A BAFFLING PURSUIT.
But a close scrutiny of the river banks by daylight failed to reveal
anything more definite than a maze of trampled footmarks and broken
brush at the spot where Jack had encountered his combat with the three
Mexican spies. Captain Atkinson, one of the most expert of men in the
plainsman’s art of reading signs from seemingly insignificant features,
confessed that he was baffled.
“It is plain enough that Jack was involved in some sort of a fight,”
he said, “but beyond that I cannot say. The most puzzling thing about
his disappearance, in fact, lies in the absence of pony tracks. I can’t
imagine how whoever it was attacked him reached this vicinity without
being heard by the sentries east and west of the trail.”
“Can it not be possible that in some manner he fell into the river and
was swept away by the swift current?” inquired Ralph.
The captain shook his head.
“Of course, it is possible, but it hardly lies within the range of
probabilities,” he declared.
They were still discussing the extraordinary situation when Baldy
uttered an exclamation. He had been examining the river bank and now he
held up a bit of rope that he had discovered on the verge of the stream.
“Look here, cap,” he cried, “I’m a long–horned maverick if this ain’t
queer.”
“A bit of rope, eh, Baldy?” rejoined the captain. “Well, that would
seem to indicate that something had been tied there. Clearly it was not
a horse or we should see the tracks. It must then have been————”
“A boat!” burst in Walt, unable to control himself.
“How could a boat ever get along in this shallow, swirling stream?”
cried Ralph.
“No; but some contrivance of logs that would float, such as a raft,
might have navigated the river,” suggested Captain Atkinson, little
guessing how close he was to the truth.
The captain now had the rope in his hands and was examining the frayed
end.
“This rope has been recently severed,” he decided.
“Cut?” questioned Ralph.
“No, broken,” was the rejoinder.
“Then ther kid must have gone down the river,” said Baldy.
“Undoubtedly,” rejoined the captain.
“In that case we must follow the stream in search of him,” cried Walt.
“Yes. We will start as soon as possible, too. Baldy, see that
everything is made ready for us at once.”
“Ain’t I going along, cap?” pleaded Baldy.
“No; I shall leave you in command of the camp till I return. In the
meantime the boys and I will ride back with you to camp and prepare for
our expedition.”
The boys’ faces were flushed with excitement as the return ride was
begun. Eagerly they discussed between themselves the probabilities of
recovering Jack, while the captain rode with bowed head as if buried
in thought. The mystery of Jack’s fate worried him deeply, and he was
beginning to think that there were more complications to it than he had
at first imagined.
It was an hour after that the search party set forth. They carried
blankets, emergency kits, food, firearms and hatchets. Also each had
a stout rawhide lariat, each “rope” being about forty feet in length.
Thus equipped they started out on what was to prove a most eventful
journey, and one in which they were destined to encounter more
surprises than they dreamed.
By sunset the first day of their search they found themselves in a wild
canyon through which the river flowed swiftly. Camp was made at a spot
near which a clear spring of water gushed from a wall of the place. It
was slightly alkaline, but they did not mind that, as it was preferable
even as it was to the muddy, discolored waters of the Rio Grande. The
ponies were picketed, a fire was lighted, supper cooked and things put
in order for the night.
It was not a cheerful party that gathered about the camp fire. All of
them were pretty well exhausted and disheartened by their absolute
failure to find any trace of Jack. Captain Atkinson alone would not
admit discouragement. He did all he could to keep up the flagging
spirits of the two lads, and after supper had been despatched he
inquired if they would care to hear some of his experiences on the
Border.
“Gladly,” declared Ralph, relieved to hear something that might, for a
time at least, take his mind off the possible predicament of his chum.
Captain Atkinson paused to cram his old black pipe with strong tobacco,
light it with a glowing coal, and then plunged into his story. As he
talked the murmuring voice of the river and the sighing of the night
wind in the scanty trees of the canyon formed a fitting accompaniment
to his narrative.
“Some years ago,” he began, “I was foreman of a small ranch in the
neighborhood of Las Animos, in the eastern part of the state. It was
at a time when cattle and horse thieves, ‘rustlers’ as we call them,
had been particularly active. Hardly a rancher in the vicinity but had
suffered from their depredations, and feeling ran pretty high against
them, I can tell you.
“Well, our ranch, which was known as the Flying U, had managed somehow
to escape unscathed, although all round us the rustlers had been
operating boldly and openly. Their method was to raid a ranch, drive
the cattle or horses across the Border and then sell them to Mexican
dealers, who drove them to the coast and there disposed of them as best
they could. Many were shipped to European ports, so I heard.
But it was impossible that our ranch should long remain untouched in
the midst of the general robberies and rascality going on. Although we
guarded against it in every possible way, one night our ‘Far Pasture’
as it was called, was raided and a fine bunch of young steers carried
off. It was known that the leader of the band was a man named Alvarez;
but beyond this fact and the further one that he had been a leader in
several of the frequent revolutions in his country, we knew little
about him. He was, however, without doubt the most successful and
daring rustler that the Border was ever harassed with.
“In fact, so bold was he, and so impossible of capture did he appear,
that some of the more superstitious men in the district began to hint
that he was of supernatural origin. Those were wild, uncultured days,
and the belief began to spread. Every fresh raid added strength to the
rumor, until at the time of the robbery of the Flying U I was unable
to persuade anyone to accompany me in pursuit of Alvarez; for I was
determined to take after the rascal even if the chase led me across the
Border.
“It may have been a foolish resolve, but I was younger then and
hot–blooded. Well, when I found that I would have to go alone or lose
valuable time getting some men to accompany me, I delayed no longer. I
oiled up my revolver and rifle and loaded some provisions on my saddle,
together with a roll of blankets. Then, with a tough little pinto pony
that was good for his fifty miles a day, I took the trail.