“He could have picked you off, but not me, and he knows that he would have had me on his trail without waiting for the officers to help.”
“But he must face the same thing as it is.”
“Don’t you see that he had to make the ch’ice atween doing nothing at all or tackling the younker? The Sioux is such an imp and is so crazy for revenge that he made up his mind to chance it the least he could, and he went for the tenderfoot that he hates the most.”
Jack tremblingly asked the question that had been in his mind for some minutes.
“Do you think he shot Fred?”
The guide slowly turned his head and looked fixedly at the youth before replying:
“Wouldn’t you’ve heerd his gun?”
The question sent a thrill of hope through the heart of Jack, but it was quickly succeeded by the dull torture that was there before. True, he would have heard the report of a rifle if fired anywhere near him during the afternoon, but a treacherous Sioux like Motoza was too cunning to expose himself in that manner, and would have resorted to a different method.
“He could have slain poor Fred in some other way, but do you believe he has done so?”
“Younker,” replied the sympathetic guide, “I ain’t the one to trifle with your feelings, fur you don’t feel much worse than me, but I own up that I don’t know anything more ’bout this bus’ness than you. I mean by that,” he hastened to explain, “that I can’t figger out in my mind what that varmint has done till I pick up more knowledge than you’ve been able to give me, and I can’t do that afore tomorrow morning.”
This sounded reasonable, but it was trying beyond imagination, for it indicated that the long night must be spent in idleness, without the raising of a finger to help the one who perhaps was in the most imminent need of such assistance. There was no help, however, for it, and Jack accepted the decision of his friend without a murmur.
The two sat at the mouth of the cavern, talking in low tones, until the night was well advanced, when Hank said, with a voice that sounded wonderfully low and tender for him:
“Now go in and lay down, younker, fur there’ll be plenty of work fur you to do to-morrer, and there’s no saying when you’ll git the chance to sleep agin.”
“Call me when it is my turn to go on guard.”
“All right; and don’t show yourself till I do call you.”
Jack walked into the cavern, first pausing to fling some wood on the fire. Mingled with his feeling of despair was a dread of being alone in the gloom. He did not believe he would sleep a wink through the night, for never were his emotions wrought to a more keenly torturing point. It was almost impossible to remain still, but he forced himself to lie down, with his heavy blanket gathered around him.
It would be distressing to dwell upon the anguish and grief of the youth, as he lay wide awake, his brain alert and his blood at fever-heat. At times it all seemed so like a dream that he turned his head to make sure Fred Greenwood, his loved chum and comrade, was not lying at his side. But no, it was all a dreadful reality, and he groaned in spirit.
As the minutes passed he appeared to grow more wakeful, until he was in as full possession of his faculties as when fleeing from the grizzly bear. And it was while lying thus, wondering what the hour could be, that he became aware that Hank Hazletine was standing at the mouth of the cavern, on the other side of the smouldering fire. The light was reflected so clearly from his bearded face that it was seen distinctly, while the position of Jack, muffled in his blanket, threw his own countenance in shadow, which prevented the guide seeing it clearly.
Something prompted Jack to lie still and feign sleep, while he kept his gaze on the man, who was looking fixedly at him. Suddenly Hank pronounced his name in a low voice, repeating the call in a louder tone. He wished to learn whether his young friend was unconscious, and, since Jack made no reply, must have concluded he was sleeping.
The guide next threw more wood on the blaze, which burned up so brightly that the reflection reached far out on the grassy plateau. Then, with a single glance at the prostrate figure, the hunter turned away, his footsteps as noiseless as if he were stepping on velvet.
Jack was mystified by the proceeding, but, suspecting its meaning, he arose from his hard couch and passed outside. The moon had not yet risen, but the bright stars were in the sky, and shining with the brilliancy that he had noticed and admired on the previous evening. He looked around for Hazletine, and, not seeing him, imitated his action by pronouncing his name, but, as he suspected, he was not within hearing.
“He has gone off to make some investigations between now and morning. I am glad of it, for he may learn something which he desires to know, and which he would never find out by staying here. I wish I could have gone with him, but no doubt he will do better alone.”
It was demonstrated, therefore, that the guide had violated the very rule which he had impressed more than once upon his young friends, for he had left Jack Dudley sound asleep, as he believed, without any one standing sentinel over him. But it was because the circumstances were so exceptional and extraordinary that it justified such suspension of the rules.
Jack did not hesitate to make himself as comfortable as the situation would permit. He folded his blanket on the ground, and sat with his back against the very rock where he had fallen asleep the night before.
“No danger of my doing it again,” he reflected; “and it wouldn’t make any difference if I did, since Hank believes I am dreaming.”
Jack supposed he threw the wood on the flame to keep away the possible danger from wild animals that might be prowling in the neighborhood; though, because of the reasons named, there was little to be apprehended from them. The youth was so alive to the situation that he heard a cough from one of the ponies lying on the ground near the further side of the plateau, and beyond sight. Twice the watcher fancied he detected a shadowy figure stealing here and there in the gloom, and he grasped his rifle, ready for instant use; but it must have been a mistake on his part, for nothing materialized, and, curious as it may seem, he finally sank into a fitful slumber, which lasted a long time without interruption.
CHAPTER XV.
TOZER.
Meanwhile Hank Hazletine was busy. He had formed several theories to account for the disappearance of the youth, of whom he had grown extremely fond, brief as was their acquaintance, but the data upon which he based these theories were so vague and meagre that he could do nothing until more definite knowledge was obtained.
When first talking with Jack Dudley, the hunter expected to retain his place near the cavern until morning, for it would seem that there was little hope of doing anything until the sun shone, but reflection convinced him that there was a possibility of accomplishing something during the long interval that must intervene. Still it is not probable he would have made the attempt had not something invited it.
Standing in the gloom on the outside of the cavern, he saw a point of light against the side of the nearest mountain peak, less than half a mile distant. It could not be a star, for his familiarity with the country told him the background must prevent an orb showing at that height above the horizon. It came from a fire burning at the place, and that fire had been kindled by Indians.
Hank’s decision was to visit the camp, in the hope of picking up some information about the missing boy. It has been shown that he was so convinced that no danger threatened Jack Dudley that he did not hesitate to leave him alone, believing him asleep. As a precaution, however, he flung additional fuel on the fire, with a view of keeping away any wild animals that might be in the vicinity. Had Jack answered to his name when called by the guide he would have been invited to accompany him for a portion at least of the way on the reconnaissance, as it might be termed—a most welcome relief. Thus, trifling as was the deception, it operated unfavorably for our young friend.
The progress of the veteran through and over the rough country was a very different proceeding from that of the two boys. He seemed never
to hesitate or be in doubt as to the shortest and easiest course, and his advance, therefore, was much the same as if he were striding across the grassy plateau near camp. As he went forward his shifting position frequently shut out the beacon-light, but he made no mistake at any point in his walk. It was a striking proof of his woodcraft that when he reached the canyon it was at a spot where it was so narrow that he appeared merely to lengthen his step when he placed himself on the other side. Progressing in this manner, it did not take him long to reach the immediate vicinity of the camp.
The blaze had been kindled among a clump of cedars which were a continuation of a growth that extended with more or less vigor for miles among the mountains, gradually disappearing as the snow-line was reached. Hazletine recalled the particular spot so clearly that he knew precisely what to do.
It was not very late in the evening, else there would have been one of the Indians on guard. As it was, the three were lolling in lazy attitudes, smoking their long-stemmed pipes and talking in a disjointed fashion. If they had eaten anything in camp, there were no evidences of it.
Having reached a point from which he could survey the party without being observed, the hunter proceeded to do so. His first feeling was of disappointment, for Motoza was not one of the three bucks, who appeared to be in middle life, and were dressed and painted similarly to that individual. In fact, the trio were the ones seen by the youths earlier in the day, at the point where the break in the canyon occurred.
Hazletine had set out with the belief that the vagrant Sioux was the one chiefly concerned in the disappearance of Fred Greenwood. His absence from camp confirmed that belief, while the indifferent manner of the three, and the apparent lack of subjects of discussion among them, indicated that they knew nothing of the abduction or death, as it might be, of the missing one. Had they known of it, the guide was confident it would have been betrayed by their manner, since they could have no suspicion that they were under surveillance at that time, and therefore would act their natural selves.
What would have been the course of Hazletine had he seen Motoza, not doubting, as he did, the guilt of the miscreant? He would have walked directly forward to the camp and warned the Sioux that if he harmed a hair of the youth’s head his life should pay therefor.
Since Motoza was not in the situation thus to be warned, the hunter did the next best thing. With no attempt to veil the sound of his footsteps, he strode into the circle of light thrown out by the Indian camp-fire. The bucks looked up curiously at him, but betrayed no emotion beyond a few grunts. They did not invite him to be seated or to join them in smoking, and had they done so, neither invitation would have been accepted.
Hank knew nothing of the lingo of the red men, but it was presumed they had a fair understanding of English, taking which for granted, he proceeded to carry out his self-imposed mission. He told the bucks they had no business off their reservation, although it was a matter of indifference to him. He knew there were others in the mountains, and Motoza was among them. It was concerning this scoundrel, as Hank characterized him, that he had something to say. A white youth, while hunting that afternoon not far off, with his companion, had disappeared. Hazletine had looked into the matter far enough to discover that he had been stolen by Motoza. The white man was hunting for Motoza, but in the brief time at his disposal had not been able to find him, though he was confident of doing so on the morrow.
Meanwhile, the white man wanted these three, or any one of them, if they should meet the aforementioned scoundrel, to repeat what he had said about him. If any harm had befallen the missing boy, Hazletine would take it upon himself to hunt down Motoza and “execute” him himself, without waiting for the United States authorities to do it. Such a summary course would save expense and make the white man feel better.
If Motoza should return the stolen boy within twenty-four hours, and it was found he was unharmed, the whole matter would be treated as a joke, and no punishment would be visited upon Motoza, provided he didn’t do it again.
This was the substance of Hank Hazletine’s communication to the three bucks, to whom he repeated and discussed it until there was no fear of a misunderstanding, after which the visitor strode out of camp, without so much as bidding the trio good-night. His whole manner was that of contempt, for, had it been otherwise, he would not have dared to turn his back upon them, when they could have shot him down with impunity.
The cowman had accomplished something, though less than he hoped. While he failed to gain definite knowledge of the missing youth, he had brought a message which was certain to be delivered to the right party before the next set of sun. But Hank knew the men with whom he was dealing, and could not feel assured that any ultimate good would result until nearer the end.
“I wish I knowed whether them imps know anything about that younker; they don’t act as if they did, and yet they may be as deep in the bus’ness as Motoza.”
The last remark suggested a possibility which the cowman shrank from considering. It was that the Sioux was wholly innocent, and that all the mischief had been done through unsuspected parties. It has been shown that other Indians, not yet encountered, were in the vicinity, and it was not absolutely certain that they were not the criminals. The thought, however, opened the illimitable fields of speculation, and the hunter was wise in determining to hold to his original belief until assured it was an error.
Before he was half-way back to camp the moon appeared above the mountain peak behind him, and the rugged scenery was lit up by the rays that streamed on every side. He paused where he could observe the gleam of his own camp-fire at the mouth of the cavern, while, by turning his head, he saw the twinkle of the one he had left behind. All between lay as silent as the tomb.
“I bluffed it pretty heavy,” he reflected, “and I guess it’ll work with them bucks; I ain’t so sartin of Motoza, fur if he has had anything to do with the taking off of that younker he’s covered up his tracks pretty well and it’ll be hard work to run him down, but I’ll do it!” he savagely exclaimed, as he resumed his strides toward his own camp.
As he drew near he caught sight of the unconscious figure of Jack Dudley, sitting with his back against the rock. The moon revealed him clearly, and the cowman approached him with noiseless step.
“Poor fellow! he come out here to watch, thinking he couldn’t sleep, and now he’s good for nothing till sunup.”
Hank leaned over and tenderly adjusted the blanket around the figure of the handsome youth, as his mother might have done had she been present. Then passing within the cavern, he lay down and slept until the night was ended.
The presence of the lad on the outside of the cavern showed that he knew of the departure of the guide. Hank, therefore, explained his reason for leaving him, and told him all that had occurred.
“The first thing to do, younker, is to find Motoza; that’s what I’m going to do. You can’t stand it to be alone with yourself, so you can come with me, though I hain’t no idee that you’ll be able to give any help.”
“I hope I shall; though, if you think there is more chance of success in making the hunt alone, I’ll do the same.”
Hank was silent a moment, as if considering the matter, but he quickly added:
“Come along. But how about breakfast?”
“I haven’t the least appetite.”
“I thought so by your looks,” he said, sympathizingly. “I’m blamed sorry fur you, and hope your appetite will soon come back to you.”
“It will as soon as we find Fred,” said Jack, with a faint smile; “but what about yourself?”
“It’s all the same; if we had meat here I’d cook and eat it; but I’m willing to go a day or two, if I haven’t the time to take any meals.”
“That’s strange!” broke in Jack; “yonder comes a white man; he must be one of your acquaintances, though I never saw him before.”
Hazletine turned round in surprise. A tall white man, dressed as a cowboy, with long dangling yellow hair and a thin m
ustache and goatee, and with rifle slung over his shoulder, had appeared on the further side of the plateau, and was approaching the couple at a deliberate pace.
“Wal, I’m hanged!” exclaimed Hazletine; “if there isn’t Bill Tozer! He’s the last man I expected to meet in these parts.”
These words did not bring Jack Dudley much enlightenment, but he felt no special curiosity concerning the individual, and silently waited till he came up. The youth judged from the manner of the guide, however, that he was not overly pleased with the new arrival, whose countenance was not attractive. Nevertheless, the two shook hands with seeming cordiality, and the new-comer looked inquiringly at Jack.
“This is a friend of mine, Bill, that I took out on a hunt t’other day with another younker; Jack Dudley, Bill Tozer.”
“Glad to know you,” said the man heartily; “I see you’re a tenderfoot.”
“Yes,” replied Jack; “less than two weeks ago I had never set foot in Wyoming.”
“Wal, now that’s funny; you’ll like the country after you get used to it.”
“Would to heaven I had never seen it!” was the bitter exclamation of the youth, hardly able to keep back his tears.
“Sorry to hear that, my young friend; but cheer up; it’ll come out all right.”
It struck Jack that this was a singular remark for the man to make, for it sounded as if he knew the cause of Jack’s emotion; but before the boy could seek enlightenment the man made a more extraordinary remark:
“You’ll excuse us for a few minutes, my young friend; I’ve some words to say in private to Hank.”
“Certainly,” replied Jack, turning on his heel and walking beyond earshot. He gave the men no further attention, for he did not suspect the new-comer had anything to impart of interest to him. The boy felt more like resenting this interference with the momentous business he and the guide had on hand.
But Jack was mistaken. Hardly was he a hundred feet from the couple when Hazletine asked:
“What’s up, Bill?”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 52
