AN APPOINTMENT ON THE TRAIL.
"Something's up," whispered Joe, as if this fact was not perfectly
obvious.
"Hush," warned Nat, "that fellow who just came down the trail is the
chap we noticed at supper."
"Alkali Ike?"
"Yes. That's what you called him."
"He must have a date here."
"Looks that way. If I don't miss my guess he's here to meet whoever is
coming on horseback down that trail."
"Are you going to stay right here?"
"We might as well. I've got an idea somehow that these chaps are up to
some mischief. It doesn't look just right for them to be meeting way
off here."
"That's right," agreed Joe, "but supposing they are desperate
characters. They may make trouble for us."
"I guess not," rejoined Nat, "we're well hidden in the shadow here.
There's not a chance of their seeing us."
"Well I hope not."
But the arrival of the horsemen on the trail put a stop to further
conversation right then. There were two of them, both, so far as the
boys could see, big, heavy men, mounted on active little ponies. Their
long tapaderos, or leather stirrup coverings, almost touched the ground
as they rode.
"Hello, Al," exclaimed one of them, as the black mustached man came
forward to meet them.
"Hello, boys," was the rejoinder in an easy tone as if the speaker had
no fear of being overheard, "well, you pulled it off I see."
"Yes, and we'd have got more than the express box too if it hadn't been
for the allfiredest noise you ever heard at the top of the trail all of
a sudden. It came just as we was about ter go through ther pockets of
the passengers. Sounded like a boiler factory or suthin'. I tell you we
lit out in a hurry."
The speaker was one of the pony riders. As he spoke Nat gave Joe a
nudge and the other replied with a look of understanding. The men who
stood talking not a score of paces from them had taken part in the
stage-robbery.
The man on foot seemed immensely amused at the mention of the "terrible
noise" his companions said they had been alarmed by.
"Why, that was an automobubble," he laughed.
"A bubble!" exclaimed one of the others, "what in the name of the
snow-covered e-tarnal hills is one of them coal oil buckboards doin' in
this neck of ther woods?"
"Why, three kids are running it on a pleasure trip. The Motor Rangers,
or some such fool name, they call theirselves. They hitched the bubble
on ter ther stage and towed her inter town as nice as you please."
"Did you say they called theirselves the Motor Rangers?" asked the
other mounted man who up to this time had not spoken.
"That's right, why?"
"One of 'em a fat, foolish lookin' kid what can't talk straight?" asked
the other instead of replying.
Nat nudged Ding-dong and chuckled, in imminent danger of exposing their
hiding place. It tickled him immensely to hear that youth described in
such an unflattering manner.
"Why yep. There is a sort of chumpish kid with 'em. For the matter of
that all three of 'em are stuck up, psalm singin' sort of kids. Don't
drink nor smoke nor nuthin'."
"True for you. We're not so foolish," breathed Nat to Joe.
"Why are you so anxious about 'em, Dayton?" asked the other rider who
had remained silent while his comrade was making the recorded inquiries.
"Cos I know 'em and I've got some old scores to even up with them,"
was the rejoinder. "Do you remember what I told you about some kids
fooling us all down in Lower California?"
"Yep. What of it?"
"Well, this is the same bunch. I'm sure of it."
"The dickens you say. Do they travel with much money about them?"
It was the black-mustached man who was interested now.
"I don't know about that. But their bubble is worth about $5,000 and
one of them has a gold mine in Lower Cal. Then, too, they always carry
a fine stock of rifles and other truck."
"They'd be worth plucking then?"
"I guess so. At any rate I'd like to get even with them even if we
didn't get a thing out of it. Ed. Dayton doesn't forgive or forget in a
hurry."
Small wonder that the boys leaned forward with their ears fairly aching
to catch every word. Nat knew now why the outline of one of the riders
had seemed familiar to him. The man was evidently none other than Ed.
Dayton, the rascal who had acted as the millionaire Hale Bradford's
lieutenant in Lower California.
Nat, it will be recalled, was captured on the peninsula and an attempt
made to force him to give up papers showing his right to the mine,
which the gang Hale Bradford had gathered about him was working. I can
tell you, Nat was mighty glad that he and his companions happened to be
there in the shadow; for, thought he to himself:--
"Forewarned is forearmed, Mr. Ed. Dayton."
But the men were resuming their talk.
"Tell you what you fellows do," said the black-mustached man. "Just lie
off here in the brush for an hour or so and I'll go back to the hotel
and look around. Then I'll come back and tell you if the coast's clear.
They've got their auto out in some sort of a shed and if we could run
it we could swipe the whole thing. Can you run an auto, Ed.? Seems to
me I've heard you talk about them."
"Can a dog bark?" inquired the other, who if the memory of my readers
goes back that far, they will recall had at one time been a chauffeur
for Mr. Pomery.
"Very well then, that's settled. At all events it might be a good thing
to smash up the car if we can't do anything else with it."
"That's right Al.," agreed Ed. Dayton's companion, "we don't want any
nosy kids around in the mountains. They might discover too much."
"That's so, too. Well, you leave it to me, Al. Jeffries, and I'll
bet you that after to-night they'll all be glad to go home to their
mammies."
But right here something happened which might, but for good fortune,
have caused a different ending to this story.
Ding-dong Bell, among other peculiarities, possessed a pair of very
delicate nostrils, and the slightest irritation thereof caused him to
sneeze violently. Now at the time of the year of which we are writing
the California mountains are covered with a growth, called in some
localities tar weed. This plant gives off an irritating dust when it
is shaken or otherwise disturbed, and the hoofs of the two riders'
ponies had kicked up a lot of this pungent powder. Just as the rascals
concluded their plans a vagrant puff of wind carried some of it in
Ding-dong's direction.
Realizing what serious consequences it might have, the lad struggled
with all his might against his immediate inclination to sneeze, but try
as he would he could not keep the ultimate explosion back.
"A-ch-oo-oo-oo-oo!"
It sounded as loud as the report of a cannon, in the silent canyon, and
quite as startling.
"What in thunder was that?" exclaimed Ed. Dayton wheeling his pony
round.
He, of course, saw nothing, and regarded his companions in a puzzled
way.
Al. Jeffries was tugging his black mustache and looking about him
likewise for some explanation. But he could not find it. In the
meantime, the boys, in an agony of apprehension, scarcely dared to
breathe. They crouched like rabbits behind their shelter awaiting what
seemed inevitable discovery.
"Must have been a bird," grunted Ed. Dayton's companion.
"Funny sort of bird," was the rejoinder.
"That's right. I am a funny sort of bird," thought Ding-dong with an
inward chuckle.
"Sounded to me more like somebody sneezin'," commented Ed. Dayton who
was still suspicious.
"It'll be a bad day for them if there was," supplemented Al. Jeffries
grimly.
"Tell you what we do, boys," came a sudden suggestion from Ed.'s
companion, which sent a chill to the hearts of the boys; "let's scatter
about here and look around a bit."
"That's a good idea," was the alarming rejoinder.
Nat was just revolving in his mind whether it would be the better
expedient to run, and trust to hiding in the rocks and chaparral, or to
leap up and try to scare the others' ponies, and then escape. But just
then Al. Jeffries spoke:
"No use wastin' time on that now, boys," he said, "it's gettin' late.
You do as I say, and then in a while we'll all take a little spin in
that grown up taxi cab of the Motor Rangers."
To the intense relief of the boys the others agreed. Soon after this
the trio of rascals separated. Ed. Dayton and his companions rode back
up the trail while Al. Jeffries started off for the hotel.
As soon as their footsteps grew faint Nat galvanized into action.
"We've got a lot to do in a very short time," he announced excitedly.
"Come on, Joe! Shake a foot! We've got to beat Mr. Al. back to the
hotel."
"How?" inquired Joe amazedly, but not doubting in his own mind that Nat
had already thought the matter out thoroughly.
"We'll skirt along the mountain-side above him. If we are careful he
won't hear us."
"That is, if Ding-dong can muffle that nasal gatling gun of his,"
grunted Joe. "Say, young fellow, the next time you want to sneeze when
we're in such a tight place, just oblige us by rolling over the edge of
the canyon, will you?"
"I c-c-c-o-o-ouldn't help it," sputtered Ding-dong sorrowfully.
"Couldn't," exclaimed the indignant Joe, "you didn't even try."
"I did too. But I couldn't remember whether the book said that you
could stop sneezing by pulling the lobe of your ear or rubbing the
bridge of your nose."
"So you did both?"
"Y-y-y-yes; why?"
"Well, they were both wrong. You should have wiggled your right big toe
while you balanced a blade of grass on your chin."