IN CADE'S CANYON.
The moon had swung far down to the west when the outlaws entered Cade's
Canyon amid the mountains and finally reached an old hut, where they
halted.
"You must be rather pegged, chief," said one of the men, addressing
Frank.
"Well, I am not feeling too frisky," said the boy. "I didn't sleep much
in Elreno jail, for I wanted to be wideawake when the lynchers came."
The men had removed their masks, but their faces were shaded by
wide-brimmed hats, and Frank was not able to study their features.
However, he had heard the voices of several, and he felt sure he would
not forget them.
He was not going to be in a hurry about escaping. There was plenty of
time, and he was beginning to believe that he must be the perfect double
of Black Harry, else why should these men be thus deceived?
He wondered if none of them would detect the difference when daylight
came.
"If they do--well, I can't be worse off than I was in Elreno jail. I'll
have weapons, and I can fight. I may be able to make it hot for them
before they down me."
Frank was reckless, and he felt a strange delight in the adventure
through which he was passing. Somehow, now that he had escaped being
lynched, he believed he would be successful in bringing Black Harry to
book and proving his own innocence.
Frank's first care was to obtain some revolvers, and he was soon in
possession of a pair of fine weapons. With these loaded and ready to his
hand, he breathed easier.
Of course he had no idea of sleeping, but he entered the hut and looked
the place over.
Morning was not far away, and the time soon passed, while Frank
pretended to sleep. At daybreak he was astir, and looking the place
over.
The cabin was built in a strange spot, standing close to the verge of a
chasm that opened down into the lower depths of the canyon, through
which ran a stream of water.
Dan Cade, the man who had built the cabin there, was said to have been
crazy. He had lived there years before the opening of Oklahoma to
settlement, and had died there in that wild gorge. His only friends were
the Indians, as he hated and mistrusted his own race.
It had often been remarked by those who passed through the canyon that
no man in his right mind would have built a cabin in such a place. It
looked as if the building was crouching on the verge of the chasm,
preparing to spring headlong into the creek below.
Here the outlaws had camped.
Frank found a flight of stairs that led to the cabin loft. They were
shaky, but he ascended to investigate.
There was a square door, shaped like a window, at the back end of the
cabin, and this the boy opened. He thrust his head out, and found he was
looking down the face of the bluff straight into the stream far below.
The light that shone into the loft revealed, to the boy's surprise and
wonder, a coil of rope. He examined this, and found a stout clasp-hook
at one end. The other end of the rope was made fast to a rafter.
For some time Frank wondered to what use old Cade had put the rope, but
it came to him at last.
"With this he drew his water from the stream down there."
This seemed evident, as there was no other apparent means of procuring
water.
The outlaws slept heavily, apparently fatigued by their exertions of the
night. They had left sentinels in both directions, up and down the
canyon, so that they could not be taken by surprise should they be
followed by enemies.
The sun had not risen when Frank went forth into the morning air.
The horses were tethered near the cabin, and a half-blood Indian was
watching them. As Frank approached, the half-blood peered out from
beneath the blanket, which was drawn up over his head. The boy saw the
fellow's beady eyes regarding him, and then the blanket was drawn
closer, indicating that the Indian was satisfied.
Once more Frank thought that he must be the perfect counterpart of Black
Harry, else he would arouse the suspicion of the fellow who owned those
eyes.
Frank believed it would be an easy thing to mount one of the horses and
ride away, as if he was going a short distance. He believed he could do
so without being challenged or questioned, and the desire to attempt it
was almost ungovernable.
Then came another thought.
Where could he go?
Surely he could not return to Elreno, for, now that he had been carried
away by Black Harry's Braves, he was branded in that town as the
youthful outlaw beyond the shadow of a doubt.
He did not know which way to turn, and the thought that his situation
was most remarkable forced itself upon him. If he remained among the
outlaws, they were liable to discover how they had been fooled, and that
would make them furious. If he escaped and hastened to any of the
nearby towns, it was pretty certain that he would be taken for Black
Harry and lynched.
"This is a real jolly scrape!" thought the boy, ruefully. "What can I
do?"
Well might he ask himself the question.
He walked a short distance down the canyon, and thought it over. The
impulse was on him to get away as soon as possible, but his sober
judgment told him that he would leap from the frying-pan into the fire.
Frank did not care to be lynched. He seemed helpless for the time.
Although he longed to fight for his honor, he was unable to strike a
blow.
The result of his walk was a determination to stay with the outlaws and
keep up the deception as long as he could.
Black Harry himself must appear sooner or later, and Frank longed to see
the young rascal whom he so much resembled.
Most boys would have improved the opportunity to get away, but Frank was
not built of ordinary material, and it was like him to do the
unexpected.
He strolled back to the cabin, seeming quite at his ease.
It was not far from sunrise, and the men began to stir. Several of them
came out of the hut, and a fire was built.
Of a sudden, from far up the canyon, came the musical blast of a bugle,
causing the outlaws to start and look at each other in surprise.
They listened, and it was repeated.
One of the men turned sharply on Frank, hoarsely crying:
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know," replied the boy, at the same time feeling for his
revolvers, with the idea that there was trouble on hand.
"It is your signal!" burst from the man's lips. "And that means
trickery! There is something wrong!"
"You're right!" cried several voices.
More of the braves came running out of the cabin, there was a hustling
for arms, and the men prepared for trouble.
"My signal?" repeated Frank, to himself. "By that he must mean it is the
signal of Black Harry! He is coming!"
Frank felt the blood tingling in his veins.
Black Harry was coming!
"Now," muttered Frank, "I shall have a chance to strike a blow for
myself! Let Black Harry come on!"