Down the trail there was a small procession coming to the relief of
the starved-out camp. Helen had seen an Indian, and as they all fairly
worshipped her as a superior being there was not one of them who would
not have coursed all over the State of Wyoming to do her a service. She
sent to Shoshone for food, and they were now on the road. Even Snakes
had come along, leaving his hotel to the care of his help. Dan and Mike
were also of the relief-party. Mike had hurt his foot and found it a
difficult matter to walk. They had ridden to the place, all but Mike,
whose pony had somehow gone so lame that they were obliged to leave
him. The others would have changed off with him and let him ride, but
he took this as an insult to his manhood, that he should be treated
like a baby, or, worse yet, a tenderfoot.
“Well, then, come on. You are worse than a pack of English tenderfoots.
If we are going to find the Angel and her friends, we must get a move
on. That’s what we must.”
“What do you think we are? A bunch of burros or mountain-goats? Do you
think we can climb these rocks the same as if they was flat prairie?”
said Dan, angry that Mike should be treated so badly, for they all knew
that Mike never shirked in anything from work to a free fight.
“Don’t mind Shoshone, Mike; he is stabbed by the spurs of love, and he
don’t know what he is saying half the time. He’s got cactus stickers in
his topknot, and he’s as sassy as a loon. Let him rave. Let him rave.”
“Well, you all know that I busted my saddle-girth a while back and that
dumped me out like a bag of flour, and kind ’er twisted my ankle.”
They all laughed at the wry face Mike made, but he sat down,
obstinately saying:
“Now, look here, fellows; this is nothing to laugh at. I’ve heard of
people faintin’ away with this, and I ain’t no coward when it comes to
it, and that you all know. I must rest this foot a little, and that’s
all there is to it.”
“Snakes, you stay here with Mike and we’ll push on. Somehow, I’ve got a
hunch that we’re needed up at the claim,” said Shoshone.
“No,” said Mike, “you all stay for ten minutes. That’s all I ask.”
“Well, then, did you sprain your warbler, too? If not, then let’s
sing, to ease the pain,” said Shoshone. He well knew the virtues of
the singing to the cattle, so why not try it on the suffering man? So
he started the song and the rocky canyon resounded with the melody,
for these men make real music with their singing out in the open.
And scarcely had they finished the song than they heard a familiar
“Whoo-hoo,” and, with one accord, they said:
“The Angel. No use talking, our warbling would bring the angels down.
Whoo-hoo, Angel, this way!”
“I am awfully glad to see you, boys,” said Helen, as she climbed down
the declevity. “We’ve been hunting for game and found none, and are
pretty well starved out up there. And the little fellow needs better
food.”
“Come on, boys; come quick! Scoot, you wolves, and get a lamb from the
nearest flock! Don’t stand there looking, but scoot. I’ve got enough
with me for one good square meal all ready, and the rest will be easy.
Mike, you get on my cayuse. We can’t wait.”
“What is it, Mike? Have you turned your ankle? Let me see it. No saying
a word, but take off your boot, and quick,” said Helen, in the most
matter-of-fact business sort of way. Then she deftly felt the injured
foot and, with a quick wrench that made the strong man pale to the
lips, she said:
“Why, Mike, it was dislocated. No wonder it hurt. Now I’ll bandage it
the best I can until we get to civilization again.”
With a long strip of cloth which she carried in a little bag hung
to her waist, Helen bandaged the foot while the others looked on in
wonder, all wishing the ankle his own. Then Mike was kindly forced to
mount the horse, and Shoshone outdid himself in consideration for Mike.
As Dan and Snakes started for the lamb, Helen called them and told
them the place was at the head of the small gulch on Bald Knob. Then
she hurried Shoshone and Mike along, her own feet seeming tireless,
although she had been tramping over the mountains all day long, and
hungry.
“Whenever the Injuns come around as thick as they have been lately,”
said Mike, “the game gits scarce at once. I think as how the critters
has a way of telling each other that it ain’t healthy for them to stay.
Animals know lots more than we think. And they know that we don’t
bother much with them so long as there is fat yearlings to eat for the
asking. So when the Injuns come back from one of their jaunts, the
critters just mosey off, each one telling the other that it ain’t safe
to stay.”
“I think you are right, Mike, and I have thought it so, too. But now we
will be all right. I haven’t had a bite since yesterday.”
Shoshone turned pale and hastily took the knapsack from his back, but
Helen refused to touch a thing until they were all at the claim.
“Vamose, vamose, boys!” cried Shoshone to the others, who were going as
fast as the nature of the ground would permit toward a ranch down the
valley. “Hurry up, you catamounts! Come, and keep coming till there’s
enough grub for a month. The Angel is starved--that’s what!”
Scarcely had the ringing voice of Shoshone ceased reverberating through
the ravine than Helen and Shoshone saw the frail form of little Loney
come flying down toward them. With all his feeble strength, he cried:
“Help! Help!”
“Why, Loney! what is the matter?” asked Helen, taking the panting child
in her arms. “Speak, child, speak!”
“Mr. Goldberg! Mr. Goldberg!”
“What’s wrong, Loney?” asked Shoshone, filled with apprehension, for
he knew how ignorant the old man was of life in this region, and he
thought, in one brief instant, of dozens of dangers he might have run
into through his ignorance--from a nest of mountain-lions to a cave-in
of his tunnel.
“He is dead! He is dead!”
“Dead!” said Helen. “Dead! How?”
“Yes; he is dead! Some men came and killed him with a funny stick. They
fired at him, and a rock came down, but it didn’t hurt him, and then
they hit him and killed him, because he wouldn’t tell them where a
deed, I think they said, was. And I hid in the rocks and run away.”
“I don’t know who could have been vile enough to injure that good
man. He was like a child in his truthfulness and like an angel in his
goodness. And he was good to me. Come on, Shoshone and Mike, come on.
Let us go to him, and I swear to search Wyoming to avenge the death of
this good and inoffensive man! Shoshone, if I am anything at all of
what all you boys believe me to be, I owe it to him. He taught me that
it is never too late to mend.”
“So will I,” said Shoshone solemnly, as to himself, while Mike said:
“You can count me in, too, Angel, and together we will find who has
done this thing, and bring swift punishment on him.”
They rode on in the gathering dusk and soon were by the shack that had
been built near the claim, as it was convenient for water. There was a
light inside, a fact which seemed remarkable, and which made them use
much caution.
During the time when Loney had been running down the trail and
returning with Helen, Shoshone and Mike, John and Dopey had taken the
inert form of Morris and carried it to the shack and placed it on the
bed in a position so that they could torture him at their leisure.
The table had a lighted lamp upon it. Morris lay pale and almost in a
comatose condition. On the table by the lamp lay a heavy bar of iron.
John and Dopey were making a hurried search for the missing deed when
Morris groaned and stirred slightly on the bed, which caused the two
miscreants to stop in their fruitless search and approach him. In the
fracas John’s false beard had become loosened, and he let it fall,
while Dopey, who took his cue always from John, drew his off also, and
they stood revealed as the two who had carried Dora from her home.
“’Ow is he, boss? T’ink we’d better get t’rough wid him?”
“He seems unconscious. That pounding you gave him with the slung-shot
was too much for his thick head, and may kill him, after all! He
hasn’t been able to speak a word since he has been here. But you shall
speak!” he continued to Morris, “you shall speak and tell me where to
find the deed, or I’ll slit your throat for you! Wake up and speak, or
I’ll tear your heart out, you old fool! Where is the deed? Where is
the deed, I say?” Then the villain choked the unconscious man, shaking
him like a rat, and finally discouraged, threw him back again upon the
pillow. “It’s no use, Dopey; he is the same as dead! We must wait and
search!”
“Dora! Dora! mein little chilt!” murmured the unconscious Morris, in a
feeble tone.
“Hear dat, boss? He spoke!”
“And he’ll speak again, or I’ll cut his throat!” And as he said these
words, John bent over Morris and threatened him with a keen and shining
knife. “Will you speak and tell me where that deed is, or shall I cut
your throat? Answer me!”
“Oh, cut away, boss! You’re losin’ time.”
“And lose the deed to that mine--not much. I’d rather wait. He was
talking of his child while still unconscious, and that makes me feel
sure he will come to in time and tell us where the deed is, or he’ll
never leave this bed alive!”
“And where is de gal now?”
“Oh, Muriel has got her, and I’ve got them both fastened in the old
shack below.”
At this instant there was a loud hallo, which caused the two murderers
to grow pale and start, but John said:
“There’s someone coming! Bar the door, Dopey!”
“Settle him now, before he comes to and tells tales!”
“You are right, Dopey. I’ll smother him!” And, saying these fateful
words, John seized the pillow and pressed it down over the prostrate
man’s face, while his ears were strained to catch any sounds.
There was a loud and insistent knock on the cabin-door, which had been
made to withstand the attacks of mountain-lions or any other possible
depredators, and the ringing voice of Shoshone said:
“Open! Open, I say! Whoever you are, open the door!”
John made a motion to Dopey to keep still, while he took out his pistol
and stood on guard, forgetting, in his peril, to press the pillow down
over Morris’ face, while Shoshone, without, again commanded that the
door be opened or he would break it down. John returned to the attack
upon Morris, and again pressed the pillow down tightly, intending to
finish his work and then, if so be, fight the intruders later.
There was but a short time before the door began to cede to the
efforts of Shoshone and Mike, who now forgot his lame ankle, and
John saw instantly that his only hope was to pay in audacity for his
imprudence, so when Shoshone and Mike entered the hut he had laid one
of his pistols on the table, as though that were the only one he had.
The pillow had been placed back of the man, and Shoshone came forward,
saying sternly:
“So he is here, and you are the men who have murdered him!”
“You are wrong there, Mister. We were riding along when we heard the
sound of trouble and dismounted, and came to see what we could do, and
found this poor man wounded, and brought him in. While we were doing
this, the scoundrels, whoever they were, rode off on our horses with
our entire outfit.”
“What is that pistol doing on the table? Is that the kind of medicine
you have been giving him?”
“That is not my pistol. We don’t need pistols. We are simply honest
prospectors, trying to locate a mine somewhere.”
“Well, I’m not armed, either,” said Shoshone. “I fell into a hole
coming here, and dropped mine; so, if you are honest men, I don’t need
them, and you will help me to help my friend.”
“Certainly we will, and be glad to do so,” said John.
Shoshone would have known John, had he not taken off the very perfect
false beard he had worn, although he had not seen very much of him
during their short stay at the hotel.
“I have a friend coming along behind, and she is a famous nurse. Our
poor friend here will need good care if he is to live.”
Saying this, Shoshone went to the door, as if going out, while the
wounded man, by a supreme effort, reached his hand out to the table,
and then, thinking that unsafe, began to tap the Morse telegraphic call
on a board of the bed:
(. : . : .)
“What’s that?” asked John, startled, in spite of himself, and not
understanding the tapping. Shoshone returned from the door, saying to
himself, “The telegraphic call.” Then the wounded man again tapped, and
this time it came
--. : . .. .... ..
“Why, what does this mean?”
Again the raps sounded out, loud and distinct, as Morris struck his
hardened knuckles against the board, making these sounds:
.. ::: ..--.: .... .. ... .. ..
Shoshone read “These are the men who tried to rob and murder me!”
As Shoshone read these signs aloud, John saw that the game was up and
he must save himself as best he could, and sprang to reach his pistol,
but Shoshone was too quick for him and pulled him to the floor, while
Dopey came from the shadow where he had kept himself purposely and fell
upon Shoshone, and the three went struggling to the floor. Morris had
by now completely regained his consciousness, though not his strength,
and, finding himself unable to rise, he reached out and managed, by a
super-human effort, to reach the pistol on the table and fire it just
as John had seized the heavy lamp to brain Shoshone with it, as Dopey
held him down, and although Morris fired at random almost, he was
fortunate enough to hit John in the arm, while the lamp dropped to the
floor, just as Helen and Loney came panting in.
John and Dopey made their escape in the confusion, and there was
nothing left to do but to prepare and eat a good supper, which helped
materially in restoring Morris, who told them of having seen his
daughter, and that she did not know him.
Helen felt sure that her captors were holding her for a ransom, wishing
to get the mine into their control. They discussed the question awhile,
and then Loney said:
“Why, Mr. Goldberg, those two men were the very same that killed the
man in the shop. And when they struck you to-day they were not shaved.
To-night they are shaved, and I know them. They are awful bad men. They
took Dora, and they hit me. Oh, dear! it makes my head hurt to think
about it!”