CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VI.THE POOL OF DEATH.The blow that had been dealt the boy came from one of the timbers of the raft, which had been torn to pieces as it was swept over the falls. How long Jack remained insensible he did not know; but when he recovered his senses he found himself struggling in a seething pool of water at the foot of the falls. Luckily he was able to catch hold of one of the logs of the raft as it was swept by him, and clinging to this he began to strike out with his legs, hoping to make his way to the edge of the pool.Many times during that desperate struggle for existence Jack felt certain that death would intervene before he could accomplish his purpose. Once another log, that was being swept round like a straw in that boiling vortex of foamingwaters, was dashed against the one to which he clung. The shock almost forced the lad to relinquish his hold. But he hung on like grim death.Blinded by foam and half choked, the boy, with bull–dog grit, stuck to his purpose, and at last was rewarded by feeling ground under his feet. A moment later, bruised, breathless and drenched to the skin, he flung himself panting on the sandy shore of the pool, too exhausted to move further.He lay there, actually feeling more dead than alive, for a long time before he felt capable of moving. But at last he found strength to drag himself further up the bank. Fumbling in his pocket, he found that his water–tight match box was in its proper place, and in the darkness he set about making preparations to build a fire. Luckily, on the brink of the pool there was any quantity of dry wood cast up by the maelstrom of waters, and the boy soon had a roaring blaze kindled. Stripping to his underclothing he hunghis other garments on sticks in front of the blaze while he basked in its cheery rays.By the glow he could see a part of the pool, and as he gazed at its troublous surface and foaming fury he marveled that he had been able to escape with his life. The firelight also showed him that he was in a sort of rock–walled bowl, with steeply sloping sides scantily clad in places with stunted bushes. He was still sitting by this fire, trying to think of some way out of his dilemma, when exhausted nature asserted herself and he sank into a deep slumber beside the warm blaze.When he awoke the sun was shining down on his face. The daylight showed him that he had blundered into an astonishing place indeed. As he had guessed, by what he could see of the place by firelight, he was at the bottom of a rocky bowl into which the falls over which he had tumbled roared and thundered unceasingly as they had been doing for uncounted centuries.Jack estimated the height of the falls as being fully sixty feet. The boiling pool appeared to be about an acre or so in extent, and was furiously agitated by the constant pouring of the mighty falls. And now Jack became aware of a curious thing.All about the edges of the pool, where the circular motion of the water had evidently cast them up, were myriads of bones. They appeared to be the remains of cattle and various kinds of game; but some of them caused Jack to shudder as he had a distinct notion that they were of human origin.All at once, while he was still exploring the strange place into which he had fallen, he came across a bleached skull lying amid a pile of bones and débris. The ghastly relic gave him a rude shock as he gazed at it.“Gracious!” the boy exclaimed, with a shudder, “this place might well be called a Pool of Death. How fortunate I am to be alive; althoughhow I am going to get out of this scrape I don’t know. One thing is certain, I cannot remount by the falls. I must see what lies in the other direction.”Up to that moment, so agitated had the castaway boy been that he had almost entirely forgotten the Mexican with whom he had had the battle on the raft. The thought of the man now suddenly recurred to him. Jack sighed as he realized that the Mexican could hardly have been so fortunate as he had been. In all probability he had forfeited his life to the Pool of Death.With such melancholy thoughts in his mind Jack set about exploring the rocky basin for some means of exit. Although he was determined not to give way to despair, the boy could not but own that his situation was well–nigh desperate. He was many miles from his friends, and probably in an uninhabited part of the country.He had no food; nor even if there had been any game had he the means of shooting it.His hunger was now beginning to make itself painfully manifest. On some bushes that clung to the walls of the Pool of Death were some bright–colored berries, but Jack dreaded to try them. For all he knew they might be deadly poison.Searching for an exit, Jack was not long in finding one. The pool was drained by a narrow crevice in the rocky walls, forming a passage. On the brink of the water was a strip of beach, not much wider than a man’s hand. Beside this pathway the water roared and screamed in its narrow bounds, but Jack knew that if he was to get out of this place at all he must dare the rocky passage.Stifling his fears as well as he could, the famished, bedraggled lad struck pluckily out. Sometimes the passage grew so narrow that he could have bestridden the stream. At other points itwidened out and, looking up, Jack could see the blue sky far overhead. In reality the passage was not more than half a mile in length but, so carefully did Jack have to proceed, it appeared to be four times that length at least.The passage ended with almost startling abruptness. Jack could hardly repress an exclamation of amazement as he saw upon what a strange scene it opened. Beyond its mouth lay a broad valley, carpeted with vivid green grass and dotted here and there, like a park, with groups of trees. Viewed in the sparkling sunlight it was indeed a scene of rare beauty and Jack’s heart gave a throb of delight as he beheld it.“Surely,” he thought, “some rancher must live hereabouts who will give me food and lend me a horse to ride back to San Mercedes.”For the first few minutes following his discovery of the valley the boy did not doubt but that he should find an easy and speedy means ofescaping from his difficulties. But it gradually began to dawn upon him that the place upon which he had so oddly blundered was not inhabited at all. At least, he could see no sign of a human habitation.Then, too, somewhat to his dismay, he noticed another feature of the valley which had at first escaped his attention altogether.The place was completely enclosed by steep, lofty cliffs, and appeared as if, at some early period of the world’s growth, it had been dropped below the level of the surrounding country by some mighty convulsion of nature.For the rest the valley appeared to be about a mile in length and half a mile wide at its broadest part. Through the center of it the stream that issued from the passage beyond the Pool of Death meandered leisurely along.“Well,” exclaimed Jack, to himself, gazing somewhat disconsolately about him, “this is a beautiful spot into which I have wandered; butsomehow it doesn’t appear to solve my difficulties. In the first place, I don’t believe it is frequented by human beings, and in the second, so far as I can see, there is no way out of it. I wonder where on earth I can be? Certainly not on the Rio Grande itself. I begin to suspect that that current hurled the raft off into some side stream which terminated in the falls.”It may be said here that Jack’s theory was correct. The valley in which he found himself had been caused by a convulsion of nature similar to that which effected the wonderful Yosemite Valley in California. It was, in fact, a miniature reproduction of that famous scenic marvel. As the boy likewise suspected, the raft had indeed been hurried by the stream from the main current of the Rio Grande and drawn into a side fork of the river.Although Jack did not know it at the time, he was on Mexican soil and far removed from his friends, as he paced the strange secret valley.“I guess my best plan is to follow that stream,” mused Jack, after a period of thought; “if I’m not mistaken there must be some way out of the valley at the spot where it emerges. At any rate I’ll try it.”He had walked some distance from the bank of the stream in his explorations, and he now began to re–thread his footsteps. He directed his course toward a big rock that towered up by the bank of the stream, apparently dislodged at some remote time from the summit of the lofty cliffs that hedged the place all about.When Jack was within a few feet of the rock he was brought to a sudden halt by a startling occurrence.From behind the monster boulder a human figure emerged, and the next instant Jack was being hailed by the sudden apparition.CHAPTER VII.A STRANGE VALLEY.Had he beheld the emergence of a supposedly dead man from his tomb, the boy could not have been much more startled. As it was the two cases would have had much in common, for the figure that now advanced toward him was that of a man he had given up for dead—namely, the Mexican who had shared that wild voyage on the raft.For an instant Jack instinctively threw himself into an attitude of defense. But the next moment he saw that he had nothing to fear from the newcomer. In fact, a more woebegone figure than the Mexican presented it would be hard to imagine. There was a big gash over one of his eyes, his clothing was torn to ribbons and he limped painfully as he advanced toward Jack.“How did you come here?” asked Jack in Spanish.“Ah, señor, surely by a miracle of the saints,” was the reply, as the man raised his eyes to heaven. “I recollect your blow and then nothing more till I found myself cast up on the bank of yonder stream. Call it what you will, I believe that it was a true miracle of Providence that my life was saved.”“We must both thank a higher power for our deliverance,” said Jack reverently. “I never thought that I should see you alive again.”“But who are you?” demanded the Mexican. “How came you on our raft before it went adrift?”Jack thought for a moment before replying, and then he decided that it could do no possible harm, under the circumstances, to tell who he was.“I am the son of an Arizona rancher,” he said. “My name is Jack Merrill. With two companionsI was accompanying the Texas Rangers on a scouting trip for the sake of the experience. While on guard duty I saw your raft land and thought it my duty to try to find out what you were doing on the American side of the river.”To Jack’s surprise the other showed no trace of anger. Instead he appeared grief stricken.“Alas, señor,” he said, “you may have been the cause of the death of my two companions, for if the Texas Rangers captured them they will assuredly shoot them.”“I’m sure they would do no such thing,” rejoined Jack indignantly; “they are not inhuman wretches. If your companions can show that they were doing no harm on our side of the Border they will be released with a warning not to spy upon Americans again.”“Ah, then, you knew that we were spying, señor?”“Yes, I overheard your conversation at the river’s edge. But it is important now that weshould get out of this valley as soon as possible. Have you any idea where we are?”The Mexican shrugged his shoulders dubiously.“Alas, señor, I am not certain, but I am inclined to think that we are in what is called the Lost Valley.”“Lost Valley!” echoed Jack, struck by the dismal suggestion of the name. “Is there no way out?”His companion shook his head.“The legend says that they who blunder into the valley never escape,” he declared.Jack could not repress a shudder as he thought of the skull by the pool; but the next instant he regained his nerve, for he knew that the stream must emerge from the valley somewhere.“But surely this river has to find a way out of the valley?” he asked.“Si, señor,” was the reply, “but the stream, sothey say, burrows its way through a tunnel by which no human being could hope to pass.”“Then you mean that we are prisoners here?”“Unless somebody discovers us—yes.”“Are there many people dwelling in this part of the country?” inquired Jack, with a sinking heart, for, despite his effort to keep up his cheerfulness, his hope was fast ebbing.“No, it is a wild section devoted to cattle raising, and only a few wandering vaqueros ever come this way. It is from them that the news of the Lost Valley, which this may be, reached the outer world.”“But we must escape,” cried Jack wildly, “we can’t remain here. We have no food, no means of getting any, and————”“I have my revolver,” interrupted the Mexican, “also plenty of cartridges. Perhaps we can find some game.”This at least was a spark of cheering news. Both Jack and the Mexican were almost famishedand decided to set out at once to see if they could bring down anything to serve as food. A revolver is not much of a weapon to use in hunting; but the Mexican declared that he was highly proficient with it. Jack hadn’t much confidence in his own ability as a revolver shot, so it was agreed that his dark–skinned companion should do the shooting.They ranged the valley for some time without seeing a sign of life, when suddenly, from a clump of trees, there sprang three deer—two does and a buck.Bang! went the revolver, and the buck slackened speed and staggered. A crimson stream from his shoulder showed that he had been badly wounded. But it took two more shots to bring him down. He was then dispatched with Jack’s knife. No time was lost in cutting off some steaks from the dead buck, a fire was speedily kindled and an appetizing aroma of broiling venison came from it. The meat was cooked bybeing held over the glowing wood coals on sticks of hard wood. Jack could hardly wait till his was cooked to eat it.Fresh deer meat is not the delicacy that some of my readers may suppose. It is coarse, stringy and rather tasteless; but neither Jack nor his companion were in a mood to be particular. They devoured the meat ravenously, although they had no salt, bread or any other relish. But the meat strengthened Jack wonderfully, and as soon as it had been eaten he proposed that they should explore the valley thoroughly in an attempt to find a way out.The Mexican was nothing loath; but he was dubious about there being any avenue of escape. However, with the stoical fatalism of his race he appeared to accept the situation philosophically.Before setting out on their expedition the deer meat was hung in one of the trees as a protection in case any wild animals should get scent of it. This done, the Border Boy and his oddlycontrasted companion set off, trudging around the valley in a determined effort to effect their escape in some way.Several cañons that opened off into the rocky walls were examined, but they all proved to be “blind” and impassable. In exploring one of these Jack had a thrilling adventure.His foot slipped on a rock and he plunged into a deep hole among some boulders. He was about to scramble out again, when from one of the rock crevices a hideous flat head darted. At the same time a curious dry, rattling sound was heard on every side of him. The boy recognized the noise with a sharp thrill of alarm.The sound was the vibration of the horny tails of dozens of diamond–backed “rattlers,” into a den of which he had fallen. On every side flat heads with evil–looking, leaden eyes were darting in and out of the rocks. The boy was paralyzed with fear. He dared not move a hand or foot lest he precipitate an attack by the loathsomecreatures. As soon as he recovered his wits he set up a shout for his Mexican friend, who had told him that his name was Manuel Alvarez.Alvarez was quickly on the spot. He took in the situation at a glance, and cautioning Jack not to move, he fired his revolver down into the den of noisome reptiles. The bullet passed so close to Jack’s head that he could feel it fan the air. But, as the report of the pistol volleyed and crashed among the rocks, every rattler vanished.“Now come out quickly!” ordered Alvarez, reaching down a hand to Jack, who took it and scrambled out of the pit of snakes.As he thanked the Mexican for his promptness in acting, the boy could not help thinking in what an extraordinary situation he was involved.Lost in a hidden valley with, for companion, a man who, not more than a few hours ago, had been bent on killing him, now it was to that man that he owed his life.“This is surely one of the strangest adventuresin which I have ever taken part,” mused the Border Boy, as the two castaways resumed their dreary search for a passage to the outer world.CHAPTER VIII.NATURE’S PRISONERS.But despite the most painstaking investigation of the valley, a task which occupied them till almost sundown, the two oddly assorted prisoners were unable to find anything that promised a means of escape. They reached the spot where they had left the deer and flung themselves wearily down upon the ground, too disheartened and tired even to voice their disappointment.“Gracious! Men imprisoned in a jail could not be more effectually shut in,” said Jack, at length; “I feel almost like dashing myself against these rock walls.”His companion was compelled to admit that their situation did indeed seem a hard one. For some time they sat buried in thought. Jack’s mind was back in the camp of the Rangers. Hewondered how his friends felt over his disappearance, and what steps were being taken to find him. How bitterly his heart ached to see his boy chums again he did not say for fear of breaking down.“Wemustget out of this horrible place,” he cried, at length, “to–morrow as soon as it is light I mean to examine the cliffs and, if possible, to scale them.”“You could not find a place that would afford a foothold,” objected his companion.“I’ll try, at any rate. I’d rather almost be dashed to death than drag out a lingering existence in this valley,” burst out the boy.“Well, let us have supper,” said Alvarez presently, “there is nothing to be gained by railing at our fate. If the saints do not will that we shall escape, depend upon it we will not.”So saying he rose to his feet, shrugging his shoulders resignedly.“What a contrast between the indifference ofsuch a race and the rugged determination of an American,” thought Jack, as he set to work to rekindle the embers of the fire that had cooked their mid–day meal.He was blowing them into flame when Alvarez called to him from among the trees. He had found a species of oak which was burdened with acorns. These, the Mexican declared, could be made into a kind of bread if crushed and mixed with water. As this would be a welcome addition to ungarnished deer meat, Jack was proportionately pleased at the discovery. The Mexican set to work and ground the acorns between two flat stones, after which he heated one of the latter till it was almost red–hot. This done, the acorn paste was spread out on it, and before long there was produced a rather “doughy” sort of flap–jack or pan–cake. When one side was done Alvarez turned it till it was nicely browned. By this time Jack had some broiled venison ready, and they sat down to their second meal in the Lost Valley with good appetites.The acorn flap–jack proved to be not at all unpalatable. It was rather sweet and had a peculiar flavor; at any rate it afforded some variety to the plain deer meat.“Well, we shan’t starve here, at least,” commented the Mexican, as they ate; “there seem to be plenty of deer and small game and an unlimited supply of acorns for bread.”“No, I suppose if it came down to that, we could live here for a century, like two Robinson Crusoes,” agreed Jack, rather bitterly, “but that’s not my plan. I mean to escape.”“The young are always hopeful,” rejoined Alvarez, with one of his all–expressive shrugs; “I suppose you think you can carry out your plan.”“I mean to make a mighty hard try at it, anyhow,” said Jack, setting his lips in a determined line.That evening as they sat by their camp fire, Alvarez told Jack that he and his two companions on the raft had been leaders of the northernwing of the revolutionary army. They had chosen the raft as a medium to spy from, he explained, because it was possible in that way to ascertain what the border patrol was doing, without so much risk of being discovered as would have been the case had they used horses.“I guess you wish you’d never seen the raft by this time,” commented Jack, throwing some fresh wood on the fire.“I do, indeed,” agreed the other fervently.Soon after this they composed themselves to sleep, but it was long before Jack closed his eyes.He was just dozing off when the sound of a furtive footfall made him sit up, broad awake in an instant. From the darkness two green points were blazing at him.“The eyes of some wild beast that has decided to pay us a visit,” said Jack to himself.He was just about to arouse Alvarez and get the revolver when the creature that was prowling about the camp gave a sudden leap. Jack saw alithe body launched at him just in time to roll to one side.The creature, balked in its spring, came down in the midst of the hot ashes of the smoldering fire. Instantly a piercing howl of anguish split the night. The Mexican leaped up and appeared to be fully awake the instant he opened his eyes. At any rate the great, tawny body was still writhing about in the embers when two shots crackled from his revolver. The big animal gave a spring and another howl of pain and then fell over in a heap, rolling to one side of the fire.“What—whatever was it?” cried Jack, rather timorously, for the suddenness of the attack had rather unnerved him.“A mountain lion, and a monster, too,” came the reply. “Come up and take a look at him.”“Are you quite sure he is dead?”“Positive. Wait a minute and I’ll make sure, however.”So saying the Mexican stooped and picked aglowing coal out of the fire. He threw it so that it fell on the motionless beast’s hide. But the animal did not stir. Unquestionably it was quite dead. Jack approached it, having poked up the fire the better to see the brute. He marveled at its size. It was indeed a giant of its kind and must have weighed six hundred pounds or more, and was lithe and sinewy as a cat.“What splendid condition it is in! I’d like to skin it and take the hide out of this valley as a souvenir.”“So you are still certain that we can get out?”“I am notcertain, but I don’t want to give over trying till we have tested every avenue of hope.”“Caramba!But you Americans are wonderful people! A Mexican boy would be sitting around crying if he were in the same fix. In the morning we will take the pelt off this brute, and if we ever do get out, the skin will always serve as a memento of a dreadful time.”The mountain lion scare being over, they composed themselves to sleep again. Jack recollected having read or heard that when a mountain lion is killed, its mate will find it out and avenge it. But even though the thought gave him cause for disquietude he was not able to stay awake; and although distant howlings told him that another puma was in the vicinity, nature asserted herself and sealed his eyes in slumber.The sun had hardly peeped above the rim of the bowl–like valley when Jack and Alvarez were astir. Breakfast was cooked and eaten hurriedly, and then the great lion was skinned. This done, Jack started out to put his plans in execution.The Mexican did not accompany him. He deemed Jack’s mission a useless one. In fact, it did seem very like an attempt at suicide to try to scale the valley’s lofty, almost perpendicular walls.CHAPTER IX.A CLIMB FOR LIFE.Jack strolled along at the foot of the cliffs, anxiously scanning every inch of them in the hope of spying some place that afforded an opportunity to climb upward. The cliffs varied in height from two hundred to three, and even four hundred feet. Great beetling crags of gray stone, too steep to afford roothold to more than a few scanty shrubs, filled him with oppression and gloom.The boy felt this disheartening influence as he made his way along the edges of the valley. From time to time he sighted game—deer, rabbits and a good many quail; but as he had not brought their solitary firearm along he did not pay much attention to the animals.At last he halted at the foot of a cliff that wasless precipitous than the others. It had, in fact, a slight slope to it, and was more closely grown with bushes and small trees which might be grasped by any one attempting to climb it.Jack had his knife with him, a heavy–bladed, business–like bit of cutlery of finely tempered steel, but strong and thick withal. He drew it out, opened the blade and began hacking at the cliff’s face. It was of a soft sort of stone, and he could easily cut depressions in it.“Good,” murmured the boy, “I actually believe that I may be able to scale this cliff, although it may take a long time.”He gauged its height carefully and estimated that from the floor of the valley to the summit of the precipice it must be fully three hundred feet.“If the situation was not so desperate I would never dream of attempting to climb that awful height,” mused the boy, “but necessity often drives where courage would falter.”So thinking, he cast off his coat, laid it on theground and his hat beside it. Then he clambered over the pile of stones that lay at the foot of the cliff and began his climb. For the first forty feet or so his task was not so difficult. But it was hot, and the perspiration began to run off the laboring lad in streams.He paused to rest. Jack was now, as has been said, about two score feet from the floor of the valley. Up to this point the cliff had sloped at quite an angle; but now it reared itself upward in a seemingly impassable escarpment, like the wall of a giant’s castle.“Now for the real tug–of–war,” thought Jack, when he had rested.Tightening his belt, he braced himself for what he knew would be a desperately dangerous climb. First he dug out holes to fit his hands and then began working his way up. From time to time he was able to grasp bushes and stunted trees, and these helped him greatly in his task. When he reached even the narrowest ledge helaid down to rest, extending himself at full length and panting like a spent hound.Owing to the soft nature of the rock, however, he progressed rather better than he had anticipated. But it was slow work. From time to time the face of the cliff was so precipitous that he was compelled to make a detour to find an easier place to cut his steps.Once he looked down; but he did not repeat the experiment. The sight of the dizzy height, to which he clung like some crawling insect, almost unnerved him. For several minutes, with a palpitating heart and a sickened feeling at the pit of his stomach, he hugged the rock, not daring to look either up or down.But at last his courage came back and he began his painful progress upward once more. Foot by foot he climbed, and at last, when resting on a ledge, he dared to look about him to see what progress he had made. To his delight he saw that he had come more than halfway up the precipice, although above him its rugged face still towered frowningly as if daring him to surmount it.THE SIGHT OF THE DIZZY HEIGHT ALMOST UNNERVED HIM.“Well, I would never have believed that I could have climbed to such a height with so little inconvenience,” mused the boy. “Of course, the climb is a good deal rougher than it looks from below; but still it’s an experience I wouldn’t go through again for hundreds of dollars.”Having rested on the ledge and munched some deer meat and acorn flap–jack which he had brought with him, Jack recommenced his climb. It spoke marvels for his cool head, great strength and wonderful endurance that the boy had progressed as far as he had. Few but an American youth of the most steel–like fiber and sterling grit would have dared to undertake such a task. And yet, before Jack there still lay the hardest part of his endeavor.So steep was the cliff face now that the lad did not dare to pause in his climb. He steadilyprogressed although his hands were cut and bleeding by this time, and his feet ached as cruelly as did other parts of his anatomy. But just when it seemed to the lad that his body could not stand another fraction of an ounce of strain, he happened on a place where a watercourse from above had cut a sort of shallow cleft in the precipice. In this grew shrubs and several trees, and Jack struggled to gain this oasis in the dangerous desert of his climb for life.Gaining it, he flung himself at full length on a bed of sweet smelling yellow flowers under the shade of a broad–leaved bay tree. In the stillness of that lonely and awful height, halfway between earth and sky, his breathing sounded as loud as the exhaust of a steam engine. But by–and–by he recovered his breath, and began to wish with all his soul for some water.That fearful climb had racked both nerve andmuscle; but even more than his fatigue did Jack feel the cruel pangs of a burning thirst. Some grass grew in that lonely little grove on the cliff face, and he chewed some of this for the sake of the moisture that exuded from it. But this was far from satisfying. In fact, it only aggravated his thirst by mocking it.He rose on one elbow and looked about him. At a short distance up the steep, dry watercourse he saw a patch of vivid green. To his mind that could betoken nothing but the presence of water near the surface. At any rate he felt that it was worth investigating.Reaching the patch of verdure, the boy fell on his hands and knees, and with a sharp–edged stone began scraping away at the ground. To his unspeakable delight he had not dug down more than a few inches before the ground began to grow moist.Greatly encouraged, he dug away with hisimprovised tool with renewed vigor. He excavated quite a hole, and then lay down in the shade waiting for it to fill up. Before long a few inches of warm, muddy–colored liquid could be discerned at the bottom of the hole. It did not look inviting, this coffee–colored, tepid mixture, but Jack was not in the mood to be fastidious.Casting himself down on his stomach, he plunged his face into the water, sucking it greedily in. Then he bathed his hands and face. He was still engaged in this last occupation when his attention was distracted by a low growl from below him.The boy looked up quickly, and then almost toppled over backward with astonishment.Facing him, and lashing its stubby tail angrily, was a large bob–cat. The creature had its wicked–looking teeth bared, and the boy could see its sharp claws. How it came to be in that place he could not imagine. But its emaciated conditionseemed to indicate that it must have in some way fallen from the cliff above.Evidently it was half mad from deprivation of food and water, for under ordinary conditions a bob–cat—although a really dangerous foe if cornered—will not attack a human being without provocation.The wild beast’s object was, evidently, to get at the water hole which Jack had so painstakingly scooped out. The boy would have been willing enough to allow it to accomplish its purpose. But evidently the half famished creature regarded him as an enemy to be dispatched before it proceeded to slake its thirst.It crouched down till its fawn–colored belly touched the ground and then, uttering a snarling sort of cry, it launched its body through the air at the boy.So strong was its leap that tempered steel springs could not have hurled its body forward with more velocity. Jack uttered an involuntarycry of alarm. Above him was the steep cliff, while to move even a short distance in either direction from the dry watercourse would mean a death plunge to the valley below.CHAPTER X.A BATTLE IN MID–AIR.But Jack Merrill’s mind never worked quicker or to better effect than in an emergency. He perceived the instant that the creature crouched that its intention was to spring on him. Swift as a flash he reached down and seized a stone.As the bob–cat hurled itself into the air Jack’s arm shot out. The stone sped from his hand and caught the creature fairly between the eyes. Had a bullet struck it the animal could not have been checked more effectually. It dropped to the ground, rolled up in a furry ball, scratching and spitting furiously, and then, with a yowl of rage and pain, it lost its footing on the edge of the watercourse.The last Jack saw of it the creature plunged over the brink of the precipice up which the BorderBoy had so laboriously toiled. As he heard the body go rolling and bumping down toward the valley, Jack shuddered. Had things turned out differently he might have been in its place, for the boy well knew that if once the maddened animal had fastened its claws in him he would not have stood a chance without a weapon.Jack sat down to rest once more, this time keeping a cautious lookout for any other wild creatures; but none appeared, and it was evident that his theory that the animal had accidentally dropped from above was a correct one.“Well,” said Jack to himself, after an interval, “if I’m to get to the top of that cliff I’ve got to start in right now. Ugh! It doesn’t look as if I could possibly make it; but then it’s equally certain that I can’t climb down again. The thought makes me sick; so I’vegotto tackle it. There’s no other way out of it.”Fortifying himself by a cooling drink, to whichhe added another wash, the boy prepared to take up his task again.Above the dry watercourse the cliff shot up more precipitously than the part he had already traversed below it; but Jack steeled himself to the thought of the dizzy climb. Knife in hand he worked his way up, clinging to the face of the cliff desperately at times, and again resting where some vagrant bush offered him a hand or foothold.In the meantime, below in the valley, Alvarez, returning from a hunt for more food, began to worry about the boy. Not a bad man at heart, Alvarez was a true son of the Mexican revolution. He decided that all Americans, or Gringoes, as he contemptuously called them, were the born foes of the Mexicans. It had been with this conviction that he and his companions had set out to spy on the Rangers who, they thought, menaced them, instead of merely patrolling the Border to prevent lawless acts on American soil.Since his brief acquaintance with Jack, however, Alvarez had found cause to revise his opinion. Himself a courageous man, he admired courage and grit in others, and of these qualities we know Jack possessed full and abundant measure.Returning, then, from his hunt with some quail and rabbits, Alvarez began to be seriously alarmed about Jack. Not for one moment did the Mexican deem it possible that the lad could have actually found a way to scale those awful cliffs. He had confidently expected that on his return to camp he would find Jack awaiting him. When, therefore, he could see no trace of the boy his alarm was genuine and deep.He carefully deposited his game out of harm’s way in the trees, and then set out to see if he could find any trace of the boy to whom he had become attached in their short acquaintance.As he advanced below the cliffs he carefully scanned the foot of the precipitous heights forwhat he dreaded to find; for Alvarez had begun to fear that Jack had made a daring attempt to escape and summon help and had met death in a fearful fall from the rocky crags.“The boy would have been mad to attempt such a climb,” he muttered, as he moved along, “why, not even a mountain goat could find a foothold up yonder. It is impossible that he should have tried such a thing. It would have been sheer madness. And yet—and yet when it comes to such things the Gringoes are assuredly mad. They will dare anything it seems.”Musing thus the Mexican traversed the greater part of the valley, pondering deeply over the possible fate of his young friend.“It is a thing without explanation that he could have climbed even a few feet up those cliffs,” ran the burden of his thoughts; “yet if he has not, why do I not see a trace of him here below?”“Caramba!Can it be that he has slipped on alofty crag and is suspended high above the valley, injured, perhaps dying, and beyond reach of human aid?”On and on trudged the Mexican, growing more and more alarmed every instant.Suddenly, as he cast his eye up toward the summit of a lofty precipice, his attention was caught by an object moving slowly up its surface, like a fly on a high wall.The Mexican gazed steadily at it. He believed that it was an eagle or condor hovering about its nest in the dizzy heights, but still something odd about the moving object arrested and gripped his attention irresistibly.“No, it is not an eagle,” he muttered, “but, then, what is it? No quadruped could climb that cliff. What, then, can it be?”The sun was sinking low over the western wall of the cañon and the valley itself was beginning to be shrouded in purple shadow. But at that great height the light was still bright. Suddenlythe moving object emerged from a patch of shade cast by an overhanging rock.Simultaneously the Mexican almost sprang into the air under the shock of his amazement. He crossed himself and then his lips moved.“By the Saints! It’s Jack Merrill!” he cried, in a hollow voice.For an instant he stood like a thing of wood or stone, every muscle rigid in terrible suspense. And all the time that tiny speck on the cliff face was moving slowly and painfully upward.Clasping his hands the Mexican stood riveted to the spot. Then his dry lips began to move.“The saints aid him! The brave boy is working his way to the top of the cliff. He has neared its summit. But can he win it? And, see, there are the steps he has cut in the lower cliff face. It must be that he is working his way upward still by those means. Santa Maria! What courage!“I dare not call out to him. At that fearfulheight one backward look might cause him to lose his hold and plunge downward like a stone. Oh, if I could only help, only do something to aid him! But, no, I must stand here helpless, unable to move hand or foot.“Never again will I say anything against a Gringo. No boy south of the Border would dare such a feat. See now!Caramba!For an instant he slipped. I dare not look.”The Mexican buried his face in his hands and crouched on the ground. Emotional as are all of his race, the sight of that battle between life and death, hundreds of feet above him, had almost unstrung him.At last he dared to uncover his eyes again and once more fixed them on the toiling atom on the sunlit cliff face.But now he burst out into tones of joy.“Sanctissima Maria! See, he is almost at the summit. Oh, brave Gringo! Climb on. Mayyour head be steady and your hands and feet nimble.”The sweat was pouring down the Mexican’s face, his knees smote together and his hands shook as he stood like one paralyzed, stock still, watching the outcome of Jack Merrill’s fearful climb. His breath came fast and the veins on his forehead stood out like whip cords. As he watched thus his lips moved in constant, silent prayers for the safety of the young Border Boy.At last he saw the infinitesimal speck that was Jack Merrill reach the summit of that frowning height. He saw the boy thrust his knife into his belt, and watched him place one hand on the ridge of the precipice and draw himself up.The next instant the cliff face was bare of life. The fight with death had been won. But Alvarez as he saw Jack attain safety on the summit of the precipice sank back with a groan. The strain under which he had labored had caused the Mexican to swoon.As he lay there perfectly still three figures appeared at the upper end of the valley in the direction of the Pool of Death. They began advancing down the valley just as Alvarez opened his eyes and staggered dizzily to his feet.CHAPTER XI.RANGERS ON THE TRAIL.It was about an hour after he had secured the firearm which he intended for Jack’s use that Baldy rode back into the Rangers’ camp in, what was for him, a state of great perturbation. The Chinaman was still up scouring dishes, and to him Baldy rode, spurring his pony almost into the remains of the camp fire in his anxiety.All about lay the recumbent forms of the Rangers, sleeping under the stars on the expanse of plain. Snores and deep breathing showed that every one of them was deeply wrapped in the healthy slumber of the plainsman.“Wallee maller, Massel Baldy?” cried the Mongolian, as Baldy spurred his pony up to him.“Nuffin, you yellow–mugged Chinee,” shot out Baldy, breathing tensely, despite his effort toappear careless; “have you seen anything of that Tenderfoot that went on watch with me a while ago?”“No, me no see him, Massel Baldy. Whafo’ you so heap much ’cited?”The keen–eyed Oriental had pierced Baldy’s mask of carelessness, and saw readily enough that the old plainsman was badly worried.“Me excited, you pig–tailed gopher!” roared out Baldy angrily. “I was never so easy–minded in my life. Where’s the cap sleeping?”“Over yonder, Massel Baldy. Him litee by chuck wagon.”Baldy did not wait to make a reply. He steered his plunging pony skillfully among the sleeping Rangers till he reached a bundled–up heap of blankets which he knew must contain Captain Atkinson. Baldy threw himself from his horse in an instant, at the same time slipping the reins over his pony’s head, according to the plainsman’s custom.Reaching down, he shook the captain vigorously.“Hello! hello, there, what’s up?” came a muffled rejoinder from amidst the blankets.But the next instant Captain Atkinson, broad awake, was sitting up.“Oh, you, Baldy? Well, what’s the trouble?”“Dunno jes’ erzackly, boss,” stammered out Baldy, “but it’s about that Tenderfoot kid that you gave me ter mind.”Baldy was plainly embarrassed. He shoved back his sombrero and scratched his head vigorously. At the same time he jingled his spurs as he shifted his feet nervously.Captain Atkinson’s tone was sharp when he next spoke.“You mean Jack Merrill? I’d have you understand, Baldy, that he is no Tenderfoot. He’s only a boy, but he’s been through as much as most men of twice his years. But what about him?”If the question was sharp and to the point, as was Captain Atkinson’s wont, so was Baldy’s answer. Rangers are not men who are in the habit of wasting words.“He’s went.”“What?”“I mean what I say, boss. The kid’s vamoosed, gone, skidooed.”“No nonsense, Baldy. Explain yourself.”“There ain’t much to explain, boss.”“If Jack Merrill has gone, I should say that there was a good deal to explain on your part.”Baldy shifted uneasily.“It warn’t no fault of mine, boss,” he protested.“I’ll be the judge of that. What’s your story?”“Just this. The kid went on watch with me. As you told me, I kept him close alongside. He didn’t hev no shootin’ iron, so I rode back to camp to git one. When I got back to the Rio he was gone.”“Gone?”“That’s what.”“Have you looked for him?”“Beat the brush frum San Antone to breakfus’, but ther ain’t no sign uv hair nor hide uv him.”“You saw the other men?”“Sure!”“Did they know nothing?”“Not a thing. But the kid couldn’t hev passed in either direction without goin’ up in an air ship.”“None of your jokes. This is serious. Answer my questions. You left him where?”“Not far from the foot of the trail to the waterin’ place.”“You told him to stay there?”“Sure thing. You see I lef’ him ter git him a shootin’ iron. I didn’t think it was right that he shouldn’t be heeled. The greasers————”“All right, never mind that part of it. Well, you got the gun?”“Yes; and when I took it back fer him ther kid had gone.”“How long did all this take?”“Waal, I’ve bin huntin’ fer ther dern little pinto ever since. But I should say that I rode to camp and back in about half an hour. You see, I hurried.”“Humph! You found no sign of trouble when you got back?”“Nary a bit. All wuz quiet as a Chink’s funeral in Tombstone.”“Had the others heard nothing while you were away?”“Not a sound so fur as they told me.”“It’s not possible to ford the river at that point?”“Boss, a cayuse couldn’t swim it, the current’s that swift.”“That’s so, too, I thought for a moment thatthe boy might have foolishly tried to cross into Mexican territory.”“Ef he did, it’s flowers fer his’n ef we ever find him,” declared Baldy piously.“Let us hope it is not as bad as that. But it is most mysterious.”“Very consterious,” agreed Baldy. “You see, there were men to the east and west of where the kid was, and they didn’t hear nor see nothing.”“And yet the boy has vanished.”“Waal, he ain’t ter be found,” admitted Baldy, ignoring the long word.Captain Atkinson sat up in his blankets lost in thought. At length Baldy ventured to break in on the silence.“What yer goin’ ter do, boss? Ther young maverick may be needin’ help right now and needin’ it bad, too.”“That’s correct, Baldy. We must take some action at once. But the case is so puzzling thatI hardly know what to do about it. Jack Merrill didn’t impress me as the kind of boy that would run needlessly into danger.”“No; ther young pinto had some hoss sense,” admitted Baldy, flicking his chaps with his quirt.“That being the case, how are we to account for his disappearance? If he had been attacked by greasers there would have been some noise, some disturbance.”“Maybe he jes’ fell in ther Rio and was drown–ded,” suggested Baldy.“I don’t think that. Jack Merrill is an athletic lad, and among other things, I am told, a first–class swimmer. No, we have to figure on some other line.”“Waal, I’m free to admit that I’m up a tree, boss,” grunted Baldy.By this time Captain Atkinson was out of his blankets and hastily drawing on his chaps and pulling his blue cowboy shirt over his head. When his boots had been drawn on and spursadjusted he ordered Baldy to saddle his pony and bring it over. As soon as this was done the Captain of the Rangers and Baldy rode out of the camp as silently as possible and made their way to the river. But all Captain Atkinson’s questioning failed to elicit any more facts than he had been able to glean from Baldy. There was nothing left to do but to wait for daybreak to make an examination for tracks that might throw some light on the mystery.In the meantime Ralph and Walt were informed of Jack’s mysterious disappearance. To Captain Atkinson’s astonishment, they did not appear nearly so much alarmed as he had feared. Instead, they accepted the news with almost stoical faces.“You think that Jack is safe, then?” asked the captain of the Rangers. “At any rate, you don’t seem much worried about him.”“It’s not our way to worry till we know we have good cause to, Captain,” rejoined Ralph.“If Jack has vanished, I’m willing to swear that he is off on some sort of duty connected with the Rangers. Possibly he had not time to report back before leaving. Depend upon it, Jack will come out all right.”“That’s my idea, too,” declared Walt stoutly.“Well, I admire the confidence you boys have in your leader,” declared Captain Atkinson warmly, “but just the same as soon as it’s daylight I mean to start a thorough investigation, and if harm has come to him it will go hard with those that caused it.”

CHAPTER VI.THE POOL OF DEATH.The blow that had been dealt the boy came from one of the timbers of the raft, which had been torn to pieces as it was swept over the falls. How long Jack remained insensible he did not know; but when he recovered his senses he found himself struggling in a seething pool of water at the foot of the falls. Luckily he was able to catch hold of one of the logs of the raft as it was swept by him, and clinging to this he began to strike out with his legs, hoping to make his way to the edge of the pool.Many times during that desperate struggle for existence Jack felt certain that death would intervene before he could accomplish his purpose. Once another log, that was being swept round like a straw in that boiling vortex of foamingwaters, was dashed against the one to which he clung. The shock almost forced the lad to relinquish his hold. But he hung on like grim death.Blinded by foam and half choked, the boy, with bull–dog grit, stuck to his purpose, and at last was rewarded by feeling ground under his feet. A moment later, bruised, breathless and drenched to the skin, he flung himself panting on the sandy shore of the pool, too exhausted to move further.He lay there, actually feeling more dead than alive, for a long time before he felt capable of moving. But at last he found strength to drag himself further up the bank. Fumbling in his pocket, he found that his water–tight match box was in its proper place, and in the darkness he set about making preparations to build a fire. Luckily, on the brink of the pool there was any quantity of dry wood cast up by the maelstrom of waters, and the boy soon had a roaring blaze kindled. Stripping to his underclothing he hunghis other garments on sticks in front of the blaze while he basked in its cheery rays.By the glow he could see a part of the pool, and as he gazed at its troublous surface and foaming fury he marveled that he had been able to escape with his life. The firelight also showed him that he was in a sort of rock–walled bowl, with steeply sloping sides scantily clad in places with stunted bushes. He was still sitting by this fire, trying to think of some way out of his dilemma, when exhausted nature asserted herself and he sank into a deep slumber beside the warm blaze.When he awoke the sun was shining down on his face. The daylight showed him that he had blundered into an astonishing place indeed. As he had guessed, by what he could see of the place by firelight, he was at the bottom of a rocky bowl into which the falls over which he had tumbled roared and thundered unceasingly as they had been doing for uncounted centuries.Jack estimated the height of the falls as being fully sixty feet. The boiling pool appeared to be about an acre or so in extent, and was furiously agitated by the constant pouring of the mighty falls. And now Jack became aware of a curious thing.All about the edges of the pool, where the circular motion of the water had evidently cast them up, were myriads of bones. They appeared to be the remains of cattle and various kinds of game; but some of them caused Jack to shudder as he had a distinct notion that they were of human origin.All at once, while he was still exploring the strange place into which he had fallen, he came across a bleached skull lying amid a pile of bones and débris. The ghastly relic gave him a rude shock as he gazed at it.“Gracious!” the boy exclaimed, with a shudder, “this place might well be called a Pool of Death. How fortunate I am to be alive; althoughhow I am going to get out of this scrape I don’t know. One thing is certain, I cannot remount by the falls. I must see what lies in the other direction.”Up to that moment, so agitated had the castaway boy been that he had almost entirely forgotten the Mexican with whom he had had the battle on the raft. The thought of the man now suddenly recurred to him. Jack sighed as he realized that the Mexican could hardly have been so fortunate as he had been. In all probability he had forfeited his life to the Pool of Death.With such melancholy thoughts in his mind Jack set about exploring the rocky basin for some means of exit. Although he was determined not to give way to despair, the boy could not but own that his situation was well–nigh desperate. He was many miles from his friends, and probably in an uninhabited part of the country.He had no food; nor even if there had been any game had he the means of shooting it.His hunger was now beginning to make itself painfully manifest. On some bushes that clung to the walls of the Pool of Death were some bright–colored berries, but Jack dreaded to try them. For all he knew they might be deadly poison.Searching for an exit, Jack was not long in finding one. The pool was drained by a narrow crevice in the rocky walls, forming a passage. On the brink of the water was a strip of beach, not much wider than a man’s hand. Beside this pathway the water roared and screamed in its narrow bounds, but Jack knew that if he was to get out of this place at all he must dare the rocky passage.Stifling his fears as well as he could, the famished, bedraggled lad struck pluckily out. Sometimes the passage grew so narrow that he could have bestridden the stream. At other points itwidened out and, looking up, Jack could see the blue sky far overhead. In reality the passage was not more than half a mile in length but, so carefully did Jack have to proceed, it appeared to be four times that length at least.The passage ended with almost startling abruptness. Jack could hardly repress an exclamation of amazement as he saw upon what a strange scene it opened. Beyond its mouth lay a broad valley, carpeted with vivid green grass and dotted here and there, like a park, with groups of trees. Viewed in the sparkling sunlight it was indeed a scene of rare beauty and Jack’s heart gave a throb of delight as he beheld it.“Surely,” he thought, “some rancher must live hereabouts who will give me food and lend me a horse to ride back to San Mercedes.”For the first few minutes following his discovery of the valley the boy did not doubt but that he should find an easy and speedy means ofescaping from his difficulties. But it gradually began to dawn upon him that the place upon which he had so oddly blundered was not inhabited at all. At least, he could see no sign of a human habitation.Then, too, somewhat to his dismay, he noticed another feature of the valley which had at first escaped his attention altogether.The place was completely enclosed by steep, lofty cliffs, and appeared as if, at some early period of the world’s growth, it had been dropped below the level of the surrounding country by some mighty convulsion of nature.For the rest the valley appeared to be about a mile in length and half a mile wide at its broadest part. Through the center of it the stream that issued from the passage beyond the Pool of Death meandered leisurely along.“Well,” exclaimed Jack, to himself, gazing somewhat disconsolately about him, “this is a beautiful spot into which I have wandered; butsomehow it doesn’t appear to solve my difficulties. In the first place, I don’t believe it is frequented by human beings, and in the second, so far as I can see, there is no way out of it. I wonder where on earth I can be? Certainly not on the Rio Grande itself. I begin to suspect that that current hurled the raft off into some side stream which terminated in the falls.”It may be said here that Jack’s theory was correct. The valley in which he found himself had been caused by a convulsion of nature similar to that which effected the wonderful Yosemite Valley in California. It was, in fact, a miniature reproduction of that famous scenic marvel. As the boy likewise suspected, the raft had indeed been hurried by the stream from the main current of the Rio Grande and drawn into a side fork of the river.Although Jack did not know it at the time, he was on Mexican soil and far removed from his friends, as he paced the strange secret valley.“I guess my best plan is to follow that stream,” mused Jack, after a period of thought; “if I’m not mistaken there must be some way out of the valley at the spot where it emerges. At any rate I’ll try it.”He had walked some distance from the bank of the stream in his explorations, and he now began to re–thread his footsteps. He directed his course toward a big rock that towered up by the bank of the stream, apparently dislodged at some remote time from the summit of the lofty cliffs that hedged the place all about.When Jack was within a few feet of the rock he was brought to a sudden halt by a startling occurrence.From behind the monster boulder a human figure emerged, and the next instant Jack was being hailed by the sudden apparition.

THE POOL OF DEATH.

The blow that had been dealt the boy came from one of the timbers of the raft, which had been torn to pieces as it was swept over the falls. How long Jack remained insensible he did not know; but when he recovered his senses he found himself struggling in a seething pool of water at the foot of the falls. Luckily he was able to catch hold of one of the logs of the raft as it was swept by him, and clinging to this he began to strike out with his legs, hoping to make his way to the edge of the pool.

Many times during that desperate struggle for existence Jack felt certain that death would intervene before he could accomplish his purpose. Once another log, that was being swept round like a straw in that boiling vortex of foamingwaters, was dashed against the one to which he clung. The shock almost forced the lad to relinquish his hold. But he hung on like grim death.

Blinded by foam and half choked, the boy, with bull–dog grit, stuck to his purpose, and at last was rewarded by feeling ground under his feet. A moment later, bruised, breathless and drenched to the skin, he flung himself panting on the sandy shore of the pool, too exhausted to move further.

He lay there, actually feeling more dead than alive, for a long time before he felt capable of moving. But at last he found strength to drag himself further up the bank. Fumbling in his pocket, he found that his water–tight match box was in its proper place, and in the darkness he set about making preparations to build a fire. Luckily, on the brink of the pool there was any quantity of dry wood cast up by the maelstrom of waters, and the boy soon had a roaring blaze kindled. Stripping to his underclothing he hunghis other garments on sticks in front of the blaze while he basked in its cheery rays.

By the glow he could see a part of the pool, and as he gazed at its troublous surface and foaming fury he marveled that he had been able to escape with his life. The firelight also showed him that he was in a sort of rock–walled bowl, with steeply sloping sides scantily clad in places with stunted bushes. He was still sitting by this fire, trying to think of some way out of his dilemma, when exhausted nature asserted herself and he sank into a deep slumber beside the warm blaze.

When he awoke the sun was shining down on his face. The daylight showed him that he had blundered into an astonishing place indeed. As he had guessed, by what he could see of the place by firelight, he was at the bottom of a rocky bowl into which the falls over which he had tumbled roared and thundered unceasingly as they had been doing for uncounted centuries.

Jack estimated the height of the falls as being fully sixty feet. The boiling pool appeared to be about an acre or so in extent, and was furiously agitated by the constant pouring of the mighty falls. And now Jack became aware of a curious thing.

All about the edges of the pool, where the circular motion of the water had evidently cast them up, were myriads of bones. They appeared to be the remains of cattle and various kinds of game; but some of them caused Jack to shudder as he had a distinct notion that they were of human origin.

All at once, while he was still exploring the strange place into which he had fallen, he came across a bleached skull lying amid a pile of bones and débris. The ghastly relic gave him a rude shock as he gazed at it.

“Gracious!” the boy exclaimed, with a shudder, “this place might well be called a Pool of Death. How fortunate I am to be alive; althoughhow I am going to get out of this scrape I don’t know. One thing is certain, I cannot remount by the falls. I must see what lies in the other direction.”

Up to that moment, so agitated had the castaway boy been that he had almost entirely forgotten the Mexican with whom he had had the battle on the raft. The thought of the man now suddenly recurred to him. Jack sighed as he realized that the Mexican could hardly have been so fortunate as he had been. In all probability he had forfeited his life to the Pool of Death.

With such melancholy thoughts in his mind Jack set about exploring the rocky basin for some means of exit. Although he was determined not to give way to despair, the boy could not but own that his situation was well–nigh desperate. He was many miles from his friends, and probably in an uninhabited part of the country.He had no food; nor even if there had been any game had he the means of shooting it.

His hunger was now beginning to make itself painfully manifest. On some bushes that clung to the walls of the Pool of Death were some bright–colored berries, but Jack dreaded to try them. For all he knew they might be deadly poison.

Searching for an exit, Jack was not long in finding one. The pool was drained by a narrow crevice in the rocky walls, forming a passage. On the brink of the water was a strip of beach, not much wider than a man’s hand. Beside this pathway the water roared and screamed in its narrow bounds, but Jack knew that if he was to get out of this place at all he must dare the rocky passage.

Stifling his fears as well as he could, the famished, bedraggled lad struck pluckily out. Sometimes the passage grew so narrow that he could have bestridden the stream. At other points itwidened out and, looking up, Jack could see the blue sky far overhead. In reality the passage was not more than half a mile in length but, so carefully did Jack have to proceed, it appeared to be four times that length at least.

The passage ended with almost startling abruptness. Jack could hardly repress an exclamation of amazement as he saw upon what a strange scene it opened. Beyond its mouth lay a broad valley, carpeted with vivid green grass and dotted here and there, like a park, with groups of trees. Viewed in the sparkling sunlight it was indeed a scene of rare beauty and Jack’s heart gave a throb of delight as he beheld it.

“Surely,” he thought, “some rancher must live hereabouts who will give me food and lend me a horse to ride back to San Mercedes.”

For the first few minutes following his discovery of the valley the boy did not doubt but that he should find an easy and speedy means ofescaping from his difficulties. But it gradually began to dawn upon him that the place upon which he had so oddly blundered was not inhabited at all. At least, he could see no sign of a human habitation.

Then, too, somewhat to his dismay, he noticed another feature of the valley which had at first escaped his attention altogether.

The place was completely enclosed by steep, lofty cliffs, and appeared as if, at some early period of the world’s growth, it had been dropped below the level of the surrounding country by some mighty convulsion of nature.

For the rest the valley appeared to be about a mile in length and half a mile wide at its broadest part. Through the center of it the stream that issued from the passage beyond the Pool of Death meandered leisurely along.

“Well,” exclaimed Jack, to himself, gazing somewhat disconsolately about him, “this is a beautiful spot into which I have wandered; butsomehow it doesn’t appear to solve my difficulties. In the first place, I don’t believe it is frequented by human beings, and in the second, so far as I can see, there is no way out of it. I wonder where on earth I can be? Certainly not on the Rio Grande itself. I begin to suspect that that current hurled the raft off into some side stream which terminated in the falls.”

It may be said here that Jack’s theory was correct. The valley in which he found himself had been caused by a convulsion of nature similar to that which effected the wonderful Yosemite Valley in California. It was, in fact, a miniature reproduction of that famous scenic marvel. As the boy likewise suspected, the raft had indeed been hurried by the stream from the main current of the Rio Grande and drawn into a side fork of the river.

Although Jack did not know it at the time, he was on Mexican soil and far removed from his friends, as he paced the strange secret valley.

“I guess my best plan is to follow that stream,” mused Jack, after a period of thought; “if I’m not mistaken there must be some way out of the valley at the spot where it emerges. At any rate I’ll try it.”

He had walked some distance from the bank of the stream in his explorations, and he now began to re–thread his footsteps. He directed his course toward a big rock that towered up by the bank of the stream, apparently dislodged at some remote time from the summit of the lofty cliffs that hedged the place all about.

When Jack was within a few feet of the rock he was brought to a sudden halt by a startling occurrence.

From behind the monster boulder a human figure emerged, and the next instant Jack was being hailed by the sudden apparition.

CHAPTER VII.A STRANGE VALLEY.Had he beheld the emergence of a supposedly dead man from his tomb, the boy could not have been much more startled. As it was the two cases would have had much in common, for the figure that now advanced toward him was that of a man he had given up for dead—namely, the Mexican who had shared that wild voyage on the raft.For an instant Jack instinctively threw himself into an attitude of defense. But the next moment he saw that he had nothing to fear from the newcomer. In fact, a more woebegone figure than the Mexican presented it would be hard to imagine. There was a big gash over one of his eyes, his clothing was torn to ribbons and he limped painfully as he advanced toward Jack.“How did you come here?” asked Jack in Spanish.“Ah, señor, surely by a miracle of the saints,” was the reply, as the man raised his eyes to heaven. “I recollect your blow and then nothing more till I found myself cast up on the bank of yonder stream. Call it what you will, I believe that it was a true miracle of Providence that my life was saved.”“We must both thank a higher power for our deliverance,” said Jack reverently. “I never thought that I should see you alive again.”“But who are you?” demanded the Mexican. “How came you on our raft before it went adrift?”Jack thought for a moment before replying, and then he decided that it could do no possible harm, under the circumstances, to tell who he was.“I am the son of an Arizona rancher,” he said. “My name is Jack Merrill. With two companionsI was accompanying the Texas Rangers on a scouting trip for the sake of the experience. While on guard duty I saw your raft land and thought it my duty to try to find out what you were doing on the American side of the river.”To Jack’s surprise the other showed no trace of anger. Instead he appeared grief stricken.“Alas, señor,” he said, “you may have been the cause of the death of my two companions, for if the Texas Rangers captured them they will assuredly shoot them.”“I’m sure they would do no such thing,” rejoined Jack indignantly; “they are not inhuman wretches. If your companions can show that they were doing no harm on our side of the Border they will be released with a warning not to spy upon Americans again.”“Ah, then, you knew that we were spying, señor?”“Yes, I overheard your conversation at the river’s edge. But it is important now that weshould get out of this valley as soon as possible. Have you any idea where we are?”The Mexican shrugged his shoulders dubiously.“Alas, señor, I am not certain, but I am inclined to think that we are in what is called the Lost Valley.”“Lost Valley!” echoed Jack, struck by the dismal suggestion of the name. “Is there no way out?”His companion shook his head.“The legend says that they who blunder into the valley never escape,” he declared.Jack could not repress a shudder as he thought of the skull by the pool; but the next instant he regained his nerve, for he knew that the stream must emerge from the valley somewhere.“But surely this river has to find a way out of the valley?” he asked.“Si, señor,” was the reply, “but the stream, sothey say, burrows its way through a tunnel by which no human being could hope to pass.”“Then you mean that we are prisoners here?”“Unless somebody discovers us—yes.”“Are there many people dwelling in this part of the country?” inquired Jack, with a sinking heart, for, despite his effort to keep up his cheerfulness, his hope was fast ebbing.“No, it is a wild section devoted to cattle raising, and only a few wandering vaqueros ever come this way. It is from them that the news of the Lost Valley, which this may be, reached the outer world.”“But we must escape,” cried Jack wildly, “we can’t remain here. We have no food, no means of getting any, and————”“I have my revolver,” interrupted the Mexican, “also plenty of cartridges. Perhaps we can find some game.”This at least was a spark of cheering news. Both Jack and the Mexican were almost famishedand decided to set out at once to see if they could bring down anything to serve as food. A revolver is not much of a weapon to use in hunting; but the Mexican declared that he was highly proficient with it. Jack hadn’t much confidence in his own ability as a revolver shot, so it was agreed that his dark–skinned companion should do the shooting.They ranged the valley for some time without seeing a sign of life, when suddenly, from a clump of trees, there sprang three deer—two does and a buck.Bang! went the revolver, and the buck slackened speed and staggered. A crimson stream from his shoulder showed that he had been badly wounded. But it took two more shots to bring him down. He was then dispatched with Jack’s knife. No time was lost in cutting off some steaks from the dead buck, a fire was speedily kindled and an appetizing aroma of broiling venison came from it. The meat was cooked bybeing held over the glowing wood coals on sticks of hard wood. Jack could hardly wait till his was cooked to eat it.Fresh deer meat is not the delicacy that some of my readers may suppose. It is coarse, stringy and rather tasteless; but neither Jack nor his companion were in a mood to be particular. They devoured the meat ravenously, although they had no salt, bread or any other relish. But the meat strengthened Jack wonderfully, and as soon as it had been eaten he proposed that they should explore the valley thoroughly in an attempt to find a way out.The Mexican was nothing loath; but he was dubious about there being any avenue of escape. However, with the stoical fatalism of his race he appeared to accept the situation philosophically.Before setting out on their expedition the deer meat was hung in one of the trees as a protection in case any wild animals should get scent of it. This done, the Border Boy and his oddlycontrasted companion set off, trudging around the valley in a determined effort to effect their escape in some way.Several cañons that opened off into the rocky walls were examined, but they all proved to be “blind” and impassable. In exploring one of these Jack had a thrilling adventure.His foot slipped on a rock and he plunged into a deep hole among some boulders. He was about to scramble out again, when from one of the rock crevices a hideous flat head darted. At the same time a curious dry, rattling sound was heard on every side of him. The boy recognized the noise with a sharp thrill of alarm.The sound was the vibration of the horny tails of dozens of diamond–backed “rattlers,” into a den of which he had fallen. On every side flat heads with evil–looking, leaden eyes were darting in and out of the rocks. The boy was paralyzed with fear. He dared not move a hand or foot lest he precipitate an attack by the loathsomecreatures. As soon as he recovered his wits he set up a shout for his Mexican friend, who had told him that his name was Manuel Alvarez.Alvarez was quickly on the spot. He took in the situation at a glance, and cautioning Jack not to move, he fired his revolver down into the den of noisome reptiles. The bullet passed so close to Jack’s head that he could feel it fan the air. But, as the report of the pistol volleyed and crashed among the rocks, every rattler vanished.“Now come out quickly!” ordered Alvarez, reaching down a hand to Jack, who took it and scrambled out of the pit of snakes.As he thanked the Mexican for his promptness in acting, the boy could not help thinking in what an extraordinary situation he was involved.Lost in a hidden valley with, for companion, a man who, not more than a few hours ago, had been bent on killing him, now it was to that man that he owed his life.“This is surely one of the strangest adventuresin which I have ever taken part,” mused the Border Boy, as the two castaways resumed their dreary search for a passage to the outer world.

A STRANGE VALLEY.

Had he beheld the emergence of a supposedly dead man from his tomb, the boy could not have been much more startled. As it was the two cases would have had much in common, for the figure that now advanced toward him was that of a man he had given up for dead—namely, the Mexican who had shared that wild voyage on the raft.

For an instant Jack instinctively threw himself into an attitude of defense. But the next moment he saw that he had nothing to fear from the newcomer. In fact, a more woebegone figure than the Mexican presented it would be hard to imagine. There was a big gash over one of his eyes, his clothing was torn to ribbons and he limped painfully as he advanced toward Jack.

“How did you come here?” asked Jack in Spanish.

“Ah, señor, surely by a miracle of the saints,” was the reply, as the man raised his eyes to heaven. “I recollect your blow and then nothing more till I found myself cast up on the bank of yonder stream. Call it what you will, I believe that it was a true miracle of Providence that my life was saved.”

“We must both thank a higher power for our deliverance,” said Jack reverently. “I never thought that I should see you alive again.”

“But who are you?” demanded the Mexican. “How came you on our raft before it went adrift?”

Jack thought for a moment before replying, and then he decided that it could do no possible harm, under the circumstances, to tell who he was.

“I am the son of an Arizona rancher,” he said. “My name is Jack Merrill. With two companionsI was accompanying the Texas Rangers on a scouting trip for the sake of the experience. While on guard duty I saw your raft land and thought it my duty to try to find out what you were doing on the American side of the river.”

To Jack’s surprise the other showed no trace of anger. Instead he appeared grief stricken.

“Alas, señor,” he said, “you may have been the cause of the death of my two companions, for if the Texas Rangers captured them they will assuredly shoot them.”

“I’m sure they would do no such thing,” rejoined Jack indignantly; “they are not inhuman wretches. If your companions can show that they were doing no harm on our side of the Border they will be released with a warning not to spy upon Americans again.”

“Ah, then, you knew that we were spying, señor?”

“Yes, I overheard your conversation at the river’s edge. But it is important now that weshould get out of this valley as soon as possible. Have you any idea where we are?”

The Mexican shrugged his shoulders dubiously.

“Alas, señor, I am not certain, but I am inclined to think that we are in what is called the Lost Valley.”

“Lost Valley!” echoed Jack, struck by the dismal suggestion of the name. “Is there no way out?”

His companion shook his head.

“The legend says that they who blunder into the valley never escape,” he declared.

Jack could not repress a shudder as he thought of the skull by the pool; but the next instant he regained his nerve, for he knew that the stream must emerge from the valley somewhere.

“But surely this river has to find a way out of the valley?” he asked.

“Si, señor,” was the reply, “but the stream, sothey say, burrows its way through a tunnel by which no human being could hope to pass.”

“Then you mean that we are prisoners here?”

“Unless somebody discovers us—yes.”

“Are there many people dwelling in this part of the country?” inquired Jack, with a sinking heart, for, despite his effort to keep up his cheerfulness, his hope was fast ebbing.

“No, it is a wild section devoted to cattle raising, and only a few wandering vaqueros ever come this way. It is from them that the news of the Lost Valley, which this may be, reached the outer world.”

“But we must escape,” cried Jack wildly, “we can’t remain here. We have no food, no means of getting any, and————”

“I have my revolver,” interrupted the Mexican, “also plenty of cartridges. Perhaps we can find some game.”

This at least was a spark of cheering news. Both Jack and the Mexican were almost famishedand decided to set out at once to see if they could bring down anything to serve as food. A revolver is not much of a weapon to use in hunting; but the Mexican declared that he was highly proficient with it. Jack hadn’t much confidence in his own ability as a revolver shot, so it was agreed that his dark–skinned companion should do the shooting.

They ranged the valley for some time without seeing a sign of life, when suddenly, from a clump of trees, there sprang three deer—two does and a buck.

Bang! went the revolver, and the buck slackened speed and staggered. A crimson stream from his shoulder showed that he had been badly wounded. But it took two more shots to bring him down. He was then dispatched with Jack’s knife. No time was lost in cutting off some steaks from the dead buck, a fire was speedily kindled and an appetizing aroma of broiling venison came from it. The meat was cooked bybeing held over the glowing wood coals on sticks of hard wood. Jack could hardly wait till his was cooked to eat it.

Fresh deer meat is not the delicacy that some of my readers may suppose. It is coarse, stringy and rather tasteless; but neither Jack nor his companion were in a mood to be particular. They devoured the meat ravenously, although they had no salt, bread or any other relish. But the meat strengthened Jack wonderfully, and as soon as it had been eaten he proposed that they should explore the valley thoroughly in an attempt to find a way out.

The Mexican was nothing loath; but he was dubious about there being any avenue of escape. However, with the stoical fatalism of his race he appeared to accept the situation philosophically.

Before setting out on their expedition the deer meat was hung in one of the trees as a protection in case any wild animals should get scent of it. This done, the Border Boy and his oddlycontrasted companion set off, trudging around the valley in a determined effort to effect their escape in some way.

Several cañons that opened off into the rocky walls were examined, but they all proved to be “blind” and impassable. In exploring one of these Jack had a thrilling adventure.

His foot slipped on a rock and he plunged into a deep hole among some boulders. He was about to scramble out again, when from one of the rock crevices a hideous flat head darted. At the same time a curious dry, rattling sound was heard on every side of him. The boy recognized the noise with a sharp thrill of alarm.

The sound was the vibration of the horny tails of dozens of diamond–backed “rattlers,” into a den of which he had fallen. On every side flat heads with evil–looking, leaden eyes were darting in and out of the rocks. The boy was paralyzed with fear. He dared not move a hand or foot lest he precipitate an attack by the loathsomecreatures. As soon as he recovered his wits he set up a shout for his Mexican friend, who had told him that his name was Manuel Alvarez.

Alvarez was quickly on the spot. He took in the situation at a glance, and cautioning Jack not to move, he fired his revolver down into the den of noisome reptiles. The bullet passed so close to Jack’s head that he could feel it fan the air. But, as the report of the pistol volleyed and crashed among the rocks, every rattler vanished.

“Now come out quickly!” ordered Alvarez, reaching down a hand to Jack, who took it and scrambled out of the pit of snakes.

As he thanked the Mexican for his promptness in acting, the boy could not help thinking in what an extraordinary situation he was involved.

Lost in a hidden valley with, for companion, a man who, not more than a few hours ago, had been bent on killing him, now it was to that man that he owed his life.

“This is surely one of the strangest adventuresin which I have ever taken part,” mused the Border Boy, as the two castaways resumed their dreary search for a passage to the outer world.

CHAPTER VIII.NATURE’S PRISONERS.But despite the most painstaking investigation of the valley, a task which occupied them till almost sundown, the two oddly assorted prisoners were unable to find anything that promised a means of escape. They reached the spot where they had left the deer and flung themselves wearily down upon the ground, too disheartened and tired even to voice their disappointment.“Gracious! Men imprisoned in a jail could not be more effectually shut in,” said Jack, at length; “I feel almost like dashing myself against these rock walls.”His companion was compelled to admit that their situation did indeed seem a hard one. For some time they sat buried in thought. Jack’s mind was back in the camp of the Rangers. Hewondered how his friends felt over his disappearance, and what steps were being taken to find him. How bitterly his heart ached to see his boy chums again he did not say for fear of breaking down.“Wemustget out of this horrible place,” he cried, at length, “to–morrow as soon as it is light I mean to examine the cliffs and, if possible, to scale them.”“You could not find a place that would afford a foothold,” objected his companion.“I’ll try, at any rate. I’d rather almost be dashed to death than drag out a lingering existence in this valley,” burst out the boy.“Well, let us have supper,” said Alvarez presently, “there is nothing to be gained by railing at our fate. If the saints do not will that we shall escape, depend upon it we will not.”So saying he rose to his feet, shrugging his shoulders resignedly.“What a contrast between the indifference ofsuch a race and the rugged determination of an American,” thought Jack, as he set to work to rekindle the embers of the fire that had cooked their mid–day meal.He was blowing them into flame when Alvarez called to him from among the trees. He had found a species of oak which was burdened with acorns. These, the Mexican declared, could be made into a kind of bread if crushed and mixed with water. As this would be a welcome addition to ungarnished deer meat, Jack was proportionately pleased at the discovery. The Mexican set to work and ground the acorns between two flat stones, after which he heated one of the latter till it was almost red–hot. This done, the acorn paste was spread out on it, and before long there was produced a rather “doughy” sort of flap–jack or pan–cake. When one side was done Alvarez turned it till it was nicely browned. By this time Jack had some broiled venison ready, and they sat down to their second meal in the Lost Valley with good appetites.The acorn flap–jack proved to be not at all unpalatable. It was rather sweet and had a peculiar flavor; at any rate it afforded some variety to the plain deer meat.“Well, we shan’t starve here, at least,” commented the Mexican, as they ate; “there seem to be plenty of deer and small game and an unlimited supply of acorns for bread.”“No, I suppose if it came down to that, we could live here for a century, like two Robinson Crusoes,” agreed Jack, rather bitterly, “but that’s not my plan. I mean to escape.”“The young are always hopeful,” rejoined Alvarez, with one of his all–expressive shrugs; “I suppose you think you can carry out your plan.”“I mean to make a mighty hard try at it, anyhow,” said Jack, setting his lips in a determined line.That evening as they sat by their camp fire, Alvarez told Jack that he and his two companions on the raft had been leaders of the northernwing of the revolutionary army. They had chosen the raft as a medium to spy from, he explained, because it was possible in that way to ascertain what the border patrol was doing, without so much risk of being discovered as would have been the case had they used horses.“I guess you wish you’d never seen the raft by this time,” commented Jack, throwing some fresh wood on the fire.“I do, indeed,” agreed the other fervently.Soon after this they composed themselves to sleep, but it was long before Jack closed his eyes.He was just dozing off when the sound of a furtive footfall made him sit up, broad awake in an instant. From the darkness two green points were blazing at him.“The eyes of some wild beast that has decided to pay us a visit,” said Jack to himself.He was just about to arouse Alvarez and get the revolver when the creature that was prowling about the camp gave a sudden leap. Jack saw alithe body launched at him just in time to roll to one side.The creature, balked in its spring, came down in the midst of the hot ashes of the smoldering fire. Instantly a piercing howl of anguish split the night. The Mexican leaped up and appeared to be fully awake the instant he opened his eyes. At any rate the great, tawny body was still writhing about in the embers when two shots crackled from his revolver. The big animal gave a spring and another howl of pain and then fell over in a heap, rolling to one side of the fire.“What—whatever was it?” cried Jack, rather timorously, for the suddenness of the attack had rather unnerved him.“A mountain lion, and a monster, too,” came the reply. “Come up and take a look at him.”“Are you quite sure he is dead?”“Positive. Wait a minute and I’ll make sure, however.”So saying the Mexican stooped and picked aglowing coal out of the fire. He threw it so that it fell on the motionless beast’s hide. But the animal did not stir. Unquestionably it was quite dead. Jack approached it, having poked up the fire the better to see the brute. He marveled at its size. It was indeed a giant of its kind and must have weighed six hundred pounds or more, and was lithe and sinewy as a cat.“What splendid condition it is in! I’d like to skin it and take the hide out of this valley as a souvenir.”“So you are still certain that we can get out?”“I am notcertain, but I don’t want to give over trying till we have tested every avenue of hope.”“Caramba!But you Americans are wonderful people! A Mexican boy would be sitting around crying if he were in the same fix. In the morning we will take the pelt off this brute, and if we ever do get out, the skin will always serve as a memento of a dreadful time.”The mountain lion scare being over, they composed themselves to sleep again. Jack recollected having read or heard that when a mountain lion is killed, its mate will find it out and avenge it. But even though the thought gave him cause for disquietude he was not able to stay awake; and although distant howlings told him that another puma was in the vicinity, nature asserted herself and sealed his eyes in slumber.The sun had hardly peeped above the rim of the bowl–like valley when Jack and Alvarez were astir. Breakfast was cooked and eaten hurriedly, and then the great lion was skinned. This done, Jack started out to put his plans in execution.The Mexican did not accompany him. He deemed Jack’s mission a useless one. In fact, it did seem very like an attempt at suicide to try to scale the valley’s lofty, almost perpendicular walls.

NATURE’S PRISONERS.

But despite the most painstaking investigation of the valley, a task which occupied them till almost sundown, the two oddly assorted prisoners were unable to find anything that promised a means of escape. They reached the spot where they had left the deer and flung themselves wearily down upon the ground, too disheartened and tired even to voice their disappointment.

“Gracious! Men imprisoned in a jail could not be more effectually shut in,” said Jack, at length; “I feel almost like dashing myself against these rock walls.”

His companion was compelled to admit that their situation did indeed seem a hard one. For some time they sat buried in thought. Jack’s mind was back in the camp of the Rangers. Hewondered how his friends felt over his disappearance, and what steps were being taken to find him. How bitterly his heart ached to see his boy chums again he did not say for fear of breaking down.

“Wemustget out of this horrible place,” he cried, at length, “to–morrow as soon as it is light I mean to examine the cliffs and, if possible, to scale them.”

“You could not find a place that would afford a foothold,” objected his companion.

“I’ll try, at any rate. I’d rather almost be dashed to death than drag out a lingering existence in this valley,” burst out the boy.

“Well, let us have supper,” said Alvarez presently, “there is nothing to be gained by railing at our fate. If the saints do not will that we shall escape, depend upon it we will not.”

So saying he rose to his feet, shrugging his shoulders resignedly.

“What a contrast between the indifference ofsuch a race and the rugged determination of an American,” thought Jack, as he set to work to rekindle the embers of the fire that had cooked their mid–day meal.

He was blowing them into flame when Alvarez called to him from among the trees. He had found a species of oak which was burdened with acorns. These, the Mexican declared, could be made into a kind of bread if crushed and mixed with water. As this would be a welcome addition to ungarnished deer meat, Jack was proportionately pleased at the discovery. The Mexican set to work and ground the acorns between two flat stones, after which he heated one of the latter till it was almost red–hot. This done, the acorn paste was spread out on it, and before long there was produced a rather “doughy” sort of flap–jack or pan–cake. When one side was done Alvarez turned it till it was nicely browned. By this time Jack had some broiled venison ready, and they sat down to their second meal in the Lost Valley with good appetites.

The acorn flap–jack proved to be not at all unpalatable. It was rather sweet and had a peculiar flavor; at any rate it afforded some variety to the plain deer meat.

“Well, we shan’t starve here, at least,” commented the Mexican, as they ate; “there seem to be plenty of deer and small game and an unlimited supply of acorns for bread.”

“No, I suppose if it came down to that, we could live here for a century, like two Robinson Crusoes,” agreed Jack, rather bitterly, “but that’s not my plan. I mean to escape.”

“The young are always hopeful,” rejoined Alvarez, with one of his all–expressive shrugs; “I suppose you think you can carry out your plan.”

“I mean to make a mighty hard try at it, anyhow,” said Jack, setting his lips in a determined line.

That evening as they sat by their camp fire, Alvarez told Jack that he and his two companions on the raft had been leaders of the northernwing of the revolutionary army. They had chosen the raft as a medium to spy from, he explained, because it was possible in that way to ascertain what the border patrol was doing, without so much risk of being discovered as would have been the case had they used horses.

“I guess you wish you’d never seen the raft by this time,” commented Jack, throwing some fresh wood on the fire.

“I do, indeed,” agreed the other fervently.

Soon after this they composed themselves to sleep, but it was long before Jack closed his eyes.

He was just dozing off when the sound of a furtive footfall made him sit up, broad awake in an instant. From the darkness two green points were blazing at him.

“The eyes of some wild beast that has decided to pay us a visit,” said Jack to himself.

He was just about to arouse Alvarez and get the revolver when the creature that was prowling about the camp gave a sudden leap. Jack saw alithe body launched at him just in time to roll to one side.

The creature, balked in its spring, came down in the midst of the hot ashes of the smoldering fire. Instantly a piercing howl of anguish split the night. The Mexican leaped up and appeared to be fully awake the instant he opened his eyes. At any rate the great, tawny body was still writhing about in the embers when two shots crackled from his revolver. The big animal gave a spring and another howl of pain and then fell over in a heap, rolling to one side of the fire.

“What—whatever was it?” cried Jack, rather timorously, for the suddenness of the attack had rather unnerved him.

“A mountain lion, and a monster, too,” came the reply. “Come up and take a look at him.”

“Are you quite sure he is dead?”

“Positive. Wait a minute and I’ll make sure, however.”

So saying the Mexican stooped and picked aglowing coal out of the fire. He threw it so that it fell on the motionless beast’s hide. But the animal did not stir. Unquestionably it was quite dead. Jack approached it, having poked up the fire the better to see the brute. He marveled at its size. It was indeed a giant of its kind and must have weighed six hundred pounds or more, and was lithe and sinewy as a cat.

“What splendid condition it is in! I’d like to skin it and take the hide out of this valley as a souvenir.”

“So you are still certain that we can get out?”

“I am notcertain, but I don’t want to give over trying till we have tested every avenue of hope.”

“Caramba!But you Americans are wonderful people! A Mexican boy would be sitting around crying if he were in the same fix. In the morning we will take the pelt off this brute, and if we ever do get out, the skin will always serve as a memento of a dreadful time.”

The mountain lion scare being over, they composed themselves to sleep again. Jack recollected having read or heard that when a mountain lion is killed, its mate will find it out and avenge it. But even though the thought gave him cause for disquietude he was not able to stay awake; and although distant howlings told him that another puma was in the vicinity, nature asserted herself and sealed his eyes in slumber.

The sun had hardly peeped above the rim of the bowl–like valley when Jack and Alvarez were astir. Breakfast was cooked and eaten hurriedly, and then the great lion was skinned. This done, Jack started out to put his plans in execution.

The Mexican did not accompany him. He deemed Jack’s mission a useless one. In fact, it did seem very like an attempt at suicide to try to scale the valley’s lofty, almost perpendicular walls.

CHAPTER IX.A CLIMB FOR LIFE.Jack strolled along at the foot of the cliffs, anxiously scanning every inch of them in the hope of spying some place that afforded an opportunity to climb upward. The cliffs varied in height from two hundred to three, and even four hundred feet. Great beetling crags of gray stone, too steep to afford roothold to more than a few scanty shrubs, filled him with oppression and gloom.The boy felt this disheartening influence as he made his way along the edges of the valley. From time to time he sighted game—deer, rabbits and a good many quail; but as he had not brought their solitary firearm along he did not pay much attention to the animals.At last he halted at the foot of a cliff that wasless precipitous than the others. It had, in fact, a slight slope to it, and was more closely grown with bushes and small trees which might be grasped by any one attempting to climb it.Jack had his knife with him, a heavy–bladed, business–like bit of cutlery of finely tempered steel, but strong and thick withal. He drew it out, opened the blade and began hacking at the cliff’s face. It was of a soft sort of stone, and he could easily cut depressions in it.“Good,” murmured the boy, “I actually believe that I may be able to scale this cliff, although it may take a long time.”He gauged its height carefully and estimated that from the floor of the valley to the summit of the precipice it must be fully three hundred feet.“If the situation was not so desperate I would never dream of attempting to climb that awful height,” mused the boy, “but necessity often drives where courage would falter.”So thinking, he cast off his coat, laid it on theground and his hat beside it. Then he clambered over the pile of stones that lay at the foot of the cliff and began his climb. For the first forty feet or so his task was not so difficult. But it was hot, and the perspiration began to run off the laboring lad in streams.He paused to rest. Jack was now, as has been said, about two score feet from the floor of the valley. Up to this point the cliff had sloped at quite an angle; but now it reared itself upward in a seemingly impassable escarpment, like the wall of a giant’s castle.“Now for the real tug–of–war,” thought Jack, when he had rested.Tightening his belt, he braced himself for what he knew would be a desperately dangerous climb. First he dug out holes to fit his hands and then began working his way up. From time to time he was able to grasp bushes and stunted trees, and these helped him greatly in his task. When he reached even the narrowest ledge helaid down to rest, extending himself at full length and panting like a spent hound.Owing to the soft nature of the rock, however, he progressed rather better than he had anticipated. But it was slow work. From time to time the face of the cliff was so precipitous that he was compelled to make a detour to find an easier place to cut his steps.Once he looked down; but he did not repeat the experiment. The sight of the dizzy height, to which he clung like some crawling insect, almost unnerved him. For several minutes, with a palpitating heart and a sickened feeling at the pit of his stomach, he hugged the rock, not daring to look either up or down.But at last his courage came back and he began his painful progress upward once more. Foot by foot he climbed, and at last, when resting on a ledge, he dared to look about him to see what progress he had made. To his delight he saw that he had come more than halfway up the precipice, although above him its rugged face still towered frowningly as if daring him to surmount it.THE SIGHT OF THE DIZZY HEIGHT ALMOST UNNERVED HIM.“Well, I would never have believed that I could have climbed to such a height with so little inconvenience,” mused the boy. “Of course, the climb is a good deal rougher than it looks from below; but still it’s an experience I wouldn’t go through again for hundreds of dollars.”Having rested on the ledge and munched some deer meat and acorn flap–jack which he had brought with him, Jack recommenced his climb. It spoke marvels for his cool head, great strength and wonderful endurance that the boy had progressed as far as he had. Few but an American youth of the most steel–like fiber and sterling grit would have dared to undertake such a task. And yet, before Jack there still lay the hardest part of his endeavor.So steep was the cliff face now that the lad did not dare to pause in his climb. He steadilyprogressed although his hands were cut and bleeding by this time, and his feet ached as cruelly as did other parts of his anatomy. But just when it seemed to the lad that his body could not stand another fraction of an ounce of strain, he happened on a place where a watercourse from above had cut a sort of shallow cleft in the precipice. In this grew shrubs and several trees, and Jack struggled to gain this oasis in the dangerous desert of his climb for life.Gaining it, he flung himself at full length on a bed of sweet smelling yellow flowers under the shade of a broad–leaved bay tree. In the stillness of that lonely and awful height, halfway between earth and sky, his breathing sounded as loud as the exhaust of a steam engine. But by–and–by he recovered his breath, and began to wish with all his soul for some water.That fearful climb had racked both nerve andmuscle; but even more than his fatigue did Jack feel the cruel pangs of a burning thirst. Some grass grew in that lonely little grove on the cliff face, and he chewed some of this for the sake of the moisture that exuded from it. But this was far from satisfying. In fact, it only aggravated his thirst by mocking it.He rose on one elbow and looked about him. At a short distance up the steep, dry watercourse he saw a patch of vivid green. To his mind that could betoken nothing but the presence of water near the surface. At any rate he felt that it was worth investigating.Reaching the patch of verdure, the boy fell on his hands and knees, and with a sharp–edged stone began scraping away at the ground. To his unspeakable delight he had not dug down more than a few inches before the ground began to grow moist.Greatly encouraged, he dug away with hisimprovised tool with renewed vigor. He excavated quite a hole, and then lay down in the shade waiting for it to fill up. Before long a few inches of warm, muddy–colored liquid could be discerned at the bottom of the hole. It did not look inviting, this coffee–colored, tepid mixture, but Jack was not in the mood to be fastidious.Casting himself down on his stomach, he plunged his face into the water, sucking it greedily in. Then he bathed his hands and face. He was still engaged in this last occupation when his attention was distracted by a low growl from below him.The boy looked up quickly, and then almost toppled over backward with astonishment.Facing him, and lashing its stubby tail angrily, was a large bob–cat. The creature had its wicked–looking teeth bared, and the boy could see its sharp claws. How it came to be in that place he could not imagine. But its emaciated conditionseemed to indicate that it must have in some way fallen from the cliff above.Evidently it was half mad from deprivation of food and water, for under ordinary conditions a bob–cat—although a really dangerous foe if cornered—will not attack a human being without provocation.The wild beast’s object was, evidently, to get at the water hole which Jack had so painstakingly scooped out. The boy would have been willing enough to allow it to accomplish its purpose. But evidently the half famished creature regarded him as an enemy to be dispatched before it proceeded to slake its thirst.It crouched down till its fawn–colored belly touched the ground and then, uttering a snarling sort of cry, it launched its body through the air at the boy.So strong was its leap that tempered steel springs could not have hurled its body forward with more velocity. Jack uttered an involuntarycry of alarm. Above him was the steep cliff, while to move even a short distance in either direction from the dry watercourse would mean a death plunge to the valley below.

A CLIMB FOR LIFE.

Jack strolled along at the foot of the cliffs, anxiously scanning every inch of them in the hope of spying some place that afforded an opportunity to climb upward. The cliffs varied in height from two hundred to three, and even four hundred feet. Great beetling crags of gray stone, too steep to afford roothold to more than a few scanty shrubs, filled him with oppression and gloom.

The boy felt this disheartening influence as he made his way along the edges of the valley. From time to time he sighted game—deer, rabbits and a good many quail; but as he had not brought their solitary firearm along he did not pay much attention to the animals.

At last he halted at the foot of a cliff that wasless precipitous than the others. It had, in fact, a slight slope to it, and was more closely grown with bushes and small trees which might be grasped by any one attempting to climb it.

Jack had his knife with him, a heavy–bladed, business–like bit of cutlery of finely tempered steel, but strong and thick withal. He drew it out, opened the blade and began hacking at the cliff’s face. It was of a soft sort of stone, and he could easily cut depressions in it.

“Good,” murmured the boy, “I actually believe that I may be able to scale this cliff, although it may take a long time.”

He gauged its height carefully and estimated that from the floor of the valley to the summit of the precipice it must be fully three hundred feet.

“If the situation was not so desperate I would never dream of attempting to climb that awful height,” mused the boy, “but necessity often drives where courage would falter.”

So thinking, he cast off his coat, laid it on theground and his hat beside it. Then he clambered over the pile of stones that lay at the foot of the cliff and began his climb. For the first forty feet or so his task was not so difficult. But it was hot, and the perspiration began to run off the laboring lad in streams.

He paused to rest. Jack was now, as has been said, about two score feet from the floor of the valley. Up to this point the cliff had sloped at quite an angle; but now it reared itself upward in a seemingly impassable escarpment, like the wall of a giant’s castle.

“Now for the real tug–of–war,” thought Jack, when he had rested.

Tightening his belt, he braced himself for what he knew would be a desperately dangerous climb. First he dug out holes to fit his hands and then began working his way up. From time to time he was able to grasp bushes and stunted trees, and these helped him greatly in his task. When he reached even the narrowest ledge helaid down to rest, extending himself at full length and panting like a spent hound.

Owing to the soft nature of the rock, however, he progressed rather better than he had anticipated. But it was slow work. From time to time the face of the cliff was so precipitous that he was compelled to make a detour to find an easier place to cut his steps.

Once he looked down; but he did not repeat the experiment. The sight of the dizzy height, to which he clung like some crawling insect, almost unnerved him. For several minutes, with a palpitating heart and a sickened feeling at the pit of his stomach, he hugged the rock, not daring to look either up or down.

But at last his courage came back and he began his painful progress upward once more. Foot by foot he climbed, and at last, when resting on a ledge, he dared to look about him to see what progress he had made. To his delight he saw that he had come more than halfway up the precipice, although above him its rugged face still towered frowningly as if daring him to surmount it.

THE SIGHT OF THE DIZZY HEIGHT ALMOST UNNERVED HIM.

THE SIGHT OF THE DIZZY HEIGHT ALMOST UNNERVED HIM.

THE SIGHT OF THE DIZZY HEIGHT ALMOST UNNERVED HIM.

“Well, I would never have believed that I could have climbed to such a height with so little inconvenience,” mused the boy. “Of course, the climb is a good deal rougher than it looks from below; but still it’s an experience I wouldn’t go through again for hundreds of dollars.”

Having rested on the ledge and munched some deer meat and acorn flap–jack which he had brought with him, Jack recommenced his climb. It spoke marvels for his cool head, great strength and wonderful endurance that the boy had progressed as far as he had. Few but an American youth of the most steel–like fiber and sterling grit would have dared to undertake such a task. And yet, before Jack there still lay the hardest part of his endeavor.

So steep was the cliff face now that the lad did not dare to pause in his climb. He steadilyprogressed although his hands were cut and bleeding by this time, and his feet ached as cruelly as did other parts of his anatomy. But just when it seemed to the lad that his body could not stand another fraction of an ounce of strain, he happened on a place where a watercourse from above had cut a sort of shallow cleft in the precipice. In this grew shrubs and several trees, and Jack struggled to gain this oasis in the dangerous desert of his climb for life.

Gaining it, he flung himself at full length on a bed of sweet smelling yellow flowers under the shade of a broad–leaved bay tree. In the stillness of that lonely and awful height, halfway between earth and sky, his breathing sounded as loud as the exhaust of a steam engine. But by–and–by he recovered his breath, and began to wish with all his soul for some water.

That fearful climb had racked both nerve andmuscle; but even more than his fatigue did Jack feel the cruel pangs of a burning thirst. Some grass grew in that lonely little grove on the cliff face, and he chewed some of this for the sake of the moisture that exuded from it. But this was far from satisfying. In fact, it only aggravated his thirst by mocking it.

He rose on one elbow and looked about him. At a short distance up the steep, dry watercourse he saw a patch of vivid green. To his mind that could betoken nothing but the presence of water near the surface. At any rate he felt that it was worth investigating.

Reaching the patch of verdure, the boy fell on his hands and knees, and with a sharp–edged stone began scraping away at the ground. To his unspeakable delight he had not dug down more than a few inches before the ground began to grow moist.

Greatly encouraged, he dug away with hisimprovised tool with renewed vigor. He excavated quite a hole, and then lay down in the shade waiting for it to fill up. Before long a few inches of warm, muddy–colored liquid could be discerned at the bottom of the hole. It did not look inviting, this coffee–colored, tepid mixture, but Jack was not in the mood to be fastidious.

Casting himself down on his stomach, he plunged his face into the water, sucking it greedily in. Then he bathed his hands and face. He was still engaged in this last occupation when his attention was distracted by a low growl from below him.

The boy looked up quickly, and then almost toppled over backward with astonishment.

Facing him, and lashing its stubby tail angrily, was a large bob–cat. The creature had its wicked–looking teeth bared, and the boy could see its sharp claws. How it came to be in that place he could not imagine. But its emaciated conditionseemed to indicate that it must have in some way fallen from the cliff above.

Evidently it was half mad from deprivation of food and water, for under ordinary conditions a bob–cat—although a really dangerous foe if cornered—will not attack a human being without provocation.

The wild beast’s object was, evidently, to get at the water hole which Jack had so painstakingly scooped out. The boy would have been willing enough to allow it to accomplish its purpose. But evidently the half famished creature regarded him as an enemy to be dispatched before it proceeded to slake its thirst.

It crouched down till its fawn–colored belly touched the ground and then, uttering a snarling sort of cry, it launched its body through the air at the boy.

So strong was its leap that tempered steel springs could not have hurled its body forward with more velocity. Jack uttered an involuntarycry of alarm. Above him was the steep cliff, while to move even a short distance in either direction from the dry watercourse would mean a death plunge to the valley below.

CHAPTER X.A BATTLE IN MID–AIR.But Jack Merrill’s mind never worked quicker or to better effect than in an emergency. He perceived the instant that the creature crouched that its intention was to spring on him. Swift as a flash he reached down and seized a stone.As the bob–cat hurled itself into the air Jack’s arm shot out. The stone sped from his hand and caught the creature fairly between the eyes. Had a bullet struck it the animal could not have been checked more effectually. It dropped to the ground, rolled up in a furry ball, scratching and spitting furiously, and then, with a yowl of rage and pain, it lost its footing on the edge of the watercourse.The last Jack saw of it the creature plunged over the brink of the precipice up which the BorderBoy had so laboriously toiled. As he heard the body go rolling and bumping down toward the valley, Jack shuddered. Had things turned out differently he might have been in its place, for the boy well knew that if once the maddened animal had fastened its claws in him he would not have stood a chance without a weapon.Jack sat down to rest once more, this time keeping a cautious lookout for any other wild creatures; but none appeared, and it was evident that his theory that the animal had accidentally dropped from above was a correct one.“Well,” said Jack to himself, after an interval, “if I’m to get to the top of that cliff I’ve got to start in right now. Ugh! It doesn’t look as if I could possibly make it; but then it’s equally certain that I can’t climb down again. The thought makes me sick; so I’vegotto tackle it. There’s no other way out of it.”Fortifying himself by a cooling drink, to whichhe added another wash, the boy prepared to take up his task again.Above the dry watercourse the cliff shot up more precipitously than the part he had already traversed below it; but Jack steeled himself to the thought of the dizzy climb. Knife in hand he worked his way up, clinging to the face of the cliff desperately at times, and again resting where some vagrant bush offered him a hand or foothold.In the meantime, below in the valley, Alvarez, returning from a hunt for more food, began to worry about the boy. Not a bad man at heart, Alvarez was a true son of the Mexican revolution. He decided that all Americans, or Gringoes, as he contemptuously called them, were the born foes of the Mexicans. It had been with this conviction that he and his companions had set out to spy on the Rangers who, they thought, menaced them, instead of merely patrolling the Border to prevent lawless acts on American soil.Since his brief acquaintance with Jack, however, Alvarez had found cause to revise his opinion. Himself a courageous man, he admired courage and grit in others, and of these qualities we know Jack possessed full and abundant measure.Returning, then, from his hunt with some quail and rabbits, Alvarez began to be seriously alarmed about Jack. Not for one moment did the Mexican deem it possible that the lad could have actually found a way to scale those awful cliffs. He had confidently expected that on his return to camp he would find Jack awaiting him. When, therefore, he could see no trace of the boy his alarm was genuine and deep.He carefully deposited his game out of harm’s way in the trees, and then set out to see if he could find any trace of the boy to whom he had become attached in their short acquaintance.As he advanced below the cliffs he carefully scanned the foot of the precipitous heights forwhat he dreaded to find; for Alvarez had begun to fear that Jack had made a daring attempt to escape and summon help and had met death in a fearful fall from the rocky crags.“The boy would have been mad to attempt such a climb,” he muttered, as he moved along, “why, not even a mountain goat could find a foothold up yonder. It is impossible that he should have tried such a thing. It would have been sheer madness. And yet—and yet when it comes to such things the Gringoes are assuredly mad. They will dare anything it seems.”Musing thus the Mexican traversed the greater part of the valley, pondering deeply over the possible fate of his young friend.“It is a thing without explanation that he could have climbed even a few feet up those cliffs,” ran the burden of his thoughts; “yet if he has not, why do I not see a trace of him here below?”“Caramba!Can it be that he has slipped on alofty crag and is suspended high above the valley, injured, perhaps dying, and beyond reach of human aid?”On and on trudged the Mexican, growing more and more alarmed every instant.Suddenly, as he cast his eye up toward the summit of a lofty precipice, his attention was caught by an object moving slowly up its surface, like a fly on a high wall.The Mexican gazed steadily at it. He believed that it was an eagle or condor hovering about its nest in the dizzy heights, but still something odd about the moving object arrested and gripped his attention irresistibly.“No, it is not an eagle,” he muttered, “but, then, what is it? No quadruped could climb that cliff. What, then, can it be?”The sun was sinking low over the western wall of the cañon and the valley itself was beginning to be shrouded in purple shadow. But at that great height the light was still bright. Suddenlythe moving object emerged from a patch of shade cast by an overhanging rock.Simultaneously the Mexican almost sprang into the air under the shock of his amazement. He crossed himself and then his lips moved.“By the Saints! It’s Jack Merrill!” he cried, in a hollow voice.For an instant he stood like a thing of wood or stone, every muscle rigid in terrible suspense. And all the time that tiny speck on the cliff face was moving slowly and painfully upward.Clasping his hands the Mexican stood riveted to the spot. Then his dry lips began to move.“The saints aid him! The brave boy is working his way to the top of the cliff. He has neared its summit. But can he win it? And, see, there are the steps he has cut in the lower cliff face. It must be that he is working his way upward still by those means. Santa Maria! What courage!“I dare not call out to him. At that fearfulheight one backward look might cause him to lose his hold and plunge downward like a stone. Oh, if I could only help, only do something to aid him! But, no, I must stand here helpless, unable to move hand or foot.“Never again will I say anything against a Gringo. No boy south of the Border would dare such a feat. See now!Caramba!For an instant he slipped. I dare not look.”The Mexican buried his face in his hands and crouched on the ground. Emotional as are all of his race, the sight of that battle between life and death, hundreds of feet above him, had almost unstrung him.At last he dared to uncover his eyes again and once more fixed them on the toiling atom on the sunlit cliff face.But now he burst out into tones of joy.“Sanctissima Maria! See, he is almost at the summit. Oh, brave Gringo! Climb on. Mayyour head be steady and your hands and feet nimble.”The sweat was pouring down the Mexican’s face, his knees smote together and his hands shook as he stood like one paralyzed, stock still, watching the outcome of Jack Merrill’s fearful climb. His breath came fast and the veins on his forehead stood out like whip cords. As he watched thus his lips moved in constant, silent prayers for the safety of the young Border Boy.At last he saw the infinitesimal speck that was Jack Merrill reach the summit of that frowning height. He saw the boy thrust his knife into his belt, and watched him place one hand on the ridge of the precipice and draw himself up.The next instant the cliff face was bare of life. The fight with death had been won. But Alvarez as he saw Jack attain safety on the summit of the precipice sank back with a groan. The strain under which he had labored had caused the Mexican to swoon.As he lay there perfectly still three figures appeared at the upper end of the valley in the direction of the Pool of Death. They began advancing down the valley just as Alvarez opened his eyes and staggered dizzily to his feet.

A BATTLE IN MID–AIR.

But Jack Merrill’s mind never worked quicker or to better effect than in an emergency. He perceived the instant that the creature crouched that its intention was to spring on him. Swift as a flash he reached down and seized a stone.

As the bob–cat hurled itself into the air Jack’s arm shot out. The stone sped from his hand and caught the creature fairly between the eyes. Had a bullet struck it the animal could not have been checked more effectually. It dropped to the ground, rolled up in a furry ball, scratching and spitting furiously, and then, with a yowl of rage and pain, it lost its footing on the edge of the watercourse.

The last Jack saw of it the creature plunged over the brink of the precipice up which the BorderBoy had so laboriously toiled. As he heard the body go rolling and bumping down toward the valley, Jack shuddered. Had things turned out differently he might have been in its place, for the boy well knew that if once the maddened animal had fastened its claws in him he would not have stood a chance without a weapon.

Jack sat down to rest once more, this time keeping a cautious lookout for any other wild creatures; but none appeared, and it was evident that his theory that the animal had accidentally dropped from above was a correct one.

“Well,” said Jack to himself, after an interval, “if I’m to get to the top of that cliff I’ve got to start in right now. Ugh! It doesn’t look as if I could possibly make it; but then it’s equally certain that I can’t climb down again. The thought makes me sick; so I’vegotto tackle it. There’s no other way out of it.”

Fortifying himself by a cooling drink, to whichhe added another wash, the boy prepared to take up his task again.

Above the dry watercourse the cliff shot up more precipitously than the part he had already traversed below it; but Jack steeled himself to the thought of the dizzy climb. Knife in hand he worked his way up, clinging to the face of the cliff desperately at times, and again resting where some vagrant bush offered him a hand or foothold.

In the meantime, below in the valley, Alvarez, returning from a hunt for more food, began to worry about the boy. Not a bad man at heart, Alvarez was a true son of the Mexican revolution. He decided that all Americans, or Gringoes, as he contemptuously called them, were the born foes of the Mexicans. It had been with this conviction that he and his companions had set out to spy on the Rangers who, they thought, menaced them, instead of merely patrolling the Border to prevent lawless acts on American soil.

Since his brief acquaintance with Jack, however, Alvarez had found cause to revise his opinion. Himself a courageous man, he admired courage and grit in others, and of these qualities we know Jack possessed full and abundant measure.

Returning, then, from his hunt with some quail and rabbits, Alvarez began to be seriously alarmed about Jack. Not for one moment did the Mexican deem it possible that the lad could have actually found a way to scale those awful cliffs. He had confidently expected that on his return to camp he would find Jack awaiting him. When, therefore, he could see no trace of the boy his alarm was genuine and deep.

He carefully deposited his game out of harm’s way in the trees, and then set out to see if he could find any trace of the boy to whom he had become attached in their short acquaintance.

As he advanced below the cliffs he carefully scanned the foot of the precipitous heights forwhat he dreaded to find; for Alvarez had begun to fear that Jack had made a daring attempt to escape and summon help and had met death in a fearful fall from the rocky crags.

“The boy would have been mad to attempt such a climb,” he muttered, as he moved along, “why, not even a mountain goat could find a foothold up yonder. It is impossible that he should have tried such a thing. It would have been sheer madness. And yet—and yet when it comes to such things the Gringoes are assuredly mad. They will dare anything it seems.”

Musing thus the Mexican traversed the greater part of the valley, pondering deeply over the possible fate of his young friend.

“It is a thing without explanation that he could have climbed even a few feet up those cliffs,” ran the burden of his thoughts; “yet if he has not, why do I not see a trace of him here below?”

“Caramba!Can it be that he has slipped on alofty crag and is suspended high above the valley, injured, perhaps dying, and beyond reach of human aid?”

On and on trudged the Mexican, growing more and more alarmed every instant.

Suddenly, as he cast his eye up toward the summit of a lofty precipice, his attention was caught by an object moving slowly up its surface, like a fly on a high wall.

The Mexican gazed steadily at it. He believed that it was an eagle or condor hovering about its nest in the dizzy heights, but still something odd about the moving object arrested and gripped his attention irresistibly.

“No, it is not an eagle,” he muttered, “but, then, what is it? No quadruped could climb that cliff. What, then, can it be?”

The sun was sinking low over the western wall of the cañon and the valley itself was beginning to be shrouded in purple shadow. But at that great height the light was still bright. Suddenlythe moving object emerged from a patch of shade cast by an overhanging rock.

Simultaneously the Mexican almost sprang into the air under the shock of his amazement. He crossed himself and then his lips moved.

“By the Saints! It’s Jack Merrill!” he cried, in a hollow voice.

For an instant he stood like a thing of wood or stone, every muscle rigid in terrible suspense. And all the time that tiny speck on the cliff face was moving slowly and painfully upward.

Clasping his hands the Mexican stood riveted to the spot. Then his dry lips began to move.

“The saints aid him! The brave boy is working his way to the top of the cliff. He has neared its summit. But can he win it? And, see, there are the steps he has cut in the lower cliff face. It must be that he is working his way upward still by those means. Santa Maria! What courage!

“I dare not call out to him. At that fearfulheight one backward look might cause him to lose his hold and plunge downward like a stone. Oh, if I could only help, only do something to aid him! But, no, I must stand here helpless, unable to move hand or foot.

“Never again will I say anything against a Gringo. No boy south of the Border would dare such a feat. See now!Caramba!For an instant he slipped. I dare not look.”

The Mexican buried his face in his hands and crouched on the ground. Emotional as are all of his race, the sight of that battle between life and death, hundreds of feet above him, had almost unstrung him.

At last he dared to uncover his eyes again and once more fixed them on the toiling atom on the sunlit cliff face.

But now he burst out into tones of joy.

“Sanctissima Maria! See, he is almost at the summit. Oh, brave Gringo! Climb on. Mayyour head be steady and your hands and feet nimble.”

The sweat was pouring down the Mexican’s face, his knees smote together and his hands shook as he stood like one paralyzed, stock still, watching the outcome of Jack Merrill’s fearful climb. His breath came fast and the veins on his forehead stood out like whip cords. As he watched thus his lips moved in constant, silent prayers for the safety of the young Border Boy.

At last he saw the infinitesimal speck that was Jack Merrill reach the summit of that frowning height. He saw the boy thrust his knife into his belt, and watched him place one hand on the ridge of the precipice and draw himself up.

The next instant the cliff face was bare of life. The fight with death had been won. But Alvarez as he saw Jack attain safety on the summit of the precipice sank back with a groan. The strain under which he had labored had caused the Mexican to swoon.

As he lay there perfectly still three figures appeared at the upper end of the valley in the direction of the Pool of Death. They began advancing down the valley just as Alvarez opened his eyes and staggered dizzily to his feet.

CHAPTER XI.RANGERS ON THE TRAIL.It was about an hour after he had secured the firearm which he intended for Jack’s use that Baldy rode back into the Rangers’ camp in, what was for him, a state of great perturbation. The Chinaman was still up scouring dishes, and to him Baldy rode, spurring his pony almost into the remains of the camp fire in his anxiety.All about lay the recumbent forms of the Rangers, sleeping under the stars on the expanse of plain. Snores and deep breathing showed that every one of them was deeply wrapped in the healthy slumber of the plainsman.“Wallee maller, Massel Baldy?” cried the Mongolian, as Baldy spurred his pony up to him.“Nuffin, you yellow–mugged Chinee,” shot out Baldy, breathing tensely, despite his effort toappear careless; “have you seen anything of that Tenderfoot that went on watch with me a while ago?”“No, me no see him, Massel Baldy. Whafo’ you so heap much ’cited?”The keen–eyed Oriental had pierced Baldy’s mask of carelessness, and saw readily enough that the old plainsman was badly worried.“Me excited, you pig–tailed gopher!” roared out Baldy angrily. “I was never so easy–minded in my life. Where’s the cap sleeping?”“Over yonder, Massel Baldy. Him litee by chuck wagon.”Baldy did not wait to make a reply. He steered his plunging pony skillfully among the sleeping Rangers till he reached a bundled–up heap of blankets which he knew must contain Captain Atkinson. Baldy threw himself from his horse in an instant, at the same time slipping the reins over his pony’s head, according to the plainsman’s custom.Reaching down, he shook the captain vigorously.“Hello! hello, there, what’s up?” came a muffled rejoinder from amidst the blankets.But the next instant Captain Atkinson, broad awake, was sitting up.“Oh, you, Baldy? Well, what’s the trouble?”“Dunno jes’ erzackly, boss,” stammered out Baldy, “but it’s about that Tenderfoot kid that you gave me ter mind.”Baldy was plainly embarrassed. He shoved back his sombrero and scratched his head vigorously. At the same time he jingled his spurs as he shifted his feet nervously.Captain Atkinson’s tone was sharp when he next spoke.“You mean Jack Merrill? I’d have you understand, Baldy, that he is no Tenderfoot. He’s only a boy, but he’s been through as much as most men of twice his years. But what about him?”If the question was sharp and to the point, as was Captain Atkinson’s wont, so was Baldy’s answer. Rangers are not men who are in the habit of wasting words.“He’s went.”“What?”“I mean what I say, boss. The kid’s vamoosed, gone, skidooed.”“No nonsense, Baldy. Explain yourself.”“There ain’t much to explain, boss.”“If Jack Merrill has gone, I should say that there was a good deal to explain on your part.”Baldy shifted uneasily.“It warn’t no fault of mine, boss,” he protested.“I’ll be the judge of that. What’s your story?”“Just this. The kid went on watch with me. As you told me, I kept him close alongside. He didn’t hev no shootin’ iron, so I rode back to camp to git one. When I got back to the Rio he was gone.”“Gone?”“That’s what.”“Have you looked for him?”“Beat the brush frum San Antone to breakfus’, but ther ain’t no sign uv hair nor hide uv him.”“You saw the other men?”“Sure!”“Did they know nothing?”“Not a thing. But the kid couldn’t hev passed in either direction without goin’ up in an air ship.”“None of your jokes. This is serious. Answer my questions. You left him where?”“Not far from the foot of the trail to the waterin’ place.”“You told him to stay there?”“Sure thing. You see I lef’ him ter git him a shootin’ iron. I didn’t think it was right that he shouldn’t be heeled. The greasers————”“All right, never mind that part of it. Well, you got the gun?”“Yes; and when I took it back fer him ther kid had gone.”“How long did all this take?”“Waal, I’ve bin huntin’ fer ther dern little pinto ever since. But I should say that I rode to camp and back in about half an hour. You see, I hurried.”“Humph! You found no sign of trouble when you got back?”“Nary a bit. All wuz quiet as a Chink’s funeral in Tombstone.”“Had the others heard nothing while you were away?”“Not a sound so fur as they told me.”“It’s not possible to ford the river at that point?”“Boss, a cayuse couldn’t swim it, the current’s that swift.”“That’s so, too, I thought for a moment thatthe boy might have foolishly tried to cross into Mexican territory.”“Ef he did, it’s flowers fer his’n ef we ever find him,” declared Baldy piously.“Let us hope it is not as bad as that. But it is most mysterious.”“Very consterious,” agreed Baldy. “You see, there were men to the east and west of where the kid was, and they didn’t hear nor see nothing.”“And yet the boy has vanished.”“Waal, he ain’t ter be found,” admitted Baldy, ignoring the long word.Captain Atkinson sat up in his blankets lost in thought. At length Baldy ventured to break in on the silence.“What yer goin’ ter do, boss? Ther young maverick may be needin’ help right now and needin’ it bad, too.”“That’s correct, Baldy. We must take some action at once. But the case is so puzzling thatI hardly know what to do about it. Jack Merrill didn’t impress me as the kind of boy that would run needlessly into danger.”“No; ther young pinto had some hoss sense,” admitted Baldy, flicking his chaps with his quirt.“That being the case, how are we to account for his disappearance? If he had been attacked by greasers there would have been some noise, some disturbance.”“Maybe he jes’ fell in ther Rio and was drown–ded,” suggested Baldy.“I don’t think that. Jack Merrill is an athletic lad, and among other things, I am told, a first–class swimmer. No, we have to figure on some other line.”“Waal, I’m free to admit that I’m up a tree, boss,” grunted Baldy.By this time Captain Atkinson was out of his blankets and hastily drawing on his chaps and pulling his blue cowboy shirt over his head. When his boots had been drawn on and spursadjusted he ordered Baldy to saddle his pony and bring it over. As soon as this was done the Captain of the Rangers and Baldy rode out of the camp as silently as possible and made their way to the river. But all Captain Atkinson’s questioning failed to elicit any more facts than he had been able to glean from Baldy. There was nothing left to do but to wait for daybreak to make an examination for tracks that might throw some light on the mystery.In the meantime Ralph and Walt were informed of Jack’s mysterious disappearance. To Captain Atkinson’s astonishment, they did not appear nearly so much alarmed as he had feared. Instead, they accepted the news with almost stoical faces.“You think that Jack is safe, then?” asked the captain of the Rangers. “At any rate, you don’t seem much worried about him.”“It’s not our way to worry till we know we have good cause to, Captain,” rejoined Ralph.“If Jack has vanished, I’m willing to swear that he is off on some sort of duty connected with the Rangers. Possibly he had not time to report back before leaving. Depend upon it, Jack will come out all right.”“That’s my idea, too,” declared Walt stoutly.“Well, I admire the confidence you boys have in your leader,” declared Captain Atkinson warmly, “but just the same as soon as it’s daylight I mean to start a thorough investigation, and if harm has come to him it will go hard with those that caused it.”

RANGERS ON THE TRAIL.

It was about an hour after he had secured the firearm which he intended for Jack’s use that Baldy rode back into the Rangers’ camp in, what was for him, a state of great perturbation. The Chinaman was still up scouring dishes, and to him Baldy rode, spurring his pony almost into the remains of the camp fire in his anxiety.

All about lay the recumbent forms of the Rangers, sleeping under the stars on the expanse of plain. Snores and deep breathing showed that every one of them was deeply wrapped in the healthy slumber of the plainsman.

“Wallee maller, Massel Baldy?” cried the Mongolian, as Baldy spurred his pony up to him.

“Nuffin, you yellow–mugged Chinee,” shot out Baldy, breathing tensely, despite his effort toappear careless; “have you seen anything of that Tenderfoot that went on watch with me a while ago?”

“No, me no see him, Massel Baldy. Whafo’ you so heap much ’cited?”

The keen–eyed Oriental had pierced Baldy’s mask of carelessness, and saw readily enough that the old plainsman was badly worried.

“Me excited, you pig–tailed gopher!” roared out Baldy angrily. “I was never so easy–minded in my life. Where’s the cap sleeping?”

“Over yonder, Massel Baldy. Him litee by chuck wagon.”

Baldy did not wait to make a reply. He steered his plunging pony skillfully among the sleeping Rangers till he reached a bundled–up heap of blankets which he knew must contain Captain Atkinson. Baldy threw himself from his horse in an instant, at the same time slipping the reins over his pony’s head, according to the plainsman’s custom.

Reaching down, he shook the captain vigorously.

“Hello! hello, there, what’s up?” came a muffled rejoinder from amidst the blankets.

But the next instant Captain Atkinson, broad awake, was sitting up.

“Oh, you, Baldy? Well, what’s the trouble?”

“Dunno jes’ erzackly, boss,” stammered out Baldy, “but it’s about that Tenderfoot kid that you gave me ter mind.”

Baldy was plainly embarrassed. He shoved back his sombrero and scratched his head vigorously. At the same time he jingled his spurs as he shifted his feet nervously.

Captain Atkinson’s tone was sharp when he next spoke.

“You mean Jack Merrill? I’d have you understand, Baldy, that he is no Tenderfoot. He’s only a boy, but he’s been through as much as most men of twice his years. But what about him?”

If the question was sharp and to the point, as was Captain Atkinson’s wont, so was Baldy’s answer. Rangers are not men who are in the habit of wasting words.

“He’s went.”

“What?”

“I mean what I say, boss. The kid’s vamoosed, gone, skidooed.”

“No nonsense, Baldy. Explain yourself.”

“There ain’t much to explain, boss.”

“If Jack Merrill has gone, I should say that there was a good deal to explain on your part.”

Baldy shifted uneasily.

“It warn’t no fault of mine, boss,” he protested.

“I’ll be the judge of that. What’s your story?”

“Just this. The kid went on watch with me. As you told me, I kept him close alongside. He didn’t hev no shootin’ iron, so I rode back to camp to git one. When I got back to the Rio he was gone.”

“Gone?”

“That’s what.”

“Have you looked for him?”

“Beat the brush frum San Antone to breakfus’, but ther ain’t no sign uv hair nor hide uv him.”

“You saw the other men?”

“Sure!”

“Did they know nothing?”

“Not a thing. But the kid couldn’t hev passed in either direction without goin’ up in an air ship.”

“None of your jokes. This is serious. Answer my questions. You left him where?”

“Not far from the foot of the trail to the waterin’ place.”

“You told him to stay there?”

“Sure thing. You see I lef’ him ter git him a shootin’ iron. I didn’t think it was right that he shouldn’t be heeled. The greasers————”

“All right, never mind that part of it. Well, you got the gun?”

“Yes; and when I took it back fer him ther kid had gone.”

“How long did all this take?”

“Waal, I’ve bin huntin’ fer ther dern little pinto ever since. But I should say that I rode to camp and back in about half an hour. You see, I hurried.”

“Humph! You found no sign of trouble when you got back?”

“Nary a bit. All wuz quiet as a Chink’s funeral in Tombstone.”

“Had the others heard nothing while you were away?”

“Not a sound so fur as they told me.”

“It’s not possible to ford the river at that point?”

“Boss, a cayuse couldn’t swim it, the current’s that swift.”

“That’s so, too, I thought for a moment thatthe boy might have foolishly tried to cross into Mexican territory.”

“Ef he did, it’s flowers fer his’n ef we ever find him,” declared Baldy piously.

“Let us hope it is not as bad as that. But it is most mysterious.”

“Very consterious,” agreed Baldy. “You see, there were men to the east and west of where the kid was, and they didn’t hear nor see nothing.”

“And yet the boy has vanished.”

“Waal, he ain’t ter be found,” admitted Baldy, ignoring the long word.

Captain Atkinson sat up in his blankets lost in thought. At length Baldy ventured to break in on the silence.

“What yer goin’ ter do, boss? Ther young maverick may be needin’ help right now and needin’ it bad, too.”

“That’s correct, Baldy. We must take some action at once. But the case is so puzzling thatI hardly know what to do about it. Jack Merrill didn’t impress me as the kind of boy that would run needlessly into danger.”

“No; ther young pinto had some hoss sense,” admitted Baldy, flicking his chaps with his quirt.

“That being the case, how are we to account for his disappearance? If he had been attacked by greasers there would have been some noise, some disturbance.”

“Maybe he jes’ fell in ther Rio and was drown–ded,” suggested Baldy.

“I don’t think that. Jack Merrill is an athletic lad, and among other things, I am told, a first–class swimmer. No, we have to figure on some other line.”

“Waal, I’m free to admit that I’m up a tree, boss,” grunted Baldy.

By this time Captain Atkinson was out of his blankets and hastily drawing on his chaps and pulling his blue cowboy shirt over his head. When his boots had been drawn on and spursadjusted he ordered Baldy to saddle his pony and bring it over. As soon as this was done the Captain of the Rangers and Baldy rode out of the camp as silently as possible and made their way to the river. But all Captain Atkinson’s questioning failed to elicit any more facts than he had been able to glean from Baldy. There was nothing left to do but to wait for daybreak to make an examination for tracks that might throw some light on the mystery.

In the meantime Ralph and Walt were informed of Jack’s mysterious disappearance. To Captain Atkinson’s astonishment, they did not appear nearly so much alarmed as he had feared. Instead, they accepted the news with almost stoical faces.

“You think that Jack is safe, then?” asked the captain of the Rangers. “At any rate, you don’t seem much worried about him.”

“It’s not our way to worry till we know we have good cause to, Captain,” rejoined Ralph.“If Jack has vanished, I’m willing to swear that he is off on some sort of duty connected with the Rangers. Possibly he had not time to report back before leaving. Depend upon it, Jack will come out all right.”

“That’s my idea, too,” declared Walt stoutly.

“Well, I admire the confidence you boys have in your leader,” declared Captain Atkinson warmly, “but just the same as soon as it’s daylight I mean to start a thorough investigation, and if harm has come to him it will go hard with those that caused it.”

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