arms and twist a length of rope tightly around his wrists. He gasped
involuntarily as the rope bit deep into his skin. A second rope was
coiled around his ankles. Rough hands threw him heavily on the ground,
ran a line through his wrist bindings and joined the other end to the
rope that held his ankles. When this was drawn tight, Sandy’s legs were
jerked back, forcing his spine into an awkward arc. The halter knotted
between the two bindings made it impossible for him to move. If he tried
to work his fingers free, the pressure drew his legs further up behind
him. Any motion from his feet pulled his arms painfully out of joint.
When the job was done, the lead Indians seemed satisfied. “Good,” he
grunted. “That’ll keep you from wandering off.” He glanced speculatively
up at the sky. “Couple more hours of daylight,” he said. “Time enough to
try to find Joe and have a talk with him.”
“What are you going to do with us?” Sandy asked, gritting his teeth
against the pain of the ropes.
“Leave you here until we get back. Don’t worry. You’ll be all right.
You’re too valuable to us alive—for now, anyway.”
Sandy let the last remark pass. “How do you know where to find Joe?”
“Curious, aren’t you?” The Indian leaned down and picked up Sandy’s
rifle. “To tell you the truth,” he said, throwing open the bolt, “I
don’t know.” He slammed the bolt shut and moved off. “But if we don’t
find him today, we’ll talk to him tomorrow. Don’t worry. We’ll get
together sooner or later.” He made an abrupt motion with his head and
the other two Indians disappeared silently down the trail.
“The quicker we see Joe,” he said, “the quicker you two get out of here.
So wish us luck.” He turned and followed his companions. Sandy and Mike
could hear the subdued tones of whispered conversation, then silence.
By working himself around on one shoulder, Sandy managed to twist
himself into a position where he could see Mike. “You okay?” he called
softly.
Mike grunted sourly. “I’d feel a lot better if I could figure this thing
out.”
“Joe sure seems to have gotten himself into a mess of trouble,” Sandy
said.
“What about us, for Pete’s sake! We’re not doing too badly.”
Despite their situation, Sandy grinned. “You’re right,” he admitted.
“Those boys don’t fool around, do they?”
Mike pulled himself around and grimaced. “One thing I’ll have to hand
them. They tie a mean knot.”
“Can you move at all?” Sandy asked.
“Sure,” Mike replied bitterly. “Just enough to break my back!”
“There’s a knife in my bedroll over there,” Sandy speculated.
“Do you think you can make it?”
“I don’t know. I can try pushing myself along the ground.”
Sandy concentrated on lunging forward, but after a few minutes he knew
it wasn’t going to work. “No good,” he panted. “I can’t make any
headway.”
“How long did they say they’d be gone?”
“Till dark. That’s about an hour and a half. I’m afraid my arms are
going to drop off before then. How do yours feel?”
“Not too good.” The tightly knotted ropes were beginning to cut off
circulation and it occurred to Sandy that he’d better keep his fingers
and toes in motion.
He was about to advise Mike to do the same when he heard a faint
scraping noise that froze him into immobility. It came a second time, a
short distance to his rear. He experienced a moment of panic as he
envisioned a mountain lion stalking up to the camp, but he managed to
keep his voice calm when he called out to Mike.
“Hey, Mike! Do you hear anything?”
Mike cocked his head. “No,” he said. “Not a thing.”
“It sounds like somebody coming up the trail.”
Mike strained his head to take a look. “No,” he began, “I don’t see any
...” His voice broke off in an excited shout. “Joe! What are you doing
here?”
“Shhh!” came a voice. “Keep it down. Lie still and let me get you out of
those ropes.”
The next instant Joe was kneeling by Sandy’s side, a sharp knife in one
hand.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Secret of the Cave
“What’s going on, Joe?” Sandy demanded. He was rubbing his wrists,
trying to get the circulation going again while Joe was busy with the
knots that held Mike.
“There’s no time for a long explanation now,” Joe said as he slashed
through the last of the ropes. “We’ve got to get out of here and find
the others.”
“Those friends of yours seem to want something pretty bad,” Mike said as
he rolled over and got back on his feet. “What I don’t get is why they
think we can help them.”
“You were taken as hostages,” Joe explained. “They were going to use you
to force me into something.”
“Into what?” Sandy wanted to know.
Joe stepped over and put his hand on Sandy’s shoulder. “Look,” he said.
“I know I’ve acted badly the last couple of days. I should have told you
right from the beginning. But, as I say, it’s a long story and we just
don’t have time now. Will you trust me for a little while longer?”
Sandy nodded. “Sure. What’s the next move?”
“To find Hank and Mr. Cook.”
“Do you know where they are?”
Joe shook his head. “No idea.”
Sandy thought for a moment. “They probably went back to the house after
we disappeared.”
“That sounds right,” Joe said. He looked up at the sky doubtfully. “But
we’ll never make it by dark.”
“Then we’ll travel as far as we can and hide out till dawn.”
Mike snapped his fingers. “I know just the place,” he said. “That cave
of ours. The one we fell into.”
“Right!” Sandy nodded.
“What cave?” Joe looked puzzled.
“That’s a long story too,” Sandy replied with a grin. “We’ll tell you on
the way.”
They reached the cave with about an hour of daylight to spare. Mike was
the first one to pull himself over the lip and into the opening. Then he
reached down and helped Joe in.
“Welcome to our humble establishment,” he said, bending over in a deep
bow. “You’ll find this the perfect place for an overnight stop. The
rooms are spacious and well ventilated. Our rates are reasonable and I’m
sure you’ll find the service....” He checked himself when he saw the
look on Joe’s face. “What’s the matter?” he said.
“You say this cave was hidden?” Joe asked. His voice sounded oddly
hollow. It was clear he was doing his best to hold down a mounting
excitement.
“It was, before we knocked away the mountain,” Sandy said.
“How deep is it?”
“We didn’t feel much like exploring the last time we were here.”
“Have you got a flashlight?”
“In my bedroll.”
“Let me have it, please.”
Sandy reached into his blanket and handed over his flashlight. Joe
practically snatched it out of his hand and plunged off into the
interior of the cave.
“Hey, wait for us!” Mike called.
The cave slanted back at a sharp angle and opened gradually into a large
shallow cavern. Sandy stared at the blank wall opposite with a frown of
disappointment. “Not very big, is it?” he commented.
But Joe didn’t hear him. He was down on his knees beside a pile of
stones near the right-hand wall. “Help me with these,” he called
urgently.
Mike and Sandy exchanged puzzled glances and went over to the pile of
rocks. Joe was pulling it apart, working with a feverish concentration.
Sandy could hear him panting with excitement.
Suddenly there was a hoarse cry as Joe tore away a large flat stone.
“Look!” he shouted. The boys leaned over his shoulder and, in the light
of the pocket flash, saw what appeared to be a goodsized wooden box. The
wood was very old and part of the top had rotted off.
Joe swept the remaining stones out of the way and curled his fingers
under the lid. Bracing himself against the floor of the cave, he heaved
up with all his strength. There was a sharp tearing noise and the top
cracked open.
“There!” said Joe, playing the flashlight down into the box. “That’s
what all this has been about.”
Sandy gasped. The chest was full of neatly stacked bars of silver—much
of it tarnished with age, but still recognizable.
For a moment nobody was able to speak. Sandy was the first to find his
voice.
“Who does it belong to?” he whispered.
“To us,” Joe said firmly. “To all of us.”
“Us?” Sandy cried. “Why?”
“Because you helped me find it. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Sandy started to say something but a familiar sound caught him up short.
“Listen!” he said urgently. The others stood still and held their
breath. “Do you hear it?” Sandy cried in excitement. “It’s the dogs. I
can hear Drum!”
“They must be near the cave!” Mike shouted. The three of them wheeled
and sprinted for the entrance, the treasure momentarily forgotten.
“They’re getting closer!” Sandy yelled. In a final burst of speed, they
scrambled up to the lip of the cave and broke out into the fading
sunlight. Down at the bottom of the slope Sandy could see the first of
the dogs coming around a turn in the trail. Drum was in the lead.
“Up here!” Sandy shouted, moving down the slope. “We’re up by the cave!”
Suddenly he felt himself grabbed from behind and slammed to the ground.
A rifle roared and Sandy heard the angry whine of a bullet as it passed
over his head.
“Back inside!” Joe shouted.
Sandy looked up to see three figures coming toward them. “The Crows!” he
gasped.
“Right!” Joe muttered as he struggled to his feet. But the first of the
Crows was already on top of them. With a last desperate lunge, the
Indian covered the remaining distance by throwing himself on Joe. Sandy
saw him slash down with his rifle butt and saw Joe duck the blow. Then
the two men were rolling on the ground, fighting grimly for possession
of the gun.
Sandy barely had time to lean down and grab an apple-sized rock before
the other two Indians dove at him. Sandy heaved the rock at one of them,
saw it strike him full in the chest, and then whirled to meet the charge
of the second. Just as they were about to close, a snarling
black-and-tan flash brushed Sandy to one side and fastened on the
Indian’s throat. The Crow gave a frightened scream and battled to keep
away from the slashing jaws. It was Drum, Hank’s lead dog, who had
thrown himself at the Indian. The others in the pack were right behind
him.
With a yell of terror, the Indian disappeared under a writhing wave of
growling dogs.
“Down, Drum!” came an authoritative voice. Hank Dawson was striding
purposefully toward the mass of dogs. He waded into them without fear
and grabbed Drum firmly by the scruff of the neck. “Back!” he ordered.
Drum shook himself and moved off a few paces, sitting watchfully on his
hindquarters, ready to leap at his master’s command. The other dogs of
the pack followed his example. The Indian was lying on the ground, his
torn hands covering his head.
Sandy glanced around to see how Joe was doing. He had subdued his
attacker and was standing to one side, panting heavily, a rifle in his
hand. The third Crow was sitting where Sandy’s rock had flattened him, a
look of dazed surprise on his face.
“All right now,” Hank Dawson said sternly. “What’s this all about?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Story of Mormon Crossing
“Ever hear of Sun Mountain?” It was evening, after dinner. They were all
sitting in front of the big stone fireplace, dead-tired, but determined
to hear Joe’s story at last.
“Don’t think I have,” Hank rumbled. Nobody else answered.
“Sun Mountain,” Joe went on, “is a fancy name for one of the ugliest
hunks of rock in the West.”
“Where is it?”
“In western Nevada, right near the California border.” Joe paused and
looked over at Hank. “You don’t have a map by any chance, do you?”
“I think so.” Hank got up and plucked a dog-eared atlas down from a
nearby shelf. “This do?”
“Sure.” Joe leafed through the pages until he came to a map of the
northwest United States. “Here,” he said as the others crowded around,
“is the place I’m talking about. Back in the days of the gold rush, Sun
Mountain was important for only one reason. Wagon trains coming west
used it as a guide. Right behind the mountain, you see, was a pass that
took them over the Sierras into California.”
“It was the last jumping-off point before the gold fields,” Sandy
remarked.
“Right,” Joe said. “But aside from that, nobody was interested in it. It
was a lonely, miserable place. Sweltering hot in the summer and bitter
cold in the winter. It didn’t have much in the way of trees or any kind
of growth because all the water around there was next door to being
poisonous.”
“How come?” Mike demanded.
“A mineral deposit inside the mountain seeped arsenic into the water.
Anyway,” Joe continued, “wagon-train parties would rest up there before
trying the pass. Sometimes they’d have to wait for days before they
could move ahead.”
“What kept them back?” Sandy asked.
“Snow up in the high peaks. The pass would be blocked.” Joe closed the
atlas and went back to his chair. “Some of the parties used to do a
little mining up around Sun Mountain while they waited—nothing much, you
understand—just enough to make the time go by till they got to the big
bonanzas in California.” Joe laughed and fished for a cigarette. “If
they’d only known,” he said. “The biggest bonanza of all was right under
their noses.”
“Was there gold on Sun Mountain?” Sandy asked.
Joe shook his head. “No, not gold. Silver. That whole mountain was
practically made of silver. You’ve heard of Virginia City?”
“Sure!” Sandy cried. “The Comstock Lode!”
“It was right on top of Sun Mountain. It was discovered in 1859. A vein
of pure silver nearly sixty feet wide. Before it was worked out, it was
worth nearly three quarters of a billion dollars.”
Mike whistled softly. “Did you say _billion_?”
“I did.”
“And they passed it right by?”
“Back in the 1850s they weren’t interested in silver. Everybody was
thinking about gold.”
Mr. Cook leaned over and maneuvered another log onto the fire. “I’m
beginning to see the connection,” he said. “The silver you found in the
cave originally came from Sun Mountain.”
“That’s right,” Joe said. “Somewhere in the 1850s a party of
Mormons....”
“I knew it!” Sandy interrupted. “The same party that was massacred!”
Joe smiled. “Yes,” he admitted. “You were right all the time. I didn’t
know that anybody knew about that incident. That’s why I was so startled
when you told the story the day we first met. It happened just the way
you described. They stopped over at Sun Mountain, found a rich vein of
silver, and then moved on. Maybe they wanted to found a new community of
their own. Anyway, they decided to head north. My people—the
Blackfeet—massacred them here in the mountains.”
“How do you know that?” Hank asked.
“The story of the massacre was handed down by my tribe. As a matter of
fact, it was my great-great-great-grandfather who led the raid.”
“Score one for Mike,” Mr. Cook said. “That’s exactly the way he said it
happened.”
Joe turned, to Mike and laughed. “You people seem to have figured out
everything.”
“But how did you know about the silver?” Sandy insisted.
“Before they were wiped out,” Joe explained, “the Mormons hid the silver
in the cave that you two found earlier today. Each man in the party was
given a map, just in case there were any survivors.”
“But there weren’t?”
Joe shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “Every last one of them was
wiped out. My great-great-and-so-forth-grandfather found a copy of the
map. He kept it as a souvenir of the victory. In the years that went by,
it was lost. I happened to find it in among my father’s possessions
about six months ago. I knew about the story of the massacre and I’d
heard about the map. When I actually saw it, I got pretty excited.”
“I can imagine,” Mr. Cook said.
“I’m afraid I talked about it too much. Other people heard about it.”
“Including our friends, the Crows,” Hank said.
Joe nodded. “To make a long story short, they stole my copy of the map.
Luckily, I had it memorized. I knew I had to get out here before they
did, and when you offered me a job to come to Mormon Crossing, I thought
everything was going to be all right.”
“But you hadn’t counted on their moving so fast,” Mr. Cook put in.
“Even then,” Joe said grimly, “I didn’t think they’d actually try to
kill me.” He paused and stared into the fire. “I knew better after my
‘accident’ on Mr. Henderson’s dock in Salmon.”
“Did they do that?” Sandy asked.
“Yes,” Joe said. “They did. Apparently they were desperate enough to do
anything to keep me away from Mormon Crossing.”
Mr. Cook leaned forward in his chair. “But, Joe,” he said, “why didn’t
you tell us?”
Joe shook his head and shrugged. “I guess I should have,” he said. “But
I didn’t want you to get involved. I thought that once we got away, the
danger would be over.”
“But then you saw the smoke,” Mike said.
“And I knew they were on my trail. I didn’t know what to do,” Joe said.
“I knew I was putting you in danger and I didn’t want that, so I decided
to disappear and try to find the silver before they did.”
“What good would that have done?” Mr. Cook pointed out. “They would just
have come after you later.”
“You’re right,” Joe admitted. “I guess I was too worried to think things
through clearly. At any rate, I was up in the mountains when you came
looking for me. I saw Sandy and Mike get captured by the Crows. I
followed them up to the Crow campsite and waited for the Crows to leave.
You know the rest. They were going to use the boys as hostages to force
me into giving up the search.”
“One thing still puzzles me,” Mr. Cook said.
“What is it?”
“First of all, if you and the Crows both knew where the silver was
located, why didn’t you pick it up right away?”
“Because we couldn’t,” Joe explained. “We all went looking for the cave,
but it was too well hidden. If it hadn’t been for Sandy and Mike falling
into it, we’d still be running around up there in the mountains.”
“Then why were the Crows up at the cave when we arrived with the dogs?”
“They knew approximately where the cave should be. The map told them
that. They were hunting around, the same as I was. What were you doing
there?”
“We were searching for you—or the boys. The dogs led us up to the cave
just in time to see the action.”
“Lucky for us,” Sandy said.
“I’ll say!” Mike grinned. “By the way, what’s going to happen to our
friends?”
“The Crows?”
“Yes.”
“All taken care of,” Hank assured him.
Mike looked surprised. “How?” he asked.
“I’ve got a short-wave radio up here,” Hank explained. “I’ve called the
police and they’re sending a helicopter.”
“Now there’s an unexpected touch,” said Mr. Cook, laughing. “In the
middle of all this wilderness a helicopter!”
“A very handy device, Arthur,” Hank said. “Most of the Western states
today have an emergency helicopter service for backwoods communities and
isolated hunting parties. It’s saved a lot of lives.”
“I imagine it has.”
“When will it arrive?”
“First thing in the morning. It’ll take the Crows to Boise. I’ve locked
them in the barn for the night. They’ll have to stand charges for
assault with intent to kill as well as a little matter of kidnaping.”
Mike frowned. “Does that mean we’ll have to go, too?”
“I’m afraid so. But don’t worry. It won’t be for long. We’ll be back
here in three or four days at the most.”
“Joe too?” They all turned and looked at the Indian.
He grinned and nodded his head. “Sure, I’ll be back,” he said. “I signed
on for a month, didn’t I?”
“I thought maybe now that you’re a millionaire, you wouldn’t want to
keep on being a guide.”
Joe laughed. “I’m not that rich. Three or four thousand dollars at the
most. Wouldn’t you say, Hank?”
Hank nodded. “I figure it’s worth about that.”
“Split five ways, that makes....”
“Hey, hold on a minute!” Sandy cried. “We’re not going to take any of
it.”
“Yes, you are,” Joe insisted. “I thought we decided that.”
“No,” Mr. Cook said firmly. “It’s your money. You told us once about
that place in Montana you wanted. Well, now you can buy it.”
Joe tried to protest, but he was overruled. “All right,” he said
finally. “But there are two things you can’t stop me from doing.”
“What’s that?” Sandy asked.
“Neither of the boys has a game rifle of his own. They’ll have one when
we get back here. The second thing is this. As soon as I get my place in
Montana, you people have a standing invitation to come up any time for
the best hunting and fishing in the Rockies.”
“We’ll take you up on that, Joe,” Mr. Cook said.
“You bet!” Sandy cried enthusiastically.
Mike held up one hand. “There’s just one thing I want to know.”
“What’s that?”
“In Montana—does everything start at dawn? Or do you think maybe I could
get some sleep?”
“Mike,” Joe replied, “when you come to visit me, I’ll arrange it so the
fish don’t start to bite before noon, and as far as I’m concerned, you
can do your hunting from a hammock.”
“That,” said Mike, “is something I’m looking forward to.”
“Right now,” Sandy said as he rose wearily to his feet, “the only thing
I’m looking forward to is a good night’s sleep. When did you say that
helicopter was going to get here?”
Hank reached over and snuffed out the kerosene lamp on the mantel. “At
dawn,” he said. “Right on the stroke of five-thirty.”
The general laughter drowned out Mike’s anguished groan of protest.
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
End of Project Gutenberg's Danger at Mormon Crossing, by Roger Barlow