Kitabı oku: «Frank Merriwell's Triumph: or, The Disappearance of Felicia», sayfa 13
CHAPTER XX.
THE FINDING OF THE BABES
“Get up yere, pard,” said one of the two men who were standing guard over Macklyn Morgan’s bivouac. “I sure hears some queer sort of a wild critter a-yowling out yander.”
Morgan himself had been eager to push forward through the night toward Merriwell’s valley, but the men lately released from the custody of Pete Curry were exhausted by their tramp and refused at nightfall to proceed farther. Therefore, it had been necessary for the party to divide or to stop where they were and make camp. The latter course had been decided upon.
Not feeling positive that Curry and his comrades would not follow them, Morgan had given orders for two of the men to remain constantly on guard through the night. Of course the guard was to be changed at intervals. Now, shortly after nightfall, one of the original two appointed to watch over the camp called his comrade for the purpose of listening to certain strange sounds which came to his ears through the darkness.
They advanced cautiously to the top of a ridge, where they halted and stood listening. The sounds could be faintly heard now and then.
“Whatever does yer make of it, partner?” asked the one who had first heard them.
“Mighty quar sounds for a wild critter to make,” declared the other.
“Just what I thought. More like some sort o’ music.”
“That’s it. Dinged if it ain’t something like a fiddle!”
“Mebbe we’d better nose out that way and see if we can diskeever what it is.”
“We leaves the camp onprotected.”
“Only for a short time. There won’t anything happen, partner. This yere standing guard is all foolishness, anyhow.”
“I reckon you’re right.”
“Then come on.”
Together they advanced in the direction from which the strange sounds seemed to proceed. As they made their way slowly and cautiously into the valley they were able to hear those sounds more and more distinctly, and before long both were satisfied that it was indeed a fiddle.
“Well, wouldn’t that chaw yer up!” muttered one. “Whoever does yer reckon is a-playing a fiddle out yere?”
“You have got me.”
“Well, we will certain find out. Have your gun ready, pard, in case we runs into a muss.”
Pretty soon they saw through the starlight two horses grazing unhobbled and unpicketed.
“Only two,” whispered one of the men. “We are as many as they be.”
“Whar are they?”
The violin was silent now, and they remained crouching and awaiting until it began again. It led them straight to the spot where little Abe sat playing beside the sleeping girl. So absorbed was he in his music, with his head bowed over the violin, that he failed to observe the approach of the men until they were right beside him and one of them stooped and took him by the shoulder. With a cry of terror, the boy sprang up.
Felicia awoke in great alarm and sat up, staring bewildered at Abe and the two men.
“Oh, ho!” said one of the guards. “What is this we finds? It is a strange bird we diskeevers.”
“There’s two,” said the other. “And, by smoke, t’other one is a gal!”
“Don’t you touch her!” shrilly screamed the boy. “Don’t you put a hand on her!”
He endeavored to jerk himself from the grip of the man who had seized him, but the strong hand held him fast.
“Whatever is the use to jump around this yere way?” said the man. “We ain’t a-hurting you none. Don’t git so excited-like. Mebbe it’s a right good thing we finds ye yere.”
“Who are they, Abe? Who are they?” whispered Felicia.
“I dunno,” confessed the boy, filled with regret and despair at his own carelessness in permitting the men to come upon them in such a manner while he was absorbed in his playing. “But they shan’t hurt yer. I won’t let um.”
“Mebbe you tells us what you’re doing yere, you two kids,” suggested one of the men.
“We’re jest lost,” said Abe.
“Only that?” laughed the man. “Well, that sure is nothing much. Perhaps if we don’t find yer you stays lost. Where did yer get lost from?”
“Oh, I know you won’t hurt us!” said Felicia quickly. “Why should you? We can’t hurt any one. My horse was frightened and ran away. Abe tried to catch him. That was how we got separated from Dick and the others.”
“Dick! Who is this yere Dick?”
Before Abe could check her, Felicia answered.
“Why, Dick Merriwell!”
“Hey?” ejaculated one of the men. “Merriwell! Why, I sure opines that name is a heap familiar. Dick Merriwell! Mebbe you means Frank Merriwell?”
“No! no! I mean Dick Merriwell, his brother.”
“His brother?” burst from both of the men.
“Yes,” said Felicia.
“Then he has a brother, has he? Well, this is right interesting and no mistake.”
“You bet it is!” ejaculated the other. “Where is this yere Dick Merriwell, Hunchy?”
It was the old hateful name which Abe detested, and his soul revolted against it.
“Don’t you call me Hunchy!” he shrilly exclaimed. “I won’t be called Hunchy!”
In his excitement he actually bristled at the ruffian.
“Ho! ho!” laughed the other man. “What do yer think of that, partner? Why, he is going ter soak me one.”
“Ho! ho!” came hoarsely. “That’s what he is. Don’t let him hit yer hard, for he’ll sure fix yer!”
The one who had addressed Abe as “Hunchy” now removed his hat and made a profound bow.
“I begs yer pardon, your royal highness,” he said. “If I treads on the tail of yer coat any, I hopes you excuses me. I am not counting to rile you up any, for I reckon you might be a whole lot dangerous.”
Abe knew this was said in derision, but he muttered:
“I won’t have anybody calling me Hunchy no more. Don’t you forget that!”
Felicia was clinging to the cripple now, and he could feel her trembling. He put one of his long arms about her and sought to reassure her by a firm pressure.
“If I hasn’t offended your highness,” said the man who had asked the question, “perhaps you tells me now where this Dick Merriwell is?”
“Don’t tell him, Abe!” whispered the girl. “They are bad men. I’m afraid of them.”
“I wist you could tell me,” said the boy. “I’d like ter find him myself.”
“Then he is somewhere yereabouts?”
“Don’t tell!” breathed Felicia again.
“I dunno ’bout that,” said Abe. “Mebbe he is two hundred miles away now. I dunno.”
“Ef he is so fur, however is it you expects ter find him in a hurry?”
Barely a moment, did the boy hesitate, and then he declared:
“Why, he was a-going through to Californy on the train. We live down on the Rio Verde. Our dad, he’s got a cattle ranch down there. Yesterday we started out to go to Flagstaff. They wouldn’t let us go alone, so we runned away. We thought mebbe we could find the way there all right, but I guess we can’t.”
The two men looked at each other in the starlight and shook their heads.
“Sounds fishy,” said one, immediately detecting that this statement conflicted with the one made by Felicia.
“A whole lot,” agreed the other.
Felicia had gasped when she heard Abe fabricate so glibly. It was a surprise to her, and she was almost sorry she had cautioned him not to tell the facts to those men.
“Well, you certain is off the trail, kids, providing you’re bound for Flagstaff. It’s right lucky we finds you. We takes you to the camp, and mebbe your dad what you speaks of pays us well if we returns you to him safe and sound. I opines he runs a pretty big ranch.”
“You bet,” said the boy quickly. “He’s got one of the biggest down that way. He has jest heaps of cattle and keeps lots of cowpunchers.”
“That being the case,” chuckled the man who had grasped the boy’s shoulder, “he certain pays liberal when he gits his children back. Now you two come along with us.”
He marched them along, one on either side, while his companion set out to catch the grazing horses and bring them.
Felicia slipped from the man’s hand and again sought Abe’s side, pressing close to him. In his ear she whispered:
“I am afraid we’re in awful trouble now, Abe. You remember the bad men we saw in the valley before my horse ran. Perhaps these are two of them.”
“Better be ketched by bad men than starve,” he returned, with an effort to reassure her. “I have seen heaps of bad men before this, and I am still alive.”
One of the horses was easily captured, but, to the surprise of the man, the other one charged viciously at him. When he sought to get at its head, the creature wheeled with a squeal and kicked wildly.
The man swore.
“What ails ye, drat yer?” he growled.
Then he released the docile animal and turned his attention to the other.
To his astonishment, the creature was fierce as a raging lion. It charged on him repeatedly, and he escaped only by the utmost nimbleness. It squealed, and whirled, and kicked in all directions. Apparently it fancied a thousand men were trying to capture it, and its wild gyrations were exceedingly surprising, to say the least.
After a little, the man ran away when he found the opportunity and stood at a distance, with his hands on his hips, watching the cavorting creature.
“The dinged hoss is sure crazy!” he declared. “Why, its a-trying to chew itself up, or kick itself to pieces. Never see but one critter act that way before.”
“It’s locoed,” said Abe to the man with him.
Immediately this man called to his companion, saying:
“Let the beast alone. The kid says it’s locoed, and ef that’s so, I reckon it’s no good to anybody.”
“Never see no locoed horse feed nateral like this one was,” returned the other. “I opines the critter is just ugly, that’s all.”
But, suddenly uttering snorts and squeals, the horse went dashing off into the distance, as if pursued by some frightful thing. Nor did it stop until it had disappeared far, far away.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE LOTTERY OF DEATH
Men were lying about on the ground, sleeping where they had dropped. Picketed horses were grazing at a little distance. The most of the men slept heavily, but one or two routed up as the guards brought the boy and girl and the captured horse to the bivouac.
“Whatever has you there?” growlingly asked one of the men who had awakened.
“Some lost children we finds near yere,” was the answer.
Macklyn Morgan, wrapped in his blanket, had also awakened. His curiosity was aroused, and he flung off the blanket and got up.
“Children!” he said. “How does it happen that there are children in this wretched region?”
One of the men explained how he had heard the sound of the fiddle, which had led them to the boy and girl. He also repeated Abe’s story, adding that it sounded “fishy.” The interest of Morgan was redoubled at once. He immediately turned his attention to the hunchback.
“Going to Flagstaff to meet Frank Merriwell’s brother, did you say?” he questioned, attempting a kindly manner. “Seems to me that was rather a crazy undertaking, my lad. And what is Frank Merriwell’s brother doing in Flagstaff?”
“He jest said he was going there on his way to Californy,” declared Abe, trying to stick to his original story and make it seem consistent. “We hope to see him there.”
Felicia was silent; but she felt that Abe’s yarn was not believed by the men.
“How did you happen to know this Dick Merriwell?” questioned Morgan.
Abe started to reply, but faltered and stammered a little, whereupon Felicia quickly said:
“I am his cousin.”
Instantly the man’s interest was redoubled.
“His cousin, eh?” he exclaimed. “Now we’re getting at it. Curtis, start a fire. I want to look these children over.”
While the man thus ordered was complying Morgan continued to question the girl and boy, but now his interest seemed centred in Felicia.
“So you are also the cousin of Frank Merriwell?” he said. “Tell me more about these two Merriwells. I have heard of Frank Merriwell, and I consider him a most excellent young man. I admire him very much.”
He endeavored to make his words sound sincere, but little Abe fancied there was a false ring in them.
“You know Dick is Frank’s half-brother, sir,” said the girl. “He attends school in the East. I was at school in the same place once, but the climate didn’t agree with me, and so Frank sent me West for my health.”
“Have you seen him lately?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When?”
“In Prescott, a few days ago. He was there, but some bad men made a lot of trouble for him and he left.”
“This boy is your brother?” asked Morgan, indicating Abe.
“Why, yes, sir!” broke in Abe, quickly, seeing that Felicia would soon be trapped. “I am a sort of brother; an adopted brother, you know.”
“Oh, that’s it?” said Morgan. “But if you were living on a ranch down on the Rio Verde, how did you happen to be in Prescott when Frank Merriwell was there?”
“Why, we jest went there. Dad he took us there,” hastily asserted the hunchback, seeking to maintain the original deception.
“Is that true?” asked Morgan of Felicia.
She was silent.
“Of course it’s true!” indignantly exclaimed the boy.
“It seems to me that you are somewhat mixed, my child. Now, I advise you to trust me. It will be the best thing you can do. I advise you to tell me the truth. At this time we’re on our way to join Frank Merriwell and help him to defend his new mines. He has many enemies, you know. We might take you directly to him.”
“Oh, splendid!” exclaimed the girl, all her suspicions disarmed. “Frank will be so glad! We thought, perhaps, you might be his enemy; that’s why we were afraid of you.”
Macklyn Morgan forced a laugh, which he tried to make very pleasant and reassuring.
“You see how wrong you were,” he said. “You see now that it’s a mistake to try to deceive me. It’s best to tell me the truth and nothing else. This story about living on a ranch – how about it?”
“Oh, Abe told you that when he thought you must be Frank’s enemy,” said Felicia.
“Then it wasn’t quite true?”
“No, no.”
“And you were not on your way to Flagstaff to meet Dick Merriwell there?”
“No; we left Prescott in company with Dick and some friends, who were on their way to join Frank.”
Felicia hastened on and told the entire story.
Abe listened in doubt as to the wisdom of this, shaking his head a little, but remaining silent.
“Now we’re getting at the facts,” smiled Morgan, as the fire was started and its light fell on his face. “It’s much better for us all.”
He had assumed a free, benevolent, kindly expression, and to the girl it seemed that he could not be deceiving them. Morgan continued to question her until at length he learned everything he desired.
“Now, my child,” he said, “just you rest easy. We will soon join Frank Merriwell, and, of course, this brother of his with his friends will arrive all right in due time.”
Morgan then stepped over to where one of the sleeping men lay and aroused him.
“Wake up, Hackett,” he said, in a low tone. “Something mighty important has taken place.”
He then told the man what had happened, and Hackett listened attentively.
“It seems to me,” he said, “that these yere kids are going to be an incumbrance on us.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” asserted Morgan. “With the aid of these children we ought to be able to bring Frank Merriwell to some sort of terms.”
“I don’t see how, sir.”
“Why, it’s plain he thinks a lot of this girl. We have her. If that doesn’t trouble him some, I am greatly mistaken.”
“Mebbe you’re right,” nodded Hackett. “I reckon I begin to see your little game, Mr. Morgan. Let me look these yere kids over some.”
He arose and proceeded to the fire, in company with Morgan, who cautioned him, however, to say little to the boy and girl, fearing Hackett might make some observation that would betray the truth.
“She’s some pretty, sir,” said Gad, admiring Felicia; “though she’s nothing but a kid. I reckon she makes a stunner when she gits older.”
“Hush!” said Morgan. “That’s nothing to you.”
“Oh, I has an eye for female beauty!” grinned Hackett. “It’s nateral with me.”
Suddenly, to their surprise, without the least warning, a man seemed to rise from the ground a short distance away and walk straight toward the fire. Hackett had his pistol out in a twinkling, but he stood with mouth agape as he saw the newcomer was an old Indian, about whose shoulders a dirty red blanket was draped. It was Felicia, however, who was the most surprised, and a cry left her lips, for she recognized old Joe Crowfoot.
Even as she uttered that cry the eyes of the old redskin shot her a warning look that somehow silenced her. Without giving Hackett as much as a glance, old Joe walked up to the fire, before which he squatted, extending his hands to its warmth.
“Well, dern me, if that don’t beat the deck!” growled Hackett. “These yere red wards of the government are a-getting so they makes theirselves to home anywhere. And you never knows when they’re around. Now, this yere one he pops right out o’ the ground like.”
Then he turned savagely on Joe.
“What are you prowling around yere for, you old vagrant?” he demanded threateningly. “Who are you?”
Crowfoot rolled his little beady eyes up at the man.
“Heap flying bird,” he answered. “Go through air; go everywhere. Go through ground. White man did him see red snake with horse’s head? Injun ride on red snake like the wind.”
“What’s this jargon?” muttered Morgan.
“Hark!” warned the Indian, lifting a hand. “You hear the flying lizard sing? See that big one up there. See um great green eyes.”
Then he stared straight upward, as if beholding something in the air. Involuntarily both men looked upward, but they saw nothing above them save the stars of the sky.
Felicia, who knew old Joe very well, was more than astonished by his singular manner and remarkable words. Her first impulse had been to spring up and greet him joyously, but the look from his black eyes had stopped her. Now, as if she were a total stranger to him, he gave her no attention. Suddenly he thumped himself on the breast with his clinched fist.
“Injun him all iron!” he declared. “Him like pale-face iron horse. When sun he comes up again Injun he go on white man’s iron track. He blow smoke and fire and shriek same as iron horse.”
“Well, bat me, if the old whelp ain’t daffy!” exclaimed Hackett. “He’s plumb off his nut, sure as shooting.”
“When Injun him lay down to sleep,” said Crowfoot, “many stars come and jump like antelope over him. No let him sleep. Him try to scare um away, but star no scare. Bimeby Injun he get sick. He get up and run away. Then star chase um Injun.”
“You’re right, Hackett,” said Morgan, “He’s loony, for a fact.”
At this point one of the guards came walking up to the fire. The moment his eyes fell on Crowfoot he uttered a shout that instantly aroused every one of the sleeping men.
“By the great horn toads!” he exploded savagely; “that’s the old skunk what drugged the whole bunch of us when Pete Curry nabbed us! Whatever is he doing here?”
Without even looking up, Crowfoot began to chant a strange, doleful song in his own language.
“The boys will certain salivate him,” asserted the guard, as the men were rising and approaching the fire.
Old Joe apparently heard nothing and saw nothing. That singular chant continued.
“He is dead loony,” said Hackett.
“Then mebbe he’s been taking some of his own dope,” growled the guard. “The boys will knock some o’ his looniness out o’ him, you bet!”
As the men gathered around, a number of them recognized the aged redskin, and immediately there was a great commotion. Several drew their weapons, and it seemed that Joe would be murdered on the spot. With a scream of terror, Felicia flung herself before the old man, to whom she clung.
“No! no! no!” she cried. “You shall not hurt him!”
In the excitement old Joe whispered in her ear:
“Keep still, Night Eyes. Um bad men no hurt Joe. Him touched by Great Spirit. Nobody hurt um man touched by Great Spirit.”
This, then, was the old fellow’s scheme. This explained how it happened that he dared venture into the nest of desperadoes. Among the Indians of all tribes a deranged man is regarded with awe as one who has felt the touch of the Great Spirit. No redskin will harm a deranged person, believing the vengeance of the Great Father must fall on whoever does such a thing. Shrewd as he was, Crowfoot had not yet discovered that palefaces did not regard crazed people with such a feeling of awe.
“Take the girl away,” roared several of the men. “Let us settle with the old Injun.”
If Morgan thought of interfering, he was too late, for rude hands seized Felicia and dragged her away, in spite of her struggles. She cried and pleaded, but all her efforts were useless. Crowfoot paid no attention to her, nor did he heed the threatening weapons in the hands of the ruffians. Rising to his feet, he did a solemn dance around the fire, at the same time continuing his doleful chant.
“That yere certain is a death dance for him,” muttered Hackett, who realized that the men were aroused to a pitch at which they would insist on wiping the fellow out.
“The black moon him soon come up,” said Joe, standing with one hand outstretched as he finished his dance. “Then we see spirits of many dead warriors chase um buffalo over it.”
“You will have a chance to take a chase with the rest o’ the bunch,” snarled one of the men. “Stand back, boys, and watch me cook him.”
“Hold on!” cried another, catching the man’s wrist. “I opine I am in this yere.”
Immediately an argument arose as to which of them should have the satisfaction of killing the Indian who had once fooled them so thoroughly. While this was taking place Joe continued, apparently oblivious of his danger, talking of flying horses and a dozen other impossible creatures. He must have realized that his apparent madness was making no impression on these men, but he seemed determined to play the game through to the finish. At length, he squatted again beside the fire, resuming his doleful chant.
By this time it had been settled that some one of the party should have the privilege of shooting the Indian, for it was agreed that to waste a number of bullets on him was folly. There was some discussion as to the manner of choosing the slayer, but the desperadoes finally decided on drawing lots.
Hackett, who took no part in this demand for the Indian’s life, was chosen to prepare the lots, which he did. Then the men eagerly pressed forward to draw. The one who drew the shortest piece was to be the “fortunate” individual. All the while Crowfoot was guarded by men with drawn and ready weapons. Had he made an effort to get away he would have been riddled immediately.
Finally the lots were compared, and a half-blood Mexican, with leathery skin, drooping mustache, deep-furrowed face, and matted black hair, was the one who held the shortest piece. He laughed as he displayed it.
“Stand back!” he cried, flashing a pistol and striding forward to within four paces of the Indian. “I will settle him with one piece of lead.”
Then, as this wretch lifted his weapon, old Joe realized at last that his game had failed utterly. There was no escape for him. His long life had led him at last to this, and he believed he stood at the gateway of the happy hunting grounds. Had there been hope of escape he would have made the attempt. Now, as he still crouched by the fire, he drew his red blanket over his head, and from beneath its muffling folds came the sad and doleful chant of the redman’s death song.
The executioner stood fair and full in the firelight. He brought his weapon to a level and a shot rang out. It was not he, however, who fired. From somewhere near at hand a report sounded, and the pistol flew from his hand as the bullet tore through his forearm. A yell of pain escaped his lips.
Instantly the ruffians were thrown into the utmost confusion. Feeling that they were about to be attacked, they hastened to get away from the fire, the light of which must betray them to the enemy.
In spite of his age, like a leaping panther, old Joe shot to his feet. With one hand he seized little Abe, whom he snatched clear of the ground. And the next instant the old savage was running for his life. Two or three shots were fired, but in the excitement Crowfoot was untouched.
They were given no further time to turn their attention on him. From out of the shadows came a single horseman, bearing straight down upon them, his weapons flashing. The recklessness of this charge and the astounding suddenness with which it came was too much for the nerves of those men.
Felicia had been released by the man who was holding her as the first shot was fired. This man pulled a weapon and fired once at the shadowy horseman, after which he ran like a frightened antelope, for a screaming bullet had cut his ear. It seemed that the horseman meant to ride Felicia down. In her fear she stood still, as if turned to stone, which was the best thing she could have done.
As he swept past her, the rider swung low to one side in the saddle, and somehow one strong young hand grasped her and snatched her from the ground. She felt herself lifted with such suddenness that her breath seemed snapped away, and then she lay across the horse in front of the rider, who now bent low over her.
Bullets whined, and whistled, and sang about them, but some good fairy must have guarded them, for they were untouched. On they went. The sounds of irregular shooting fell farther and farther behind them.
Felicia had not fainted, although her senses swam and she seemed on the verge of losing consciousness. She could not understand just what had taken place. Suddenly her rescuer began to laugh, and a strange, wild, boyish laugh it was. It thrilled her through and through.
“Dick!” she gasped. “Oh, Dick!”
He straightened up and lifted her, holding her before him with one strong arm.
“Felicia!” he exclaimed, “are you hurt?”
“Oh, Dick! Dick!” she repeated, in wonder. “And is it you?”
“You are not hurt?” he persisted in questioning.
“No, Dick – no.”
“Thank goodness!”
“But how was it? My head is swimming; I can’t understand. I am dazed.”
“Well, I fancy I dazed those fine gentlemen a little,” said the boy. “Felicia, I have been searching, searching everywhere for you. We followed your trail as well as we could. When night came we had not found you. I couldn’t rest. What fate it was that led me to those ruffians I cannot say, but I believe the hand of Heaven was in it. In their excitement over Crowfoot none of them heard my approach. I was quite near when that brute lifted his weapon to shoot Joe. I didn’t want to kill him, and I fired at his arm. It was a lucky shot, for I hit him. He stood between me and the firelight, so that the light fell on the barrel of my pistol. Crowfoot took his cue quickly enough, for I saw him scamper.”
“How brave you are! How brave you are!” murmured the girl, in untold admiration. “Oh, Dick, I can’t believe it now.”
“It was not such a brave thing, after all,” he said. “I suppose most people would call it folly. But I had to do it. Why, old Joe saved my life a dozen times when I used to hunt with him years ago. He loved me as a father might love a son. You see it was impossible for me to keep still and see him murdered. I had to do something to save him. He can hide like a gopher on the open plain.”
“But Abe, Dick – Abe?”
“I saw Crowfoot snatch him up as he ran. We must leave Abe to old Joe.”
“Listen, Dick! Are they pursuing us?”
“We have the start on them, Felicia, and I don’t believe they will be able to overtake us if they try it.”
Through the night they rode. At the first opportunity Dick turned from his course and doubled in a manner intended to baffle the pursuers.
“It will be a long pull back to Bart and the others, Felicia,” he said; “but I think we can make it all right. For all of the time I have spent at school, I have not forgotten the lessons taught me by Crowfoot when I was a mere kid. He taught me to set my course by the stars, the wind, the trees, by a score of things. To-night our guide shall be the stars.”
Brad Buckhart was worried and troubled greatly over Dick’s long absence, and was on guard where they had camped as night fell. The Texan tramped restlessly up and down, now and then pausing to listen. The others slept. Wiley snored lustily and muttered in his sleep.
“Avast, there!” he mumbled. “Put her to port, you lubber!”
Then, after snoring again in the most peaceful manner, he broke out:
“Right over the corner of the pan, Breck, old boy. Let’s see you make a home run off that bender!”
Brad moved still farther away that he might listen without being disturbed by the sailor. Far in the night he seemed to hear a sound. Kneeling, he leaned his ear close to the ground and listened attentively.
“Horseman coming,” he decided. “It must be Dick – it must be!”
Finally the hoofbeats of the approaching horse became more and more distinct. Then through the still, clear night came a clear, faint whistle.
“Dick it is!” exclaimed the Texan joyously.
Dick it was, and with him he brought Felicia safely back to them. They did not arouse the others, but she was wrapped in blankets and left to sleep, if possible, through the remainder of the still, cool night. Young Merriwell’s story filled the Texan with unbounded astonishment and admiration. He seized Dick’s hand and shook it with almost savage delight.
“Talk about a howling terror on ten wheels!” he exclaimed. “Why, you simply beat the universe. You hear me gurgle! Now you just turn in, for I reckon you’re a whole lot pegged out.”
“Well, sleep won’t hurt me if I can corral some of it,” acknowledged Dick.
Brad continued to stand guard, thinking that later he would arouse one of the others to take his place. His restlessness and worry had passed somewhat, and after a time he sat down, thinking over the startling things that had happened. It was thus that, exhausted more than he knew, he finally slid to the ground and also slept. The night passed without any of them being disturbed. But in the morning the first man to awaken was Pete Curry, who sat up, rubbing his eyes, and uttered a shout of astonishment. The remaining sleepers awoke and started up.
What they saw astounded them no less than it had Curry, for on the ground near at hand lay little Abe, with Joe Crowfoot’s dirty red blanket tucked about him, and within three feet sat the redskin, calmly and serenely smoking his pipe.
Dick flung off his blanket and was on his feet in a twinkling.
“Crowfoot!” he joyously cried, rushing forward with his arms outstretched.
