As our old readers know, Carlos Merriwell was Frank's deadly enemy, although they were blood cousins.
Carlos was the son of Asher Merriwell, the brother of Frank's father.
At the time of his death, Asher Merriwell was supposed to be a crusty old bachelor, a man who had never cared for women and had never married. But he had not been a woman-hater all his life, and there was a romance in his career.
Asher Merriwell had been snared by the wiles of an adventuress, and he had married her. By this woman he had a son, but the marriage had been kept a secret, so that when she deceived him and they quarreled they were able to separate and live apart without the fact becoming public that Merriwell had been married.
Fortunately the woman died without openly proclaiming herself as the wife of Asher Merriwell. In her veins there had been Spanish blood, and her son was named Carlos.
After the death of his wife, Asher Merriwell set about providing for and educating the boy, although Carlos continued to bear his mother's maiden name of Durcal.
As Carlos grew up he developed into a wild and reckless young blade, making no amount of trouble and worry for his father.
Asher Merriwell did his best for the boy, but there was bad blood in the lad's veins, and it cost the man no small sums to settle for the various "sports" in which Carlos participated.
Finally Carlos took a fancy to strike out and see the world for himself, and he disappeared without telling whither he was going.
After this, he troubled his father at intervals until he committed a crime in a foreign country, where he was tried, convicted, and imprisoned for a long term of years.
This was the last straw so far as Asher Merriwell was concerned, and he straightway proceeded to disown Carlos, and cut him off without a cent.
It was afterward reported that Carl Durcal had been shot by guards while attempting to escape from prison, and Asher Merriwell died firmly believing himself to be sonless.
At his death, Asher left everything to Frank Merriwell, the son of his brother, and provided that Frank should travel under the guardianship of Professor Scotch, as the eccentric old uncle believed travel furnished the surest means for "broadening the mind."
But Carlos Merriwell had not been killed, and he had escaped from prison. Finding he had been cut off without a dollar and everything had been left to Frank, Carlos was furious, and he swore that his cousin should not live to enjoy the property.
In some ways Carlos was shrewd; in others he was not. He was shrewd enough to see that he might have trouble in proving himself the son of Asher Merriwell by a lawful marriage, and so he did not attempt it.
But there was a still greater stumbling block in his way, for if he came out and announced himself and made a fight for the property, he would be forced to tell the truth concerning his past life, and the fact that he was an escaped convict would be made known.
Having considered these things, Carlos grew desperate. If he could not have his father's property, he swore again and again that Frank should not hold it.
With all the reckless abandon of his nature, Carlos made two mad attempts on Frank's life, both of which were baffled, and then the young desperado was forced to make himself scarce.
But Carlos had become an expert crook, and he was generally flush with ill-gotten gains, so he was able to put spies on Frank. He hired private detectives, and Frank was continually under secret surveillance.
Thus it came about that Carlos knew when Frank set about upon his travels, and he set a snare for the boy in New York City.
Straight into this snare Frank walked, but he escapedthrough his own exertions, and then baffled two further attempts on his life.
By this time Carlos found it necessary to disappear again, and Frank had neither seen nor heard from him till this moment, when the fellow stood unmasked in the Mexican town of Mendoza.
Frank had become so familiar with his villainous cousin's voice and gestures that Carlos had not been able to deceive him. From the first, Frank had believed the old man a fraud, and he was soon satisfied that the fellow was Carlos.
On Carlos Merriwell's cheek was a scar that had been hidden by the false beard—a scar that he would bear as long as he lived.
Professor Scotch nearly collapsed in a helpless heap, so completely astounded that he could not utter a word.
As for Hans, he simply gasped:
"Shimminy Gristmas!"
A snarling exclamation of fury broke from Carlos' lips.
"Oh, you're too sharp, my fine cousin!" he grated, his hand disappearing beneath the ragged blanket. "You are too sharp to live!"
Out came the hand, and a knife flashed in the light that shone from the window of the hotel. Frank, however, was on the alert, and was watching for just such a move. With a twisting movement, he drew his body aside, so the knife clipped down past his shoulder, cutting open his sleeve, but failing to reach his flesh.
"That was near it," he said, as he whirled and caught Carlos by the wrist.
Frank had a clutch of iron, and he gave Carlos' wrist a wrench that forced a cry from the fellow's lips, and caused the knife to drop to the ground.
"You are altogether too handy with such a weapon," said the boy, coolly. "It is evident your adeptness with a dagger comes from your mother's side. Your face is dark and treacherous, and you look well at home in this land of dark and treacherous people."
Carlos ground forth a fierce exclamation, making a desperate move to fling Frank off, but failing.
"Oh, you are smart!" the fellow with the scarred face admitted. "But you have been lucky. You were luckyat Fardale, and you were lucky in New York. Now you have come to a land where I will have my turn. You'll never leave Mexico alive!"
"I have listened to your threats before this."
"I have made no threats that shall not come true."
"What a desperate wretch you are, Carlos! I would have met you on even terms, and come to an agreement with you, if you——"
"Bah! Do you think I would make terms? Not much! You have robbed me of what is rightfully mine, and I have sworn you shall not take the good of it. I'll keep that oath!"
A strange cry broke from his lips, as he found he could not tear his wrist from Frank's fingers.
Then came a rush of catlike footfalls and a clatter of hoofs. All at once voices were heard, crying:
"Ladrones! ladrones!"
Dark figures appeared on every hand, sending natives fleeing to shelter. Spanish oaths sounded on the evening air, and the glint of steel was seen.
"Shimminy Gristmas!" gurgled Hans Dunnerwust. "Uf we don'd peen in a heap uf drouble, I know noddings!"
"It's the bandits, Frank!" called Professor Scotch. "They have charged right into the town, and they——"
"Ha! ha!" laughed Carlos. "You fear the bandits! They are my friends. They are here, and it is my turn!"
A horseman was riding straight down on Frank, and the boy flung Carlos aside, making a leap that took him out of the way.
Something, glittering brightly, descended in a sweep toward Frank's head, but the blow was stopped by Carlos, who shouted something in Spanish.
Frank understood Spanish well enough to catch the drift of the words, and he knew his cousin had not saved him through compassion, but for quite another purpose.
Carlos coveted the riches into which Frank had fallen, and he meant to have a portion of the money. If Frank were killed, there was little chance that he would ever handle a dollar of the fortune, so he had cried out that his cousin was to be spared, captured, and held for ransom.
That was enough to warn Frank of the terrible peril that overshadowed him at the moment.
Out came his revolvers, and his back went against the wall. Upward were flung his hands, and the weapons began to crack.
Two horses fell, sent down by the first two bullets from the pistols of the boy at bay.
But Frank found he could not shoot horses and save himself, for dark forms were pressing upon him, and he must fall into the clutches of the bandits in another moment unless he resorted to the most desperate measures.
"If you will have it, then you shall!" he muttered, through his set teeth, turning his aim on the human forms.
Spouts of red fire shot from the muzzles of the revolvers, and the cracking of the weapons was followed by cries and groans.
Through a smoky haze Frank saw some of the dark figures fling up their arms and topple to the ground within a few feet of him.
He wondered what had become of Hans and the professor, for he could see nothing of either, and they had been close at hand a moment before.
In the midst of all this, Frank wondered at his own calmness. His one thought was that not a bullet should be wasted, and then he feared he would find his weapons empty and useless before the desperadoes were rebuffed.
But this reception was something the bandits had not expected from a boy. They had no heart to stand up before a lad who could shoot with the skill of a Gringo cowboy, and did not seem at all excited when attacked by twenty men.
Mexican half-bloods are cowards at heart, and, by the time they saw two or three of their number fall before the fire from Frank's revolvers they turned and took to their heels like a flock of frightened sheep.
"Say, holdt on avile und led me ged a few pullets indo you, mein friendts."
It was Hans' voice, and, looking down, Frank saw the Dutch lad on the ground at his feet, whither he had crept on hands and knees.
"What are you down there for, Hans?"
"Vot you dink, Vrankie? You don'd subbose I sdoodup all der dime und ged in der vay der pullets uf? Vell, you may oxcuse me! I don'd like to peen a deat man alretty yet."
"That's all right, Hans. I admire your judgment."
"Dank you, Vrankie. I admire der vay you vork dose revolfers. Dot peat der pand, und don'd you vorged him!"
At this moment, a horse with a double burden swept past in the flare of light.
"Help! Frank—Frank Merriwell! Help—save me!"
"Merciful goodness!" cried Frank. "It is the professor's voice!"
"Und he vos on dot horse!"
"Yes—a captive!"
"Dot's vat he vos!"
"Our own horses—where are they? We must pursue! What have become of our horses?"
"Dose pandits haf dooken them, I susbect."
This was true; Frank had killed two of the horses belonging to the bandits, but the desperadoes had escaped with the three animals hired by our friends.
But that was not the worst, for Professor Scotch had been captured and carried away by the bold ruffians.
Frank heard the professor's appeals for help, and heard a mocking, cold-blooded laugh that he knew came from the lips of Carlos Merriwell.
Then the clatter of hoofs passed on down the street, growing fainter and fainter, till they left the town for the open plain, and finally died out in the night.
In vain, Frank attempted to organize a party to pursue the bandits. The citizens of Mendoza were completely terrorized, and they had no heart to follow the desperadoes out upon the plain, which was the bandits' own stamping ground.
Frank urged, entreated, begged, and finally grew furious, but he simply wasted his breath.
"No, no, señor," protested a Mexican. "You no find anybody dat chase Pacheco dis night—no, no, not much!"
"Pacheco? You don't mean to say—you can't mean——"
"Dat was Pacheco and his band, señor."
Frank groaned.
"Pacheco!" he muttered, huskily; "Pacheco, the worst wretch in all Mexico! He is utterly heartless, and the professor will—— But Pacheco is not the worst!" he suddenly gasped. "There is Carlos Merriwell, who must be one of the bandits. He may take a fancy to torture Professor Scotch simply because the professor is my guardian."
"What you say, señor?" asked the curious Mexican. "I do not understand all dat you speak."
Frank turned away, with a gesture of despair.
"Vot you goin's to done, Vrankie?" asked Hans, dolefully.
"I do not seem to be able to do anything now. This matter must be placed before the authorities, but I do not fancy that will amount to anything. The officers here are afraid of the bandits, and the government is criminally negligent in the matter of pushing and punishing the outlaws. The capture of an American to be held for ransom will be considered by them as a very funny joke."
"Vell, I don'd seen vot you goin' to done apout it."
"I do not see myself, but, come on, and we will find out."
He sought the highest officials of the town, and laid the matter before them. In the most polite manner possible, they protested their pained solicitation and commiseration, but when he urged them to do something, they replied:
"To-morrow, señor, or the next day, we will see what we may be able to do."
"To-morrow!" cried Frank, desperately. "With you everything is to-morrow, to-morrow! To-day, to-night, now is the time to do something! Delays are fatal, particularly in pursuing bandits and kidnapers."
But they shook their heads sadly, and continued to express sympathy and regret, all the while protesting it would be impossible to do anything before to-morrow or the next day.
Frank was so furious and desperate that he even had thought of following the bandits with Hans as an only companion, but the man of whom he had obtained the horses in the first place would not let him have other animals.
That was not all. This man had gone through some kind of proceeding to lawfully seize Frank and Hans and hold them till the animals captured by the bandits were paid for at the price he should name, and this he proceeded to do.
Now, Frank did not have the price demanded for the three horses, and he could not draw it that night, so he was obliged to submit, and the two boys were prisoners till near three o'clock the next afternoon, when the money was obtained and the bill paid.
At the hotel Frank found a letter awaiting him, and, to his unbounded amazement, it was from the professor.
With haste he tore it open, and these words are what he read:
"Dear Frank: Pacheco commands me to write this letter. We are at the headwaters of the Rio de Nieves, but we move on to the westward as soon as I have written. He tells me we are bound for the mountains beyond Huejugilla el Alto, which is directly west of Zacatecas as the bird flies one hundred and ten miles. He bids me tell you to follow to Huejugilla el Alto, wherehe says arrangements will be made for my ransom. Remember Jack Burk. He spoke of the mountains to the west of Zacatecas. Pacheco threatens to mutilate me and forward fragments to you if you do not follow to the point specified. He is watching me as I write, and one of his men will carry this letter to Mendoza, and deliver it. The situation is desperate, and it strikes me that it is best to comply with Pacheco's demands in case you care to bother about me. If you want me to be chopped up bit by bit and forwarded to you, do not bother to follow. I have no doubt but Pacheco will keep his word to the letter in this matter. I am, my dear boy, your devoted guardian and tutor,"Horace Orman Tyler Scotch."
"Dear Frank: Pacheco commands me to write this letter. We are at the headwaters of the Rio de Nieves, but we move on to the westward as soon as I have written. He tells me we are bound for the mountains beyond Huejugilla el Alto, which is directly west of Zacatecas as the bird flies one hundred and ten miles. He bids me tell you to follow to Huejugilla el Alto, wherehe says arrangements will be made for my ransom. Remember Jack Burk. He spoke of the mountains to the west of Zacatecas. Pacheco threatens to mutilate me and forward fragments to you if you do not follow to the point specified. He is watching me as I write, and one of his men will carry this letter to Mendoza, and deliver it. The situation is desperate, and it strikes me that it is best to comply with Pacheco's demands in case you care to bother about me. If you want me to be chopped up bit by bit and forwarded to you, do not bother to follow. I have no doubt but Pacheco will keep his word to the letter in this matter. I am, my dear boy, your devoted guardian and tutor,
"Horace Orman Tyler Scotch."
That this letter was genuine there could be no doubt, as it was written in the professor's peculiar style of chirography; but it did not sound like the professor, and Frank knew well enough that it had been written under compulsion, and the language had been dictated by another party.
"Poor old professor!" murmured the boy. "Poor old professor! He shall be saved! He shall be saved! He knows I will do everything I can for him."
"Yah, but he don'd seem to say dot der ledder in," observed Hans, who had also read every word.
"Huejugilla el Alto is one hundred and ten miles west of Zacatecas."
"Vere you belief they findt dot name, Vrankie?"
Frank did not mind the Dutch lad's question, but bowed his head on his hand, and fell to thinking.
"We must have horses, and we must follow. 'Remember Jack Burk.' Surely the professor put that part of the letter in of his own accord. He did not speak of the Silver Palace, but he wished to call it to my mind. That palace, according to Burk, lies directly west of Zacatecas, somewhere amid the mountains beyond this place he has mentioned. The professor meant for me to understand that I would be proceeding on my way to search for the palace. Perhaps he hopes to escape."
"Yah," broke in Hans, "berhaps he meant to done dot, Vrankie."
"We would be very near the mountains—it must be that we would be in the mountains."
"I guess dot peen shust apoudt vere we peen, Vrankie."
"If he escaped, or should be rescued or ransomed, we could easily continue the search for the palace."
"You vos oxactly righdt."
"We must have horses and a guide."
"We can ged dem mit money."
"We had better proceed to Zacatecas, and procure the animals and the guide there."
"Shust oxactly vot I vould haf suggestet, Vrankie."
"We will lose no time about it."
"Vell, I guess nod!"
"But Carlos—Carlos, my cousin. It is very strange, but Professor Scotch does not mention him."
"Py shimminy! dot peen der trute!"
"And I am certain it was Carlos that captured the professor. I heard the fellow laugh—his wicked, triumphant laugh!"
"I heardt dot meinseluf, Vrankie."
"Carlos must be with the band."
"Yah."
"And Pacheco is carrying this matter out to suit my cousin."
"Yah."
"Hans, it is possible you had better remain behind."
"Vot vos dot?" gurgled the Dutch lad, in blank amazement. "Vot for vos I goin' to gone pehindt und stay, Vrankie?"
"I see a trap in this—a plot to lead me into a snare and make me a captive."
"Vell, don'd I stood ub und took mein medicine mit you all der dimes? Vot vos der maddetr mit me? Vos you lost your courage in me alretty yet?"
"Hans, I have no right to take you into such danger. Without doubt, a snare will be spread for me, but I am going to depend on fate to help me to avoid it."
"Vell, I took some stock dot fate in meinseluf."
"If I should take you along and you were killed——"
"I took your chances on dot, mein poy. Vot vos I draveling aroundt mit you vor anyhow you vant to know, ain'dt id?"
"You are traveling for pleasure, and not to fight bandits."
"Uf dot peen a bard der bleasure uf, you don'd haf some righdt to rob me uf id. Vrank Merriwell, dit you efer know me to gone pack mit you on?"
"No, Hans."
"Dot seddles dot. You nefer vill. Shust count me indo dis racket. I am going righdt along mit you, und don'd you rememper dot!"
Frank laughed.
"Hans," he said, "you are true blue. We will stick by each other till the professor is saved from Pacheco and Carlos Merriwell."
"Yah, we done dot."
They clasped hands, and that point was settled.
Without unnecessary delay, they took the train from Mendoza to Zacatecas, which was a much larger place.
In Zacatecas they set about the task of finding a reliable guide, which was no easy matter, as they soon discovered.
The Mexican half-bloods were a lazy, shiftless set, and the full-blooded Spaniards did not seem to care about taking the trip across the desert.
Till late that night Frank searched in vain for the man he wanted, and he was finally forced to give up the task till another day.
Such a delay made him very impatient, and he felt much like starting out without a guide, depending on a compass, with which he believed he would be able to make his way due west to Huejugilla el Alto.
The landlord of the hotel at which they stopped that night was a fine-appearing man, and Frank ventured to lay the matter before him.
The landlord listened to the entire story, looking very grave, shook his head warningly, and said:
"Do not think of attempting to cross the desert alone, young señors. Without a guide you might get lost and perish for water. By all means, take a guide."
"But how are we to obtain a trustworthy guide, sir?"
"That is truly a problem, but I think I may be able to assist you in the morning."
"If you can, it will be a great favor."
"Many thanks, young señor. I will see what can be done. If you would take my advice, you would not go to Huejugilla el Alto."
"Why not?"
"It is far from the railroad, and is situated in a very wild region. If you were to go there and should never be heard of again, it would not be easy for your friends to discover what had become of you. Pacheco directedyou to go there, and he means you no good. It is likely you will walk into a trap that Pacheco has set for you."
"I have considered that," said Frank, quietly; "and I have decided to go."
"Oh, very well," with a gesture expressive of regret. "I know it is quite impossible to change the determination of you Americans. If you have firmly decided to go, you will go, even though you knew all the deadly dangers that may lie in wait for you."
Being again assured that the landlord would do his best to obtain a guide, Frank proposed to retire for the night.
For all of the troubles that beset him, Frank was able to sleep soundly, having trained himself to sleep under almost any circumstances. Hans also slept and snored, to be awakened in the morning by Frank, who was shaking him roughly.
"Come, Hans, it is time we were stirring."
"Vot vos dot?" cried the Dutch lad, in surprise. "We don'd peen asleep more as fifteen minutes alretty yet."
"It is morning."
"I don'd toldt you so! Vell, dot peats der pand!"
Hans got up and dressed with great reluctance, yawning, and declaring over and over that the nights in Mexico were not more than fifteen or twenty minutes in length.
The landlord had prepared a special breakfast for them, and it proved the best they had found since leaving "the States," so they ate heartily and felt much better afterward.
After breakfast the landlord himself informed them that he had been able to obtain a guide.
"He is the very person you want, young señors, for he knows the desert and he knows the mountains. You may depend on him to lead you straight across to Huejugilla el Alto."
The guide was waiting for them, wrapped to his chin in a crimson poncho, and smoking a cigarette. He was a dark-faced, somewhat sinister-looking fellow, and he gave his name as Pedro.
While Frank did not like the appearance of the man, he felt that it was not policy to delay longer, and a bargain was soon made. Pedro not only agreed to take themquickly across the desert, but he contracted to furnish horses for them.
The forenoon was not far advanced when they rode out of Zacatecas, and, with the sun at their backs, headed toward the west.
Before the day passed Pedro showed by many things that he was quite familiar with the desert. He knew where shade and water were to be found, and, at noonday, they rested long beside a spring, with the sun beating on the wide waste of sand, over which the heat haze danced, and where no cooling breath seemed astir.
The heat affected Hans much more than it did Frank. The Dutch boy suffered, but he made no complaint.
With the sun well over into the western sky, they pushed onward again. They did not halt as the grateful shadows of night lay on the desert, but followed Pedro on and on.
At last, far across the desert, they saw the twinkling of a light that seemed like a fallen star.
"It's a camp-fire," declared Pedro, in Spanish. "Who can be there?"
"It may be bandits," suggested Frank, somewhat wary.
"No," declared the guide, "bandits do not build fires on the open plains. Bandits it cannot be."
He did not hesitate to lead them straight toward the fire.
Frank whispered to Hans:
"Have your weapons ready. This may be the trap."
As they approached the fire, they were able to make out the figures of two or three horses, but no human being was to be seen, although a coffeepot sat on some coals, fragrant steam rising from the nozzle.
Pedro stopped, seeming somewhat uneasy for the first time.
"What is it?" asked Frank, with apprehension.
"Yah, vot id vos?" asked Hans. "Vos der camp left all alone mit ids lonesome?"
"Not that, señors; but we have been heard, and the ones at the camp are hiding and watching."
"Vell, I like dot. Maype dey haf der trop on us alretty soon."
"That is likely," said Frank.
Pedro called out something in Spanish, but there was no answer, save that one of the horses lifted its head and neighed.
Then Frank tried it in English:
"Ho, the camp! Who is there, and where are you?"
Almost instantly a man's voice replied:
"I'm out hyar whar I kin take a peep at yer, as I heard yer comin'. Didn't know but you wus Greasers, an' I ain't got no use fer ther onery varmints. As yer kin talk United States, just move right up ter the fire and join me at supper."
There was a hearty freedom about the invitation that dispelled Frank's fears immediately, and they rode forward into the firelight.
As they did so, a man rose from where he had been stretched on the sand, and came forward to meet them.
"Great Scott!" shouted Frank, as the firelight fell on the man's face. "It's Alwin Bushnell, Jack Burk's partner!"
"Thet thar's my handle," acknowledged the man; "but I'm strapped ef I understand how you 'uns happen ter know it!"
He stared at the boys and the guide in blank amazement. Seeing Pedro's face fairly, he gave a slight start, and then looked still more closely.
"There's no doubt," palpitated Frank; "you are Alwin Bushnell?"
"That's me," nodded the camper.
"And you are alone?"
"Certun sure."
"Bound west?"
"I reckon."
"For the mountains and the Silver——"
Frank caught himself, and stopped short, remembering Pedro, and knowing the guide's ears and eyes were wide open to hear and see everything.
Bushnell fell back a step, a look of still greater surprise coming to his bronzed and bearded face.
"W'at's thet thar you wus goin' ter say?" he demanded.
"Wait," said Frank, "I will tell you later. It is better."
Plainly, Alwin Bushnell was puzzled, and not a little amazed.
"You know my handle, an' you seem ter know whatever way I'm trailin'. This yere lays over me, as I acknowledges instanter."
"That's not hard to explain."
"Then I begs yer to explain it without delay."
"Your partner told us of you."
"Old Jack?"
"Yes."
"When, and whar?"
"Two days ago, outside of Mendoza."
"He wuz thar?"
"Yes."
"But how did yer know me?"
"We saw you."
"When?"
"When you were pursued across the plain by bandits."
Bushnell slapped his thigh.
"Thar!" he cried; "I remembers yer now! You wuz near a doby hut, an' yer opened up on ther pizen skunks as wuz arter me."
"That's right."
"Wall, I'm much obliged, fer you socked ther lead ter them critters so they switched off an' let me get away. You kin shoot, boy."
"Some."
"Some! Wa'al, that's right, you bet! Give us a wag of your fin! I'm mortal glad ter clap peepers on yer, fer I never expected ter see yer an' thank yer fer thet trick."
Frank swung from the saddle, and surrendered his hand into the broad "paw" of the rough and hearty Westerner, who gave it a crushing grip and a rough shake, repeating:
"I'm mortal glad ter see yer, thet's whatever! But I want ter know how you happened to chip inter thet thar little game. You took a hand at jest ther right time ter turn ther run of ther cards, an' I got out without goin' broke."
"I chipped in because I saw you were a white man, and you were hard pressed by a villainous crew who must be bandits. I believe in white men standing by white men."
"Say, thet's a great motter, young man. 'White men stand by white men.' As fer me, I don't like a Greaser none whatever."
As he said this, Bushnell gave Pedro another searching look, and the guide scowled at the ground in a sullen way.
"Now," continued the Westerner, "w'at I wants ter know next is w'at yer knows about Jack Burk. We had a place all agreed on ter meet w'en I returned, but he wusn't thar, an' I hed ter go it alone. That's why I'm yere alone."
"It was not Burk's fault that he did not meet you."
"Say you so? Then lay a straight trail fer me ter foller."
"He was sick."
"Is that whatever? Wa'al, derned ef I could seem ter cut his trail anywhar I went, an' I made a great hustle fer it."
"He was in the hut where you saw us."
"Wa'al, dern my skin! Ef I'd knowed thet, I'd made a straight run fer thet yere ranch, bet yer boots!"
"He came to the door, and shouted to you."
"You don't tell me thet! An' I didn't hear him! Wa'al, wa'al! Whar wuz my ears? Whar is he now?"
"Dead."
Bushnell reeled.
"Is he that?" he gasped, recovering. "An' I didn't get to see him! Say, this clean upsets me, sure as shootin'!"
The man seemed greatly affected.
"Poor old Jack!" he muttered. "We've made many a tramp together, an' we struck it rich at last, but he'll never git ther good of thet thar strike."
Then he seemed to remember that he was watched by several eyes, and he straightened up, passing his hand over his face.
"Jack shall hev a big monumint," he cried. "Tell me whar my old pard is planted."
"That is something I do not know, Mr. Bushnell."
The man was astonished.
"Don't know? Why, how's thet?"
Frank told the entire story of Burk's death and mysterious disappearance, to which Bushnell listened, with breathless interest. When it was finished, the man cried:
"Thet thar beats me! I don't understand it, none whatever."
"No more do I," confessed Frank. "There is no doubt but Burk was dead, and the corpse did not walk away of its own accord. It was my intention to investigate the mystery, but later events prevented."
Frank then explained about the kidnaping of Professor Scotch by the bandits.
While the boy was relating this, Bushnell was closely studying the guide's face, as revealed by the firelight. Frank noted that a strange look seemed to come into the eyes of the Westerner, and he appeared to be holding himself in check.
When this explanation was finished, Bushnell asked:
"And you are on your way ter Huejugilla el Alto with ther hope of rescuin' ther professor?"
"We are," replied Frank.
"You pet my life," nodded Hans.
"This is the guide who was recommended to you in Zacatecas?"
"Yes."
"You trust him fully?"
"We are obliged to do so."
"Wa'al, boys, ef this yere critter can't take yer straight ter Pacheco, nobody kin."
"What do you mean?"
"Jest this!" cried Bushnell, explosively; "this yere Greaser galoot w'at yer calls Pedro is nobody but Ferez!"
"Who is Ferez?"
"He's Pacheco's lieutenant!"
Frank uttered a cry of amazement and anger, wheeling quickly on the Mexican, his hand seeking the butt of a revolver.
But the dark-faced rascal seemed ready for such an exposure, for, with a yell of defiance, he dropped behind his horse, and the animal shot like a rocket from the firelight into the shadows which lay thick on the desert.
Bushnell opened up with a brace of revolvers, sending a dozen bullets whistling after the fellow, in less than as many seconds.
At the first shot, Hans Dunnerwust fell off his horse, striking on his back on the sand, where he lay, faintly gurgling:
"Uf you don'd shood der odder vay, I vos a tead man!"
"Don't let him escape with a whole skin!" shouted Frank, as he began to work a revolver, although he was blinded by the flashes from Bushnell's weapon so that he was forced to shoot by guess.
Ferez seemed to bear a charmed life, for he fled straight on into the night, sending back a mocking shout of laughter. From far out on the waste, he cried:
"Bah, Gringo dogs! You cannot harm me! I will see you again,Americanoes. This is not the last."
With an angry exclamation of disappointment and anger, Bushnell flung his empty revolvers on the sand at his feet.
"Dern me fer a fool!" he roared. "Ef I'd done my shootin' first an' my talkin' arterward, he wouldn't got away."
But Ferez had escaped, and they could only make the best of it.
When this was over and the excitement had subsided, they sat about the fire and discussed the situation. Frank then showed the golden image which Burk had given him, and explained how the dying man had told of the Silver Palace.
Bushnell listened quietly, a cloud on his face. At the conclusion of the story, he rose to his feet, saying:
"Ef Jack Burk made you his heir, thet goes, an' I ain't kickin' none whatever. Old Jack didn't hev no relatives, so he hed a right to make any galoot his heir. But thar's goin' ter be plenty of worry fer anybody as tries ter reach ther Silver Palace. How'd you 'spect ter git 'crost ther chasm?"
"As yet, I have not taken that into consideration. The kidnaping of Professor Scotch has banished thoughts of everything else from my mind."
"Wa'al, ef Jack Burk made you his heir, you're entitled ter your half of ther treasure, providin' you're ready ter stand your half of ther expenses ef we fail ter git thar."
"You may depend on me so far as that is concerned."
"Wa'al, then, you see I hev three hawses. One is fer me ter ride, another is ter kerry provisions, and ther third is ter tote ther balloon."
"The balloon!"
"Thet's whatever. I hev another balloon with which ter cross thet thar chasm. It's ther only way ter git over. In crossin' ther balloon will be loaded with a ballast of sand; but when we come back, ther ballast will be pure gold!"
They did not expect to reach Huejugilla el Alto without being molested by bandits, for it was presumed that Pacheco's lieutenant would carry the word to his chief, and the desperadoes would lose no time in moving against them.
Knowing their danger, they were exceedingly cautious, traveling much by night, and keeping in concealment by day, and, to their surprise, the bandits made no descent upon them.
Huejugilla el Alto proved to be a wild and picturesque place. Being far from the line of railroad, it had not even felt the touch of Northern civilization, and the boys felt as if they had been transported back to the seventeenth century.
"Hyar, lads," said Bushnell, "yer will see a town thet's clean Greaser all ther way through, an' it's ten ter one thar ain't nary galoot besides ourselves in ther durned old place thet kin say a word of United States."
The Westerner could talk Spanish after a fashion, and that was about all the natives of Huejugilla el Alto were able to do, with the exception of the few whose blood was untainted, and who claimed to be aristocrats.
However, for all of their strange dialect and his imperfect Spanish, Bushnell succeeded in making himself understood, so they found lodgings at a low, rambling adobe building, which served as a hotel. They paid in advance for one day, and were well satisfied with the price, although Bushnell declared it was at least double ordinary rates.
"We ain't likely ter be long in town before Ferez locates us an' comes arter his hawses. Ther derned bandits are bold enough 'long ther line of ther railroad, but they lay 'way over thet out hyar. Wuss then all, ther people of ther towns kinder stand in with ther pizen varmints."
"Stand in with them—how?"
"Why, hide 'em when ther soldiers is arter 'em, an' don't bother 'em at any other time."
"I presume they are afraid of the bandits, which explains why they do so."
"Afeared? Wa'al, I'll allow as how they may be; but then thar's something of ther bandit in ev'ry blamed Greaser I ever clapped peepers on. They're onery, they are."
Frank had noted that almost all Westerners who mingled much with the people of Mexico held Spaniards and natives alike in contempt, calling them all "Greasers." He could not understand this, for, as he had observed, the people of the country were exceedingly polite and chivalrous, treating strangers with the utmost courtesy, if courtesy were given in return. Rudeness seemed to shock and wound them, causing them to draw within themselves, as a turtle draws into its shell. Indeed, so polite were the people that Frank came to believe that a bandit who had decided to cut a man's throat and rob him would first beg a man's pardon for such rudeness, and then proceed about the job with the greatest skill, suavity, and gentleness.
Having settled at the hotel, Bushnell ordered a square meal, and, when it was served, they proceeded to satisfy the hunger which had grown upon them with their journey across the desert.
Bushnell also took care to look after the horses and equipments himself.
"Ef Ferez calls fer his hawses, I don't want him ter git away with this yar balloon an' gas generator," said the Westerner, as he saw the articles mentioned were placed under lock and key. "Ef we should lose them, it'd be all up with us so fur as gittin' ter ther Silver Palace is concerned."
Frank expected to hear something from Pacheco as soon as Huejugilla el Alto was reached, but he found no message awaiting him.
"Poor professor!" he said. "I expect he has suffered untold torments since he was kidnaped."
"Yah," nodded Hans. "Uf Brofessor Scotch don'd peen britty sick uf dis vild life mit Mexico, you vos a liar."
That night they were sitting outside the hotel whenthey heard a great commotion at the southern end of the town.
"Vot vos dot?" gasped the Dutch boy, in alarm. "Sounds like dere vos drouple aroundt dot logality."
"That's right," agreed Frank, feeling for his revolvers; "and it is coming this way as fast as it can."
"Mebbe another revolution has broke out," observed Bushnell, lazily. "Best git under kiver, an' let ther circus go by."
They could hear the clatter of horses' hoofs, the cracking of pistols, and a mingling of wild cries.
All at once Frank Merriwell became somewhat excited.
"On my life, I believe I hear the voice of Professor Scotch!" he shouted.
"Yah!" said Hans, "I belief I hear dot, too!"
"They may be bringin' ther professor in," said Bushnell. "Ef he's thar, we'll take an interest in ther case, you bet yer boots!"
Into the hotel he dashed, and, in a moment, he returned with his Winchester.
Along the street came a horseman, clinging to the back of an unsaddled animal, closely pursued by at least twenty wild riders, some of whom were shooting at the legs of the fleeing horse, while one was whirling a lasso to make a cast that must bring the animal to a sudden halt.
"Ten to one, the fugitive is the professor!" shouted Frank, peering through the dusk.
"Then, I reckon we'll hev ter chip in right hyar an' now," said Bushnell, calmly.
He flung the Winchester to his shoulder, and a spout of fire streamed from the muzzle in an instant.
The fellow who was whirling the lasso flung up his arm and plunged headlong from the horse's back to the dust of the street.
"Professor! professor!" shouted Frank. "Stop—stop here!"
"Can't do it," came back the reply. "The horse won't stop!"
"Jump off—fall off—get off some way!"
"All right! here goes!"
In another moment Professor Scotch, for it really wasthat individual, flung himself from the back of the animal he had ridden, struck the ground, rolled over and over like a ball, and lay still within thirty feet of Frank, groaning dolefully.
In the meantime, Al Bushnell was working his Winchester in a manner that was simply amazing, for a steady stream of fire seemed to pour from the muzzle of the weapon, and the cracking of the weapon echoed through the streets of Huejugilla el Alto like the rattling fire from a line of infantry.
After that first shot Bushnell lowered the muzzle of his weapon, as, in most cases at short range, his motto was to "shoot low," for he well knew more lead could be wasted by shooting too high than in any other manner.
In about three seconds he had thrown the pursuing bandits into the utmost confusion, for they had never before encountered such a reception in Huejugilla el Alto, and it was the last thing they had expected. With all possible haste, they reined about and took to flight, hearing the bullets whistling about them, or feeling their horses leap madly at the sting of lead or go plunging to the ground.
The inhabitants of the town had fled into their houses before the rush of the bandits, so there was little danger that any of Bushnell's bullets would reach innocent persons.
The confusion and rout of the bandits was brought about in a few seconds, and Bushnell was heard to mutter:
"One white man is good fer a hundred onery Greasers any time! Ther derned skunks hain't got a blamed bit of sand!"
Frank ran and lifted the fallen professor, flinging the man across his shoulder, and carrying him into the hotel.
Hans followed with frantic haste, and Bushnell came sauntering lazily in after the bandits had been routed and driven back.
"Are you badly hurt, professor?" asked Frank, anxiously.
"I'm killed!" groaned Scotch, dolefully. "I'm shot full of holes, and every bone in my body is broken! Farewell,my boy! We'll meet in a better land, where there are no bandits to molest or make afraid."
"Where are you shot?"
"Everywhere—all over! You can't touch me where I'm not shot! They fired more than four hundred bullets through me! I am so full of holes that I wonder you can see me at all!"
Bushnell made a hasty examination of the professor, who lay on the floor, groaning faintly, his eyes closed.
"Look hyar, pard," said the Westerner, roughly, "ef you want ter pass in yer chips ye'll hev ter stand up an' let me put a few more holes in yer. I can't find a place whar you're touched by a bullet an' I'm blowed ef I 'low you broke a bone when ye tumbled from ther hawse."
The professor sat up with a sudden snap.
"What's that?" he cried. "I'm not shot? I'm not all broke up? Is it possible? Can I believe you?"
"Yah," nodded Hans, gravely; "I can belief me. You vas all righdt brofessor, und dot is sdraight."
"Wow!" shouted Scotch, bounding to his feet like a rubber ball. "That's what I call great luck! Why, I thought I must be killed sure! I don't know how I escaped all those bullets. And then the fall! Providence must have been with me."
"Vell, I don'd know apoudt dot pefore you come der town in," said Hans; "but you vos alone mit yourself when we saw you, brofessor."
The landlord of the hotel came bustling up in a perfect tumult of terror, wringing his hands and almost weeping.
"Oh, señors!" he cried, in Spanish, "what have you done? You have ruined me! You stopped at my house, and you shoot the ladrones. Ah, señors, you know not what that means to me. Pacheco will come down on me—he will raid my house; I am a ruined man, and you are responsible for it. You must leave my house without delay! If you remain here, the whole town will rise against me! All the people will know this must make Pacheco very angry, and they will know he must take revenge on the place. They will be angry with me because I allow it. Carramba! How could I help it? I could do nothing. It came, and it was all over before I know what was doing.Señors, you must have pity on me—you must leave my house immeditely."
Bushnell caught enough of this to translate it to the others.
"Ther best thing we kin do is ter git out instanter," he said. "Ef we wait, ther outlaws will watch every road out of ther town, an' we'll hev trouble in gittin' away."
"Then let's get away immediately," fluttered the professor. "If I fall into their hands again, I'm a dead man!"
"Yes, we will get out immediately," decided Frank; "but we'll do it as secretly and silently as possible."
Bushnell nodded his satisfaction, and, thirty minutes later, the party was ready to move. They left the hotel by a back way, and, guided by the landlord, made their way along dark and narrow streets, creeping cautiously through the town till the outskirts were reached.
There Frank gave the landlord some money, and, after calling down blessings on their heads, he quickly slipped away and disappeared.
"Now we'll hustle right along," said the Westerner. "We'll put a good long stretch between ourselves an' Huejugilla el Alto before mornin'. We're off, bound straight inter ther mountains——"
"And straight for the Silver Palace," added Frank.
They were fortunate in getting away without being seen by any of the bandits, and at dawn they were well up into the mountains, where Bushnell found a secluded place for them to camp and rest, as rest was something of which they all sorely stood in need.
Bushnell prepared breakfast, and Frank insisted that Professor Scotch should explain how he escaped from Pacheco's gang.
"Don't ask me," sighed the little man, fondling his red whiskers. "I can't explain it—really I can't."
"Why not?"
"Well, you see, I don't know how I happened to do it. They forced me to write that letter against my will, two of them standing over me with drawn daggers while I was writing, and prodding me a bit whenever I refused to put down the words Pacheco ordered written."
"Then Pacheco speaks English?"
"As well as I do."
"What does he look like?"
"I don't know."
"How is that?"
"He kept his face concealed with his serape quite up to his eyes."
"Thar's a mystery about Pacheco," broke in Bushnell. "No one seems ter know jest what ther varmint looks like."
"Go on, professor," urged Frank; "tell us just how you escaped."
"I tell you I do not know myself. All I know is that they tied me to a horse, and brought me across a plain of burning sand, where I nearly perished for want of water, and was nearly sawed in two by the backbone of the horse I rode. I believed it was a case of gone goose with me. At last they camped in a wild spot, and I was so badly used up that I could scarcely eat or do anythingbut lay around and groan. They seemed to think there was no need of watching me very closely, and I noticed that I was alone sometimes. Then, feeling utterly reckless, I began to watch for a chance to sneak away. I didn't care if I were shot, or if I escaped and perished from hunger and thirst. I was bound to make the attempt. Last night I made it. A saddleless horse strayed along where I was, and I made a jump for the animal. Before they knew what I was doing, I was on the beast's back and yelling into its ears like a maniac. The horse scooted out of the camp, and I clung on. The bandits pursued me, and everything else is a haze till I heard Frank calling for me to jump off. I recognized his voice and fell off the horse, although I had not the least idea in the world where I was."
"Wa'al," chuckled Bushnell, "thet's w'at I call dead fool luck, beggin' yer pardon fer speakin' so open like, at which I means no harm whatever."
"Oh, ye needn't beg my pardon," quickly said Professor Scotch. "I don't want any credit for getting away. It wasn't a case of brains at all."
Breakfast was prepared, and they ate heartily, after which Frank, Hans, and the professor lay down to sleep, while Bushnell smoked a black pipe.
But even Bushnell was not made of iron, and the pipe soothed him to slumber, so the entire party slept, with no one to guard.
All at once, some hours later, they were awakened by an exclamation from Frank, who sat up and stared at the form of a stranger, the latter being quietly squatting in their midst, calmly puffing at a cigarette, while his poncho was wrapped about him to his hips.
Frank's exclamation awakened Bushnell like an electric shock, and, even as his eyes opened, his hand shot out, the fingers grasping the butt of a revolver that was pointed straight at the stranger.
"Stiddy, thar!" called the Westerner. "I hev ther drop on yer, an' I'll sock yer full of lead ef yer wiggle a toenail! You hear me chirp!"
The stranger continued smoking, his coal-black eyes being the only part of him to move, for all of the threatening revolver.
Hans sat up, gasping:
"Shimminy Gristmas! Der pandits haf caught us alretty soon!"
At this Professor Scotch gave a groan of dismay, faintly gurgling:
"Then I'm a goner!"
That the stranger was a half-blood could be seen at a glance.
"Drap thet cigaroot, an' give an account of yerself instanter right off!" ordered Bushnell, threateningly. "Who in blazes be yer?"
The cigarette fell from the man's lips, and he answered:
"I am Rodeo."
"Wa'al, who is Rodeo?"
"The brother of Pacheco."
"Don't I toldt you dot!" panted the Dutch boy.
Professor Scotch groaned again, and rolled a little farther from the half-blood, but still made no effort to sit up.
"Wa'al, dern your skin!" cried Bushnell. "You've got a nerve to come hyar! I s'pose Pacheco an' his gang of onery varmints is within whoopin' distance?"
"I am alone; there is no one within call."
"Wa'al, w'at be yer hyar fer, thet's what I wants ter know?"
"I found you asleep, and I came to warn you."
"Of what?"
"Danger. The ladrones are on your trail already. Before the sun sinks behind the mountains they will be here. If you are not gone, you must all fall into their hands."
Bushnell looked doubtful and suspicious, while a puzzled expression came into his bronzed face.
"Look hyar," he said; "you're up ter some game, an' I'm derned ef I know what she am, but yer wants ter understand yer can't monkey with this old coon none whatever. I hold the drop on yer, Old Socks, an' I may take a fancy ter bore yer once jest fer fun, so ye'd best talk straight an' squar', an' be lively about it."
"Yah," nodded Hans, threateningly, "you petter peen in a plamed pig hurry apoudt dot talking pusiness."
"What do you wish me to say, señors?"
"Explain why you're hyar ter warn us."
"Because I'm the brother of Pacheco."
"Thet don't go down with this old coon. Pacheco is ther leader of ther bandits."
"He was the leader of the bandits."
"Was the leader?"
"Si, señor."
"An' ain't he now?"
"No, señor."
"How long since?"
"At least one month."
"Oh, say, thet thar won't do—I tells yer it won't, fer we know er blamed sight better! Rodeo, lying is dangerous with me 'round."
"Señor, I do not lie; I tell you the truth. One month ago Pacheco was the leader of the band; now he is dead, and another is in his place. This other killed him in a battle, and by that he won the right to be leader of the band. He has taken my brother's name, and he calls himself Pacheco. Señors, I swear to you I speak the truth—I swear by all the saints! My brother is dead, and there is an impostor in his place."
Frank was impressed, and his hand fell on Bushnell's arm.
"I believe the fellow really speaks the truth," he said. "He seems sincere, and his eyes are square and steady."
"Yer can't tell about ther skunks," muttered the Westerner; "but still this one does seem ter be layin' a straight trail."
"I have taken my oath," continued the half-blood, a red light in his dark eyes—"I have sworn to kill the murderer of my brother, and I will keep the oath. That's why I am here. I have been watching the band for two weeks; I know every move they will make. I know when you leave Huejugilla el Alto, and I know they will follow. I make sure of that, and then, with my heart full of joy, I ride fast in advance. At last—at last they go to my country in the mountains! My people are there—my other brothers, my cousins, my relatives. They will all stand by me, and they will be ready to avenge Pacheco. The wrath of my people shall fall on the head of the impostor! You wonder why I warn you? I will explain. You are bound far in the mountains, and the false Pacheco will follow.If you are captured, he may turn back. I want him to follow you—I want you to lead him into the snare. That is why I am here, and that is why I have warned you, señors. It is done, and now I will go."
He arose to his feet, heedless of Bushnell's command to "keep still," and strode toward the horses. They saw an extra animal was there, and, in a moment, he had flung himself on the creature's back.
"Buenos dias, señores."
A clatter of hoofs, the flutter of a poncho, and a crimson serape, and Rodeo's horse was galloping up the ravine that still led deeper into the mountains. Man and horse soon vanished from view.