CHAPTER VIII.RECONNOITERING.
“Jest cum from thar!” he cried. “Ye don’t mean it?”
“Yes, I do,” replied Frank. “We have been up there and back.”
“What did you cum back fer?” asked the amazed trapper.
“For the sake of safety.”
“Ah, then ye run afoul of the gang, did ye?”
“We did.”
With this Frank proceeded to give Beaver Bill an account in full of the incidents in Death Gorge.
The trapper listened with interest.
“Good enough!” he cried. “I’m glad ye gave ’em a lesson. I reckon, if ye work it right, ye kin capture that rascal of a Mason.”
“Have you any plan to suggest?” asked Frank.
The trapper was thoughtful for a moment. Then he peered into Frank’s face.
“Be you a good scout?” he asked.
“Do you mean in the bush?”
“Yas!”
“Well, I know a little something about it,” replied Frank.
“All right. I reckon ye’ll do. Ter-night, if ye feel like it, we’ll scout up that way an’ try an’ git inter Mason’s den. Mebbe we could work a stratagem to git a hitch on him. See?”
“Good for you!” cried Frank. “I am with you in that game!”
“Then ye’ll risk It?”
“Anything.”
“But what’ll ye do with yer iron hoss hyar?”
“Oh, Barney and Pomp will look after that all right,” replied Frank. “When shall we start?”
“Not afore midnight, I reckon. P’raps yer hoss kin take us up quicker’n mine.”
“Of course. Look here, Barney. You’ve heard all this?”
“I have, sor!”
“Well, now, you and Pomp will understand what I expect of you until I return.”
“To be shure, sor.”
“I want you to keep out of the way of the foe. You know my signal whistle. When you hear it, answer.”
“Shure I will that, sor!”
So the plan was completed for the incursion into Death Pass by night.
It was somewhile before midnight, however, and our adventurers settled down for a quiet time until that hour should come.
Barney brought out his fiddle and Pomp the banjo.
They played lively tunes and sang to the keen enjoyment of the old trapper, Beaver Bill.
“Wall, by mighty!” roared the old woodsman, “that does jest take ther pancake. I never heern anythin’ better nor that in me life.”
“Did yez niver dance a jig?” cried Barney. “Shure, here’s the jig the Kilkenny piper danced himself to death over.”
With this, the Celt set up a rollicking air on the fiddle which was more meritorious in jingle than measure.
Beaver Bill could not stand.
“Well, me boys,” he cried, shambling to his feet. “I used ter dance when I was young, me and Sal Hawkins once took ther prize at a log cabin warmin’; hyar goes!”
The old trapper’s lengthy, lank limbs began to flap about in keeping with the music.
It was a spectacle to have made a dog laugh.
It is needless to say that at the conclusion of the dance there was not a dry eye in the camp.
Then Barney treated the audience to a genuine Irish jig.
Pomp was not to be outdone, and followed with a plantation breakdown. It was a feast for the gods!
Thus the hours passed rapidly, until suddenly consulting his watch, Frank found that it was midnight.
“Enough!” he cried, springing to his feet. “Time is up.”
“Shure, an’ is it?” cried Barney, regretfully.
But business was business, and soon all were busy making ready for the expedition.
The Steam Horse was finally started for the Death Pass.
It was slow work picking the way along in the gloom.
But at length they arrived at a point within a mile of the spot.
Then Frank caused the Steam Horse to be drawn up in a dark corner of the mountain side.
“Now, Barney and Pomp,” he cried, “don’t forget my instructions.”
“Shore, we won’t, sor.”
“We’se jes’ a’ right, Marse Frank.”
“That settles it,” said Frank. “Come on, Mr. Beaver Bill.”
Together they glided away into the intense darkness. They were off upon their daring errand.
The Rubicon was crossed. Only time would tell the results.
The trapper led the way, gliding through the shadows as noiseless as a panther.
Gradually they approached the Pass.
They had no doubt that sentries would be found posted in the vicinity, so it was necessary to proceed with the very greatest of care.
But as they crept on, to their relief and surprise they did not encounter anything of the kind.
The way seemed clear and they crept into the Pass like silent shadows.
Beaver Bill was an adept at this sort of thing.
But he speedily found that it was not foreign to Frank Reade, Jr. The young inventor was as silent and tactful as the trapper.
This seemed to reassure the latter. Suddenly Bill came to a halt.
He made a funnel of his hands and whispered faintly in Frank’s ear:
“Thar’s nobody hereabouts, pard. What will ye do?”
Frank answered in the same manner:
“Let us try that path down which the greaser came this afternoon.”
“Where is it?”
Then Frank remembered that the trapper had not been present at the time.
“All right,” he returned, “I’ll show you the way.”
“Lead on!”
Frank now skillfully led the way across the pass.
So silently and effectively did he do it, in the intense gloom that it was clearly demonstrated to Beaver Bill that the young inventor knew his business well.
The trapper from that moment reposed full confidence in his companion.
Frank reached the path which led up the cliff.
Here he halted and listened.
It was somewhile before he was satisfied that the coast was clear.
Then he whispered:
“All right, Bill; come on.”
The trapper followed without question.
Like silent phantoms they crept up the winding path. Up and up they went until they could overlook the Death Valley.
And there a curious spectacle was presented to their view.
In different quarters of the valley myriads of dancing balls of fire, ghastly in their radiance, seemed to spring from the soil, linger in the air a few moments, and then vanish.
It looked like a literal display of fireworks.
The two men gazed upon the spot wholly spell-bound. They had never seen anything like it before.
It was now easy to understand why wandering tribes of Indians and ignorant white men shunned the valley.
The sight was one well calculated to appeal to one’s sense of superstition.
To the untutored savages or the white man unfamiliar with natural sciences, the exhibition certainly partook of the supernatural.
There were large areas wholly free from this peculiar display.
Bill Swazey the hunter was unable to understand the phenomenon.
“Great bars!” he gasped, “thar ain’t much doubt about this place being ther abode of the devil is ther?”
“I think there is a good deal of doubt,” replied Frank.
The trapper was astonished.
“Eh!” he rejoined. “Praps’ ye kin account for thim devilish balls av fire.”
“Of course I can.”
“What mought they be?”
“It is a peculiar characteristic of that sort of gas, that it is visible to the eye at night in this form. You have heard of the light of the Jack-o’-lantern or will-o’-the-wisp?”
“Sartin.”
“Well, this is explained in much the same manner. That is the outcome of swamp gas and practically harmless, but this gas undoubtedly has anaesthetic properties and swoons one to death, just as too much chloroform would.”
The trapper listened respectfully, but the superstitious element was too deeply imbued in his nature to allow of his accepting Frank’s explanation at once.
“That sounds all right, pard,” he declared, “but I’ll be doggoned if I’d want to go down thar.”
“To the contrary it is quite safe in my belief to go down thar at night.”
The trapper gasped with amazement.
“Are ye mad, pard?”
“No. I am perfectly sane.”
“Don’t ye know thar’s dozens of dead men out on that plain.”
“I do know it!” replied Frank, “but I’ll venture not one of them attempted to cross in the night.”
“Eh, what diffrunce mought it make whether day or night?”
“All the difference in the world. You will see that only certain localities in the valley throw up those balls of fire.”
The trapper was interested.
“Yas!”
“You will see that there are other spaces wholly free from the display.”
“I reckon so!”
“Well, where you see none of the lights, that space is free from the gas. It is only where you see the balls of fire that any of the deadly gas is to be found.”
“Wall,” said Bill, slowly, “what ar ye drivin’ at?”
“I am trying to demonstrate my belief that at night a man can safely cross that valley by keeping out of the way of those balls of fire which are a guide to one. Of course, in the daytime, one does not see the gas, and sooner or later must walk into it and be overcome.”
The trapper was now deeply impressed with the logic of Frank’s remarks.
He scratched his head thoughtfully.
“Wall, I swow!” he grunted. “Mebbe yu’re right. I never cud study out any of them scientific matters anyway.”
“I will take my oath that I am right,” declared Frank, confidently. “Indeed I am so sure of it that I am going down there and try the experiment.”
The trapper placed a hand on Frank’s arm.
“Fer God’s sake, pard, don’t venture inter that hole,” he remonstrated. “It’s sartin ter be death.”
But Frank only laughed.
“You will see that I am right,” he cried. “I will demonstrate that fact to you very quickly, my friend.”