“THE WAY IS CLEAR!”
“What is it, Frank?” whispered Bob, as he stared in wonder at the
strange firefly that seemed to appear, and then vanish so regularly.
“A sentry smoking a cigarette,” came the reply.
“How silly of me not to have guessed that,” thought the Kentucky boy.
And then he sniffed the air, for it chanced that the night wind was
blowing gently from the point where that fire glowed.
“Smoke, sure enough, and from a cigarette, just as Frank said,” he
continued to himself.
Of course it was very plain now why the expedition had come to such a
sudden halt. Here was a vidette posted in a position where he could
discover any suspicious movement below. There was a wide strip of
moonlight confronting them, and it would be difficult to pass along the
trail without crossing this, when of course the keen eyes above would
discover their presence.
“What are we going to do about it, Frank?” he managed to say in his
chum’s ear.
“Nothing—that is, the main lot of us,” replied Frank.
“But how about Scotty?” Bob continued, determined to be posted.
“Leave that to him; he’s figuring on doing something right now,” Frank
replied; and indeed, the Kentucky boy could see that the guide of the
expedition was leaving the main body, as though he had arranged his
programme.
Bob could give a pretty shrewd guess as to what was necessary. That
sentry must not be allowed to block the way much longer. So long as he
sat there in the shadows above, the cowboys could not advance a step
without taking risks. And if discovered this early in the night, they
knew that their plans would receive a serious setback.
Evidently Scotty was about to make some sort of move looking to the
capture of the vidette. Bob had heard Colonel Haywood warn his men that
there was to be no blood shed unless the rustlers put up a desperate
resistance. The stockman was known as a humane man, and believed in
peaceful tactics whenever possible, although, if forced to the wall, he
could fight hard.
A second cow puncher started to creep immediately after Scotty. That
looked as if they wanted to make sure of the game.
“Lay low!” was the whispered word passed along the line; and hence the
two saddle boys remained where they chanced to be crouching.
Beyond the narrow pass no doubt lay a fertile valley, which the cunning
Mendoza had long utilized as a corral. Here he kept his stolen herds,
while the brands were being changed. When the hue and cry had died down
no doubt he would drive the cattle forth, taking care to avoid the
neighborhood where his latest operations had been carried on.
“Listen hard, and perhaps you’ll hear something familiar,” Bob heard his
comrade whisper.
From this he fancied that what Frank meant would not have any connection
with the presence of that rustler, perched high on the hillside. So he
concentrated his mind on discovering something else. A minute later and
he drew Frank’s head close to his own lips, to say:
“Sure thing; I can catch the sound of cattle moving about; and there was
a lowing sound as plain as I ever heard a cow make. They’re not half a
mile away, Frank; is that so?”
“Just what they are; our lost herd; and perhaps other stray steers along
with ’em,” came the answer.
Bob was strangely thrilled by the situation. He seemed to feel that they
were on the verge of great doings. Just beyond lay the enchanted valley,
of which cowboys had often hinted, but of which no one seemed to know
the exact location. And soon, when Scotty and his comrade had cleared
the way, they were going to enter that secret cache of the Mexican
rustler, to claim their own again.
For years had this bold Mendoza been having things pretty much his own
way in the cow country. He had many secret allies on the ranches, who
sent him word of rich prizes to be captured; as well as plans on foot
looking to his taking. And by pulling these strings whenever he felt
like it, he had been enabled to laugh at all efforts undertaken by the
stockmen to down him.
Yes, even Bob, the late tenderfoot, could now understand that there must
be a good sized herd of cattle somewhere nearby. Various sounds declared
it. Besides, when the night breeze happened to increase in strength for
a few seconds at a time, he believed he could hear the tinkling of a
mandolin, and a man’s voice singing some Spanish serenade.
Evidently, then, the rustlers were so accustomed to feeling perfectly
secure in this lonely valley, far away from everything civilized, that
they took life easily, and acted as though quite at home.
But Scotty and his mate had been gone some time now, Bob remembered.
“They ought to be getting pretty close up, hadn’t they, Frank?” he
questioned, in the low tone that had characterized their brief
conversation hitherto.
“Watch the fire!” was all the answer he received; but it was enough.
Bob knew his chum was anticipating seeing a change take place at any
minute now; that he fully believed the two agile cow punchers must have
had ample time to crawl up the incline.
He found himself wondering whether the sentry would make any outcry. Of
course any such sound would threaten the success of their plans, since
it must excite the curiosity of the rustlers, and lead to an
examination.
But then Scotty knew what he was about, and would hold his hand until he
could be sure of silence and success. Somehow Bob found himself putting
the utmost faith in the cowboy. The remarkable manner in which Scotty
had led them thus far seemed to stamp him as capable.
The glow of the end of the cigarette could still be seen in the shadows
under that clump of trees that clung to the face of the mountain. Of
course the man who smoked had consumed more than one little paper-bound
weed during this time, but Mexicans have a way of rolling them deftly
between their fingers when smoking, and lighting one from the end of
another, in succession.
Straining his eyes, Bob endeavored to make out some moving form near
that point upon which the attention of the watchers below was
concentrated. In this he did not succeed. Those who were creeping upon
the man who lolled there, enjoying his smoke, and perhaps dreaming of
some day when he could return to his native country with his pockets
filled with gold, were moving with all the care that marks the advance
of the gray panther, when approaching his intended prey.
Bob was becoming uneasy. The strain began to tell upon him, wholly
unaccustomed as he was to such scenes of excitement and suspense. He
even found himself imagining all sorts of unpleasant accidents as
happening to Scotty, anyone of which would interfere with the successful
carrying out of his plans.
But Frank seemed to have no such fears. When Bob started to mention what
was worrying him, his chum immediately eased his mind.
“Don’t you believe it for a minute, Bob,” he whispered. “Scotty is right
close to that rustler now, and perhaps before you could wink fifty times
he’ll make his move. Keep on watching the light. When it suddenly goes
out, and doesn’t die down, you’ll know something has happened!”
So Bob took fresh heart, and continued to keep his eyes glued on the
point of fire, which he knew marked the spot where the vidette sat.
Then, suddenly he missed the spark! It had vanished without the
slightest warning. Bob felt his chum move, and thought Frank gave a
little gasp as of satisfaction. Yes, and unless his own ears had
deceived him, he caught some sort of rustling sound up yonder where the
vidette had his post.
Evidently Scotty had acted. From the fact that there was no outcry, Bob
judged that the movement had been a success.
Still no one among the crouching cowboys moved hand or foot. They were
waiting for a signal of some sort inviting them onward and upward. When
Scotty and his companion felt sure that they had the sentry so bound and
gagged that he could not give any alarm, they would doubtless let their
allies know.
The light did not reappear, though Bob strained his eyes in the effort
to discover it. From this fact he knew that something had indeed
happened.
“Has he got him, do you think, Frank?” he could not keep from asking,
cautiously.
“Not any doubt about it,” came the confident reply. “I heard him drop;
and he would have whooped it up only Scotty’s fingers closed on his
throat, and cut the yell off. Just give ’em a minute more to fix him up
right, then we’ll get the sign.”
“Well, I’m glad that part of the job is over, and no alarm given,”
thought Bob, his nerves relaxing somewhat after the recent strain.
And while he lay there waiting, ready to make a fresh start when the
time came, he heard what he thought was a little bird uttering a lazy
twitter somewhere up on the mountainside.
Frank began to get up.
“Are you going, Frank?” asked the Kentucky lad, also rising to his
knees.
“Everybody’s on the move,” came the reply. “Didn’t you hear the signal,
Bob?”
“I heard what I thought was the sound of a sleepy bird disturbed on his
perch; was that what you meant?” asked Bob.
“Yes,” replied Frank. “That came from our friend Scotty. It told us the
way is clear, and that we might as well get a move on. So here we start
into the valley, where our prize herd is kept on the grass.”
“They did that thing up handsome, Frank,” admitted Bob.
“It’s a way Scotty has,” chuckled the other. “He never goes into
anything but he carries it out like machine work. And Bob, this is only
the beginning, remember. We’ve got a heap cut out for us yet. It’s going
to be a night you’ll never forget as long as you live. And as for Senor
Mendoza, the boys of Circle Ranch expect to give him his Waterloo right
here in his own camp. Come along, Bob; show how you can move along this
path into the narrow pass.”