THE MYSTERY OF THE TENT
"I reckon we otter make Humbug Canyon afore dark tew-night," Ham
declared, as our friends, notwithstanding the break in their rest of the
night before, moved out of the little valley, where they had camped, as
soon as it became light enough to see the trail the next morning.
"Yes," assented Mr. Conroyal, "but we will have to keep going to do it.
Do you suppose we fooled Ugger and his gang and threw them off our trail
last night?" and he turned a little anxiously to Ham and Frank Holt, who
were walking by his side.
"If they didn't have no one on watch, I reckon we did," answered Ham;
"but it's more'n likely they're cunnin' enough tew be on th' lookout for
jest such tricks an' that they know right now where we be. They know it
wouldn't dew for them tew lose track of us in this here wilderness of
mountains, where 'twould be like tryin' tew find a needle in a haystack
tew try tew hit our trail ag'in, once it was lost; an' so, I reckon,
some on 'em has got an eye on us right now, an' that we'll have tew play
a shrewder trick than that tew fool 'em. But, maybe, 'twill work all
right as a sort of a blind, an' make them think that we think that we
have fooled them, an' so make 'em keerless, so that we can fool 'em th'
next time. What dew you think, Steeltrap?" Ham still frequently called
Frank Holt by his old name, Steeltrap Smith, a name that had been given
to him on account of his skill as a trapper, when his own name was
unknown even to himself, as the readers of this series of books will
remember.
"I think you are about right, Ham," replied Holt, "although I should not
be much surprised if we gave them the slip last night. I kept watch all
the time that we were on the move yesterday, but nary a sign of anybody
following our trail could I discover. They sure must have a cunning
trailer, or else they're not depending on keeping us in sight. Perhaps
they got more about the trail from the old miner than we think they did,
and are on the watch for us at some point ahead, which they know we must
pass."
"That's a shrewd guess, Frank," declared Mr. Conroyal. "Now," and his
face brightened, "why wouldn't it be a good plan for us not to pass
through Humbug Canyon at all; but to go around it and to try to hit the
trail again on the other side? If there is any place ahead where they
would be likely to be on the watch for us, it is at Humbug Canyon,
because that is the last place on the trail they could be sure of
without the map. The trouble will be to get around Humbug Canyon. Maybe
there is no trail that we can follow but the one running through the
canyon. Anybody here know anything about the region around Humbug
Canyon?" and, raising his voice, he stopped and looked inquiringly
around.
"Yes, a little," answered Dickson, quickly coming forward. "I spent
about two weeks last fall prospecting in the mountains around it. What
would you like to know?"
"Can we go to one side of Humbug Canyon and hit the trail to the Cave of
Gold again beyond?" inquired Conroyal eagerly. "If there has been
anybody stationed in Humbug Canyon to look out for us, we would like to
fool them by not passing through it at all."
"I think we might do it by working around through Owl Gulch about five
miles to the east of Humbug Canyon," Dickson answered thoughtfully: "but
it will be considerable out of our way and the trail won't be nigh as
good. I am not absolutely sure, but I think we could get through all
right that way and not go nigh Humbug Canyon."
"Shall we risk it?" and Mr. Conroyal turned to the men, all of whom had
been interested listeners to his query and to Dickson's answer.
"I think the idea a good one," declared Mr. Randolph, "because, if the
old miner told them that the trail to the cave passed through Humbug
Canyon, they'd be sure to have someone on the watch for us there; and, I
reckon, we are good enough mountaineers to find the trail on the other
side without much trouble."
"My sentiments tew a ha'r," agreed Ham emphatically. "Let's hit for Owl
Gulch. 'Twould be worth goin' a hundred miles out of th' way tew shake
them skunks."
"All right," and Mr. Conroyal turned to Dickson. "You are the guide from
now on, Dick, so step to the front and we will follow."
This plan appeared to please all except Pedro, who, bending down by the
side of one of the horses and pretending to tighten a rope holding the
pack, scowled furiously and swore violently, under his breath, in
Mexican; and the scowl was still on his face, when he again straightened
up and prepared to follow along with the pack-horses.
"What's the trouble, Pedro? Flapjacks getting busy?" and Thure turned a
grinning face to the Mexican.
"No. Pack slip and pinch finger in rope. Now all right," and the smile
came back on Pedro's face.
But Thure noticed that the scowl returned again and again to his face
that forenoon, as he walked along by the side of the pack-horses.
"Reckon the break in his sleep has made him cross," he thought, and gave
the matter no more attention.
At noon, when they stopped to give horses and selves a short rest and a
chance to eat their dinners, Pedro slipped off behind a rock for some
ten minutes; and, when the journey was resumed, he lagged a little
behind the others, pretending to be tightening one of the packs, and,
once again, managed to slip, unseen, a little piece of paper under a
stone and leave it near the camp-fire over which Mrs. Dickson had heated
the coffee. This little feat seemed to fully restore his good-nature;
for there were no more scowls on his face that day.
About the middle of the afternoon Dickson halted, where the stream along
whose bank they had been walking for the last two hours forked, one
branch flowing almost directly from the north and the other coming from
the east, with a huge triangle of mountains widening out between them.
"Thither runs the trail to Humbug Canyon," and he pointed to the
northern stream; "and thither runs the trail to Owl Gulch," and his
finger turned to the eastern branch. "We are now about two hours from
Humbug Canyon and some four hours from Owl Gulch. Remember I am not
absolutely sure I can find the trail the other side of Humbug Canyon;
but I think I can. Stackpole and I went by way of the canyon. Now, which
shall it be?"
"Owl Gulch," answered Mr. Conroyal promptly. "I reckon we can find the
trail all right again--Hi, there, Pedro, what sort of a heathenish charm
is that you are making?" and he turned abruptly to Pedro, who the moment
they had stopped had begun scratching curious lines with his knife on
the face of a soft rock, by the side of which they had halted.
"Si, señor," and Pedro turned a solemn face to Mr. Conroyal, "'tis but a
holy cross I am cutting to scare the devils away from following us up
that evil-smelling stream," and he pointed to the east fork of the
little river, from which arose a faint odor.
"Wal," grinned Ham, "I shore dew hope that you scare 'em away; for thar
shore is devils a-follerin' us," and his grin broadened at sight of the
startled look that came into Pedro's face.
"_Madre de Dios!_" and Pedro crossed himself swiftly.
"But, even a devil must cotch a feller afore he can run his pitchfork
intew him," and Ham chuckled; "an' we ain't cotched yit. As for that
thar stream," and he chuckled again, "th' devil once took a drink out of
it, an' it's smelt of his breath ever since."
"There, that will do, Ham," laughed Mr. Conroyal. "Come on," and he
started up the east fork of the river.
Pedro, the snaky look in his eyes showing more plainly than ever,
swiftly cut a small arrow, with its head pointing up the east fork of
the rivulet, underneath the cross, slipped the knife back into its
sheath, and followed with the pack-horses, his sallow face now all
smiles. Evidently he had explicit faith in the power of his charm to
keep the devils from following them up the evil-smelling stream.
That night our friends camped in Owl Gulch, a steep, narrow defile,
little more than a crack in the huge walls of surrounding rock; and the
next day, after much arduous and violent climbing for horses and men up
the gulch and over the low back of a mountain, they passed down into a
quiet little valley, just as the sun sank behind the tops of the
mountains to the west.
The moment Dickson entered the valley he uttered an exclamation of
pleasure.
"Hurrah!" he cried. "We've hit the trail again! I am sure this is the
little valley where Stackpole and I camped the first night out from
Humbug Canyon. There should be a spring bubbling out of the ground at
the point of that spur of rocks where you see that little grove of
trees," and he pointed to a small grove of trees that clustered about
the point of a ridge of rocks that projected, like a long bony finger,
from the side of the surrounding mountains down into the little valley.
"We made our camp in the grove. I'll know the place for sure when we get
there by a tree that Stackpole girdled," and, accompanied by Thure and
Bud, he started on the run for the little grove of trees now about half
a mile away.
In a few minutes the three reached the trees. The spring was there! By
its side stood a tall sycamore tree, dead, its trunk having been girdled
by an ax, as the deep scars in its bark still plainly showed.
"There," and Dickson pointed triumphantly to the tree, "there is my
witness, the very tree that Stackpole girdled, in order that he might
have plenty of dry wood the next time that he camped here. And see," and
he pointed excitedly to the blackened remains of a camp-fire that did
not look to be many weeks old, "there is where he camped on his way back
from the Cave of Gold. We sure are in luck!" and he turned to shout the
good news to the others, who were now pushing their way eagerly through
the trees.
"Here is where we camp for the night," declared Mr. Conroyal, when the
excitement and the jubilation of the discovery that they were surely on
the right trail again had somewhat quieted down; and all at once began
joyfully preparing the camp for the night.
"It's queer how things dew turn out sometimes," philosophized Ham, when
all were seated around a blazing camp-fire, built from the limbs of the
dead sycamore, after the supper had been eaten and all the camp duties
attended to. "Th' miner that murdered that tree, jest so that he might
have dry wood, was murdered himself, jest for his gold; an' here we be
a-settin' around an' takin' comfort from a camp-fire built from th' dead
limbs of th' dead miner's dead tree, an' bound on a hunt for th' dead
miner's gold. Wal, I shore hopes we have better luck than he did."
"Oh, shut up, Ham!" and Rex threw a discarded flapjack at Ham's head,
with such good aim that it landed squarely over his big mouth. "You are
enough to give the dumps to a man with the tooth-ache."
When the laugh that followed this admirable use of valuable ammunition
had quieted down, Dickson turned to Mr. Conroyal.
"I think I would like to have another look at that skin map," he said.
"Certain, get the map, Thure," and Mr. Conroyal turned to Thure.
Thure hesitated a moment, and then, catching sight of Mrs. Dickson's
little tent and receiving a smiling nod from her, he quickly entered the
tent, and a few minutes later came out with the skin map in his hand,
and handed it to Mr. Dickson.
Pedro, who was standing near, washing the few supper dishes in a
gold-pan, started a little and almost visibly pricked up his ears at the
first mention of the skin map, and his evil eyes followed Thure into the
tent, with an intensity of look that was well for him was unseen by his
employers.
Dickson took the map and spread it out on his knees, where the light of
the camp-fire shone full upon it; and soon all were gathered around him,
yes, all, even Pedro, who had softly left his dish washing and
tip-toeing up to the heads bending absorbedly over the map, was now
striving to secure a glimpse of the skin map directly from over the big
shoulders of Ham.
Suddenly Ham straightened up his huge frame, with such a sudden jerk,
that one of his shoulders came in so violent a contact with the point of
Pedro's chin that the Mexican was lifted off his feet and thrown flat on
his back to the ground.
"Wal, I'll be durned!" and Ham stared down in astonishment on the fallen
Mexican. "Thought I heer'd someone breathin' over my shoulder. Now what
might you be dewin' down thar?" and the eyes that glared down into
Pedro's face began to glow angrily.
"I--I" stammered Pedro, as he staggered a little dizzily to his feet,
both hands holding onto his head. "I but try to see what make so great
interest to señors, when sudden up comes that great body and hit chin,
like bunt of big bull, and knock head to ground. I did but follow my
head, señor."
"Jest follered y'ur head, did you?" and Ham's anger vanished in roars of
laughter, at the words of the unfortunate Mexican and the looks on his
face, in which he was heartily joined by all the others, all except Mrs.
Dickson, who inquired solicitously of Pedro if he was much hurt.
But Pedro's curiosity for the moment was fully satisfied, and, without
making any reply, except to mutter something about American bulls under
his breath, he retreated to his dish washing.
"Sarved him right," declared Ham emphatically, as all again resumed
their examination of the skin map.
When the map had been sufficiently examined, Thure again retired into
Mrs. Dickson's tent, where he again concealed the map in the bosom of
his shirt; and when he came out again, apparently without the map, Pedro
smiled knowingly.
Before going to her tent that night Mrs. Dickson sang a number of songs,
and almost weirdly beautiful her voice sounded in the still night air of
that little wilderness valley, concluding with Ham's favorite "Ben
Bolt." Then she bade them all good-night and disappeared into her little
tent.
Mr. Dickson and Thure were to stand guard that night until the moon came
up, which would be about one o'clock in the morning. Consequently, as
soon as Mrs. Dickson retired, all but these two rolled themselves up in
their blankets near the camp-fire and were soon sound asleep. Thure and
Dickson each picked up his rifle and took his station on opposite sides
of the camp and began his long silent vigil.
The skies were overcast with clouds and the darkness was so dense that
the watchers could not see six feet outside of the constantly dimming
circle of the firelight. In a couple of hours the fire had burnt down so
low, that, from where Thure stood near the horses, he could not even see
the white of Mrs. Dickson's tent, although it was not over ten yards
from where he stood; and he was about to step forward to replenish it,
when a dark object leaped by him, so close that he could have touched it
with his outstretched rifle, and disappeared in the darkness before he
could utter a word or throw his gun to his shoulder, and the next
instant the air was rent by a piercing shriek from Pedro, followed by
the flash and the report of his pistol and his yells of fright.
In an instant every man in the camp was on his feet, his rifle in his
hands, calling excitedly: "What is the trouble?" "What has happened?"
and running to where Pedro was rolling about on the ground, calling on
all the saints in the Mexican calendar to protect him, seemingly frantic
with fear.
"Stop that yellin', you Mexican coyote, an' tell us what has happened,
quick," and Ham bent down and, seizing the squirming Pedro by the
shoulders, jerked him to his feet and dragged him unceremoniously to the
camp-fire, which an armful of dry fuel caused to blaze up brightly.
"_Madre de Dios!_ I know not! I know not!" cried the man, glaring
wildly about him and clinging to Ham. "Unless it was the devil of
these evil mountains. I lay sleeping, rolled up in my blanket,
when,--poof!--something hit my side and something big and ugly tumble
all over me and I see something black and awful jump in the darkness and
I grab my pistol I always sleep with me in blanket and shoot--bang!--and
the big black thing give one great jump and vanish, just like a black
devil, in the darkness. _Santissima!_ I know not what he was, if he was
not the devil! I--"
"I saw him rush by me so close that I might have touched him with my
rifle," here broke in Thure; "but, before I could speak or shoot, he had
disappeared in the darkness, and then came Pedro's shot and yells."
"Look to the horses!" cried Mr. Conroyal. "See that everything is safe!"
At that moment Dickson appeared in the circle of light made by the
camp-fire.
"All the horses are safe," he said. "Nothing appears to be missing. What
does all this excitement mean? I saw nothing, heard nothing, until the
shooting and yelling began--" He stopped abruptly and glanced swiftly
around. "Mollie! Where's Mollie?" and he sprang toward the tent.
"Gosh! I plumb forgot th' Leetle Woman! She shore otter have showed up
afore this," and Ham's face whitened, as his eyes followed Dickson into
the little tent.
The fire was now burning so brightly that the tent showed plainly in its
ruddy light; and the eyes of all fixed themselves on it, a look of
dreadful apprehension on each whitening face.
For a moment all was silent after Dickson disappeared in the tent; and
then came a yell of horror that made every man jump for the tent, just
as Dickson staggered out with a squirming bundle in his arms, that he
quickly laid down on the ground and began frantically untying the
deerskin thongs with which it was tightly bound.
"Great God, if 'tain't th' Leetle Woman!" and Ham bent excitedly and
with his knife began cutting the thongs, which bound Mrs. Dickson, head
and all, in her own blanket as tightly as an Egyptian mummy.
In a moment her body was free; but, when the blanket was lifted from her
face, her mouth was found to be so tightly stuffed, with a piece of
cloth torn from her own dress, that she could not utter an audible
sound. Dickson's strong fingers quickly pulled the cloth out of her
mouth; and she lay, white and gasping for breath, but apparently unhurt,
staring up wildly into the faces of the excited men.
"Take her into the tent, Dick, until she recovers from her fright and
rough usage," whispered Mr. Conroyal, bending close to Dickson's ear.
Dickson quickly lifted his wife into his arms and carried her into the
tent.
"Who did it?" and Mr. Conroyal's eyes searched anxiously the angry and
mystified faces of the men, the moment Mr. Dickson vanished with his
burden in the tent.
"Th' Lord alone knows for sart'in," answered Ham. "But, I reckon, 'twas
one of them durned skunks. Jest wait 'til th' Leetle Woman gits tew
feelin' like herself ag'in an' maybe she can give us some useful
information."
But, in this conjecture, Ham was wrong; for, when something like half an
hour later, Mrs. Dickson came out the tent, leaning on her husband's arm
and looking very white, but otherwise little the worse for her
experience, all the information she could give only added to the
mystery.
She had been sound asleep when the attack was made. The first thing she
knew a hand held her by the throat, so tightly that she could not utter
a sound; and, when she opened her mouth, gasping vainly for breath, it
was instantly stuffed full of rags, so firmly that she could not utter a
loud sound. Then the hand was taken from her throat, her arms pressed
closely to her sides, and she was tightly rolled up in her own blanket,
head and all, and tied the way they had found her. For some little time
after that she heard her assailant cautiously searching the tent. He
appeared to be exceedingly anxious to find something; for every possible
hiding-place in the tent had been thoroughly searched and every package
or bundle had been opened. When the search was over, she heard the
intruder creep softly out of the tent. Then had followed a few minutes
of silence broken suddenly by Pedro's yells and shot. Owing to the
darkness and to the fact that her eyes had been covered as quickly as
possible, she could not give any idea of what her assailant looked like,
only she did not think he was a large man.
This was all the information that Mrs. Dicksom could give; and a
thorough search of the tent with a torch added nothing to it.
Thure and Pedro were again examined; but they could give no definite
information. Thure had only caught a glimpse of the man, as he had
rushed by him in the darkness; and Pedro appeared to have been too
nearly frightened out of his wits to have seen anything correctly, even
if it had been clear daylight, instead of the black night that it was.
However both disagreed with Mrs. Dickson in one particular. Thure felt
quite sure that the man who rushed by him was a large man; and Pedro was
positive that he was a giant in size. Dickson had not seen the man at
all. The horses and the packs, indeed the whole camp, were thoroughly
examined with lighted torches; but nothing was found missing, nothing
had even been disturbed outside of Mrs. Dickson's tent, and from here,
so far as they could discover, not a thing had been taken.
"It's 'bout as plain as th' nose on a man's face that he was after th'
skin map," Ham commented, when all had again gathered around the
camp-fire to consider the mystery; "but, why should he look for it in
th' tent? an' how did he git in thar? that's what gits me," and Ham
shook his head. "Wal, thar is no use figgerin' on it any longer
tew-night. Let's git back intew our blankets; an' maybe we can see
things clearer in th' mornin'. It's tew tarnel dark even tew think," and
Ham laid down on his blanket and rolled himself up in it and refused to
have another word to say about the mystery that night.
"Reckon Ham is right," Mr. Conroyal declared, as that worthy disappeared
in his blanket. "But I sure would like to have a look at the man, who
can creep into our camp at night, right under the noses of the guards,
and tie one of us up in a blanket, and search a tent, and make a clean
getaway. I sure would like to have a look at that man."
"I'd want more than a look," and Mr. Dickson clenched both his hands.
"I'd just like to get hold of him for about five minutes, the
scoundrel!"
"And you are not the only one, Dick," and an angry light flashed into
Mr. Conroyal's eyes. "But, what's the use! He's got away; and without
leaving a clue, so far as I can see. Let's get into our blankets. Maybe,
as Ham says, we can see clearer in the morning. Good night," and Mr.
Conroyal turned to his blanket, followed by all the others, except Bud
and Mr. Randolph, who were to act as guards during the remainder of the
night.