A FRUITLESS VIGIL.
Lenning certainly had been playing in hard luck. He had started into the
hills with the very innocent idea of setting off a blast in the gulch,
and fate had played him a scurvy trick by bringing down on him two
scoundrels like Shoup and Geohegan. Toward the end of Lenning’s weird
experience, however, fortune had smiled, and the plunder secured by the
road agents had fallen into his hands.
“You’ve had a pretty tough time of it, Jode,” said Merriwell, his eyes
on the mail bags, “but you’ve made a star play in getting back this
government property. Great work! There was about one chance in a
thousand that these mail pouches would come close enough for you to get
a whack at them, but the chance came your way and you made the most of
it. Where did Shoup and Geohegan unload the sacks?”
“Across the cañon, a little farther up,” Lenning replied.
“And you toted ’em down here and stowed ’em in a different place so as
to hold ’em out on the measly junipers?” asked Blunt, his sloe-black
eyes beginning to glow.
“Yes.”
“And, according to your notion, Shoup and Geohegan will surely return
for their loot, at which time you, and Chip, and I will make a surround
and take a little of the deputy sheriff’s work off his hands?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“_Bueno!_ All that makes the biggest kind of a hit with me. Chip, those
two curs will certainly come back after the bags, and we can work
through the program just as Lenning has chalked it up. It’s a great
plan, by thunder!”
“It’s a plan for the deputy sheriff,” said Merriwell, “and he’s the
fellow who ought to be on the job. Why didn’t you figure it that way,
Jode?” he asked. “Why did you send for Blunt and me, instead of
Hawkins?”
Lenning swerved his eyes quickly to Merriwell.
“You understand, don’t you, that I had to have my two best friends?” he
asked. “I couldn’t take chances with Hawkins, nor with any one else. Had
the deputy sheriff found me here, like this, with both mail bags in my
possession, his first move would have been to arrest me for holding up
the stage. My record is against me; circumstances are against me.
Hawkins would never swallow that yarn I gave you fellows.”
“I reckon that’s correct,” agreed Blunt. “You had to make something of a
mystery out of that telephone message to Chip in order to play safe.”
“That’s it,” Lenning nodded. “I only wanted two to come, because two
would be enough for my work here. I wanted those two to be my best
friends, so they’d take my word as to what had happened. I didn’t want
Chip to know who had sent for him, or to tell anybody where he was
going, because, if the news got out, some one else who wasn’t so
friendly might have taken it into their heads to come to the cañon and
interview me. I had to fight shy of that.”
“By glory,” breathed Blunt, “but you’ve sure got a head for plans! You
worked through that complicated puzzle with ground to spare.”
“I guess you sabe, all right,” pursued Lenning grimly, “that if you were
not friends of mine you’d say right off that I’d told you a
cock-and-bull story, and that I was really one of the thieves, but that
I had lost my nerve and was trying to pull out of a bad scrape without
taking any of the consequences.”
“We’re a good way from thinking that, Jode,” said Merriwell earnestly.
“I’m no end grateful to you for hanging on to your confidence in me.
There are others, though, who won’t be so considerate. I can’t go back
to Ophir without taking Shoup and Geohegan along. Understand? If I do, I
shall be arrested. I’ve figured that all out, and know what I’ve got to
do.”
Merriwell and Blunt had not looked at the affair from this angle. They
were not slow to perceive that Lenning was right, however. His record,
in the matter of the robbery, had to be cleared by the capture of the
real robbers, or he would surely be regarded with suspicion himself.
“You’re right, Lenning,” declared Merriwell, his face taking on a
resolute cast, “we shall have to capture Shoup and Geohegan. The next
question is, how are we to do it? Are you armed?”
“No.”
“Neither are we. Undoubtedly the two road agents are pretty well heeled.
There are three of us and only two of them, but, with guns, they’ll have
far and away the best of it, unless----”
Merriwell’s voice trailed away into silence and he dropped his head
thoughtfully.
“Unless what, pard?” said Blunt.
“Why,” and Frank looked up, “unless we can use a little strategy. If we
can engineer a bit of a surprise, perhaps we could capture those fellows
before they have a chance to draw their weapons and shoot.”
“Now you’re shouting, Chip!” jubilated the cowboy. “Strategy, that’s
the thing. Let’s hatch up something and then slam it at those junipers
before they sabe what we’re about.”
This was the idea, and the three lads fell to work on it without delay.
They finally concluded that they would watch and listen vigilantly, and
when they heard or saw the road agents approaching they would hustle
across the cañon to the place where the mail bags had originally been
left. There they would hide themselves, leap out on the thieves when
they bent to pick up the sacks, and trust to strength, and quickness,
and the surprise of the attack to accomplish their purpose.
It seemed like a desperate plan, although Barzy Blunt chuckled over it
and appeared to consider it a joke more than anything else. Merriwell,
although fully resolved, had grave apprehensions regarding the outcome.
Lenning was almost panic-stricken, but his needs were great enough to
master his fears.
For the rest of the afternoon the lads took turns scanning the cañon
from the top of the pile of bowlders. The evening shadows began to
lengthen, and Blunt suggested that some one go to Dolliver’s after food.
It was decided that the cowboy should make the trip. Lenning begged him
to hurry, for, if Shoup and Geohegan should come while he was away, the
plan for a capture might fail because there were only two left to carry
it out.
Blunt was gone only half an hour. It had been an anxious half hour for
Merriwell and Lenning, but it had passed without bringing any sign of
the two road agents.
“I told Dolliver what we were up to,” said Blunt, while he and his
companions were eating the cold rations he had brought. “He’s a good old
scout, that Dolliver person, and he wished us all sorts of luck. Said
if we didn’t make our capture before morning he’d tote breakfast for
three up the cañon.”
“If anything at all happens,” returned Merriwell, “it will happen before
morning.”
“That’s my notion to a t-y, ty,” agreed the cowboy.
A long and fruitless vigil followed. The lads took turn about doing
guard duty, and while one kept on the alert, the other two slept.
Frank had his turn at sentry-go about midnight. It wasn’t a particularly
pleasant piece of work.
The bottom of the cañon was as dark as a pocket. Overhead was a broad
streak of sky, glittering with stars, edged by the jagged crests of the
cañon’s walls.
The silence that reigned in the depths of the defile was intense. The
heavy breathing of Blunt and Lenning seemed to rumble around the rock
pile, and even the ticking of Frank’s watch grew in volume until it
equaled that of an eight-day clock.
Now and then the weird quiet was broken by the distant wail of a
panther, or the far-off yelp of a coyote. During the three hours of
Frank’s watch, however, no hoofbeats sounded among the rocks, and no
human prowlers came in quest of the mail bags.
It was three in the morning when Frank roused Blunt to relieve him. The
cowboy got up with a yawn.
“Anything happened, Chip?” he asked.
“No.”
“Blamed queer! I can’t understand why those two holdup men leave their
loot for so long.”
“I can’t, either. Maybe they’re having a hard time dodging Hawkins and
his posse.”
“Like enough. Hawkins is a regular bloodhound when he strikes a
criminal’s trail. I hope we’re able to accomplish something here, just
on Lenning’s account. He had it about right when he said he’d only have
to show himself in Ophir to be arrested. The fact that he was found with
the mail bags would be enough to land him in jail. Say, he’s up against
it for fair.”
“He’s playing in the hardest kind of luck, Barzy, and no mistake,” Frank
agreed.
“He’s got a fight on his hands if he ever clears his record.”
“That’s the fight he’s been making ever since he broke with Billy Shoup.
Whenever he takes a step forward and begins to hope he’ll win out,
something happens to make him slip back. Everybody’s so darned anxious
to believe the worst of him.”
“That’s what a fellow gets for having a black past. People, as a rule,
judge a man by what he was, and not so much by what he is or what he’s
trying to be. That yarn Lenning sprang on us to account for his failure
to get back to the mine, and for the way he got hold of the mail bags,
was certainly a beaut. Not more than two in a million would have taken
any stock in it, but Lenning sure picked the two. Even at that, Chip,
now and then a doubt comes sneaking into my head.”
“What sort of a doubt?”
“Why, that Lenning is putting one over on us, somehow. I know I hadn’t
ought to have any suspicions, but a fellow can’t always help what he
thinks.”
“Don’t turn against Lenning, Barzy,” urged Merriwell. “Before long
something will happen to prove that he’s given us the right of it. The
mail bags come pretty nearly proving that he has told the truth, I
think.”
“I’ll hang on to Lenning as long as you do, pard,” said the cowboy.
“Now, find a nice soft rock, curl up, and catch your forty winks. I’ll
keep a lookout for the road agents.”
It was several minutes before Frank dozed off. His bed was hard and far
from comfortable, but he slept soundly, nevertheless. When he awoke
there was a sound of voices in his ears, and the sun was looking over
the rim of the eastern wall of the defile. He sat up. Dolliver was
standing at the base of the bowlder heap, talking with Blunt and
Lenning.
“Here’s news, Chip,” jubilated the cowboy, looking around. “Dolliver
brings our breakfast, and also a report he just received over the phone
from town. What do you think has happened?”
“I’m not in shape to guess conundrums, Barzy,” Frank answered. “What’s
the news?”
“Hawkins and his posse have captured Shoup and Geohegan--and Shoup was
wearing Lenning’s clothes and riding a sorrel with a white forward foot.
How’s that?”
“Bully!” cried Frank, and the next moment he was on his feet with a
cheer.