As the minutes passed he appeared to grow more wakeful, until he was in as full possession of his faculties as when fleeing from the grizzly bear. And it was while lying thus, wondering what the hour could be, that he became aware that Hank Hazletine was standing at the mouth of the cavern, on the other side of the smouldering fire. The light was reflected so clearly from his bearded face that it was seen distinctly, while the position of Jack, muffled in his blanket, threw his own countenance in shadow, which prevented the guide seeing it clearly.
Something prompted Jack to lie still and feign sleep, while he kept his gaze on the man, who was looking fixedly at him. Suddenly Hank pronounced his name in a low voice, repeating the call in a louder tone. He wished to learn whether his young friend was unconscious, and, since Jack made no reply, must have concluded he was sleeping.
The guide next threw more wood on the blaze, which burned up so brightly that the reflection reached far out on the grassy plateau. Then, with a single glance at the prostrate figure, the hunter turned away, his footsteps as noiseless as if he were stepping on velvet.
Jack was mystified by the proceeding, but, suspecting its meaning, he arose from his hard couch and passed outside. The moon had not yet risen, but the bright stars were in the sky, and shining with the brilliancy that he had noticed and admired on the previous evening. He looked around for Hazletine, and, not seeing him, imitated his action by pronouncing his name, but, as he suspected, he was not within hearing.
"He has gone off to make some investigations between now and morning. I am glad of it, for he may learn something which he desires to know, and which he would never find out by staying here. I wish I could have gone with him, but no doubt he will do better alone."
It was demonstrated, therefore, that the guide had violated the very rule which he had impressed more than once upon his young friends, for he had left Jack Dudley sound asleep, as he believed, without any one standing sentinel over him. But it was because the circumstances were so exceptional and extraordinary that it justified such suspension of the rules.
Jack did not hesitate to make himself as comfortable as the situation would permit. He folded his blanket on the ground, and sat with his back against the very rock where he had fallen asleep the night before.
"No danger of my doing it again," he reflected; "and it wouldn't make any difference if I did, since Hank believes I am dreaming."
Jack supposed he threw the wood on the flame to keep away the possible danger from wild animals that might be prowling in the neighborhood; though, because of the reasons named, there was little to be apprehended from them. The youth was so alive to the situation that he heard a cough from one of the ponies lying on the ground near the further side of the plateau, and beyond sight. Twice the watcher fancied he detected a shadowy figure stealing here and there in the gloom, and he grasped his rifle, ready for instant use; but it must have been a mistake on his part, for nothing materialized, and, curious as it may seem, he finally sank into a fitful slumber, which lasted a long time without interruption.
Meanwhile Hank Hazletine was busy. He had formed several theories to account for the disappearance of the youth, of whom he had grown extremely fond, brief as was their acquaintance, but the data upon which he based these theories were so vague and meagre that he could do nothing until more definite knowledge was obtained.
When first talking with Jack Dudley, the hunter expected to retain his place near the cavern until morning, for it would seem that there was little hope of doing anything until the sun shone, but reflection convinced him that there was a possibility of accomplishing something during the long interval that must intervene. Still it is not probable he would have made the attempt had not something invited it.
Standing in the gloom on the outside of the cavern, he saw a point of light against the side of the nearest mountain peak, less than half a mile distant. It could not be a star, for his familiarity with the country told him the background must prevent an orb showing at that height above the horizon. It came from a fire burning at the place, and that fire had been kindled by Indians.
Hank's decision was to visit the camp, in the hope of picking up some information about the missing boy. It has been shown that he was so convinced that no danger threatened Jack Dudley that he did not hesitate to leave him alone, believing him asleep. As a precaution, however, he flung additional fuel on the fire, with a view of keeping away any wild animals that might be in the vicinity. Had Jack answered to his name when called by the guide he would have been invited to accompany him for a portion at least of the way on the reconnaissance, as it might be termed—a most welcome relief. Thus, trifling as was the deception, it operated unfavorably for our young friend.
The progress of the veteran through and over the rough country was a very different proceeding from that of the two boys. He seemed never to hesitate or be in doubt as to the shortest and easiest course, and his advance, therefore, was much the same as if he were striding across the grassy plateau near camp. As he went forward his shifting position frequently shut out the beacon-light, but he made no mistake at any point in his walk. It was a striking proof of his woodcraft that when he reached the canyon it was at a spot where it was so narrow that he appeared merely to lengthen his step when he placed himself on the other side. Progressing in this manner, it did not take him long to reach the immediate vicinity of the camp.
The blaze had been kindled among a clump of cedars which were a continuation of a growth that extended with more or less vigor for miles among the mountains, gradually disappearing as the snow-line was reached. Hazletine recalled the particular spot so clearly that he knew precisely what to do.
It was not very late in the evening, else there would have been one of the Indians on guard. As it was, the three were lolling in lazy attitudes, smoking their long-stemmed pipes and talking in a disjointed fashion. If they had eaten anything in camp, there were no evidences of it.
Having reached a point from which he could survey the party without being observed, the hunter proceeded to do so. His first feeling was of disappointment, for Motoza was not one of the three bucks, who appeared to be in middle life, and were dressed and painted similarly to that individual. In fact, the trio were the ones seen by the youths earlier in the day, at the point where the break in the canyon occurred.
Hazletine had set out with the belief that the vagrant Sioux was the one chiefly concerned in the disappearance of Fred Greenwood. His absence from camp confirmed that belief, while the indifferent manner of the three, and the apparent lack of subjects of discussion among them, indicated that they knew nothing of the abduction or death, as it might be, of the missing one. Had they known of it, the guide was confident it would have been betrayed by their manner, since they could have no suspicion that they were under surveillance at that time, and therefore would act their natural selves.
What would have been the course of Hazletine had he seen Motoza, not doubting, as he did, the guilt of the miscreant? He would have walked directly forward to the camp and warned the Sioux that if he harmed a hair of the youth's head his life should pay therefor.
Since Motoza was not in the situation thus to be warned, the hunter did the next best thing. With no attempt to veil the sound of his footsteps, he strode into the circle of light thrown out by the Indian camp-fire. The bucks looked up curiously at him, but betrayed no emotion beyond a few grunts. They did not invite him to be seated or to join them in smoking, and had they done so, neither invitation would have been accepted.
Hank knew nothing of the lingo of the red men, but it was presumed they had a fair understanding of English, taking which for granted, he proceeded to carry out his self-imposed mission. He told the bucks they had no business off their reservation, although it was a matter of indifference to him. He knew there were others in the mountains, and Motoza was among them. It was concerning this scoundrel, as Hank characterized him, that he had something to say. A white youth, while hunting that afternoon not far off, with his companion, had disappeared. Hazletine had looked into the matter far enough to discover that he had been stolen by Motoza. The white man was hunting for Motoza, but in the brief time at his disposal had not been able to find him, though he was confident of doing so on the morrow.
Meanwhile, the white man wanted these three, or any one of them, if they should meet the aforementioned scoundrel, to repeat what he had said about him. If any harm had befallen the missing boy, Hazletine would take it upon himself to hunt down Motoza and "execute" him himself, without waiting for the United States authorities to do it. Such a summary course would save expense and make the white man feel better.
If Motoza should return the stolen boy within twenty-four hours, and it was found he was unharmed, the whole matter would be treated as a joke, and no punishment would be visited upon Motoza, provided he didn't do it again.
This was the substance of Hank Hazletine's communication to the three bucks, to whom he repeated and discussed it until there was no fear of a misunderstanding, after which the visitor strode out of camp, without so much as bidding the trio good-night. His whole manner was that of contempt, for, had it been otherwise, he would not have dared to turn his back upon them, when they could have shot him down with impunity.
The cowman had accomplished something, though less than he hoped. While he failed to gain definite knowledge of the missing youth, he had brought a message which was certain to be delivered to the right party before the next set of sun. But Hank knew the men with whom he was dealing, and could not feel assured that any ultimate good would result until nearer the end.
"I wish I knowed whether them imps know anything about that younker; they don't act as if they did, and yet they may be as deep in the bus'ness as Motoza."
The last remark suggested a possibility which the cowman shrank from considering. It was that the Sioux was wholly innocent, and that all the mischief had been done through unsuspected parties. It has been shown that other Indians, not yet encountered, were in the vicinity, and it was not absolutely certain that they were not the criminals. The thought, however, opened the illimitable fields of speculation, and the hunter was wise in determining to hold to his original belief until assured it was an error.
Before he was half-way back to camp the moon appeared above the mountain peak behind him, and the rugged scenery was lit up by the rays that streamed on every side. He paused where he could observe the gleam of his own camp-fire at the mouth of the cavern, while, by turning his head, he saw the twinkle of the one he had left behind. All between lay as silent as the tomb.
"I bluffed it pretty heavy," he reflected, "and I guess it'll work with them bucks; I ain't so sartin of Motoza, fur if he has had anything to do with the taking off of that younker he's covered up his tracks pretty well and it'll be hard work to run him down, butI'll do it!" he savagely exclaimed, as he resumed his strides toward his own camp.
As he drew near he caught sight of the unconscious figure of Jack Dudley, sitting with his back against the rock. The moon revealed him clearly, and the cowman approached him with noiseless step.
"Poor fellow! he come out here to watch, thinking he couldn't sleep, and now he's good for nothing till sunup."
Hank leaned over and tenderly adjusted the blanket around the figure of the handsome youth, as his mother might have done had she been present. Then passing within the cavern, he lay down and slept until the night was ended.
The presence of the lad on the outside of the cavern showed that he knew of the departure of the guide. Hank, therefore, explained his reason for leaving him, and told him all that had occurred.
"The first thing to do, younker, is to find Motoza; that's what I'm going to do. You can't stand it to be alone with yourself, so you can come with me, though I hain't no idee that you'll be able to give any help."
"I hope I shall; though, if you think there is more chance of success in making the hunt alone, I'll do the same."
Hank was silent a moment, as if considering the matter, but he quickly added:
"Come along. But how about breakfast?"
"I haven't the least appetite."
"I thought so by your looks," he said, sympathizingly. "I'm blamed sorry fur you, and hope your appetite will soon come back to you."
"It will as soon as we find Fred," said Jack, with a faint smile; "but what about yourself?"
"It's all the same; if we had meat here I'd cook and eat it; but I'm willing to go a day or two, if I haven't the time to take any meals."
"That's strange!" broke in Jack; "yonder comes a white man; he must be one of your acquaintances, though I never saw him before."
Hazletine turned round in surprise. A tall white man, dressed as a cowboy, with long dangling yellow hair and a thin mustache and goatee, and with rifle slung over his shoulder, had appeared on the further side of the plateau, and was approaching the couple at a deliberate pace.
"Wal, I'm hanged!" exclaimed Hazletine; "if there isn't Bill Tozer! He's the last man I expected to meet in these parts."
These words did not bring Jack Dudley much enlightenment, but he felt no special curiosity concerning the individual, and silently waited till he came up. The youth judged from the manner of the guide, however, that he was not overly pleased with the new arrival, whose countenance was not attractive. Nevertheless, the two shook hands with seeming cordiality, and the new-comer looked inquiringly at Jack.
"This is a friend of mine, Bill, that I took out on a hunt t'other day with another younker; Jack Dudley, Bill Tozer."
"Glad to know you," said the man heartily; "I see you're a tenderfoot."
"Yes," replied Jack; "less than two weeks ago I had never set foot in Wyoming."
"Wal, now that's funny; you'll like the country after you get used to it."
"Would to heaven I had never seen it!" was the bitter exclamation of the youth, hardly able to keep back his tears.
"Sorry to hear that, my young friend; but cheer up; it'll come out all right."
It struck Jack that this was a singular remark for the man to make, for it sounded as if he knew the cause of Jack's emotion; but before the boy could seek enlightenment the man made a more extraordinary remark:
"You'll excuse us for a few minutes, my young friend; I've some words to say in private to Hank."
"Certainly," replied Jack, turning on his heel and walking beyond earshot. He gave the men no further attention, for he did not suspect the new-comer had anything to impart of interest to him. The boy felt more like resenting this interference with the momentous business he and the guide had on hand.
But Jack was mistaken. Hardly was he a hundred feet from the couple when Hazletine asked:
"What's up, Bill?"
"One of them young tenderfeet is missing, eh?"
"How did you find that out?"
"I reached the camp of Bok-kar-oo last night within a half-hour after you'd gone; he and two other bucks are out on a hunt, which they haven't any business to be, but that's nothing to us. Bok-kar-oo told me what you had told him; it's queer business, isn't it?"
"I should say it was. That Motoza has had a hand in it, and I've set out to find him and settle the account."
"Why are you so sure about Motoza?"
"'Cause Iknowhim!" said Hank, savagely; "and I've knowed him fur a good many years; there isn't a worse Injin in Wyoming."
Instead of commenting on this remark, Tozer stood silent a moment, and then made a flirt with his head as a request for Hank to step aside with him. The cowman obeyed, and they seated themselves still further from Jack Dudley.
"What makes you so afeard he'll hear us?" asked Hazletine, impatiently, noting the suspicious glances which the man cast in the direction of the youth.
"For the reason that I don't want him to hear us; I've something to say about him and his friend."
"His father owns half of Bowman's ranch."
Bill Tozer started with an angry exclamation.
"Is that so?" he asked in amazement. "I thought it was the other fellow's father."
"How should you know anything about it anyway?" demanded Hazletine, who made no attempt to conceal his dislike of the man. "I'd like to know where you picked up so much knowledge 'bout these two younkers."
"There's no need of getting huffy about it, Hank; it seemed to me that I was to be on your heels for the last few days, for I stopped at the ranch and had a talk with the fellows only a short time after you left with the tenderfeet for this hunt. I understood Kansas Jim to say that it was the father of the Greenwood boy that owned half the ranch."
"If Jim told you that, which I don't believe he done, he told you what ain't so."
"But the father of the other boy—the one that's missing—he's rich too, ain't he?"
"I don't know nothing 'bout it; what are you driving at? Bill, you know that my 'pinion of you is 'bout the same as it is of that tramp Motoza, so, if you've got anything to say to me, out with it! I hain't any time to fool away."
"Ihavesomething to say, Hank, and it's about them young tenderfeet: I've seen Motoza."
"When?"
"This morning."
"Did you give him my message?"
"Every word of it, as I received it from Bok-kar-oo; I made it as strong as I could."
"You couldn't make it any too strong; how did he take it?"
"It didn't seem to worry him much; he says he don't know anything about the missing boy and your threats don't scare him. But, Hank," added Tozer, lowering his voice almost to a whisper and glancing furtively around, "I suspect Motoza was lying."
"Iknowhe was, fur he doesn't know how to tell the truth."
"If he's treated right, I believe he'll produce the missing youngster."
Hank Hazletine was keener mentally than most of his friends suspected. He had more acumen than even Bill Tozer suspected. A great light flashed upon the cowman, and the questions and answers which fell from his lips during the next few minutes were intended to hide his real purpose.
"What do you mean by treating Motoza right? If he was treated right he'd be kicking the air this very minute."
"I agree with you," said Tozer, laughing; "but Motoza doesn't, and he's the one who asks to be treated right, as he considers it."
"I've said that if he produces the younker, and we find he hain't been harmed, why we'll call it a joke and drop the whole thing."
Tozer gazed at a distant mountain peak and thoughtfully chewed tobacco for a minute. He was approaching delicate ground and needed all hisfinesse.
"That's fair on your part, and is more than he ought to expect, but I've a suspicion it isn't what he means."
"Do you know what he means, Bill?"
"No; he hasn't told me a word, but I think I can guess it."
"Wal, then, guess."
"Remember it's only a guess, and I may be away off."
Hazletine nodded his head.
"I'm listening."
"I suspect Motoza has the tenderfoot in hiding somewhere, where there's no chance of his getting away or of any of his friends finding him."
"What does the scamp mean by doing that?"
"He must have had an idea that the father of the Greenwood boy has enough money to pay a good sum to recover him unharmed."
"That's a new scheme! I've heard of such things in the East, but never knowed 'em to be tried in this part of the country."
"Bear in mind," Tozer hastened to add, "that it's all guesswork on my part."
"You've said that afore, but it's powerful good guessing, Bill. It's my 'pinion you ain't a thousand miles from the truth, but you can see this makes a mighty different thing of the bus'ness."
"How so?"
"The younker's father lives in New York; he's got to be reached, and the question laid afore him. How much money will Motoza ask to produce the younker?"
"Certainly not much—something like five thousand dollars, I should say."
"That is rather a healthy pile for you or me, but I don't 'spose it's more than a trifle for them folks in the East."
"Of course not; they'll raise it at once, and be glad to do so."
"But it'll take two weeks at least."
"Not necessarily; you can telegraph from Fort Steele, and two or three days ought to wind up the whole business."
"But you can't telegraph the money."
"Yes, you can; nothing is easier."
Hazletine was silent a minute or two.
"It sounds easy 'nough, the way you put it, but it won't be so powerful easy after all. I s'pose the Sioux will want the money afore he turns over the younker?"
"Of course; that's business."
"How can we know he'll give up the younker after he gits the money?"
"In a matter of this kind, a point must be reached where one party has to trust the other, and Motoza wouldn't dare play you false."
"He wouldn't, eh? Just give him the chance."
"Then we won't let him. I'll guarantee that he shall keep his part of the agreement in spirit and letter."
It was on Hazletine's tongue to ask who should guarantee the honesty of Bill Tozer, but for reasons of his own he kept back the question.
"Wal, now, to git down to bus'ness, as you say; s'pose Doctor Greenwood sends word that he won't or can't raise the money you ask—what then?"
Tozer shrugged his shoulders suggestively.
"Don't forget that I am guessing all the way through. I should say, however, that Doctor Greenwood would never see his boy again."
"I'm afraid he never will, as the matter now stands."
"That depends on the parent. If he is not rich, the father of that young man over yonder is, and he would let him have the money."
"No doubt he'd do that very thing; but s'pose the thing is all fixed and carried out as you've been saying—does Motoza fancy there won't be some accounts to be squared with him afterwards?"
"You know what a cunning fellow he is. He wouldn't go through with the job until he was guaranteed against any punishment for his part in it."
"The father of the younker would give the pledge, and he'd keep it, too, if he's anything like his son. But what 'bout Hank Hazletine?"
"He would have to make the same promise—that is, I presume he would. It might be, however, that Motoza would feel able to take care of himself, so far as you are concerned. But we are talking blindly."
"Is there any other way to talk?"
"You say you were just about starting out to hunt up Motoza. You won't be able to find him, for he'll keep out of your sight. Leave that part of the business to me."
"What'll you do?"
"I'll explain the situation to him, and then come back and have another talk with you."
"All right; you can't do it any too soon."
Bill Tozer rose to his feet. The interview was over, and little remained to be said between the two.
"Then, Hank, you'll leave matters with me till I see you again?"
"When will that be?"
The man stood a moment in thought.
"In order that there shall be no mistake, let us agree that I shall call here to-morrow morning—twenty-four hours from now. How does that strike you?"
"That will do."
"I can make it less time than that, if you wish it."
"That suits; it's a go; good-by."
"Good-by," and the visitor turned on his heel and strode across the plateau, disappearing on the further margin, where he had first shown himself.
Hank Hazletine stood looking after him as long as he was in sight. When at last he vanished, an expression of scornful contempt darkened the bearded face of the cowman, and he muttered:
"Bill Tozer, you think you're smart, butI understand you!"
In the interview which has just been recorded the visitor believed he had outwitted the guide at every step, and yet exactly the reverse was the fact. Hank Hazletine had pretended a stupidity which was not real. He noted the contradictions in the declarations of Tozer the instant they were made, but gave no evidence of it, his object being to draw out the miscreant, in which purpose he succeeded perfectly.
The whole truth was manifest to the guide. Fred Greenwood had been abducted not by Motoza alone, but by him and Bill Tozer. Beyond a doubt the daring scheme was the invention of the white man, who found a willing partner in the vagrant Sioux, who burned with enmity toward the youth. It was Tozer who made the mistake of supposing that the father of Fred was half-owner of the ranch, and, therefore, presumably a rich man. Tozer had formed the plan of the abduction while at Bowman's ranch, and showed by his promptness that he had not allowed the grass to grow under his feet.
These meditations occupied but a few minutes, when the cowman walked toward Jack, who, seeing him approaching, advanced to meet him. Hazletine felt that the change of conditions made it necessary to talk more freely than heretofore with the boy.
"Hank, it seems to me we are throwing away time," said the youth, a trifle impatiently.
"I'm not so sure of that, younker. I've news fur you."
The guide had a good memory, and he repeated, almost word for word, all that had been said by Tozer and himself. Jack was astounded. His first emotion was of profound gratitude and delight, for the interview seemed to establish that Fred Greenwood was alive, and consequently within reach of recovery.
"He's not dead!" exclaimed the happy lad; "thank Heaven for that! I shall soon see him! It seems too good to be true."
"It isn't best to be sartin of anything in this world," remarked his friend, with a gravity of expression that ought to have chilled the ardor of Jack, but it did not. The tidings were too exhilarating for that.
"Now, younker," added the man, "we've got more time on our hands than we know what to do with. Come over by the fire and set down fur a while. How's that appetite of yours?"
"I am beginning to feel hungry."
"I thought so," observed Hank, with a smile.
"But there's no hurry. I can wait a little while."
"You'll have to."
"Now tell me who this man Tozer is?"
"Wal, he's a reg'lar Motoza, except in blood. I run across him five years ago in Arizona, where he had been in the stage-robbin' bus'ness. Things got so hot he had to git out. I didn't hear anything more of him till I was driving cattle in Montana, when I discovered he was one of the worst rustlers in that part of the world. I'm sartin he has done a good many things fur which he ought to hang, but he's more cunning in his way than the Sioux, and has kept out of the penitentiary when anyone else would have been doing a life-term. Bill is a great gambler, and has made and lost fortunes, but he is always out of money and figgering how to git it ag'in. There isn't anything too mean fur him to do fur money. He doesn't care any more fur the feelings of others than Geronimo."
"It looks as if the plan of abducting Fred and holding him for ransom is his."
"There ain't no doubt of it; he come to the ranch soon after we'd gone and larned all 'bout you tenderfeet from the boys themselves. The thought come to him at once that one of the chances of his lifetime was his. It's queer he made the mistake of believing that it was the father of the other younker as owned part of the ranch, but he got matters twisted in some way. You can see that if it hadn't been fur that blunder of his, it would beyouthat your friend and me would be looking fur."
"I wish it were," was the honest exclamation of Jack Dudley; "but how was it he came to form his partnership with Motoza?"
"You've heard it said the devil takes care of his own; Bill and Motoza are old friends and have been in more than one shady job. I can't know, but I think Bill must have larned or suspicioned that the Sioux warn't fur off and he set out to hunt him up. Anyway they managed to come together, and the job was fixed up atween 'em. Howsumever," said the guide, "there ain't no use of talking and guessing over whathas been, but we must face whatis. Now, if Doctor Greenwood has word by telegraph that he must pay five thousand dollars to git his younker back agin, what'll he think?"
"He will think that this has been a pretty expensive outing for Fred," replied Jack, whose buoyancy of spirits prompted his trivial answer.
"Will he pay the money?"
"Yes, and twice as much more, if it is necessary; but won't he be startled and puzzled to know the meaning of it all! He will come right out here himself and bring some of the best detectives in the country."
"And if he does that, he'll never see his boy alive."
Jack looked at Hazletine in alarm and amazement. The cowman saw phases of this extraordinary business that had not presented themselves to the youth, and he now proceeded to impress them upon him. In the first place, the cunning Tozer would make sure of protecting himself and Motoza, though the last was purely a matter of policy and self interest, since he was always ready to sacrifice a comrade. In arranging the ransom or exchange, Tozer would take no chances. The friends of Fred Greenwood would have to remain out of sight and in the background. It would be impossible for any of them to try to checkmate him without his quickly learning it, whereupon he would abandon the job and turn over the boy to the savage will of the Sioux.
"And you know whatthatmeans," added the cowman, impressively. "I should tell you something else, too. It's my belief that if the money is give to Tozer, and the Sioux is ordered to surrender the younker, he hates him that bad that he'll try to bring about his death and run the chances of hanging for it. Where two such wretches as him and Tozer are in a job there's bound to be crooked work, and I won't never believe you're going to shake the hand of t'other younker till I see it done with my own eyes."
The emphasis of this declaration sent a thrill of alarm through the frame of Jack Dudley, though it could not wholly destroy the exhilaration caused by the knowledge that Fred Greenwood was alive.
It was proof of the kindliness of Hank Hazletine that he made no mention of a strong suspicion that had been in his mind from the first. This was that when Tozer met Motoza he learned that the Sioux had already slain his prisoner, for Hank knew of the furious hate the fellow held toward the youth. Consequently, Tozer had arranged to carry out his original scheme, and was now seeking to gain a large sum of money, knowing that it was out of his power ever to fulfill his part of the bargain.
Hazletine, we repeat, strongly believed that this ghastly phase of the business was true, but, inasmuch as there was no certainty of it, he was too considerate to bring additional grief to the heart of Jack Dudley.
But the cowman had formed a resolution which he carefully held back from his companion. An interval of twenty-four hours must pass before the second interview with Tozer, during which, as the latter was given to understand, the negotiation would be left wholly with him. Hank and Jack were to remain quiescent, at least until after the next meeting. But the cowman nursed a very different determination. He intended to employ all the time and the utmost ability he possessed in defeating the atrocious plot of the miscreants. It will be seen that the easiest plan for him was quietly to help forward the negotiations, but his nature forbade such meek submissiveness on his part.
This course, however, was perilous to the missing boy; for, if Tozer or Motoza saw himself in danger of losing the prize, he would make short work of the prisoner. It was clear that all the skill and woodcraft of which the cowman was master would be needed in the delicate task he had assigned to himself.
"Younker," he said, when the conversation had continued a while longer, "after thinking over this bus'ness, I've made up my mind it's better we should keep apart fur the day."
"Follow your own judgment. I shall try to be back this evening."
"To-morrer morning will be time 'nough. I had my supper last night not fur from here, and if the wild animals haven't visited the spot since, we shall find 'nough to make a square meal."
This was acceptable news, and the result all that could be desired. Hank had cooked a considerable quantity of venison at a romantic place among the rocks, his first intention being to carry enough of it to headquarters to supply his young friends with what they needed. Afterward he changed his mind and decided that it was time they learned to provide for themselves. Upon making his way to the spot he found everything as it had been left the previous evening, and thus much more readily than Jack had dared to expect he secured the needed food.
"Right here we part," said Hank at the conclusion of the meal.
"How am I to spend the time?"
"As your fancy strikes you. As I told you, it will be soon 'nough fur you to git back to camp to-morrer morning, but you must keep your eyes open. It may be that Tozer, having larned that your father is the man he meant to bleed, will try to make a prisoner of you."
Jack Dudley's eyes flashed.
"Let him try it! I should like to be in Fred's company."
"Mebbe you wouldn't be so well suited as you think, but look out fur snares in your path—that's all I've got to say. I'm off."
It was characteristic of the cowman to take his departure in this abrupt manner, his intention being to undertake without delay the difficult task he had set out for himself, but five minutes later he gave over his purpose, and, to the surprise of Jack Dudley, came back to him.
In doing this, Hazletine was wise. His purpose, as already intimated, was to discover if possible Motoza and Tozer, but especially the former. There was little doubt that the Sioux would communicate with his prisoner during the day, or, if Fred Greenwood was not among the living, his unrelenting enemy was likely to give some evidence of where his taking off had occurred. Hazletine's belief, therefore, was that by shadowing the Sioux he had a good chance of securing the information that would overturn all the calculations of the abductors.
But this task was tenfold more delicate than would seem at first, for not only had the cowman to learn the whereabouts of the Sioux, but he must do it undetected and dog the fellow without discovery on his part. When it is remembered that Motoza would be on the alert against this, one is almost ready to declare the cowman had attempted an impossible thing.
When he left his young friend, however, it was with the firm purpose of doing, or rather trying to push through this purpose. Within a hundred yards of the point where he left Jack the guide had a glimpse of what may be called the shadow of a movement. Something flickered among the rocks a short distance ahead and then vanished before he could identify it.
But he knew what it meant. Some one was watching him. If the watcher was not Motoza or Tozer, he was an ally of theirs. He was holding the cowman under surveillance, ready to report or shoot on the first proof of his real purpose. The truth flashed upon Hank, and pausing in his walk, without any evidence of what he had discovered, he began a hasty examination of his pockets after the manner of a man who suddenly misses some prized article that he believed to be in his garments.
The little farce was cleverly acted. Each receptacle was examined several times, some of the pockets being turned wrong side out, while the face of the cowman, or rather his eyes, betrayed his excitement. Then he looked at the ground in front and at the rear, apparently to learn whether he had dropped the missing treasure. Failing to find it, he uttered an angry exclamation and walked hurriedly back to his companion. No one observing the performance would have doubted its meaning.
"I'm going to stay a while with you," he remarked, seating himself upon the ground and lighting his pipe.
"It was a sudden change of mind," replied Jack, glad to have his company.
"Yes; a redskin helped me to make it," and he explained the nature of his discovery. Inasmuch as the guide had turned back because of the same, it was easy to understand what his original intention was; for had it not existed, why should the cowman care if he was kept under surveillance? He would not be betraying himself any more during an innocent walk and hunt through the mountains than by sitting on the ground and smoking his pipe.
The result to a certain extent was a disappointment to Jack himself, for he had quietly resolved upon a venture in the same line. Of necessity he would be governed almost entirely by guesswork, but it was his determination to spend the day, and if possible the night, in trying to gather some trace of his missing friend. And while it must be said that his prospect of success was exceedingly meagre, it should be borne in mind that he would possess one great advantage over the veteran while similarly engaged—neither Tozer nor Motoza would fear anything from what he did, and would give him no attention. He therefore would be left comparatively free to do what he chose. Despite the warnings of Hank, Jack was confident nothing was to be feared from the enmity of the two miscreants while the negotiations were in progress. They were not the men to destroy the hen that was expected to lay the golden egg.
For hours Hazletine and Jack lolled in this primitive camp, the cowman smoking his pipe most of the time, while the two discussed over and over again the various phases of the momentous business that engaged their thoughts and to which they yearned to devote their utmost energies. The guide longed to be off, and as the sun descended the heavens it was one of the hardest tasks of his life to restrain his impatience, but he had been trained in a school where patience is one of the greatest of all the virtues. Suddenly he rose to his feet, stretched his arms and yawned.
"I'd like to borrer that spy-glass of yours fur a few minutes."
"You are welcome," replied Jack, slipping the string over his head and passing the instrument to him. The cowman sauntered off, taking the same direction as before. His first wish was to learn whether he was still under surveillance. So far as he could determine the watcher had grown weary and withdrawn, though there could be no certainty that he was not in the neighborhood.
Jack Dudley, without leaving camp, was able to keep an eye on the movements of his friend. He saw him make his way to a jutting rock, partly screened by a growth of cedar. Concealing himself as well as he could, he raised the glass to his eyes and spent several minutes in studying the wild country spread below him. He was looking in the direction of the break in the canyon, beyond which, as will be remembered, was the plateau where the ponies had been left to crop the grass while their masters were engaged elsewhere.
Jack did not attempt to survey the same field, but kept his gaze upon Hazletine. He could see that he directed his attention toward a particular point, as if he had either discovered something or expected to do so. The study continued only a few minutes, when he came back and handed the glass to the youth, with the remark:
"I'm going to try it agin. I won't expect to see you till to-morrer morning."
The lad bade him good-by, and he took his departure; but instead of descending the mountain toward the point that had interested him, he followed the opposite course, as if he intended to push through to the other side of the Wind River range. This was so transparent a subterfuge that it did not deceive Jack.
"He has discovered something," was his conclusion; "he doesn't choose to tell me, and it makes little difference. I wonder whether he believes I intend to idle my time till night and then go back to headquarters and wait for him? If he thinks so, he makes a mistake."
Waiting until sure his friend was beyond sight, Jack carefully picked his way to the rock from which Hank had made the observation that decided his line of action. The better to screen himself the youth lay down on his face, as when peering over the ridge into the valley where the antelope were grazing, and held the glass to his eyes.
Thus looking out, he saw the plateau in the distance, seemingly but a few rods in extent. Only one of the ponies was visible, and he resembled a small dog, standing with head down, in the middle of the grassy plot. Beyond and between were foot-hills, peaks of varying heights, gorges, ravines and hollows, with rocks, boulders and stunted trees scattered in profusion. The picturesqueness of the scene was deepened by a thin, blue column of vapor in the distance, ascending from an invisible camp-fire. The smoke rose steadily, so it was not to be supposed that it was meant for a signal, like those already described.
The most attractive point was the break in the canyon, already described. This was in plain sight, with the expanse of swiftly-flowing water, which soon disappeared between the walls on the opposite side.
Suddenly Jack started. Two Indians were visible, though they were in view for only a few minutes. They came from the base of the incline where the boys had seen three of them the day before, and passed out of sight before the interested observer could decide whether Motoza, the Sioux, was one of them.
"I believe Hank has gone down there," was the conclusion of Jack, "and I shall do the same."
Jack Dudley's enforced idleness had become intolerable. He could stay no longer in the place from which Hank Hazletine had departed a half-hour before. It was a waste of time to speculate over the intentions of the veteran, and the youth made no attempt to do so. He had set out to see whether he could act even an insignificant part in the recovery of his loved comrade.
It has been said that the boy had the advantage over the man in that it was not to be supposed any importance would be attached to his actions. At the same time he was liable to "put his foot in it" in more ways than one.
Somehow or other the conviction clung to Jack Dudley that the key to the situation was in the neighborhood of the canyon. There must be hundreds of places among the mountains where a prisoner could be hidden from human eyes, but Hazletine's interest centred in that wild gorge, and Jack was certain he had gone thither.
Then there was the fact of the cowman's visit two days before, concerning which he would have said nothing but for his discovery by the boys. Why Hank should have picked his way up that dangerous place was known only to himself. Jack could form no theory to explain it. But he did not forget the dispute of the three Indians in front of the break and the start which one of them made to follow the footsteps of the white man. There must be some attraction in the canyon for them all.
Jack's dread was that Hazletine, despite his undoubted skill, would frighten Tozer and Motoza by his efforts to defeat their purpose, and drive them into slaying Fred and making off before they could be punished. But the cowman had his own views, and it was too late to dissuade him.
Keeping in mind the warning of his friend to use all possible circumspection in his actions, Jack was so guarded that a full hour had passed when he once more reached the break in the canyon, which had already afforded them more than one interesting experience.
So far as he could judge, he was the only living person within miles. The two Indians that had flitted across his field of vision were gone, and it was impossible to say what had become of Hazletine. Determined, however, to run no unnecessary risk, Jack remained among the trees and rocks on the upper side of the break, where he could not be seen unless some one almost stepped upon him. Not satisfied with his first position, he shifted further to the right, and lay down to wait and watch.
A gradual obscuring of the sky caused him to look at his watch. Could it be possible? The autumn afternoon was almost gone. Night was at hand, whereas he had supposed several hours of daylight remained. Thus valuable time had slipped past and nothing had been done for Fred Greenwood.
From where Jack lay he had a perfect view of the upper gate, as it may be called, of the canyon. The gorge has already been described as narrow at the point where the foamy waters dashed through and expanded into the broad pool, after which they flowed a short way and reunited, to make their next plunge between the mountain walls on their journey to the sea thousands of miles distant. Looking across this break, the boy could penetrate with his eye for a dozen yards into the upper canyon. He saw the dripping rocks upon which the angry buck sprang, only to pause and turn back to join his companions below.
A curious thing happened. Jack was looking in the direction named, when, with startling suddenness, an Indian shot into sight on the furthest rock, beyond which the canyon made a sweeping curve that shut off further view. His appearance was like the upleaping of a Jack-in-the-box at the touch of the spring, but the explanation was evident: he was making his way down the gorge from above, when his leap from one rock to another brought him thus abruptly into view.
This was interesting of itself, but a still more interesting discovery came with the second glance at him. He was Motoza, the Sioux!
It looked as if Hank Hazletine, with all his subtlety and woodcraft, had failed to do that which came of itself to Jack Dudley.
The actions of the Sioux showed he was unusually careful about being seen as he emerged from the canyon into fuller view, for, after leaping to the rock which stood at the door of the gorge, he stood a minute, then leaned forward and peered around the sides as far as he could without losing his balance. He next stood erect and looked keenly across the pool, and apparently at the very spot where the boy lay hiding.
"What a face!" muttered Jack; "I never saw one so ugly, with those daubs of paint; and his eyes shine just like that rattlesnake's we killed. It can't be he sees me," added the youth in alarm, as he cowered still lower; "one would think he could look through a stone."
But nothing less than the Roentgen ray would have revealed the young man, who was stealthily watching the ferocious buck. The latter must have decided that the coast was clear, for with another bound he landed upon a rock quite a way from the opening of the canyon, and a second leap placed him on the shore where three of his race had been standing when discovered by Jack and Fred.
Motoza did not linger, but moved with a very rapid stride across the open space, where he was in full view of anyone in the vicinity.
"If I were sure you had done any harm to Fred," muttered Jack, never removing his eyes from the repellant countenance, "I believe I could treat you as we did the grizzly bear without a sting of conscience. The idea of your harming a hair of the head of Fred Greenwood, who showed you tenfold more mercy than you deserved—my gracious! he must have seen me."
This involuntary exclamation was caused by the fact that the Sioux was following a bee-line for the spot where Jack lay. Believing a meeting inevitable, the youth placed his hand on his revolver, the preferable weapon in the event of coming to close quarters.
But at the last moment Motoza turned to the left and passed among the rocks within a couple of paces of the youth, who held his breath until he was gone.
For some reasons Jack Dudley would have welcomed a meeting with this miscreant, for he held him in no fear. For one moment he meditated "holding him up," with the threat of death unless he produced Fred Greenwood; but fortunately the youth had time in which to see the wild absurdity of the thing, which could have done no possible good and probably would have brought great harm. So it was that Motoza passed out of sight and the youth was once more left alone.
But Jack's thoughts had taken a new turn. Hazletine had expressed the belief that in the interval between the first and second meeting with Tozer either he or Motoza would hold communication with their prisoner; consequently, if the Sioux could be kept under surveillance without exciting his suspicion, he was likely to give some involuntary and useful information.
"I wonder where Hank is; can it be that he, too, is watching in the neighborhood and has seen Motoza come out as I saw him? If so, the next fellow to pass in review before me will be my esteemed friend."
When, however, a half-hour had gone by without anything being seen of the cowman, Jack was warranted in believing that he was the only one who was aware of the coming and going of the red man.
Following out Hazletine's theory, it would seem that the prison of Fred Greenwood, instead of being among the mountains, was within the gorge. This was a startling conclusion, but the more Jack reflected upon it the more strongly did he believe it.
"At any rate, I mean to find out whether it is so."
But on the verge of setting out he hesitated. There was more than one reason why he should do so. In the first place, it was exceedingly dangerous to attempt to make his way up the canyon even by daylight, and the sun had already disappeared. He was totally unfamiliar with the windings and would be in constant danger of drowning. Moreover, he was liable, in the event of Fred being held a prisoner in the gorge, to place himself with him, or to defeat the negotiations for restoring him to liberty.
And yet, in the face of these and other obstacles, the youth decided to make the foolhardy attempt.
First of all he fastened his Winchester to his back, both he and his comrade having made provision for doing that before leaving Bowman's ranch. Then he thrust his revolver more firmly into its resting-place. This left his hands free, in case a sudden emergency should call for their use, and gave him an opportunity of saving the more important weapon. Then, night being fully come, he stepped into the open space which marked the bank at the break of the canyon. The stars were shining, but it would be a long time before the moon rose.
A quick glance to the right and left revealed nothing to cause alarm, and Jack pressed on until he stood on the spot where the Sioux had landed when making his last leap. There was enough star-gleam to show the black mass of stone, like a crouching monster gathering to spring upon him. It will not be forgotten that the youth was an exceptionally fine athlete, and, pausing but a moment, he easily made the leap that carried him to the rock. In fact the task was easy, and he would not have hesitated to follow in the footsteps of the white man and Indian, could he have had the twilight of mid-day to assist him.
The next bound placed him within the walls of the canyon, where he paused with the question whether it would do to venture further. The rushing waters were on all sides of him, and the cool spray was dashed in his face and over his clothing. It was to be supposed that where this furious current was compressed into such a narrow compass its depth was considerable, and within its grasp the most powerful swimmer would be helpless.
Peering into the gloom, the youth saw the top of the next rock which was used as a stepping-stone by other visitors. If he were mistaken it would be bad for him, but, with only a few minutes' pause, he gathered his muscles and proved he was right. He was now fairly within the canyon and still standing on solid support, while there had been no trouble to maintain his foothold from the moment he made the first leap.
His success thus far gave him renewed courage.
"What one person has done another can do," was his thought. "Fred and I agreed that there is a good deal of risk in this, but if I had a little more light nothing could be easier. These rocks seem to be placed at the right intervals, and so long as I can locate them I'll go ahead."
The belief of Jack was that somewhere in the side of the canyon was a cave in which his comrade was held captive. The sight that the two boys had obtained of Hank Hazletine, when he disappeared so suddenly from sight, lent strength to the theory. If the youth was right, the time of his attempt to ascend the gorge, with the exception of the darkness, could not have been more favorable, for Motoza was absent, and it was hardly to be supposed that his place had been taken by Tozer or anyone else. What a happy meeting it would be if the elder could find the younger!
The natural reasoning was that, if one boy was able to ascend the canyon to where the other was imprisoned, the latter ought to be able to leave his prison when the gaoler was absent. Jack's explanation was probably the right one—either that Fred did not know how readily the thing could be done, or Jack was soon to find himself unable to complete his journey.
Spurred on by the hope of doing so much for the one he loved, Jack paused only long enough to locate the next rock, when he again leaped with the easy strength and grace that were natural to him. His success did not render him careless. He was almost in utter darkness, and was surprised that the way proved so easy. By leaning forward and peering into the gloom he could generally distinguish the most shadowy outlines of the nearest part of the support, which, had it been slightly further removed, would have been altogether beyond his reach.
It was unreasonable to expect the favorable conditions to continue, and they did not. The time came very soon when, after one of his leaps, the youth paused to collect himself, and was unable to distinguish the next rock projecting above the roaring current. The canyon just there was wider than usual, and he stooped over and gazed to the right and left in turn, hoping to discover the indispensable support.
"It must be somewhere near," he reflected, "else Hank and the rest of them could have ascended no further; perhaps they did not do so."
He gazed up the walls of darkness, but saw nothing that could help solve the question. If there was a cave near at hand its presence was betrayed by no friendly light. Although the tumult of the current was almost deafening, he shouted the name of Fred and listened for the response which came not.
It was not difficult for Jack Dudley to form the explanation of why he failed to discern the next support. Hitherto his leaps had been comparatively trifling. It would have been no trouble to make them several feet longer. This was a spot where such a jump was necessary, and therefore he could not discern the rock which would have been visible with the help of the sun or moon.
What should he do? Turn back or keep on? It was a most serious question, and he debated it a long time before forming a conclusion.
It is remarkable how readily, at times, we can convince ourselves of the truth of that which we wish to believe. By and by Jack Dudley was sure he made out the dim outlines of the lower point of a huge rock, just where it ought to have been.
"I can't be mistaken, so here goes!"
And go he did, with a vengeance. It was the finest leap yet made, but, unfortunately, the support upon which he so confidently counted had no existence. Instead of landing on solid stone, he dropped into the raging torrent and went spinning down stream like a cork in a whirlpool.
He kept his presence of mind, and did not exhaust his strength by trying to stem the current. His great peril was in being hurled against some of the rocks and killed or having a limb broken. Throwing out his arms just in time he averted this calamity, and feeling himself scraping swiftly past one of the masses of stone that had served him as a support, he desperately gripped it and drew himself out of the water.
He was uninjured, but became immediately conscious of a great misfortune. In the flurry his Winchester had become displaced and was irrecoverably gone. It was with an exclamation of relief that he found his revolver in place at his hip.
"This expedition of mine, considered strictlyasan expedition, is a failure," he grimly muttered, thankful for his own escape, and still convinced that it was not as bad as it might have been with his friend. "It won't do to try it again, and it remains for me to get out of the canyon altogether."
He had landed upon the extreme upper end of the most immense rock of all that had been used to help in the ascent. He remembered it well. The upper portion was depressed and sloping, being three or four feet above the current. Thus it happened that the point to which he was clinging allowed him to be deluged with spray, and he strove to climb to the higher part.
He was thus engaged, conscious of a number of severe bruises, when an object whisked past his shoulder, taking a direction up the gorge. He felt it graze his face, and detected something that can only be described as a deepening of the dense gloom as it shot over his head. It came and vanished like the flitting of a bird's wing.
The youth for the moment was amazed beyond expression, and was at a loss to explain what it could be. Then the truth flashed upon him. Some one else was also going up the canyon, and had leaped from the rock to which Jack was clinging, on his way to the next one. He strove to pierce the darkness, but the effort was useless.
"I would give a good deal to know who he was; I couldn't make out whether it was a white man or an Indian. It may have been Motoza, Tozer, Hank, or a stranger; but whoever he was, he has no use for me."
Half suspecting a third party might put in an appearance, Jack waited on the rock for some minutes, but nothing of the kind occurred, and he prepared to continue his retreat.
The water was almost icy cold, the temperature being perceptibly lower between the walls of the canyon and the clear air outside. With his saturated garments, the youth was chilled and anxious to reach a point where he could start a fire and obtain warmth for his body. He had given over the expectation of seeing any more persons in the gorge and wished to look after his own comfort.
To this haste was to be attributed the second accident that overtook the young man. He had no difficulty in locating the place to land, but he put too much vigor in the effort, so that when he struck the slippery rock his momentum carried him forward, and despite his resistance he took another plunge into the raging current before he could check himself.
The place was preferable to the previous one, for it was almost at the mouth of the canyon. He was guiding himself as best he could, and on the alert to grasp something to check his swift progress, when he debouched into the broad, open pool or miniature lake at the break in the banks, where the current became so sluggish that he swam with ease.
"This is growing monotonous," he muttered, as, after a few strokes, his feet touched bottom and he walked out on dry land. "My rifle is gone, but luckily I have kept my revolver for emergencies——"
He got no further with the remark, for his hand had gone back to his hip with the result of discovering that the smaller weapon had been lost during his last bath. But it was impossible wholly to lose his good spirits.
"Whew! but that puts me in a fine condition to hunt grizzly bears and meet bad Indians; I'm not so anxious to see Motoza as I was."
His teeth were chattering, and to start his blood in circulation he began climbing the sloping bank, at the top of which, as will be remembered, he had remained hidden with Fred Greenwood when looking down upon the three Indians.
It was a laborious task, and he was panting when he reached the summit, where he paused for a few minutes' rest. The prudent course was to return as speedily as he could to the cavern by the plateau and start a fire. His blanket had been left there, and would be of great use in his present condition.
"I wonder, now, if somebody has been there and stolen them?" he muttered, resuming his homeward tramp; "this thing ought not to stop, and it seems to me Hank takes big chances in leaving the blankets and ponies where some of these Indians can steal them."
Jack had still to leap the canyon in order to reach his destination, but the task had become an easy one and caused him no anxiety. All was going well, when his first shock of alarm came with the discovery that a wild animal was following him. His first thought was that it was one of the Indians, but a glimpse, on the edge of a slight clearing, showed that it was a quadruped.
Jack paused and looked intently at the creature. He could see it only dimly, but sufficiently so to identify it as a wolf of unusually large size. He suspected it was of the black species, one of those savage brutes to be dreaded tenfold more than the ordinary grey kind.
"I wonder whether he knows I haven't got a firearm about me? Ah, old fellow, if I had my Winchester it wouldn't take me long to settle you."
It was no jesting matter, and Jack kept close watch of him while threading his way to camp, as their headquarters were called. Several times, when he turned quickly, he was startled to observe that the animal had stolen quite close to him, as if to leap upon his shoulders; but he showed his cowardly nature by darting back, only to return the moment the youth turned his face away.
The question with Jack was whether he should stop and kindle a fire, or wait until he reached the cavern. He preferred to do the latter, but it looked unsafe to defer the precaution. The distance, however, was short, and he hurried on until he clambered over to the plateau and was greeted by a whinny from his pony, Dick, who was quick to recognize him. Instead of keeping up the pursuit, or attacking one of the horses, the wolf seemed to conclude it best to turn his attention elsewhere. He slunk off, and was seen no more.