TRAPPED!
Burnnel and Emery had appeared so unexpectedly before the boys, opposite
Meade’s road-house, that resistance was useless. Dick and Sandy had no
chance, whatever, to raise a hand in their defense. Of the three, Toma
had been the only one at all fortunate. His sudden leap backward into
the brush made possible his escape, but Dick and Sandy were powerless.
The young Scotchman, shrinking with terror, still sat on the fallen
tree, while Dick, no less overcome with fear, stood motionless, as the
two men drew closer, flourishing their guns. Emery’s face was malignant
but triumphant.
“So you thought you’d bust into our little game, eh?” he snarled, as he
relieved Dick and Sandy of their revolvers. “Yuh thought yuh was pretty
smart back there at Creel’s a few days ago, didn’t yuh? Well, yuh can
pay fer that now. Time we get through with yuh, yuh won’t be so willin’
to meddle in somebody else’s business.”
Dick found his voice.
“We didn’t harm you.”
Emery’s scowl darkened. He was on the point of making some sarcastic
reply, but Burnnel cut in sharply:
“Save your gab, both o’ yuh. Too bad that other feller got away.”
Dick hoped that their captors would take them back to Meade’s
road-house. It would be the best thing for him and Sandy. Their chance
of getting away would be better. They would feel safer there. Meade, no
doubt, would interfere and gain their release.
Sandy had sunk into deep and utter dejection. He recalled, with little
shivers of apprehension, the treatment which had been meted out to Creel
a few days before. He was not buoyed up by any false hopes. He could see
in Burnnel and Emery’s actions only an effort at reprisal—revenge for
their previous humiliation. Unlike Dick, he did not believe that they
would be taken back to Meade’s road-house. In fact, such a thought had
never entered his mind. The partners were too shrewd for that. No, he
and Dick would be mistreated and tortured merely to satisfy their
craving for revenge. Besides, it would not suit Burnnel and Emery’s
purpose to be encumbered with two prisoners. They had other business to
attend to.
And, in a way, Sandy was right. Shortly after the boys had been relieved
of their guns, Burnnel straightened up, his mouth twisted in a venomous
leer.
“Turn out your pockets,” he ordered.
The boys obeyed hastily, their hands nervous and trembling. Emery stood
over them, watching like a hawk, seizing from one or the other the
miscellaneous assortment of things that were brought to light. Dick, who
had acted as treasurer for the three boys, was relieved of a roll of
bills and a handful of silver. Burnnel’s eyes lighted with satisfaction
at sight of the money, but his partner only grunted. Soon the boys had
completed their task. Their pockets had all been emptied.
“Where’s the poke?”
Dick stared incredulously.
“Poke? Why—why—what do you mean?”
“Don’t yuh try tuh look so blame’ innocent. Yuh got it, one o’ yuh.”
“Look here,” said Dick hotly, “you know where that poke is—in Corporal
Rand’s possession. You had it yourself on two different occasions. Why
didn’t you keep it?”
Burnnel advanced threateningly.
“Enough o’ that! Yuh know what I mean, a’ right. We want what was in
that poke an’ we want it quick.”
“But see here,” protested Dick, “we haven’t anything. I tell you, we
haven’t. We don’t even know what was in the poke in the first place.”
Burnnel and Emery exchanged glances. Then, indignantly, the little man
addressed the other:
“There, what’d I tell yuh. It’s plain they ain’t got it. I was right.
It’s Creel!”
The huge bulk of Burnnel stood like a statue. Since questioning Dick, he
had not moved, except to turn his head in his partner’s direction. Now
his chin was bent forward, resting upon his expansive, barrel-like
chest. To all appearances, his partner’s assertion had given him food
for thought, required deliberate and careful consideration. In a moment
he raised his eyes again, glancing at Emery. With the fingers of one
hand he scratched the stubble on his pocked, scarred face.
“How do yuh know that? You’re jus’ guessin’. I’d as soon think these
boys had it as Creel. Fact is, it’s a hull lot more likely. How do we
know that this here young tomcat didn’t empty the poke t’other night
right after we left an’ afore Frischette comes along an’ grabs it?”
Emery darted a quick, insolent, sarcastic glance at his huge
confederate.
“I don’t believe it. Creel’s the one what’s fooled us. Fooled us in the
first place there at his cabin. It’s all your fault, too. Yuh never
looked in that poke. An easy mark you are,” he declared scornfully,
“lettin’ him put it over yuh like that.”
Burnnel snarled like a bear in a trap. Emery perceived that he had gone
too far. His next words were placating, almost a whine.
“Now look o’ here, Bob, yuh don’t need to get huffy. I think you’re
wrong an’ I’m goin’ to stick to it. The only reason I said I’d come over
here tuh question these brats was all on your account. I wanted yuh to
be satisfied, tuh see fer yourself. We’re jus’ wastin’ time. The thing
tuh do is tuh go back, pick up that blame’ squaw an’ see if we can’t run
that worthless ol’ rat tuh earth.”
Burnnel hated to admit that he was in the wrong, and in order to cover
his chagrin and disappointment, he flew into a violent rage and for a
period of nearly two minutes cursed wildly and furiously. As he did so,
he paced back and forth, huge fists clinched, swinging his arms
violently. With a final snarl, he cuffed Dick across the head, sending
the young man reeling back dizzily. His large moccasined foot, swinging
up, brushed Sandy’s thigh. Then he seized Emery by the shoulder.
“Come on! Let’s get out o’ here!”
The little man’s head jerked back with a snap. He, too, became furious.
They were still cursing and storming at each other as they disappeared
from view.
The boys could scarcely believe their good fortune. They had not
expected to escape from the encounter with so little injury. They had
not even been taken prisoners. Their only loss had been that of their
money and their revolvers—a thing which troubled them little. Meade,
Dick was quite certain, would willingly help them out, as soon as they
explained their predicament.
Of course, they couldn’t go back to the road-house until Burnnel, Emery
and the woman had taken their leave. Tonight they must remain in the
woods, sleeping out under the trees. Also they must find Toma.
Through the blue, enveloping twilight, they wandered hither and thither,
calling out his name. For hours they searched in vain. In response to
their repeated halloos, no cheery answer came. The deep silence drew in
around them.
“He’s gone for help,” Sandy decided, flinging himself down on a soft
carpet of moss and pine-needles, and looking up anxiously into Dick’s
face.
His chum sighed wearily.
“Yes, he must have gone back to Frischette’s in the hope of meeting
Rand. But you may depend upon it, he’ll give a good account of himself.”
“Toma’s a trump,” said Sandy, closing his eyes and speaking drowsily. “I
couldn’t help but admire the way he leaped for that thicket at the first
sound from Burnnel and Emery. He’s quicker than we are. Pretty hard to
catch him off guard.”
“And yet,” answered Dick, “I can’t understand why he didn’t linger in
the vicinity. That would have been more like him. Waiting and watching
for a chance to get the drop on them, and then rescuing us. Just
thrilling enough to suit him. Funny he didn’t do it.”
Sandy sat up, smiling.
“I think he left his gun behind—over there at Meade’s. I’ll bet he was
provoked. He must have decided that the best thing to do was to hurry
back to Frischette’s and rush Corporal Rand to our assistance.”
Although the days were warm, the nights were invariably cool. It would
not be pleasant to sleep out without blankets. Nor was it possible to
start a fire. Every article they possessed, including a box of matches,
had been taken by the two outlaws.
They slept but ill. Mosquitos buzzed about them in swarms. They kept up
an incessant fight with these vicious pests, shivering on their bed of
moss, waking every few minutes to wonder if morning would never come.
Somewhere around three o’clock, they rose and made their way back in the
direction of the road-house. It was too early yet to think about
disturbing any of its occupants. Burnnel and Emery would still be there,
and they had no wish to meet them again. Hungry as they were, and
sleepy, they realized that it would not be advisable to approach the
cabin until after the outlaws had departed.
“When we get something to eat, and borrow a rifle or two from Meade,”
said Dick, “I suppose we’ll have to trail on after them.”
Sandy glanced at Dick sharply.
“But don’t you think we ought to wait for Toma and Corporal Rand?”
“If we do, we’ll be apt to lose trace of them, just as we lost trace of
Creel. You must remember that we’ll have to follow them on foot. They
have horses.”
Sandy said no more, lapsing into a moody silence. The mosquitos
continued to buzz around their heads. But no longer was it cool. The
sun, an hour high, shed its warm rays to every part of the land. The
moisture, caused by the dew, was soon evaporated. Day had commenced.
Yet they waited a long time before they were rewarded for their
patience. Smoke curled upward from the rough mud-chimney at the
road-house. Now and again, they could see someone walking about outside.
Another long wait, and they breathed a sigh of relief. Three mounted
ponies came out around one end of the cabin and headed down the trail. A
few minutes more, and they were out of sight.
“Thank goodness!” Sandy breathed thankfully, parting the screen of brush
in front of him and stepping out into the open. “I thought they’d never
go. Come on, Dick—breakfast!”
Dick hurried after Sandy, and it was not long before they pushed open
the door of the cabin and entered. Meade was there, and at sight of
them, sprang to his feet. He came forward quickly.
“Where in the name of Old Harry have you boys been? We missed you last
night; looked everywhere. I wondered if you hadn’t gone suddenly crazy.”
“We didn’t want to meet Burnnel and Emery,” explained Sandy.
“You mean those two men, who stopped here last night?”
“Yes.”
Meade whistled. “Why not?”
Stammering out something, Sandy looked at Dick. His chum returned the
gaze, then stared straight into the eyes of the pleasant-faced free
trader.
“Well, I guess it won’t do any harm to tell you. Those two men, who
stopped here last night, are in some way implicated in the Dewberry
case. Corporal Rand went out with them yesterday to the place where
Frischette was found. They were under police surveillance. Apparently,
they have escaped. Those two ponies that they were riding belong to us.
We had met Burnnel and Emery before and thought there might be trouble
if they saw us. So we left.”
“And it was a good thing we did,” Sandy cut in. “As it was, they
followed us, shortly after their arrival here, and came upon us
unexpectedly. They took our revolvers and all the money we had. Toma
escaped. Then they came back here.”
“And you’ve been out there in the woods all night?” Meade inquired
softly.
“Yes, we have, Mr. Meade,” replied Dick, “and we’re mighty tired and
hungry.”