It was Hank Hazletine, the cowman, who leaped over the head of Jack Dudley when he was crouching on the rock in the canyon, and it happened in this way:
It has been intimated that when the veteran left the boy at the temporary camp on the mountain side his intention was to learn the whereabouts of Motoza, the Sioux, hoping thereby to gain knowledge of the missing Fred Greenwood.
This was a task of extreme difficulty, inasmuch as it was certain the vagrant red man would be on his guard against such strategy. The Indian whom Hank saw with the aid of the spy-glass was not he whom he wished to trace, but, suspecting he was in the vicinity, the cowman made his way thither by a roundabout course. He was on the alert for the fellow, or for his ally, Bill Tozer. Should either or both of them discover Hank, he might well assume that it was an accident. It could hardly be expected of him that he would remain at the cavern for twenty-four hours, awaiting the time for Tozer to meet him. His most natural course would be to engage in hunting with his youthful companion, and he could reasonably claim to be thus engaged if a meeting took place.
Should events prove that the plotters were too watchful to be caught off their guard, then the second phase of the business was to be considered; but it remained to be seen whether such was the fact. The ransom was to be agreed to when it was apparent that no other course could save the lad.
Advancing with the care and stealth of a trained Indian scout, Hazletine remained but a short time near the break in the canyon, for suspecting, as did Jack Dudley, that it was in that neighborhood the key to the situation was to be found, he was exposing himself to discovery. He climbed the same ascent, leaped the canyon, and ensconced himself on the further side. His intention was to peer over the edge into the depths below, instead of taking the course followed later by his young friend.
He was acting on this idea, when he came within a hair of spoiling everything by committing the very blunder against which he had sought with so much pains to guard. At his height above the torrent, as will be remembered, no one was disturbed by the roar of the waters far below. Because of his susceptibility to sounds, he heard an exclamation uttered by some one near him. The point whence it came was a clump of rocks hardly fifty feet distant, and he fancied he recognized the voice as Bill Tozer's. To his relief he could see no one, and it was safe, therefore, to assume that no one as yet saw him.
The ground was favorable, and by using the utmost care he secured a position from which he discovered Tozer and Motoza in conversation. The white man was sitting on a boulder, while the Sioux was standing in front of him, gesticulating as if angry over something that had been proposed or said. Tozer was smoking a pipe, and seemed cool and collected, though the exclamation which had betrayed him indicated that it had not been thus from the beginning.
It was an important discovery for Hazletine to make, but it was attended by two exasperating facts: the interview was nearly over, and the words that remained to be spoken were uttered in such moderate tones that he could not hear a syllable. If the couple had been obliging enough to raise their voices, it is probable that the knowledge sought by the eavesdropper would have soon been at his command.
But nothing of that nature took place. Within five minutes after the arrival of the cowman, prepared to act his part as spy, Motoza turned about and walked away in the direction of the canyon, while Tozer took a course which, if continued, would lead him to the plateau.
"I don't think he'll go there, fur he's no reason to look fur me in that place afore to-morrer morning."
But the white man was not the important factor in the problem. Hank waited for some minutes after he had passed from sight, and then set out to regain sight of Motoza, which task proved more difficult than he expected. The fellow had vanished, and it was impossible to tell whither he had gone. The rocky surface left no trail which even an Apache could follow, and it only remained for the cowman to fall back upon what may be called general principles.
The experience of the cowman was another illustration of how much depends in this world on what is called chance.
Jack Dudley, without any preliminary training in woodcraft, discovered Motoza as he emerged from the canyon, while the veteran of the West, skilled in all the ways of his venturesome life, spent hours in looking for the Sioux without obtaining the first glimpse of him. That he missed him by a margin that could not have been narrower was a fact; but "a miss is as good as a mile," and the autumn afternoon drew to a close without the first glimmer of success on his part. He had gone so far, even, as to visit a distant camp-fire, whose smoke still faintly showed against the clear sky, but failed to see a living person.
He was on the point of giving over his quest, when the unexpected happened. Within a few hundred yards of the break in the canyon he caught sight of Motoza and Tozer holding another consultation. They had evidently just met, and the configuration of the ground enabled Hazletine to steal near enough to catch some of the words spoken by the couple.
The two were standing face to face, and their actions were peculiar. Motoza was in the act of handing his Winchester rifle to Tozer, who, accepting the weapon, turned it over and examined it with interest. Since he could not speak the Sioux he used the English language, of which, as will be remembered, Motoza possessed a fair knowledge.
"You're lucky," he said; "the gun is worth more than yours. So you made a trade with the young man?"
"Yes—me trade," replied the Sioux, his painted face relaxing with the grin that had become almost chronic.
"I don't s'pose he made any objection—that is, he gave you his gun without making a kick?"
The Sioux nodded his head and still grinned, Tozer joining him in the last expression of his feelings.
"How about his revolver?"
"He gib me that," said the scamp, drawing forth the handsome weapon, where Hazletine had not observed it, thrust into the girdle about his waist.
There was no mistaking the meaning of these words and proceedings. All doubt was removed as to the abduction of Fred Greenwood. Motoza was the agent in the outrage, though whether Tozer had taken an active part in the same was yet uncertain. He scanned the smaller firearm, and then, instead of returning it to the Sioux, deliberately shoved it into his hip-pocket.
"I think I'll take charge of that, Motoza."
The buck was about to make angry objection, when the white man explained:
"When I meet Hank to-morrow he'll want some proof that I can turn over the youngster to him. He won't believe I can do so till he sees that proof. I'll show him this revolver, and he'll know it belongs to the youngster. That will be all the proof he'll ask. The rest will come easy; and, Motoza, you and I will be rich."
There was an emphasis in this declaration that was convincing to the dusky partner in crime. He nodded his head and made no further protest. Evidently he was under the influence of his white ally.
At this juncture the couple turned their backs upon the eavesdropper, who had stolen to within a few paces of them. They continued talking, but the change of position prevented his hearing what was said. It was peculiarly exasperating, for, though he had gained considerable information, he still lacked the most important news of all. He had heard no intimation of where the prisoner was held. Could he but learn that, he would have lost no time in attempting his rescue. It must be said, furthermore, that had such knowledge come to him he would not have hesitated to draw bead on the two miscreants in turn, and shoot them down in their tracks. He was thoroughly enraged, and they deserved the fate.
A few minutes after the change of position the couple walked away, side by side, still conversing. Certain discovery would have followed any attempt on the part of the cowman to keep at their heels or nigh enough to overhear their words, so he held his place and saw them pass from sight. He had noted the direction, however, and observed that it led from the canyon and deeper into the mountains.
This was puzzling. It seemed to Hank that one or both would make their way to the prison of the youth, for it was unlikely that he would be left alone through the night. Having no thought of being under surveillance, Motoza and Tozer would take a direct course to the place of confinement, which now seemed to be deeper in the mountains, and at some point of which the cowman had no suspicion.
It was of the highest importance that the couple should not be allowed to pass beyond sight, and the cowman began a cautious search for them. But once more he was doomed to disappointment. In the gathering twilight it was impossible to regain sight of them, and, convinced of the uselessness of the attempt, he gave it up.
"It begins to look as if Tozer holds the winning hand," he angrily muttered; "there ain't no question that the two have the younker safe, and I've no idee where to hunt fur him—but hold on!"
The conviction, or rather suspicion, that the prison of the youth was within the canyon returned to the hunter with redoubled force. Why had he not searched there before? If it was a mistake, no harm could follow; if it was not a mistake—well, he should see.
Wondering at himself because of his oversight, he abandoned all attempt to regain sight of the couple and headed for the break in the canyon. He arrived only a brief while after Jack Dudley attempted and failed to follow up the gorge, and except for the mishap of the youth the two would have met within the following few minutes. It has already been shown how narrowly they missed doing so.
The familiarity of the cowman with the canyon averted the mistake made by his young friend. He ascended it with scarcely any hesitation, although in the dense gloom his vision was almost useless. It was because of that that he well-nigh stepped upon the crouching figure without suspecting it. Reaching the stone where Jack had been overwhelmed by failure, the cowman paused for a minute and peered round in the gloom. Not until he had glanced upward and studied the projecting crags over his head as outlined against the starlit sky was he absolutely sure of his location. That glance made everything clear.
The next rock upon which it was necessary to leap was within easy reach, and had Jack Dudley known its location he would have fallen into no trouble. It lay to the left, close to the side of the canyon, and really carried one no further up the gorge; but from its surface he readily bounded to one beyond, and continued his leap-frog performance until he had ascended another hundred yards.
He was now close to the point he had in mind. It was there that he had been picking his way when the wondering boys, looking down from the top, saw him. Hazletine would have explained his action to them but for a certain feeling of shame which was not unnatural.
There had been rumors for years among the cattlemen of Southwestern Wyoming of a cavern in the canyon which was studded with gold. Many searches had been made for it, but without success. Hank Hazletine was among those who engaged in the hunt, but neither he nor his friends succeeded in finding the place. The veteran was not quite ready to abandon hope, and when he found himself in the section once more, on the hunt in which he acted as guide for the boys, he determined to make a decisive exploration without letting any one know his secret.
It was on this expedition that he succeeded in finding the cavern, but his trained eye immediately told him the marvellous legend was a myth. It was a romantic and picturesque spot, but there was not a grain of auriferous metal or ore in sight. Hoping that a second cavern was in the vicinity, he extended his search. When he emerged from the gorge, at the point where the break occurred, it was with the certainty that the whole thing was a fable. With a grim smile he dismissed the matter and resolved not to think of it again. He felt that he had acted foolishly, and his reluctance to tell his story to his young friends, therefore, was only natural.
But once more the cowman was on his way to the mysterious cavern, drawn by the hope, rather than the belief, that it was there he would find Fred Greenwood a prisoner and awaiting the completion of the bargain for his release by his abductors.
Determined to make no mistake, he halted under the projecting ledge and spent several minutes in peering around in the gloom. It looked as if he was right; but the darkness was too profound for him to make sure, and even the scrutiny of the ribbon of sky that showed above the narrow opening a thousand feet above his head failed to remove the last vestige of doubt.
Like the boys, Hank carried a rubber safe of matches. Producing this, he struck one of the tiny bits on the corrugated bottom of the little black box, and, shading the flame with his fingers from the moist wind caused by the dashing waters, he glanced at his immediate surroundings. He had strapped his Winchester to his back, and his arms were free.
A thrill of pleasure went through him, for the first scrutiny showed he was right. Directly over his head projected a thin ledge within ready reach. It was what might be termed the doorstep to the cavern. He had come to the exact spot for which he was searching.
Flinging the extinguished match into the waters at his side, he reached upward, and without difficulty drew himself upon the ledge. He was now in front of the cavern which he had visited by daylight, and whose interior was impressed so vividly on his memory that he knew every foot of it.
"Is the younker in there?" was the question he asked himself after regaining his feet. To test the matter, he called his name. The fierce torrent roared below and around him, but he was sure his words must have penetrated into the dismal recesses. He repeated the call several times without response.
"It may be the younker is asleep, or, if he hears me, he may take me fur Motoza; and yet that couldn't be, for our voices don't sound alike."
Once more he produced his rubber safe and struck a match, holding the twinkling flame above his head as he slowly moved forward into the cavern. Before the light expired he had another, for he intended to make his search thorough.
The opening in the side of the canyon had a width of ten or twelve feet, was of the same height, and extended back for more than double the distance. Side, floor and roof were of irregular formation, and the craggy stones rough and wet. Had there been any gleaming stalactites or stalagmites in sight, the cause of the legend attaching to the place would have been understood, but there was nothing of that nature. The cavern was simply a rent in the side of the canyon wall, created by some convulsion of nature, and all that was visible was damp limestone.
By the time the visitor had burned three matches his examination of the place was completed and he had made the discovery that he was the only occupant. Fred Greenwood was not there, nor did the cavern show signs of having been visited by person or animal.
But hold! When Hank threw down the last expiring match, he caught a glimpse of something white on the flinty floor. He had not thought of looking for anything, and it was the accidental following of the match with his gaze that revealed the object. Instantly another match was sending out its feeble rays, and he stooped down and picked up that which had arrested his attention.
It was a piece of paper, apparently the blank leaf of a letter. There was no writing or mark on it to indicate its ownership, but had it been the visiting-card of Fred Greenwood, Hank Hazletine could not have been more positive that it belonged to the young man.
It was impossible that Motoza should carry writing-paper with him. The cowman never did so, consequently he could not have dropped it on his late visit. It was equally improbable that Bill Tozer had anything to do with it. He knew that both of the boys had paper and pencils with them, for he had seen them figuring over some problems they were discussing, and with a thrill of conviction he remembered that the paper they used was of precisely the same pattern as the piece he held in his hand.
"The younker has been here, but what the mischief has become of him?" and the mystified cowman looked right and left, on the floor and at the roof, as if he suspected the youth was hiding in one of those places.
An explanation suggested itself. After taking the lad to the cavern, his captor from some cause had changed his mind and transferred him to another place of confinement.
No; there was another theory which would explain the mystery: it was that Motoza, yielding to his implacable enmity of the youth, had placed him beyond all reach of his friends. The spirit of revenge with an American Indian is tenfold stronger than cupidity. It was not improbable that the miscreant, having committed the unspeakable crime, was concealing it from Tozer, his ally in the dreadful business.
The work of the cowman was finished for the time. He carefully let himself down from the ledge to the rock immediately beneath, and began working his way through the canyon to the opening at the break. His familiarity stood him in as good stead as before, and he reached the place without mishap. Climbing the steep slope to the higher ground, he sat down for a few minutes' thought.
It was well into the night, and it was useless to attempt to do anything more. He was as firmly resolved, however, as before not to be outwitted by the ruffians with whom he was dealing. He would consent to no attempt to pay them a ransom until he knew beyond peradventure that their part of the contract would be fulfilled.
"If they try any crooked work," he muttered, with deadly earnestness, "both of 'em have got to settle with Hank Hazletine."
He gave no thought to Jack Dudley, for he took it for granted that he had been able to look out for himself during the day. Following the route so well known to him, he reached the plateau within an hour after the arrival of the youth, who had started a fire and was doing his best to dry his clothing and gain some warmth for his chilled body.
It need not be said that the cowman was interested in the story told by the youth, and was astonished beyond measure to learn that both had taken the same route, one actually passing the other without either suspecting it. On his part, Hazletine related all that he had passed through, and explained the reason of his ascent of the canyon some time before, when he was observed by the wondering lads.
Meanwhile, where was Fred Greenwood?
Hank Hazletine and Jack Dudley having failed to find the missing Fred Greenwood, let us try our hand at the task.
Going back to that afternoon when the elder youth from his concealment on the crest of the ridge fired down into the little herd of antelope grazing in the valley in front of him, and secured a supper for the two, it will be remembered that Fred had started along the side of the valley, with a view of placing himself beyond the game and rendering the success of himself and friend certain.
He never dreamed of danger to himself. His attention was fixed upon the pretty animals, and, hungry as he was, he felt a sympathy for them, knowing that in all probability one of the number would be sacrificed. Nevertheless, he put forth the utmost pains to prevent their taking alarm, and there is hardly a doubt that he would have succeeded in his purpose but for the catastrophe which overtook him when half the distance had been passed.
Suddenly, while he was stealing forward in a crouching posture, a low, threatening voice reached his ear. Only the single word, "Stop!" was uttered, but it could not have startled the youth more than the whir of a rattlesnake under his feet. Before he could straighten up he turned his head like a flash. Not a rod distant, kneeling upon one knee, was Motoza, the Sioux, with his Winchester aimed at him!
Believing that he would press the trigger of his weapon the next moment, Fred Greenwood was transfixed. He could only look at his enemy and await the end. He was without the power to raise a finger in his own defence.
"Drop gun!" commanded his master. The words showed the lad that he had a few minutes at least to live, but the "drop" was on him and he promptly obeyed.
"Drop little gun!" added the Sioux, who never wavered in keeping his rifle pointed at the chest of the young man.
Fred withdrew his revolver and flung it at his feet. He was now without a single firearm. An infant could not have been more helpless.
As yet he had not spoken a word. He recalled the warning of Jack Dudley, and knew the ferocious hatred this vagrant redskin held toward him. To appeal for mercy would delight the miscreant and not aid the prisoner. He tried another tack.
"What do you want with me, Motoza?"
The question pleased the Sioux, who, partly lowering his rifle, still held it ready for instant use. His ugly countenance was broken by the old grin.
"Huh! You call Motoza tief, eh?"
"That's what I called you, and that's what you are!"
"Huh! Me kill you!"
"Youcan do that easily enough, but you'll never live to brag about it. If the officers don't hang you, Hank Hazletine will make daylight shine through your hide! He is only waiting for an excuse."
"White man dog—me not afraid—me killhim!" said the Sioux, with a dangerous glitter in his snake-like eyes.
"You can't do it too soon. But what are you waiting for?"
Motoza had not counted upon such defiance; but if it lessened his contempt it did not diminish his hate nor weaken his purpose.
"You go; me follow; me point rifle if you run; if you call, me shoot!"
"Which way do you wish me to travel?"
The Sioux pointed toward the bend in the valley for which Fred was making when checked in this peremptory manner. To obey was to take him further from his comrade, but he obeyed.
As he moved off, Motoza picked up the two weapons from the ground, thrusting the revolver into the girdle at his waist, while he carried the Winchester in his other hand. Fred heard him a few paces in the rear, as well as the repetition of his threats to fire on the least attempt of the prisoner to regain his freedom or to attract the attention of his friends.
The youth never doubted that he would carry out this threat, and he would have been a zany to draw the explosion of wrath. He walked forward and did his best to obey the orders of his enemy in spirit and letter.
The young man thought intently. The shock of the belief that instant death impended was somewhat softened by the knowledge that the crisis was deferred for a time at least, though it was impossible to guess for how long.
What was the ultimate intention of the Sioux? It seemed probable to Fred that he was afraid to slay him at the spot of capture, since the body would be sure of discovery by his friends, with a good chance of learning the identity of the assassin. What more likely, therefore, than that he was conducting him to some remote place, where his body would never be found?
It was not natural that an active, sturdy youth like Fred Greenwood should submit to be led thus meekly to slaughter, but in what possible way could he help himself? If he wheeled about to assail the buck he was without a single weapon, while the Sioux was doubly armed. A glance over his shoulder showed his enemy almost within arm's reach.
Not the least trying feature of this extraordinary proceeding was that Fred had to hear the report of Jack Dudley's rifle, followed by his shouts, which plainly reached the ears of the one who dared make no reply. He could only continue walking until the bend in the valley was passed, when a change of direction took place.
It was no longer necessary to conceal themselves from observation, for there was no one to be feared. From the facts that afterward came to light there is little doubt that Tozer and Motoza had held a conference previous to the capture and fixed upon a definite line of procedure, for otherwise it is not conceivable that the Sioux would have spared the life of his captive.
With numerous turnings, and with the sounds of Jack Dudley's shouts and firing faintly reaching his ears, young Greenwood continued marching in front of his captor long after the sun had set and night closed in. He had lost all idea of the points of the compass, but the fact that the tramp continued and that no harm was done him inspired the prisoner with a degree of hope that was altogether lacking at the opening of his strange adventure.
Suddenly a roaring noise struck him, and a short distance further he reached the break in the canyon with which he had become familiar. This enabled him to locate himself, and he looked around to learn the further wishes of his master. From the moment of starting Fred had been on the alert for a chance to make a break for liberty, but none occurred. The Sioux was too vigilant to tempt him.
The long immunity from harm had given the lad a certain self-assurance. As yet he had formed no suspicion of the real purpose of the Sioux, but, somehow or other, he believed his own death was not likely to be attempted for a number of hours to come.
"Well, Motoza, here we are! What's the next step?"
The Indian raised one of the hands grasping a Winchester and pointed toward the canyon.
"Go dere—jump on rock!"
"My gracious! I can't do that!"
"Den me kill!"
As if angered beyond restraint, he made a leap toward the startled youth, who recoiled a step, and, esteeming a death by drowning preferable to the one which threatened him, made haste to reply:
"All right; I'll try it."
But it was necessary that the miscreant should give some instructions to his prisoner. These were simple. He was to leap upon the rock nearest to shore, and then, by the same means, ascend the canyon until ordered to stop. From what has already been related concerning Jack Dudley's experience, it will be seen that the task was difficult and dangerous.
There was no choice, however. He had gained a general knowledge of the canyon and felt almost certain he would be overtaken by accident; but in many respects his experience was so similar to that which was afterward undergone by his comrade that the particulars need not be dwelt upon. He found the work less laborious than he expected. The Sioux by gesture indicated the rocks, when they were not clear to the boy, who found no trouble in making the leaps. In every case he had hardly landed when the buck dropped lightly at his side.
A desperate scheme was half-formed more than once while this singular progress was going on. It was purposely to miss his footing and allow himself to be carried away by the tumultuous torrent. He was restrained by two good reasons. Motoza was likely to seize him before he was swept beyond reach, and if he did not he would inevitably drown. Accordingly, Fred kept at it until finally they reached the ledge up which Hank Hazletine climbed twenty-four hours later.
By this time a suspicion of the partial truth had penetrated the mind of Fred. There must be some cavity in the rocks where his captor meant to hold him for awhile as prisoner. The plan of securing a large ransom in payment for his freedom was not dreamt of by the youth. No one would think of looking in this place for him, and he would be secure for an indefinite period.
Motoza had learned several things from his association with those of Caucasian blood, one of which was that a rubber match-safe is preferable to rubbing two dry sticks together when in need of fire, or using the old-fashioned steel and flint.
He managed with some trouble to make Fred understand he was to climb up the ledge, and he followed so deftly that the prisoner was given no chance to try to prevent him. A minute after they stood side by side, Motoza struck a match, and his captive had a glimpse of the cavern which has already been described.
Here, then, was the end of the journey. This was to be the prison of Fred Greenwood until when? When was he to be released, or was he not to be released at all?
Passing well back in the gloom the two sat down, so far removed from the roar and tumult of the torrent that they could talk without difficulty. Fred was still apprehensive of some sudden violence from the Sioux, and, though in the gloom he could see nothing of him, he was ready to make the best struggle possible.
"Am I to stay here, Motoza?" he asked, raising his voice to a high pitch.
Instead of replying directly, the Indian asked:
"Huh! you fader hab heap money, eh?"
This simple question revealed the whole plot and confirmed the statement already made that the scheme for holding Fred Greenwood for ransom by his relatives was arranged before his abduction took place.
It was a great discovery for Fred Greenwood to make. On the instant nearly all his fears vanished and his heart glowed with hope. This being remembered, he can hardly be blamed for drawing matters with rather a long bow.
"Yes," he made haste to say, "my father has money; a hundred times more than I have," all which was true without involving more than a moderate sum.
"He gib heap money furyou, eh?"
"Of course; I come high."
"He gib thousand—gib ten thousand—hundred thousand—million dollar—eh?"
"Well, that's a pretty good sum; I'm afraid my father wouldn't think I am worth as much as that; but there's no doubt, Motoza, he will pay you a good price; is it your plan to sell me to him?"
The Sioux made no answer to this, though Fred repeated the question. The sullen silence of the Indian brought back the misgivings of the captive. He could not doubt that he had been abducted with a view of being ransomed, but it was impossible to credit Motoza with the whole scheme. He must have allies, and, knowing nothing of Bill Tozer, Fred suspected that a half-dozen vagrant Indians, more or less, were engaged in it, though it seemed singular that no one else had shown himself thus far.
Although the prisoner had been in better spirits than would be suspected, his situation was uncomfortable and he lost hope with the passage of the hours. Motoza refused to hold any further conversation, and was evidently brooding over something of an unpleasant nature. By and by he lit his pipe and silently puffed. He was sitting on the flinty floor, with his back against the side of the cavern and his legs thrust out in front of him.
Now and then, when he drew a little harder on the pipe, the glow in the bowl revealed the tip of his nose, a part of the painted forehead, and the glittering black eyes. It was a gruesome picture, for, even when he was invisible, it seemed to Fred he could see the gleam of those eyes fixed upon him.
"Now, I know he hates me beyond expression," mused the youth, "and nothing would delight him more than to torture me to death. If he agrees to give me my liberty, it will be just like him to kill me as soon as he gets the money which father will gladly pay for my safety."
It will be seen that the trend of Fred's thoughts was similar to those of Hank Hazletine, when considering the same matter. Whatever project might be in the minds of others, the youth would be in danger so long as he was in the power of the wretch whom he had unpardonably insulted.
Naturally, Fred had asked himself more than once whether it was possible for him to make his escape from the cavern. It was out of the question so long as the Sioux was his companion, but if he should leave him alone, even for a short time, the youth was resolved to make the attempt.
These and similar thoughts were chasing one another through his brain when he fell asleep. He was very tired from his long tramp and did not open his eyes until the faint light of morning penetrated his prison. He had not forgotten to wind his watch, and when he looked at it he saw to his astonishment that it was nearly eight o'clock. He had slept for more than ten hours.
The next cause of his surprise was to find he was alone. Motoza had left while he was asleep, though how long previous it was impossible to guess. But the hunger which Fred Greenwood had felt on more than one previous occasion was as naught compared to the ravenous appetite that now had possession of him. It was a long time since he had eaten, and it looked as if it would be a long time before he ate again. There was absolutely nothing in the cavern beside himself. He felt in his pockets in the weak hope of finding a forgotten fish-hook that could be used, though he possessed nothing in the nature of bait; but, inasmuch as he had not brought a hook with him, it would not do to say he succeeded in his search, though he displaced the piece of writing-paper afterward found by his friend.
Forcing all thought of food from him for the time, he asked why, now that his gaoler was absent, he should not pick his way down the canyon and make a break for liberty. At the same time he could not forget that one of the most improbable acts of the Sioux would be to give him any chance at all to escape.
It was more than likely that Motoza had laid the temptation in his way, that it might serve him as a pretext for shooting his prisoner. Fred resolved, therefore, to be careful in all that he did. The necessity of drinking and bathing his face was his excuse for walking out to the border of the ledge and letting himself down to the rock underneath. There he dipped up what water he needed in the palms of his hands, and while doing so scanned every part of the canyon in his field of vision.
He noted the narrow strip of sky far aloft, the tumbling waters above and below where he stood, the black boulders protruding their heads above the torrent which flung itself fiercely against them, the craggy walls of the canyon, but nowhere did he catch sight of the Sioux who had brought him hither. None the less, Fred felt so certain his black eyes were watching him from some hidden point that he did not yield to the temptation to leap to the nearest boulder and start on his flight for liberty. Instead, he grasped the margin of the ledge and drew himself up to his former place.
There, however, he paused with folded arms and surveyed the strange scene more leisurely than before. He was anxious to discover the Sioux if anywhere in sight, but the fellow did not show himself.
The roar of the canyon had been in his ears so long that it seemed like silence, and it had lulled him to sleep hours before. He was still suffering from hunger and longed for the return of his captor, for he thought he would bring food with him.
Providentially the lad had stood in this position but a short time when he looked aloft toward the sky. At the moment of doing so he uttered an exclamation of affright and leaped back into the mouth of the cavern. The next instant a boulder that must have weighed a ton crashed upon the ledge where he had been standing, splintered off a number of pieces, and plunged into the torrent below.
Fred did not try to make himself believe that the falling of this mass of stone was an accident. Motoza or one of his allies had been on the watch above for the appearance of the youth, and when the boulder had been adjusted as well as possible it was tumbled over into the canyon. Had Fred remained on the spot a few moments longer he would have been crushed like an insect under the wheel of a steam-engine.
It was a startling occurrence, and in his weakened condition made him so faint that he withdrew still further into the cavern and sat down, trembling like a leaf. His hunger had vanished and hope almost departed.
"It will not do for me to leave the cavern in the daytime, for he is waiting for me to do so. I can't do it at night without some one to guide me. He means to keep me here until I die of starvation."
Fred had come really to believe this. He knew enough of Indian nature to understand that the race rarely inflict instant death upon an enemy when it is in their power to subject him to torture or slay in some horrible fashion. Motoza had not slain him before because he was unwilling that the one whom he hated so intensely should receive such mercy. It would be a hundredfold sweeter to the Sioux to see his prisoner dying by inches.
"If he has a plan for making father pay a ransom for me it will take a number of days to bring the thing to an end. During all that time I am to be left without a morsel of food; he would deprive me of water, too, if he could."
It was a shocking conclusion to form, but the usually clear-headed boy became convinced he was right.
"Poor Jack must be worried almost to death," he murmured, sitting on the stones and giving rein to his fancies; "he will know that something has gone wrong with me, but he can never know what it was. Hank will lay it to Motoza, for he has said there is nothing too wicked for him to do, but the cowman has no way of finding what has become of me, and he can't make Motoza tell him. He and Jack may hunt for weeks without suspecting where I am."
In this declaration Fred Greenwood, as is known, was not quite correct, though the search of his friends was fruitless.
A youth in the situation of Fred Greenwood cannot reason clearly, even though he be right in his main conclusions. He had settled into the belief that Motoza, the Sioux, had determined to subject him to a lingering death through starvation; and yet if it were he—as undoubtedly it was—who rolled the boulder into the canyon, it indicated a wish to put the most sudden end possible to his existence.
It would be painful to attempt to describe the experience of the lad in the cavern at the side of the canyon. As is often the case, his hunger diminished and was succeeded by a dull indifference, in which the suffering of the mind outweighed that of the body. The dreadful day at last drew to an end, and his situation and condition were much the same as earlier in the forenoon. He had not seen a living person, and had given over all hope of another visit from his merciless enemy.
"He means that I shall perish for want of food, and there is no help for it."
But with the coming of darkness the energy of the boy's nature asserted itself. It was impossible now for the Sioux or his allies to maintain a watch upon the mouth of the cavern, where the lad was observed the moment he showed himself, and Fred determined that as soon as it was fairly dark he would make an attempt that should be crowned with success or that would end his sufferings and wretchedness.
His plan was to let himself down from the ledge to the top of the nearest rock, and then try to reach the break in the canyon as he had ascended it under the guidance of his captor. It was not to be supposed that the vigilant Motoza would leave the way open for him, though his actions pointed to the belief that it was utterly impossible for the prisoner to escape by that means.
Nor in truth was it possible, for in the impenetrable gloom he was certain to miss his foothold sooner or later and be flung into the torrent, with no possibility of the good fortune that attended Jack Dudley, who had a much less distance to traverse.
It was yet early in the evening when Fred came once more and for the last time to the front of the cavern. With that attention to trifling matters which a person sometimes shows in the most trying crises he wound up his watch, examined his clothing to see that everything was right, adjusted his hat so that it was not likely to be displaced, and looked out in the gloom. All that he could see was when he gazed upward and observed a few stars twinkling in the thin streak of sky.
"Two things are certain," he mused: "that Indian does not think it possible for me to make my way out of the canyon; and, if I should succeed, he will be on the watch for me and shoot or try to force me to return. He shall never get me back here, for I will take the risk of drowning, and then——"
A thought flashed through him like an inspiration and fairly took away his breath.
Why not climb the side of the canyon?
He was so overcome by the question, which seemed born of heaven, that he stood dazed and bewildered. Then he became cool again and asked:
"Is it possible?"
He recalled that Hank Hazletine had told him he had done it during the daytime, and it must have been somewhere in this neighborhood. The task would seem easy if the sun were shining, but if it were shining Fred Greenwood would not have been permitted to make the attempt.
He was convinced of another thing: the depth of the canyon had been repeatedly referred to as being a thousand feet, but there were places where it was less than half that extent, and he remembered a depression in the earth, almost directly overhead, which must have lessened the prodigious height found at other points.
Nevertheless, a climb of several hundred feet up the perpendicular side of a canyon or mountain wall is severe work to the most powerful and best trained man, and its formidable nature was proved by the fact that some of the cowmen would not try it by daylight.
Nothing could be clearer than that Motoza had not hesitated to leave his prisoner alone in the cavern for the reason that he was certain he could not effect his escape therefrom. The last means the youth would think of employing was that of climbing the side; therefore, as Fred reasoned, that was the very means to adopt, and the only one that could possibly succeed.
"I'll try it!" was his conclusion, after a few minutes' thought.
Before setting out on the unparalleled task he fervently asked the help of the only One who could extricate him from his peril. Then he summoned his strength and courage to the tremendous work.
His dread now was that Motoza would put in an appearance before he was clear of the mouth of the cavern. Had the lad thought of the daring scheme earlier in the day he would have studied the stupendous stairs upon which all his hopes now rested, but it was too late to think of that.
Reaching upward, he grasped one of the projecting points of rock and drew himself clear of the opening in front of the cavern. Naturally muscular and active, with all his nerves in superb control, the effort was trifling. Within less time than would be supposed he had climbed fully fifty feet without meeting with any difficulty. Then the first thrill of alarm shot through him as one foot slipped and he narrowly missed falling.
He found a good place to rest, and immediately adopted a sensible precaution. Removing both shoes, he tied the strings together and slung them over his shoulder, with the fastening under his chin. This would make it rough for his stockinged feet, but it was worth it all. He was not discommoded by rifle or pistol, and could not have been better prepared for climbing.
He felt as yet no fatigue, and resumed his work as soon as he was ready. If he continued to find projections such as he had found thus far, there was no reason why he should not reach the level ground above in safety. As an evidence of how fate sometimes plays fast and loose with us, it is certain that Hank Hazletine entered the cavern while his young friend was climbing the wall overhead, without either dreaming of the actual situation.
Fred Greenwood, at the beginning of his climb for liberty, was subjected to a peculiar peril. He had rested but a moment, when he was seized with an extraordinary "panicky" feeling. He was sure that Motoza was standing on the ledge below, peering upward in the gloom, and holding his rifle ready to fire at him on the instant he could make his aim certain.
Like all such emotions, it was opposed to common sense. According to his belief it was out of the power of the Sioux to obtain the most shadowy glimpse of him, and the youth ought to have felt as secure against being picked off as if in his home, hundreds of miles away; but the feeling for a time was uncontrollable, and, yielding to it, he began frantically climbing, never abating his efforts until he had gone fully fifty feet higher. By that time he was all a-tremble, and so weak that he was forced to pause for rest. Thus far he had been extremely fortunate in meeting with no difficulty, the projections affording abundant support for hands and feet. Moreover, he had again attained a ledge where he was able to sustain himself with comparative ease.
He paused, panting, trembling and exhausted. Thrusting out his head as far as was safe, he looked downward. Nothing but impenetrable gloom met his eye. He could hear the torrent rushing against the rocks and boulders in its path, and flinging itself against the walls of the canyon, but he could distinguish nothing, and his strong sense now came to his rescue.
"If he is down there he cannot see me; he will not dream I have started to climb the wall, and therefore will not follow. If he does, he must appear below me, and I will kick him loose the minute I see him. How foolish to be afraid!"
In a few minutes his nerves became calmer, but he began to realize the nature of the terrifying task before him. There was no thought of retreat on his part, and he was determined to keep on, so long as the work was possible.
His feet were paining him, and were certain to pain him a good deal more before he reached the top; but healthy, rugged youth has elastic muscles, and in a short time Fred was ready to resume his work. His panic was gone, and he exerted himself with the deliberate care which he should have shown from the first.
As nearly as he could judge he had climbed some twenty paces, when he was startled, upon extending his hand upward, to encounter only the smooth face of the wall. Hitherto there had been more projections than he required, but now the steps appeared to vanish, leaving him without any support.
Could it be he would have to abandon his effort after making so fine a start? Must he pick his way down the side of the canyon, again, to the cavern, and there meekly resume the torture of waiting for death from starvation? Failure was too terrible to be thought of, and he resumed his searching for the indispensable support.
Certainly there was nothing directly above him that would serve, and he passed his right hand to one side. Ah! he caught the sharp edge, after groping for a few seconds. Leaning over, he reached out as far as possible and found the projection extended indefinitely.
"It will do!" he muttered, with a thrill, and, without pausing to reflect upon the fearful risk of the thing, he swung himself along, sustained for an instant by his single hand; but the other was immediately alongside of it, and it was easy to hold himself like a pendulum swaying over the frightful abyss. But there was nothing upon which to rest his feet. He did not wish anything, and, swinging sideways, threw one leg over the ledge beside his hands, and, half-rolling over, raised himself securely for the time on his perch.
"Gracious!" he exclaimed, pausing from the effort; "if I had stopped to think, I shouldn't have dared to try it. If this ledge had been smaller I shouldn't have found room for my body, and there is no way of getting back to the stone on which I was standing. Imustgo on now, for I cannot go back."
It was plain sailing for a few minutes. The flinty excrescences were as numerous as ever, and he never paused in his ascent until prudence whispered that it was wise to take another breathing spell. It was a source of infinite comfort to feel that when he thus checked himself he was not compelled to do so for lack of support.
There was no way of determining how far he had climbed, and he based his calculation on hope rather than knowledge. The roar of the canyon was notably fainter, and, when he looked aloft, the ribbon of starlit sky appeared nearer than at first. There could be no doubt that he was making his ascent at the most favorable point, for the height was much less than at most of the other places, and he believed this was the portion where Hank Hazletine had climbed from the bottom to the top of the gorge. Could he have been certain of the latter, all misgiving would have vanished.
Not a trace of his panic remained. If Motoza had returned to the cavern, and, discovering the flight of his prisoner, set out to follow him, there was little prospect of his success, for the fugitive had varied from a direct line, and the Sioux might pass within arm's length without being aware of the fact.
There was one peril to which Fred was exposed, and it was fortunate it never entered his mind. Supposing Motoza was standing on the ledge at the bottom of the canyon and gazing upward, weapon in hand, it was quite probable that he would be able to locate the youth. This would be not because of any superiority of vision, but because of that patch of sky beyond, acting as a background for the climber. With his inky figure thrown in relief against the stars, his enemy could have picked him off as readily as if the sun were shining.
This possibility, we say, did not present itself to Fred Greenwood, and, more providential than all, Motoza was not in the canyon.
The slipping of one foot tore most of the sole from the stocking, and his foot had henceforth no protection against the craggy surface.
"I don't mind the stocking," grimly reflected the youth, "for there is another pair in camp and plenty of them at the ranch, but how it hurts!"
He would have been altogether lacking in the pluck he had displayed thus far had he been deterred by physical suffering from pushing his efforts to the utmost. He would have kept on through torture tenfold worse, and he showed himself no mercy.
Few people who have not been called upon to undertake such a work can form an idea of its exhausting nature. It would be hard to think of anyone better prepared than Fred Greenwood to stand the terrific draught upon his strength; but while a long way from the top, and while there was no lack of supports for his hands and feet, and in the face of his unshakable resolve, he was compelled to doubt his success. It seemed as if the dizzy height did not diminish. When he had climbed for a long time and stopped, panting and suffering, the stars appeared to be as far away as ever. He felt as if he ought to have been out of the ravine long before, but the opening looked to be as unattainable as at the beginning.
His whole experience was remarkable to that extent that it can be explained only on the ground that the intense mental strain prevented his seeing things as they were. He had subjected his muscles to such a tension that he was obliged to pause every few minutes and rest. One of his feet was scarified and bleeding, and the other only a little better. When he looked upward his heart sank, for a long distance still interposed between him and the ground above.
"I must have picked the place where the canyon is deepest," was his despairing conclusion; "I feel hardly able to hang on, and would not dare do what I did further below."
He now yielded to a curious whim. Instead of continually gazing at the sky, that he might measure the distance remaining to be traversed, he resolved not to look at it at all until he had climbed a long way. He hoped by doing this to discover such a marked decrease in the space that it would reanimate him for the remaining work.
Accordingly he closed his eyes, and, depending on the sense of feeling alone, which in truth was his reliance from the first, he toiled steadily upward. Sometimes he had to grope with his hands for a minute or two before daring to leave the support on which his feet rested, but one of his causes for astonishment and thankfulness was that such aids seemed never to be lacking.
He continued this blind progress until his wearied muscles refused to obey further. He must rest or he would drop to the bottom from exhaustion. He hooked his right arm over the point of a rock, sat upon a favoring projection below, and decided to wait until his strength was fully restored.
He could not resist the temptation to look up and learn how much yet remained to do.
Could he believe his senses? He was within a dozen feet of the top!
He gasped with amazement, grew faint, and then was thrilled with hope. He even broke into a cheer, for the knowledge was like nectar to the traveller perishing of thirst in the desert—it was life itself.
All pain, all suffering, all fatigue were forgotten in the blissful knowledge. He bent to his work with redoubled vigor. If the supports continued, his stupendous task was virtually ended.
And they did continue. Not once did the eagerly-feeling hands fail to grasp a projection of some form which could be made to serve his purpose. Up, up he went, until the clear, cool air fanned his temples, when, with a last effort, he drew himself from the canyon, and, plunging forward on his face, fainted dead away.
He lay in a semi-conscious condition for nearly an hour. Then, when his senses slowly returned, he raised himself to a sitting position and looked around. It was too early for the moon, and the gloom prevented his seeing more than a few paces in any direction.
But how the pain racked him! It seemed as if every bone was aching and every muscle sore. The feet had been wholly worn from each stocking, and his own feet were torn and bleeding. He had preserved his shoes, but when he came to put them on he groaned with anguish. His feet were so swollen that it was torture to cover them, and he could not tie the strings; but they must be protected, and he did not rise until they were thus armored.
He was without any weapons, but the torment of his wounds drove that fact from his mind. All that he wanted now was to get away from the spot where he could not help believing he was still in danger of recapture. But when he stood erect and the agony shot through his frame, he asked himself whether it was possible to travel to the plateau without help; and yet the effort must be made.
He had a general knowledge of his situation, and, bracing himself for the effort, he began the work. It was torture from the first, but after taking a few steps his system partly accommodated itself to the requirement and he progressed better than he anticipated. He was still on the wrong side of the canyon, which it was necessary to leave before rejoining his friends. He was wise enough to distrust his own capacity after the fearful strain, and did not make the attempt until he found a place where the width was hardly one-half of the extent leaped by him and Jack Dudley. As it was, the jump, into which he put all his vigor, landed him just clear of the edge, a fact which did much to lessen the sharp suffering caused by alighting on his feet.
He yearned to sit down and rest, but was restrained by the certainty that it would make his anguish more intense when he resumed his tramp toward camp. Furthermore, as he believed himself nearing safety, his impatience deepened and kept him at work when he should have ceased.
As he painfully trudged along, his thoughts reverted to his climb up the side of the canyon and he shuddered; for, now that it was over, he could not comprehend how he dared ever make the effort. Not for the world would he repeat it, even by daylight.
"Heaven brought me safely through," was his grateful thought.
But as he drew near the plateau his musings turned thither. He had counted upon finding Jack Dudley and the guide there; but they might be miles away, and he would not see them for days. He knew he needed attention from his friends and could not sustain himself much longer. If he should be unable to find them——
But all these gloomy forebodings were scattered a few minutes later by the glimmer of the camp-fire on the other side of the plateau. One of his friends at least must be there, and providentially it proved that both were present.
At last the clothing of Jack Dudley was dried, and he felt thoroughly comfortable in body. While he was employed in the pleasant task, Hank Hazletine went away in quest of food. It took time and hard work to find it, but his remarkable skill as a hunter enabled him to do so, and when he returned he brought enough venison to serve for the evening and morning meal. No professor of the culinary art could have prepared the meat more excellently than he over the bed of live coals. The odor was so appetizing that the youth was in misery because of his impatience, but the guide would not let him touch a mouthful until the food was done "to the queen's taste." Then they had their feast.
And yet the two were oppressed by thoughts of the absent one. The attempts of his friends during the day to help or to get trace of Fred Greenwood had been brought to naught, and it looked as if they would have to consent to the humiliating terms of Tozer and Motoza, with strong probability that the missing youth was never again to be seen alive.
"I think, Hank," said Jack, when the cowman had lit his pipe, "that we should run no more risks."
"How can we help it?"
"When you meet Tozer to-morrow morning by appointment, tell him the price he asks will be paid, but everything must be square and above board."
The guide looked at his companion a moment in silence. Then he said:
"If you'll turn the matter over in your mind, younker, you'll see that this bus'ness can't be put through without giving the scamps the chance to swindle us the worst sort of way. They won't give up the boy on our promise to pay 'em the money and no questions asked, for they don't b'leve we'll do it; so we've got to give 'em the money and trust to their honor to keep their part. Trust to theirhonor," repeated Hank, with all the scorn he could throw into voice and manner; "as if they knowed what it means."
"I know from what you have said that Tozer and Motoza are cunning, but——"
In order to receive all the warmth possible, Jack Dudley was sitting within the cavern and facing outward, while his companion faced him, with his back toward the plateau and mountains beyond. Jack suddenly broke off his remark, for in the gloom behind the cowman he saw something move. That something quickly took the form of a white-faced, exhausted youth trudging painfully forward and ready to sink to the ground with weakness.
"Heavens! can it be?" gasped Jack, half-rising to his feet and staring across the camp-fire. The next moment, and while Hazletine was looking in the same direction, as astounded as the youth, the elder made one bound and was at the side of Fred Greenwood, whom he caught in his arms as he sagged downward in a state of utter collapse.
In the course of the following hour everything was made clear. Under the tender ministrations of Jack Dudley and Hank Hazletine the returned wanderer recovered to a great degree his strength, and to the fullest degree his naturally buoyant spirits. The faint odor of the broiling meat which lingered in the air awoke his ravenous appetite, but knowing how long he had been without food, the cowman would not permit him to eat more than a tithe of what he craved. After a time he gave him more, until his appetite was fairly well satisfied.
"Jack," said Fred, with something of his old waggishness, as he looked across the fire into the face of his comrade, "let's go home."
"You forget that we have a month's vacation, and it is hardly half gone. We can stay another week and then be sure of being back to school in time. You lamented more than I because we could not have a longer play-spell. Your sentiments have changed."
The younger lad pointed to his feet.
"There's the reason. If I were like you I shouldn't think of leaving this delightful country until the last day; but I shall need all the vacation to get on my feet again. Do you comprehend?"
"Yes; your demonstration is logical. True, you have lost your rifle and pistol, the same as myself, but we could get others at the ranch, and no doubt meet with plenty more enjoyable adventures, but not as you are. I shall be very willing to start home with you to-morrow morning. What do you think of it, Hank?"
"I'm blamed sorry this bus'ness has to wind up as it does, but there's no help fur it, and we'll leave fur the ranch after breakfast."
"Will you keep your appointment with Tozer?"
"I've been thinking of that; yes, I'll meet him."
There was a peculiar intonation in these words that caused both boys to look into that bearded face, but they could not be sure of his meaning.
It was Fred who spoke:
"Hank, there is one matter as to which I cannot feel certain; I want your opinion of it."
"Wal, I'm listening."
"After Motoza forced me into the cavern at the side of the canyon he went off and has not returned yet, unless he did so after I left. Now, why didn't he go back?"
"Why should he go back? He felt sartin there was no way fur you to git out, and if I'd been told that your only chance was to climb the wall I'd 'greed with him, though you struck the spot where I done it myself."
"He must have known I hadn't a mouthful of food?"
"He couldn't help knowing it."
"The question in my mind is this: what he said to me, as well as what you have told, proves that he understood the whole scheme of my being ransomed. Tozer must have known where I was; he knew that to bring the ransom business to a head would require several days, even with the use of the telegraph; they expected me to stay in the cavern all the time. How long would they have left me there without bringing me anything to eat?"
"They'd never brought you anything."
"Then when the time came to surrender me to my friends I should have been dead."
The cowman nodded his head.
"There ain't no doubt of that."
"And they couldn't have carried out their part of the agreement."
"Which the same they knowed."
"But it seems unreasonable. It would have placed both in peril, from which I cannot see how it was possible for them to escape. If they gave me up after receiving the money they would be safe against punishment. Why, then, should they place themselves in such great danger when they had nothing to gain and all to lose by doing so? That is what I can't understand, and I am sure my brain has become clearer."
It was the same view of the question that had puzzled Jack Dudley, and the two boys listened with interest to the explanation of the veteran.
"Tozer of himself would turn you over sound in limb and body; but, since it was the Sioux who done all the work, as you have showed us, Bill had to make a sort of compromise with the villain, and that compromise was that you should be left with Motoza till the hour come fur you to be produced. That was the price Bill had to pay Motoza fur what he done. It wasn't Tozer, but the Sioux, that was fixing things so as to starve you to death."
The cowman spoke with a deliberation and seriousness that left no doubt he believed every word uttered, and the boys were convinced he was right.
"Bill is as mean as they make 'em," added Hazletine, "but he'd rather grab a pile of money than kill a chap he don't like. It's t'other way with the Sioux. He likes money well 'nough, fur he knows it'll buy firewater, but the sweetest enjoyment he can have is to revenge himself on a person he hates, and from what I've heard he hates you as hard as he knows how."
"There is no doubt of that," said Jack; "I shall never forget the expression of his face when Fred made him give up my rifle."
Fred was thoughtful a moment, and then asked:
"Hank, what do you mean to do about Tozer?"
"Wal, until I larned your story I was fixed to shoot him on sight."
"But what of the agreement you would have to make before he gave me up?"
"I'd kept that the same as the other folks, but it wouldn't be long afore I'd git a chance to pick a quarrel with him over other matters, and then it would be him or me; and," added the cowman, with a grim smile, "I don't think it would be me."
"Do you still hold to that resolve?"
"I can't say that I do. I don't see that Bill meant any hurt except to make some money out of you, and he couldn't help taking chances on that. If he could have had his way he'd turned you over to us as well as when you left; so I think I'll wait to see what his next trick is to be afore I draw a bead on him. I'll take another plan—I'll give him the laugh."
"Give him the laugh!" repeated the wondering Jack Dudley; "what do you mean by that?"
"I'll meet him here to-morrer morning, and, after we've talked a while, let him see you or know how things stand, and then I'll just laugh at him till I drop to the ground and roll over on my back. Won't he feel cheap?"
The conceit was so odd that both boys smiled.
"That certainly is a curious way to punish a man for doing a wrong. It seems to me that, since he had so much to do with abducting Fred, he ought to be arrested, tried, and punished. He should be made to suffer for his crime."
Hank showed his hard sense by replying:
"I don't deny that, but there's no way of punishing him. He hasn't done a thing fur which you could make the court say he's guilty. The younker there that spent more time than he liked in the canyon has never even seed Bill Tozer. What reason, then, has he fur saying Bill had anything to do with the bus'ness?"
"Didn't he admit as much to you?"
"Not a word! He give himself away in his talk, but whenever he said anything 'bout things he reminded me it was all guesswork."
"Could not Motoza be made to swear against him?"
"He might, and he might not. If he did, why, Bill would swear t'other way, and make it look as if he was trying to play the friend for the younker. It would be like some folks, after the thing was over, proposing to buy Bill a gold medal fur showing himself such a good and noble man. No; my plan is best. When I give him the laugh he'll feel worse than if he was sent up fur ten years."
"It looks as if there is no other way of punishing him," remarked Fred; "but the case is different with Motoza."
"Wal,rather!"
It would be impossible to convey a true idea of the manner of Hank Hazletine when he uttered these words. He nodded his head, clinched his free hand, and his eyes seemed to flash fire.
"Do you mean to kill him, Hank?"
"O, no," was the scornful response; "I'm going to take his hand and tell him how much I love him. I'll wipe the paint off one cheek, so as to make room fur a brotherly kiss. I'll send him to your folks, that you may have him for a playmate. He'll be so sweet and nice among the little younkers.That'swhat I'll do with dear Motoza!"
It was impossible not to read the terrible purpose that lay behind all this. The boys made no mistake. Jack Dudley shuddered, but was silent. He knew the miscreant richly merited the threatened retribution, and yet he wished it were not impending.
Surely, if anyone was justified in calling down vengeance upon the head of the vagrant Sioux it was his victim—he who had felt his hatred, and whose physical sufferings must remind him of the same for weeks to come. But Fred Greenwood was in a gracious and forgiving mood. His heart throbbed when he recalled what he had so recently passed through, but he could not lose sight of the blessed fact that hehadpassed through it all. He was with his beloved comrade again, not much the worse for his experience. In truth he was a little homesick, and was stirred with sweet delight at the thought that, if all went well, he should be with his parents within the coming week.
And yet he was oppressed by the thought that one of the results of his short visit to Wyoming was to be the death of a human being. He was sure he could never shake off the remembrance, and should he ever wish to return in the future to renew his hunt under more favorable conditions, the memory would haunt him. It mattered not that the wretch deserved to be executed for the crime, in the commission of which he had been interrupted before he could complete it. He was a savage, a heathen, a barbarian, who was following the light as he understood it. Why, therefore, should not mercy be shown to him?
There are many things which Jack Dudley and Fred Greenwood have done during their youthful lives that are creditable to them, but there is none which gives the two greater pleasure than the remembrance of the moral victory gained in their argument with Hank Hazletine. Fred opened the plea, and his comrade quickly rallied to his help. Their aim was to convince their guide that it was wrong for him to carry out his purpose regarding the Sioux. That the fellow should be punished was not to be questioned, but it should be done in a legitimate way and by the constituted authorities. Hazletine insisted that the conditions were such that Motoza would never be thus punished, at least not to the extent he ought to be; therefore, it was the duty of Hazletine to attend to the matter himself.
The argument lasted for two hours. The boys were able, bright and ingenious, but they hadtruthon their side, and by and by the grim cowman showed signs of weakening. What knocked the props from under him was the fact which he was compelled to admit that the Sioux was only following the teachings he had received from infancy; that he lacked the light and knowledge with which Hazletine had been favored; that it was the duty of the white people to educate, civilize and Christianize the red men, who have been treated with cruel injustice from the very discovery of our country.