THE VOLLEY IN THE CANYON.
Nat had stopped in the nick of time. As the auto came to an abrupt
halt, almost jolting those in the tonneau out of their seats, there was
a roar like the voice of an avalanche. From far up the hillside a cloud
of dust grew closer, and thundered past like an express train. In the
midst of the cloud was the huge, dislodged rock, weighing perhaps half
a ton or more.
So close did it whiz by, in fact, just ahead of the car, that Nat could
almost have sworn that it grazed the engine bonnet. The ground shook
and trembled as if an earthquake was in progress, during the passage of
the huge rock.
"Whew! Well, what do you think of that!" gasped Joe.
"I thought the whole mountainside was coming away," exclaimed
Ding-dong, startled into plain speech by his alarm.
Of course the first thing to be done was to clamber out of the car and
examine the monster rock, which had come to rest some distance up the
side of the opposite cliff to that from which it had fallen, such had
been its velocity. Nat could not help shuddering as he realized that
if the great stone had ever struck the auto it would have been, in the
language of Cal, "Good-night" for the occupants of that vehicle.
"Ach, vee vould haf been more flat as a pretzel alretty yet," exclaimed
Herr Muller, unslinging his ever ready camera, and preparing to take a
photo of the peril which had so narrowly missed them.
"This must be our lucky day," put in Joe, "three narrow escapes, one
after the other. I wonder if there'll be a fourth."
"Better not talk about it, Joe," urged Cal, "the next time we might not
be so fortunate."
"Guess that's right," said Nat, who was examining the boulder with some
care.
Apparently it had been one of those monster rocks which glacial action
in the bygone ages has left stranded, delicately balanced on a
mountainside. Some rocks of this character it takes but a light shove
to dislodge. So perfectly are other great masses poised that it takes
powerful leverage to overcome their inertia--to use a term in physics.
But the scientific aspect of the rock was not what interested Nat. What
he wanted to find out was just how such a big stone could have become
unseated from the mountainside and at a time when its downfall would,
but for their alertness, have meant disaster and perhaps death, to the
Motor Rangers. Nat had an idea, but he did not wish to announce it till
he was sure.
Suddenly he straightened up with a flushed face. His countenance bore
an angry look.
"Come here, fellows," he said, "and tell me what you make of this mark
at the side of the rock."
He indicated a queer abrasion on one side of the stone. The living
stone showed whitely where the lichen and moss had been scraped aside.
"Looks like some cuss had put a lever under it," pronounced Cal, after
a careful inspection.
"That's what. Fellows, this rock was deliberately tilted so that it
would come down on us and crush us. Now there's only one bunch of men
that we know of mean enough to do such a thing and that's----"
_Phut-t-t!_
Something whistled past Nat's ear with a noise somewhat like the
humming of a drowsy bee, only the sound lasted but for a fraction of a
second.
Nat knew it instantly for what it was.
A bullet!
It struck the rock behind him, and not half an inch from a direct line
with his head, with a dull spatter.
The boy could not help turning a trifle pale as he realized what an
exceedingly narrow escape he had had. Cal's countenance blazed with
fury.
"The--the dern--skunks!" he burst out, unlimbering his well polished
old revolver.
"Reckon two kin play at that game."
But Nat pulled the other's arm down.
"No good, Cal," he said, "the best thing we can do is to get out of
here as quickly as possible. One man up there behind those rocks could
wipe out an army down in here."
Cal nodded grimly, as he recognized the truth of the lad's words. Truly
they were in no position to do anything but, as Nat had suggested, get
out as quickly as possible.
As they reached this determination another bullet whizzed by and struck
a rock behind them, doubly convincing them of the wisdom of this
course. Fortunately, as has been said, the boulder had rolled clear
across the floor of the narrow canyon, such had been its velocity. This
was lucky for the lads, for if it had obstructed the way they would
have been in a nasty trap. With no room to turn round and no chance of
going ahead their invisible enemies would have had them at their mercy.
But if they could not see the shooters on the hillside, those marksmen
appeared to have their range pretty accurately. Bullets came pattering
about them now in pretty lively fashion. Suddenly Herr Muller gave an
exclamation and a cry of mingled pain and alarm. A red streak appeared
at the same instant on the back of his hand where the bullet had nicked
him. But this was not the cause of his outcry. The missile had ended
its career in the case in which he carried his photographic plates.
Nat heard the exclamation and turned about as the car began to move
forward.
"Where are you hurt?" he asked anxiously, fearing some severe injury
might have been inflicted on their Teutonic comrade.
"In der plate box," was the astonishing reply.
"Good heavens, you are shot in the stomach?" cried Joe.
"No, but seferal of my plates have been smashed, Ach Himmel voss
misfordune."
"I suppose you thought that plate box meant about the same thing as
bread basket," grinned Nat, turning to Joe, as they sped forward. A
ragged fire followed them, but no further damage to car or occupants
resulted. Herr Muller's horse, in the emergency, behaved like a
veteran. It trotted obediently behind the car without flinching.
"Bismark, I am proudt off you," smiled his owner, after the damage to
the plate box had been investigated and found to be not so serious as
its owner had feared.
"We must have drawn out of range," said Cal, as after a few more
desultory reports the firing ceased altogether.
"I hope so, I'm sure," responded Nat, "I tell you it's a pretty mean
feeling, this thing of being shot at by a chap you can't see at all."
"Yep, he jes' naturally has a drop on you," agreed Cal. "Wonder how
them fellers trailed us?"
"Simple enough," rejoined Nat, "at least, it is so to my way of
thinking. They didn't _trail_ us at all. They just got ahead of us."
"How do you mean?" asked Cal, even his keen wits rather puzzled.
"Why they figured out, I guess, that we weren't going to be such
cowards as to let their attempts to scare us turn us back. That being
the case, the only way for us to proceed forward from the Big Trees
was to drive through this canyon. I reckon therefore that they just
vamoosed ahead a bit and were ready with that big rock when we came
along."
"The blamed varmints," ground out the ex-stage driver, "I wonder if
they meant to crush us?"
"Quite likely," rejoined Nat, "and if this car hadn't been able to stop
in double-quick jig-time, they'd have done it, too. Of course they may
have only intended to block the road so that they could go through us
at their leisure. But in that case I should think that they would have
had the rock already there before we came along."
"Just my idea, lad," agreed the Westerner heartily, "them pestiferous
coyotes wouldn't stop at a little thing like wiping us out, if it was
in their minds ter do it. But I've got an idea that we must be getting
near their den. I've heard it is back this way somewhere."
"If that is so," commented Nat, "it would account for their anxiety to
turn us back. But," and here the boy set his lips grimly, "that's one
reason why I'm determined to go on."
"And you can bet that I'm with you every step of the way," was Cal's
hearty assurance. He laid a brown paw on Nat's hands as they gripped
the steering wheel. I can tell you, that in the midst of the perils
into which Nat could not help feeling they were now approaching, it
felt good to have a stalwart, resourceful chap like Cal along.
"Thanks, Cal. I know you'll stick," rejoined Nat simply, and that was
all.
The canyon--or more properly, pass--which they had been traversing soon
came to an end, the spurs of the mountains which formed it sloping
down, and "melting" off into adjoining ranges. This formed a pleasant
little valley between their slopes. The depression, which was perhaps
four miles in circumference, was carpeted with vivid green bunch grass.
Clumps of flowering shrubs stood in the centre where a small lake,
crystal clear, was formed by the conjunction of two little streams.
The water was the clear, cold liquid of the mountains, sharp with the
chill of the high altitudes.
After the boys had selected a camping place on a little knoll
commanding all parts of the valley, their first task was to bring up
buckets of water and clean off the auto which, by this time, as you
may imagine, was pretty grimy and dusty. Several marks on the tonneau,
too, showed where bullets had struck during the brush in the canyon.
Altogether, the car looked "like business," that is to say, as if
it had gone through other ups and downs than those of the mountains
themselves.
An inspection of the big gasolene tank showed that the emergency
container was almost exhausted, and before they proceeded to anything
else, Nat ordered the tanks filled from the stock they carried in the
big "store-room," suspended under the floor of the car.
"We might have to get out of here in a hurry, when there would be no
time to fill up the tanks," he said. "It's best to have everything
ready in case of accidents."
"That's right," agreed Cal, "nothing like havin' things ready. I
recollect one time when I was back home in Iowy that they----"
But whatever had occurred--and it was doubtless interesting--back at
Cal's home in Iowa, the boys were destined never to know; for at that
moment their attention was attracted to the horse of Herr Muller, which
had been tethered near a clump of madrone shrubs not far from the lake.
"He's gone crazy!" shouted Joe.
"M-m-m-mad as a h-h-h-atter in Mum-m-march," sputtered Ding-dong.
No wonder the boys came to such a conclusion. For a respectable equine,
such as Herr Muller's steed had always shown himself to be, Bismark
certainly was acting in an extraordinary manner.
At one moment he flung his heels high into the air, and almost at the
same instant up would come his forelegs. Then, casting himself on the
ground, he would roll over and over, sending up little showers of turf
and stones with his furiously beating hoofs. All the time he kept up a
shrill whinnying and neighing that greatly added to the oddity of his
performance.
"Ach Himmel! Bismark is a loonitacker!" yelled Herr Muller, rushing
toward his quadruped, of which he had become very fond.
But alas! for the confidence of the Teuton. As he neared Bismark, the
"loonitacker" horse up with his hind legs and smiting Herr Muller
in the chest, propelled him with speed and violence backward toward
the lake. In vain Herr Muller tried to stop his backward impetus by
clutching at the brush. It gave way in his hands like so much flax.
Another second and he was soused head over heels in the icy mountain
water.
"What in the name of Ben Butler has got inter the critter?" gasped Cal
amazedly. The others opened their eyes wide in wonder. All of them had
had something to do with horses at different stages of their careers,
but never in their united experiences had a horse been seen to act like
Bismark, the "loonitacker."