A HURRIED FLIGHT.
Uncle Bob sat alone in his office, thinking over the events of the
preceding night, when, all of a sudden, he was aroused from his reverie
by the sound of a horse’s hoofs, and looked out at the window to see Mr.
Evans coming toward the ranch at a furious gallop.
He rode up to the porch, turned his horse over to Ike, who was there to
receive him, and, after saying a few earnest words to the man, and
shaking his finger at him warningly, he came into the hall, and entered
the office without ceremony.
Uncle Bob was astonished, and not a little alarmed as well. There was an
expression on his visitor’s face that he did not like to see there.
“Mr. Howard,” said the newcomer, depositing his hat on the table, and
helping himself to a chair, “the whole thing is out on you, and you want
to make your stay in this country as short as you possibly can.”
“Bless my soul!” cried Uncle Bob. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Evans looked sharply into the man’s face before he made any reply.
He must have been satisfied with what he saw there, for he said to
himself:
“This man is in no way mixed up in this dreadful affair. Arthur and Sam
are at the bottom of it, but he will have to go, all the same, for the
boys never can be made to believe that he is innocent.” Then, aloud, he
continued, “It is my unpleasant duty to inform you that Arthur has got
himself into serious trouble, and that he is as good as lynched
already.”
Uncle Bob’s face grew as pale as death. He sank helplessly back in his
chair, and his hands fell by his side.
“Not—not _my_ Arthur?” he gasped.
“Yes, your son Arthur, the very boy who tried to rob that safe last
night.”
“It’s false!” cried Uncle Bob, with a desperate but unsuccessful attempt
to look indignant. “My son never tried to rob my safe.”
Mr. Evans smiled incredulously.
He had had his doubts on that point, but he had none now. Uncle Bob’s
face told him that Ike’s story was all true.
“He has confessed in the hearing of one of your men that he tried to
steal five thousand dollars to shut up Sam’s mouth,” said the visitor.
“Who is Sam?” Uncle Bob managed to ask. “Now, Mr. Evans, I don’t
understand you at all, and I wish you would be more explicit. You surely
do not mean to hint that Arthur had anything to do with the accident
that befell his cousin?”
“It was no accident, Mr. Howard,” said the visitor, bluntly. “It was a
put-up job, and I mean to say, in just so many words, that Arthur knew
it was going to happen before it _did_ happen. Sam—I don’t think there
is any one on the ranch who knows what his other name is—used to be one
of your brother’s herdsmen. He was discharged for cause, and ordered
never to show himself in the valley again; but on the day you arrived,
he came back, and sought employment. Managing in some way to scrape an
acquaintance with Arthur, he proposed a plan to get rid of Bob, and your
son consented to it. Sam carried out that plan by sawing the oars that
belonged to the skiff, so that they would break when the boys tried to
pull up out of the current.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” declared Uncle Bob, who, during this
long explanation, had managed to collect a few of his scattered wits.
Then, seeing that his visitor’s eye began to sparkle threateningly, he
hastened to add, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Evans, but somebody has been
imposing upon you with a story that cannot have the least foundation in
fact. According to your own statement, Arthur took no active part in
this thing, and neither did he have any hand in sawing the oars—if,
indeed, they were sawed at all.”
“But he was an accessory,” said Mr. Evans, earnestly, “and he is a
doomed boy, unless you take immediate steps to protect him. My advice to
you would be to see him without the loss of a moment. You will probably
find him in the grove—at any rate, that was the place where he held his
interview with Sam this morning.”
Uncle Bob thought this a suggestion that was worth acting upon. He put
on his hat and left the office, while Mr. Evans seated himself in front
of the window and watched him as he hurried toward the grove.
Just then the door opened, and old Ike thrust his head into the room.
“Mr. Evans,” said he, in a cautious whisper, “I can’t keep this secret
in much longer. It’s growing bigger every minute, and I shall have to
tell it pretty soon, or bust!”
“You hold your tongue—that’s all you have to do,” said Mr. Evans,
sternly.
“But what will the boys do to me, when they find it out?” asked Ike,
anxiously.
“The boys needn’t know anything about it until the law gets ready to
take hold of Sam and Arthur. Mr. Howard is entirely innocent.”
Ike was both astonished and disgusted—astonished to learn that the new
master of the ranch was in no way responsible for the occurrences of the
preceding day, and disgusted to hear that the guilty ones were to be
punished by process of law.
The United States marshal, who would probably take the matter in hand,
was much too slow and deliberate in his movements to suit Ike, and,
besides, the punishment he would inflict upon the culprits would not be
commensurate with their offence.
Ike lingered a moment, as if he wanted to say something more, and then
disappeared, closing the door softly behind him.
Uncle Bob was gone a long time—so long, in fact, that Mr. Evans began to
grow anxious, and even alarmed. He did not at all like the look he saw
in Ike’s eye, and he knew that every moment was of the utmost value to
Arthur and his father.
To his great relief, Uncle Bob appeared at last, and Mr. Evans noticed
that when he emerged from the grove he was mopping his face with his
handkerchief, and that he moved with very unsteady steps.
He staggered into the office and threw himself into his chair without
speaking. There was no need that the visitor should make any inquiries,
for his appearance and actions told in plain language that he had passed
through a trying ordeal in the grove, and that, during his long
interview with Arthur, he had learned some startling things.
“I have not another word to say,” he managed to gasp, at length. “What
do you advise me to do?”
“To leave the valley at once—this very hour, and put yourself and Arthur
under the protection of the troops at Camp Clark.”
“Do you think the danger as great as that?” asked Uncle Bob, who,
frightened as he was, spoke calmly.
“I know it,” said Mr. Evans, with emphasis.
“Do you think the herdsmen will allow us to leave the ranch?”
“We must take our chances on that; and it is now or never. They are
scattered all over the valley; but a great many of them will be in at
dark, and I will not attempt to say what the consequences will be if
they find you here. I will act as your guide, and no doubt get myself
into trouble by doing it. If you are going to take my advice, be quick
about it. If you are not, I will go home.”
These words aroused Uncle Bob, who jumped up and put his hand into his
pocket, at the same time turning toward the safe.
“I will order two horses saddled at once,” said he.
“Give no orders whatever,” replied Mr. Evans, quickly, “unless you want
to arouse Ike’s suspicions. Go to the corral and get your own horses,
and act as if you were going to ride about the ranch.”
“Well, we shall need some money to help us along,” said Uncle Bob,
picking up a pair of saddle-bags that lay on the table. “I suppose I
have a right to take what is in the safe? It’s mine, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is,” replied Mr. Evans.
And, although Uncle Bob would not have confessed the fact, even to
himself, the tone in which the words were spoken removed a heavy burden
of anxiety from his mind.
Although no attempt had been made to assist Bob and his friend after
their boat went into the canyon, simply because everybody knew it would
be useless, Uncle Bob had been constantly haunted by the fear that the
boy might escape death in some miraculous way, and come back to rob him
of the millions of which he believed himself to be the owner.
But Mr. Evans did not seem to think that such a thing could possibly
happen, and so Uncle Bob breathed easier.
“But you mustn’t take those things with you,” added the visitor, as
Uncle Bob walked toward the safe with the saddle-bags in his hand. “You
will never get out of the valley if you do. Be content with what you can
carry in your pockets, and leave the rest here until you can communicate
with Mr. Jacobs.”
Uncle Bob thought it best to act upon this suggestion; but, after he had
stuffed his pockets as full of greenbacks as they could hold, he did not
seem to have made any impression upon the contents of the safe. It
looked as full as ever; and the greedy old man could not bear the
thought of leaving any of his ill-gotten wealth behind.
“These packages are so large that I cannot take many of them with me,”
said he, with a deep sigh of regret. “Will you carry some of them?”
“I wouldn’t touch a dollar of that money,” answered Mr. Evans, adding,
mentally, “I don’t see how you can do it, either.”
“By-the-way,” said Uncle Bob, as he locked the safe and put the key in
one of the bookcases, so that Mr. Jacobs could find it when he wrote to
him for the rest of the money, “you spoke about acting as our guide as
far as Camp Clark. Why don’t you show us the way to Dixon Springs while
you are about it? I want to go back to the States as soon as I can.”
“Camp Clark is about eighty miles nearer, and I want to see you
surrounded by the boys in blue before I leave you,” replied Mr. Evans.
“They are the only ones who can save you. Now, if you are ready, come on
and act— I meant to have told you yesterday that we never think of
shearing our sheep on our ranches. It is much easier and cheaper to
drive them to the nearest station and shear them there, than it would be
to buy or hire wagons enough to haul the wool over these mountains.”
These last words were spoken in a loud tone of voice, and were intended
for Ike’s especial benefit.
As Mr. Evans opened the door rather suddenly, he saw that worthy but
suspicious individual beat a hasty retreat along the porch and dive into
the kitchen. He banged the kettles and pans about for a moment or two,
and then he stopped and looked out at the door.
Mr. Evans and Uncle Bob were walking slowly toward the corral, stopping
now and then to look about them. They did not act as if they were in a
hurry, but Ike was not deceived.
“Mebbe that plan will work, and then again mebbe it won’t,” said the
latter, shaking his head knowingly. “Mr. Evans is pretty smart, but
there is them in the world that are just as smart as he is.”
Having put saddles and bridles on three of the best horses they could
find in the corral, Mr. Evans and his companion mounted and rode toward
the grove, Uncle Bob leading the animal that was intended for Arthur’s
use.
The latter was on the lookout for them, for his father had told him that
Mr. Evans advised immediate flight. He was trembling all over, and his
terror made him so weak that he could hardly mount his horse; but, with
his father’s assistance, he managed to get into the saddle at last, and
then Mr. Evans led the way across the valley toward the road that ran to
the top of the cliffs.
“Mebbe that plan will work, and mebbe it won’t. The fellows who sent
poor Bob down to the inside of the earth ain’t going to get off as easy
as they think they are. Mr. Evans is gone now, and I’ll tell my story to
Mr. Jacobs the very first thing I do.”
The speaker was old Ike, the cook, who, from his place of concealment
behind one of the outbuildings, saw all that went on in the grove. He
knew that Mr. Evans intended to lead Arthur and his father to a place of
safety, and he was determined to prevent it if he could.
With this object in view, he turned about and ran toward the corral at
the top of his speed.