"Gone!" burst from Allen's lips.
"What's to do now?" asked Noel Urner.
Ike Watson halted in perplexity for fully a minute. Then he dismounted and waded into the stream, which was scarcely a foot to a foot and a half in depth.
"Ho! ho! ho!" he laughed, suddenly. "I thought so! No, ye can't play thet game hyer.".
"What now, Ike?" questioned the young ranchman.
"They went up in the middle o' this yere stream, thinkin' they could throw me off the trail. See, hyer are the marks ez plain ez the nose on Cap'n Grady's face." And the old hunter pointed into the clear water.
Leaving Allen to bring his horse, Watson walked slowly along the bed of the stream, taking good care not to step into any deep holes. In this manner half a mile was covered, when, at a point where the brush along the bank was thin, the trail led out once more on the dirt and rocks.
"An old trick, but it didn't work this trip," chuckled Ike Watson to himself, as he once more resumed his seat in the saddle.
"What I am thinking of is, what made them suspicious, after they were so far from Casey's Forks," said Allen.
"Perhaps their guilty consciences," laughed Noel.
"Thet, an' because they thought I might be follerin' 'em," added Ike Watson. "Hullo! What does this mean?"
He had followed the trail around a belt of timber. Beyond was a wall of rocks, and here were traces of a recent camp—a smoldering fire and some odds and ends of crackers and meat.
"We ain't far behind 'em, boys!" he went on. "This fire wuz tended ter less than a couple o' hours ago."
"Then let us push on, by all means," returned Allen. "If we can catch those two men before they have a chance to join any of their evil companions, so much the better."
"The trail leads along the rocks," observed Noel. "Have you any idea where we are going?"
"Idee! I know this yere country like a book," said Ike Watson. "Don't ye git 'feered o' bein' lost so long ez ye stay nigh me."
"I don't mean that. I mean, do you know where the men went from here?"
"Up to Grizzly Pass, most likely, an' then along over ter the Black Rock Canyon. Eh, Allen?"
"It would seem so," responded Allen seriously.
"Grizzly Pass; rather a suggestive name," said Noel.
"Ye-as; especially when a big grizzly shows hisself," drawled Watson, and there the conversation dropped.
Despite the fierce sunshine, it was deliciously cool along the base of the rocky wall, and the horses made good progress over the hard but level trail. Here and there immense brier bushes overhung the way, but these were easily avoided by the animals, who were more afraid of them than were their riders.
Presently the trail took an upward course, leading between a split in the rocks.
"Ye want ter be careful hyer," cautioned Ike Watson. "It's a mighty slippery spot fer the best o' hoss flesh."
Scarcely had he spoken when Noel Urner gave a cry of alarm.
He was in the rear, and both the old hunter and Allen turned quickly to see what was the matter.
They found Noel's horse on his knees, having slipped to one side of the trail.
The young man was on the ground, one foot caught in the stirrup.
"Stop the hoss!" cried Watson. "If ye don't he'll bang the young man's head off!"
Before he had ceased speaking Allen was on the ground. He ran back and caught Noel's horse by the bridle. The young man from the east was partly stunned, and it was several seconds before he could recover sufficiently to disengage his foot and arise from his dangerous position.
"Good for you, Allen!" he cried, as he stood by, while the young ranchman assisted the horse to a safe spot in the trail. "I was afraid I was in for it."
"Ye did jes' the right thing, Allen," put in Ike Watson. "Dunno but wot ye hed better walk a brief spell," he went on to Noel, who was only too glad to do so.
Half an hour later the top of the rocks was reached, and they moved back to where the way was smooth and safe. A lunch was had from the pouches, and on they went as fast as the fatigued horses would carry them.
"I can see no trail," said Noel, as he rode abreast of his companions.
"There ain't no need ter see a trail hyer," replied Ike Watson. "This yere way is a blind pocket fer all o' these three miles. Ye couldn't go no different if ye tried. Byme-by, when we come out on Sampson's flats, we'll look for the trail ag'in."
"We ought to catch up to those men before we reach the flats," remarked Allen. "They must be tired out by that climb."
"We ain't fur off," rejoined Watson. "Jes' keep silent half an hour longer, an' we'll——"
He broke off short, reigned in his steed, and pointed ahead.
Allen looked eagerly in the direction. Under the spreading branches of a giant pine rested two men. Not far from them two horses were hoppled. The men looked thoroughly tired. Both were smoking pipes and leaning against the tree with their eyes closed.
"Let us dismount and tiptoe our way to them," whispered Allen. "If we secure their horses first they will have no chance to get away from us."
"A good plan, lad," returned Watson, in an equally low tone. "Supposin' ye an' I leave our nags with Mr. Urner?"
This was agreed upon, and after dismounting the horses were led behind some heavy brush by the young man from the east.
Then, with their weapons ready for use, Allen and old Ike Watson stole cautiously forward to where were grazing the animals belonging to the two bad men from Jordan Creek.
Allen and the old hunter from Gold Fork went about their work as silently as possible. The horses were somewhat in the rear, and so they made a detour, coming up behind the dozing men as softly as twin shadows.
The animals reached, the next thing was to release them. This was speedly accomplished, and it was Allen who led them off, while Ike Watson still remained on guard with his trusty gun ready should the occasion arise to make use of the firearm.
In less than three minutes the young ranchman was back, having left the captured animals in Noel's care.
"Now, what's to do?" he questioned.
"Maybe we hed better git a few ropes ready, in case we want ter bind 'em," began Ike Watson, but ere this idea could be put into execution one of the men dropped his pipe, and the hot tobacco, falling on his hand, brought him upright with a start. He opened his eyes, and with a loud exclamation, which awoke his companion, leaped to his feet.
"What does this mea——" he began.
"Hands up, ye rascal!" ordered Ike Watson, so sternly that instantly both arms were raised high overhead. The horse thief, for the man was nothing less, if not much worse, fully understood that his opponent had the "drop" on him and would not stop to parley unless the order to elevate his hands was obeyed.
The second rascal, in his sitting position, attempted to draw a pistol, but Allen, producing his own weapon, forced the man to remain stationary.
"We hev ye, stranger," remarked Watson after a second of silence. "Do ye acknowledge the corn?"
"What's the meaning of this outrage?" growled the fellow who was standing, and he scowled fiercely, first at the old hunter and then at the young ranchman.
"It means firstly that ye are in our power," chuckled Watson. It was evident that he thoroughly enjoyed the situation.
"Well?"
"Then ye acknowledge thet, do ye?"
"I suppose we'll have to."
"It's Ike Watson from Gold Fork," put in the man who was sitting.
"Ike Watson!" the face of the speaker grew quite disturbed. It was plain he had heard of Watson before and did not relish being held up by the well-known old man.
"Ye-as, I'm Ike Watson," drawled the old hunter. "Now, strangers, give me yer handles, and let me have 'em straight."
"My name is Roe Bluckburn," came from the standing man.
"Mine is Lou Slavin, and I'm not ashamed of it," came from the other.
"Jes' so," mused Watson. "I've heard o' both o' yeez belongin' to the old Sol Davids gang o' hoss thieves."
"You are mistaken. We are not thieves of any sort," said Bluckburn, who appeared the leader of the pair.
"Well, we won't quarrel about that, seein' ez how we are on another trail ter day. We want ye ter up an' tell us ter onct whar Barnaby Winthrop is."
"Yes, and tell us the truth," put in Allen, sternly.
The men were both taken aback by the request. They exchanged glances and each waited for the other to speak.
"Come, out with it, Bluckburn!" cried Watson.
"Dunno the man you are talking about."
"Ye can't come it thet way. Didn't I hear ye talkin' it over down ter Casey's Forks only yesterday? Come, out with the truth, or take the consequences!" and to scare the horse thief Ike Watson tapped his gun barrel suggestively.
"Must be some mistake. We wasn't near Casey's Fork in a month. Eh, Lou?"
"Nixy."
"Ye tell it so smooth I would most believe ye, if I hadn't follered ye up," growled Watson. "But we know ye air in the deal ag'in Barnaby Winthrop, an' I am hyer ter help his nevvy thar, Allen Winthrop. So ye hed better ease yer mind ter onct. Understand?"
The two men turned their attention to Allen curiously. They wished to hold a consultation, but Watson would not permit it.
At that moment Noel Urner came forward, having succeeded in tying all of the horses in a little grove not far distant.
He eyed both of the prisoners keenly, and then gave a start.
"I saw that man in San Francisco!" he ejaculated, pointing to Roe Bluckburn. "He was hanging around the very hotel at which Mr. Barnaby Winthrop stopped."
"It ain't so," growled Bluckburn, but his face proclaimed that Noel Urner had spoken the truth.
"If that is the case, then he is the one who decoyed my uncle away," put in Allen. "For there is no longer any doubt in my mind that he was spirited away in some fashion."
"Air ye fellers goin' ter speak?" roared Ike Watson, impatiently. "Ye can't expect me ter stand hyer with a gun the rest o' the day!"
"Unless you do speak, we shall bind you and hand you over to the sheriff," said Allen. "We believe we have a good case against you—and will have a better after Captain Grady is placed under arrest," he added, struck with a sudden thought.
"Captain Grady!" groaned the man named Lou Slavin. "I reckon the jig is up, Roe."
"Shut up!" growled Bluckburn.
"But if the captain is known wot show have we got?" grumbled Slavin. "Say?" he continued eagerly. "I went into this thing ag'in my will, an' I wish I was out of it. Supposin' I tell yer the truth about the hull gang, does that save me?"
"Don't you say a word, Lou!" shouted Bluckburn, warningly, but ere he could speak further the muzzle of Ike Watson's gun caused him to retreat up to the tree, where he stood, not daring to say another word.
"Go on and have yer say!" cried the old hunter to Lou Slavin. "And, ez I said before, give it ter us straight. Whar is Barnaby Winthrop?"
"He is a prisoner, about ten miles from here," was Slavin's flat and sudden confession.
Both Paul and Chet Winthrop were deeply interested in the words uttered by Jeff Jones, the colored member of the horse thieves' gang.
"So you know something of Captain Grady and our uncle, Barnaby Winthrop?" cried Chet, excitedly. "What do you know?"
"Dat's fer you two fellers ter find out—onless yer let's me go," replied Jeff Jones, suggestively.
"You mean you won't speak unless we grant you your liberty?" put in Paul.
"Dat's de way to figure it."
Paul looked at Chet inquiringly.
"We can't promise anything until Mr. Dottery gets back," said Chet. "But if you know anything about our uncle you had better speak out, if you wish us to do anything at all for you."
"I won't say a word," growled the colored man.
Chet bit his lip in vexation.
"Don't you know what it is to have us able to speak a word for you?" said Paul. "Supposing we let Jack Blowfen take you over to the next camp and tell the men that you are a downright horse thief? Would you fancy that?"
Jeff Jones began to tremble. He knew what Paul meant—that he would be lynched inside the hour. In that section of the country, at that time, horse stealing was considered almost as bad as murder.
"No! no! doan let him take me down ter de Fork!" howled Jeff Jones. "Anyt'ing but dat, boys!"
"Well, you, had better talk, then," returned Paul, severely.
"I doan know much, but I'll tell yo' all I do know," said the prisoner, after a short pause, "and yo' is ter do de best yo' can fo' me, promise me dat?"
"We will," said Chet. He was very impatient for Jeff Jones to proceed.
"Well, den, Captain Grady has been a-spottin' yo' uncle fer seberal weeks—eber sence he got Massah Winthrop ter leave San Francisco."
"Got him to leave San Francisco?" queried Paul.
"Yes. I doan know how de t'ing was done, but he got yo' uncle ter leave de city an' now he's tryin' ter make him gib up de secret ob a mine, or sumfin like dat."
"Gracious!" burst from Chet's lips. "That explains it all. Uncle Barnaby must be in Captain Grady's power."
"And by getting us out of the ranch he thought to make us leave the neighborhood," added Paul. "Do you know," he went on, "I believe he is at the head of a band who wish to obtain entire control of this section."
"I don't doubt it, Paul," Chet turned to the prisoner. "Where is our uncle now?"
"Dat I can't say."
"Captain Grady must know."
"Suah he does."
"Then we'll make him tell, never fear," Chet began to walk up and down. "I wish Mr. Dottery would come back."
"I hear somebody down the road," said Paul as he walked to the door. "It must be the two coming back now."
Paul was right. There was a clatter beyond in the dark, and a moment later Caleb Dottery appeared, followed by Jack Blowfen.
"Couldn't catch 'em in the dark," said Dottery, as he strode into the house and dropped into a rude but comfortable chair. "But thank fortune, the stock is safe!"
"Slick rascals, Mangle and Nodley," continued Jack Blowfen. "But we'll round 'em up some day, I'll bet mysombreroon it."
"We have just heard important news," said Paul, and he instantly proceeded to repeat what Jeff Jones had said.
Caleb Dottery and his cowboy helper listened with interest. The former gave a long, low whistle of astonishment.
"Must say I didn't quite think it of Captain Grady, though I allow as how he's a slick one," he remarked. "Wot's ter do about it?"
"We came here to obtain your aid," said Chet. "Captain Grady has taken possession of our ranch. You know he sets up some sort of a claim to it."
"Got yer papers, ain't ye?"
"No; they were burned up when we had our little fire."
"Humph! thet's bad!"
"But the place is ours—father bought and paid for it," added Paul, warmly. "And we intend to get Captain Grady out, even if we have to fight him."
"Good fer ye!" shouted Jack Blowfen. "Thet's the way ter talk. I'm right hyer ter help ye. I love grit, I do!" and he held out his big brown hand to Paul as if to bind a bargain.
"I'll certainly help ye, too," said Dottery. "Ye have done a good turn this night which I'm not likely to forgit in a hurry."
"This colored man told us about our uncle and Captain Grady of his own free will," said Paul. "So, if you can be a little easy on him on that account I wish you would be."
"Stealin' hosses ain't no light crime," growled Dottery.
"An' it don't improve a man's reputation to become a sneak," added Jack Blowfen.
Yet, after some talk, it was agreed to hold Jeff Jones merely as a prisoner for the present, instead of carrying him to the nearest camp to be turned over to the vigilance committee.
It was now so near morning that to think of retiring was out of the question. The men began to smoke, and Blowfen stirred about getting breakfast. At six o'clock they dined.
"I'll chain Jones up as a prisoner in the house till we git back," observed Dottery, when the meal was finished. "He'll keep quiet if he knows when he is well off."
This was done, and then both house and outbuildings were made as secure as possible.
Ten minutes later Paul, Chet, and the two men were on their way on horseback to the Winthrop ranch. All were armed and ready for anything that might turn up.
But not one of the number dreamed of the several surprises in store for them.
"I wonder if Captain Grady is alone or if he has a number of the gang with him?" observed Paul, as he rode alongside of his younger brother, and just in front of the two men.
"Most likely he is expecting trouble and has help at hand," returned Chet. "He knows well enough we won't give up our claim without a fight."
"It's possible he thought to frighten us off until Allen got back from San Francisco."
"Don't make any difference how much help he has," broke in Jack Blowfen. "He ain't no right to put ye out like a couple o' dogs, an' he knows it."
In this manner the talk went on until a little after noon, when the locality known as Demon Hollow was reached.
"Do you remember the badger, Paul?" laughed Chet. "The Hollow looks different in the daylight, doesn't it?"
"Yes, indeed, but still—what was that?"
"Jumpin' June bugs!" cried Jack Blowfen. "Dottery, did ye hear that?"
"I did," replied the old ranch owner, and he clutched his gun apprehensively.
"I heard something," said Chet. "What was it?"
"A bar, boy, sure ez ye are born—a grizzly!"
"Oh!"
At once the little party came to a halt. To the right of them was a tall overhanging rock, to the left a number of prickly bushes. Ahead and behind was the winding and uneven road along which their animals had come on a walk.
"Do ye see old Ephraim?" asked Jack Blowfen, as he, too, got his gun in readiness.
"I don't see anything," declared Paul.
Bang! It was Chet's gun which spoke. He fired up toward the top of the overhanging rock. Scarcely had the shot rung out than a fearful roar of mingled pain and rage rent the air.
"Shot him, by Jupiter!" cried Caleb Dottery. "Stand from under, quick!"
Hardly had the word been given than there was another roar. Then a heavy weight filled the air and down into the road leaped a big brown and gray grizzly weighing all of eight hundred pounds.
He came down between the boys and the two men, and no sooner had he landed than Dottery and Blowfen opened fire on him, both striking the beast in the shoulder, and, consequently, doing but little damage, for a grizzly bear is tough and can stand many shots which do not touch his vital parts.
The horses, much scared, backed in all directions, some going into the bushes and others up against the rocks.
More angry than before the grizzly half turned, and then, without warning, raised up on his hind legs and made for Chet, whose horse was now flat upon the rocks, having stumbled in his hasty retreat, Chet himself was partly in and partly out of the saddle when the charge was made.
"Run, Chet, run!" yelled Paul. "He is coming for you!"
In alarm he came up on foot, his horse refusing to budge in the direction of the bear.
The bear heard Paul's voice and for the second paused and turned, as if to make sure he was in no immediate danger from that quarter. Then he continued to advance upon Chet.
Almost overcome with fear, Paul raised his gun and fired at the bear's head. It was a chance shot, but luckily it hit the huge beast in the ear. The bear howled with pain, staggered forward a few feet and rolled over on his side.
By this time Dottery and Blowfen had their pistols out. Leaping to the roadway, they ran forward, and in less than a minute the bear had received six pistol balls and was kicking in his death agony.
It was Paul who helped Chet to his feet. The boy was as white as a sheet and trembled so he could scarcely stand.
"I—I thought I was a goner!" he stammered. "What a big fellow he is!"
"The bar we war arfter last spring," said Jack Blowfen to Dottery as they examined the brute. "See those marks on his side where we tipped him? A good job that he is out of the way."
It was the second grizzly bear the boys had seen since they had lived in that section and they gazed at him curiously. What white teeth he had, and how powerful he looked! Even now that he was still and all was over, Chet hardly cared to touch him.
"I want to see no more of him," he said.
"Well, I reckon he's the last in this neighborhood," said Caleb Dottery. "He's the only one I've seen around in nigh on six years."
It was decided to leave the bear where he was until they returned. Of course, it was possible some wild animal might come up and make a feast in the meanwhile, but this could not be helped. To skin the animal and hang up the meat would take too long.
Leaving Demon Hollow, they pushed along as rapidly as the horses would carry them.
At the creek they stopped to water the animals, and here also partook of the lunch which Blowfen had packed up before starting.
It was nightfall when they at last came in sight of the ranch home. All seemed deserted. Every building was tightly closed and so was the gate to the stockade.
"Maybe he has thought better of it and skipped out," said Chet.
"There is our stuff still in the road," returned Paul, pointing ahead.
In a moment more they had reached the stockade. All four rode straight up to the heavy wooden gate.
"I'll have to jump over and unbar it," said Paul.
"Be careful," was Caleb Dottery's caution. "This may be a trap and——"
He had no need to say more.
"Halt!" came from the yard behind the stockade. "Stop where you are or I'll fire on you!"
It was Captain Grady himself who spoke.
Of course Paul made a prompt retreat. It would have been worse than useless, just then, to have remained where he was, with his hands on the stockade gate.
The party outside could not see Captain Grady, but from the direction of his voice they knew he was on the other side of the stockade at a point where several peep and gun holes covered the entrance.
"That's right, you better git back!" went on the captain, as Paul retreated.
"See here, Grady, what does this mean?" demanded Caleb Dottery, as he advanced in the direction of the guard openings.
"It means that I have got possession of this ranch, which rightfully belongs to me, and I mean to keep it," was the grim reply, delivered with great force and distinctness.
"The Winthrop boys deny yer rights."
"That makes no difference. I know what's what."
"Open the gate and let us talk it over quietly," went on Dottery, who was naturally a peaceably inclined individual.
"I'm not opening the gate just now. Those boys can go away. I don't mind you coming around, but I don't want those boys here."
"Well, you'll have to put up with us," cried Chet, angrily. "Now, open the gate, or we'll smash it down!"
"Don't be rash, Chet!" whispered Paul.
"You monkey!" roared Captain Grady. "Fall back, before I let you have a dose of buckshot!"
"There will be no shooting here, Captain, unless ye want ter get wiped out," broke in Jack Blowfen. "Open the gate fer yer neighbors and let us hev a powwow."
"I've told you wot I'll do—open up when the boys go away."
"Come on, Chet," whispered Paul to his younger brother.
"Yes, but Paul——"
"Come on, I say," and Paul whispered something into Chet's ear.
At once, with a wink at Jack Blowfen, the two boys started off on a gallop toward the river.
"Do you think we can do it?" asked Chet, anxiously.
"I think so. We can try, anyway."
Dismounting, the brothers made their way to where a deep ditch drained from the ranch home under the stockade into the river. The ditch was almost dry and was all but choked up with weeds and brush.
"Now, Chet, it is a serious undertaking, but you know we must take some chances," went on Paul, as they let themselves down into the ditch. "The captain may really shoot at us, although I think he will hardly dare do it with Blowfen and Mr. Dottery at hand to see that justice is done."
"If he shoots, we'll shoot back," replied Chet. "He has no right on our land, and, besides, we must do something for Uncle Barnaby's sake."
Full of determination, and realizing that a crisis was at hand, the two boys wormed their way along the ditch until the stockade was reached.
Here a few wooden bars blocked the way. But one of the bars was loose and was wrenched aside, and they went on.
"We must be careful, in case any one is in the house," said Paul in a whisper.
The ditch led around to the rear of the ranch home. But here it went underground and they were compelled to leave it and take to the grass.
They gave a brief look and saw Captain Grady down by the opening in the stockade, still arguing with Dottery and Blowfen. He looked anxious.
"He don't see us," whispered diet. "Come, the front door is open!" and he made a quick dash for the house, followed closely by Paul.
The door was closing on the pair when Captain Grady started around and beheld Paul's form from the rear. He gave a quick cry of alarm.
"Stop! Come out!"
"Too late, Captain Grady!" called back Paul, facing about and aiming at the man with his gun. "Now, just you go and open the stockade gate!"
"Thar ain't no need o' thet!" cried the voice of Jack Blowfen. "Well done, boys; I give ye credit."
And over the stockade vaulted the cowboy, leaping from his saddle to the grass on the other side.
Captain Grady knew not which way to turn, and before he could decide the gate was unbarred and Caleb Dottery rode in.
In the meantime Chet had taken a hasty glance through the house and satisfied himself that Captain Grady was really alone. There was evidence that several visitors had been there but recently—a number of unwashed dishes and drinking glasses.
Chet returned to the doorway and beheld Captain Grady in Jack Blowfen's strong grasp. The firearm had been wrenched from the captain and hurled a dozen feet away.
"This—this is an outrage!" puffed the captain in a great rage.
"So is the way ye set up to treat neighbors," replied the cow puncher, coolly. "Why didn't ye leave us in like gentlemen an' thus avoid all trouble?"
The captain glared at him.
"What does this mean?" he demanded sullenly after a pause.
"Can you hold him, Blowfen?" asked Paul, anxiously.
"I reckon, Paul; but maybe ye might better keep him covered with yer gun."
"This means that we have come to take possession of our own," put in Chet. "We told you that we would be back."
"It's ag'inst the law, and I'll have the sheriff on you!" shouted Captain Grady wrathfully.
"We'll chance that," said Paul. "March into the house, please. We want to question you a bit on another matter," he continued.
Captain Grady started. "What matter?" he asked in a lower tone of voice.
"About our uncle, Barnaby Winthrop."
"Don't know nothing of him," was the reply, and as he spoke Captain Grady's hand moved up to his inside breast pocket.
Instantly Jack Blowfen leaped upon the rascal and bore him to the earth.
"Don't be alarmed; he is not going to shoot," cried Paul.
"Don't ye make too shure o' thet," ejaculated the cowboy. "Wot's he puttin' his hand into his pocket fer?"
"He has something there I fancy he wishes to conceal," went on Paul. "Empty the pocket, please."
"Let me go! This is highway robbery!" stormed Captain Grady.
He struggled fiercely to regain his feet. But Blowfen was the stronger of the pair and he easily held the rascal down with one hand, while with the other he brought several letters from his inside pocket.
Paul eagerly snatched the letters, in spite of the captain's protest. He glanced at them, with Chet looking over his shoulder.
"Well, what do you make out?" asked Caleb Dottery. He didn't quite like the way matters were turning.
"I think we will be safe in making Captain Grady a prisoner," replied Paul slowly.
"Yes, make him a prisoner by all means," put in Chet. "He is a villain if ever there was one. If we can't prove it I think my Uncle Barnaby can."
At the reference to Barnaby Winthrop Captain Grady grew pale. It was evident that his sins were at last finding him out.
It did not take Jack Blowfen long to act upon Paul's suggestion. He disarmed the captain and made him march into the house, where he bound the fellow in very much the same manner as Dottery had bound Jeff Jones.
While he was doing so Paul showed the letters taken from the prisoner to Caleb Dottery. Chet, while a second reading was going on, commenced to ransack the house.
The captain had moved but a few things into the ranch home—a couple of chairs, a table, a bed, and an old hair trunk. The trunk Chet opened without ceremony.
More letters were found there—documents which told only too plainly what manner of man the captain was. Chet smiled to himself to think how foolish the rascal had been not to have destroyed the epistles.
"But the greatest of villains occasionally over-reach themselves," he said to Paul. "I fancy this is proof enough to show what an awfully bad man Captain Grady is."
"You are right, Chet," said Dottery, after a careful examination. "He is a hoss thief as great as was old Sol Davids, and he is trying to rob yer uncle out of a mine claim as well."
"Not only that, but as Jeff Jones said, he is with the crowd who holds my uncle a prisoner, sir. That, to me is the worst part of it."
"I don't know but what ye are right."
The captain was raising such a row that to quiet him Jack Blowfen threw him bodily into a dark closet and turned the key on him.
"Now if ye don't quit yer noise, I'll gag ye in the bargain," said the cowboy, and thereupon the captain became quiet at once.
It was now quite in line to hold a council of war, as Paul termed it. But before this was done all hands went to work to move the Winthrop household effects back to where they belonged.
This was accomplished in a short space of time, and was productive of an accident which, while not excessively serious, was still of sufficient importance to cause a decided change in their plans.
In moving in an old, heavy bedstead Caleb Dottery allowed the end he held to slip from his grasp. A sharp corner came down on his ankle, twisting it severely. He cried with pain and work was at once suspended.
The ankle was bandaged, but it was found the old ranch owner could not walk, nor could he move about with any degree of comfort. He was placed on a couch and there he remained.
The four talked matters over for a long while. In one of Captain Grady's letters was mentioned a certain cave in the vicinity of what was then known as the Albany Claim. The boys fancied that their uncle might be a prisoner in that cave.
"Well, I dunno but what ye are right," mused Jack Blowfen. "It's sartinly wuth going to see."
"Then you advise us to go?" asked Paul, eagerly.
"Yes, and I'll go with ye."
"But Mr. Dottery," began Chet.
"I'll stay whar I am an' watch the captain," groaned the old ranch owner. "It's about all I'm good for jes' now."
"The old Albany Claim is a good stiff forty miles an' more from hyer," said Jack Blowfen. "But I know the road over the second foothills perfectly. So if ye say the word any time we'll start."
"It looks like rain just now," said Paul.
"An' ye'll catch it heavy, too," put in Dottery.
"We'll have to look after the cattle, too," added Chet. "Like as not half of them are in the sink hole."
"I'll help ye with the stock," said Blowfen.
That evening it rained in torrents, but only for a short while. By midnight it was as clear as it could be. Long before sunrise the boys and Blowfen were out on the range looking up the heads belonging to the Winthrops.
They were gratified to find that all the stock was safe with a single exception. That was an old cow who had been caught in the cyclone and killed. Not one of the four-footed beasts had gone anywhere near the sink hole.
When let out of the closet Captain Grady begged hard for his liberty. But the boys were obdurate and Caleb Dottery backed them up, as did Jack Blowfen.
"Ye have done wrong an' must suffer," said the latter, and there the matter rested.
By nine o'clock the two boys and Blowfen were off. They took with them enough provisions to last several days, as the journey upon which they were about to enter would be for the greater part through a dry and unproductive section. This same section has now been made, by a system of irrigation, very productive.
"And now to find Uncle Barnaby and bring our enemies to terms!" cried Paul, as they rode out of the stockade.
"So say I, and may uncle be found well," added Chet.
"Amen," murmured Jack Blowfen.
"My uncle a prisoner about ten miles from here?" repeated Allen Winthrop, after Lou Slavin had made his confession.
"Will you shut up?" howled Bluckburn, savagely. "You'll spoil everything."
"An' he'll save hisself from bein' lynched," added old Ike Watson, suggestively.
"We haven't done anything—you can't hold us," spluttered Bluckburn. He found himself in a bad corner.
"Holding a man a prisoner is nothing, I presume," said Allen, in deep anger. "Go on," he continued to Slavin. "Where is my uncle?"
Thus urged, Lou Slavin blurted out a full confession, telling how Barnaby Winthrop had been followed to San Francisco by Bluckburn, who wanted to learn the secret of the new claim, which Bluckburn realized must be valuable.
Slavin said it was Bluckburn who had sent to Barnaby Winthrop a forged letter calling the old prospector back to the ranch. The rascal had also forged the note received by Noel Urner.
Word had been sent by telegraph to the other members of the thieving band, and when Barnaby Winthrop got off at the nearest railroad station to the ranch he was followed and waylaid.
"The crowd had a mighty hard time o' it with him, he fit so," went on Slavin. "Onct he nearly got away, but Captain Grady tripped him up an' then he war bound tight."
"Captain Grady!" ejaculated Allen.
"Thet's his size," cried old Watson. "I allers allowed as how he war one o' the shady class."
"He—he led the whole business," put in Bluckburn. He began to think it time to clear himself. "I only acted under his orders."
"It's too late fer ye ter open yer mouth," was the way Ike Watson cut him short. "Go on, Slavin. Whar's Barnaby Winthrop? Straight, now, remember."
Thus admonished, Slavin told the location of the cave in which the old prospector was held, as well as he was able.
"I don't know the lay o' the land exactly, but I'm comin' purty nigh it."
"Would you know the spot if you were in the vicinity?" asked Allen, eagerly.
"I think I would."
"Then we must take him along," said the young ranchman to Ike Watson. "But what shall we do with Bluckburn?"
"He ought ter be lynched right now," was the old hunter's stern reply. During his days among the rough characters of the mountains he and his companions had had small use for jails and lockups. The law of the land, so called, was administered on the spot.
A long discussion followed, which ended in a determination to take Bluckburn back to Daddy Wampole's place. They would leave him there a prisoner, and then take Slavin along with them, that he might locate Barnaby Winthrop's place of confinement.
Bluckburn was secured on his horse's back, and Slavin was disarmed, and in less than half an hour the return to the crossroads hotel was begun.
It was a long and tedious ride to Allen who was impatient to be off to find his uncle. But it could not be helped, and Allen bore it as patiently as he was able.
Daddy Wampole was as much surprised as he well could be to see them ride up with their prisoner. He listened with deep interest to the tale Allen, Watson, and Noel Urner had to tell.
"Yes, I'll keep him a prisoner," he said at the conclusion. "An' take my word on it, he shan't escape."
"And it won't be long before we have Captain Grady, too," said Allen, never dreaming of what was taking place at home in the meanwhile.
Bluckburn was exceedingly downcast over his turn of fortune. He insisted that Captain Grady was totally to blame, but this statement no one felt inclined to believe.
Slavin showed himself more than willing now to do all in his power to redeem himself and his reputation. Yet neither Ike Watson nor Allen could trust him with so much as a pistol.
"You jes' ride on ahead, an' if thar's any trouble we'll look out fer ye," was the way Watson put it, and with this Slavin had to be content.
A long and exceedingly rough journey now lay before the three, a journey destined to try their patience to the utmost.
"But we will have to make the best of it," said Allen. "And I don't care what we have to put up with so long as we find my uncle safe and sound."
"Thet's the talk," answered Watson. "Can't expect ter have every comfort out in these yere parts nohow."
The sun had been shining brightly, but presently the sky became overcast.
"Unless I am mistaken we are close to a storm," observed Noel, as he surveyed the heavens anxiously.
"Thet's wot," came from Watson. "An' I allow as how it will be a putty heavy one when it comes."
"We've had storms enough lately," said Allen. "I want no more of them."
They continued on their way as rapidly as the nature of the ground to be covered permitted. Occasionally Slavin grumbled at being pushed on so fast but Watson soon put a stop to his mutterings.
"No ust ter grumble, Slavin," he said. "Ye kin be thankful thet ye wasn't shot down like a dog."
"But I'm not feelin' well," pleaded the evil doer.
"Ain't ye? Wall, what ye want is exercise," was Watson's sarcastic rejoinder. "So trot along, an' no more parley about it," and Slavin went along, but with a face that looked far from pleasant.
Half an hour later the raindrops began to fall, at first scatteringly and then in a steady downpour. It was a cold rain and made one and another of the little party shiver.
"I must say I don't like this," said Allen, when he was more than half soaked through. "I wonder if we can't find shelter until the worst of this is over?"
"Perhaps we can," said Noel. "Although I don't see many large trees handy."
"Might be as how's thar's a cave around," said Watson. "Anyway, we'll keep our eyes peeled fer one."
This they did and a quarter of a mile further on came to something of a cliff overlooking a rocky valley. At the base of the cliff were a number of rough openings and one of these openings led to a cave of no mean size.
"Jes' the ticket!" cried Watson, as he dismounted and entered the opening. "We can stay here all night an' by thet time the storm will be a thing o' the past. We ain't none too soon either," he added.
Watson was right, for scarcely had all of the party entered the cavern than the storm let down in all of its fury. The landscape was blotted out and all became darker than ever.
"Ye set down on thet rock," commanded Watson to Slavin. "An' don't ye dare ter stir if ye know when yer well off."
"I ain't stirrin'," growled the prisoner.
Nevertheless, although he spoke thus, Slavin had his eyes wide open. He intended to escape if it were possible to do so, fearing that all would not go well with him even though he had confessed to his captors.
"I think we had better make a fire," suggested Allen, after the horses had been tied up in a place that was comparatively dry.
"Right ye air, Allen," returned Watson. "Pervidin' we can find some firewood."
"Here is a tree branch," said Noel, pointing it out in a dark corner of the cavern. "But we may have some trouble in breaking it up."
"Ho! ho!" laughed Watson. "It's easy ter see ye ain't very strong. We'll break thet up in a jiffy; eh, Slavin?"
"What do ye want?" growled the prisoner.
"Want ye ter help break up some firewood."
"Me?"
"Persackly, Slavin. Reckon as how ye want ter git as warm as anybody. Wall, ye kin start in by doin' some work."
Slavin demurred but his protest was unavailing and soon he and Watson were breaking up the large part of the tree branch, Noel looking on in wonder and Allen assisting on the smaller portions.
"My, but you are strong," said Noel, in open admiration. "I'd give a good deal for your muscles."
"Ye'll get the same, if ye stay out hyer long enough," answered Watson, "It's the mountain air as does it."
"Oh, come, Watson, you know you are extra strong," put in Allen. "Why, he can do some wonderful things when he wants to." To this Watson made no reply, but the grin on his face showed that he appreciated the compliment.
Soon they had a roaring fire, which threw grotesque shadows on the cavern walls. All drew closer to enjoy the warmth, and they prepared a meal to which even Slavin did full justice.
They questioned the prisoner closely and he said he felt certain he was on the right trail. But he was shy about saying more. He was wondering if the coming night would offer any opportunity of escaping.
"I'll get away if I can," he thought. "And if so I must lose no time in warning Mangle and Nodley. If I don't they'll be running into a trap, and my share of that stolen money will be lost."
After the meal Allen and Watson remained near the entrance to the cave, to talk over the situation and speculate upon what the day following would bring forth.
Slavin wanted to join them, but Allen ordered him back.
"You go back to the fire," he said. "If you want to go to sleep you may do so."
"Don't trust me even yet, do ye?" muttered the prisoner.
"I do not."
"Ye're rather hard on a chap wot is trying ter do ye a good turn."
"It remains to be seen if it is a good turn or not, Slavin. You may be putting up a job on us."
"No, I swear it's all right, Winthrop. Ye'll find everything jest as I told ye."
"Perhaps. But you go back to the fire," and Slavin went back, but with a look on his face that rivaled the black clouds in the heavens outside.
Soon the prisoner was curled up close to the fire and he closed his eyes as if in slumber, but he kept as wide awake as before.
While Allen and Watson were talking at the entrance to the cavern, Noel, out of idle curiosity, procured a torch from the camp fire and went on a tour of observation.
The cavern proved to be a narrow and rambling affair, being nothing more or less than a split in the mountain side. The floor was uneven and back from the entrance arose in a series of rough steps.
Up these steps climbed the young man until he had gained a position fully fifty feet above the mouth of the cavern.
At a great distance he heard the falling of water, as the rain swept over some rocks at a rear entrance to the cavern.
Curious to see where the cavern led to be continued his climbing until the light of the camp fire was left far behind.
His torch was burning low but he whirled it into a blaze and went on once more.
Occasionally he slipped, for the rocks were now wet, but this did not daunt him.
At last he reached a spot where the water was flowing in a miniature waterfall. There was an opening over his head but it was out of reach.
"This must be a pretty place in the daylight," he mused. "What grand scenery on every hand throughout this State!"
Of a sudden more than the usual amount of water came down and some of it hit the torch, extinguishing it instantly.
"Confound the luck," he murmured, and felt in his pocket for a match.
While he was searching for the article, he heard a strange noise overhead, close to the waterfall.
He listened and the noise was followed by the unmistakable growl of a wild beast.
A wolverine had strayed close to the waterfall and had slipped on the rocks to a shelf below.
For a few seconds the ferocious beast clung to the ledge, then slipped again and landed at Noel's feet!
The wolverine is one of the most ferocious beasts to be met with anywhere. It is not unlike the bear in general make-up, but has a more pointed head and a bushy tail. It is said that, generally speaking, a wolverine will not eat anything else if it can get meat.
As soon as the wolverine smelled the presence of a human being he let out a growl that seemed to strike to Noel's very backbone.
Letting the match he had pulled from his pocket drop, the young man felt for his pistol and brought forth the weapon with all possible speed.
Bang! The weapon was discharged and the bullet clipped the wolverine on the left side of the head. Then with a snarl that was almost a scream, the ferocious animal hurled itself upon Noel.
"Help! help!" cried the young man.
He felt that he was in an exceedingly perilous position and that assistance was absolutely necessary. In the darkness he thought he had been attacked by a mountain bear.
The wolverine managed to reach his shoulder, but Noel made a quick twist and freed himself. Then the young man fired a second shot.
The wolverine was now hit in the side, but the wound was far from fatal or even serious, and it only made the creature scream louder. With blazing eyes and gleaming teeth, it crouched low and prepared to spring for Noel's throat.
The young man knew that almost all wild beasts are fearful of fire but he did not know how the beast before him regarded water. Yet as he fired a third shot he stepped close up to the rocks, so that the water from the fall might pour over his person.
The third report echoed throughout the cavern as loudly as had the others, while the bullet flew a foot over the wolverine's head. Then the savage beast made a second leap at Noel and caught the young man by the arm. The weight of the animal made Noel lose his balance, and man and wolverine rolled over on the cavern floor together.
"What's that?"
The exclamation came from Allen as he broke off short in his conversation with Watson.
The cry from Noel had reached his ears and the cry was quickly followed by the first of the pistol shots.
"He's in trouble, thet's wot!" cried the old hunter. "Hark, thar's another shot!"
He bounded back to the camp fire, but quick as was his movement, Allen was ahead of him. Both felt that Noel's peril must be extreme.
"Get a torch!" cried Watson, and caught up a burning brand.
"What of Slavin?" questioned Allen, but then, as the second shot rang out, he waited no longer, but with a torch in one hand and his gun in the other, he darted up the rocky steps as fast as he could. Watson was beside him, with pistol drawn, his gun resting on the side of the cave below.
It took but a few seconds to gain the vicinity of the little waterfall but before they came up they heard the third shot and another yell from Noel.
"My gracious!" burst from Allen's throat, as he beheld the awful scene.
Noel was lying partly on his back, with one foot pressed against the wolverine's stomach. The wild beast still held the young man by the arm.
Allen realized that whatever good was to be done must be done instantly, and without stopping to think twice he blazed away at the wolverine, twice in quick succession. Watson likewise fired, and the creature was struck each time. With a yelp that was almost human the wolverine turned, let go his hold on Noel, and leaped for Allen.
"Take care!" yelled Watson, and then fired another shot, just as the wolverine, unable to reach Allen's throat, made a clutch at his left leg. The shot from the old hunter took the beast directly in the right eye, piercing his brain, and he fell over like a lump of lead, to move no more.
"A close shave fer ye," remarked Watson, when he saw that Allen was uninjured. "A big one, too," he went on, shoving the wolverine with his foot. "How are ye, Urner?"
"I—I guess I am not much hurt!" gasped Noel, when he felt able to speak. "The beast bit me in the arm though."
"It's lucky he wasn't after gittin' at yer throat. I knowed a man onct as got a nip in the throat from a wolverine that made him pass in his checks then an' thar."
"It was a terrible encounter! I thought I was a goner sure."
"Didn't you have a torch?" questioned Allen.
"I did, but the water struck it and put it out."
"The darkness was what made the critter so bold," remarked Watson. "They're afeered o' fire, jes' like most o' wild beasts."
"Oh, my, we forgot Slavin!" burst suddenly from Allen's lips. "I'll wager a horse he has dusted out!"
"Ye're right," returned Watson, and began to make his way back to the camp fire with all speed, and with Allen close beside him. Noel was too weak to run and had to walk. He was still very white and his limbs trembled under him because of the unusual excitement.
The camp fire gained, it needed but a single glance around to convince them that Slavin had indeed gone.
"Took my shootin' iron, too, consarn him!" ejaculated Ike Watson. "What fools we wuz ter leave him yere alone!"
"We saved Noel's life by the operation," answered Allen.
"Thet's so, too, but——"
"You hate to see him get away. So do I, and—Look!"
"What now?"
"He has taken one of the horses, too!"
Allen was right, the best of the horses was gone.
"He ain't got much o' a start," said Watson. "So let us git arfter him hot-footed."
"I am with you on that, Watson; he must not get away under any circumstances. If he does——"
"We won't be able to git on the trail o' yer uncle."
"That's it."
Both were soon in the saddle, and shouted back to Noel to keep the fire burning and wait for their return. Then away they dashed into the midnight darkness.
The storm still continued and the rain poured down with a steadiness that was dismal enough to contemplate. But to the discomfort Allen gave scant heed.
"He must not get away," he said, to himself, over and over again. "We must capture him and make him take us to where the gang have Uncle Barnaby a prisoner."
"Right ye air, Allen."
To follow a trail under such circumstances was not easy, yet they found some tracks in the soft dirt directly in front of the cliff and these led on the back trail and then to where there was a deep ravine between the rocky slopes of the mountains.
Half a mile was covered and Watson called a halt.
"Ye want ter go slow yere," he cautioned, "I don't like the looks o' this territory nohow."
"What is wrong with it?"
"Full o' holes, fer one thing, and water under the surface. We'll go slow," and they did.
Occasionally it lightened and by the flashes of light they made out a fringe of woods skirting the hollow. The wind was coming up and this swept through the trees with a mournful sound.
They were moving with care when they heard a sudden yell ahead. It was Slavin calling to his horse.
"Back up!" they heard him cry. "Back, hang ye! De ye want ter pitch me in a hole?" And then followed a savage muttering they could not make out.
"We've got him!" cried Watson. "Come—but be careful, be careful."
"I'm going to dismount," said Allen, and did so and led his steed forward along the trail which the rain had made slippery and treacherous.
Watson likewise got down and they now had to wait for another flash of lightning to show them just where they were. As the flash came Allen gave a look ahead.
"Well, I never!" he ejaculated.
"Wot did ye see?" came quickly from the old hunter.
"Slavin has tumbled down and the horse with him."
"Then we've got the rascal sure!"
They plunged forward again. The trail was narrower than ever and the gully, or hollow, was on one side, and a fringe of mountain brush on the other.
Presently they heard something which served to increase their surprise. Slavin was groaning as if in extreme pain.
"The fall hurt him," said Allen, "Look after my horse, will you? I am going ahead."
He hurried on around a slight turn of the trail and through a clump of bushes and trees growing close to the edge of the hollow. As he emerged from the bushes a sight met his gaze that thrilled him to the backbone.
Slavin had fallen over the edge of the trail at a point where lay a huge half-rotted trunk of a tree. The trunk of the tree had slipped in the wet, rolled partly over the man, and was slowly but surely crushing the life out of him!