FROM OUT OF A TREE.
Caven was right, Joe and his newly-made friend were still in the woods,
doing their best to locate the two rascals.
They had found the trail but lost it in the patch of tall timber, and
were gazing around when they heard the trains leaving the cut.
“There goes our outfit, friend,” said the westerner. “And there won't be
another train along for several hours.”
“It's too bad, but it can't be helped,” answered our hero. “But I'll pay
you for all time lost, Mr.--”
“Plain Bill Badger is my handle, stranger.”
“My name is Joe Bodley.”
“What about these two varmin you are after?”
“They were trying to rob a friend of mine of some mining shares,”
answered Joe, and gave a few details.
“Well, I vow!” cried Bill Badger “That mine is close to one my dad owns.
They say it ain't of much account though.”
“Mr. Vane thinks it is valuable. He has had a mining expert go into the
matter with great care.”
“Then that's a different thing. Were you bound for the mine?”
“Yes, and so was Mr. Vane. We were on the train together when he was
robbed.”
“I see. I was going out to my dad's mine.”
“Then perhaps we can journey together--after we get through here,” said
Joe.
“I'm willing. I like your looks. Shake.” And the pair shook hands.
Although a westerner, Bill Badger knew no more about following a trail
than did our hero, consequently they proceeded on their hunt with
difficulty.
“Reckon we've missed 'em,” said Bill Badger, a while later. “Don't see
hide nor hair of 'em anywhere.”
“It's too bad if they got away,” answered Joe. “Perhaps--What was that?”
The cracking of a tree limb had reached their ears, followed by a cry of
alarm. A limb upon which Pat Malone was standing had broken, causing the
fellow to slip to another branch below.
“Hush! don't make so much noise!” said Caven, in alarm.
“Gosh! I thought I was going to tumble, out of the tree to the ground,”
gasped Malone, when he could catch his breath.
“They are coming--I can see them,” whispered Gaff Caven. “Be as quiet as
a mouse.”
In a moment more Joe and Bill Badger stood directly under the tree.
“I think the noise came from near here,” said Joe.
“I agree,” answered the westerner.
At that moment our hero looked up and saw a man's arm circling a tree
limb far over his head.
“They are up there!” he shouted.
“Sure?”
“Yes, I just saw one of them.”
“Then we've got 'em treed,” came with a broad grin from Bill Badger.
“What's the next turn of the game?”
“We have got to make them both prisoners.”
“All right. Have you got a shooting iron?”
“No, but I can get a club.”
“Then do it, and I'll use this, if it's necessary,” and the young
westerner pulled a pistol from his hip pocket.
“I wish we had some ropes, with which to tie them,” continued Joe.
“Here's a good big handkerchief.”
“That's an idea. My handkerchief is also good and strong.”
“You do the pow-wowing and I'll do the shooting, if it's necessary,”
said Bill Badger.
Joe looked up into the tree again but could see nobody.
“Caven!” he called out. “I know you are up there and I want you to come
down.”
To this remark and request there was no reply.
“If you don't come down we may begin to fire at you,” went on our hero.
“Oh, say, do you think he'll shoot?” whispered Malone, in sudden alarm.
“No; shut up!” returned Caven.
“Are you coming down or not?” went on Joe.
Still there was no reply.
“I'll give 'em a shot to warn 'em,” said Bill Badger, and fired into the
air at random.
“Don't shoot me!” roared Pat Malone. “Please don't! I'll come down!”
“Well, you come down first. Caven, you stay up there for the present.”
After this there was a pause, and presently Pat Malone came down out of
the tree looking sheepish enough.
“Up with your hands!” cried Bill Badger, and confronted by the firearms
the hands of the rascal went up in a hurry.
Then Joe took his handkerchief and stepped up behind Malone. The hands
were lowered and crossed and our hero tied them firmly together at the
wrists.
“Now back up to that tree yonder,” said our hero. “And don't you dare to
move.”
“I'll do just as you say,” whined Malone. “Only don't shoot me.” He was
a coward at heart.
“Now, Caven, you come down!” shouted Joe.
“I don't think I care to,” answered that rascal, coolly.
“If you don't come down I'll come up after you with my pistol,” broke in
Bill Badger.
“Maybe I can do a little shooting myself,” went on Gaff Caven.
“I'll risk that.”
More words followed, but in the end Caven thought it best to descend and
did so. Yet his face still wore a look of defiance. He was compelled to
turn around, and his hands were also tied behind him.
“Now I want those mining shares, Caven,” said Joe.
“I haven't got them.”
“Where is the satchel?”
“I threw it away when you started after me.”
“Down at the railroad tracks?”
“Yes.”
“Don't you believe that,” broke in Bill Badger. “At least, not unless he
emptied the satchel first.”
“Show me the way you came,” said Joe.
“Make him point out the satchel, or make him suffer,” went on Bill
Badger.
“I've got an idea!” cried our hero, suddenly. “Perhaps he left the
satchel in the tree.”
“That's so. Well, if you want to climb up and look around, I'll watch
the pair of 'em.”
“Don't let them get away.”
“If they try it, they'll go to the hospital or the graveyard,” replied
the western young man, significantly.
“The satchel ain't in the tree,” growled Caven, but his tone lacked
positiveness.
“I'll soon know for certain,” said our hero.
He climbed the tree with ease, having been used to such doings when
living with the old hermit. As he went from branch to branch he kept his
eyes open, and presently saw a bit of leather sticking out of a crotch.
He worked his way over and soon had the satchel in his possession.
“How are you making out?” called up Bill Badger.
“I've got it!” shouted our hero, joyfully.
“Got the papers?”
“Yes,--everything,” said Joe, after a hasty examination.
“Hang the luck!” muttered Gaff Caven, much chagrined.
Our hero was soon on the ground once more. Here he examined the contents
of the satchel with care. Everything was there, and, locking the bag, he
slung the strap over his shoulder.
“Now, what's the next move?” queried Bill Badger.
“We ought to have these men locked up. How far is it to the nearest
town?”
“Ten or twelve miles, I reckon. I don't know much about the roads.”
“Why can't you let us go?” asked Malone. “You've got what you want.”
“If I let you go you'll be trying to make more trouble for Mr. Vane and
myself.”
“Don't talk to them,” growled Caven. “If you want to lock us up, do so!”
He was in an ugly humor and ready for a fight.
“We'll march 'em along,” said Bill Badger, and so it was agreed.