Clay and Don remained awake after the shooting. They kept the lights
burning and waited anxiously for the return of Case and Alex, but they
did not come.
While they waited Don told Clay the story of the headless horse and
rider, expressing the opinion that the boys had gone out on a ghost
hunt!
Clay was all interest in a moment, and indignant, too, because he had
not been called in time to view the ghostly procession.
“That’s just what the boys have done!” he agreed. “They’ve gone off in
search of that ghost! I’d like to be with them!”
“All the ghosts they find won’t fat them up any,” laughed Don.
“But they may solve the mystery!” Clay insisted. “That will be worth
while, won’t it?”
“Of course! Now, I have an idea where they will bring up,” the lad went
on, “and I suggest that we head them off as soon as it is daylight. The
boat will be safe in the daytime, I think.”
“Where will they go?” asked Clay. “I’d like to surprise them.”
“If they follow along that shelf, after once getting to the top of it,”
Don went on, “they will come out in time near the old mine, at the shack
where Uncle David lived so long. They will go into the house and look
for the ghost. Let us get there first!”
“All right! We’ll go just as soon as it gets light.”
But with the first glimpse of the summer sun came two husky men in a
shell of a boat. They rowed up to the shore and stepped out close to the
place where the _Rambler_ was anchored. They were rough-looking fellows,
with half-breed faces and cruel black eyes. The boys felt for their guns
as they approached, although their movements were intended to be
friendly.
“Hello!” one of the men shouted. “Hello, strangers!”
“Come aboard,” Clay said, thinking that he could do no less than invite
the unwelcome guests to join in a cup of coffee, as the beverage was
then bubbling on the electric coils at the back of the cabin.
The strangers re-entered their boat, pushed over to the _Rambler_, and
mounted to the deck, their snaky eyes taking in every detail of the
craft as they did so. Clay served them coffee and such food as had been
prepared for breakfast, and waited for them to make their business
known. At length one of them broached the subject.
“You’re Don Durand?” he asked, facing the boy.
“Yes; but how did you know that?” answered Don.
“I was about here when you lived with Dave.”
“I don’t remember you,” the boy said, suspiciously.
“I’m Flint,” reminded the other. “I worked in the mine for Dave.”
“I was a little chap, and didn’t know the miners,” Don hastened to say,
for he was nervous under the evil eyes of the fellow who called himself
Flint and claimed acquaintance.
“Uncle died after you left,” Flint continued, and Don nodded.
“You’ve come back to look up his property?”
Don hesitated, but decided to tell the exact truth.
“I came back to see the country, and if there is anything here that
belongs to me I’ll take it away with me.”
“There’s nothing here,” Flint said, with a scowl. “A man named Frost
came and took everything there was in the house.”
“And the papers?” asked Don. “Where are they?”
“He took them also. He hunted for a buried treasure until he got the
whole county to laughing at him! I reckon Dave didn’t have any treasure
to hide when he died! He was as poor as the rest of us.”
“I’m going to look through the old house,” Don said. “There may be
something there this man Frost overlooked. By the way, I think I know
this man Frost. But what right had he to come here and remove the
property?”
“He had some kind of a writing, he said. I never saw it.”
“Do you know where he came from?” asked Don, then. “From Chicago?”
“He said he lived in Chicago,” was the evasive reply.
“Well,” Don concluded, “I’m going to tear the old house down, if it is
necessary to do so to find the papers I want.”
“The old house belongs to me and Ike, here,” with a nod at his
companion, “and we wouldn’t like to have it torn down.”
“Who gave it to you?” demanded the boy, angrily.
“I got it from this man Frost. He sold it to me. I let Ike in on a half
interest, so, as I was sayin’, I wouldn’t like to have it torn down—not
right away! In fact, I’ll shoot any person that even tries to get into
it. Nothing personal, lad! I just speak generally.”
“Will you give me permission to look through it?” asked Don.
“I can’t see as it would do you any good to look through it. There is
nothing there but dust and a few living things, such as dishes and the
like. You wouldn’t care to see them, I take it.”
Don was about to make a hasty reply, but Clay seized him by the arm and
drew him to one side. The boy was shaking with anger.
“Keep cool!” Clay warned. “We’ll get into that house, all right, but
we’ll do it without permission from him.”
Flint and Ike went away while the two boys talked together. When they
had disappeared down the river, the lads finished their breakfast and
prepared for a visit to the old mine. It was nearly seven o’clock when
they came within sight, from the south, of the building. They had been
climbing for three hours or more.
At first they saw no one on the old dump, but before long they saw a
heavy, flabby man in a broadcloth coat and silk hat working away at the
front door of the house. Don’s voice shook as he said:
“That’s Josiah Trumbull! I guess he’s got me at last!”
“Looks more like you had him!” Clay retorted. “He seems to have a key to
that door. I reckon he’s been here before.”
“A good many times!” Don replied. “Too many times!”
“I wonder if King is anywhere about?” asked Clay. “I don’t think
Trumbull came here alone. I hope he’ll get kicked out of the house, if
he gets in!”
Trumbull unlocked the door and swung it open. The house was in the
shadow, for it was on the east side of the canyon, but there was a
strong light across the great cut, where the morning sun was shining on
the rocks. Trumbull stopped in the doorway, lighted a cigar, drew a long
breath and turned to enter.
Then two quick shots came from the interior, and Trumbull crinkled up on
the slice of stone which stood for a platform in front of the door.
Thinking only of the tragedy which had taken place before their eyes,
and not of themselves on their own safety, Clay and Don ran forward and
bent over the fallen man. They saw in a moment that he was quite dead.
Then Case and Alex came rushing through the doorway, the latter carrying
a smoking revolver in his right hand, his face white and pinched.
“Great God, lads!” Clay shouted. “Why did you do it? Why didn’t you
wait? Why did you do it?”
Alex threw down the weapon and was about to make some reply when he was
grabbed from behind. In an instant steel handcuffs were on his wrists as
well as those of Case. There was no struggle. The boys were too dazed to
resist and Clay and Don were too dumfounded to say a word.
Then, in another moment, King, Flint, and Ike appeared beside the body,
bending over it, and Clay and the others dumbly realized that it was
King who had manacled their chums.
“You’re caught with the goods!”
The man who had been called Ike was the speaker, and there was a note of
triumph in his tone.
“You boys went too far this time. I’m sheriff here, and I saw the
shootin’.”
“What does it mean?” asked Case. “Neither one of us did the shooting.
Alex’s gun lay on a chair, and we missed it, and the next—”
“That will do for you!” broke in Ike. “Tell it to the judge.”
“Let him talk if he wants to,” King said, lifting his eyes bravely to
the accusing ones of the boys. “He has a perfect right to make any
statement he desires to make.”
“You’re a new one on me!” the man who had been called Ike said, with a
scowl at King. “Who are you, and how did you get into the house? I saw
you running, too, when the shots were fired.”
“I came here with Trumbull,” was the reply. “He went to the front door
to get in, while I walked around to the rear to see what was going on
there. I had noticed a window up when we approached.”
“How do we know that you didn’t do the shooting?” demanded Clay.
“The truth will come out in the end,” King said. “I was in there when
the shots were fired, and so were these men. Who are they?” he asked,
addressing his conversation to Clay.
“I’m the sheriff,” declared Ike, “and this man and me own the house. We
seen the boys do the shootin’. Yes, we’ve got a clear case.”
He picked up the revolver Alex had thrown down.
“Is this yours, kid?” he asked.
“Yes,” was the dazed reply.
Ike whirled the cylinder, showing two empty cartridges. Then he put the
weapon into his pocket with a grin.
“I guess that settles it,” he said. “We’ll take ’em to jail!”
“I never shot him!” Alex cried out. “I laid my gun down on a chair while
I wrestled around with the dog, getting the bag off his head, and some
one picked it up and fired! Next time I saw it, it was lying on the
floor in front of the door to the side room, and I picked it up.”
“I saw you with it in your hand, a moment after Trumbull fell,” King
said. “These men appeared in a moment, and must have seen you there,
too.”
“Indeed we did,” Flint cut in.
“But you don’t believe he killed this man?” Clay appealed to King.
“It looks bad!” was the answer. “It looks bad, boys!”
“You’re prejudiced,” Clay said. “You’ve been sneaking around after us
ever since we came on the river! You stole on board our boat, too, and
tried to rob us. I believe you did the shooting yourself.”
Clay was angry and excited. His eyes flashed and his cheeks flamed as he
accused King. The deputy made no direct reply, but stood looking at the
revolver and at the prisoners.
“Well, we may as well take the boys to jail,” Ike suggested. “We’ve got
a long climb to the top, and some distance to go after that.”
“If the people about here get wind of this cold-blooded murder,” Flint
cut in, maliciously, “there may be a necktie party, so you’d better get
them in a safe place as soon as possible.
He stared at Clay and Don as he spoke, and finally turned to the
sheriff, who was moving closer to the boys, a triumphant look in his
eyes.
“I think it might be well to take these two with the others,” he
remarked, including Clay and Don with a swing of his long arm. “If I
make it out right, this is a conspiracy-to-murder case, and these other
lads are just as guilty as the others. Bring ’em along, Ike.”
Clay and Don sprang back as the sheriff approached to do the other’s
bidding, but King interposed, preventing the advance of the other.
“Wait a minute!” he said, coolly. “Don’t move, boys,” as the two
continued to retreat, evidently resolved to gain the boat. “This is my
case, and these are my prisoners. I made the arrest, you must remember,”
he continued, turning to Ike. “You can’t take them away from me!”
“Your prisoners!” shouted the sheriff. “We’ll see about that! Who are
you? I’m the sheriff here! Keep away, or I’ll do something you won’t
like! Keep away,” as King stepped forward.
King, perfectly calm, indeed, with a cynical smile on his face, took a
long, folded document from a pocket and held it out to Ike. There was a
moment’s pause, and then the other took the paper and glanced at it.
“You see,” King went on, with provoking composure, “that I am a deputy
sheriff in this county, the same as you are. This commission gives me
the same powers that you have, if you really are a deputy! Now, these
are my prisoners, and when I require your help I’ll ask for it.”
The boys were still prisoners, but, somehow, Clay felt greatly relieved
at the change in the situation. He regarded King as his enemy, but of
two evils he considered him the least. Flint and Ike slunk back and
stood glowering at the little group.
“I arrest the four for trespass!” Ike finally roared. “I’ll take them to
jail for that, and you can’t stop me!”
“They are all my prisoners,” King insisted, “and I’m going to take them
back to the boat. If you are an officer, you may summon the coroner and
have him empanel a jury. And one of you would better remain with the
body, without disturbing it in any way, until the coroner comes.”
“Are you really going to take us back to the _Rambler_?” asked Clay, his
attitude toward King changing instantly. “You’re a squarer man than I
thought!” he went on, “and I’ll withdraw all I said against you a minute
ago! You won’t lose anything by giving Case and Alex a chance to show
that they didn’t do the shooting!”
“No officer ever loses anything by being fair,” King said. “Now,” he
went on, “I’m trusting to the honor of you boys, and I want you to do
the right thing by me. I’m going to take off the irons and let the
prisoners move about as they please, and—”
“If you do,” roared Ike, “I’ll have a man down here to watch ’em! I’ll
have the boys out for a lynching! I’ll show you that no eastern sleuth
can come here and run this county.”
“Will you remain here while this other man goes for the coroner?” asked
King, paying no attention to the threats of the angry man.
“It is my duty,” answered the other, sullenly.
King unlocked the handcuffs and told the boys to wait while he entered
the house. He was gone some minutes, and when he returned his face
showed more excitement than the boys had ever before seen there.
“Come on, boys,” he exclaimed, without noticing the others, “we’ll get
back to the _Rambler_. It has been some time since I have been aboard
the good old craft.”
“I hope they’ll get away from you!” howled Ike.
“I’ll see that they don’t get out of the country if they do!” Flint
cried out. “I’ll see that they get what’s coming to them!”
Without paying the slightest attention to the oaths and sneers of the
two, King and the boys moved off down the incline, and, after hours of
hard walking, came out on the bank where the _Rambler_ lay.
“Now,” King said, as they all stood looking at each other with
questioning eyes, “we’ve got as strange a murder case to handle as ever
Holmes undertook to straighten out!
“It looks black for you two lads, but I’m going to see that you get a
fair show!”
There was a smile on his face as he spoke!