BLIND LUCK.
It was about eleven o’clock, and one hour past their usual time for
hunting their bunks, when Clancy and Ballard pushed away from their
checkerboard.
“An even thing, Red,” said Ballard, with a good deal of satisfaction,
“and that’s the way I like to quit.”
“You’ve kept me up for an hour longer than usual, Pink,” yawned Clancy,
“just to saw off even. If I hadn’t given you the last three games, we
wouldn’t have got to bed to-night.”
“I’ve got a picture of you giving anybody a game,” jeered Ballard. “You
played for all there was in it, and I merely demonstrated the fact that
I’m as good as you are.”
“Oh, well,” murmured the red-headed youth, “if it pleases you to think
that, I’m agreeable. Wonder where Chip is?”
“In bed, of course, just where I’m going to be in a brace of shakes.
Come on.”
They hustled upstairs, and Clancy stepped into the room jointly occupied
by himself and Merry. A call from Clancy brought Ballard on the jump.
“What do you think?” asked Clancy. “Chip, isn’t here. Where the nation
do you suppose he is?”
“Ask me an easier one,” answered Ballard. “It isn’t like him to skip out
without telling us what he’s up to.”
Clancy had an idea.
“I’ll bet a plugged nickel against a chink wash ticket,” said he, “that
Chip’s absence has something to do with Lenning.”
“What has it to do with Lenning?”
“I’ve dug up that much, Pink, and it’s up to you to think out the rest.
I’ve started something, now you finish it.”
“If I tried to finish everything you started,” snorted Ballard, “I’d
have my hands full. But I guess I can fill in the gaps of this
particular proposition, all right.”
“Well, what’s the answer?”
“Chip has gone out to the mine to bolster up Lenning’s good resolutions.
That would be like him, wouldn’t it? Just remember, please, that we
interrupted a confab Chip and Lenning were having when we came in from
the gulch. More than likely Chip has gone to the cyanide plant to wind
up that conversation.”
“You’ve hit it, old man,” beamed Clancy. “I know as much as anybody, if
I could only think of it, but that gilt-edged theory certainly got past
me. Look here, Pink. Suppose we take a stroll out toward the mine, meet
Chip, and escort him back to the hotel?”
“You’re on! But if Chip doesn’t happen to be at the mine----”
“Well, if we don’t find him, we’ll have a nice little walk. And it’s a
fine old night for a walk, Pink.”
“If I’d known you’re as wide-awake as all that, Red,” grumbled Pink,
“I’d have had another game out of you.”
“You would--not. If we don’t stir up a little excitement during this
stroll of ours, so I can get my mind off checkers, I’ll be beating you
in my sleep. Come on, if you’re ready.”
They descended the stairs, passed through the office, and out at the
front of the hotel. Then, turning south, they traversed the length of
the main street.
Ophir was an orderly little place. A great many Easterners had come to
the town, in the employ of the syndicate that operated the mine, and
they exerted an influence in the settlement that was all on the side of
law and order.
The street was quiet, and almost deserted. At the end of it, Clancy and
Ballard found themselves in the trail that led directly to the Ophir
“workings.” The road stretched southward in a clear, whitish streak
against its background of dusky desert.
“Chip has got me going in this Lenning affair,” confessed Ballard, as
they walked leisurely along the trail.
“Same here, Pink,” said Clancy. “When Chip takes the bit in his teeth
you might as well stand back and let him go.”
“He never does that unless he’s mighty sure he’s on the right track.”
“Sure not, but one of these days he’s liable to run full-tilt over the
wrong course. Between you and me, Pink, I believe that’s what he’s doing
now. Lenning had a lot of nerve to refer Mr. Bradlaugh to Chip.”
“That was the right move, though, if Lenning really wanted help from
Merry. Lenning was wise to that.”
“I guess he’s wise to a lot of things that Merry will never know
anything about. Hang it all! I wish Shoup had taken Lenning out of the
country with him. They’re a fine pair, those two, and one isn’t much
better than the other.”
As the lads strolled on they kept an expectant watch ahead. At any
moment they believed Merriwell might show up in the trail, traveling
townward. But they did not see him. The stamps were rumbling in the
distance, and as the noise grew in volume, Ballard halted with a shiver.
“There’s something about that moaning of the stamp mill, at the dead of
night like this,” he remarked, “that gives me the creeps.”
“Don’t get scared, little Bright Eyes,” murmured Clancy soothingly.
“Remember, I’m along.”
“Oh, you go to blazes!” grunted Ballard. “If it was a case of spooks,
Red, you’re the last fellow I’d want for company. Now----”
Ballard had started on again. Then, suddenly biting his words short, he
halted once more.
“What’s the trouble, Pink?” inquired Clancy. “See anything in the
bushes?”
“No, I don’t see anything,” returned Ballard, “but my ears are pretty
good, and I’m hearing something.”
“What?”
“Listen yourself. Maybe it will break out again.”
The lads were almost at the top of the rise where the trail pitched
downward into the mining camp. Consequently they were so close to the
stamp mill that its racket interfered with the sounds they were
listening for. But the noise came again, and it was clear enough.
“It’s the whinny of a horse,” said Clancy.
“That’s how it struck me,” answered Ballard. “The horse is in a thicket,
over there on the left of the road. What’s a horse there for, at this
time of night?”
“Probably it’s a stray horse, Pink. Horses break loose occasionally, you
know.”
“Well,” declared Ballard, “I’m going to find out whether it’s a stray
horse or not. If the animal’s loose, we’ll lead it on to the mine.
Chances are, that’s where it came from.”
“Lead on, old man. If trouble lurks in yonder thicket, don’t forget that
Clancy is ready to shoulder his share.”
There wasn’t much trouble in the thicket, that is, not so far as the
lads could see. What they did find, however, were a couple of horses,
saddled, bridled, and hitched to a white thorn bush. Here, certainly,
was food for reflection.
“What do you know about this?” demanded Ballard.
“There’s no law against a couple of riders leaving their horses in a
patch of scrub, Pink,” remarked Clancy.
“It’s queer, anyhow. Where are the riders?”
“Not being a mindreader, I’ll have to give that up. If the riders are
not here now, they’ll probably be around before long. Horses are worth
money, you know, and they’re not left for good in any such way as this.
Possibly----”
“Sh-h-h!” cut in Ballard excitedly, grabbing his chum’s arm, and
dragging him back into the greasewood. “They’re coming now,” he added,
in a husky whisper, his lips close to Clancy’s ear.
According to Clancy’s matter-of-fact ideas, there was not much sense in
hiding from those two horsemen. But Ballard had ideas of his own--and
nerves that had been somewhat ruffled by the uncanny booming of the
stamps. He had insisted on pulling Clancy down into the brush, and
Clancy was content to remain there.
Two dark figures were crashing through the bushes, tearing their way
toward the horses, as fast as they could go. Between them the men were
carrying something. It looked like a bag, and that the bag was heavy was
proved by the fact that it caused them a lot of trouble.
The men did not exchange a word, but buckled in and hustled as though
their lives depended on it. It was dark in the chaparral, and Clancy and
Ballard could not see the men very distinctly, but they had no
difficulty in following their movements.
When the horses were reached the bag was dropped. Each man leaped to an
animal and tore loose the bridle reins. One mounted. The other lifted
up the bag and attempted to throw it over the horse behind the mounted
man. The bag slipped and dropped again.
The man on the horse swore softly. It was the first sound either he or
his companion had uttered.
The fellow on the ground made another attempt, and, this time, succeeded
in getting the bag back of the saddle cantle. Clancy and Ballard could
see that it was heavily weighted, and that the weight was divided in
each end of the bag, so that the contents held it to the horse’s back.
Then the other man scrambled to get into his saddle, and, in almost less
time than it takes to tell it, both were mounted and ready for flight.
Just here Clancy yielded to a reckless impulse. Had he thought twice
about the matter, he would probably have suppressed himself. But he was
excited, and perhaps not accountable for what he did.
Starting up suddenly, he gave vent to a yell.
“Hold up, you fellows!” he shouted. “What have you got there?”
His answer was a wild rattle of spurs and swish of quirts.
“Ride!” shouted one of the horsemen, in a voice that was strangely
familiar. “They’re laying for us!”
The horses dashed out of the chaparral at frenzied speed. Something fell
heavily, and the lads knew it must be the bag. It had been torn from the
horse’s back by the bushes, or had been dislodged by the horse’s wild
movements. Anyhow, the bag dropped--and the horsemen did not pause to
recover it. Their anxiety to get away astounded Clancy and Ballard.
“What did you want to butt in for, Red?” demanded Ballard, watching the
dim figures receding at breakneck speed into the distant shadows.
“I don’t know,” answered Clancy. “I was curious, I suppose. If I had it
to do over again, I’d keep still. What I said scared them, though, and
that’s why they went on without the bag. Let’s see what’s in the thing.”
The boys stepped toward the heavily weighted bag and Clancy began
untying the cord at the top of it.