CHAPTER VIII

THE CAMP IN THE POCKET

Under the guidance of the Mexican dwarf, the four boys came at last to a

halt. It seemed as if the canyon down which they had been riding had

come to an end for there was a wall of rock directly in front of them.

"Down there, Senor, is a pool of clear water," announced the Mexican.

"Glad to hear it, Manuel," said Jim heartily.

"Did you ever see a picture, Jim," put in Juarez significantly, "of a

pool where the thirsty animals have to come to drink and before they get

their noses in the water the hunter shoots them?"

But nothing of this dire nature happened and in a few minutes the

famished animals were pumping the delicious water down their long, baked

throats.

"My Gracious, but that tastes good!" cried Tom, drawing in a long,

gasping breath, after he had been drinking steadily for about a minute.

"It makes my head swim."

"I should think it would," said Jo, sarcastically, "considering the

amount you have drunk."

"You weren't far behind," grumbled Tom. "I thought that you were not

going to leave enough for the horses."

"I don't especially like this place to camp in," said Jim. "We are not

accustomed to get in a pocket like this. But it is too late to pull out

tonight and the horses need a rest, so we will keep guard."

"Better drown the brown rat first," remarked Juarez to Jim. But the

latter only shook his head and laughed.

The camp was made about twenty feet east of the spring in a small grove

of slender trees backed by a high wall of steep granite, down which

poured a waterfall in the rainy season.

The fire was built upon a flat rock in the centre of the grove where

there was no danger of it catching in the grass and bushes which were

dry as tinder. If once a mountain fire was started at the end of the dry

season there would be no stopping it until it had devastated the whole

country.

The light of the fire showed the usual cheery and active scene that goes

with making camp. How many times the Frontier Boys had gone through

these preparations it is impossible to say. They had camped on the

plains of Kansas, in the mountains of Colorado, on the Mesas of New

Mexico, the banks of the Colorado river, and the Pampas of Mexico. Now

we find them in the coast range of California.

It was not an especially dangerous country in which they were camped,

nothing to compare with parts of Colorado and Mexico, but never were

they in greater danger than at the present moment and this camp promised

to be their last together, except they had unusual luck.

There was a traitor in the company, and even now four pairs of hostile

eyes were watching them as they moved in the light of the fire. The

Captain of the Sea Eagle and his three trusty men were hidden in some

bushes at the top of the pocket on the western side.

Juarez and Jim busied themselves first in looking after their horses.

Removing the saddles they rubbed down each animal thoroughly, clear to

the fetlocks and then gave them a good feed of grain. Jo and Tom were on

the supper committee and busying themselves making preparations for a

square meal. Manuello, who had been with the boys on the other side of

the range and was accustomed to help in odd chores about camp, now

offered to aid in getting the supper.

"I will make the coffee with your permission, Senor Jo," he proposed.

"Do you savvy it all right, Manuello?" inquired Jo.

"Ah, yes, Senor. I can make such coffee as the Holy Father would be

pleased to drink," he replied with fervor.

"Not too strong because it keeps me awake," protested Tom.

"No, no, Senor Thomas," replied Manuello with a sweeping bow, "the

coffee I make is very soothing. It will give you a long, soft sleep."

There was an undertone of subtle irony that was entirely lost upon the

two straightforward boys.

"That's a good fellow, Manuello," said Jo, cordially, and he handed the

coffee pot filled with water to the Mexican, who went about the

preparation of it with a deftness that showed that he knew what he was

about. Not one of the boys saw him slip a white powder into the coffee

pot. It quickly dissolved and the coffee began to bubble innocently

enough under the eyes of the hunchback Manuello.

Juarez and Jim just then came back from looking after the horses which

were fastened near the wall of rock. As soon as Juarez saw the Mexican

watching over the coffee pot, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Who made the coffee?" he asked Jo, bluntly.

"Manuello," replied Jo.

"The Senor will find the coffee truly delicious," said the hunchback

with a bow, "only the Mexican knows how to keep its aroma when boiling

it."

"Humph," grunted Juarez, and he went deliberately to the fire and lifted

the coffee pot off and poured its contents on the ground.

"The American does not care for the aroma of your Mexican coffee," he

said coolly.

The Mexican merely gave a peculiar hitch to his shoulder, spat on the

ground and turned away apparently mortally offended as he, no doubt,

was. That part of his scheme had been blocked by the craftiness of

Juarez, but the Captain might make good where his spy had failed.

The Mexican sat back in the shadow on a rock smoking a cigarette, while

the boys ate their supper of beans, meat, bread and coffee. He was the

skeleton at the feast as it were, not only his malignant humor made

itself felt, but there was a sense of depression that they could not

shake off, try as they would.

This was so unusual that they could not account for it. As a rule, they

were jolly and even when danger was impending, they felt a certain

confidence and assurance, but not so tonight.

"What makes us feel so on the bum tonight, do you suppose?" asked Tom.

"Maybe this canyon is haunted," proposed Jo, who had an imaginative

streak in him.

"I tell you the way I figure it," said Jim. "We are not used to camping

in a hollow like this, for before this we have always selected a place

that we could defend, and though there is no particular danger from

outlaws or Indians in these mountains, we can't shake off our old

habits."

"I believe there is something in that," acquiesced Jo.

"It's that rat over there," said Juarez loudly.

The Mexican laughed coolly and insolently, and lighted another

cigarette. This would have maddened an excitable person, but Juarez was

in a stoical mood and he contented himself with flinging a bone that he

had been gnawing at, carelessly over his shoulder, almost striking the

Mexican in the face.

This set that peppery individual wild and he tore around considerably,

tearing his hair, stamping his feet and sputtering with maledictions at

the insult that had been offered him.

"I am no dog that you can throw a bone to," and he sizzled off into a

string of unpleasant remarks.

"Here you, Manuello," roared Jim, rising to his feet and standing over

the Mexican, "not another yelp out of you."

Manuello had a respect for this big American lad much as he despised his

simplicity and he sobered down. Besides he had not finished his work for

the night. He had failed to get the sleeping drug to the boys in the

coffee and now he must be ready to help his master, Captain Broom of the

Sea Eagle, in some other way.

There was a person whom he feared and admired absolutely and he had been

a most useful spy and agent for the Skipper in certain nefarious plots.

It was well for the little hunchback that no one knew of his share in

the betraying of old Juan Sebastian some years before.

"You will have the first watch, Jo," ordered Jim. "It is now nine

o'clock. I will relieve you at eleven and stand guard until two. Juarez

from two until five and Tom can have the short watch."

According to this arrangement, Jim and Juarez would be on guard during

the danger hours.

How many times in the past had the boys stood guard over their camp. Was

this to be the last guard? There were the old Kansas days, when they had

to be on the watch against horse thieves. Then came the dangerous crisis

in their Colorado experiences, when they had to guard against the wiles

of the Indians. And most exciting of all, perhaps, the night in old

Mexico when they camped on the trail of the outlaws. I wonder if Jo, the

first on duty, thought of these old times that night. Probably not, his

mind being fully occupied with the business in hand.

Frontier Boys on the Coast; Or, In the Pirate's Power · 第 8 / 31 章