THE SENTINEL.
With the sun slipping down toward the western peaks, another day was
passing.
Hidden on the side of a wooded mountain, yet having a position that
commanded a wide expanse of country, with a view of the lower hills and
valleys, Red Ben lay prone on his stomach. At his side lay a loaded
rifle.
In front of the Indian was a precipice, over which he peered at
intervals, his keen eyes searching the valley below.
Finally he stirred quickly, sat up and turned with the rifle in his
hands.
A man was approaching, but the moment this man appeared plainly in view
Red Ben put down the rifle.
Del Norte came hurriedly forward.
"Have you seen anything of pursuers?" he anxiously questioned.
The redskin nodded.
"They near," he answered.
"You have seen them?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Down there," with a motion of one brown hand toward the valley beneath
them.
"When?"
"Hour ago."
"How many?"
"Five."
"Whither did they go?"
"So," with another gesture up the valley.
"Then they are not on the trail. Your trick in covering our tracks in
case they found and followed the trail was successful. Are you sure they
were pursuers? Perhaps they were hunters looking for deer."
"No," asserted the Indian decidedly. "Ben he know. Make no mistake. They
hunt for lost gal."
"They'll never find her. In that cave she is as safe as if buried a
thousand feet underground. Even if they passed within ten feet of the
entrance they could not discover it. Was Merriwell with them?"
Ben shook his head.
"No can tell. Ben not know him. Two young men; others older."
From a pocket the Mexican drew a pistol, which he examined, making sure
it was in perfect working order. His usually handsome face wore a look
that transformed it, while there was a deadly glitter in his black eyes.
"Listen, Ben," he said; "I will describe the hated gringo to you. If he
is near, I wish to find the opportunity to meet him again face to face.
Twice he has nearly destroyed me, but my escapes have told me my life is
charmed, and I know it is next his turn. When again we meet I'll leave
him food for the wolves, with this in his heart!"
He suddenly produced and flourished a keen dagger. His description of
Frank was accurate and flattering, for he confessed that the young
American was handsome and manly in appearance, with a resolute face and
a fearless eye. He declared that the redskin could not mistake
Merriwell, as the very appearance of the latter proclaimed him a leader
among his companions.
"Of course," he added, "I wish no chance to face him in company with
many of his friends, but I pray the Virgin he may give me the
opportunity alone."
"Not much chance," grunted Red Ben. "How gal?"
"She is wonderful in her courage and defiance. Never did I see her
equal, and it is this spirit that makes me love her all the more. How
long do you think we'll have to hide here in the cave, Ben?"
"Can't stay long. Little grub."
"If necessary you could bring food at night."
"Mebbe so. Much dangerous to stay long. First chance we best go quick.
Your friend they watch her?"
"Yes, they are guarding her now."
"She run quick she git chance."
"She'll have no chance."
The redskin surveyed Del Norte curiously.
"You want marry gal?" he asked.
"I have sworn to make her my wife."
"No good! She no do it. You waste time. You fix um your enemy, better
leave her, git out fast. Canada up there. You reach Canada, have chance
to git 'way."
"Even with the gringo dead, my triumph would not be complete if she
escaped me. I will take her to Mexico."
"Where Mexico?" asked the Indian. "No hear of it any before."
"It is far from here, my own fair land!"
"Gal make heap trouble 'fore you git um there. Ben him know. Him see in
her eye how she hate you. Gals no good. Alwus make bad trouble for
anybody. Men big fools over gals. Ben know. Once him git foolish over
'nother man's squaw. Heap fight over her. Prit' near git um head shot
off. Let squaws 'lone sence that."
"You cannot understand," declared Del Norte, with a gesture. "This thing
I have set myself to do I will do, and all the powers of earth shall not
thwart me."
Ben grunted and shrugged his shoulders.
"When white man gits that way him go it lickety split till him finish up
done for. All right. Ben he got nothin' to say. No waste talk. You pay
him, he do all he can for you."
"That's all I ask and all I want. Keep your eyes open. If the hunters
come near, give me warning. If Merriwell strays alone, let me know and I
will hasten to meet him."
A few moments later the redskin was again left as a sentinel on the
mountain side, while Del Norte retraced his steps to the cave where he
had sought concealment with his fair captive.
* * * * *
The sun was touching the tip of a rocky western peak. For a long time
Red Ben had been watching a solitary man who was making his way slowly
and cautiously up the mountain. The eyes of the Indian glittered and his
fingers closed firmly on his rifle, which was ready for use.
Nearer and nearer came the unsuspecting man. At times he disappeared
from view amid the timber, only to reappear at some point anticipated by
the watcher.
Finally he drew near the spot where the Indian lay. Slowly Red Ben
pushed forward his rifle, bringing the butt against his shoulder. The
muzzle covered the heart of the unsuspecting man, who also carried a
rifle.
At that moment the man dropped like a flash and rolled over twice until
he lay behind a sheltering bowlder.
Red Ben was astonished, for he realized that the other had scented
danger, yet how this had happened was more than the redskin could
comprehend.
"Howld on there, ye spalpane!" cried a voice. "Don't be afther shootin'
yer bist friend. Oi know ye're there, fer Oi saw th' bushes wiggle a wee
bit. If it's Red Ben ye are, ye ought to know Pat O'Toole, so ye had."
The astonishment of the Indian increased, but for some moments he
neither spoke nor made a sound.
"Nivver a bit av good will it do to kape so shtill," declared he of the
rich Irish brogue. "Oi know ye're there. It's not often Pat O'Toole
makes a mishtake."
The Indian sat up, exposing the upper part of his body.
"Come," he invited. "Ben no shoot."
O'Toole rose from his place of concealment, grinning triumphantly.
"Begorra, Oi think Oi saved mesilf a foine hole in me shkin," he
chuckled, as he advanced. "Whin Misther Browning towld me about th'
Injun in th' boat wid the wolf, sez Oi to mesilf, sez Oi, 'Oi'll bet me
loife Oi know th' mon, an' it's Red Ben.' Misther Merriwell wur sure th'
spalpane he's afther must be somewhere here, an' it's the counthry all
over they are searchin'. Oi took it on mesilf to invistigate this soide
av th' mountain, but Oi had me oies open all th' toime. Something towld
me ye'd be on th' watch if ye wur with them; an' it's sudint Oi
dhropped whin Oi saw th' bushes move."
"How," said Red Ben, accepting O'Toole's extended hand.
"Howdy yersilf. Long toime no see, eh?"
"What you do here?"
"Pwhat th' divvil are you doin', Ben? It's a bad shcrape ye're afther
gettin' yersilf in through this girrul business. Arter Oi saved ye from
bein' shot full av lead fer foolin' round Bill Curran's woife Oi thought
ye'd know betther than to iver monkey wid a female again."
"Ben he no monkey. White man him gal crazy."
"But ye're afther hilpin' him, ye lunatick, an' it's a schrape ye'll
foind yersilf in. Oi've known ye tin year now. We've worruked togither
guidin' more than wance, and nivver a bit av a quarrel did we have. Oi'd
not tell ye a loie, an' Oi want ye to know thot Frank Merriwell will
rake these mountains down an' lay them level av he don't foind thot
girrul. It's a big oath he has taken to make anny wan shmart thot has
caused her wan minute av distress."
"How you know so much 'bout him?" asked Red Ben, a heavy frown on his
face.
"It's a long shtory, an' Oi'll not tell ye the whole av it. Oi wur paid
to hilp do him a bad turn, an' Oi troied to bate th' head off him. It's
a foine lickin' Oi got. Afther thot he saved me loife whin a mad buck
had me down an' wur about cuttin' me to pieces wid his hoofs. Sure Oi
found him a foine young gintleman, an' it's his friend Oi became. Wid me
own hand Oi put a bullet through the head av thot shnale Porrfeeus dil
Noort; an' now it's some av Dil Noort's gang that's seekin' to git
square by carryin' off Merriwell's girrul. As yer friend, Ben, Oi ax ye
to give th' spalpanes th' double-cross an' hilp Frank Merriwell git back
th' girrul. Av ye do thot Oi promise ye Oi'll see that nivver a bit av
throuble do ye get into. Av ye refuse it's more than wan year ye'll be
afther spindin' in jail fer your foolishness."
The Indian had listened with the frown growing deeper.
"Mebbe you go back on me?" he questioned. "Mebbe you tell um Merriwell
Red Ben help carry off gal?"
"Oi didn't have to tell him. His bist friend saw ye in your canoe afther
ye shtarted wid th' girrul. Ye're in fer it, Ben, me bhoy, onliss ye
turrun roight-about-face an' do pwhat ye can fer th' girrul an' to have
the indacint rascals pwhat shtole her poonished."
"Sit down," invited the redskin, motioning toward the ground at his
side. "We talk it over."
O'Toole accepted the invitation and squatted on the ground.
"Ben he must think," said the Indian. "He must have time to make up him
mind."
"Take yer toime, me bhoy," nodded O'Toole, in his pleasantest manner;
"but don't yez fergit Oi'm yer friend, an' it's fer your good Oi'm
advisin' ye. Th' divvils pwhat shtole th' girrul can't git away, fer
Merriwell has tilegraphed it all over this parrut av th' counthry, an'
it's big rewards he has offered fer th' apprehinsion av th' rascals.
Whin th' shtorm comes, Ben, ye want to git out from under. There'll be a
terrible crash, moind pwhat Oi say."
"Ben him git big money for what him do."
"It's litthle good money will do yez wid yer neck shtretched, an' th'
bhoys are carryin' ropes fer th' gints pwhat run off wid th' girrul.
Oi'd not fool yez fer th' worruld," O'Toole continued, in his most
convincing manner. "Says Oi to mesilf whin Oi made up me moind ye wur
wid the gints pwhat done ut, said Oi, 'Pat, me bhoy, Ben is yer friend,
an' ye are his friend, an' it's up to ye to go along an' foind him an'
give him a tip to git under cover before it rains.' Oi'm here. It's
roight foine luck Oi found yez. A foine broth av a bhoy is Frank
Merriwell, an' whin he knows ye hilped save th' girrul, Oi'll shtake me
loife he pays ye well fer it."
The Irishman was doing his level best to win the Indian over, and his
words were not without effect. After a while Red Ben said:
"You go to um Merriwell, ask how much he give Ben to bring gal. Ask if
him swear Ben no git hurt. Ask if him dare meet Ben an' swear he no git
hurt to bring gal. Come soon, tell what him say."
"It's darruk it will be, fer th' sun is down now."
"Ben stay here. Men who steal gal leave him to watch. He stay. You know
owl hoot. When you come back make owl hoot so Ben no think it somebody
else an' shoot um. Must know what Merriwell him say. Must have him
promise."
Evidently the Indian was determined to drive the best bargain possible,
and at the same time he was resolved to take every precaution to insure
his own safety in case he betrayed Inza's captors.
O'Toole knew the redskin well enough to comprehend quickly that further
argument and pleading would be a waste of words. Once Red Ben had set
his mind on anything he was stubborn as a mule.
"All roight me bhoy," said the Irishman, rising. "Oi'll do jist pwhat ye
say; but don't yez be afther lettin' thim carry off th' girrul whoile
Oi'm spinding toime this way. It's a bit nervous Oi am about thrampin'
round through th' woods afther darruk since Oi shot thot divvil Dil
Noort, but it's no more he'll bother any wan at all, at all, an' soon Oi
think some of his foine friends will be in th' same box wid him."
"You shoot um Del Norte?" asked Red Ben, with a show of interest. "Him
say Irishman do it, but Ben no think it him friend."
"He said so?" cried O'Toole. "Begorra, thot's th' firrust toime Oi
ivver knew av anny wan thot had hearrud a dead mon talk!"
"You think you kill um Del Norte?" asked the Indian.
"Oi know Oi did onless a man can live wid a bullet clean through his
head," declared the Irishman.
Out of the shadows suddenly appeared a man, who exultantly cried, as he
pointed a finger at O'Toole:
"Diablo! I have you! Traitor, this is my time of vengeance!"
As O'Toole saw before him Del Norte, with a white bandage about his
head, the face of the Irishman turned ashen gray and his knees smote
together.
"Howly saints!" he groaned. "It is the dead aloive!"
A moment later, uttering a wild shriek of terror, he turned and ran
blindly toward the precipice close at hand, over which he rushed, being
unable to check himself when he reached the brink.
As the poor fellow fell he uttered another shriek, which was followed by
the silence of death.