CHAPTER VIII.
A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.
It was weirdly lonely in the dark little dent on the side of themountain after the departure of the two boys, and Jimmie drew closer tohis companion. The wind which swept the heights was chilly.
The two lay close together in silence for a long time, each, doubtless,thinking of the Great White Way and the lights which would now beglittering there, of the bay, of the East River with its shipping, andof the hundred things which make New York a city, once seen, to beremembered forever. Then a rumble as of a stone crashing down came totheir ears and they sprang to their feet.
"There's some one coming," whispered Jimmie, and they listened, but theonly sound they heard was made by a bird winging its way through thedim upper light. Then, in a moment, signals flashed out again.
"One, two, one," counted Jimmie, "Now, two, one, one, two, two, one,and then one, two. That means come. Now, where does he want the otherfellow to come?"
"There's a lot going on here to-night," said Fremont. "I wonder ifthey can see us from where they are?"
"We may as well get away from the tents," was the reply. "There's agood place to hide behind that rock. When Nestor and Frank come we canlet them know where we are."
Fremont agreed to this, and the lads were soon hidden in a shallowgully which cut a ridge not far from where the tents had been pitched.For a time all was still, then came the rattling of steel on steel,sounding threatening enough in the darkness.
"Some one's got a gun," whispered Jimmie.
"Our fire may have been seen from above," Fremont ventured.
"Well, they can't find us here," consoled Jimmie. "Anyway, we'll liehere and listen for a few minutes."
The boys lay quiet for a considerable time. There were no more signalsthen, but they could not banish the feeling that emissitious Mexicanswere watching them from the shadows. Directly noises were heard at thetents and a voice asked, in good English:
"Where are they? You said that only two went down the mountain."
"That was right," was the reply. "I don't see where the others can be."
"Do you think they are officers?" asked Jimmie, as the men stumbledabout the tents. "They aren't Mexicans."
"I'm afraid they are officers," replied Fremont, "and we must keeppretty still. I presume these are the fellows who were wig-wagging alittle while ago."
The intruders were heard moving about the tents for a time, and thenthey went away, blundering along over loose stones which rattled asthey swept down the declivity. When they were some distance off, andstill going, judging by the sound, the boys walked back to the tentsand tried to sleep, but the excitement of the time was too much forthem, and they could not keep their eyes closed.
After a time there came a commotion in the valley below, from thedirection Nestor and Frank had taken. There were shouts of rage andthen shooting. Jimmie was on his feet instantly.
"They're attacking Nestor," he cried, "and I'm going down there to helphim."
Before Fremont could protest the boy was off, scrambling down themountain in the darkness like a goat. At first Fremont thought offollowing him, but he was very tired and sleepy and so gave it up.
He crept back into a tent and threw himself down on a blanket, closinghis eyes only for a moment, as he thought.
Jimmie pressed on down the slope for some distance without discoveringthe source of the disturbance, then turned back. When, near the tents,he turned and looked over the valley, a torch far below was spellingout "O.K."
"There are a lot of Americans mixed up in this," the boy thought."I've heard that this revolt was being financed and executed by ourpeople, but I did not believe the story. Anyhow, they are giving theirsignals in United states."
As the lad approached nearer to the tents the silence which held thelittle dent on the slope sent a vague shiver of alarm through his veins.
When he came to the tents there was no one in sight. He whistledsoftly, but there was no reply. The moon, now peeping around ashoulder of the mountain, struck an object which glistened like silver,and the boy picked it up. It was Fremont's revolver, and the chamberswere full. There had been no shooting. Fremont's cap lay on theground not far from where the weapon had been found.
Filled with apprehension, Jimmie dashed into the tents. They were bothempty. The boy had disappeared, leaving his weapon and his cap behind.It was plain to be seen, from marks on the rocks and the thin soil ofthe dent, that there had been a struggle.
Alarmed beyond the power of words to express, Jimmie crept into thehiding place they had used earlier in the evening and waited. He wasangry at Nestor for going away, and angry with himself for leavingFremont alone. While the latter possessed courage and strength, he wasnot as apt in such things as they were facing as his companions. Hehad been sheltered for years in the Cameron home, and was not soresourceful as his companions, not so ready to take advantage of anypoint which might occur in such a rough-and-tumble game as was now inprogress.
Jimmie's fear was that Fremont had been captured by officers, and wouldbe taken back to New York and thrust into the Tombs to await the actionof the grand jury, based on the recovery or death of Mr. Cameron. Thiswould be fatal to all his hopes. While the boy pondered and frettedover the matter, the long roll of a drum came around a cliff-corner,and then a file of ragged soldiers, or what seemed to be such, showedin the moonlight, with a diminutive drummer-boy, pounding for dearlife, not far in the rear.
In the meantime the two who were in Jimmie's thoughts were making theirway down the slope with such speed and caution as they were able tomanage.
It was very rough going in the darkness, and more than once Frankreceived a bump which effectually banished all inclination to sleep.At last he sat down on a ledge and called out to Nestor.
"Dig in! Walk your head off!"
Nestor halted and looked back.
"What's doing?" he asked.
"I'm flabbergasted," was the reply. "How do you think you're goin' toget back up the hill?"
Nestor pointed to a point of flame a little lower down.
"It is only a short ways now," he said.
Frank grunted and arose to his feet.
"They ought to put in elevators," he grumbled.
The boys walked for perhaps half an hour longer and then drew up nearto the point of fire which Nestor had pointed out.
"Now what?" demanded Frank.
"I want to see who they are. I'm expecting friends here," was thelaughing reply. "Remain here while I investigate."
"If I stand up," grumbled Shaw, "I'll fall down; and if I sit down I'llgo to sleep. I never was so sleepy in all me blameless life. Youneedn't hurry back."
Frank was as good as his word, although he had spoken in jest. Nosooner was his companion out of sight than he dropped to the ground,and in spite of his efforts to keep his eyes open, was soon fastasleep. When he awoke an hour later, Nestor was pulling at his arm.
"Don't pull it off," he said. "I may want to use it again. What'sdoing below?"
"Were you ever in the Cameron building in New York?" Nestor asked,irrelevantly.
"Did you wake me out of me sweet dreams to ask that?" grinned the boy."Why don't you go on and tell me what's coming off down there in thatcamp?"
"I've got the New York end of the Cameron case on my mind to-night,"was the reply. "Tell me what you know about the Cameron building andthe people who work there during the night--cleaning up, and that sortof thing."
"I don't think I was ever in the building, and Fremont never talkedwith me about the workers. You can ask Jimmie about that."
"Yes, Jimmie worked there. I've heard him talk about the nightwatchman and predict his future home. The boy came running into myroom on the night of the tragedy and almost pulled me out of bed,saying that a member of the Black Bear Patrol was in trouble."
"What do you want to know about the building?"
"I was wondering if Jim Scoby, the night watchman, w
as permitted tocarry a key to the Cameron suite. Jimmie does not know whether he wasor not, and I thought you might have heard Fremont talking aboutmatters there."
"I presume Fremont can tell you all about that. Suppose Scoby did havea key? What of it? Fremont says Mr. Cameron locked himself in thatnight, or was to do so, and that shows that the man who did the job didnot need a key. He must have been admitted by Mr. Cameron."
"There were strange doings in that suite that night," Nestor said,almost as if talking to himself. "I can't quite get the hang of it,"he added, taking a flat steel key from his pocket, and holding it upfor the inspection of the other.
Shaw took the key and held it up in the moonlight, examining everydetail of it.
"That is a key to the suite," he said. "Fremont has one like it.Where did you get it? It looks new."
"It is new," Nestor went on. "It looks as if it had been made to orderrecently. Now, whoever made it did not get it exactly right at first,and was obliged to file it down. I have known night watchmen to makekeys."
"An old trick," admitted Frank. "Well, let us take it for granted thatScoby was not permitted to carry a key and that he had one made, forsome purpose of his own. What does that lead up to?"
"I found this key in front of the safe," Nestor continued, after amoment's deliberation. "It was undoubtedly dropped there by one of themen who visited the rooms that night. I have been wondering if it wasthe watchman."
"You have some other reason for supposing it was Scoby," Frank said."Go one and tell me about it."
"Yes, there is another reason." Nestor continued, smiling at the quickway Frank had taken him up. "I found this Grand Army button and thiscloth raveling in front of the safe, too, not far from where the keywas discovered."
"Well, did the watchman wear a Grand Army coat that night?" askedFrank. "Lots of unworthy people wear Grand Army coats."
"He did," was the reply. "He wore a blue coat with Grand Army buttons,and one of the buttons was missing from the right sleeve when I saw himin the corridor as I passed out. He probably caught his sleeve onsomething in the safe and ripped the button off. He either did notnotice the loss of the button or had no time to pick it up."
"You're locating him in a compromising situation, all right," Franksaid. "But you said 'one of the men who visited the rooms that night.'Who were the others?"
"Wait a minute," said Nestor. "Let me tell you what else I foundthere. I have in my pocket a piece of paper, a margin cut from a legaldocument, showing the thumb and fingermarks of a withered right hand.I also have a shoe heel near two inches high. These were taken fromthe Cameron suite. What do you make of that?"
"I understand," Frank said. "One of the other men was this Mexican,the man with the short right leg, the fellow who tried to geezle me atthe El Paso restaurant. Well, that makes two who were there thatnight--two who were in front of the safe--two who had no right to bethere."
"And this Mexican was a tenant of the building," Nestor went on, "andhe might have had the key made. At least he was there the night thekey was used, looking over papers he had no right to touch."
"It begins to look as if the Mexican went to the building for thepurpose of robbery, and that he found a tool in Jim Scoby," said Frank."Why don't you have the two of them pinched, so Fremont won't have allthis trouble on his mind? The Mexican is somewhere about here, and JimScoby can't be far away, as the newspapers say he ran away from NewYork. Why couldn't you have studied this out that night?"
"Don't rush conclusions," smiled Nestor. "I said there were severalpeople in the suite that night. Well, we have made sure of two ofthem, though we don't know how they go in there if Mr. Cameron had thedoor locked from the inside."
"If they hadn't used their false key," Shaw put in, "they wouldn't havehad it in hand and wouldn't have lost it."
"Very clever," said Nestor.
"Who else was in there?" asked Frank, blushing at the compliment.
"The third man," Nestor continued, "had business with Mr. Cameron. Hewas there earlier in the evening."
"He didn't lose anything there, did he?" asked Frank, with a laugh.
"Yes," replied Nestor, "he did. He lost his temper."
"You're a corker!" Frank exclaimed. "What else did he lose?"
"His life, possibly."
"Come, children," Frank grinned, "it is time to wake up."
Boy Scouts in Mexico; Or, On Guard with Uncle Sam Page 8