The Border Boys on the Trail

The Mexican, with a quick exclamation, had faced round as the cow-puncher made a dart for the portal, and leveled his pistol.Before he could utter the cry which quivered on his lips, Coyote Pete's knotty fist drove forward like a huge piston of flesh and muscle.The force of the blow caught the Mexican full in the face, almost driving his teeth down his throat.Backward he fell, and lay sprawling on the floor like some ungainly spider.The terrific concussion of the blow had rendered him temporarily unconscious.

"Quick, Jack," cried Pete, under his breath, swiftly shutting the great door.

"What are you going to do?"gasped the boy.Events had happened with such lightning-like rapidity that he had hardly had time to comprehend what had taken place, and stood staring at the limp form on the floor of the cell.

With quick, nervous fingers Pete, who had stooped over the fallen Mexican, seized the rawhide rope he carried at his waist—the one with which Jack had seen the fellow practicing.

"Now then, up on my shoulders, Jack, and take the rope with you," he ordered.

Jack didn't know what was to come, but obeyed the resourceful plainsman without a question.

"Through the window," came Pete's next command, and then Jack began to understand the other's daring plan.Without waiting for further orders from Pete, he crawled through the opening.He no sooner found himself on a ledge outside before he turned cautiously and lay on his stomach across the broad embrasure and extended both his hands within.Pete grabbed them, and bracing his feet against the wall, soon clambered up.As the cow-puncher climbed and got a grip on the sill, Jack retreated along the narrow ledge outside.Presently Pete, too, clambered through and joined him.

"What next?"asked Jack in a low voice.

"Blamed if I know," rejoined Pete cheerfully.

The two adventurers were in about as insecure a position as could be imagined.Their feet rested on a ledge of masonry not much more than six inches in width, which circled the bell tower.The ground was a hundred feet or more below them. The lariat they had with them, and which was securely fastened in Pete's belt, was not more than thirty feet at the most.

As they hesitated in the darkness, scarcely daring to breathe on their insecure perch, there came a sudden shout from within the tower.

"Wa'al, they've found out that something's up," grunted Pete, while Jack's blood seemed to turn to ice in his veins.Below them was empty space; above, the Mexican outlaws.

---

CHAPTER XI.

A DROP IN THE DARK.

"Hark!"

It was Jack who uttered the exclamation.

The shouts were growing louder.Evidently the Mexicans had kept a closer watch than he or Pete had imagined, and had quickly taken alarm at the prolonged absence of their companion.

The boy could hear them battering the oak door of the cell they had so recently occupied.

"Let 'em batter away," muttered Pete."I shot the bolt on the inside."

To his amazement, Jack actually heard his companion chuckle.What could the cow-puncher be made of, steel or granite, or a combination of both!

And now Pete began to wriggle along the ledge, pressing with all his weight against the wall.

"Come on," he breathed to Jack, "throw all your weight inward and don't look up or down."

In mortal fear of finding his body hurtling backward into vacancy at any moment, the boy followed the intrepid cow-puncher along the narrow footpath.Perhaps it needed more pluck on his part to proceed along the insecure ledge in the pitchy blackness than it did on the part of the nervy cow-puncher.Who shall take the exact measure of courage?

At last they reached the angle of the tower, and Pete stood still.To proceed round the sharp angle, on no wider pathway than that which they trod, would be manifestly impossible.Yet go on they must.Suddenly Pete gave a cry of joy.Looking down into the darkness, he had seen, not more than ten feet beneath them, the sharp ridge of an addition to the old Mission church.If they could reach that he knew, from calculating the height of the tower, they would not be far from the ground.

Behind them the yells and shouts were growing louder.

To think, with Pete, was to act.With a muttered prayer, one of the few he had ever uttered in his rough life, the cow-puncher crouched as well as he could on the ledge. Putting over first one leg and then the other, he deliberately dropped downward, till his hands gripped the edge of the ledge on which a second before he had stood. His muscles cracked as the sudden strain came on them, but he held fast, and a second later let go. He landed to his intense joy, on a rough tiled roof, after an easy drop of not more than four feet.

"Come on," he breathed upward to Jack, who had watched the cow-puncher's daring act with horrified eyes.

"I—I can't," shivered the boy, who, plucky as he was, dreaded the idea of a drop into the dark."You go on, Pete, and leave me."

"Not much I won't.You make that drop, or I'll give you the biggest hiding you ever had, Jack Merrill, when I get hold of you."

The cowboy had hit on just the words to bring Jack to the proper pitch to take the leap.

"You ain't scared, are you?"whispered up Pete, determined to brace the boy up in the way he knew would prove most effective.

Just as Pete had done a few moments previously, Jack, without a word, knelt for one awful second on the brink of space and then gingerly put over first one leg and then the other.Then followed the same terrible rush into blackness that Pete had experienced, and the same soul-sickening jolt and heart-leap as his fingers gripped, and he hung safe.

"Drop!"snapped Pete.

Jack's fingers obediently unclasped their desperate grip, and he shot downward to be caught in Pete's arms.

"Not so bad when you get used to it," whispered the cow-puncher."Now then, slide down."

"Slide down—where?"

"This rope.While you were getting ready up there"—even in the dark Jack felt his cheeks flush—"while you were getting ready up there, I fastened that greaser's rope to this old water-spout.All you got to do is to slide down."

A second later Jack flashed down the side of the old church to the ground, where, almost as soon as he had landed, Coyote Pete joined him.

"What now?"asked Jack amazedly.He had never dreamed when they stood on that dizzy tower that in less than ten minutes they would be on firm ground.Nor did he forget how much of the so-far successful escape was due to Coyote Pete's skill and resourcefulness.But the hardest and most dangerous part was yet to come.

Already the whole of the old church was aglow with lights, flashing hither and thither, and outside, shout answered shout from a dozen points of the compass.

"We'll run in the direction where there is the least racket," wisely decided Pete.

"Crouch as low as you can, Jack," he ordered, as, doubled almost in half, he darted off into the darkness.

Imitating his guide as best he could, Jack followed, but as ill-luck would have it, their way led past an old well.In the pitch blackness the boy did not avoid what Pete seemed to have steered clear of by instinct.With a crash that woke the echoes, he blundered headlong into a big pile of tin buckets and pails which had been placed there that day. A bull running amuck in a tin shop could hardly have made more noise.

"My great aunt alkali, you've done it now!"growled Pete, as the terrific crash sounded close behind him.

"Oh, go on, Pete!Go on, and leave me," cried Jack miserably."I'll only hamper you.Go on by yourself."

"I'll go with you or not at all," was Pete's firm rejoinder."Come on, now, hurry.They're bound to have heard that, and they'll be 'round here like so many hornets in a minute."

Pete's prophecy proved correct.Hardly had the clanging, clashing echoes of the avalanche of dislodged tinware died out, before they heard Black Ramon's voice shouting:

"Over there!Over there by the well.Fire at them."

Jack did not know much Spanish, but he could comprehend this.

"Fire away," muttered Pete grimly, as they rapidly wormed their way along among the scrub."You'll not do us any harm by shooting at the well, but you'll drill your rotten tinware full of holes."

But the Mexicans having now recovered from their first excitement, turned their thoughts to other ways of getting back the fugitives than by firing into the darkness after them.To the ears of Jack and Pete was soon borne the trample of horses, and the rattle of galloping hoofs, as Black Ramon's men spread out through the darkness looking for them.

"They're going to form a ring," he whispered, as they squirmed their way along; "that's what they're going to do.They know we are without horses or weapons, and that if they only make the ring large enough they're bound to get us."

On and on they crept, so close to the ground that the burning dust, which had a plentiful ad-mixture of alkali in it, filled their eyes and nose.Pete was more or less used to the stuff, having ridden sometimes for days at a time in it behind herds of cattle or horses, but to Jack the smarting sensation in mouth and nostrils was almost unbearable.The stuff fairly choked him.

Suddenly Pete's hand shot out and gripped Jack's arm with a viselike pressure. Jack interpreted the signal without a word.

"Stop!"

Down they both crouched in the alkali dust among the brush, hardly daring to breathe.

Long before Jack's ears had caught a sound, Pete's quick eye had detected something.He laid his ear to the ground.

"Too dry," he muttered, after holding it there an instant.

Then he drew from his pocket his knife and opened both blades.The larger he thrust into the earth and placed his ear against the smaller bit of steel.

"Just as I thought.Coming this way!"he muttered."We'll have to lie low and trust to luck."

Presently the trampling that the cowboy's rough-and-ready telegraph had detected became distinctly audible, and against the star-spattered sky Jack saw two black figures on horseback slowly rise up from a hollow.They came into view as slowly as fairies rising to the stage from a trap-door in a theatre.

Neither Pete nor Jack dared to breathe, as the two figures appeared and paused as if undecided which way to go.Suddenly one of them began to speak.

"No sign of 'em in here, amigo.Say ombre, I tell you what—you ride off to the right, and I'll take the left trail.We've covered all the other ground, and that way we're bound to get 'em."

The Mexican grunted something and rode off in the direction the other had indicated.

"It's Jim Cummings, the dern skunk," whispered Coyote Pete to Jack, his indignation at the idea of being hunted by the renegade cowboy getting the better of his prudence.

For one terrible minute Jack thought they had been discovered.Jim Cummings, who had been riding off, stopped his pony abruptly and faced round in the saddle.

"Queer," he said to himself; "thought I heard something.Guess I'll take a look and see if the critters left any trail through hereabouts.I wouldn't trust myself alone with Coyote Pete, but I know he's got no shooting iron, and I reckon this will fetch down a dozen like him, or the kid with him."

He patted his revolver—a big forty-four—as he spoke, and dismounted.Throwing his pony's reins over his head, in plainsman's fashion, the renegade struck a match and bent down toward the ground.He was looking to see if Jack or Coyote Pete had passed that way.

What happened then came so quickly that afterward, when he tried to tell it, Jack never could get the successive incidents arranged clearly in his own mind.All that was audible was a frightened gasp from the renegade as the glare of a match fell on Coyote Pete's face.Wet with sweat, plastered with dust, and disfigured by righteous anger at the renegade, Pete's countenance was indeed one to inspire terror in the person suddenly lighting upon it.

Before the gasp had died out of Jim cummings' throat, and before he could utter the cry that somehow refused to come, Coyote Pete, with a spring like that of a maddened cougar, was on him, and bore him earthward with a mighty crash.

"Take that, you coward, you sneak, you traitor!"he snarled vindictively under his breath, as the unfortunate Jim Cummings struggled and his breath came in sharp wheezes.As he spoke, Coyote Pete, temporarily transformed by rage and scorn to a wild beast, savagely hammered Jim Cummings' head against the ground.

He was recalled to himself by Jack, who, after his first moment of startled surprise, realized that unless he interfered Cummings would in all likelihood be killed.

"Pete, Pete, are you mad?"he gasped, seizing the other's arm and staying it, as the furious cow-puncher was about to bring it crashing down into the renegade's face.

"Mad!"repeated Pete, looking up, "well, I guess so.But I'm glad you brought me to my senses, son.I'd hate to have the blood of such a varmint as this on my conscience."

He rose to his feet, still breathing heavily from his furious outburst.

"Phew!but that did me good," he said, rolling the unconscious Cummings over with a contemptuous foot."I reckon this coyote won't go hunting his own people with a pack of yellow dogs for a long time to come."

Pete was right, it was many a day before Cummings got over his thrashing, but in the meantime the delay occasioned by Pete's outbreak came near to costing them dear.

A sudden trampling in the darkness behind them made them turn, and they saw dimly the figure of a horseman behind them.The starlight glinted on his rifle barrel as he aimed it at them and covered both the fugitives beyond hope of escape.

"Up your hands!"

The command came from the new arrival in broken, but none the less vigorous and unmistakable English.

---

CHAPTER XII.

A RIDE FOR THE HILLS.

But instead of complying with the demand, Coyote Pete did a strange thing.He waved his hands above his head and rushed straight at the man with the rifle.As he had expected, the pony the Mexican bestrode was, like most western animals, only half broken.The sight of this sudden figure leaping toward it out of the brush caused it to wheel sharply with a snort of dismay.

So unexpected was the maneuver that the Mexican, no less than his horse, was taken by surprise.His rifle almost slipped from his fingers as he tried to seize the reins and control his pony.When once more he turned, it was to find himself looking into the business-like muzzle of Jim Cummings' pistol, which Pete had quickly jerked from the unconscious man's holster.

"Now, then, amigo," ordered Pete, "get off.Pronto!"

"But, hombre——" began the Mexican.

"Get off!"

Pete accompanied this command by baring his white teeth in such terrifying fashion that the other quickly dismounted.

"Give me his lariat," ordered Pete to Jack, but never for an instant taking his eyes off the Mexican.

Jack, glad of a chance to be of some use, sprang forward.In a trice he detached the Mexican's lariat from his saddle horn and waited Pete's next order.

"Tie him, and tie him good and tight," ordered the cow-puncher."Don't mind hurting him.These greasers have got a hide as tough as Old Scratch himself."

It did not take Jack long to bind the follower of Black Ramon hand and foot, and then, with a sarcastic apology, Pete tore off a strip of his not overclean shirt, rolled it in a ball, and shoved it into the Mexican's mouth.

"There, he is hog-tied and silenced, with neatness and dispatch," he said."Now for Cummings, and then we're off."

Cummings was still insensible, and the operation of tying him with his own rawhide, and forcing a gag into his mouth didn't take long.

"I hate to ride without a lariat," said Pete, "but it can't be helped.And anyhow, we've got two good cayuses by as big a stroke of luck as ever a cow-puncher had.You take that plug of the greaser's, Jack.I've got a fancy to this fellow of Cummings', here.And mind, if anybody says a word to us you let me do the talking."

Soon afterward, both, on a further suggestion of Pete's, wrapped in the bound men's serapes—or cloaks,—the two adventurers set forward toward the north.

"Now we're headed for God's country," grunted Pete, as he kept his eyes fixed on the north star, which is the plainsman's as well as the sailor's night guide.

"How can you locate it without a compass?"asked Jack, as Pete informed him how he had located their direction.

"By the outside stars of the Dipper, Jack," said Pete."The good Lord put 'em there, I reckon, so as white men situated as you and I are should have no trouble in finding the way to his country. For, you mark my words, Jack, there ain't no God's country south of the border. It all belongs to the other fellow, and they're working for him in double shifts."

The ponies which they now bestrode were fine little animals—quick as cats on their feet and evidently hard as nails, for their coats were as dry to the touch as kindling wood, despite all the excitement they had undergone.

"Feels good to have a horse between your legs again," said Pete, still in a low, cautious voice, for they were by no means out of danger as yet.

"Yes," whispered Jack, "I've heard it said that a cow-puncher without his pony is only half a man."

"I guess maybe you're right," agreed Pete, urging forward his little animal by a dig in the sides.

"Say, Pete," whispered Jack suddenly, as they rode slowly forward under the star-sprinkled heavens, "I do wish we could go back and make a strike for the freedom of the others.It seems kind of mean for us to be safe and sound here, and leaving them back in the lion's mouth, so to speak."

"Don't worry about that, Jack.By getting over on to good Yankee soil we are doing more to help them than we could in any other way.If we turned back now we might spoil everything, and as to being safe and sound—— Hark!"

Both reined in their ponies and listened intently.From far behind was borne to their ears the distant noise of shouts and cries.Standing on the elevation to which they had now attained, the sounds came through the clear night air with great distinctness.

"They're making a fine hullaballoo," commented Jack."Do you think they've found Cummings and the other?"

"Don't know.Guess not, though.The sounds seem to be coming from more to the eastward than where we left them; but say, Jack, don't you hear anything else but hollering?"

"Why, yes, I do seem to hear a kind of queer sound; what is it?"

"The very worst sound we could get wind of, Jack—it's bloodhounds."

"Bloodhounds!"gasped Jack, who had read and heard much of the ferocity and tracking ability of the animals."They will trace us down and tear us to pieces."

"Hum, you've bin readin' Uncle Tom's Cabin, I reckon," sniffed Pete."No, they won't tear us to pieces, Jack, but what they will do is to round us up and then set up the almightiest yelling and screeching and baying you ever heard.They'll bring the whole hornet's nest down around our ears."

"What are we to do, Pete?"breathed Jack, completely at a loss in the face of this new peril, which seemed doubly hard to bear, coming as it did when escape had seemed certain.

"Dunno.Just ride ahead, I reckon, that's all we can do, and thank our lucky stars it ain't daylight.If only we was a spell farther into the hills, we might strike water, and that would throw them off."

"How would that confuse them?"

"Well, hounds can't track through water.It kills the scent.I'd give several head of beef critters for a sight of a creek right now."

All this time they had been riding ahead, and although it was pitchy dark they could tell that they were rising.Whether they were on a trail or not, they had no means of knowing.That the ground was rough and stony, though, they knew, for the ponies, sure-footed as they were, stumbled incessantly.

"Good thing none of Ramon's men reached out as far as this, or we'd sure be giving ourselves away every time one of these cayuses shakes a foot," grunted Pete.

"I wish it wasn't so black," whispered Jack, who was riding a little in advance."I can't see a thing ahead.I wonder if—— Oh!"

His pony had suddenly given a wild leap backward, missed its footing, and slid down some sort of a steep bank.

"Jumping gee whilkers, what in blazes!"began Pete, when in just the same way he went sliding forward into space.

Both ponies fetched up, after stumbling several feet down a steep declivity, and the sound that their hoofs made as they did so was one of the most welcome that the fugitives could have heard.

Splash!splash!

"Water!"exclaimed Pete."Our blind luck is just naturally holding out."

"Is it a watercourse?"inquired Jack, "or just a hole."

Pete leaned over, holding on by crooking his left foot against the cantle of his saddle.

"It's a creek, and flowing lively, too," he announced, as he held his hand in the water, "and incidentally, as the newspaper fellers say, I'm thirsty."

"So am I," agreed Jack."Let's have a drink.Besides, we don't know how long it may be before we get another."

"You've the makings of a cow-puncher in you," approved Pete, slipping from his saddle.Side by side the two lay on the brink of the stream and drank till they could drink no more.The water was cool, though tainted with a slightly alkaline taste common to most mountain creeks in that region.Refreshed, they stood up once more and listened.The baying still came incessantly, accompanied by shouts of encouragement from the riders behind the dogs. It was getting unpleasantly near, also.

"Time for us to cut stick," grunted Pete, swinging himself into his saddle once more.Jack did the same.

"Now to fool 'em," chuckled the cow-puncher.

The ponies' noses were turned up stream, and the sure-footed little animals rapidly traversed the slippery rocks and holes of the creek bed.

"These are great little broncs," said Jack with a sigh, "but don't I wish I had Firewater.I wonder if I'll ever see him again?"

"Sure you will, boy," comforted Pete, although in his own heart he had serious doubts of it.Pete knew that a Mexican loves a good pony above all things, and that once having possession of Firewater, Ramon would let him pass out of his hands willingly, seemed unlikely.

Every now and then, as they stumbled forward in the darkness, they paused and listened.The baying had suddenly stopped, and then broke out afresh with renewed vigor.It had a puzzled note in it, too.

"They're stuck for a time," grunted Pete, "but we haven't shaken them off yet.Yip-ee!hear them dogs holler!They've found the place where we entered the water."

"Then we are out of danger?"

"Not yet, boy.We'll not be out of danger till we're over the border and among our own folks.These greasers are no fools, and in a few minutes they'll realize that we've taken to the water, and be along the bank after us."

"But if we turn out here they won't know in which direction we've gone," argued Jack."Let's leave the creek here and turn north again."

They had been traveling due east through the night, and he waved his hand as he spoke, toward the left bank of the stream.

"Kiddie, you've got horse sense, all right," approved Pete."I guess that's the best thing for us to do.Anyhow, we've gone as far as we want to in this direction, and it's time to head for home again."

Home—never had the word held so sweet a sound for either of the two imperiled fugitives.

---

CHAPTER XIII.

THE HERMIT OF THE CANYON.

After some difficulty they found a place in the side of the watercourse up which the ponies could scramble.The little animals were soon once more among the rough, broken ground and stiff scrub brush of the upper foothills.The way was steeper now, and even the inexperienced Jack knew that they must be approaching the mountains themselves.Presently in fact, the darker outlines of the range could be seen dimly against the night, looking at first more like a darker portion of the sky itself than a solid body reared against it.

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

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

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

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

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

"What, they'll refuse duty?"

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

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

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

"Then it works both ways?"

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

"That doesn't seem fair."

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

Such progress did the fugitives make that night that by the time their guiding star began to fade in the sky they found themselves in a wild cañon, rock walled, and clothed, in places where vegetation could find root-hold, with the same fir, madrone and piñon as Grizzly Pass. The rising sun found them still pressing onward. They did not dare to stop, for although they were pretty sure none of the Mexicans would have followed thus far, they were aware that it would be folly to halt till they had put all the miles possible between them and their enemies.

"There's one thing we know now, anyhow," said Pete with some complacency, as they rode on over the rocky ground among the pungent-smelling mountain bay bushes, "and that is that the cañons in these hills split north and south, so that we won't stray that way."

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

To his chagrin, Pete burst into a laugh.

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

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

"Look, Pete, look—a trail!"he cried.

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

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

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

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

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

"That's so," assented Pete."We've been so busy, though, I never noticed it till just now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Business, apparently," grunted Pete dryly.

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

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

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

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

An almost unintelligible answer came back.

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

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

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

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

"What now?"wondered Jack.

The solitary cañon-dweller presently appeared at the door of his hut.He was an old man in ragged garments, so tattered as to here and there expose his flesh.His face was wrinkled till it resembled a monkey's more than a human being's.The lower half of his countenance was completely covered by a huge matted growth of white beard.He still kept his aged rifle in his hand as he faced his visitors, as if he was afraid of some treachery.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still it did not budge.

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

---

CHAPTER XIV.

TRAVELS WITH A MULE.

"Well, was I right?"

"Oh, say, don't rub it in, Jack.Of course you were.I was a fool to have gone to sleep, but——"

"Never mind reproaching yourself now, Pete," said Jack soberly."The thing to do is to get out of here as quick as possible."

"Yes, we've no time to lose," said Pete, a serious look coming over his ordinarily cheerful countenance.

Jack caught a more serious meaning underlying the words than they seemed to hold in themselves.

"I should say so," he rejoined."We've got to catch that old ruffian and give him the thrashing of his life.The idea of shutting us in here.I thought he was crazy, and now I know it."

"Not so crazy as you think, Jack," replied Pete gravely."I'm afraid he's got more sense than we gave him credit for, and that right now we are in more serious danger than at any time since we escaped."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind now.I don't want to scare you to death without there being any necessity for it.What I want to impress on you is that there is no time to lose."

"Of course, I appreciate that," rejoined Jack, not quite making out what Pete meant, but thinking it wiser to abstain from asking questions at the moment, "but how are we to get out?"

"Dunno right now," said Pete, scratching his head abstractedly.

"I have it," cried Jack suddenly."We'll burn the door down."

"What about matches?"

"There are still some embers on the hearth there, and a pile of brush beside it.I'm sure we can do it."

"Well, let's get to work, then," said Pete, who seemed strangely ill at ease.

A goodly pile of brush was soon piled against the rough door and ignited by means of taking an ember from the fire and blowing on it till it burst into flame.Up roared the flames, the timber fire crackling against the stone roof and filling the hut with a choking smoke.Luckily, most of this escaped by the window, or they might have run a good chance of being suffocated.

"Say, it'll take a year to burn through the door at this rate," choked out Jack, after fifteen minutes or so of this.

"It would if we were going to burn through it, but we ain't," chuckled Pete."Let the fire burn down now—or, better still, there's some water in that jar; just throw it over the blaze."

This being done, the fire soon died out, and then Pete, wresting one of the heavy loose stones from the hearth, battered with all his might against the charred wood.It took a long time, but at last a chink of daylight appeared.

"Hooray!"shouted Jack, as they attacked it with a piece of iron found near the cooking-hearth.Soon quite a hole appeared, and Pete, reaching through, encountered a heavy wooden bar leaned against the door from the outside, placed to hold it firmly closed. It was the work of but a few seconds to dislodge this and emerge into the open air.

Their work, however, had taken so much time that it was dusk when they stepped out of the door.Without a word, Pete, as if he had gone suddenly mad, darted off toward the old hermit's stable.He emerged in a second with an angry cry on his lips.

"Just as I thought," he exclaimed, "they're gone!"

"Gone!"

"Yes, the ponies and our rifles."

"Great Scott, what will we do?"

"Get away from here as soon as possible.If I don't miss my guess, that leathery-skinned old squeedink has recognized those ponies and started back to Black Ramon with them."

"Good gracious, that means——"

"That we'll have the whole boiling of them round us if we don't skeedaddle out of here pretty jerky.We lost a lot of valuable time getting that door down."

"But we've no ponies; how are we to travel on foot and keep ahead of them?"

"Well, there's that old one-and-a-half-eared mule out there.I reckon we won't be busting no code of ethics by borrering her.I'll get a saddle on her, and you just fill your pockets with whatever you can find in the way of grub, then we'll start."

In a few minutes all was ready, and the old mule, with a ragged saddle on her angular back, stood waiting with a drooping head.Pete swung himself into the saddle, and Jack, being lighter, leaped up behind, holding on to the cantle.

"All right, conductor.Ring the bell and we'll start this here trolley," grinned Pete, digging his feet into the old mule's ribs.She started off at a gait surprising in such a disreputable-looking animal.

"Well, we've got a start they never calculated on us getting," grunted Pete as they loped along."If only our luck holds to the end, we'll beat them out yet."

The old mule plunged upward along the cañon, clambering over the rough ground with remarkable agility. One of the first things that Pete had taken care to do was to leave the trail in a rocky spot, where no telltale hoofmarks would show, and his course was now along the bottom of the gorge, where a small watercourse trickled.

"Well, we won't want for water, anyhow," he observed, with some satisfaction.

It grew dark rapidly, and nightfall found them in a wild part of the gorge with the main crests of the range reared forbiddingly above them.So far there had been no sign of pursuit, and both fugitives were beginning to hope that they had got clear away, when from far down the cañon they heard cries and shouts, and, looking back, saw a bright glare of light.

"Well, there they are," grinned Pete, "in a fine way of taking, I guess, over the fire."

"The fire," echoed the boy, puzzled; "is that what the glare is?"

"Yep," snorted Pete, "I reckoned we'd have to pay that old scallawag out some way, so I just scattered a few hot embers about his hut before we vamoosed.I reckon by the looks of things they're catching up. Guess he's sorry he left us now."

"Pete, you're incorrigible," exclaimed Jack, not knowing whether to laugh or be angry at the cow-puncher's wanton act.True, it was wrong to burn down the old hermit's hut, but still the lone dweller of the cañon had betrayed their trust by an act of base treachery.

"I guess the books are about balanced," said Jack to himself.

Aloud he asked:

"Do you think they'll come on after us to-night, Pete?"

"Reckon not," rejoined the cow-puncher; "if they do, 'twon't do them no good.We've killed out the trail in this watercourse, and even if they have the dogs they couldn't pick us up.Wisht we had a couple of good rifles.We could lay up there on the hillside as snug as you please and pick 'em out as we chose."

It soon became manifest that they could not travel much farther that night.Not only was the old mule giving signs of fatigue, but it was so dark that, as Pete said, they "ran a chance of breaking their necks any minute." They were now high on the eastern slope of the cañon, and a tumble down its steep sides might have had disastrous results. They therefore decided to camp where they were.

Making camp was a simple matter with their scant paraphernalia.The old saddle had a coil of rope attached to its horn, and this cord was made fast to the old mule's neck.Neither of the campers was thirsty, so after eating some of the provisions Jack had hastily stuffed in his pocket, and which consisted mostly of a pasty, sticky corn paste, Pete made their bed.

Rolled in the ragged saddle blanket, with the saddle for pillow, and the stars above them, the wanderers slept as peacefully as if in their beds at home, although their couch was a rocky one.Before turning in, Pete took the precaution of wrapping the old mule's rope around his wrist, so that in the event of a surprise during the night she would give the alarm by tugging on it.

"Isn't she liable to start off home without ceremony?"asked Jack as he observed this.

"Not she," rejoined Pete wisely; "she's too tired to move a step."

All of which goes to show, as we shall see later, that it takes a wise cow-puncher to know a mule.

It was about midnight that Jack was awakened by a most unearthly yell.He sprang to his feet, with every nerve in his body tingling, and the first thing he observed was that Pete was missing.The cause of absence was not long in doubt.A sudden fit of homesickness had seized the old one-eared mule in the night, and she had started without delay for the hermit's hut, dragging with her the luckless Pete.The cow-puncher's yells filled the cañon.

Small wonder was it that he cried out in anguish, for the side of the hill down which the old mule was loping was as steep as the side of a house, and plentifully bestrewn with rocks, inter-grown with rough scraggly brush.Jack was fully dressed, just as he had lain down, and he leaped off into the darkness in the direction in which Pete's hideous yells and the clattering of the old mule's hoofs proclaimed them to be.But before he reached them, the abrupt descent of the mountain by Pete had ceased. The old mule had been halted in midcareer by the rope becoming entangled in a small, low-growing piñon, and she had been checked as effectively as if a hand had been laid on the rope.

"Here, for goodness sake, get me cut loose from this she fiend incarnate," begged Pete, as he heard Jack coming toward him.

"Well, do make less noise, then," said Jack, who could hardly keep from laughing at Pete's doleful tones.

"Noise," groaned Pete, "it's a wonder I'm not making the all-sorrowfulest caterwauling you ever heard.If there's a sound bit of skin on my poor carcass, I'll give you a five-dollar gold piece for it, and no restrictions as to size, either.Ouch!"

He gave a painful exclamation as he rose to his feet.

"Consarn that mule," he grumbled, "I'm going to get me a good thick club, and her and me will argue this thing out.Look at that, will you, for pure cussedness."

No wonder the bruised and battered Pete was indignant. The runaway mule stood only a few paces from them, unconcernedly cropping some sort of prickly bush, which no animal but a mule would have had the courage to tackle.

"Mule's ain't human, as I've often observed," grunted Pete, in intense disgust; "they're a mixture of combustibles, hide and devilment, with a dash of red fire thrown in."

"Well, why did you tie the rope round your wrist, then?"asked Jack, untangling the tether, and starting to lead the mule back.

"Don't ask me any questions," roared Pete, rubbing himself affectionately, "or if you do, ask me why I was ever a consarned, peskyfied, locoed idjut enough to cross that bridge."

A sudden disturbance in the brush below them caused them to start and listen intently.

The noise sounded like several animals of some sort making a kind of stampede through the brush.

"The Mexicans!"was the first thought that flashed through Jack's mind.But the next instant he knew it was impossible that it could be they.

"Those are no Mexicans, boy," whispered Pete.

"What was it, then?"

"Hold on, thar, or I'll shoot," unwisely yelled Pete.Unwisely, because they, neither of them, had a weapon.

In reply a bullet sang past his ear, fired, judging by the momentary flash, from the direction of the trampling animals.

"Waal, what do you know about that?"grunted Pete amazedly."This valley must be full of enemies of our'n."

"Better not do any more shouting," warned Jack.

"No, I reckon not.Wow!I heard the bees sing that time, all right."

"What do you suppose it could have been?Not Mexicans, certainly."

"Nope.At least I don't think so.Maybe Injuns."

"Indians!"

"Yes, every once in a while they stampede off the reservation and roam around promiscuous.But anyhow, whatever it was, or whoever it is, he's more scairt of us than we are of him. Hark!"

There was a mighty clattering of dislodged stones and rustling of brush coming out of the darkness, and diminishing in loudness every minute.

"Git thar, Fox!You ornery son of a side-winding rattler!"they heard an angry voice grunt under its breath, from the direction of the retreat.

"A white man, by Jee-hos-o-phat!"exclaimed Pete, his face lighting up."Now what in thunder is he doing up here?"

---

CHAPTER XV.

A GATEWAY TO FREEDOM.

It was not for some time after the abrupt removal of Pete and Jack Merrill that any one of the little party in the old church spoke.Then it was the professor who broke the silence.

"I trust that no harm is meant to our young friend and his breezy companion," he said.

"Harm!"broke out Ralph indignantly, "you seem to take it easy enough.I—oh, well, I beg your pardon, professor, I guess this has got on my nerves.I didn't mean to be so short.But I do wish there was something we could do.Sitting here like this and not knowing what is going to happen is maddening."

"No use letting it get on your nerves, Ralph," counseled the quiet and deliberate Walt Phelps, "worriting about it isn't going to help any."

The professor got up and paced about the old chapel, examining its walls with care. In one or two places were the remnants of old paintings, and these he examined with great interest.

"If we should ever get away from here I think that I should have some interesting discoveries to report to the Hispanic Society," he remarked amiably.

Walt Phelps nodded.The most interesting discovery he could have made at that moment would have been a door leading into the open air and a good horse standing outside it.

At noon a Mexican entered with their dinner, a similar meal to that which we have already seen served to the prisoners in the tower.Few words were spoken over the meal.Their hearts were too heavy for that.The uncertainty as to what was to be their ultimate fate was almost maddening.In addition, they had to bear the suspense of speculation over the destiny of Jack Merrill and Coyote Pete.Without the broncho buster's cheerful face and whimsical manner to cheer them the castaways were indeed in a gloomy condition.

About the middle of the afternoon they received another visit from Black Ramon. This time he brought paper and some ink. The paper was some odd sheets, half torn and very dirty, which looked as if they might have been ripped from an old blank book. The ink was a faded, rusty colored composition. Evidently, writing materials were things for which the cattle rustlers had little use.

In a few brief words, spoken with brutal incisiveness, Black Ramon informed Ralph that his offer still held good.The boy had till the next day to make up his mind to write the letter to his father, demanding the payment of the ransom.A messenger would convey it to the nearest railroad station as soon as it was written.It was for this purpose that the ink and writing materials had been brought.As Jack had feared, the Mexican was going to work upon Ralph's sensitive nature by every means in his power, and as a step toward that end he had removed Jack and the cheerful cow-puncher.

"I've half a mind to write the letter and have it over with," said Ralph, as the door closed and they were once more alone.

"Don't you do it," said Walt Phelps decisively."I've heard of fellows in a worse scrape than ours getting out of it all right.What's the use of your alarming your folks?After all, it may only be a bluff on the part of Black Ramon."

"I agree with our young Western friend," put in the professor, "this Mexican would hardly dare to commit any offense against the laws, and I firmly believe that if we show ourselves to be determined to resist his will, that he will ultimately let us go."

Walt Phelps had other ideas about the Mexican's character.The Western boy knew the man by reputation, and the general character of the wild outlaws who make their homes along the border.He said nothing, however, wisely thinking it best to let the professor encourage Ralph all he could.

As the afternoon waned away, therefore, the paper still lay scattered in the same spot on the floor where the leader of the cattle rustlers had placed it.By and by, a little ray of sunshine shot in through the window as the sun grew toward the west, and illumined the interior of the old chapel with a cheerful radiance. The rays played, as if in mockery of their captivity, upon the old sheets of paper, on which the thin, blue lines with which they had been ruled when they were new, were still visible.

"Wonder where Ramon picked up that paper," mused Ralph idly."It reminds me of our exercise books at school.Looks like it might have been torn out of one of them, too.Heigh ho, I wish I was back at old Stonefell again.Don't you, professor?"

"Eh—oh!"gasped the professor, coming out of a brown study in which he had had his eyes fixed abstractedly on the paper, "yes, yes, of course.But, young man, your eyes are better than mine, and I want to ask you a question—do you notice anything on that paper?"

"Why, yes, a few marks; looks like dirt," said Ralph carelessly."The sunlight shows them up.Nice sort of correspondence paper."He laughed mirthlessly.

"No, but," insisted the professor, "it looks to me as if characters of some kind were inscribed on them and——"

Ralph had suddenly risen and snatched up one of the sheets.A closer scrutiny had shown him that the papers were indeed covered with some sort of writing which they had not noticed before.

"You're right, professor," he exclaimed, "they are written on.See!the marks are getting clearer.But—but why didn't we see any writing before."

"Because," exclaimed the professor, "the papers have been written on with invisible fluid of some kind.Their exposure to the warm rays of the sun has brought out the writing."

"It's getting clearer," said Ralph, eagerly perusing the sheet he held."I can't quite make it out yet, though."

He exposed the sheet he held to the sunlight, while Walt Phelps leaned interestedly over his shoulder.

"Why-why," the boy stuttered, "it's something about this church.Look here, I can see the 'Church of St.Gabriel, the old mission,' as plain as anything, and-and, why, professor," shouted the boy, half wild with excitement, "I believe that this paper, by some wonderful chance, may be the means of getting us out of here."

"Let me see," demanded the professor, taking the paper from the boy's trembling hands.Sure enough, it was covered with characters written closely, and seemingly hastily.

"'This record, made the seventeenth day of August, 1909,'" he read out, "'is to be kept in case of accidents.The secret passage lies four squares from the fifth square from the last window on the right hand side toward the altar.The old altar rail pulls back, exposing the trapdoor.Treasure in passage, one hundred paces from north of tunnel in wall, to right.'Give me that other page, Ralph, quick!"

The professor's voice shook strangely, and his dim eyes shone behind his spectacles.Rapidly he warmed the page Ralph handed him in the sunlight, and more writing leaped into view.

"'Written by me with onion juice on above date.Jim Hicks, prospector, formerly of Preston Hollow, N.Y.State.This to be an instrument for my heirs, if any, and if this is ever found.' And here is something that seems to be a postscript," gasped the professor, amazedly.

"'Will have to leave this in church and trust to luck.Place not deserted as I had thought, but in possession of Mexicans.If chance should bring this to an American's notice, let them search out Jim Hicks, the prospector, rightful owner of treasure by right of discovery, and legacy of Don Manuel Serro y Fornero, the last descendant of the old monk, Brother Hilarito.'"

"Good gracious, does that mean this church?"breathed Walt Phelps, his eyes as round as two marbles.

"Evidently," said the professor, who seemed strangely excited, "as nearly as I can make out, Jim Hicks was, or is, a miner or prospector who in some way was willed this missing treasure, whatever it is, by the last heir of one of the old monks who formerly lived in the mission.He must have come here to dig up the treasure and been surprised by the Mexicans.Fearing discovery when he would have been searched, he wrote this record in some old book he had with him and then stuffed it in a recess in the wall or other hiding place. In some way the Mexicans found it, and not knowing what it was tore some leaves out, which providentially happened to be these, and gave them to Ralph to write his last message on."

"I guess you must be right, professor," agreed Ralph, "I've often heard that the old monks, when their Indians were giving trouble, hid their treasure in secret places.And this Brother Hila—whatever his name was—must have been the last survivor of the monastery.He willed the secret to his heirs, who, in turn, gave it to this old miner, Jim Hicks."

"This is the strangest thing I ever heard of," exclaimed Walt Phelps, "but now that we have found it, what good does it do us?"

"Why, why," blurted out Ralph, "don't you see, Walt, what the invisible writing has done?It has pointed out to us a way to escape."

"How?"asked the blunt Walt.

"How—why, through the tunnel."

"Yes, if this is the right church, and if the tunnel has an exit at the other end," rejoined the practical Walt."I don't want to throw cold water on your hopes, Ralph, but this looks to me as if it might be a trick of Black Ramon's."

"I hardly think so," said the professor."At any rate, it is worth trying.We will make a test as soon as possible."

They did not dare, however, to try to test the secret of the old book till they could be sure they were not watched from without by one of Ramon's spies.Not till after dusk did they feel perfectly secure from observation.Then, with the professor leading, they sought out in the tesselated floor the designated square.It was easily found, and following the directions which had been memorized, for, of course, the invisible writing had disappeared with the fading of the warmth that brought it into being, the eager seekers went over the prescribed ground.

There was a moment of painful suspense as the professor laid hold of a moldering altar rail, followed by a moan of disappointment.

The rail did not yield.It was anchored solidly in its base.

"Sold!"ejaculated Ralph.Walt Phelps did not speak, but his disappointment was keen.

The professor said nothing, but thought deeply, for a few minutes.Then he spoke.

"I have it," he exclaimed suddenly, "it's we that have been wrong, and not the book."

"What do you mean?"asked Ralph, "we followed directions.I memorized them carefully myself."

"Yes, my boy, we did, but if you recollect the book said nothing about the color of the squares.We counted on the black ones, assuming that to be correct.Now might it not just as well have been the white ones that the directions meant?"

"That's so," agreed Ralph eagerly, with new hope; "let's try it that way."

"We'll have to be quick.It will be dark as pitch in a few minutes," said Walt.

Once more the three bent over the floor and counted carefully, this time using the white tiles as counters.Their enumeration brought them to another old brass rail, standing upright in what had once been the chancel of the old church.

Not one of that party drew a breath, as in the dying light the professor laid his hand on the upright pillar and pulled.

"Fooled again," burst out Ralph; but suddenly the professor, who had put his utmost strength into the task, went toppling backward, waving his arms like a scarecrow in a high gale.He fell on the marble floor with a crash, but was up again like a jack-in-the-box.

"Hooray!hooray!the old miner's writing was true!"burst out Ralph.

"Hush!"exclaimed Walt, "you'll have Ramon and his men in here in a moment."

As he spoke there came a sudden trampling of feet outside and shouts echoed.

"They've found us out!"gasped Ralph, with blanched cheeks.

"No, they're running past the door," exclaimed Walt."Listen, something else is the matter."

"What can it be?"wondered Jack.

"No time for speculation now, my boy," warned the professor, who had recovered himself."It's now or never.Are we going to chance the secret tunnel?"

"Yes," chorused both boys, gazing without hesitation into the black square which the swinging back of the rail had revealed.From the mouth of the dark pit a fetid, foul-smelling air rushed upward. It was the breath of the dead centuries.

"One moment," said the professor, staying Ralph as he was about to plunge forward undismayed into the abyss; "let some of that deadly gas out."

In apprehension of momentary discovery, the adventurers waited, starting at every sound.Outside the disturbance still went on.Feet could be heard rushing hither and thither.What could be happening?

"Now!"said the professor, after a few breathless minutes had passed.

Led by Ralph, they plunged downward, their feet encountering a flight of steps.

As they vanished into the unknown, the trap-door, actuated by some hidden machinery, which must have acted as their weight came on the long disused steps, swung silently back into place.

At the same instant there were several loud shouts from without, followed by a fusillade of rifles.

The escape of Jack and Pete from the tower had just been discovered, and while the ranch boy and the cow-puncher were surrounded by the perils through which we have followed them, the other members of the beleaguered party made their way forward into a blackness so utter as to feel almost solid.

---

CHAPTER XVI.

SHORT RATIONS.

As soon as it grew daylight next morning the two fugitives, Jack Merrill and Coyote Pete, not to forget the one-eared mule, from the effects of whose stampede Pete was still limping, made a careful reconnaissance.From their lofty perch on a ledge of rock far up the cañon they could see behind them a thin thread of distant blue smoke, which still marked the scene of the destruction of the treacherous old hermit's hut.

A few bluejays hopped about here and there, eying the intruders inquisitively, a badger rushed grunting and grumbling through some nearby scrub.Otherwise the cañon, under a blinding blue sky, was still as a desert noon.

"Wa'al, all's quiet along the Potomac from the looks of things," commented Pete, "and now let's get down to the creek, and I'll wash off some of the dirt that one-eared Maud there plastered me with last night, and then we'll hit up that pocket chuck-wagon of yours."

"And after that?"asked Jack.

"Why, then, we'll keep right on going.Let's see, it was to-day that you was to have written home for money, wasn't it?"

"Yes," said Jack, with a sigh, thinking of Ralph, who, if he had only known it, was at that moment beyond Black Ramon's reach.

"Wa'al, now, if that Easterner can only stick out, we'll win home yet," gritted out Pete, "and be back with help by day after to-morrow."

"Now, then, you one-eared, cock-eyed imp of Satan, if you want a morning drink quit pulling back on that halter and come down to the creek," went on the cow-puncher, addressing the mule, which by common consent had been christened Maud.

The mule flopped her one ear wisely at Pete, and docilely allowed herself to be led to water.Both travelers drank and laved themselves, and then seated on a rock at the edge of the watercourse made a meal off the remnants of Jack's stock.

"Last of the grub, eh?"inquired Pete, as the final morsels vanished.

Jack nodded.

"Well, we'll have to tighten our belts a few notches then, I reckon," was all Pete said.It took more than the prospect of a little hunger ahead to alarm the old plainsman.

All at once his eyes fell on an object lying some distance up the creek.It reposed on the flat top of a rock and seemed to be a shallow metal basin of some sort.

"Hello!"exclaimed Pete, as he sighted it, "there's a clew to our neighbor of last night—the one who dug out so unsociable when Maud began cutting up."

"Cutting you up, I guess you mean," laughed Jack, gazing at Pete's scratched countenance, and a further facial decoration he carried in the shape of a big goose egg over one eye.

"Hum, I guess my style of beauty has been considerably damaged," grinned Pete, "and look at that one-eared demon will you, grinning at us as if she enjoyed it."

They both had to burst out laughing, forgetting their other troubles at the queer sidelong glance Maud bestowed on them.It was as if she said:

"Didn't I have a lark last night?"

"Say, Jack," said Pete suddenly, after an interval of looking about to see if any chance crumbs had been overlooked, "I'm going to have a look at that thing on the rock up there.It may give us a clew to our friend who lit out so unpremeditated."

"That washbowl, you mean?"asked Jack.

"Well, it ain't exactly a wash bowl.It's what prospectors use to wash out gold in.They take a handful of mud and some water from any creek they think looks good, and then they wash it about.Of course, the gold, being heaviest, sinks to the bottom and stays there after all the other stuff has been washed away."

An examination of the basin showed that it was an old one and much battered.On one side it bore scratched deep in its surface the initials J. H.

"Feller had quite a camp here," said Pete, looking about him."Funny we didn't sight him when we first came up.Must have had three ponies, two to pack and one to ride."

"How can you tell that?"asked the boy.

"S'prised at you, a Western kid, asking such a question," grinned Pete, who was in high good spirits since they had apparently thrown off the Mexicans; "look at those hoofs."

"That's right," said Jack, after a short scrutiny, "there's one with only half a shoe on the off forefoot, one unshod on the hind hoofs——"

"That's one of the packers," put in Pete.

"And another the same way.Another packer," concluded Jack.

"You'll make a vaquero yet," approved Pete, "but come on, it's time for us to be up and getting.I only wish we hadn't scared J.H., whoever he is, out of ten years' growth, and we'd have been in the way of getting a hot breakfast."

"You wouldn't have wanted to have lighted a fire," cried Jack; "wouldn't the Mexicans have seen the smoke?"

"Wa'al, I guess you're right, kiddo," said Pete; "cold victuals are safe victuals in a fix like ours.Just the same, a slapjack and some frizzled bacon, with a cup of hot coffee, would appeal to yours truly right now."

"Don't talk of such things," laughed Jack; "we may be eating piñon leaves by sundown."

"And that's no childish dream," agreed Pete."Now, let's saddle up Maud and be on our way."

A few minutes later, with Pete's heels drumming a tattoo on her bony sides, Maud was once more ambling over the trail, her one ear moving backward and forward as if some sort of clockwork contrivance was in it.

"Lot of waste of power there," observed the practical Pete."Hitch that ear to a sewing machine or a corn sheller and you'd have any motor ever built beat a mile."

By a sort of mutual but unspoken agreement, neither of the two mentioned eating when the sun, by its height in the sky, showed that it was noon.Without a word, though, Jack, from his position behind the cantle, tightened up his belt a notch. Short rations were beginning to tell on him. Pete, however, seemed cheerful enough. He even hummed from time to time a few lines of that endless cow-puncher's song which begins:

Such good progress did they make, notwithstanding Maud's deliberate method of procedure, that by mid-afternoon they found themselves almost at the summit of the range, and in a narrow gorge formed by the closing in of the walls of the cañon.They had been following a sort of trail, which had once—so Pete guessed—been an Indian way.It was, however, overgrown almost continuously with brush, and they had been compelled to turn out a dozen times in every hundred yards.Now suddenly the path came to a stop altogether at a spot where, for a distance of twenty feet or more, the side of the cañon had slipped down.Nothing but a smooth shaly wall, impossible even for Maud's goatlike feet to attempt, lay between them and the resumption of the trail on the opposite side.

"Have to go around," decided Jack, who had dismounted and was surveying the break in the road.

"That means going back three miles at least," grumbled Pete."Consarn the luck."

"Well, we can't go ahead."

"There's no such word as can't when you've gotter, son," rejoined Pete, gazing about him, while Maud philosophically cropped some patch grass that grew on the steep side of the trail.

"Let's see," mused Pete."No, there wouldn't be no sense in trying to climb around it.Even this one-eared jackrabbit couldn't make it.Could you, Maud?"

The one ear shook vigorously.

"No, she's made up her mind she couldn't, and that ends it.Marry an old maid, argue with a school teacher, reason with a rattlesnake, but never try to persuade a mule of the error of her ways," said Pete solemnly.

"There's that old dead tree up there," said Jack suddenly, pointing to the steep shaly bank, where a big dead pine lay precariously balanced where the last washout that had destroyed the trail had left it.

"Well, what of it?"

"Why, it's long enough to bridge the gap and broad enough for Maud to get across on if we lead her."

"And if she'll go," said Pete."Just the same I think your idea's a good one, Jack."

"Well, we can try it, anyhow.It wouldn't take more than a shove to dislodge that trunk, and the way it lies it ought to roll so that its two ends will catch on each end of the trail and connect them."

"By Jee-hos-o-phat, I think it'll work!"exclaimed Pete, warming up to the idea.

As he spoke he got off the mule, who for the last five minutes had had her one good ear and the stump of the other cocked forward, listening intently.Her nostrils and eyes were distended, and as Pete's feet touched the ground she gave a wild scramble in an attempt to climb the bank.

"Whoa, whoa, Maud!what's the matter with you, you one-eared locomotive on four legs," growled Pete.

"She's scared at something!"said Jack, with a worried look, gazing nervously about him.

"Yep, that's right.Wonder what it is."

"Ph-r-r-r-r!"

Maud snorted and plunged about furiously.

"Well, it ain't Mexicans, that's a cinch, for the wind is blowing up the trail," mused Pete, "and whatever she smells is coming down.Well, no use worrying about it.The sooner we get busy and get that log across, the sooner we'll be on our way.I'll just hitch old Maud to this tree, and then we'll get to work."

Maud, still prancing and snorting alarmedly, was tied to the tree in a few seconds.The two adventurers, bracing themselves at every step, started to climb up the shale toward the dead tree, which they wished to roll down the incline to connect the two ends of the broken trail.

"Now, I'll take that far end and you take this, and when I say so, we both shove, see?"said Pete.After some difficulty on the slippery foothold the shale afforded, they reached the log, which was nothing more or less than a huge pine trunk, sixty feet or more in length. Had it not been for the manner in which it had been caught on the pinnacle of two rocks at either end, they could not have hoped to move it. Balanced as it was, however, a touch set it rocking.

"Ready?"hailed Pete, after he had scrambled to his end of the log.He laid his hands on the fallen trunk and braced his feet and muscles for a mighty heave.

"All right!"hailed Jack, doing the same, when suddenly his expression of energy froze on his face, and he grew pale under his tan.

"Oh, Pete!oh!"screamed the boy, "look behind you!"

Pete, who stood with his back toward the upper end of the cañon, faced around from his grip on the timber.As he did so he echoed Jack's cry of horror.

Standing at the opposite edge of the broken trail—not twenty feet from him—was a huge, gaunt grizzly.

As it gazed upon the prey on which it had lumbered so unexpectedly, the horrible brute's little pig eyes blazed malevolently, and its huge fangs began to drip as if in anticipation of the feast to come.

---

CHAPTER XVII.

THE TALE OF A MULE.

"Jee-hos-o-phat, a grizzly!"yelled Pete, as he gazed at the quarter of a ton of angry bruin, "and we've not got even a bean shooter."

"That's what Maud was scared at," was the ridiculous thought, considering the circumstances, that came into Jack's mind.That Pete had thought the same thing was evidenced the next instant.

"Say, if we'd only paid attention to Maud," he began, "we'd——"

But a sudden interruption cut him short.The big log they had been trying to dislodge was, as has been said, very delicately balanced.Already by placing their hands on it and rocking it testingly they had disturbed its equilibrium.Now Pete, in his agitation, had placed a foot on it.Both feet, in fact, as he jumped backward at the sight of the huge bear.

This was too much for the trunk.With a crash and a roar, and accompanied by a mighty cascade of dust and rocks, it rolled down the steep, shaly bank.

A few moments before both Pete and Jack had longed above everything else to see the trunk spanning the break in the trail.Now, however, when it landed fair and square in the position desired, with its two ends resting on solid ground, the natural bridge it formed was the last thing in the world they wanted to see.

With the trail still open—that is, with the break still in existence—they might have saved themselves from the bear, for it was extremely unlikely that the creature could have found a foot-hold on the loose shaly bank.Now that the bridge was in existence, however, things were altered, the bear could cross to them at will, even if they took refuge on their own side of the gap.

"Make for those trees," shouted Pete, pointing to a small clump of scrubby firs that grew out of a pile of rock just above where Maud had been tethered.

Without a word Jack turned and made the best of his speed along the steep, slippery incline to the spot indicated by the cow-puncher. Pete was close behind him.

"Now climb," ordered Pete; "it's our only chance."

As he spoke the grizzly, which had hesitated for a moment when the bridge came tumbling down, had perceived the easy means it afforded him of reaching his prey, and was cautiously testing it with his foot.

"Wish the thing would give way and roll him down to kingdom come," gritted out Pete, savagely.

Both Pete and Jack in their haste had found refuge in the same tree, a small sapling fir, which bent perilously under their weight.From this insecure perch they watched bruin testing the bridge cautiously.Finally having made up his mind it was safe the immense brute started to lumber across it.

"B-b-but," stammered Jack, "he'll get us in this tree, Pete.Grizzlies can climb."

The boy was horribly frightened, and small blame can attach to him therefor.Jack, as we have seen, was far from being a coward, but even the bravest of men might be pardoned for feeling alarm when caught weaponless by a grizzly bear—one of the most savage, merciless foes of man in the Western Hemisphere.

"He can climb, all right," rejoined Pete, "but a grizzly is the most cautious brute there is.He's quite smart enough to see that this tree overhangs a steep slope that ends in a precipice, and he knows, too, that if too much weight is put on it we'll all go down together.Maybe he won't try to dislodge us.That's our only hope."

"But even if he doesn't climb it he's liable to sit below till we come down from hunger or drop from fatigue."

"Well, that's a chance we've got to take," grunted Pete grimly.

The grizzly seemed in no particular hurry to proceed.Having crossed the bridge he leisurely sniffed about, only from time to time glancing up out of his little red eyes at the two figures in the flimsy fir tree.

All this time Maud had been plunging about like a wild thing, but her rope held tight and she could not escape.

"Poor critter," said Pete, as he watched her."If we'd only taken her warning we might have been out of here by now."

"If we ever get out of this, I'll believe anything a mule tells me," chimed in Jack miserably.

The grizzly apparently made up his mind suddenly that it was time that all delays were over.With the peculiar lumbering gait of these huge, but active, creatures, he rapidly made his way to the foot of the little fir and placed his fore paws on it.As Jack gazed downward at the huge paws, armed with enormous claws, each as big and sharp as a chilled steel chisel, he could not restrain a cry.

"Steady, kid, steady," groaned Pete."Oh, if only I had a rifle for you, me haughty beauty, wouldn't I drill a nice hole in you."

He shook his fist at the bear, which growled savagely back.But having tested the tree, the bear, as Pete had expected, declined to risk his weight on it.Instead he shook it a little in a vain attempt to dislodge the two clinging occupants. Both man and boy hung on with grim desperation, while a dreadful fear that the roots might give way gnawed at the heart of each.

"How long will he stay there, do you think?"asked Jack, as the grizzly, grumbling angrily to himself, sat down at the foot of the tree, for all the world like a huge cat patiently watching a mouse hole.

"Dunno," grumbled Pete; "longer than we'll stay here, I guess."

Suddenly the bear seemed to tire of inactivity.With a savage roar he sprang at the tree, which bent like a sapling under his tremendous weight.To Pete's horror he distinctly felt the trunk crack.

"It's all off," he groaned aloud; "one more jump like that will finish us."

"When the tree hits the ground you run," whispered Pete to Jack.The boy nodded his head.He little dreamed what was in Pete's mind.

The acute mind of the grizzly soon perceived that his attack on the tree had been effectual.Roaring with dreadful note that sent a chill to Jack's heart, he charged once more.

There came a dreadful crashing, crackling, rending sound, and the small sapling gave way.

Like a stone from a catapult Jack felt himself strike the ground violently.

"Run, Jack, run!"

It was the voice of Pete, but it came to Jack like a voice in a dream.Mingling with it came the triumphant roar of the grizzly.

Bruised and shaken by his fall, the boy managed somehow to get to his feet and began running stumblingly forward.Suddenly he stopped.What had become of Pete?

In the same instant his friend's unselfish bravery flashed across him.Pete meant to stay behind and deliberately sacrifice himself while Jack got a chance to escape.

Jack turned and began to run back.

"Pete, Pete, you shan't do it!"he cried desperately.

But even as he yelled he gave a shrill cry of mortal terror.The huge black form was upon the cow-puncher, and all Jack could see was its huge, hairy arms as they shot out to envelope Pete in their grip.Over and over rolled the two, as the bear missed its footing on the treacherous hillside and began toppling down toward the trail. In this predicament it still gripped tight to its prey, however.

Suddenly Jack gave another yell—a cry of exultation.An extraordinary thing had happened.

In its rolling plunge down the slope the bear had come within the radius of Maud's iron-shod hind hoofs.With a scream of mingled fear and mulelike defiance, those formidable weapons drove out as if impelled by steel springs.

Ker-flo-p-p-p!

Both of those terrible heels struck the grizzly fair and square in the top of his ferocious head.With a howl of agony he dropped the man from his deadly grip, and with the blood streaming from the deadly wound went tumbling and clawing in his death agony down the slope.

Faster and faster he crashed downward, tearing out small bushes and trees as he went under his huge weight.At last everything grew silent, and Jack looked over the edge of the gulch.

At the bottom, half hidden among the avalanche of brush he had brought with him, lay the carcass of the huge grizzly—quite dead, it seemed, for when Jack hurled down a stone he never moved.

At the same instant Pete sat up, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Am I dead?"he inquired.

"No, thanks to old Maud!"shouted Jack, joyously flinging his arms about Pete and doing a war dance of exultation."She's the best one-eared mule in the world!"

"That's right," agreed Pete solemnly, after he had been made acquainted with the happenings of the last few moments, for he had lost consciousness in the bear's mighty hug.

"And say, Pete," said Jack in a choky voice, "I understand what you did, old man, and——"

His voice broke, and tears came into his eyes as he thought of Pete's act of self-sacrifice.

"Aw blazes," said Pete, with a bit of a quaver in his own tones, "that's all right.But look at Maud, will you?"

That intelligent animal, with her one ear cocked erect as if in triumph, had thrown back her head and opened her mouth.

"Is she going to have a fit?"asked Jack.

"Naw, she's going ter sing.Mules don't speak often, but when they do, they do it about something worth while.Hark!"

He-haw-he-haw-he-haw-he-haw!

Maud's song of triumph, as Pete had described it, went echoing up and down the cañon in the most discordant series of sounds known to the ear of man.But if there had been a hundred Mexicans in earshot, neither of the two fugitives would have grudged Maud her vocal exercise, nor have attempted to cut it short.

As it was, however, the mule's pean of victory had evidently reached other ears than those of Jack Merrill and Coyote Pete.They were still petting her and wishing for lumps of sugar and gold head stalls and all sorts of equine delicacies when both were startled by a gruff voice addressing them.

"Hullo, strangers!"

"Hullo yourself!"rejoined Pete, considerably surprised, and peering about him keenly.

---

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE TREASURE OF THE MISSION.

The effect of their first sudden immersion into the total blackness of the tunnel was paralyzing to Ralph, the professor, and Walt Phelps.The air, too, was still oppressive and musty with the accumulation of ages.

"Has any one got a match?"was the professor's first inquiry.

"Don't know," rejoined Walt Phelps, "I most generally have, but them greasers went through me pretty thoroughly.Hold on, though; wait!Hooray!I had a hole in my pocket, and some slipped through into the lining of my coat."

"Light up," said Ralph eagerly, "and let's see what sort of a horrible hole we are in."

A sputter, a crackle, and then a blessed flood of light, as Walt Phelps lit one of the precious matches of which he had found three or four.

"Now, see how much you can take in in one match-length," urged the red-headed ranch boy, as he held the match high in the air.

Its radiance showed them that they were in a narrow, walled tunnel, into which the steps from the trap-door above had led them.Right ahead stretched blackness, behind was blackness, only in the little illuminated circle in which they stood in fact, was there any relief from the gloom.The professor uttered a sudden gleeful exclamation, and at the same instant Walt dropped the match with a loud exclamation of:

"Ouch!"

He had held on to it so long he had burned his fingers.

"Never mind," consoled the professor; "that match, Walter, has shown us one important thing."

"And what is that?"asked Ralph.

"That there is an opening to this passage somewhere."

"Why, how——"

"Simple enough.The flame flickered, as Walter held the match up.That shows there must be a draught, and where there is a draught there must be an opening."

"Then, for goodness sake, let's make for it," exclaimed Ralph, stumbling forward in the darkness "I can't stand this blackness much longer."

With his hands spread in front of him the boy started off, the others following.Walter would have lighted another match, but this the professor vetoed.He argued that, not knowing what lay ahead of them, they had better reserve their store for a real emergency.The boys agreed to this readily.

They had gone about two hundred yards when Ralph, whose hands were feeling along the walls as he went, gave a sudden exclamation.Up to this point the passage had been about six feet in height, and four or more in width.Now, however, it contracted until they had to double up, and could only just squeeze through.It grew unendurably hot, too, and as the floor had steadily declined as they went, they argued that they must have reached a considerable depth.

Ralph's exclamation had been caused by a peculiar substance with which his fingers had suddenly come in contact. Heretofore the walls had been rough, and in places rocky. Suddenly, however, his fingers encountered a rounded, smooth surface.

"What's the matter?"asked the professor, who was behind.

"I don't know.There's something odd imbedded in the wall right here.Can we spare a match?"

"I think under the circumstances we might," said the professor.

Walter accordingly kindled a fresh lucifer.

As its rays shone out, every one of the party shrank back with a cry of horror.

From the wall a grinning skull was gazing at them.

The ranch boy dropped his match with a cry of terror and startled alarm.Even the professor's nerves were shaken by this sudden apparition.

"F-f-for g-g-goodness' sake, strike another!"stuttered Ralph.

With trembling hands Walt struck another light, and this time they nerved themselves to examine the wall more carefully. The skull was imbedded in the rock, and by its side they now perceived was a skeleton hand, pointing down the tunnel. The professor also noted some marks at its side. There were five of them—short, straight lines, scratched in the wall.

"Why, boys," he said, as the match died out, "there is nothing to be alarmed at.The skull is placed there as some sort of a pointer, or indicator, as I take it.That hand shows the direction in which the treasure lies, and the five scratches mean either five feet, or five yards, in this direction."

This simple explanation nerved the boys wonderfully, and they carefully paced off five feet.

"Another match, Walter," ordered the professor.

"The last but one," said the boy, as he struck it.

Hastily they gazed about them, but not a sign could they perceive of any break in the wall or floor, which might serve as a hiding-place for the treasure indicated in the miner's invisible writing.

"Shall we try at five yards?"asked Ralph.

"We will put it to a popular vote," rejoined the professor."It will mean burning up our last match, but on the other hand——"

"I'm willing to use it—how about you, Walt?"came from Ralph.

"Sure," responded the ranch boy.

The professor made rapid mental calculations, and then paced off the additional distance necessary to make up the five yards from the original starting-place.

"Now," he said, coming to a halt.

How carefully Walt Phelps nursed that tiny yellow flame, as it burst into being.How eagerly they glanced about them, greedy of every morsel of its light.

Suddenly the professor gave a cry.

"Look!"he sputtered out.

He was pointing downward excitedly.Almost at his feet was a mildewed iron ring.As the light died out, he grasped it.

"Never mind the darkness, now; I've got it!"he cried exultingly.

"Pull it up," urged Ralph, all else forgotten in the mystic spell of hidden treasure.

"Yes, pull," urged Walt.

"I—ugh—ugh!"grunted the professor, putting all his strength into it, but the ring never budged an inch.

"Here, give me a hand, boys!"he cried.

"How are we to find you?"asked Ralph.

"Here, extend your hands.Ah, that's it," went on the scientist, seizing hold of the boys' wrists and guiding them down to the ring.

"Now, all together," he said; "pull!"

With all their strength the three adventurers tugged with a mighty heave at the iron.At first it seemed that it was going to prove obdurate even to their combined efforts, but continued tugging resulted in a slight quiver of whatever the iron ring was fastened to.

"Now, once more—he-a-ve!"

There was a sudden give on the part of the iron ring, and its foundation gave way with a rush.

A strange, pungent odor filled the air!

"I—I—I'm choking," gasped Walt, gripping his collar with both hands and tearing it open, to relieve the terrible congestion that had suddenly seized upon his throat.

"Run, boys; run for your lives!"shouted the professor."There's something deadly in there!"

They needed no second invitation.Forward they plunged, gasping and choking, in the grip of the unseen, destructive agent they had liberated.

The professor, as he sprang forward, felt his foot slip, and realized that he was falling backward.As he fell into what he knew must be the pit they had opened, and from which the noxious fumes were pouring, he grasped at something—it was Walt's leg.

"Hey, leggo my leg!"howled the red-headed youth, half-crazy with fear.To his excited imagination, it seemed that in the darkness some pulling arm had reached up from the pit and seized him.

"Walt!Walt!"gasped the professor."Save me!"

The boy, in agony as he was from the horrible gases, pluckily reached round and felt about.Presently he felt the professor's bony hand grip his. A second later, the scientist had been hauled out of danger. But the suffocating fumes still filled the passage. They were choking, blinding and killing the adventurers.

"Forward, forward!It's our only chance!"cried the professor.

Suddenly he felt Walt, who was just ahead of him in the panic-stricken flight, collapse.Seizing the fainting boy in his arms, the professor bravely struggled on.In the meantime Ralph had hastened on ahead, and knew nothing of what had occurred behind him.

Rapidly he ran from the unseen peril, covering the ground swiftly.Stumbling blindly forward, he all at once felt the air grow fresh and sweet, and at the same time a sort of glow penetrated the stygian darkness of the tunnel.

The boy glanced upward and gave a cry of delight.Above him, at the mouth of a circular shaft, he saw the kindly stars blinking.Never had the sight of the sky looked so sweet to him.But even as he was congratulating himself, he looked about for his companions.

They were not there!

"Hullo, Walt—professor!Hurry," he called back into the blackness and the foul danger he had left behind him.

To his dismay, his voice echoed hollowly upon the rocks, and went booming mysteriously down the tunnel.But human reply to his call, there was none.

With a sinking heart, Ralph realized in an instant what had happened.The professor and his companion had been overcome, by whatever it was that had emanated from the trapdoor in the tunnel.

A sort of panic seized on the boy.

He shouted and shouted, again and again, regardless of his voice being heard above.But only the mockery of the echo to his frightened cries came back to him.

It is no disparagement to Ralph to say that it required some effort on his part to nerve himself for what he did then.Summoning every ounce of resolution in his body, he threw himself on his hands and knees, with a vague recollection of having heard somewhere, that deadly gases were less deadly near to the ground.

Thus extended, the Eastern boy, with a beating heart and a dread sense of disaster oppressing him, crawled back into the danger-filled darkness from which he had just emerged.

As he proceeded, the air grew more and more unbearable.His skin seemed to be on fire, and his eyes were filled with an aching, burning, smart that was maddening.But the boy kept repeating over and over to himself the words he had uttered as he plunged back over the path of danger.

"I must get them out.I must get them out!"

In the pitchy darkness, with mind and body burning, he painfully wriggled on.

"I can't keep this up much longer," was his thought; "where are they, oh, where are they?"

Suddenly he bumped into something soft.It was a human body.

"Professor!"gasped the boy in a voice which he knew must be his own, but which sounded strangely like that of another person.

A faint groan answered him.

"You must come with me.I must get you out.I must get you out," gasped Ralph.He seized the other's clothes and made a brave effort to drag him forward. But as he did so, everything seemed to race round and round in his head in a mad whirligig, and the boy collapsed in a senseless heap beside the two he had come to save.

---

CHAPTER XIX.

JIM HICKS, PROSPECTOR.

The sharp eyes of Coyote Pete were not long in discovering the cause of the startling interruption to the adulation of Maud.

Through a clump of brush some distance above the trail, a strange, wild face was peering at them.Yet, despite its tangle of beard, and the battered hat which crowned its tangled locks, the countenance was a kindly one, and there was friendliness in its blue eyes.Above all, it was the face of an American.Pete, and Jack, too, for that matter, would have thrown themselves rejoicingly on the neck of the most disreputable of their countrymen, if they had happened to meet him at that moment.

"Traveling?"inquired the stranger, coming out from his concealment and disclosing a well-knit body dressed in plainsman's garb.The butt of a revolver glinted suggestively on his left thigh.

"Reckon so," rejoined Pete.

"Whar frum?"

"South."

"Whar to?"

"North."

"Ain't very communicative, be yer, stranger?"

"Wa'al, you see, we ain't had a regular introduction," rejoined Pete, with range humor, a grin spreading over his countenance.

"My name's Jim Hicks; I'm prospecting up through this yer God-forsaken place."

"Mine's Peter Aloysius Archibald De Peyster," rejoined Coyote Pete, and, although he then gasped in amazement, Jack was later to learn that this was the redoubtable cow-puncher's real name.In fact, he had had more than one fight on account of it.

"Don't laugh," he warned.

"Not a snicker," was the reply, "but that sure is a fancy name, stranger.Sounds like a Christmas tree, all lights, and tinsel, and glitter."

"Humph," rejoined the cow-puncher, glancing sharply at the other, but, perceiving no sign of amusement on that leathern countenance, he went on, "and this is my young friend, Jack Merrill, the son of Merrill, the cattle-man."

"Say," burst out Jack, who had been doing some thinking, "are you J.H.?"

"That is my usual initials," rejoined the prospector, bending a keen glance on the boy.

"Ho—ho—ho!"laughed Pete, "I reckon we crossed your trail to-day.Did you mislay a wash-pan?"

"Why, yep," rejoined the other, a rather embarrassed look coming over his face, and a bit of red creeping up under the tan, "you see, I was camped down the trail last night, when the all-firedest thing happened that I ever bumped into."

"What was it?"asked Jack mischievously, scenting here an explanation of the occurrences of the night.

"Why, I was sound asleep down by the creek, when, all of a sudden, I hear'n a fearful racket above me.I looked up and I seen a devil with red eyes and a blue tail, all surrounded by blue fire, coming toward me, and——"

"Hold on, stranger—wait a minute.I ain't through yit.Wa'al, sir, I out with my pepper box and let fly, but the critter, whatever it was, jes' giv' the awfulest laugh I ever heard, and vanished in a cloud of blue smoke."

"Ha!Ha!Ha!"laughed Jack, while Pete joined in the merriment, holding his sides.

The prospector looked at them suspiciously.

"Why—why—why," gasped Pete, "barrin' the red fire and the trimmings, I reckon your devil was jes' our old mule, Maud."

"That onery, one-eared critter yonder!"yelled the prospector, "that perambulating, four-legged accumulation of cats'-meat scare me out of two years' growth!Stan' aside, strangers——"

"Why, what are you going to do?"exclaimed Jack in a somewhat alarmed tone, as the prospector's hand flew to his six-shooter.

"Jes' ventilate the promiscuous disposition of that animal of your'n, stranger."

As he spoke, he coolly raised his pistol, preparatory to sweeping it down and firing point-blank at poor Maud.But Coyote Pete was on him with a wild yell.

"Here, here, none of that in this camp, stranger," he bellowed, as his mighty arms bore the astonished prospector to the ground, and they rolled over and over; "ef you've got any nuggets lyin' loose you don't want, give 'em to us to decorate that noble creature, but you'll shoot me afore you shoot Maud."

As for Jack, after his first alarm, all he could do was to roar with laughter at the two big Westerners rolling about on the ground, and filling the air with vigorous expletives.

"Here, here, get up," he cried at length."Aren't you ashamed of yourselves?"

The two stopped their struggle for a moment and scrambled to their feet.

"I'll take back my remarks about your mule," said the prospector, apparently unruffled by the sudden strenuous interlude.

"And I'll withdraw my objection to you on account of that bullet you fired at us last night," said Pete solemnly.

"Accepted," said the ranger with equal gravity, "and now, if you two fellers feels like scoffin'——"

"Scoffing?"said Jack."I thought we'd had enough of that."

"He means eating," chuckled Pete."What a question to ask!"

"Wa'al, then, I'm camped about a quarter of a mile frum here, and will be glad to have your company.I come down to find out what was the matter, when I hear'n that mule critter of yours a-singin' once more.Glad to have met congenial company."

"We'll have to bring the mule," said Jack.

"All right.So long as she don't fight with my outfit, I've no objection," rejoined the prospector; "but come on, or that rabbit stew will be getting burned."

"Rabbit stew!"exclaimed Coyote Pete."Oh, I never thought to hear them words again."

Rapidly they retraced their steps, leading Maud by her hitching rope.Soon they reached a small branch path, which they had not noticed on their way up.It led back into the brush where Jim Hicks, it appeared, had camped.As they neared it, a savory odor of rabbit stew became apparent.Pete sniffed ecstatically.

"Say, stranger," he asked in a trembling voice, "is they—is they onions in that stew, or does my nose deceive me?"

"Mr. De Peyster," rejoined the prospector, "your organ of smelling is kerrict, sir.There is four of the finest Bermudas obtainable in that rabbit stew."

"Hold me," murmured Pete to Jack, a sudden look of lassitude coming over his weather-beaten face.

"Why, why, what's the matter?"exclaimed Jack in some real alarm.

"I—I think I'm going to faint, and I forgot to bring my smellin' salts," grinned Pete, favoring the boy with a portentous wink.

The formality of the West did not permit Jim Hicks to ask any questions of his guests.In fact, in that section of the country such a procedure would have been adjudged a terrible breach of good manners.On the border every man's business is his own, and no questions asked.

When, however, three or more helpings of rabbit stew had become a part of Coyote Pete, and an equal number was being assimilated into the person of Jack Merrill, the cow-puncher took advantage of the temporary absence of Jim Hicks—who had gone to see after his ponies—to ask Jack if he thought it wise to tell the prospector some of their story.

"I certainly do," replied Jack."He is a queer character, certainly, but under all his peculiarities he seems to be shrewd and kindly."

"That's what I think, too," agreed Pete."He may be able to help us."

After Coyote Pete and Jim Hicks had their pipes lighted, therefore, for the prospector carried a good supply of "Lone Jack," Coyote Pete began.The prospector listened with many exclamations of surprise to their story, till they reached the part concerning the old Mission of San Gabriel.Then he jumped to his feet, and, dashing his pipe to the ground, applied a few vigorous epithets to Black Ramon and his gang.

"That's the bunch of coyotes that drove me out of there just as I was about to make my fortune," he cried.

"Drove you out of there?"

"Make yer fortune?"cried his two puzzled listeners.

"Yep; listen," and Jim Hicks told them substantially the story, which we have already perused in his notebook, so providentially delivered into the hands of the prisoners of the old church.The man who willed it to him was a dying recluse he had aided.

"And there the book is, written in with onion juice stuffed in a cranny of the wall for any one's finding and nobody's reading," chuckled the prospector in conclusion."It was the only thing I could do.You see, I didn't know whether those greasers would catch me or not, so I concluded the best thing to do would be to take no chances, and hide it."

"You think you can find it again?"asked Jack, fascinated by the old prospector's strange story.

"Why, I dunno, son.You see, I was in such a hurry to get away when I heard them fellers coming, that I just stuffed it in a crack in the wall.If they got inquisitive they could easy get it out, but they wouldn't suspect nothing, for the book looked blank."

"But how did you escape without their seeing you?"

"Ah, you've got to trust an old borderer for that," grinned Jim Hicks."You see, when I got near the church, thinks I to myself, 'now, Jim Hicks, you don't want to burn your bridges behind you' so I just left my pony hidden in a little arroyo about half a mile away.When I heard them coming by the front of the place, I slipped out the other side and into the brush.After a lot of wrigging about through the scrub, I reached my pony, and rode back up here to where I had my outfit cached."

"Then you don't know whether there's treasure there or not?"asked Jack.

"Wa'al, there's treasure there all right, no doubt o' that.That Spanish fellow—I told you how I helped him when he was dying—swore he didn't lie to me, and I believe him.But he hinted at there being some sort of difficulty in the way of getting at it.The breath of death, I think he called it.Guess he meant the greasers' garlic."

"I guess so," responded Jack; "how I wish that we could go with you right now and explore the secret tunnel."

"Wa'al, we've got to get in communication with the ranch first, and then we can get the greaser troops and get after that band of scallywags," said Pete.

"And we must be two days' ride from it now," sighed Jack."In the meantime, what will be happening to the others?"

"That's the trouble," mused Pete, "if only we'd had a chance, we might have struck out and got the troops ourselves.But the greasers cut us off, and we're of more use here, even as out of the way as we are, than we would be in Black Ramon's clutches."

"Tell yer what," exclaimed Jim Hicks suddenly, "you don't hev ter ride all ther way to ther ranch."

"What's that?"asked Pete.

"No.I mean what I say.Use the telephone."

"What?"

Jack and Pete looked at the eccentric prospector as if they thought he had gone crazy in good earnest.

"Oh, I'm not locoed.Has your father got talk bo' at the ranch, boy?"

"Yes," rejoined Jack.

"Then it's easy."

The prospector spoke with such easy confidence that, in spite of themselves, Jack and Pete began to pay serious attention to his words.

"Oh, yes; I suppose we jes' climb a sugar-pine and asked Central ter give us Grizzly one twenty-three?"inquired Pete, sardonically.

"Nope," rejoined the miner, quite unruffled; "but hain't yer never thought that there's a telephone at the big water dam?"

"Thunders of Vesuvius, that's right!"exclaimed Pete, leaping to his feet and executing a jig.

"How do we get there, though?"asked Jack."We must be miles from it."

"Not so very far.I know a trail across the mountain that'll get us there a whole lot sooner than you'd think possible."

"Oh-didy-dd diddy-dum; Dum-dididdy-dee!"hummed Pete cutting all sorts of capers, "oh, now won't we get after those greasers."

"When can we start?"asked Jack.

"Sun up to-morrow."

"Good.I won't rest easy till I know that we're on the way to save Ralph and the others."

---

CHAPTER XX.

RALPH A TRUE HERO.

"Ralph!"

The voice sounded in the boy's ears like the chiming of a far-away bell.Lying prone on the floor of the tunnel, overcome by the foul gases, he had been unconscious, he did not know for how long, when he felt his shoulders roughly shaken and Walt Phelps' voice in his ear.

His head ached terribly, and he felt weak and dizzy, but he struggled to reply.

"Oh, Walt, what is it?What has happened?"

"Why, we've all been knocked out, I guess," said Walt; "but the gas must be escaping, now, for although my head still feels as if a boiler factory was at work in it, I can think and feel."

The professor's voice now struck in as he recovered consciousness.

"Boys!"he exclaimed."Are you there?"

"Yes, yes, professor; do you feel strong enough to move?"

"I think so.It is important that we should get out of here at once.I imagine that the gas must have become so distributed by this time that it has lost its harmful effect, but we must get to the open air."

"I agree with you," chimed in Ralph.

"What, Ralph, my boy, you here?"exclaimed the professor."Why, you were far in advance.How do you come to be with us now?"

As modestly as he could, Ralph related how he had turned back into the black tunnel.

"That was bravely done, bravely done, my boy," exclaimed the professor warmly.

Even in the darkness Ralph colored with pleasure, as Walt added his praise to the scientist's.

Soon after they started for the entrance of the tunnel once more, Ralph having told them of his discovery of the shaft.

"Possibly there are steps cut in it.Let us hope so," said the professor."If there are not, we shall be as badly off as before, for we cannot get back through the tunnel."

"No," said Ralph with a shudder, "I would not face the horrors of the place again for a whole lot."

A careful investigation of the shaft soon revealed, to their great joy, that a flight of steps had indeed been cut in it, doubtless to enable the old Mission dwellers to ascend and descend from the surface of the earth when they desired.

"The question now is," said the professor suddenly, "where are we?On what sort of ground will these steps lead us out?"

"Give it up," said Walt."I should judge, though, we must have come a mile or more through the tunnel."

"Quite that," agreed the professor.

"Well, the only way to find out our location is to climb up and see what we come out on," said Ralph, to put an end to the hesitation."Who'll be first up?"

There was quite an argument over this, the professor declaring that, as he was the eldest, he ought to assume the danger.Ralph ended it by springing on to the first of the rough and slippery steps himself.

"Come on," he cried, though in a lowered tone.

A few seconds of climbing brought the boy to the mouth of the shaft.It was quite thickly over-grown with brush, and had evidently not been used for many years.For an instant Ralph hesitated before he shoved through the scrub surrounding the entrance, but when he did so, and stood outside the natural barrier with the professor and Walt Phelps beside him, he uttered an exclamation of unbounded astonishment, which was echoed by his companions.

Before them the moon was rising, tingeing the tops of the distant range with a silvery light.The illumination also flooded the scene before them.

They stood in a sort of vast, natural basin, of considerable extent, surrounded by rocky walls.

"It's a sunken valley," exclaimed Ralph.

And so it was, in fact.

"Look at the cattle and horses, will you?"cried the practical Walt Phelps, who had been gazing about him.

"Sure enough.There must be several score head of stock in here," was Ralph's astonished cry.

"Say," exclaimed Walt suddenly, "do you know what I believe?"

"What?"inquired Ralph.

"That by accident we have stumbled upon Black Ramon's pasturage."

"What!—the place where he keeps the stolen cattle and horses?"

"That's the idea."

"Say, I believe you are right, and, speaking of that, there's something very familiar looking about that little buckskin pony, feeding off there."Ralph pointed at a small animal cropping the grass some ten rods away."If that isn't Petticoats—the one that tumbled me into the canal—I'll lose a bet, that's all."

"I believe you're right," cried Walt Phelps; "and that other pony beyond, is the dead spit of Firewater, Jack Merrill's favorite mount."

"And, if I mistake not, that large, bony animal yonder, regarding me with a suspicious optic, is the equine I bestrode at the time we were captured," exclaimed the professor, who had been looking eagerly about him.

"Boys, this is a wonderful discovery," he went on."I have read of these sunken valleys, but have never seen one before; I should like to examine the geological formation hereabouts."

"Some other time," laughed Ralph; "what I wonder at is that the Mexicans never discovered the secret passage."

"That's not surprising," chimed in Walt Phelps, "the mouth of it is all screened with thick brush, and unless you fairly fell into it you would never know it was there."

"That is so," agreed the professor, "but now, boys, that we are once more in the blessed air, what are we to do?"

"My advice would be to press on till we can find some village.Once there, we shall be safe, and can find some soldiers, or, at least, summon them from wherever their garrison may be.It is our duty to Jack Merrill and Coyote Pete to use every means in our power to save them," said the professor, who, of course was, like his companions, ignorant of the fact that at that very minute the two he spoke of were riding over the distant foothills for their lives.

This also explained why the party that had just emerged from the tunnel were not molested.Every man that could be spared from immediate guard duty had been summoned to help form the great human circle, which, as we know, Ramon had attempted to spread about Jack Merrill and the sagacious cow-puncher.

"There doesn't seem to be anybody about," said Walt, after a short silence, "let's get in the shadow of the rock wall and creep forward."

"Better yet, if we only had some rope," suggested Ralph.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, both Petticoats and the other two ranch horses seem to be friendly, why couldn't we ride them?"

"The very thing, if only we could make hackamores," cried Walt.

As Ralph had remarked, the ranch horses had come closer, and were sniffing curiously.To the boy's delight, he now saw that they had halters on.As is often done in the West, when the start had been made from the ranch the bridles had been placed on over the halters, so that when the Mexicans turned the stolen ponies loose, being too lazy to remove the halters, they had left them in place.

"Coax 'em," whispered Walt, holding out his hand flat, as if he had something in it.

Ralph and the professor did the same, and, hesitatingly, and with many snorts, the ponies drew closer, including the professor's raw-boned mount.As they suddenly gathered up courage, and came right up to the boys, each seized his pony by the halter.The professor followed their example instantly.

"Now, to mount," said Walt."By hookey, I tell you I feel better when I get a pony under me again."

But the boys' attention was suddenly diverted to the professor, who was endeavoring to mount his tall animal, which stood meekly awaiting the conclusion of his efforts.The professor had never mounted a bareback horse before, and imagined, apparently, that the correct method was to shin up the quadruped's forelegs.The boys, notwithstanding their risky situation, could not forbear roaring with laughter at his comical efforts.

"Put one hand on his withers, and the other on his back, and then spring upward," said Walt; "you'll find it easy, then."

The professor obediently doubled his long legs under him, placed his hands as directed, and gave a mighty spring.

Bump!

Such a mighty leap did he give that he over-shot the mark, and came down in a heap on the other side.He gave a groan as he alighted.

"What's the matter?"demanded Ralph, almost doubled up with laughter at the weird spectacle.

"Oh, boys, I am in pain.I've landed on my os ridiculosus."

"Your what?"shouted Walt.

"My os ridiculosus—my funny bone.Ouch!"

The professor groaned aloud as he held his elbow and rocked back and forth.The big, bony horse looked meekly around at him, as much as to say: "Don't blame me, it wasn't my fault."

"Here, we'll give you a hand," said Walt, coming around to the professor's side and leading Firewater. Ralph followed his example. Together they hoisted the professor on to the back of his scrawny mount.

"Why, this feels like sitting on a clothes horse," grumbled the professor, as he felt the bony elevation of the gray's spinal column.

"Never mind, can't be helped," laughed Ralph, springing on Petticoats' broad back, while Walt mounted Firewater, "we'll make a circus rider of you yet, professor."

"Not on this horse, please," remonstrated the man of science, as all three animals were urged to a fast trot.

The boys decided that as there was no one in sight, the Mexicans had left the valley unguarded for the night, and so did not hesitate to make all the speed they could.As a matter of fact, the valley was seldom visited except when a shipment of stolen cattle or ponies was required.It was, as the professor had said, a natural basin from which there was but one outlet, and that the boys were shortly to find.

For some time they rode along in the dark shadow of the rocky walls, which varied in height from about twenty feet to small precipices of a hundred feet or more.

"Say, it looks as if there wasn't any way out of this basin," began Ralph finally, in an impatient tone.

"There must be," replied Walt; "otherwise, how did they get the cattle and ponies into it?"

"Dropped 'em from a balloon, by the looks of it," rejoined Ralph, with a good-natured laugh at his own stupidity.

"Indeed, it looks as if such might have been the case," said the professor, "for all the visible sign there is of a pathway."

"Hold on!What's that there, dead ahead of us?"exclaimed Walt suddenly.

He had been riding a little in advance, and now drew rein abruptly and pointed to a darker shadow which lay against the gloom of the rock wall.

"Looks like a path," admitted Ralph.

"It's a camino, sure enough," cried Walt, the next instant.

"A what?"

"A camino, a trail, you know."

"Well, I don't care what you call it, so long as it gets us out of here," exclaimed Ralph, eagerly pressing forward.

As Walt had guessed, the darker shadow, on closer investigation, proved to be a rugged trail leading at a steep incline out of the sunken valley.In a few seconds after its discovery their horses' hoofs were clattering up it.

"Great heavens, if there is any one about they'll think there's a charge of cavalry coming," cried Ralph.

"Can't be helped," rejoined Walt, "we've nothing to muffle them with.In any event, if they were to discover us, we shouldn't stand a chance."

But they reached the apparent summit of the trail, and a rough gate, without adventure.It was only the work of a few instants to open the portal, and, after riding a few hundred yards, they found themselves on a billowy expanse of rolling foothills.Far off flashed lights, and to their north the vague outlines of the Sierra de la Hacheta faintly showed.

"Where are we going to ride to, now?"asked Ralph.

"Anywhere away from those lights," rejoined Walt, pointing behind them; "that's the mission.I guess they are looking for us now, and it's going to be 'bad medicine' if they get us."

"Oh, dear," groaned the professor, "I cannot imagine any worse punishment than riding this bony brute.His backbone makes me feel like being seated on a cross-cut saw."

"Never mind, professor, if we can only strike a town of some sort, we shall soon be out of our misery," laughed Ralph."Come on, then, forward!"

He kicked Petticoats' fat sides, and the little buckskin leaped forward, followed by the others.All that night they rode, and by daybreak reached a small village—a mere huddle of huts, in fact.But it had its dignitaries, as they were soon to find out.As they clattered down its main street, scores of raggedly clothed, brown-skinned natives came out to gaze at them, but not one offered to do anything.Walt had a little Spanish at his command, and, selecting one man, who seemed slightly more intelligent than the rest, he told him they were travelers in need of food and rest. The man seemed to comprehend, and nodded with a grin. Beckoning to the party, he led them forward to a large adobe building at the other end of the one street, which practically comprised the village.

He ushered them in with a bow, after they had dismounted and tied their horses outside.The boys found themselves facing a little, paunchy man, with an air of vast importance investing him.He asked a few rapid questions of their guide in Spanish, and then issued an order to a ragged-looking fellow standing by his side.

"I guess he's gone for breakfast," mused Ralph; "queer way of doing things, but anything for something to eat."

But in a moment the ragged man reappeared without food, but with several others as ragged as himself.The boys noticed they all carried rifles.

The first ragged man beckoned to them, and the fat, paunchy official waved his hand in token of dismissal.He also bowed low.The boys and the professor, not to be outdone in politeness, also bowed low. Then they followed their guide. He led them round behind the adobe which they had just left, and approached a small building.

"The dining-room, I guess," said Walt cheerfully, as the three stepped through a narrow door-way into a dark interior.

"I don't see any table or—— Great Scott, what's that?"broke off Ralph suddenly.

The door had closed with a clang, and they heard the big bar on the outside being placed in position.

"Hey, there, let us out!"

"What are you doing?"

"Where's our breakfast?"

These exclamations came in chorus from the travelers.For an instant there was silence without, and then came a snarling sort of cry, which sounded very much like a contemptuous:

"Yah-h-h-h-h!"

Furiously the two boys fell on the stout door and shook it.It remained as firmly rooted in position as rock.

"We're prisoners once more," gasped Ralph.

---

CHAPTER XXI.

AT THE IRRIGATION DAM.

Bright and early, before the last stars had faded, in fact, Jack Merrill and Pete eagerly roused Jim Hicks for the trip to the water company's dam.Both of them hated the idea of losing a minute on this important errand.Once awakened, Jim Hicks proved a nimble person, and breakfast was soon dispatched, his animals packed and saddled, and Maud made ready.No time was lost in hitting the trail when these preparations had been concluded.Jim Hicks was a born trailer, and led the two travelers over the ragged ways of the rough mountains in a skillful manner that excited even Coyote Pete's admiration.

At noon they ate a hasty meal and then pressed on.Jim Hicks promised to land them at the dam at about dusk.Controlling their impatience as best they could, Jack Merrill and Coyote Pete rode obediently after the prospector. One change had been made in the cavalcade since noon. One of the packs had been transferred to Maud, while another pack had been taken off one of the other ponies and had been distributed between two of his brethren. This left two ponies for Coyote Pete and his young companion to ride.

After this change they pressed on far more quickly, and shortly before sundown their guide halted on the top of a ridge and pointed downward.

Far below them they could see an immense silvery sheet of water—a small lake, in fact.Its surface shimmered in the dying light, and, at another time the two travelers would have admired the sight of the mirror-like sheet of water in its natural frame of rock and ragged timber.Now, however, their thoughts were riveted on the idea of getting to the 'phone, and, by the tiny filament of wire, summoning powerful aid for their beleaguered companions.

"Purty, ain't it?"asked Jim Hicks softly.

"Shouldn't have imagined they'd ever have got such a lot of water together out here," grunted Coyote Pete. "Where's it all come from?"

"Partly from damming up the creek, and partly from the water that pours off the higher ridges when the snow melts in the spring.We're purty high up here, you know."

"Well, that's a pretty good showing for a country where the rainfall isn't more than four inches a year," commented Coyote Pete.

"Not that, sometimes," put in Jim Hicks, "and, by the same token, if this wasn't summer I should say we were in for some rain now."

He looked overhead, and Jack noticed that the sky, which had been cloudless not very long before, was now black and overcast.A heavy element was in the air, too—an oppressive sort of feeling.

"Come on, let's be getting down the slope," said Coyote Pete suddenly, and once more they moved onward.As they threaded their way down the narrow trail, Jack's mind reverted to the destroyed bridge.

"How far should you imagine that bridge was below here?"he asked.

"You mean where the bridge was, I reckon," grinned Jim Hicks, who had heard the story of the Mexican's trick, from Jack and his companion."Well, I should judge about five miles from here."

"Then we are on the Mexican side of the canal cañon?"

"Yep; but we'll soon be on American soil, sonny, don't forget that."

"Not likely to," rejoined Jack fervently.

After half an hour's riding, the great water-works came into full view.There was a massive, containing-wall of cement, with a pathway along the top, and in the center the trailers could see the machinery used for opening and closing the sluice pipes that fed the irrigation canal.Word was telephoned from the land company's offices in Maguez to the dam-keeper regarding the pressure to be used, and, in accordance with their instructions, he turned on more or less.

At the near side of the dam was a small building in which the dam-keeper made his home.From its roof there extended a pole, from which, to Jack's intense delight, they could see a thin wire stretching off to the north. On that wire now depended so much that Jack almost felt like taking his hat off to it and to the inventor of telephones.

"Geddap!"urged Jim Hicks, cracking his quirt about the haunches of his pack animals.The little cavalcade broke into a brisk trot.The dust spurted from under their rattling hoofs.

"We're coming on in style," laughed Jack, as they came briskly down the last few rods of the trail.

"Don't see old Simmons about," commented Jim Hicks, looking for some sign of the dam-keeper."Guess he's taking a snooze some place.Hey, Sam!Sam!"

"Here he comes," said Jack briskly, as the door of the dam-tender's hut opened.But the next moment every member of the approaching party gave a gasp of dismay.Jim Hicks spasmodically jerked up his rifle to his shoulder, but instantly lowered it again.

From the door of the hut there had stepped out, not old Sam Simmons, the dam-tender, but—Black Ramon and six of his men!

They held their weapons grimly leveled at Jack Merrill and his companion, while Ramon sharply bade them dismount.

"We have prepared for you what we must call a little surprise party," he said."Please tie your horses and we will go inside."

Resistance was useless, and they obeyed.

---

To understand how this came about, we must revert for a moment to events which had been taking place at the old Mission and at the Rancho Agua Caliente while we have been following the young adventurers and their companions.We left Mr. Merrill and his cow-punchers riding back toward the ranch with heavy hearts, bearing with them the wounded Mexican, from whom they hoped to gain some information concerning Black Ramon's whereabouts.

On the arrival of the disconsolate party at the ranch house, Mr. Merrill had at once sent out a call to his neighbors, and they came riding in from miles around to a consultation.All agreed that it would be a grave invasion of international law to send an armed party over the border, but it was agreed that, providing the Mexican recovered it would be legitimate to surround Black Ramon's rendezvous—that is, if the prisoner revealed it—and demand the surrender of the prisoners. The Mexican authorities would then be informed and, if possible, Black Ramon given over to justice.

This course would have been followed at once but for two reasons.Mr. Merrill and his brother ranchers felt that to act prematurely might ruin everything, and the wounded Mexican obstinately refused to get better.Still another obstacle, was the great chasm left by the blowing up of the bridge.It would be impossible to pass this.Just when this difficulty seemed in its most serious phase, an old rancher spoke up and volunteered to guide the party by a secret trail he knew of, which led over the mountains and across the border.

As he spoke, the wounded Mexican, who for better attention and observation had been laid on a cot in the living room of the ranch house, stirred uneasily.

"Hullo, he's coming to," exclaimed Mr. Merrill bending over him, but the man's eyes remained closed, and he seemed, to all intents and purposes, as badly off as he had been before. For two days he remained thus, and the ranchers carried on their consultations freely before him, little dreaming what a hornets' nest they were preparing to bring down about their own heads. On the morning of the third day, when Mr. Merrill awakened he was astonished to find that the Mexican's cot was empty. The man was gone! A search showed that he was not about the place, and a further investigation revealed the fact that one of the best horses on the ranch was missing.

The wounded Mexican had been "playing possum" just as a wounded animal will sometimes do, awaiting but the slightest relaxation of vigilance to be up and off.

The consternation this caused may be imagined.If the man understood English, and there seemed little room to doubt that he did—otherwise he would have had no object in deceiving them as to his real condition—the ranchers' plans must by this time be known to Black Ramon.Mr. Merrill was in despair for a time, but finally, as a last recourse, and even at the risk of upsetting everything, he decided to call up Los Hominos, a considerable town in Chihuahua province, and request that soldiers be sent in pursuit of Black Ramon.

None knew better than Mr. Merrill the danger he thus incurred of having his plans doubly revealed to the chief of the cattle rustlers.The country posts of the Mexican army are largely recruited from men in sympathy with the lawless element—especially if that lawless element confines itself to preying on Americanos.There was, therefore, a grave risk that some traitor in the ranks might convey the news of Mr. Merrill's request to Black Ramon.That it was no time for doubts or hesitation, however, every rancher felt, and on the top of Mr. Merrill's message preparations were at once made for a start across the border by the ranchers themselves.

In the meantime, the captured Mexican, whose wound, though severe, still allowed him to ride, was spurring on his way across the Hachetas to Black Ramon's headquarters in the old Mission.It has been said that the greatest blackguards have sometimes the most faithful followers, and this seemed to be the case with the Mexican miscreant, for his underling, despite the pain of his wound and his weakened condition, did not hesitate an instant over taking a ride which might have caused even a slightly wounded man to pause and reflect on the undertaking.

Thus it had come about, that, at the same time that Jack Merrill and Coyote Pete, escorted by the eccentric prospector, were setting out to get in communication with civilization, Black Ramon and six of his most trusted followers had started for the land company's dam, with what a heinous purpose in view we shall presently see.The Mexican was in the blackest of moods.He had hardly returned from his vain chase after Jack Merrill and the cow-puncher before word had been brought to him that his other prisoners had escaped.

The Mexican was almost beside himself with rage as he heard this, and, in addition, news had been brought to him that Mr. Merrill had requisitioned that a band of soldiers be sent in search of him.Armed also with the wounded man's story of the pursuit of the ranchers by means of the secret trail, Ramon was indeed almost desperate when he set out with the intention of accomplishing the deed he had in mind. He felt he would render his name hateful to Americans and glorious to border Mexicans forever, and was all the more anxious to achieve it for that reason.

His astonishment, therefore, when he heard Coyote Pete's hail and emerged from the dam-tender's hut to find his escaped prisoners walking right into his net again, was only equalled by his delight.As his followers bound each of the three hand and foot, after roughly dragging them from their ponies, Black Ramon rubbed his hands gleefully.

"You are going to see a sight before long that you will remember all your days," he said, as the Americans, scornfully disdaining to utter a word, were carried into the hut.

"What, you do not answer?"

"No, you yellow dog," grunted Jim Hicks disdainfully, "I'm mighty particular who I talk to."

Beside himself with fury at the American's calm contempt, the Mexican opened his palm and struck the bound and helpless miner a blow across the face. Jim Hicks' ruddy, bronzed countenance went white as dead ashes.

"You'll be sorry for that, you greaser, some day," he said in a quiet, controlled tone, which to those who knew him signified trouble.

"Some day, yes!"laughed Ramon; "but I shall be far away some day, amigo, but before I go I am going to give you Americanos a lesson you will never forget.The father of this boy here, and twelve other rancheros, are riding through the American foothills now to your rescue.But they will never reach the mountains.Why?—Ah, you will soon see."

As they were carried into the hut and thrown roughly on the floor, Jim Hicks' eyes espied poor Sam Simmons, the tender of the dam.The employee of the water company was also bound hand and foot, and seemed to have been beaten into submission by the brutal Mexicans.He gave a slight groan as he saw the plight of the new-comers, but made no other sign.

"He resisted us," laughed Black Ramon harshly, "see what happened to him. It is a good thing you gave in without making trouble."

As he spoke, there came a long, low grumble that shook the earth and made the furniture in the hut rattle.It was the near approach of the storm the captives had noticed impending.At the same instant, there came a dazzling flash of lambent lightning.It illumined the cruel faces about them as if a flickering calcium had been thrown upon them.

The advancing storm seemed to have a strange effect on Sam Simmons; he stirred in his thongs and a pitiful expression came over his bruised face.

"The storm!the storm!"he cried."Hark!it is coming.Let me out to tend the gates."

"Not likely," sneered Black Ramon, turning from him contemptuously.

"But the sluices must be opened.The rain is coming!"cried the old man, seemingly galvanized into life by the call of duty."Let me loose, I say."

"Be quiet," snarled Ramon."Do you want another dose of the same medicine?"

The old man quivered pitifully, while the others looked on with eyes that burned with indignation.

"If they are not opened, the dam will burst," begged the old man."It is weakened now, I tell you.It cannot stand the pressure of more water.Let me up, and then you can tie me again."

Ramon seemed suddenly interested.

"You say that if the sluices are not opened the dam will burst?"he asked.

"Yes, yes!Let me up, I must open them.I——"

"Silence!And if they burst what will happen?"

"Why, the whole valley from here down is a trough!The water will rush down and destroy many lives and acres of property.Let me up, for Heaven's sake, Ramon, or if you will not let me do it, open the sluices yourself.You do not know what you are doing—every moment counts."

Again the thunder roared, and a blinding flash illumined with a blue, steely radiance the strange scene in the old dam-tender's shanty.In the brief period of lighting, Jack Merrill surprised a wickedly radiant look on Ramon's face. At the same instant a few heavy drops of rain fell on the roof.

"Hark!The rain!"cried the old man; "for mercy's sake, let me out.It is my duty."

"Which you will not perform to-night," sneered the Mexican, as the storm increased; "this storm saves us the use of dynamite."

In one dreadful flash of insight, Jack Merrill realized the Mexican's terrible plan.He had intended to blow up the dam and flood the valley below.The storm had taken the work out of his hands.The heavy rain-fall would swell the dam till the weak containing wall broke.In a few short hours every ranch in the course of the bursting dam would be devastated.Yes, that was what the fruit rancher at Maguez had told them.And there was nothing he could do but lie there powerlessly.The boy's brain seemed to be on fire, but in his veins was ice.

Suddenly Black Ramon spoke.For an instant Jack thought he had repented, but his words dashed that hope almost as it was born.The Mexican issued a sharp order to two of his men.

"Screw down those sluice gates till not a drop escapes," he said."We do not want to have to wait too long."

---

CHAPTER XXII.

A BOLT FROM THE BLUE.

Outside the shanty the storm roared and flashed.The rain pelted in torrents.Suddenly there came a sharp ringing at the telephone instrument.It seemed to have a note of insistence in it.The Mexicans exchanged glances.Here was an unexpected interruption.The instrument connected on a direct wire with the land company's offices.If one of the Mexicans answered it, the possibilities were that a warning would be spread that the dam was being tampered with.

Ramon solved the difficulty.Without untying the old man, he had two of his men support him to the telephone.Another held the receiver to Sam Simmons' ear.

Black Ramon drew his revolver and held it to the other ear.

"Now, if you utter a word of warning, I'll scatter what brains you have," he warned viciously.

In a trembling voice Sam Simmons answered the call.

"Y-y-yes, the storm is here," Jack heard him answer, evidently in reply to some question at the other end.

"Y-y-yes, I will open them, sir.Y-y-yes, I know the dam is weak."

"Don't hesitate," warned Black Ramon vindictively.

"Y-y-you'll send the engineers to-morrow, you say?Very well, sir."

"Evidently they know of the storm in the valley," thought Jack to himself; "shouldn't wonder if the old man himself warned them some time ago, before he was tied."

This was, in fact, the case.But now the old man's hesitancy grew more painful than ever.

"T-t-they're asking about you," he said, turning to the Mexican.

"Tell them you haven't seen me," snarled Ramon.

"No, I have seen nothing of him," whimpered the old man feebly. "Kidnapped some boys, you say—the ranchers are after him—and the soldiers, too——"

"There, there, that will do," said the Mexican impatiently."When the dam bursts, those Americanos will be drowned like so many rats, and the soldiers will find an empty nest for their pains."

"G-g-good-bye.I will attend to it," quavered the old dam-tender.After responding to further warning from the other end of the wire, he was removed from the telephone and the receiver was replaced.

At the same instant the two Mexicans who had been despatched to the dam to close the sluice gates returned.Their evil smiles showed that they had done their duty well.The rain had now increased to a torrent and the small gauge on the side of the dam-keeper's hut showed that the water was rising rapidly.

"How long before the dam goes?"asked Ramon, bending over the old man, who was moaning and crying pitifully over the idea of his treachery.

"She can't last more than half an hour," he whimpered."Oh, what shall I do?They will think it was my fault.They——"

There came a roar so dreadful that the hut seemed to be shaken like a leaf in a windstorm.At the same instant a blue glare filled the hut, hissing viciously like a nest of aroused serpents.A sulphurous odor permeated everything.Before any of the occupants of the place had time to move a step an explosion so loud that it seemed as if a ton of dynamite had detonated, rent the air.

Jack's eyes were almost blinded by the sudden glare and crash, and his senses reeled for an instant.The next moment, however, he realized what had happened.The hut had been struck by a thunderbolt.

Black Ramon, his clothing singed, stood in a dazed way in the center of the smoking hut—in the floor of which a great, jagged hole had been ripped.By his side stood two of his men.The rest lay senseless, perhaps dead, in various parts of the reeking place.

One of them had been hurled by the violence of the electrical shock close to Jack's side, and his knife lay within an inch of the boy's fingers. Bound as he was, however, he could not reach it, nor did he dare to move while the Mexican leader's eyes were on them.

Suddenly the cattle rustler's superstitious mind seemed to recover from its daze.He gazed about him in a wild way.

"It is the judgment of Heaven," he cried."Let us escape."

Followed by the two of his men who still retained their senses, he dashed from the hut.

In an instant Jack rolled over on his side and seized the haft of the Mexican's knife in his teeth.Then he rolled over to Coyote Pete's side.

"What the dickens——" began the cow-puncher, but stopped short as Jack, still holding the blade clenched in his teeth, laid the keen blade across Pete's ropes.The knife was as keen as a razor, and in a few seconds Coyote Pete's hands were free.Then he took the knife and severed his leg bonds.A few seconds more and Jack was free, and, in less time than it takes to tell, old Sam Simmons and Jim Hicks were also on their feet.

"Quick, get their weapons," urged the cow-puncher, and instantly all four possessed themselves of the four unconscious Mexicans' knives, pistols and rifles.Black Ramon and his men, in their superstitious fright, had rushed from the place in such a hurry that they had neglected to disarm their followers.

"Now for the ponies," exclaimed Jim Hicks.

"Hold on a moment," shouted Jack.He dived out of the hut into the blinding rain.But old Simmons was ahead of him.Already the old man had sped along the top of the dam, and while the weakened breast wall of masonry shook under his feet with the great pressure behind it, had screwed open the sluice gates.Far below them a yellow flood boomed and roared and screamed its way to the valley, but the pressure on the dam had been relieved and the masonry stood.

All this took some time, and in the meanwhile Coyote Pete and Jim Hicks had cautiously crept from the hut and gone to look for the horses.They found them unharmed, but of Black Ramon there was no sign.They learned afterward that his animals had been left down the trail, so as not to alarm old Simmons when they crept on him and surprised him. As soon as the Mexican had found himself outside the lightning-blasted hut, he had lost no time in mounting his black, and speeding back to his rendezvous at the old mission. He had, of course, no idea but that the boys and the old dam-tender would go to their death with the hut when the dam collapsed.

Suddenly Jack thought of the telephone.He ran back into the hut and telephoned the glad news of the safety of the dam to the amazed office in Maguez.Also he gave them a brief sketch of what had happened.

"But what the——" came a brief voice at the other end, but already Jack had rung off and was outside, where Jim Hicks and Coyote Pete had the ponies.

They had held a hasty consultation, and had decided that inasmuch as the soldiers were advancing on the mission, and the American ranchers were on their way, that their best plan would be to head back toward the valley.But it was Jack who vetoed this plan.

"I want to be in at the finish of those rascals," he exclaimed, "and, besides, think of our friends imprisoned in that dismal old church."

"You're right, kid," shouted Coyote Pete, waving a dripping hat in the downpour, "the mission it is."

Old Simmons had been too badly shaken by his encounter with the Mexican for it to be advisable to leave him alone.Maud's pack was therefore removed, and the old dam-tender mounted on her.First, however, a call was sent for a "relief."Till the latter arrived the sluices were to be left open to drain off the heavy surplus of water.

"Wished I knew where them greasers' horses were," sighed Jim Hicks; "they'll be coming to in a minute, and walkin' bein' a healthy exercise, I'd like to provide some of it for them."

A short distance down the trail they found the miscreants' ponies, just as Ramon had left them hitched.Even the fair-minded Jack did not protest when Coyote Pete and Jim Hicks, with yells of glee, cut the cayuses loose and sent them galloping off.

"I only wish we could be here to see the Mexicans' faces when they wake up and wonder what's hit 'em," said Jim, who had examined each of the stunned men and ascertained that not one of them was seriously hurt.

"Now, then, forward!"cried Jim, as soon as the clatter of the retreating Mexican ponies' hoofs had died out.

"Forward!"echoed Jack again, putting his heels to his mount.

With a loud shout, the four Americans dashed down the trail.

"Now look out for fireworks!Yip-yip-yip-y-ee-e-ee!"yelled Coyote Pete, in a voice that rivaled the last efforts of the retreating thunder-storm.

---

CHAPTER XXIII.

WITH THE RURALES.

After shouting for an hour or more, Ralph and Walt grew tired of the exercise.As for the professor, with his usual philosophy he had made the best of the situation by surveying their prison, which was a small, barn-like building of adobe.There was nothing very remarkable about it, except that three Americans had been imprisoned there for no apparent reason.

At nightfall they were brought some food, and frantic efforts were made by Walt to interrogate the Mexican who served them, but to no avail.The fellow only shook his head stupidly, and pretended not to understand.

"Whatever are we locked up here for, anyhow?"demanded Ralph, for the fiftieth time, as they ate their evening meal.

"Give it up," said Walt with a shrug.

"You don't think it can have anything to do with Black Ramon, do you?"inquired the professor.

"Not likely," rejoined Walt; "even down here there is some law and order, and the townsfolk of this place, whatever it is, would hardly be in league with a band of robbers."

"Then what do you suppose they have detained us for?"

"As I said before, Ralph, I give it up.Maybe it's for having red hair and looking suspiciously like Americans."

Soon after some blankets were thrown in to them, which they spread on the not overclean floor, and, being tired out, were soon asleep.In the morning they were awakened, and passed a long, dreary day in the semi-darkness.

"I can't stand this much longer," Ralph burst out, on the second night of their imprisonment."If something doesn't happen soon, I'm going to escape."

"How?"inquired the practical Walt, gazing about at the thick walls and the small windows of their place of captivity.

"I don't know how, but I will, you can bet," said Ralph decisively.

"Well, I'm going to sleep," said Walt; and, accordingly, he curled himself up in his blanket and was soon wrapped in slumber.The professor followed his example, but Ralph could not sleep.What, with worry over their own situation and wondering how his friends, whom he believed were still captives in the mission, were faring, his eyes were wide open till past midnight.

At that hour the quiet of the village was disturbed by a sudden sound—the trample of horses' hoofs and the clanking of metal.

"Black Ramon has found out we are here and is coming for us," was Ralph's first thought.

But the trampling went on, and suddenly a bugle call sounded.

"Soldiers!"exclaimed Ralph.

Hastily he awoke the others, and, after a prolonged period of listening, there was little doubt from the military character of the sounds outside that the newcomers were indeed troops.

"Maybe they are out after the brigands," gasped Ralph, in a hopeful tone.

"If only we could see their commander and explain our predicament to him," wished the professor.

"And get laughed at for your pains," supplemented Walt.

In the morning, so early that the dawn was still gray, their jailer aroused them.Wondering what could be going to happen, the boys hurriedly put on the few clothes they had taken off the night before, and, with the professor, obeyed his signal to follow him.

They were quickly conducted before the short, pursy man, who had committed them to their cell.Now, however, he was all smiles and condescension.

The reason for this may have lain in the fact that a smart-looking officer of the Mexican cavalry stood by his side and eyed the boys with interest as they came in.He was in command of the troops that had arrived the night before, and which, though the boys had not guessed it, were the ones summoned from Los Hominos.

It now appeared that the fat dignitary could talk passable English when he chose, and, as the boys entered, he greeted them with an airy:

"Good morning."

"Good morning," sputtered Ralph, indignation taking the place of prudence."You ought to beg our pardons.What have we done to be locked up like criminals?We demand a hearing.We——"

"There, there," said the stout man soothingly; "all is well.This officer has told me that in all probability you are respectable, and——"

"In all probability?"burst out the professor, "I am Professor Wintergreen, of Stonefell College, and this young man is my charge, Ralph Stetson, and this other gentleman is Walter Phelps, the son of a rancher."

"The names I have on my list as being among those imprisoned by Black Ramon," interrupted the officer."Pray, señors, how did you escape?"

"Tell us first why we are locked up," demanded Ralph.

"Why, as I understand it, this worthy man, who is mayor of this village, merely had you detained on suspicion. He thought you might be horse thieves, and——"

"Me a horse thief!"shouted the professor.

"You forget your appearance is——" began the officer, but was interrupted by a good-natured laugh from all three of the adventurers.True, they had forgotten how they must have looked after their adventure in the tunnel.Later, when they saw a mirror, they did not blame the fat mayor so much.Plastered with dirt and mud, scratched and ragged, they did, indeed, look unlike the three trim persons who had set out from the American foothills in pursuit of Black Ramon.

"But he could have found out who we were by asking us," protested Ralph.

"He tells me he was going to do so—to-morrow."

"You forgot we are in the land of manana," reminded the professor.

After some more palaver, the mayor signified that the three Americans could have their liberty, and apologized for their detention on behalf of himself and his village.

It was soon explained to the boys by the officer that he was hastening with fifty picked men to round up the rustlers who had long infested that part of Mexico.

"But," he admitted, "had we not fallen in with you, we would hardly have known where to find them."

"No, the last place you would look for them would be in a church," grinned Walt.

Soon after, the boys, having despatched a hasty breakfast, the cavalry set out.The boys rode in advance to guide them to the retreat of Black Ramon and his men.The professor ambled along, sitting uneasily on the saddle which had now been provided for him.It was a long time before he recovered from his bareback ride on the old ranch horse.

"If these fellows are Mexican cavalry, they are all right," said Ralph, admiringly looking at the easy riding and smart equipment of the fifty men under the friendly officer.

"They are rurales," explained the officer; "a section of the army kept especially for hunting brigands and robbers.Most of them are former brigands themselves, but there are no better men for the work."

By mid-afternoon they came in sight of the old mission, and, as they approached it, the boys gave a shout of astonishment, which was echoed by the professor.

Riding toward them, from the opposite direction, was a band of horsemen.Faster they came in their direction, seemingly spurring onward to destruction.

"Those greasers must be crazy," exclaimed Ralph, gazing at what seemed a suicidal act."They're riding right at us."

Suddenly a dip in the foothills hid the approaching horsemen, but the thunder of their hoofs could still be heard.Could Ramon have an ambush on the other side of the rise, wondered Ralph.

The same thought must have come to the Mexican officer, for he gave a curt order and his men, bursting into a wild yell, drew their carbines from their holsters and prepared to use them.

"We'll fire when they come over the ridge," whispered the captain to Ralph.

---

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE ROUND-UP.

Closer and closer came the clatter of the advancing hoofs.Presently a horseman's head showed above the ridge.

The almost formed command was abruptly checked on the captain's lips, as the newcomer, followed by twenty others, swept over the ridge.

It was Mr. Merrill, and close behind him came Coyote Pete and Bud Wilson, with Jack Merrill riding alongside.

"Yip-yip-yip-y-ee-ee-ee!"yelled the cowboys, as they saw the Mexican troops.

"Wow!"yelled the Mexicans.

"Hooray!"shouted the boys, and, amidst all the rejoicing shouts, there came a sudden cry of recognition from Jack as his eyes fell on Walt Phelps' mount.

"Firewater!"he cried, and the pony shared his greetings and congratulations with the three newly-recovered members of the party.

It was soon told how Coyote Pete and Jack, with Jim Hicks and old Sam Simmons, on their way from the dam, had fallen in with the Merrill party near the mission.It was believed that Black Ramon and his men were ambushed there.Then they had decided to make no attack at once, but close in on the place when the troops had been met with, and in this way make the round-up of the rustlers complete.

Ralph, Walt and the professor rapidly told of their escape, and Jim Hicks emitted a whoop when he heard that the treasure had, in all likelihood, been located.Further relation of all their exciting adventures was put aside by them all till Ramon and his band should have been captured.

After a brief consultation, it was decided to advance in a fan-shaped formation on the old mission, gradually closing in as they neared it.If Ramon and his band were ambushed there, they could make deadly defense from its strong walls, and neither Mr. Merrill nor the Mexican captain were anxious to lose any men if it could be helped.

Accordingly, the line moved cautiously forward till it was within a few hundred yards of the building.Up to that moment the old place had been silent and deserted as a tomb.Suddenly, however, as the attackers advanced, a fusillade was opened from the tower.Lead spattered on the rocks about them, but, fortunately, nobody was hit.Ralph turned rather pale.It was the first time he had ever been shot at.

"Better get behind this ridge," said Mr. Merrill, as the fire grew hotter.

Accordingly, the attacking party dropped low into a gully.The firing instantly stopped.

"If only we could draw enough of their fire to exhaust their ammunition," mused the rancher.

"I have a plan," cried Jack suddenly.

"What is it, my boy?"

"Why can't we elevate hats and caps on rifle-barrels and let them blaze away at those?That would soon empty their ammunition belts."

"A good idea," said Mr. Merrill, while the other ranchers warmly approved.The preparations to carry out Jack's plan were rapidly made. Soon, what was apparently a head, was poked above the ridge. A perfect fusillade of bullets came showering about it.

"Drop it," cried Jack."Make it look as if the man was killed."

The ruse worked perfectly.Every time a "head" appeared, a tornado of bullets rattled about it, and the riddled condition of the caps and hats thus held up, bore eloquent testimony to the efficacy of the enemy's marksmen.

Finally, however, the fire began to slacken.Instead of a hail of bullets, only two or three greeted the appearance of a head.

The moment they had waited for had arrived.With a cheer, the full force of rurales leaped from the trenches.

"Come on!"shouted Jack, but Mr. Merrill restrained him.

"Remember, we are in a foreign country, my boy.The rurales must do the work or we shall be in serious trouble."

"Oh, bother," cried Jack, "and I wanted to see the attack."

On swept the rurales, a final fire hailing about them, but a volley from their carbines soon silenced the last feeble attempt at defense.

"I guess the rustlers have about given up," exclaimed Jack.

Suddenly, from the old mission gates there swept out a figure on horseback.It was instantly recognized as that of Black Ramon.He was mounted on his magnificent black horse, and waved his hand defiantly at the advancing line.The rurales poured a perfect storm of bullets at him, but the chief of the cattle rustlers seemed to bear a charmed life.Once he reeled in his saddle as if he had been hit, but he instantly recovered himself.

Spurring his superb mount, he sprang forward over the brow of a protecting ridge, and was lost to view.When he next appeared he was silhouetted in striking outline on the summit of another ridge of foothills.For an instant he paused, and they could see him look defiantly back.Then, with a wave of his sombrero, he vanished.It was useless to pursue him.There was not a horse among the ranchers or the Mexicans that could approach the big black.

"There goes a rascal that would look better decorating a telegraph pole with a hemp necktie around his yellow throat, than anywhere else," said one of the Americans, as the desperado vanished.

"And yet," said Mr. Merrill, "I should not have wished to see him shot down in cold blood.If only we had our horses and cattle——"

"We'll have them before long," said Ralph quietly, as, with a loud series of yells, the rurales charged into the mission itself.

"What do you mean?"asked Mr. Merrill.The other Americans, watching from the little knoll the attack on the mission, looked at him questioningly.

"We've found them all," announced Ralph calmly, "in the sunken valley——"

"A remarkable geographical 'freak,' if I may use the expression," broke in the professor, "at some remote period of the earth's life——"

"Yip-yip-y-ee-ee-ee!"

Coyote Pete and Bud Wilson set up loud yells, which were joined in by the other cow-punchers and Americans, as the little Mexican captain could be seen in the distance, waving his sword in token that the cattle rustlers' stronghold had fallen. The whole cavalcade, with a cheer, Swept forward, with Jack Merrill, Ralph Stetson and Walt Phelps in the lead. The professor's horse ran away with him in the wild stampede, but luckily, by dint of fastening his bony fingers in its mane, he managed to hold on.

Without a single life being lost, or any wounds received on either side, the band that had so long harassed the border had fallen into the hands of the authorities.Eventually every member of it but Black Ramon was rounded up, including the renegade cow-puncher.

All were placed under escort of the troops, and taken to Mexico City.They are now serving long sentences in Mexican penal institutions.The Border Boys later received the thanks of President Diaz for the part they had played in bringing the outlaws to book.After seeing the prisoners disposed of, of course the Americans had to be shown how the boys and the professor had effected their escape from the church. With torches and lamps they crowded into the narrow pit, and the hole which had gaped open when the ring was pulled loose soon appeared. Of the noxious gases, however, no trace remained. The air was pure and healthful. The professor ascertained later that the old missionaries who had buried the treasure there, had placed pungent chemicals under the trapdoors, so that, in case of marauding Indians attacking the treasure, it would be safe. The skull and bone, it seemed reasonable to suppose, had been placed in the passage wall as a warning to other visitors. The mysterious noise that had alarmed Ralph remained a mystery for a long time, till one of the prisoners admitted that he had caused it under Ramon's orders, the object being to scare the boys.

The lights of the torches and lamps carried by the party, shone redly into the black hole, and the three Border Boys peered eagerly over.Jack and Ralph, by a common impulse, leaped downward together.Their feet struck the lid of an old wooden chest with a splitting, rending sound, as the rotten wood gave. The next instant a cheer went up. Jim Hicks' treasure-trove had been found. The flickering lights gleamed on the dull glint of gold coins and ornaments of priceless value.

"Wow!"yelled Jim Hicks; "I'm rich.But so will you boys be, too.I'll take care of that, and you, likewise, Coyote Pete."

In vain the boys protested; Jim Hicks insisted, and long afterward, when the Mexican government's claim had been settled and the treasure appraised, each boy received a crisp check for two thousand dollars.Coyote Pete was also a recipient of the miner's good will.

Among the prisoners taken, was a queer-looking old man, with a long, white beard, and the quick, shifty, dark eyes of an ape.Jack Merrill and Pete gave an exclamation of surprise as their eyes fell on him.It was the old hermit of the cañon!He recognized them, and gave them a baleful scowl.

"It wasn't his fault that Ramon didn't have us where we've got him," commented Pete.

After remaining camped at the mission for a day, while final arrangements for the taking of testimony at the cattle rustlers' trials, and the matter of the boys' depositions was attended to, the American party bade farewell to the Mexican captain and his troops and set out for the home-side of the border.

Carefully guarded by several cowboys was a pack horse, carrying the treasure chest.Its contents had been roughly valued at $75,000.

"Well, Ralph," said Jack, with a laugh, as the boys rode along at an easy lope together, "what do you think of the West now?"

"It's great, Jack," responded Ralph, who had been thinking over the adventures of the last few days.

"But if things had turned out differently," put in Walt.

"No use thinking of that," decided Jack."All we've got to think about is, that we have had the luck to be the means of cleaning out that bunch of rustlers, and ridding the border of them forever."

"Forever's a long time," commented Mr. Merrill, who had spurred up alongside the boys. "However, I think you boys have had quite enough adventures for a time."

"I'd like to start out again to-morrow," exclaimed Jack.

"So would I," echoed Ralph.

"Well, you may have a chance before long," said Mr. Merrill enigmatically.He would add nothing further, however.

At Maguez a great reception had been prepared for the returning ranchers.The celebration was held some days later.The boys, their faces suffused with blushes, had to make speeches and describe in part their adventures.

"Three cheers for the Border Boys," yelled the crowd, as Ralph limped through some sort of an oration.Jack had done much better, while Walt Phelps was overtaken with stage fright and couldn't speak at all.

"Well, good-bye to the strenuous life for a while," said Jack, as they rode home after the celebration.Behind them were the yells and whoops of the enthusiastic citizens who were still keeping it up.

"Well, we've been through many dangers and perils," rejoined Ralph, "but somehow, it's pleasant to look back on them. I hope we will have some more adventures before long."

"Not likely to," commented Walt Phelps.

"Why not?"asked Jack."Black Ramon is still at large, remember, and somehow, I've got a feeling that as long as he is at liberty he'll make trouble."

"Well, the Border Boys will take care of him every time," shouted Ralph, giving a regular cowboy yell:

"Yip-yip-y-ee-ee!"

It was echoed by the other Border Boys, as they spurred forward for the home ranch, under the clear stars.On and on they rode, their little ponies' feet making the lively kind of music each of them loved best to hear.

All at once they rode over a slight rise—the first "land-wave" to mark that they were approaching the foothills.With yells, the Border Boys dashed down the other side of it and disappeared from the starlit desert trail—and from this story.

But we shall meet the Border Boys again in further adventures and perils, more exciting than any through which they had yet passed. Ralph Stetson's introduction to frontier life—thrilling as it had been—was but one series of incidents in the lives of the dwellers along "the line."

How the Border Boys were tried in future stirring scenes and exciting adventures, those who choose to follow their career may find related in another volume of this series, which will be called: The Border Boys Across the Frontier

---

THE END.