THE WOLF IN THE BEAR'S BED.
The two boys traveled for three days and nights, the general direction
being south. There were, however, numerous halts and turns in the
journey to the Rio Grande. Three times Fremont was left alone at
junction towns while Nestor took short trips on cross lines. Once the
patrol leader was absent hours after the time set for his return, and
the boy was anxious as well as mystified.
Fremont knew that his traveling companion was receiving telegrams in
code all the way down, and knew, also, that his movements were in a
measure directed by them. Still, one delay seemed to lead to another,
as if new conditions were developing. The movements of the boys, too,
were carefully guarded, so carefully, indeed, that it seemed to Fremont
that Nestor was continually spying upon some one, as well as hiding
from those who were spying upon him.
Time and again Fremont asked his friend to explain the mystifying
situation, but never succeeded in gaining satisfactory information on
the subject of the frequent halts and seemingly useless journeys back
and forth. At various times during the journey he secured newspapers
containing wild and improbable theories of the crime which had been
committed in the Cameron building. Mr. Cameron's death, the dispatches
said, was hourly expected, so the unfortunate boy received little
encouragement from his reading of the New York news.
Early in the evening of the third day out the boys reached El Paso, on
the Texas side of the Rio Grande. They found the city looking like a
military encampment. Soldiers wearing the khaki uniforms of Uncle Sam
were everywhere, martial music filled the air with its shrill fifings
and deep drum-beats, and there was a gleam of polished steel wherever
the boys walked.
It was a scene well calculated to stir the imagination and excite the
patriotism of the Boy Scouts, and for a time the excitement of it all
forced Fremont's troubles from his mind. The boys dined at a
restaurant and then Fremont went to a comfortable room which had been
engaged in a small hotel while Nestor went out into the city, "to spy
out the resources of the land," as he declared.
Fremont, however, knew that his friend was very anxious over something.
There appeared to be some new complication which the patrol leader was
having a hard time puzzling out. It may well be imagined that his
return was awaited with impatience. His face was very grave when at
last he entered the room.
"I'm sorry I have no better report to make," Nestor said, throwing
himself into a chair, "but the fact is that we've got to lose ourselves
in the mountains across the river as soon as we can do so. We can get
across to-night, of course, but must hustle after we get across. We
can get provisions at San Jose."
"We've got to carry the provisions into the mountains on our backs?"
asked Fremont.
"We surely have," was the reply, "and we've got to lay low while we are
cooking and eating them. The Sierra del Fierro mountains, where we are
going, are lined with insurrectos, and they are not in good humor just
now."
"I'm game for anything, so long as we can get out of the beaten way,"
replied Fremont. "I've felt all the way down that we were being
followed. Anyway," he continued, more cheerfully, "I shall enjoy the
sight of a mountain campfire again. We don't have to take any matches
with us. I can build a fire, Indian-fashion, with dry sticks and a
cord. My Boy Scout experiences will be of service now, I take it."
"And you must fix up a little disguise to get over the river in,"
continued Nestor. "The New York police are in communication with the
officers here, and the latter are out for the $10,000 reward. As you
suspected, we have been shadowed from New York. More than once I threw
the shadows off the track, but they landed again. There are most
unusual conditions around us, and we must be very discreet. After we
get across the Rio Grande the danger will decrease."
"It makes me feel happy again," Fremont said, after putting on a new,
cheap suit and tinting his face, "this idea of meeting a different sort
of danger. I can't stand this lurking peril--this obsession that some
one may spring out upon me from some dark corner at any minute. Get me
out by a mountain camp-fire, old fellow, and I'll be game for anything."
There was a short silence, and then the boy went on.
"I don't understand exactly why you are heading for Mexico, but one
country is as good as another just now. The police over there are said
to be in close touch with those here, and to be brutal in their
handling of prisoners. However, let us make up our minds that we will
have nothing to do with the police."
"We are going to Mexico for three reasons," Nestor said, in a moment.
"I can't tell you all about the three now, but one is to get you out of
the way until the real criminal is discovered. The other two will show
in time, and are likely to bring out a great deal of excitement."
"I have been wondering all the way down here," Fremont said, "why you
copied one of the papers in the Tolford estate packet. I know now.
There is in that sheaf of papers a description of a lost Mexican
mine--a very valuable mine which has been lost for any number of years.
I remember of hearing Mr. Cameron discuss the matter with one of the
heirs. The lost mine seems to be the most valuable item in the estate
schedule," the boy went on. "At any rate, there has been a lot of
quarreling over it. That paper contains the only description in
existence, and all the heirs want it."
"So you think I'm going after the lost mine?" laughed Nestor.
"If you are not, why did you copy the description?"
"How do you know that I copied the description?"
"You copied something."
"Yes; I copied the description of the lost mine. I thought it might
be of use to us, and it may prove of the greatest importance."
"Then you think the man who invaded the office and struck Mr. Cameron
down is interested in the lost mine?" exclaimed Fremont. "You think he
committed the crime to get the description? That he copied it, and
left the original paper there to throw off suspicion? That the man we
are in quest of will go directly to the lost mine? Is that why you are
going to Mexico? Is that why you said, from the start, that the clue
pointed across the Rio Grande?"
"Don't ask so many questions," laughed Nestor. "There is a shadowy
suspicion in my mind that the assassin is interested in the Tolford
estate, if you must know, but I may be entirely mistaken. Still, we
must remember that on the occasion when the Tolford papers were in the
office over night, there was an attempt at robbery. This may be a
coincidence, but it is worth looking into."
"I should say so," cried Fremont, with enthusiasm. "I should say it
was worth looking into. Now I begin to see what you mean by coming
this way, and why you dodged about on the route down. You think the
lost mine man is watching us."
"I don't think anything about it," said Nestor. "I never imagine
issues, and I never form theories. One thing I know, and that is that
we shall find friends over in Mexico. You may even come upon some of
the Black Bears there."
"I hope so," was the cheerful reply.
"In which case," continued Nestor, "you might take the suggested ride
down the Rio Grande."
"Not with the mountains in sight, and a lost mine to find," exclaimed
Fremont.
"And a brutal assassin to bring to punishment," added Nestor.
"And the third motive for visiting Mexico to develop," smiled Fremont.
"I wish I knew about that third motive. I understand the first
two--one you told me and one I guessed."
"You shall know the other in time," said Nestor. "Just at present,
however, the secret is not mine. Important issues are at stake, and I
must keep my lips shut, even when talking with you, concerning our
mission."
"All right," said Fremont. "Don't worry about me. I'll get it out of
you in some way. See if I don't."
Shortly after this conversation closed Nestor went out into the city to
arrange for the trip to the mountains. As he left the little hotel he
imagined that he saw men bearing unmistakable stamp of plain-clothes
policemen hanging about, and it also seemed to him that he was followed
as he walked down the crowded street toward the river.
It was late when he returned to the room where he had left Fremont. His
suspicions had proven to be more than suspicions, for he had indeed
been tracked from the hotel, and had been obliged to do a great deal of
walking in order to leave his pursuers behind. When he entered the
hotel he saw that the plain-clothes men were no longer on duty at the
front.
He climbed the stairs to his room and opened the door with a little
quiver of the lips, for the place was dark and silent. When he turned
on the lights, however, he was easier in his mind, for there was the
sleeping figure he had hoped to find.
In a moment, however, his eyes fell upon a heap of clothing lying
across a chair near the head of the bed. Those were not the clothes
Fremont had worn. These were soiled and torn. Whose were they, then,
and how was it that they were there?
He shook the sleeper lightly and a dust-marked face was lifted from the
sheltering bed-clothes. But the face was not that of Fremont, but of
Jimmie McGraw. Nestor started back in wonder. How had the boy come
there, and where was Fremont? Had he been taken by the police? Was he
already on his way back to the tombs? Then Jimmie sprang out of bed
with a grin on his face.