RUGGLES—THE DERELICT.
But you lads who are not already acquainted with the adventurous Border
Boys, must be wishing, by this time, to know something about them and
of the quest which brought them into this wild and rugged part of
the great Mexican Republic. In the first volume of this series “The
Border Boys on The Trail,” it was related how Ralph Stetson, a somewhat
delicate young easterner,—the son of “King Pin” Stetson, the railroad
magnate,—came out west to visit his school chum Jack Merrill, the only
son of a ranch owner.
The lads’ adventures in pursuit of a band of cattle rustlers,—headed
by Black Ramon de Barros,—were related in full in that volume. There
also, it was told how they escaped from the mysterious old mission and
found a rich treasure in a secret passage of the mouldering structure.
Jack’s bravery in preventing Black Ramon from destroying a dam and
flooding the country was also an incident of that book. But although
the boys had succeeded in routing Black Ramon for the nonce, that
scourge of the border was destined to be re-encountered by them.
How this came about we told in the second volume of this series, “The
Border Boys Across The Frontier.” Beginning with their discovery of the
subterranean river leading from the Haunted Mesa across the border,
the lads were plunged into an amazing series of adventures. These
culminated in the attack on the Esmeralda,—a mine owned by Jack’s
father,—and the gallant defense of it by our lads and their faithful
friends. The attacking force was composed of Mexican rebels and they
were only repulsed by an unexpected happening. Black Ramon was active
in this part of the boys’ adventures, too. For a time it looked as if
they at last had brought the rascal with the coal black horse to book.
But it proved otherwise, and Black Ramon once more made good his
escape from the arm of the law.
Their adventures in Mexico over, and the revolution brought to a
termination by the abdication of President Diaz, the Border Boys
settled down to spend the rest of their vacation in comparative
monotony. A few weeks before the present story opens, however, an
incident had occurred which seemed destined once more to provide some
excitement for them.
Mr. Stetson, whose railroad interests had brought him to Mexico during
the fighting days, had paid a hasty visit to the ranch and spent some
time in consultation with Mr. Merrill. Professor Wintergreen had also
been summoned to the conference. It appeared that the railroad king
had, some years before, materially aided a young college friend who
had fallen on hard times. The beneficiary of his aid had, however,
ultimately wandered away from the position with which Mr. Stetson had
provided him, without leaving a word or a sign of his destination. The
years rolled by and Mr. Stetson had practically forgotten all about
the man, when, during his stay in El Paso, a wretched, ragged figure
had confronted him on the street one day and disclosed his identity as
Stewart Ruggles, the outcast.
Mr. Stetson, shocked at his old friend’s abject appearance of misery
and illness, ordered a carriage and took him to his hotel. Here, after
Ruggles had been suitably clothed and fed, Mr. Stetson listened to his
story. After wandering off so many years before, Ruggles, it seems, had
fallen in with bad company. He finally had become connected with a bank
robbery and had been compelled to seek refuge in Mexico. After knocking
about for many lonely years, he became a prospector.
One spring had found him in the mountains of Chinipal, with his burros
and prospecting outfit. He met with indifferent luck and was about to
vacate the country, when, one day, in a rugged pass, he heard groans
coming from the trailside. Investigating, he found a Yaqui, who had
been swept from his horse by an overhanging branch, and whose leg was
broken. With characteristic brutality and callousness, the rest of the
tribe had passed on, leaving the wounded man to shift as best he might.
Ruggles, who had some rough knowledge of surgery, set the man’s leg
and tended him for several days. At last one day the Yaqui was ready
to ride on. But before he left he confided to Ruggles the location of
a mountain known to the Indians as the Trembling Mountain. In a cavern
in the interior of this eminence,—so the Indian legend had it,—a
vanished race of aborigines had hidden vast treasures of gold and
sacrificial emblems of great value. Asked why, if this was the case,
his own tribesmen had not sought for it, the Yaqui had declared that
rather than enter the mountain his fellows would cut off their right
hands. It was, according to their belief, guarded by the spirits of the
dead and gone race, and terrible vengeance would light on the head of
the luckless mortal who offended them.
Under the Indian’s direction Ruggles had drawn up a rough map of the
location of Trembling Mountain and then, determined to investigate it,
had set out for the north to find proper equipment for his quest. But
he found the land in the throes of revolution, and where he was not
laughed at as a lunatic he was told to wait till times became more
settled. In poverty and despair he was wandering the streets of El Paso
when chance threw him across the path of his old college mate.
Mr. Stetson, who had been known as one of the most daring operators
on Wall Street, believed where others had scoffed. He agreed to back
Ruggles in his quest to any amount. But while active preparations were
still on foot, a fever seized the prospector. His impoverished frame
was unable to resist the attack, and in a few days he breathed his
last, not before, however, he had confided to Mr. Stetson his wish that
the latter would carry out the quest.
The railroad king faithfully saw the remains of his unfortunate and
erring friend to the grave, and then began to consider the feasibility
of the enterprise to which he stood committed. It was clear, he
decided, that the mission was no ordinary one. It could only be
performed by trustworthy agents, for, in the event of the treasure
being there, the temptation to play him false would be tremendous.
Then, too, it must be kept secret, because, on the face of it, the
venture appeared such a far-fetched and desperate one that unless
success crowned it its promoter was likely to be heaped with ridicule
from one end of the country to the other.
Altogether, Mr. Stetson was at a standstill till he suddenly bethought
himself of the Border Boys and their companions, Coyote Pete and
Professor Wintergreen.
With his customary promptitude, he had lost no time in getting to the
Merrill ranch. At first the rancher was unwilling that his son should
embark on such an enterprise, but on Jack’s pleadings to be allowed
to participate, he finally agreed on the condition, however, that no
unnecessary risks were to be run.
The fact that Coyote Pete and Professor Wintergreen were to go along
played no small part in enabling the rancher to make up his mind. As
for Mr. Stetson, he remarked:
“Ralph will have to play his part in the world before very long now,
and such adventures are good for him. They form character and make him
quick in action and decision.”
And so it came about, that a week before, our party had disembarked
from, the queer little narrow-gauge train at Esmedora, on the borders
of Sonora,—the starting point of their three hundred and fifty mile
trip into the unknown. Not unnaturally, some excitement had been
created at Esmedora by the arrival of so many strangers. It had been
given out by Professor Wintergreen that the expedition was a scientific
one and their real destination was, of course, carefully concealed.
Firewater,—Jack’s favorite pony,—had been the only animal brought
from the States by the party, as it was understood that excellent
animals could be purchased in Esmedora. This proved to be the case.
Coyote Pete was provided with an excellent little buckskin, while Ralph
and Walt Phelps each secured a calico pony. The professor’s mount was
a tall, bony animal, almost as lanky as himself, but one which Coyote
Pete pronounced a “stayer.” Its color was a sort of nondescript yellow,
and the man of science, when mounted on it with all his traps and
appendages, cut an odd figure. Besides the horses and ponies, two pack
burros were purchased to carry the somewhat extensive outfit of the
party.
Naturally, in that sleepy part of the country, such purchases and
preparations caused quite a stir. By that species of wireless
telegraphy which prevails in parts of the world unprovided with other
means for the transmission of news, the information was, in fact,
in the few days the party remained in Esmedora, diffused over a
considerable part of the country round about.
In due course it reached the ears of a person to whom it was of
peculiar interest. This individual was one whom we have met before,
and whose presence in the vicinity would have caused the Border Boys
considerable anxiety had they known of it. Who this man was, and what
effect his presence was to have upon events in the immediate future we
shall see before very long.
And now, after this considerable, but necessary digression, it is high
time we were getting back to the camp in the canyon where we left the
lads and the professor enjoying peaceful repose, and Coyote Pete hard
at work thinking. Before the morning was far advanced, however, the
plainsman aroused his comrades and a great scene of bustle was soon
going on.
While the professor visited the creek to indulge in a good wash in
its clear, cool waters, Walt Phelps, who had already performed his
ablutions, cleaned up the “spider” with sand, and having scoured it
thoroughly he set about getting breakfast. Coyote Pete attended to
the horses and the two burros, and Ralph Stetson, always fastidious,
“duded up,” as Jack called it, before a small pocket mirror he had
affixed to a tree.
As for Jack, while all this was doing, he set off for a stroll.
“Too many cooks spoil the broth,” he remarked laughingly, as he
started. With him he carried a light rifle thinking that he might
encounter an opportunity to bring down something acceptable in the way
of a rabbit or other “small deer,” for breakfast.
His path took him by the spot on which the night before he had killed
the bear. The animal, charred and blackened to a crisp, still lay
there. As he neared the place, however, a heavy flapping of wings as
several hideous “turkey buzzards” arose heavily, apprised him that the
carrion birds had already gathered to the feast. The lad noted that,
before rising, the glutted creatures had to run several yards with
outspread wings before they could gain an upward impetus.
The crisp beauty of the morning, the smiling greenery of the trees,
and the thousand odors and sounds about him all combined to make Jack
wander rather further than he had intended. Then, too, a boy with a
rifle always does go a longer distance than he means to. That’s boy
nature.
All at once he found himself emerging from the brush at a point rather
higher up the canyon side than their camp in the abyss. So gentle had
been the rise, however, that he had not noticed it. Before him lay a
sort of roughly piled rampart of rocks. The boy was advancing toward
these to peer over their summits into the valley below, when something
suddenly arrested his footsteps as abruptly as if a precipice had
yawned before him.
The sharp, acrid odor of tobacco had reached his nostrils. At the same
instant, too, he became aware of the low hum of voices. The sounds came
from immediately in front of him, and seemingly just below the rock
rampart. With a beating heart, and as silently as possible, the lad
crept forward to ascertain what other intruders besides themselves had
come into the primeval fastnesses of the Sonora country.