The scout who was roosting in the tree a quarter of a mile below, became so enthused at the sight of the lanky vision striding down the mountainside that he became convulsed with laughter. Just then Jeems, who was half way down the sandslide, accompanied by the wild yells of the boys who were watching him, struck, in one of his flying steps, a partially submerged rock.
The effect was instantaneous and surprising, such was his momentum that he bounced high into the air and sprawled out like a gigantic flying squirrel for thirty feet or more before he came to earth, or rather dove to sand, and was lost in a cloud of dust. The boys rushed to pick up the remains.
“look out, here comes jeems on the warpath.”—P. 165.“look out, here comes jeems on the warpath.”—P.165.
The dust settled and they were able to see Jeems in all his outlines. He seemed unhurt and in the possession of all his faculties, for he began to spout poetry to the boys after this wise:
“From morn till noon he fell, from noonTill dewy eve then like a falling starDropt from the zenith.”
“From morn till noon he fell, from noonTill dewy eve then like a falling starDropt from the zenith.”
“Hurrah for Lucifer!” cried Jo, who knew something about literature. Jeems bowed.
“What did you think you were, a flying squirrel?” inquired Tom.
“I didn’t think, I just flew,” said Jeems, which was true.
This incident likewise came near getting their enemy who was in hiding, for when he saw Jeems Howell perform his startling evolution in the air, he laughed so hard that he lost his balance and came crashing through the branches to the ground below and he lay there rolling over and over, not in theagony of a broken leg, but with uncontrollable laughter. As he told his pals later, “I never seen the likes of that performance. It was head and heels over any circus that ‘Green Ike’ ever saw back in ole Missoury. (Green Ike so-called, not on account of the color of his skin, but of his eyes.) That fellar must have struck a spring board the way he went through the air.”
After the excitement had quieted down over Jeems Howell’s flight through space, the boys took up the next order of the day, which was “forward march to their camping place for the night.” It was now well along in the afternoon and the shadows were extending far down the slopes and across the valleys.
“We must get to a place where there is good water,” said Juarez, as they started on their way.
“I wish we could find some grazing for the horses,” mused Jim.
“It’s a long pull into that valley down there,” remarked Jo, “but I guess we can make it.”
“I don’t see why not,” said Tom. “Our horses have had a long rest and ought to make fine time.”
They did succeed in finding an excellent camping place after riding down the mountain slopes for about five miles. They came into quite a broadvalley with a beautiful stream of clear tumbling water flowing through the midst of it, and green meadows on either side.
“I bet that’s a fine trout stream,” exclaimed Tom enthusiastically.
“This is one of the best places that we ever had to camp in,” cried Jo. “The only place I can remember that beat it was in Mexico near the trembling mountain where we were all shut in.”
“Here’s the place for a camp,” announced Jim. “This hill is away from the mountain slope far enough so that no enemy can crawl down under the protection of the trees. Then it can be defended, if necessary. For some reason, I would not like to camp out on that level meadow to-night.”
“You don’t expect trouble with Indians, do you?” inquired Tom anxiously.
“No,” replied Jim, “but there are other bad men besides Indians.”
“You are right, Skipper,” said the shepherd, “we are liable to find the worst kind of cutthroats and ruffians in this part of the country.”
“I guess we will be able to stand ’em off,” said Jim, “without calling in the police.”
Then James swung himself off his horse at thefoot of the long hill; Tom and Jo rather stiffly, for they were not yet used to active mountaineering after so much sea travel, while Jeems Howell stepped off his little bay pony. Now ensued a scene of much activity making camp. Each one had his work to do and it was done promptly.
Juarez and Jim looked after the horses; rubbed them down, looked carefully after any strain or sore, and it was work that they loved to do. When the horses were sufficiently rested they were watered and fed, and from their splendid condition it was evident that they were well cared for. Caliente, Jim’s charger, was in extra fine shape. His coat of mottled iron-gray fairly shone under Jim’s brushing. When he had time he polished his hoofs. There was a real affection between the horse and his master. On more than one occasion his strength and fleetness had saved Jim’s life. No one else was equal to controlling him.
Jeems’ and Tom’s work was to look after the mules, take off their packs and feed and water the animals. Jeems seemed to get along with the mules all right, much better than he did with the horses. Perhaps the mules were philosophers. At least they were very wise animals, canny and self-controlled. No mule you notice will overeat evenwhen he has a chance, but with a horse it is different.
Jo’s duties were very active ones. He had to move the goods, saddles, etc., into camp, and then get the wood for the fire. By this time one of the other boys would be free to help rig up the tent and another would fetch water. It was a lively, interesting scene and the boys enjoyed it thoroughly.
Within an hour the work was all done, and the horses were grazing, with evident enjoyment of the freedom of roaming around over the wide meadow with its growth of luxuriant grass, this after the hard day’s pull. The boys had built a roaring fire of logs fed by long pine cones, for the nights were cold at that altitude.
“This would make a pretty fair sort of a fort,” said Juarez, “if we had to defend it.”
“Not as good as the one Jim and I had when the Apaches attacked us in New Mexico, when we were separated from Tom and the Captain,” remarked Jo wisely.
“That was a natural fort,” put in Jim, “but as Juarez says, we could stand off a crowd here, if we had a chance to fix it up a bit.”
“It’s lucky that it stands clear of the mountain on this side, so that an enemy could not attack usfrom shelter,” remarked Juarez. “It must be nearly three-quarters of a mile to the foot of the mountain on this side of the valley; perhaps further.”
“This hill must be all of one hundred and fifty feet high,” said Tom. “I should like to see a crowd of Indians charge it.”
“You wouldn’t,” put in Juarez. “They never do a trick like that, but would hang around until we were starved out.”
“I tell you, lads, it won’t be the Indians who will give us trouble,” remarked Jeems Howell, “but a gang of renegade white men and half-breeds. That’s the crowd that will be on our trail.”
“I have a sort of feeling that there is a lion in our path,” quoth James. “We will never get in the vicinity of the ‘Lost Mine’ without a fight. You mark my words. The sooner it comes the better.”
“I guess we had better get the horses corraled, hadn’t we, Skipper?” inquired Juarez. “It’s beginning to get dark.”
“Right you are,” agreed Jim. “They have had a two-hour graze. We will take them down to water and then bring them into camp. Jo, you stay here and guard the goods.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Jo.
It was already growing dusk when the boys started across the level meadow to get the animals. They had no difficulty in picking up the trailing lariats. Only the mules acted rather queer. Their long ears were pitched forward and they were gazing fixedly in the direction of the mountain back of the camp. Then Missouri, the leader, a big buckskin with a brown stripe down his back, suddenly put his ears back and began to squeal loud and viciously.
“What’s the matter with old Missouri?” inquired Jeems anxiously. “You don’t suppose that the grass has given him a pain in his tummy?”
“No,” said Jim, “the old chap scents trouble of some kind.”
“Maybe it’s a mountain lion,” suggested Tom, “that would make him act up.”
“Maybe,” admitted Jim.
Now they had arrived at the stream that was roaring through the meadow. It was no brook either, but a brawling stream about forty feet in width, very clear and wonderfully cold, as it came from the snow-clad summits to the northwest. There were a good many large boulders that checked its course and made a roaring music inthe quiet of the valley. It was a full half mile from the hill where the camp was.
“This would be a fine stream for trout,” remarked Tom. “I wish we were going to stop in this valley long enough to give us a chance for some sport, but I suppose we will get up about four o’clock in the morning and chase over the mountains all day and then make a dry camp where our animals will be stampeded by the Indians.”
“You certainly are a croaker, Tommy,” laughed Jim heartily, for Tom’s pessimistic prophecies never failed to amuse his big brother, “but cheer up, I have about decided to stop here in the valley for a day or two and give the children a good time.”
“It won’t be a bad idea, Skipper,” remarked Juarez, “because it will give the horses a good rest and they have had a long, hard pull of it the past ten days, and will put them in good condition for the rest of the trip; perhaps, too, we can get a deer or two around here.”
“There formerly was and ought now to be deer in this valley or near it,” put in Jeems. “This is just the kind of place for them to come for grazing and pasture.”
“It will help fill out our larder, too,” said Tom.
“You mean our stomachs,” said Jeems whimsically, after his fashion.
“I would like a mess of trout,” remarked Tom. “I’m tired of salt horse.”
“What’s the matter with Missouri?” said Jeems, “he won’t drink.”
“You can’t make him then,” said Jim. “A mule is sure stubborn.”
The rest of the animals appeared willing enough, but it took quite a while, as only one could come down to the stream at a time. The banks, though not high, were cut through the turf and there was only one spot where there was a broken place and a couple of stones where the horses and mules could step down to the stream.
“I guess Jo will begin to wonder what has become of us,” said Jim, as the last horse drank his fill.
When they turned the animals’ heads towards the camp it had grown dark, while the great valley was filled with the loneliness and the deep shadows of the night. There was nothing to break the stillness but the tune of the tumbling stream and the monotone of the pine-clad slopes rising blackly on either side of the valley. The light of the campfire upon the hill sent up its distant glow.
Let us now return to Jo to keep him company during the absence of his brethren and companion-in-arms. He sat down by the fire on a rock with his legs stretched out before him, for he was rather tired, and his hands clasped back of his head. All about him were the shadows of the trees, but he was perfectly at his ease, though it would have been lonesome enough if he had not known that the rest of the gang was near.
Still it would have been better if he had kept closer watch, for already the Frontier Boys had received warning that they were being trailed, and Jo should have seated himself in the door of the tent so that his back would have been protected, and he would have had the benefit of the fire just the same. He likewise naturally trusted to Jeems’ shepherd dog to give him warning. The dog lay near the front of the tent with his nose over his paws and his brown eyes blinking toward the blaze.
It was his presence that saved Jo at this time, nothing else. Shep jumped to his feet with agrowl that grated along his back teeth, a growl that meant business and serious business, too.
Let us see what was the cause of Shep’s alarm. Just a little after the boys had left the hill to take the horses to water, the figure of a man could be seen coming stealthily out of the shadow of the pines upon the slope.
He maneuvered so that the hill was between him and Skipper Jim’s party, then he stood straight up and walked stealthily and carefully, but nevertheless swiftly, towards the camp. The man had made a slight miscalculation, for he supposed that the camp was deserted and that he could take what he wanted and destroy the rest before the boys could return. A crooked smile came over his face as he made his evil plans. He would go through the camp, take what was valuable, throw what he could not use on the campfire and as a last touch he would set fire to the tent.
Then as the tenderfeet came rushing back filled with anger and fear at the sight of the burning tent, he would easily make his escape through the darkness to the protection of the mountains, where these boys would never get him. He would have, too, his booty, which he would hide in a cave he knew of, so that he would not have to divide withhis gang. It was a beautiful plan and it appealed to him in several ways.
“Those American pigs,” he said, “they think through their snouts. They do not know enough to guard their camp in this country.”
But as we know, there was something of a surprise in store for this enterprising gentleman. It is evident that he was not the same fellow that Juarez had detected skulking in the woods that morning, for this was a Mexican who was stalking the boys’ camp. He came swiftly through the grass, with a silence born of custom. It was well for him that he did, else Jo would have been on his trail in a minute.
The Greaser, for such he deserves to be called, went cautiously up the slope of the hill, following a small depression which was a watercourse during the rainstorms. When he got within two-thirds of the top, he stopped as though he had been struck, for there was the figure of Jo seated on the rock between him and the fire. For a second his jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide. Then his cunning ferocity came to him.
A tall bush and several trees intervened between him and Jo, utterly unconscious of his danger. Without a sound he crawled along, his poniardgripped between the gleam of his strong white teeth, which gave him a snarling and sinister appearance. His plan was evident. He did not dare to risk a shot, for that would give the alarm and he would have no chance for loot.
Meanwhile, Jo continued entirely unconscious of the treacherous approach of this unseen foe. Jo was not thinking of any danger and his mind was far away on an excursion of its own, dreaming of the far corners of the earth to which they would sail, if by good fortune they found the treasure of the Lost Mine.
But Jo was in an ace of taking a longer journey than any that he was at that moment dreaming of. The Mexican had got almost within striking distance of Jo and had risen to his feet, not seeing the dog, and was just drawing back his arm to throw the fatal knife when Shep gave his growl of warning at the figure he saw in the shadow back of his master.
If Jo had been careless before he made up for it now. His experience stood him in good stead, for instead of rising to his feet to confront the danger as a tenderfoot would have done, he dropped down behind the rock as quickly as a pugilist ducks his opponent’s lead. It was all thatsaved him. “Swish” swept the knife with a flash of steel through the air, where Jo’s body had been the second before. Jo’s pistol was in the tent on a box, but his hand, as he dropped, touched a stone. The reader perhaps remembers what an accurate shot Jo was with a ball or rock. If his memory goes back far enough he will recall what Jo did to the Apache when he was trying to sneak up on the boys’ fort in New Mexico.
As soon as the Mexican saw that he had missed his aim, he started to run. Jo saw his dark form a few feet away and hurled the rock, striking him behind the left shoulder and half knocking him down. Jo, the fleet of foot, was upon him in a couple of bounds, and now a furious struggle ensued between Jo and the Mexican. The Greaser was strong and wiry, also very desperate. Once he had Jo nearly gone, as he threw him to his knees, and put his weight upon his back to crush him down.
With a quick shift Jo got to his feet again, and the struggle was renewed. Jo finally got his man near a rock that stood up a foot and a half above the ground. Exerting all of his lithe strength he shoved him back so that his heels struck the rock. As the man toppled, Jo threw his whole weightagainst him, and back he went with tremendous force, striking his head against a pine tree.
This laid the Greaser out and Jo, panting heavily, dragged him into the firelight and in a minute more had him tied securely. Then he sat down on a rock, breathing hard, just as the voices of the returning boys could be heard at the foot of the hill as they were bringing in the horses. Jo said nothing, but sat quietly, knowing how surprised the boys would be to see this new addition to the family circle.
“Didn’t see any wild Injuns, did you, Jo?” It was Jim’s cheery voice.
“Narry Injun,” replied Jo. Just then Caliente began to act up, surging around with his ears back and plunging to get away from Jim. Either he saw the Mexican or suspected his presence.
“Whoa, you Tiger!” cried Jim, but he had quite a tussle with him before he got him subdued. Even then Caliente kept snorting at intervals, with his nostrils dilating. Then the boys came toward the campfire from the shadow of the trees. Meanwhile Jo had thrown a blanket over the inert form of the Mexican, and he looked like an irregular log of wood.
Perhaps this was not a very gallant way to treatone’s fallen foe, but you are not apt to feel very kindly towards a man who has just tried to throw a knife into your back. So Jo did not care much if he was sat upon and used for a sofa. This particular log was placed convenient to the fire.
“You look rather rumpled and pale, Jo,” grinned Jim. “Did a hoot owl scare you while we were gone?”
“I bet Jo was hiding in the tent,” jeered Tom, “with his head in the blankets.”
Jo looked kind of sheepish and very red in the face. It was evident that he was struggling with some hidden emotion. Jim started to sit down upon the convenient log, and Tom likewise, the latter growling:
“You always try to get the best of everything.”
Then they sat down upon the supposed log. To their utter surprise and ultimate horror, the log began to twist and turn.
“Whoopee!” yelled Tom, leaping six feet, it seemed, into the air, “it’s a snake!” Jim rose more slowly, but very pale. He was deeply moved, not to say frightened. “Sancte Maria, Sancte Sebastina!” seemed the words issuing from the muffled folds of the blanket. Jim tore it off andthere was the Mexican whom Jo had had the round-up with.
“What!” cried Jim; “who is this?” Jeems’ head was now looking between the flaps of the tent, into which he had dived headfirst when the log came to life.
“It’s one of the gang that has been trailing us,” cried Jeems.
Jo was rolling around in paroxysms of laughter.
“Whoopee!” he cried in imitation of brother Tom, “it’s a snake,” then he went off into another fit.
“You durned idiot,” yelled the incensed Tom, “shut up laughing. I guess that fellow is a snake. You might have scared me into breaking a blood vessel.”
“I came near scaring you into breaking the record for the high jump,” panted Jo, weak from laughter.
“But where did you capture this specimen, Jo?” asked Jim with a quiet smile. To tell the truth he was somewhat chagrined, for he could not deny even to himself that he had been badly frightened by Jo’s trick.
“Look a here, boys,” cried Jeems, “here iswhere a knife has gone clean through the corner of this tent.”
“Sure enough,” agreed Jim, examining the cut in the canvas.
“Here’s the weapon,” said Juarez, who was quick to follow up a trail of any kind. He brought the dagger to the firelight, and they looked at it with interest. It had a very keen blade, sharp-pointed and two edged. The handle was richly engraved and of silver.
“How is this, Jo?” inquired Jim. “Tell us the whole story even if it implicates your friend here, the human log.” There was a grim quality in Jim’s voice which made the Mexican roll his eyes viciously.
“You are certainly a great chap for collecting knives,” said Jim admiringly to his brother Jo. “Somebody is always giving you one or throwing it at you. Remember that Indian friend of yours who crept up on you that night in Kansas and threw the bowie at you?”
“I’m not likely to forget that souvenir,” grinned Jo. “But this fellow certainly was going to give me the best surprise of all. Was it not so, Señor Manuello Greasero?” and Jo gave the fellow a contemptuous stir with his foot and the Mexican responded with an open-mouthed snarl for all the world like a wild cat when you poke a stick at him.
“It was a dirty, treacherous piece of business,” said Jim, his face growing dark with anger. “I’m going to put this fellow to the question.”
But they made no headway with the prisoner, as he maintained a stubborn silence about himself and his associates. Finally Jim, tired and disgusted, rose to his feet and looked down at the Mexican.
“Give me that dagger, Jo,” he said. Jo handed over the silver-handled weapon, while the Mexican watched Jim with eyes of concentrated hate. He believed his last hour had come.
“Have you got anything to say for yourself?” inquired Jim savagely, as he felt the edge of the knife with his thumb.
“I want to see a priest,” croaked the Mexican in a hoarse voice.
“I can furnish you with a philosopher,” said Jim. “Here, Jeems, can you offer any advice to this cutthroat or consolation either?”
“I haven’t any license to talk to the likes of him,” said Jeems gravely. “He wants a guarantee for the next life and I won’t give it to him. But I can tell him one thing, if he don’t hang now, he will later.”
When the Mexican saw that his life was going to be spared, he may have been surprised, but he showed no sign of gratitude. It was now time for the boys to turn in, but of course the camp was not left without a guard. The night was divided up into watches. Tom was to watch until eleven; then Jeems Howell was to have the watch until one; Jim to three; Juarez to five, and Jo the hour until six.
It was necessary to keep up a moderate fire, for the hours toward midnight were very cold. Tom kept moving around briskly when the others had turned into the tent.
The boys did not lay awake a minute, for they were wholesomely tired and the clear, cold air, touched with the fragrance of the pines, caused them to sleep sound and hard. The light from the fire shone into the tent where the boys were stretched out, wrapped in their blankets. They did not have to sleep with one eye open, because they had confidence that the one on guard would warn them if any danger approached.
Tom, as I have said, was on the alert. He moved around the camp, seeing that the horses were all right and going down the slope of the hill a ways in the darkness if he heard any suspicious sound, with his pistol gripped firmly in his hand and the faithful Shep pattering along at his heels. The dog was a good deal of company for Tom. Then they would return to the fire where the Mexican lay bound, with his hat pulled down over his head, but with his shifty black eyes continually on the alert. If he had any plan, he had no chance to carry it out while Tom was on duty.
At eleven o’clock promptly, Tom stole into thetent, and stepping over Juarez waked up Jeems, who sat up with a tousled head of hair and sadly sleepy, but he took it all like a philosopher, and stooped out of the tent to take his watch on deck. A slight change had come over the weather. A few dark and heavy clouds were drifting high across the valley and there was a steady roar of wind among the pines upon the mountain slopes.
The prisoner noticed the change of guard with interest. “I am thirsty, Señor,” he said. The philosopher went and procured for him a drink. “A little closer to the fire now, Señor. I feel cold.” The shepherd did as requested.
“Don’t ask me to make tea for you now, because I would have to refuse.”
The man gave no sign that he understood, and Jeems went back to the horses to see how they were getting along. It was quite a family party of animals and if one had been gone the others would have missed him sadly.
They were all fastened to rather small trees back of the tent. The mules stood with heads slightly bent and perfectly still. Jeems went up to old Missouri, pulling his long ears affectionately, and his muleship did not seem to mind it in the least. As Jeems often said, they were kindred souls. The ponies stood with drooping heads. Jo’shorse had his head resting over the neck of Tom’s, for they were quite chums.
But Jim’s Caliente seemed restless and not quiet like the others. He had a good-sized pine for his anchorage, and was in the center of the group, while the others were tied in a circle around him. He was shaking his head and stamping his feet, but Jeems could not find that there was anything especially the matter with him.
Just then the shepherd thought he heard something moving, or creeping through the brush below and he went cautiously down to investigate. He had got below the crest of the hill, about fifty feet, when he was sure that he saw something crouching and moving swiftly off through the darkness. He cried halt and was about to fire his revolver at it when the object disappeared as though the earth had swallowed it up. Then, too, Jeems was not a very ready hand with a pistol; few philosophers are; it requires an impulsive temperament to shoot offhand. Jeems made his way back to the camp debating in his mind whether he should wake up the boys and tell them what he had seen. This question was settled for him as soon as he arrived in front of the tent. One glance was enough, he saw that the Mexican prisoner had escaped. He was evidently clean gone.
“He’s gone, boys,” cried Jeems, sticking his head into the tent.
“Who’s gone?” they cried, simultaneously sitting up.
“The Mexican,” replied Jeems.
“How long?” cried Jim, getting outside of the tent in a jiffy.
“I haven’t been gone over five minutes, maybe eight, though,” he added reflectively.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” was Jim’s verdict.
“I’m glad we do not have to have him around anyway,” chimed in Jo.
“But how did the beggar get away?” inquired Juarez. “He was tied tight enough, I reckon.”
“Here’s the answer,” said Jim, stooping over and picking up a piece of rope that lay on the edge of the circle of the firelight.
“Why, it has been burned through!” exclaimed Juarez.
“Exactly,” replied Jim.
“How did he get close enough to the fire to do that?” asked Tom.
“I would have thought that he would have burnt himself up,” said Jo.
“It was simple enough,” explained Jim. “Acoal rolled close to him and he was able to get the rope that tied his hands against it and burnt through, and the rest was easy.”
“That was a pretty good trick,” said Juarez. “We will have to remember that.”
“I would be afraid of burning myself,” objected Tom.
“That Mexican wouldn’t feel it if you did put a live coal on him,” quoth Juarez. “They don’t mind heat.”
“I bet he gets his gang on our trail,” said Jo. “We will have to look out for trouble from now on.”
“We will be ready for them,” remarked Jim significantly.
“It looks a little bit like a thunderstorm, boys,” said Juarez.
“We had better peg that tent down tighter,” said Jo. “It is going to blow, too, in a short while.”
The boys did not get things ship-shape any too soon. The black clouds were drifting in a gloomy procession over the great valley, then came a flash that showed the expanse of the level meadow in a green-white color and the somber pine-clad slopes, then the wind and rain together.
The storm drifted steadily northward over the valley with its accompanying flashes of lightning, followed by volleys of rain mingled with the shot of hail. As soon as the boys heard the hail on the canvas roof of their tent they hustled out to put blankets on their horses, so as to protect them from the beating hail. They moved them under the protecting branches as much as possible and made them as snug as they could.
“Remember the time we got into a hail storm in Kansas?” questioned Jo, as they walked back through the beating white pellets, that were getting larger every minute.
“That was fun,” laughed Tom. “We pretended that the hail was bullets and the one who was struck on the head was to be dead.”
“You were it,” declared Jo.
“I was not,” said Tom decidedly.
“We will leave it to this storm to decide,” said Jo.
“All right,” agreed Tom.
“Jeems to be the referee,” said Jo.
This was likewise acceptable to Tom. The hail was now coming faster and of good size, about as big as the end of one’s thumb, but the boys did not seem to mind as they slouched along with their sombreros pulled down around their ears, thus affording pretty fair protection. Just then a big bullet of hail struck fairly on top of Tom’s skull and bounced, the others saw, about six inches into the air.
“Hurrah!” yelled Jo, “that proves it. You are it again. Isn’t he judge?” this to Jeems.
“You mean hit again, not ’it. I fear you are English,” replied Jeems.
“Don’t insult me,” said Jo, “I’m plain U. S. Southwest. But isn’t Tom out?”
“Yes,” replied Jeems, “he is.”
“What!” cried Tom in great surprise, “did something strike me.”
“I always thought your head was thick,” replied Jo contemptuously, “now I’m sure of it.”
By this time they had reached the shelter of the tent and stood looking out at the antics of the hail as it danced upon the hard ground and leaped from the surface of the rocks, and spatted into fire until a steam arose into the air. In a short time theground was covered with several inches of whiteness.
“Did you boys ever hear that old circus joke?” inquired Jeems, looking musingly out at the jumping hail.
“Not recently,” said Jo. “Fire away, Jeems, and relieve your mind.”
“Well, in the circus they have a king rigged up on a throne. Him in a red robe and a tinsel crown. All the varlets come in and bow low before his majesty. Then comes the clown and bows lower than the others.
“‘Hail! Hail!’ he cries.
“‘How dare you hail,’ roars the king, ‘when I’m reigning!’ Then the crowd yells.”
“That isn’t so worse, Jeems,” laughed Jo, and the rest joined in.
“What’s the difference, boys,” questioned Jim, “between rain and a hen?”
“Give it up,” said the chorus.
“The one lays the dust and the other dost lay.”
Then Jim leaped out of the tent to get away from the boys, who would have combined and given him a good licking in token of their appreciation of his brilliant wit. It was his turn to keep watch, anyway, and so he stayed out under a tree, while theboys went peacefully to sleep, with the hail beating on the canvas roof of their tent, confident that with Jim on deck they would be safe enough.
How about the vanished Mexican? He had made his escape as Jim had said. Though stiff from being tightly bound and suffering from the blow he had got from the stone that Jo had thrown at him, he made quick time to the pine-clad slope of the mountain. He seemed to know the way even through the darkness of the forest of pine. After going half a mile he saw the outline of his horse hitched to a sapling.
As soon as he was mounted he turned his animal’s head down the slope until he came to the edge of the meadow. There he stopped for a moment and looked towards the star of the boys’ campfire upon the hill, then he shook his fist in their direction, with an imprecation and a threat of what was going to happen to them in a short time. Finally he turned his mustang’s head up the valley and rode at a slow dog trot through the darkness, groaning considerably with the pain that the jolting gave him.
In a short time the storm overtook him and the falling hail made his pony hump himself threateningly, but his rider gave him a dig with his longand cruel spurs in the flank and that furnished the broncho with something else to think about. After several miles of hard travel, the two began going up steadily, along a narrow and steep trail, with the brawling stream below. The valley had narrowed into a deep canyon with great walls of pale granite, and uncountable black pines growing everywhere.
The hail made the trail slippery and once the horse came near slipping into the depths of the gorge below, but with a tremendous straining effort the plucky animal scrambled back to safety. It was evident that his rider was born to be hanged, for he seemed able to escape every other form of death. Having regained the trail, he rode on for some distance, then he turned into a side canyon, and his knowing horse took him through the labyrinth of trees, until there appeared a light of a campfire at the end of the trail. The gaunt forms of some men could be seen moving around it.
One of the men heard the approach of the Mexican and gave the alarm. In an instant no one was in sight, but there were a number of guns ready to take the number of the stranger whoever he might be. But the Mexican was on to their little ways. He reined in his horse, gave a low whistle,and called out something in Spanish and then rode up to the group.
There were eight in the gang, including the stout red-necked man who had given the boys a chase early in the morning. The evident leader of the crowd was a lanky young fellow whose unusual length of limb did not indicate any frailty of physique. He was a man to be dreaded in any encounter. Gus Gols had a rather shock head of light hair, one bunch always sticking up; high cheek bones, a skin of dully burnished red, and rather small blue eyes, both keen and insolent in their gaze. He had a queer, aggressive way of hooking his head forward when speaking that was very noticeable.
He was not vicious in speech, but he was in action, and was one of the most dangerous characters in the West. He had been cowboy, cattle rustler and road agent in different parts of the country west of the Missouri. Now he was at the head of a desperate gang who raided far and wide, taking gold from the pack trains or from the individual miner, where he had struck it rich; even making raids on the settlements on the western slope of the Sierras.
It appeared as though the Frontier Boys werewalking directly into the jaws of this desperate gang. They were already trailing them and might pounce upon them at any time. Physically it would seem that Jim himself would be no match for “Big Gus,” as he was generally known in that section of the woods, but two of them, say Jim and Juarez, would have made it interesting for him.
Gus Gols listened to his Mexican’s story of adventure with much impassiveness, then he got slowly to his feet. He had made no comment to break the course of the Greaser’s narrative, only eyeing him occasionally with a squint of his hard blue eyes.
“I don’t see, Mike” (his true name was Miquel José Maria, etc.), “why them fellars down there in the valley didn’t choke the breath out of your black carcass; they must be soft ones, and I’m going to git their horses pretty soon now. I’m going to turn in, and I don’t want you boys raising Cain around here. If you want to do any chawing be quiet about it, understand?”
They understood perfectly; Miguel José Maria, better known as “Mike,” looking blackly at the slouching figure of “the boss,” as the giant stooped his head through the low doorway of the cabin.What he muttered to himself was complimentary neither to Big Gus’ character nor career, but he stood in great fear of him nevertheless. It was characteristic of Gus Gols’ shrewdness that his gang was made up for the most part of Mexicans and half-breeds, with only two white men for lieutenants.
He could dominate these mongrels and make them subservient. Also they had to be satisfied with a small part of the spoils, while with a gang of white men he would have been obliged to have divided up evenly and he would constantly have had to prove his right to leadership. He had drilled his motley crew until they were a very dangerous band of outlaws. Naturally the Mexicans and half-breeds were poor shots, but Big Gus had trained them until he had made good marksmen out of them, and cool under fire. He had used threats, cajolery and even occasional money prizes to obtain this result.
From this it was evident that the Frontier Boys had their work cut out for them, with this dangerous gang barring their way and liable to attack them at any time. Gus Gols was even now making his plans for an ambush or a raid. The reports that his scouts had brought him in regard to theboys’ horses had made him greedy to get hold of them.
His own horseflesh was not in the best of shape. Besides, he needed ammunition and other supplies which the boys had so thoughtfully brought along. He chuckled to himself as he saw how easy it all was. What chance would those tenderfoot kids have against his cunning courage, strength and the odds of numbers? He would eat them alive. In truth there seemed excellent ground for his confidence and it would take something besides luck to save Jim and his followers at this crisis. It would require hard fighting and skillful strategy.
“The Boss is planning some devilment or ruther,” said the red-faced scout to the other white man. “It’s a sartain sign when he chuckles to himself that a-way.”
“Your diagnosis is correct, Ephraim,” replied his pal, giving his black moustache a delicate twist.
“Better not let Big Gus hear you use such language, Edgar,” said Eph, “because he’s kind of tetchy sometimes.”
Edgar only laughed. He was an odd sheep to be in such a fold, for he looked more like a consumptive than an outlaw; his face had a decidedpallor, and he was subject to a hacking cough. It was evident that he also gave some attention to dress and a real diamond shone in his shirt front, once white, but now of a dubious grime.
But make no mistake. Next to the Boss he was the most dangerous man in the pack. He was a man with a certain amount of education, but it did him no good, and if he got near a piano, he could make it hum with harmony. His chief accomplishment, however, and one which made him valuable to his chief, was his ability to use a revolver with rapidity and precision.
“You fellars better turn in;” it was the voice of Gus Gols; “I’m liable to give yer somethin’ besides conversation in a day or two. I want yer to look pink and purty if we should happen to meet them swell tenderfeet. Shet up now.” They “shet.”
“It’s going to be a fine day,” said Jim. He was standing in front of the tent on the hill and taking a preliminary look at the sky. It certainly had the appearance of being just as he said. The sun was sweeping the shining length of the valley with his fresh and early beams and there were a few fair, faint clouds drawn across the broad blue brow of morning.
“There’s nothing like the first break of day in the mountains,” said Jeems. “I’ve seen it a hundred times and I never get tired of it.”
“It certainly makes you feel fine and fit, this air after a night’s sleep,” said Jo, who stood poised on the edge of the hill, with his hands resting lightly on his hips. He did look fit as he said, and the rest of the boys, too, with their sunbrowned faces and sinewy figures, every pound of which was bone and muscle. It gave one more confidence in their ability to stand off the outlaws. One look into their keen, alert eyes showed that they were not to be caught napping, either.
“What’s the program for to-day, Skipper?” asked Jeems.
“Juarez and I are going after deer or any other game we can get,” said Jim. “The rest of you can do what you feel like, only don’t overexert yourselves.”
“I’m going fishing,” declared Tom.
“Me too,” chimed in Jo.
“I shall stay at home then,” said Jeems, “and look after things until you children get back. I shan’t mind a quiet day with no callers.”
“Don’t be too sure about there being no callers, Jeems,” warned Juarez. “Remember what happened to Jo last evening and be careful or you will be among the missing.”
“I don’t know why the other party shouldn’t be among the missing,” declared Jeems. “I’m a terrible fighter when I get started.”
“You would stop when the other fellow said ‘ouch,’” remarked Tom, “and get a drink of water.”
“I’m not much of a mule when it comes to holding a grudge, and certain that’s a fact,” admitted Jeems.
“You’re all right,” declared Jim with earnestness.
“Sure you are,” said the chorus, and Jeems in acknowledgment bowed low.
“I thank your Royal Highnesses for your appreciation of your humble servant,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” replied Jim briefly.
Jim and Juarez were soon on their chargers, and they made a fine appearance; Jim on his powerful animal, Caliente, with his strong, arched neck, body and hindquarters built for speed, and shoulders to crash through all barriers of an enemy; his gray mottled coat fairly glistened in the sun.
Juarez’s roan was a smaller horse than Caliente, but he, too, was fleet and of tireless endurance. He was somewhat wall-eyed and vicious at times, but Juarez was the master. The story of the capture of the horses is told in “Frontier Boys in Mexico,” so I will not rehearse it here.
No sooner had the two horsemen left the hill than they whirled their rifles over their heads and gave their horses the rein. Away they dashed at full speed over the level meadows, near the edge of the dark tree-clad slopes, as though they were reviewing the vast army of the pines.
“There they go like wild Indians,” said Tom. “We will have a quiet day now.”
In a few minutes Tom and Jo were going acrossthe level meadow with the slender poles they had cut and the lines and hooks ready. As for Jeems, he proceeded to make himself comfortable, taking his blankets and spreading them out under the shade of a tree, stretching himself out upon them with his hands clasped under his head, and gazing at the distant clouds, drifting dreamily over the depths of blue, while there came through the sun-warmed air the continual murmur of insects.
Near Jeems’ side his faithful shepherd dog was curled up in lazy contentment, with his eyes peacefully closed, opening with an occasional blink, then closing again. It was a happy interval for Jeems, and he thoroughly enjoyed the quietness of the scene, for he was a philosopher by nature as well as by name, and he liked to have time for his own mind. “You can’t hatch thoughts unless you sit on ’em a while,” was one of his quaint phrases.
Meanwhile, Tom and Jo were walking across the sunny meadows with their minds filled with great expectations of the trout they were about to catch. It was a sort of a holiday for them, and they did not envy Jim and Juarez in the least, and were actually sorry for Jeems, since they were born fishermen. When they reached the stream they separated, Jo going up where there were somewillow bushes overhanging the water, and Tom going down where he hoped to find some quiet pools.
The whole valley was a scene of utmost peace, and no one would dream that there was war gathering, as it were, in the near future, but there undoubtedly was. The only bit of tactics that Jo had in his mind at present was how to get the big trout who lurked in the shadow of the limpid pool. He cast carefully and watched the float on his line with intense interest. Five minutes passed, then came the heart-throbbing second when the float went under and there was a strong, tense pull on the line. Steadily Jo pulled until there shone in the air a gleaming trout.
It was a beauty with olive-green back, shading down the sides to white with spots of black and red. It was thirteen inches in length, and Jo promised himself quite a triumph over Tom when he should show him this prize. By noon Jo had caught ten fish varying from seven inches to a foot in length. He and Tom met down stream several miles, at noon.
“What luck?” inquired Tom.
“Better than yours,” declared Jo proudly. “I’ve got the biggest fish.”
“You have not,” said Tom, and to prove it he pulled out of his bag a good big trout.
“There!”
“Huh! You just wait,” retorted Jo, fishing into his sack. “How does that strike you?” and he pulled out his champion.
“Let’s measure,” said Tom. Jo’s fish was a half inch longer, and he also had two more than his brother, for Tom had caught only eight.
They ate their lunch on a little gravelly knoll where there were some pine trees not far from the stream.
What with a couple of trout, backed by what they had brought, and the cold water from the stream, they fared very well, indeed.
“I reckon we will do better than Jim and Juarez,” said Tom. “I don’t believe that they will get anything.”
“We ought to do well this afternoon,” said Jo.
And they did. By four o’clock they had a joint catch of thirty-five trout, and decided that was enough for the present. At Jo’s suggestion they decided to give Jeems a surprise. So they approached the hill with due care, making their attack on the side towards the slope of the mountain which was best protected. They began theirstealthy crawl up through the pine trees, until they came in sight of the camp.
The first evidence they saw of Jeems was his feet sticking out, being quite prominent in their blue socks with white tips, he having removed his boots for comfort. His back was against a big pine, and he was peacefully asleep. Before he could move a rope was passed quickly around his chest and he was bound firmly to the tree by unseen hands.
“Help!” he yelled. “Tom, Jo, come here quick, they’ve got me!”
Thus having got poor Jeems securely tied, Tom and Jo vamoosed down the hill shaking with laughter. Then they ran around the edge to the brook side of the hill and ran to Jeems’ rescue, he yelling lustily for help.
“Where did they go?” cried Jo.
“Back to the woods,” replied Jeems.
“How many were they?” asked Tom.
“I couldn’t count ’em,” answered Jeems.
“What were you doing?” inquired Jo, “while these rascals were tying you?”
“Nuthin’,” replied Jeems.
“I suppose you were asleep,” put in Tom.
“I was meditating,” replied Jeems with dignity.
“With your eyes shut,” added Jo.
“The best way,” explained Jeems, “for in that way it shuts out every outside object, even outlaws.”
“I wonder what luck Jim and Juarez are having?” said Jo, changing the subject.
“They ought to be showing up pretty soon now,” remarked Tom.
“Maybe they have got tied up too,” said Jeems.
Let us solve this for ourselves by following Jim and Juarez on their hunting expedition. Concluding their race, they settled down to the search for game. After going several miles they branched off to the northwest where a part of the valley formed a park with trees wide-spaced and grass. It was a beautiful place.
“This is the kind of country to find deer in,” said Juarez.
“It does look good,” said Jim. “We had better leave our horses here and try it on foot.”
“There is a thick clump of trees over there,” remarked Juarez, “where it will be a safe place to tie them.”
Without more ado, the two boys made their way to the grove, which formed an excellent screen, for the trees were not pine, but a kind of alder with large round leaves, and around the grove was quite a thick growth of brush. With some difficulty they got into the center of the trees, and made their horses fast. Then they started to make their way out with their rifles ready.
“Hello! What is that?” cried Juarez. “Didn’tyou hear it?” The boys stood perfectly still; then in a few seconds came two reports.
“Somebody has got ahead of us,” remarked Jim. “Those were rifle shots.”
“Lucky we got in here when we did,” said Juarez.
“There go five deer,” cried Jim, “up the mountain opposite.”
“Sure enough,” said Juarez. They were going like the wind and were soon lost to sight on the wooded slope of the mountain.
“I wish they had come our way,” declared Jim, in a disappointed tone. “Those rascals have spoiled our luck.”
“It wouldn’t have been safe,” replied Juarez cautiously. “It’s some of this gang, that the Mexican came from, and they might outnumber us.”
“We will wait here a few minutes,” said Jim. “Perhaps we will sight them.” So the boys crouched at the edge of the grove with the brush for a screen, looking narrowly in the direction of the shots. A half hour passed, still they saw nothing, but they never stirred, and watched steadily. The Frontier Boys had acquired something of the patience of Indians when it came to lying in wait for an enemy.
“There they come,” at length said Juarez the keen-eyed. He had discovered several dark spots moving among the trees.
“That’s them,” cried Jim eagerly. “Four of ’em.”
“If they cut our trail, we will have to fight,” said Juarez, “unless we cut for camp.”
Jim shook his head. “I want to get a closer view of these beggars,” he said.
They were now coming within range, jogging along on their cayuses down the gentle incline between the trees. They had shot a couple of deer.
“Three of them look like Mexicans,” said Juarez. “I believe they are coming right by us.”
“If they do, we will jump the procession,” said Jim.
However, they did not get the chance, for when the hunters had come within about three hundred yards of the grove they turned at right angles and were lost to view behind a spur that ran from the southern ridge. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jim and Juarez left their covert and took up the trail. It was dangerous work, but in their moccasined feet they did not make a sound.
They crouched along at a good rate, always keeping near enough not to lose the rear horseman,who was a Mexican and rode stolidly forward. When they had the chance they closed up within a few yards of the men, so that they could overhear the scraps of conversation. Once they got a real scare when one of the Mexicans swung off his pony and came back looking for a cigarette that he had dropped.
Jim and Juarez pressed back into a tall bush and stood there not daring to breathe, while the Mexican, with his eyes on the ground, came within a few feet of them, stooped and picked up his cigarette, and then the two boys heard the clatter of his horse’s hoofs as he made haste to rejoin the rest of the procession. For two hours they followed the four horsemen through the big canyon, and the smaller side one, until they came within range of the camp of the enemy, in the pocket at the end of the side canyon.
Here the boys had to use great caution. They worked around to the slope above the cabin of the Gus Gols gang. There they got their first view of the giant they had to deal with as he came into the open in front of his cabin, with his slouching walk. Six feet four in height, lanky in build but of wonderful muscular strength and endurance. He was bareheaded, with a tuft of light hair stickingstraight up. His sun-burned neck was like a column.
“You Eph!” he yelled. “Tell the Greasers and Ed I want to see ’em in the corral.” Meaning the cabin.
“All right, boss,” came the answer in Eph’s gruff voice.
It was certainly an ugly-looking crowd that came from different directions in answer to Eph’s summons. There were seven of the Greasers, so there was a total of ten ruffians gathered in the cabin.
“I’m going to hear this pow-wow,” said Juarez, handing Jim his rifle. Jim nodded and from his position behind a big pine stood ready to protect Juarez’s retreat in case he was discovered by the outlaws. With nothing but his pistol and knife ready to his hand Juarez started on his dangerous mission.