HOW THE MEDICINE WORKED.
Having left their horses picketed in a secluded spot, four men came
stealing down the steep and narrow fissure that was the one entrance
into the Enchanted Valley. Three days had passed since Dash Colvin stole
out of that valley in his desperate attempt to carry the message to
Frank. The third night had fallen.
Frank had arrived, and with him were Pete Curry, of Cottonwood, an
officer who knew him well and liked him, and two deputies whom Curry had
called into service. Frank had picked these men up at Cottonwood after
his flight from Prescott. The promise of a liberal reward under any
circumstances, and possibly of a big capture, had led them to accompany
him. Before seeking to descend into the valley they had seen from the
heights above, far away to the southern end, the glow of two or three
bright fires, and had heard at intervals something like singing.
Frank feared the entrance to the valley might be in the hands of the
enemy and guarded. He was relieved on discovering that this was not so,
and his satisfaction was great when, with his companions, he found
himself in the valley with no one to block the way.
"What next, Mr. Merriwell?" asked Curry, in a low tone.
"I am for finding out what is going on down there to the south," said
Frank.
"All right, sir. Lead on. We're with you."
In time they approached near enough to look down upon that portion of
the valley where the unfinished cabins were, and saw two or three fires
burning there. Men were lying around on the ground in the light of these
fires. Others were staggering about in a peculiar manner. Now and then
one of them would utter a wild yell and dance about like a crazy man,
sometimes keeping it up until, apparently exhausted, he ended by
flinging himself on the ground and seemed immediately to fall asleep.
As Frank and his companions watched these singular movements they saw
three men join hands and execute a singular dance in the firelight.
"Cæsar's ghost!" muttered Merry, "am I dreaming?"
"What's the matter, pard?" asked Curry.
"Look at those three men--look at them closely. One of them is an
Indian."
"Sure thing," said Curry.
"And I know him!" palpitated Merry. "If my eyes don't fail me, it is old
Joe Crowfoot."
"Who is old Joe Crowfoot?"
"A redskin I have believed to be my friend."
"Waugh!" ejaculated Curry, in disgust. "There never was a red whelp as
could be trusted."
"But you don't know Crowfoot."
"I know 'em all. Here is this yere Crowfoot a-whooping her up with your
enemies, Mr. Merriwell. What do you think of that?"
"It's mighty singular," confessed Merry. "Look! look! they are
drinking!"
It was true. The dance had stopped and one of the three had flung
himself on the ground. Crowfoot bent over this fellow and offered him a
bottle, which he eagerly seized. The Indian snatched it from the man's
lips, refusing to let him drink all he seemed to desire. It was then
given to the other men, and afterward the old redskin passed from one to
another of the reclining men, rousing those he could and offering them
the bottle. Some drank, but others seemed too nerveless to hold the
bottle in their hands.
"Well, this yere is lucky for us," declared Curry. "The whole bunch is
paralyzed drunk. We oughter be able to scoop 'em in without any great
trouble."
"I wonder where Hodge is," speculated Merry. "I wonder if they have
killed him."
This possibility so aroused Frank that he was determined to seek Bart
without delay. Curry was opposed to this; but Frank had his way, and
they stole off leaving Crowfoot and his newly chosen companions to
continue their carousal. As they approached Bart's cabin, there came
from the window a sharp command for them to halt. Merry recognized the
voice and uttered a cry of satisfaction.
"Hodge!" he called. "It is I--Frank."
From within the cabin there was another cry of joy, and a moment later
the door flew open and Hodge came running toward them.
"Merry, thank Heaven you're here!" he exclaimed,
"Thank Heaven you're still alive!" returned Frank. "I was afraid I might
arrive too late. Tell me what has happened. How have you managed to
stand those ruffians off?"
"They attacked the cabin twice," said Hodge; "but we were ready for them
both times."
"We? But aren't you alone?"
"I am now; but old Joe Crowfoot----"
"Crowfoot--what of him?"
"He was with me. I don't know what has become of the old man now. He
left to-night as soon as darkness fell, saying he was going to take a
look at the ruffians down yonder. The old man is pretty well used up; he
is nearly dead with rheumatism. He spent the greater part of the time
after coming here in digging roots and making them into medicine by
drying them at the fire, scraping them, then grinding them into powder
between stones, finally preparing a decoction with water and the powder
of the roots."
Frank then told Bart what he had lately seen, and Hodge was greatly
astonished.
"Old Joe down there with those men?" he muttered. "Why, I don't see----"
"Ugh!" grunted a voice near at hand, and out of the shadows slipped
another shadow that unhesitatingly approached. It was Crowfoot himself,
as they immediately perceived.
"How, how, Strong Heart!" said the old man, extending his hand to Frank.
"Heap glad to see um."
"Why, you old wretch!" cried Merry. "We saw you a short time ago down
there with that bunch of claim jumpers drinking and whooping things up.
What do you mean by such conduct?"
"Old Joe him got very bad rheumatism," returned the redskin. "Him make
medicine. Him think mebbe um white men down there got bad rheumatism,
too. He give um white men some medicine. He find um white man drinking a
heap. Joe he mix um medicine with drink. They like medicine pretty good.
One white man, who lead um, him get shot up a great lot. Him in no shape
to lead um some more. So white men they wait for more men to come. Now
they very much tired. They sleep a lot. Come down see um sleep. You like
it."
Of a sudden the truth dawned on Frank.
"Why, you clever old rascal!" he laughed. "Hanged if I don't believe
you've drugged them some way!"
"Joe he give um medicine, that all," protested the redskin. "Sometimes
medicine make um sleep. Come see."
"Come on," said Frank, "we will follow this slick old rascal and find
out how hard they are sleeping."
As they approached the cabins at the lower end of the valley they saw
the fires were dying down, while from that locality no longer came
shouts and singing, and, in truth, all the ruffians seemed fast asleep
on the ground, where they had fallen or flung themselves.
Unhesitatingly Crowfoot led them amid the mass of drugged men, and the
sinking firelight revealed on his leathery face a ghost of a shriveled
smile.
"Medicine heap good sometimes," he observed. "Strong Heart find him
enemies sleeping. Mebbe he takes hatchet and chop um up? Joe he get many
scalps."
"You're a dandy, Crowfoot!" laughed Frank. "Here they are, Curry, the
whole bunch. You can gather them and escort them to Cottonwood, or
anywhere you please."
"And a great haul it is, pard," nodded Curry. "I sees three gents now
what has rewards offered for them. It's my opinion that they hangs. Get
to work, boys, and we will tie up the whole bunch so they can't wiggle
when they awake."
Old Joe looked on in apparent dissatisfaction and dismay.
"You no chop um up some?" he questioned. "You no kill um a heap. Then
what Joe him get? He no have a scalp."
"What do you get, Joe?" exclaimed Merry. "You have saved my mines for
me. You get anything you want--anything but scalps."