THE HUNCHBACK
The shadows were already falling on that side of the range as the boys
rode slowly into a narrow pass. The shade was a decided relief from the
glare of the California sun that they had encountered all day.
"Gosh, but I should like to have a cool breath from the Rockies,"
declared Juarez with emphasis, "This sort of a climate makes me tired.
Nothing but the sun staring at you all the time. It goes down clear and
comes up with the same kind of a grin on its face."
"It will be cooler when we get on the other side," said Jim,
encouragingly, "and it won't be long now."
"I hope we will strike water on the other side," remarked Jo. "I'm tired
of looking at that bald-headed stream down there," indicating the dry
blistered bed of a former water-course.
Nothing more was said until of a sudden they rode to the top of the
Pass, and saw a new landscape spread out before them.
It was a broad and beautiful view, with the sun striking the wide
Pacific, with a blazing glare of silver and below the wooded slope of
the mountains, stretched an apparently level plain, where roamed
countless cattle, and innumerable sheep. It had all the breadth
characteristic of the Californian landscape.
"That's a pretty good looking view," remarked Jim admiringly. He would
have been still more interested if he could have seen a trim-looking
black vessel in a small cove directly west but a good many miles
distant.
"I wonder if it isn't going to rain," said Tom. "See those clouds
rolling in over the ocean."
"Rain!" ejaculated Jim with superior wisdom, a wisdom that appertains
particularly to older brothers, "I guess not. Those are fog clouds.
That's a sure sign in this country that it won't rain."
"Well, I'm glad to see them, anyway," said Juarez. "It looks sort of
stormy even if it isn't."
It was restful, there was no question about that, the change from the
constant glare of a white sun in a blue sky, to the soft damp grayness
of the fog. It was already rolling over the level plain towards the
mountains and, in a short time, a high fog was spread over the whole
sky.
The boys had ridden down the western side of the range for a distance of
a half mile, when Jim suddenly waved his hand backward in a sign of
caution for the column to halt. He leaned forward, looking intently in a
northwesterly direction to a point on the opposite side of the mountain
valley. Juarez followed the direction of the leader's look with a keen
gaze.
"I was sure that I saw some one slipping through the undergrowth on the
opposite side over there," Jim finally said, "but I could not make sure
whether it was a man or some sort of animal."
"I noticed the bushes shaking," said Juarez, "but I did not see
anything."
"Might have been a brown bear," hazarded Jo.
"They do have them in this range," put in Tom.
"Perhaps it is the bear that we hunted for two days on the other slope,"
said Juarez, "and he has come to give himself up."
"We had better keep our eyes open," advised Jim, though he did not take
the trouble to unsling his rifle. "Jo, you and Tom watch the upper side,
Juarez will take care of the trail in front."
"All right, boss," said Juarez, cheerfully.
"How much reward, captain, for the first glimpse of the lost child?"
inquired Jo.
Jim paid no attention to this sally, but kept his eye on the trail
ahead. The trees were quite thick on either side of the trail and as
dusk was coming on, it was difficult to make out any object clearly.
Just as Jim rode around a turn in the trail, Caliente reared and leaped
to one side and a less skillful rider would have been thrown.
"Easy, old boy," said the rider, patting his horse's neck. Caliente
stood trembling and snorting and watching a curious object that was
struggling up the bank towards the trail.
It was hard to tell what it was, whether man or beast and the dusk only
served to make it more obscure. Then the object scrambled up on to the
trail and Jim at once recognized the dwarf Mexican with his high-crowned
sombrero and his velvet suit richly slashed. With his crooked back and
one eye, he was anything but a prepossessing-looking creature. Caliente,
when he, too, recognized who it was, put back his ears and rushed with
bared teeth for the Mexican.
Spitting out a curse, the greaser jumped to one side with a marked
agility, and Jim succeeded after a struggle in bringing his furious
steed to terms, but he had his hands full and there were not very many
men who could manage Caliente when he got into one of his rages.
"Hi! Manuel," (every Mexican was Manuel to the boys), cried Jim, "look
out for my Tiger, he wants to eat that velvet suit of yours."
"Si, Senor," called Manuel from a safe station on a granite rock. "He is
a tiger as your Honor says."
One would have expected to hear the crooked little greaser speak in a
harsh croaking voice, but instead it had a rich sonorous quality.
"Do you know where there is any water in this country?" asked Jo. "We
are as dry as a desert."
"Certainly, Senor, I will show you," replied Manuel. (It was true that
Manuel spoke in Spanish of which language the boys had a working
knowledge, due to their sojourn in the southwest. But I shall put his
words in English.) "Where is Senor Juarez?" inquired the dwarf. "I do
not see him."
"The Senor is still with us," replied Jim, gravely, "but you cannot see
him on account of the dusk, but you might hear him," he added in a lower
tone.
It was true that Juarez was growling to himself about the greaser for
whom you know he had a cordial antipathy, a feeling which was
reciprocated by the Mexican.
"Lead on, Manuel," urged Jim, "we want to make camp before morning."
"But, Senor, the tiger will eat me up," objected the Mexican.
"I will take care of Caliente. He won't bite you. Go ahead."
"Si, Senor," assented Manuel.
Then he jumped down from the rock and took the trail at a discreet
distance ahead of Jim's horse, who was held in check by his rider though
his temper seemed in no wise abated. There was something sinister in the
figure of the Mexican as he led the way down the trail.
All in black, except the gray of his hat with its golden cord and the
tinsel of his clothes. There was something malignant in his make-up and
even the unimaginative Jim was affected by the presence of the Mexican,
while Juarez was very uneasy, and asked Jo and Tom to allow him to move
up next to the Captain. This they did, though it left Jo as rear guard
on that rocky trail.
He seemed quite isolated but he had become sufficiently enured to danger
and though he kept a wary eye, he was not nervous. The boys had
unholstered their pistols and Juarez kept a straight eye on the moving
shadow in the darkness ahead. At the first sign of attack or treachery,
he was going to get that particular Manuel.
"I've got my eye on the little varmint," said Juarez in a low voice to
Jim. "He may be leading us into an ambush."
"Oh, I guess not," said Jim, with a note of hesitation in his voice. "We
have got to find water anyway. The horses are suffering for it, and this
beggar can show us where we can locate it."
Just then Manuel threw up his hand with a shrill whistle that had every
malignant intention in it. Juarez raised his pistol just ready to fire,
when the Mexican laughed shrilly.
"Senor Juarez very nervous. I just stretch and whistle a little and he
want to shoot."
A peculiar smile came over Juarez's face, but he said nothing. All the
stolid Indian in his nature came to the surface. He merely grunted
contemptuously at the Mexican's remark and this made the volatile Manuel
uneasy in his turn, for he wanted to realize that his malice had struck
home, but Juarez did not give him that satisfaction. There was a sort of
hidden duel between these two, the subtle Mexican and the crafty Indian
nature of Juarez. It remained to be seen who would win.
The four Frontier Boys went silently along down the dark canyon, each
one occupied with his own thoughts and the ill-omened Mexican guide in
the lead. Juarez kept a sharp lookout on either side of the trail
expecting an ambush. His horse seemed to feel something of the strain
his rider was under, as a horse will. Once he shied at something he saw
in a clump of bushes, and nearly went off the trail. It was only with
the aid of Juarez's horsemanship that he clawed his way back to safety.
The Mexican was much amused at this incident, and Jim gave him a sharp
call down.