THROUGH THE FLUME.
Faster than he had ever travelled before in his life Nat was hurtled
along down the flume. Water dashed upward into his face, half choking
him and occasionally his board would hit the wooden side with a bump
that almost threw him off. His knuckles were bruised and bleeding and
his head dizzy from the motion. It was the wildest ride that the lad,
or any other lad for that matter, had ever undertaken.
Suddenly, ahead of him--above the noise of the rushing water--came
another sound, a deep-throated, sullen thunder. As he shot along
with the speed of a projectile, Nat realized what the strange sound
betokened. The end of the flume. Cal had told them that the raised
water-course discharged its contents into a big pool at that point.
With a sudden sinking of the heart Nat realized that he had forgotten
to inquire how high the drop was. If it was very high--or if there was
but little water in the pool below the flume--he would be dashed to
pieces, or injured so that he could not swim, and thus drown.
But even as the alarming thought was in his mind, Nat felt himself shot
outward into space. Instinctively his hands came together and he dived
downward, entering the water about twenty feet below him, with a clean
dive.
For a space the waters closed above the lad's head and he was lost to
view in the moonlit pool. When he came to the surface, out of breath
and bruised, but otherwise uninjured, he saw that he was in what had
formerly been used as a "collection-pool" for the logs from the forest
above. He struck out for the shore at once and presently emerged upon
the bank. But as he clambered out, the figure of a Chinaman who had
been seated fishing on the brink galvanized into sudden life. The
Mongolian was poaching in private waters under cover of the darkness
and was naturally startled out of a year's growth at the sudden
apparition.
With an ear-splitting screech the Mongolian leaped about three feet
into the air as if propelled by a spring, and then, with his stumpy
legs going under him like twin piston rods, he made tracks for the town.
"Bad spill-it! Bad spill-it! He come catchee me!" he howled at the top
of his voice, tearing along.
As he dashed into the town a tall man dressed in Western style, and
with a determined, clean-cut face under his broad-brimmed sombrero,
stepped out of the lighted interior of the post-office, where the mail
for the early stage was being sorted.
"Here, Sing Lee," he demanded, catching the astonished Chinaman by the
shoulder and swinging him around, "what's the matter with you?"
"Wasee malla me, Missa Sheliff? Me tellee you number one chop quickee
timee. Me fish down by old lumbel yard and me see spill-it come flum
watel!"
"What?" roared Jack Tebbetts, the sheriff, "a ghost? More likely one
of Morello's band; I heard they were around here somewhere. But hullo,
what's this?"
He broke off as a strange figure came flying down the street, almost as
fast as the fear-crazed Chinaman.
"Wow!" yelled the sheriff, drawing an enormous gun as this weird
figure came in view, "Halt whar you be, stranger? You're a suspicious
character."
Nat, out of breath, wet through, bruised, bleeding and with his
clothing almost ripped off him, could not but admit the truth of this
remark. But as he opened his mouth to speak a sudden dizziness seemed
to overcome him. His knees developed strange hinges and he felt that in
another moment he would topple over.
The sheriff stepped quickly forward and caught him.
"Here, hold up, lad," he said crisply, "what's ther trouble?"
* * * * *
"One o'clock. We ought to be hearing from Nat soon."
Cal put his old silver watch back in his pocket and resumed his anxious
pacing of the floor. The others, in various attitudes of alertness,
were scattered about the place. Since Nat's departure they had been, as
you may imagine, at a pretty tight tension. Somehow, waiting there for
an attack or for rescue, was much more trying than action would have
been.
"Do you guess he got through all right?" asked Joe.
"I hope so," rejoined Cal, "but it was about as risky a bit of business
as a lad could undertake. I blame myself for ever letting him do it."
"If Nat had his mind made up you couldn't have stopped him," put in Joe
earnestly.
"H-h-h-hark!" exclaimed Ding-dong.
Far down the canyon they could hear a sound. It grew closer. For an
instant a wild hope that it was the rescue party flashed through their
minds. But the next instant a voice hailed them. Evidently Col.
Morello had made up his mind that a siege was too lengthy a proceeding.
"I will give you fellows in the hut one chance," he said in a loud
voice, "give up that boy Nat Trevor and the sapphires and I will
withdraw my men."
Cal's answer was to take careful aim, and if Joe had not hastily pulled
his arm down that moment would have been Morello's last. But as Cal's
white face was framed in the dark window a bullet sang by viciously and
showered them with splinters.
"That's for a lesson," snarled Morello, "there are lots more where that
came from."
But as he spoke there came a sudden yell of alarm from his rear.
"We're attacked!" came a voice.
At the same instant the sound of a distant volley resounded.
"Hooray! Nat made good!" yelled Cal, leaping about and cracking his
fingers.
The next instant a rapid thunder of hoofs, as the outlaws wheeled and
made off, was heard. As their dark forms raced by, the posse headed
by Sheriff Tebbetts and Nat, fired volley after volley at them, but
only two fell, slightly wounded. The rest got clear away. A subsequent
visit to their fortress showed that on escaping from the posse they had
revisited it and cleaned all the loot out of it that they could. The
express box stolen from Cal's stage was, however, recovered.
As the posse galloped up, cheering till the distant canyons echoed
and re-echoed, the besieged party rushed out. They made for Nat and
pulled him from his horse. Then, with the young Motor Ranger on their
shoulders, they paraded around the hut with him, yelling like maniacs,
"'For he's a jolly good fellow'!"
"And that don't begin to express it," said the sheriff to himself.
"He's the grit kid," put in one of the hastily-gathered posse
admiringly.
And the "Grit Kid" Nat was to them henceforth.
The remainder of the night was spent in the hut, Nat telling and
retelling his wild experience in the flume. The next morning the posse
set out at once at top speed for the fortress of Morello, the sapphire
chest being carried in the auto which accompanied the authorities. Of
course they found no trace of the outlaws; but the place was destroyed
and can never again be used by any nefarious band.
Nat and his friends were anxious for the sheriff to take charge of the
sapphire find, but this he refused to do. It remained, therefore, for
the Motor Rangers themselves to unravel the mystery surrounding it.
How they accomplished this, and the devious paths and adventures into
which the quest led them, will be told in the next volume of this
series. Here also will be found a further account of Col. Morello and
his band who, driven from their haunts by the Motor Rangers, sought
revenge on the lads.
Having remained in the vicinity of Big Oak Flat till every point
connected with Morello and his band had been cleared up, the boys
decided to go on to the famous Yosemite Valley. There they spent some
happy weeks amid its awe-inspiring natural wonders. With them was Herr
Muller and Cal. Bismark, as Cal had foretold, returned to the hotel at
Lariat and Herr Muller got his money.
But all the time the duty which devolved upon the Motor Rangers of
finding Elias Goodale's heirs and bestowing their rich inheritance
on them was not forgotten. Nat and his companions considered it in
the nature of a sacred trust--this mission which a strange chance
had placed in their hands. How they carried out their task, and what
difficulties and dangers they faced in doing it, will be related in
"THE MOTOR RANGERS ON BLUE WATER; OR, THE SECRET OF THE DERELICT."
THE END.
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HURST & CO., _Publishers_,
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Motor Rangers Series
By MARVIN WEST
OUTDOOR LIFE STORIES FOR MODERN BOYS
Cloth Bound Price 50¢ per volume.
The Motor Rangers' Lost Mine.
A new series dealing with an idea altogether original in juvenile
fiction,--the adventures of a party of bright, enterprising youngsters
in a splendid motor car. Their first trip takes them to the dim and
mysterious land of Lower California.
Naturally, as one would judge from the title, the lost mine, which
proves to be Nat Trevor's rightful inheritance,--occupies much of the
interest of the book. But the mine was in the possession of enemies so
powerful and wealthy that it taxed the boys' resources to the uttermost
to overcome them. How they did so makes absorbing reading.
In this book also, the young motor rangers solve the mystery of the
haunted Mexican cabin, and exterminate for all time a strange terror of
the mountains which has almost devastated a part of the peninsula.
The Motor Rangers too, have an exciting encounter with Mexican cowboys,
which beginning comically, comes very near having a serious termination
for all hands. Emphatically "third speed" books.
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BORDER BOY SERIES
BY
FREMONT B. DEERING
Frontier Stories for Modern Boys
Cloth Bound Price, 50¢ per volume.
The Border Boys on the Trail.
There is little left of the romantic western life of which our
forefathers delighted to read and in which they not infrequently took a
part. The author of this series has, however, taken to himself modern
conditions in this interesting section of the country in a vital way.
The pages of this book throb with the strenuous outdoor life and
pastimes of the ranch and range. The volume is as vivid as a western
sunset and as lively as a bucking broncho. What boy will not want to
read of the adventures of the ranchers and the boys in Grizzly Pass and
the strange strategy of Black Ramon--the Border cattle-rustler which
came nearly costing them all their lives?
But the adventures do not terminate at the annihilation of the bridge
by the rustler's gang. They elude pursuit for a time by this means but
only for a time. The beginning of the end of their depredations comes
when Jack and his cowpuncher chum escape from the bell-tower of the
old mission. From then on to the conclusion of the book events come as
fast as the discharge of an automatic rifle, or the rattling execution
of the long roll on a snare-drum. No boy should fail to read how the
Mexicans almost succeeded in releasing the pent-up waters of the
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chums for the wholesome lads of to-day.
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BOY SCOUT SERIES
BY
LIEUT. HOWARD PAYSON
MODERN BOY SCOUT STORIES FOR BOYS
Cloth Bound Price, 50¢ per volume.
The Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol.
A fascinating narrative of the doings of some bright boys who become
part of the great Boy Scout movement. The first of a series dealing
with this organization, which has caught on like wild fire among
healthy boys of all ages and in all parts of the country.
While in no sense text-book, the volume deals, amid its exciting
adventures, with the practical side of Scouting. To Rob Blake and his
companions in the Eagle Patrol, surprising, and sometimes perilous
things happen constantly. But the lads, who are, after all, typical of
most young Americans of their type, are resourceful enough to overcome
every one of their dangers and difficulties.
How they discover the whereabouts of little Joe, the "kid" of the
patrol, by means of smoke telegraphy and track his abductors to their
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book to learn. A swift-moving narrative of convincing interest and
breathless incident.
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* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Varied hyphenation was retained.
Page 54, "attampt" changed to "attempt" (and an attempt made)
Page 160, "penertate" changed to "penetrate" (could not penetrate into)