THE SECRET VALLEY
“What’s the programme, Frank?” asked the Kentucky boy, a short time
later, after they had taken the horses into a little bay, which the
Colonel called a cul-de-sac, where they could be easily kept by
piling up some of the big rocks at the mouth; though one cowboy must be
left to guard them.
“As I understand it,” replied Frank, “it’s first a bite to eat, and then
down the canyon for ours. When we come to that hole in the wall, we’ll
slip through, and find out where we bring up.”
“But Frank, do you really believe all that herd passed through that
little opening? Why, they’d fill any sort of cave; and besides, how
under the sun would they get anything to eat?”
“Well, remember that I’m only guessing,” returned his chum; “but here’s
the way I figure it out. That cleft in the wall runs back some little
way, and perhaps keeps getting bigger all the while. Presently it turns
into a regular trail over the rocks, that the cattle will follow single
file. And mark me, Bob, sooner or later they’ll turn up in a valley
among the mountains here, that no cowboy has ever set eyes on—that is,
unless he’s in with Mendoza.”
“Sounds like a fairy story, Frank,” objected Bob, who was very
practical.
“Lots of things do, until you really pass through the experience, and
then you know they are the real article. I feel that my dad believes the
same way I do; and Bart Heminway, too. But we’ll know after a while,
Bob, if we just hold our horses. There, get busy with some of that grub
you’re carrying. We don’t have to depend on getting game this time, in
order to make sure of a supper.”
The moon was up when they prepared to quit the spot. One rider was left
behind to guard the saddle band.
Down the canyon then, they went like a bunch of shadows, flitting
silently along. All talking above whispers was positively forbidden.
Reaching the spot where that mysterious opening occurred in the wall of
the canyon, Scotty slipped inside without a moment’s delay, the others
following after, one at a time.
Bob kept close behind his chum. He had several good reasons for that. In
the first place Frank was sure-footed, and would serve as a guide to his
less experienced comrade. Then again, if there arose any occasion for
communications, Bob wanted to be where he could whisper in his chum’s
ear.
Just as Frank had said he believed would prove to be the case, that
cleft in the rocks did turn out to be a narrow passage. It wound in and
out for some distance. Once Bob saw the man in the lead strike a match,
and look at the rocks at his feet. Scotty appeared quite satisfied with
the result of his examination; and Bob saw him showing something that he
had picked up, to the stockman.
Then the match went out; and the march was resumed.
“Look up, Bob!” whispered Frank, presently.
“Why, I can see the stars!” answered the other, also keeping his voice
down.
“Sure you can; which shows that we’ve come out from the passage and once
more stand in the open. We’ve passed through one of the walls of the
mountains. This is some narrow valley back of the outer part. And it’s
sure going to lead us to the hidden corral where Mendoza keeps all his
stolen stock!”
As they kept on Bob was fortified to undergo any amount of fatigue. The
thought of being connected with the expedition that might unearth the
long cherished secret of the rustlers was enough to give anyone
additional courage and endurance.
Still, when an hour had passed, and they were still on the move, he
admitted that he was getting a little tired.
Now and then they could get glimpses of the moon, though as a rule their
passage was continued through dense shadows, where the overhanging rocks
shut out the light; or the same result was obtained through the trees
under which the trail led.
Looking up from time to time Bob could see the outline of a ridge on
either side. He could not remember ever having looked upon such a
peculiar formation during his previous visit to Thunder Mountain. Then
Frank’s surmise must have hit near the truth, and they were now moving
along a narrow little valley that was artfully concealed behind the
crest of the mountain.
“How about it, getting tired?” questioned Frank, when an opportunity
arose that brought their heads close together.
“Oh! nothing to speak of,” replied the other; for Bob was proud, and
would never willingly admit that he lacked in nerve or ability to equal
others in anything undertaken.
“I’ve got a hunch that we must be near the turning-off place,” Frank
went on, with the idea of bolstering up the waning powers of his chum.
“That sounds as if you didn’t believe this might be the valley where
they keep their stock,” remarked Bob, wondering a little.
“No more do I believe that it is,” Frank replied. “It’s lonely enough,
all right, but there’s little save bare rock here; and cattle have to
graze, you understand, Bob. Hold out a little longer, and I reckon we’re
going to run up against another quick turn. Perhaps it’ll be in the
shape of a second passage under this ridge here on the left, that will
show us into this Mendoza’s retreat.”
The words, somehow, thrilled Bob. He realized that this was indeed a
serious business upon which, in company with the Circle Ranch cow
punchers, he was now fully embarked. What the end would be it was
impossible to more than conjecture.
Scotty was constantly on the watch, as though he, too, anticipated a
change in the conditions, sooner or later, and did not mean to pass the
turn by. Whenever the moon served, he would try to examine the ground
most carefully, evidently looking for signs that would tell of cattle
having passed this way many times.
Once, when they had not been able to take advantage of the moon’s light
for almost ten minutes, Scotty grew restless.
“He’s going to strike another match,” remarked Frank in his chum’s ear,
as he saw the trailer getting down on hands and knees close to the
rocks.
His prediction proved to be true, for immediately afterward Bob saw a
small glow, with the face of Scotty pressed close to the ground, as he
moved back and forth, eagerly looking for something that seemed to be
missing.
“He don’t seem able to find it, Frank,” said Bob, guessing the truth
from these signs.
“That’s what,” echoed his chum, who had arrived at that conclusion half
a minute before it struck Bob.
“What would that mean, then?” continued the Kentucky boy.
“Only that we must have passed by the place where the trail turned
aside,” Frank answered, quickly.
“Then we’ll have to go back again, and find it; is that so, Frank?”
“Just what we’ll do,” answered the other, adding: “There, Scotty is
talking it over with dad and Bart. He’s telling them no stock have ever
come up as high in the valley as this, and that we must go back to find
where they broke out. But we’re bound to find it, you know, Bob.”
They did, and without any great trouble. Scotty, knowing that the secret
passage must be just a little below, was on the watch every foot of the
way. And in the end he discovered another crevice in the side of the
mountain, through which undoubtedly the stock had been driven.
“Say, but there must have been considerable excitement around here, when
all those steers, cows and half-grown calves were hustled along this
trail,” Frank whispered, as in imagination he could see Mendoza’s
Mexican rustlers heading the drove off, and compelling the frightened
animals to enter the second opening.
“I take off my hat to such drivers of cattle as those fellows,” remarked
Bob, who did not understand how the thing could have been done.
This time they were only a short while in the narrow cut. All they had
to do was to follow straight ahead, and keep in single file. Every man
was also warned not to try to make haste, for they did not wish to
betray their presence by any unlucky stumble.
Scotty, in the van, was on the lookout for signs of a trap. He knew that
Mendoza had long ago earned the name of the “Mexican rat” because of his
cunning; not only in hoodwinking those who tried to camp on his trail,
but on account of his skill in laying snares for the feet of pursuers.
More than one party had come to grief in times past just when they
expected they had the rustler chief in a hole.
Bob became suddenly aware of the fact that the creeping line had
stopped. On his arm he felt the hand of Frank Haywood; and this pressure
was the signal understood among them.
“Look up ahead!” was whispered in Bob’s ear; and as he turned his eyes
obediently upward, he discovered what he took to be a giant firefly
glowing in the darkness of the mountainside—it would vanish, only to
again appear, like a small star!