"Speaking of irrigation, I'm afraid we are going to have serious trouble with the water some day," Mr. Hungerford, the rancher, remarked as they sat at their meal.
"You mean your orchards will be overflowed?" inquired Jack.
"Oh, no. I'm not afraid of that. That pool in which you landed from the tunnel is drained by a score of small ditches which ought to be capable of handling any overflow. No, the ranches I mean are the ones back under the hills—the cattle ranges. The dam back near Grizzly Pass is none too strong, I am told, and if at any time following a cloudburst the sluiceways should not be opened in time, the retaining wall might burst, and the whole country be swept by a disastrous flood. Damage to thousands of dollars' worth of property and the death of scores of men and cattle might also be a consequence."
"But surely the dam is well guarded?" asked Ralph.
"That's just the trouble," said Mr. Hungerford seriously. "At night, I understand, only one old man is on watch there, and if he should meet with an accident there would be no one to watch for the safety of the ranchers in the foothills."
"Yep, if she'd carry away, she sure would raise Cain!" agreed Bud Wilson.
"Engineers are figuring on some means of strengthening the retaining wall now, I understand," rejoined Mr. Hungerford. "I hope they will complete their work before any storm breaks."
Soon after, the subject was changed, and at the conclusion of their meal, after thanking their hospitable host, the little party set out for Agua Caliente.
"What does Agua Caliente mean, anyhow?" asked Ralph, as they rode out of Mr. Hungerford's place.
"Hot water," rejoined Bud; "and it looks to me as if we didn't have to go as far as the range to get in it."
"There are some hot springs on one part of the ranch," explained Jack.
As the sun grew low they were still in the saddle. The desert had now been passed and they were traversing foothills—rough, broken ground, covered with scrub oak and split and riven by dried water courses. Behind were the dark slopes of the Sierra de la Hacheta. They appeared black and menacing in the dying light.
"They look like regular robbers' roosts," said Ralph, regarding them as the horses picked their way over the rough road, which was scarcely better than a track.
"Robbers' roosts, I guess so," laughed Bud; "and there are some robber roosters among 'em, too," he went on. "Those mountains are on the border, and some place over beyond them is the most pestiferous band of cattle rustlers and horse thieves that ever bothered a nice, peaceable community. Why, before Sam Hickey shot Walter Dodge at——"
But the boys had broken into a roar of laughter at Bud Wilson's idea of a peaceable community.
Their merriment was brought to a sudden halt, however.
From the road ahead had come the sudden clatter of a horse's hoofs. The animal was evidently being urged ahead at full speed.
Bud's hand slipped swiftly back to his hip pocket. The boys realized by this almost automatic action that they were in a country where men are apt to shoot first and ask questions afterward.
Presently a little rise brought the galloper into view.
At the sight of the advancing party, he too slackened speed, and his hand made the same curiously suggestive movement as had Bud Wilson's.
"Howdy!" called Bud tentatively to the dark form outlined against the sombre background of brown, scrub-grown foothill and purple mountain.
"Howdy, Bud Wilson!" came back the hail. "I'll be switched if I didn't think it was Black Ramon and some of his gang, for a minute!"
"Why, hello, Walt Phelps!" hailed Bud cheerfully, as the other advanced. "I didn't knowbut you was some sort of varmint. How be yer?"
"First class, 'Frisco to Portland, Oregon. Hello, Jack Merrill! Well, you're looking natural. Welcome to our city!"
The stranger spurred his horse nearer, and Ralph saw that he was a boy about their own age, on a big, raw-boned gray horse that seemed capable of great efforts. Fast as the other had been advancing, the gray's flanks hardly heaved.
"Ralph, this is Walt Phelps. He and I used to play ball together when we weren't off on the range some place," said Jack, turning in his saddle to make the introduction. "He's a neighbor of ours. Lives on the next ranch. What are you hurrying so for, Walt?"
The other shoved back his broad sombrero, and the evening light shone on a freckled, good-natured face and the reddest hair Ralph had ever seen.
"Guess you ain't heard the news?" he asked curiously.
"No, what?"
"Why, those cattle rustlers have broken outagain. Raided Perkin's last night and got away with fifty head."
"Phew!"
"And that's not all. They know who's at the head of the gang now."
"Who?"
"Why, that bullying greaser—what's his name? That Mexican who's been in trouble a dozen times——"
"Black Ramon De Barrios?"
"That's the rooster! We heard he had the nerve to show up in town, and I'm riding in to see if I can't pick up some fellows and head him off."
"I guess you're too late, Walt."
"How do you know? You only just got in to-day from the East. I met your father a while back, and he told me."
"I know, but we've had time to meet Black Ramon and put something on our side of the book against him."
"Say—tell me." The other's tone held amazement.
"Come on and ride back with us, and I'll tellyou as we go along. Black Ramon's on Mexican soil by this time or soon will be."
Their adventures were soon related, and by the time Jack's narrative was concluded, the lights and welcoming voices of Agua Caliente were before them.
"Jack!"
"Um-um-um-huh!" from Jack Merrill, as he turned over in his cot.
"Listen! There it is again—— What is it?"
Ralph Stetson sat bolt upright in bed, listening with all his might to the strange and shivery sound which had awakened him. It was shortly after midnight, following the evening of the boys' arrival, and both were sleeping—or rather had been sleeping—in a room set aside for them in one wing of the low, straggly ranch house in the foothills of the Sierra de la Hacheta.
"Wow-wow-wow!" came the cry once more from somewhere among the dreary, moonlit hills outside.
"Oh, that!" said the ranch-raised boy, with a laugh. "That's coyotes!"
"Oh," rejoined Ralph wisely. "Coyotes, eh?" But he did not lie down again. Instead, he listened more intently than before. Presently came another howl from some distance off.
"They're conversational beasts, aren't they?" inquired Ralph.
"What do you mean?" sleepily muttered Jack.
"Why, some friend of the one I just heard is answering him. Hark!"
Jack Merrill became suddenly interested as he heard the second howl. His eyes grew round as he listened intently, and he, too, sat up in his bed.
"Say," he remarked, "thatisfunny. And hark! there's another one—off there to the south."
"What do you suppose they are up to?"
"I've no idea, but I tell you what—if you like, we'll take the rifle and sneak out and see. What do you say?"
"Um—well, it's a bit chilly to go coyote hunting, but I should like to get one. Professor Wintergreen said at supper last night that he would liketo have the hide of one of the beasts for his collection. Let's go!"
"All right. Just slip on a few clothes. The magazine of my rifle's full. Don't make a racket getting out of the house, though. I don't just know how dad would take it."
"But he'll hear the rifle if we shoot one."
"That's so; but it will be too late then."
Silently as cats, the two boys got out of bed and dressed, an operation which was performed by slipping on trousers, shirts and boots over their pajamas. Then, with their sombrero hats on, they were ready to creep outside. The moon had been up for an hour, and was shining down in a radiant flood, illuminating the heaving surface of the foothills as if they had been a silver sea.
"Which way will we go?" whispered Ralph, as they stole along in the dark shadow of the low timber house like two culprits.
"Over there. Down toward the corral. The chicken house is down there, and those four-footed thieves are fond of chickenau naturel."
Taking advantage of every bit of shadow thatoffered, the two lads crept toward the corral, a big inclosure about half an acre in extent, in the center of which stood a fenced haystack. The horses of the ranch were generally turned loose in it to browse about at their will. Usually not more than enough for the use of the ranch-house family were kept there, the rest being driven in from the "remuda" as required.
"Say, it's silent, isn't it?" whispered Ralph, as they crawled along behind a big stack of wild-oat hay.
"Well, you didn't expect to find a roaring city in the heart of the foothills of the Hachetas, did you?" inquired Jack, with vast sarcasm. "Hush! Now I think I saw something!"
"Where?"
"Off there to the south. It was slipping along among the hills. There, there it is again!"
Ralph strained his eyes into the darkness, but could see nothing of the object Jack had indicated. It had gone as utterly as if it had not been there.
Suddenly the wild howls that had awakened Ralph broke out once more. This time they camequite close at hand, and neither boy could repress a start at the sound. It gave an impression of an outburst of demoniac mirth.
"Wow! ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!"
The cry was immediately echoed from the direction in which Jack had declared he had seen a gray shadow flitting in and out. The next instant both boys gave an involuntary shout of surprise, which they hastily checked, realizing that they were face to face with a stern necessity for silence.
Outlined as clearly against the moonlight as if it had been cut from black paper, thefigure of a horsemanhad momentarily appeared, and then as abruptly vanished.
At the same instant there came a wild disturbance of hoofs in the corral, and before the boys' astonished eyes four more horsemen dashed from it and swept off toward the south. Behind them there trailed half a dozen of the animals which had been feeding or sleeping in the corral. To the neck of each was attached a lariat, and they followed their captors at breakneck speed.
"Horse thieves!" shouted Jack, springing tohis feet and giving the alarm by firing a volley of bullets after the retreating rustlers.
Instantly the sleeping ranch galvanized into active life. Lights flashed here and there, and from the bunkhouse on a hillside below the main house there poured a strangely assorted score of hastily aroused cowboys. Some of them were trouserless, but all carried their revolvers.
"What's the matter? What is it?" shouted Mr. Merrill's voice.
"Dad, it's horse thieves!" shouted Jack.
"Some of Black Ramon's bunch, for a bet!" roared Bud Wilson, emerging with a lantern and vaulting into the corral.
"Oh, the dirty scoundrels!" he broke out the next instant.
"What is it? What have they done, Bud?" cried Jack, who realized from the usually impassive vaquero's tone that something very much was amiss.
"Why, they've taken the pick of the bunch! Look here, Firewater's gone, my calico, and——"
"But they've left some horses. Quick! Let's get after them. We can overtake them!" urgedMr. Merrill, who had hastily thrown on some clothes, and, followed by the professor, was now down at the corral.
"We can't," wailed Bud; "the precious rascals have hamstrung all the horses they didn't want."
A chorus of furious voices broke out at this. Black Ramon, if it were he or his band that had made the midnight raid, had planned it cleverly. It would be hours before fresh horses could be rounded up from the "remuda," and the poor animals remaining had been crippled fatally. Few minds but that of a Mexican could have conceived of such a fiendish act. The unfortunate animals, uncomplainingly, as is the manner of horses, were lying about the corral, looking up at the men about with mute agony in their large eyes.
"Oh, blazes! if I could get my hands on that greaser!" roared Bud Wilson.
"Steady now, Bud, steady!" said Mr. Merrill, though his own frame trembled with rage at the needless brutality of the raiders. "Hard words will do no good now."
"Let's keep quiet a minute. Maybe we can hear the clatter of their hoofs," said one of thecowboys, a young chap who had come to the ranch from a peaceful California range not long before.
"Not much chance of that," said Bud Wilson bitterly. "Those chaps had the hoofs of their own mounts and the ones they stole all muffled—you can bet your Sunday sombrero on that."
"That's why they made so little noise when they led them off," said Ralph. But in the general agitation no one paid any attention to him.
Everybody was rushing about asking questions, giving orders, hastening this way and that with lanterns. Even the Chinese cook was out with a frying pan in his hand, seemingly under the impression that it was up to him to cook something.
It was Mr. Merrill who first found his head.
"Silence!" he cried in a stern, ringing voice. "You, Bud, select two men and put these poor brutes here out of their pain."
"If it's all the same to you, boss, will you give that job to some one else?" said Bud, with a queer little break in his voice. "I've rode some of them plugs."
"All right, then. Your job will be to round up a dozen of the best nags you can find from the Escadillo pasture. Get a bite to eat, take two men with you, and start right now. Don't lose a minute."
Bud Wilson hastened off. He didn't want to be near the corral when the shots that told that the ham-strung beasts were being put out of their misery were heard.
"What are they going to do?" whispered Ralph, as two cowboys finally climbed into the corral with their revolvers drawn.
"Kill those poor brutes. It's the only thing to do with a hamstrung horse," said Jack bitterly, turning away.
Ralph, having no more wish than his friend to see the final chapter of the raiders' visit, followed him. As they turned they almost ran into the professor.
The estimable scientist, in his agitation, had just thrown aside a valuable book, and held tightly to a piece of straw, under the impression that he had thrown away the straw and kept the book. Jack picked up the volume and handed it to theprofessor. To his surprise, however, the man of science waved the book aside, and the boys could see in the moonlight that a new light, foreign entirely to their usual mild radiance, beamed in his eyes.
"No, no!" he said in a sharp voice, one which the boys had never heard him use before. "No books now. What I want is a rifle and a horse. I never knew I was a man of blood till this moment, but—but I'm hanged if I wouldn't like a shot at those—ahem—I believe they are called greasers, and a good name for the rascals!"
"Good for you, professor!" exclaimed Jack; "and if we have our way, you'll get your chance before long. We're going to take the trail after those rascals as soon as Bud and the others get the horses."
"Oh, Jack, are we to go?" gasped Ralph.
"Well, if we don't, something's going to drop!" said Jack in a determined tone. "They've taken my little Firewater, and I've got something to say to them on my own account."
"Say," exclaimed Ralph suddenly, as the professorand the boys hastened toward the house, "I want to take back something I said yesterday."
"What's that?"
"That there are no adventures left in the modern West."
Jack, even in the midst of his agitation, could not help laughing at Ralph's earnest tone.
"I wonder what they'd think at Stonefell if they could see us now," he mused. Suddenly he pointed toward the professor, who was angrily shaking a fist at the Southern sky, where the saw-like outline of the Hachetas cut the moonlit horizon.
"And what would his Latin class say if they could see him?"
"That he was all right!" rejoined Ralph, with deep conviction.
Inside the great living room of the ranch house, with its brightly colored rugs on the dark wood floor and walls, and a blaze leaping in its big open hearth, for the night was chilly, the Chinese cook was already setting out a meal, when the boys entered. Mr. Merrill, his brow furrowed with deep thought, was walking up and down. Helooked up as his son and Ralph entered, and spoke quickly.
"You boys had better remain at the ranch," he said. "We are not likely to be gone long and——"
He stopped short. The blank faces of the two lads had caused him to break into a broad smile despite the seriousness of his mood.
"Why, why," he said amusedly, "surely you didn't expect to come along?"
"Why, dad, of course. They've taken my Firewater, the rascals, and I've got a personal interest in the thing."
"And I, sir," began Ralph, "I am out here for experience, you know."
"Well, you certainly seem to be getting it. I am half inclined to allow you to come. I must attach one condition to it, however, and that is that you obey orders implicitly, and if any danger arises that you will do your best to conceal yourselves from it."
"What, run away—oh, dad!" began Jack, but his father cut him short.
"Accept my conditions or stay here, Jack."
"Very well, then, dad, we accept—eh, Ralph?"
The Eastern boy nodded. Not for the world would he have missed what was to come. And now the professor spoke up.
"Mr. Merrill, sir, I shall take it as a favor if you will provide a horse for me. In my young days I was not unaccustomed to equine pursuits, and I feel that I should make one of your party. I could wish, sir, to be in at the—the finish—if I may say so—of those ruffians."
"There is small likelihood of our catching them, professor," said Mr. Merrill, smiling at the other's excitement. "They have a long start. I am afraid you would only have a long, tiring ride for your pains."
"I am willing to chance it," said the professor simply. "I feel, in fact, that such a dash across the er—er, Rubicon would be classic, sir, classic, if nothing else."
"That being the case," said Mr. Merrill, checking his amusement, in view of the professor's evident earnestness, "you shall certainly come. But now breakfast, or supper, or whatever one may call the meal, seems to be ready. Let us sitdown and eat, for we have a long ride ahead of us."
During the meal Mr. Merrill was plied with questions by the eager boys. In fact, so numerous did the queries become, that he was relieved at last when a diversion offered in the shape of a clattering of hoofs outside the door.
"Rap!" came at the portal.
"Ah, the horses at last!" exclaimed Mr. Merrill, eagerly rising to his feet, and betraying by his haste how anxious he was to be off, despite his assumed indifference.
"Come in!" he called in answer to the rap.
The boys looked expectantly confident of seeing the familiar features of Bud Wilson.
To their astonishment, however, the newcomer was a total stranger. A small, swarthy Mexican. He wore bear-skin chapareros, and seemed to have ridden far and hard. At the sight of him they all sprang to their feet, so complete was their surprise at the unexpected nationality of their visitor.
The new arrival replied to Mr. Merrill's look of inquiry by a voluble flood of Spanish. When he paused for breath, the rancher, who understood the language perfectly, turned to the professor and his young companions.
"This man, if he is to be relied upon, has furnished us with a valuable clue," he said. "According to him the rustlers passed him headed for Grizzly Pass not more than an hour ago. If this is so, then we stand a good chance of overtaking them. The ground there is rough, and, not expecting pursuit, they will take it easy. In fact, this fellow says that when he saw them they were camping."
"You think he is to be relied on?" asked the professor.
"Well, that remains to be seen. He tells astraight enough story. He says he is a sheepman who has a few hundred head in the highlands near the cañon. While camped in a small pass leading off the main cañon, he overheard these fellows talking about the trick they played, and decided to inform me at once. He sneaked quietly out of his camp, saddled a horse he had there, and rode hard till he arrived here."
At this moment a fresh trampling of hoofs announced that Bud and his companion had returned with the "remuda" horses, and soon after Bud himself entered the room.
In leather chapareros, high-heeled riding-boots and jingling spurs, he looked every inch the cow-puncher as he handled his revolver grimly.
"We're about ready when you are, boss," he said.
"Oh, yes—all right, Wilson. But I've got something I want to tell you."
Rapidly Mr. Merrill ran over the story of the Mexican sheep-herder.
"What do you think of it?" he asked, as he concluded.
"Wa'al, itsoundsall right," admitted Bud reluctantly, "but this yer feller's a greaser, boss, and——"
"Oh, I know, Wilson, but after all, what can happen to us? We will be a strong party, and we'll take him along with us. He says he's willing to go."
"Of course, that makes it different," admitted Bud; "but my advice would be to make him ride with a lariat round his neck, so that at the first sign of treachery we can string him up with neatness and dispatch."
"We can't do that," smiled Mr. Merrill, while Bud glared at the Mexican, "but we can have him ride right with us, and then there will be no danger of his playing us false."
"You understand what will happen to you if you ain't on the level with us?" demanded Bud of the Mexican, placing his hands about his own throat with a ferocious and significant expression.
"Si, señor," nodded the Mexican.
"All right, then. That being the case, you can'tblame us if anything comes off that don't happen to be on your future schedule of events."
Soon after this conversation the expedition started. Dawn was just breaking as they clattered out from under the cottonwoods that surrounded the ranch house. They were a grim, determined-looking band. On each man's saddle he carried slung before him his rifle, and with the exception of Ralph and the professor, every one of those ten riders was a crack shot. Behind each cow-puncher's cantle was tied a roll of blankets, and besides their lariats each saddle horn held suspended a quart canteen full of water. Two pack animals, selected for their speed, carried a camping outfit and cooking utensils. Complete as was the organization, it had taken little more than half an hour to get it ready for the start.
"Hi-yi!" yelled Jack, bringing down his quirt over his pony's flanks. "It's good to hit the trail and get some action."
"Same here," rejoined Ralph, pressing up alongside of him.
The two boys urged their ponies to an easy lope. As for some miles to come there was nonecessity for them to travel with the main body of the men, they kept it up till they were some distance ahead. Mr. Merrill had decided that there was no danger to be apprehended till the mountains were actually reached, and his consent had been gained before the boys loped off alone.
Suddenly another rider spurred into view, coming from the opposite direction to the boys and the Merrill party.
"Walt Phelps!" cried Jack with a glad shout.
The other returned the greeting and soon learned the news from Agua Caliente.
Soon the three boys were riding forward together. Walter Phelps, it appeared, had heard rumors that the rustlers had been abroad in the night, and had risen early and saddled for a ride to the Merrill ranch. He was much concerned when he learned of the rancher's loss, and volunteered to join the party.
To this Mr. Merrill entered no objection, and the three boys rode side by side all the morning. The noonday camp was made in a small arroyo immediately below a frowning spur of theHachetas. The foothills had been growing more and more rugged as the advance was made, and now the party might fairly be said to be in the mountains themselves. By skirting two more spurs they would be in Grizzly Pass in less than an hour. The character of the scenery was gloomy and grand in the extreme. The rugged and mysterious mountains, clothed darkly, almost to their summits, with scrub-oak, fir and piñon trees, seemed to Ralph to promise all kinds of adventure.
The noonday meal was a hasty one. As soon as it was dispatched the party pressed on without pausing for further rest. The road now grew so rough that the trail of the stolen horses, which had at first been plain and clear, could no longer be seen. The Mexican guide, closely guarded by Bud Wilson and a cowboy named Coyote Pete, rode in front. Close behind came Mr. Merrill, the three boys and the professor, and in their rear followed the half-dozen cowboys who formed the remainder of the expedition.
"Are we getting near the place now, Jose?"asked Mr. Merrill, addressing their guide by the name he had given, about the middle of the afternoon.
"Si, señor," rejoined the guide, who soon after directed the cavalcade toward the mouth of the pass through which he said the stolen horses had been driven.
If the mountains had been gloomy and sinister to the view while riding along the base of them, the northern entrance to Grizzly Pass itself threw a damper over the spirit of even Coyote Pete, who had hitherto larked about and displayed a great fund of high spirits. The dark wall of the cañon rose perpendicularly to a height of more than a hundred feet on the right side of the rough trail. At the other hand was a deep and dark abyss at the bottom of which a hidden river roared. Beyond the formidable pit reared another frowning rampart of sheer rock. Deep down could be heard the murmuring of water.
"That's the overflow from the big dam," explained Walter Phelps, pointing over into the sonorous depths.
"The dam is up in this direction, then?" inquired Ralph.
"Yes, it is located in a small cañon, off to the right of the pass. I'll show you the place when we reach it."
For some time they rode on without a word. The deep gloom and oppressive silence was not encouraging to conversation. The sound of a stone dislodged by a pony's hoof in that dismal place caused several of the party to give a nervous start more than once.
Suddenly the right-hand wall of the cañon opened out—as they rounded a sharp promontory of rock—and another deep chasm cut abruptly into Grizzly Pass almost at right angles. The deep rift which this caused across the trail had been bridged by a span of rough logs which crossed the intersecting cañon at a height of fully three hundred feet. A scene of wilder and more impressive grandeur than the cañon presented at the point they had now reached not one of the party had ever beheld. Even a whisper went echoing and reverberating among the gloomyrocks in startling contrast to the brooding silence of the spot.
The frowning black walls, the melancholy-looking trees clinging to the almost perpendicular walls, the bottomless chasm, and the deep dusk of late afternoon, all combined to make it the most oppressive scene into which any of the boys had ever penetrated.
They had reached the bridge and the feet of the Mexican guide's horse were upon it, when from behind them there came a sudden startling sound.
The loud report of a rifle, followed by another and another, re-echoed behind them seemingly high up among the rocks.
Bang! Bang! Bang! came the explosions.
Instantly, Mr. Merrill and Bud wheeled their horses sharply and faced round toward the danger. At the same instant Coyote Pete set up a yell:
"Buncoed, by ginger!"
He pointed ahead as he dashed across the bridge in pursuit of their treacherous guide, who was galloping off up the cañon at top speed.He had taken advantage of the confusion to escape. Without an instant's thought as to what they were doing, the three boys pressed spurs to their animals and thundered across the flimsy structure after the cow-puncher. The professor's horse became unmanageable in the excitement. The creature gave one tremendous plunge and with the unhappy scientist half on and half off its back, dashed across the bridge after the others.
In the meantime, Mr. Merrill and the cow-punchers had galloped back to where the firing still kept up. They all feared that they had been led into an ambush, and that the attack was from the rear.
"That yellow-skinned varmint betrayed us, after all," ground out Bud Wilson, as they dashed back. "Those shots were meant for us, and came from Black Ramon's men."
"Yes, we were wrong to trust him," rejoined Mr. Merrill, "but now we've been led into a trap, we've got to fight out of it the best way we can."
"You bet we will, boss," was Bud Wilson's rejoinder.
The firing on the hillside had now ceased, and the little cavalcade came to a halt.
"Not a soul to be seen," exclaimed Mr. Merrill.
"Well, that's funny," commented Bud. "This is where the firing was, for sure."
"Yep, right up above there," rejoined another cowboy, Sam Ellis, pointing upward on the hillside.
"What do you make of it, boss?" was Bud's next query.
"I don't know what to think," rejoined Mr. Merrill. "Perhaps we were mistaken, and the firing we heard came from hunters up on the hillside."
"Hunters! Not much chance of that," said Bud grimly. "Hunters who made all that racket would soon scare all the game in the country away. No, boss, you'll have to guess again. ByJee-hosophat!"
Slinking through the underbrush far above them, Bud's keen eyes had discovered the furtive form of a man who by his gay sash and high-coned hat seemed to be a Mexican. To think, with Bud, was to act. His rifle jerked up to hisshoulder as if automatically. As the weapon cracked sharply the man on the hillside gave a loud scream. Throwing his hands helplessly above his head, the next instant he came plunging and crashing downward through the brush.
"Got him!" gritted out Bud, grimly blowing through the barrel of his rifle to clear the smoke.
"Yip-ee!" yelled the cow-punchers at the successful shot.
Mr. Merrill looked grave.
"I didn't want any bloodshed, Bud," he said. "The boys—great heavens! where are they?"
He had wheeled suddenly and discovered that they were missing.
"Yes, and where's Pete, and where's the professor?" chimed in Bud.
Alarm showed on every countenance.
In the excitement, the absence of the members of the party who had spurred onward over the bridge had not been noticed. But now blank looks were exchanged. If they had galloped on—as there seemed to be no doubt they must have—by that time they were probably in serious straits.
"Wait till I get that varmint, and then I'll be with you," cried Bud, swinging off his pony.
The cow-puncher plunged up the hillside a few feet and picked up the Mexican, who had rolled down the steep incline to within a short distance of the trail.
"Is he dead?" asked Mr. Merrill anxiously, for the Mexican showed no sign of life.
"Not dead, but pretty near it," Bud rapidly diagnosed, ripping open the Mexican's shirt. "The bullet went right neighborly to his heart."
With surprising strength for one of his wiry build, Bud picked up and slung the wounded man over the saddle before him with a grim idea in his head that at some future time the fellow might be needed.
"Now then, boys!" cried Mr. Merrill, "those others may be in a bad pickle by this time. It may have been the purpose of this trap to get them over the bridge. It's up to us to get them out of it. I know you'll do all that lies in your power to help."
"You bet we will, boss," spoke up Ellis.
"Yip-yip-y-ee-ee!"
The cow-puncher's wild yell came from the bronzed throats with a will. The next instant the little cavalcade was off, clattering up the trail toward the bridge.
They swept rapidly round the small bluff of rock which had hidden the bridge from them while they had been investigating the mysterious shots. As the trail came full in view, a groan of disappointment burst from them.
The pass beyond the bridge was empty of life.
Of their friends there was not a trace.
A terrible feeling that the worst had happened filled every heart.
"Come on, boys, we'll get 'em if we have to go to Mexico City for 'em," yelled Bud defiantly. "Wow!"
"That's the stuff—wow!" yelled the others.
With his exultant cry still in his throat, and his arm still waving, Bud drove in his spurs. He was about to dash upon the bridge, when suddenly the structure heaved upward before his eyes and the whole world seemed to turn to red flame. A fiery wind singed his face.
There was a roar that filled the air, the sky—everything. The earth rocked and breathed hotly under the cow-pony's feet. Bud felt his broncho suddenly fall from under him and himself dropping like a stone into space. Desperately he clutched, grasped something solid, and drew himself up. Then, everything went out from his senses and the whole world grew dark.
"What happened, Bud?"
Mr. Merrill, stanching a wound in his head with his hand, sat upright on the edge of the dark gorge across which a few moments before there had been a bridge. Now there was none. Only sullen wisps of yellowish smoke curling upward and a strong, acrid smell in the air.
Sheer below the rancher, the naked rocks shot down, bare of foothold. Deep down at the bottom rushed the river which carried water from the land company's dam down to the valley. The dam lay up the cañon to the west.
Bud Wilson was crawling about dazedly on his hands and knees. All about were plunging horses and rock-wounded men. The still stupefied Bud looked up as the rancher impatiently repeated his question.
"Dynamite!—the yellow-skinned reptiles," he growled, "and if that charge had been touched off right we should all have been at the bottom of that gorge with my poor horse."
He gazed over the ragged, explosive-riven edge, and shuddered, as far below him he sighted a dark mass lying among the brush and trees at the bottom of the gulch.
"Yes, it was dynamite beyond a doubt," agreed the rancher; "but how did we escape the dreadful fate they had prepared for us?"
Bud Wilson shrugged his shoulders.
"I reckon the feller they left to press the button got rattled and touched it off too soon," he rejoined. "They're a jumpy lot, these greasers."
"Thank Heaven that none of us is seriously hurt," said Mr. Merrill, looking about him. "I do not believe that any one has suffered more than a few cuts from flying rocks."
This proved to be the case. The escape of the party when the bridge had been blown up had indeed been miraculous.
"Why should they have delayed to set off the charge till we came back? Why not have set itoff when we were all on the bridge, before we wheeled round to discover the origin of the shots on the hillside?" asked Mr. Merrill.
"Well, boss, it looks this way to me," said Bud, after a period of deep thought. "Them fellows had the trap all set and calculated that when we heard the firing we should stop and hesitate—as we did. Well, that, I take it, was the time that that charge should have been touched off, but somehow connections missed. We weren't on the bridge. That fellow with the rifle fired too quick. Then, too, them boys and Pete taking off after that treacherous varmint wasn't calculated on by them, in all probability, and what with one thing and another they missed their guess on the first charge."
"And on the second, too, by Christmas!" chimed in Ellis. "There ain't a pony missin' but the one you rode, Bud, and there ain't a man of us hurt; even that greaser you had on your saddle-bow got bucked off when your pony was blown over the edge."
"By the great horn spoon, that's right," saidBud, walking over to where the wounded Mexican lay.
"Still unconscious," he said, after a brief examination. "If only he could talk, boss," the cow-puncher added whimsically.
"That would do us no good, Bud," rejoined Mr. Merrill. "It would give us no clue to the fate of my poor boy and the others."
"Wouldn't it, boss?" echoed Bud. "Wa'al, in my opinion this saffron coyote here deserves careful keeping for future reference, for I believe he holds the key to the whole mystery."
"Heaven grant he does," breathed Mr. Merrill, his heart sinking as he thought of the possible destiny of Jack and his friends. "Without his aid I don't see what we are to do."
"Well," said Bud cheerfully, "ain't no good worryin'. We'll get 'em out of it all right, never fear, boss."
"Thanks, Bud, I hope we will," said Mr. Merrill, bravely putting his anxiety from him as best he could. "But the thing to do now is to find a safe place to camp for the night. We should not be overtaken by darkness in such a trap as this."
"I guess there's not much danger of an attack now," said Bud bitterly. "I wish there was. I'd give a new saddle for a crack at one of them greasers."
Soon afterward, with Bud riding double behind Ellis, and Mr. Merrill's saddle bearing the wounded Mexican, the sorrowful party began the journey back down the cañon. With every sense and muscle aching for action, they were compelled to await the decision of time. The clew to the attack, and the whereabouts of Black Ramon and his gang, lay in the hands of one man, and that man was unable to speak. No wonder that as they rode, the thought in Mr. Merrill's mind was to get medical attendance for their wounded foe as soon as possible, and in the meantime give him the best of care.
As Bud had said, he might be valuable for future reference.
As their ponies' hoofs hammered over the rough bridge the Border Boys' minds had burned with but one thought. They must capture the treacherous guide who, it appeared only too evidently,had led them into a trap. As their mounts flew by a dense brush mass on the rocks at the farther side of the precipitous gorge, they had glimpsed for a second a crouching figure. But such was their wish to catch up with the treacherous Jose that they paid the figure no attention. Yet had they done so, they might have prevented the destruction of the bridge. The crouching man was one of Black Ramon's followers, and in the brush was concealed the battery from which led the wires which were to blow up the bridge.
"I'd give a new lariat right now to have my fingers on that sneaking coyote's throat," gritted out Walt Phelps, as the ponies loped swiftly along.
A little ahead of the Border Boys, rode the large, angular figure of Coyote Pete, bestriding his big, raw-boned bay with the careless ease of the old plainsman. The ends of his scarlet handkerchief whipped out behind his neck, and he gnawed his long, straw-colored mustache nervously as he kept his keen, blue eyes, with a maze of little desert furrows round them, centred on the crouching figure of the Mexicanahead. The professor having by this time checked his horse and recovered his equilibrium, gazed about as eagerly as the rest.
The treacherous Jose, however, seemed to have a good mount, for even Coyote Pete's powerful bay, and the active little ponies bestrode by the boys, failed to draw up on him even after a mile of fast riding.
"That horse-stealing son of a rattlesnake has a good bit of horse flesh there," grunted the cowboy, turning in his saddle without slackening speed.
"Say," said Walt, "we've come quite a distance, Pete, and there is no sign of the others. Don't you think it would be a good idea to turn back and see what has become of them?"
"Don't know but what it might," answered Pete, reining in his horse till it was going ahead at a gentle, "single-footed" trot. He gave his mustache a perplexed tug and an apprehensive look came into his eyes.
"What's the trouble, Pete?" asked Jack.
"Why, I was just thinking that we've come too far as it is," rejoined the plainsman in a worriedtone. "If any of Ramon's men are sneaking around here now they've got us in a fine trap."
He pointed down the trail. A backward view of the way they had come was cut off by a projecting promontory of rock. For anything they knew to the contrary, the trail behind them might be full of Mexicans, ready to capture them.
"We're in a bad place for sure," agreed Walt Phelps, shoving back his sombrero and scratching his red thatch. "Let's be getting back. There's no chance of catching that miserable Jose now, anyway."
"Yes, let's get back," agreed Ralph, who was beginning to feel anything but easy in his mind.
They wheeled their wiry little horses and Pete swung his big bay. As they faced about, a simultaneous exclamation of astonishment broke from each one of the party.
From behind the projection of rock there had suddenly appeared five figures. Slightly in advance of the others rode a tall man on a magnificent black horse, whom the party from the foothills, with the exception of the professor, had no difficulty in recognizing as Black Ramon himself.
With a quick exclamation, Pete reached for his revolvers, but Ramon checked him with an eloquent wave of his hand behind him. Each of his followers held a rifle, and these weapons covered the Border Boys and their older companions.
"Another move like that, Señor Pete," said Black Ramon, "and four of your party are food for the buzzards. I myself will attend to the fifth."
While Pete hesitated, the ruffian from across the border whipped out a silver-mounted pistol from his sash and held it leveled, while a somber smile flitted across his countenance.
"Yesterday it was your turn—now it is mine," he said, turning to the alarmed Ralph.
At the same instant there sounded a sullen, booming roar, and the earth beneath their feet quivered as if an earthquake had shaken it.
"What was that?" exclaimed Pete involuntarily.
"That," said Black Ramon, "was the wiping out of the last link that bound you to your friends."
"You—you've blown up the bridge!" gasped out Jack, realizing what the other's words meant.
"Yes. It will be some time, I fancy, before the gorge is passable once more. In the meantime, you are to be my guestsacross the border."
As he spoke, a score more of the cattle-rustlers came clattering down the trail, hidden behind the rock from which the others had appeared. They had been concealed there, as Pete now bitterly realized, while the Border Boys and the cow-puncher had blundered blindly into the Mexican's trap.
"I'll never forgive myself, Jack," he said under his breath to the rancher's son.
"Oh, pshaw, Pete, it wasn't your fault," rejoined Jack. "We'll find some way out of it."
"I dunno," grunted Pete. "We're going across the border, and there's precious little law there but what you make for yourself."
A few moments later, resistance being worse than useless, the party had been relieved of its weapons, and with ten or more cattle-rustlers riding in front, and the rest trailing behind the prisoners, the ride through the pass was resumed.
As darkness fell they emerged from the gloomy shadows of the divide into a country not unlike that on the American side of the range. Foot-hills covered with scanty growth, and here and there a clump of scraggly cottonwoods intersected by deep gullies, and dry watercourses, were the chief features of the scenery. There was little conversation among the prisoners as they rode along, nor indeed did their position bear discussing. Pete's mind was busy with self-reproach, Jack's with trying to devise some means of escape, Walt Phelps' with what his father would imagine had become of him, and Ralph's and the professor's with real alarm.
"I am a man of considerable reading," muttered the professor gloomily, "yet our presentposition goes to show that all the book-learning in the world is of no use to men in our position."
"No, I guess Coyote Pete, or Jack Merrill, or Walt Phelps could get us out of this a whole lot quicker than all the classical authors that ever classicked," said Ralph disgustedly.
"I have a fine library at home in the East," said the professor suddenly, and with the air of a man in whose mind a great hope had sprung up. "Do you imagine that this Black Ramon, or whatever his name is, would consider taking that in exchange for our liberty?"
"I'm afraid not," moaned Ralph disconsolately. Yet he could not forbear a smile at the old man's simplicity.
"Library," grunted Pete, who had overheard the professor's remark; "the only kind of library he'd have any use for would be an edition de luxury of a complete issue of greenbacks, bound in calf and horse hide."
"Where can they be taking us?" wondered Jack, as hour after hour passed, and the procession still wound on along the foot of the mountains.
"I've no idea," rejoined Walt Phelps, "I've never been on this side of the range before."
"I was over here oncet," said Pete, "after some strays, but I don't recollect this part of the country."
"How far have we come?" inquired Ralph, more for the sake of saying something than anything else.
"Not more than ten miles, I guess," rejoined Jack; "at night, and among these foothills, distances are very deceptive."
"They ain't so deceptive by half as these greasers," growled Pete. "I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing this instant than pounding the stuffing out of that Jose."
"I can't think why father trusted him," exclaimed Jack.
"Why, that was natural enough," was Pete's rejoinder. "There didn't look to be a chance of his playing us false. If it hadn't been for that fusillade behind us we'd never have lost him. As it is, if only I hadn't lost my head and gone gallivanting off arter the critter, we'd have been safe now."
"Always providing that nothing has happened to father and the others," said Jack sadly.
"Yes. But cheer up, lad. Your father and Bud Wilson are two of the best plainsmen I know. They wouldn't go blundering blindfold into no trap, you can bet."
"I hope not," rejoined Jack, "but that explosion sounded ominous to me. If the bridge is gone they may have gone with it."
"I don't think so," replied Pete. "Sounds travel a long distance in a narrow-walled pass like that, and the sound of a horse going over a bridge can be heard a big ways off at any time. If they'd been on the bridge when the explosion occurred we'd have heard their hoofbeats, anyhow, before they touched off the stuff."
"Well, I'm not going to give up hope till I know," said Jack bravely, though at the moment, had he not known the uselessness of it, he could have given way entirely to his apprehensions.
Suddenly, on rising from a dark gully, they came full in view of a low white building with a tower at one end. The rising moon tipped the structure with silver and showed its every outlineplainly, the black shadows sharply contrasted to its white walls and tiled roof.
"The old San Gabriel Mission!" exclaimed Pete, as his eyes fell on the venerable structure. "I thought I began to recognize the lay of the country a way back."
"You've been here before, then?" asked Ralph.
"Yep, after stray horses, as I said. I never knew, though, that Black Ramon and his gang hung out here."
"Well, they evidently do," rejoined Jack; "see, we are headed right for it."
They had begun to take a by-path which lay straight and white in front of them toward the old mission door. As they drew nearer, they could see that in the turret were hung several bells, probably part of a chime brought from Spain in the days when the mission was occupied by Holy Franciscans. It now appeared to be in half ruinous condition, however. Great cracks were in its walls, and several of the bell niches were empty. Here and there tiles had fallen from the roof, and the gaps showed black in the moonlight.
"A splendid specimen of Mission architecture," exclaimed the professor, lifting his hand in admiration, as they drew closer. "Rarely have I seen a finer, and in my younger days I spent some time exploring the Spanish remains in California."
"Well, I reckon it's going to be a splendid specimen of a jail for us," grunted Pete, with a side-long glance at the professor, who had quite forgotten his anxiety in his admiration of the old building.
Pete's words proved correct. A few minutes later the party—the prisoners carefully guarded in the center, drew up in front of the mouldering door, and Black Ramon gave three raps with a rusty knocker.
"Who's there?" inquired a voice from within, in Spanish.
"The Black Kings of The Pass," rejoined Ramon in a loud tone.
The door creaked open and a squat figure stood revealed. But the door opener was not a Mexican, but a white man, and no very favorable specimen of his race, either.
"Jim Cummings!" gasped Coyote Pete, as his eyes fell on the other. "Well, the dern renegade!"
There was no time to ask questions just then. With a few rough words the prisoners were ordered to dismount, and were ushered under close guard into what seemed to have been the main body of the mission church. It had a high-vaulted ceiling, and a few windows high up from the floor and closely barred. Otherwise, it was bare, except for some straw thrown about as if for beds.
"You will stay here to-night," said Ramon, gruffly addressing the prisoners, "and in the morning we will talk."
Without another word he turned away, and the Border Boys and their companions heard the door close with a bang. Then came a metallic clang, which told that a heavy bar had been put in place outside.
"Bottled!" said Pete laconically, and with a calm that amazed Ralph.
"And corked!" added Walt.
Jack Merrill and Walt Phelps followed Pete'slead in taking the situation calmly. As a matter of fact, it was the only thing to do, but small blame can attach to Ralph for sinking down despondently on some of the straw as he heard the bar clang as if proclaiming their doom. As for the professor, he was strolling about, poking the walls with an inquiring finger and gazing in rapt admiration at the blackened beams of the roof above them.
"Well, there's one thing to be glad over," said Jack suddenly, "they haven't tied us."
"No need to," rejoined Pete. "We couldn't get out of here in a week, and—— Hark!"
They all listened intently. Outside they could hear the steady tramp-tramp of a man pacing up and down.
"A sentry!" exclaimed Walt Phelps.
"That's what. We're too valuable to Black Ramon for him to have us get away."
There seemed to be some hidden meaning underlying the cow-puncher's words, and the boys looked at him inquiringly.
"What I mean is," said the cow-puncher, "that this varmint sees a chance to make some moneyout of us. He knows your father would give a pile to get you back safe and sound, and I'll bet a busted sweat-leather he's going to hold you for ransom."
"But you, Pete?"
"Wall, I reckon he'll makechile-con-carneout of me," rejoined the cow-puncher with a grin. "I'm too tough for anything else."
A careful examination of the place, made as well as they could in the moon-checkered darkness, showed that Pete's diagnosis of their prison as "a bottle" was a correct one. The walls were solid, and appeared, just judging by the depth of the window embrasures, to be several feet thick. The windows themselves were far too high up to reach, even had they not been barred. The floor, after a careful tapping, yielded no sign of being hollow in any place.
"I was hoping we might find a hollow place somewhere," said Pete, in explaining this last maneuver. "You know these old padres lived a scary kind of life, and every once in a while their Indian converts would up and backslide and attack the church mission. So as they could do aquick getaway when such contingencies came loping along, they used to make tunnels, but I guess if these fellers that built this place tunneled they did it some other part."
"What you say is correct," chimed in the professor, more as if he was in the lecture room than a prisoner across the border, in the hands of ferocious cattle-rustlers; "the padre sometimes dug these tunnels so that they covered considerable distances. Burrows of this character, a mile or even more in length have been found in California."
"Wa'al, I wish we had the tools handy and we'd bore one ourselves," said Pete; "but as we ain't, the best thing we can do is to make ourselves as comfortable as possible and go to sleep. Things won't get no better for fretting over them, and we're in a fix now where things is bound to get a lot worse before they get better."
The cow-puncher, suiting the action to the word, lay down, and in a few moments his snores proclaimed that he slept. One after the other, the rest dozed off, till only Ralph remained awake. Jack Merrill had done his best to cheer the Easternlad up before he sought refuge in slumber, but Ralph's position weighed on his mind too keenly to permit him to sleep. While the others lay stretched out in slumber he arose and began pacing the old church. He was not a superstitious lad, but the silence of the empty vaulted place, their position, and the uncertainty of their fate, all combined to fill him with a nervous dread.
Suddenly he stopped short in his pacing to and fro. Every nerve in his body tingled and his scalp tightened with alarm at a sudden sound he had heard.
Proceeding, it seemed, from the very masonry of the edifice itself, there had come a sound, which heard as it was, in those gloomy surroundings, was as terrifying as could be imagined.
"Who is there?" shouted the boy in frightened tones.
But the sound which he had heard ceased instantly. Nor, though he listened almost till dawn crept into the sky, and sleep overcame him, was it repeated.