The Border Boys with the Mexican Rangers. Goldfrap John Henry
sort of nondescript yellow, and the man of science, when mounted on it with all his traps and appendages, cut an odd figure. Besides the horses and ponies, two pack burros were purchased to carry the somewhat extensive outfit of the party.
Naturally, in that sleepy part of the country, such purchases and preparations caused quite a stir. By that species of wireless telegraphy which prevails in parts of the world unprovided with other means for the transmission of news, the information was, in fact, in the few days the party remained in Esmedora, diffused over a considerable part of the country round about.
In due course it reached the ears of a person to whom it was of peculiar interest. This individual was one whom we have met before, and whose presence in the vicinity would have caused the Border Boys considerable anxiety had they known of it. Who this man was, and what effect his presence was to have upon events in the immediate future we shall see before very long.
And now, after this considerable, but necessary digression, it is high time we were getting back to the camp in the canyon where we left the lads and the professor enjoying peaceful repose, and Coyote Pete hard at work thinking. Before the morning was far advanced, however, the plainsman aroused his comrades and a great scene of bustle was soon going on.
While the professor visited the creek to indulge in a good wash in its clear, cool waters, Walt Phelps, who had already performed his ablutions, cleaned up the “spider” with sand, and having scoured it thoroughly he set about getting breakfast. Coyote Pete attended to the horses and the two burros, and Ralph Stetson, always fastidious, “duded up,” as Jack called it, before a small pocket mirror he had affixed to a tree.
As for Jack, while all this was doing, he set off for a stroll.
“Too many cooks spoil the broth,” he remarked laughingly, as he started. With him he carried a light rifle thinking that he might encounter an opportunity to bring down something acceptable in the way of a rabbit or other “small deer,” for breakfast.
His path took him by the spot on which the night before he had killed the bear. The animal, charred and blackened to a crisp, still lay there. As he neared the place, however, a heavy flapping of wings as several hideous “turkey buzzards” arose heavily, apprised him that the carrion birds had already gathered to the feast. The lad noted that, before rising, the glutted creatures had to run several yards with outspread wings before they could gain an upward impetus.
The crisp beauty of the morning, the smiling greenery of the trees, and the thousand odors and sounds about him all combined to make Jack wander rather further than he had intended. Then, too, a boy with a rifle always does go a longer distance than he means to. That’s boy nature.
All at once he found himself emerging from the brush at a point rather higher up the canyon side than their camp in the abyss. So gentle had been the rise, however, that he had not noticed it. Before him lay a sort of roughly piled rampart of rocks. The boy was advancing toward these to peer over their summits into the valley below, when something suddenly arrested his footsteps as abruptly as if a precipice had yawned before him.
The sharp, acrid odor of tobacco had reached his nostrils. At the same instant, too, he became aware of the low hum of voices. The sounds came from immediately in front of him, and seemingly just below the rock rampart. With a beating heart, and as silently as possible, the lad crept forward to ascertain what other intruders besides themselves had come into the primeval fastnesses of the Sonora country.
CHAPTER III
JACK’S ADVENTURE
A few stealthy footsteps served to bring him to the edge of the natural rampart, and then, removing his sombrero, he peered over. What he saw a few feet below him caused him to exercise all his self-control to avoid uttering a sharp exclamation. Around a smoldering fire, above which hung an iron pot that emitted a savory odor, lay several men. Swarthy Mexicans they were, with villainous countenances for the most part, although, to Jack’s astonishment, one of the party had a fair Saxon skin and reddish hair, which, with his blue eyes, made him seem oddly out of place in the midst of the dark-skinned, black-orbed group.
But Jack had little time to note these details, for something else entirely occupied his attention. This object was nothing less than one of the party who sat somewhat apart, trying the edge of a hunting knife he had been sharpening upon a bit of madrone wood. In the hawk-like countenance and slender, active form, Jack Merrill had not the least difficulty in recognizing Black Ramon de Barros himself. At a short distance from the swarthy rascal grazed his famous coal-black horse. Even in his somewhat awkward position Jack could not repress a thrill of admiration as he gazed at the splendid proportions and anatomy of the glossy-coated beast, through whose delicate nostrils the light shone redly.
“Lucky thing I’m down the wind from that outfit,” thought the Border Boy. “I’ve heard it said that Black Ramon’s horse can detect the presence of a stranger as readily as a keen-scented fox.”
Most of the Mexicans were rolling and smoking slender cigarettes of powdered tobacco and yellow corn paper. These had occasioned the acrid smell which had luckily betrayed the existence of the camp to Jack before a false step could make them aware of his presence. Expelling a cloud of blue smoke from his thin lips, Black Ramon began speaking. He was addressing the red-haired man who looked so oddly out of place although he wore Mexican garb, red sash, flowing trousers, short jacket and cone-crowned sombrero with a mighty rim.
“You are sure that this Ruggles was not mistaken, Senor Canfield?” he was saying.
The other shook his head.
“I’d take my oath to that on a stack of Bibles,” he said. “Ruggles was a pretty level-headed chap although he led a fool’s life, and if he says the In’jun told of a treasure in the Trembling Mountain he was right.”
“What puzzles me, though, is that he should have told you of it as well as this Americano Stetson, – curses be upon him,” – grumbled Black Ramon. “If he was, as you say, ‘on the level,’ why should he have betrayed his friend’s confidence?”
“Well, you see,” responded the man addressed as Canfield, slowly, “Ruggles and I had roughed it together a bit, and I reckon he was a little off his head with worry and the approach of the fever when I met him in El Paso. Anyhow, he spun out the whole yarn, with the exception of the plan.”
“We can do without that,” said Black Ramon, “I have often heard of the Trembling Mountain, and can, I believe, find it without difficulty. But you are sure that Senor Stetson has the plan?”
“I know it for a fact. That was the reason that I hastened to dig you up as soon as I knew he was fitting out an expedition to go after the treasure. I thought you were the most likely man in Mexico to carry out the job.”
“And you were not mistaken, Senor Canfield,” rejoined the other with a gratified smile. “If the treasure is there we will get it out, even if it were only to obtain revenge on those Gringoes, Jack Merrill and his chums. They drove me off the border, they tricked me in Chihuahua, but now the cards have changed, and I hold the trumps. But you are certain we are far ahead of them?”
“Positive,” was the rejoinder, “they are at least two days’ march behind, and with our swift animals we shall make the strike first, do not fear.”
Jack was puzzled.
Clearly, from what he had heard, the Mexican leader knew nothing of their doings, but that they had started from Esmedora. On the other hand, it appeared equally positive that Canfield was the man who had carried the message into their camp the night before and created so much excitement. Jack noticed now, too, as a further means of identification, that Canfield’s hand was bandaged. Ramon seemed to notice this also at the same instant.
“Your hand is hurt, senor,” he said sharply, with a suspicious inflection.
“I cut it this morning while closing my knife,” rejoined Canfield glibly.
Ramson nodded and said nothing. In the meantime one of the Mexicans had been busy dishing out the contents of the pot and handing portions about. The smell reminded Jack that he was excessively hungry and concluding that he had heard about all he wanted to,