ANOTHER BLOW.
A period of stunned silence settled over the little group in the trail.
Uncle Sam suddenly and finally dispelled the stillness by tossing up his
head and emitting a long and discordant “hee-haw!” The professor, whose
nerves were in a lamentable state, jumped straight into the air. When he
came down, he turned an indignant look at the mule.
“So!” he mumbled. “That animal is the most provoking creature that ever
lived. One can never tell what he is going to do, nor when he is going
to do it. Where are the golf links, Merriwell?”
“Over there, professor,” Frank answered, pointing toward the golf
grounds. “We just left Mr. Bradlaugh. He and Colonel Hawtrey are out of
sight, just now, behind that bit of a rise, but you can find them
without much trouble.”
“I believe I will go on, then, and acquaint Mr. Bradlaugh with this most
distressing occurrence.”
“Don’t you want to ride?” asked Clancy.
“I prefer to walk,” was the answer. “I will be under obligations to you,
Merriwell, if you will see that Uncle Sam is returned to Pophagan.”
“Just a minute, professor,” struck in Burke. “Can’t you tell us
something about this robbery? Just where did it happen, and how did the
news reach Ophir?”
“The stage driver brought the news to town, and when I left, Hawkins,
the deputy sheriff, was getting one or two men to ride with him and
begin pursuit of the thieves.”
“Any passengers on the stage this morning?”
“No; there was only the driver and the mail pouches. The express company
was supposed to have money aboard this morning’s stage for the Ophir
bank, but, fortunately, the shipment failed to arrive. The robbers,
presumably, had heard of the expected shipment of funds, and so were
disappointed when they had to content themselves with only the mail
pouches. I am a loser to the extent of----”
“Don’t worry over your lost check, professor,” interrupted Burke.
“You’ll not lose a cent. Whether it was a check or a draft, payment will
at once be stopped, and another check or draft will be sent to you.”
The professor was woefully ignorant of business matters.
“You are sure of this, Mr. Burke?” he asked, brightening.
“I am positive. See Mr. Bradlaugh, however, and tell him about what has
happened. He will take the necessary steps to protect you. How many
robbers were in the gang?”
“Two, and they seemed to be young fellows. They had handkerchiefs tied
over their faces, and rode out from behind a mass of bowlders, a mile or
two north of the place where the road leaves the cañon. Pistols were
shown, but not used. The driver had nothing at all in the way of a
weapon--which, perhaps, was a most fortunate thing for the driver. I--I
really believe I had better be going now. I hope, Merriwell, that you
will have no difficulty in getting that vicious quadruped back into his
owner’s hands.”
“I’ll take chances, on that,” Frank laughed, and vaulted into the
saddle. “Want to ride, Clan?” he asked, of his red-headed chum.
“I love to ride,” grinned Clancy, “especially mules.” With that, he
climbed up behind Merriwell.
The professor did not pause to see how quietly Uncle Sam behaved under
Merry’s guiding hand. Already the professor was striding off toward the
golf links.
Without any ill-natured move whatever, Uncle Sam had allowed himself to
be turned around, and had started over the return course to Ophir. His
gait was never very rapid, and Burke restrained the impatience of his
own mount in order to ride beside the boys.
“That is the first time, to my knowledge, that the Gold Hill-Ophir stage
has ever been held up,” remarked the super. “This part of the country
has been tolerably free from crimes of that sort. As a rule, we’re about
as peaceable a community as you’d find anywhere. Mrs. Boorland was
robbed of her money in the gulch--but a sneak thief did that; and then
there was that attempted theft of bullion from the mine. Up to the time
those two crimes were attempted, nothing of the sort had excited the
community since--I don’t know when. Hawkins is getting considerable work
during the last few weeks.”
“He didn’t have any luck chasing those fellows who tried to make off
with the bullion,” said Merriwell.
“Billy Shoup and that unknown safe cracker he had with him were too many
for Hawkins,” said Clancy.
“Hawkins is pretty persistent,” observed Burke. “He hasn’t given up
finding those fellows.”
“It was Shoup who took Mrs. Boorland’s money,” went on Merriwell, “and
it was Shoup, again, with an unknown companion, who tried to steal the
bullion. I’m wondering if the fellow isn’t mixed up in the robbery this
morning?”
“Possibly,” mused Burke. “If he is, he has got himself into hot water
for fair. Stealing mail bags is a crime against the government, and the
secret-service men are relentless fellows to deal with. No stone will be
left unturned to bring the thieves to book, you can gamble on that.
They---- Well, well,” he broke off quizzically, “what sort of a
procession is that, ahead there?”
The boys and the super were close to the point where the clubhouse trail
joined the Gold Hill road. Along the latter trail, at that moment, a
queer little procession was moving in the direction of Ophir.
Billy Ballard was in the lead. He had some object tied to a cord, and
was pulling it slowly through the dust of the road behind him.
Just behind Ballard was a pig--the same small porker with which
Merriwell and Clancy had become acquainted a little earlier in the
forenoon. The pig was tied to a rope by a hind leg, and Woo Sing, as
before, was attached to the rope.
Barzy Blunt brought up the rear of the procession. He was armed with a
long switch.
As Ballard dragged the mysterious object through the dust, he would let
it lie still for a moment, and the pig would run forward to get hold of
it. This was Ballard’s signal to jerk it out of the pig’s way.
Sometimes the pig would trot along after the receding object so rapidly
that the Chinaman had a hard time keeping up; and then again there were
times when the pig grew discouraged, and lagged, and Blunt would have to
reach over Woo Sing’s shoulder and apply the gad.
It was a humorous performance, although none of the four concerned in
it--which includes the pig--seemed to think of it in that light.
“This little trip of mine from town to the clubhouse,” laughed Burke,
“has been full of surprises, pleasant and otherwise. Now, that, I
should say, is about as comical as the professor’s troubles with Uncle
Sam. Whose pig is it? And what are Ballard and Blunt doing, along with
the chink?”
Merry and Clancy explained, and, by the time the explanation was
finished, they had reached the procession. Those with the pig came to a
halt, and Ballard promptly jerked in the object he was dragging, and
held it aloft in his hands. The object proved to be a dirty,
half-shelled ear of corn.
What made the situation all the funnier to Merry, Clancy, and Burke were
the very serious expressions worn by Ballard, Blunt, and Woo
Sing--especially Woo Sing. If there had been a joke about coaxing the
pig to town with an ear of corn, it had long since passed out of the
consciousness of those with the pig.
“Whoop!” shouted Clancy. “You fellows ought to have a drum corps along.
What show do you fellows belong to, anyhow?”
“Chip,” said Ballard sadly, “you handed Blunt and me a hard job when you
sent us with Woo Sing to get back that pesky porker. We had to run our
legs off in the cañon before we could get hands on the pig; and, even
then, he got away from us half a dozen times before we finally landed
him.”
“We’ve had a dickens of a time!” grunted Blunt. “Barked our shins on
bowlders, scratched our hands and face in the chaparral, say nothing of
having the pig knock us down and run all over us. Jumping sand hills!
Say, if I had it to do over again, I’d rather let the pig go and pay
Pophagan five dollars out of my own pocket.”
“Pig plenty hard to ketchee,” sighed Woo Sing. “Him allee same stleak of
lightning, by jim’ Klismus! Now we think we ketchee, now we no ketchee.
Velly tough luck. My no likee, by jing! My tellee Pophagan my no likee.
Pophagan no likee, him gettee ’nother China boy. Whoosh!”
Burke was almost smothered. “Where did you get the corn?” he asked.
“Sing had it in his pockets all the time,” growled Ballard. “The ground
and lofty tumbling he did with the pig shelled the ear a little, but
enough corn was left for a coaxer. It was my idea,” and Ballard’s heavy
face lightened somewhat. “We’ve been teasing the pig all the way from
the cañon, but it’s slow work, and I’m about ready to throw up the job.
What’re you chumps laughing about?” he demanded hotly.
“That’s what I want to know,” scowled Blunt, bending over to rub one of
his shins. “If you think it’s funny chasing a pig over all outdoors,
you’d better try it once.”
“You made good, anyhow,” chuckled Merry. “That’s the principal thing,
fellows. Whether you’re chasing a pig, or running a race of any other
sort, you ought to feel like shaking hands with yourselves when you
win.”
“It’s no joke,” snorted Ballard, “and I want you to stop that fool
grinning.”
“The joke was on the pig,” said Clancy. “And I think it’s a pretty how
de do when three husky fellows like you will make such a rumpus over one
small porker.”
“That’ll do,” cried the cowboy. “A while ago I felt like massacring the
pig, but now I’m beginning to feel as though I’d like to massacre you.
What about it, Pink?”
“Count me in,” answered Ballard. “Only make a complete job of it, that’s
all, Barzy.”
“By the way,” said Blunt, having a sudden thought that sent his
attention galloping on another course, “what’s Jode Lenning doing out
this way?”
“Lenning!” exclaimed Merriwell. “You don’t mean to say you saw him?”
“Looked like him, although he and the other fellow were a good way off.
They were pelting along on horseback, as tight as they could go--came
out of a gulch and rushed along the trail to beat the band. Each of ’em
had something over the saddle in front of him that looked like a bag.
They didn’t come very near where we were, so we didn’t have a chance to
give ’em a close sizing; but the fellow was Lenning--I’d almost stake my
head on it.”
A queer feeling raced through Merriwell’s nerves. He was wondering if,
after all, Lenning had left the mine for some such work as had taken
place in the cañon that morning? Another moment and he had fought down
the rising suspicion.
“What sort of a horse was the fellow riding?” asked Burke; “I mean,” he
added, “the one you thought was Lenning?”
“Sorrel,” reported the cowboy, “a sorrel, with one white forward foot.”
The superintendent drew in a quick breath, and rested his eyes on
Merriwell.