THE MYSTERY BOYS GET NEWS
“You talk one way and act the opposite!” Tom made his tones sarcastic to
cover his inward trepidation. He was not exactly afraid for he did not
think that the man had any weapon and they outnumbered him. But Tom
wanted to communicate secretly and he did not see just how to do it.
The Mystery Boys had two secret sign manuals: one was for asking and
answering questions, and the other was for suggesting a course of
action. But neither had been planned for use while seated on ponies, and
such signs as the folding of arms, or the tying of a shoelace, were out
of the question. So Tom kept on talking while he thought busily.
“You say you can smell money,” he added, “and then you follow us out
here to rob us. Why, I don’t think we could get enough money together to
buy a bag of chili beans!”
Somewhat to his surprise the man made a violent gesture of denial.
He sidled his pony a little closer, put up a hand as if to drive away
any suggestion of robbery, and spoke again in his husky voice.
“No, not that! Hen Morgan aren’t no robber. ’Cause why? ’Cause robbers
takes chances. They takes some likely person and risks getting a lot of
money—and sometimes they guess wrong. But not Henry Morgan. Oh, no!
’Cause why? ’Cause he don’t guess. He smells money.”
The chums looked at one another dubiously. Was this man off his head? He
wasn’t there to rob them! He didn’t guess—he smelled money! What was his
purpose? “You smelled wrong, for once!” Tom declared, after a moment.
“Oh, no!” cried the husky voice, “not Hen Morgan. He sees you three come
a-ridin’ up to Dead Hope mine, with the old gent. He sees how the
super’tendent calls some of us miners in and he asks ’em, later, what
it’s all about. ’Cause why? ’Cause Hen Morgan knows something.”
“Knows something? About what?” demanded Tom.
“Light down off your ponies an’ I’ll tell you. ’Cause why? ’Cause it
takes too much work keepin’ these critters standing still. Light!”
Tom looked at his companions. Cliff nodded and slid from his saddle.
Nicky and Tom followed his example. There was no danger, that they could
see, and on the ground they had more freedom of movement than while
mounted on strange, and possibly unruly mustangs.
“Now,” said Henry Morgan, seating himself on a boulder and rolling a
cigarette expertly with his right hand, while three mystified, rather
eager youths stood watching him, “now—Hen Morgan said he smelled money
on you or around you, and he was right. ’Cause why? Look at it! You
didn’t ride out here to look for mining property; you come a-hunting for
some news of a certain thing what happened a good while ago!”
“How do you know we did?” Nicky asked sharply.
“From the miners who was called to the office. But they didn’t know
anything. Nobody did. Nobody does—but——”
Tom almost sprang forward, so eager was he as the import of Henry’s
words flashed through his mind. “Do you? Do you know about—about my
sister——”
With maddening deliberateness the man held up a hand for silence,
searched for and found a crumpled card of matches, struck one and
carefully ignited the end of his cigarette. Then, at last, he nodded.
“Hen Morgan is the only man who does know anything—but he don’t know
much.”
“Well, if you know anything at all, when you found out that we were
hunting for facts, why didn’t you come out in the open and tell?” Tom
said it angrily, for the suspense was torture to him.
“Hen Morgan uses his head, that’s why!” He blew a cloud of smoke,
coughed a little, and resumed his confidential, husky whispering. “You
come here lookin’ for news. That means money behind you. ’Cause why?
’Cause no three young lads comes all this way without money. Now,
reasons I, they’ll pay for news.”
“Oh!” cried Tom, “I see. You know something and you want to bargain with
us and sell your information for all you can get.”
“It’s what I’d expect,” Nicky cut in.
“Come on, then,” Cliff urged. “We’ll pay you all your information turns
out to be worth. But we’ll go back and talk it over with my father, out
in the open, not up here in the trail.”
“Easy, easy!” begged Henry Morgan. “We won’t go back, right yet. ’Cause
why? ’Cause we’ll make our bargain here.”
Nicky impulsively caught his pony’s saddle horn, started to lift a foot
for the stirrup.
“Come on, fellows,” he urged. “We’ll go back and get help.”
Henry Morgan stood up. “The minute you rides down the trail, I rides
off—up that way.” He waved his arm. “They didn’t ever find the head
bandit, that time, did they? Nor the gold? ’Cause why? ’Cause there’s a
way they got took to safety, and I know that way! If you don’t want my
news, and won’t strike a bargain, well and good. But if you do——” he
paused.
Tom was scratching his left ear quietly with his finger, and with one
accord Nicky and Cliff folded their arms and the Mystery Boys’ council
was in session without an outward evidence that anyone could notice or
read.
Tom shifted the visor of his cap a tiny bit one way, then back: it was a
silent appeal, “What shall we do?”
Cliff picked up a pebble and shied it aimlessly to one side: that was a
code sign which meant that the last word of every sentence in his next
speech would have a meaning. Then he spoke up, carelessly.
“Let’s see. You said what? You’ve got news? Likely, that is!”
Mentally, as he spoke, Tom noted the pauses, and then, connecting the
words that ended each short sentence, he discerned that Cliff’s advice
was: “See—what—news—is!”
Tom moved the little finger of his right hand gently, knowing that Cliff
watched for that sign of agreement: to use the left finger would mean
denial or rejection of the advice; but Tom took it.
“You’ve got to let us know what you have to sell,” he addressed Henry
Morgan. “I’m willing to pass my word and strike hands on it, if you have
any knowledge that will help us to find my missing sister, I will pay
you anything within reason.”
The three chums half expected Morgan to demur. If he told them what he
knew it would be worthless to him; once they knew it they could use it.
However, they got a slight surprise, for Morgan merely grinned and
nodded.
“I’ll tell you,” he said, “’Cause why? ’Cause I want help. If I tell
you, you can see how good it is—what I know. And even when I tell you,
I’m still sure of my reward. ’Cause why? ’Cause I’ll tell you everything
but one man’s name—and without that, you can’t do a thing—at the same
time Hen Morgan can show that he knows what you want to know.”
He told them, quietly. They thrilled, they shuddered; they drew closer.
Each and all, the Mystery Boys forgot that they were out on a lonely
trail, forgot that the man was bargaining, in a way, for a human life.
His story chained them in spellbound attention.
When he completed it, Tom held out his hand.
“It sounds like a real help—your story does,” he said. “I’m not of age
to handle my own money, but I know that Mr. Gray, who is acting as the
custodian of my money, will agree to give you——” he hesitated, partly to
see how much Henry Morgan would name, and partly to plan in his own mind
what to do. That they must have the name of a certain important figure
in the bandit raid, cost how it might, Tom knew.
“Let’s not make it a set figure,” said Morgan, again surprising the
trio. “’Cause why? ’Cause Hen Morgan has got a bigger stake to gain than
what you could give. But you could help him to get it. And he could help
you to get what you want. And so, everybody would be satisfied.”
“Agree?” asked Tom’s eyes, and the bent first finger that touched his
right thumb. Nicky and Cliff signaled a “yes.”
“That’s reasonable,” Tom nodded. “What do you expect us to do?”
“All I ask is that you pay the expense of the search—and take me along!”
“That’s all?”
“Well, only, if I help you find that—certain fellow—and we do find him,
and he tells me what I want to know too—you’ve got to sign a paper that
you’ll help me to get to locate the Golden Sun——”
“The Golden Sun?” cried Nicky and Cliff together.
Henry nodded. “Yep,” he agreed, “The Golden Sun. It’s a mountain of
gold, the way I understand about it. And I got as much right to it as
this—other fellow. You’ll see why later on. But I’ve got to have your
word—you, the one who wants to find his sister!—that you’ll help me—and
maybe share with me in the mine, eh? ’Cause why? ’Cause Hen Morgan is
generous, he is—and if you help him he’ll help you.”
“I pass my word,” said Tom, solemnly, and gripped hands with Morgan,
just a little hesitantly at the contact with the soiled, rough paw.
“All right, I know you’ll not break your word—you don’t look like that
kind. Mount and let’s ride and talk to the old gent.”
“Well!” exclaimed Nicky. “Off again for adventure—and success, I hope!”