Frank Merriwell's Bravery
by Burt L. Standish · English · Gutenberg #22571 · 452,876 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Frank Merriwell's Bravery
Author: Burt L. Standish
Release date: September 11, 2007 [eBook #22571]
Most recently updated: January 2, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22571
Credits: Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANK MERRIWELL'S BRAVERY ***
Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team
[Illustration: "The outlaws entered Cade's Canyon amid the mountains and
finally reached an old hut." (See page 63)]
FRANK MERRIWELL'S BRAVERY
BY BURT L. STANDISH
Author of "Frank Merriwell's School Days," "Frank Merriwell's Chums,"
etc.
[Illustration: logo for Boys' Own Library]
PHILADELPHIA
DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER
610 SOUTH WASHINGTON SQUARE
Copyright, 1903
By STREET & SMITH
Frank Merriwell's Bravery
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I--Two Travelers 9
II--"Hands up!" 16
III--A Thrilling Accusation 21
IV--For Life and Honor 29
V--Hurried to Jail 35
VI--Solomon Shows His Nerve 43
VII--In Jail 50
VIII--The Lynchers 55
IX--The Assault on the Jail 62
X--In Cade's Canyon 68
XI--Black Harry Appears 73
XII--A Chance in a Thousand 77
XIII--A Thrilling Rescue 84
XIV--Walter Clyde's Story 90
XV--Professor Septemas Scudmore 96
XVI--The Mad Inventor 102
XVII--Gone 109
XVIII--Miskel 114
XIX--Old Solitary 122
XX--Mouth of the Cave 130
XXI--Human Beasts 137
XXII--Professor Scudmore Returns 145
XXIII--Last of the Danites 152
XXIV--Yellowstone Park 159
XXV--Fay 164
XXVI--Old Rocks 170
XXVII--The Hermit 176
XXVIII--Vanishing of Little Fay 181
XXIX--Face to Face 188
XXX--Search for the Trail 195
XXXI--A Fight with Grizzlies 201
XXXII--Trailed Down 207
XXXIII--The Rescue 214
XXXIV--In Sand Cave 219
XXXV--A Peculiar Girl 231
XXXVI--Friends and Foes 237
XXXVII--Boy Shadowers 243
XXXVIII--"Queer" Money 249
XXXIX--Pursued 255
XL--Eluded 261
XLI--Big Gabe 267
XLII--Over the Precipice 273
XLIII--A Frightful Peril 280
XLIV--A Girl's Mad Leap 285
XLV--Queen of the Counterfeiters 292
XLVI--After the Fight 298
[Transcriber's Note: The following list of illustrations has been
created for this electronic edition. Some illustrations have been moved
to positions closer to their appearance in the text.]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"The outlaws entered Cade's Canyon amid the mountains and finally
reached an old hut." (See page 63)
"You must not linger here. * * * Even now the Destroying Ones may be
moving to fall upon you." (See page 124)
"The grizzly folded Frank in his embrace, crushing the lad against his
shaggy breast." (See page 205)
"Frank brought the butt of his Winchester to his shoulder, and began to
work the weapon." (See page 296)
Frank Merriwell's Bravery.
CHAPTER I.
TWO TRAVELERS.
"Well, that's a pretty nervy piece of business!"
It was Frank Merriwell who spoke the words, more to himself than to any
one else.
Frank was westbound, from Oklahoma City at the time, continuing the
extensive tour mapped out after his Uncle Asher had died and left him so
much money.
As readers of former books in this series know, Frank was not making the
tour alone. Professor Scotch, his guardian, was with him as was also
Barney Mulloy, his old schoolmate from Fardale. But, as the professor
and Barney had not wanted to stop at Oklahoma, they had gone on ahead,
leaving Frank to catch up with them later.
The "nervy piece of business" to which Frank referred was the following
account of a hold-up published in a leading Oklahoma newspaper:
"BLACK HARRY'S LATEST STROKE.
"HE HOLDS UP AN EXPRESS TRAIN, AND SHOOTS AN EASTERN BANKER.
"As we go to press, an imperfect account of Black Harry's latest
outrage reaches us from Elreno. Ten days ago this youthful
desperado was unknown to fame, but within that number of days he
has left a red trail from the Texas Panhandle to the Canadian
River. He began by raiding Moore's ranch, and killing a cowboy, and
he and his band of desperadoes, which he calls his 'Braves,' have
robbed and plundered and burned and murdered at their own sweet
will, till the climax was capped last night by the holding up of
the northbound express on the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific,
shortly after leaving Chickasha and crossing the Washita. Between
Chickasha and Minco is a twenty-mile stretch of desolate track, and
a better place for a train hold-up could not be found.
"Just how the express was stopped we do not know at present, but
the trick was accomplished, and Black Harry and his Braves boarded
the cars. Strangely enough, they did not attempt to enter the
express car, but were satisfied to go through the train hastily and
relieve the passengers of their valuables. In this work, Black
Harry took the lead; but Mr. Robert Dawson, an Eastern banker, who
happened to have quite a sum on his person, objected, and snatched
the mask from the young ruffian's face. Before the eyes of Miss
Lona Dawson, who was traveling with her father, Black Harry
deliberately shot the banker down, and then relieved him of his
watch, diamond pin, and pocketbook, having first re-covered his
face with the mask.
"The robbers made a hasty but very thorough job of it, leaping from
the train at a signal from their boy leader, and quickly
disappearing in the darkness. But Black Harry's face was seen
fairly by the banker's horrified daughter, and by several other
passengers, so there will be no trouble in identifying him if he is
captured. Sheriff Kildare, of Canadian County, is aroused, and
Burchel Jones, an Eastern detective, has promised to round up Black
Harry within a very short time. Let us hope, for the good of the
Territory, that the young ruffian's career may be quickly
terminated, and that he may receive his just due at the hands of
the law.
"Mr. Dawson was taken to Elreno, where a surgical operation was
performed. He is still alive, but his chance of recovery is small.
His daughter, who seems to be a girl of spirit, has stated that, if
her father dies, she will know no rest nor spare no expense till
Black Harry is run to earth."
The article terminated abruptly, showing it had been hastily written,
and had been inserted at the last moment before publication.
"Truly an outrage!" Frank continued. "It would be a good scheme to
organize a hunting party, and give this Black Harry a run for it."
"Just my idea," said an oily voice, as a man slipped into the seat
beside the young traveler, without as much as saying "by your leave."
"The people out here do not seem to mind these things. I suppose they
are used to them."
Frank glanced the speaker over, with a pair of searching, brown eyes. He
saw a slender figure in a well-worn suit of gray. The striking features
of the man's face were his eyes and his nose. His eyes were too near
together, and his nose was long and pointed. He was smooth-shaved, and
there was a cunning, foxy look about his face.
Frank did not seem in any hurry about speaking; he continued to inspect
the man, who moved restlessly beneath the scrutiny, and said:
"I have not been very long in this country, but I have noted the
peculiarities of the people. They do not seem to have time to bother
much about an affair like this train hold-up, and the shooting of an
occasional tenderfoot, as they call all Easterners. If they should
happen to capture Black Harry, they would give him their full attention
for a short time--a very short time. They would be pretty sure to lynch
him, as they would consider that the easiest way of disposing of him,
and they would not consider it worth while to spend time in giving him a
regular trial. To be sure, this train robbery and tragedy occurred in
Indian Territory, but I understand that Hank Kildare, the sheriff at
Elreno, has offered three hundred dollars reward for the capture of
Black Harry himself, and fifty dollars each for his men. Er--ah--ahem!
My name is--Walker. I am from Jersey."
Frank bowed.
"How do you do, Mr.--er--ah--Walker. I presume that what you say about
Black Harry's chances, if he is captured, is quite true--he will be
lynched."
"Oh, it is not certain, of course; he might obtain protection by
officers of the law. But he would stand a good show of being lynched.
And Elreno is the worst place in Oklahoma for him to show his face in at
present."
"I should presume it might be. Dawson, the wounded banker, is there?"
"And his daughter--can she identify this young desperado the moment she
sees him?"
"Without doubt."
"Black Harry will be very foolish if he goes to Elreno."
"He is not likely to go there, I fancy."
"I don't know about that. He is a dare-devil fellow."
"So it seems."
"And he might take a fancy that Elreno would be the last place where he
would be expected to appear, and so he would go there."
"He might do that."
"Now, in your own case, if you were Black Harry, for instance, you might
put on a bold face, and show yourself in Elreno, while everybody outside
that town would be on the lookout for you."
"Possibly, you are right."
"I think such a trick would be very like Black Harry. He might go so far
as to take the train to Elreno from some place that would make it seem
that he could not have been in the locality where the hold-up was
committed. If he were to come into Elreno on this train, for instance,
it would be a blind."
"How far is Oklahoma City from the place where the train was robbed?"
"Between thirty and forty miles, direct."
"That distance could be made on horseback between the time of the
robbery and this morning--do you think so?"
"Well, it is very likely. What do you think, Mr.--ah--er--I beg your
pardon?"
"My name is Frank Merriwell."
"Really?"
Walker lifted his eyebrows in a very odd manner, which Frank did not
fail to observe.
"You appear as if you doubted me," came a trifle warmly from the lad's
lips, while the color rushed to his cheeks.
"Oh, not at all--not at all! You are in Oklahoma on business?"
"No, sir."
"Not?"
"No."
"Pleasure?"
"Yes, sir."
"How? Traveling?"
"I am."
"Alone?"
"No."
"Didn't notice you had company."
"I have not, at present."
"H'm! Ha! Your friends--are they on this train?"
"No, sir."
Walker elevated his eyebrows again. His nose seemed longer and more
pointed than ever. It was a nose that reminded the boy of an
interrogation point. It seemed built to thrust itself into other
people's business.
"Ha! Not on the train?"
"No."
"You expect to meet them?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"In Elreno."
"How many of them?"
"Two."
"No more?"
"No."
Frank was answering curtly, and his manner announced his dislike for his
inquisitive companion. Still, he was courteous and cool, holding himself
in check.
"I presume your companions are older than yourself?" questioned the
prying Jerseyite, his small eyes glistening.
"One is; the other is a boy about my age."
"Ha! H'm! Just so. You are from the East, I presume?"
"Yes, sir."
"It seems to me that I have seen you before, but I cannot remember where
it was. And I do not remember your name. Do you mind giving me the names
of your traveling companions?"
"Not at all. They are Professor Horace Orman Tyler Scotch, of Fardale
Military Academy, sometimes known as 'Hot' Scotch, as he has a peppery
temper, and the initials of his first three names form the word 'hot.'
The other is Barney Mulloy, a youth who was born in Ireland, and has not
recovered from it yet. The latter was a classmate of mine at Fardale,
and he is traveling with me as a friendly companion, which he can
afford to do, as I pay all the bills."
"Haw!" exclaimed Walker. "You must have money to burn!"
"No, I have not. My uncle left me a comfortable fortune, and his will
provided that, in order to broaden my knowledge of the world, I should
travel in company with my guardian. He selected Professor Scotch as a
proper man to become my guardian, and specified that I might take along
a schoolmate as a companion, if I so desired."
"Re-e-markable!" cried Walker. "A most astonishing will! And how does it
happen that you have become separated from your guardian and friend?"
"We were going through to Texas on the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific.
I wished to visit Guthrie, the capital of Oklahoma, and they did not
care to do so. I left them at Caldwell, in Kansas, with the
understanding that they were to proceed to Elreno, and wait for me
there."
"H'm!"
Walker's nose seemed pointing at the boy like an accusing finger. Doubt
was expressed all over that foxy face.
"You tell it well," said the man, with another queer lifting of his thin
eyebrows.
"What do you mean by that?" demanded the youth, sharply, wheeling
squarely toward Walker. "Do you insinuate that I am not telling the
truth?"
Before Walker could reply, a commotion arose in the seat directly behind
them.
CHAPTER II.
"HANDS UP!"
"Aw! Thay, weally, this ith verwy impudent, don't yer know!" drawled a
languid voice. "What wight have you to cwout yourthelf into a theat
bethide a gentleman, thir?"
"I don'd seen der shentleman anyvere," replied a nasal voice, a voice
that had the genuine Jewish sound.
"Thir! Do you mean to thay I am no gentleman, thir?"
"Vell, I don'd mean to say nodding aboud id. I don'd vant to hurd your
veelings."
"You insulting w'etch!"
"Don'd get excided, mein friendt."
"Will you leave thith theat, thir?"
"Cerdinly I vill--ven I leaf der drain."
"I thall call the conductor!"
"Don'd vaste your preath--peckon to him."
"Thir, I would have you understand that my name ith Cholly Gwayson De
Smythe."
"Vell, I vos bleased to meed you. Anypody vould be pleased shust to dake
a look ad you."
"Thir!"
"My name vas Solomon Rosenbum, vid the accent on der bum. Shake handts
vid yourself."
By this time everybody in the car was staring at the Jew and the dudish
fellow beside whom Solomon had taken a seat. The latter was a youth of
uncertain age, with an insipid mustache, a sallow face, and spectacles
of colored glass, which seemed to indicate that he had weak eyes. He
was dressed, as far as possible, in imitation of an English tourist.
The Jew, who had given his name as "Solomon Rosenbum, vid der accent on
der bum," was a rather disreputable-looking man of about thirty, having
the appearance of the Jew peddler, and carrying a pack, which he had
stuffed down between his knees and the back of the next seat, thus
completely fencing in Cholly De Smythe.
"Will you wemove yourthelf fwom this theat?" squawked the dude, in a
flutter.
"Say, mein friendt, you vas nervous. Now, I dell you vat you do vor dat.
Shust dake a pottle of Snyde's Shain-Lighdning Nearf Regulardor. Id vill
simbly gost you von tollar a pottle, dree bottles vor dwo tollars. I haf
shust dree pottles left. Vill you dake 'em?"
Solomon began to untie his pack.
"Stop it!" squealed Cholly, in terror. "I don't want your nawsty stuff,
don't yer know!"
"Berhaps I know petter dan vat you do. I haf studied to pe a horse
toctor, und I make a sbecialty uf shack-asses."
"You wude thing!"
The other passengers in the car were enjoying all this, and the laughter
that had begun with the first passage between the two now threatened to
swell to a tumult.
"Uf one pottle don'd gure you, der dree pottles vill--or kill you, und
nopody vill mindt dot."
"Go'way!"
"Vill you half der dree pottles?"
"No, thir!"
"Veil, dake von uf dem ad sefenty-fife cends."
"Get out!"
"I alvays haf von brice vor all uf mine goots, und I nefer make a
bractice uf dakin' off a cend; but I see dat you vas on der verge uf
nerfus brosdration, und I vant to safe your life, so I vill sell you
von pottle vor a hellufer-tollar."
"I don't want it--I won't take the nawsty stuff!"
"Dat vas too sheap at hellufer-tollar, but in your gase I vill make an
eggsception, und you may haf von pottle vor a qvarter. Dake id qvick,
before I shange my mindt."
"Help! Take the w'etch away!"
"Moses in der pulrushes! Vat you vant? Vas you dryin' to ruin me? Dot
medicine gost me ninedy-dree cends a pottle, und I don'd ged a cend
discoundt uf I puy dwo pottles. Dake a pottle ad dwenty cends, und I
vill go indo pankrupcy."
"Conductaw! Conductaw!" squawked Cholly.
"What is all this noise about?" demanded the conductor, as he came
hastily down the aisle and stood scowling at Cholly.
He had overheard all that passed, and he was enjoying it as much as any
of the passengers.
"Conductaw," said the dude, with great dignity, "I wish you to instantly
wemove this verwy insolent cwecher. He cwoded in thith theat without
awsking leave."
"Have you paid for a whole seat?"
"I have paid one fare, thir, and ----"
"So has this gentleman. He is entitled to half of this seat, if he
chooses to sit here. Don't bother me again."
The conductor walked away, and Cholly looked at Solomon, faintly
gasping:
"Thith gentleman! Gweat Scott!"
Then he seemed to collapse.
Solomon grinned, and lifted his hat to the conductor. Then he turned to
Cholly.
"Vill you half a pottle uf der Nearf Regulador ad dwendy cends?"
"Let me out!" gurgled the dude. "I will not stay heaw and be
inthulted!"
"Set down," advised the Jew. "You ain'd bought a pottle uf medicine, und
I can'd boder to mofe vor you."
Cholly fell back into his seat, giving up the struggle. He turned his
head away, and looked out of the window, while Solomon talked to him for
ten minutes, without seeming to draw a breath. Cholly, however, could
not be induced to purchase a single bottle of the "Nearf Regulador."
All through this, Mr. Walker had not seemed to remove his keen eyes from
the face of the boy at his side. The lad apparently enjoyed the affair
between the Jew and the dude as much as any one in the car, laughing
merrily, and seeming quite at ease.
Somehow, Walker did not seem to be pleased at all. He appeared like a
man with a very little sense of humor, or he had so much of grave
importance on his mind that he did not observe what was going on behind
him.
When Cholly De Smythe had collapsed, and the Jew had ceased to talk, the
boy squared about in his seat, and seemed to settle to take things in
the most comfortable manner possible. He pulled his hat over his
forehead, and continued his perusal of the newspaper.
This did not satisfy his seat mate.
"You seem to be very interested in that paper," said Walker.
"I am," was the curt return, and the boy continued reading.
"You are not much of a talker."
"You are."
"H'm! Ha! I am; I am very sociable."
"So I observed."
"I have been wondering what we would do if a band of robbers was to hold
up this train."
"I am sure I cannot tell what I would do. I scarcely think any person
can tell what he would do in such a case till he meets the emergency."
"I presume you go armed?"
"In the West--yes."
Walker's thin nose seemed to resemble a wedge which he was driving
deeper and deeper with each question.
"Would you mind permitting me to look at your revolver?"
"Yes."
The boy uttered that word, and remained silent, without offering to take
the weapon out.
Walker coughed.
"H'm! Ha! I think you misunderstood me."
"I think not."
"I asked you if you would mind letting me look at your revolver."
"And I said I would mind."
"Oh!"
The Jew's voice sounded in Walker's ear.
"I haf a revolfer vat I vill sell you sheep. Id vas a recular taisy,
selluf-cocker, und dirty-dwo caliber. Here id vas, meester. Id vas
loated, so handle id vid care. Vat you gif vor dat peautiful revolfer,
meester?"
Walker took the weapon, glanced into the cylinder, to see that it was
actually loaded, and then suddenly thrust it against the head of Frank,
crying, sharply:
"Hands up, Black Harry! You are my prisoner!"
CHAPTER III.
A THRILLING ACCUSATION.
The words rang through the car, startling the passengers, and causing
them to stare in astonishment at the man and the boy.
The man with the revolver was quivering with excitement, while Frank, at
whose head the weapon was held, seemed strangely calm.
Exclamations were heard on all sides.
"Black Harry!"
"Is it possible?"
"Not that beardless boy!"
"It's a mistake!"
"If that's Black Harry, his Braves are near, and there is liable to be
some shooting before long."
"Sufferin' Moses!" came from the Jew, who owned the revolver. "Ish dat
der ropper vat ve read apout der baper in? Stop der cars! I vant to ged
off!"
"What do you mean by this crazy act?" calmly demanded Frank, looking
straight into Mr. Walker's eyes.
"I mean business, and I am not going to fool with a fellow of your
reputation a minute! If you don't put up your hands, I'll send a bullet
through your head immediately!"
"Then I shall put up my hands, for I have no fancy for having the top of
my head blown off."
Up went the boy's empty hands.
"That's where you are sensible," declared the man with the foxy face. "I
have dealt with your kind before, and I know better than to let 'em
monkey with me. I am a man with a reputation for catching criminals. At
the sound of my name, the professional crooks in the East tremble."
"Walker does not seem to be such a very terrible name."
"Walker--bah! That's not my name!"
"No?"
"Not much!"
"Pray, what is your name, then?"
"I am Burchel Jones, the famous detective," declared the owner of the
gimlet eyes, swelling with importance. "Out in this country the fools
call me a tenderfoot, but I will show them the kind of stuff I am made
of. When they want to catch their desperadoes and robbers, they should
send for a tenderfoot detective."
The boy laughed outright.
"You are more sport than a barrel of monkeys," he said, merrily. "What
do you think you have done, anyway?"
"I have captured Black Harry, the terrible desperado, who has been
giving them so much trouble out here of late."
"You think I am Black Harry?"
"I do not think anything about it--I know it."
"How do you know it?"
"By your face."
"Have you ever seen Black Harry?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Last night."
"Where?"
"On the northbound Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific express."
"You were on that train?"
"I was, and I saw Black Harry's face when he was unmasked by Robert
Dawson--saw it distinctly. You are Black Harry!"
"You were never more deceived in all your life. My name is Frank
Merriwell, as I can easily prove."
"Your real name may be Frank Merriwell, but you are the boy desperado
who is known as Black Harry, and you are the chap who shot Mr. Robert
Dawson."
The detective spoke with conviction, and it was plain that he really
believed what he said. The boy began to look grave, as the situation was
not exactly pleasant.
"You came from Elreno to Oklahoma City on the first train this morning,
did you?" asked the youth.
"I did."
"How did it happen that you took this train back?"
"I spotted you. The moment I saw your face I knew you, and I shadowed
you till the train started. I boarded the train with the determination
to capture you. I seldom fail when I have resolved on a thing, and I did
not fail this time."
"Then this is no joke?"
"You will find it is no joke."
"Well, I can't ride from this place to Elreno with my hands held above
my head, as you must very well know."
"Of course you can't. I'll have to put the irons on you. Here, young
man, hold this revolver to his head while I handcuff and search him."
He spoke to Cholly De Smythe, who had been watching, with staring eyes,
his jaw dropped, and a look of amazement on his face.
"Haw?" squawked the dude, aghast. "What ith that you want, thir?"
"Take this revolver, and hold it to this boy's head. If he moves, shoot
him as if he were a dangerous dog."
"Good gwacious!" gurgled Cholly. "I nevah touched a wevolver in awl my
life! You will hawve to excuse me, thir."
"If you are determined to treat me as if I were a mad beast, I beg you
to let some one who knows something about firearms handle that
revolver," said the captive. "I will give you my word not to make any
trouble if you lower the weapon."
"Your word does not count with me," declared the crafty detective. "I
wouldn't trust you a second--not a second."
"I can show you my card, letters, and other papers to prove my claim
that I am Frank Merriwell, a traveler."
"Black Harry would be likely to have such letters and papers ready for
just such an emergency. That trick will not count."
"Oh, well, don't fool around with that loaded gun held up against my
head! Put on the irons, and give me a chance to rest my arms. Hurry up!"
"Shust led me dake dat revolfer, mine friendt," said the voice of the
Jew. "Uf dot poy tries any funny pusiness, he vill be deat, vid der
accent on der deat."
"Can I trust you?" cautiously asked Burchel Jones.
"Vell, I dunno. You can uf you vant to. I alvays make a bracdice uf
doin' a cash pusiness."
After some hesitation, the tenderfoot detective decided that he could
not do better than trust Solomon, and the revolver was surrendered to
the Jew.
"Don'd you vink!" commanded Solomon, as he screwed the muzzle of the
weapon up against the lad's head. "Uf you do, you vas a deat poy!"
The detective searched the youth, removing a handsome revolver from one
of his pockets. That was the only weapon found anywhere on his person.
Burchel Jones was disappointed, for he had expected to find "guns" and
knives concealed all over the lad.
"Oh, you're slick--you're slick!" he said. "But you can't fool me. I
know how to deal with rascals like you. I have handled hundreds of
'em--hundreds upon hundreds."
"You must be a very old hand in the business," said the captive, with a
laugh. "Still, you seem to need assistance to capture a boy, who has
made no offer to resist you, although he knows very well that you have
no legal right to arrest him."
"Oh, you are ready with your tongue--altogether too ready."
Having searched the lad, Jones produced some manacles, and snapped them
on the wrists of his prisoner.
"There," he said to Solomon, "you needn't hold the revolver to his head
any longer. I have him foul now."
"Dank you," nodded the Jew. "You vas much opliged vor der use of my
revolfer."
"Of course, of course."
"V'y you don'd puy dot revolfer, den, und gif a poor man a drade?"
"Oh, get out. I don't want it any longer."
"Vell, I am glad uf dat, vor it vas long enough alretty. Uf you like id
so vel, v'y you don'd bought id?"
"I have one of my own."
"Vell, haf dwo. I gif you a drade on dat revolfer. I sell you dat
revolfer vor elefen tollar."
"Don't want it."
"Ten tollar."
"Don't want it."
"Nine."
"No."
"Eight."
"Say, shut up! I wouldn't take it for five!"
"Vell, you may haf him vor your tollar, und dot vas less dan haluf vat
id vas vort'. Shall I put a biece uf baper roundt id?"
"I won't buy it at any price."
"Moses in der pulrushes! Do you vant me to gif him to you? I vill dake
tree tollar, und dat vas der rock-pottom brice. Here you haf him."
But the detective still declined to take the weapon, which made Solomon
exceedingly disgusted and angry.
"You vas der meanest man vat I nefer met!" he cried. "Uf I hat known how
mean you vas, I vouldn't helluped you capture dot ropper! I hat better
do pusiness vid der ropper anyhow."
Burchel Jones was well satisfied with himself. At Yukon he sent a
dispatch to Hank Kildare, the sheriff at Elreno, saying:
"Have captured Black Harry. Bringing him in irons. Have Miss Dawson
at station to identify him when train arrives.
BURCHEL JONES,
"Private Detective."
Jones was surprised at the quiet manner in which Frank had submitted to
arrest, but he felt that the lad had been cleverly taken by surprise,
and had seen by the eye of the man with the revolver that the best thing
he could do was to give in without a struggle.
The boy saw it was quite useless to attempt to convince the man that any
mistake had been made, and so, after the first effort, ceased to waste
his time in the vain struggle. He remained calm and collected, much to
the dismay of the some nervous passengers, who were certain the train
would be held up by Black Harry's Braves, who would be on hand to rescue
their chief.
Jones heard one man declaring over and over that he knew the train would
not reach Elreno without a hold-up, and the detective immediately
declared:
"If an attempt is made to rescue Black Harry, it will be very
unfortunate for Harry, as I shall immediately shoot him. I do not
propose to let him escape, to continue his career of crime and
devastation."
The boy smiled, in a scornful and pitying way.
When the train drew into Elreno, a great crowd was seen on the platform
of the station, and, for the first time, a troubled look came to the
face of the youthful prisoner.
"The whole town has turned out to see Black Harry and the man who
captured him," said Jones, swelling with importance.
Frank said nothing; he knew well enough that such a crowd was dangerous
in many cases. What if it were generally believed that he was, in truth,
Black Harry, and the mob should take a fancy to lynch him? His chance of
escaping a speedy death would be slim, indeed!
The train stopped, and, with his hand clutching the boy's shoulder,
Jones descended to the platform.
"Thar he is!"
The cry went up, and the crowd surged toward the two.
"Stan' back hyar!"
A man that was six feet and four inches in height, and weighed at least
two hundred and fifty pounds, forced his way through the throng, casting
men to the right and left with his muscular arms. He had a hard,
weather-tanned face, and looked as if he did not fear the Evil One
himself.
"Are you Burchel Jones, ther detective?" asked this man, as he loomed
before Jones and his captive.
"I am, sir," was the dignified reply; "and this is Black Harry. I
surrender him to you, and claim the reward offered for his capture."
"Thet ther skunk known as Black Harry?" said the giant sheriff, in
evident surprise. "He don't look like a desperado. Wal, we'll soon
settle all doubts on thet yar point, fer Miss Dawson is hyar, an' she
will recognize him ef he is Black Harry. Come on, boy."
Kildare, the sheriff, for such the giant was, again forced a path
through the crowd.
In the station door, a woman and a girl were standing. The girl was not
more than seventeen, and was very pretty, despite the traces of grief
upon her face.
Kildare led the boy up before the woman and girl, and he spoke to the
latter:
"Take a good, squar' look at this yar kid, Miss Dawson, an' see ef yer
ever saw thet face afore."
The girl looked at Frank, and then fell back, horror and loathing
depicted on her face. She stretched out one hand, with a repellent
gesture, as if warning them to keep him away, and with the other hand
she clutched at her throat, from which came a choking sound. The woman
offered to support her, but she sprang up in a moment, pointed straight
at the youthful captive, and literally shrieked:
"He is the wretch who shot my poor father!"
CHAPTER IV.
FOR LIFE AND HONOR.
A sudden, mad roar went up from the crowd on the station platform. They
swayed, surged, struggled, and shouted:
"Lynch him!"
That cry was like the touching of a torch to dry prairie grass. Men
climbed on each others' shoulders; men fought to get nearer the
prisoner, and the mob seemed to have gone mad in a moment.
"Lynch him!"
A hundred throats took up the shout, and it became one mighty roar for
blood, the most appalling sound that can issue from human lips.
The face of the menaced boy was very pale, but he did not cower before
that suddenly infuriated mob. He showed that he had nerve, for he stood
up and faced them boldly, helpless as he was.
Burchel Jones, the detective, looked as if he would give something to
get away from that locality in a hurry.
A black scowl came to the face of Hank Kildare, and his hands dropped to
his hips, reappearing from beneath the tails of his coat with a brace of
heavy, long-barreled revolvers in their grasp. The muzzles of the
weapons were thrust right into the faces of the men nearest, and the
sheriff literally thundered:
"Git back thar, you critters, or by thunder, thar'll be dead meat round
hyar! You hyar me chirp!"
Lona Dawson, the banker's daughter, was badly frightened by the sudden
outbreak of the mob, and, with her older companion, she retreated into
the waiting-room of the station.
"Death to Black Harry!"
A man with strong lungs howled the words above all the uproar and
commotion.
"Bring the rope!" screamed another.
And then, as if by magic, a man struggled to the shoulders of those
about him, waved a rope in the air, and yelled:
"Hyar's ther necktie fer Black Harry!"
And then, once more, there was a roar, and a surge, and a struggle to
get at the handcuffed boy.
"Stiddy!" sounded the voice of Hank Kildare. "Back! back! back! or, by
the eternal skies, I'll begin ter sling lead!"
But twenty hands seemed reaching to clutch the lad and drag him away.
The sheriff saw that he would not be able to retain his prisoner if he
remained where he was.
"Inter ther station, boy!" came from the giant sheriff's lips. "It's yer
only chance ter git clear o' this yar gang!"
"Howly shmoke!" cried a familiar voice just behind the handcuffed youth.
"Pwhat are they doin' wid yez, Frankie, me b'y?"
"Yes," quavered another voice, likewise familiar, "what is this crazy
mob trying to do? This is something appalling!"
"Barney! Professor!" cried the boy, joyously. "Now I can prove that I am
what I claim to be!"
"I've got him!"
A big ruffian roared the words, as he fastened both hands upon the
manacled lad, and tried to drag him into the midst of the swaying mob.
"Thin take thot, ye spalpane!" shouted the Irish boy, who had appeared
in company with a little, red-whiskered man at the door of the station.
Out shot the hard fist of the young Irishman, and--smack!--it struck the
man fairly in the left eye, knocking him backward into the arms of the
one just behind him.
"It's toime ye got out av thot, me b'y," said Barney Mulloy, as he
grasped the imperiled youth by the collar, and drew him into the
waiting-room of the station.
"That's right, that's right!" fluttered the little man, who was
Professor Scotch. "Let's hurry out by the back door, the way we came in.
We were detained, so we did not arrive in time for the train, but we
came as quickly as we could."
"And arrived just in time," said Frank. "I am in a most appalling
position."
"Well, well!" fluttered the professor. "You can explain that later on.
Let's get away from here."
"Look!"
Frank held up his hands, and, for the first time, his friends saw the
irons on his wrists. They cried out in amazement.
"Pwhat th' ould b'y is th' m'anin' av thot?" demanded Barney Mulloy, in
the most profound astonishment.
"It means that I have been arrested; that's all."
"Pwhat fer?"
"Robbing, shooting, murdering."
"G'wan wid yez!"
"This is no time to joke, Frank," said Professor Scotch, reprovingly.
"Are you never able to restrain your propensity for making sport?"
"This is a sorry joke, professor. I am giving you the straight truth."
"But--but it is impossible--I declare it is!"
"It is the truth."
"Who arristed yez?" asked Barney, as if still doubtful that Frank really
meant what he was saying.
"A private detective, known as Burchel Jones. He surrendered me to the
sheriff of Canadian County, Hank Kildare. That's his voice you can hear
above the howling. He is trying to beat the mob back, so he can get me
to the jail before I am lynched."
"Before you are lynched!" gurgled the little professor, in a dazed way.
"What have you done that they should want to lynch you?"
"Nothing."
"Pwhat do they think ye have done?" asked Barney.
"I presume you have heard of Black Harry?"
"Yes."
"Well, they say I am that very interesting young gentleman."
Small man though he was, Professor Scotch had a deep, hoarse voice, and
he now let out a roar of disgust that drowned the stentorian tones of
Hank Kildare.
"This is the most outrageous thing I ever heard of!" fumed the
professor, in a rage. "Somebody shall suffer for it! You Black Harry!
Why, it is ridiculous!"
Barney Mulloy seemed to regard it as extremely funny, for he laughed
outright.
"Thot bates th' worruld!" he cried. "But it's dead aisy ye kin prove
ye're not Black Harry at all, at all!"
"I don't know about that. I have been identified."
"Pwhat's thot?"
"I have been recognized by a person who has seen Black Harry's face."
"Who is that fool person?" demanded Scotch, furiously. "Show me to him,
and let me give him a piece of my mind!"
"There is the person."
Frank pointed straight at Lona Dawson, who was regarding him with
horrified eyes from a distant corner of the waiting-room.
"Thot girrul?"
"The young lady?"
"Yes."
"Who is she?"
"Miss Dawson, daughter of Robert Dawson, the banker, whom Black Harry
shot during the train hold-up last night. Dawson tore the mask from the
young robber's face, and she saw it. A few moments ago she declared that
I was the wretch who shot her father."
The girl heard his words, and she started forward, panting fiercely:
"You are! You are! I will swear to it with my dying breath! I saw your
face plainly last night, and I can never forget it. You are the
murderous ruffian from whose face my father tore the mask!"
Professor Scotch was fairly staggered, but he quickly recovered, and
swiftly said:
"My dear young lady, I assure you that you have made the greatest
mistake of your life. I know this boy--I am his guardian. It is not
possible that he is Black Harry, for----"
"Were you with him last night?"
"No. We were----"
"Don't talk to me, then! Black Harry or not, he shot my father!"
"But--but--why, he would not do such a thing!"
"He did!"
It seemed that nothing could shake her belief.
"Av yez plaze, miss," said Barney, lifting his hat, and bowing politely,
"it's thot same b'y Oi have known a long toime. Oi went ter school with
thot lad, an' a whoiter b'y nivver drew a breath. He'd foight fer ye
till he died, av he didn't git killed, an' it's nivver would he shoot
anybody at all, at all, onless it wur in silf-definse. Oi give ye me
wurrud thot is th' truth, th' whole truth, an' nothing but th' truth."
The girl was unmoved.
"I have sworn to avenge my poor father!" she declared. "He shall not
escape!"
"It is useless to talk here," said Frank. "She believes she is right,
and her mind will not be changed till she sees the real Black Harry at
my side. It must be that the fellow is my double, and so my life will be
in peril till he is captured, and meets his just deserts. From this time
on for me it is a fight for life and honor."
CHAPTER V.
HURRIED TO JAIL.
At this moment another wild roar rose outside the station, telling that
something had again aroused the mob:
Hank Kildare was in the doorway, blocking it with his gigantic form, his
long-barreled revolvers holding the crowd at bay, while he hoarsely
cried:
"You galoots know me! Ef yer crowd me, some o' yer will take his
everlastin' dose o' lead!"
They dared not crowd him. He could hold them back at that point, but
there were other ways of reaching the interior of the waiting-room,
where the prisoner was.
"Ther back door!" howled a voice. "We kin git at him thet way!"
"Hear that?" fluttered Professor Scotch. "They're coming, Frank! We must
get out before they get in that way! Quick!"
He caught hold of the boy, and started to urge him toward the rear door;
but Lona Dawson placed herself squarely in their path, flinging up one
hand.
"Stop!" she cried, her eyes flashing. "You cannot pass! You shall not
escape!"
A look of admiration came into Frank's eyes, for she was very beautiful
at that moment.
"As you will," he bowed, gallantly. "I may get my neck stretched by
remaining, but your wish is law."
"Well, I like that!" roared the professor, in a manner that plainly
indicated he did not like it.
"Av ye choose ter make a fool av yersilf, Frank, it's not yer friends
thot will see ye do it in this case!" cried Barney.
The Irish lad grasped Frank by one arm, while the professor clutched the
other, and they were about to rush him toward the door, for all of any
opposition, when the door flew open with a bang, and a man pitched
headlong into the room. This person carried a bundle, which burst open
as he struck the floor, scattering its contents in all directions.
"Moses in der pulrushes!" exclaimed the nasal voice of Solomon Rosenbum,
and the Jew sat up in the midst of the wreck. "Dat vas vat I call comin'
in lifely, vid der accent on der lifely!"
"The dure!" shouted Barney. "They're coming round to get in thot way!"
The frightened station agent thrust his head out of an inner office, and
said:
"The door can be braced. The brace is just behind it."
Not a moment was to be lost, for the mob was at the very door, and would
be pouring into the station in a moment. Barney sprang for the heavy
brace, but he would have been too late if it had not been for the
singular Jew.
Solomon leaped to his feet, sprang for the door, and planted his foot
with terrific force in the stomach of the first man who was trying to
enter, hurling that individual back against those immediately behind.
"Good-tay!" cried the Jew. "Uf I don'd see you some more, vat vos der
tifference!"
Slam! The door went to solidly. Bang! The bar went against it, being
held in position by heavy cleats on both door and floor.
"Holdt der vort!" rasped Solomon, with great satisfaction. "Dot was very
well tone. I didn't vant dose beople comin' und drampin' all ofer mine
goots. Id vould haf ruint me."
The mob beat against the door, howling with baffled rage.
"Thot wur a narrow escape, Frankie, me b'y!" said Barney.
"That's what it was," admitted Frank, who realized that his chance for
life would have been less than one in a thousand if the crowd had burst
into the room.
"Vell, I don'd sharge nodding vor dat, uf you puy a goot pill uf goots
vrom me," said the Jew.
"The window!" came from Professor Scotch. "They are about to come
through the window!"
Crash! Jingle! Jangle! The window was smashed, and the mob was seen
swarming toward it.
Suddenly, Solomon Rosenbum sprang toward the opening, a revolver in his
hand.
"Holdt on, mine friendts!" he cried, waving the weapon. "Uf anypody
dried to get in py dis vindow, he vill ged shot, vid der accent on der
shot!"
"Begobs, thot is roight!" shouted Barney Mulloy, as he suddenly produced
a "gun," and took his place at Solomon's side. "Kape off, me jools, av
ye want ter kape whole skins!"
The mob hesitated. Thus it had been baffled at every turn, and the mad
heat of the moment was beginning to subside. Still, it could be aroused
again in a twinkling.
Hank Kildare alone could not have protected his prisoner from the crowd,
but he had done all one man could possibly do. Now, of a sudden, he
retreated into the station, closing and bolting the door.
"That," he said, with a breath of satisfaction, "so fur, everything is
all right. An' now it is ter see ef----"
He was interrupted by pistol shots outside, and bullets began whistling
in at the broken window.
With an exclamation of anger, the fearless sheriff flung his massive
body into the window, roaring:
"Hold up thar, you critters! Don't you know anything a tall? Thar is
ladies in hyar, an' yer might shoot 'em ef yer keep flingin' lead round
so promiscuous like!"
"We want Black Harry!" yelled a voice.
"Wa-al, ye'll hev ter want!" returned the sheriff. "You galoots know me
purty well, an' ye know I ain't in ther habit o' talkin' crooked. I
tells yer right yar an' now thet ye can't hev Black Harry. I offered
ther reward fer ther critter, an' I'm goin' ter hold him, you bet! He'll
be lodged in jail, ur Canadian County will be minus a sheriff!"
It was plain that his words impressed them, but they were reluctant to
give over the hope of lynching the boy prisoner.
"Look yere, Kildare," said a thin, wiry, iron-jawed man, who wore a huge
sombrero and leather breeches, "I'm Bill Buckhorn, o' 'Rapahoe, an'
thet's a place whar we don't 'low no critter like this yere Black Harry
ter go waltzin' round more then sixteen brief second by ther clock. We
ketches such cusses, an' then we takes 'em out an' shows 'em how ter do
a jog on empty air. Over in 'Rapahoe we allows thet thar is ther way ter
dispose o' sech cases, and I'm ready ter show you people o' Elreno ther
purtiest way ter tie a runnin' knot in a hemp necktie. Whatever is ther
use o' foolin' around an' dallyin' with ther law when it's right easy
ter git rid o' critters like this yere Black Harry without no trouble a
tall, an' make things lively in ther town at ther same time? Pass him
out, sheriff, an' I'll agree not ter do ye ary bit o' damage!"
"Wa-al, you are kind!" returned Kildare, contemptuously. "You're mighty
kind, an' I allows thet I 'preciates it. I reckons you galoots over in
thet forsaken, 'way-back, never-heard-of hole called 'Rapahoe sets
yerselves up fer a law unto ther rest o' Oklahoma an' all other parts o'
creation! You allows thar don't nobody else but you critters know what
is right an' proper, an' so you has ther cheek ter come over hyar an'
tell us what ter do! You even offers ter show me how ter tie a runnin'
knot in a rope, an' I will admit thet I've tied more knots o' thet kind
then you ever heard of! Take my advice, my gentle stranger frum
'Rapahoe, an' go get right off ther earth, afore something happens ter
yer which yer won't like none whatever!"
This bit of sarcasm was appreciated by the assembled citizens of Elreno,
and they raised a howl at Bill Buckhorn, scores of voices hurling
derisive epithets at the lank stranger.
Buckhorn grew intensely angry, and he howled:
"You galoots make me sick! You're short on fer hawse sense, an' thet's
plain enough!"
"Take a tumble!"
"Puckachee!"
"All right! All right!" cried the man from 'Rapahoe, waving his hands,
each of which clutched a huge revolver. "You kin run yer blamed old town
ter suit yerselves, an' I allows thet Black Harry fools yer all an' gits
erway! I hopes he does, an' I draws out o' this yere game right now."
He thrust his revolvers into leather holsters made to receive them, and
strode away, forcing a passage through the crowd, and pretending not to
hear the derisive epithets hurled at him.
Hank Kildare smiled, with grim satisfaction.
"Thet wuz ther best thing could hev happened," he muttered. "It took
their 'tention erway fer a minute, an' now it's likely I kin talk them
inter reason."
He tried it, without delay. He urged them to disperse, promising that
Black Harry should be lodged in Elreno jail, and properly tried for his
life.
"This yar lynchin' is bad business," concluded the sheriff. "I will
allow thet I hev taken a hand in more than one lynchin' party, but I'm
derned 'shamed o' it. Law is law, an' no gang o' human critters has a
right ter take ther law in their han's. I hev swore never ter let one o'
my prisoners be lynched, ef I kin help it, an' I'll set 'em free, an'
furnish 'em with guns ter fight fer their lives, afore I'll see 'em
strung up by a mob. At ther same time, I'd ruther be shot then forced
ter do such a thing."
Kildare was so well known that every one who heard him felt sure he was
not "talking wind," that being something he never did.
There was muttering in the crowd. The worst passions of the mob had been
aroused, and now it hated to be robbed of its prey.
"Hank Kildare means whatever he says," declared more than one. "He'll
fight ter hold Black Harry."
Some cursed Kildare, and that aroused the anger of the sheriff's
friends, so it seemed at one time as if the mob would fall into a
pitched battle among themselves.
"Let 'em fight," muttered the giant, who still held the broken window.
"Ef they git at it, I'll find some way ter slip 'em and put my man inter
ther jail."
But they did not fight. Kildare called on them to disperse, and a few
went away; but a great crowd lingered in sullen silence outside the
station, waiting and watching.
"They want ter git another look at Black Harry," muttered the sheriff,
knitting his brows. "Ef they do thet, they're likely ter break loose
again, like a lot o' wild tigers. How kin I make 'em disperse, so I kin
kerry him ter ther jail?"
"I will appeal to them," said a musical voice at his elbow.
He turned, and saw Lona Dawson there.
"You?"
"Yes. It is possible they will listen to me."
"They mought. I'd clean forgot you wuz hyar. Go ahead an' try yer luck,
little one."
He stepped aside, and she appeared in the window. The moment she was
seen, all muttering ceased in the crowd, and every one gave her
attention.
"Gentlemen," she began, speaking clearly and loud enough for all to
hear, "you must confess that I have as much interest as any one here in
seeing this youthful ruffian brought to justice. I do not wish to see
him lynched, but I wish him to receive such punishment as the law may
give him."
"Ther law is slow!" cried a voice.
"An' it often fails!" came from another direction.
"In this case there is no reason why it should fail, for there is proof
enough to convict Black Harry. It will not fail."
"He may escape from jail."
"That is not likely. Now, for my sake, I ask you all to disperse--to
allow the officers to take Black Harry to jail. If you do not disperse,
I shall remain here, and I will protect the prisoner with my own body
and my life, for I am determined that he shall be legally tried and
properly punished."
There was a moment of silence, and then a voice shouted:
"Thar's stuff fer yer, pards! Ther leetle gal has clean grit, an' I'm
fer doin' as she asks. Who's with me?"
"I am!" a hundred voices seemed to roar.
"Then come on. Good-by, leetle gal; we're goin'."
Every head was bared, and the crowd began to disperse with swiftness, so
that, in a very few minutes, all had departed.
Then came the deputy sheriffs, with horses, and arrangements for
conveying the prisoner to the jail were swiftly completed.
Frank had advised the professor and Barney not to be too outspoken, for
fear they might also be arrested. He advised them to keep quiet, but to
work for him to the best of their ability, and lose no time.
A handshake, a hurried parting, and the boy was borne away to jail.
CHAPTER VI.
SOLOMON SHOWS HIS NERVE.
The jail at Elreno was a wooden building, hastily constructed in the
feverish days of the early boom, with many weak points and few strong
ones.
Not for long were prisoners confined there, as "justice" in the new
Territory moved swiftly, and an arrest was quickly followed by a trial.
Hank Kildare and the guard moved swiftly with their prisoner, avoiding
the most public streets, and taking the boy to the jail by a roundabout
way.
It was well they did so, for, although the mob had dispersed, at the
request of Miss Dawson, the street along which it was believed the
sheriff would take Black Harry was thronged with citizens eager to get a
square look at the boy outlaw, who had become famous within ten days.
It is possible that Frank might have been taken along that street
without trouble, but it is much more likely that the sight of him would
have aroused the mob once more, and brought about another attempt at
lynching.
In fact, Bill Buckhorn, the man from 'Rapahoe, had gathered an
interested knot of tough-looking citizens about him, and he was dilating
on the "double derned foolishness" of wasting time over a person like
Black Harry by taking him to jail and giving him a trial.
"Over in 'Rapahoe we hang 'em first an' try 'em arterward," boastingly
declared the man in leather breeches. "We find that thar is ther
simplest way o' doin' business. Ef we makes a mistake, an' gits ther
wrong galoot, nobody ever kicks up much o' a row over it, fer we're
naterally lively over thar, an' we must hev somethin' ter 'muse us
'bout so often.
"Now, ef we hed ketched this yere Black Harry--wa'al, say! Great cats!
Does any critter hyar suspect thar'd been any monkey business with thet
thar young gent? Wa'al, thar wouldn't--none whatever. Ef we couldn't
found a tree handy, we'd hanged him ter ther corner o' a buildin', ur
any old thing high enough ter keep his feet up off ther dirt.
"Hyar in Elreno, ye'll take ther varmint ter jail, an' it's ten ter one
he'll break out afore twenty-four hours, arter which he'll thumb his
nasal protuberance at yer, an' go cayvortin' 'round after ther same old
style, seekin' whomsoever he kin sock a bullet inter. Then you'll hate
yerself, an' wish ye'd tooken my advice ter hang ther whelp, sheriff or
no sheriff. You hear me chirp!"
There were others who thought the same, and it was hinted that Hank
Kildare might not be able to take his prisoner to the jail, after all.
Burchel Jones, the private detective, was in the crowd, and he hustled
about, loudly proclaiming that he was the man who captured Black Harry.
Bill Buckhorn heard him, stopped him, looked him over searchingly.
"Look hyar!" cried the man from 'Rapahoe. "Is it a straight trail ye're
layin' fer us?"
"What do you mean by that?" asked the man with the foxy face, in a
puzzled way.
"Dern a tenderfoot thet can't understand plain United States!" snorted
Buckhorn. "Ther same is most disgustin', so says I! Ye've got ter talk
like a Sunday-school sharp, ur else ther onery critters don't hitch ter
yer meanin'. Wat I wants ter know, tenderfoot, is ef yer tells ther
truth w'en yer says yer roped Black Harry."
Jones stiffened up, assuming an air of injured dignity.
"The truth! Why, I can't tell anything but the truth! It's an insult to
hint that I tell anything but the truth!"
"W'at relation be you ter George?"
"George who?"
"Washington."
"Sir, this attempt at frivolity is unseemly! Why should it seem
remarkable for me to capture Black Harry?"
"Ef a galoot with his reputation let an onery tenderfoot like you rope
him, it brings him down in my estimation complete!"
"I took him by surprise. I clapped a loaded revolver to his head, and he
could do nothing but put up his hands."
"Wa'al, you might ram a loaded cannon up ag'in my head, an' then I'd
shoot yer six times afore you could pull ther trigger," boasted
Buckhorn. "Black Harry ain't got no license ter live arter this, an' I
thinks it's ther duty o' ther citizens o' this yere town ter git
tergether an' put him out o' his misery."
"That ith wight," drawled a voice that seemed to give the man from
'Rapahoe an electric shock. "The w'etch ith verwy dangerwous, and I
weally hope you will hang him wight away, don't yer know. It ith
dweadful to think that the cwecher might get away and stop a twain that
I wath on, and wob me of awl my money--it ith thimply dweadful!"
"Great cats!" howled Buckhorn, staring in amazement at the speaker. "Is
thar ary galoot hyar kin name thet critter?"
"Uf anypody vill name id, I vill gif id do 'em!" cried a nasal voice,
and Solomon Rosenbum, with his pack, newly bound up, was seen on the
edge of the crowd, having just arrived.
"My name, thir, ith Cholly Gwayson De Smythe," haughtily declared the
dude. "I do not apweciate youah inthulting manner, thir. I demand an
apology, thir!"
"Apology!" howled Buckhorn, looking savage. "Of me?"
"Ye-ye-yeth, thir," faltered Cholly, shivering.
"Wa'al, I'll be derned!"
"Do you apologize, thir?"
"Ter a thing like you? No!"
"Then I'll--I'll----"
"What?"
"Thee you lataw, thir."
And the dude took to his heels, breaking from the crowd and running for
dear life, literally tearing up the dust of the street in his frantic
effort to get away in a hurry.
"Haw!" snorted Bill Buckhorn. "See ther varmint go! I reckon I'll hurry
him up jest a little!"
Then the man from 'Rapahoe jerked out a big revolver, and sent three or
four bullets whistling past Cholly's ears, nearly frightening the poor
fellow out of his clothes.
Buckhorn supplied the revolver with fresh cartridges, at the same time
observing:
"Over in 'Rapahoe such a derned freak as thet thar would be a reg'ler
snap fer ther boys. They'd hev more fun with him then a funeral.
Somehow, this yere place seems dead slow, an' it makes me long ter go
back whar thar is a little sport now an' then."
"Vell," said the Jew, with apparent honesty, "v'y don'd you go pack?
Maype uf you sdop a vile, you don'd pe aple to do dat."
"Haw? What do you mean, Moses?"
"My name vas nod Moses."
"Wa'al, it oughter be, an' so I'll call yeh thet."
"All righd, Mouth; led her go."
"Wat's thet?" shouted Buckhorn, surprised. "Whatever did you call me
jest then, I want ter know."
"Mouth."
"Mouth!"
"Dat vas righd."
"Thet ain't my name."
"Vell, id oughter peen; your mouth vas der piggest bart uf you."
Buckhorn literally staggered. He looked as if he doubted his ears had
heard correctly, and then, noting that the crowd was beginning to laugh,
he leaped into the air, cracking his heels together, and roaring:
"Whoop! Thet settles you, Moses! You'll hev a chance ter attend your own
funeral ter-morre!"
The Jew quietly put down his pack, spat on his hands, and said:
"Shust come und see me, mine friendt, und I vill profe dat your mouth
vas der piggest bart uf you."
"I ain't goin' ter touch yer with my hands," declared the man from
'Rapahoe, once more producing the long-barreled revolver; "but I'll
shoot yer so full o' holes thet ye'll serve fer a milk-skimmer! Git down
on yer marrerbones an' pray!"
"Look here, mine friendt," calmly said the Jew, as the crowd began to
scatter to get out of the way of stray bullets, "uf you shood ad me, id
vill profe dat you vas a plowhardt und a cowart. Uf you shood ad me, der
beople uf dis blace vill haf a goot excuse to holdt a lynchings."
"Wa'al, I'm good fer this hull derned county! This town is too slow ter
skeer me any ter mention. Git down!"
"Uf I don'd do dat?"
"I'll shoot yer legs out from under yer clean up ter ther knees!"
"Vell, then, I subbose I vill haf to--do this!" Solomon had seemed on
the point of kneeling, but, instead of doing so, he ducked, leaped in
swiftly beneath the leveled revolver, caught Buckhorn by the wrist, and
wrenched the weapon from his hand, flinging it aside with the remark:
"I don'd vant to peen shot alretty, und, if you try dat again, you vill
ged hurt pad, vid der accent on der pad!"
Buckhorn seemed to be stupefied, and then, uttering another roar, he
lunged at the Jew, trying to grapple Solomon with his hands.
"I'll squeeze ther life out of yer!" snarled the ruffian.
"Oxcuse me uf I don'd lofe you vell enough to led you done that," said
the Jew, nimbly skipping aside. "Your nose shows you vas a greadt
trinker; shust dry my electric punch."
Crack! The knuckles of the Jew struck under the ear of the man from
'Rapahoe. It was a beautiful blow, and Buckhorn was knocked over in a
twinkling, striking heavily on his shoulder in the dust of the street.
The fall seemed to stun the man in leather breeches, but he soon sat up,
and then, seeing Solomon waiting for him to rise, he asked:
"Whar is it?"
"Vere vas vat?"
"Ther club you struck me with."
"Righd here," said the Jew, holding up his clinched hand.
"Haw! Ye don't mean ter say you didn't hit me with a club, or something
like a hunk o' quartz?"
"Dat vas der ding vat I hit you vid, mine friendt. Shust ged up, und I
vill profe id py hitting you again."
"Say!"
"Vell?"
"I don't allow thet I'm as well as I might be, an' I ain't spoiling' fer
trouble none whatever. I'm onter you. You're a perfessional pugilist in
disguise. If you'll let me git up, I'll go right away and let you
alone."
"Vell, ged up."
"You won't hit me when I do so?"
"Nod if you don'd tried some funny pusiness."
Buckhorn struggled to his feet, keeping a suspicious eye on Solomon all
the while. He then picked up his revolver, but made no offer to use it,
for the Jew was watching every movement, and he noted that Solomon had
one hand in his pocket.
"A critter thet knows tricks like he does, might be able ter shoot
'thout drawin'," muttered the man from 'Rapahoe. "I don't allow it'd be
healthy ter try a snap shot at him."
A roar of laughter broke from the spectators, as they saw the ruffian
put the revolver back into its holster, and turn away, like a whipped
puppy.
"Hayar, you mighty chief from 'Rapahoe," shouted a voice, "do yer find
this yar town so dead slow as yer did? Don't yer 'low yer'd best go back
ter 'Rapahoe, an' stay thar? Next time, we'll set ther dude tenderfoot
on yer, an' he'll everlastin'ly chaw yer up!"
"How low hev ther mighty fallen!" murmured Buckhorn, as he continued to
walk away.
CHAPTER VII.
IN JAIL.
Great was the disgust of the crowd when it was found that Hank Kildare
had taken his prisoner to jail without passing along the main street of
the town. It was declared a mean trick on Hank's part, and some excited
fellows were for resenting it by breaking into the jail at once and
bringing the boy out and "hangin' him up whar everybody could see him."
The ones who made this kind of talk had been "looking on the bug-juice
when it was red," and they finally contented themselves by growling and
taking another look.
In the meantime, Frank found himself confined in a cell, and he began to
realize that he was in a very bad scrape.
Throughout all the excitement at the railroad station, he had remained
cool and collected, but now, when he came to think the matter over, his
anger rose swiftly, and he felt that the whole business was most
outrageous.
Still, when he remembered everything, he did not wonder that the mob had
longed to lynch him.
Black Harry was a youthful desperado of the worst sort. He had
devastated, plundered, robbed, and murdered in a most infamous manner,
his last act being the shooting of Robert Dawson, the Eastern banker.
And Lona Dawson, the banker's daughter, had looked straight into our
hero's face and declared that he was Black Harry!
"It is a horrible mistake!" cried Frank, as he paced the cell into which
he had been thrust. "She believed she spoke the truth. This young
outlaw must resemble me. I cannot blame her."
The manacles chafed his wrists.
"Are they going to leave those things on me, now that they have me safe
in jail?" he cried.
His door opened into the corridor, and he called to the guard, asking
that the irons might be removed.
"I believe Hank has gone fer ther key," said the guard "He didn't take
it from ther detective what put them irons on yer."
"Will they be removed when he returns with the key?"
"I reckon."
"Then I hope he will hurry. I am tired of carrying the things."
He turned back, to pace the cell once more.
"This is a flimsily-constructed building," he said. "It would be an easy
thing to break in here and drag a prisoner out. I escaped death at the
hands of the mob because I had friends at hand to fight for me, and
because Hank Kildare is utterly fearless, and was determined to bring me
here. But the whole town may become aroused, and to-night---- What if
Robert Dawson should die!"
The thought fairly staggered him, for he knew the death of the wounded
banker would again inflame the passions of the citizens, and a night
raid might be made on the jail.
"They would stand a good show of forcing their way in here, and then it
would be all up with me."
It was a terrible thing to stand in peril of such a death. Frank felt
that he could not die thus; he would live to clear his honor.
But what could he do? He was helpless, and he could not fight for
himself. Must he remain impassive, and let events go on as they might?
"I do not believe fortune has deserted me," he whispered. "I shall be
given a chance to fight for myself."
It seemed long hours before the sheriff appeared, accompanied by Burchel
Jones, the foxy-faced private detective.
"Has he been disarmed?" cautiously asked Jones, as he peered at the boy
through the grating in the door.
"Yep," replied Kildare, shortly. "Do you think I'm in ther habit o'
monkeying with ther prisoners yar?"
"H'm! Ha! No, no--of course not! But, you see, this fellow is
dangerous--very dangerous. He is not to be trusted."
"Wa'al, he's been mild as milk sense he fell inter my hands."
"Trickery, my dear sir--base trickery! By the time you have handled so
many desperate criminals as I have, you will see through them like
glass."
Kildare grunted.
"Now," continued Jones, with the wisdom of an old owl, "mark the curl of
his lip, and the bold, defiant stare of the eye. Mark the covert smile
on that face, as if he were really laughing at us now. All those things
are significant--mighty significant. You do not dream of the treachery
hidden beneath that boyish exterior; but I, sir, can see by his eye that
he had rather cut a throat than eat a square meal. The peculiar shape of
his lips denote blood-thirstiness, and his nose, which seems rather
finely formed to the casual observer, is the nose of a person utterly
without conscience. His forehead indicates a certain order of
intelligence, but this simply makes him all the more dangerous. He has
brain power and force, and that explains why he has succeeded in
becoming a leader of desperadoes. That chin is a hard, cruel feature,
while the shape of his ears indicates an utter disregard for anything
sweet and harmonious of sound, like music. That is an ear which finds
more music in the shrieks of murdered victims than in anything else."
Frank literally staggered.
"Great Scott!" he gasped. "I never before dreamed that I was such a
villainous-looking creature!"
Kildare began fitting a key to the lock of the door.
"Are you sure he is disarmed?" asked the private detective.
"Yep."
"Well, you are at liberty to do as you like, but I should not remove
those irons. It would be far better to keep them on him."
"Why?"
"Well, you see--that is--hum!--ha!--such a creature cannot be held too
fast. There is no telling what he is liable to do."
Kildare gave a grunt of disgust, entered the cell, and removed the
manacles from Frank's wrists.
"Thank you," said the boy, gratefully. "They were beginning to get
irksome. I am glad to get them off."
"Ther man what calls hisself Professor Scotch has dispatched East fer
yer," said the sheriff. "He sw'ars thar has been a mistake made, an' he
kin prove you are what ye claim, an' not Black Harry at all."
"That can be easily proven," smiled Frank. "All we want is a little
time."
"Trickery! Trickery!" cried Jones from the corridor. "They will do their
best to get his neck out of the noose; but he is Black Harry, and I
shall receive the reward for his capture."
"You'll receive it when it is proved thet he is Black Harry, so don't
yer worry," growled Kildare, who had taken a strong dislike to the
foxy-faced detective.
"He has been identified by Miss Dawson; that is proof enough."
To this Kildare said nothing; but he spoke again to the boy:
"Make yerself as easy as yer kin, an' be shore ye'll hev a fair show
from Hank Kildare. Thar's talk in town about lynchin', but they don't
take yer out o' hyar so long as I kin handle a shootin' iron. I'm goin'
ter stay hyar ter-night, an' I'll be reddy fer 'em ef they come."
"Thank you again," said Frank, sincerely. "All I ask is a square deal
and a fair show. I know it looks black against me just now, but I'll
clear my honor."
Burchel Jones laughed, sneeringly.
Kildare said nothing more, but left the cell, locking the door behind
him.
At noon Frank was brought an assortment of food that made his eye bulge.
He asked if that was the regular fare in the jail, and was told it had
been sent in by his friends.
"The professor and Barney, God bless them! I wonder why they have left
me alone so long? But I know they are working for me."
It was late in the afternoon when Barney appeared, and was admitted to
the cell. The Irish lad gave Frank's hand a warm squeeze, and cried:
"It's Satan's own scrape, me lad; but we'll get ye out av it if th'
spalpanes will let yez alone ter-noight. Av they joomp yez, we'll be
here ter foight ter ther last gasp."
"I know you will, Barney!" said Frank, with deep feeling. "You are my
friend through thick and thin. But, say, do you think there is much
danger of lynchers to-night?"
"Av Mishter Dawson dies, there will be danger enough, and, at last
reports it wur said he could not live more than two ur thray hours."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE LYNCHERS.
When Barney returned to the hotel he found Professor Scotch in a very
agitated and anxious mood.
"This is terrible--terrible!" fluttered the little man, wringing his
hands. "How can we save him?"
"Phwat has happened now, profissor?" asked Barney, anxiously.
"I have received no reply to my telegrams."
"Kape aisy; the reploies may come lather on."
"And they may not till it is too late. I leaned out of the window a
short time ago, and I heard a crowd talking in the street below. That
horrible ruffian, Bill Buckhorn, was with them, and he was telling them
how to make an attack on the jail. Some of the crowd laughed, and said
Hank Kildare had been very slick about getting his prisoner under cover,
but he would not be able to keep him long after night came."
"Av they make an attack on th' jail, it's oursilves as should be theer
to foight fer Frankie," said the Irish lad, seriously.
"Fight!" roared Scotch, in his big, hoarse voice. "Why, I can't fight,
and you know it! I can't fight so much as an old woman! I am too
nervous--too excitable."
"Arrah! Oi think we have fergot how ye cowed Colonel La Salle Vallier,
th' champion foire-ater av New Orleans."
"No, I have not forgotten that; but I was mad, aroused, excited at the
time--I had completely forgotten myself."
"Forget yersilf now, profissor."
"I can't! I can't! It's no use! I would be in the way if I went to the
jail. I shall stay away."
The professor was an exceedingly timid man, as Barney very well knew, so
he did not add to his agitation by telling him that, while returning
from the jail, he had heard it hinted that the boy prisoner had two
friends in the hotel who might be treated to a "dose of hemp necktie."
The professor, however, suspected the truth, and he kept in his room.
Danger could not keep Barney there, and, having reported the result of
his conversation with Frank, he went out to learn what was going on.
Two persons very much in evidence since the arrival of the train were
the Jew and the dude. The Jew had a way of insinuating himself into the
midst of any little knot that was gathered aside from the general
throng, and, if they were speaking guardedly, he seemed sure to hear
what they were saying and enter into the conversation. As a rule, this
was not what would be called a "healthy" thing to do in such a place and
on such an occasion; but the report of Solomon's encounter with Bill
Buckhorn, the Man from 'Rapahoe, had been circulated freely, and the Jew
was tolerated for what he had done.
While he appeared very curious to hear anything that seemed like private
conversation, the Jew did not neglect any opportunity to transact
business, and he made so many trades during the day that the size of his
pack materially decreased.
The dude seemed scarcely less curious than the Jew. He had a way of
listening with his eyes and mouth wide open, but he lost no time in
getting out of the way if ordered to do so. For all of his curiosity, he
seemed very timid.
The day passed, and night came. Still Professor Scotch had received no
answers to his telegrams.
Shortly after nine o'clock that evening, the report spread rapidly that
Robert Dawson, the Eastern banker, was dead.
Immediately there was a swift and silent stirring of men--a significant
movement.
"Thot manes throuble!" was Barney Mulloy's mental exclamation. "Th'
sheriff should know av it."
The Irish lad believed that he was watched, but he hurried to the
professor's room, telling him to lock the door and keep within till the
storm was over, and then he slipped out of the hotel.
Barney did not hurry toward the jail at once, but he took a roundabout
course, dodging and doubling, to bother any one who might attempt to
follow him.
Finally, having doubled on his own course, he struck out for the jail.
There was a moon, but it was obscured at times by drifting clouds,
something rather unusual in that part of the country for a night that
was not stormy, and did not threaten to become so.
Coming suddenly to the main street of the town, which led straight from
the hotel to the jail, Barney paused and listened.
He heard a sound that caused his heart to beat faster, while he held his
breath and strained his ears.
Tramp! tramp! tramp! It was the swift and steady rush of many feet.
There was no sound of voices, but the crouching boy knew a body of men
was approaching.
Barney drew back, concealing himself as well as he could, and waited.
Nearer and nearer came the sound.
A cloud passed from the face of the moon, and then the watching boy saw
a band of men rushing swiftly past his place of concealment.
The men were masked, and all were armed.
They were moving straight toward the jail.
"Th' lynchers!" panted Barney. "They are afther Frankie! Oi must get to
th' joail ahead av thim!"
He ran back along the side street till he came to another that led in
the same direction as the one along which the mob was rushing. Turning
toward the jail, he ran as he had never ran before in all his life.
On the front door of the jail was a push-button that connected by a wire
with a gong within the building. A push on that button set the gong to
clamoring loudly.
"Rattle-ty-clang-clang! rattle-ty-clang!
"Wa'al, what's thet mean?" growled Hank Kildare, as he leaped up from
the couch on which he had been reclining lazily. "What derned fool is
punchin' away at thet thar button like he hed gone clean daft! Hyar ther
critter ring!"
Kildare looked at his revolvers, then picked up a short-barreled
shotgun, and went out into the corridor that led to the door. Reaching
the door, he shot open a small panel and shouted:
"Whatever do yer think ye're doin' out thar? Will yer stop thet thar
racket, ur shall I guv yer a dost out o' this yar gun!"
"Mr. Kildare, is thot yersilf?" panted a voice, which the sheriff had
heard before, and which he immediately recognized.
"Wa'al, 'tain't nobody else."
"Will yes be afther lettin' me in?"
"What's ther matter?"
"Th' lynchers are comin'!"
Kildare peered out, and the moon, which did not happen to be hidden at
that moment, showed him the boy who stood alone at the door.
Clank, clank, clank!--the sheriff shot back the bolts which held the
door, open it swung a bit, out shot his arm, and his fingers closed on
Barney Mulloy's shoulder.
Snap--the boy was jerked into the jail. Slam--the door closed, and the
bolts shot back into place.
"Howly shmoke!" gasped Barney. "Is it all togither Oi am, ur be Oi in
paces?"
"Ye're hyar," came in a growl from the sheriff's throat. "Now tell me
w'at yer mean by wakin' me an' kickin' up all this yar row."
"Th' lynchers are comin'."
"How do yer know?"
"Oi saw thim. Less than thray minutes ago."
"Where?"
"Back a short pace."
"How many of them?"
"I didn't count, but it's a clane hundred, sure."
Kildare asked Barney several more questions, and he was satisfied that
the boy spoke the truth.
The deputy sheriff had slept in the jail that night, and, together with
the guard, he was now at hand.
"Look out fer this yar boy," directed Kildare. "One o' yer git ther hose
ready. I'm goin' ter try my new arrangement fer repellin' an attack."
He rushed away.
The deputy sheriff, whose name was Gilson, opened a small square door in
the wall of the corridor, and dragged forth a coil of hose.
"Pwhat are ye goin' ter do with thot?" asked Barney, in surprise.
"Wait, an' ye'll see," was the reply.
Then the deputy spoke to the guard.
"Tyler, be ready ter let ther prisoner loose if the mob breaks in an'
gits past me. You kin tell by watchin'. You know it's Hank's order thet
ther cell be opened an' ther poor feller give a chance ter fight fer his
life."
"Where is he?" palpitated Barney. "Oi'll shtand by him till he doies!"
"Ye kin do better by stayin' hyar," declared the deputy. "Ye may be
needed."
Bang! bang! bang!
The lynchers had arrived, and they were hammering on the door. The gong
began to clang wildly.
"Open this door!"
"Why don't Hank turn on ther water up above?" came anxiously from the
lips of the deputy. "Kin it be thet his tank on ther roof has leaked
dry? Ef so, his new scheme fer repellin' an attackin' party won't work
very well."
"Open this door!" shouted a commanding voice outside.
The deputy sprang to the small panel and flung it open.
"What d'yer want yere?" he demanded.
"We want to come in," was the answer.
"Wa'al, yer can't."
"We'll agree to stay out on one condition. If you will pass out
something, we'll agree not to break in."
"What's ther something?"
"Black Harry."
"I reckoned so."
"Will you give him up?"
"No."
"Then we shall break down the door, and I warn you that it will be very
unfortunate if any of us is injured. It might bring about the lynching
of other parties besides Black Harry."
"Wa'al, I warn yer ter keep away from yere. We're goin' ter defend ther
prisoner regardless, an' somebody's bound ter git hurt."
"For the last time, will you open?"
"No."
"Down with the door!"
Crash! crash!--the assault on the door began.
CHAPTER IX.
THE ASSAULT ON THE JAIL.
"Why don't Hank put on ther water?" groaned the deputy sheriff. "Et'll
be too late in a minute!"
Crash! crash! The assailants were using a heavy battering ram, and the
door was beginning to give.
"Oi'm afraid it's all up with poor Frankie!" gasped Barney.
A wild yell came from the mad mob at the door.
"Death to Black Harry!"
Bang--splinter--crash! The door was breaking, and the battering-ram was
being driven against it with renewed force.
There was one last great shock, and down went the door before the
assault.
"No water yet!" cried Gilson. "Now it is too late!"
He flung down the hose, taking to his heels before the gang of masked
men that swarmed into the doorway.
Barney Mulloy heard a hissing noise, and then he leaped forward and
caught up the nozzle of the hose. He turned the large stop-cock, and a
bar of water shot out, striking the leader of the lynchers in the neck,
and hurling him, gasping and stunned, back into the arms of those
behind.
"Hurro!" trumpeted the Irish lad, in delight, his blood aroused. "Come
on, an' git washed off th' face av th' earth!"
This method of defense proved unpleasantly surprising to the attacking
party. The stream of water swept men off their feet and flung them,
half-drowned, back from the doorway into the night. In less than half a
minute Barney had cleared the doorway.
"Hurro!" he shouted, once more. "This is th' kind av sport! We'll howld
th' fort till th' last drop av warther is gone!"
There was a lull, and Hank Kildare came panting to the side of the lad
with the hose. When he saw the broken door an exclamation of dismay came
from the lips of the sheriff.
"Something wuz ther matter, so I couldn't turn ther water on," he said.
"An' now they've got ther door down!"
"But Oi bate 'em off!" shouted the Irish lad, triumphantly.
"They'll come in when ther water fails."
Barney had not thought of that, and his feeling of triumph turned to
anxiety and dismay.
"Pwhat kin we do?"
"Where is Gilson?"
"Th' spalpane run whin the dure wur broke."
"We might fight, but what if we did shoot down a few o' ther critters?
It w'u'dn't stop 'em, an' we'd hev killed somebody. Stay hyar--hold 'em
back long as yer kin."
"Pwhat are ye goin' ter do?"
"Git ther prisoner up onter ther roof. Mebbe we kin hold 'em back from
gittin' up thar."
"All roight. Oi'll do me bist here."
Kildare ran back along the corridor and disappeared.
Of a sudden rocks began to whistle about Barney's head, and then one
struck him, knocking him down. The nozzle of the hose fell from his
hands, and he lay prone and motionless on the floor.
Wild yells of savage delight broke from the mob.
Then, with a clatter of hoofs, a band of masked horsemen came tearing
down the street, whirled into the open space before the jail, and began
shooting into the mob. The horsemen were dressed in black, and every man
was masked.
"It's Black Harry's Braves!" screamed a voice that was full of fear.
Twenty voices took up the cry, and the mob, utterly demoralized, broke
and ran in all directions.
Some of the masked horsemen sprang from their animals and dashed into
the jail, springing over the prostrate body of the unconscious Irish
lad.
Kildare was removing Frank from his cell when those masked men came upon
them. In a moment the boy had been torn from the sheriff, and the men
whirled him away.
Out of the jail rushed Black Harry's Braves, the boy was placed astride
a horse, and away they went, with him in their midst.
Frank had believed them lynchers, and he thought them lynchers as they
bore him away.
"It's all up with me," he mentally said.
But his hands were free, and he was watching for an opportunity to
escape. He meant to make one more effort for life, if given an
opportunity.
Through the town tore the wild horsemen, yelling like so many fiends,
shooting to the right and left.
Out of Elreno they rode, and then the man on the right of Frank leaned
toward the boy, saying:
"We came just in time, chief. If we'd been ten minutes later, the
lynchers would have had you sure."
"The lynchers?" gasped the bewildered boy. "Why, you----"
"They had the door down when we reached the jail, but a dozen shots set
them scattering."
"But--but--I don't understand."
"We didn't mean to strike before midnight, but Benson brought word that
they were liable to lynch you, and so we lost no time in getting here.
We rode twenty miles like we were racing with an express train. You must
allow we did a good job this time, chief."
"Chief? Why I----"
Frank stopped short, choking the words back. At last he realized who
these men were.
They were Black Harry's Braves, and they believed him to be Black Harry!
He reeled upon the horse he bestrode.
"What's the matter?" asked the man, quickly. "Are you hurt any way?"
"No."
The boy's voice was hoarse and unnatural.
"What can I do?" he thought. "How long will it be before they discover
their mistake? I must keep up the deception, and I may find an
opportunity to escape."
In a moment he had recovered his composure. As old readers know, Frank
was a boy of nerve, and he began to feel very well satisfied with the
situation.
"I have escaped lynching," he thought, "and these men believe me their
leader. I am out of jail and now I shall be given a chance to fight for
my life and honor. In order to prove my own innocence, I must capture
Black Harry. This may lead me to the opportunity."
But for one thing his heart would have been filled with exultation. That
one thing was the memory of Barney Mulloy, whom he had seen lying prone
and motionless just within the broken door of the jail. Had they killed
his faithful friend?
He feared the Irish lad had met death while trying to hold back the
lynchers.
The outlaws did not seem to fear pursuit, and they slackened their pace
somewhat as soon as they were out of town.
"Where shall we go, chief?" asked one.
Frank was at a loss to answer, for he knew that a slip might betray him,
and he was determined to be on his guard all the time. His hesitation
was observed, and the man said:
"I reckon it will be safe to return to Cade's Canyon for a while."
"I reckon so," said Frank. "We'll go there."
"I warned you that you would make a mistake if you ventured into
Elreno," said the talkative outlaw, "but you were determined to have
another look at that girl, and so you took chances. Girls have caused
more trouble in this world than everything else combined."
"That's right," admitted Frank, who was wondering what girl the fellow
meant.
"Did you see her?" asked the man, with a sly chuckle.
"Oh, yes, of course."
"Ha, ha! I like the way you say that, chief. No offense, but Benson said
you saw her in the railway station as soon as you landed in Elreno."
Now Frank knew that Lona Dawson was meant.
"Yes," he said, "she was there, and she informed the public in general
that she had seen me before."
"I don't suppose you will bother with her any more, and so we'll move on
as soon as possible, and get out of this part of the country? It's
getting right hot here."
"It is all of that," admitted Frank; "but I am not for running away, as
if we were scared out."
"Well, you know our original plan."
"Certainly."
Frank spoke as if he knew it well enough, but he was wondering what it
could be. However, the man soon explained.
"We are to carry the expedition through into Indian Territory, and
disband when the Arkansas line is reached. Then we can scatter and defy
pursuit, and we can come together at Ochiltree, in the Panhandle, at the
time set."
Frank felt like thanking the fellow for the information.
"That's right," nodded the boy, speaking carefully; "but this little
affair has made me rather mad, and I don't feel like running away so
very fast."
"Especially from the girl."
"Hang the girl!"
Frank felt that it would not do to allow the fellow to become so
familiar.
"You didn't talk that way after seeing her last night. Why, you were
sorry we didn't carry her off when we left the train."
"Oh, well, a fellow has a right to change his mind. I have seen her by
daylight."
"And she didn't look so well?"
"Hardly."
"Still, she is something of a daisy."
"She'll do; but I can't waste my time with her. There are others."
"Now you're beginning to talk right, chief. The boys felt a little
doubtful of you when you went racing off after that girl, and they will
be mightily relieved to know you have come to your senses."
Frank grunted, but spoke no word. During the entire ride, he talked as
little as possible, but he kept his ears open.
CHAPTER X.
IN CADE'S CANYON.
The moon had swung far down to the west when the outlaws entered Cade's
Canyon amid the mountains and finally reached an old hut, where they
halted.
"You must be rather pegged, chief," said one of the men, addressing
Frank.
"Well, I am not feeling too frisky," said the boy. "I didn't sleep much
in Elreno jail, for I wanted to be wideawake when the lynchers came."
The men had removed their masks, but their faces were shaded by
wide-brimmed hats, and Frank was not able to study their features.
However, he had heard the voices of several, and he felt sure he would
not forget them.
He was not going to be in a hurry about escaping. There was plenty of
time, and he was beginning to believe that he must be the perfect double
of Black Harry, else why should these men be thus deceived?
He wondered if none of them would detect the difference when daylight
came.
"If they do--well, I can't be worse off than I was in Elreno jail. I'll
have weapons, and I can fight. I may be able to make it hot for them
before they down me."
Frank was reckless, and he felt a strange delight in the adventure
through which he was passing. Somehow, now that he had escaped being
lynched, he believed he would be successful in bringing Black Harry to
book and proving his own innocence.
Frank's first care was to obtain some revolvers, and he was soon in
possession of a pair of fine weapons. With these loaded and ready to his
hand, he breathed easier.
Of course he had no idea of sleeping, but he entered the hut and looked
the place over.
Morning was not far away, and the time soon passed, while Frank
pretended to sleep. At daybreak he was astir, and looking the place
over.
The cabin was built in a strange spot, standing close to the verge of a
chasm that opened down into the lower depths of the canyon, through
which ran a stream of water.
Dan Cade, the man who had built the cabin there, was said to have been
crazy. He had lived there years before the opening of Oklahoma to
settlement, and had died there in that wild gorge. His only friends were
the Indians, as he hated and mistrusted his own race.
It had often been remarked by those who passed through the canyon that
no man in his right mind would have built a cabin in such a place. It
looked as if the building was crouching on the verge of the chasm,
preparing to spring headlong into the creek below.
Here the outlaws had camped.
Frank found a flight of stairs that led to the cabin loft. They were
shaky, but he ascended to investigate.
There was a square door, shaped like a window, at the back end of the
cabin, and this the boy opened. He thrust his head out, and found he was
looking down the face of the bluff straight into the stream far below.
The light that shone into the loft revealed, to the boy's surprise and
wonder, a coil of rope. He examined this, and found a stout clasp-hook
at one end. The other end of the rope was made fast to a rafter.
For some time Frank wondered to what use old Cade had put the rope, but
it came to him at last.
"With this he drew his water from the stream down there."
This seemed evident, as there was no other apparent means of procuring
water.
The outlaws slept heavily, apparently fatigued by their exertions of the
night. They had left sentinels in both directions, up and down the
canyon, so that they could not be taken by surprise should they be
followed by enemies.
The sun had not risen when Frank went forth into the morning air.
The horses were tethered near the cabin, and a half-blood Indian was
watching them. As Frank approached, the half-blood peered out from
beneath the blanket, which was drawn up over his head. The boy saw the
fellow's beady eyes regarding him, and then the blanket was drawn
closer, indicating that the Indian was satisfied.
Once more Frank thought that he must be the perfect counterpart of Black
Harry, else he would arouse the suspicion of the fellow who owned those
eyes.
Frank believed it would be an easy thing to mount one of the horses and
ride away, as if he was going a short distance. He believed he could do
so without being challenged or questioned, and the desire to attempt it
was almost ungovernable.
Then came another thought.
Where could he go?
Surely he could not return to Elreno, for, now that he had been carried
away by Black Harry's Braves, he was branded in that town as the
youthful outlaw beyond the shadow of a doubt.
He did not know which way to turn, and the thought that his situation
was most remarkable forced itself upon him. If he remained among the
outlaws, they were liable to discover how they had been fooled, and that
would make them furious. If he escaped and hastened to any of the
nearby towns, it was pretty certain that he would be taken for Black
Harry and lynched.
"This is a real jolly scrape!" thought the boy, ruefully. "What can I
do?"
Well might he ask himself the question.
He walked a short distance down the canyon, and thought it over. The
impulse was on him to get away as soon as possible, but his sober
judgment told him that he would leap from the frying-pan into the fire.
Frank did not care to be lynched. He seemed helpless for the time.
Although he longed to fight for his honor, he was unable to strike a
blow.
The result of his walk was a determination to stay with the outlaws and
keep up the deception as long as he could.
Black Harry himself must appear sooner or later, and Frank longed to see
the young rascal whom he so much resembled.
Most boys would have improved the opportunity to get away, but Frank was
not built of ordinary material, and it was like him to do the
unexpected.
He strolled back to the cabin, seeming quite at his ease.
It was not far from sunrise, and the men began to stir. Several of them
came out of the hut, and a fire was built.
Of a sudden, from far up the canyon, came the musical blast of a bugle,
causing the outlaws to start and look at each other in surprise.
They listened, and it was repeated.
One of the men turned sharply on Frank, hoarsely crying:
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know," replied the boy, at the same time feeling for his
revolvers, with the idea that there was trouble on hand.
"It is your signal!" burst from the man's lips. "And that means
trickery! There is something wrong!"
"You're right!" cried several voices.
More of the braves came running out of the cabin, there was a hustling
for arms, and the men prepared for trouble.
"My signal?" repeated Frank, to himself. "By that he must mean it is the
signal of Black Harry! He is coming!"
Frank felt the blood tingling in his veins.
Black Harry was coming!
"Now," muttered Frank, "I shall have a chance to strike a blow for
myself! Let Black Harry come on!"
CHAPTER XI.
BLACK HARRY APPEARS.
There was a clatter of hoofs, and a doubly burdened horse swept into
view, bearing straight down upon the Braves, who were waiting as if
ready to fight or take to flight.
The horse was foam-flecked, and it was plain he had been driven to the
limit of his endurance.
The person who handled the reins was a youthful chap, and, as he came
nearer, Frank gasped with surprise.
"Cholly Grayson De Smythe, the dude! Is it possible?"
In his arms, held upon the horse, was a bundle, like a human form,
wrapped in a blanket.
The outlaws looked for a posse of armed men to follow the boyish
horseman, but he was not followed, and he did not hesitate or turn back
when he saw the party awaiting him.
Straight down upon them he rode, and Frank drew aside, shielding himself
behind one of the men.
"It can't be possible!" muttered Frank. "It's ridiculous!"
Straight down upon the desperadoes rode the dude, seeming utterly
fearless.
"Halt, thar!" cried one of the men, leveling a rifle at the young
horseman. "Hold up, ur chaw lead!"
The youth gave a surge that flung the horse upon its haunches.
"Steady Bolivar!" his voice rang out. "Would you shoot me?"
"Who be you?"
"Don't you know me? Ha, ha, ha! Well, I do not wonder. I'll look
different when I peel this mustache and wash off my make-up. I have her!
See here, boys!"
The blanket was flung back, and the face of Lona Dawson, the banker's
daughter, was revealed!
The girl was not unconscious, and she suddenly squirmed from the grasp
of her captor, slipped from the horse, and ran into the midst of the
outlaws, crying:
"Save me! Protect me!"
"Stop her, boys!" laughed the youth on the horse. "Don't let her get
away. I've had trouble enough, and taken risk enough to get her."
"Wa-al, who be you?" roared one of the band.
"Who am I? Look here; do you know this sign?"
He made a swift motion with his hand, and nearly every man cried:
"The chief's sign! But you are not the chief! He is here with us! You
are an impostor!"
"Am I? Look!"
He tore off a false wig, jerked away a false mustache, took a vial from
his pocket, turned some of its contents in his hand, and seemed to sweep
the make-up from his face.
The result was a wonderful transformation, and the face revealed was
almost exactly like that of Frank Merriwell.
The men stared in bewildered astonishment.
"It is the chief!" gurgled one of them.
"Of course I am," laughed the unmasked youth. "You wasted your time in
carrying off that other fellow who looks like me. Why didn't you leave
him to be lynched? Then the fools would have thought they had put Black
Harry out of the way."
"The other fellow?" repeated more than one of the men. "Who is the other
fellow?"
"He is the fellow who looks like me," laughed Black Harry, for the new
arrival was the boy chief of the marauders.
In the meantime, while this unmasking was taking place Frank had not
been idle. He had longed to meet Black Harry face to face, but now he
realized that his situation was perilous in the extreme. He must act at
once.
But the sight of the captive girl and her appeal for aid had bestirred
all the chivalry of his nature. He longed to do something to save her.
Swiftly moving near her, he suddenly caught her up, swung her over his
shoulder, and, with her held thus, regardless of the shriek of terror
that broke from her lips, he dashed straight for the open door of the
hut.
Cries of amazement broke from the lips of the outlaws.
"There he goes!" shouted Black Harry. "That is the fellow who looks like
me, and he has the girl! After him!"
The men leaped in pursuit.
Into the hut bounded Frank, and the door went to with a slam. The
foremost man, who flung himself against it, found it had been fastened.
"Well, we have him fast," said Black Harry, easily. "He can't get away
in a thousand years. We'll dig him out at our convenience."
The men now gathered round their boy chief, eager to hear his
explanation. It was difficult for them to realize that they had been
deceived--that the boy they rescued from the lynchers at Elreno jail was
not their leader.
"I was not fool enough to go into Elreno without disguising myself,"
said Harry. "I knew I should be recognized if I did. I fixed myself up
in the outfit I just threw off, and, with this English tourist rig and a
sissy lisp, I succeeded in deceiving everybody.
"You may imagine how surprised I was when I saw this other fellow, who
is nearly my perfect double. He took the train at Oklahoma City, and I
sat directly behind him. I was there when the private detective, Burchel
Jones, who fancies he is so shrewd, arrested him.
"If they had lynched him, I could have disappeared, and it would have
been thought that Black Harry had gone up the flume. But you fellows
thought that I was in the scrape, and you came round in time to save
him.
"I watched my opportunity to scoop the girl, and I have brought her
here, although I was hotly pursued for a time, and I did not know but
I'd have to drop her and get away alone. I succeeded in fooling the
pursuers, and I arrived here at last.
"My double and the girl for whom I have risked so much are in that hut.
I propose to break down the door and go in."
A wild shout came from the men. They were furious to think they had been
so wonderfully deceived.
"Down with the door!"
"Drag him out!"
"Shoot him!"
With a hoarse roar of rage the Braves rushed toward the cabin, and flung
themselves against the door, which went down with a crash, letting them
into the hut.
CHAPTER XII.
A CHANCE IN A THOUSAND.
Frank, with his usual daring and gallantry, had resolved to make an
effort to save the unfortunate girl--to rescue her from the clutch of
Black Harry.
Having determined on such an attempt, he lost no time in catching her up
and dashing into the hut with her in his arms.
Dropping her upon her feet, he whirled, slammed the door shut, found the
wooden bar with which old Cade had made it fast, dropped the bar into
its socket, and cried:
"Hurrah for us! This is the first step to freedom!"
Turning, he found the girl was leaning against the wall, staring at him
in a wondering way, but without fear being expressed on her handsome
face.
"I trust you are quite unharmed, Miss Dawson?" he said, swiftly. "My
unsavory double has----"
"He has not harmed me," she broke in, swiftly, "but I feel that I have
done you a harm I can never repair."
"Nonsense! How have you harmed me?"
"By declaring that you were the one who shot my father."
"You believed it when you said so, and that----"
"Yes, I believed it, but that is nothing that will lessen the injury I
did you. And to think of the terrible peril in which I placed you! Then,
when it was reported that father was dead, they were determined to lynch
you."
"And your father is not dead?"
"He was not when I last saw him, and the doctor said he might come out
all right."
"That is indeed fortunate."
"I heard them crying that he was dead, I saw them preparing to make an
assault on the jail, and I left father's side to stop them if I could."
"Brave girl!"
"Then it was that I fell into the hands of this wretch who brought me
here--the real Black Harry. He was waiting for an opportunity to capture
me--he told me so. He told me how I had imperiled the life of one who
was innocent, and he laughed at my horror and remorse. He is a heartless
creature!"
"He seems to be all of that."
"And you have placed your life in greater peril for me--you did so after
what I did to you! Why should you do such a thing?"
"Why, Miss Dawson, you were not to blame for thinking me Black Harry.
The fellow is my double, and I ought not to have a double. Do you
suppose I would think of leaving you in his power if there was any
possible way for me to save you?"
"You are a noble fellow! But you cannot save me--you cannot escape
yourself! They will soon break in here, and then----"
Frank was listening at the door, and he heard Black Harry complete his
explanation to his Braves, heard their wild cries, and knew they were
going to charge on the door.
"It will not stand before them!"
He looked around and saw the stairs.
"Up!" he cried to the girl. "Don't lose a moment!"
He motioned toward the stairs, and she ran toward them, hearing the roar
that came from the outlaws as they made the rush for the cabin.
"Come!" she panted, looking over her shoulder, and seeing Frank with a
revolver in either hand. "Don't stay there! They will kill you!"
"Up!" he shouted again. "I will follow!"
She sprang up the stairs, which creaked and swayed beneath her.
There was a great shock, and the cabin seemed to totter on the brink of
the chasm. Then the door fell, and the ruffians swarmed into the cabin.
Frank Merriwell was right behind the girl, and he seemed to lift her and
fling her into the loft.
"There they go!" rang the voice of the real Black Harry. "Up the
stairs!"
"This is no time for talk!" cried Frank, as he crouched at the head of
the flight, his teeth set, and the light of desperation in his eyes.
The braves came rushing up the stairs, and the boy above thrust out both
hands, each of which held a revolver.
Frank fired four shots, and the smoke shut out the faces of the fierce
rascals on the stairs. He heard cries of pain and the sound of falling
bodies.
"I didn't waste my bullets," came grimly from his lips.
But what could he do now? He had repulsed them for the time, but they
were in the cabin, and it would not be for long that he could keep them
back. They would soon find a way to reach him.
He leaped to the swinging window and flung it open, thrusting the
revolvers lightly into the side pockets of the coat he wore. He looked
down into the depths of the chasm, through which ran the stream of
water.
"It is a long distance down there," came hoarsely from the lad's lips.
"I will try it! It is our last hope."
With a bound, he caught up the coil of rope, then he rushed to the
window and flung it out. As one end was made fast to a rafter, it hung
dangling from the window.
Frank looked out, and he saw that the rope reached to the stream of
water.
At the same time, he heard Black Harry calling on his braves to follow
him up the stairs.
"Come!" said Frank, hurrying to the side of the girl, and grasping her
arm. "There is one chance in a thousand that we may do the trick and
escape alive. We'll make a try for that chance."
She did not question him, she did not hold back, but she bravely trusted
everything to his judgment.
Frank passed through the window in advance. He twisted the rope around
one leg, and he secured a good hold on it with his hands. Then he said
to the girl:
"Be lively now! Get through the window, put your arms about my neck,
cling for your life, and trust to Frank Merriwell and Providence."
She did so, and they were soon descending the rope.
Frank went down, hand under hand, as he did not dare slide at first,
knowing that his hands would be torn and bleeding, and that he must lose
his hold before the bottom was reached. With the twist about his leg to
aid him, he managed to sustain himself and his living burden very well.
The girl whispered in his ear:
"Courage! You are the noblest fellow I ever saw--the greatest hero in
the whole wide world!"
He made no reply, for his teeth were set, and he was mentally praying
for strength and time.
Down they went--down, down. And then, when nearly half the distance had
been covered, a shout came from above.
"Here they are! Ten thousand fiends! They shall not get away alive!"
It was the voice of Black Harry himself.
"Oh, for a little more time!" panted Frank.
But no more time was to be given him. He heard the voice of the boy
outlaw crying:
"Look up here, Frank Merriwell--look up! I have a little trick to show
you."
Frank looked upward, and he saw Black Harry leaning far out of the
window. A knife glittered in the hand of the young desperado.
"I am going to cut the rope!" came down to the ears of the boy and girl.
"Poor fools! Did you think to escape me! You will go down to your death
in the creek!"
Frank clung with one hand to the rope, although the strain was terrible.
With his other hand he drew one of the revolvers from his pocket, lifted
it, took aim, fired.
The weapon spoke just as Black Harry slashed at the rope.
There was a shriek of pain, a human body shot out from the window, and,
as it went whirling downward, the rope parted!
Then down shot Frank and Lona to fall into the stream. They struck where
the water was quite deep, and they were unharmed, although the girl was
unconscious when our hero bore her to solid ground.
As for Black Harry, he struck where some jagged rocks reared their heads
from the water, and he lay there, in a huddled heap, and dead, forever
past harming any living creature.
And yet, as was afterward discovered by examination, he had not been
touched by the bullet which Frank had fired up at him. He had been
startled by the shot, had lost his balance, and had fallen to his death.
Frank was trying to restore Lona to consciousness when he heard the
rattle of rifle and revolver shots, the sound coming down faintly from
above. Following it there was wild and continued cheering, and still
more shooting.
"It sounds like a battle," thought the boy. "I believe the outlaws have
been attacked."
He was right. For all that he fancied he had thrown his pursuers from
the trail, Black Harry had been tracked to Cade's Canyon. The guard was
captured while the assault on the hut was taking place, and then Hank
Kildare, at the head of the trailers, swept down on the astonished
braves.
The battle was short and sharp, and but few of the outlaws escaped. Some
were killed, and some were captured.
One of the captured ruffians told them where to find Black Harry, Frank
and the kidnaped girl.
Lariats were tied together, and a line was made long enough to reach the
bottom of the chasm.
Lona Dawson was drawn up first, and then Frank tied the rope about the
body of his double, permitting them to draw him to the top of the bluff.
Frank came up last, and he found the men from Elreno in a rather dazed
condition.
"Is thar two Black Harrys?" asked one, staring at the dead boy, and then
at his living counterpart.
"Moses in der pulrushes!" groaned Solomon Rosenbum, who was on hand.
"There vas only von, und he vas deat, vid der accent on der deat. Dat
leds me oudt, und I don'd vas aple to take him pack East vor murter."
"Take him back East for murder?" questioned a man. "What do you mean by
that."
"I mean that he is wanted in the East, and I have been tracking him for
the last two months," said the supposed Jew, suddenly speaking without a
trace of accent.
"Who are you?"
"I am Burchel Jones, a detective."
"Burchel Jones! Impossible! Jones was the fellow who arrested this boy
for Black Harry."
"That fellow was not Burchel Jones; he is an impostor, and he was
working for the reward offered for Black Harry's capture. If he is in
Elreno when we get back there, I shall have a little settlement with
him."
Then Lona Dawson, who had recovered, told them how bravely Frank had
fought for her, and the boy suddenly found himself regarded as a hero by
the very ones who had been fierce to lynch him a short time before.
"Hurro!" cried Barney Mulloy, who was on hand. "Oi knew ye'd come out at
th' top av th' hape in th' ind, Frankie, be b'y!"
And the delighted Irish boy gave his friend a "bear's hug."
It was a triumphant party that returned to Elreno. Lona Dawson was
restored to her wounded father, the body of Black Harry was placed on
exhibition, and Frank was cheered and stared at by admiring eyes
wherever he went.
The bogus detective heard what had happened in time to leave the place
and avoid meeting the real Burchel Jones.
Robert Dawson did not die from his wound. He recovered in time, but, as
he lay on his bed, with his daughter restored to him, he held out a hand
to Frank, who had been summoned to that room, saying, fervently:
"God bless you, young man! My daughter has told me everything. You shall
be rewarded by anything it is in my power to give you."
Frank laughed, his face flushing, as he gallantly returned:
"Mr. Dawson, I have already been rewarded by the pleasure it gave me to
be of service to your daughter in a time of peril."
A week later Frank and his friends continued their journey westward,
where fresh adventures awaited them.
CHAPTER XIII.
A THRILLING RESCUE.
"No, sir!" roared Professor Scotch, banging his clinched fist down on a
rough wooden table that stood in the only "hotel" of the town of Blake,
Utah. "I say no, and that settles it!"
"But," urged Frank, who sat opposite the little professor at the table,
"wait till I tell you----"
"You have told me enough, sir! I do not want to hear any more!"
Barney, who sat near, could restrain his merriment no longer.
"Begobs!" he cried; "th' profissor is on his ear this toime, Frankie, me
b'y. He manes business."
"That's exactly what I do!" came explosively from the little man's lips.
"It is my turn now. You boys have been having your own way right along,
and you have done nothing but run into scrape after scrape. It is
amazing the troubles you have been into and the dangers you have passed
through. Several times you have placed me in deadly peril, and but for
my coolness, my remarkable nerve, my extremely level head, I must have
been killed or gone insane long ago."
Both boys laughed.
"Allow me to compliment you on your remarkable nerve, professor,"
chuckled Frank. "You are bold as a lion--nit."
The final expressive word was spoken in an "aside," but the professor
heard it, as Frank had intended he should.
"Laugh, laugh, laugh!" shouted the little man, in a hoarse tone of
voice. "The time has passed when you can have fun with me; I decline to
permit you to have fun with me. I have decided to assert myself, and
right here is where I do it."
"Ye do thot, don't yez, profissor!" cried the Irish lad, in a way that
made the little man squirm.
"You can bet I do! Judging by the past, any one would think Frank my
guardian. They'd never dream I was his. He has gone where he pleased,
and done as he pleased. Look where he has dragged me! Where is this
forsaken hole on the face of the earth? It's somewhere in Utah."
"Blake is very easily located," said Frank, glibly. "Any schoolboy will
tell you it is in Eastern Utah, on the line of the Grand Western
Railway, at the point where the railroad crosses Green River. You are a
little rusty on such things, professor, and so you fancy everybody else
is as much a back number as yourself."
"Back number!" howled the little man, leaping into the air and dashing
his hat to the floor. "That is more than I can endure. You have passed
the limit."
Neither of the boys had ever before seen him so far forget his dignity
without greater provocation, and they were not a little surprised.
"Steady, professor," laughed Frank. "Don't fly off the handle."
"Howld onter yersilf, profissor," chuckled Barney. "Av ye don't, ye may
get broken."
"This is terrible!" cried the professor, his face crimson with anger.
"Frank Merriwell, you are an ungrateful, reckless, heartless young
rascal!"
"Oh, professor!"
Frank seemed deeply touched. He grew sober in a moment, out came his
handkerchief, he carried it to his eyes, and he began to sob in a
pitiful way.
Behind the handkerchief the mischievous lad was laughing still.
The professor rushed about the room a moment, and then he stopped,
staring at Frank and beginning to look distressed.
"That I--should--ev-ev-ever live--to--see--this sad--hour!" sobbed the
boy, with the handkerchief to his eyes. "That I should be called
ungrateful and heartless by a man I have loved and honored like--like
a--a sister! If my poor uncle had not died----"
"Goodness knows you cannot feel worse about that than I do!" came from
the little man's lips. "I suppose he fancied he was doing me a favor
when he appointed me your guardian and directed that I should accompany
you as your tutor in your travels over the world. Your tutor indeed!
Why, you insist on giving me points and information about every place we
visit. You do exactly as you please, and it is a wonder that either of
us is alive to-day. You have dragged us through the most deadly perils,
and now that I object when you want to go ranting away into a wild and
unexplored region of Southern Utah, where you say there dwells the last
remnant of the murderous and terrible Danites, you--you--you----"
"What have I done?" sobbed Frank.
"Why, you've--you've said----"
"What?"
"I don't remember now; but I'd give seventeen million dollars if Asher
Merriwell, your uncle, was living and had to travel around with you!"
"Now my heart is broken!" came mournfully from behind that handkerchief.
That was more than Scotch could stand. He edged nearer Frank, who fell
face downward on the table, still laughing, but pretending to quiver
with sobs.
"There, there, there!" fluttered the little man, patting the boy on the
shoulder. "Don't feel so bad about it."
"I--I can't help it."
"Oh, I didn't mean anything--really I didn't. I'll take it back,
and----"
"Your cruel words have pierced my tender heart as the spear of the
fisherman pierceth the unwary flounder."
"I was too hasty--altogether too hasty."
"That does not heal the bleeding wound."
"Oh, well, say--I'll do most anything to----"
"Will you permit me to go on this expedition?"
"No, never!" cried the little man. "There is a limit, and that is too
much."
"But you have not heard the story of this Walter Clyde, to whom I owe my
very life," said Frank, pretending to dry his eyes with the
handkerchief.
"You owe what?" shouted the professor, astonished. "How do you owe him
so much?"
"Well, sir," spoke the boy, "it was like this: I had fallen into the
hands of a band of murderous ruffians, and----"
"When did this occur?"
"At about half past six. Please do not interrupt me again. These
ruffians, after relieving me of my valuables and wearing apparel, so
that I was clad in nothing but a loose-fitting suit of air, proceeded,
with fiendish design, to tie me to the railroad track."
"Terrible!" gasped Scotch, his face pale and horrified. "But where did
this take place?"
"Directly on the line of the railroad. Will you be good enough not to
interrupt! I was helpless in their power, and I could do nothing to save
myself. I begged them to spare me, but they laughed at my entreaties."
"The wretches!" roared the little professor. "Ah! Er! Excuse me for
breaking in."
"Having tied me firmly across the polished rails," continued Frank,
growing dramatic in his method of relating the yarn, "they told me the
express would be along in fifteen minutes, and then they left me to my
fate."
"The dastardly scoun---- Beg pardon! Go on! go on!"
"I tried to wrench myself free, but it was impossible; they had tied the
knots well, and I began to believe I was doomed. The rail sang beneath
my head, and I knew the express was approaching at terrible speed."
"This is too much--too much!" groaned the little man, flopping down on a
chair. "It actually overcomes me!"
"I fully expected the express would come over me," the boy went on. "I
gave up hope. Looking along the track, I saw the engine swoop into view
round a curve in the road. Down upon me with the speed of the wind it
swept."
No sound but a groan came from the lips of Professor Scotch.
"Staring with horrified eyes and benumbed senses at the engine, I heard
it shriek a wild note of warning. I had been seen! But the train was on
a down grade, and it could not stop in time. I was doomed just the
same."
The professor was ready to fall off his chair.
"Then," cried Frank, dramatically, "out along the side of the engine
crept a boy, who carried something in his hand. That boy was Walter
Clyde, to whom I owe my very life. The something he carried in his hand
was a lasso, and with that he saved me."
"How--how could he do it?" palpitated the professor. "You were tied to
the track!"
"Yes, but Walter Clyde is an ingenious fellow, and he saw how to get
around that difficulty."
"But how--how?"
"Well, close beside the railroad was the stump of a great tree that had
been cut down. I saw him point at it, and above the roar of the train I
heard him shriek for me to lift my head and look at it."
"Yes, yes! Go on!"
"I saw him whirling the lasso-noose about his head, making ready for the
cast, having first hitched the other ends to the cow-catcher of the
locomotive."
"Well, well?"
"I lifted my head as high as possible, and I saw the noose shoot through
the air. Excuse me while I shudder a few seconds!"
"Did he drag you from the track in time?" shouted the professor. "Did
the noose fall over your head?"
"No," answered Frank; "but it fell over that stump, and, when the
express reached the end of the lariat, having come so near that the nose
of the pilot brushed my hair, the lariat brought up. It was a good stout
rope, and it yanked that engine off the track in a second, and piled the
entire train in the ditch. I was saved--saved by a brave boy, and only
forty of the passengers on the train were killed."
Professor Scotch gasped for breath and sank from his chair to the
floor.
CHAPTER XIV.
WALTER CLYDE'S STORY.
Barney Mulloy had been holding on to keep from shouting with laughter,
and now he exploded.
"Ha! ha! ha!" he roared. "Pwhat do yez think av thot, profissor? Thot
wur th' narrowest escape ivver hearrud av, ur Oi'm a loier!"
"Send for the undertaker!" came in a hollow groan from the lips of the
professor.
"You do not seem to feel well?" said Frank, hastening to the man's
assistance. "What is the trouble?"
"If I die of heart failure you will be responsible!" fiercely grated
Scotch.
"Doie!" cried Barney. "Whoy, ye'll live ter pick daisies on yer own
grave, profissor."
"This is terrible!" faintly rumbled the little man, as he regained his
chair, and began to mop cold perspiration from his face with a
handkerchief.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," cried Frank.
The door opened, and a boy about seventeen years of age entered the
room. He was a slender, delicate-appearing fellow, but he had a good
face and steady eyes.
"Hurrah!" cried Frank. "Here is my preserver! Professor Scotch, permit
me to introduce you to Mr. Walter Clyde."
The professor held out a limp hand to the boy, saying:
"Excuse me if I do not rise. Frank just robbed me of strength by telling
how you saved his life by derailing an express train and killing forty
passengers."
Clyde was quick to catch on. A faint look of astonishment was followed
by a smile, and he said:
"Mr. Merriwell is mistaken."
"Ha!" cried the professor. "Then you denounce the whole story as false?"
"I said Mr. Merriwell was mistaken--but thirty-nine passengers were
killed," said the newcomer, who had caught the end of Frank's yarn.
The professor came near having a fit, and Barney Mulloy held onto his
sides, convulsed with merriment.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Clyde," said Frank. "I may have stretched the
yarn a trifle."
"Just a trifle!" muttered the professor.
"If I had used giant-powder instead of dynamite in blowing up the
track," said Clyde, "it is possible there might have been a smaller loss
of life."
"But you did not blow up the track at all," hastily put in Frank. "You
yanked the train off the rails with a lasso."
"So I did! I was thinking of another case. In this instance, if I had
not stood so far from the railroad----"
"But you were on the pilot of the engine."
"Was I? So I was. Excuse me if I do not attempt any further
explanations."
Then the three boys laughed heartily, and the professor was forced to
join in at last.
Having restored Scotch to good nature, Frank requested Walter Clyde to
tell his story. Clyde's face clouded a little, and he slowly said:
"I will tell it briefly. Years ago, when I was a very small child, my
father left his home in the East to make a trip to California. Business
called him out there, and, on his way, he entered this Territory. He
never reached California.
"My father had a deadly enemy--a man who had sworn to kill him some
day. That man's name was Uric Dugan. Father had been instrumental in
sending him to prison for robbery, but he had escaped, fled to the West,
and, it was said, joined the Mormons.
"Fate led Uric Dugan and my father to meet in Utah. What happened then
is known to Dugan alone. Months passed, and mother heard no word from
father. She grew thin and pale and desperate. At length, a letter came
to her. It was from Uric Dugan.
"That letter told my mother that father had died in a living tomb, where
he had been placed and kept by Dugan till he went mad. Dugan gloated
over his frightful crime. He told how father had raved in his delirium,
called wildly for his wife and his boy, and how her name was last on his
lips when he died."
"The monster!" broke in Professor Scotch, who was intensely interested.
"He was in truth a monster," agreed Clyde. "The effect of that letter on
my mother was terrible. It nearly drove her mad, and she was ill a long
time. When she recovered, she took measures to find and punish Dugan,
but she never succeeded. She learned, however, that Dugan, after joining
the Mormons, had been one of that terrible organization known as the
Danites. He had disappeared, and no trace of him could be found.
"The detective who was in my mother's employ was aided by an old guide,
miner, and fortune-hunter in general, known as Ben Barr. Barr learned
the whole story of my father's disappearance, and it happened that he
knew Uric Dugan--that Dugan had once done him an injury. He took a great
interest in the case, and did his best to trace the man. As I have said,
Dugan was not found, nor did the detective learn anything further of my
father.
"Years passed, and I grew up. The years wrought their changes in Utah,
and the Destroying Angels ceased to be a menace to every Gentile in the
Territory. The younger Mormons regretted that such an organization had
ever existed, and had been in any way connected with the Mormon Church.
Danites who had been powerful and feared, found their former friends
turning against them. Even the Mormon Church pretended to denounce them.
John D. Lee, chief in the Mountain Meadow butchery, was captured, tried,
found guilty, and shot. There were others as guilty as Lee, and they,
who had been the hunters, found themselves hunted. They fled to the
mountains, hid, disguised themselves, changed their names, and did
everything they could to escape retributive justice.
"It seems that Dugan was still with them, and he found himself a
fugitive like the others. Somewhere in Southern Utah, west of the
Colorado, and amid the wild mountains that are to be found to the north
of the Escalante River, the hunted Danites found a home where they
believed they would be safe from pursuit, and there the last remnant of
the once terrible Destroying Angels are living to-day.
"In his wanderings, Ben Barr came upon this retreat of the Danites, and
there he saw Uric Dugan, who is now the chief of the band. Barr barely
escaped with his life, and he lost no time in writing to my mother,
telling her what he had discovered.
"This was enough to revive old memories and set mother to brooding over
it. Her health was not very good, and I am sure that she worried herself
to death. Before she died she told me of a dream that had come to her
for three successive nights. In that dream she had seen my father, and
he was still living, although he was unable to return to her. Just why
he could not return was not very clear, but it was because of Dugan.
"As she was dying, my mother called me to her side and told me of the
dream. 'My boy,' she said, 'I know your father is still living, and I
want you to find him. Something has told me that you will be successful.
Promise me that when I am gone you will not rest until you have found
him or have satisfied yourself beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is
dead.'
"I gave that promise, and I am here to search for my father and for Uric
Dugan. If father is not living, I may be able to avenge him, and that
will set me at rest.
"By accident I was thrown in with Mr. Merriwell, and we became somewhat
friendly. I told him my story, and he was intensely interested in it. He
asked me to let him go along. I did not refuse, and he said he would
obtain your consent. That is all."
"Young man," said Professor Scotch, "I sympathize with you, and I
sincerely hope you may be successful; but I do not care to have Frank
thrust himself into such perils as you may encounter on that search."
"Hold on, professor!" cried Frank. "Just wait and----"
Scotch waved his hand.
"The time has come for me to assert my authority," he said, sternly;
"and I propose to assert it."
"You will not let me go?"
"No, sir!"
"All right. You'll be sorry, professor."
"That sounds like a threat, young man. Don't threaten me. This search
looks like a wild-goose chase. How do you propose to reach this retreat
of the Danites?" he asked, turning to Clyde.
"By cruising down the river in a strong boat which I have bought and
provisioned for the trip."
"And did you boys think of going alone?"
"Oh no."
"Who was going with you?"
"Two explorers."
"Their names."
"Colton Graves and Caleb Kerney."
"What do you know about them?"
"Nothing, except that they wish to take a cruise through the canyons."
"Young man," said the professor, "let me give you a bit of advice."
But before he could do so there came a sharp knock on the door.
CHAPTER XV.
PROFESSOR SEPTEMAS SCUDMORE.
The door opened with a quick, jerky movement immediately after the
knock, and, without waiting to be invited to enter, a tall, angular,
thin-legged, knock-kneed man walked into the room with a peculiar
movement that seemed to indicate that his legs were in danger of
breaking at every step.
This man had a very long, thin neck, on which was set a long, narrow
head, crowned with an out-of-date silk hat. He wore a suit of rusty
black, a flaring high collar, that was sadly wilted and lay out over the
collar of his coat, and a black string necktie, which was tied in a
careless knot. His face was shaven smooth, and a pair of gold-bowed
spectacles clung convulsively to the end of a long, thin nose.
"Excuse me," he said, in a high-pitched, cracked tin-pan sort of voice.
"I seek a fellow laborer in the field of science. You know the Good Book
says: 'Seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be opened unto you.' I
knocked--didn't stop for it to be opened--am in a hurry. Ahem!
You"--pointing a long, slim finger at Scotch--"you must be the one I
seek."
The little professor looked startled.
"What have I ever done to you?" he asked, hesitatingly.
"Not anything, my dear sir, but I believe you are Professor Scotch, are
you not?"
"That is right; but I do not know you, sir."
"I am Professor Septemas Scudmore, of Pudville Classical Institute, in
the State of Ohio."
"Never heard of you, sir."
"And I never heard of you till a few moments ago, when one of the polite
and obliging citizens told me you were here, and asked me why I did not
call on you, as you seemed to be a bigger fool than I am, and we might
make good company for each other."
"What's that?" roared Scotch. "Who dared to say anything like that? The
insulting wretch!"
Professor Scudmore waved a long, lank hand at the little man.
"Do not get agitated," he chirped. "It is not well for a man of your
years. You should preserve a calm and even demeanor. Excuse me if I do
not always follow my own teaching. We tutors never do."
Scotch stared at the strange man as if doubting his sanity.
"You seem to enjoy being called a fool!" he growled.
"Not at all--not at all. But I have been called that so much that I do
not mind it. Genius is ever regarded as folly till it astounds the
world. I am a man of genius. You may think that is boasting, but I
assure you it is not. I am naturally modest--very modest. But I have
found that, in order to be thought anything of by others, I must think
well of myself. I am so exceeding frank and honest that I never hide my
thoughts, therefore, I tell you candidly what I think of myself."
"Well, well!"
"It is possible you do not believe in this sort of thing--few do.
Duplicity I despise. You are not a man of genius yourself, but you have
led others to think you pretty smart, and you have succeeded in getting
through the world thus far pretty easy. You are naturally slothful; in
fact, I may say you are lazy, and you----"
"Hold on there!" thundered the little man. "You may be as frank as you
please about yourself, but you had better be careful what you say about
me!"
"Touchy, eh?" sniffed Septemas Scudmore. "Not strange at all. Studious
inclination, close application to work, baffling researches, midnight
oil--these things irritate the nerves and make a man crusty. But then, I
don't think you ever hurt yourself by close application to work. You
must be naturally irritable."
Professor Scotch pranced up and down the room like an angry bantam.
"Sir," he cried, "you are altogether too free with your mouth."
"The Scudmores are naturally generous, so I can't help it. Keep calm,
sir. In some things we have an affinity. I can see it in your eye. I did
not anticipate meeting an affinity out here in this wild and heathenish
country."
"Affinity!" cried Scotch, scornfully. "A man with your tongue would be
an affinity for a cackling old woman!"
"That is your hastily formed opinion. Permit me to warn you against
forming opinions too quickly. It is a bad habit to get into, and----"
"Sir!" shouted the little man, "there is the door!"
Scudmore bowed profoundly.
"I noticed it when I came in," he chirped. "Very ordinary door, but I
don't suppose we can expect anything better out in this wild section of
the country."
Scotch was ready to tear his hair.
"Will you take a hint, or do you need a kick?" he bellowed, in his
hoarsest tone.
"A man with hair and whiskers colored like yours should always beware of
undue excitement. Don't think of kicking anybody, for you may lose your
dignity. Speaking about aerial navigation, beyond the shadow of a
doubt, I, Septemas Scudmore, A. M., B. A., LL. D., and B. C, have solved
the problem. I say beyond the shadow of a doubt, and I mean exactly what
I say. It is not a matter of fans and wheels----"
"I think it is a matter of wheels," broke in Scotch, "and they are in
your head."
Scudmore waved one thin hand loftily, his nose high in the air.
"Peace, professor, peace," he said. "It ill becomes you to interrupt a
fellow scientist. Hear me out."
"I had much rather see you out--of the door."
"I see you are skeptical--you doubt the practical and practicable value
of my invention. But you shall be convinced--you shall be my fellow
passenger on my first voyage through space."
"Not if I know myself!" shouted the little man. "You may be a fool,
but----"
"There are others, sir--there are others. I beg you to grant me this
favor. Think what an honor it will be to have it go abroad that you
accompanied Professor Septemas Scudmore on his first voyage in his new
airship."
"Oh, you make me very languid!" cried the little man, using a bit of
slang which he had heard from the lips of one of his youthful
companions.
"I am shocked--shocked beyond measure," declared the lank professor,
sinking his chin upon his bosom and looking reproachfully over his
spectacles at Scotch.
The three boys were enjoying this immensely. It was sport to Frank, who
saw in Septemas Scudmore a character worth studying. Barney laughed
heartily.
"Begorra!" cried the Irish lad, "it's shocked we all are. Th' profissor
has gone crazy, sure."
"If I have, it is not surprising, after what I have passed through. It
has been enough to drive any man insane."
"I fancy you are a person whose brain would not stand a severe strain,"
put in Scudmore.
"Oh, you do! Well, I have stood just all of this I can from you! There
is the door--get out!"
"And you decline the honor I have attempted to confer upon you?"
"I decline to talk further with a crank. Get out!"
Septemas Scudmore shook his head dolefully.
"I will do as you have so politely requested; but you will regret this
to your dying day. I shall hold no hardness against you. In fact, I am
sorry for you, as you----"
The little man could stand no more, and he actually drove Scudmore from
the room. When he came back, he found the boys laughing heartily, and
this caused him to drive them out also.
"It is doubtful if he will consent to allow me to accompany you, Clyde,"
said Frank, when they were outside. "He is an obstinate man when he sets
his mind on anything."
"Well," declared Walter, "I am sorry. We met by accident, and I took to
you in a moment. When you had heard my story and expressed a desire to
accompany me on my search for Uric Dugan, I was delighted."
"And I had no idea the professor would object. This is the first time he
has done anything of the sort; but it is true that we have run into many
perilous adventures, and he wishes to prevent such things in future."
"Whoy not run away an' go, Frankie?" asked Barney, whose thirst for
adventure was whetted to a keen edge. "It's mesilf thot would loike to
go hunting fer this colony av Danites."
Frank shook his head.
"I hardly feel like doing that," he said. "There is a bare chance that
the professor will relent. We will wait and see."
"There can be little waiting," said Clyde. "I start in the morning.
Everything is ready, and Graves and Kerney are eager to be off."
"Well, we'll see what the next few hours will bring forth."
Little did they dream of the surprising things the next few hours would
bring forth.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE MAD INVENTOR.
Frank and Barney were strolling about the place when they came upon
Professor Scudmore.
"Ha, young gentlemen!" cried the eccentric old fellow; "come with me. I
am about to start upon my trial voyage. The _Eagle_ is inflated and
ready to soar. I wish you to witness my triumph."
He took them outside the town to a secluded glen, in which was an old
cabin and a huge, odd-shaped arrangement of silk, fine wires, and
wickerwork. It was, in fact, a balloon, shaped like an egg, and inflated
with gas. To it was attached a large and comfortable car, and there were
two huge fore and aft rudders, together with some fan-like arrangements
that seemed to be sails. This strange contrivance was secured to the
ground by strong ropes.
"There!" cried Scudmore; "you now behold the _Eagle_, a flying-machine
that will fly, or, rather, sail. With the wind it will travel at
wonderful speed, and it can beat to windward like a vessel. I have been
at work upon it for years. Some time ago I perfected it, and I brought
it here for my trial voyage. I have set it up and inflated it without
attracting attention or advertising myself. I should not have called on
Professor Scotch, but I was full of enthusiasm, and thought it would be
a fine thing to have an eminent man like him accompany me on my first
voyage."
The boys looked at each other.
"Phwat do yez think av it, Frankie?" asked Barney.
"Can't tell," was the reply. "Let's look her over."
"That's right, look her over," urged Professor Scudmore. "I am going to
start at once, but I must first get aboard a few things that are in this
hut."
So the boys examined the airship, while the inventor brought bundles
from the hut and placed them in the car.
"Phwat do yez think now?" asked Barney, when they had looked it over
quite thoroughly. "Will she sail?"
"She will rise in the air, like an ordinary balloon," said Frank; "but I
am not satisfied that the rudders and sails will work."
"I will soon satisfy you on that point," said the professor, who
happened to be near enough to overhear their words.
Immediately he set about explaining everything in connection with the
handling of the singular craft, and it did not take him long to make it
seem an assured thing that the _Eagle_ could be steered in almost any
direction, and that, with the aid of horizontal rudders, she could be
brought to the ground or sent soaring into the air, without a change of
ballast or the body of gas.
Frank was intensely interested.
"It is remarkable, professor!" he cried. "Scotch made a mistake when he
refused to accompany you on your trial trip."
"Ha! You are a boy of sense! Saw it the first time my eye rested on you.
I will make you famous."
Frank looked surprised.
"How?"
"You shall accompany me on my trial trip."
"How long will it be?"
"As long, or as short as we choose to make it. What do you say? Decide
quickly. I am eager to be off."
"Can you take Barney along?"
"I can, but two is enough. I do not care for too many."
"Can you drop us in Blake by nightfall?"
"Yes."
"Well, if you will take us both, we'll go along, professor."
Scudmore considered, his right elbow resting in the hollow of his left
hand, the long forefinger of his right hand touching his forehead.
"I will do it!" he cried, with a snap. "Get in. We'll lose no more time.
In a few moments we shall be sailing away like a bird."
"Here goes, Frankie," grinned the Irish lad. "Av we're both killed, Oi
want yez to tell me ould mither how Oi died."
They entered the car, and Scudmore prepared to cast off. He was full of
anxiety and excitement.
At length but a single rope held the now swaying and surging air ship to
the ground.
"Here goes the last strand that ties us to earth!" cried the professor,
as, with the slash of a knife he severed the rope.
Up shot the air ship.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the inventor. "Who said I would fail! We are off!"
"Thot's all right," muttered Barney; "but will we ivver come back?"
"Look!" cried Frank, pointing downward; "there is Professor Scotch! We
are already passing over the town."
It was true; in a remarkably brief space of time the air ship had sailed
out of the glen and was rising above the town. Looking downward, they
saw Professor Scotch and a number of persons, including Walter Clyde and
two rough-looking companions, staring up at the _Eagle_.
"Good-by, professor," shouted Frank, leaning out of the car and waving
his hat. "We're off in search of the last of the Danites."
They saw the professor dance wildly around and beckon to them. Then his
voice came faintly to their ears:
"Here, here, you rascals! come right back here this minute! If you
don't, I shall have to----"
They could understand no more, for the swiftly rising air ship carried
them beyond the reach of his voice.
Professor Scudmore was chuckling to himself, as he worked at the
apparatus which controlled the sails and rudders.
"It is a success, and my fortune is made!" he was saying. "I shall
become richer than Jay Gould ever was! Ha! ha! ha! I shall not only be
rich, but I shall be honored!"
"Oi don't loike th' way he is actin', Frankie," whispered Barney. "Thot
laugh does not sound natural at all, at all."
"You are right," admitted Frank. "Is it possible we have started out on
this kind of a cruise with a man whose brain has been turned?"
"It may be thot."
"The situation will not be at all pleasant if it turns out that way."
"He is getting control av th' ship. See how he handles her now, me b'y."
It was true that the inventor was getting control of the _Eagle_, and he
was beginning to "put her through her paces," as it were. He ran before
the wind, then luffed and took first one tack and then the other. The
remarkable craft behaved very well.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the professor, wildly. "I am the king of the air!
I am the first man to make a successful air ship. The world and all its
countries are mine! I can destroy armies and change the destiny of
nations! I am the greatest man who ever lived!"
"By Jove!" muttered Frank, in alarm; "I believe the man is going mad!"
"It looks loike thot," admitted the Irish boy.
"In which case, this will be the worst scrape we ever got into, Barney.
That is plain enough to see."
"Roight, me laddybuck! An' th' professor will soay it wur judgment on us
fer runnin' away."
"He will. But we ought to be able to handle this man between us, if it
comes to a struggle with him."
"We can; but can we handle th' ship afther thot, Oi dunno?"
"That is a question we cannot answer till we try the trick. But there
may be no trouble at all with Scudmore if we do not anger him."
Below them lay a wild panorama of broken country, through which ran
Green River to plunge deep into the winding mazes of Labyrinth Canyon,
away to the southward.
Away to the west, beyond the San Rafael Swell, rose the Wasatch
Mountains; being much nearer than the Rockies to the eastward, and,
therefore, looking nearly as lofty.
To the north were Desolation Canyon and the Roan Cliffs, the latter
rising brown and bleak at the southern boundary of the Ute Reservation.
To the south of mighty Colorado, rolling through the dark depths of
canyons which seemed to sink deep into the bowels of the earth. Farther
to the south, beyond the Fremont, which as yet could not be seen, Mount
Pennell lifted its snow-capped summit eleven thousand feet in the air.
Mount Pennell was in the very heart of the mountain region in which the
last of the Destroying Angels had found homes.
"Professor!" said Frank, speaking gently.
"Ha! ha!" muttered the inventor, as he threw over a lever and sent the
_Eagle_ scooting in a breathless sweep toward the earth. "She is like a
bird! Up or down, to the right or left, she will sail in any direction."
"Professor!"
"Don't bother me now--don't bother me!" he almost snarled.
"I was a fool to take you along! I should have retained all the honor
for myself. Now you will share it. It will be published all over the
world that you accompanied Professor Scudmore on his trial trip in his
wonderful air ship."
He glared at them a moment, as if he longed to cast them overboard, and
then the handling of the craft claimed his entire attention.
"How do yez loike it, Frankie, me b'y?" asked Barney, with a sly nudge
at his companion.
"It is decidedly uncomfortable."
"Phwat shall we do--jump th' son-av-a-goon at wance?"
"Nothing of the sort. We will keep still, as if we are quite satisfied
and content. I will draw him into conversation when I think it proper,
and he may be brought round all right."
So the boys remained silent and passive, one of them constantly watching
Scudmore, so that they might not be taken by surprise, in case he took a
fancy to attack them.
He continued to mutter and talk to himself, now and then laughing in a
way that was not pleasant to hear.
The boys fell to wondering what the various bundles contained. Opening
one of them, covertly, they found it was a supply of dried beef.
"Great shmoke!" gasped Barney. "He has laid in a supply av provisions to
larrust a wake!"
Frank nodded.
"It looks that way; but these things are not all provisions. See there
at his side--one of those bundles contains firearms, for you may see the
muzzles of two rifles protruding. I fancy the bundle next to that
contains ammunition."
"Whoy, thot's enoogh to shtock a small arumy, Frankie!"
"A man like Professor Scudmore has very little notion as to what he
needs or desires, and so he is liable to obtain four or five times what
is necessary."
"Are you talking of me?" harshly demanded the inventor. "Then speak up
distinctly. I may think you are plotting against me--plotting to keep me
from reaching the land beyond the ice."
"The land beyond the ice?" cried Frank.
"That is what I said."
"Well, what did you mean? Whither are we bound?"
"For the South Pole," was the answer. "Ha! ha! ha! We will pass over the
ice floes and reach the land beyond them!"
CHAPTER XVII.
GONE.
All that day and far into the night the mad inventor held control of the
flying-machine, refusing to listen to reason or argument, and keeping
the boys at bay.
Some time in the night he fell asleep, and, when he awoke, he was
enraged to find himself bound hands and feet, while the boys were trying
to handle the _Eagle_.
"Let me go!" howled the mad professor. "You will send us to destruction!
You will plunge us to ruin!"
"Keep still!" commanded Frank, sternly. "You are no longer master here."
"Villain!" screamed the helpless man; "I know your scheme! You mean to
steal the _Eagle_! You mean to get rid of me, and then you will steal
the work of my brain and hands!"
"Don't fool yourself. If I ever get to solid ground again, you may have
your old air ship and sail away to the South Pole with it. I am figuring
on getting back to Blake."
"Te, he!" laughed the madman, suddenly. "Is that all you ask? Why, it is
very easy to fix that matter."
His voice was full of craft and deception.
"How would you fix it?" asked Frank.
"Set me at liberty, and I will take you back there."
"That sounds all right, but it is plain enough that you cannot be
trusted. I prefer to experiment a little myself, before letting you have
charge again."
"And you will bring us all to destruction!"
"Possibly I may. Keep still now, while I study out the working of these
levers and wheels."
But Scudmore would not keep still. He shouted and talked, urging them to
release him, begging and threatening by turns.
Meanwhile Frank and Barney were studying over the levers and wheels, and
they finally discovered how to send the air ship down toward the earth,
which lay asleep in the white moonlight.
They were directly over a mountainous region, having been soaring over
the loftiest peaks. The boys were somewhat benumbed by the chilly air,
but, as they came nearer to the earth, this numbness passed away.
"Are yez goin' ter land here, Frankie?" asked Barney, anxiously.
"I don't know," was the answer. "If we should happen to see a town----"
"Where do yez think we are?"
"That is another thing I don't know."
Down they went until Frank conceived a notion that they were near enough
to the earth; but when he tried to reverse the lever and ascend again,
it would not work.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the inventor. "It is retribution! We shall be
smashed into a thousand pieces when we strike. You will never steal the
_Eagle_ from me!"
Frank worked with all his energy, for they were sweeping toward the
earth at an alarming rate of speed.
The laughter of the deranged professor rang out louder and wilder than
ever.
"Oi think we're in fer it, me b'y!" gasped Barney.
"It looks like that," confessed Frank, as they barely cleared the crest
of a mountain and went diving down into the unknown depths of a valley.
"This confounded thing----"
Snap!--something broke, and their swift descent was suddenly checked,
but they continued to settle gently.
"Ah!" breathed Frank, with relief. "If this keeps up, we'll come down
all right."
"But it's nivver a bit can we tell where we'll land, me laddybuck."
"We'll have the satisfaction of getting on solid ground again, at least.
I am yearning to feel it beneath my feet once more."
It was not long before the _Eagle_ sank gently into the valley, settling
to the ground as lightly as a bird.
Out leaped the boys, ropes in their hands, and they quickly made the air
ship fast.
"Well, we are still living," said Frank.
"It's mesilf thot belaves we've much to be thankful fer," declared
Barney.
"I wonder where we are, and how near we are to civilization. I am
inclined to believe we cannot be far from the very region where the
colony of Danites is said to be located."
"Suffering cats!" gasped the Irish boy. "If thot is the case, how are we
ivver goin' to get out av here?"
"We'll have to trust to luck."
"Oi'll nivver thrust mesilf to thot air ship again."
"I do not care to do so, but we may have to do so whether we want to or
not."
"Well, we have enough to ate, an' some guns to protict oursilves with.
Oi am fer ixplorin' th' country before we do anything ilse."
"We can't do any exploring to-night."
"But we can early in th' marnin'."
So they provided themselves with two of the rifles, plenty of
ammunition, and much of the provisions in the car.
In the shelter of the valley the night was no longer cool, but was warm
and pleasant.
They found an overhanging shelf of rock where they could get close up
under a bluff, and it made quite a satisfactory camp.
For some time the boys lay and talked over their adventure, wondering if
they would get out of the predicament all right. At last they became
drowsy, and finally fell asleep.
They slept soundly till morning. Frank was the first to awaken, and he
shook Barney to rouse him.
"Come, you bit of the Old Sod," called Frank. "Turn out and pay for your
lodging."
"Begobs! Oi fale loike th' bed had been shtuffed with bricks. Hurro! Oi
must have fell out av bed in th' noight, an' dropped clane out av th'
windy. It's a bit av a kink Oi have in th' small av me back."
Barney sat up, making a wry face, and staring about in a bewildered way.
"Phwat howtil is this, Oi dunno?" he cried. "Have Oi been slapin', or
have Oi been in a thrance?"
"We came here in a flying-machine, you will remember."
"In a floying-machine? Oi thought Oi dramed it."
"It was no dream."
"Well, may Oi nivver live to see th' back av me neck!"
It took some time for the Irish boy to recover from his amazement.
"Where is thot floying-machine, Frankie?"
"It is just beyond this line of bushes, where we left it last night.
Professor Scudmore is tied up in the car, and I fancy he must be a bit
uncomfortable by this time. I did not mean to leave him that way so
long. It was rather heartless."
"Ye can't be aisy wid his koind, me b'y. There's no tellin' phwat
they'll do."
"That is true; but it is our duty to handle him as gently as possible.
He is a most unfortunate man. His air ship seems an assured success, and
yet he has lost his reason working over it."
The boys arose and passed round the bushes, Frank being in advance. A
cry of wonder and amazement broke from Merriwell's lips.
"The air ship!" he gasped.
"Phwat's th' matter?" asked Barney, quickly.
"It's gone!"
CHAPTER XVIII.
MISKEL.
"Gone!"
"That's what!"
"Where?"
"Sailed away."
It was true that the _Eagle_ was not where they had left it the night
before, and, looking all around, they could find no trace of it.
"Thot bates me!"
The knees of the Irish boy seemed to weaken beneath him, and he sank in
a limp heap on the ground.
"It beats the band!"
Frank was scarcely less broken up than his companion.
"How did it happen, Frankie? Th' ould thing didn't go off av itsilf, did
it?"
"Not much!"
"Phwat thin?"
"Professor Scudmore must have succeeded in releasing himself."
"Roight, lad; an' thin he skipped."
"As soon as he was free, he sailed away in the _Eagle_, and we are left
here in the heart of this mountainous region."
"Oi'm homesick! Oi wish Oi hadn't come!"
Frank laughed.
"This is not the worst scrape we have been in, by any means. We'll pull
out of this, with our usual good luck."
But a feeling of loneliness and desolation did settle heavily upon them,
for all that Frank made an effort to throw it off. The mountains lifted
their heads on every hand like mighty sentries that hemmed them in, and
they felt shut off from all the rest of the world.
When they fully realized that Professor Scudmore had released himself
and escaped in the air ship, they walked round the place where the
_Eagle_ had been left the night before, but they discovered nothing
beyond some severed bits of rope.
Then Frank became philosophical.
"We may as well take it easy," he said. "It is useless to make a fuss
about it. Here we are, and---"
"Where we are Oi dunno!"
"You know quite as well as I do, old man."
"All roight. Phwat will we do?"
"Find some water to wash down our breakfast to start with. After we have
eaten, we will feel better. Then we can settle on what we'll do next."
By rare good luck, they were near a spring of clear water, and it was
found without trouble.
"It was fortunate we took the rifles and provisions out of the car last
night," said Frank.
"Thot it wur," nodded Barney.
For all of their situation, they ate heartily, and, breakfast over, they
felt better. Then they sat and talked the matter over a while, finally
deciding to make an effort to get somewhere, and trust to fortune.
With the aid of the pieces of rope, they tied the provisions into
bundles, which were easily carried, and before long they struck out.
Barney trusted everything to Frank who took the lead, and they headed
for what seemed to be an outlet to the valley, away to the west.
During the next five days the boys passed through a few adventures, none
of which, however, have any bearing on this story. They wandered round
and round amid the mountains, finally coming back to the valley from
which they had started.
This was discouraging, but they started over again, and they finally
came to a narrow cut that seemed to lead into the very heart of the
mountain that loomed before them.
"We will try it," said Frank, leading the way.
They passed through the cut, after traveling many miles, and came into a
vast basin, with mountains looming on every hand.
"Pwhat do yez think, me b'y?" asked the Irish lad.
"It is not easy to tell what to think," was the reply. "However, I fear
we are in Water Pocket Canyon."
"Phwat about Water Pocket Canyon?"
"It is said to be fifty miles in length to ten or fifteen in width, and
to have no outlets."
"Well, this can't be th' place, me b'y, fer it has an outlet roight
here."
"But one that would not be easy to find, and so it might go forth there
were no outlets to the place."
"Begorra! it looks loike we naded Profissor Scudmore's floying-machane
to git out av this scrape."
"It does look that way. We seem to be getting tangled more and more. All
we can do is to make the attempt to get out."
"Av this is Warter Pocket Canyon, we may not be able to foind this pass
if we lave it."
"We will mark the spot some way."
"How?"
"That is the question. Wait till I find a way."
It was not easy, but Frank finally decided that he could tell the
mountain through the base of which the pass had seemed to wind.
Then they went into the wild and picturesque valley, while Frank
continued to look back at intervals in order to impress the appearance
of the mountain on his mind.
That night they camped beside a little stream that bubbled out from
beneath the base of a cliff, and it was found that their stock of
provisions was getting very low, even though they had preserved it as
far as possible by shooting and cooking wild game.
"We have got to get out av here soon, Frankie," said the Irish boy,
soberly.
Frank nodded.
"That is evident; but we are doing our best, and so we can do no
better."
Frank was somewhat disheartened, but he did not wish Barney to know it,
and so he pretended to be cheerful.
Darkness settled over the canyon, and the light of a tiny fire shone on
the faces of the young adventurers.
Frank seemed to be dreaming, for, with a far-away stare, he was gazing
straight into the flames, apparently quite unaware of his surroundings.
In the flaring fire he saw strange pictures of events in his own
career--a career such as had never before fallen to the lot of a boy of
his years.
He seemed to behold the scores of perils through which he had passed,
and before him seemed to flit the faces of the many friends and foes he
had made.
He saw the foes of his school days--Snell, Bascomb, Gage, and all the
others--skulk past in procession. Snell had a sneaking, treacherous look
on his face, Bascomb swaggered along in the old bullying manner, and
Gage seemed to be driven along by the Evil One, who was constantly
goading him to rash and desperate things. Then he saw the face of his
most deadly enemy, his own cousin, Carlos Merriwell; but it no longer
bore a look of malignant hatred, for it was white and cold in the last
long sleep.
There were other enemies who had sprung up along his path, but they
seemed like shadows in comparison to the ones of his school days.
Following these came others, and the dark look faded from his
countenance. He saw Bart Hodge, who had once been his bitter enemy, but
who had become his stanchest friend. Hodge held out a hand to him, as if
longing to render aid in this hour of need.
Then came scores of others, the cadets at Fardale, the professors, and,
last of all, the girls who had admired him and believed him noble and
true.
Elsie Bellwood smiled at him sadly, and pointed to a mighty barrier that
lay between them; Kate Kenyon tried to reach him, and then drew back,
with a hopeless shake of her head; others came and flitted past, and
last of all Inza Burrage was there, holding out her hands to him, her
dark eyes full of trust.
"Inza!"
The name fell from his lips, and it aroused him. Barney had fallen
asleep, and was snoring beside the fire.
But what was that? Did he still dream?
Just beyond the fire, within the outer circle of light, stood a girl!
Frank rubbed his eyes and looked again.
She was still there, and she was pressing a finger to her lips, as if
asking for silence.
"Great Scott!" muttered Frank, in a dazed way.
"Sh!" came back across the fire. "Do not wake him." She motioned toward
the sleeping Irish lad.
Frank pinched himself.
"Yes, I am awake myself," he said, guardedly. "And it is a girl--a
pretty girl at that! How in the name of all that is wonderful does it
happen there is a girl here?"
"You have no time to ask questions," came back swiftly, in a low,
musical voice. "You are in a bad snare, Frank Merriwell."
The boy started violently.
"How is it that you know my name?" he demanded, astonished beyond
measure.
"I tell you you have no time to ask questions. Why did you come here?"
"You seem inclined to ask questions. I came because I could not help
it."
"That is not true. You came to search for the hiding place of the last
of the Danites. You may as well confess it."
"But I tell you I had no idea of coming here when I started."
"I know more than your name, Frank Merriwell; I know that you were eager
to come in search of the place where Uric Dugan and a few of his former
friends have hidden themselves from the world, hoping to remain there in
peace to the end of their days."
Frank was filled with wonder unutterable.
"Are you a supernatural creature--a phantom?" he demanded. "If not, how
do you know that I ever heard of Uric Dugan?"
"I am not the only one who knows. Uric Dugan and his companions know it.
They are ready for you, and you have walked into their snare. You are
meshed."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that there is not one chance in ten thousand that you will ever
be able to escape alive."
"By Jove! the prospect is pleasant!"
"I am in earnest. The pass by which you entered this basin is already
guarded, and you cannot get out that way."
"Then we will have to get out some other way."
"There is but one other way, and that is also guarded. Do you see you
are snared?"
"If you are not mistaken, it looks that way. What can I do?"
The girl made a despairing gesture.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I have begged them to spare you--to shed
no more blood; but they say it is absolutely necessary in order that we
may continue to live here in peace. The world at large must not know
where to find the last of the Danites."
"If I give my pledge----"
"It will not be accepted. You are not the first to stray in here. Not
one of them has ever gone away to tell the tale."
Frank shuddered a bit, beginning to realize that the situation was
indeed a desperate one.
"If there is no chance for us to escape, why are you here to tell us?"
"I could not help warning you. I saw your fire twinkling, and I knew
that you would sleep beside it. In the night death would come down upon
you, and you would never awaken."
"Jupiter! That is interesting! I won't sleep for a week."
"Ah, but you cannot escape, even though you never again close your eyes
in sleep. You can only avoid your doom for a little time. My heart is
full of pity for you, but I am unable to do anything."
Her voice told him that she was sincere, and Frank thrilled with
gratitude toward her.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I am Miskel," she answered.
"Miskel! What an odd name! But you seem to be a most remarkable girl.
How does it happen that you are here?"
"My father is one of the last of the Danites, and I live here with him."
"Your father--who is he?"
"Uric Dugan!"
[Illustration: "You must not linger here. * * * Even now the Destroying
Ones may be moving to fall upon you." (See page 124)]
CHAPTER XIX.
OLD SOLITARY.
Frank uttered a low cry, causing Barney to start up.
"Pwhat's th' matter?" asked the Irish boy, reaching for his rifle. "Is
it Injuns, Oi dunno?"
"Easy, Barney!" cried Frank. "You will frighten her away from--Caesar's
ghost! She's gone!"
"Pwhat's thot? Who is she, me b'y? Is it dramin' ye wur, or have ye
wheels in yer head?"
"Neither. She was here a moment ago, and I was talking with her."
"Who is she?"
"Miskel."
"An' a broth av a name thot is! It's wheels ye have in yer head, me b'y;
Oi can hear thim goin' round."
Frank sprang up and passed round the fire.
"She disappeared like a phantom. I cannot understand how she came here,
or how she went away so swiftly."
Not a trace of her could be seen.
All at once, Frank whirled about and kicked the burning brands in all
directions.
"That fire shall provide no beacon for Uric Dugan and the Danites!"
exclaimed the boy.
"Pwhat do yez mane by thot?" asked the puzzled Irish lad. "Is it daft ye
have gone all at wance?"
Frank came swiftly to the side of his companion, a hand falling on
Barney's shoulder, as he said:
"We must get out of this, for it is likely our fire has been seen by
the Danites, who are somewhere near at hand."
"How do yez know thot, Frankie?"
"Know it? Why, she told me. She was here a minute ago, and you
frightened her away when you awoke."
Barney looked at his friend in a doubting way.
"Be aisy now, Frankie, and if ye can't be aisy, whoy jist be aisy as ye
can. This loife has affected yer brain, me b'y."
Frank saw Barney really thought he spoke the truth.
"You are wrong," he said. "I will explain what I mean, and I assure you
that I am in my sober senses."
Whereupon, he told Barney everything, and the Irish lad listened with
drooping jaw.
"Th' saints protict us!" he cried. "Pwhat are we goin' to do, Frankie?"
"Get out of this before Uric Dugan and his gang make us a call."
"They move swiftly as an arrow, and strike deep and sure. You have no
time to spare."
The voice was hollow and blood-chilling, coming out of the darkness as
from the depths of a mighty cavern, causing both lads to whirl,
clutching their weapons, ready for an attack.
"Who is there?" challenged Frank, sharply.
"One who will do you no harm," was the answer. "And I alone am able to
save you from Uric Dugan."
"Who are you?"
"I am known as Old Solitary."
Not far away could be seen the figure of a man, who seemed to be leaning
on a stout staff. He made no menacing move.
Barney's teeth were chattering.
"Tin to wan it is th' Ould B'y himsilf!" gasped the Irish lad.
Barney was very superstitious. While he was not afraid of anything made
of flesh and blood, whatever seemed supernatural filled him with the
greatest terror.
"Steady," warned Frank. "It is a human being, and he seems to be alone.
One man will not harm us."
"Not av he is a man."
"I am a man, and I mean you no harm," declared the same deep voice. "If
you will trust me, I may be able to save you. Look--I will advance, and
you may keep your weapons turned upon me."
The figure came forward through the gloom, and in a few moments he stood
close at hand, so they could see he was a man whose head was bare, and
whose white beard flowed over his chest. What seemed to be a staff at
first glance, proved to be a long-barreled rifle.
Barney was intensely relieved.
"It must be Santy Claus himsilf!" exclaimed the Irish lad.
"You must not linger here," said the stranger. "Even now the Destroying
Ones may be moving to fall upon you. They would wipe you from the face
of the earth, as they have wiped away hundreds and thousands. They are
terrible, and they are merciless. Their tongues are forked, and the
poison of adders lies beneath their lips. For the Gentile they know not
mercy. If the Mormon Church decrees that they destroy the babe at its
mother's breast, they snatch it away and dash out its brains. On their
knees innocent girls have pleaded in vain to be spared. Fathers and
mothers have fallen before them. Old men with snowy hair have been
slaughtered without pity. And chief among these inhuman monsters is
Dugan of the dark face. I know him, and I know that his heart is made of
adamant. But he shall not always escape the wrath to come. His days are
numbered, and the days of his merciless comrades are numbered! All are
doomed! Not one shall escape!"
"Easy, old man!" warned Frank. "Do you wish to bring them upon us? I
shall think you are in league with them."
"Not I! Come; I will lead you to a place of safety."
The boys hesitated.
"Shall we thrust th' spalpane?" whispered Barney, doubtfully.
"I don't see as we can do better," returned Frank. "We must take
chances."
"He may be wan av th' Danites, me b'y."
"He may be, but something tells me he is not."
"Thin how does it happen thot he is here?"
"That is something you can answer as well as I. Come, we will follow
him. Keep your weapons ready for instant use."
So they followed, and, old man though he was, they found it no easy
task, for he moved with a swinging cat-like step that carried him
swiftly over the ground.
All at once, he turned, with a low hiss, motioned for them to follow,
and, crouching low, crept behind some bowlders.
The boys followed, ready for a trap.
When they were behind the bowlders, the stranger whispered:
"They are coming--I hear their footsteps afar. They come swiftly, but
they will not find their prey. They are the last of the Danites, and
they are in hiding here amid these mountains, but they have not
forgotten how to strike and destroy. Crouch low, keep still, and you
shall see them pass."
It seemed that the old man's ears must be good, for it was quite a while
before the boys heard a sound. At length, with a sudden rush of feet,
six or eight dark figures flitted past and quickly disappeared.
"They come like shadows, and like shadows they go," softly breathed Old
Solitary. "The day has passed forever when their power is felt and
dreaded throughout Utah. Once they were far more dreadful than a
pestilence. Started upon the trail of a man who had been doomed by the
church, there was not one chance in ten thousand for him to escape. No
man could seek his bed at night and be sure he would not become the
victim of the Destroying Angels before dawn. No man could be sure he had
not done something to offend Brigham Young. If by any means he became
aware that 'the decree of death' had been made against him, it was no
better than useless for him to take to flight. He might flee to the
desert, but the Destroyers tracked him through shifting sands and across
waterless wastes till he was run to earth and his body was left for the
vultures and coyotes. If he plunged into the mountains, the canyons and
ravines were not deep enough or dark enough to hide him from the keen
eyes of the death-dealers on his track. Knowing his doom had been
decreed, he might flee madly from his home and his loved ones, his heart
alternating between hope and despair, knowing all the while that those
deadly pursuers were on his track, hurrying on and on when he was in
desperate need of rest, fearing to close his eyes in sleep, lest he open
them to look upon his murderers, weak for want of food, his throat
parched for a swallow of water, his blood pouring like melted lead
through his veins, his brain on fire, and still all his struggles were
unavailing. Relentless, unwearying, bloodthirsty and sure as death, the
Destroying Ones tracked him down. He might begin to fancy that he had
escaped, that he had thrown them off his trail. At last, overcome by
his terrible exertions, he might sleep, feeling certain that in a few
more hours he would be beyond their reach. They would come upon him like
shadows, and they would leave him weltering in his gore. A curse they
have been, and a curse they shall remain till the last one of them all
is perished from the face of the fair earth which they have polluted."
The boys were spellbound by the intense language of the strange man. All
fears that he might be one of the Danites departed from their minds.
"Begobs!" gasped Barney; "it's Satan's oun brewing they must be!"
"Come," said Old Solitary, "we must move on again. They will not find
you, and the morning will see them on your trail."
"If what you say is true, it were better to be trailed by bloodhounds or
wild Indians," said Frank.
"Far better. The Destroying Ones hastened to the slaughter with no more
mercy in their hearts than is to be found in the heart of a fierce
Apache. If they were instructed to kill, they believed it their
duty--more than that, they would suffer the tortures of hell if they
shirked or shrank from committing the deed."
"Oi'm not faling well at all, at all!" sighed Barney. "An' it's caught
we are in a place where such craythurs be! Och, hone! Whoy didn't we
shtay with th' profissor?"
Old Solitary again flitted away, and they hastened along at his heels.
Now he was silent of lip and silent of foot. He seemed more like a
shadow than anything else.
For more than an hour he led them forward with great swiftness, and then
they came to a small stream.
"You must cover your trail," said the old man. "Follow me."
He stepped into the running water, walking along the bed of the stream.
They did not hesitate to follow in his footsteps.
Before long they came to where the stream fell splashing and tinkling
down the mountain.
"Up," said Old Solitary.
It was a difficult climb, but the boys were young athletes, and they
would have been ashamed to let the man with the white hair and beard
climb where they could not go.
The stream was left, and, clinging to the points of rock with hands and
feet, the old man still mounted higher and higher. He seemed to know
every inch of the way, which became more and more difficult for the
lads.
"Begorra!" gurgled Barney; "we'll nivver get down from here, Frankie, me
jool."
"Well, we'll have no call to kick, if the Danites do not get up to us."
"Thot's right."
"But I cannot help thinking of Miskel's words. She declared that we were
hopelessly snared."
"She may have troied to scare ye to death, lad."
"Well, what Old Solitary has said about the Destroying Angels has not
made me feel any easier."
At last they came to a shelf of rock, along which they crept, inch by
inch, clinging fast and feeling their way, with a blue void of night
above and beneath them.
All at once a black opening in the face of the bluff yawned before them,
and they saw the man of the white hair and beard standing in the mouth
of a cave.
"This is my home," declared Old Solitary. "They have not dared attack me
here, even though they know where to find me. They consider me
harmless, but some day they shall know the difference. Uric Dugan shall
know my power!"
He turned and entered the cave, and, still trusting all to him, they
felt their way along after him.
CHAPTER XX.
MOUTH OF THE CAVE.
After a time, Old Solitary lighted a torch, and they were enabled to
follow him with greater ease.
He led them into a circular chamber, where there was a bed of grass and
some rude furniture of his own manufacture.
"This is my home," declared the strange man. "For the present, you are
safe here; but there is no way of getting out of here without passing
through territory where the Danites will be found."
"Then we are still in the meshes," said Frank.
"You are still in the very heart of Danite land."
"If what you say is true, then we cannot be safe here, for those human
beasts know we are somewhere in the net, and they will find us, no
matter what our hiding place may be."
"That is true, but it will take time, and they fear me. They will not
rush hither. You may sleep without fear to-night."
"Surely we have need enough of sleep."
"Then do not hesitate to slumber, for I need little sleep, and I will
see that no harm comes to you."
Frank would have questioned the man, but when he tried to do so in a
manner that would not be offensive, Old Solitary suddenly became dumb,
paying no heed to anything that was said.
Frank and Barney talked for a long time. They were impressed with the
belief that they were in the gravest peril, and yet they could do
nothing more to save themselves till the opportunity came. To a large
extent, they were in the hands of fate.
Never before in all his life had Frank been utterly controlled by a
feeling of utter inability to avert destruction by any effort of his
own, even though his hands were free and he was armed. It seemed as if
they had been doomed and were in a snare from which there could be no
possible escape.
Everything must be trusted to Old Solitary, that was certain. Feeling
thus, Frank flung himself down on the bed of grass, and was soon
sleeping soundly.
It did not take Barney long to follow the example of his friend.
They slept for hours. When they awoke the torch had burned out, and the
chilly darkness of the cave was dense around them.
"I wonder where Old Solitary is?" said Frank.
They called to him and their voices echoed hollowly along the passages.
No answer came.
"Begorra!" cried the Irish boy; "It looks loike he had left us to
oursilves."
"It does seem that way," admitted Frank.
Our hero remembered seeing in a niche the night before a collection of
sticks that he fancied were for torches, and so, lighting a match, he
sought them. He had made no mistake, for one of them lighted readily.
"Our weapons are all right," he said, having made an examination. "It is
probable that Old Solitary will soon return."
They waited an hour, but the strange man did not appear. Both grew
restless, and finally started out to explore the cave.
With the aid of the torch, they picked their way along one of the
passages. They were surprised at the distance traveled, and wondered
when and where they would come out.
Finally, a gleam of light was seen ahead, and, as they came nearer, the
torch was extinguished.
Climbing up a steep slope, they lay on their stomachs and peered out
into the depths of a circular pocket that was inclosed by mountains on
three sides.
An exclamation broke from the lips of both.
"A camp!" cried Frank.
"It's a town, me b'y!" Barney almost shouted. "We're all roight, afther
all!"
"Easy!" cautioned Merriwell, quickly. "Keep your voice down. It is a
town, but it is not the kind of a town we care to enter."
"Pwhat's th' matther wid it?"
"It is the town of the Danites. This is their retreat, where they have
hidden themselves from the rest of the world."
Barney was soon convinced that Frank was right, and the boys drew back a
bit, taking care not to be seen by anybody below them.
There was a collection of eight buildings upon which the morning sun was
shining, six of which were dwelling houses, and two of which seemed to
be stables. Taken all together, they made quite a little village.
The doors of many of the houses were open, and men were seen lounging
about. Occasionally a woman could be seen, and there were a few children
at play.
"Here live the last of the terrible organization that has shed the blood
of hundreds of Gentiles," said Frank. "These men were known to be
leaders, and the fate of John D. Lee was a warning to them. They saw the
church could no longer protect them, and so they fled here. It is
possible that some of those old men down there were concerned in the
Mountain Meadow Massacre."
"It's the divvil's own set they are, to be sure."
"They have never hesitated to shed blood, and our lives will not be
worth a pinch of snuff if we fall into their hands."
"Pwhat are we goin' to do?"
"That remains to be seen. For the present, we seem to be safe where we
are. It is plain this cave extends through a spur of the mountain, and
we are looking out on a side far from where we entered. It is also
possible that, even now, some of these creatures may be climbing to the
other entrance."
"Howly shmoke!"
"I said possible, not probable. I am trusting much to Old Solitary."
The boys lay there a long time, talking and peering down into the
village of the Danites. They did not see a lithe, agile figure that was
climbing in their direction. At length, having climbed as far as
possible, this figure reached a stopping place, still below and at one
side.
"Great shnakes!" gasped Barney, clutching Frank's arm. "Will yez take a
look at thot!"
He pointed toward the figure.
"Caesar's ghost! It is Miskel!"
"Pwhat is she doin' there, me b'y?"
"She seemed to be looking this way. I wonder if she has seen us here?"
"Oi dunno."
"She acts as if she has."
"Thot she does."
"She is hidden from the camp below by that mass of bowlders beside her,
and she acts as if she were trying to keep out of sight of them down
there."
"Pwhat's thot she has in her hand?"
"A bow. That is a perfect picture of the nymph Diana."
"Ay she ounly had some hounds an' a stag at hand."
"See--she has taken an arrow from a quiver at her back, and she seems to
be attaching something to it. By the way she looks up here I should say
she is measuring the distance with her eye, to see if she can make the
arrow reach."
It certainly looked that way, and the boys watched her every movement
with the keenest interest, still keeping as far concealed as possible.
Once Miskel lifted the bow and drew it taut, but something did not
satisfy her, and she lowered it. After some moments the bow was lifted
again, and then the arrow sailed upward through the air.
"It's coming!"
Both boys dodged.
Zip--click! The arrow cut through the air, sailed in at the opening of
the cave, struck the face of the rock, and dropped to the ground.
Frank quickly picked it up.
"Ha!" he exclaimed. "Look, Barney--a bit of paper is attached here!
There is writing on it! Ten to one it is a message!"
Eagerly he removed the bit of paper that was tied to the arrow, and he
soon read aloud what was written on it.
"FRANK MERRIWELL: It is known that you are there, but you are safe
for the present, although still meshed and unable to escape. My
father fears Old Solitary; but there are others who do not, and
your refuge will not long continue a safe one. Your friends have
arrived, and they are already in the snare, so it is not likely you
will ever see either of them alive. MISKEL."
The last sentence filled both boys with the utmost wonder and
perplexity.
"What does it mean?" asked Frank.
"Thot Oi'll nivver tell!" cried Barney.
"My friends? Whom can she mean? Who is it that is already within the
snare?"
"Ax me something aisy!"
"And the Danites know where we are hidden!"
"Thot's pwhat she says, av ye read it roight."
"It is very comforting to know it! Uric Dugan fears Old Solitary, but
there are others who do not."
"It's the others we nade to be afeared av, me lad."
"You are right. We must be constantly on our guard. Both of us must not
sleep at the same time; we must take turns at sleeping. In that way we
should be able to know when they try to come upon us, and we will sell
our lives as dearly as possible."
"Av we've got to doie, Oi'd loike to wipe out the gang av spalpanes down
there."
"Were they other than the murderous wretches they are, I should feel
pity for them; but, as it is, there is no pity in my heart. It is a just
retribution that they are outcast from their fellow-creatures, are
forced to hide like hunted beasts, that they live in terror each day and
each night of their lives."
"But this will nivver tell us who our friends are thot have entered th'
snare, Frankie."
"No; nor do I know how we are to find out."
"Th' girrul----"
"Is descending."
It was true. Having accomplished her purpose in climbing up there,
Miskel was descending. She was as sure-footed and agile as a mountain
goat, and it was a pleasure to watch her.
"Frankie, she is a jool! An' do yez soay her fayther is ould Uric Dugan
hissilf?"
"So she told me."
"It's a shame! Av it weren't fer thot, Oi'd thry me hand at makin' a
mash on th' loikes av her."
Frank was silent; he seemed to be thinking.
"I have it!" he finally cried, striking his hands together.
"Kape it," advised Barney. "It's th' ounly thing ye're loikely to get
around this place, my laddybuck."
"By my friends she must have meant Walter Clyde and his companions,
Graves and Kerney. They have had time to cruise down the river, and they
are here. I'll wager that I am right!"
"Ye may be. But soay! Look down there. So hilp me, there come some ay
th' spalpanes, an' they have a prisoner!"
Barney was right. Several Danites were entering the pocket, conducting
in their midst a captive. He was a small man, with red hair and
whiskers.
"Heavens above!" gasped Frank, thunderstruck. "It's Professor Scotch!"
CHAPTER XXI.
HUMAN BEASTS.
It was indeed the little professor, who had, in some unaccountable
manner, fallen captive to the Danites.
How it had happened the boys could not conceive.
"Be jabez! thot bates me!" gurgled Barney Mulloy, his eyes bulging.
"It's hundreds av moiles from here Oi thought th' professor wur this
minute."
"And I thought the same," said Frank. "How it comes that he is here I
cannot understand."
"It's a moighty bad scrape he is in, me b'y."
"That is right. Now I know what Miskel meant when she said my friends
had arrived and were already in the snare."
"The profissor makes but wan, an' she said 'friends.'"
"That is right. She must have meant Clyde and the others. That would
make it appear that the professor came with them."
"Sure."
"In that case, where are Clyde and the two explorers, Graves and Kerney?
Have they been killed already?"
"It moight seem thot way."
"It appears likely; but, if such is the case, I cannot understand why
Professor Scotch was spared."
"No more can Oi, Frankie."
The boys were at their wits' end, and they were in an intensely agitated
frame of mind.
Suddenly Frank clutched Barney's arm, pointing down into the pocket, and
crying:
"Look! look! the professor has broken away! He is running for his life!
But he cannot escape! They are hot after him."
It was true. The little man had made a desperate break for liberty, but
it was folly to do so, as the Danites soon overtook him. One of them, a
stout man, with a short white beard, held a revolver in his hand. He
reversed the weapon, grasping it by the barrel, and struck the professor
down with the butt.
The sight made Frank's blood boil.
"I will remember that wretch!" grated the boy, his eyes glowing. "If we
do not get out of here, I may be able to square a score with him!"
Barney was scarcely less wrought up.
"Poor profissor!" he exclaimed. "It's loikely the divvils will finish
him now."
The Danites stood over the man, who had fallen on his face, and lay in a
huddled heap. They were talking loudly and making excited gestures. It
was plain that they were discussing the advisability of dispatching
Professor Scotch without delay, and, judging from his movements, the man
with the short white beard was for finishing him without delay. Twice
the man pointed his revolver at the prostrate figure, and twice a
younger man seemed to urge him to spare the unlucky man's life.
"If he shoots, I'll try a shot at him from here!" cried Frank. "I may
not be able to reach him, but I'll try it."
A third time the man pointed his revolver at the motionless form of the
man who lay huddled on the ground. This time no one of the group
interfered; all stood back, and the younger man, who had twice saved
Scotch's life, turned away, plainly unwilling to witness the deed.
"He's going to shoot!" panted Frank, pulling forward his rifle, and
bringing it to his shoulder. "I will----"
"Wait a bit, me b'y. Look there! Th' litthle girrul is thrying to save
him."
"God bless her!"
Miskel had rushed into the midst of the men, and she was seen pleading
with the man who seemed determined to kill the professor. At first, it
seemed that she would fail, but she finally prevailed, and the man put
up his weapon, with a gesture of angry impatience. Then he seemed to
give some orders, and the unconscious captive was lifted and carried
toward the camp.
"He is saved for the time," breathed Frank, with relief; "but it is
simply a respite."
"Thot is betther than nothing, me b'y."
"Yes, it is better than nothing. Barney, I have a scheme."
"Spake out, Frankie. Me ears are woide open to-night."
"If they spare Professor Scotch till to-night, we will go down there and
attempt his rescue."
"Oi'm wid yes, me b'y, to th' ind."
They watched the men bear the unfortunate professor into the camp, and
noted carefully the building into which the man was taken.
"We must make no mistake to-night, Barney. It is our duty to do our best
to save Professor Scotch."
"An' we'll do our duty av we nivver do anything ilse, begorra!"
"You are bold lads," said a voice behind them; "but you cannot save him
from Uric Dugan."
They whirled swiftly, and found Old Solitary had come up behind them,
without being heard.
"I found you had awakened," said the strange man; "and I wondered if you
had come here."
"And we wondered where you had gone."
"I went forth to see what I should see," he said, in a peculiar manner.
"Voices far away in empty space were calling to me--calling, calling,
calling!"
The boys shot hasty glances at each other, the same thought flitting
through the minds of both.
They had dealt with one maniac, and now was it possible that they were
to encounter another?
It had been dark when Old Solitary came upon them the night before, and
so they were unable to study his face; but now they saw that his eyes
were restless and filled with a shifting light, while his general
appearance was that of a man deranged.
Quickly leaning toward Barney, Frank whispered:
"He must be humored; don't anger him."
The man, although he could not have heard the words, noted that
something was said, and he cried:
"Why do you whisper together. Would you betray me? Is there no one in
the wide world I can trust?"
"Betray you?" said Frank. "To whom can we betray you? You have us in
your power, and you can betray us to the Danites, if you choose. You
need not fear that we shall betray you."
"Then it must be that you are afraid of me. All the world seems to fear
me. Why is it so? What have I ever done to make men afraid of me?"
"Nothing evil, I am sure."
"And you are right. It cuts me to have men shrink from me; but they do,
and I have become an outcast. There is something wrong about me--I feel
it here."
His hand was lifted to his head, and his face wore a look of deep
distress. He seemed to realize, in an uncertain way, that he was not
quite right in his mind.
"You have lived so much by yourself that you have grown unsocial," said
Frank. "That must be the trouble."
Old Solitary shook his head.
"That is not it. Listen, and I will tell you something. Uric Dugan
hates and fears me. I do not care for that; it gives me satisfaction.
Still I do not know why it gives me satisfaction, for it pains me when
others shrink away in fear. Dugan would kill me if he could, and still
he seems to regard me as one risen from death. Can you tell me why?"
He paused, looking at them in an inquiring way.
"You can't tell," came swiftly from his lips, as Frank was about to
speak. "No one can tell. I do not know myself. My memory is broken into
a thousand fragments. Some things I remember well; some things I do not
remember at all. There was a time when I was young, and I had friends.
Who were my friends? What has happened to rob me of my memory? I believe
Uric Dugan can tell me. If I had not believed so, Dugan should have died
long ago. Scores of times I have held his life in the hollow of my hand.
I have longed to slay him--to kill him for some wrong he has done me. My
hand has been held by a power I could not see. A voice has whispered in
my ear, 'Wait.' I have waited. For what? I do not know."
He bowed his head on his breast, over which flowed his long white beard,
and his attitude was one of intense dejection.
The boys were silent, wondering at the strange man who had befriended
them.
Some moments passed.
"By going forth early I saw many things," the man finally declared,
speaking quietly. "You are not the only ones who have strayed into the
net of the Danites."
"We have been informed there are others," said Frank.
"Informed? How?"
Frank told how Miskel had shot the message into the mouth of the cave.
"I have seen her hundreds of times," slowly spoke Old Solitary. "She
has a good face. It does not seem possible that she is his daughter--the
daughter of Uric Dugan. I think the memory of her face has spared his
life at times. But it will not be ever thus. The time will come when I
shall steel my heart."
"We have just seen the Danites bear a captive into their village, and
that captive is my guardian."
"A small man with reddish hair and beard?"
"Yes."
"I saw him captured. He had wandered from others. From a height I saw
them all."
"How many are there?"
"There were four, but two of them are Danites."
"What's that?"
"It is true. The man of the sandy beard and the boy came here with two
of Uric Dugan's wretched satellites."
"Howly saints!" gasped Barney.
"He must mean the explorers, Graves and Kerney," said Frank.
"They were not explorers; if they said so, they lied. Caleb Kerney is
one of the old band of Danites, as bloodthirsty and relentless as the
worst of them. Colton Graves is the son of Pascal Graves, once a leader
of the Destroying Angels--a man whose hands were dyed with innocent
blood. They went forth, with others, to bring provisions from the
settlements. All of the others have returned before them."
"And they led Walter Clyde and Professor Scotch into this snare!" said
Frank. "They found out that Walter was coming this way to search for the
retreat of the Danites, and they led him here, with the intention of
destroying him."
"Thot's roight, me b'y," nodded Barney.
"Kerney slipped away, and hastened ahead to tell Uric Dugan who was
coming," said Old Solitary, who seemed to know all that had taken
place. "Graves remained to guide the victims to their doom."
"Is it possible such monsters can continue to live and carry on their
murderous work?" exclaimed Frank.
"Some day Ko-pe-tah will find the way in here," laughed Old Solitary.
"Who is Ko-pe-tah?"
"A Navajo chief who hates Uric Dugan, and has tried to kill him. Twice
within two years has Ko-pe-tah brought his braves into these mountains,
searching for some access to this valley. The last time he was here, he
found the passage by which you entered. Four of the Danites held the
passage against a hundred warriors, and the Navajoes were repulsed. But
Ko-pe-tah swore he would come again. If he ever gets in here, woe unto
the Danites!"
"How did it happen that we came through that passage without being
stopped?"
"You were alone, two boys. You were seen, and were allowed to enter, for
they knew you could not escape. They made sure of you by letting you
walk into the trap."
"But Ko-pe-tah was held out."
"Because he had a hundred warriors behind him, and he would destroy the
Danites if he got inside."
This was logical enough, and, at that moment Old Solitary scarcely
seemed like a person deranged.
Frank spent some moments in thought, and then asked:
"Are Clyde and Graves still together?"
"They are."
"And Clyde has no knowledge that Graves is other than what he
represented himself to be?"
"It is not likely that he has."
"He must be warned."
"It is too late.'
"Why?"
"Before you can reach him the Danites will have him in their power."
"That is not certain," cried Frank, starting up. "Come, we will try to
save him. Lead us to him."
"You shall see that what I say is true," said Old Solitary.
He motioned for them to follow, and led the way back along the passage,
the torch having been relighted.
Through the main chamber they passed, and came to another passage, which
finally brought them out far from the mountain pocket in which was the
home of the Danites.
"Look," directed Old Solitary, touching Frank's arm and pointing across
the wide canyon. "Away there you see figures moving amid the rocks. They
are human beings with hearts of beasts. They are Danites, and they are
creeping like panthers upon their victim, the boy you call Walter
Clyde."
CHAPTER XXII.
PROFESSOR SCUDMORE RETURNS.
"We must aid him!" cried Frank.
"Thot's right," agreed Barney.
"It's too late," declared Old Solitary.
"Too late--why?"
"Long before we can get down into the valley the boy will be killed or
captured."
"And must we remain idle and witness the butchery? It is terrible! I
feel that I must do something."
"An' Oi fale th' soame, Frankie, me b'y."
"Look again," directed the strange man of the mountains. "The boy has
discovered his enemies. See--he has leaped behind some rocks! Graves is
with him. The man is playing his part still. It must be that the boy has
called on his enemies to halt. They are hiding. See there! one of them
is preparing to shoot at the boy. Watch! The boy will be killed! No, he
has changed his position. The man fired too late."
Frank and Barney were intensely excited as they watched what was taking
place in the canyon. Clyde, after leaping to the shelter of the rocks,
had changed his position just in time to save himself from being shot.
One of the Danites took careful aim, a puff of smoke shot from the
muzzle of his rifle, and, some time later, the report of the weapon
reached the ears of the trio at the mouth of the cave.
But Providence must have watched over Walter Clyde then, for the boy
moved a moment before the rifle sent forth its dead messenger, and he
escaped the bullet. Whirling swiftly, he brought the butt of his rifle
to his shoulder, and fired straight into the midst of the puff of smoke.
"Hurro!" shouted Barney.
"He nailed the wretch!" cried Frank, with satisfaction.
It was true, Clyde's bullet knocked the man over in a twinkling, and he
lay writhing amid the rocks.
"He is a brave boy," muttered Old Solitary. "It is a pity he cannot
escape! He is but one of hundreds of brave hearts butchered by the
Danites."
There was a lull far across the canyon.
"What is coming now?" speculated Frank. "The Danites seem dazed."
"Look, and you shall see what is coming," said Old Solitary, his fingers
again closing on our hero's arm. "You can see Clyde's companion, the
treacherous Graves. Watch; ah! I knew it!"
Graves was seen to rise behind Clyde, uplift some weapon in his hand,
and strike the boy prostrate.
Then, with a yell that faintly reached the ears of the watching three,
the Danites scrambled over the rocks.
"The tragedy is over," said Old Solitary, solemnly. "The deadly work is
done. Poor boy!"
"Poor boy!" echoed Frank.
"It's dearly th' spalpanes will pay fer this noight!" grated Barney
Mulloy. "It's nivver a bit will Oi hesitate about stoppin' wan av th'
divvils from b'rathin' av Oi get a chance."
"I do not think my conscience will trouble me much if I am forced to
finish one of them," said Frank, huskily.
"They are beasts--human beasts!" declared Old Solitary. "It is not a sin
to place such where they can do no harm to the rest of the world."
"Sin!" exclaimed Barney. "It's a deed av charity!"
The Danites were seen leaning over their victim. In a few moments they
lifted Clyde to his feet, and then it was evident that the boy had not
been slain outright, but had been stunned long enough for them to make
him their captive.
"It were better if they had killed him quickly," said Old Solitary.
"I don't know about that," panted Frank. "Where there is life there is
hope."
"All who enter this canyon may leave hope behind."
"Av they let th' poor lad live till to-night, we'll do our bist fer
him," said Barney.
"That we will," nodded Frank.
Clyde seemed to have recovered, and now he was marched along in the
midst of his captors, who moved straight toward the pocket where the
homes of the Danites were located.
For all of their situation, Frank Merriwell had not given up hope. He
was young, and he still believed that all evil things come to an evil
end, and all good things eventually triumph. He had not grown cynical
and pessimistic.
Drawing back into the mouth of the cave, the trio watched the Danites
march across the canyon with their captive.
Graves was with the men, and he no longer pretended to be friendly to
the boy. At last Clyde knew him for what he actually was.
At length the entire party passed from view on their way to the pocket.
Then Old Solitary led the boys back into the cave, where they ate
breakfast, such as it was, and attempted to lay plans for the coming
night.
It was a long, dreary, wretched day they spent in the cave. Many times
they went to the opening where they could look down into the Danite
village. Once they saw Uric Dugan, and once they saw Miskel, his
daughter.
But the day passed on, and, to their intense relief, they saw nothing to
indicate that the captives were executed.
Night came at last.
The boys were eager to be astir. Their blood was throbbing hotly in
their veins, and they felt capable of any deed of daring.
They looked to their weapons, making sure everything was ready for
business, and then they followed Old Solit
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