Jimmie opened his eyes and looked about. It was a gloomy niche in a
perpendicular wall that he looked out of. Rock to right and left and
rear. In front a velvet summer sky, with stars winking over a vast
stretch of broken country. There was a ledge a foot in width outside the
entrance to the niche, but the boy could not see how long it was, or
where it led to.
His head ached and there was a drawing sensation to the skin of his
forehead and right cheek, as if some sticky substance had congealed
there. When he reached a hand up to see what the trouble was he found
that his head was tied up in a cloth. There was no one in sight to ask
questions of, so he arose to a sitting position and leaned forward.
The action brought on a whirl of dizziness, and he dropped back against
the wall for support. He knew then that he had received a hard blow on
the head, and that he had lost considerable blood. Once before in his
life he had felt that dizzy weakness, and that was after an artery had
been cut in his leg and he had nearly bled to death before reaching a
hospital.
When he lay back trying to get something like a balance in his brain, he
saw that it was near midnight. He knew that by the stars, for he had
watched them many a hot night, lying on his back on a dray backed up
some alley down near the East river, in New York.
There were certain stars which always occupied just such a position at
midnight in New York. He did not know their names, but he knew that at
midnight in Montana they would not be so far advanced across the sky.
Therefore he looked for the stars as they appeared at nine o'clock on
the Atlantic. When he found them he knew from their location that it had
been something over an hour since he had left Ned and the aeroplane.
The three hours difference in time between New York and Montana--three
hours in round numbers--would make the midnight stars three hours late,
of course. Anyway, the boy was pretty certain of the time.
Then his mind went back to Ned and the aeroplane, and the canyon in front
of the landing place. He recalled the stop, and remembered leaving Ned
to see what was doing in the way of forest fires. He remembered, too,
getting up on a high rock to look over at the creeping flames.
But strange to say he did not remember getting down again. The next
thing on the record of his mind was that niche in the wall and the stars
shining down out of a summer sky, the same stars he had looked at in old
New York. Of course he had been struck the blow he had received while
mounting the rock, otherwise he would know something of the attack.
His mind did not have to travel along the records of the past very far
to convince him that he had made a mistake in leaving Ned. Of course he
had been "geezled" by the outlaws, as he expressed it, and of course the
boys would delay the business they were on in order to look him
up--which, he reluctantly admitted to himself, would be a waste of time,
as any boy capable of doing such foolish stunts certainly was not worth
the trouble of looking up.
Presently the pain in his head became less violent and the dizziness in
a measure passed away. Then he pushed out to the edge of the ledge and
sat with his feet hanging over. It was a straight drop down. Below he
could see a stream of water running along the bottom of the canyon.
Out, perhaps two hundred yards from his resting place, he saw a slope
half covered with trees. He looked down into the gulf in the hope of
seeing the aeroplane, but it was not in sight. Ned must have taken it
away. Or he might have been overpowered and the machine broken up.
Of course the outlaws would break up the machine if they secured
possession of it. They would not dare use it in that region, and it was
about as handy a thing to ship away secretly as a white elephant.
There were no lights in sight anywhere, save a slight glow of coals away
down at the bottom of the canyon. That might be the remains of the
aeroplane, or it might be a bit of forest fire which had not burned
itself out. Very much disgusted with himself, the boy leaned farther out
wondering if there wasn't a ledge which wound its way to the bottom of
the canyon, or to the summit above.
So intently was he studying on this proposition that he did not hear
footsteps approaching, nor did he realize that there was any human being
near him until he felt a hand laid lightly on his shoulder.
"Be careful, young man," the voice said, "or you'll get another tumble.
How do you feel by this time?"
"Fine!" cried the boy, turning a pair of astonished eyes toward the
south, where a bulky personage stood blocking the ledge to the extent of
obscuration.
"Well, don't take any more chances, then," said the bulky person, and
Jimmie was forced, not ungently, back into the niche.
The man entered after the boy and threw himself down on the stone floor
of the cut in the wall of the canyon. He was short and stout, with a
double chin and a pointed forehead which gave his face the appearance of
being engraved on a lemon. He was quite bald, and his hair, that which
remained, was turning gray. His eyes were steel blue, and his mouth one
long, thin-lipped slit between fat cheeks.
Jimmie did not like his looks at all, and he resented the patronizing
voice and manner. So he leaned sullenly against the wall and waited for
the other to open the conversation. He had not long to wait, for the man
was busy in a moment.
"How did you get that fall?" he asked.
So, Jimmie thought, they were going to claim that he had a fall, and
that they had found him, and cared for him gently, and were now ready to
do anything in the world for his comfort. The boy decided that the
correct course for him to pursue was to follow the lead of the other.
"Guess I slipped off a rock," he said, knowing very well that he had
been knocked off his feet so suddenly that he had instantly lost
consciousness.
"What were you doing there?" was the next question.
"Why, I had been out in the aeroplane, and I got out to see if the
forest fire I saw was going to be anything serious, and then I tumbled."
"Where is the boy who was with you in the aeroplane?" asked the other.
Jimmie replied that he had no idea, which was, of course, the answer
expected of him. His questioner remained silent a moment, looking out
over the rugged land to the east. When he spoke again it was to ask:
"What are you doing in the Rocky Mountains?"
Jimmie thought that was a cheeky question, and a useless one, for he had
no doubt that the fellow knew nearly as much about his business as he
did about his own.
"We're on a vacation," he replied. "Five of us have a camp over on the
other side of the divide. We're just playing prospectors."
"Very nice vacation for you all," the other said, "but you ought to be
more careful with your fires. You started a large conflagration
yesterday."
So the Boy Scouts were to be accused of that! Jimmie wished at that
moment that the other boys were there. He wanted to tell this fat
hypocrite what he thought of him and stand a fair show in the fracas
which might follow.
"I don't think we set any fires," he said. "The fires started a long way
from our camp."
"I know what I'm talking about," the other said.
Jimmie did not reply. He was wondering what would be the next move of
the fat party, and whether Ned or the boys left in camp would be out to
look him up before the morning.
"I am in charge of this district," the other went on. "I'm Captain
Slocum of the forestry force."
Jimmie did not believe it, but did not say so. He only stared at the
other in a manner which nettled his dignity.
"I have been watching you boys ever since you have been here," Captain
Slocum went on. "I didn't know what you were up to, and so I watched."
"Yes, sir," said Jimmie, quite humbly, though angry enough to fight the
man single-handed.
"It seems that you have left forest fires wherever you have camped,"
Slocum went on, with an all-knowing air. "To-night I sent a party of
foresters over to the camp to arrest you all."
"Yes, sir," replied Jimmie again, shutting his lips hard in order to
prevent saying a great deal more.
"Do you think they will find this Ned Nestor there?" Slocum asked, then.
"I don't know whether he could get his machine back to the camp," Jimmie
replied.
"Well, wouldn't he go without it?"
"No, sir; I don't think he would, unless it was certain that he could
not take it with him."
"We'll find him, anyway," Slocum continued.
"Where are you goin' to take us for trial?" Jimmie asked.
"We'll have to consider that part of the matter later on," was the
reply. "The first thing for us to do is to lock you up good and tight
and stop the setting of forest fires."
"Yes, sir," replied Jimmie, still humbly, but still thinking what he
would do to this fat falsifier if he ever got a chance.
"I'm glad you confess," Slocum said.
"I didn't," said Jimmie.
"Why, yes, you did," insisted the other. "You admitted setting the
fires."
Jimmie made no reply. Far down in the canyon he saw a glint of flame. It
was not a forest fire. It was not even the red light of a campfire or a
lantern. The light was white, and the boy knew it for what it was--an
electric searchlight, such as Ned always carried on his aeroplane trips.
Slocum did not seem to see the light. His eyes were fixed on the face of
the boy he was talking with, although the features did not show very
distinctly in the dim light of the night.
"Well, to tell you the truth, we've already captured this Ned Nestor,"
Slocum added, maliciously, Jimmie thought, "and no doubt my men have
also captured those at the camp. Nestor broke a leg in trying to get
away, but when he was fairly cornered he confessed everything."
"Yes, sir," answered Jimmie.
There was nothing else the boy could say without putting himself in the
way of a beating. If he had expressed his opinion of this story no doubt
he would have been given physical punishment for his frankness.
"And so," Slocum smiled, "you may as well continue the confession you
began."
Jimmie recognized this as clumsy work in the third degree, but he did
not say so. He was watching the light below. Now it disappeared behind a
great rock or tree. Now it came out in the opening again and moved about
in a circle.
"Ned is examining his 'plane, preparatory to going back to camp," the
boy thought. "Wonder if he's been all this time lookin' for me?"
The boy paid little attention to what Slocum said after this. Most of
the time he was looking into the sky, or anywhere rather than where his
thoughts were fixed. He had no intention of directing the gaze of the
alleged forester to what was going on in the canyon.
Directly he saw the flashlight flutter over the white planes then become
stationary. Ned, he knew, was getting ready to make a flight. He could
imagine what the boy's feelings were, for he knew Ned's affection for
him. Indeed, it was with a heavy heart that the patrol leader left the
place without Jimmie.
"And there is also a suspicion that you boys are interested in getting
opium over the border without settling with Uncle Sam," Jimmie heard
Slocum saying, as he watched the aeroplane move forward, lift for a
moment, and then drop down out of sight. He knew of the precipice just
ahead of the machine, and trembled for fear that Ned had not been able
to lift the aeroplane, but had tumbled into the canyon with it.
"Anyway," Slocum continued, "we shall place you under arrest for setting
fire to the woods and also for smuggling."
Just at that moment Jimmie was not at all interested in what Slocum was
saying to him. He took no interest whatever in any threat made by the
fellow. He was watching the canyon for some sign of the reappearance of
the aeroplane.
After what seemed an eternity to the lad he saw the light again, this
time higher up than before. It was lifting slowly, turning round and
round in a spiral, and Jimmie knew that there was no room to mount into
the sky in a straight line. Ned's control of the machine was wonderful,
and it lifted gradually until it was above the line of the hills on the
other side and shot away to the west.
Then Slocum saw it. Jimmie blamed himself for calling his attention to
it by lifting his head to follow the flight across the sky.
"There is another aeroplane," Slocum said.
Jimmie could not restrain a laugh, which intruded oddly enough on the
tense silence of the moment.
"You don't think it is Nestor, do you?" Slocum asked.
"Yes, sir," replied Jimmie, still humbly.
"But he must have taken a drop down the canyon," urged Slocum.
"Yes, sir," replied Jimmie, "but you said you had captured him!"
Slocum eyed the boy with rage in his eyes. He knew very well that while
he had been telling of Ned's capture and confession, Jimmie had been
watching his chum get his aeroplane out of the canyon.
"You haven't even thanked me for getting you out of the mess I found you
in, and doctoring up your wound," he said, presently, resolved to keep
on good terms with the boy for a short time longer, if it was possible
to do so.
"Thank you, sir!" Jimmie said, very modestly. "I think I must have
received a good bump on the head."
"Indeed you did," smiled the other.
After a little further talk Slocum led the boy away to a cavern in the
wall of the canyon which seemed to the weary lad to have no end. He saw
several people lounging about as he passed through a large chamber, but
paid little attention to them.
At last Slocum halted in a little alcove opening from a second chamber,
in which were assembled at least a score of Chinamen.
"These people won't harm you," he said to the boy, swinging his arm
about to include the group. "Uncle Sam is trying them out in the forest
service, I don't think much of the idea myself, but I'm not the boss."
Then Slocum went away and Jimmie lay down and watched the Chinamen.
Listening, he heard one of them speaking in English, then in Chinese. He
knew that he had heard that peculiar voice and dialect before and
devoted his whole attention to the fellow.
"Well," he muttered, in a moment, with a grin, "I'm havin' the luck of a
Bowery boy in this deal, an' that is the greatest luck in the world."
Then he fell to wondering what Chang Chee, the keeper of one of the
worst Chinese restaurants on Doyers street was doing there, in the heart
of the Rocky Mountains, mixed up with alleged foresters.
"Just wait until I see Ned!" the boy mused. "I'll put him next to
somethin'. He'll be glad he brought me with him!"
Then the boy's thoughts went back to the camp in the Valley of the Wild
Beasts, as he called it. Slocum might have told the truth about the
attack on the boys, and they might be in trouble at that moment. He
wondered, too, if, in case they were taken prisoners, they would be
brought to the cavern.
"Anyhow," the lad mused, "they never intend to let me get out of this.
If they did, they wouldn't have permitted me a sight of the Chinks.
Unless I sneak away, there'll be an accident some day, an' then there'll
be no more Jimmie McGraw!"
The boy was tired and weak, so that even such serious thoughts as these
could not keep him awake. Wondering what conditions Ned had found at the
camp, after soaring out of the canyon, he dropped his head against the
stone wall of the alcove and was soon in a deep sleep. The fumes of
opium with which the cavern was filled might in a measure have
contributed to this, but, anyway, nature was exhausted, and the boy's
slumber was heavy and dreamless.