"I am beginning to feel hungry."
"I thought so," observed Hank, with a smile.
"But there's no hurry. I can wait a little while."
"You'll have to."
"Now tell me who this man Tozer is?"
"Wal, he's a reg'lar Motoza, except in blood. I run across him five years ago in Arizona, where he had been in the stage-robbin' bus'ness. Things got so hot he had to git out. I didn't hear anything more of him till I was driving cattle in Montana, when I discovered he was one of the worst rustlers in that part of the world. I'm sartin he has done a good many things fur which he ought to hang, but he's more cunning in his way than the Sioux, and has kept out of the penitentiary when anyone else would have been doing a life-term. Bill is a great gambler, and has made and lost fortunes, but he is always out of money and figgering how to git it ag'in. There isn't anything too mean fur him to do fur money. He doesn't care any more fur the feelings of others than Geronimo."
"It looks as if the plan of abducting Fred and holding him for ransom is his."
"There ain't no doubt of it; he come to the ranch soon after we'd gone and larned all 'bout you tenderfeet from the boys themselves. The thought come to him at once that one of the chances of his lifetime was his. It's queer he made the mistake of believing that it was the father of the other younker as owned part of the ranch, but he got matters twisted in some way. You can see that if it hadn't been fur that blunder of his, it would be you that your friend and me would be looking fur."
"I wish it were," was the honest exclamation of Jack Dudley; "but how was it he came to form his partnership with Motoza?"
"You've heard it said the devil takes care of his own; Bill and Motoza are old friends and have been in more than one shady job. I can't know, but I think Bill must have larned or suspicioned that the Sioux warn't fur off and he set out to hunt him up. Anyway they managed to come together, and the job was fixed up atween 'em. Howsumever," said the guide, "there ain't no use of talking and guessing over what has been, but we must face what is. Now, if Doctor Greenwood has word by telegraph that he must pay five thousand dollars to git his younker back agin, what'll he think?"
"He will think that this has been a pretty expensive outing for Fred," replied Jack, whose buoyancy of spirits prompted his trivial answer.
"Will he pay the money?"
"Yes, and twice as much more, if it is necessary; but won't he be startled and puzzled to know the meaning of it all! He will come right out here himself and bring some of the best detectives in the country."
"And if he does that, he'll never see his boy alive."
Jack looked at Hazletine in alarm and amazement. The cowman saw phases of this extraordinary business that had not presented themselves to the youth, and he now proceeded to impress them upon him. In the first place, the cunning Tozer would make sure of protecting himself and Motoza, though the last was purely a matter of policy and self interest, since he was always ready to sacrifice a comrade. In arranging the ransom or exchange, Tozer would take no chances. The friends of Fred Greenwood would have to remain out of sight and in the background. It would be impossible for any of them to try to checkmate him without his quickly learning it, whereupon he would abandon the job and turn over the boy to the savage will of the Sioux.
"And you know what that means," added the cowman, impressively. "I should tell you something else, too. It's my belief that if the money is give to Tozer, and the Sioux is ordered to surrender the younker, he hates him that bad that he'll try to bring about his death and run the chances of hanging for it. Where two such wretches as him and Tozer are in a job there's bound to be crooked work, and I won't never believe you're going to shake the hand of t'other younker till I see it done with my own eyes."
The emphasis of this declaration sent a thrill of alarm through the frame of Jack Dudley, though it could not wholly destroy the exhilaration caused by the knowledge that Fred Greenwood was alive.
It was proof of the kindliness of Hank Hazletine that he made no mention of a strong suspicion that had been in his mind from the first. This was that when Tozer met Motoza he learned that the Sioux had already slain his prisoner, for Hank knew of the furious hate the fellow held toward the youth. Consequently, Tozer had arranged to carry out his original scheme, and was now seeking to gain a large sum of money, knowing that it was out of his power ever to fulfill his part of the bargain.
Hazletine, we repeat, strongly believed that this ghastly phase of the business was true, but, inasmuch as there was no certainty of it, he was too considerate to bring additional grief to the heart of Jack Dudley.
But the cowman had formed a resolution which he carefully held back from his companion. An interval of twenty-four hours must pass before the second interview with Tozer, during which, as the latter was given to understand, the negotiation would be left wholly with him. Hank and Jack were to remain quiescent, at least until after the next meeting. But the cowman nursed a very different determination. He intended to employ all the time and the utmost ability he possessed in defeating the atrocious plot of the miscreants. It will be seen that the easiest plan for him was quietly to help forward the negotiations, but his nature forbade such meek submissiveness on his part.
This course, however, was perilous to the missing boy; for, if Tozer or Motoza saw himself in danger of losing the prize, he would make short work of the prisoner. It was clear that all the skill and woodcraft of which the cowman was master would be needed in the delicate task he had assigned to himself.
"Younker," he said, when the conversation had continued a while longer, "after thinking over this bus'ness, I've made up my mind it's better we should keep apart fur the day."
"Follow your own judgment. I shall try to be back this evening."
"To-morrer morning will be time 'nough. I had my supper last night not fur from here, and if the wild animals haven't visited the spot since, we shall find 'nough to make a square meal."
This was acceptable news, and the result all that could be desired. Hank had cooked a considerable quantity of venison at a romantic place among the rocks, his first intention being to carry enough of it to headquarters to supply his young friends with what they needed. Afterward he changed his mind and decided that it was time they learned to provide for themselves. Upon making his way to the spot he found everything as it had been left the previous evening, and thus much more readily than Jack had dared to expect he secured the needed food.
"Right here we part," said Hank at the conclusion of the meal.
"How am I to spend the time?"
"As your fancy strikes you. As I told you, it will be soon 'nough fur you to git back to camp to-morrer morning, but you must keep your eyes open. It may be that Tozer, having larned that your father is the man he meant to bleed, will try to make a prisoner of you."
Jack Dudley's eyes flashed.
"Let him try it! I should like to be in Fred's company."
"Mebbe you wouldn't be so well suited as you think, but look out fur snares in your path—that's all I've got to say. I'm off."
It was characteristic of the cowman to take his departure in this abrupt manner, his intention being to undertake without delay the difficult task he had set out for himself, but five minutes later he gave over his purpose, and, to the surprise of Jack Dudley, came back to him.
In doing this, Hazletine was wise. His purpose, as already intimated, was to discover if possible Motoza and Tozer, but especially the former. There was little doubt that the Sioux would communicate with his prisoner during the day, or, if Fred Greenwood was not among the living, his unrelenting enemy was likely to give some evidence of where his taking off had occurred. Hazletine's belief, therefore, was that by shadowing the Sioux he had a good chance of securing the information that would overturn all the calculations of the abductors.
But this task was tenfold more delicate than would seem at first, for not only had the cowman to learn the whereabouts of the Sioux, but he must do it undetected and dog
the fellow without discovery on his part. When it is remembered that Motoza would be on the alert against this, one is almost ready to declare the cowman had attempted an impossible thing.
When he left his young friend, however, it was with the firm purpose of doing, or rather trying to push through this purpose. Within a hundred yards of the point where he left Jack the guide had a glimpse of what may be called the shadow of a movement. Something flickered among the rocks a short distance ahead and then vanished before he could identify it.
But he knew what it meant. Some one was watching him. If the watcher was not Motoza or Tozer, he was an ally of theirs. He was holding the cowman under surveillance, ready to report or shoot on the first proof of his real purpose. The truth flashed upon Hank, and pausing in his walk, without any evidence of what he had discovered, he began a hasty examination of his pockets after the manner of a man who suddenly misses some prized article that he believed to be in his garments.
The little farce was cleverly acted. Each receptacle was examined several times, some of the pockets being turned wrong side out, while the face of the cowman, or rather his eyes, betrayed his excitement. Then he looked at the ground in front and at the rear, apparently to learn whether he had dropped the missing treasure. Failing to find it, he uttered an angry exclamation and walked hurriedly back to his companion. No one observing the performance would have doubted its meaning.
"I'm going to stay a while with you," he remarked, seating himself upon the ground and lighting his pipe.
"It was a sudden change of mind," replied Jack, glad to have his company.
"Yes; a redskin helped me to make it," and he explained the nature of his discovery. Inasmuch as the guide had turned back because of the same, it was easy to understand what his original intention was; for had it not existed, why should the cowman care if he was kept under surveillance? He would not be betraying himself any more during an innocent walk and hunt through the mountains than by sitting on the ground and smoking his pipe.
The result to a certain extent was a disappointment to Jack himself, for he had quietly resolved upon a venture in the same line. Of necessity he would be governed almost entirely by guesswork, but it was his determination to spend the day, and if possible the night, in trying to gather some trace of his missing friend. And while it must be said that his prospect of success was exceedingly meagre, it should be borne in mind that he would possess one great advantage over the veteran while similarly engaged—neither Tozer nor Motoza would fear anything from what he did, and would give him no attention. He therefore would be left comparatively free to do what he chose. Despite the warnings of Hank, Jack was confident nothing was to be feared from the enmity of the two miscreants while the negotiations were in progress. They were not the men to destroy the hen that was expected to lay the golden egg.
For hours Hazletine and Jack lolled in this primitive camp, the cowman smoking his pipe most of the time, while the two discussed over and over again the various phases of the momentous business that engaged their thoughts and to which they yearned to devote their utmost energies. The guide longed to be off, and as the sun descended the heavens it was one of the hardest tasks of his life to restrain his impatience, but he had been trained in a school where patience is one of the greatest of all the virtues. Suddenly he rose to his feet, stretched his arms and yawned.
"I'd like to borrer that spy-glass of yours fur a few minutes."
"You are welcome," replied Jack, slipping the string over his head and passing the instrument to him. The cowman sauntered off, taking the same direction as before. His first wish was to learn whether he was still under surveillance. So far as he could determine the watcher had grown weary and withdrawn, though there could be no certainty that he was not in the neighborhood.
Jack Dudley, without leaving camp, was able to keep an eye on the movements of his friend. He saw him make his way to a jutting rock, partly screened by a growth of cedar. Concealing himself as well as he could, he raised the glass to his eyes and spent several minutes in studying the wild country spread below him. He was looking in the direction of the break in the canyon, beyond which, as will be remembered, was the plateau where the ponies had been left to crop the grass while their masters were engaged elsewhere.
* * *
"He was looking in the direction of the break in the canyon."
* * *
Jack did not attempt to survey the same field, but kept his gaze upon Hazletine. He could see that he directed his attention toward a particular point, as if he had either discovered something or expected to do so. The study continued only a few minutes, when he came back and handed the glass to the youth, with the remark:
"I'm going to try it agin. I won't expect to see you till to-morrer morning."
The lad bade him good-by, and he took his departure; but instead of descending the mountain toward the point that had interested him, he followed the opposite course, as if he intended to push through to the other side of the Wind River range. This was so transparent a subterfuge that it did not deceive Jack.
"He has discovered something," was his conclusion; "he doesn't choose to tell me, and it makes little difference. I wonder whether he believes I intend to idle my time till night and then go back to headquarters and wait for him? If he thinks so, he makes a mistake."
Waiting until sure his friend was beyond sight, Jack carefully picked his way to the rock from which Hank had made the observation that decided his line of action. The better to screen himself the youth lay down on his face, as when peering over the ridge into the valley where the antelope were grazing, and held the glass to his eyes.
Thus looking out, he saw the plateau in the distance, seemingly but a few rods in extent. Only one of the ponies was visible, and he resembled a small dog, standing with head down, in the middle of the grassy plot. Beyond and between were foot-hills, peaks of varying heights, gorges, ravines and hollows, with rocks, boulders and stunted trees scattered in profusion. The picturesqueness of the scene was deepened by a thin, blue column of vapor in the distance, ascending from an invisible camp-fire. The smoke rose steadily, so it was not to be supposed that it was meant for a signal, like those already described.
The most attractive point was the break in the canyon, already described. This was in plain sight, with the expanse of swiftly-flowing water, which soon disappeared between the walls on the opposite side.
Suddenly Jack started. Two Indians were visible, though they were in view for only a few minutes. They came from the base of the incline where the boys had seen three of them the day before, and passed out of sight before the interested observer could decide whether Motoza, the Sioux, was one of them.
"I believe Hank has gone down there," was the conclusion of Jack, "and I shall do the same."
* * *
CHAPTER XVII.
INTO AND OUT OF THE CANYON.
Jack Dudley's enforced idleness had become intolerable. He could stay no longer in the place from which Hank Hazletine had departed a half-hour before. It was a waste of time to speculate over the intentions of the veteran, and the youth made no attempt to do so. He had set out to see whether he could act even an insignificant part in the recovery of his loved comrade.
It has been said that the boy had the advantage over the man in that it was not to be supposed any importance would be attached to his actions. At the same time he was liable to "put his foot in it" in more ways than one.
Somehow or other the conviction clung to Jack Dudley that the key to the situation was in the neighborhood of the canyon. There must be hundreds of places among the mountains where a prisoner could be hidden from human eyes, but Hazletine's interest centred in that wild gorge, and Jack was certain he had gone thither.
Then there was the fact of the cowman's visit two days before, concerning which he would have said nothing but for his discovery by the boys. Why Hank should have picked his way up that dangerous place was known only to himself. Jack could form no theory to explain it.
But he did not forget the dispute of the three Indians in front of the break and the start which one of them made to follow the footsteps of the white man. There must be some attraction in the canyon for them all.
Jack's dread was that Hazletine, despite his undoubted skill, would frighten Tozer and Motoza by his efforts to defeat their purpose, and drive them into slaying Fred and making off before they could be punished. But the cowman had his own views, and it was too late to dissuade him.
Keeping in mind the warning of his friend to use all possible circumspection in his actions, Jack was so guarded that a full hour had passed when he once more reached the break in the canyon, which had already afforded them more than one interesting experience.
So far as he could judge, he was the only living person within miles. The two Indians that had flitted across his field of vision were gone, and it was impossible to say what had become of Hazletine. Determined, however, to run no unnecessary risk, Jack remained among the trees and rocks on the upper side of the break, where he could not be seen unless some one almost stepped upon him. Not satisfied with his first position, he shifted further to the right, and lay down to wait and watch.
A gradual obscuring of the sky caused him to look at his watch. Could it be possible? The autumn afternoon was almost gone. Night was at hand, whereas he had supposed several hours of daylight remained. Thus valuable time had slipped past and nothing had been done for Fred Greenwood.
From where Jack lay he had a perfect view of the upper gate, as it may be called, of the canyon. The gorge has already been described as narrow at the point where the foamy waters dashed through and expanded into the broad pool, after which they flowed a short way and reunited, to make their next plunge between the mountain walls on their journey to the sea thousands of miles distant. Looking across this break, the boy could penetrate with his eye for a dozen yards into the upper canyon. He saw the dripping rocks upon which the angry buck sprang, only to pause and turn back to join his companions below.
Two Boys in Wyoming Page 16
