Kitabı oku: «Frank Merriwell's Triumph: or, The Disappearance of Felicia», sayfa 14
For one who complained of rheumatism and advancing age the redskin rose with remarkable quickness. Usually stolid and indifferent in manner, the look that now came to his wrinkled, leathery face was one of such deep feeling and affection that it astounded every one but himself. The old man clasped Dick in his arms as a father might a long-lost son. To Curry and his companions this was a most singular spectacle. Curry had seized a weapon on discovering Crowfoot. He did not use it when the old fellow remained silent and indifferent after his shout of astonishment and alarm.
That the boy should embrace the Indian in such an affectionate manner seemed almost disgusting to Curry and his assistants, all three of whom held Indians in the utmost contempt. For a moment it seemed that the old man’s heart was too full for speech. Finally, with a strange tenderness and depth of feeling in his voice, he said:
“Injun Heart, Great Spirit heap good to old Joe! He let him live to see you some more. What him eyes see make him heart swell with heap big gladness. Soon him go to happy hunting ground; now him go and make um no big kick ’bout it.”
“Joe, I have longed to see you again,” declared Dick, his voice unsteady and a mist in his eyes. “Sometimes my heart has yearned for the old days with you on the plains and amid the mountains. I have longed to be with you again, hunting the grizzly, or sleeping in the shade by a murmuring brook and beneath whispering trees. Then you taught me the secrets of the wild animals and the birds. I have forgotten them now, Joe. I can no longer call the birds and tiny animals of the forest to me. In that way I am changed, Joe; but my heart remains the same toward you, and ever will.”
Now the old redskin held Dick off by both shoulders and surveyed him up and down with those beady eyes, which finally rested on the boy’s handsome face with a look of inexpressible admiration.
“Heap fine! Heap fine!” said the old man. “Joe him know it. Joe him sure you make great man. Joe him no live to see you have whiskers on um face, but you sure make great man. Joe him getting heap close to end of trail. Rheumatism crook him and make um swear sometime.”
“Don’t talk about getting near the end of the trail, Crowfoot,” laughed Dick, whose heart was full of delight over this meeting. “You old hypocrite! I saw you last night! I saw you when you took to your heels after I perforated the gentleman who contemplated cutting your thread of life short. Rheumatism! Why, you deceptive old rascal, you ran like a deer! If your rheumatism was very bad, you couldn’t take to your heels in that fashion.”
Crowfoot actually grinned.
“Injun him have to run,” he asserted. “Bullets come fast and thick. If Injun him run slow mebbe he get ketched by bullet.”
Little Abe had risen on one elbow, the blanket falling from his shoulders, and watched the meeting between Dick and the old savage. Felicia also was awakened, and now she came hastening forward, her dark eyes aglow and a slight flush in her delicate cheeks.
“Joe! Joe! have you forgotten me?” she asked.
The redskin turned at once and held out his hands to her.
“Night Eyes,” he said, with such softness that all save Dick and Felicia were astonished, “little child of silent valley hid in mountains, next to Injun Heart, old Joe him love you most. You good to old Joe. Long time ’go Joe he come to valley hid in mountains and he sit by cabin there. He see you play with Injun Heart. Warm sun shine in valley through long, long day. All Joe do he smoked, and sat, and watched. Bimeby when Night Eyes was very tired she come crawling close up side old Joe and lean her head ’gainst Joe, and sleep shut her eyes. Then old Joe him keep still. When Injun Heart he come near old Joe, him say, ‘Sh-h!’ He hold up his hand; he say, ‘Keep much still.’ Then mebbe Night Eyes she sleep and sleep, and sun he go down, and birds they sing last good-night song, and stars shine out, and old Joe him sit still all the time. Oh, he no forget – he no forget!”
Somehow the simple words of the old redskin brought back all the past, which seemed so very, very far away, and tears welled from Felicia’s eyes.
“Oh, those were happy days, Joe – happy days!” she murmured. “I fear I shall never be so happy again – never, never!”
“Oh, must be happy!” declared the old fellow. “Dick him make um Night Eyes happy. Him look out for Night Eyes.”
“Just the same,” she declared, “I would give anything, anything, to be back in that valley now, just as I was long, long ago.”
With his head cocked on one side, Cap’n Wiley had been watching the meeting between the Indian and his young friends. Wiley now turned to Buckhart and remarked:
“I am learning extensively in this variegated world. As the years roll on my accumulation of knowledge increases with susceptible rapidity. Up to the present occasion I have been inclined to think that about the only thing a real Injun could be good for was for a target. It seems to my acute perception that in this immediate instance there is at least one exception to the rule. Although yonder copper-hued individual looks somewhat scarred and weather-beaten, I observe that Richard Merriwell hesitates in no degree to embrace him. Who is the old tike, mate?”
“Why, old Joe Crowfoot!” answered Brad. “The only Indian I ever saw of his kind.”
Immediately Wiley approached old Joe, walking teeteringly on the balls of his feet, after his own peculiar fashion, made a salute, and exclaimed:
“I salute you, Joseph Crowfoot, Esquire, and may your shadow never grow less. May you take your medicine regularly and live to the ripe round age of one hundred years. Perhaps you don’t know me. Perhaps you haven’t heard of me. That is your misfortune. I am Cap’n Wiley, a rover of the briny deep and a corking first-class baseball player. Ever play baseball, Joe, old boy? It’s a great game. You would enjoy it. In my mind’s eye I see you swing the bat like a war club and swat the sphere hard enough to dent it. Or perchance you are attempting to overhaul the base runner, and I see him fleeing wildly before you, as if he fancied you were reaching for his scalp locks.”
“Ugh!” grunted old Joe. “No know who um be; but know heap good name for um. Joe he give you name. He call you Wind-in-the-head.”
At this the others, with the exception of Wiley himself, laughed outright. The sailor, however, did not seem at all pleased.
“It’s plain, Joseph,” he observed, “that you have a reckless little habit of getting gay occasionally. Take my advice and check that habit before it leads you up against a colossal calamity.”
“Wind-in-the-head he talk heap many big words,” said the Indian. “Mebbe sometime he talk big words that choke him.”
“That’s a choke, Wiley,” laughed Dick.
“And that certainly is the worst pun it has ever been my misfortune to hear,” half sobbed the sailor. “One more like that would give me heart failure. Did you ever hear of the time I had heart failure in that baseball game with the Cleveland Nationals? Well, mates, it was – ”
“We can’t stand one of them before breakfast, Wiley,” interrupted Dick. “It may prove too much for us. After breakfast we will endeavor to listen while you relate one of your harrowing experiences.”
“But this thing is burning in my bosom. I long to disgorge it.”
“You have to let it burn, I think. We should be on the move by this time.”
Thus Wiley was repressed and prevented from relating one of his marvelous yarns, not a little to his disgust.
CHAPTER XXII.
AN ACT OF TREACHERY
It was past midday. Guided by Wiley, who seemed to know the way well, the party had pushed on into the mountains and followed a course that led them over ragged slopes and steep declivities.
Finally the sailor paused and turned.
“There, mates,” he said, stretching out his hand, “barely half a mile away lies the Enchanted Valley. I have a tickling fancy that we have reached it ahead of that delectable crew we sought to avoid.”
Even as he said this, Pete Curry uttered an exclamation and pointed toward the mouth of a ragged ravine or fissure, from which at this moment several horsemen suddenly debouched. They were followed closely by a band of men on foot.
“That’s the whole bunch!” exclaimed Curry. “And they’re coming as fast as they can chase theirselves. They are heading to cut us off.”
“That’s right!” burst from Dick. “We’ve got to make a dash for it. Lead the way, Wiley, and be sure you make no mistake.”
A hot dash it was for the fissure that led into the Enchanted Valley. The enemy, yelling like a lot of savages, did their best to cut the party off. Seeing they would fail at this, they opened fire, and a few bullets sang dangerously near the fugitives.
“Oh, bilge-water and brine!” muttered the sailor. “There’ll certainly be doings when we attempt to scurry down that crack into the valley! It’s going to be a very disagreeable piece of business for us.”
Nearer and nearer they came to the fissure for which they were heading. Straight toward the beginning of it they raced, Wiley telling Dick it would be necessary for several of them to halt there and try to stand off the enemy while the rest of the party descended. But as they reached the beginning of the fissure, from behind some bowlders two young men opened fire with repeating rifles on the pursuers. In a moment the hail of bullets sent into the ranks of the enemy threw them into confusion. A horse dropped in its tracks, and another, being wounded, began bucking and kicking. One man was hit in the shoulder.
This unexpected occurrence threw the pursuers into consternation, so that they wheeled immediately and sought to get beyond rifle range.
“Avast there, my hearties!” cried Wiley, as he caught sight of the youths who knelt behind the bowlders. “Permit me to lay alongside and join you in the merry carnage.”
“Hello, Wiley!” called Frank, who, aided by Hodge, had checked the ruffians. “It seems that we happened up this way at just about the right time.”
“At the precise psychological moment,” nodded the marine marvel. “This being just in time is getting habitual with you.”
While the enemy was still in confusion Frank and Bart hastened to join the new arrivals and greet them. Of course they were surprised to see Curry and his companions, and the story told by the deputy sheriff, who explained everything in a few words, made clear the cause of his unexpected reappearance at the valley.
“A ministerial-looking gentleman who called himself Felton Cleveland, eh?” said Frank. “He was with the gang that cut loose your prisoners, was he? Well, I am dead sure Felton Cleveland is – ”
“Macklyn Morgan!” cried Dick. “I saw him last night. He is the man.”
“And Macklyn Morgan is the instigator of this whole business,” said Frank. “Wiley, get Abe and Felicia down into the valley without delay. We have got to stand this gang off right here. We can’t afford to let them reach this entrance to the valley. We’re in for a siege. You will find provisions down there at the cabin. Bring supplies when you return. Abe and Felicia will be safe down there as long as we hold this passage.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” said the sailor. “I am yours to command.”
Fortunately near the mouth of the fissure there were heaped-up bowlders which seemed to form something of a natural fortress. Behind these rocks the defenders concealed themselves, their horses being taken down into the valley one after another. For a long time the enemy made no offensive move. It seemed to Frank and his friends that the ruffians had been dismayed by their warm reception, and they seemed disagreeing.
“If they will only chew the rag and get into trouble among themselves, it will be greatly to our advantage,” said Hodge.
“Let them sail right into us if they are looking for a warm time!” exclaimed Brad Buckhart, who seemed thirsting for more trouble. “I opine we can give them all they want.”
Wiley brought a supply of provisions from the valley, and the defenders satiated their hunger while ensconced behind the bowlders.
“This is even better than salt horse,” declared Wiley, munching away. “One time when shipwrecked in the South Atlantic, longitude unty-three, latitude oxty-one, I subsisted on raw salt horse for nineteen consecutive days. That was one of the most harrowing experiences of my long and sinuous career.”
“Spare us! Spare us!” exclaimed Frank. “We have got to stand off those ruffians, so don’t deprive us of our nerve and strength.”
“Look here!” exclaimed the sailor, “this thing is getting somewhat monotonous! Whenever I attempt to tell a little nannygoat somebody rises up and yells, ‘Stop it!’ Pretty soon I will get so I’ll have to talk to myself. There was a man I knew once who kept a bowling alley and the doctor told him he mustn’t talk; but he kept right on talking. He talked everybody deaf, and dumb, and black, and blue, and stone-blind, so at last there was nobody left for him to talk to but himself. Then he went to talking to himself in his sleep, which disturbed him so that he always woke up and couldn’t sleep. The result was that he became so utterly exhausted for the want of rest that it was necessary to take him to the hospital. But even in the hospital they couldn’t keep him still until they gagged him. That was the only thing that saved his life. What a sad thing it would be if anything like that should happen to me!”
Late in the afternoon the enemy made a move. Protected by rocks and such cover as they could find, they attempted to close in on the defenders of the valley.
Frank was keenly alert, and he discovered this move almost as soon as it began. Immediately he posted his companions where they could watch, and they agreed on a dead line, across which they would not permit the ruffians to creep without firing on them. As the ruffians drew nearer the cover was less available, and when the dead line was crossed the defenders opened fire on them. Within three minutes several of the enemy had been wounded, and the advance was not only checked, but the ruffians were filled with such dismay that the greater part of them took to their heels and fled. Several of these might have been shot down, but Frank would not permit it.
“I opine that just about gives them all they want for a while,” said Brad Buckhart.
It seemed that he was right. The besiegers disappeared amid the rocks, and the afternoon crept on with no further effort in that direction to enter the valley by assault.
Some of the defenders were beginning to wonder if the enemy had not given up when, with the sun hanging low, a man appeared in the distance, waving a white handkerchief, attached like a flag to the end of a stick.
“Whatever’s up now?” muttered Pete Curry.
“It is a flag of truce,” said Merry.
“Look out, Frank!” exclaimed Bart. “It may be a trick.”
Merry rose and stood on a mound of bowlders, drawing out his own handkerchief and waved it in return.
“What are you going to do?” asked Hodge.
“I am going to find out what they are up to,” was the answer.
“I tell you it may be a trick.”
“We will see.”
The man in the distance with the flag of truce immediately advanced alone. Barely had he walked out into full view when Merry said:
“It is Macklyn Morgan, or my eyes are no good!”
“Old Joe he fix um,” said the aged Indian, carefully thrusting his rifle over the rocks and preparing to take aim.
“Stop him!” exclaimed Merry. “Don’t let him fire on a man with a white flag!”
The old savage seemed greatly surprised and disappointed when he was prevented from shooting.
“When um Morgan man he is killed that stop all trouble,” said Joe. “Good chance to do it.”
“Watch him close, Dick,” directed Frank. “I am going out there to meet Morgan.”
“Let me go with you.”
“No; he’s alone. I will go alone. He is taking his chances. If anything happens to me, if one of those ruffians should fire on me, Morgan knows my friends here will shoot him down. Still, there may be some trick about it, and I want every one of you to watch close and be on the alert.”
“Depend on us, Frank,” said Dick. “Only I’m sorry you won’t let me go with you.”
A few moments later Merriwell strode out boldly from the rocks, with the white handkerchief still fluttering in his hand, advancing to meet Morgan, who was slowly coming forward.
They met in the centre of the open space near the little heap of bowlders. In grim silence, regarding his enemy with accusing eyes, Merry waited for Morgan to open the conversation.
“This is a very unfortunate affair, young man,” said the hypocritical money king. “I am sorry it has happened.”
“Are you?” asked Frank derisively.
“I am, I am,” nodded Morgan. “It’s very bad – very bad.”
“If you feel so bad about it, sir, it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to bring it to an end.”
“But you are the one to terminate it, young man.”
“How do you make that out?”
“You know how you can settle this affair without delay. You heard my proposition in Prescott.”
“I believe I did. It was very interesting as the proposition of a thoroughly unscrupulous man.”
“Don’t get insulting, Mr. Merriwell. I am doing my duty. Milton Sukes was my partner. Do you think I can conscientiously ignore the fact that he was murdered?”
“I fail to understand what that has to do with me.”
“You know I have proofs,” said Morgan sternly. “You know they will convict you.”
“I know nothing of the sort. You have no proofs that are worth being called that.”
“Everything points accusingly and decisively at you. You were Mr. Sukes’ bitter enemy. It was to your advantage that he should be put out of the way. He annoyed you. He gave you great trouble.”
“And I fancy, Macklyn Morgan, that I annoyed him a little. But why do you pretend that it is on his account you are carrying out this lawless piece of business? You know its nature. You know in your heart that you are a hypocrite. You have even offered, if I turn over my property to you here, to make no proceeding against me. Is that the way you obtain justice for your dead partner? Is that the sort of justice you are looking for, Morgan? Don’t talk to me of justice! I know the sort of man you are! I know you from the ground up!”
“Be careful! Be careful! You are making a mistake, young man. Mr. Sukes annoyed you and harassed you because he believed you held property that he should possess – property that rightfully belonged to him. He obtained no satisfaction from you. If I am willing to settle with you by securing possession of this undeveloped mine here, which I now offer to do, you ought to think yourself getting off easy. It is not often that I enter into an affair of this sort. It is not often that I take hold of it personally. I allow my agents to carry such things through under my directions. In this case, however, I have considered it best to see the matter to an end myself. I confess that it seemed probable that you might be too slick for my agents.”
“No thanks whatever for the compliment. Have you anything new to propose, Mr. Morgan?”
“My proposition is this: that you and your companions retire at once from this vicinity, and if you do I give you my word that you will not be molested. It is an easy and simple way to settle this whole affair. If you comply, we will let the Sukes matter drop where it is. You will escape prosecution for murder. Think well of it – think well. It is the best thing you can do. You are trapped now. You are penned in here and you can’t get out. If we see fit, we can lay siege to this place and keep you here until we starve you out. In the end you will be compelled to surrender. In the end you will lose everything. If you force me to such a course, not only will I obtain possession of this undeveloped mine, but I tell you now that I shall do my best to see you hanged for the murder of Milton Sukes.”
Frank laughed in the man’s face.
“It’s plain,” he said, “that even now, Macklyn Morgan, you don’t understand me. It’s plain that you still fancy it possible to frighten me. You are wasting your time, sir. Go ahead with your siege and see what comes of it.”
This seemed to enrage Morgan, for suddenly he violently shook the flag at Frank and cried:
“Then take the result of your obstinacy!”
Instantly there were several puffs of white smoke from beyond the distant rocks and Frank pitched forward upon his face.
At the same moment Macklyn Morgan made a spring and dropped behind a little pile of bowlders, where he was fully protected from the defenders of the valley.
Apparently Frank had been treacherously shot down in cold blood while under the flag of truce.
The watchers of the defense were horrified as they saw Frank fall. Dick uttered a savage cry and would have rushed out from behind the rocks had he not been seized by Brad Buckhart.
“Steady, pard – steady!” warned the Texan, finding it difficult to detain young Merriwell.
“Let go!” panted Dick. “Don’t you see! My brother! The dastardly wretches have shot him!”
“And do you propose to prance out there and let them shoot you up, too? Do you propose to let these measly galoots wipe out the Merriwell family in a bunch? Cool down, pard, and have some sense.”
Bart Hodge had been no less excited than Dick, and nothing could have prevented him from rushing forth to Frank had he not suddenly made a discovery as he sprang up. His eyes were on his chum of school and college days, and he saw Frank quickly roll over and over until he lay close against a bowlder, where he would be protected in case the enemy fired again. Then, as he lay thus, Merry lifted the hand that still clutched the white handkerchief and waved it in a signal to his friends.
Hodge was shaking in every limb.
“He is not killed!” he exclaimed.
“Heap keep still,” came from old Joe. “No shot at all. Him all right. Him see gun flash, him drop quick, bullets go over um. Him fool bad palefaces a heap.”
“What’s that?” fluttered Dick. “Do you mean that he wasn’t hurt, Joe?”
“No hurt him much,” asserted the old savage, “Strong Heart he have keen eye. He watch all the time. He see gun flash. He see smoke. He drop quick.”
It was not easy to make Dick believe his brother had not been hurt, but Frank managed to convey to them by signals that he was all right. Their relief was unbounded. Indeed, Dick’s eyes filled with a mist of joy, although his anxiety was intense, for he feared that his brother might still be in a position where the enemy could get further shots at him. Frank, however, hugged the rocks closely, and there was no more shooting.
On the other side of the bowlders lay Macklyn Morgan, his evil heart filled with triumph, for he believed Merriwell had been slain. His astonishment was unbounded when he heard Frank’s voice calling his name.
“Morgan,” called Merry, “can you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you,” answered the astounded villain. “So they didn’t kill you outright, did they?”
“Hardly that,” returned Merry. “They didn’t even touch me.”
“What did you say?” burst from Morgan. “Why, those men were the best shots in our party! They were carefully chosen for this piece of business.”
“A fine piece of business, Macklyn Morgan!” contemptuously retorted Merry. “And you planned it, I presume! You are a smooth-faced, hypocritical man of wealth, known far and wide and greatly respected because of your riches. Yet you have descended to a piece of business like this! Sukes was bad enough, Morgan; but you’re a hundred times worse. You have failed in your most dastardly plot, just as you will fail in everything. Lie still, Macklyn Morgan. Keep close to those rocks where you are, for if you show yourself you will be riddled by my watching friends. From this time on your life will not be worth a pinch of snuff if they get a chance at you.”
So the two men, the fearless youth and the treacherous money king, lay each sheltered by the bowlders while the sun sank in the west and day slipped softly into night. When the shadows had deepened sufficiently, Frank crept away on his stomach toward the valley, taking the utmost pains not to expose himself, and, through his skill in this, returned at last in safety to his friends, who welcomed him joyously.
“Heap well done!” grunted old Joe. “But now Strong Heart him know more than to trust um bad men. No do it some more.”
Dick was able to repress his emotion, although Frank read in the few words his brother said the intense anxiety he had felt.
“What will be their next move?” exclaimed Hodge.
“They will attempt to overpower us by some sudden move to-night,” said Frank. “We must remain on the alert every moment.”
The stars came out bright and clear, as they always do in that Southwestern land, and, if possible, their light seemed more brilliant than usual. The night advanced, and still the enemy before them remained silent. It was Curry who discovered something down in the valley that attracted his attention and interested him. He called the attention of Frank, who saw down there a light waving to and fro and then in circles.
“Whatever does yer make of that, pard Merriwell?” asked Curry.
“It’s a signal,” said Frank – “a signal from Abe and Felicia. They are seeking to attract our attention. I must go down there at once.”
“There’s trouble of some sort down there, Frank,” said Dick, who had reached his brother’s side. “Let’s go quickly.”
Merry found Bart and directed him to take charge of the defense at that point and be constantly on the alert. With Dick close behind him, he hastened down the fissure leading into the valley. In the narrow place through which they descended the starlight was dim and uncertain, yet they hastened with reckless speed. Reaching the valley, they made straight for the cabin, where the signal light was still waving. As they drew near, they saw the grotesque figure of little Abe swinging a lighted torch over his head and then waving it round and round. The flaring torch revealed Felicia, who stood near.
“What’s the matter, Abe?” demanded Frank, as he dashed up.
“I am glad you saw it! I am glad you came!” said the boy. “Frank, those men are trying to get into the valley another way.”
“Where? How?”
“Felicia saw them first. Some of them are on the other side.”
“But there is no entrance save the one we are defending.”
“They are planning to get in by descending the face of the precipice. We saw them creep down over the rocks, three or four of them, and it took them a long time. They have reached a precipice that is perpendicular.”
“That should stop them.”
“I watched them through your field glasses, which I found in the cabin. They were letting themselves down with the aid of ropes.”
“Ropes?” exclaimed Dick.
“A new game,” said Frank.
“Can they descend that way?” questioned the boy.
“It’s possible,” admitted Frank. “Show us where they are, Abe. Drop that torch and lose not a moment.”
The hunchback led the way, running on before them, and they followed him closely. As they came at length to the vicinity of the precipice, they saw through the pale starlight that Abe had spoken truly, for already long lariats had been spliced together, and, by the aid of these, which now dangled from the top of the precipice to the bottom, one of the men had already begun to descend. They saw the shadowy figure of his companions waiting above, and it seemed that the men did not dare trust themselves more than one at a time upon the spliced rope.
“We’ve got to stop that, Frank!” panted Dick.
“We will stop it,” said Merry. “Don’t attract attention. Let’s get nearer.”
They stole forward still nearer, watching the man as he came down slowly and carefully. This man had descended almost half the distance when a sudden rifle shot broke the stillness of the valley. Immediately, with a cry, the dark form of a man dropped like a stone.
Frank and his companions had been startled by the shot, but Merry instantly recognized the peculiar spang of the rifle.
“Old Joe!” whispered Merry.
As they stood there a silent figure came slipping toward them, and the old Indian stopped close at hand.
“Bad men no come down that way,” he said quietly. “Joe him shoot pretty good – pretty good. Joe him think mebbe he shoot four, five, six times, he might cut rope. Joe him shoot once, him cut rope. Joe him got rheumatism. Him pretty old, but him shoot pretty good.”
“Was that what you fired at?” asked Merry, in astonishment. “You didn’t shoot at the man on the rope?”
“Plenty time to shoot man when Joe him find out he no cut rope,” was the retort. “When rope him cut one man he come down pretty fast. Him strike, bump! Mebbe it jar him some.”
“The fall must have killed him instantly,” said Frank. “If you cut that rope, Joe, you have spoiled their attack on this side of the valley. Stay here. Watch sharp, and make sure they don’t resume the attempt. If they do, Abe can signal again.”
“All right,” said Crowfoot. “Me watch.”
With this assurance, Frank felt safe to return again to the defenders above, and Dick returned with him. When he told what had taken place in the valley Cap’n Wiley observed:
“I had it in for Joseph Crowfoot, Esquire, for calling me Wind-in-the-head; but I will overlook the insult. Evidently the old boy is a whole army in himself.”
As they lay waiting for the attack they fully expected must take place, there came to their ears from the direction in which the enemy was supposed to be the sounds of shots, followed immediately by hoarse yelling and more shooting.
“Well, what do you make of that, Merry?” cried Hodge. “There seems to be a ruction of some sort going on over there.”
Frank listened a few moments. The sound of the shooting receded, and the yelling seemed dying out in the distance.
“It may be a trick,” he said; “but I am in hopes those ruffians have quarreled among themselves. If it is a trick, we will keep still and wait. Time will tell what has happened.”
Time did tell, but all through the rest of the night they waited in vain for the attack. When morning finally dawned the mountains lay silent in the flood of light which poured from the rising sun. Nowhere was the enemy to be discovered.
Old Joe came up to them from the valley and declared that the men on the other side had been driven away. The fate of their comrade seemed to dishearten them, and they had crept back like snails over the rocks and vanished during the night.
