TOO LATE!
As the boys breathlessly watched, they saw a burro emerge from
among the rocks on the left of the trail. There was no load on the
burro's back, and the shaggy little animal was being driven by two
ruffianly-looking men. One of the men had a club, and every once in a
while he would reach over and hit the burro a heavy blow. The burro
would flinch and leap ahead; then, apparently forgetting what had
happened, would lag again and the blow would be repeated.
"The brute!" muttered Chub.
"Two brutes besides the burro," whispered Matt, "if I'm any judge of
faces. Listen!"
The men had headed the burro along the trail, and would soon pass
the point where Matt and Chub were hiding. They continued to talk as
they approached. Evidently they were well pleased over something, for
occasionally one of them would give a hoarse laugh.
"Hawley ort ter pay me well fer this," said one of the scoundrels.
"You git half the claim, Jacks, purvidin' Hawley don't beat ye out o'
it, but I'm only gittin' what I airn."
"Don't ye be in no takin', Bisbee, erbout Hawley beatin' me out o' my
share in the 'strike,'" replied Jacks. "He's an' ole fox, but he ain't
no more of a fox'n what I am."
"Waal, I kin split on his game if he don't treat me right," scowled
Bisbee; "I kin tell about smashin' that machine at the Bluebell this
mornin', on my way out yar, an' I kin tell about what we done at the
ole Santa Maria, with----"
At that interesting point the two rascals passed out of ear-shot. Chub,
awed by what they had heard, stared excitedly at Matt.
"One of 'em was Jacks!" he muttered; "the four-flush with the club was
the prospector who was threatenin' dad with trouble!"
"And the other's name is Bisbee," said Matt, "and he came out here this
morning and smashed that wireless apparatus on his way. Hawley didn't
lose much time getting busy after Perry gave him that letter!"
"They're goin' after dad now, that's a cinch!" exclaimed Chub. "Let's
follow 'em right up, Matt, an' have a hand in what happens--that is, if
anything is goin' to happen. I guess dad and you and me can take care
of those two handy boys, all right."
By that time the two men and the burro were well out of sight, and
the boys, mounting their machines, started slowly after them, working
laboriously at the pedals, so that their presence in the vicinity might
not be betrayed by the volleying of explosions.
As they proceeded, the rocks gradually disappeared from the sides
of the trail and the country flattened into a level mesa. To the
astonishment of Matt and Chub, nothing was to be seen of the two men on
this level stretch.
"Where'd they go?" queried the puzzled Chub, stopping his machine for a
few words with his chum.
"They must have left the trail again, back somewhere among the rocks,"
replied Matt.
"Then maybe we're off the track," suggested Chub anxiously. "If Jacks
and Bisbee were going to the scene of dad's 'strike,' why----"
"We're not off the track," interrupted Motor Matt. "Look over there,
Chub!"
Matt pointed as he spoke. Chub, following his chum's finger with his
eyes, saw a dun-colored peak rising to the left of the trail, and
half-way up the side of the uplift, the sun glimmered on a couple of
intersecting lines that formed a cross.
"The white cross!" whispered Chub. "We're headed right, Matt, and no
mistake. But where in Sam Hill are Bisbee and Jacks? If they weren't
coming here, where _were_ they goin'? Put me wise."
"Let's stop fretting about Bisbee and Jacks. The fortune of the
McReadys lies over there, at the foot of that peak, and now's our
chance to cinch it."
The words sent a thrill through Chub. Once more he remembered what this
"strike" might mean to his father, and Susie and himself. Their years
in Arizona had been lean enough, and all of them had felt the bitter
pinch of poverty. Now, suddenly, Fortune had shown them her smile, and
if they were to profit by it, they must beat down the evil schemes
of the gambler. Hawley and his confederates alone stood between the
McReadys and the goal toward which the prospector had been struggling
for so long.
With a bounding heart Chub turned from the trail and headed straight
for the white cross on the peak.
"It takes you to ginger a fellow up, Matt!" cried Chub. "Dad's claim
is almost in sight, and it won't be long before we're racing back to
Phoenix with a location notice. I was beginnin' to feel discouraged,
an' that's a fact, but I'm right on my toes now and sure we're goin' to
win. Hurrah for the McReady strike!"
There was no trail where the boys were riding, but the ground was
smooth and level and there was nothing to prevent them from making good
speed. Only a quarter of a mile lay between the pack-trail and the
claim, and the distance was soon covered.
"There are the monuments!" called Chub, waving his hand.
Matt looked ahead and saw a collection of stones. There were five of
these piles, four standing at the corners of an oblong square, and
marking the limits of the claim. In the center of the square was a heap
as large as two of the others, and Chub kept on toward it.
As Matt followed, he saw that this large heap of stones had a short
pole protruding from the middle. A board was fastened to the top of the
pole, and there was a square, white paper tacked to the board.
When Chub reached the center monument he tumbled off his motor-cycle
in the midst of a rude little camp. A pack-saddle lay on the ground,
and near it was a canvas-wrapped bundle. A pile of wood was heaped near
some smoke-blackened stones, and to one side were a dingy coffee-pot
and a skillet.
"Dad's camp!" muttered Chub. "He bunked right down by his center
monument and was bound Jacks shouldn't get the best of him. Plucky
old dad!" Chub's voice trembled a little. "He's fought hard for this,
Matt--nobody, not even Susie and me, knows how hard."
"It's a long lane, Chub," said Matt, "that has no turning. Hard luck
can't dog a fellow always. Is that your father's pack-burro?"
Chub looked in the direction Matt was pointing. Off beyond the confines
of the claim, a burro was grazing on the mesquit-bushes. A small spring
was close by. The burro was hobbled so that he could not stray far from
the camp.
"Sure enough!" laughed Chub; "that's old Baldy himself. When we come
into our money, we'll put Baldy in a gold barn and let him stuff his
old hide with patent breakfast-food."
"Maybe Baldy'll like that," laughed Matt, "and maybe he won't."
"Anyhow," grinned Chub, "he looks like he could stand a little stuffing
with just plain hay. He's helped dad through the hills for the last
five years--the two of them have gone thirsty and hungry together, and
knocked into more hardships and out of them again than anybody'll ever
know. But right here's where they win. Look at that 'blow-out,' will
you, Matt?"
By "blow-out," Chub meant a lot of white quartz that was littering
the ground in every direction. He picked up a piece and held it under
Matt's eyes. The stone was flecked with little yellow grains.
"Gold!" cried Chub; "the rock's just full of it. Say, it's a wonder
this claim's laid here as long as it has. I'll bet that dozens of
prospectors have been around it--but it was dad that found 'er!
Whoop-ee!"
Chub jerked off his cap suddenly and hurled it into the air; then, in
the excess of his joy, he caught hold of Matt and whirled him around
and around in the wildest kind of a dance.
But there were some things about the situation which Matt couldn't
understand. He hated to throw any cold water on Chub's effusive
spirits, and yet he knew that they ought to probe to the bottom of the
situation.
"Where's your father, Chub?" Matt inquired, as his chum let loose of
him.
"Why, he must have set out for Phoenix to file the duplicate location
notice," replied Chub, sitting down on the side of the rock pile. "You
see, Matt, that letter was five days gettin' to us. Hawley had it
for a day, and the Mexican must have had it longer than he admitted,
or else dad was wrong in his dates when he wrote it. I guess dad got
tired waiting for me to come out, and so he began to scratch gravel for
Phoenix on his own hook."
Matt was wondering why Jacks and Bisbee had appeared so delighted
during their talk on the pack-trail. From their manner, and what they
had said, he had got the idea that they had accomplished something for
Hawley.
"I thought your father didn't have any location blanks," went on Matt,
"and that he wanted you to come and bring them."
"He must have found some blanks somewhere," returned Chub.
"Did he have a horse with him, besides the burro?"
Chub stared.
"Why, no, Matt," said he. "Prospectors don't ride. They just walk, an'
drive their pack-burros ahead of them."
"Your father only had one burro?"
"That's all. What's buzzin' around in your nut, anyway, Matt?"
"I'm wondering why your father should pull out for Phoenix and leave
old Baldy behind. He wouldn't walk all the way to town, would he, and
leave the burro and his camp-truck here?"
The words startled Chub. A look of alarm drove all the joy out of his
freckled face.
"Oh, slush! That's me, all right!" he muttered. "I'm goin' off
half-cocked, as per usual. There's a whole lot of things I'm
forgettin'. For instance, that talk we overheard between Jacks and
Bisbee. That lacked a good deal of being encouraging to the McReadys.
And then, again, where's Dace Perry? He ought to be around here
somewhere, but I'm not seeing much of him. Anyhow," and Chub looked
up at the board on top of the pole, "dad found his location notice
somewhere, and we can't be euchred out of the claim."
"Look at the notice, Chub," suggested Matt. "See what sort of a name
your father gave the claim."
"I'll make a guess that it's 'McReady's Pride,' or 'McReady's Hope,' or
something like that," said Chub, climbing to the top of the rock pile.
Hanging to the pole, he brought his eyes close to the notice. Matt saw
his hands grip the pole hard, while a cry of savage disappointment
escaped his lips.
"What's wrong?" asked Matt.
Chub looked down dazedly at his chum.
"Why--why," he faltered huskily, "dad didn't put up this notice at all.
The claim is named the 'Pauper's Dream,' and the locators are down as
'Jacks and Hawley.'"
"Jacks and Hawley?" echoed Matt.
"Yes," roared Chub, grabbing the notice and jerking it fiercely off the
board, "the gambler's won out on us, Matt. Jacks has put up his notice,
and some one is now on the way to Phoenix to file a duplicate."
Chub tumbled off the rock pile, sat on the ground at the foot of it,
and covered his face with his hands.
"We got here, old fellow," said Chub brokenly, "but we got here _too
late_!"
A wave of consternation rolled over Matt.
He had been fearing that something was wrong, but up to this moment he
hadn't entertained the least notion that Hawley's dastardly plans had
already succeeded.
"And the worst of it is, Matt," whispered Chub, looking up, "we don't
know anything about dad. What have they done with him?"