WHAT BECAME OF THE SCOUT?
But even as the former Long Islander raised the weapon to his shoulder,
it was dashed down by Clark Jennings.
"Look out, you idiot!" he bellowed. "Do you want to kill the ponies?"
Rob, the instant he had recovered his self-possession, which preceded
the recovery of the surprised plotters by some seconds, had made a dash
for the ponies, which, as has been said, stood, saddled and bridled,
near at hand.
"Yip-yip!" he screeched, as he leaped onto the back of the first one he
reached.
Excited by the shouts and cries of the three amazed campers, and
half-crazed by Rob's sudden leap onto its back, the animal plunged
forward and vanished in a flash into the dark woods which veiled an
abrupt turn in the trail.
"Now, shall we shoot, Clark?" urged Bill Bender.
"No, no; waste no time doing that. Hank, you stay here and look after
things. Come, Bill--quick--the ponies!"
In a second Bill and Clark were mounted and dashing off down the trail
in a cloud of dust, in hot pursuit of the lad.
"Do you think he heard what we were talking about?"
Clark Jennings propounded the question as they clattered down the trail.
Not far in front they could hear the rapid hoof beats of Rob's mount.
"Don't know. The minute he came sky-hooting into the camp I'd a notion
it was some one I've seen afore some place," rejoined Bill vaguely.
"Yes, yes; but do you think he overheard?"
"Dunno. We weren't expecting company, and therefore didn't lower our
voices. Say, Clark, what if--what if he did hear?"
"Then Harkness will find out everything."
"Yes, if----"
"Well, if what?"
"If we don't bring him down. If we should kill him, we could easy blame
it on the Indians. In fact, I guess the ranch folks would conclude the
redskins did it, anyhow."
Clark's ruddy face grew pale at Bill's sinister suggestion.
"If he overheard, he knows enough to send us all to jail," prompted
Bill.
"That's right, too. Do you think you could----"
Clark hesitated, as if the thought his mind held was too dreadful for
him to voice.
"Bring him down, you mean?" inquired Bill cheerfully. "Don't know. We're
hitting up a hot pace for good shooting."
"Say, Bill, I think you are the most cold-blooded fellow I ever met."
"Oh, I'm cool, all right, in such a case as this," rejoined Bill.
"Hark!"
Both drew rein for a second and listened. The beat of hoofs in front of
them suddenly slackened. So near was the sound that it seemed as if it
could not have been more than a few feet ahead.
"Right through that brush there!" whispered Clark, and hot as the day
was, he shivered as if stricken with a sudden fever.
Bill Bender coolly raised his rifle. He deliberately aimed it into the
leafy screen. The next instant its deafening report rang out. It was
followed by a loud crash from beyond the bushes, as if some heavy body
had fallen.
Clark fairly turned his pony round. He was too much of a coward even to
dare to ask the question that forced itself to his lips. No such qualms
assailed Bill Bender, however. He pressed spurs to his pony, and in a
second flashed round the trees that hid what lay on the trail beyond. A
second later a loud cry of astonishment broke from his lips. It was
mingled with curses.
"What's the matter?" hailed Clark tremblingly.
"Come here."
"Oh, Bill, I don't want to. I----"
"Come here, I say. There's nothing to be afraid of."
Thus urged, Clark, whose cheeks were still ashen under the bronze, urged
his pony forward, and presently joined Bill. The latter had dismounted,
and was standing over a dark, still object in the road.
It was the pony Rob had borrowed so hurriedly.
It lay stone dead, pierced in a vital spot by Bill Bender's bullet.
"But the b-b-boy, is he----" stuttered Clark.
"He's gone!" exclaimed Bill.
"Gone?" echoed Clark in an amazed tone.
"Yes, clean wiped out."
"But how?"
"Ask me an easy one."
"Hasn't he left a trail?"
"No, that's what makes it so queer. He must have had an aeroplane."
For half an hour or more both youths searched the dusty trail and beat
in and out of the dense brush, but not a trace of the missing boy
rewarded their close scrutiny of the surroundings. Had the earth opened
at that spot and swallowed Rob up bodily, he could not have vanished
more utterly. The only trace of the missing boy was his sombrero, lying
by the dead pony.
Absolutely dumfounded with amazement, the two worthies finally gave up
their search, and taking the saddle and bridle off the dead pony, made
their way back to their camp, carrying Rob's broad-brimmed hat.
* * * * *
At about the same hour that Clark and Bill were searching among the
pinon and scrub growth for some solution of the mystery of Rob's
inexplicable disappearance, an equally perplexed party was assembled on
a small rise some miles away. The latter group consisted of Mr.
Harkness, his son, the Boy Scouts of the Ranger Patrol, Corporal Merritt
Crawford and Tubby Hopkins, Blinky and two other cow-punchers.
The day before, following the rescued Tubby's return to the ranch with
his companions, the expedition to find the missing Rob had been
hurriedly formed. The cliff face had been reached in quicker time than
would have seemed possible, and an examination by the cow-punchers and
the Boy Scouts soon showed which way Rob had been carried off.
The broken shrub at the entrance to the tunnel, with the end pointing
into the darkness, indicated clearly enough to Merritt that Rob had made
a Boy Scout sign that his trail lay that way.
Leaving their ponies in charge of one of the cow-punchers who had
accompanied them that far, the party had proceeded through the tunnel on
foot. They were led by Blinky, who was almost as expert a trailer as an
Indian, and had at the present moment arrived near the site of the
Indian camp from which Rob had escaped the night before. Had the boy
only known it, on his wild flight he had passed within a few miles of
those who were searching for him in the darkness.
With the earliest light they had picked up the trail once more, and now
they had reached its termination, the camp of the Moquis. But to reward
their activity and perseverance they found only black ashes and
scattered traces of cooking and stabling. Of the camp itself, all trace
had vanished.
Blinky bent over the ashes and stirred them with his fingers.
"Been gone some hours," he announced, after an examination. "The ashes
are plumb cold."
"How far do you think they will have proceeded by this time?" inquired
Mr. Harkness.
"Maybe twenty miles or more," rejoined the cow-puncher. "It's hard to
tell. These redskins travel fast, boss, as you know."
"Yes, I do know," rejoined the rancher bitterly; "especially when they
have a good reason to. But what do you suppose they carried off the poor
boy for?"
"Maybe they figgered he was a spy from the Indian territory, and maybe
they thought they could get a good price for him if they held him long
enough."
"I guess you are right, Blinky," said the rancher sadly, sitting down
upon an outcropping rock.
He flicked his riding boots meditatively for some seconds with his
rawhide quirt, which he still carried, and then spoke.
"Boys," he said, addressing the little party, "those Moquis have carried
off Rob. There's no doubt of that. The question now is, shall we follow
them up, or shall we go back and get the ponies, and thus lose valuable
time? I think it only fair to tell you that I am for going forward."
"I guess there's no need to take a vote, Mr. Harkness," smiled Merritt,
gazing at the determined faces of the Boy Scouts of the Ranger Patrol.
Every member of the body was there. Harry and the telephone had seen to
that as soon as they had made certain that Rob had been carried off.
"We've got enough to eat with us," put in Tubby, "so there's no reason
why we shouldn't go ahead."
As Tubby said, the party had brought rations with them which, though
not very plentiful, were enough to last until they struck a further food
supply.
"Then forward it is," said Mr. Harkness.
"Ye-ow!" yelled the cow-punchers.
The boys joined in their wild shouts, but their enthusiastic start was
suddenly thrown into silence by an unexpected incident. Hoof beats
sounded on the trail, and as everybody turned expectantly in the
direction from whence the sound had proceeded, they were astonished to
see two ponies emerge, carrying three men.
The new arrivals were Clark Jennings and Bill Bender, and, seated behind
the latter, Hank Handcraft. The faces of all three took on a guilty,
confused air as they perceived that, instead of riding, as they had
expected, into a camp of Moquis, they had unexpectedly encountered the
last persons whom at that particular moment they wanted to meet.