The Border Boys on the Trail

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE HERMIT OF THE CANYON.

  After some difficulty they found a place in the side of the watercourseup which the ponies could scramble. The little animals were soon oncemore among the rough, broken ground and stiff scrub brush of the upperfoothills. The way was steeper now, and even the inexperienced Jackknew that they must be approaching the mountains themselves. Presentlyin fact, the darker outlines of the range could be seen dimly againstthe night, looking at first more like a darker portion of the skyitself than a solid body reared against it.

  "Rough going," muttered Pete, "but these little skates are jack rabbitsat the work."

  "There goes Ramon and his outfit," exclaimed Jack a minute later, whenafter one of their listening pauses they heard a clattering of hoofsand confused shouts and baying far below them.

  "Yep, and I guess he's a worried greaser right now," grinned Pete. "Yousee he'll be figuring that if we get clear away it won't be long beforehe has the soldiers after him and his precious bunch."

  "The soldiers?" asked Jack, "United States cavalry men? Why it willtake a week to get them."

  "No, sonny, not United States chaps, more's the pity. A few of our bluebreeches would clean out that confabulation in double-quick time. No,the military I refer to are the Mexican troops. If it's a Saint's dayor anything, when they get the order to move they won't budge."

  "What, they'll refuse duty?"

  "Yep. They'll sit around and smoke cigarettes and play dice till theyget good and ready to move, that's the kind of soldier men they haveover the border."

  "Well, why can't some of our fellows get after Ramon?"

  "If they could, sonny, the whole question of trouble on theborder would be over and done with. But you see there's some sortof law--international law, they call it--that works all right inWashington, and so the big bugs there figure out it must be allright here. We couldn't send troops into Mexico after those greasercattle-rustlers any more than they could send after the rascals thatget from Tamale land into the States."

  "Then it works both ways?"

  "That's just the trouble, it don't. All the Mexican rascals get cotchedwhen they cross into the States, but all kinds of rascals, white,black, yellow and red, escape all their troubles by skipping interMister Diaz's country."

  "That doesn't seem fair."

  "Nor does lots of things in this old world, son, but we've got to grinand bear it, I reckon, just as Ramon ull have to do if he don't pick upour trail."

  Such progress did the fugitives make that night that by the time theirguiding star began to fade in the sky they found themselves in a wildca?on, rock walled, and clothed, in places where vegetation could findroot-hold, with the same fir, madrone and pi?on as Grizzly Pass. Therising sun found them still pressing onward. They did not dare to stop,for although they were pretty sure none of the Mexicans would havefollowed thus far, they were aware that it would be folly to halt tillthey had put all the miles possible between them and their enemies.

  "There's one thing we know now, anyhow," said Pete with somecomplacency, as they rode on over the rocky ground among thepungent-smelling mountain bay bushes, "and that is that the ca?ons inthese hills split north and south, so that we won't stray that way."

  "I read somewhere, too, that you can tell the north because there'smore moss on the trunks of the trees on the north side than any other,"announced Jack with some pride.

  To his chagrin, Pete burst into a laugh.

  "That might be all right in Maine, son, for city hunters, but what areyou going to do out here where all the water these hills and trees getis needed for something else than moss-making?"

  It was about noon, and in that deep gulch the sun was beating downoppressively, when Jack gave a sudden cry.

  "Look, Pete, look--a trail!" he cried.

  Sure enough, winding among the brush there was a small trail just wideenough for a horse to travel in. The brush scraped their legs as theyrode along it.

  "Might as well follow it, I guess," said Pete, after a carefulscrutiny. "Only one man been along here, so far as I can see. We'restill on the Mex. side, though, so have your shooting iron ready incase we run into trouble."

  With every sense alert, they rode on for a mile or more, when suddenlythe trail gave an abrupt turn, and they saw before them a small hutfashioned roughly out of logs, stones and brush. From its chimney bluesmoke was pouring, scenting the woods about with a pleasant incense.

  "Cooking," cried Pete, "and that reminds me that my appetite and mystomach have been fighting like a cat and a dog for the last two hours."

  "I could eat something myself," said Jack. "We haven't had a bitesince yesterday noon, you know."

  "That's so," assented Pete. "We've been so busy, though, I nevernoticed it till just now."

  "That's queer," said Jack, noting the same curious fact; "neither didI. But I do feel ravenous enough to eat a rhinoceros now."

  "Wonder where the boss of this sheebang is?" queried Pete, as on acloser approach no sign of life was apparent about the place.

  "Well, he can't be out calling on neighbors," laughed Jack.

  "I guess there's no harm in just looking in and taking a peep."

  "Better be careful," said Jack. "I've heard that these mountain hermitsare a queer lot, and this one might shoot us."

  "Hi-yi!" yelled Pete suddenly, "look at that!"

  Jack looked, and saw that projecting through a cranny in the stone wallwas the rusty muzzle of a rifle, seemingly of big caliber.

  There was something uncanny in the sight of this sinister weapon, aimeddead at them, with apparently no human hand to guide it.

  "Better get out of range, son," warned Pete, reining over his pony;"that feller might be nervous on the trigger."

  But as they swung to one side of the trail the ominous rifle barrelfollowed, still keeping them covered.

  "Confound the fellow!" burst out Jack, hardly knowing whether to beamused or angry, "what does he mean?"

  "Business, apparently," grunted Pete dryly.

  "Hi, amigo!" the cow-puncher suddenly shouted.

  A rude query in Spanish came back from inside the hut.

  "Wants to know who we are," he said in an aside to Jack. Then to thehermit:

  "We are hunters, and lost in the mountains. Can we get food and waterand some fodder for the ponies?"

  An almost unintelligible answer came back.

  "Wants us to lay down our rifles," translated Pete. "What do you say?"

  "I guess we'll have to," said Jack. "I'm so hungry that I feel as ifI'd risk anything for a square meal."

  "That's the way I feel," agreed Pete. "The ponies, too, are pretty wellplayed out. Reckon we'd better do as he says."

  Accordingly, the rifles were dropped on the ground at the ponies'sides, and presently the rusty rifle barrel was withdrawn.

  "What now?" wondered Jack.

  The solitary ca?on-dweller presently appeared at the door of his hut.He was an old man in ragged garments, so tattered as to here and thereexpose his flesh. His face was wrinkled till it resembled a monkey'smore than a human being's. The lower half of his countenance wascompletely covered by a huge matted growth of white beard. He stillkept his aged rifle in his hand as he faced his visitors, as if he wasafraid of some treachery.

  "Better tell him that we don't mean him any harm," suggested Jack.

  Pete translated the boy's remark to the hermit, who chattered rapidlyin Mexican in response. While he was talking Jack eyed the queer oldman.

  "I believe he is crazy," he said to himself. The hermit's beady eyeshad a malevolent glare in them, and when they fell on him Jack felt acreepy sort of sensation.

  "I don't half like the idea of going into that old fellow's hut," hetold himself, "but I guess there's no help for it."

  Pete, however, it seemed, felt no such apprehensions, for he was nowleading the two ponies round to a small shelter in the face of themountain which served the old man as a stable. A disreputable-looking"clay-bank" mu
le, with only one ear and a half, was standing in itdisconsolately flopping her whole organ of hearing.

  "He don't look very good, but I guess he's all right," said Pete in alow tone, in response to Jack's whispered comment on the old hermit.

  Inside the hut they found a smoky sort of stew cooking in a big ironpot. The old Mexican explained that the meat in it was deer flesh, andthe vegetables, which were corn, tomatoes, and peppers, came from asmall patch he cultivated behind his lonely hut. Although they hadto eat with one spoon out of the great pot itself, neither of thetravelers was in a critical or fastidious mood, and they made a heartymeal.

  The food disposed of, Pete, to his huge delight, discovered that theold man had some home-grown tobacco, and having borrowed a black pipefrom him, he fell to smoking. All this time Jack was nervous andapprehensive. Once or twice he had caught the ragged old fellow's beadyeyes fixed on him, with their strange burning look. His impression thatthe lonely hut-dweller was insane grew upon him. But Pete seemed quiteat his ease. Suddenly the cow-puncher said:

  "I'm as sleepy as the Old Scratch, Jack. What do you say if we takeforty winks?"

  "Better be getting on, Pete; we can sleep later," warned Jack with awink in the direction of the old man, to show he mistrusted him.

  "Ho-ho-ho-hum!" yawned the cow-puncher. "We didn't get enough sleep fora cat last night. Anyhow, the ponies have got to rest up a bit."

  As he spoke he threw himself at full length on a rough couch, coveredwith skins, at one end of the hut, and which apparently served the oldhermit for a bed.

  Before Jack could remonstrate, Pete, with the quick adaptability ofthe plainsman, was off in a deep slumber, snoring till the roof of theplace shook.

  "Well, there's no use waking him if he's as sleepy as all that,"thought Jack, who, to tell the truth, was feeling very drowsy himself.

  After making a scanty meal, the old man with the shifty eyes shouldereda hoe, and mumbling something, made off. Jack watched him and saw thathe took his way up the hillside to his garden where he set to workamong the cornstalks.

  The occupation seemed so harmless that Jack felt half ashamed of hissuspicions. Nevertheless, he was determined to keep a keen lookout.Seating himself in a big chair, roughly fashioned out of logs, with abig bearskin spread over it, the boy prepared to keep his vigil. Butalas! for the best determination of man and boy. It grew very stillin the hut. Far up on the hillside came the monotonous tap-tap of theold man's hoe. Insects buzzed drowsily in the warm afternoon air. Thewhole world seemed in a conspiracy to put the tired boy to sleep.

  Once Jack caught himself nodding, he awoke with an angry start at hisown neglectfulness. A second time the same thing occurred, but thistime his start was not quite so abrupt. Presently his deep regularbreathing was added to the sonorous snores of Coyote Pete.

  Not long afterward, the worker in the corn-patch dropped his hoe andstarted down the hill-side toward the hut. A malevolent smile flittedacross his apelike features as he heard Pete's snores. Approaching thehut from the back, the hermit cautiously raised himself, till his wildface was peering into a small, unglazed window. His grin grew wider ashe noted Jack's slumber-stilled form. Then he dropped from the windowand walked rapidly away.

  How much later it was that Jack awakened, he did not know. All that hewas aware of was that the hut seemed singularly dark, and that the fireon the hermit's hearth was out. The cause of the darkness soon becameapparent. The door of the place was shut.

  Jack hastened across the floor to open it. To his consternation, itresisted his stoutest efforts. It had been barred on the outside. Thewindow through which the hermit had peered was little more than a hole,and too small to permit egress of either his own or Pete's body.

  Hastily the boy awoke Pete, who at once began blaming himself bitterlyfor being the cause of the catastrophe. There was small doubt in theminds of either that the old hermit had locked them in; though for whatpurpose they could not, at the moment, imagine.

  "We'll have to break the door down," said Pete as he hastily rose,brushing the sleep out of his eyes.

  He gave the door a terrific shake, but it did not tremble. It wasstronger than they had supposed. Pete, mustering every ounce ofstrength in his muscular body, crouched himself half across the room,and then with a terrific rush tried to break it down with his shoulder.

  Still it did not budge.

  For the second time in twenty-four hours the fugitives were prisoners.