A “BLANK WALL.”
“He’s drowning!” cried Walt in alarmed tones.
“It is just as I feared,” cried Captain Atkinson, “the pony struck a
water hole and————”
“Look, there’s the pony now!” cried Walt as the little animal
reappeared and began swimming for the bank.
“But where is Ralph?”
Without waiting to make any reply to Captain Atkinson, Walt suddenly
wheeled his pony. Down the stream he had seen an arm extended above the
muddy current. He knew that it was Ralph’s.
There was no hesitation in the boy’s manner as he turned his pony, and,
plunging the spurs in deep, drove him through the water. All at once
Walt and his pony floundered into the same hole that had been Ralph’s
undoing. At the same instant a sudden swirl of the current caught
Ralph, who, though half drowned, was making a brave struggle. The
momentary halt was the chance that Captain Atkinson had been looking
for.
He had followed close on Walt’s heels and now, while the latter was
struggling to maintain a hold on his swimming pony, the captain of the
Rangers uncoiled his lariat.
Swish! It shot out in a long rolling coil and fell fairly about the
shoulders of the struggling Ralph Stetson. Although half choked into
insensibility with the water he had swallowed, Ralph still maintained
enough sense to grasp the rawhide while Captain Atkinson drew it tight.
When the coil was fast the captain backed his pony upstream until Ralph
had been dragged to shallow water. Then he pulled him out and laid him
on the bank, gasping and almost drowned. In the meantime Walt Phelps
had succeeded in extricating himself from his perilous position, and
he and his pony, drenched through and dripping, arrived on the bank
almost at the same time as Ralph was dragged ashore.
Captain Atkinson had some simple remedies in his kit and he applied
these to Ralph, who was soon able, as he put it, “to sit up and take
notice.” As he did so the stumbling pony, which had been the cause of
all the trouble, came up and sniffed at his master curiously.
“Well, Spot–nose,” said Ralph, using the name he had given the little
beast, “you almost caused me to find a watery grave.”
The pony whinnied as if to show that he was sorry and was willing to
apologize. This view of the circumstance made them all laugh. By this
time Captain Atkinson had a roaring fire going, by the side of which
they dried themselves, and there was soon a decidedly more cheerful
tone to the party.
“It makes me shiver, though, when I think of that narrow escape,” said
Ralph as they prepared to continue their journey.
“That is just an incident of life here on the Border,” declared Captain
Atkinson. “It’s such things as those that make a man or a boy know that
there is a divine Providence watching over us. No man who has lived
on the desert or at sea doubts that there is a watchful eye upon us,
saving by seeming miracles from disaster and death.”
“That is so,” agreed Walt soberly, “I’ve often heard my father say that
the best cure for religious doubts is to have a man come out here on
the Borderland. He says that heaven and earth are closer here than in
the cities or in the more civilized portions of the country.”
They rode on, following the branch of the Rio, tracing, although they
did not at the time know it, the course of the runaway raft on which
Jack had made his wild trip.
It was late that afternoon that they came to the falls that thundered
down into the Pool of Death.
Awe–struck by the wild and gloomy majesty of the scene, not one of the
party spoke for a time. It was Walt who broke the silence, shouting
above the mighty roaring of the falls.
“Can Jack have gone over this cataract and lived?” he said.
Captain Atkinson shook his head gloomily.
“It looks bad,” he said. “If the boy was plunged over such a place only
one of those miracles of which we spoke awhile back can have saved his
life.”
“How can we reach the foot of the falls?” asked Ralph in a quavery tone.
The sublimity of the scene and its suggestion of ruthless power and
pitiless force had overawed him.
“We must look about for a way,” declared Captain Atkinson, “at any rate
we won’t turn back till we know, or at least are reasonably certain,
of Jack’s fate.”
For some time they searched about the summit of the steep cliffs
surrounding the Pool of Death without coming on any path or series of
ledges by which they could hope to gain the foot of the falls. But at
last Captain Atkinson halted by a rock that towered up like a pinnacle
or obelisk. It stood at the edge of the cliffs, at a spot where they
did not appear more than a hundred feet or so high.
“We might be able to get down from here,” he decided.
The boys peered over the edge of the cliff. It was perpendicular and
steep as a wall. It was hard to imagine even a fly maintaining a hold
on it.
But they knew that Captain Atkinson was not the man to speak without
reason, and so they respectfully waited for him to continue.
“I estimate the height of this cliff at a trifle under one hundred
feet,” he said, “therefore we have a means of getting to the bottom.”
“I don’t see how,” rejoined Ralph.
“My boy, you will never make a Ranger if you can’t make the best of a
situation,” said Captain Atkinson in a tone of mild reproof. “We have
the three lariats. Their united length is one hundred and twenty feet.
That will allow us a chance to knot some sticks into the united ropes
and thus make a sort of rope ladder. We can secure it ’round this
spindle–shaped rock and so reach the foot of the falls without much
difficulty.”
The boys hailed the idea with enthusiasm, Ralph saying:
“Well, I am a chucklehead. Why on earth didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’re not a full–fledged Texas Ranger,” laughed Walt. “I
guess there’s more to being a Ranger than we thought.”
“I guess there is,” agreed Ralph contritely.
The three ropes were fetched from the saddles and one long one made out
of them. Then stout sticks were knotted in at long intervals so as to
form a rough kind of ladder.
“Now, then,” said Captain Atkinson, when he had fastened the rope about
the obelisk–shaped rock, “I will go first and test it.”
“Would it not be better if one of us, who are lighter, took your
place?” asked Ralph, unwilling to see the daring Texas Ranger risk his
life.
“No. It is my duty to go first. If it will bear me, it will bear you.”
So saying, Captain Atkinson began that thrilling descent. The boys,
lying flat, with their heads extended over the rim of the Pool of
Death, watched him till he reached the ground. They could not restrain
a cheer when they saw that the feat had been accomplished in safety. In
response Captain Atkinson waved his hand up to them.
“Now, boys, it is your turn,” he cried encouragingly.
After a moment’s argument, for each wished the other to have the honor
of going first, Ralph was persuaded to make the descent. He reached the
ground safely, and was soon standing beside Captain Atkinson. Then came
Walt’s turn, after which the three adventurers were united.
“What an awful place!” shuddered Ralph, glancing about him nervously.
“Yes, let us be pushing on. It is high time we—Great heavens, look
here!”
The captain had stopped abruptly at the rock on which Jack had dried
out his dripping garments. What he had seen had been the ashes of the
fire the lad had kindled.
“Some one has lit a fire here,” cried Ralph as he, too, saw the embers.
“Yes, and not long ago, either.”
Captain Atkinson bent over and picked up a handful of the blackened
embers, examining them carefully.
“This fire is not over forty–eight hours old,” he exclaimed in a voice
that fairly shook with suppressed excitement.
“And that means that Jack has————”
“In some miraculous way been swept over those falls and survived. Let
us press on at once. Before dark we may have him with us again.”
At these words new life seemed to course through the veins of the two
exhausted young Rangers. They plucked up energy and courage from the
captain’s manner.
“Forward,” cried their leader, plunging into the narrow passage which
we have seen Jack traverse.
Entering the valley, they had hardly gotten over the first shock of
their surprise at its extent and formation when the keen eyes of
Captain Atkinson discovered the figure of the Mexican.
“What can this mean?” he exclaimed. “Yonder is a man watching us. Let
us go up to him at once and find out what this means; perhaps Jack has
found friends; perhaps the valley is inhabited.”
It was a moment later that the scene of recognition which we have
described took place.
“How came you here, señors?” demanded the Mexican, who, seemingly, was
the first to recover his self–possession.
For reply Captain Atkinson whipped out his revolver with incredible
swiftness and leveled it at the fellow’s head.
“Speak the truth, Alvarez,” he snapped, “or it will be the worse for
you. Where is Jack Merrill?”
“If you mean the boy who was dashed over the falls with me,” was the
reply, “he has gone.”
“Gone?”
“Si, señor.”
“Where?”
“Quien sabe.”
“Answer me quick, Alvarez.”
The brow of Captain Atkinson puckered angrily, his countenance grew
dark.
“It is as I say, señor. What object would I have in lying to you? The
boy climbed yonder cliff but this minute and has vanished.”
Although they would have liked to disbelieve the fellow’s story, and
incredible as it seemed that a human being could have climbed that
cliff, there was an unmistakable ring of sincerity in the man’s tone;
it was impossible to make light of his tale.
“Boys, we have run against a blank wall,” spoke Captain Atkinson at
length, with heavy anxiety in his tone.
“Do you think Jack is safe?” breathed Ralph.
“Heaven, in whose power he is, alone knows,” was the earnest rejoinder.