Front matter (continued 2)

Frank whistled softly in surprise, and then chuckled.

"What under the sun is that chum of mine figuring on doing?" he asked himself. "He's got something on his arm that looks mighty like the fresh skin Zander peeled from the antelope he shot to-day. Yes, and that's a rope he's trailing, too. Something's up, it strikes me."

He kept an eye on Lanky, to see the other stretch himself on the earth and draw the deerskin over him, hair-side down.

"Well, that sticks in my craw," Paul remarked disgustedly as he joined Frank and stared toward the scene of operations. "That chump must have a tougher stomach than I happen to own, to deliberately camp down out there so close to where those monster birds were feeding. Ugh! what wouldn't Lanky risk just to carry out what he'd call a joke?"

"We can soon get a wrinkle on his game by keeping an eye on the spot," vouchsafed Frank. "You see the vultures are already getting over their alarm and are swinging closer to the place with every circle they make."

"You hit the nail on the head that time for keeps, Frank. He keeps lying there as if asleep. What's he got covering him, do you happen to know?"

"Looked to me like the fresh skin of that little deer Zander brought down at such a long distance to-day." Frank informed Paul. "Besides, I saw Lanky talking to Zander, who seemed tickled at something our chum was explaining."

"Oh, well, there's got to be something doing all the time with Lanky, and when it doesn't come along promptly, trust him to rig up a trick to fetch out a little excitement."

"All I hope," added Frank uneasily, "is that he doesn't find he's bitten off more than he can chew this time."

"You don't like the looks of those vultures, then, I take it?" queried Paul.

"No. They're powerful and ugly-tempered birds, Paul. There, the boldest in the bunch has dropped down, and is heading up to his feed trough again, with those queer jumps and his wings flopping, as if in challenge to the gang to beat him to it."

"Yes, and the rest have forgotten their alarm, for they're dropping down in hot haste. I reckon they're afraid that chap will gobble the whole meal before they can carry off a snack. Now one curious bird is making for that fresh deer-hide, thinking it's manna that dropped down from the clouds. What fool game has Lanky got up his sleeve?"

"No telling," was the brief reply.

A couple of minutes passed. Then suddenly the entire assemblage of giant birds once more jumped off the ground, just as the boys had often seen buzzards do, to start their circling again on wide-spread pinions.

"Look! Oh, look, Frank," cried the excited Paul. "Lanky's slipped a noose around the leg of that biggest one, for it's only gone up a short way and is beating its wings like a crazy thing! There's Lanky now, trailing along the ground. But, Frank, why's he going feet first?"

"He's made a fool play, and got the rope twisted around one of his legs!" exclaimed the astounded as well as alarmed Frank. "He's being dragged along by the vulture! Paul, he may be killed!"

CHAPTER X

THE LOCOED BUFFALO

The loud talking of the two boys and the flight of the flock of scavengers—of all but that lone captive—soon attracted the attention of the other members of the party.

Mr. Wallace gaped in wonder and annoyance at seeing his son being dragged along, frantically clutching at every object in sight, in the hope of anchoring, and thus staying, his progress. Jerry Brime stared, hardly believing his eyes at witnessing such a curious happening. But Zander Forbes, who had been made Lanky's confidant in the matter, stopped laughing and jumped toward the spot where his rifle lay, the gravity of the situation coming to him like a sudden blow.

Lanky had fortunately succeeded in laying hold of what looked like a sturdy tuft of wiry buffalo grass, and to this he was clinging with might and main. At the same time with his other hand he was stretching down, trying to release his leg from the binding coil of rope.

As long as the strong wings of the frightened and now angry vulture continued to beat the air so wildly, this was rendered utterly out of the question; for the rope was kept taut, and all Lanky's desperate efforts to unfasten it failed.

"The bird's got tired of trying to yank him up into the air, Frank!" called out Paul. "See, he's dropped back to the ground again, and, as sure as you live, he's hopping straight at Lanky as if he meant to give him a licking for his meanness! Wow! I'm glad it isn't me out there."

"Lanky doesn't seem able to get clear of that loop of the rope!" snapped Frank, "and unless something happens to prevent it he's going to be in danger of having that terrible bird pecking at his eyes!"

"What can we do, Frank, to stop that?" gasped the aroused and now alarmed Paul.

"Let's run, and shout to try and scare the bird off!" suggested the other loyal chum of the reckless Lanky.

"Wait! There's Zander with his gun, Frank. I guess he's got the number of that bird's mess, all right."

Paul had hardly spoken when there came the sharp report of a rifle. Frank, to his great joy, saw the angry vulture fall over and kick as though its finish had indeed come with the pressure of Zander's fore-finger on the trigger.

"Bully! Bully!" shouted the relieved Paul. "He cooked that old fighter's goose for him all right! Now Lanky's managed to get his leg free, and is coming back to camp, carrying the rope and the antelope hide. His little game worked all to the good, but took a turn he didn't count on. See him limp, will you? That left leg feels sore, I bet you!"

"I reckon it serves him about right, as his dad will tell him," observed Frank. "Of all the fool tricks I've ever known that boy to try out, this wanting to lasso a live vulture takes the cake! Most people wouldn't want to touch the horrible things with a ten-foot pole."

Lanky looked foolish as he reached the place where Jerry had a little cooking fire burning, although he grinned, and tried to pass the whole thing off as a mere incident.

His father said nothing to him just then. But Frank and Paul knew that in the end Mr. Wallace would have a confidential talk with his son, in which Lanky would "eat humble pie," admitting that his had been a silly scheme that gave him only what he deserved.

Jerry managed to broil enough of the antelope meat for all, even though the three boys did come back repeatedly for further portions, things tasted so good to them.

Mr. Wallace understood, for he had eaten in the open many times himself.

"Food always does taste different when the surroundings are Nature's," he said, as they still sat around and "stoked up," as Lanky termed it.

"It does to me, for one," admitted Frank. "Chances are that if we had this spread at home, with a white tablecloth and china to serve it on, none of us would care a great deal for this venison. It might seem tough and dry unless cooked with bacon slices between. But out here, with appetites like woodchoppers in the cold North, it's a whole lot different."

Lanky was unusually quiet that evening, Frank noticed. Undoubtedly he realized that sometimes what are meant to be pranks turn out to border perilously close to tragedies.

When morning came the boys noticed that no haste was made to get started, and presently the reason for this was made known.

"Would you believe it," said Frank, coming over to where the other two boys were sitting after breakfast was over, "that miserable pack pony has wandered off during the night. It's going to bother us a heap, I reckon."

"Do you mean we'll be held up here in this little valley while a hunt is made for the pony?" demanded Lanky, looking anything but pleased over the possibility of further delay.

"All of us are to start out and search," admitted Frank. "Your father's given us the job of combing the valley to the north, while the others head south. We are to get back to camp by noon, and if the beast hasn't been found by that time we'll have to divide the stores among the bunch, for your dad says he can't be delayed any longer."

"I know what he's thinking about," said Lanky. "He's expecting a mighty important letter from New York that means a whole lot to him in the way of money. It may not arrive before we get back to Rockspur; but if it does I heard him telling Lige to send along one of the other boys to find us at Gold Fork."

According to the plan resolved on, the three boys left camp, going to the north in search of the pack pony, just as Zander and Jerry started toward the south.

"It'll be a nice little gallop for us, anyway," said Frank, who always looked at the bright side of things.

Paul, however, shrugged his shoulders and he called out:

"I'm not quite so keen about a side gallop as you fellows. Fact is, I'm getting pretty well filled up on pony riding. Three days straight is going some for a greenhorn like me. But I'm game to stick it out to a finish. Only I do hope we run across that Wandering Willie of a pony inside of an hour or two, so as to strike back to camp again."

For some time the boys rode along, keeping a lookout on every side. It kept growing warmer all the while, for the mountains shut off any breeze from the west, while a ridge called foothills did the same in the opposite quarter.

An hour passed, and not a single glimpse did the boys get of the missing pack pony.

"Looks as if he had gone south instead of this way," commented Frank. "Though it's possible the beast had intelligence enough to head over the rise and start back home."

"Homesick, you mean, Frank?" laughed Paul.

"Some horses are affected that way, I'm told."

Lanky was unusually quiet all this while. Frank wondered whether the ludicrous adventure with the lassoed vulture had given him a lesson in prudence he would not soon forget.

He looked toward the towering peaks to the immediate west, as though aggrieved because things had happened in such a fashion as to prevent their ascent of those rugged slopes by way of the friendly canyon.

That was what Frank was thinking, but after all it appeared that he did Lanky an injustice, for presently the other broke his silence to say:

"Once or twice last evening, just before dark set in, boys, I had a sort of hunch I could faintly glimpse smoke rising up on the side of the mountains."

"But you didn't mention a word about it to us, Lanky!" Frank put it to him reproachfully.

"I didn't, for a fact," admitted the lad. "To tell the truth, I was feeling kind of punk over the fool game I set out to pull off, and so I just concluded to keep mum and not jump out of the frying pan into the fire. But the more I think about it, the stronger is my belief that it was an occasional wreath of blue smoke I glimpsed."

"That would mean a campfire," said Frank. "And of course you feel dead certain you could say who'd be sitting near that same blaze, having supper?"

"Just what I could!" Lanky chuckled. "For one, Nash Yesson. Then, close by, you'd see a slinking sort of chap known in Columbia as a bully, and chock full of meanness. Lef Seller, who robbed his own father. Yes, and just as like as not you'd set eyes on a queer little runt with a head three sizes too big for his body, name unknown to us, but particularly fond of trying to find hidden things on moonlight nights."

"Well, I agree with you, Lanky," admitted Frank. "If there was a fire, those were the three chaps who'd be sitting beside it and talking about their chances for finding Kinney's secret cave where the gold nuggets were cached."

"Frank," said Paul just then, "did you hear what Zander was saying about the report brought to Rockspur one day last week?"

"What was that?"

"That Buffalo Smith's herd of bison had broken from their range and gone back to the free life of their kind. They skedaddled in a night."

"Yes, I heard about that," came the reply. "And Zander told me as his own private opinion that Captain Smith would have trouble rounding up the run-aways, because they'd separated in every direction, each seeming to want to look out for himself."

"Wasn't that a queer way for buffaloes to act?" queried Lanky. "I always understood they kept together in a bunch, just as our cattle do unless they've been stampeded and badly frightened, when they go into a panic."

"Zander, who seems to know lots about the animals, told me," commented Frank, "that you never can tell what a buffalo will do. He says they often seem to get wild and crazy, as if they'd been eating the loco weed that's found sometimes on the plains. But what made you bring up that subject, if it's a fair question, Paul?"

"Oh, just because we're pretty close to one of that same run-away herd right now," came the cool and astonishing reply.

"What's that?" exclaimed Lanky, perking up instantly.

"Where do you see a buffalo?" asked Frank, also interested, although believing the other must have deceived himself.

Paul pulled in his pony and pointed toward the foot of the mountain chain.

"Right alongside that patch of trees growing in front of the big boulder. There, he's raised his shaggy head and is staring straight at us!"

The others took one good look, and then while Lanky whistled to mark his surprise, also delight, Frank hastened to give his opinion.

"Good eyes you've certainly got, Paul, for I looked that way myself, and if I noticed anything at all I must have believed that object was only a shadow. But it's as plain as print to me now. That's a buffalo bull—his bulk tells us that."

"Shall we ride over and take a squint at the beast?" asked Lanky.

"For one," Paul told him, "I'd like to say I'd seen a genuine wild buffalo on his native ground, and me astride a cow pony."

"Let's go!" was Frank's terse way of saying he found himself of the same mind as the others. No one had to ask Lanky what he wanted to do, since he invariably proved ready for action of any kind.

Accordingly they turned to the left and cantered forward. Already did the cow ponies scent the presence of the lumbering beast near by. This was made evident by the way in which they snorted and took brisk, chopping steps, indicating their extreme excitement.

"They're not used to coming so close to buffaloes," explained Frank. "Fact is, I hardly think any one of the three has ever before glimpsed such a sight as this."

"But their noses have caught the wild animal scent, you can see," Lanky ventured, he being much at home in the doings of four-footed creatures.

"Why doesn't the silly thing start running off?" cried Paul. "I thought they were always reckoned a timid bunch in spite of their bulk and savage-looking mop of hair about their heads."

"Slow up, fellows!" called out Frank just then.

"Why, what's the matter?" demanded Paul, turning toward Frank.

Lanky kept going on, as if to say:

"Shucks! who's afraid of a lonely lost buffalo? Not me!"

"I don't quite like the way old Boss acts," continued Frank. "See him shake his head and lower his ugly black horns. You've both seen a bull in the pasture do that many a time, boys, when he was getting primed for a charge."

"Yes; and I don't like the looks of it!" asserted Paul emphatically.

"Say, do you think he's got the same objection to my red handkerchief that a tame Jersey bull shows?" and Paul threw up his hand, ready to tear the offending fiery cowboy neck-piece loose, so he might cram it into his pocket.

"It might be that," Frank told him. "Then again, wasn't there something said about the herd of bison having made a meal off that terrible loco weed that grows in places and affects cows and sends 'em off like mad dogs?"

Even Lanky pulled up when Frank said that. His recent experience in the realm of adventure was too fresh for him to forget the humiliation that followed close on its heels; and prudence, as his father had counseled him, began to urge that from now on he go a bit slow.

The ponies seemed to understand intuitively that the buffalo was not the ordinary docile domestic beast, accustomed to the presence of man. They snorted worse than ever, acting as though eager to whirl about and leave that part of the valley as fast as four legs could carry them.

"Whoop! here he comes licketty-split!" yelled Lanky. "I've got a date somewhere else, believe me! I sure haven't lost any buffalo! Tra-la-la! Old Boss, here's giving you the grand bounce! It's not me you want!"

He let his frantic pony turn as on a pivot, and shoot away, with Frank a good second.

Paul, never a good rider, tried to do likewise. He had the ill-fortune to lose his seat, and be thrown to the ground. He looked back to see that black-horned and shaggy-headed beast charging wildly toward him!

CHAPTER XI

A CAMP IN THE CANYON

"Hold up, Lanky!"

Hearing these words shouted suddenly by Frank, Lanky Wallace turned in his saddle. Seeing Paul's peril, he drew his unwilling pony's head around, and commenced to gallop back again just as fast as he had taken flight.

"Look lively, Paul!" shrilled Frank, fervently wishing he had his rifle along, when he might trust everything to a shot, in the hope of at least crippling the locoed buffalo bull.

"Hi! Paul!" bellowed Lanky. "The tree! Make for the tree! Only chance to give him the grand laugh! Hey! Side-step it in a hurry! Good jump, Paul, old boy! See him get over the ground for that tree, will you, Frank? Talk to me about home-runs, Paul's got it all plastered over his old mates on the Columbia High team. He's after you, Paul! Dodge those shiny horns again! One more whirl like that, and you'll arrive! Got him again, but he's on to your curves. Beat it!"

Paul did, and in great shape. He arrived at the lonesome tree in time to scramble up amidst its low-hanging branches before the furious buffalo came lumbering along, foam flecking each corner of his mouth.

"Hold up, Lanky!" cried Frank.

"What's the next thing on the program?" asked the impetuous one, pulling in his rearing steed and holding the bridle as tight as he could—one run-away pony was surely sufficient without having the others take their leave.

"Chase Paul's nag and fetch him back." Frank had assumed charge of the situation; for he was accustomed to being the captain in baseball and football games, his companions gladly looking to him for leadership.

"You'll find a way to get Paul out of his fix, will you, Frank? All right, here goes for a pony chase!"

With that Lanky was off on the jump. He never even bothered to ask Frank how he meant to maneuver, in order to get Paul out of the bison's reach.

When Frank next turned his attention to the strange scene before him he found that Paul, having recovered his breath, was taking things in a matter-of-fact way that rather amused his chum.

Leaning down from his safe perch he was talking to his guard. The buffalo bull was staring up at his prisoner in the tree with those small but wicked-looking eyes and at certain points in Paul's harangue Frank was highly amused to see the animal scrape the ground violently with a fore hoof, as if he did not agree with the argument at all.

"Looks as if the old scamp might be saying," chuckled Frank, "'you just drop down here once, and I'll show you how I can polish you off slicker than anything you ever saw. Try me, that's all.'"

"Hey! Frank!" called out the boy up in the tree, noticing for the first time that his chum had drawn somewhat closer and was holding in his prancing and snorting pony with a firm hand.

"All right, Paul. You sure did climb some that time!"

"Well, anybody would be apt to, with those black horns right behind him," the other retorted in self-defense.

"They say a miss is as good as a mile, and you did have a close shave."

"But how'm I going to get out of this scrape? That's what's bothering me!"

"Forget it, and trust to your Dutch uncle to hatch up a scheme to fool old Woolly Head. Now listen, and I'll unfold the plan."

"Shoot!"

"Notice that Lanky's galloped after your run-away pony?"

"That's mighty fine of him," ventured Paul. "I'd begun to believe I'd have to do considerable hiking before landing in camp again; or else double-up with one of you fellows. Well, what's next?"

"I'm going to lure that bison of yours off by his lonesome, if I can fix things right."

"Sounds good to me," came the reply. "But first of all, don't denominate this shaggy monster as my property. I don't claim to own a solitary share in him hair, hide, or horns. He belongs to Buffalo Smith; though I'd like to convert him into tough steaks, if only I had a rifle handy."

"I've managed to snatch up that offensive red handkerchief of yours," explained Frank, "from where you threw it when chasing for refuge. It must have been the innocent cause of all your trouble and as tit-for-tat I mean to make it help you out of this pickle."

"Oh! now I get you! You expect to coax the old lummix to chase after you for a mile or so, and so give me a chance to climb down?"

"That's the little game, partner. When you see me wave my hat get a move on, and drop."

"But if he sees me on the ground he's dead sure to come back with a rush, and I'd have to take to the mountains to keep clear of those shiny short horns!"

"Oh, I expect to keep him employed till I see that Lanky's shown up, leading your pony. Get that, Paul?"

"A regular old booster of a scheme, Frank, if only everything works in a groove. Get busy then, and flag him. I'll lie low, so he'll forget all about poor little Paul up a tree!"

Frank delayed no longer, but started waving the red neckerchief violently in the most insolent fashion he could devise. At the same time he called out tantalizingly at the buffalo, daring him to come out and have a nice little run for his money.

More pawing at the ground followed, accompanied with low, hollow sounds that stood for bellows. Evidently the bull was thus engaged in working himself up to a certain pitch of rage, when he would be unable to resist the lure of that flaunting and much hated red flag.

"Whoop! he's off. Frank, get going before he takes a whack at you!" shouted Paul, as the animal suddenly tore away with lowered head, eager to give battle to the reckless enemy who thus dared him.

If Frank had possessed three hands to pull at the reins he could not have held in that frantic cow pony when the little beast saw that lumbering bull charging.

Whirling around, he went off like a shot, only desirous of placing plenty of ground between himself and the mad creature. Accustomed to cattle as he must be, nevertheless there was something terrifying about the bunchy-headed buffalo that sent the pony into equine spasms.

Frank managed to pull him in a bit, so as not to outdistance the charging bull, lest he go back to his prisoner again. He also continued to flaunt that offensive red flag and send jeering whoops over his shoulder that kept his pursuer spurred up to fever heat.

A full mile was covered in a short time. Then a distant shout was borne to Frank's ears. On investigating he discovered that Lanky had succeeded in capturing the run-away mount and was already close to the tree, from which Paul could be seen descending in eager haste.

"Now then, get a move on you, Chestnut!" Frank called out to his pony, at the same time kicking his heels into the animal's sides.

Gradually he began to gain on the bull, which after another mile lost heart, and dropped out of the race. Frank, seeing his two chums coming in a round-about way, waited for them to join him. Paul was grinning amiably, as if he had rather enjoyed having been in the spotlight. Things looked different to him, now that it was all over but the shouting.

They again took up the search for the pony that was so badly needed to carry the pack, and were fortunate enough to glimpse the animal feeding on some luxuriant grass that had tempted him to forget his love of freedom.

Having captured the run-away, the boys once more turned their faces toward the south, and in due time reached camp. The others did not return for another hour or more, and were of course pleased to learn of the recovery of the pack animal.

It was now noon, so they had a bit of cold lunch, and after that a start was made.

Jerry was in the lead, it being their intention to make for the canyon. If this was followed up the face of the mountain range it would in due time take them to the plateau where Gold Fork lay in its desolation.

The boys now had a chance to see a real Rocky Mountain canyon, where ages ago a torrent used to come tearing down from the snow-capped peaks above, gradually to wear away the earth lying between solid walls of rock, until they loomed up a hundred feet or more on either hand.

It was now a dry defile, the lads noticed, although they fancied that once in a great while, during some cloudburst, there might be a deluge of water come roaring and tossing down the canyon, carrying everything before it.

They found it hard work picking their way upward; but Jerry knew pretty well how to avoid the worst of the difficulties.

"This means we're going to pitch camp in this channel of an old-time torrent," remarked Frank, as the long afternoon wore away and their hard-worked ponies gave signs of being very tired.

"It'll be a new experience," observed Lanky, looking around at the lofty walls that rose on either side. "Gee whiz! but I'd hate to be caught in this hole if a storm broke and the rain came down as it does sometimes out here in the Rockies. We'd soon be swimming I reckon."

Paul Bird looked uneasy, but made no remark, for he rather suspected that Lanky was saying what he did in anticipation of "getting a rise" from him. As long as Paul had known Lanky, he had never learned to tell with certainty when the tall fellow was joking and when he was serious.

As evening approached Jerry called a halt. He must have had reasons for choosing that particular spot to pitch camp, Frank decided, after noticing how the veteran puncher and prospector looked around him from time to time, as if renewing old-time recollections of the place.

A fire was made, there being an abundance of dead wood at hand, coming from the stunted trees that grew out of clefts in the surrounding walls.

"What makes it seem so hot here?" asked Paul, wiping his reeking forehead with the same red neckerchief that had excited the buffalo bull.

"Oh, it's nearly always hot around these mountains," replied the artful Lanky. "Folks say it's because some of them used to be volcanoes ages and ages ago, and the fires must still be burning deep down."

But Paul scoffed at the fantastic idea, knowing full well Lanky was only "drawing the long bow" for his especial benefit.

"If you look," remarked Frank quietly, "you'll notice that it's clouded up; and with all this high temperature I wouldn't be surprised if we had some rain before morning."

"Let's hope, then," added Lanky, and really meaning what he said, "that it isn't to be one of those terrific cloudbursts Zander was telling us about at supper. I like swimming, all right! But excuse me from being swept on a boiling torrent down an old canyon half a mile long, to be kicked out on the prairie like a knocked-about bag of meal."

"Well, Jerry knew what he was about when he picked out this particular point for our camp," Frank went on to say confidently.

"We'll pin our faith on Jerry, then," said Paul, trying to appear quite unconcerned, though his heart did beat faster than its wont as he surveyed the myriad of sharp-pointed rocks and enormous boulders marking the course of the crooked defile.

Another thing the watchful Frank noticed later on told him Jerry Brime did not mean to be caught entirely unprepared, should any sort of impending disaster break over their heads.

He himself took the trouble to do up their pack of stores after supper was over, a most unusual thing, and arrange so that at a moment's notice it could be secured on the back of the pony.

The animals, too, were kept saddled and bridled, as though in readiness for sudden flight. Frank wondered what sort of time they could make going down that dreadful gap in the face of the mountains in the dead of night, and with a million obstacles lying in wait to bring about trouble.

They needed no blaze that night to keep the chill away; it seemed strangely suffocating, a fact that might account for the unusual wakefulness on the part of the three boys.

"Don't know what ails me," grumbled Lanky who was stretched out in his beloved checkered blanket close to Frank. "I keep turning from one side to the other, and just can't get asleep, tired as I am. Guess mom would say I'd got the 'fidgets,' while dad'd likely tell me I was too greedy with that campfire-cooked venison. Shucks! something's going to happen, I reckon."

"It sure will, if you don't quit that mumbling," chuckled Frank, "for I can see Zander popping his head up and looking this way, as if he had half a mind to make you go off and herd by yourself."

"You said it, Frank," came from Paul, on the other side of Lanky. "I'm no knocker, but he keeps digging his elbows into my ribs every time he turns over. Please quit it, Lanky, and settle down."

Somehow or other, the uneasy one did manage to control his restlessness, and he soon lay sprawled out on his back and breathing hard, which was a pretty good indication that he had passed over into dream-land.

Frank did not have the slightest idea how long he was lost to the world after Lanky quieted down. It may have been several hours, for there was nothing to tell him what the time was when he was aroused by a frightful crash of thunder that seemed to make the solid rocks under him tremble with the vibration.

Then came a dash of rain that almost instantly deluged every one, so that clothes and blankets were soaking wet.

When a flash of lightning lit up the canyon as by bright sunlight, Lanky was seen threshing around in the endeavor to get free from his blanket that had crept up about his ears as he slept. At the same came his triumphant shout:

"What did I tell you? Something's happened all right, hasn't it?"

But Jerry Brime gave them no time to dispute.

"We got to git outen this right smart, 'case that looks like a cloudburst to me. This hyah canyon she'll be ten feet deep in a flood afore yuh knows what's comin' down on yuh. Everybody git yuh duffle, an' foller old Jerry!"

CHAPTER XII

A RACE WITH THE CLOUDBURST

It was a scene of the wildest commotion, as the almost continually flashing lightning depicted. The three boys had it seared on their minds so that they would never forget the thrill of the occasion as long as they lived.

But for that rare forethought and preparedness on the part of Jerry Brime, it would have been many times worse. His arrangements for sudden flight allowed the party to make a move without wasting a single minute of precious time.

The ponies gave them some trouble, for they seemed to sense impending calamity, and were nearly frantic. But by now even the tenderfeet had learned how to manage frightened mounts; and as each one had his own cayuse to lead, once he got a firm grip on tin bridle near the bit it was not a very difficult task.

At least the lightning, coming so incessantly, proved of immense advantage to the party. Frank shuddered to think what dreadful stumbling, with resulting injuries, would have been their portion had they been compelled to make their way down the defile in utter darkness, with those flinty and jagged-edged rocks strewing their path.

So the camp was abandoned in much less time than it had taken them to arrange things. There was great need of haste, too, it soon proved.

"Oh! listen, Frank!" cried Paul, as he turned toward his chum, who managed to keep close by, ready to give a helping hand should the need arise.

"Yes, I hear it, Paul!"

"It sounds like a river broken loose!" continued the other, in an agitated voice.

"Just what it is, I reckon—a fresh river—the flood!" Frank told him.

"Faster, everybody!" called Mr. Wallace, conscious of the magnitude of their danger.

"Yep, move lively, 'case she's a-tearin' down the mountain like greased lightning!" Zander Forbes called out; lapsing into cowboy lingo, college graduate as he claimed to be.

As Jerry had to be in the van to serve as their guide, Zander had taken it upon himself to tow the pack-pony as well as his own mount. This was a tremendous responsibility under such conditions, and few punchers there were who could have managed it; but then Zander seemed to be little short of a wizard among animals.

The thunder still bellowed, while the rain fell in almost solid sheets, so that in all there was a hurricane of sound around the fleeing party. Still above this noise they could plainly distinguish that awful roar of rushing waters on the rampage, than which there can be no more terrifying sound possible.

Paul Bird had to clinch his teeth until his lips bled in order to master the deadly fear that gripped his very soul and made him feel sick. In imagination he was picturing the scene Lanky had drawn when he spoke so jokingly about "swimming down on the boiling flood to be swept out into the little valley with broken bones and life extinct."

So far as Frank could see, those grim and lofty and forbidding walls continued to hem them in on either side—utterly unscalable, and looking like the jaws of a trap that was destined to be their doom. But he felt positive that Jerry knew of some avenue of escape from the canyon, if only they were given the time required to reach the opening. Once the flood caught up with them, all would be lost.

He had never looked upon such a spectacle in all his life, but he understood that the first wave might be something like ten feet high, and making the descent of the abrupt mountainside with incredible velocity, so that it was bound to carry horses and human being off their feet when it struck them, and as the downpour still continued the chances were that the torrent would gain additional volume with every rod it rushed along.

On the fugitives pressed, making better time than could have been attained under any other conditions, for there is nothing equal to the dread of death to spur men and beasts on to herculean efforts.

Fortunately none of the ponies had thus far stumbled. Although the time lost by such an accident might be only the fraction of a minute, even such a brief delay was apt to cost them dear when the race was so close. Frank's pony seemed to lag a bit, having hit upon a section of ground that was rougher than the rest, being strewn with more loose rocks, and in this way the lad found himself the last member of the sextette.

In a flight such as this, it is usually every one for himself, since there is no time given to double-up. As Lanky would have stated it, "Every chap must look out for himself."

Jerry was calling out now at the top of his voice, and despite all the other booming sounds they could catch the drift of his words, meant solely to encourage them at this crisis.

"It's right ahead of us! We're bound to git thar all hunk! Keep a-goin' like hot cakes, fellers! I know whar I'm at, yuh kin bet yuh boots!"

He finished this rush of shouted words with his familiar old cowboy yell, as if to defy the rush of the flood and the fury of the summer storm.

If they attained their goal and managed to get out of reach of the avalanche of water, it would be by the skin of their teeth. Lanky could not have uttered a word just then, no matter how desperately he tried, for his lips felt as dry as those of a fever-stricken mule-skinner in a caravan, and his breath was coming in pants, as of a hound that had run a long race in chase of a hare.

Just when he was almost on the point of despairing and under the belief that Jerry must have miscalculated the time required to reach his escape valve from the canyon trap, Lanky heard the veteran give a joyous cry:

"Hyah she is, boys, and the kentry's saved!"

Never had such welcome words come to the ears of those fugitive treasure-seekers. It inspired them to keep up their efforts a fraction of a minute longer, though the closeness of the coming flood was enough in itself to urge them to astonishing agility.

Jerry and his mount were turning abruptly to the left. Lanky wondered how it came he had failed to notice this single break in the continuity of those cruel granite walls when they were slowly ascending the face of the mountain chain. But it was there, just the same, and a good thing for the hard-pressed outfit.

They straggled out of the canyon bed and climbed to higher ground with all the speed they could muster. There were not half a dozen seconds to spare, Lanky realized, with a shiver of horror, when he heard the sweep of the crest of the flood go rushing madly past, and even found his legs in water up to his ankles.

How thankful they must feel, and with what lighter hearts would they stick to their isle of safety until the flood went down again. Paul could not contain himself, even though his wind was scant after his recent efforts.

"Lanky, look! Oh, look! Here's Frank's pony close at my heels! But where is Frank?"

At the words all of the party came to an abrupt halt, a feeling like ice gripping every heart. The roar and sweep of the flood was not quite so frightful as before, since its crest had gone by but a new terror now seized them.

Was Frank caught in its terrifying grip?

CHAPTER XIII

WASHED AWAY

What had actually happened to Frank Allen might easily be termed tragedy. What made it all the stranger was the fact that he owed it to the frantic eagerness of his pony to escape the clutch of the oncoming flood.

Having been detained a little because meeting more obstacles than the others of the party, Frank was still in the canyon when the others turned out of it. Fascinated by the spectacle behind him, he turned his head in the act of climbing out to take one last fleeting look up the cut.

What he saw by the aid of the lightning was a sight that must always give him a queer chill, because of what followed so closely in its train.

A mighty wave was pouring down upon him, its crest foamy and leaping as if in glee. It was eight or ten feet high at most, but to the excited imagination of the boy it seemed doubly that.

The mere turning of his head as he did caused him to lose a fraction of his steadiness. At the same instant the pony made such a frantic leap forward that Frank lost his hold on the bridle. The next thing he knew something hit him squarely in the chest as with a sledge hammer, knocking him backward. It must have been one of the pony's recklessly flung hind hoofs, in the way of which Frank had tumbled.

Before the starred boy could more than struggle to his knees in the effort to escape his fate he was picked up by that roaring flood and borne swiftly along.

Fortunately for his own good, Frank managed to retain his wits, awkward and perilous as his situation now was. He threw out both arms and tried to clutch hold of such rocks as he came in contact with, usually the projecting knobs that were connected with the near wall, and perhaps six or more feet from the bed of the canyon.

Several times he managed to get some sort of a grip on such a welcome anchor, only to find he was utterly unable to maintain his hold. On each occasion the fierce current snatched him loose again, after almost dislocating his shoulder or his elbow.

One thing these several detentions did accomplish, and that was to retard his downward rush a little each separate time. So he was gradually falling back a dozen feet or more from the apex of that leading billow. Thus he presently found the water somewhat less agitated, though still mighty in its pull.

Buffeted and tossed like a chip, Frank Allen was fast losing the best of his strength, although his grit still held out. The never-say-die spirit such as he had exhibited on many a hard fought football field or a struggle for supremacy on the diamond, was fated to stand back of him again in this tussle with the on-rushing torrent.

When for the fourth time he managed to fasten his fingers, like the talons of that vulture Zander had shot on a projecting point of rock, he summoned every fibre of his whole being to conquer the drag of the current.

Inch by inch he felt he was succeeding. Past him the torrent still rushed, but he had reason to believe it did not have him wholly in its power as before.

So in another minute Frank was able to drag himself on to a friendly rock. He was so nearly spent by that time that it was with extreme difficulty he managed to keep his seat. Several times he almost toppled off his perch, which would have undoubtedly been his end, since he was now very weak.

By slow degrees his strength and will power came back, and a sense of deep gratitude filled his heart because of the Hand that seemed to have thus plucked him directly out of deadly danger.

But what should he do next?

He realized that of course the others of his party would be mystified on account of his absence and the appearance of his pony among the rest of the animals. There was no possible way, however, by which he could acquaint them with his wonderful escape from a terrible fate.

His first plan was to remain where he was until hours had passed and the flood fully subsided. Then, by dropping down into the canyon's bed once more, he could ascend its tortuous course until he found the fissure by means of which the party had climbed as he hoped, to safety.

Moving backward in order to make more certain that he would not slip and thus get into fresh trouble, Frank found that a crevice opened up in the wall of the cleft, wide enough for him to pass along.

It ascended, too, which was a plain invitation for him to continue as long as the going proved to be possible. All the while, he realized, he must be getting nearer the top of the lofty canyon wall, where he would find the surface of the mountainside.

One thing he discovered that pleased him—the rain had ceased. Also the roar of the thunder had dwindled to mere growlings in the distance.

"The storm's gone past," Frank told himself, eager to hear the sound of his own voice once more, for it would make his strange surroundings seem less gruesome. "At the worst, I'll only have to spend the rest of the night by myself on the mountain."

Such a possibility did not much concern a boy who had made many a lone camp in his days of hiking. Sometimes this had even been across an entire state, so as to enlarge his faculties and observe the wonders of nature, as well as rub up against such people as could be found in country backwoods and charcoal burners' camps.

Then came still another discovery. On looking up to find just how far above him the surface might be, what was his delight to see a bright star peeping in between the sides of the cleft in the rocks.

When three minutes afterwards Frank crept out of his "Jacob's Ladder," as he meant to call the friendly fissure, he found that the clouds had begun to roll away to leeward and many stars dotted the heavens overhead.

At any rate, he had nothing more to fear from the storm. But it had come close to being an expensive experience for him. As his nerves quieted down by degrees he felt more like himself, and able to grapple with any ordinary difficulty that might come along.

Everything was soaking wet, water even running from each outlying rock's surface. He himself was completely saturated; but as it still remained fairly warm Frank minded that not at all.

"Now what's to be done?" he asked himself, meaning to form his plan on the spot and then carry it out as best he could.

Of course, it was utterly useless to dream of attempting to find his party while darkness lasted. They might be far distant, unable to hear his shouts in case he raised his voice.

"More than that," Frank added, as an after-thought, "it would be a crime to tempt Lanky, or any of the others, to come down the face of this rocky mountain, risking all sorts of dangers they would not see in the dark. There must be many a precipice between their new camp and here, where a slip would spell death."

That point settled, Frank decided to try to pick out some half-way decent camp site and make the best of a bad bargain.

He had much to be grateful for, and, besides that, Frank Allen was never the boy to grumble because things did not chance to run as smoothly as he might have wished.

After looking as best he could around the vicinity, he settled on a certain spot as well adapted for his purposes. For one thing, there were several stumps of trees near by; and if only he could knock one of these to flinders by using a big rock in lieu of an ax, he conceived the idea that he would yet have a cheery blaze started.

Among other symptoms of eternal preparedness that were characteristic of Frank was his always making sure to carry a waterproof metal matchsafe, filled with "fire-sticks," in his pocket.

He had not been immersed in the water a great while, and felt absolutely certain his precious matches would be dry and ready for use. With this desire for comfort, as well as an opportunity for drying his clothes, spurring him on, Frank started work on what seemed to be the most promising of three stumps.

There was an abundance of half-dead wood lying around, wet, of course, after such a deluge; but he fancied he would have little difficulty in keeping a fire going, if only he found enough dry stuff to start kindling it.

His guess in connection with the heart of that stump proved to be a good one, for he soon had taken out sufficient dry stuff to answer all purposes. So, striking a match, he applied it to the tinder thus collected, and had the satisfaction of seeing a flame start up at once.

This he carefully and assiduously cherished and fed until he had collected quite a nice mess of red embers. Then he began to put on some of the other wood, and, as he anticipated it soon burst into a crackling blaze.

How good it felt to the wet boy, words could hardly tell. By degrees he managed to dry his clothes by keeping turning around like a teetotum, from one side to another, standing the heat as long as possible.

An hour had perhaps gone—Frank could tell only by the movement of the heavenly bodies, since water had got into his wrist watch and stopped the wheels from turning.

He found himself turning every little while toward the east, in the hope of seeing signs of dawn, even though good common sense told him that must still be an hour and more away.

Just as he began to feel what he called "dopey," sitting there by the warm fire, his head nodding, Frank caught a sound that disturbed his growing confidence that the worst was past. It was a series of queer, blood-curdling yelps that he guessed came from a pack of those fierce, mountain gray wolves Jerry had told him about. From the tenor of their eager howls, the boy knew they must be hunting for something toothsome with which to sate their ferocious appetites!

CHAPTER XIV

THE TIMBER-WOLF PACK

"That sounds bad to me," Frank told himself, as he listened to the long-drawn howls of the carniverous wolves, echoing so drearily along the side of the mountain. "Seems like this is my night for shaking hands with Old Man Trouble right along. Whew, there must be as many as half a dozen hungry creatures in that pack!"

He fed more sticks to his snapping blaze, and a minute or two later had made up his mind.

"Doesn't seem to be a decent-sized tree left around these diggings. I reckon an avalanche must have carried them all down to the foot of the mountain, and these saplings are second-growth timber. That means I'm not going to follow Paul's example, and roost in a tree."

Frank, of course, was well acquainted with the fact that nearly all wild animals to be found in western wilds are afraid of fire. That would mean he must have sufficient fuel close at hand to keep his blaze going for several hours; really until the coming of dawn should send the ravenous beasts skulking off to their dens, they being creatures of the night.

"Time I got busy and collected all the stuff that will burn," he said, after making this decision to stand by the fire as his best resort. "It might even be I'll have to start a second blaze, to keep them from creeping up from the rear and taking me off my guard."

He went to the task with great energy, forgetting all about sore arms in his desire to pile up the wood.

Crash! and down came the heavy rock again and again, breaking the wood in short lengths suitable for his purpose. It was wonderful how rapidly his pile grew, but then Frank was fully aware of the tremendous amount of fuel an open campfire can devour in the course of several hours, and if his supply gave out just at a critical moment he would be undone.

Now and then he would stop to listen.

"Their keen ears must have heard this noise of my wood-smasher at work, and chances are they'll get wise," he remarked between his gasps for breath at one period of his energetic labors. "Yes, their howls are a whole lot closer than when I first heard them."

That caused a quick return to work, for his wood-pile was not as large as caution dictated. How Frank wished he had his rifle with him, for then he could rapidly diminish the pack until the rest took fright and left for some distant refuge.

The doleful sounds continued to break the silence of the night with a horrible significance. No one who has never heard the howling of wolves, with not any weapon other than his hunting-knife to defend himself against their sharp teeth and terrible claws, can realize what a strange feeling assails even a valiant heart as the sounds draw steadily nearer and nearer.

Frank picked out a good stout cudgel, and kept it handy for use in case it came to a fight with the pack. Still the boy hoped he might fend off the animals by a judicious use of flaming brands, hurled from time to time into their midst.

So rapidly had they come that now he felt sure he could hear the rush of their bodies through the bushes close by. Then he caught sight of a moving figure seen dimly by the firelight, and which crouched low as it came toward him.

Frank uttered a yell, and, springing to his fire, stirred it to greater efforts. Not content with this, since the wolf still lay only thirty feet or so away, he snatched up a burning brand and sent it whizzing through the air.

"My old cunning as a baseball pitcher comes in handy on such an occasion as this," chucked Frank, when he plainly caught the "plunk" that announced the collision of the whirling faggot of wood with the crouching beast.

He heard the surprised beast give a snap and a snarl. The hard-flung, blazing missile had burnt its hide, and Frank saw the animal scuttle off in great haste.

"So long, Mr. Wolf!" he shouted, in great glee over the success of his initial effort at bombardment. "Got your number that time, and three strikes means you're out! Plenty more tricks in the bag, you want to know. Who's the next victim? Don't be backward about stepping forward; all coons look alike to me when I'm pitching gilt-edged ball."

Before long he was aware that his enemies had his camp completely surrounded. Glance whichever way he might, Frank could glimpse a pair of yellow, wicked-looking eyes fixed hungrily upon him.

"Now I've got to mind myself, all right," he muttered, holding in readiness for quick action in case the beasts attempted to rush his fortress in a body. "I don't like them creeping so near, and I'd better put a few more of these red brands to good use."

He seized upon one, and sent it hurdling through space; then a second followed in rapid succession, the bombardment being maintained until he had given the whole circle a share of the blazing faggots.

"All pins down, and a count for me," the undaunted boy called out, partly because the sound of his own voice helped keep his spirits up. "Set 'em up in the other alley, boy! Huh! didn't just like having it rain fire, did you, old Graybacks? Moved back a bit, too. And I'd feel a whole lot easier, if you'd keep that distance from now till daylight!"

But the scare of the wolves was of short duration. Inside of ten minutes they had crept back once more to their former advanced line, so that again the boy could see those glaring orbs whichever way he looked.

He had to repeat the barrage, using up more of his precious wood than he could well spare.

"Retreated again," he told himself, though with a lack of his former enthusiasm. "But I can't keep that sort of thing going right along. I'll hold off longer, and then jump for them with a brand in each hand."

He waited until he could actually glimpse the grim crouching figures of the determined wolves flattened on the ground, just as he had many times seen the pet cat at home do when ready to pounce on a robin or a sparrow. Then he started for them, shouting at the top of his now hoarse voice, and at the same time flourishing two torches with great vigor.

The animals could not stand such a display of fireworks, and beat a retreat once more. Frank was shrewd enough not to be tempted into going any great distance away from his best friend, the fire.

Time passed on leaden wings as Frank Allen kept up this strange vigil. By judicious management he succeeded in husbanding his shortening supply of available fuel. On discovering signs of coming dawn over in the east Frank took fresh heart, and began to believe he would win his battle with the wolf pack.

Stronger grew the oncoming daylight.

"Showing signs of meaning to throw up the sponge, are you?" he called out tauntingly, as he discovered one of the animals turning tail and slinking away, heading along the mountainside, evidently having a den in that quarter. "Well, here's wishing you better luck in getting supper another time, when it's venison you're stalking and not a poor tenderfoot cowpuncher. Good riddance to bad rubbish. There goes a second chap, licking his chops like all hungry disappointed animals do."

So the pack disintegrated, until so far as Frank could see there remained only a solitary sentry out in the scrub.

"Seems to be a whole lot more tenacious than the rest of his bunch," chuckled the greatly relieved besieged boy. "I'll fix him, all right. Plenty of ammunition now, and to spare."

He boldly charged the last member of the once threatening pack, and pelted him with a number of burning sticks in rapid succession. It was some gratification to score several "hits," and in the end he had that wolf running for shelter, with a badly singed hide to make him remember with regret his close acquaintance with one of the elements that he held in fear.

"Coast seems to be all clear now, but I'd better hang around for another half hour or so," Frank told himself. "Gee! what a dandy fire for cooking bacon and eggs over, if only I had them."

When he took it for granted that the time set had passed, Frank started off. The sun was already above the low and level horizon beyond the foothills lying to the east, and Frank gave a fond look that way, remembering that over in that quarter lay Rockspur Ranch, with its familiar surroundings and the friends who occupied so much of his waking thoughts.

He found the going anything but easy, so rough was the mountainside in every direction. Now and then he was afforded wonderful views, as some new vista opened up. Frank hoped he was through with adventure for some time; though remembering that these wild mountain regions were said to be the hunting-grounds of certain savage animals, such as the grizzly bear.

"I'd sure hate" he was muttering at one time as he climbed, "to run smack into one of those old Mountain Charlies, as Jerry said they are called over on the coast side of the Rockies. I'll try to keep my eye fixed on some nice tree that I can shin up, in case there's any need of a change of base."

By slow degrees he was making fair headway up the rugged slope. Several times he found it necessary to detour, on account of a cliff that loomed up in his course and that could not be scaled, even should he take his courage in both hands and make the attempt.

"They do say the longest way around is sometimes the shortest in the end," he buoyed up his spirits by saying; "and I'd a heap rather go an extra half-mile than fall from that rocky wall."

He was wondering how much farther he ought to climb and if it might not be the part of wisdom on his part to start yelling on the chance of being overheard by the others of his party, when he fancied he caught the sound of a human voice.

The more he listened the better convinced he felt that he had not been deceived by his ears. Some one was grumbling, and talking in a fretful tone.

"Hello!" called Frank, cupping his hands and sending out the shout in the direction the sounds seemed to come from.

"Oh, help! Help!" came back almost instantly and in piteous tones.

"I ought to know that voice!" snapped Frank.

Thrilled by the anguish which he had caught with Lanky's muffled appeal for assistance, Frank Allen hurried as much as he dared. As he advanced he continued to call out reassuring words.

"Hey, Lanky, I'm coming!"

CHAPTER XV

WHAT HAPPENED TO LANKY

"Come as quick as you can—nearly all in, and feel like I'm going to—faint, you know. Think of me, Lanky Wallace, actin' like that! But—it's awful—being turned upside-down this way! Hurry along!"

Lanky's words greatly mystified Frank, for as yet he had failed to get the first glimpse of his chum in trouble. Not for long, however, did this ignorance last.

"Well, Lanky Wallace sure has pulled a stunt I never saw equaled!" burst from the lips of the amazed and startled Frank, when, bursting through a barrier of thorny brushwood, he saw a swinging figure hanging head downward over the edge of a sheer drop that would measure a full twelve feet.

It was Lanky all right, though few of his friends would be able to recognize him if discovered in that awkward and ridiculous posture. One of his feet seemed to be entangled in a vine that grew from a fissure close to the top of the diminutive cliff, which, of course, assumed the size of a precipice to the unfortunate human pendulum.

But it was no laughing matter to Lanky. If left too long, he would come to a dangerous pass, since all the blood would go to his head, and so encompass his death.

He must have twisted and writhed with might and main in the endeavor to reach up a groping hand and obtain some sort of grip upon the vine that was the cause of his stumbling over the edge of that cliff.

Now he had stopped all that useless work and was swinging back and forth, for all the world like the weight in a great grandfather clock in the Allen home at Columbia.

Losing not a second in inaction, Frank hastened to make his way up one side of the rocky wall, which he was able to do by searching for toe-holds.

These did not always prove as substantial as he would have wished, for once he slipped and slid backward several feet, amidst a vast falling of shale and earth.

Poor despairing Lanky gave vent to an agonized howl on hearing the racket thus made. He naturally fancied, not being able to see a thing on account of the coat dangling over his head, that his rescuer had gotten himself into some serious predicament, which would "settle his—Lanky's—goose," since further delay must drive him frantic.

"Nothing gone wrong, Lanky. Only lost my grip. Be with you in three shakes of a dog's tail. Don't worry, it's Frank talking to you! Now I'm at the top, and going over!"

The knowledge that Frank was actually alive after all the dreadful fears that had oppressed both himself and Paul, helped revive Lanky's drooping spirits considerably. He stopped groaning, and Frank thought he heard him say in a fearfully weak voice something like:

"Bully—it's Frank! Oh, bul—ly boy!"

Now Frank was crawling along the edge of the little precipice toward the spot below which his chum dangled like a mason's plumb-line down the wall he was building.

"Here I am, Lanky, right above you!" he called out cheeringly. "Yes, I can see where you went headlong over, your foot trapped in this vine!"

He leaned cautiously over the brink. Lanky was directly below, and Frank was pleased to see that it would not be difficult for him to get a firm grip on the other's ankle; though just how he was to raise Lanky gave him immediate concern.

Some object caught his eye—it looked a bit like a coiled snake of tremendous proportions, lying there almost on the edge of the abrupt descent. Then Frank realized that it was a coiled rope. Lanky himself had undoubtedly fetched it from the temporary camp, under the impression that he could find a good use for such a thing, if only he should run across his missing chum.

As a plan flashed into his active mind Frank snatched up the strong rope, leaned over, and managed to get its end around Lanky's ankle. As speedily as he could he fastened it securely.

"Listen, Lanky!" he cried out. "I've got the rope fixed so I can lower you down to the ground, once I've cut that vine apart. Here goes, then!"

First Frank took a single hitch of the rope around a small sapling that chanced to be within reach, a most fortunate thing. This he did so it would be doubly easy and safe to lower a heavy weight, without risking being pulled over the edge himself.

Then out came his knife. How glad he was he had always made it a point to keep a razor-like edge on his handy blade. Two, three slashes were all that was required, when the tough vine parted and, by easy little jerks, Lanky commenced to go down toward the rocks below.

No sooner did Frank see that his chum had landed than he fastened the rope in a knot, swung himself over the edge and slid down as if he clasped a greased pole, in the customary doing at the annual Harvest Home fair at Columbia.

Lanky was groaning and moving a little, as Frank knelt down beside him. When he drew the other's coat away from his face Frank was alarmed to discover how black Lanky looked. Evidently a short time longer of that hanging must have quite finished him.

Hearing water gurgling close by, Frank hastened to the small rivulet that came leaping and bubbling down from the snow-clad heights above. He filled Lanky's hat—his own had gone down with that raging torrent—and was speedily back at the other's side.

First of all he made Lanky drink a little of the icy water. Next he bathed the flushed and discolored face with some of the same fluid. The result was gratifying, for by slow degrees that dreadful, purple hue faded from Lanky's features, and he even smiled wanly, his eyes kindling with the awakening joy he felt at once more seeing his best chum bending over him.

"We thought—you must have gone,—Frank!" he managed to say, trying to lift his hand, which Frank had been patting affectionately.

"Well, I had the closest shave of my whole life," replied the other, wincing at the vivid recollection of that never-to-be-forgotten experience. "But you'll hear all about it later on, Lanky; also how I've been keeping a lively pack of gray wolves at bay for several hours by throwing burning brands from my fire at them as they hovered around."

"Whew!" breathed Lanky, gazing at his chum with admiring eyes. "And all I've managed to do along the line of adventure was to trip over a vine, hang head down over a precipice and yell for help!"

After a while Lanky felt so much stronger that it was decided to make a move. He had kept his bearings while starting out at break of day in the hope of finding Frank so now he was able to serve as guide.

They took their way slowly, for neither of them felt very robust. Accordingly it was well on to the middle of the morning when at last Lanky pointed ahead, to remark with a sigh of relief:

"You can see the smoke of their fire right over that big boulder, Frank. They're sticking close to the place where we came out of the canyon, because Jerry says there isn't any other trail he knows of by which to reach Gold Fork camp."

When they were discovered there arose a great shout. Paul waved his hat enthusiastically. Mr. Wallace did the same while both Jerry Brime and Zander Forbes joined in the hearty greeting. The latter had just come back, after combing the lower reaches of the canyon, the flood having passed away, leaving only a bare trickle of water to hint at the almost tragic event of the preceding night.

By degrees the story was told, and everybody seemed to think Frank must surely bear a charmed life, to pass unscathed through two such exciting and hazardous adventures in one night.

It had been agreed upon between the two boys that they would say nothing about what had happened to Lanky. For one thing, he felt ashamed at having been so easily caught napping, and placed in such a ridiculous position. Then, again, he did not want to worry his father with such harrowing details as must follow on his being questioned.

"Of course you can tell Paul all about my silliness," Lanky had said at the time this arrangement was made. "I know he can keep a secret. But I'd never hear the last of it if the fellows in Columbia ever got wind of my fool play."

As Lanky had partaken of no breakfast, being in such a hurry to commence his search, and Frank had fasted since the preceding night, an early hot lunch was made ready, after which they started on again.

Jerry led the way down into the bed of the canyon, whose treachery none of these travelers would ever forget. Once more their faces were turned upward, as the sure-footed ponies made their way among the loose rocks that dotted the bottom of the defile.

In years long gone past all those headed for the new gold discovery had covered this identical ground. The boys could easily imagine them toiling upward—grizzled prospectors and regular miners, some toting all their possessions on their backs, others enjoying the luxury of a donkey to carry burdens.

"And like as not every mother's son of the whole bunch," Paul Bird remarked, on talking with his two chums concerning these things, "was as enthusiastic and hopeful as we are right now, expecting to be lucky enough to run across some wonderful pocket of nuggets, like Josh Kinney had done."

"Yes, that's true enough, Paul," replied Lanky. "But none of them happened to have a neat little homemade chart made by Kinney himself and telling where his cache was hidden in that five-fingered cave. There's a whole lot in having the inside track, you know."

Several hours passed.

They had been making fair and steady progress upward, and Frank could more than half guess they were presently coming to a break in the abrupt steepness marking the sheer mountainside.

"We must be close on that plateau, where we understand the deserted camp lies," he told the other boys.

"What makes you think so?" asked the pleased yet skeptical Paul.

"The lay of the land, for one thing," came the reply. "Then, again, I've been keeping my weather eye fixed on Jerry."

"Clever idea," admitted Paul; while Lanky grinned, proving that he himself must have been doing something similar.

"He's been getting more and more worked up right along," continued Frank, who made it a practice to observe everything around him, and form his own conception of its meaning.

"Reckons he's back again in the good old days," Lanky broke in just then, "when Gold Fork was on the boom, with everybody figuring on being a millionaire before the sun went down six more times. Huh! makes me laugh, the innocence of those old codgers! Poor sillies!"

Even as Lanky spoke, Jerry turned around with uplifted hand.

"We're right thar, boys, and yuh goin' to set eyes on the remains afore yuh's five minuits older. Don't laugh, please, 'case to me it's like a-goin' to a funeral of an old friend. Seen some right lively times hyah in Gold Fork, an' I sumtimes dream 'bout the real men I nudged shoulders with in them rushin' days o' the long ago."

"Let's remember that, fellows," said Frank softly, "and respect Jerry's feelings in the matter. If we have to be amused we can pick out times when the old man isn't around."

"I'll not forget, Frank," said Paul instantly. "I think I can understand about how he feels. To see this familiar stamping-ground again will be like having ghosts walk."

"Ditto here," grunted Lanky, though not quite so given to sentiment.

The stipulated five minutes had not passed when on breaking through a barrier of wild-looking brush and bushes the party came fully upon the wreckage of one of the oldest and most talked-of mining camps in all that region.

To Frank especially, with Jerry and his memories in mind, the picture was intensely desolate, weird, and impressive. All of the pilgrims drew in their tired ponies and stared at what was spread there before them.

CHAPTER XVI

AT THE DESERTED MINING CAMP

"Look at the buzzards sitting on that ridge of a two-story building, will you?" exclaimed Lanky, pointing as he spoke.

"There! They're off, flying," said Paul, "each starting with a queer little jump that sends the big bird up several feet before its wings begin to carry it. Always liked to watch turkey-buzzards roosting on a dead tree or dropping down to feed. Make me think of the clowns at a circus, they're so comical."

"I'd call this Camp Desolation, if you asked me," observed Frank, in an aside to his chums.

"Never did set eyes on its equal in all my life," Lanky admitted. "I reckon nobody's been around here for years, to look at the way those shacks and stores and huts have decayed."

"That's where you're away off your trolley then," chuckled Frank.

"Seen something, or you wouldn't talk that way," ventured the other, a bit annoyed because Frank had again beaten him at woodcraft, in which Lanky fancied himself a master.

"Lots of times, when we were climbing the canyon bed to top the rise," Frank told him, with a nod; "especially during the last half hour. Signs of horses coming and going—lately, too—little stones displaced, even the plain print of hoofs when there chanced to be a layer of earth to make them show. I'm a whole lot surprised that you missed them, Lanky."

"Huh! even the best scouts trip up once in a long time," grunted Lanky. "I must have been watching Jerry so closely and squinting up at the rock walls above, thinkin' about what a nice place it'd be for an old grizzly to make a den."

"There, you can see the tracks as plain as print right now," Frank at that juncture told his chums, pointing toward the ground just ahead.

Apparently fifty years back many animals and treasure-hunting prospectors must have made a well-beaten trail, coming up by way of the canyon and arriving at the open place marking the plateau.

"Easy enough," acknowledged Lanky, one of whose best qualities was frankness when owning up to being surprised in anything. "But there! Jerry's started to lead the way into the ghostly camp. Let's go!"

No one joked or laughed as thus solemnly they walked their winded ponies among those amazing wrecks of old-time life and bustle; it was too much like passing through a cemetery long since abandoned and fallen upon evil times.

"Most of them seem to have been roughly built shacks, made out of pinon trees cut on the side of the mountain, though I can see some cedar among them—yes, and oak, besides. It's the story of the 'Deserted Village' all over again, only no pestilence brought about this desolation."

"The whole bunch was wild to pick up gold nuggets," said Lanky. "Anyway, that's what Jerry told us; and when the bubble burst they cleared out bag and baggage."

"What do you suppose that largest building was for?" asked Paul.

"The only two-story one in the whole caboodle, you mean?" Lanky replied. "I'd judge it might have been used as a hotel, or tavern, where the fresh arrivals could put up and be fleeced till they found time to throw a shack together."

"There's an old faded sign over the door," Frank put in. "As near as I can make out it reads: 'El Dorado Hotel, Accommodations for Man and Beast.'"

"Lots of good eats served in that place, I'd say," ventured Lanky, who himself was hungry.

"Here's a place that looks as if it used to be one of those dance halls, where the miners gathered at night to have a lively time, what with gambling, carousing, and the like."

Frank felt certain he had struck close to the truth when he made that assertion; for surely the large room could not have been used for any other purpose.

So they quietly rode through the whole village, stopping at the farther end, while Mr. Wallace conferred with the other two men.

"Now I wonder," Paul said as he stared around, sometimes having to repress an involuntary shudder, everything was so dreadful, "what all those queer little mounds can mean—they are side by side, too, as if meant for stepping stones to some temple the miners meant to build, after they'd all gotten to be millionaires."

Lanky made an odd grimace.

"Hobble your horse, Paul, and take another look. You'll guess then what they stand for. Every mining camp started a cemetery the first thing; because, you know, the mortality ran high in those lawless days, when each man carried a big six-shooter on his hip and the one who could draw the quickest lived to see another sun rise."

Paul could not hold back the shiver that ran over him.

"Why, there must be all of a hundred graves, if there's one," he said, and then added weakly, suspicion having awakened in his mind, knowing Lanky's inveterate liking for playing jokes on innocents: "If you're not stringing me, I mean."

"Give him the air, Frank! After I vowed not even to grin while in this haunted camp. Those are what I said, and yet Jerry told us the camp didn't hold out more than one year. Life was held cheap in such crazy times, Paul, and they planted somebody every other day, I reckon."

Mr. Wallace just then turned to the three boys; the other men were dismounting, as though not meaning to use the ponies any more that day.

"I'm going off with Jerry and Zander," said the gentleman, "to scour the neighborhood for what has always been known as 'Lost Mountain,' though it's hard to understand how such a vast elevation could escape notice. Plenty of eyes have doubtless fallen on it, but without knowing that it was anything out of the ordinary. But we believe it contains the mine Kinney worked."

"And the five-fingered cave to boot," added Lanky.

"What do you want us to be doing while you're away, Mr. Wallace?" queried Frank.

"Simply amuse yourselves," replied Mr. Wallace. "But keep a bright lookout for those scamps we suspect are somewhere around this region, ready to spy on us, in the hope of snatching the prize away in case we find it. Yes, and you might take the entire bunch of ponies along that rocky trail to the right."

"Where does it lead, Dad?" asked Lanky.

"Jerry told me," replied his father, "that there is a queer little walled-in strip of land about a quarter of a mile further on, where, strangely enough, the finest of green forage could always be found, winter and summer. They used to turn their animals in there to feed and drink at the spring."

"Shall we stake them out?" asked Frank.

"No need of that," he was informed smilingly. "Nature took charge, and left only one narrow exit and entrance to this highly favored pasture. There are, it seems, several rocks that can be easily moved, and which when placed in position form an excellent barrier that the smartest cow-pony would be unable to jump."

"This sure is the land of marvels," grinned Lanky.

"We'll take all the ponies out there, and shut the gate of the corral on them," promised Frank.

"You might unload the pack-pony, boys, and put the stuff for our rations in one of these shacks, covering it all over, so that no possible curious eyes would suspect its presence."

With these words Mr. Wallace handed over the bridle of his mount, and in company with the other men made ready to go forth in a first attempt, under Jerry's reawakened memory of his surroundings, to locate the Lost Mountain of Gold Fork.

Left to themselves, the boys deposited the stores in one of the huts that seemed to have a better roof than any of the rest. This had been proved in the recent cloudburst, for some of the ruined buildings were soaked, while the earthen floor of their choice seemed quite dry. Then they set off with the bunch of weary animals.

Sure enough, after leading their four-footed charges along the still well defined if ancient trail, they presently arrived at the pasture.

"Worth coming a long way to see such a curiosity," announced Lanky, as they took saddles and bridles off the ponies and turned them into the rock-surrounded enclosure one by one, to feed and rest. "Beats any man-made corral I ever set eyes on, and so simple, too."

"All we have to do now," Frank observed, after the last cayuse had kicked up his heels and galloped off to join its mates, already eagerly nibbling at the sweet green grass, "is to work these rocks into place so they'll close the gap, and the bunch is safe from any stampede."

"That wash over there, with the low bank," ventured Lanky, "must be where some sort of stream passes through. The water would be cold as ice, for it comes down from the mountain tops, where there's always heaps of snow, summer and winter."

A short time later the boys again found themselves in the decayed mining camp, with its numerous wrecks of buildings, in which no man had laid his head for more than a score of years, perhaps twice that.

Filled with curiosity, the three boys started making the rounds.

"Might as well see everything there is while we have the chance," Lanky told his mates. "'Tisn't every day you can run across such a thrilling sight as this. See the bats whirr out of that old shack, will you? Must have picked it for a place to hang their tired old bodies, after swinging around the circle all night long."

When the lads peeped cautiously in through the opening which a rotten door, hanging by its last rusty hinge, faded to shut entirely, it was indeed a sight worth impressing on their minds.

"Gee whiz!" barked Lanky, his eyes opening unusually wide. "See the ugly things dangling there from every rafter, will you?"

"Is that the way bats sleep, hanging by their toes with their heads downward?" exclaimed Paul, intensely interested. "What strange things you often see when you haven't got a gun. I'll know now what they mean when they say a fellow has 'bats in his belfry'!"

"Let's have a peep-in at that old hotel," Lanky Wallace suggested. "That may have sheltered more millionaires—in their mind's eye—than ever any up-to-the-latest in New York City could claim."

"Second the motion," quickly added Paul.

"Lead me to it," Frank laughed, "for I was just going to put it up to both of you."

"Come on then," cried Lanky.

Led by the tall boy, the three of them were speedily inside the abandoned building, possibly once the pride of Gold Fork; but with now not a shadow of its former grandeur remaining in its skeleton walls, and the shaky stairs leading to unseen upper regions.

"Huh! a peach of a place this would be for us to camp out in," Lanky remarked, as they started to look things over.

"Wow! I hope you don't try it," Paul cried out. "I'm dead certain it's just swarming with rats!"

"Say," demanded Lanky disdainfully, "what could the sillies find to live on all these years since any meal was served in this dining room?"

"Ask me something easy, Lanky," urged Paul. "But I'm sure there are rats in plenty around, for I saw one—a monster, too, if as thin as a rail—when I said what I did."

"All I hope then," continued Lanky, with a shrug, "is that the varmints don't swarm around our grub and clean us out. We'd have to live off the country then, and eat all sorts of queer dishes—grizzly bear steaks, coyote chops, prairie-dog stews, and such delicacies."

"Let up, Lanky," urged Frank. "You know Paul's a bit squeamish about his stomach, and you'll get him off his feed. Listen! What was that?"

"Sounded like a horse neighing," said Lanky, looking startled.

"I hear hoofs beating the rocks!" Frank ejaculated. "And I'd judge it was a right big bunch of nags, to boot! We can't pass out of that door because they're coming from that direction and heading right this way!"

Paul turned his eyes on Frank, who, he realized, must solve the problem.

CHAPTER XVII

WHEN ZEKE CAME BACK

"The window at the rear!" Frank Allen instantly suggested.

"I get you, Frank!" gasped the relieved Paul.

"Great stuff!" was the energetic way Lanky agreed with the leader.

The sound of many hoofbeats was coming closer, steadily, and what the boys meant to do must be undertaken without wasting any more precious seconds.

"Follow me!" With the words the agile and energetic Lanky was already half-way through the window. This had no sash, time having relieved it of both glass and frames, leaving only an aperture in the wall.

Frank pushed Paul forward, signifying that it was his intention to be the last to quit the place, just as all captains of sinking vessels at sea make sure everybody else has left before they will consent to step into the last crowded boat that leaves before the foundering occurs.

Once outside, the boys were quick to scurry in among some old junk and scrambled rocks. This lay but a few feet away from the back of the tavern, and offered excellent hiding places for them.

Besides, what pleased Lanky considerably, they could doubtless overhear any talk that came about. Yes, and even catch fleeting glimpses of the new-comers, if so be they entered the old hotel.

Another minute—less than that, even—and the boys were able to congratulate themselves over their smartness in leaving in such a hurry. The ponies came to a halt directly before the door of the former hostelry. Throwing the lines over the heads of their mounts, cowboy fashion, so that the animals would remain at a stand under all ordinary conditions, the riders entered.

Frank and his chums could hear loud and rough voices.

"That was Nash Yesson who spoke then!" whispered Lanky in Paul's ear, for they were all bunched close together on purpose, and had their ears doing almost double duty in the endeavor to learn all they could.

"It was Lef Seller he called down, too," observed Frank, with great caution, for it would invite a ruction little short of a calamity if those angry men discovered the boys crouching there and listening to what went on.

"I just glimpsed Lef," Lanky communicated in his softest tone; "and you ought to see how bad he looks. He's had nothing but hard knocks ever since he ran up against that Yesson. The tough boys over at Double Z Ranch must have rubbed it in hard, too."

"He's only getting what he deserves," Paul muttered, half to himself, thinking of the base duplicity and deceit toward his own father Lef had been guilty of.

"'Sh! Let's listen for all we're worth, and perhaps we'll pick up some news," suggested Frank, who disapproved of all this whispering that was taking place.

He himself had taken several cautious looks, and had learned that besides Lef Seller and Nash Yesson there were four other persons in the crowd that had entered the forsaken tavern.

"That queer fish with the body of a runt and the head of a giant seems to answer to the name of Rick Muddy," Frank told himself. "The name about fits his crooked body, I'd say. Those other three tough-looking citizens must hang up their hats at the Double Z when they're at home, for they've got the make-up of cow-punchers, heavily armed, and out for business."

One of these men he heard called Malachi and another Zeke, but the third one's name was never made known.

Nash Yesson was not knuckling down to anybody, it appeared, from the way he turned from one to another with snarls and hard language. Continual disappointments while on the way to Rockspur Ranch and afterwards had roiled him unmercifully, so that, as Lanky afterwards expressed it in his customary picturesque language "the man was like a bear with a sore head."

"And as for you, Rick Muddy," the boys could hear Yesson pouring out his wrath upon the head of the pudgy chap, "even after you'd been given complete directions you had to go and fizzle the worst kind. Why, those kids got the better of you and grabbed the second chart after you'd nearly dug it up! You're a rank failure and ought to be kicked out of camp for being such a gink."

"I own up they bamboozled me some," grumbled the small man. "But other dubs livin' in glass houses oughtn't to throw stones."

"What d'you mean by that, you fool?" gritted Yesson threateningly.

"Only that you done the same stuff when you nearly had that first map," retorted the other, probably relying on the fact that the three hard-riding cow-punchers were pals of his and would not see him knocked down by Yesson. "If you'd jumped your claim then we'd be all fixed right now to walk in on that nugget cache! Ain't that so boys?"

"It sure is," replied the tallest of the wranglers in a voice that rumbled like the sound of approaching thunder. "But all bets are off, and we don't want to eat each other up for nothin'. When we grab what we've got hidden here, we'll be fixed so's to start off fresh again and locate that Lost Mountain."

"That's the stuff!" chanted the fellow answering to the name of Malachi. "What Zeke here managed to pick up from that wrinkled old Indian squaw ought to help us find the cave. And once we get our paws on the jack, we'll fight anybody to the death who tries to pry it away from us."

"You said it, Malachi!" retorted Nash Yesson grimly. "I've been stalkin' that nugget claim too long now to show the white feather to a dozen pikers who are tryin' to chase me off the trail. We're close to it right now, and if those other guys come walkin' up to close the deal, why, here's six little boys ready to say 'hands up, gents!'"

This was all heard by the eagerly listening boys, concealed so close at hand. Very interesting it all sounded, too; although Frank did not see that they were really adding to their stock of information, except that they knew now the number of those who opposed their aims and to what infamous ends Yesson and his companions were ready to go to further their schemes.

"Then let's clear out and get busy," suggested Malachi, who seemed to be an aggressive type of fellow. "Get busy, Rick Muddy, an' hustle that stock of grub along, to load on your cayuse, you bein' the lightest built in the whole bunch."

This told the story. It was these men who had visited the deserted mining camp shortly before Mr. Wallace and his prospecting party reached Gold Fork. Frank had already discounted this fact. Indeed, he had reached that decision at the time he first discovered the marks of hoofs along the upper canyon.

The small man with the big head showed no sign of disobeying orders. Undoubtedly he knew Malachi's bad qualities, and did not dare rebel.

So the peeping boys in the junk heap among the friendly rocks watched the men carry forth some packages. These undoubtedly contained their store of food to carry them over during their stay in that unalluring vicinity.

When the clatter of hoofs finally announced the men had indeed gone, every boy from Frank down breathed a sigh of relief and they came out of hiding.

"A rough crowd, take it from me!" exclaimed Lanky Wallace.

"Are you sure they're all gone?" asked nervous Paul Bird.

Lanky chuckled.

"What do you take me for, Paul—a bonehead?" he asked. "Sure, I counted 'em as they rode off, and there were six in the lot. From the way that ugly-looking Zeke turned and looked back several times, I kind of imagined he had some scheme in view that he was half tempted to pull off."

"Good riddance then to bad rubbish," Paul remarked, showing by his manner that he had feared there might be a discovery made, when the results would hardly have been pleasant for the boys from Rockspur Ranch.

"Lucky for us we hid our stores and took the ponies off to pasture," Frank observed, as they re-entered the deserted hotel. "If they'd seen the bunch it would have been good-bye to our chances for riding back home. As it is, they've seen nothing to tell them that the Wallace treasure-hunters are already on the ground and ready to follow their noses to Josh Kinney's lost claim."

"Why, look here!" burst out Paul just then. "What's this mean?"