In an instant Ross was on his feet, the sleep fog automatically cleared
from his brain.
One glance was enough. The dawn was far enough advanced so that he could
see both up and down the canon. It was patent that the girl had vanished
during the darkness.
The whole affair was so utterly impossible, so unreal, so like an Arabian
Nights adventure, that Ross was almost prone to believe that it had been
merely a dream, a desert hallucination. Not until his eyes again sought
the canon wall did he convince himself that he had not been laboring
under some mental aberration.
There could be no denying his eyes, though. There were the four heavy
chains fastened to the canon wall, and there were the four broken
shackles, mute evidence that he had stumbled onto a situation as exotic
as one of the desert’s own mirages.
No, there could be no question that the girl had actually existed. Nor
could there be any question that she had disappeared. The only living
thing in sight was Archibald, who stood with head bowed over the dead
embers of last night’s fire in his usual state of ignoble dejection.
At first thought it seemed impossible that the girl could have left camp,
unaided, and it seemed quite as certain that no one could have taken her
away by force, without rousing Ross.
As he considered it, however, Ross realized that exhaustion would come
quickly to one chained to the rock and exposed to the sun without food or
water. Recuperation would probably come quite as quickly. The girl had
had both water and nourishment the evening before, and it would have been
quite possible for her to have gained sufficient strength to leave, had
she so chosen. There seemed to be no other explanation.
“Well, Archibald,” said Ross, falling into his whimsical habit of
addressing the burro, “when I started this trip I thought that you
and Percy were the only asses in the party. Now I am convinced there
are three of us. Here I have just been craving adventure for months.
Yesterday I blundered right onto the craziest kind of a mystery, and
then I go to sleep and let the whole thing get away from me! Fools can’t
think, but I suppose they’ve got to eat,” he finished to himself.
He set about preparing his breakfast, meanwhile pondering the affair. The
more he pondered the more mysterious it became.
Breakfast finished, he washed his dishes and then stepped over to gather
up his bed-roll. Instantly he stopped short. There before him, scratched
in the level sand of the canon floor, was a message:
“_Please go away. There is only great danger if you investigate
further._”
There could be no denying the sincerity of that message. Coupled with the
silent testimony of the inhuman shackles, it meant that the girl, whoever
she might be, was in real peril.
Regaining her strength, she had quietly slipped away in the night, but
before going she had left behind a warning to the man who had released
her. It was evident that she did not wish to draw a stranger into a
danger which she considered hers alone.
The warning, however, reacted on Ross like a red rag on a bull. It was
a challenge to his manhood, to his thirst for adventure. Somewhere up
that narrow canon was mystery; and somewhere, too, was a girl in unknown
danger, a girl who patently enough needed assistance and a friend.
It took but a few minutes to round up the burros and rope on the packs.
“We will now proceed to rescue the fair maiden.”
“Stick ’em up, an’ do it quick!”
Ross whirled at the sound of the gruff voice—and found himself looking
squarely into the muzzle of an ugly six-shooter. Behind it, was the most
villainous-looking countenance Ross had ever seen.
“Come on! H’ist ’em up!” again jerked out the owner of the gun.
The situation was too unreal to be taken seriously.
“Ah, Archibald, the plot thickens! First we meet Beauty; now we meet
the Beast. Point that gun the other way, my friend. It might go off and
frighten my long-eared friend here. He’s delicate, and I don’t like to
have his nerves shocked.”
“H’ist them mits before I drill ya!”
Ross felt the muzzle of the gun jammed into his ribs, and a practised
hand quickly searched his body. His automatic, carried for the sole
purpose of exterminating rattlesnakes, was transferred to the other’s
pocket.
The vicious attitude of the gunman was far too real to be taken lightly.
There was no doubt that he meant business.
“Ya can let ’em down now,” said the gunman, stopping back.
Ross turned and surveyed his captor.
“If you don’t mind telling me,” he asked coldly, “to whom am I indebted
for this early morning call?”
“Stow the flip gab. All I know is tha big boss said to bring ya in, an’
I’m bringin’ ya.”
“Then I’m to understand that I’m a captive?”
“Understan’ anythin’ ya please. Now git travelin’.”
Resistance was hopeless. His air of reckless bravado gone, boiling
inwardly at the indignity forced upon him, Ross swung and trudged off up
the canon trail.
For perhaps a quarter of a mile the narrow canon cleaved straight through
the rock. Then it suddenly began a series of intricate turns, as though
it had attempted a passage and had been baffled and forced to take a new
direction about every fifty feet.
For a while, Ross stalked on without speaking. Suddenly he turned his
head and spoke.
“Just where are you taking me, and who is the ‘big boss’?”
“Never mind askin’ dam’ fool questions. Keep movin’!”
After another quarter mile of sharp turns, the canon suddenly broadened,
and Ross found himself looking out into a basin bounded on all sides by
high, perpendicular rock walls, smooth and straight.
The basin was oval in shape, and near the center was a group of ’dobe
buildings, five in number. Toward these the captor directed their
progress.
As he advanced, Ross looked keenly for signs of life, but though he
sought every possible nook and cranny with his gaze, he could see neither
man nor beast. The place seemed to be absolutely deserted.
At the first building, a small ’dobe structure that stood somewhat apart
from the others, Ross was ordered to halt. Opening a heavy door, the man
motioned with his gun for him to enter. Ross stepped over the threshold,
and instantly the door clanged shut behind him.
He heard the heavy bolt drop into place. Then he heard his captor walking
away.
Then, for the first time, it dawned on Ross that he was actually a
prisoner, and that he had been captured with some definite object in view.
The room in which he found himself was about twelve feet square. The
walls were of ’dobe; the floor was of the same material, hard packed and
smooth. There were two small windows, but both were heavily protected
with thick iron bars, set deep in the hard-packed ’dobe. The furniture
consisted of a crude table and chair.
A single test of strength showed Ross that he could never hope to open
the door. A crowbar or an axe would be necessary for that, and there
was no implement of any kind in the room. The walls were fully eighteen
inches thick. Under the fierce heat of the desert the ’dobe had grown as
hard as cement. Unless he received help from outside, there seemed to be
no possibility of escape.
Time passed. Finally he ceased his idle wandering about the room and sank
into the chair.
His pipe and tobacco still remained in his pocket. He took out his pipe,
lighted it, and fell to considering his strange predicament.
It seemed that ages had passed before he detected approaching footsteps.
The bolt was raised. The heavy door swung on its hinges. His captor stood
outside, gun in hand. Behind him was a Chinaman, carrying a tray on which
was food.
The Chinese entered the room, placed the tray on the table and arranged
the food. As he was performing this service, he said in a low whisper,
so low that his companion could not hear, “Missee say Wong flix good
dlinner.”’
“Come on, Chink, make it snappy!” snapped the man with the gun.
The door slammed. The bolt fell into place. Ross was alone again.
Dubiously, he surveyed the food. The words of the Chinese came back to
him, “Missee say Wong flix good dlinner.”
So the girl knew that he was a captive. Well, all he could do was wait.
But who was she? And what did his imprisonment mean?
In the meantime there was no reason for wasting a good dinner. Ross was
hungry, and in twenty minutes the last scrap of food had disappeared.
Settling back in his chair, he again filled his pipe and prepared to
await developments with as good grace as possible.
It was hours later that he heard footsteps nearing his prison.
_CHAPTER FOUR_