ITS LITTLE EYES WERE SNAPPING
ITS LITTLE EYES WERE SNAPPING
ITS LITTLE EYES WERE SNAPPING
For a moment, Jack and the bear studied each other attentively. It was a wonderfully short moment, however. Jack, uttering an exclamation, managed to turn and shoot a glance over his shoulder. To his amazement, he saw Bob Somers approaching on foot at top speed and five horsemen fighting to control their bronchos.
"Thunderation!"
The black bear, having evidently come to the conclusion that Jack was responsible for all his misfortunes, gave an angry snarl, opened his mouth to show a row of perfect teeth, and began to lumber forward.
Jack wasn't quite sure whether he had been badly injured or not, but decided that the time to find out hadn't come. Pains and aches seemed to drop away as easily as the dust from his shoulders when he scrambled to his feet with a lusty yell and fled.
The enemy, apparently satisfied at this tribute to his power, came to a halt, raised his shaggy head and gazed curiously at the horsemen; then, uttering a grunt of extreme disapproval, plunged away.
"Hurt, Jack?" called Bob, breathlessly.
"Hurt?" yelled the others.
Jack stopped his flight abruptly.
Now that all danger, as well as suspense, was over, shooting pains in various parts of his anatomy began to make themselves felt with a force that caused him to wince.
"Hurt, Jack?" cried Bob again, as, with flying leaps, he reached the big boy's side.
Conroy felt his side and shoulder, then his arms.
"I've been dented in about a hundred places, Somers," he grinned, weakly. "Gee, but my shoulder hurts; that crash when I landed was a corker—no bones broken, though. What happened to you, Bob? Had to jump, eh? Just what I was about to do when the bronc-saver came out to say 'Good-day!'"
The other riders, who by this time had succeeded in controlling their horses, cantered rapidly up, and Jack was kept busy for a few moments answering their excited questions.
The relief of the crowd was voiced in a joyous cheer when all presently realized that, in spite of his terrific shaking up and fall, Jack Conroy had escaped serious injury.
"An' don't forget a little 'tiger' for the bear, fellows," laughed Jack. "As a bronc-saver, he was a daisy. No, I wasn't scared, Tommy; never would have let that silly dub of a sorrel chuck me over five hundred an' eighty feet through the air—no, sir. Ouch! Wow! Another wireless!"
"We'd better not do any more traveling to-day, fellows," suggested Bob. "Some mighty good places to camp right around here; what do you say?"
"Suits me," said Jack, ruefully rubbing his shoulder. "I don't feel quite fit, yet. Say, Dave, where'd your packhorse an' the other broncs get to?"
"He broke away just as I overtook the crowd," answered Dave, apologetically. "You see, I hadn't tied the rope very tight, and one glance at the bear was enough."
"Oh!" Jack stared hard at the landscape. "Bet the silly dub's 'bout five miles away by this time, Dave," he drawled. "Don't see 'im anywhere."
"We oughtn't to kick, after your having such great luck," laughed Bob. "A mighty narrow escape, Jack!"
"For the bronc, you mean," corrected the big lad, dryly. "Shucks! This ridin' business is pie for me, if nothin' rises off the earth to hit the little brute. Let's see what it's like at the edge o' the bluff. Then we'd better hustle an' chase after those runaways."
Limping slightly, Jack, with Bob at his side, walked toward the fringe of bushes. Both kept a sharp lookout for bears or other foes, but discovered nothing alarming.
Skirting around the vegetation, they soon came to an open space and peered cautiously over the edge. The sight fairly took their breath away.
A wall of barren rock dropped almost vertically for fully two hundred feet, and from that point sloped abruptly to the valley below. Here and there, on dizzy-looking ledges, patches of stunted vegetation had gained a foothold, and, struggling hard for life, added a touch of contrasting color to the grim reddish rock. At the base, far beneath them, the two looked upon the tops of a dense growth of timber, huge slabs of bare rock and great boulders. The cliff sent a clear, purplish shadow over the rolling valley, to cut sharply against the glittering sunlight beyond.
Jack gave a shrill whistle.
"Great Scott, isn't that awful?" He shivered and drew back.
"You bet; and but for bruin your bronc might be lying dead at the base."
"That's right, Somers! After this, let's be kind to bears. Come on!"
Bob assisted Jack to mount behind Dick, then sprang astride Tom Clifton's broncho, and the cavalcade was in motion again.
Reaching the point where the mad race had begun, they looked earnestly about for any signs of their horses. Those belonging to Bob and Jack Conroy were soon discovered peacefully browsing in the direction of a heavily-timbered section on the west, but the packhorse had disappeared.
"Oh, ginger!" groaned Dick. "Isn't that about the limit? Hello—he went right down into the valley."
"How do you know?" asked Tommy, quickly.
"It's easy; the little dub has jolted off some of the stuff. See that shiny thing on the ground?"
"Oh, yes!"
"That's one of our canteens, sure; and—why—say, there's the commissary department now, away off, just coming up on that rise; eh, fellows?"
"Yes; that must be the little brute," agreed Tim, shading his eyes. "Havin' the time o' his life, too."
"An' somebody'll have the time o' his life bringin' him back," remarked Jack, with a glance toward his own broncho near the timber line. "It'll take about an hour an' eighty minutes, Dave."
"Correct," sighed Dave. "It was my fault; so the job is up to me."
"Not on your life," chirped Tim. "You'd be back 'bout the time the moon dragged itself up over the hills. Say, Dave, that's a great expression for your book—'dragged itself up'—eh?"
"I'll make a note of it," laughed Dave.
"Whoever is goin' after the commissary department had better drag himself down the hill," remarked Jack, as he slipped from his seat behind Dick Travers.
"I'll go with Tim," announced the latter.
"You chaps almost deserve near-hero medals," chuckled Dave, an expression of intense relief crossing his round face. "Look out for yourselves. Yes; we'll have a fire going by the time you get back. So-long!"
"Or longer," murmured Tim. "Whoop! We may have a fine chase."
"Git up!" shouted Dick.
The two cantered swiftly off. Dick stopped an instant to pick up the canteen.
For a long distance the way led through high, bunchy grass which seemed to undulate like waves of the sea as the breeze swept up from the valley. Gradually the descent grew steeper and more difficult. Ridges, innocent-looking from above, became on closer inspection difficult passes choked with vegetation and rocks.
The cliff's frowning heights rose higher and higher above them. In the shadow of its gigantic crags they reined up for a moment to rest their tired bronchos.
"Great sight!" said Tim, looking up.
"I should say so," answered Dick, shivering as he recalled Jack's recent danger.
"Gee! In all that excitement, I most forgot our first glimpse o' Wanna's mountain—that must be it. In a few days, Dick, if our good luck keeps up, we'll be prospectin' on its slopes. Honest, it gives me a sort o' funny feelin'."
"If we don't find anything, Tim, I'll have all kinds of the same brand," grinned Dick, softly. "Wouldn't it be fierce? Hello! There's the packhorse now—third ridge."
"Yes! Gee! Let's whoop it up a bit, or he'll reach the Jabberwock first."
In obedience to a touch of the quirt, the sturdy little bronchos bounded off, and were soon treading in single file a wide expanse of soft, marshy ground. On the east they could see a dense forest extending off for a considerable distance.
Presently they were obliged to dismount in a wild little gorge, and force their way through tangled briars to the brink of a stream which tinkled its way merrily between a fringe of tall vegetation.
"Bet the bronc was smart enough to find an easier way than this," grumbled Tim.
"Well, if we're not smart, we're smarting, all right," said Dick, with a faint smile, as he looked at his scratched-up hands. "We'll have a nice, cool drink, fill our canteens, and let the broncs indulge."
The animals quaffed the clear water eagerly; so did the boys. Then, after a short rest, they sprang into the saddle again, crossed the stream, and urged the bronchos up a steep slope.
At the top, Dick turned.
"Hello! One of the fellows is out near the end of the cliff!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Look, Tim!"
The other cast a glance over his shoulder at the rugged heights, deep in shadow. He saw the figure of a horseman silhouetted clearly against the blue sky, the animal and its rider having more the appearance of a bronze statue than of life.
"Wonder which one o' 'em it is?" murmured Tim, interestedly.
Dick stared hard and shook his head.
The horseman stood for an instant longer; then they saw him whip quickly about and disappear.
"It's Bob Somers—that's my guess," remarked Dick. "We'll soon know. Come on, Tim."
After a hard struggle, the two finally reached the ridge where the packhorse had last been seen; but the animal was nowhere in sight.
"Isn't this the dickens of a note?" growled Dick, in puzzled tones.
"The idiotic little brute can't be very far off, though." Tim spoke consolingly.
There was silence for several moments while each lad stood up in his stirrups to take a searching look in all directions. Between them and the woods was another rise, and beyond this stretched a broad rolling valley encircled by high wooded hills.
The cold, glittering sunlight was fast losing its strength; somber hues were stealing over fields of waving brown and yellow grasses, and, as shadows deepened and lengthened, the dampness and feeling of night crept into the air. A dense silence enveloped the vast expanse of wilderness; even the breeze which gently touched their faces seemed to be dying away.
"If that bronc doesn't turn up mighty soon we'll have to hike back without him," growled Dick, glancing at the sky.
"Oh, ginger! That's only too true," sighed Tim. "Before the moon comes up it'll be black as pitch."
"And if night falls while we're down here, we may do some falling in going up," grinned Dick.
"The prize is yours, son," laughed Tim.
For over an hour the boys kept up their search, finally reaching a dense forest. They ventured only a short distance within its shadowed, mysterious depths, for both realized that to delay any longer would mean a difficult, as well as dangerous, struggle back to camp through the darkness.
"An' we can't do a bit o' good stayin' here," wailed Tim.
"Anyway, it's mighty lucky the grub was divided up between the two packhorses."
"Their ways are beyond understanding."
"And suppose we lose this one altogether; wouldn't that be awful? All of our prospector's tools snugly tucked away on his back, too."
"For goodness' sake, don't let's even think of such a thing," said Tim, shrugging his shoulders. "Can't imagine where on earth the brute has gone."
"It means getting up mighty early to-morrow morning to look for him again."
"And maybe every morning for a solid month," added Tim, ominously; "an' by that time he'll have scattered the stuff about till the ground looks like the counter of a five an' ten cent store."
Disconsolately, they rode between the great tree trunks toward the light again. By following a route much further to the east the two found traveling easier, and pushed ahead at a fast clip. A sunset glow was rapidly fading; valley and plains became a cold, cheerless gray; undulating ridges cut sharply against the sky, and the gigantic crags towering above them began to assume an air of grim majesty.
A sprinkling of stars was faintly showing in the fast-deepening blue when Dick and Tim at length came in sight of a camp-fire surrounded by a group of shadowy figures.
As the two cantered up, a volley of questions was flung toward them.
"What! You couldn't find the packhorse!" cried Bob, in astonishment.
"Great Scott!" howled Jack Conroy. "This is about the limit."
"And all my fault, too," sighed Dave.
"Bet you're tryin' to spring some kind o' a silly joke on us, Tim," said Jack, suspiciously.
"Not a bit of it, Jack."
"Well, by gum!" The big boy spitefully kicked a glowing ember back into the flames. "We're in a pretty fix now—but I knew it."
"Knew what?"
"That we were goin' to run up against somethin' hard pretty soon."
"Well, Dick and I ran up against a heapin'-over measure o' hard things down there," said Tim, solemnly, holding up his scratched hands for inspection. "Say, is there a bite to eat?"
Bob Somers pointed to a brace of quail lying on a piece of bark.
"Dave and I went back into the woods," he explained. "Seems to be all kinds of game about; it didn't take us long to get these."
"Which one of you chaps rode out on the end of the cliff?" asked Dick Travers, casually.
"On the end of the cliff!" echoed Bob. "Neither Dave nor I was anywhere near it."
"Well, then, whoever it was looked just too cute for words; you, Sam?"
"We didn't stir from this spot while Bob and Dave were away," answered Sam, earnestly.
"What!" cried Tim, amazed.
"But we saw some one up there," persisted Dick, staring with wide-open eyes at the group, "and if it wasn't any of you, who in the dickens could it have been?"
"Is that another silly joke?" demanded Jack, fiercely.
"Do you think we've just joined the United Order of Funny Men?" snorted Tim, as he sprang to the ground. "It's the unvarnished, bona fide truth; eh, Travers?"
Dick, holding his impatient broncho by the bridle, drew a long breath, and nodded.
"Gee! Here's a nice mystery: first, we hear shots; then, on the same day, a horseman rides up and takes a good long squint at us. Mighty odd you chaps didn't run across him."
"Goodness gracious, this place just seems full of people," murmured Tommy, turning to stare anxiously in all directions.
"And I don't like it a little bit, either," confided Dick. "Do you think—that is—suppose—"
"Say anythin' 'bout Pete Colliver, an' it means a whole lot o' trouble—remember!" howled Jack. He held up a warning finger. "That's settled—or somebody around here will be."
"Oh, get out," growled Dick, leading his broncho to where the others were tethered.
The boys had selected for their camp an inviting spot on a level, grassy stretch. Close by, a growth of scrubby trees and underbrush supplied them with plenty of fuel. On the west was a wide, deep gully filled with a profusion of vines and weeds, between which, here and there, could be seen moss-covered rocks.
"All hands pitch in and get those birds prepared," laughed Bob.
The quail were soon toasting over a bed of red-hot embers and sending forth a savory odor. Even the loss of the packhorse did not seem to affect their appetites in the least.
"Oh, ho," sighed Dave, as he finished his last mouthful, "isn't that Egyptian blackness out there?"
"Looks to me more like good old Washington blackness," grinned Bob.
Outside of a dancing circle of firelight, everything was lost in impenetrable gloom.
The boys wondered if the mysterious horseman knew of their presence, and, if so, why he had not come forward. Then, discussing the prospect of finding their missing beast of burden, Jack Conroy cheerfully insisted that its innocent young life had probably already paid a forfeit to a pack of hungry coyotes.
Leaving Dick Travers to stand first guard, the others finally rolled themselves up in their blankets and turned in, hugging the fire closely, for the air had a decidedly wintry feeling.
Dick began to pace to and fro, the soft pat, pat of his footfalls mingling with the sound of bronchos munching the grass or occasionally stamping. It seemed very lonely and desolate, but he speculated whether, in that mysterious gloom beyond the firelight, there might not be other human beings wandering about; and every unusually loud sound of snapping twig or rustle borne on the wind made him keenly alert.
A long time passed; yawns came with steadily increasing frequency, and on several occasions only heroic efforts saved him from falling over into a doze.
"Hello," he murmured, suddenly, "there's the moon coming up; isn't that dandy?"
In the east, a faint glow was beginning to show. It slowly increased, edging masses of low-lying clouds with lines of silvery white. Dick almost forgot his sleepy feelings as he watched them growing stronger and stronger. Presently the rim of the moon appeared in view over the hills.
"Gee! That's a corking fine sight," muttered Dick. "Wouldn't Dave like—"
His sentence came to an abrupt close.
With a suddenness that made him almost jump, the bronchos began snorting and neighing loudly, evidently in the grip of frantic fear.
Dick Travers was profoundly astonished.
"Great Scott!" he cried. "What—what—"
As he sprang to the fire, uttering a shout, seized a partly-consumed branch and waved it aloft, the sleepers awoke on the instant.
Tom Clifton jumped up and dived for his gun.
"Now, what's the matter?" he gasped, excitedly.
Dick, without replying, seized his own weapon, and holding the firebrand aloft boldly pushed out into the darkness. Tom, not to be outdone, sprang quickly to his side.
"What in the world is it?" he muttered, in a voice that trembled.
"We may soon find out," answered Dick, softly.
He waved his blazing torch high aloft, turned abruptly, and the animals, straining at their ropes, fell into gloom again. In a few moments the boys had reached the gully. Bob Somers and Sam Randall, clutching burning brands, crept cautiously beyond the circle of light, the others following close at their heels.
"Watch yourself, Dick!"
Bob Somers' voice vibrated over the air in a thrilling undertone.
"Maybe it's a panther," cried Jack, apprehensively.
"Or—or—a man," murmured Tim.
The bronchos suddenly began snorting and neighing again; their sharp heels, as they pranced about, struck the turf with dull, heavy thuds. Then came silence—a tense silence, which sent creepy feelings coursing down their spines.
"Great Cæsar!"
Sam Randall almost jumped in the air. A loud, piercing yell had abruptly jarred through the night. Then:
"Look out—help!"
Almost thrown into a panic, the boys fastened their eyes intently upon the shadowy form of Tom Clifton. They saw him give a sudden spring sidewise, slip, and wildly attempt to regain his balance.
The hasty movement sent the gun flying from his grasp. Then, with a third cry, he toppled over the edge of the gully, to almost immediately disappear from view. The startled crowd heard him crashing down through the bushes almost before they could make a move.
Bob uttered a cry of alarm. In a couple of bounds he cleared the intervening space.
A shrill screech, coming from behind a group of saplings, caused him to hastily fall back.
"A—a—a wildcat!" yelled Sam, excitedly. "Look out there!"
The light from his torch had illuminated the grayish form of a big cat. His ears were thrown backward belligerently, while a pair of yellow eyes, full of sparkle and viciousness, glared defiantly toward them.
Another challenging screech; the lithe body plunged forward.
"Look out!" yelled Dick. "He's coming!"
"Tommy—Tommy!" cried Bob, anxiously, "are you hurt? Hello, Tommy!"
"No!" came an answer, clearly. "Mind your eyes, now—there's—"
Bob didn't hear his concluding words; the cat was already upon him. He acted instantly. Smack! The torch, swung with all the force of his muscular arms, crashed against the animal's head. There was a sound of splintering wood; then a snarl of angry disapproval, as hot flames scorched his assailant's nose.
That touch of fire seemed to take all the fight out of the wildcat. It lunged sideways; and Dick Travers' frantic haste to give the animal plenty of room brought him up against Sam Randall with such force as to send the latter crashing to the ground.
Then the cat swerved abruptly, and, with a final snort of disgust, leaped down the slope.
When Tom Clifton, a badly scared lad, looked over the edge of the bank a moment later, he could, by the light of a flaring torch which lay on the ground, see Sam scrambling wildly to his feet.
"Great Scott! What's happened?" he cried, breathlessly. "Anybody hurt?"
Tom's reappearance was the signal for so many exclamations that his question passed without an answer.
"Safe and sound?" demanded Sam, whose voice and manner indicated that he was just beginning to get straightened out on the situation.
"You bet!"
"By Jupiter, that's simply great! The fall didn't hurt you, eh?"
"No; but it did the bushes, I can tell you—I ripped 'em up a bit. Landed on a ledge. Where's my gun? Gracious! That animal just missed me by a few feet when he went slipping by."
Bob gave Tom a hand, and helped him up the bank.
"I just about walked into that old codger," panted the lad. "Happened to look around, and saw his ugly face most pokin' me in the ribs. That would make anybody give a start, eh?"
"I wouldn't call it a 'start,' Tommy," grinned Sam; "I'd say a leap through space. How far did you roll?"
"About a hundred and twenty-five biscuit lengths. That's a pun, eh? Rolls and biscuits; and the last bump I got was a crackerjack. Think that cat is going to loaf around here waiting for us?"
"We'll be ready for him, if he does," said Sam.
"It seems to be a regular menagerie up here," laughed Jack Conroy. "What's comin' next, I wonder?"
They straggled back to the fire, piled on more fuel, and now as wakeful as they had ever been in their lives, watched the pale radiance of the moon slowly spreading out over the quiet landscape.
"Say," remarked Jack Conroy, as he suddenly rose from his seat on a log, "I see somethin' over there that doesn't look a bit like a rock, or bushes; an' it isn't a bear, either," he added, earnestly. "Come here, Somers."
"I'm in on this," chirped Tim, springing to his feet. His eyes, following the direction of Jack's outstretched arm, took in an odd-shaped form moving slowly about in the ghostly light.
"That is passin' strange, Jack," he murmured, in puzzled tones. "Thunderation! No animal could have a shape like that and live."
The crowd formed a half-circle around Bob Somers, as he brought out his field-glass and took a long, searching look. When he lowered it, an expression of wonderment rested upon his features. Without answering an eager volley of questions, he raised the glass again, his lips puckering to emit a shrill whistle of surprise.
"What is it, Somers?" howled Jack, impatiently.
"Say, fellows—" Bob's tone, full of amazement, caused a tremor of eager expectancy to run through the crowd.
"Well?" queried Tim, breathlessly.
"It looks—looks—"
"Like what?" almost roared Jack. "Is it a bird, beast, or portable bush?"
"Fellows, it looks exactly as our packhorse ought to in this light and that far off."
There was an instant of silence, then:
"It can't be possible."
"Oh, shucks! You're jokin'!"
"Get out, Bob!"
"A near-member o' the United Order o' Funny Men."
"But it does, I tell you!" shouted Bob. He almost pitched the field-glass into eager Jack Conroy's hands, seized his gun, and, with "Come on, fellows!" flung over his shoulder, started off at a loping trot.
Like a charge of infantry, with weapons shining in the moonlight, they swept through the high grass, jumped over and around obstructions, gradually increasing their pace until it became a wild, headlong spurt.
As they approached the strange-looking object, it began to dawn upon skeptical minds that, after all, it certainly did bear a striking resemblance to the missing packhorse.
Breathless and excited, the seven covered the last stretch in record time, all remaining doubts falling from their minds as swiftly as their flying feet trod the ground.
Right before them, clearly revealed by the moonlight, was the much-wished-for beast of burden.
"Great Scott!" cried Jack, in joy and amazement.
"Shout a little louder, will you?" said Tim, as fiercely as he dared. "That might start 'im off an' give us the chance o' havin' an all night's job."
The packhorse, with a loud neigh, kicked up his heels, and dashed away; but his long rope, catching around a mass of bushes and tree trunks, brought the animal to a sudden stop.
"Doesn't this beat anything you ever heard of?" burst out Dick Travers. "How on earth did this bronc ever get back here, eh, fellows?"
"That's beyond me," said Sam Randall.
"Queerer jinks never happened," cried Tom, his eyes snapping with excitement.
"To think that the silly duffer had actually sense enough to turn around an' toddle back," murmured Jack. "Honest, but this is the most natural dream I've ever had. Aren't you fellows really snoozin' 'round the fire at this very moment? Please don't wake me up."
"Truth is stranger'n dreams, sometimes, Jacky," grinned Tim.
The seven stood silently a moment, looking at each other in the greatest perplexity. The return of the packhorse seemed to hold an element of mystery which appealed strongly to their imaginations.
Had the broncho returned of his own accord?
Bob Somers thought not; and he voiced his convictions a moment later, as he stooped over to examine the rope.
"Fellows, the bronc never could have wrapped it around trunks and branches in this way," he remarked; "that's certain."
Dave Brandon's eyes ran quickly over the hemp.
"Not in a lifetime, Bob."
The crowd, eagerly looking on, nodded approval.
"I should call this the dickens of a puzzle," piped Tom.
"Maybe that strange horseman we saw on the cliff had a hand in it," cried Dick, animatedly; "eh, Bob? Let's see if any of the department store on his back is missing."
A quick search revealed everything in its proper place.
"What does it all mean?" demanded Jack, fiercely. "If some one led the critter back, why did he, or they, leave him here? Nobody could have missed seeing that firelight."
"Ask us a hard one," chirruped Tim. "But isn't this the greatest piece o' luck?"
"And how long do you think the bronc's been here?" asked Dick.
"Another poser," answered Tim. "Perhaps he didn't arrive until after old Luna bobbed up to oversee this part o' the earth again. We could chirp all night about it an' not know. Shall we—"
"We shall," said Dave firmly, between yawns. "The crowd owes a vote of thanks to some person, or persons. Every one is overjoyed, eh? But it mustn't prevent us from getting our sleep. Whose turn on guard is it—yours, Sam?"
"I'm afraid it is."
"That's enough to make all the rest of us afraid."
Smiling broadly, the literary boy walked over to the packhorse, seized his bridle, and when Bob had unloosened the rope began leading him toward their camp.
Excitement all over, the seven became conscious of an unpleasant chill in the air. It nipped their hands and faces, making the prospect of hugging close to a roaring fire doubly attractive. So, like a victorious little army, they hurried along, the moon sending their shadows weirdly straggling over the turf, and it didn't take the boys very long to resume their former positions.
Sam took his turn on guard, and after two hours' lonely vigil aroused Tom.
When morning came, an astonishing discovery was made: Dick Travers had disappeared.
It was Jack Conroy, on the final watch, who noted his absence from among the group of sleepers. And by this time a cold, gray light was spreading slowly out in the east. Ghostly streamers of mist hung low, forming cheerless barriers to the view beyond. A screeching hawk winged its way high up. Jack, chilled and hungry, stopped his almost ceaseless pacing to and fro, and came to a halt before the prostrate figures.
"Hello!" He stared hard, and rubbed his blinking eyes. "Hello! Only five o' 'em," he muttered. "That's mighty odd; where in thunder's Dick? He didn't get up while I've been here, that's sure. Hello, Dick!" He raised his voice. "Hello, Dick!"
Some of the sleepers stirred, but that was all. In the stillness, his voice sounded with a weird, sepulchral tone, and he almost shivered.
"Hello, Dick—I say, Travers, where are you?" roared Jack, beginning to suspect that Dick was trying to play a joke on him. "Come on, now; you'll have to get up earlier'n this to get ahead o' me; trot out!"
Bob Somers hastily unrolled himself from the folds of his blanket and scrambled to his feet; so did Sam and Tommy.
"What's up?" demanded Bob, quickly.
"Dick is," responded Jack.
"Dick?"
"Yes; an' he won't answer me, the silly idiot."
"How's that? He can't be far off."
"Of course he can't; that's what makes it so queer."
The buzz of voices awakened Tim, and soon all but Dave Brandon were upon their feet, eagerly discussing the strange affair.
Sam and Tom explained that during their watches they had paid but little attention to the sleepers.
"Could Dick have left without your knowing it?" asked Bob.
Sam nodded.
"Sure thing, Bob. Sometimes I hiked quite a long distance from the fire."
"Me too," chimed in Tom.
"No 'me too' business here," asserted Jack. "Travers never skipped out while I did my little stunt o' soldierin'; no, sir."
"Oh, cracky! I wonder what it all means!" wailed Tom.
"And so do I," came in drowsy tones from a recumbent figure. "You chaps make such a hullaballoo I—I—can't—sleep."
Dave's eyes were closing again, when a loud "Dick's missing!" from Jack Conroy opened them wide.
"What—what!" gasped the stout boy, promptly raising himself on his elbow. "Dick missing!"
"Sure as shootin', Dave; he beat it, an' without sayin' a word."
"Did he take his gun?"
"Yes; but he couldn't do any huntin' by moonlight; an' why is he stayin' away such a long time, eh?—it's been hours."
Dave, now thoroughly awake, slowly arose, a worried expression on his round face.
"Oh, ho, but it is strange," he murmured. "Risky business to be prowling around alone in this wild country."
"You bet!" came from Jack. "Bears, panthers an' wildcats likely to be hidin' behind any rock or thicket."
"Dick isn't the sort of fellow to do such a thing without having some good reason."
"What could it be, Dave?"
"Goodness only knows."
"Confound it! This is worse than the packhorse mystery," grumbled Tim. "Let's yell again, an' if there's no answer some o' us ought to prospect around in a hurry."
A volume of ear-splitting sounds rushed off into space. But neither it nor several others which followed brought forth the slightest response.
The boys looked at each other with worried faces.
"Gee! I don't like this a bit," confessed Bob.
"If Dick is playin' a joke on us I'll—I'll make him sorry for it," stormed Jack.
"Let's get away from here," cried Tim, dashing toward the horses.
The bronchos were quickly saddled; Bob, Jack and Tim vaulted upon their backs.
"By the time you have grub ready, fellows, we'll probably be here with Dick," cried Bob, as he gave his pony a touch of the quirt.
The three cantered briskly toward a line of vapory blanket which still stretched gloomily across the landscape. A few moments later their forms were enveloped in the mist and the clatter of hoofs quieted down.
Separating, the three rode about for almost an hour, frequently sending over the air the Rambler Club's special signal. But only mocking echoes answered. It seemed as lonely and desolate as a country never before trodden by human beings.
Meanwhile, the sun, shining like burnished gold through gray clouds, rose higher and higher, and the mist became slowly dissipated. From their widely separated positions the boys eagerly scanned the rolling valley, but not a sign of Dick Travers could be seen.
When they came together again, gloomy feelings were mirrored upon their faces.
"Worse and worse," cried Bob. "I'll fire; perhaps he'll hear that."
Crack! A puff of smoke floated slowly off. Crack! Another thin column joined it.
"Nothing!" Bob Somers' voice had a cheerless ring.
They cantered back to camp, where the others, hoping every moment to have their anxiety relieved, awaited them. Their questions showed plainly how much they were disturbed by the unexpected event.
"It beats the Dutch!" cried Sam, after Bob had explained. "Where in the world can old Dick be?"
"I feel sure he's all right," said Dave, though his voice trembled slightly.
Bacon and flapjacks were nicely browned, while a big coffee-pot hissed joyously upon a bed of red-hot coals; but the six had almost forgotten hunger, only taking time to eat so as to sustain their strength.
"Fellows, I move that we go to the end of the cliff; it's a good lookout point," suggested Dave, when the hasty meal was over.
"Bully idea," agreed Jack.
"An' let's go right away," added Tim.
Breakfast dishes, unwashed, were piled into a bag and thrown on the back of a packhorse, and a few moments later, with Sam leading Dick Travers' mount, the bronchos were spread out over the level surface, pounding along at a fast gallop.
The sting of the cold air rushing by seemed to bring out every spark of life in the fiery little animals; they fairly flew, and their riders made no attempt to check the headlong flight until a line of vegetation looming distinctly into view warned them that the edge of the cliff was near.
With almost one accord, they reined up, sprang to the ground, found convenient places to tether their ponies and then walked out to the point upon which Bob and Jack had stood the day before.
Six pairs of eyes keenly scanned the vast stretch of nature. It was Dave Brandon who presently broke the tense silence.
"Look!" he said, simply, extending his arm.
Far off, by the line of timber, they saw a tiny thread-like line of blue rising almost straight in the air.
"Smoke!" yelled Jack, excitedly. "By Jove! A camp-fire—it—it must be Dick's."
"Of course," piped Tom, enthusiastically. "Hooray! Knew all the time he was safe. Wow! Isn't this great, though?"
Bob Somers shook his head.
"No use shouting too soon," he said, reflectively. "Why should Dick have built a fire away down there in the valley?"
"Instead o' comin' back to camp," supplemented Jack.
"Yes!"
"That's the next poser, all right," admitted Tom, with a shade of disappointment. "It might be that horseman Dick and Tim saw up here. And say—"
"Well?" queried Tim.
"Perhaps Dick and he happened to run across each other, and Dick thought he'd stay with him for a while, just for a lark, eh?"
This idea did not appeal to the others.
"Not on your life," scoffed Tim.
"Suppose we fire off a few rounds," suggested Dave. "If Mr. Unknown should happen to hear the racket, he might come out from that timber and favor us with a view of himself."
"You're certainly the candy kid, all right," laughed Bob, taking the field-glass from its case. "Go ahead with the firing."
Several guns were immediately pointed in the air.
"One—two—three!" counted Bob.
A thunderous report which almost deafened them was carried off on the slight breeze.
Bob had his eyes to the field-glass. The thread-like line of smoke became a whirling column, apparently close at hand. In eager expectancy, he kept the instrument directed close around it, uttering an exclamation as a hoped-for event actually occurred.
A boy was seen moving about at the edge of the timber.
Presently he came out into the open, looking so clear and distinct that something strangely familiar in his appearance made Bob draw a long, deep breath.
"Goodness gracious!"
"Now what?" cried Jack, impatiently. "These—"
Perceiving that Bob had extended the glass toward him, he stopped suddenly and seized it.
"By all that's wonderful!"
In the field of view Jack saw a short, stocky figure, easily recognizable. Then:
"Pete Colliver!" fell from his lips.
When Dick Travers wrapped himself in his blanket and lay down by the fire, his thoughts, stirred into activity by the mysterious return of the packhorse, prevented him from sleeping. For some time he wooed slumber, then sat up, staring disgustedly at the crackling fire.
Like a flash, an idea popped into his head.
"If I can't sleep, it's no use staying here," he muttered. "Why not—"
Dick's head dropped, as Sam slowly approached, his form remaining as motionless as any of the sleepers until the sentinel again wandered off into the moonlight.
"I'll do it," said Dick to himself, his imagination fired with a brilliant scheme. "Yes, sir! And if I should find out anything wouldn't those chaps be surprised? Gee! It's a heap better than sleeping."
He waited until Sam was some distance off, then rose softly to his feet, buckled on his cartridge belt, seized a gun from the stack, and silently stole away.
Watching his opportunity, he found it an easy matter to avoid the unsuspecting Sam, a détour and convenient vegetation soon putting him beyond danger of detection.
And now that Dick was actually on the way, he began to have serious doubts.
"Bet Jacky 'ud call me a silly idiot," he reflected, with a grin, "but, sure as shooting, somebody brought that bronc back, and I might discover a camp-fire—it isn't likely, though. Still—well, hang it all, there's no sense in backing out now."
He found a certain pleasure in wandering about alone in the poetic moonlight, and also a feeling of danger which kept him keenly alert.
When Dick reached the spot where the packhorse had been found he came to a halt and studied the ground carefully, but his effort was unrewarded. Then he circled slowly around the bushes, sometimes on his hands and knees, hoping to discover some evidence of a trail through the tall grass. Still there was nothing.
With a muttered exclamation of disappointment, the boy straightened up and walked toward a knoll almost covered with tall cedars. Standing in their long, bluish shadows, he looked over the immensity of valley and hill, solemn and mysterious in the silvery sheen of the moon, with a strange feeling of awe and pleasure.
Almost forgetting his mission, Dick stood absorbed in its contemplation, when he received a shock which made his knees tremble violently.
A human voice had spoken, and the words, though faint, had reached his ears.
"I tell ye I did hear somethin', Pete Colliver; thar's some critter prowlin' 'bout."
"Pete—Pete Colliver!" gasped Dick Travers; "and—goodness gracious—Jimmy of Sellade!"
A whirlwind of thoughts began coursing through his brain. Now the mystery of the packhorse's return was explained; all their suspicions regarding Pete Colliver were confirmed—and in this startling fashion. What were the lumber-boys doing out there in the wilderness? There could only be one answer to that—tracking them.
For a moment, the queer mixture of feelings in Dick Travers' head made him almost dizzy. Then the familiar sound of Pete Colliver's voice steadied his nerves.
"Wal, let the critters prowl. Ye ain't skeered none, is ye, Jimmy? Mebbe 'twas them fellers a-runnin' ag'in. Ha, ha, but ain't they an easy lot? My, oh, my! Didn't I near bust a-tryin' not ter laff when they comes a-swingin' 'long ter see that hoss! Ha, ha!"
"I never seed sich ninnies afore," laughed Jimmy. "An' did ye pipe how the fat un could run?"
"Wal, ye kin jist bet I did; an' if I ever gits a-wrastlin' with 'im that's the way he'll beat it to the tall timber, Jimmy. Maybe the hull crowd o' 'em wasn't skeered o' me, eh?"
As Dick, not yet recovered from his astonishment, listened to these uncomplimentary remarks, his eyes flashed. But this feeling of anger lasted only a moment; a grin began to overspread his face.
"Dick, my boy, you deserve a real hero medal now," he thought. "I wonder what old Jack will say to this?"
From his position, Travers could tell that the two were very close to him—just a bit down the slope—and he listened intently as Jimmy began:
"If we's a-goin' ter get ter camp to-night we'd better be a-toddlin'. Guess old Jim Reynolds is gittin' peevish a'ready."
"Jim Reynolds!" gasped Dick. "Christopher Columbus! Why, that's one of Slater's men. Gee! Maybe it wasn't a good thing I couldn't sleep! Isn't this a discovery, though?"
"That's what I'm a-stayin' out so late fur, Jimmy; I want 'im ter git more peevish. He ain't my boss, is he? Didn't I put 'im on to the hull thing, eh? Ain't me an' you took all the trouble to track them kids, eh? None o' the gang kin git gay with me; I won't stan' fur it."
"The gang!" repeated Dick, reflectively, with a start. "That has a dangerous sound."
The loud, incautious voices did not reach his ears again for some moments, and when he next heard them it was evident that the pair had started off.
Dick scarcely dared to stir from the obscurity, but, taking courage, he peered out, to see Pete and Jimmy some distance away moving slowly toward the valley.
"Now what's to be done?" murmured Dick, elated at his success, yet at the same time much disturbed by the thought that their plans were so rudely threatened.
His first impulse was to hurry back and arouse the boys; the second to continue investigations unaided, find out where the gang was encamped, and have all the glory of a brilliant bit of detective work to himself.
It was a reckless plan, but Dick Travers' eyes brightened as he thought of it; the lines about his mouth tightened, and, without further hesitation, the boy crept cautiously from the sheltering shadow of the trees and began moving after the slowly retreating forms.
In the bright moonlight, his task was not difficult. He took advantage of bushes and clumps of trees, sometimes bending almost double, or dropping to his knees when the two figures in advance came to a halt.
Pete and Jimmy, totally unsuspecting, scarcely ever took the trouble to look behind them. Their course was far to the east, where the rolling slopes were more free from vegetation. Many times they disappeared from sight, but the eager trailer never failed to catch a glimpse of them as they reached the top of ridges and walked along their crests.
In three-quarters of an hour Dick saw a dense mass of timber not far ahead, forming a dark, irregular line against the sky. But what presently brought a stifled cry of exultation from his lips was a glimmer of light showing faintly between the trees.
"Hooray!" he murmured. "It must be their camp. This is the dandiest piece of luck. Great Scott! Won't the fellows open their eyes? And Jacky?—Gee! Bet he'll nearly flop over."
Paying little further attention to Pete and Jimmy, Dick steered straight toward the orange glow, scarcely stopping an instant until he was crouching well within the shadow of the timber.
It seemed very dismal and lonely. The network of branches met overhead and ghostly moonlight formed fairylike traceries upon bushes and trunks. In the gloomy, mysterious depths beyond perhaps many dangerous animals might be lurking.
Dick hung back, irresolute; then, drawing a deep breath, kept on.
"Gee!" A cold shiver ran through him. "This is risky business now."
The glow of the fire presently shone clear and bright, while a faint hum of voices came weirdly to his ears.
Dick moved with the utmost care, again dropping on hands and knees, crawling around underbrush and thickets, working along foot by foot, his heart thumping hard, as he saw the dancing firelight now sending its rays over the branches above his head. Twigs smote him in the face; trailing briars caught in his clothes, scratching with a force that made him wince, but he had the satisfaction of hearing the hum of conversation growing louder. Pete and Jimmy, who must have stopped somewhere to rest, had evidently just arrived.
"That sounds like a whopping big crowd," muttered Dick, excitedly. "Wish to thunder I could see a bit better. Horses, too, close about; I hear 'em."
At the imminent risk of being discovered, he had now reached a place where much that was said could be understood.
"So ye sure seen them fellers git that 'ere nag, eh, Pete?" a rough voice demanded.
"Bet yer life we did, Jim," came an answer, "an' they suspicioned, too, as how somebuddy had brung it back; Jimmy an' me hearn 'em."
"Let 'em s'picion," growled another voice; "an' that's all the good it'll do 'em. 'Tain't no use a-stayin' up no longer. Thought ye was a-goin' to take all night, Colliver."
"Oh, I didn't hurry none, Woodie. An' don't ye begin to hand out no sass, now. Yer gittin' ter be as bad as Jim Reynolds. Want us ter beat it, hey? Fur five cents—"
"Quit scrappin'," interposed a voice, in loud tones, "an' turn in. Them kids'll most likely be off by the time the sun gits up. That 'ere gold mine is as good as ourn a'ready, boys."
The conversation continued, while the eager listener tried in vain to gain a point of vantage which would enable him to get a view of the camp. As he stood in the shadow of a tree, and looked overhead at the spreading network of knotted branches, another bold idea entered his head.
"And a mighty risky one," Dick reflected.
However, upon studying the situation, he became convinced that he could climb the tree, take a quick observation, then hasten back to camp, having covered himself with glory. The temptation was too strong to resist.
Resting his gun in a safe place, Dick, with an earnest glance toward the fire, prepared for action. Clasping arms and legs around the trunk, he began to slowly work himself up. Active and muscular, the boy soon grasped hold of a sturdy limb about ten feet from the ground, paused an instant, and then, making one long effort, pulled himself safely astride it.
"Whew!" he murmured. "That's work, all right. The rest of it ought to be easy, though. Crickets!" The limb swung a bit, rattling its branches faintly. "Gee! I'll have to be mighty careful."
With infinite care, he crawled from limb to limb, at length reaching one which stretched directly toward the beacon of flaring light. Dick crept a few feet along it, his nerves tingling with excitement, pushed aside a bough upon which still clung a mass of faded yellow leaves, and peered intently down.
The faintest sigh of satisfaction passed his lips. A picturesque sight was before him. Lolling about beside a big fire were a number of men, their faces weirdly illuminated by the flames. Pete and Jimmy sat on a log, the former still talking loudly. Behind them, a number of bronchos were tethered, some scarcely seen amid the trees.
Eager and excited, Dick Travers was in the act of counting the men, when, to his horror, a loud crack suddenly reverberated.
As the limb began to bend beneath his weight, the boy barely managed to repress a cry of alarm.
A pang of fear shot through Dick Travers' heart; almost involuntarily he threw up his hands, catching hold of another limb above his head. The branch he was on gave a second ominous crack, its dried leaves rustling loudly.
With a supreme effort, he drew himself up, the sound of a commotion among the lumbermen ringing in his ears.
"A panther somewhar in the trees!" he heard Pete Colliver yell.
Breathing hard, Dick Travers hung suspended, his feet dangling in the air. For an instant, the fear of a shot being fired made a cold chill run through him; it was on the tip of his tongue to let his presence be known when he discovered that the men who had sprung to their feet were not hurrying in his direction. Screened by a multitude of branches and leaves, he regained courage.
"I'll take a chance and try to get away," he breathed, sturdily. "My! If those rough lumbermen should happen to find me hanging around like this," he managed to smile grimly, "they mightn't be a bit polite!"
The terrific strain on his arms soon began to tell. But Dick, gritting his teeth, twisted about, in an effort to see what was going on.
The men, possibly believing Pete Colliver's explanation to be the right one, were already searching around, and a cold perspiration began to stand out upon Dick Travers' face when his eyes caught the metallic gleam of their guns.
"Gracious!" he thought. "Dicky, you're in a precious bad fix. It won't do to stay here two seconds longer."
Torches were sending yellow streaks flaring among the trees and bushes. Any instant their rays might reveal his presence. Dick instantly began to work his way toward the main trunk, the faint noise of his progress drowned by the crashing of many feet in the brush.
"Wal, the varmint's scooted!" cried Pete, presently.
"Scooted nothin'!" snorted Jimmy. "Didn't I tell ye I hearn 'im away back thar? The critter follered us, jist a-waitin' ter jump down on somebody's neck. Hey, what was that?"
Dick Travers' foot had slipped as he rested it upon a limb, and, in an effort to save himself, he had caused the branches and leaves to rattle sharply.
"Hey! What was that?" repeated Jimmy, in affrighted tones.
"I reckon it's a painter, sure nuff, boys!" cried Tom Smull, falling hastily back toward the fire. "Watch yerselves, or he'll chaw yer head off!"
"Skeered, eh?" sneered Bart Reeder. "Don't ye think we uns is more'll a match fur one pesky varmint, Smull? Come out o' that, an' stan' up to it like a man."
"Scar't! I ain't scar't o' nothink that walks," retorted Tom Smull, hotly; "eh, Griffin? By gum, listen ter that!"
Dick, in trying to descend quickly, while the voices were still raised, had missed his hold on the trunk, and gone slipping downward through yielding twigs and masses of leaves. It was more the noise occasioned by the fall than the mishap which sent another icy chill along his spine, for he dropped only a few feet, landing on the ground where there was sufficient vegetation to break the force of his descent.
Scarcely daring to breathe, he crouched low, listening to the excited voices of the searchers, and expecting every instant to find himself surrounded.
Again Dick was on the point of yielding obedience to his overwrought nerves and sending a yell of surrender; but, somehow, it was never uttered. The flickering torchlight was again picking out in strong yellow dashes the limbs above his head.
Pressed hard against the tree trunk, Dick heard rough, angry exclamations, as vines and bushes impeded the lumberjacks' progress, and trembled violently as footsteps grew louder. He seemed to be cornered; his glorious plan doomed to inglorious failure.
"I tell ye, Pete, the critter ain't fur off," cried Jimmy. "Keep yer peepers on the branches, fellers!"
"Only hope they do," reflected Dick. "Cæsar! Wonder if I dare risk it?"
A few yards distant, the moonlight revealed a dense mass of brush and thickets surrounded by high bunch grass.
"With about thirty feet start, I'd wager the whole crowd would never find me," thought Dick, grimly. "I won't give up yet—no, sir; here goes!"
Throwing himself flat on his stomach, he began to worm his way toward the goal, taking advantage of every shadow, a loud crashing of feet and flaring light close by showing that there wasn't an instant to spare.
Blades of grass swept into the boy's face; twigs and sticks made his hands smart painfully. But, with a firm resolve not to give up until every vestige of hope was gone, he kept ahead.
"Maybe they'll stop in a few minutes," he reflected. "Whew! All kinds of creeps in this adventure! Ah!"
A feeling of relief shot through him, as he drew up well in the shelter, and cast an anxious look behind.
The sight was disheartening. A half dozen blazing torches could be seen moving about in an erratic fashion, sometimes disappearing behind the trees. There was one, and Dick's eyes fastened upon it with fascinated attention, that kept headed straight toward him.
With his lips tight set, he crawled still further, snuggling down close to the ground, then stopped and began to pull leaves and grasses over his body, until the nearness of the footsteps warned him that it was time to stop.
"Now it's all up," groaned Dick, keyed to a high pitch of excitement.
A heavy footstep close at hand jarred on his nerves like an electric shock. Almost holding his breath, he gazed fearsomely between the twigs of the protecting thicket. The searcher was coming nearer every second. The suspense was almost more than the boy could stand.
A short, stocky figure suddenly emerged into view, skirting around the thicket.
"Pete Colliver!" flashed through Dick Travers' mind.
A blazing pine-knot which drowned the pale green rays of the moon illuminated his irregular features with striking effect. Pete's little eyes were roving eagerly over every low-hanging branch, and a grunt of disappointment fell from his lips—the search had revealed nothing.
"Bust it! Whar has the warmint went, I'd like to know?" he growled.
Pete came to a halt within a few feet of the prostrate form, waving the torch vigorously above his head. Dick felt a cold perspiration standing out upon his face again; another move of the young lumberjack might bring his heavy boot down upon him.
Motionless, he stared up at Pete, ready to spring to his feet on the instant.
"I reckon the warmint's skipped," came in a surly undertone. Pete stirred, then turned sharply on his heel.
A loud yell had echoed through the forest with startling abruptness.
"Somethin' has ketched Tom Smull!"
The crashing of Pete's footsteps grew fainter; and, as the yellow torchlight vanished, the pale rays of the moon again came in for their own.
The astonished Dick Travers was once more alone.