POCKFACE AGAIN
Thure and Bud were very tired and very sleepy and both slept very
soundly; but, when the door of their house was suddenly flung violently
open some three hours after they had closed their eyes in sleep, and a
voice, hoarse with excitement, yelled: "Fire! Fire! Fire!" they found
themselves out of their bunks and on their feet and wide-awake almost
before the startling cry ceased to echo in the room.
"Where, where is the fire?" they heard Conroyal asking excitedly, as
they hurried into their trousers and heavy boots--they had slept in
their shirts. A moment later came a cry of horror from Ham in reply.
"God in heaven!" he yelled. "It's Dickson's! Th' Leetle Woman!" and he
plunged madly out through the door, followed by every other man in the
house.
Thure and Bud were close behind the last man. The moment they were
outside their eyes caught the red glow of the fire shining wickedly
through the openings between the pine trees that surrounded Dickson's
little cabin, and raced madly toward it. The distance was not great, not
over twenty rods; and they soon found themselves in front of the burning
house.
Dickson and his wife, half-dressed, were rushing madly about, empty
water-pails in their hands. Already the red flames were leaping through
one of the windows; and, as they looked, a heavy jet of black smoke,
swiftly followed by a long tongue of fire, shot out from the roof above
the flaming window.
"Buckets! Buckets!" yelled Ham. "Form a line tew th' spring an' pass
buckets of water from it tew th' house. Here, you," he cried, as his
eyes caught sight of Thure and Bud, "back tew th' house an' git
everything in it that'll hold water--pails, gold-pans, kettles,
anything--Hurry!"
Thure and Bud turned instantly and sped back to the house, their hearts
thumping with excitement. They knew the value of moments in a case like
this. Thure was a little longer-legged, a little the swifter runner, and
he reached the open door perhaps a rod ahead of Bud and sprang through
it, thinking only of how he could get hold of the kettles and the pails
and the pans in the quickest manner possible.
The room was dimly lighted by a ruddy glow from the coals still burning
in the fireplace; and by this light, Thure, the moment he sprang through
the door, saw a figure start up suddenly from near the bunk where he
slept and turn a pock-marked, face, white with fear, toward him; and
then, as his momentum carried him into the room and before he could lift
a hand in self-defense, he saw the right hand suddenly swing up a heavy
club, as the figure leaped toward him, and--a blinding crash and he knew
no more for the present.
Bud was more fortunate. He saw the figure, saw the blow hurriedly aimed
at him, in time to spring aside; and then, with a yell of rage, for he,
too, had caught sight of the pock-marked face of his assailant, he
hurled himself toward him.
But Pockface had had all of the fight he wanted; for, the instant he
struck at Bud and failed to hit him, he sprang through the door.
Bud, in his mad rush to get at the man, failed to see the body of Thure
sprawled out on the ground at his feet, and, as he sprang after the
fleeing scoundrel, his feet struck the body and pitched him head-first
to the ground, where he lay for an instant, stunned by the fall. When he
jumped to his feet and sprang excitedly to the door, Pockface had
vanished completely into the darkness of the night.
There was no use now of trying to follow him. Besides, there was Thure!
What had happened to him? He--he might be dead! And, with fingers that
trembled with anxiety and dread, Bud hurriedly lit a candle and bent
over Thure, for the moment forgetful of the fire and of everything else
but the condition of his friend.
A great bump on the top of Thure's head showed where the blow had
fallen; but he was breathing, and Bud's experience in such matters
quickly told him that he was only stunned.
On a box in a corner of the room stood a pail, filled with water. Bud
quickly seized this pail, and, in his excitement, dumped its whole
contents directly down on the white face of Thure.
A shiver ran through the still form, then both eyes opened and stared
wildly, blankly around for a moment. Suddenly the blank, wild look left
the eyes, and Thure struggled desperately to get on his feet.
"Did he--did he get the skin map?" he cried excitedly, as Bud endeavored
to quiet him. "I--I left it under my pillow. Hurry! See if it is still
there. Never mind me. I'll be all right in a minute. Hurry and see if
the map is still where I left it," and he pushed Bud impatiently away
from him.
Bud quickly caught up the candle and hurried to the bunk. Both pillows
lay on the floor, where some hurried hand had thrown them, and the
little buckskin bag, with its precious contents, was nowhere in sight.
Bud jerked off all the blankets and held the candle up high; but no
sight of the buckskin bag rewarded his efforts.
"It is gone!" and he turned a despairing face to Thure. "He got the map!
And after all we have gone through!"
"What!" Thure was now on his feet, all the dizziness gone, and rushing
toward the bunk. "The map gone!" and he seized the candle from Bud's
hand, and, holding it so that its light illuminated the whole bunk,
stared wildly down on the rumpled surface of the rude bedtick, which
now, the blankets having been thrown off, showed its entire surface to
the light of the candle. There could be no doubting his own eyes. The
buckskin bag was not there!
"Gone! It is gone!" and Thure staggered back from the bunk, almost as if
he had received a blow. "But," and he straightened up suddenly, his face
white and his eyes sparkling with rage, "he has not had time to go far.
Get your rifle, your pistols," and he sprang to the rack where hung his
rifle and pistols. "We must catch him. Oh, if I could but just get hold
of him!" and, rifle and pistols in hands, he rushed to the door; and not
until the glare of the burning house met his eyes did he come to his
senses sufficiently to see the folly of rushing blindly out into the
darkness of the night and the wildness of the mountains after the
scoundrel who had fled he knew not whither, or to recall the purpose for
which he and Bud had been sent back to the house.
"Mother of men! We are forgetting all about the fire!" and he stopped
abruptly. "Well, it would be useless to try to find him now," and his
eyes glared wrathfully out into the darkness of the night. "The buckets!
Hurry!" and he rushed back into the house.
When, a few minutes later, Thure and Bud, loaded down with kettles,
pails, pans, and even frying-pans, rushed pantingly up to Ham, who stood
at the end of the long line of men, stretching from the house to the
spring, throwing the water, as it was passed to him, with his great
strong arms, on the fire, he turned angrily on them.
"Git tew th' spring," he shouted, "with them kettles and pails, you
young--" Then, catching sight of their white faces, he stopped abruptly.
"What's happened?"
"They've got the map!"
"Burn th' map! Git tew th' spring with them pails an' git busy with th'
water," and, with a violent swing of his huge body, Ham flung a large
gold-pan full of water on top of the flaming roof.
Thure and Bud at once hurried to the spring.
By this time the alarm of fire had raced up and down the gulches and
ravines of Hangtown and men were running from every direction toward the
burning building. Already a hundred or more men were stretched in a long
line from the house to the spring; and down this line buckets and pails
and pans of water were passing as swiftly as strong and willing arms
could send them. The air was filled with the yells and cries of excited
men.
Thure and Bud at once pushed their pails and buckets into service and
promptly joined a new line that was forming.
Fortunately the spring was a large one and the water held out; and, in a
short time, a great shout went up from the house and rushed along the
two lines of bucket men up to the spring and echoed and reëchoed
triumphantly up and down through the rocky gulches and canyons of
Hangtown.
The fire had been conquered; but not until the larger part of the roof
had been burned and the greater part of the interior furnishings
destroyed.
The cause of the fire was a mystery. Mr. and Mrs. Dickson were positive
that it did not come from the fireplace, that, in fact, it had started
in almost the opposite end of the house and nearly directly under their
bunk; for, when the heat and the smoke awoke them, the foot of the bunk
and the lower end of the bed-clothes were already ablaze. Everything
inside the house was too badly burnt to furnish any positive clues; but
it was the opinion of nearly all the excited men that the house had been
set on fire purposely; and, if they could have but laid their hands on
the miscreant, there would have been as speedy a hanging as the one had
been that had given the town its unsavory name.
The moment the excitement of the fire was over, Thure and Bud hastened
to their fathers and hurriedly told them what had happened on their
return to the house and of the disappearance of the map.
The two men at once quietly but quickly gathered the other members of
the company and soon all were back again in the house, with the door
tightly closed.
"Now," and Mr. Conroyal turned to the two boys, "tell us exactly what
happened."
Thure quickly told all that he knew up to the moment the club had
knocked him senseless and exhibited the bump, now as large as a goose
egg, on the top of his head in proof of the story; and then Bud related
his part in the adventure. Both boys were certain that the man they had
seen in the house was Quinley, or Pockface as they continued to call
him.
"An' you say th' skunk got that thar skin map an' gold nugget!" and Ham
sprang excitedly to his feet.
"Yes. I--I left it under my pillow. We found both pillows on the floor;
and the buckskin bag gone. The man was standing near my bunk when I
rushed in, and must have just found it. Oh, if I only could have got
hold of him before he hit me!" and tears of baffled rage filled Thure's
eyes.
"You're sart'in th' bag ain't thar?" and Ham glanced at the dismantled
bunk and the disordered bed-clothes scattered about.
"Look for yourself," and Thure sank down on one of the rude chairs and,
throwing his arms disconsolately on the table, laid his aching head down
on them.
Ham seized a lighted candle and strode over to the bunk, followed by all
the other men. He held the candle over the bunk and his eyes swiftly
searched every inch of the surface of the bedtick.
"Th' yunks are right! Th' bag's not here!" and, with an angry growl, he
seized the offending mattress and hurled it out on the floor.
There was a soft thud, as of something small but heavy striking the
ground of the floor; and then, with a yell that caused Thure to jump
nearly a foot up in the air from his seat at the table, Ham dropped the
candle and caught up something from the floor.
"Hal'lujah! Hurrah! Amen! Here it is!" yelled the excited man, as he
held up where all could see the missing buckskin bag.
In his mad tumble out of the bunk at the alarm of fire, Thure must have
knocked the little bag down between the mattress and the side of the
bunk, whence the rude hands of Ham had dislodged it when he had jerked
the mattress off the bunk; and this, probably, was all that had saved it
from the fingers of Pockface, for the pillows lying on the floor showed
that he had evidently searched underneath them.
There is no need of picturing the rejoicing in that log house for the
next few minutes; but, when all had quieted down and were beginning to
talk sensible again, Rex suddenly jumped to his feet with an exclamation
of horror and rage.
"The curs! The cowards! The murderers!" he cried excitedly.
"What's bitin' you?" demanded Ham in astonishment.
"The fire! Can't you see the curs set Dickson's house on fire on purpose
to get us out of the way?"
"Great guns! If I don't believe you are right!" and Ham leaped to his
feet, his face white with rage. "An' a woman asleep in th' house! They
might have burnt both on 'em tew death! They shore won't stop at nuthin'
tew git that map! An' tew think I had my grip on that red-headed skunk's
shoulder, an' I only knocked him down!" and Ham dropped back on his
seat, muttering wrathfully to himself.
"I reckon Rex has the right of it," and Mr. Conroyal's lips tightened.
"But the devilish cunning of it! They knew that whoever had the buckskin
bag would not be apt to sleep with it on him; and they calculated that
the sudden alarm of fire, coming when all were sound asleep, would so
startle, that, for the moment, even the skin map would be forgotten and
all would rush out to help put out the fire, and give them a chance to
search the house. Cunning, but as devilish as it is cunning! Think of
how they might have burnt Dickson and the Little Woman in their bed! By
the good God, we would be justified in killing either one of them on
sight!" and his rugged face hardened.
"We certainly would," agreed Mr. Randolph emphatically. "They have
forfeited all their rights of manhood. But, I fancy, the cunning devils
won't give us a chance for an open fight. They will always strike from
behind something; but now that we know they are on our trail, we've got
to be on the lookout for them."
"'Pears tew me," and Ham held the buckskin bag up, "that it's this here
thing that needs special guardin'. It's th' map that they are after; an'
they don't 'pear tew be none particular how many or who they kill tew
git it, only so they save their own hides. Now, I reckon, we've got tew
keep an eye on this here map night an' day 'til we gits tew th' Cave of
Gold; an' then, like as not, we'll have tew fight for th' gold. First
off, it 'pears tew me, we otter git some better place tew hide th' map
since them curs seem tew know 'bout th' buckskin bag," and Ham took the
fateful map out of the little bag and spread it out on his knees.
"I know," and, in his excitement, Thure jumped to his feet and caught up
the map. "I know a good way to hide the map, and, maybe, fool them.
We'll leave the gold nugget in the bag, and I'll sew the skin map on the
inside of my shirt bosom. Then, if they should somehow get hold of the
buckskin bag, they'd only get the gold nugget; but, to get the map,
they'd have to get me; and, I reckon, dad and the rest of you are able
to keep them from doing that!"
"That sounds sensible," declared Ham. "Thure'll always have his shirt on
his back night an' day; an' so we'll jest have tew keep an eye on Thure.
I reckon that idee is 'bout as good as any we can think of--only, we
must be powerful careful tew keep it secret an' tew never let th' yunk
git out of our sight for an instant."
After a little discussion all agreed that Thure's plan was a good one;
and, accordingly, Thure at once took off his shirt and carefully and
smoothly sewed the skin map on the inside of its bosom, the face of the
map toward the cloth; and then, over all, he sewed another piece of
cloth, so that the map was completely hidden between the two folds of
cloth.
"There," he said, as he pulled the shirt back on his body, "I'd like to
see Pockface or Brokennose get the map now, without getting me; and, I
reckon, you fellers will see that they have their hands full if they
tackle that job," and his eyes glanced proudly around the little circle
of men, who had gathered close about him while he was performing his
interesting little feat in sewing.
And Thure had good reasons for his pride and confidence in his comrades;
for his father and Frank Holt, his uncle, and Hammer Jones and Rex and
Dill and Mr. Randolph were all old trappers and hunters and Indian
fighters, who had been tried by every form of peril and had never been
found wanting. Indeed, the names of Hammer Jones and Noel Conroyal and
Steeltrap Smith, as Frank Holt was once called, were still famous
throughout all the Rocky Mountain region, for the deeds of daring and
skill that had made them comrades in fame, as they often had been in
fact, with trappers and Indian fighters like Kit Carson and Jim Bridger
and Old Bill Williams and half-a-dozen other fearless men, whose courage
and pluck and wonderful skill had made their names known wherever a
campfire blazed throughout all the great West. Yes, Thure had good
reasons to believe that Brokennose and Pockface, cunning as they were,
would certainly have their hands full, if they got the skin map away
from him, while he was watched by such men as these.
"They'll have tew git all of us afore they git you, son," declared Ham,
in reply to Thure's assertion. "Now," and he stretched his big frame and
yawned, "seein' that we've 'tended tew all th' business that needs
'tendin' tew tew-night, we'd better try an' git a leetle more sleep
afore mornin'. Leastwise I'm a-goin' tew," and, after a glance through
the window to assure himself that everything was all safe and quiet
around the Dickson house, he slipped a loaded pistol under his pillow
and climbed into his bunk.
Ham's advice, as usual, was too good to be neglected, and soon all were
in their bunks. But, just before each had climbed into his bunk, he,
like Ham, had slipped a loaded pistol under his pillow. They were not
the kind of men to go unprepared when danger threatened.