CHAPTER XVIII
BRADLEY BECOMES INDIGNANT
Frank and Jimmie hastened down the slope to the west, after toilingup and crossing the broken summit, and soon caught sight of the manthey had been instructed to take prisoner. Bradley was walkingswiftly, his haste not at all matching the leisurely air he hadaffected at the camp.
"How do you feel now?" asked Jimmie, wrinkling his nose at Frank."How does it seem to be a bold, bad gunman?"
"I think it is a little shivery," Frank answered. "When I get back toNew York," he went on, "I'm going to write a story for Dad'snewspaper entitled: 'Desperate Desmonds I have Shot Up in the Hills.'That title ought to make a hit on the East Side, south of Firststreet!"
"I feel like a second-story man, and a gopher-worker, and atrain-robber, and a confidence operative all rolled into one!" Jimmieadmitted. "This holding people up is new exercise for us! Say, willyou agree to let me push the gun into his face?"
"We'll both have guns, you little highway-man!" Frank replied. "Youneedn't think I'm going to look on and miss all the fun!"
"Then you let me tie him up!" coaxed Jimmie. "I won't tie him verytight, just so he can't breathe, and so his blood won't circulate!""You're the fierce little bandit!" declared Frank.
"Well, the gang he belongs to tied me up!" complained the boy. "I'mgoing to get even on this geek! We can walk right down on him at anytime now. He'll never suspect that we're pirates."
"First," Frank observed, "I'd like to know where he is going sofast."
"He may go so fast that he'll get to friends before we harness him!"warned Jimmie. "Then we couldn't get him at all, but might, instead,get geezled ourselves."
"There seems to be a little sense left in that head of yours," Franklaughed, "even if your friends do think it is solid bone! So we'dbetter skip along and take him under our protection before we have anarmy to fight. Say, but won't he take a tumble to himself when hefinds himself stuck up by two boys?"
Not withstanding their half-humorous talk concerning what they wereabout to do, the boys both realized that they were facing a serioussituation. They had every confidence in Ned's judgment, still theyhad no knowledge of Bradley which seemed to them to warrant the boldstep they were about to take.
Jimmie was under the impression that Bradley belonged to the coteriewhich had taken him prisoner, but he had no proof of it. Bradley hadbeen, apparently, accepted by Mrs. Mary Brady, and that seemed a goodrecommend for him. Still, there were the instructions, and they wereresolved to carry them out. Neither expressed to the other his secretthought on the subject.
"Where are we going to hide him, after we take him?" asked Jimmie,after a time, during which the lads had managed by hard work todecrease the distance between themselves and Bradley. "How about theold counterfeiters' den?"
"That's the first place his friends will look for him! No, sir, we'vegot to find a little retreat of our own, and one of us must guardhim. Do you know how long Ned wants to keep him?" asked Frank.
"Don't know a thing about it," was the reply. "I don't even know whyhe wants him captured, or what proof he has against him."
The boys were now not far away from Bradley, and, hearing the rattleof broken rock behind him, he turned and looked back at the boys, whowere swinging along with their hands in their pockets. He waited forthem to come up.
"Taking a little walk, eh?" he questioned, as the boys came to thelevel space on the mountainside where he had paused.
Bradley seemed to be entirely unconscious of danger, for he turnedhis back to the boys presently, after a few short sentences hadpassed between them, and moved forward, as if to continue his waydown the slope.
"Just a minute!" Frank said, sharply, and he faced them.
Two automatic revolvers were within a foot of his head, and the eyesof the boys back of them declared that the situation was not theresult of a joke.
"Hold out your hands!" Jimmie ordered. "We want to see if you'retoting any smoke-wagons! Push 'em out, Mister!"
Bradley did not hesitate a second. His hands went out like a flash.There was a smile on his lips as Jimmie removed his revolver, but hisjaw was threatening.
"And so you are just common thieves?" he said.
"Aw, quit it!" Jimmie answered. "We're taking care of you so youwon't fall over a precipice and hurt yourself."
"You'll find very little money on me," Bradley went on. "I've sent into the city for a couple of hundred. You ought to have waited a fewdays."
"We don't want your money," Frank cut in, "all we want is the benefitof your society for a time."
Bradley flushed angrily when Jimmie adroitly snapped a pair ofhandcuffs on his outstretched wrists, but he made no protest.
"Now you can put down your hands," Jimmie announced. "They'll getstiff if you hold 'em out too long. Now, sit down and pick out yourhotel. You may have a room in most any section of this district.Immaterial to us where we put you!"
"What does it mean?" demanded Bradley. "I presume you boys know whatyou are doing. There's law in this state, as wild as this countrylooks to be. You'll get years behind prison bars for this."
"Before I forget it," Jimmie asked, with a wink at Frank, "I want youto tell me something. Will you?"
"That depends. What is it you want to know?"
"This: Is the boy down at the cabin the prince, or is he Mike III?"
The eyes of both boys were fixed keenly on Bradley's face as thequestion was put. So far as they could see, it did not change aparticle in color or expression.
"That's a queer question for you to ask," he said. "You'd betterasked Mrs. Brady whether it is her grandson or not! And I don't knowwhat you mean, talking about a prince. I haven't seen any princeabout here--except the prince of the son of thieves!"
"So you won't tell, eh?" asked Frank.
"The boy I brought in is Michael Brady, son of the son of Mrs.Brady."
Sitting on the level space half way down to the outcropping ledgewhich held the workroom of the counterfeiters, Bradley lookedanxiously in the direction of the canyon.
Jimmie noted the look and took out his field glass. People weremoving about in the canyon, and down in the valley to the south,where the cabin stood, something out of the ordinary seemed to begoing on.
"You are expecting friends?" asked Frank.
"They are liable to come any minute," was the cool reply.
"Then we'd better be going," Jimmie cut in. "There are men in thecanyon, and in the valley, and they may be coming up here to find outwhy you don't meet them, as per agreement! Are they good waiters? Ifthey are, you may find them still in the valley after you've served acouple of terms in a Federal prison!"
"Be careful what you say," warned Bradley. "I'm in your power now,but there'll come a time when I won't be. Remember that!"
Jimmie's glass showed him that the men below were starting up theslope.
"We'll go back toward camp," he said to Frank. "I guess the fellowsdown there are watching us through glasses. If you don't mind," headded, turning to Bradley with a provoking laugh, "we'll stow youaway in a hole in the rocks somewhere until they get tired of lookingfor you!"
"Go as far as you like!" was the reply.
Frank and Jimmie stepped aside and conversed together in low tones,trying to make up their minds what to do with the prisoner. It hadtaken little trouble to capture him, but it seemed to them that itwould be no easy matter to hold him.
"There's a cute little dip in the summit not far from the camp,"Frank said, at length. "A boulder tumbled out of the slope, andthere's a cave big enough to hide three in, only there is a part ofit which has no roof."
"Don't mind that!" Bradley said, in a sarcastic tone. "We won't havea long residence in any place you select now."
"The summit is spotted with queer little openings where soft rock hasbeen washed out," Frank said, "and we can locate not far from thecamp if we want to."
"I suppose you boys are doing this under the orders of this Nestorboy?" asked Bradley. "When you get to
him, kindly ask him to call onme. I want to know what all this means."
"Let's see, what was it you said about the child you brought in withyou?" asked Jimmie, wrinkling his freckled nose until it did not seempossible to ever get it out straight again, "what was it you said hisname was? Was it Prince Abductable or Mike the Third?"
Bradley scowled but said nothing. The boys now set off up the slopewith their prisoner. Now and then they turned to look into the canyonand the valley below.
The men they had observed in the canyon were slowly ascending. Therewere four of them, and it seemed to the boys that they were examiningevery foot of the ground they covered. Bradley looked downward, too,and a smile came to his face as he did so. It was plain that heexpected help from that quarter.
The boys walked as swiftly as possible, and soon came to the summit,where a view of the camp was had. The corral where the mules werefeeding was also in sight, farther down, and Teddy was seen makingfriends with Uncle Ike.
The camp looked so quiet and deserted that Jimmie took out his fieldglass again and looked closely. The flap of the tent was up, and theboy could see for some distance into the interior.
Trunks and boxes were open, their contents scattered about the floor.A figure lay still on the floor, as if asleep. Jimmie could not seethe face, but from the size and expression of the shoulders heimagined it to be Dode.
Oliver was not to be seen. Then, while the boy watched, with apremonition of approaching evil in his mind, he saw two men move outinto the center of the tent. They were looking through handfuls ofpapers, or pictures, or something similar. Jimmie could not determineat that distance just what they were carrying.
"Look here, Frank," the boy said, "just take a look at the tent."
Not a word to arouse the interest of the prisoner was said. Franklooked and handed the glass back to his chum. Jimmie knew what hischum feared as well as if he had put that fear into words. Bradleywas smiling calmly.
"They have raided the tent!" Jimmie whispered, and Frank nodded.
"And they are destroying our plates and prints," Jimmie went on, "andso we'd better be getting down there to see about it."
The Boy Scout Camera Club; Or, the Confession of a Photograph Page 18