Frank Merriwell's Backers: or, The Pride of His Friends. Standish Burt L.
Heart he git away."
"Well, that looks as if Bill had given up the fight, but it seems hardly possible."
"No can tell," said the old fellow. "May come 'gain with great lot many more bad men."
Frank sat down and talked with the old redskin for some time. Then Joe was given a square meal, and he ate heartily.
Merry had some business to look after in the mine, and he departed, at last, with the idea that he would find Joe and have another talk with him after the business was done.
But when Merry came to look again for the Indian, Joe had disappeared once more in his usual mysterious fashion.
Merry was not at all satisfied that Cimarron Bill had given up the struggle. In any event, he was confident that the syndicate had not given up, and experience had taught him that the organization would resort to any desperate means to accomplish its purpose.
So Merriwell, having seen that all things were going well at the mine, set out the following day for Holbrook, in which place he mailed a letter to Dick, informing him of his fortune in escaping from the ruffians.
In Holbrook Merry purchased a supply of rifles and cartridges, also small arms. This stock he had boxed and contracted with a man to deliver everything with the least possible delay at the Queen Mystery mine.
Having attended to this matter, Merry rested over night and set out with the first hint of coming day for the mine.
Through the hottest part of the day he rested in a ravine where there was some shade. Then he traveled again until after nightfall.
The following forenoon found him in a part of the mountains that seemed familiar. He had diverged somewhat from the regular trail between Holbrook and the mine.
Riding through a narrow pass, he came into a valley that was somewhat wooded and had a decidedly familiar aspect. Five minutes later he drew rein, uttering an exclamation of surprise.
Before him, at a distance, stood an old hut.
It required no second glance to show Merriwell that it was the very hut where he had been held a captive by Cimarron Bill and his gang.
Frank looked around keenly, but the valley seemed desolate, and apparently he and his horse were the only living creatures within its confines.
"The very place!" said Merry. "I wonder how Bill liked my answer to his proposition. He must have been decidedly surprised when he found me missing in the morning."
He rode forward toward the hut, having a fancy to look around the place.
As he drew nearer, suddenly his horse plunged forward and fell, while a shot rang out.
Merry had seen a puff of smoke come from the window of the hut. He managed to jerk his feet from the stirrups and drop to the ground behind the body of the horse, where he lay quite still.
The animal had been shot through the brain, and it did not even kick after falling.
CHAPTER VII.
MERRIWELL AND BIG MONTE
As he lay behind his stricken horse, Merriwell pulled his rifle around and got it ready for use. Peering over the body of the animal, he watched the hut.
The sun, which was dropping toward the west, was still decidedly uncomfortable. It blazed upon him with a feeling like the heat from a bake-oven.
Frank knew his peril. He knew better than to lift his head high and give his hidden foe another chance at him. He could not jump up and rush for cover, as cover lay too far away. Only one thing could he do, and that was to remain quietly there and watch and wait.
After a time it is likely the man who had fired the shot began to believe Merriwell seriously hurt. Frank caught a glimpse of him within the hut.
"He's coming out!" Merry decided.
He was mistaken. Time dragged on and the sun dipped lower toward the mountain-peaks; but still no person issued from the old hut. The situation was anything but comfortable.
"Confound him!" muttered Frank. "Who is he, and what does he mean?"
Even as he asked the question, he again saw the man moving beyond the window.
Frank thrust the rifle across the horse, resting it on the animal's body. Then he got into a position where he could take good aim, and then waited again.
The sun was touching the mountain-tops when beyond the window Merry saw the head of a man.
Then the clear report of his rifle rang through the valley. The puff of smoke from the muzzle blotted out the window for a moment. When it floated away the window was empty.
"Did I reach him?" thought Frank anxiously.
He felt that he had not missed, and still he could not be sure. He did not venture to rise from behind the horse. In case he had missed, he might fall before a second bullet from the hut.
The sun went down behind the mountains, flinging a hundred golden and crimson banners into the sky. Finally these began to fade, and a few stars peeped forth palely.
"If somebody's watching for me there," thought Merry, "it's going to be dangerous to move, at best."
But something told him his lead had not gone astray.
As the light faded still more he arose quickly, rifle in hand, and started on a run for the hut. As he ran he felt that it was far from impossible that another shot might bring sudden death to him. Still he did not hesitate, and, running steadily, he came up to the hut.
The door swung open before his hand. He looked in. It was not so dark as to hide a black figure that lay sprawled on the dirt floor.
Frank shuddered a little, and felt like turning away at once.
"He brought it on himself!" he whispered. "It was my life or his. But I'm sorry I had to do it."
Then he entered the hut. Striking a match, he bent over the prostrate figure. The reflected light, coming from his hollowed hands, showed him a familiar face.
"Big Monte!" he cried, starting back and dropping the match.
It was in truth the big man who had been one of Cimarron Bill's paid satellites.
He found the man's wrist and felt for his pulse.
"Good Lord!" Merry cried.
Big Monte's pulse flickered beneath his fingers. The ruffian still lived.
Frank knew where there was some wood, and this he soon had piled in a little heap in the open fireplace. He applied a match, and soon a blaze sprang up.
By the growing light of the fire he examined Monte's wound.
"Creased him as fine as can be!" he muttered. "Maybe there is a chance for him, after all."
It may be explained that by "creased" Frank meant that the bullet had passed along the man's skull, cutting his scalp, yet had not penetrated the bone. This had rendered Big Monte unconscious.
Merry removed the fellow's revolvers and knife and stood his rifle in a far corner. Then he brought some water in his drinking-cup and set about the effort of restoring the wretch to consciousness, which did not prove such a hard task as he had anticipated.
After a little Monte's eyes opened and he lay staring at the youth. He seemed bewildered, and it was plain he could not readily collect his scattered wits.
"Well, Monte," said Frank coolly, "that was a pretty close call for you. I came near shooting off the top of your head, which I would have been justified in doing. All the same, I'm glad I failed."
The big man continued to stare at Frank. Already Merry had bound up the ruffian's wound.
"Ho!" came hoarsely from Monte's lips. "Back! Back to the depths! You are dead!"
"If I am dead," said Frank, "I'm just about the liveliest dead man you ever saw."
A strange smile came to the lips of the wounded man.
"If you are not yet dead," he said, "I opines you soon will be a heap."
"Never