Such a scene of confusion, hurry and mad rushing about of men and horses as ensued, following the first shout of the alarm, the boys had never witnessed. Cow-punchers staggered about under the burden of heavy Mexican saddles. They tried to buckle on spurs and saddle and bridle their wild little horses all at the same time. But confused as the whole affair looked to an uninitiated spectator, there was system underlying it all. Each man knew what was required of him.
At last all was ready. The last revolver was thrust into the last holster, and the last cinch was tightened round the belly of the last expostulating pony. Mr. Harkness, mounted on a powerful bay horse somewhat heavier than the others, rapidly explained to the punchers what hadoccurred. The cattle were stampeding on the far pasture. Their course led direct for the Graveyard Cliffs, a series of precipitous bluffs over which, in the past, many stampeding steers had fallen to their death.
Fortunately, the steers had to take a round-about way, owing to various obstructions. The distance to be traversed by the men, cutting off every inch possible, was about five miles. It had to be covered in less than half an hour. No wonder the cow-punchers looked to their cinches and other harness details.
Amid a wild yell from the throats of the score of cowboys who had been about the ranch when the summons was first given, the cavalcade swept forward.
"Wow! this is riding with a vengeance," shouted Rob, above the roar of hoofs, in Harry's ear.
"S-s-s-say!" sputtered Tubby, "I hope my horse doesn't stumble."
Suddenly a voice close at hand struck in. It was one of the cow-punchers shouting to another.
"Remember the last stampede, when Grizzly Sam was trampled?"
"You bet I do. His pony's foot stuck in a gopher hole, and the whole stampede came lambasting on top of him."
The boys began to look rather serious. Apparently they were off on a more dangerous errand than they had bargained for. It was too late to draw out now, however, and, anyhow, not one of them would, for this would have shown "the white feather."
"Did you give the alarm to the rest of the boys?" asked Rob of Harry, after an interval of silence among the boys.
"Yes. I only had time to call Simmons's place, but they'll get the others. Simmons's place is not far from the Graveyard Cliffs, and the boys will be there ahead of us, likely."
"How about the others?"
"They have to come from greater distances. They may not arrive till it's all over."
It was impossible to see any of their surroundings in the thick cloud of dust. All about them,as far as the eye could penetrate the dense smother, were straining ponies and shouting cowboys.
"How can we tell when we get to the place?" asked Tubby.
"My father is riding up ahead," rejoined Harry; "that big bay of his can make two feet to a pony's one. He'll call a halt when we get there."
In the meantime a rumor had been passed from mouth to mouth among the cow-punchers. Moquis had been seen near the far pasture the night before, and open accusations were made that the renegades had started the stampede so as to be able to make a feast off the dead cattle in case they swept over the cliffs.
"Mr. Mayberry hasn't succeeded in rounding them up yet, then," said Rob.
"No," rejoined Harry, "and I heard one of the punchers say yesterday that Indians for miles around are coming into the mountains. I guess they won't disperse till after the snake dance."
Suddenly a wild yell from up in front caused them to halt.
"Got there, I reckon," uttered one of the cowboys. As he spoke there was but one question in every mind.
"Were they in time?"
As the dust cloud settled, and they were able to make out their surroundings, the boys found that they had come to halt on a sort of plateau. Just beyond this was a sheer drop, as if a great hunk had been cut out of the ground. This drop—which was fully sixty feet deep,—formed the dreaded Graveyard Cliff, so called, although, as will be clear from our description, it was more properly a deep, narrow gulch.
The distance across the yawning crack in the plateau—which was undoubtedly of volcanic origin—varied from a hundred feet or more to fifteen, and even less. A queerer place the boys had never seen.
But they had little time to gaze about them. Blinky, who was one of the crowd of stampedearresters, gave a sudden shout as they came to a halt.
"Hark!"
From far off came a sound that, to the boys, resembled nothing so much as distant thunder. But unlike thunder, instead of ceasing, it grew steadily in volume.
"Here they come!" shouted Mr. Harkness, as the advancing roar grew louder. The solid earth beneath the boys' feet seemed to shake as the stampede swept toward them.
Suddenly, a mile or more off, a dark cloud grew and grew until it spread half across the blue sky, wiping it out.
"They raise as much dust as a tornado," exclaimed Blinky. "Pesky critters! I'd like to get a shot at the Moquis what started them."
But it was no time to exchange remarks. The face of each man in that little band was grave, and he appeared to be mustering every ounce of courage in his body for the struggle that was to come.
To the boys, as to the men, the situation wasclear enough. Across the plateau the stampeding cattle were thundering, headed straight for the Graveyard Cliffs. Behind them, like a mighty wall, rose the sheer face of a precipice where a bold peak of the range soared upward. Between this wall and the ominously named gorge was the little band of horsemen. They faced the problem of turning the stampede or being swept with it into the jaws of the deep, narrow gulch. Small wonder that the bravest of them felt his heart beat a little quicker as the cattle rushed on.
Suddenly Mr. Harkness espied the boys.
"You boys go back!" he shouted sharply. "I should never have let you come. This is too dangerous for you."
"Why, dad, we'll be all right. Let us stay and see it out," protested Harry.
"Go back at once, boy," said Mr. Harkness sternly. "You don't know the danger."
There was no disobeying the stern command, and the boys, all of them with the exception of Tubby, regretting the necessity, turned their ponies away. The stout youth was inwardlymuch gratified at the idea of avoiding the stampede.
"Beefsteak is all very fine," he said to himself, "but I like it inside, and not on top of me, at the bottom of a gulch."
As the boys wheeled their mounts and separated from the main body of the cow-punchers, three other mounted figures swept toward them with wild yells. The newcomers were the three Simmons brothers, the recruits to the Boy Scouts. With them, and close behind, came Charley and Frank Price and Jeb Cotton. All had ridden post haste to the spot on receipt of the hastily 'phoned message from headquarters.
Each boy gave the secret salute of the scouts as he drew rein, and awaited orders. A regular howl of disappointment went up when they learned that they had been ordered off "the firing line," so to speak.
"It's a shame," growled Tom Simmons.
"That's what," assented Jeb Cotton, trying to quiet his little calico pony, which was dancing about, scenting the excitement in the air. Indeed,all the animals seemed to have caught the infection, and were prancing about, almost unmanageable. Perhaps the increasing thunder of the hoofs of the advancing stampede had something to do with it.
"Well, what are we to do?" demanded Frank Price.
"Stay here and wait for a chance to help if we see it," said Rob.
"Oh, pshaw! They're busy. They won't see us. Let's slip in while they're not looking," urged Bill Simmons.
"The first duty of a Boy Scout is to obey orders," said Harry Harkness decisively.
"It's mighty hard to sit here doing nothing, though," grumbled Frank Price.
"That's what our soldiers had to do in many a battle," his brother Charley reminded him.
"That's so. I guess we'll have to be patient."
And now, under the direction of Mr. Harkness, the cattlemen spread out in a long line, so arranged as to be capable of sweeping across the vanguard of the cattle in a compact skirmishline rank. Each puncher had his gun ready for action, and at the word from Mr. Harkness they rode toward the approaching stampede at a quick lope.
Up till now the stampede had not been visible. Only the signs of its approach were manifest. Suddenly, however, over the crest of a little rise, there swept into view an appalling spectacle. Hundreds of fear-crazed cattle, bellowing as they raced forward, and clashing their horns together with a sharp sound, formed the vanguard. Behind them came a huddled mass, goring and trampling each other in their terror.
The boys' faces paled as they watched.
"Yow-yow-yow-eee-ee-e!"
The yells burst from the cattlemen's throats above the noise of the stampede.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A score of revolver shots crackled as the line swept forward and rode at full gallop right across the faces of the leaders of the mad rush. It was terribly risky work. The slightest stumble would have meant death. At the head of hiscow-punchers, like a general leading his forces, rode Mr. Harkness on his big bay.
Clear across the front of the line the cow-punchers swept without appreciably diminishing the speed of the onrush.
A second time they tried the daring tactics. This time they succeeded in checking the cattle a little, but only a bare two hundred yards remained between the leaders and the edge of the Graveyard. In this space galloped the cow-punchers. Could they stop the advance in time to save themselves from a terrible death?
"Father! Father!" shouted Harry, in his painful excitement standing up in his stirrups.
The boys felt a great sympathy for the rancher's son. If the cattle were not stopped in the next few minutes a terrible death seemed certain to overtake the brave man and his helpers.
"Fire at 'em!" yelled Mr. Harkness suddenly.
This was a desperate last resort. Hitherto, the cow-punchers had been firing in the air. Now, however, they leveled their revolvers at the oncoming herd.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Several of the leaders crumpled up and fell to the ground, mortally wounded. In a second they were trampled under foot, but suddenly, after twenty or more had been thus slaughtered, the band began to waver. At last, with mad bellows, and amid frantic yells from the cowboys, their ranks broke and wavered.
"Yip-yip-u-ee-ee!"
The triumphant shrieks of the cowboys rang out as the disorganized herd split up.
"Wow! They've turned 'em!" shouted Harry. "Hooray!"
The next instant his shout of delight changed to a yell of dismay, and he turned his pony sharply.
"Come on, Rob!" he cried. "We've got to get out of here!"
"They're coming this way!" yelled Tubby, spurring his pony and galloping off at top speed, the others following him. As Rob's pony jumped forward, however, it stumbled and threw the boy headlong. He kept his hold of the reins,fortunately, and was up on its back in a trice. But the second's delay had been fatal.
Sweeping toward the boy, from two points of the compass, were two sections of disorganized stampede. The cattle were trying, according to their instinct, to reunite.
"I'm hemmed in," was Rob's thought.
He switched rapidly round to a quarter where there seemed a chance of escape, but already it had been closed. The boy was on a sort of island. Behind him was the gorge, deep and terrible. In front of him on two sides, death was closing in on the wings of the wind.
There was little time to think, and hardly more for action. A more perfect trap of its kind than that in which Rob was caught could not have been devised by the utmost ingenuity.
Shouts of alarm went up from the cow-punchers, and from the little group of Boy Scouts as they saw his danger. But not one of those horrified onlookers could do more than sit powerless. All about them, like waves shattered against a mighty rock, surged the broken stampede, with wild cattle rushing hither and thither. They themselves were, in fact, by no means out of danger.
With an angry bellow, the leader of the advancing left flank of cattle lowered his head. His mighty horns glistened like sharpened sabres.Straight at the boy he rushed, while his companions followed his example.
An involuntary groan burst from the watchers. It seemed as if Rob's doom was sealed. But suddenly something happened that they still talk about in that part of the country.
Quick as thought the boy decided that there was only one course open to him. Advance he could not. Retreat, on the other hand, seemed barred by the gulch. Yet on the gulch side of the beleaguered boy lay the only path.
Foolhardy as the attempt appeared, Rob decided that the risk must be taken.
A shout burst from the lips of the powerless onlookers as they realized what the boy meant to do.
Leap the gulch on his pony!
A run, or take-off, of some fifty feet lay between Rob and the dark crack in the earth that was the gulch. Short as was the distance, from what Rob knew of the active little beast he bestrode, he believed he could do it. He raised his heavy quirt above the pony's trembling flanks.
Crack!
The lash descended, cutting a broad wale on the buckskin's back. He gave a squeal of rage and bounded forward.
"Yip-yip!" yelled Rob.
Out of the peril of the situation a spirit of recklessness seemed to have descended upon him. He could have shouted aloud as he felt the active bounds of the cayuse. One hurried glance at the awful gap before him gave the boy a rough estimate of its width—ten feet or more. A tremendous leap for a pony. But it must be done.
"Yip-yip," yelled Rob once more, as he dug his spurs in deep, and the maddened pony gave one tremendous bound that brought it right to the edge of the pit.
Then the brave buckskin gathered its limbs for the leap.Then the brave buckskin gathered its limbs for the leap.
Then the brave buckskin gathered its limbs for the leap.
For one sickening instant it paused, and Rob felt the chill fear of death sweep over him. Then the brave buckskin gathered its limbs for the leap. Like steel springs its tough muscles rebounded, and the yelling, shrieking cow-punchers saw a buckskin body, surmounted by a cheeringboy, give a great leap upward and—alight safe on the farther side of the chasm.
Cheer after cheer went up, while Rob waved his hat exultantly and yelled back at his friends.
Nothing like that leap for life had ever been witnessed before.
The amazed cattle, cheated of their prey, wavered, and the leaders tried in vain to check themselves. Desperately they dug their forefeet into the edge of the gulch, but the treacherous lip of the chasm gave under their weight, and with a roar and rattle, a cloud of dust and a despairing bellow, four of them shot over the edge and vanished.
Rob could not repress a shudder as he patted his buckskin, and realized that but for the little steed's noble effort he might have shared the fate of the dumb brutes.
Before long the cow-punchers had the rest of the steers rounded up, and ready to be driven back to the Far Pasture. Many were the threats breathed against the Moquis as they did so. The cattle, as is the nature of these half-wild brutes,having had their run out, seemed inclined to collapse from fatigue. As long as unreasoning terror held sway among them they had galloped tirelessly, but now their legs shook under them and they quivered and drooped pitifully. But the cattlemen showed them no mercy. With loud yells and popping of revolvers and cracking of quirts, they rode round them, getting them together into a compact mass.
While all this was going on, Rob had ridden his buckskin along the edge of the gulch. Some two miles below the place where his leap had been made, he found a spot which seemed favorable for crossing. The pony slid down one bank on its haunches and clambered up the other like a cat. As the boy traversed the bottom of the Graveyard, he noticed a peculiarly offensive odor. The smell which offended his nostrils, he found, sprang from the carcasses of the cattle which had at various times fallen into the gulch, above where he was crossing.
"Wonder why they don't put up a fence here," thought the boy.
He did not learn till afterward that that very thing had been done, but every time a freshet occurred in the mountains a part of the gulch caved away, carrying with it the fence and all. It had thus grown to be less of an expense to the ranchmen to lose a few cattle every season than to erect new fences constantly.
By the time Rob rejoined his friends, the cattle were standing ready for the drive back to their pastures. A more forlorn looking lot of beasts could not have been imagined.
"They know they done wrong," volunteered Blinky, gazing at the dejected herd.
"Well done, my boy," exclaimed Mr. Harkness, as Rob rode up. "I never saw a finer bit of horsemanship. But let us hope that such a resource will never again be necessary."
"I hope so, too, Mr. Harkness," said Rob. "I tell you I was scared blue for a minute or two. If it hadn't been for this gritty little cayuse here, I'd never have done it."
"So I did you a good turn, after all, when Iroped up that four-legged bit of dynamite, thinking to play you a fine joke," said Blinky.
"You did," laughed Rob, "and I thank you for it."
"Say, Rob," put in Tubby plaintively, after the other boys had got through congratulating Rob, and wringing his hand till, as he said, it felt like a broken pump handle. "Say, Rob, don't ever do anything like that again, will you?"
"Not likely to, Tubby—but why so earnest?"
"Well, you know I've got a weak heart, and——"
"A good digestion," laughed Mr. Harkness; "and speaking of digestions, reminds me that we haven't had any dinner."
"As I was just about to observe," put in Tubby, in so comical a tone that they all had to burst out laughing, at which the stout youth put on an air of innocence and rode apart.
"But," went on Mr. Harkness, "the 'chuck-wagon' I sent out to the Far Pasture last night should still be there. It isn't more than five miles. If you boys think you can hold out we can rideover there, and we can have a real chuck-wagon luncheon. How will that suit you?"
"Down to the ground," said Rob.
"From the ground up," chimed in Tubby, who had recovered from his assumed fit of the sulks, at the mention of the immediate prospect of a meal.
"It'll be great," was Merritt's contribution to the general chorus of approval.
"Very well, then. Blinky, you ride on ahead and tell Soapy Sam to cook us up a fine feed."
"With beans, sir?" asked Blinky in an interested tone.
"Of course. And if he has any T bone steaks, tell him we want those, too."
"Say, did you hear the name of that cook?" asked Tubby, edging his pony up to Merritt's, as the cow-puncher spurred off on his errand.
"Yes—Soapy Sam; what of it?"
"Oh, I thought it was Soupy Sam, that's all," muttered Tubby.
"Say, is that meant for a joke? If so, where is the chart that goes with it?"
But Tubby had loped off to join the cow-punchers, who with yells and loud outcries were getting the steers in motion.
Presently the cloud of dust moved forward. After traversing some rough country a yell announced that the cabins and the chuck-wagon of the Far Pasture were in sight. The cow-punchers immediately abandoned the tired cattle, leaving them to feed on the range, and swept down on the camp like a swarm of locusts.
Soapy Sam, his sleeves rolled up and a big apron about his waist, flourished a spoon at them as they began chanting in a kind of monotonous chorus:
"Chick-chock-we-want Chuck!Chuck-chuck we want chuck!Cook-ee! Cook-ee! Cook-ee!"
"Chick-chock-we-want Chuck!Chuck-chuck we want chuck!Cook-ee! Cook-ee! Cook-ee!"
What's the luck?
As they chanted they rode round and round the cook, whose fires and pots were all on the ground. In a huge iron kettle behind him, simmered that staple of the cow-puncher, beans. Theatmosphere was redolent with those sweetest of aromas to the hungry man or boy, sizzling hot steaks and strong coffee. Soapy Sam had fairly outdone himself since Blinky had ridden in with news that the boss and some guests were on the way.
"Now you go way back and sit down, you ill-mannered steer-steering bunch of cattle-teasers," bellowed Soapy Sam indignantly, at the singing punchers. "If you don't, you won't get a thing to eat."
"Oh, cook-ee!" howled the cowboys.
"Oh, I mean it, not a mother's son of you," yelled Soapy Sam. "All you fellows think about is eating and drinking, and then smoking and swopping lies."
"How about work, cook-ee?" yelled some one.
"Work!" sputtered the cook with biting sarcasm. "Why, if work 'ud come up to you and say 'Hello, Bill!' you'd say, 'Sir, I don't know you.'"
Further exchange of ranch pleasantries was put a stop to at this moment by the arrival of Mr. Harkness and the boys, for the Simmonsboys and the other Boy Scouts had been included in his invitation. The cowboys dispersed at once, riding over toward the huts, where they unsaddled their ponies and turned them into a rough corral. Water from a spring was dipped into tin basins, and a hasty toilet was made. By the time this was finished, Soapy Sam announced dinner by beating loudly on the bottom of a tin pan with a spoon.
"Grub!" yelled the cowboys.
"Come and get it," rejoined Sam in the time-honored formula.
Within ten minutes everybody was seated, and in the lap of each member of the party was a tin plate, piled high with juicy steak, fried potatoes, and a generous portion of beans of Soapy Sam's own peculiar devising. Handy at each man's or boy's right was a steaming cup of coffee. But milk there was none, as Tubby soon found out when he plaintively asked for some of that fluid.
"Maybe there's a tin cow in the wagon," said Soapy Sam; "I'll see."
"A 'tin cow'," repeated Tubby wonderingly; "whatever is that?"
A perfect howl of merriment greeted the fat boy's query.
"I guess its first cousin to a can of condensed milk," smiled Mr. Harkness. "But if you'll take my advice, you'll drink your coffee straight, in the regular range way."
And so the meal went merrily forward, in the shadow of the frowning, rugged peaks of the Santa Catapinas. In after days, the Boy Scouts were destined to eat in many strange places and by many "strange camp fires," but they never forgot that chuck-wagon luncheon, eaten under the cloudless Arizona sky on the open range.
The meal disposed of, the cow-punchers and the boys, all of whom were pretty well tired out by their exertions of the morning, lounged about a while. Then preparations for the return to the ranch began. A guard was to be left over the cattle, however, as they were still restless and ill at ease, and the boys begged hard to be allowed to form a part of it. At first Mr. Harkness would not hear of it.
"Why, dad, the boys are out here to get experience," protested Harry, "and what better training could they have in ranch life than by standing a night watch over restive cattle?"
"That's all very well," rejoined his father, "but you must remember that I am in a measure responsible for the safety of these young men,and you boys have, up to date, displayed quite a capacity for getting into mischief."
"And getting out of it again," put in the irrepressible Tubby. And the victory was won, as many another victory has been, by a burst of laughter. Soon after, the boys loped to the top of a nearby knoll, and waved good-by to the ranch-bound party. Then they turned their ponies and cantered back to the cow-punchers' huts at a smart pace. Besides the boys, the three Simmons brothers, Frank and Charlie Price and Jeb Cotton were to share the Scouts' watch, Mr. Harkness having promised to 'phone to their various homes explaining their absences. In charge of the four punchers was Blinky, who had also been given orders by Mr. Harkness to keep the boys out of mischief. The cattle, however, grew so restive during the afternoon that the attention of the punchers was fully occupied in "riding them." It seemed to soothe the bovines to have their guardians constantly near them.
"The brutes smell Injuns, just as sure as myname is Blinky Small," declared Blinky emphatically.
The boys, after riding a few rounds with the punchers, began to find this occupation growing monotonous, and looked about for some other means of diversion.
"I know," shouted Tubby suddenly.
"Tubby's got an idea," laughed Merritt.
"Tell him to hold it. He may never get another," jeered Rob.
"Let's play ball," went on the stout youth, absolutely unperturbed by the laughter Rob's comment aroused.
"Fine," came sarcastically from one of the boys. "Where's the bat?"
"Where's the ball?"
"Where are the mitts?"
"Oh, where's the earth?" interrupted Tubby impatiently, stemming the tide of objections. "Say, can't you fellows play ball without a big league collection of stuff?"
"Well, here's a bit of board I can trim down a bit and make a bat of," said Jeb Cotton.
"Good for you, Jeb. You are a young man of resource and ingenuity. You'll make a good scout. How's this for a ball?"
The stout youth held up a rounded bowlder, which must have weighed at least four pounds.
"Oh, rats! Say, what do you want to do—brain us?"
"Couldn't," responded Tubby enigmatically.
"Couldn't what?"
"Brain you."
"Why?"
"Haven't got any."
"Any what?"
"B-r-a-i-n-s, brains!" yelled Tubby, retreating to a safe distance.
"I have it!" exclaimed Rob suddenly.
"What, the pip?"
"No, an idea," responded the boy recklessly, forgetting his own comments on Tubby's inspiration.
"Ho! ho! ho!" howled the stout youth delightedly. "Step up, ladies and gentlemen, and see the eighth—or ninth wonder of the world—RobBlake has an idea. Step up lively now, before the little creature gets away."
"We can borrow some potatoes from Soapy Sam," said Rob, when some of the laughter at his expense had subsided.
"Borrow them?" exclaimed Bill Simmons. "I guess it will mean giving them. What I couldn't do to a potato with this bat——"
He flourished the piece of lumber Jeb Cotton had shaped, as he spoke. However, Rob's suggestion was tried; but even as Bill Simmons had prophesied, the borrowed potatoes did not prove a success as baseballs. One after another, they were scattered into tiny fragments, and Soapy Sam, on being requisitioned for more, threatened to evict the entire party from his premises.
"Oh, pshaw!" exclaimed Tubby petulantly. "What'll we do?"
"Go swimming," laughed Merritt.
"I have it," exclaimed Rob suddenly.
"He's got it again—a relapse of ideas," grinned Tubby.
"What's the matter with climbing that cliff and exploring those old cave dwellings?"
"Great!" was the unanimous verdict. Privately, one or two of the boys who had heard the ghost legend, were not quite as eager as they seemed to be, to traverse the mysterious passages and tomb-like dwellings of a vanished race, but they didn't say so.
"It's about three hours to sundown. We'll have to shake a leg to get up there and back," said Frank Price.
Acting on this advice, no time was lost in making a start.
"Have we all got revolvers?" asked Rob suddenly.
"Sure," responded Jeb Cotton. "I brought mine when I heard that it was a stampede we were called out on."
The others had done likewise.
"Say," put in Tubby gloomily, as they set out, "what's the good of taking guns with us?"
"Why, you never know what you'll run into in a cave," said Bill Simmons.
"Huh, I never heard of guns being any good against ghosts," chillily remarked the fat youth.
"Well, you're a nice cheerful soul, you are," burst out Rob. "Are you scared?"
"Oh, no; I'm not. Go ahead and rout your ghosts out. Stir 'em up, and make 'em jump through the hoops and back again. Fine!" exploded Tubby.
"Whatever is the matter with him?" asked Merritt, looking about for an answer.
"That idea he had a while back has gone to his head," laughed Harry.
And such was the general opinion.
As has been said, the cliff, at the summit of which were the cave dwellings, lay about half a mile back from the huts of the Far Pasture cow-punchers. The cliff was in itself a remarkable formation. It towered sheer up and down like the wall of a house. It was just as if a giant cheese-knife had shaved a neat slab off the face of the mountain—a slab some four hundred or more feet in height, and a mile or more wide at the base.
From where the boys were, however, they could perceive an old cattle trail winding up the mountainside, off beyond one edge of the smooth cliff. It traced its way among the scrub growth and stunted trees almost—so far as they could judge—to a point near the summit, and afforded an easy way of reaching the top of the cliff.
An hour or more of tough climbing brought them to the top of the mountain—or high hill—which formed a sort of plateau. No time was lost in making for the edge of the cliff, in the face of which, some twenty feet or more from the top, were bored the entrances to the cave-dwellers' mysterious homes.
"Well," said Tubby triumphantly, as he gazed over the dizzy precipice "no cave man's home for us."
It looked as if the stout youth was right. A narrow ledge, forming a sort of pathway against the naked side of the cliff, ran below the cave dwellings as a shelf is seen to extend sometimes below a row of pigeon holes. But from the summit of the cliff to the ledge was, as has been said,all of twenty feet, and there seemed to be no way of bridging the distance.
"Those cave men must have been way ahead of the times," mused Tubby.
"How do you make that out?" inquired Jack Simmons, Bill's younger brother.
"Why, they must have had air ships. They couldn't have rung their front door bells any other way."
"Nonsense they must have had some way of getting down," interposed Rob, who was looking about carefully—"Hooray, fellows! I've got it," he exclaimed suddenly, "look!"
He pushed aside a clump of brush and exposed to view a flight of steps cut in the face of the rock. So filled with dust were they, however, that they had not been visible to any but the sharp eyes of the Boy Scout leader.
"What are you going to do?" asked Merritt, as Rob made for the lip of the cliff.
"Going down there, of course," rejoined Rob.
Merritt, as he gazed over the brink and viewed the sheer drop, down which one false step wouldhave sent its maker plunging like a loosened stone, was about to utter a warning. He checked himself, however, and, with the rest, eagerly watched Rob, as the boy made his way down the precipitous steps, or rather niches, cut in the face of the rock.
It was breath-catching work. The descending boy was compelled to cling to the surface of the cliff like a fly to a window-pane. Between him and the ground, four hundred feet under his shoe soles, nothing interposed but the narrow ledge of rock outside the cliff-dwellers' "front doors."
Rob made the descent in safety, and presently stood in triumph on the ledge. One after another, the Boy Scouts of the Range Patrol followed him, and presently they all stood side by side on the narrow shelf.
"Say, I hope the underpinnings of this don't give way," said Tubby, as he joined them, his round cheeks even ruddier than usual from the exertion of his climb.
"You ought to have been an undertaker,Tubby," exclaimed Merritt. "All you can think of is death and disaster and ghosts."
"Well, if you feel so good about it, you can have the first chance at going into one of those holes," parried Tubby.
"Very well, I will," rejoined Merritt, flushing. He privately did not much relish the idea of being the first to enter those long-untrod passageways. They looked dark and mysterious. An oppressive silence, too, hung about the boys, and half-unconsciously they had dropped their voices to a whisper, as they stood on the threshold of a civilization long passed to ashes.
"Go ahead," said Rob, coming to Merritt's side. Together the two boys, followed by the remainder of the newly recruited Boy Scouts, entered the rocky portal of the first of the dwellings.
A faint, musty smell puffed out in their faces.
"Smells like grandpa's cellar in the country," remarked Tubby, sniffing it.
"Where you used to swipe milk and apples, I suppose," laughed Merritt. Hollow echoes of his merriment went gurgling off down the darkpassage, almost as if distant voices had taken them up and were repeating the joke over and over, till it died away in a tiny tinkle of a laugh, like the ghost of a baby's whisper.
"Ugh, I guess I won't laugh again," remarked Merritt.
"Say, Rob, how about a light?" asked Jeb Cotton suddenly.
"I've got a bit of candle here in my pocket," rejoined Rob. "I put it there the other night when Harry was developing some pictures. By the way, I wish you'd brought your camera, Harry."
"So do I. This would make a dandy flashlight in here."
The boys gazed about them admiringly, as Rob struck a match from his waterproof match-safe and lit the candle. They had penetrated fully a hundred feet into the cliff by this time, and the walls about them were marked with curious paintings and carvings, the work of the long-vanished cave-dwellers.
Under their feet was a thick, choking dust,that entered their eyes, ears and noses as they breathed, almost suffocating them. But not one of them was inclined to notice this, when there was so much to take up his attention elsewhere.
"I wonder what the cave-dwellers ate——" began Tubby, when his words were fairly taken out of his mouth by a startling occurrence.
A sudden puff of wind, chill as the breath of a tomb, blew toward them down the tunnel, and at the same instant Rob's candle was blown out. It was all the boys could do to keep from shouting aloud with alarm as they stood plunged into sudden blackness.
The next instant there came an appalling sound, an onrush like the voice of a hundred waterfalls. The wind puffed in their faces in sharp blasts, and something swept by them in the darkness with a strange, muffled shriek.
"L-l-let's get out of here—quick!"
Tubby gasped the exclamation, as with a resounding rush the mysterious sounds swept by.
"Ouch, somebody hit me in the face!" howled Jeb Cotton suddenly.
"Me, too!" yelled Bill Simmons.
"Say, fellows," shouted Rob suddenly, as the noise lessened, "be quiet, will you, till I light a candle. I've an idea what that noise was, and it was nothing to get scared at."
"Oh, it wasn't, eh?" protested Tubby angrily. "Well, something hit me a bang on the nose."
"And me on the ear," chimed in Jeb Cotton.
"And me——" Bill Simmons was beginning, when Rob checked him.
"Let up a minute, will you, and give me achance? All that racket was caused by nothing more than a lot of old bats."
"Cats, you mean, or flying rats," said Tubby scornfully.
"No, bats. Look here. I knocked down one."
Rob held his candle high above his head, and the astonished boys saw lying under a projecting bit of rock one of the leathern-winged cave-dwellers.
"Huh," remarked Tubby, "and I thought it was ghosts. The ghost of the cliff. The one the cow-puncher said he saw."
"I guess that ghost has leather wings and a furry body, if the truth were known," laughed Rob, as he flung the bat he had knocked down into the air, and the creature flapped heavily off toward the cave mouth.
"Yes, ghosts are——" began Merritt, when he broke off suddenly. His mouth opened to its fullest extent, and his eyes grew as round as two big marbles. "Great hookey—what's that?"
His frightened expression was mirrored on the rest of the countenances in the candle-litcircle, as a strange sound was borne to the ears of the Boy Scouts.
"It's footsteps," gasped Jeb Cotton.
"Coming this way, too," stuttered Tubby, edging back.
"Nonsense," said Rob sharply, but nevertheless loosening his revolver in its holster. "It's the wind or something."
"The funniest wind I ever heard," interrupted Tubby scornfully. "It's got feet—hark!"
Nearer and nearer came the mysterious sound. They could now hear it distinctly—a soft "phut-phut" on the dusty floor of the passage.
"Wow-oo, I see two eyes!" yelled Tubby, suddenly taking to his heels. His toe caught on a hidden rock, and he fell headlong in the choking dust.
Scarcely less startled than the fat boy was Rob, as he made out, glaring at them from beyond the friendly circle of light, two big green points of fire.
"Who's there?" he cried sharply.
There was no answer, but the two green globes never moved.
"Speak, or I'll fire!" cried the boy.
"A-choo-oo-o—o-o-o-o-o!"
The tense silence was shattered by a loud sneeze from Tubby, whose nostrils had become filled with the irritating dust. At the same instant an unearthly howl rang through the rocky corridors—a cry so terrible that it set Rob's heart to beating fiercely.
He pulled the trigger more by instinct than anything else, and six spurts of flame leaped from the barrel of his automatic. With a howl more ear-piercing than the first, the points of fire vanished, and there was the sound of a heavy body falling.
"Dead! whatever it is," was Rob's thought, but nevertheless he proceeded cautiously. It was well that he did so, for as he held his candle aloft, the huge, dun-colored body, which lay on the ground directly in front of him, made a convulsive spring. Rob, on the alert as he was, leaped back, and avoided it by a hair's breadth.
"A mountain lion!" cried Harry.
"That's what, and a whumper, too," exclaimed Merritt. "I guess we've laid the ghost all right. In the moonlight a light-colored creature like this would look white against the cliff face."
"I wonder if that last sneeze of mine killed it?" remarked Tubby, who had leisurely sauntered up. There was now no doubt that the great tawny creature was dead. Its final spring must have been a purely convulsive act, for Rob's bullets had pierced its skull in three places.
"Say, fellows," exclaimed Rob suddenly, "the fact that this brute was in here proves a mighty interesting fact."
"And that is, that it's dead."
"Please be quiet for two consecutive minutes, Tubby, if you can do it without injuring yourself. It means that there is another entrance to this place somewhere."
"How do you make that out?" asked Jeb Cotton.
"By applying a little scout lore. There are no tracks at the mouth of the cave, yet this lionis fat and well-fed, so that it must get its food outside somewhere. Therefore, there must be another entrance to the cave."
"Quod erat demonstrandum," quoth Tubby learnedly.
"Which is all the Euclid you know," teased Merritt.
"Well," asked Rob, while Harry Harkness skillfully skinned the lion, "shall we go on or turn back?"
"We'll go on!" shouted everybody.
"If you guarantee no more scares," amended Tubby.
With the tawny pelt slung over Harry's broad shoulder, the little party therefore pressed on into the darkness.
"We'll have to hurry," said Rob suddenly, regarding his candle, of which not much was left.
"How far do you guess it is from the entrance?" questioned Harry.
"I've no idea," was Rob's rejoinder. "I half believe now we were wrong to try to find a way out this way."
He said this in a low voice, so as not to alarm the others, who were behind the leaders. It did indeed begin to look as if the young explorers had placed themselves in a predicament.
Presently, however, the air began to grow fresher, and, uttering a cheer at this sign that they were near to daylight, the lads rushed forward. Still cheering, they emerged into a place where the passage broadened, and in another moment would have been out of the farther end of the tunnel but for an unexpected happening that occurred at that moment.
Rob, who had been slightly in advance, gave the first warning of the new alarm. As the welcome daylight poured upon his face, and he gazed into a sort of cup-like valley beyond the passage mouth, he heard a sudden "z-i-ip!" past his ear, like the whizzing of a locust.
The next instant fragments of rock scattered about his head and he heard a sharp report somewhere outside.
Like a flash, the boy threw himself flat on his stomach and wriggled back into the tunnel.
"They're firing at us!" cried Tubby.
"Yes, but who?" demanded Merritt.
"That's the question," was Rob's rejoinder. "I guess it must be Indians, but then, again, it may be hunters, who, having seen something move, fired. I'm going to try to find out."
"Oh, Rob, be careful," begged Merritt.
"That's all right. Here, Bill, lend me that long pole you've got."
Bill Simmons obediently handed over a long branch he had broken off to use as a guiding staff, before they entered the dark passageway. Rob pulled off his sombrero and stuck it on the pole.
Then he cautiously poked it out of the rocky portal.
"Bang!"
Rob drew in the hat and examined it.
"Phew!" gasped Tubby. "That's a fine way to ventilate a fellow's lid."
A bullet had bored a hole right through the soft gray crown.
"Guess that's Indians, all right," said Harry; "nobody else would be able to shoot like that."
"It is Indians," announced Rob. "I saw one dodge behind some brush when I looked out."
"Well, what are we going to do?" gasped Charley, the younger of the Price brothers, a lad of about fourteen. His face grew long, and he began to whimper.
"Hey, hush up, there," admonished Tubby. "Boy Scouts don't cry when they get in a difficulty; they sit down and try to figure some way out of it."
"And, in this case, that is easy," said Rob.
"Huh?"
"I said it is easy. All we've got to do is to go back again."
"What, without the candle? Make our way through that dark place?"
"Of course. That is, if you don't want to get drilled full of holes by those Indian bullets."
"But supposing they follow us?"
"We'll have to take our chances on that," rejoined Rob.
"Well, you're a cool hand, I must say. You calmly propose that we shall walk back through a dark tunnel, with Heaven knows how many Indians at our heels?"
"It's all we can do, isn't it?"
"Um-m-well, I suppose so. Come on, then, if we've got to do it, the sooner we start the better."
"Wait one minute," said Rob, and, stooping down, he pulled up some dry brush that grew near the cave mouth. He piled this in a heap and set fire to it.
"Whatever are you doing that for?" asked Tubby.
"I know," said Jeb Cotton, "so that the Indians, or whoever it is firing at us, will see it and think we are still there."
Rob nodded approvingly.
"That's it," he said, and plunged off into the blackness of the tunnel. He led the others through it at a rapid pace, but they did not travel so fast that they beat the daylight, however, for when they emerged at the other end it was dark,and the stars were shining above them. Far below they could see little flickering points of fire, where the cow-punchers were keeping watch.
"Wish we were down there," muttered Tubby, as they all emerged on the ledge. "I'm hungry."
"So am I," agreed Rob, "and the quicker we get down the mountain the quicker we'll get some hot supper."
As he spoke, from the mouth of the tunnel, which acted as a sort of gigantic speaking-tube, there came what seemed to be the hollow echo of a shout.
"The Indians!" gasped Rob; "they're after us! Up the steps, everybody, quick!"
A rush for the rough stone steps followed, and so fast did the boys press forward that Rob had to warn them of the danger of speed.
"If you slipped you'd be over the edge," he said.
It was enough. The rush moderated. The thought of slipping off into black space was enough to alarm the stoutest hearts among them.
Tubby was the last up but Rob, who remainedbehind with drawn revolver. He had nerved himself to fire at the first Indian head that showed out of the tunnel.
"Come on, up with you," Rob urged, as the fat boy placed his foot on the rough flight hewn in the sheer face of the cliff.
"All right, Rob," rejoined the stout youth, scrambling upward. "I'll be up before——"
He broke off short, with a terrible cry that rang out far into the night.
Rob, speechless with horror, saw the stout youth's feet slip from under him, and his hands clutch unavailingly at the smooth face of the cliff.
The next instant—for the whole thing happened in the wink of an instantaneous photographic shutter—Tubby was gone.
With a dreadful sinking of his heart, Rob stretched far over the edge of the ledge, which hung like some flying thing, between heaven and earth. Below him was utter blackness.