THE UNSEEN WATCHERS
There was a concerted rush to the window situated on that side of the
building toward which the oncoming rider seemed to be heading.
"Careful!" warned Frank hastily. "He may be looking ahead and see us!"
What he said caused both the others to drop down to the floor and crawl
forward until they could look out. This was easily done, for the reason
that not a single pane of glass remained in any sash.
"I see him just dropping down into that little hollow!" snapped the
keen-eyed Lanky almost instantly.
"Was it Zeke?" asked Paul, in palpitating tones.
"Sure was," came the reply. "Leastways, I glimpsed a shiny bald head,
and as Frank observed he owned to such."
"Then we'd better be getting back to our hiding place in that clump of
rocks, hadn't we?" Paul continued.
"Can't be done! He's coming from that quarter, you notice, and the
chances are we'd be seen," Lanky informed him.
"The door, then! Could we risk that?" demanded the other.
Frank shook his head in the negative.
"Before we could get under shelter he'd be up out of that hollow and
have a square open stretch ahead. We've just got to stick to the
rookery here, that's all."
"Hide, you mean, Frank?"
"Yes, Paul," came the ready answer, as Frank looked hurriedly around,
up and down, and then went on to say: "There may be a cellar under the
tumble-down hotel, but so far we haven't seen anything of it."
"What's wrong with our skipping up-stairs and lying low?" Lanky wanted
to know.
"Our only chance, boys!" jerked out Frank.
"Go to it then, fellows!" said Lanky, acting as if he meant to make a
mad dive for the stairs, and go up helter-skelter. But Frank caught him
by the arm.
"Slow and sure, Lanky!" came the warning. "Take things easy! Plenty of
time to get there! If we all went in a mob those ricketty stairs would
probably come down with a smash and dump us in a heap. You go first,
Lanky, then Paul, and I'll bring up the rear."
"I'm game for anything, even a fight!" retorted the tall boy, as he put
his foot on the first step and started upward.
Paul was listening. The hoofbeats sounded much closer than before, as
if Zeke continued to make good progress toward the old tavern. How
those stairs did wobble and creak and groan, even though Lanky was
trying to climb as softly as possible.
Now he was at the top, and, beckoning for Paul to take his turn, Frank
stood waiting until he saw that the time had come for him to follow. It
was a queer feeling that gripped him as he felt the swaying movement
under his feet, such as one might expect to encounter on a crude
swinging grapevine bridge stretched across some torrent.
He felt considerable satisfaction when he gained the landing above
without any accident spoiling the hastily conceived program.
"Now let's get in the room over that big one below stairs," he
suggested, on the spur of the moment.
"Good scheme, Frank!" whispered Lanky. "It's got open seams in the
floor, and we ought to be able to spy on Zeke. I'm curious to know what
did bring him back, after laying that lid of his on the table and not
seeming to notice he'd left it behind till the crowd had got some way
off. Here he comes!"
A sharp hiss from Frank cut the garrulous one off. After that the
three boys lay there on the floor, hardly daring to stir, since the
slightest movement on any one's part caused the rotten boards to creak
and give ominously.
They heard the pony come close to the door of the tavern, and then
caught the heavy thud of heels as the rider jumped off. It was Zeke,
just as they had expected. He came hurrying through the open door,
going directly to the three-legged table, to pick up his hat and slap
it on his bald head.
At the same time the boys saw him half double-up, bring a hand down
with a slap on his knee, and laugh hoarsely. Evidently Zeke was pleased
with the success of this expedient that permitted him to gallop back to
the mining camp without arousing suspicion on the part of his mates.
Eagerly the unseen watchers in the loft above kept their eyes glued
upon his every movement. Lanky, in particular, was filled with
curiosity to learn the reason for such queer actions on the part of the
gruff and tough-looking puncher.
He moved about as though accomplishing something that had been on his
mind. Once Frank even saw him bend down and lift what seemed to be a
trapdoor in the rotten floor below. Zeke stared down into the cellar
there, and gave evidences of being considerably worked up.
Frank made up his mind, on witnessing the man's grim face, that
whatever secret he had gripping his soul, it was connected with
something that lay hidden down in the cellar of the abandoned inn.
They could hear him moving around after that, but he no longer came
within the radius of their vision; those cracks had served their
purpose fairly well, but there was a limit to their range.
Lanky fussed a bit, moving restlessly, discontented because he could no
longer keep his eyes on the man. Frank almost feared his impetuous chum
might feel inclined to creep over to the head of the stairs, in the
hope of once more glimpsing Zeke and discovering what he was busy doing.
To avoid the possibility of unpleasant consequences, Frank laid a
restraining hand on Lanky's arm.
Just then they again caught a fleeting glimpse of the man, who was
heading toward the outer door. Evidently he had accomplished whatever
mission it was that had brought him hurrying back, and was now making
ready to gallop off.
This caused the boys more or less satisfaction. While Zeke was below
there must always be a chance of discovery. If he had such a deep
interest in what happened to lie in the cellar, why should this concern
not go farther and cause him to start up-stairs?
But the suspense was about over, now that he had commenced to take his
departure. Once again did the trio creep across the shaky floor to the
window, so as to watch his going.
"There he is," whispered Lanky, breaking what had been a long and
agonizing silence for a boy who liked to hear himself talk as much as
he did. "Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest. So long, Zeke!
Your room is better'n your company!"
"Hold on, Lanky," said Paul, very softly. "You're talking through your
hat, I'm afraid. He's stopped right over there, turned his pony, and is
sitting with one leg up over the pommel of his saddle, watching this
same old house like a hawk. Do you think he suspects we're around?"
"Not on your life, Paul! I don't know why he keeps on sitting there,
and looking so mighty well satisfied with himself; but like as not it's
got something to do with his coming back."
"He's got a rifle across his knee," continued Paul, "and you'd think he
was planning to throw a few bullets into this shack."
"Oh, rats! Nothing like that is going to happen!" sneered Lanky, for
the horseman was far enough away to prevent their low voices from
reaching his ears. "He's just taking a last look at the rookery here,
that's all.
"What sort of a crackling sound was that just then?" demanded Paul
suspiciously.
"Didn't happen to catch anything. What did it sound like?" asked Lanky,
carelessly enough and continuing to watch the sitting Zeke.
"Just like you'd started your cooking fire, Lanky. And say, I smell
smoke right now, I tell you!"
"That settles the question of why he's hanging around so!" exclaimed
Frank. "He's set fire to this old hotel, and wants to see it blaze up!"
"Gee, whiz, that makes it look bad!" ejaculated Lanky Wallace, as he
too grasped the serious dilemma by which they were now confronted.