Two Boys in Wyoming

by Ellis, Edward Sylvester

  Meanwhile, the white man wanted these three, or any one of them, if they should meet the aforementioned scoundrel, to repeat what he had said about him. If any harm had befallen the missing boy, Hazletine would take it upon himself to hunt down Motoza and "execute" him himself, without waiting for the United States authorities to do it. Such a summary course would save expense and make the white man feel better.

  If Motoza should return the stolen boy within twenty-four hours, and it was found he was unharmed, the whole matter would be treated as a joke, and no punishment would be visited upon Motoza, provided he didn't do it again.

  This was the substance of Hank Hazletine's communication to the three bucks, to whom he repeated and discussed it until there was no fear of a misunderstanding, after which the visitor strode out of camp, without so much as bidding the trio good-night. His whole manner was that of contempt, for, had it been otherwise, he would not have dared to turn his back upon them, when they could have shot him down with impunity.

  The cowman had accomplished something, though less than he hoped. While he failed to gain definite knowledge of the missing youth, he had brought a message which was certain to be delivered to the right party before the next set of sun. But Hank knew the men with whom he was dealing, and could not feel assured that any ultimate good would result until nearer the end.

  "I wish I knowed whether them imps know anything about that younker; they don't act as if they did, and yet they may be as deep in the bus'ness as Motoza."

  The last remark suggested a possibility which the cowman shrank from considering. It was that the Sioux was wholly innocent, and that all the mischief had been done through unsuspected parties. It has been shown that other Indians, not yet encountered, were in the vicinity, and it was not absolutely certain that they were not the criminals. The thought, however, opened the illimitable fields of speculation, and the hunter was wise in determining to hold to his original belief until assured it was an error.

  Before he was half-way back to camp the moon appeared above the mountain peak behind him, and the rugged scenery was lit up by the rays that streamed on every side. He paused where he could observe the gleam of his own camp-fire at the mouth of the cavern, while, by turning his head, he saw the twinkle of the one he had left behind. All between lay as silent as the tomb.

  "I bluffed it pretty heavy," he reflected, "and I guess it'll work with them bucks; I ain't so sartin of Motoza, fur if he has had anything to do with the taking off of that younker he's covered up his tracks pretty well and it'll be hard work to run him down, but I'll do it!" he savagely exclaimed, as he resumed his strides toward his own camp.

  As he drew near he caught sight of the unconscious figure of Jack Dudley, sitting with his back against the rock. The moon revealed him clearly, and the cowman approached him with noiseless step.

  "Poor fellow! he come out here to watch, thinking he couldn't sleep, and now he's good for nothing till sunup."

  Hank leaned over and tenderly adjusted the blanket around the figure of the handsome youth, as his mother might have done had she been present. Then passing within the cavern, he lay down and slept until the night was ended.

  The presence of the lad on the outside of the cavern showed that he knew of the departure of the guide. Hank, therefore, explained his reason for leaving him, and told him all that had occurred.

  "The first thing to do, younker, is to find Motoza; that's what I'm going to do. You can't stand it to be alone with yourself, so you can come with me, though I hain't no idee that you'll be able to give any help."

  "I hope I shall; though, if you think there is more chance of success in making the hunt alone, I'll do the same."

  Hank was silent a moment, as if considering the matter, but he quickly added:

  "Come along. But how about breakfast?"

  "I haven't the least appetite."

  "I thought so by your looks," he said, sympathizingly. "I'm blamed sorry fur you, and hope your appetite will soon come back to you."

  "It will as soon as we find Fred," said Jack, with a faint smile; "but what about yourself?"

  "It's all the same; if we had meat here I'd cook and eat it; but I'm willing to go a day or two, if I haven't the time to take any meals."

  "That's strange!" broke in Jack; "yonder comes a white man; he must be one of your acquaintances, though I never saw him before."

  Hazletine turned round in surprise. A tall white man, dressed as a cowboy, with long dangling yellow hair and a thin mustache and goatee, and with rifle slung over his shoulder, had appeared on the further side of the plateau, and was approaching the couple at a deliberate pace.

  "Wal, I'm hanged!" exclaimed Hazletine; "if there isn't Bill Tozer! He's the last man I expected to meet in these parts."

  These words did not bring Jack Dudley much enlightenment, but he felt no special curiosity concerning the individual, and silently waited till he came up. The youth judged from the manner of the guide, however, that he was not overly pleased with the new arrival, whose countenance was not attractive. Nevertheless, the two shook hands with seeming cordiality, and the new-comer looked inquiringly at Jack.

  "This is a friend of mine, Bill, that I took out on a hunt t'other day with another younker; Jack Dudley, Bill Tozer."

  "Glad to know you," said the man heartily; "I see you're a tenderfoot."

  "Yes," replied Jack; "less than two weeks ago I had never set foot in Wyoming."

  "Wal, now that's funny; you'll like the country after you get used to it."

  "Would to heaven I had never seen it!" was the bitter exclamation of the youth, hardly able to keep back his tears.

  "Sorry to hear that, my young friend; but cheer up; it'll come out all right."

  It struck Jack that this was a singular remark for the man to make, for it sounded as if he knew the cause of Jack's emotion; but before the boy could seek enlightenment the man made a more extraordinary remark:

  "You'll excuse us for a few minutes, my young friend; I've some words to say in private to Hank."

  "Certainly," replied Jack, turning on his heel and walking beyond earshot. He gave the men no further attention, for he did not suspect the new-comer had anything to impart of interest to him. The boy felt more like resenting this interference with the momentous business he and the guide had on hand.

  But Jack was mistaken. Hardly was he a hundred feet from the couple when Hazletine asked:

  "What's up, Bill?"

  "One of them young tenderfeet is missing, eh?"

  "How did you find that out?"

  "I reached the camp of Bok-kar-oo last night within a half-hour after you'd gone; he and two other bucks are out on a hunt, which they haven't any business to be, but that's nothing to us. Bok-kar-oo told me what you had told him; it's queer business, isn't it?"

  "I should say it was. That Motoza has had a hand in it, and I've set out to find him and settle the account."

  "Why are you so sure about Motoza?"

  "'Cause I know him!" said Hank, savagely; "and I've knowed him fur a good many years; there isn't a worse Injin in Wyoming."

  Instead of commenting on this remark, Tozer stood silent a moment, and then made a flirt with his head as a request for Hank to step aside with him. The cowman obeyed, and they seated themselves still further from Jack Dudley.

  "What makes you so afeard he'll hear us?" asked Hazletine, impatiently, noting the suspicious glances which the man cast in the direction of the youth.

  "For the reason that I don't want him to hear us; I've something to say about him and his friend."

  "His father owns half of Bowman's ranch."

  Bill Tozer started with an angry exclamation.

  "Is that so?" he asked in amazement. "I thought it was the other fellow's father."

  "How should you know anything about it anyway?" demanded Hazletine, who made no attempt to conceal his dislike of the man. "I'd like to know where you picked up so much knowledge 'bout these two younkers."

  "There'
s no need of getting huffy about it, Hank; it seemed to me that I was to be on your heels for the last few days, for I stopped at the ranch and had a talk with the fellows only a short time after you left with the tenderfeet for this hunt. I understood Kansas Jim to say that it was the father of the Greenwood boy that owned half the ranch."

  "If Jim told you that, which I don't believe he done, he told you what ain't so."

  "But the father of the other boy—the one that's missing—he's rich too, ain't he?"

  "I don't know nothing 'bout it; what are you driving at? Bill, you know that my 'pinion of you is 'bout the same as it is of that tramp Motoza, so, if you've got anything to say to me, out with it! I hain't any time to fool away."

  "I have something to say, Hank, and it's about them young tenderfeet: I've seen Motoza."

  "When?"

  "This morning."

  "Did you give him my message?"

  "Every word of it, as I received it from Bok-kar-oo; I made it as strong as I could."

  "You couldn't make it any too strong; how did he take it?"

  "It didn't seem to worry him much; he says he don't know anything about the missing boy and your threats don't scare him. But, Hank," added Tozer, lowering his voice almost to a whisper and glancing furtively around, "I suspect Motoza was lying."

  "I know he was, fur he doesn't know how to tell the truth."

  "If he's treated right, I believe he'll produce the missing youngster."

  Hank Hazletine was keener mentally than most of his friends suspected. He had more acumen than even Bill Tozer suspected. A great light flashed upon the cowman, and the questions and answers which fell from his lips during the next few minutes were intended to hide his real purpose.

  "What do you mean by treating Motoza right? If he was treated right he'd be kicking the air this very minute."

  "I agree with you," said Tozer, laughing; "but Motoza doesn't, and he's the one who asks to be treated right, as he considers it."

  "I've said that if he produces the younker, and we find he hain't been harmed, why we'll call it a joke and drop the whole thing."

  Tozer gazed at a distant mountain peak and thoughtfully chewed tobacco for a minute. He was approaching delicate ground and needed all his finesse.

  "That's fair on your part, and is more than he ought to expect, but I've a suspicion it isn't what he means."

  "Do you know what he means, Bill?"

  "No; he hasn't told me a word, but I think I can guess it."

  "Wal, then, guess."

  "Remember it's only a guess, and I may be away off."

  Hazletine nodded his head.

  "I'm listening."

  "I suspect Motoza has the tenderfoot in hiding somewhere, where there's no chance of his getting away or of any of his friends finding him."

  "What does the scamp mean by doing that?"

  "He must have had an idea that the father of the Greenwood boy has enough money to pay a good sum to recover him unharmed."

  "That's a new scheme! I've heard of such things in the East, but never knowed 'em to be tried in this part of the country."

  "Bear in mind," Tozer hastened to add, "that it's all guesswork on my part."

  "You've said that afore, but it's powerful good guessing, Bill. It's my 'pinion you ain't a thousand miles from the truth, but you can see this makes a mighty different thing of the bus'ness."

  "How so?"

  "The younker's father lives in New York; he's got to be reached, and the question laid afore him. How much money will Motoza ask to produce the younker?"

  "Certainly not much—something like five thousand dollars, I should say."

  "That is rather a healthy pile for you or me, but I don't 'spose it's more than a trifle for them folks in the East."

  "Of course not; they'll raise it at once, and be glad to do so."

  "But it'll take two weeks at least."

  "Not necessarily; you can telegraph from Fort Steele, and two or three days ought to wind up the whole business."

  "But you can't telegraph the money."

  "Yes, you can; nothing is easier."

  Hazletine was silent a minute or two.

  "It sounds easy 'nough, the way you put it, but it won't be so powerful easy after all. I s'pose the Sioux will want the money afore he turns over the younker?"

  "Of course; that's business."

  "How can we know he'll give up the younker after he gits the money?"

  "In a matter of this kind, a point must be reached where one party has to trust the other, and Motoza wouldn't dare play you false."

  "He wouldn't, eh? Just give him the chance."

  "Then we won't let him. I'll guarantee that he shall keep his part of the agreement in spirit and letter."

  It was on Hazletine's tongue to ask who should guarantee the honesty of Bill Tozer, but for reasons of his own he kept back the question.

  "Wal, now, to git down to bus'ness, as you say; s'pose Doctor Greenwood sends word that he won't or can't raise the money you ask—what then?"

  Tozer shrugged his shoulders suggestively.

  "Don't forget that I am guessing all the way through. I should say, however, that Doctor Greenwood would never see his boy again."

  "I'm afraid he never will, as the matter now stands."

  "That depends on the parent. If he is not rich, the father of that young man over yonder is, and he would let him have the money."

  "No doubt he'd do that very thing; but s'pose the thing is all fixed and carried out as you've been saying—does Motoza fancy there won't be some accounts to be squared with him afterwards?"

  "You know what a cunning fellow he is. He wouldn't go through with the job until he was guaranteed against any punishment for his part in it."

  "The father of the younker would give the pledge, and he'd keep it, too, if he's anything like his son. But what 'bout Hank Hazletine?"

  "He would have to make the same promise—that is, I presume he would. It might be, however, that Motoza would feel able to take care of himself, so far as you are concerned. But we are talking blindly."

  "Is there any other way to talk?"

  "You say you were just about starting out to hunt up Motoza. You won't be able to find him, for he'll keep out of your sight. Leave that part of the business to me."

  "What'll you do?"

  "I'll explain the situation to him, and then come back and have another talk with you."

  "All right; you can't do it any too soon."

  * * *

  CHAPTER XVI.

  WATCHING AND WATCHED.

  Bill Tozer rose to his feet. The interview was over, and little remained to be said between the two.

  "Then, Hank, you'll leave matters with me till I see you again?"

  "When will that be?"

  The man stood a moment in thought.

  "In order that there shall be no mistake, let us agree that I shall call here to-morrow morning—twenty-four hours from now. How does that strike you?"

  "That will do."

  "I can make it less time than that, if you wish it."

  "That suits; it's a go; good-by."

  "Good-by," and the visitor turned on his heel and strode across the plateau, disappearing on the further margin, where he had first shown himself.

  Hank Hazletine stood looking after him as long as he was in sight. When at last he vanished, an expression of scornful contempt darkened the bearded face of the cowman, and he muttered:

  "Bill Tozer, you think you're smart, but I understand you!"

  In the interview which has just been recorded the visitor believed he had outwitted the guide at every step, and yet exactly the reverse was the fact. Hank Hazletine had pretended a stupidity which was not real. He noted the contradictions in the declarations of Tozer the instant they were made, but gave no evidence of it, his object being to draw out the miscreant, in which purpose he succeeded perfectly.

  The whole truth was manifest to the guide. Fred Greenwood had been abducted not by M
otoza alone, but by him and Bill Tozer. Beyond a doubt the daring scheme was the invention of the white man, who found a willing partner in the vagrant Sioux, who burned with enmity toward the youth. It was Tozer who made the mistake of supposing that the father of Fred was half-owner of the ranch, and, therefore, presumably a rich man. Tozer had formed the plan of the abduction while at Bowman's ranch, and showed by his promptness that he had not allowed the grass to grow under his feet.

  These meditations occupied but a few minutes, when the cowman walked toward Jack, who, seeing him approaching, advanced to meet him. Hazletine felt that the change of conditions made it necessary to talk more freely than heretofore with the boy.

  "Hank, it seems to me we are throwing away time," said the youth, a trifle impatiently.

  "I'm not so sure of that, younker. I've news fur you."

  The guide had a good memory, and he repeated, almost word for word, all that had been said by Tozer and himself. Jack was astounded. His first emotion was of profound gratitude and delight, for the interview seemed to establish that Fred Greenwood was alive, and consequently within reach of recovery.

  "He's not dead!" exclaimed the happy lad; "thank Heaven for that! I shall soon see him! It seems too good to be true."

  "It isn't best to be sartin of anything in this world," remarked his friend, with a gravity of expression that ought to have chilled the ardor of Jack, but it did not. The tidings were too exhilarating for that.

  "Now, younker," added the man, "we've got more time on our hands than we know what to do with. Come over by the fire and set down fur a while. How's that appetite of yours?"