There now seemed nothing to do but to await Tom’s return, and the youth retired to the opposite side of the street.
It was late—after midnight, in fact—and the street was practically deserted.
A half hour went by and Dick felt as if his brother would never return, when he heard swift footsteps behind him.
“So this is your game, eh?” cried the voice of Bradner, and of a sudden a club descended upon Dick’s head and he went down as if shot.
The man had looked out of the hotel window and spotted Dick, and had gone out by a back way add around the square to make certain of his victim.
“That was a good crack,” came from Dan Baxter. “It serves him right for following you.”
Bradner was about to bend over his victim to ascertain how badly Dick was hurt when the footsteps of two men approaching made him draw back.
“Come, we don’t want to be caught,” whispered Dan Baxter nervously. And then, as the footsteps came closer, he darted away, with Henry Bradner at his heels. They did not stop until a long distance away from the scene of the dastardly attack.
The men who were approaching were a couple of bakers who were employed in a neighboring bakery.
“Vas ist dis!” cried one of them, as he stumbled over Dick’s body. “A young mans!”
“He is drunk, Carl,” said the other. “Let him be or you may get into trouble.”
“Maype he vos hurt, or sick,” said the German baker, bending down. “I vos know der cop on dis beat and he knows I vos no footpad.”
Just then Dick gave a shiver and a groan, and both bakers realized that he was suffering in some way. While the German remained by the boy’s side the other ran to the bakery for a lantern and assistance.
Soon a small crowd had collected, and Dick was carried into the bakery and made as comfortable as the means permitted. One of the bakers went on a hunt for a policeman, and presently the officer of the law hove into sight. Dick was just coming to his senses, but was too dazed for several minutes to give an account of what had happened. At last he said a man had struck him down with a club.
“Were you robbed?” asked the policeman.
Dick felt in his various pockets.
“No, sir.”
“You were lucky.”
“I dink ve scare der rascal avay,” said the German baker.
“More than likely. It’s a pity you didn’t collar him.” The policeman turned to Dick.
“Shall I call up an ambulance?”
“I don’t think it’s necessary, sir. My brother will be along this way soon. I was waiting for him to come when I was struck.”
“You were out rather late,” remarked the officer of the law, suspiciously.
“I was watching a rascal who tried to make trouble for me.”
“Then there must be more to this case than what you just told me.”
“There is.”
“In that case you had better go to police headquarters with me.”
“I am willing. But won’t you wait until my brother gets here?”
There was no need to wait, for at that moment Tom appeared on the scene, accompanied by Jack Wumble. They both stared at Dick in horror.
“Oh, Dick, you are hurt?” cried Tom.
“Not very much. Bradner hit me on the head. I am glad I am alive.”
“And where is the rascal now?” questioned the old miner.
“Ran away.”
“And Dan Baxter?” queried Tom.
“Gone, too, I suppose. They must have been together.” And then Dick related what had occurred—so far as he knew—since Tom had left him.
The officer of the law accompanied all three to the police station, and here the boys told their story, and a watch was set for Bradner and Dan Baxter. But nothing came of this, for the pair left Chicago early the next day.
“We had better keep close together after this,” said Jack Wumble, as he was seeing the boys back to their hotel. “I reckon you’ve got a mighty bad crowd to deal with.” And he remained with them for the balance of the night.
The express for Denver left at eleven o’clock in the morning, and all of the party of four were on hand to catch it. Soon they were whirling over the fields and through the forests toward the mighty Mississippi River.
“Never been West afore-eh?” remarked Jack Wumble. “Well, you will see some grand sights, I can tell ye that.”
“No, we have never been West,” answered Sam. “But we have been to Africa,” he added proudly.
“Gee shoo! is that so! Well, that’s long traveling certainly. But I reckon I’d rather see my own country first.”
“We went to Africa for a purpose,” said Tom, and told of the rescue of his father. The old miner listened with keen appreciation and at the conclusion clapped Tom on the back.
“You’re true blue, Tom!” he cried. “You and your brothers will pull through, I feel sure of it.” And then he fell to telling about his own life, and how he had become acquainted with Anderson Rover and his partner Kennedy, and of the various bad things Arnold Baxter had done in those days. “This man seems to be a chip of the old block,” he concluded.
The trip to Denver was full of interest, and Dick was sorry he did not have a camera along, that he might take snapshots of the scenery. Yet he was impatient to get to his destination and stake out the missing Eclipse Mine before Arnold Baxter and his confederates should have the chance to do so.
It was the afternoon of the next day when Denver was reached, and a light rain was falling. Jack Wumble wished to put up at a hotel called the Miner’s Rest, a favorite resort with men from the mining districts. He had been negotiating for the sale of one of his mines, and thought he could close the deal the next morning.
“And then we’ll be off for Larkspur Creek without further delay,” was what he told Dick.
CHAPTER XXI
OFF FOR THE MINING DISTRICT
While Jack Wumble was off attending to his private business the three Rover boys took a stroll through Denver.
The city was different from any they had visited, and their walk was full of interest.
Coming to a store in the window of which were exhibited a number of Indian curiosities, the boys halted to examine the objects, when Tom uttered a sudden cry.
“Look, Dick! There is Bradner inside!”
“Yes, and Dan Baxter is with him!” returned the elder brother quickly. “Here’s luck, surely!”
“Will you have them locked up?” asked Sam.
“To be sure—if we can.”
The boys looked around for a policeman, but none happened to be in sight.
“Run and see if you can find one,” said Dick to Sam. “Tom and I can watch the pair.”
At once Sam made off. But policemen were not numerous, and it took quite some time to locate one and explain what was wanted.
In the meantime Dan Baxter had caught sight of Tom and told Bradner of his discovery.
Boy and man came out of the store in a great hurry. They were about to run off when Dick caught Bradner by the arm, while his brother halted the former bully of Putnam Hall.
“Let go of me!” hissed Bradner, and as Dick paid no attention he aimed a blow for the youth’s head. But Dick “had been there before,” and dodged, and the force of his effort nearly took the rascal off his feet. Before he could recover Dick had him down on his back and was sitting on his chest.
Tom was having a lively time with Dan Baxter. The bully hit the boy in the shoulder, and Tom retaliated with a sharp crack that landed straight on Baxter’s nose and drew blood.
“A fight! a fight!” yelled a passing newsboy, and as if by magic a crowd began to collect.
Again Baxter struck out, but his blow fell short, and now Tom gave him one in the ear that spun him half around. By this time the bully felt tha
t he had had enough of the encounter, and breaking through the crowd he set off on a mad run down the street and around the nearest comer.
Feeling it would be useless to try to catch Dan Baxter just then, Tom turned his attention to Dick and Henry Bradner. Bradner was struggling hard to get up, but Dick was master of the situation, so Tom had little to do.
“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded the policeman, as soon as he came upon the scene.
“I want this man arrested,” answered Dick, as he got up, but still kept close to Bradner.
“What has he done?”
“He is a sharper of the worst kind.”
“You are sure of this?”
“I am—”
“You will have to go to the station house with us if I take the man in,” continued the policeman.
“I am willing,” answered Dick quietly.
Muttering angrily to himself, Henry Bradner arose. He wanted to run away, but got no chance to do so. Soon the station house was reached, and here Dick and his brothers told their story.
“The assault happened in another State,” said the officer at the desk. “The most we can do is to hold him until the Illinois authorities send for him.”
“Why, that’s Harry the Crook, from Gunnison!” put in an officer who had just come in. “He is wanted here on half a dozen charges.”
At these words Bradner turned deadly pale.
“This is a—a mistake,” he faltered. “I know nothing of the man you mention.”
“Too thin, Harry; I know you well,” replied the officer. “Captain, he is a bad one,” he continued to his superior.
An investigation into the records was made, and a picture in the Rogues’ Gallery proved that Bradner and Harry the Crook were one and the same beyond a doubt.
“In that case we’ll hold him right here,” said the police captain.
The matter was talked over with Dick, and the youth decided to let his own charge against the crook drop, as he did not wish to waste time in Denver on the case. An hour later the three Rovers departed, leaving Henry Bradner to a fate he richly deserved.
“That is one of our enemies disposed of,” observed Dick, as they walked back to the hotel. “I wish we could do up the Baxters just as easily.”
The following day found them on the way to Gunnison. Nothing more had been seen or heard of Dan Baxter, nor had anything turned up concerning Arnold Baxter and Roebuck, the man who was with him and who hid helped him to escape from prison.
The country was now mountainous in the extreme, with here and there a wild, weird canyon thousands of feet deep. Some of the awful pitfalls made Sam fairly hold his breath.
“Gosh!” he murmured. “This beats Africa, doesn’t it? Who ever saw such lofty peaks before—and such rivers cut out of the solid rock!”
The boys found Gunnison a small mining city containing perhaps six thousand souls. A few of the buildings were quite up to date, but the majority were little better than shanties. But Gunnison was a center for the trade of many miles around, and business was brisk.
At Gunnison the entire party procured horses from a dealer Jack Wumble knew, beasts that were strong and used to mountain traveling.
“We might go on for twenty miles or so by rail, but this is the best place for fitting out,” said the old miner. “We can strike a putty fair trail from here, leading directly, to Larkspur Creek.”
“And how far is that mining district from here?” asked Tom.
“As the birds fly about sixty-five miles. But the trail makes it a good hundred miles, and some putty stiff climbin’ at that. I’m glad ye are used to roughin’ it, for this traveling don’t go well with a tenderfoot.”
The day was clear and the air bracing, and the boys started off with their friend in the best of spirits. Soon the city was left behind, and then began a journey along the foothills which seemed to have no end.
“If Arnold Baxter is watching us he is taking precious good care to keep out of sight,” said Tom, as they rode along in single file, with Jack Wumble in the lead.
“No doubt Dan has joined his father and told him of Bradner’s fate,” returned Dick. “But we have got to keep our eyes wide open. We all know what a wretch Arnold Baxter is, and out in this wild country almost anything is liable to happen.”
On and on they went, first over a stubble of thin grass and then through a forest of tall pine trees. Rocks were everywhere, and the trail wound in and out, with an occasional watercourse to be forded.
“These watercourses are all right now,” observed Jack Wumble. “But in the early spring, when the snow on the mountains begins to melt, they become raging torrents, and getting across ‘em is out of the question.”
“How far are yonder peaks from here?” asked Sam, pointing ahead.
“About twenty miles.”
“Gracious, as far as that! I didn’t know one could see so clearly for such a long distance. They look to me to be only about three miles.”
“The air is very pure and clear out here, lad. No better air in this wide world than that of Colorady.”
At noon they came to a halt in a little hollow, protected alike from the breeze and the direct rays of the overhead sun. Their saddle bags were filled with provisions, and Tom and Sam began to prepare their first meal in the open, with Dick and the old miner assisting.
After the meal Jack Wumble took a smoke and a ten minutes’ nap, and during that time the three boys strolled off in various directions, Sam going ahead on the trail.
Presently the youngest Rover had his eye arrested by a post set up in the middle of the trail. To the top of the post was tacked a sheet of white paper.
“This is queer,” thought Sam, and drew closer to inspect the sheet. On it were written the words, in pencil:
“To the Rovers and their friend:
“If you want to keep out of trouble you will return to Gunnison at once. If you dare to push on to Larkspur Creek it may cost you your lives. We are watching you, and are fully armed, and you had better be warned in time.
“THE RIGHTFUL OWNERS OF THE MINE”
CHAPTER XXI
LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS
“Dick! Tom! Jack! Come here and see what I have found!”
Sam’s cry was a loud one, and soon the others came up on a run, Jack Wumble pistol in hand, for his life in the open had taught him to be forever prepared for danger.
“Wot is it, lad?” asked the old miner anxiously.
“It’s a quit notice for us,” answered Sam soberly. “I can tell you, the Baxters mean to carry matters with a high hand.”
All of the others read the notice in silence. Then Dick thrust his hands into his pockets coolly.
“I’ll see them hanged before I’ll go back,” he said.
“I am with you,” added Tom. “But we must be cautious after this, or the Baxters will be firing at us from an ambush.”
“If only we could catch sight of them,” put in Sam. “They ought to be shot on sight!”
The boys looked at Jack Wumble, who had remained silent.
“Do you advise us to go back?” asked Dick hastily.
“I can’t say as I do, lads,” was the slow response. “Yet it might be better to do that nor to be shot down and have yer body thrown into a canyon,” added Wumble, speaking in his old time vernacular. “Perhaps your father would rather have ye back.”
“I don’t believe it,” burst out Tom. “Father never wanted cowards for sons.”
Dick caught the paper, tore it down and ripped it in two, throwing it to the wind.
“I say I’m going ahead.”
“So am I,” came from both of his brothers. “But you need not go Jack.” went on Dick. “We don’t wish you to run into danger, and—”
“Hold up, Dick, I said I would see ye through, and I will,” cried the o
ld miner. “But I want ye to realize what ye are doing, that’s all. If you are shot down it will be yer own fault, so to speak.”
“But we don’t intend to be shot down,” interrupted Tom. “We have run up against the Baxters before, so we know how to be careful.”
“It aint like as if they were in a city in the East,” went on the old miner. “Here some men are mighty free with their shootin’-irons. And they could take a shot at ye from a long distance, with a good rifle.”
Thus talking the entire party walked back to their camp and sat down to discuss the situation in detail.
“Perhaps we had better not advance until dark,” said Dick. “If we advance now we will simply be making targets of ourselves,” and he shivered in spite of himself.
“We won’t advance at all,” put in Jack Wumble briefly. “We would be wuss nor fools if we did—with them human wildcats a—watchin’ of us,” and he began to puff vigorously at his short stump of a briarroot pipe.
“But you said—” began Tom, when the old miner waved him to silence.
“Let me think it out, lads, and then I’ll tell ye my plan. We’ll trick ‘em—that’s best,” and he began to smoke again.
Satisfied that Jack Wumble knew the ground to be covered better than they did, the boys decided to let him have his own way, so long as the object of the expedition should be advanced. They sat down in the shade to rest, and thus several hours passed, and the old miner smoked up half ‘a dozen pipefuls of his favorite plug mixture.
“I’ve got it,” he cried at last. “If we kin work the deal we’ll keep ‘em guessing.” And he laughed softly to himself.
His plan was a simple one. Several miles back on the trail there was a fork, the second trail running to the northward. His plan was to ride back to the fork, and then in the darkness of the night to take to the second trail.
“That don’t lead to Larkspur Creek,” he said. “But it leads to Go Lightly Gulch, and from there I know an old Indian trail which leads to the Larkspur by way of Bender Mountain. It’s dangerous trail to ride, but it’s safe, too, so far as our enemies are concerned, for they can’t cover it from any other part of the mountains. They would either have to be right in front of us or right behind, and in that case we’d have as much of a show at them as they would have at us.”
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