Boy Ranchers on Roaring River; Or, Diamond X and the Chinese Smugglers

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER XIV

  TO-MORROW NIGHT

  Back of Delton Bud saw another man--and after a moment he recognizedhim as the cowboy with the saw-off shot-gun who had warned them awayfrom the Shooting Star.

  "Up out of that!" Delton commanded. "Keep your hands high. Don't tryno funny work or you'll be eatin' breakfast with St. Peter."

  Discretion was easily the better part of valor, and, realizing this,Bud made no hostile motion. He climbed meekly out of the pit.

  "What do you think of our little hide-an'-seek hole, Merkel? Orperhaps you had some experience with it before. Hey?"

  "So you're the one who shot at us!" Bud cried hotly. "Well, let metell you that it was a coward's trick. If you----"

  "Say, buddy, I want to tell _you_ something. The less you talk thebetter it will be for you." Delton's eyes held a dangerous glint. "Idon't know what you're talking about. No--never mind! Don't answerme. Sam--" this to the puncher who stood behind Delton--"if this birdsays another word shut him up--quick!" Sam nodded and stepped a littleforward.

  "Turn around," Delton ordered shortly. As Bud turned he felt his armsgrabbed and forced back until his wrists were held firmly together. Aneckerchief was wound around his wrists and tied tightly. Then Delton"frisked" him, or searched him, for weapons. Finding none he forcedBud at the point of his gun to walk ahead some fifteen yards, where theponies stood--Bud's and the two others.

  "Upstairs, Merkel." Delton motioned toward Bud's pony. "You're goin'for a little ride with us. Step on it, now."

  With some difficulty Bud succeeded in mounting his bronco. The littlepony was trembling, as though it realized something of what was goingon.

  "Well, sonny, how does it feel to be talked to and not be able to talkback? Something like that Mexican cook of yours, hey?"

  "The Mexican cook!" Bud turned swiftly in his saddle.

  "So he's one of your men too! I thought--" he began hotly.

  "You thought nothin'!" the one called Sam interrupted in a rough voice."You heard what the boss said. If you want to enjoy good health awhile longer, keep your mouth shut!"

  There was nothing for it but to obey. It would do no good to persistin questioning his captors, and not only would he learn nothing, butthe questions would only serve to antagonize them more.

  The three rode along silently. Now and then Bud would shift in thesaddle, for it is no easy thing to ride a long ways on a nervous ponywith one's hands tied behind. Finally they seemed to reach theirdestination--the house Bud had seen in the distance. It was aramshackle affair, with the roof partly torn away and no vestige ofpaint. Evidently it had once been used for a farm house, for about itwere several other shacks, probably to store grain in.

  Delton dismounted and held the bridle of Bud's pony.

  "Your new home," he said, with a grin. "Come right in. Sorry we can'tfix you up better, but you see all the servants are away."

  The lad hesitated a moment.

  "Off you come!" Delton seized Bud by the belt and pulled. The boytumbled off his pony and hit the ground.

  "That wasn't--necessary!" the boy panted, as he lay there with most ofthe breath knocked out of him. Luckily he had fallen on his side, andnot on his face, which would have meant a real injury, his hands tiedas they were.

  "Maybe not, but I figger it'll do you good. Give you an appetite fordinner," and Delton laughed harshly. "Where I come from we treat 'emworse than that."

  "Aw, let him alone," Sam growled. "No use hurtin' the kid! That won'thelp us any. If we get caught it won't be so good havin' a lot ofenemies."

  "Who said we were goin' to get caught?" Delton walked over to where Samsat on his pony. "Sam, I haven't liked your actions lately. Now youyell about getting caught. You know what happened to that last birdwho arranged for me to meet up with the cops?"

  "Yea, I know." Sam moved uneasily in his saddle. He did not meetDelton's eyes. "You don't think I'd tell on you, do ya--an' get twentyyears myself? Ain't likely. Anyway----"

  "All right! Pipe down. Get this kid inside. I want to see if Slimgot back yet."

  "Come on, kid. Here, I'll help you up. Hurt yourself?" Sam haddismounted and assisted Bud to his feet.

  "No, I didn't. Thanks. What was his idea in pulling me off like that?If ever I get him I'll remember it."

  "Oh, he always pulls stunts like that. Wants everybody to know he's ahard guy. Comes from New York, and thinks he can put it all over theWest. One thing I will say for him, he sure can shoot. That's enough,now."

  Sam's tone changed, and a warning light came into his eyes.

  "I ain't paid to talk to you. Let's go," he growled.

  He led Bud up the steps and into the house. The shades were pulleddown tight, and the gloom made it very difficult for Bud to see much.He noticed some sort of a hat-tree in the hall, and as they walkedtoward the back he saw the doors of several rooms which opened off thelower hall. Into one of these Sam led his captive.

  "Here's where you stay," he said. "No use tryin' to get out, for thewindows are barred. And that door is oak. Here--" and Sam struggledwith the knot which bound Bud's wrists behind his back. "Make you feela little comfortable, anyhow. You can't do much without a gun.There's water in that pitcher. I'll try to sneak you in some breadabout noon."

  Without another word Sam stepped out of the room and closed the door.Bud heard a key grate in the lock, and then a bolt shot home.

  "Taking no chances," he thought. "My, it feels good to get my armsfree!" He stretched lustily. "Wonder where on earth I am? Let's takea look at those windows. Bars, hey?" He pulled the shade aside.Surely enough on the outside were several iron bars, making the room averitable jail. "They sure got me penned up here proper! Now why didthey go to all this trouble? Just because I found that pit by thewater hole?

  "That doesn't seem reasonable. Must want me for something besidesthat. Guess I'll know soon enough. In the meantime I'll take a lookaround. Water! That's right--I am thirsty. Funny how you forget thatwhen you're excited." Bud was talking to himself now. There arepeople who seem to be able to puzzle things out better if the problemis put into words than if they just revolve it over in their minds.Bud was one of these, and as he investigated his prison he kept talkingin a low tone to himself.

  With the shades up he was able to get a better view of the room. Itwas small, and had only that one window in it. The furniture consistedof a chair and a table. The floor was bare. The walls were painted adull gray. Bud pushed experimentally against one of the sides, but tono purpose. It was as solid as iron.

  There was one more thing to be tried, that was the door. Bud wasreconciled to spending at least the morning within the room, and itmade very little difference to him whether the door was of oak, as"Sam" had said, or some softer wood. However, he thought, he might aswell take a crack at it. Try anything once, he reasoned.

  He walked over and turned the knob softly. It refused to budge aninch. Then Bud applied more pressure. This time it turned slowly.Hope rang in Bud's heart as he felt the latch click back, then as heremembered hearing the door bolted his heart sank again. Still heturned the knob as far as it would go, and pushed. The door openedabout half an inch.

  Then it stuck. Bud's hand dropped from the knob, and he ran hisfingers along the crack. Half way up they encountered cold metal--achain which allowed the door to open only a little, then held. Budseemed as securely fastened as though he had been unable to budge thedoor at all. Then he thought it was possible the bolt worked on aslide, and if he could reach through the crack and ease it out of theslide, he would be free.

  "A knife would do the trick," he thought. "Nothing like that aroundhere. I wonder if my belt buckle would do?" He tried forcing itthrough the crack. "Nope. Not long enough. Isn't there somethingabout the room I could use? Chair--that's no good. Neither is thetable. Water pitcher--can't see what good that is. Porcelain, Iguess." He ran his hand over the pitcher.

/>   "Yep. Well, that doesn't seem to help. Unless--" he hesitated. Athought struck him. "If I could break it and use a piece of it like aknife I'll bet I could scrape that bolt over! But how can I break itwithout making a racket and bringing Delton and his gang rushing in?"Bud thought a moment. Then he snapped his fingers softly, and his eyeslit up. "I've got it!" he whispered.

  Taking off his vest and shirt he wrapped the pitcher well in them,after pouring out the water. Then he tapped it gently against thewindow-sill. It made almost no noise, so he hit it harder. After afew tries he felt it break. As he unwrapped his bundle of shatteredporcelain he saw he had, luckily, broken a piece just the size hewanted. He replaced his shirt and vest and with the piece of pitcherin his hand he made once more for the door, this time with a real hopeof escaping.

  "Just the right length!" Bud exalted as he slid the narrow knife-likeporcelain through the crack in the door and against the bolt. Then hestarted to coax the bolt from its slide. Softly, softly he scrapedagainst the iron, and to his delight felt it move ever so little. Hecould not open the door to its full extent in his endeavor to slip thebolt, for this would tighten the chain and hold the metal piece morefirmly in its slide. He had to work with his left hand holding thedoor at the proper angle and his right hand using the piece of thewater pitcher.

  It was tiresome work. Several times Bud halted as he heard footstepsin the hall outside, but they went on their way without stopping. Theporcelain was rapidly wearing down. Its edge had already becomedulled, and no longer offered the purchase on the iron that it did atfirst. But finally Bud succeeded--the bolt slid back.

  Cautiously he tried the door. It opened! In obedience to Bud's push,the door swung wide. For a moment the lad stood still, listeningintently. The low murmur of voices came to his ears.

  "Down the hall," he thought. "Must be in that large room I passedcoming in."

  He stepped gently forward. A board creaked under his foot, and frozehim into instant stillness. The murmur of voices droned on, and oncemore Bud moved forward. Down the hall he tip-toed. Nearer and nearerto the room wherein the men were talking he came. Now he was directlyopposite. The door was tightly closed, but he could make out theconversation distinctly.

  "A cinch!" he heard someone say. "There's nothing to it! Even if Jakedoesn't know about the Shooting Star, he can run the bunch through allright. And the sooner the better."

  "You know when the run is planned for?" someone asked.

  "Sure! And I think we'll be lucky on the weather. Looks like rain tome."

  "Well, I hope so. It's all set for to-morrow night, then?"

  "Check! All set. To-morrow night it is."

  Outside Bud was listening intently, his heart thumping in his breast.