TAKING UP THE TRAIL.
The new arrival replied to Mr. Merrill's look of inquiry by a voluble
flood of Spanish. When he paused for breath, the rancher, who
understood the language perfectly, turned to the professor and his
young companions.
"This man, if he is to be relied upon, has furnished us with a valuable
clue," he said. "According to him the rustlers passed him headed for
Grizzly Pass not more than an hour ago. If this is so, then we stand
a good chance of overtaking them. The ground there is rough, and, not
expecting pursuit, they will take it easy. In fact, this fellow says
that when he saw them they were camping."
"You think he is to be relied on?" asked the professor.
"Well, that remains to be seen. He tells a straight enough story. He
says he is a sheepman who has a few hundred head in the highlands near
the cañon. While camped in a small pass leading off the main cañon,
he overheard these fellows talking about the trick they played, and
decided to inform me at once. He sneaked quietly out of his camp,
saddled a horse he had there, and rode hard till he arrived here."
At this moment a fresh trampling of hoofs announced that Bud and his
companion had returned with the "remuda" horses, and soon after Bud
himself entered the room.
In leather chapareros, high-heeled riding-boots and jingling spurs, he
looked every inch the cow-puncher as he handled his revolver grimly.
"We're about ready when you are, boss," he said.
"Oh, yes--all right, Wilson. But I've got something I want to tell you."
Rapidly Mr. Merrill ran over the story of the Mexican sheep-herder.
"What do you think of it?" he asked, as he concluded.
"Wa'al, it _sounds_ all right," admitted Bud reluctantly, "but this yer
feller's a greaser, boss, and----"
"Oh, I know, Wilson, but after all, what can happen to us? We will be a
strong party, and we'll take him along with us. He says he's willing to
go."
"Of course, that makes it different," admitted Bud; "but my advice
would be to make him ride with a lariat round his neck, so that at
the first sign of treachery we can string him up with neatness and
dispatch."
"We can't do that," smiled Mr. Merrill, while Bud glared at the
Mexican, "but we can have him ride right with us, and then there will
be no danger of his playing us false."
"You understand what will happen to you if you ain't on the level with
us?" demanded Bud of the Mexican, placing his hands about his own
throat with a ferocious and significant expression.
"Si, señor," nodded the Mexican.
"All right, then. That being the case, you can't blame us if anything
comes off that don't happen to be on your future schedule of events."
Soon after this conversation the expedition started. Dawn was just
breaking as they clattered out from under the cottonwoods that
surrounded the ranch house. They were a grim, determined-looking band.
On each man's saddle he carried slung before him his rifle, and with
the exception of Ralph and the professor, every one of those ten riders
was a crack shot. Behind each cow-puncher's cantle was tied a roll of
blankets, and besides their lariats each saddle horn held suspended
a quart canteen full of water. Two pack animals, selected for their
speed, carried a camping outfit and cooking utensils. Complete as was
the organization, it had taken little more than half an hour to get it
ready for the start.
"Hi-yi!" yelled Jack, bringing down his quirt over his pony's flanks.
"It's good to hit the trail and get some action."
"Same here," rejoined Ralph, pressing up alongside of him.
The two boys urged their ponies to an easy lope. As for some miles to
come there was no necessity for them to travel with the main body
of the men, they kept it up till they were some distance ahead. Mr.
Merrill had decided that there was no danger to be apprehended till the
mountains were actually reached, and his consent had been gained before
the boys loped off alone.
Suddenly another rider spurred into view, coming from the opposite
direction to the boys and the Merrill party.
"Walt Phelps!" cried Jack with a glad shout.
The other returned the greeting and soon learned the news from Agua
Caliente.
Soon the three boys were riding forward together. Walter Phelps, it
appeared, had heard rumors that the rustlers had been abroad in the
night, and had risen early and saddled for a ride to the Merrill ranch.
He was much concerned when he learned of the rancher's loss, and
volunteered to join the party.
To this Mr. Merrill entered no objection, and the three boys rode side
by side all the morning. The noonday camp was made in a small arroyo
immediately below a frowning spur of the Hachetas. The foothills had
been growing more and more rugged as the advance was made, and now
the party might fairly be said to be in the mountains themselves. By
skirting two more spurs they would be in Grizzly Pass in less than an
hour. The character of the scenery was gloomy and grand in the extreme.
The rugged and mysterious mountains, clothed darkly, almost to their
summits, with scrub-oak, fir and piñon trees, seemed to Ralph to
promise all kinds of adventure.
The noonday meal was a hasty one. As soon as it was dispatched the
party pressed on without pausing for further rest. The road now grew
so rough that the trail of the stolen horses, which had at first been
plain and clear, could no longer be seen. The Mexican guide, closely
guarded by Bud Wilson and a cowboy named Coyote Pete, rode in front.
Close behind came Mr. Merrill, the three boys and the professor, and in
their rear followed the half-dozen cowboys who formed the remainder of
the expedition.
"Are we getting near the place now, Jose?" asked Mr. Merrill,
addressing their guide by the name he had given, about the middle of
the afternoon.
"Si, señor," rejoined the guide, who soon after directed the cavalcade
toward the mouth of the pass through which he said the stolen horses
had been driven.
If the mountains had been gloomy and sinister to the view while riding
along the base of them, the northern entrance to Grizzly Pass itself
threw a damper over the spirit of even Coyote Pete, who had hitherto
larked about and displayed a great fund of high spirits. The dark wall
of the cañon rose perpendicularly to a height of more than a hundred
feet on the right side of the rough trail. At the other hand was a deep
and dark abyss at the bottom of which a hidden river roared. Beyond the
formidable pit reared another frowning rampart of sheer rock. Deep down
could be heard the murmuring of water.
"That's the overflow from the big dam," explained Walter Phelps,
pointing over into the sonorous depths.
"The dam is up in this direction, then?" inquired Ralph.
"Yes, it is located in a small cañon, off to the right of the pass.
I'll show you the place when we reach it."
For some time they rode on without a word. The deep gloom and
oppressive silence was not encouraging to conversation. The sound of a
stone dislodged by a pony's hoof in that dismal place caused several of
the party to give a nervous start more than once.
Suddenly the right-hand wall of the cañon opened out--as they rounded
a sharp promontory of rock--and another deep chasm cut abruptly into
Grizzly Pass almost at right angles. The deep rift which this caused
across the trail had been bridged by a span of rough logs which crossed
the intersecting cañon at a height of fully three hundred feet. A scene
of wilder and more impressive grandeur than the cañon presented at the
point they had now reached not one of the party had ever beheld. Even
a whisper went echoing and reverberating among the gloomy rocks in
startling contrast to the brooding silence of the spot.
The frowning black walls, the melancholy-looking trees clinging to the
almost perpendicular walls, the bottomless chasm, and the deep dusk of
late afternoon, all combined to make it the most oppressive scene into
which any of the boys had ever penetrated.
They had reached the bridge and the feet of the Mexican guide's horse
were upon it, when from behind them there came a sudden startling sound.
The loud report of a rifle, followed by another and another, re-echoed
behind them seemingly high up among the rocks.
Bang! Bang! Bang! came the explosions.
Instantly, Mr. Merrill and Bud wheeled their horses sharply and faced
round toward the danger. At the same instant Coyote Pete set up a yell:
"Buncoed, by ginger!"
He pointed ahead as he dashed across the bridge in pursuit of their
treacherous guide, who was galloping off up the cañon at top speed. He
had taken advantage of the confusion to escape. Without an instant's
thought as to what they were doing, the three boys pressed spurs
to their animals and thundered across the flimsy structure after
the cow-puncher. The professor's horse became unmanageable in the
excitement. The creature gave one tremendous plunge and with the
unhappy scientist half on and half off its back, dashed across the
bridge after the others.
In the meantime, Mr. Merrill and the cow-punchers had galloped back to
where the firing still kept up. They all feared that they had been led
into an ambush, and that the attack was from the rear.
"That yellow-skinned varmint betrayed us, after all," ground out Bud
Wilson, as they dashed back. "Those shots were meant for us, and came
from Black Ramon's men."
"Yes, we were wrong to trust him," rejoined Mr. Merrill, "but now we've
been led into a trap, we've got to fight out of it the best way we can."
"You bet we will, boss," was Bud Wilson's rejoinder.
The firing on the hillside had now ceased, and the little cavalcade
came to a halt.
"Not a soul to be seen," exclaimed Mr. Merrill.
"Well, that's funny," commented Bud. "This is where the firing was, for
sure."
"Yep, right up above there," rejoined another cowboy, Sam Ellis,
pointing upward on the hillside.
"What do you make of it, boss?" was Bud's next query.
"I don't know what to think," rejoined Mr. Merrill. "Perhaps we were
mistaken, and the firing we heard came from hunters up on the hillside."
"Hunters! Not much chance of that," said Bud grimly. "Hunters who made
all that racket would soon scare all the game in the country away. No,
boss, you'll have to guess again. By _Jee_-hosophat!"
Slinking through the underbrush far above them, Bud's keen eyes had
discovered the furtive form of a man who by his gay sash and high-coned
hat seemed to be a Mexican. To think, with Bud, was to act. His rifle
jerked up to his shoulder as if automatically. As the weapon cracked
sharply the man on the hillside gave a loud scream. Throwing his hands
helplessly above his head, the next instant he came plunging and
crashing downward through the brush.
"Got him!" gritted out Bud, grimly blowing through the barrel of his
rifle to clear the smoke.
"Yip-ee!" yelled the cow-punchers at the successful shot.
Mr. Merrill looked grave.
"I didn't want any bloodshed, Bud," he said. "The boys--great heavens!
where are they?"
He had wheeled suddenly and discovered that they were missing.
"Yes, and where's Pete, and where's the professor?" chimed in Bud.
Alarm showed on every countenance.
In the excitement, the absence of the members of the party who had
spurred onward over the bridge had not been noticed. But now blank
looks were exchanged. If they had galloped on--as there seemed to be
no doubt they must have--by that time they were probably in serious
straits.
"Wait till I get that varmint, and then I'll be with you," cried Bud,
swinging off his pony.
The cow-puncher plunged up the hillside a few feet and picked up the
Mexican, who had rolled down the steep incline to within a short
distance of the trail.
"Is he dead?" asked Mr. Merrill anxiously, for the Mexican showed no
sign of life.
"Not dead, but pretty near it," Bud rapidly diagnosed, ripping open the
Mexican's shirt. "The bullet went right neighborly to his heart."
With surprising strength for one of his wiry build, Bud picked up and
slung the wounded man over the saddle before him with a grim idea in
his head that at some future time the fellow might be needed.
"Now then, boys!" cried Mr. Merrill, "those others may be in a bad
pickle by this time. It may have been the purpose of this trap to get
them over the bridge. It's up to us to get them out of it. I know
you'll do all that lies in your power to help."
"You bet we will, boss," spoke up Ellis.
"Yip-yip-y-ee-ee!"
The cow-puncher's wild yell came from the bronzed throats with a will.
The next instant the little cavalcade was off, clattering up the trail
toward the bridge.
They swept rapidly round the small bluff of rock which had hidden the
bridge from them while they had been investigating the mysterious
shots. As the trail came full in view, a groan of disappointment burst
from them.
The pass beyond the bridge was empty of life.
Of their friends there was not a trace.
A terrible feeling that the worst had happened filled every heart.
"Come on, boys, we'll get 'em if we have to go to Mexico City for 'em,"
yelled Bud defiantly. "Wow!"
"That's the stuff--wow!" yelled the others.
With his exultant cry still in his throat, and his arm still waving,
Bud drove in his spurs. He was about to dash upon the bridge, when
suddenly the structure heaved upward before his eyes and the whole
world seemed to turn to red flame. A fiery wind singed his face.
There was a roar that filled the air, the sky--everything. The earth
rocked and breathed hotly under the cow-pony's feet. Bud felt his
broncho suddenly fall from under him and himself dropping like a stone
into space. Desperately he clutched, grasped something solid, and drew
himself up. Then, everything went out from his senses and the whole
world grew dark.