RISING HOPES.
The skies were brightening for Jode Lenning. His story of what had
happened in the gulch has been borne out by the capture of the road
agents and by the discovery that Shoup was wearing Lenning’s clothes and
riding Burke’s horse. Blunt was beaming and Lenning was radiant.
“Ye’ve had yer fuss around this rock pile all fer nothin’,” remarked
Dolliver.
“Glad of it,” Frank laughed. “Where did Hawkins catch those fellows,
Dolliver?”
“On the trail between here and Ophir. Shoup an’ t’other chap are
swearin’ by all they’re worth that they don’t know a thing about the
holdup, but Burke’s hoss an’ Lenning’s clothes are two things Shoup
can’t explain. Hawkins is now trying to get the road agents to tell what
they done with the mail bags. They won’t tell. I opine they think they
stand a show to dodge the consequences if they keep mum about that
missin’ mail.”
“We’ll get the bags to town as soon as possible,” said Frank.
“Good idee,” approved Dolliver. “Put away this here grub, fust thing,
then come down to my shack an’ git yore hosses.”
“Did you telephone anything about the mail bags, Dolliver?” asked
Lenning.
“Nary a word. I jest kept all that was goin’ on here to myself. You
fellers can explain about the mail bags. It’s none o’ my put in.”
There were three happy youngsters who sat at the foot of the bowlder
heap that morning and ate the grub Dolliver had brought to them. A
cheerful mind is a good appetizer, and the lads were not long in
cleaning up the supply of food. After that the mail bags were
shouldered, and the return to Dolliver’s was made.
On the way down the cañon the boys acquainted the rancher with many
matters of which he had been in ignorance. The story told by Lenning was
gone over for his benefit, and struck as hard a blow at his credulity as
it had at Merriwell’s and Blunt’s. But recent events had clinched the
truth of the yarn, so all Dolliver could do was to believe and marvel.
“Sounds purty far-fetched, an’ that’s a fact,” declared the rancher,
“but ye can’t dodge facts, not noways. Everything’s workin’ around purty
good fer you, Lenning. I’m glad as blazes that I made up my mind to help
ye with that telephonin’ yesterday. There was one spell that I reckoned
I hadn’t better have anythin’ ter do with ye; then, when it kinder
struck me how Merriwell was yore friend, and that his jedgment was a
heap better’n the ordinary run, I jest nat’rally made up my mind ter do
what I could.”
“I’m obliged to you, Dolliver,” said Lenning.
“Let it go at that. I’m a rough old propersition, I reckon, but I like
ter help a feller when he’s down. An’ you was purty well down, wasn’t
ye, when ye stuck yer head in at my door yesterday an’ asked would I
send that myster’ous message ter town?”
“I was,” said Lenning, with emphasis.
“So I allowed,” and the chuckle sounded in the rancher’s hairy throat.
Once at the ranch, Frank and Blunt lost little time getting their horses
under saddle.
“One of us will have to carry the mail bags, Barzy,” said Frank, “and
one of us will have to carry Lenning.”
“You let Lenning ride with you, Chip,” the cowboy suggested. “This
cayuse of mine never carried double, and I don’t know how he’d act. I’ll
agree to make him tote the mail bags, though. Got any rope, Dolliver?”
Dolliver secured a reata, and Blunt used it to make the two bags fast
behind his saddle. When the cowboy mounted, his horse showed some temper
at the unaccustomed load at the saddle cantle by pitching and plunging.
It was not much of a fracas, and Blunt quickly got the animal steadied
down.
“Takes quite a hoss ter git the best o’ you, Barzy,” grinned Dolliver.
“Ye can ride, boy.”
Merriwell took Lenning up behind him. The latter, before they started,
reached out a grateful hand toward the rancher.
“Some time, Dolliver,” said Lenning, “I hope I can do something for you.
Until that time comes, my thanks will have to be your pay.”
“Shucks!” grunted Dolliver. “Think I have ter take money for every
blame’ thing? I don’t want nothin’ more. What I’d like a whole lot,
though, would be ter have a couple of friends like Merriwell an’ Blunt.”
“You’ve got ’em, pard,” said the cowboy. “Eh, Chip? If you ever get in a
hole, send us a hurry-up call and we’ll come a-smokin’. Adios,
Dolliver.”
“So long!” called Frank.
Lenning waved his hand. Then, the next moment, both horses were
galloping along the trail toward Ophir.
“I’m pulling out of this a good deal better than I thought I would,”
remarked Lenning. “I suppose I’ll have to get another job, though. Burke
wouldn’t hold my place at the tanks for me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Frank answered. “Mr. Bradlaugh told Burke
to give you the benefit of the doubt, and to let one of the mill hands
fill in as night watchman until you come back.”
“Mr. Bradlaugh did that?”
“Sure! I was around when he gave orders to the super.”
“Then I’m mighty glad the general manager isn’t going to be disappointed
in me,” Lenning said, with a good deal of feeling. “That ball game, last
Saturday, made me a host of friends, Chip.”
“Good friends and true!” declared Frank. “By work like this, up Mohave
Cañon, you’re making yourself solid with everybody, Jode.”
“Things looked pretty dark for me for a while.”
“I’ve heard folks tell that it’s always darkest just before day,” put in
the cowboy. “That’s the case with you, I reckon, Lenning.”
It was a glorious morning. Arizona mornings, especially in early
December, are always glorious. Southern Arizona has the finest climate
in the world during the winter, and the finest part of every perfect day
comes directly after sunrise.
Mile after mile rolled out from under the galloping hoofs of the horses.
For a long time the three lads rode in silence, and it was Lenning who
was first to speak.
“I think, fellows,” said he, “that I had better go directly to the
mine.”
“Of course,” Frank agreed. “What you want to do, Jode, is to slip into
your blankets at the bunk house and pound your ear good and hard.
To-night, I suppose, you’ll have to go on duty at the tanks.”
“That’s right. The mail bags, though, ought to be taken into town as
soon as possible.”
“I’ll see that they reach the post office in good shape,” said Barzy
Blunt. “I’m the fast mail between Dolliver’s and Ophir this morning,” he
added whimsically. “The mail’s twenty-four hours’ late, but it won’t
lose much more time while I’m getting it over the road.”
“The professor’s check for twenty-five thousand ought to be in one of
those bags.”
“Is that right?” asked Lenning.
“Yes,” said young Merriwell. “Mr. Bradlaugh got a telegram saying the
payment for that mine in the Picketpost Mountains would be along
yesterday. The professor was scared stiff when he heard of the robbery.
He thought he had lost the money for good.”
“You were waiting for the professor to close up his mining deal before
you left for the North, weren’t you?” went on Lenning.
“That’s all that has been keeping us.”
“Then I suppose you’ll be leaving pretty soon?”
“Just as soon as we can.”
Both Lenning and Blunt fell silent. They hated to think that Merriwell,
Clancy, and Ballard were presently to leave Ophir, and for good.
Frank and his chums had made many friends during their stay in southern
Arizona, and, for Blunt and Lenning, at least, their going would leave a
big gap in the little mining town.
“I hate to think of it, pard,” said the cowboy presently, in a subdued
tone.
“Same here,” added Lenning, with just the barest shake in his voice.
“You and your pards, Chip,” proceeded Blunt, “have done a whole lot for
athletics in this section of the Southwest. You blew in here, I
remember, with pretty nearly everybody down on you, but you started
right in and cleaned up on the unpopular sentiment. I reckon there
won’t be anybody but will hate to see you pull up stakes.”
Frank was conscious of many regrets himself. Never would he forget the
clear, beautiful days, the happy friendships, or the exciting
experiences which he had encountered in that far-away corner of the
Southwest.
“We’ve had a good time here, fellows,” said he, “but we didn’t come to
Ophir to camp down indefinitely. We have stayed a whole lot longer than
we intended. Clancy, Ballard, and I are on a roughing-it trip. The trip
was originally planned for six months, you know, but it may be longer
than that. You see, we’re missing school, and dad is a stickler about
having me keep up my studies along with the athletics. Professor
Borrodaile rather helped us over that part of the difficulty. He has
become our private tutor, and when we do get back to Farnham Hall, we’ll
be up with the rest of our class. Besides that, we’re having a whole lot
of fun that we shouldn’t have had otherwise. I’m sorry to leave Ophir,
but we’ve got to move--that’s all.”
Again silence settled over the three boys. Barzy and Jode, no doubt,
were thinking of what they owed Chip Merriwell. They owed him a good
deal, too, for Frank was a true chip off the old block and had passed
around many of the teachings which had been handed down to him by his
illustrious father.
Presently, almost before the boys dreamed they were so near, the croon
of the stamps at the mine broke on their ears. At the trail which forked
from the main road to lead to the mining camp, Frank and Jode turned,
leaving the cowboy to hustle on into town with the recovered mail
pouches.
“I’ll report to King, the expert in charge of the cyanide works,”
Lenning said, after Merry had hitched Borak by the bunk house, “and
then I’ll hunt my blankets. Are you going to stop, Chip?”
“I’ll just speak a word with Burke,” Frank answered.
He accompanied Lenning toward the cyanide plant, climbing the slope that
led to the mill, and lingering near the long ore platform. Then he
watched while Lenning made his way to the laboratory building,
disappeared inside, and, after a few minutes, reappeared and climbed the
slope in Frank’s direction.
Fate, at that moment, had once more taken Lenning’s affairs in hand. All
the details of an accident were forming, and the accident itself was
about to project itself suddenly into the peaceful activities of the
camp.
Frank and Jode, as it chanced, were so placed at that moment as to
become active participants in the near tragedy which was about to be
launched.