at the same time flourishing two torches with great vigor.
The animals could not stand such a display of fireworks, and beat a retreat once more. Frank was shrewd enough not to be tempted into goingany great distance away from his best friend, the fire.
Time passed on leaden wings as Frank Allen kept up this strange vigil. By judicious management he succeeded in husbanding his shortening supply of available fuel. On discovering signs of coming dawn over in the east Frank took fresh heart, and began to believe he would win his battle with the wolf pack.
Stronger grew the oncoming daylight.
"Showing signs of meaning to throw up the sponge, are you?" he called out tauntingly, as he discovered one of the animals turning tail and slinking away, heading along the mountainside, evidently having a den in that quarter. "Well, here's wishing you better luck in getting supper another time, when it's venison you're stalking and not a poor tenderfoot cowpuncher. Good riddance to bad rubbish. There goes a second chap, licking his chops like all hungry disappointed animals do."
So the pack disintegrated, until so far as Frank could see there remained only a solitary sentry out in the scrub.
"Seems to be a whole lot more tenacious than the rest of his bunch," chuckled the greatly relieved besieged boy. "I'll fix him, all right. Plenty of ammunition now, and to spare."
He boldly charged the last member of the oncethreatening pack, and pelted him with a number of burning sticks in rapid succession. It was some gratification to score several "hits," and in the end he had that wolf running for shelter, with a badly singed hide to make him remember with regret his close acquaintance with one of the elements that he held in fear.
"Coast seems to be all clear now, but I'd better hang around for another half hour or so," Frank told himself. "Gee! what a dandy fire for cooking bacon and eggs over, if only I had them."
When he took it for granted that the time set had passed, Frank started off. The sun was already above the low and level horizon beyond the foothills lying to the east, and Frank gave a fond look that way, remembering that over in that quarter lay Rockspur Ranch, with its familiar surroundings and the friends who occupied so much of his waking thoughts.
He found the going anything but easy, so rough was the mountainside in every direction. Now and then he was afforded wonderful views, as some new vista opened up. Frank hoped he was through with adventure for some time; though remembering that these wild mountain regions were said to be the hunting-grounds of certain savage animals, such as the grizzly bear.
"I'd sure hate" he was muttering at one time ashe climbed, "to run smack into one of those old Mountain Charlies, as Jerry said they are called over on the coast side of the Rockies. I'll try to keep my eye fixed on some nice tree that I can shin up, in case there's any need of a change of base."
By slow degrees he was making fair headway up the rugged slope. Several times he found it necessary to detour, on account of a cliff that loomed up in his course and that could not be scaled, even should he take his courage in both hands and make the attempt.
"They do say the longest way around is sometimes the shortest in the end," he buoyed up his spirits by saying; "and I'd a heap rather go an extra half-mile than fall from that rocky wall."
He was wondering how much farther he ought to climb and if it might not be the part of wisdom on his part to start yelling on the chance of being overheard by the others of his party, when he fancied he caught the sound of a human voice.
The more he listened the better convinced he felt that he had not been deceived by his ears. Some one was grumbling, and talking in a fretful tone.
"Hello!" called Frank, cupping his hands and sending out the shout in the direction the sounds seemed to come from.
"Oh, help! Help!" came back almost instantly and in piteous tones.
"I ought to know that voice!" snapped Frank.
Thrilled by the anguish which he had caught with Lanky's muffled appeal for assistance, Frank Allen hurried as much as he dared. As he advanced he continued to call out reassuring words.
"Hey, Lanky, I'm coming!"
CHAPTER XV
WHAT HAPPENED TO LANKY
"Comeas quick as you can—nearly all in, and feel like I'm going to—faint, you know. Think ofme, Lanky Wallace, actin' like that! But—it's awful—being turned upside-down this way! Hurry along!"
Lanky's words greatly mystified Frank, for as yet he had failed to get the first glimpse of his chum in trouble. Not for long, however, did this ignorance last.
"Well, Lanky Wallace sure has pulled a stunt I never saw equaled!" burst from the lips of the amazed and startled Frank, when, bursting through a barrier of thorny brushwood, he saw a swinging figure hanging head downward over the edge of a sheer drop that would measure a full twelve feet.
It was Lanky all right, though few of his friends would be able to recognize him if discovered in that awkward and ridiculous posture. One of his feet seemed to be entangled in a vine that grew from a fissure close to the top of the diminutive cliff,which, of course, assumed the size of a precipice to the unfortunate human pendulum.
But it was no laughing matter to Lanky. If left too long, he would come to a dangerous pass, since all the blood would go to his head, and so encompass his death.
He must have twisted and writhed with might and main in the endeavor to reach up a groping hand and obtain some sort of grip upon the vine that was the cause of his stumbling over the edge of that cliff.
Now he had stopped all that useless work and was swinging back and forth, for all the world like the weight in a great grandfather clock in the Allen home at Columbia.
Losing not a second in inaction, Frank hastened to make his way up one side of the rocky wall, which he was able to do by searching for toe-holds.
These did not always prove as substantial as he would have wished, for once he slipped and slid backward several feet, amidst a vast falling of shale and earth.
Poor despairing Lanky gave vent to an agonized howl on hearing the racket thus made. He naturally fancied, not being able to see a thing on account of the coat dangling over his head, that his rescuer had gotten himself into some serious predicament, which would "settle his—Lanky's—goose," since further delay must drive him frantic.
"Nothing gone wrong, Lanky. Only lost my grip. Be with you in three shakes of a dog's tail. Don't worry, it's Frank talking to you! Now I'm at the top, and going over!"
The knowledge that Frank was actually alive after all the dreadful fears that had oppressed both himself and Paul, helped revive Lanky's drooping spirits considerably. He stopped groaning, and Frank thought he heard him say in a fearfully weak voice something like:
"Bully—it's Frank! Oh, bul—ly boy!"
Now Frank was crawling along the edge of the little precipice toward the spot below which his chum dangled like a mason's plumb-line down the wall he was building.
"Here I am, Lanky, right above you!" he called out cheeringly. "Yes, I can see where you went headlong over, your foot trapped in this vine!"
He leaned cautiously over the brink. Lanky was directly below, and Frank was pleased to see that it would not be difficult for him to get a firm grip on the other's ankle; though just how he was to raise Lanky gave him immediate concern.
Some object caught his eye—it looked a bit like a coiled snake of tremendous proportions, lying there almost on the edge of the abrupt descent. Then Frank realized that it was a coiled rope. Lanky himself had undoubtedly fetched it from the temporary camp, under the impression that he could find a good use for such a thing, if only he should run across his missing chum.
As a plan flashed into his active mind Frank snatched up the strong rope, leaned over, and managed to get its end around Lanky's ankle. As speedily as he could he fastened it securely.
"Listen, Lanky!" he cried out. "I've got the rope fixed so I can lower you down to the ground, once I've cut that vine apart. Here goes, then!"
First Frank took a single hitch of the rope around a small sapling that chanced to be within reach, a most fortunate thing. This he did so it would be doubly easy and safe to lower a heavy weight, without risking being pulled over the edge himself.
Then out came his knife. How glad he was he had always made it a point to keep a razor-like edge on his handy blade. Two, three slashes were all that was required, when the tough vine parted and, by easy little jerks, Lanky commenced to go down toward the rocks below.
No sooner did Frank see that his chum had landed than he fastened the rope in a knot, swung himself over the edge and slid down as if he clasped a greased pole, in the customary doing at the annual Harvest Home fair at Columbia.
Lanky was groaning and moving a little, as Frank knelt down beside him. When he drew the other'scoat away from his face Frank was alarmed to discover how black Lanky looked. Evidently a short time longer of that hanging must have quite finished him.
Hearing water gurgling close by, Frank hastened to the small rivulet that came leaping and bubbling down from the snow-clad heights above. He filled Lanky's hat—his own had gone down with that raging torrent—and was speedily back at the other's side.
First of all he made Lanky drink a little of the icy water. Next he bathed the flushed and discolored face with some of the same fluid. The result was gratifying, for by slow degrees that dreadful, purple hue faded from Lanky's features, and he even smiled wanly, his eyes kindling with the awakening joy he felt at once more seeing his best chum bending over him.
"We thought—you must have gone,—Frank!" he managed to say, trying to lift his hand, which Frank had been patting affectionately.
"Well, I had the closest shave of my whole life," replied the other, wincing at the vivid recollection of that never-to-be-forgotten experience. "But you'll hear all about it later on, Lanky; also how I've been keeping a lively pack of gray wolves at bay for several hours by throwing burning brands from my fire at them as they hovered around."
"Whew!" breathed Lanky, gazing at his chum with admiring eyes. "And all I've managed to do along the line of adventure was to trip over a vine, hang head down over a precipice and yell for help!"
After a while Lanky felt so much stronger that it was decided to make a move. He had kept his bearings while starting out at break of day in the hope of finding Frank so now he was able to serve as guide.
They took their way slowly, for neither of them felt very robust. Accordingly it was well on to the middle of the morning when at last Lanky pointed ahead, to remark with a sigh of relief:
"You can see the smoke of their fire right over that big boulder, Frank. They're sticking close to the place where we came out of the canyon, because Jerry says there isn't any other trail he knows of by which to reach Gold Fork camp."
When they were discovered there arose a great shout. Paul waved his hat enthusiastically. Mr. Wallace did the same while both Jerry Brime and Zander Forbes joined in the hearty greeting. The latter had just come back, after combing the lower reaches of the canyon, the flood having passed away, leaving only a bare trickle of water to hint at the almost tragic event of the preceding night.
By degrees the story was told, and everybody seemed to think Frank must surely bear a charmedlife, to pass unscathed through two such exciting and hazardous adventures in one night.
It had been agreed upon between the two boys that they would say nothing about what had happened to Lanky. For one thing, he felt ashamed at having been so easily caught napping, and placed in such a ridiculous position. Then, again, he did not want to worry his father with such harrowing details as must follow on his being questioned.
"Of course you can tell Paul all about my silliness," Lanky had said at the time this arrangement was made. "I know he can keep a secret. But I'd never hear the last of it if the fellows in Columbia ever got wind of my fool play."
As Lanky had partaken of no breakfast, being in such a hurry to commence his search, and Frank had fasted since the preceding night, an early hot lunch was made ready, after which they started on again.
Jerry led the way down into the bed of the canyon, whose treachery none of these travelers would ever forget. Once more their faces were turned upward, as the sure-footed ponies made their way among the loose rocks that dotted the bottom of the defile.
In years long gone past all those headed for the new gold discovery had covered this identical ground. The boys could easily imagine them toiling upward—grizzled prospectors and regular miners, some toting all their possessions on their backs, others enjoying the luxury of a donkey to carry burdens.
"And like as not every mother's son of the whole bunch," Paul Bird remarked, on talking with his two chums concerning these things, "was as enthusiastic and hopeful as we are right now, expecting to be lucky enough to run across some wonderful pocket of nuggets, like Josh Kinney had done."
"Yes, that's true enough, Paul," replied Lanky. "But none of them happened to have a neat little homemade chart made by Kinney himself and telling where his cache was hidden in that five-fingered cave. There's a whole lot in having the inside track, you know."
Several hours passed.
They had been making fair and steady progress upward, and Frank could more than half guess they were presently coming to a break in the abrupt steepness marking the sheer mountainside.
"We must be close on that plateau, where we understand the deserted camp lies," he told the other boys.
"What makes you think so?" asked the pleased yet skeptical Paul.
"The lay of the land, for one thing," came the reply. "Then, again, I've been keeping my weather eye fixed on Jerry."
"Clever idea," admitted Paul; while Lankygrinned, proving that he himself must have been doing something similar.
"He's been getting more and more worked up right along," continued Frank, who made it a practice to observe everything around him, and form his own conception of its meaning.
"Reckons he's back again in the good old days," Lanky broke in just then, "when Gold Fork was on the boom, with everybody figuring on being a millionaire before the sun went down six more times. Huh! makes me laugh, the innocence of those old codgers! Poor sillies!"
Even as Lanky spoke, Jerry turned around with uplifted hand.
"We're right thar, boys, and yuh goin' to set eyes on the remains afore yuh's five minuits older. Don't laugh, please, 'case to me it's like a-goin' to a funeral of an old friend. Seen some right lively times hyah in Gold Fork, an' I sumtimes dream 'bout the real men I nudged shoulders with in them rushin' days o' the long ago."
"Let's remember that, fellows," said Frank softly, "and respect Jerry's feelings in the matter. If we have to be amused we can pick out times when the old man isn't around."
"I'll not forget, Frank," said Paul instantly. "I think I can understand about how he feels. To seethis familiar stamping-ground again will be like having ghosts walk."
"Ditto here," grunted Lanky, though not quite so given to sentiment.
The stipulated five minutes had not passed when on breaking through a barrier of wild-looking brush and bushes the party came fully upon the wreckage of one of the oldest and most talked-of mining camps in all that region.
To Frank especially, with Jerry and his memories in mind, the picture was intensely desolate, weird, and impressive. All of the pilgrims drew in their tired ponies and stared at what was spread there before them.
CHAPTER XVI
AT THE DESERTED MINING CAMP
"Lookat the buzzards sitting on that ridge of a two-story building, will you?" exclaimed Lanky, pointing as he spoke.
"There! They're off, flying," said Paul, "each starting with a queer little jump that sends the big bird up several feet before its wings begin to carry it. Always liked to watch turkey-buzzards roosting on a dead tree or dropping down to feed. Make me think of the clowns at a circus, they're so comical."
"I'd call this Camp Desolation, if you asked me," observed Frank, in an aside to his chums.
"Never did set eyes on its equal in all my life," Lanky admitted. "I reckon nobody's been around here for years, to look at the way those shacks and stores and huts have decayed."
"That's where you're away off your trolley then," chuckled Frank.
"Seen something, or you wouldn't talk that way," ventured the other, a bit annoyed because Frankhad again beaten him at woodcraft, in which Lanky fancied himself a master.
"Lots of times, when we were climbing the canyon bed to top the rise," Frank told him, with a nod; "especially during the last half hour. Signs of horses coming and going—lately, too—little stones displaced, even the plain print of hoofs when there chanced to be a layer of earth to make them show. I'm a whole lot surprised thatyoumissed them, Lanky."
"Huh! even the best scouts trip up once in a long time," grunted Lanky. "I must have been watching Jerry so closely and squinting up at the rock walls above, thinkin' about what a nice place it'd be for an old grizzly to make a den."
"There, you can see the tracks as plain as print right now," Frank at that juncture told his chums, pointing toward the ground just ahead.
Apparently fifty years back many animals and treasure-hunting prospectors must have made a well-beaten trail, coming up by way of the canyon and arriving at the open place marking the plateau.
"Easy enough," acknowledged Lanky, one of whose best qualities was frankness when owning up to being surprised in anything. "But there! Jerry's started to lead the way into the ghostly camp. Let's go!"
No one joked or laughed as thus solemnly theywalked their winded ponies among those amazing wrecks of old-time life and bustle; it was too much like passing through a cemetery long since abandoned and fallen upon evil times.
"Most of them seem to have been roughly built shacks, made out of pinon trees cut on the side of the mountain, though I can see some cedar among them—yes, and oak, besides. It's the story of the 'Deserted Village' all over again, only no pestilence brought about this desolation."
"The whole bunch was wild to pick up gold nuggets," said Lanky. "Anyway, that's what Jerry told us; and when the bubble burst they cleared out bag and baggage."
"What do you suppose that largest building was for?" asked Paul.
"The only two-story one in the whole caboodle, you mean?" Lanky replied. "I'd judge it might have been used as a hotel, or tavern, where the fresh arrivals could put up and be fleeced till they found time to throw a shack together."
"There's an old faded sign over the door," Frank put in. "As near as I can make out it reads: 'El Dorado Hotel, Accommodations for Man and Beast.'"
"Lots of good eats served in that place, I'd say," ventured Lanky, who himself was hungry.
"Here's a place that looks as if it used to be oneof those dance halls, where the miners gathered at night to have a lively time, what with gambling, carousing, and the like."
Frank felt certain he had struck close to the truth when he made that assertion; for surely the large room could not have been used for any other purpose.
So they quietly rode through the whole village, stopping at the farther end, while Mr. Wallace conferred with the other two men.
"Now I wonder," Paul said as he stared around, sometimes having to repress an involuntary shudder, everything was so dreadful, "what all those queer little mounds can mean—they are side by side, too, as if meant for stepping stones to some temple the miners meant to build, after they'd all gotten to be millionaires."
Lanky made an odd grimace.
"Hobble your horse, Paul, and take another look. You'll guess then what they stand for. Every mining camp started a cemetery the first thing; because, you know, the mortality ran high in those lawless days, when each man carried a big six-shooter on his hip and the one who could draw the quickest lived to see another sun rise."
Paul could not hold back the shiver that ran over him.
"Why, there must be all of a hundred graves, ifthere's one," he said, and then added weakly, suspicion having awakened in his mind, knowing Lanky's inveterate liking for playing jokes on innocents: "If you're not stringing me, I mean."
"Give him the air, Frank! After I vowed not even togrinwhile in this haunted camp. Those are what I said, and yet Jerry told us the camp didn't hold out more than one year. Life was held cheap in such crazy times, Paul, and they planted somebody every other day, I reckon."
Mr. Wallace just then turned to the three boys; the other men were dismounting, as though not meaning to use the ponies any more that day.
"I'm going off with Jerry and Zander," said the gentleman, "to scour the neighborhood for what has always been known as 'Lost Mountain,' though it's hard to understand how such a vast elevation could escape notice. Plenty of eyes have doubtless fallen on it, but without knowing that it was anything out of the ordinary. But we believe it contains the mine Kinney worked."
"And the five-fingered cave to boot," added Lanky.
"What do you want us to be doing while you're away, Mr. Wallace?" queried Frank.
"Simply amuse yourselves," replied Mr. Wallace. "But keep a bright lookout for those scamps we suspect are somewhere around this region, ready to spy on us, in the hope of snatching the prize awayin case we find it. Yes, and you might take the entire bunch of ponies along that rocky trail to the right."
"Where does it lead, Dad?" asked Lanky.
"Jerry told me," replied his father, "that there is a queer little walled-in strip of land about a quarter of a mile further on, where, strangely enough, the finest of green forage could always be found, winter and summer. They used to turn their animals in there to feed and drink at the spring."
"Shall we stake them out?" asked Frank.
"No need of that," he was informed smilingly. "Nature took charge, and left only one narrow exit and entrance to this highly favored pasture. There are, it seems, several rocks that can be easily moved, and which when placed in position form an excellent barrier that the smartest cow-pony would be unable to jump."
"This sure is the land of marvels," grinned Lanky.
"We'll take all the ponies out there, and shut the gate of the corral on them," promised Frank.
"You might unload the pack-pony, boys, and put the stuff for our rations in one of these shacks, covering it all over, so that no possible curious eyes would suspect its presence."
With these words Mr. Wallace handed over the bridle of his mount, and in company with the other men made ready to go forth in a first attempt, underJerry's reawakened memory of his surroundings, to locate the Lost Mountain of Gold Fork.
Left to themselves, the boys deposited the stores in one of the huts that seemed to have a better roof than any of the rest. This had been proved in the recent cloudburst, for some of the ruined buildings were soaked, while the earthen floor of their choice seemed quite dry. Then they set off with the bunch of weary animals.
Sure enough, after leading their four-footed charges along the still well defined if ancient trail, they presently arrived at the pasture.
"Worth coming a long way to see such a curiosity," announced Lanky, as they took saddles and bridles off the ponies and turned them into the rock-surrounded enclosure one by one, to feed and rest. "Beats any man-made corral I ever set eyes on, and so simple, too."
"All we have to do now," Frank observed, after the last cayuse had kicked up his heels and galloped off to join its mates, already eagerly nibbling at the sweet green grass, "is to work these rocks into place so they'll close the gap, and the bunch is safe from any stampede."
"That wash over there, with the low bank," ventured Lanky, "must be where some sort of stream passes through. The water would be cold as ice, for it comes down from the mountain tops, wherethere's always heaps of snow, summer and winter."
A short time later the boys again found themselves in the decayed mining camp, with its numerous wrecks of buildings, in which no man had laid his head for more than a score of years, perhaps twice that.
Filled with curiosity, the three boys started making the rounds.
"Might as well see everything there is while we have the chance," Lanky told his mates. "'Tisn't every day you can run across such a thrilling sight as this. See the bats whirr out of that old shack, will you? Must have picked it for a place to hang their tired old bodies, after swinging around the circle all night long."
When the lads peeped cautiously in through the opening which a rotten door, hanging by its last rusty hinge, faded to shut entirely, it was indeed a sight worth impressing on their minds.
"Gee whiz!" barked Lanky, his eyes opening unusually wide. "See the ugly things dangling there from every rafter, will you?"
"Isthatthe way bats sleep, hanging by their toes with their heads downward?" exclaimed Paul, intensely interested. "What strange things you often see when you haven't got a gun. I'll know now what they mean when they say a fellow has 'bats in his belfry'!"
"Let's have a peep-in at that old hotel," Lanky Wallace suggested. "That may have sheltered more millionaires—in their mind's eye—than ever any up-to-the-latest in New York City could claim."
"Second the motion," quickly added Paul.
"Lead me to it," Frank laughed, "for I was just going to put it up to both of you."
"Come on then," cried Lanky.
Led by the tall boy, the three of them were speedily inside the abandoned building, possibly once the pride of Gold Fork; but with now not a shadow of its former grandeur remaining in its skeleton walls, and the shaky stairs leading to unseen upper regions.
"Huh! a peach of a place this would be for us to camp out in," Lanky remarked, as they started to look things over.
"Wow! I hope you don't try it," Paul cried out. "I'm dead certain it's just swarming with rats!"
"Say," demanded Lanky disdainfully, "what could the sillies find to live on all these years since any meal was served in this dining room?"
"Ask me something easy, Lanky," urged Paul. "But I'm sure there are rats in plenty around, for I saw one—a monster, too, if as thin as a rail—when I said what I did."
"All I hope then," continued Lanky, with a shrug, "is that the varmints don't swarm around our grub and clean us out. We'd have to live off the countrythen, and eat all sorts of queer dishes—grizzly bear steaks, coyote chops, prairie-dog stews, and such delicacies."
"Let up, Lanky," urged Frank. "You know Paul's a bit squeamish about his stomach, and you'll get him off his feed. Listen! What was that?"
"Sounded like a horse neighing," said Lanky, looking startled.
"I hear hoofs beating the rocks!" Frank ejaculated. "And I'd judge it was a right big bunch of nags, to boot! We can't pass out of that door because they're coming from that direction and heading right this way!"
Paul turned his eyes on Frank, who, he realized, must solve the problem.
CHAPTER XVII
WHEN ZEKE CAME BACK
"Thewindow at the rear!" Frank Allen instantly suggested.
"I get you, Frank!" gasped the relieved Paul.
"Great stuff!" was the energetic way Lanky agreed with the leader.
The sound of many hoofbeats was coming closer, steadily, and what the boys meant to do must be undertaken without wasting any more precious seconds.
"Follow me!" With the words the agile and energetic Lanky was already half-way through the window. This had no sash, time having relieved it of both glass and frames, leaving only an aperture in the wall.
Frank pushed Paul forward, signifying that it was his intention to be the last to quit the place, just as all captains of sinking vessels at sea make sure everybody else has left before they will consent to step into the last crowded boat that leaves before the foundering occurs.
Once outside, the boys were quick to scurry in among some old junk and scrambled rocks. This lay but a few feet away from the back of the tavern, and offered excellent hiding places for them.
Besides, what pleased Lanky considerably, they could doubtless overhear any talk that came about. Yes, and even catch fleeting glimpses of the new-comers, if so be they entered the old hotel.
Another minute—less than that, even—and the boys were able to congratulate themselves over their smartness in leaving in such a hurry. The ponies came to a halt directly before the door of the former hostelry. Throwing the lines over the heads of their mounts, cowboy fashion, so that the animals would remain at a stand under all ordinary conditions, the riders entered.
Frank and his chums could hear loud and rough voices.
"That was Nash Yesson who spoke then!" whispered Lanky in Paul's ear, for they were all bunched close together on purpose, and had their ears doing almost double duty in the endeavor to learn all they could.
"It was Lef Seller he called down, too," observed Frank, with great caution, for it would invite a ruction little short of a calamity if those angry men discovered the boys crouching there and listening to what went on.
"I just glimpsed Lef," Lanky communicated in his softest tone; "and you ought to see how bad he looks. He's had nothing but hard knocks ever since he ran up against that Yesson. The tough boys over at Double Z Ranch must have rubbed it in hard, too."
"He's only getting what he deserves," Paul muttered, half to himself, thinking of the base duplicity and deceit toward his own father Lef had been guilty of.
"'Sh! Let's listen for all we're worth, and perhaps we'll pick up some news," suggested Frank, who disapproved of all this whispering that was taking place.
He himself had taken several cautious looks, and had learned that besides Lef Seller and Nash Yesson there were four other persons in the crowd that had entered the forsaken tavern.
"That queer fish with the body of a runt and the head of a giant seems to answer to the name of Rick Muddy," Frank told himself. "The name about fits his crooked body, I'd say. Those other three tough-looking citizens must hang up their hats at the Double Z when they're at home, for they've got the make-up of cow-punchers, heavily armed, and out for business."
One of these men he heard called Malachi andanother Zeke, but the third one's name was never made known.
Nash Yesson was not knuckling down to anybody, it appeared, from the way he turned from one to another with snarls and hard language. Continual disappointments while on the way to Rockspur Ranch and afterwards had roiled him unmercifully, so that, as Lanky afterwards expressed it in his customary picturesque language "the man was like a bear with a sore head."
"And as for you, Rick Muddy," the boys could hear Yesson pouring out his wrath upon the head of the pudgy chap, "even after you'd been given complete directions you had to go and fizzle the worst kind. Why, those kids got the better of you and grabbed the second chart after you'd nearly dug it up! You're a rank failure and ought to be kicked out of camp for being such a gink."
"I own up they bamboozled me some," grumbled the small man. "But other dubs livin' in glass houses oughtn't to throw stones."
"What d'you mean by that, you fool?" gritted Yesson threateningly.
"Only that you done the same stuff when you nearly had that first map," retorted the other, probably relying on the fact that the three hard-riding cow-punchers were pals of his and would not seehim knocked down by Yesson. "If you'd jumped your claim then we'd be all fixed right now to walk in on that nugget cache! Ain't that so boys?"
"It sure is," replied the tallest of the wranglers in a voice that rumbled like the sound of approaching thunder. "But all bets are off, and we don't want to eat each other up for nothin'. When we grab what we've got hidden here, we'll be fixed so's to start off fresh again and locate that Lost Mountain."
"That's the stuff!" chanted the fellow answering to the name of Malachi. "What Zeke here managed to pick up from that wrinkled old Indian squaw ought to help us find the cave. And once we get our paws on the jack, we'll fight anybody to the death who tries to pry it away from us."
"You said it, Malachi!" retorted Nash Yesson grimly. "I've been stalkin' that nugget claim too long now to show the white feather to a dozen pikers who are tryin' to chase me off the trail. We're close to it right now, and if those other guys come walkin' up to close the deal, why, here's six little boys ready to say 'hands up, gents!'"
This was all heard by the eagerly listening boys, concealed so close at hand. Very interesting it all sounded, too; although Frank did not see that they were really adding to their stock of information, except that they knew now the number of those who opposed their aims and to what infamous ends Yesson and his companions were ready to go to further their schemes.
"Then let's clear out and get busy," suggested Malachi, who seemed to be an aggressive type of fellow. "Get busy, Rick Muddy, an' hustle that stock of grub along, to load on your cayuse, you bein' the lightest built in the whole bunch."
This told the story. It was these men who had visited the deserted mining camp shortly before Mr. Wallace and his prospecting party reached Gold Fork. Frank had already discounted this fact. Indeed, he had reached that decision at the time he first discovered the marks of hoofs along the upper canyon.
The small man with the big head showed no sign of disobeying orders. Undoubtedly he knew Malachi's bad qualities, and did not dare rebel.
So the peeping boys in the junk heap among the friendly rocks watched the men carry forth some packages. These undoubtedly contained their store of food to carry them over during their stay in that unalluring vicinity.
When the clatter of hoofs finally announced the men had indeed gone, every boy from Frank down breathed a sigh of relief and they came out of hiding.
"A rough crowd, take it from me!" exclaimed Lanky Wallace.
"Are you sure they're all gone?" asked nervous Paul Bird.
Lanky chuckled.
"What do you take me for, Paul—a bonehead?" he asked. "Sure, I counted 'em as they rode off, and there were six in the lot. From the way that ugly-looking Zeke turned and looked back several times, I kind of imagined he had some scheme in view that he was half tempted to pull off."
"Good riddance then to bad rubbish," Paul remarked, showing by his manner that he had feared there might be a discovery made, when the results would hardly have been pleasant for the boys from Rockspur Ranch.
"Lucky for us we hid our stores and took the ponies off to pasture," Frank observed, as they re-entered the deserted hotel. "If they'd seen the bunch it would have been good-bye to our chances for riding back home. As it is, they've seen nothing to tell them that the Wallace treasure-hunters are already on the ground and ready to follow their noses to Josh Kinney's lost claim."
"Why, look here!" burst out Paul just then. "What's this mean?"
He was holding some object up gingerly. It turned out to be a cowboy hat, once a beautifulStetson, but now horribly shabby, as though it must have seen several years' hard usage.
Both Lanky and Frank experienced fresh interest.
"Say, that wasn't on this old three-legged table when we came into this place!" exclaimed Lanky, frowning, as he took the article in his own hands, and turned it around.
"I wondered," Frank broke in, "when I noticed that the big, ugly-looking puncher called Zeke was riding off bare-headed. Still, I've seen Lige Smith, yes, and Hoptoad Atkins, go off on the range with bare heads, and the sun scorching hot. But then they both have thick hair, while Zeke—well, if he wasn't as close to being bald-headed as any cowboy could be, I'm mistaken."
"I'd say it was a bum go he forgot his hat," ventured Paul.
"Perhaps he didn't!" Lanky told him.
"But here's his old hat, and Frank just said the man rode off bare-headed! What can you mean by saying that, Lanky?"
"To get you guessing, Paul," chirped the satisfied Lanky. "What I had in mind was that maybe Zeke left his lid here on purpose."
"Now you're balling me all up again!" complained Paul.
"Didn't you hear me say the man kept looking around as he rode off with his pals, just as if he hadhalf a notion to turn and come back? Well, I reckon Zeke's a cute one, and has set up the pins in his alley so he can knock 'em down with his first roller and make a clean sweep!"
"Do you mean," asked Paul, "that he actually means to come galloping back here for some reason or other and has left his hat behind so's to make some sort of excuse for leaving his mates?"
"Listen!"
As Lanky hissed that emphatic word the other boys strained their ears to catch any sound. Clearly on the gentle breeze that chanced to be blowing came the unmistakable pounding of a pony's hoofs on the rocks!
CHAPTER XVIII
THE UNSEEN WATCHERS
Therewas a concerted rush to the window situated on that side of the building toward which the oncoming rider seemed to be heading.
"Careful!" warned Frank hastily. "He may be looking ahead and see us!"
What he said caused both the others to drop down to the floor and crawl forward until they could look out. This was easily done, for the reason that not a single pane of glass remained in any sash.
"I see him just dropping down into that little hollow!" snapped the keen-eyed Lanky almost instantly.
"Was it Zeke?" asked Paul, in palpitating tones.
"Sure was," came the reply. "Leastways, I glimpsed a shiny bald head, and as Frank observed he owned to such."
"Then we'd better be getting back to our hiding place in that clump of rocks, hadn't we?" Paul continued.
"Can't be done! He's coming from that quarter,you notice, and the chances are we'd be seen," Lanky informed him.
"The door, then! Could we risk that?" demanded the other.
Frank shook his head in the negative.
"Before we could get under shelter he'd be up out of that hollow and have a square open stretch ahead. We've just got to stick to the rookery here, that's all."
"Hide, you mean, Frank?"
"Yes, Paul," came the ready answer, as Frank looked hurriedly around, up and down, and then went on to say: "There may be a cellar under the tumble-down hotel, but so far we haven't seen anything of it."