“Right here we part,” said Hank at the conclusion of the meal.
“How am I to spend the time?”
“As your fancy strikes you. As I told you, it will be soon ’nough fur you to git back to camp to-morrer morning, but you must keep your eyes open. It may be that Tozer, having larned that your father is the man he meant to bleed, will try to make a prisoner of you.”
Jack Dudley’s eyes flashed.
“Let him try it! I should like to be in Fred’s company.”
“Mebbe you wouldn’t be so well suited as you think, but look out fur snares in your path—that’s all I’ve got to say. I’m off.”
It was characteristic of the cowman to take his departure in this abrupt manner, his intention being to undertake without delay the difficult task he had set out for himself, but five minutes later he gave over his purpose, and, to the surprise of Jack Dudley, came back to him.
In doing this, Hazletine was wise. His purpose, as already intimated, was to discover if possible Motoza and Tozer, but especially the former. There was little doubt that the Sioux would communicate with his prisoner during the day, or, if Fred Greenwood was not among the living, his unrelenting enemy was likely to give some evidence of where his taking off had occurred. Hazletine’s belief, therefore, was that by shadowing the Sioux he had a good chance of securing the information that would overturn all the calculations of the abductors.
But this task was tenfold more delicate than would seem at first, for not only had the cowman to learn the whereabouts of the Sioux, but he must do it undetected and dog the fellow without discovery on his part. When it is remembered that Motoza would be on the alert against this, one is almost ready to declare the cowman had attempted an impossible thing.
When he left his young friend, however, it was with the firm purpose of doing, or rather trying to push through this purpose. Within a hundred yards of the point where he left Jack the guide had a glimpse of what may be called the shadow of a movement. Something flickered among the rocks a short distance ahead and then vanished before he could identify it.
But he knew what it meant. Some one was watching him. If the watcher was not Motoza or Tozer, he was an ally of theirs. He was holding the cowman under surveillance, ready to report or shoot on the first proof of his real purpose. The truth flashed upon Hank, and pausing in his walk, without any evidence of what he had discovered, he began a hasty examination of his pockets after the manner of a man who suddenly misses some prized article that he believed to be in his garments.
The little farce was cleverly acted. Each receptacle was examined several times, some of the pockets being turned wrong side out, while the face of the cowman, or rather his eyes, betrayed his excitement. Then he looked at the ground in front and at the rear, apparently to learn whether he had dropped the missing treasure. Failing to find it, he uttered an angry exclamation and walked hurriedly back to his companion. No one observing the performance would have doubted its meaning.
“I’m going to stay a while with you,” he remarked, seating himself upon the ground and lighting his pipe.
“It was a sudden change of mind,” replied Jack, glad to have his company.
“Yes; a redskin helped me to make it,” and he explained the nature of his discovery. Inasmuch as the guide had turned back because of the same, it was easy to understand what his original intention was; for had it not existed, why should the cowman care if he was kept under surveillance? He would not be betraying himself any more during an innocent walk and hunt through the mountains than by sitting on the ground and smoking his pipe.
The result to a certain extent was a disappointment to Jack himself, for he had quietly resolved upon a venture in the same line. Of necessity he would be governed almost entirely by guesswork, but it was his determination to spend the day, and if possible the night, in trying to gather some trace of his missing friend. And while it must be said that his prospect of success was exceedingly meagre, it should be borne in mind that he would possess one great advantage over the veteran while similarly engaged—neither Tozer nor Motoza would fear anything from what he did, and would give him no attention. He therefore would be left comparatively free to do what he chose. Despite the warnings of Hank, Jack was confident nothing was to be feared from the enmity of the two miscreants while the negotiations were in progress. They were not the men to destroy the hen that was expected to lay the golden egg.
For hours Hazletine and Jack lolled in this primitive camp, the cowman smoking his pipe most of the time, while the two discussed over and over again the various phases of the momentous business that engaged their thoughts and to which they yearned to devote their utmost energies. The guide longed to be off, and as the sun descended the heavens it was one of the hardest tasks of his life to restrain his impatience, but he had been trained in a school where patience is one of the greatest of all the virtues. Suddenly he rose to his feet, stretched his arms and yawned.
“I’d like to borrer that spy-glass of yours fur a few minutes.”
“You are welcome,” replied Jack, slipping the string over his head and passing the instrument to him. The cowman sauntered off, taking the same direction as before. His first wish was to learn whether he was still under surveillance. So far as he could determine the watcher had grown weary and withdrawn, though there could be no certainty that he was not in the neighborhood.
Jack Dudley, without leaving camp, was able to keep an eye on the movements of his friend. He saw him make his way to a jutting rock, partly screened by a growth of cedar. Concealing himself as well as he could, he raised the glass to his eyes and spent several minutes in studying the wild country spread below him. He was looking in the direction of the break in the canyon, beyond which, as will be remembered, was the plateau where the ponies had been left to crop the grass while their masters were engaged elsewhere.
Jack did not attempt to survey the same field, but kept his gaze upon Hazletine. He could see that he directed his attention toward a particular point, as if he had either discovered something or expected to do so. The study continued only a few minutes, when he came back and handed the glass to the youth, with the remark:
“I’m going to try it agin. I won’t expect to see you till to-morrer morning.”
The lad bade him good-by, and he took his departure; but instead of descending the mountain toward the point that had interested him, he followed the opposite course, as if he intended to push through to the other side of the Wind River range. This was so transparent a subterfuge that it did not deceive Jack.
“He has discovered something,” was his conclusion; “he doesn’t choose to tell me, and it makes little difference. I wonder whether he believes I intend to idle my time till night and then go back to headquarters and wait for him? If he thinks so, he makes a mistake.”
Waiting until sure his friend was beyond sight, Jack carefully picked his way to the rock from which Hank had made the observation that decided his line of action. The better to screen himself the youth lay down on his face, as when peering over the ridge into the valley where the antelope were grazing, and held the glass to his eyes.
Thus looking out, he saw the plateau in the distance, seemingly but a few rods in extent. Only one of the ponies was visible, and he resembled a small dog, standing with head down, in the middle of the grassy plot. Beyond and between were foot-hills, peaks of varying heights, gorges, ravines and hollows, with rocks, boulders and stunted trees scattered in profusion. The picturesqueness of the scene was deepened by a thin, blue column of vapor in the distance, ascending from an invisible camp-fire. The smoke rose steadily, so it was not to be supposed that it was meant for a signal, like those already described.
The most attractive point was the break in the canyon, already described. This was in plain sight, with the expanse of swiftly-flowing water, which soon disappeared between the walls on the opposite side.
Suddenly Jack started. Two Indians were visible, though they were in view for only a few min
utes. They came from the base of the incline where the boys had seen three of them the day before, and passed out of sight before the interested observer could decide whether Motoza, the Sioux, was one of them.
“I believe Hank has gone down there,” was the conclusion of Jack, “and I shall do the same.”
CHAPTER XVII.
INTO AND OUT OF THE CANYON.
Jack Dudley’s enforced idleness had become intolerable. He could stay no longer in the place from which Hank Hazletine had departed a half-hour before. It was a waste of time to speculate over the intentions of the veteran, and the youth made no attempt to do so. He had set out to see whether he could act even an insignificant part in the recovery of his loved comrade.
It has been said that the boy had the advantage over the man in that it was not to be supposed any importance would be attached to his actions. At the same time he was liable to “put his foot in it” in more ways than one.
Somehow or other the conviction clung to Jack Dudley that the key to the situation was in the neighborhood of the canyon. There must be hundreds of places among the mountains where a prisoner could be hidden from human eyes, but Hazletine’s interest centred in that wild gorge, and Jack was certain he had gone thither.
Then there was the fact of the cowman’s visit two days before, concerning which he would have said nothing but for his discovery by the boys. Why Hank should have picked his way up that dangerous place was known only to himself. Jack could form no theory to explain it. But he did not forget the dispute of the three Indians in front of the break and the start which one of them made to follow the footsteps of the white man. There must be some attraction in the canyon for them all.
Jack’s dread was that Hazletine, despite his undoubted skill, would frighten Tozer and Motoza by his efforts to defeat their purpose, and drive them into slaying Fred and making off before they could be punished. But the cowman had his own views, and it was too late to dissuade him.
Keeping in mind the warning of his friend to use all possible circumspection in his actions, Jack was so guarded that a full hour had passed when he once more reached the break in the canyon, which had already afforded them more than one interesting experience.
So far as he could judge, he was the only living person within miles. The two Indians that had flitted across his field of vision were gone, and it was impossible to say what had become of Hazletine. Determined, however, to run no unnecessary risk, Jack remained among the trees and rocks on the upper side of the break, where he could not be seen unless some one almost stepped upon him. Not satisfied with his first position, he shifted further to the right, and lay down to wait and watch.
A gradual obscuring of the sky caused him to look at his watch. Could it be possible? The autumn afternoon was almost gone. Night was at hand, whereas he had supposed several hours of daylight remained. Thus valuable time had slipped past and nothing had been done for Fred Greenwood.
From where Jack lay he had a perfect view of the upper gate, as it may be called, of the canyon. The gorge has already been described as narrow at the point where the foamy waters dashed through and expanded into the broad pool, after which they flowed a short way and reunited, to make their next plunge between the mountain walls on their journey to the sea thousands of miles distant. Looking across this break, the boy could penetrate with his eye for a dozen yards into the upper canyon. He saw the dripping rocks upon which the angry buck sprang, only to pause and turn back to join his companions below.
A curious thing happened. Jack was looking in the direction named, when, with startling suddenness, an Indian shot into sight on the furthest rock, beyond which the canyon made a sweeping curve that shut off further view. His appearance was like the upleaping of a Jack-in-the-box at the touch of the spring, but the explanation was evident: he was making his way down the gorge from above, when his leap from one rock to another brought him thus abruptly into view.
This was interesting of itself, but a still more interesting discovery came with the second glance at him. He was Motoza, the Sioux!
It looked as if Hank Hazletine, with all his subtlety and woodcraft, had failed to do that which came of itself to Jack Dudley.
The actions of the Sioux showed he was unusually careful about being seen as he emerged from the canyon into fuller view, for, after leaping to the rock which stood at the door of the gorge, he stood a minute, then leaned forward and peered around the sides as far as he could without losing his balance. He next stood erect and looked keenly across the pool, and apparently at the very spot where the boy lay hiding.
“What a face!” muttered Jack; “I never saw one so ugly, with those daubs of paint; and his eyes shine just like that rattlesnake’s we killed. It can’t be he sees me,” added the youth in alarm, as he cowered still lower; “one would think he could look through a stone.”
But nothing less than the Roentgen ray would have revealed the young man, who was stealthily watching the ferocious buck. The latter must have decided that the coast was clear, for with another bound he landed upon a rock quite a way from the opening of the canyon, and a second leap placed him on the shore where three of his race had been standing when discovered by Jack and Fred.
Motoza did not linger, but moved with a very rapid stride across the open space, where he was in full view of anyone in the vicinity.
“If I were sure you had done any harm to Fred,” muttered Jack, never removing his eyes from the repellant countenance, “I believe I could treat you as we did the grizzly bear without a sting of conscience. The idea of your harming a hair of the head of Fred Greenwood, who showed you tenfold more mercy than you deserved—my gracious! he must have seen me.”
This involuntary exclamation was caused by the fact that the Sioux was following a bee-line for the spot where Jack lay. Believing a meeting inevitable, the youth placed his hand on his revolver, the preferable weapon in the event of coming to close quarters.
But at the last moment Motoza turned to the left and passed among the rocks within a couple of paces of the youth, who held his breath until he was gone.
For some reasons Jack Dudley would have welcomed a meeting with this miscreant, for he held him in no fear. For one moment he meditated “holding him up,” with the threat of death unless he produced Fred Greenwood; but fortunately the youth had time in which to see the wild absurdity of the thing, which could have done no possible good and probably would have brought great harm. So it was that Motoza passed out of sight and the youth was once more left alone.
But Jack’s thoughts had taken a new turn. Hazletine had expressed the belief that in the interval between the first and second meeting with Tozer either he or Motoza would hold communication with their prisoner; consequently, if the Sioux could be kept under surveillance without exciting his suspicion, he was likely to give some involuntary and useful information.
“I wonder where Hank is; can it be that he, too, is watching in the neighborhood and has seen Motoza come out as I saw him? If so, the next fellow to pass in review before me will be my esteemed friend.”
When, however, a half-hour had gone by without anything being seen of the cowman, Jack was warranted in believing that he was the only one who was aware of the coming and going of the red man.
Following out Hazletine’s theory, it would seem that the prison of Fred Greenwood, instead of being among the mountains, was within the gorge. This was a startling conclusion, but the more Jack reflected upon it the more strongly did he believe it.
“At any rate, I mean to find out whether it is so.”
But on the verge of setting out he hesitated. There was more than one reason why he should do so. In the first place, it was exceedingly dangerous to attempt to make his way up the canyon even by daylight, and the sun had already disappeared. He was totally unfamiliar with the windings and would be in constant danger of drowning. Moreover, he was liable, in the event of Fred being held a prisoner in the gorge, to place himself with him, or to defeat the negotiations for r
estoring him to liberty.
And yet, in the face of these and other obstacles, the youth decided to make the foolhardy attempt.
First of all he fastened his Winchester to his back, both he and his comrade having made provision for doing that before leaving Bowman’s ranch. Then he thrust his revolver more firmly into its resting-place. This left his hands free, in case a sudden emergency should call for their use, and gave him an opportunity of saving the more important weapon. Then, night being fully come, he stepped into the open space which marked the bank at the break of the canyon. The stars were shining, but it would be a long time before the moon rose.
A quick glance to the right and left revealed nothing to cause alarm, and Jack pressed on until he stood on the spot where the Sioux had landed when making his last leap. There was enough star-gleam to show the black mass of stone, like a crouching monster gathering to spring upon him. It will not be forgotten that the youth was an exceptionally fine athlete, and, pausing but a moment, he easily made the leap that carried him to the rock. In fact the task was easy, and he would not have hesitated to follow in the footsteps of the white man and Indian, could he have had the twilight of mid-day to assist him.
The next bound placed him within the walls of the canyon, where he paused with the question whether it would do to venture further. The rushing waters were on all sides of him, and the cool spray was dashed in his face and over his clothing. It was to be supposed that where this furious current was compressed into such a narrow compass its depth was considerable, and within its grasp the most powerful swimmer would be helpless.
Peering into the gloom, the youth saw the top of the next rock which was used as a stepping-stone by other visitors. If he were mistaken it would be bad for him, but, with only a few minutes’ pause, he gathered his muscles and proved he was right. He was now fairly within the canyon and still standing on solid support, while there had been no trouble to maintain his foothold from the moment he made the first leap.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 54