Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho

CHAPTER XII.
FRANK’S ADVENTURES.

Frank had had some exciting adventures since we last saw him, and had witnessed scenes that it was not probable he would soon forget. We left him standing face to face with one of his pursuers, whose gun was at his shoulder, his finger on the trigger, and the muzzle of the weapon pointing straight at Frank’s breast. The chances of escape from such a situation were small indeed. True, Frank’s revolver was safe in his pocket, and he was too sure a shot to miss so large a mark as the Mexican at that distance; but he knew, from the next words his enemy spoke, that any attempt on his part to draw the weapon, would be the signal for his death.

“Put your hands above your head,” commanded the Ranchero, sternly. “Now, if you move an eyelid, I will send a ball through you.”

The very appearance of the man was enough to convince Frank that he would not hesitate to carry his threat into execution, should occasion require it; but, large and strong as he was, and savage as he looked, he was afraid of his captive, and had no intention of approaching nearer to him until he had put it out of his power to do any mischief. Keeping his eyes fastened upon Frank, and holding his gun in position with one hand, he uncoiled with the other a lasso which hung over his shoulder. The prisoner began to tremble in every limb. He understood the meaning of this movement, and told himself that there would be a desperate fight in those bushes before the Mexican should use that lariat on him. He did not intend to allow himself to be strangled half to death if he could prevent it. Having already had some experience in that line, he did not care to have it repeated.

“Look here!” said he, when the Ranchero, after coiling a portion of the lasso in his hand, began swinging it around his head; “don’t attempt that.”

“Stand where you are!” exclaimed the Mexican.

“I haven’t moved an inch, and I have no desire to do so, as long as you keep that gun pointed at me. But you sha’n’t put that lasso around my neck; you may depend upon that.”

The Ranchero was evidently astonished. Here was a fellow, who acknowledged himself a prisoner, and yet had the audacity to tell his captor what he should do, and what he should not do. The tones of Frank’s voice, his attitude, and the expression of his countenance, all bore evidence to the fact that he was quite in earnest; and the Mexican seemed to be in no hurry to come to close quarters with him. The hand in which he held the lasso fell to his side, and he stood looking at his captive, measuring him with his eye, and trying to decide upon some course of action.

Frank was no stranger to the Ranchero. The latter had often seen him, and he had heard of him, too. He knew the particulars of some of his exploits, and he had a wholesome respect for him. A boy who had courage enough to keep a secret with death staring him in the face, and who, after being nearly strangled, could fight with the desperation which Frank had exhibited in his encounter with Pierre Costello, was not one to be approached with impunity. The Mexican had never taken the trouble to look closely at him before, and now he was astonished to discover what a powerful young fellow he was. Although he was not quite seventeen years old, he stood five feet nine inches in his stockings; and the violent sports and exercises to which he had been accustomed from his earliest boyhood, had developed his muscles until they were as large as those of a blacksmith. He looked like a young Hercules as he stood there, drawn up to his full height, his arms extended above his head, his hands clenched, and his fingers moving nervously, as though they were aching to take the Ranchero by the throat.

“Hadn’t you better make up your mind what you are going to do about it?” asked Frank, who was beginning to get impatient. “You might as well put up that lasso, for you shall never catch me with it.”

“Stand where you are!” repeated the Mexican.

These words were addressed, not to the prisoner, but to the empty air. The spot on which Frank had been standing was vacant, and he had disappeared from the view of his captor as completely as though he had never been in the woods at all. While the Ranchero was looking at Frank, the latter was narrowly watching the Ranchero. He kept his eyes fastened upon the gun, and finally he saw the muzzle turned a little aside, so that it no longer pointed at his breast. That was enough for Frank, who now repeated the trick he had tried with so much success upon Don Carlos. Gathering all his strength for the effort, he made two or three tremendous bounds, and vanished.

Like an inexperienced young sportsman, who, seeing a flock of quails suddenly arise from the bushes at his very feet, stands gazing after them with open mouth, too astonished to think of the gun he holds in his hand, so stood the Ranchero. There was something almost magical in the escape of his prisoner. It was so sudden and unexpected! There he was, holding a loaded gun in one hand, a lasso in the other, and standing almost within reach of his prize; and yet he had effectually eluded him.

“Santa Maria!” yelled the Ranchero, arousing himself as if from a sound sleep. “Stop, or I fire!”

“Whoop!” yelled another voice. “Hooray fur the boy that fit that ar’ robber! Put in your best licks, youngster, fur the timber’s full of the varlets.”

How Frank’s heart bounded at the tones of that familiar voice! Friends had been near him all the while, and he had not been aware of it. He could not, however, waste much time in thinking about the trapper. He had imagined that his escape from the Ranchero had placed him beyond the reach of danger for the present, but now he found that he was running straight into it. There were other persons in the woods, of whose presence he had been ignorant, and now they began to show themselves. The trapper’s wild Indian yell was answered by an order shouted in Spanish; and then was presented a scene that reminded Frank of some passages in one of his favorite books—Sir Walter Scott’s “Lady of the Lake.” When the outlaw and King James were conversing, and the latter expressed a desire to see the rebel chieftain and his band, Roderick gave one shrill whistle, and—

In short, the Scottish braves sprung into view in a way that was utterly bewildering, and so did the men who had been creeping up through the bushes while Frank was parleying with his captor. The fugitive had never seen so many Mexicans together before, and it was a mystery where they all came from. It seemed to him that every bush and tree within the range of his vision, was turning into a villainous looking Ranchero. They arose on all sides, and with loud yells rushed forward intent upon capturing Frank alive and unharmed. Not a shot was fired at him, but the trapper was a target for a dozen rifles and pistols; and some of the bullets, that were intended for him, whistled through the bushes uncomfortably near to Frank’s head. If Archie had been in his cousin’s place just then, he would have smelt powder to his heart’s content.

Frank’s first impulse was to stop and surrender himself a prisoner; but a rapid glance around showed him that one portion of the woods was still left open to him. Toward this he dashed with the speed of a frightened deer—paying no heed to the loud commands to halt that were shouted after him, but trembling in every limb when he heard the lassos of his pursuers whistling through the air—and in less time than it takes to tell it, he had once more distanced the fleetest of the herdsmen. In ten minutes not one of them was to be seen or heard. The reports of the firearms had ceased, the shouts had died away in the distance, and the woods were as silent as midnight.

Frank was now rapidly nearing the creek—the only barrier that stood between him and his home. Once safe on the opposite shore, and his escape was assured. The five miles that lay between the creek and his uncle’s rancho, were no obstacle to such a runner as he had proved himself to be. He reached the bank at last, and, without stopping to reconnoiter the ground before him, dashed through the bushes at the top of his speed, and plunged into the water. His movements were so rapid that the Rancheros, who were concealed in the bushes awaiting his approach, did not have time to seize him as he passed; but their lassos were longer than their arms, and before the fugitive had made half a dozen strokes, one of these dreaded weapons flew through the air, and the noose settled around his neck. He tried to avoid the danger by diving under the water; but it was too late. The lariat was tightened up with a jerk, and he was pulled back to the shore, gasping for breath, and struggling desperately.

“Here you are again, Fifty-Thousand-Dollars,” exclaimed a familiar voice; and the instant Frank touched the bank, a stalwart Mexican, whom he recognized as the one from whom he had escaped a short time before, threw himself upon him and held him fast; two more bound him hand and foot; while a fourth searched all his pockets, and took possession of his revolver. Of course he was easily overpowered, but it was only after a furious and determined resistance.

The Rancheros were very jubilant over their success. They danced about their captive like so many savages; and when one seized him by the collar and jerked him to his feet, the others set up a loud shout of triumph. Then they held a hurried consultation in their native tongue, and the prisoner understood enough of what was said to know that they were talking about the money they expected to receive when they delivered Frank into the hands of Don Carlos. They seemed to be afraid that they might be called upon to divide the reward with some of their companions; and, in order to avoid that, they told one another that they would take their captive to the rancho by some round-about way. No sooner was this plan agreed upon, than the Mexicans proceeded to carry it out. Two of them seized Frank by the arms and hurried him into the woods, dragging him roughly over fallen logs, and through thick bushes, which tore his clothing and scratched him severely.

“Now, see here,” he exclaimed, when he thought he could no longer endure their harsh treatment; “if you will untie my feet, so that I can walk, you will save yourselves and me a great deal of trouble.”

The Mexicans were deaf to his words. They did not mind the trouble in the least. Their prisoner was worth a fortune to them; and having seen him make two remarkable escapes that night, they did not intend to give him an opportunity to make another.

If they hoped to reach the rancho without meeting any of their companions, they were destined to be disappointed; for, when they arrived at the edge of the prairie where they had left their horses, they were joined by three more of the Don’s band, who, upon discovering Frank again in confinement, set up a terrific yell.

“No more herding cattle or stealing horses for me,” cried one of the new-comers. “I am off for Frisco this very night.”

“You can go now, for all we care,” growled one of the men, who was holding Frank by the collar.

“Yes, but I want my share of the reward first.”

“It’s little of the reward you’ll get. Must we do all the work, risk all the danger, and then share our hard earnings with you who have kept yourselves out of harm’s way? Not if we know ourselves.”

This was the beginning of an angry altercation, which did not continue more than a minute before the disputants came to blows. Frank’s captors insisted that no one but themselves should touch a cent of the money; and the new-comers declared that if they did not agree to divide, they should never take their prisoner to the rancho. As the debate progressed, the Mexicans began to grow angry. Their voices rose higher and higher; they flourished their arms in the air, and shook their clenched hands in one another’s faces; and finally one of them drew his knife and emphasized his words by making a savage thrust at the man nearest him. That brought the discussion to a close at once; and an instant afterward Frank was standing there, the solitary spectator of the most thrilling scene he had ever witnessed in his life—a furious hand-to-hand conflict among the Rancheros.

The rapidity with which this state of affairs had been brought about was astonishing. One moment the Mexicans were all standing erect, engaged in an angry war of words; the next, they were rolling about on the ground, struggling madly with each other, pistol balls were flying about, reeking knife-blades flashing in the air, and the woods were echoing with cries of pain and shouts of anger. Frank stood speechless, almost breathless, and unable to move hand or foot. He was in danger of being knocked down by some of the struggling men, and of being struck by the bullets which whistled about so recklessly; but he could not get out of the way. He never once thought of his own peril, for he was too horrified at what was going on before him to think of any thing. He was the cause of all this trouble. The herdsmen were destroying one another to secure possession of the reward that had been offered for him.

The fight, desperate as it was, did not long continue. It seemed to Frank that it had scarcely begun before it was over. His captors came off victorious, but there were not many of them left to rejoice over their success—only a single man, who, as he arose from the body of his late antagonist, first looked toward his prisoner, to satisfy himself that he was safe, and then coolly ran his eye over the prostrate forms around him. Frank expected to see him manifest some regret at the fate of his companions, but he did nothing of the kind. He did not even take the trouble to see if any of them were still alive. He wiped his knife on a bunch of leaves which he pulled from a neighboring bush, and then hurried toward the horses, which were tied to the trees in the edge of the woods. Mounting his own horse, he rode up beside his prisoner, and, seizing him by the collar, pulled him up in front of him, and laid him across the horn of his saddle, as if Frank had been a bag of corn, and he was about to start off to mill with him. Then he spoke for the first time since the fight, and Frank knew why it was that he felt no regret at the death of his companions.

“The reward is mine,” said he, with a chuckle. “I have no one to divide with now.”

He dashed his spurs into the flanks of his horse, and set off at a rapid gallop toward the rancho, which was in plain sight, and not more than a quarter of a mile distant. Frank turned his eyes toward its gloomy walls, and wondered what sort of a reception he would meet with when he arrived there. It was not likely that the Don would greet him as kindly as he had done before—that he would conduct him into the house with ceremony, and ask him to make himself comfortable until supper time. Perhaps, in his rage, the old Spaniard would dispatch him at once. Frank was prepared for the worst; but he would have submitted to his fate with much better grace, if his hands and feet had been unbound for one moment, so that he could have made just one more attempt at escape.

“It’s of no use for you to kick about so,” said the Ranchero, as Frank began struggling with his bonds. “You’re as safe now as though you were locked up in one of Don Carlos’ dungeons.”

The Mexican was a good deal surprised at the reply his prisoner made. Frank had turned his head, and was looking back toward the woods, as if he half expected to see help coming from that direction, and he had discovered a tall figure in buckskin standing in the bushes. A moment afterward a long rifle was leveled, and Frank thought that the muzzle was pointed straight at his head. That occasioned him no uneasiness, however, for he knew that Dick Lewis’s eagle eye was glancing along the weapon, and that its contents would do no harm to him.

“Did you ever see that fine horse of mine—the one you fellows stole from me?” asked Frank. “Well, I will stake him against the worthless animal you are riding, that you don’t take me to Don Carlos.”

“Eh!” exclaimed the Ranchero, facing quickly about in his saddle, and gazing back at the woods.

That move was all that saved his life. Just then a sheet of flame shot out from the bushes, and the bullet came humming through the air; but instead of finding a lodgment in the body of the Mexican, it was buried in the brain of the horse, which dropped dead in his tracks, dashing the Ranchero and his prisoner violently to the ground.

Frank, stunned by the fall, and blinded by the blood which flowed freely from a wound on his forehead, could not have told what had happened. He lay motionless for a moment, and then, after a few ineffectual attempts, succeeded in raising himself to a sitting posture, and began to look around for his enemy. He saw him seated on the ground at a little distance, holding both hands to his head, and gazing about him with a bewildered air, as if he had not quite made up his mind how he had come to be unhorsed so suddenly. But he was not long in comprehending the matter. Glancing toward the trapper, who was approaching with long strides, and then toward his prisoner, he whipped out the knife which had done him such good service in his recent battle.

“Santa Maria!” he shouted.

That was all he said then, but his actions supplied the place of words, and indicated the desperate resolve he had formed. He jumped to his feet and rushed toward Frank, with his knife uplifted ready to strike.

“Whoop! Bars an’ buffaler! Stop thar, you tarnal Greaser!” cried the trapper. “If you touch that youngster with that we’pon, I’ll raise your har fur you.”

The Mexican paid no heed to the warning. He came on as fiercely as ever, and Frank, unable to lift a finger in his own defense, sat there on the ground and watched those two frantic men who were racing toward him—one intent on taking his life, the other on saving it. Which would reach him first? The Mexican was the nearer to him, but the fleet-footed trapper was getting over the ground at the rate of ten feet to his one. If Dick’s rifle had been loaded, Frank would have had no fears as to the result; but the trusty old weapon was empty, and his friend might approach within reach of him, and still be unable to prevent the Mexican from accomplishing his purpose.

“There are fifty thousand dollars wrapped up in your hide,” hissed the Ranchero, “and if I don’t get it nobody shall.”

A few hurried steps brought him to Frank’s side, and, uttering a yell of triumph, he seized him by the throat, and threw him backward upon the ground. Frank saw him shake the knife at the trapper, and when it was raised above his breast, he closed his eyes that he might not see it when it descended. But the knife never touched him. Something fell heavily upon him, and when he opened his eyes he saw the Mexican lying motionless by his side, and Dick Lewis bending over him.

The trapper’s tomahawk, thrown with unerring aim, had saved Frank’s life.

CHAPTER XIII.
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.

“Bars an’ buffaler! You keerless feller!” exclaimed the trapper, pulling out his knife and liberating Frank’s hands and feet. “I reckon you’ve seed fun enough fur one day, haint you? You’ll never come nigher to bein’ rubbed out nor you were a minit ago without goin’; I can tell you that. Now toddle. We aint out of danger yet, by no means.”

There was no time for greetings and congratulations. Scarcely had the trapper lifted Frank to his feet, when a clatter of hoofs was heard, and upon looking up the two friends saw a squad of Rancheros coming toward them at the top of their speed. Frank, without an instant’s hesitation, acted upon the trapper’s suggestion, and started for the woods; while Dick ran off in the opposite direction, loading his rifle as he went.

Frank, wearied with his former exertions, and aching in every limb from the effects of the rough treatment he had received at the hands of his enemies, was in no condition for a long run; but, even had he been in the best of trim, he could not have hoped to escape. The Rancheros were mounted, and they had thrown themselves between him and the woods. Still, he exerted himself to the utmost, and his speed, although greatly diminished, would have carried him ahead of every one of his enemies had they been on foot. But the swift horses quickly overtook him, and one of his pursuers, without in the least slackening his pace, galloped up beside him and seized him with both hands.

“You’re caught now,” said he, in a tone of great satisfaction, “and I am a poor herdsman no longer. I’m rich.”

The Ranchero did not attempt to lift Frank upon his horse, but held fast to his collar, and dragged him over the ground. He went at the top of his speed, and whenever Frank tried to regain his feet, so that he could run along beside his captor, the latter would touch his horse with his spurs, and the animal would spring forward so suddenly that Frank would be thrown back again. It was a most uncomfortable and painful situation to be in, but, strange as it may appear, Frank made no attempt at escape; indeed, he scarcely bestowed a thought upon himself. A scene which he had witnessed just after his enemy seized him, had deprived him of every particle of courage and strength. He had seen the friend who had stood by him through innumerable dangers strangled before his very eyes.

We said that, when Frank ran toward the woods, the trapper started off in the opposite direction. He had done this, hoping to draw the attention of the Mexicans to himself, and thus give Frank a chance for escape. He had succeeded in one part of his object, and failed in the other. Three of the Rancheros wheeled their horses and started in pursuit of him, while the others kept on after Frank. They had no desire to take the trapper alive, for the Don had not offered a reward of fifty thousand dollars for him; but they believed that he was quite as dangerous to them as Frank was, for he was acquainted with their secret. They had tried their best to shoot him when they met him in the woods, but Dick had escaped unhurt. Now they had caught him on the open prairie, where they could use their lassos, and they were determined that he should not return home to tell his friends what he knew about Don Carlos and his rancho. They charged toward the trapper with loud yells, discharging their pistols at him with one hand, and swinging their lariats around their heads with the other. One of their number rode to his death, for when Dick’s rifle cracked, the foremost Mexican threw up his arms, and fell heavily from his saddle; but before the trapper could turn to run, a lasso was thrown over his head, and he was pulled to the ground. A yell of defiance rang out on the air, and then the Ranchero wheeled his horse and galloped off, dragging his victim after him.

Frank could scarcely credit his senses. Was it possible that the redoubtable Dick Lewis, the hero of a thousand desperate encounters, had met his match at last, and in these cowardly Mexicans, too? It did not seem to him that it could be so, and yet the whole thing had transpired in plain view. If Dick had possessed the strength of a dozen men, he could not have escaped while that lasso was around his neck. Beyond a doubt, Frank had seen the last of him. The brave fellow had lost his life in trying to save him, and the boy could not have been more horrified if he had heard his own doom pronounced. He closed his eyes, that he might not see the terrible sight; and when he opened them again, his captor was on the point of dragging him into the woods. Still urging his horse forward with reckless speed, he now lifted Frank from the ground and laid him across the horn of his saddle and held him there with one hand, while, with the other, he guided his horse through the bushes. Arriving at the creek, he dashed in, and upon reaching the opposite bank, again entered the woods, and continued his flight as rapidly as ever.

All this while the prisoner’s mind had been so fully occupied with the scene he had witnessed on the prairie, that he scarcely knew what was going on; but now he became aware that his captor was not taking him to the rancho, but that he was making the best of his way toward the mountains. Frank was at a loss how to account for this, until he glanced at the dark, lowering face above him. Could he believe his eyes? He raised his head and looked again; and it is hard to tell whether he was the more astonished or alarmed. That one look was enough to satisfy him that his troubles were but just beginning. He would much rather have found himself in the power of Don Carlos, than in the hands of the man who was bending over him.

“Ah! You know me, do you?” exclaimed the Mexican, glancing triumphantly down at his captive. “I’m glad to meet you again.”

“Pierre Costello!” cried Frank, in dismay.

“Ay! It’s Pierre, alive and well, no thanks to you or your friends!”

Frank gazed long and earnestly at the Ranchero. The last time he saw him he was on his way to the prison at San Diego, bound hand and foot, and guarded by trusty men; but here he was, in full possession of his liberty, and ready to carry out the scheme in which he had been foiled a few weeks before.

“Oh, it’s I,” said the robber, seeing that his prisoner was looking at him in utter bewilderment. “We were pretty well acquainted at one time, and it is strange that you do not recognize me.”

“I would know that villainous face of yours among a thousand,” replied Frank. “I was wondering how you escaped from the prison.”

“Easy enough. It wasn’t strong enough to hold me—that’s all. I didn’t stay there three days. I came back here, and set myself to watch you; and now that I have found you, I do not intend to lose sight of you very soon. When the Don gives me the reward he has offered for you, I will deliver you up to him. I am taking you to the mountains, because I want to see the color of the money, before I give you up; and because I don’t want to be compelled to divide with any one.”

There was no need that Pierre should take the trouble to explain his plans. Frank knew what they were before he said a word about them, and he could see no way to prevent them from being carried out. He was satisfied that it was quite useless to think of escape, and knowing that it would be the height of folly to provoke Pierre’s anger, he did not make the slightest show of resistance.

“I shall always hold a grudge against you,” said the Ranchero, tightening his grasp on Frank’s collar, “and, if it were not for the money you are worth, I would settle accounts with you in a hurry. I’ve had two chances to make myself rich, but you knocked my calculations higher than a kite. I am all right now, however, and if I ever meet you, after I deliver you up to Don Carlos, you are a goner. But that is not at all likely,” added the Mexican, “for when the gate of that rancho once closes upon you, it will never open for you again. The Don knows how to deal with men who learn his secrets. You are always meddling with other people’s business, but you have done it now for the last time.”

Frank listened in silence to this disheartening speech, and told himself that this was the worst predicament he had ever got into. When he was delivered into the Don’s hands, the latter would make an end of him; and if he did not, Pierre would. It was plain that if his captor could have his own way in the matter, Frank had not much longer to live.

The course which Pierre was taking to reach the mountains, lay through a dense forest, which, even in the day-time, was almost impassable for horsemen. He might have chosen an easier route, but knowing that he would be followed by his companions, who would not willingly surrender their claims to a share of the reward, he kept in the deepest part of the woods to elude their pursuit. His horse went at the top of his speed, and Frank was jolted about, and dashed against the trees, until it seemed to him that he could not possibly survive a moment longer. To his great relief, Pierre brought him to the edge of the woods at last; and after carrying him some distance up a ravine, stopped his horse, and began making preparations to bind his captive.

“I shall leave you here for an hour or two,” said he. “I am going back to the Don, and, if he comes down with the fifty thousand, I’ll turn you over to him; and if he doesn’t, you and I will lead a free and easy life here in the mountains, until your uncle ransoms you. I’ve got two strings to my bow this time.”

Pierre pulled his prisoner to a tree, to which he tied him securely with his lasso, Frank offering no resistance. He was too weak to lift a finger in his defense, and, as for remonstrance, he knew that would be useless, and so he held his peace.

“You take it very coolly,” remarked Pierre. “Why don’t you say something?”

“If I hadn’t been knocked about until the strength was all beaten out of me, I should have done something before this time,” replied Frank, boldly. “Give me my liberty, and fifteen minutes’ rest, and I’ll make trouble for you.”

“H’m!” said Pierre. “I can’t see it. You have made trouble enough for me already.”

“And you haven’t seen the last of me yet,” added Frank.

“I know it. I told you that I should come back to you, didn’t I?”

“I mean that you will meet me under very different circumstances. We will change places in less than twenty-four hours.”

Frank said this with no other object in view, than to let Pierre know that he still kept up a brave heart, if the future was dark before him. There was nothing in his prospects, just then, to encourage the hope that he and his enemy would “change places,” and he little dreamed that such would be the case; but, after all, something very like it did happen, and in less than half the time Frank had mentioned. Pierre, however, happy in the belief that his dreams of wealth were about to be realized, had no misgivings. He laughed at his prisoner’s warning, and springing into his saddle, disappeared in the darkness. Frank listened to the sound of his horse’s feet until it died away in the distance, and then rested his aching head against the tree, and thought over his situation. What an eventful day it had been! What astonishing adventures had been crowded into the short space of ten hours! Frank’s mind was in a perfect whirl; and, if he could have freed his hands, he would have pinched himself to see if he was really wide awake. But, after all, he knew that the events of the day were no dream—his aching limbs and throbbing head assured him of that. The fight with Old Davy, Archie’s mishap, and his mysterious disappearance at Don Carlos’ rancho, the death of the trapper, and the unexpected encounter with Pierre Costello—all were realities. It was no dream, either, that he had been bound to a tree and left in those dark woods; and it was equally certain that he was not the only living thing there. He heard a stealthy step on the leaves, and a moment afterward, saw a pair of eyes, which shone like two coals of fire, glaring at him from a thicket not far distant.

“It’s a panther!” exclaimed Frank, trembling all over with terror, and much more alarmed now than he had been when he found himself in the power of his old enemy; “and here I am perfectly helpless. Hi! hi!”

Acting upon his first impulse, which was to frighten away his disagreeable neighbor, he uttered a series of yells which awoke the echoes far and near. The result greatly astonished him. An answering shout came from the farther end of the ravine, and hasty footsteps were heard approaching. Frank’s heart beat high with hope. Had friends been following him? More likely they were some of the settlers, who had been out hunting, and were returning to their homes. In either case he would soon be free once more, and his first care would be to show Pierre that, if he had come back to the settlement, expecting to have things all his own way, he had reckoned without his host. He shouted again, and the eyes in the bushes disappeared, and he heard the panther bounding up the mountain.

“Hallo!” called a voice through the darkness.

“Hallo!” replied Frank. “This way. Here I am.”

The unknown persons were prompt to answer the call, and came through the bushes with all possible speed. Presently, Frank saw two dark forms approaching, and in a few seconds they were close at his side, and peering into his face. Why was it that he did not speak to them and tell them what had happened to him? Simply because there was no need of it. The men knew quite as much about it as he did. He had seen them before, and knew that they were members of Don Carlos’ band. The first words they uttered explained their presence there, and told Frank that they perfectly understood the matter.

“Pierre thinks he is smart,” said one, untying the lasso with which Frank was bound to the tree; “but he will find that there are men in the world as sharp as he is. We knew what was up when we saw him ride into the woods, instead of going toward the rancho. He tried to swindle us out of our share of the money, and now we will see how much of it he’ll get.”

In less time than it takes to tell it, Frank had been tied upon a horse behind one of the Mexicans, and was being carried back to the rancho. He did not experience much inconvenience from the ride, for the Mexicans traveled slowly, and avoided the woods altogether. At the end of half an hour they stopped in front of the walls of the rancho; and when the ponderous gate closed behind him, Frank shuddered and thought of the prediction Pierre had made. He glanced around the court, and saw that it was lighted up by numerous dark-lanterns, and filled with men, who seemed to be highly excited and enraged about something. They were all talking at the top of their voices, and the babel of English and Spanish was almost deafening. Archie had been the cause of this disturbance. Not more than half an hour before he had been flying about that court with all the speed his horse could command; and, having failed in his attempt at escape, he had taken refuge in the house. The Mexicans had seen him run through the hall, and into the Don’s reception-room, and had, of course, expected to capture him there; but they found the room empty, and could not imagine where Archie had gone. His disappearance astonished and alarmed them. They did not know that he was acquainted with the secret of that spring in the painting of the Indian warrior.

Conspicuous among a group of men who occupied the center of the court, stood the Don, who was, if possible, more excited and noisy than any of his band. He looked up when Frank’s captors stopped in front of him, and rubbed his hands gleefully together.

“Ach! Here is von of dese leetle poys,” said he. “Now dis ish all right!”

As soon as the lasso, with which Frank was confined to the horse, had been untied, he was assisted rather roughly to the ground. He put on a bold front, and unflinchingly met the angry glances that were directed toward him from all sides; but his heart was sinking within him, and he waited anxiously for the chief to speak.

“Vel,” said the latter, at length, “you peen trying to shpy out somethings about mine house, aint it? You peen von grand, leetle rascal. Vare ish dis other leetle poys?

“Who—Archie? I don’t know where he is; and, if I did, it is not likely that I should tell you. I hope he is safe at home.”

“Oh no, he don’t peen at home,” said the Don, shaking his head vehemently; “he ish somevares in dis house. Dake him down and lock him up.”

The chief’s looks had prepared Frank for some terrible sentence. He would not have been much surprised if he had heard that he was to be hanged or shot immediately; but, when he found that he was to be locked up, his courage rose again, and he began to indulge in the hope that a chance for escape might yet be offered him. In obedience to the Don’s order, the Rancheros conducted him to one of the rooms in the underground portion of the rancho, and after tying him hand and foot, left him to his meditations. But he was not destined to remain there long, for Archie fortunately stumbled upon him and released him.

We left the boys struggling with the Ranchero who had come in to satisfy himself that Frank had not yet found means to effect his escape. Archie was holding fast to his legs, and Frank had grasped him by the throat and stifled his cry for help.

“I can hold him now,” said the latter. “Shut that door, and get something to tie him with.”

The ropes with which Frank had been bound were brought into requisition, and in a few seconds, the Mexican, in spite of his furious struggles, was helpless. Archie had shown considerable generalship in the part he had played in this transaction. If the Ranchero had been permitted to return to his friends, he would, of course, have informed them that Frank had been liberated by somebody, and that would have told the Don just where to search for Archie. He knew that Archie was somewhere in the rancho, but thus far he had been unable to get on the track of him. The building was large, the underground rooms and passage-ways numerous, the doors all locked, and as long as the boys could keep their enemies from learning their exact whereabouts, there was little danger of capture.

“Now, then, what is to be done with this fellow?” asked Frank, when his cousin had securely bound the prisoner.

“Let’s give him one for Dick Lewis,” said Archie, brandishing his heavy pistol in the air. “A crack over the head with this would do him a wonderful sight of good.”

“No! no!” exclaimed Frank. “He took no part in that affair.”

“No doubt he would if he had had the chance. Let’s lock him in here, and leave him.”

“He’ll call for help, won’t he?”

“We don’t care if he does. Even if he succeeds in making himself heard through these thick walls, his friends can’t release him until they have cut down one of these doors; and by the time they get that done, we may be out of this den of robbers, and half way home.”

Archie began trying his keys in the lock of of the door, and finally found one that would fit it. Then, after the prisoner had been pulled into one corner, the cousins passed out of the room, locking the door after them.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE DON IN TROUBLE.

“What is to be done now?” asked Frank, as he and Archie walked slowly along the dark passage-way.

“There’s only one thing we can do,” replied the latter, “and that is, to explore every room we come to until we find our way out of the rancho. Of course there is danger in it, but—There’s one of the rascals!”

A slight noise, a little in advance of them, attracted the attention of Archie, who elevated his lantern, and peered through the darkness just in time to catch a glimpse of a Ranchero, running swiftly toward the other end of the passage. Frank’s revolver was cocked and leveled in an instant, but he was too late to stop the man, who had no sooner been discovered than he vanished from their sight. He did not go far, however, but stopped at the end of the passage, and keeping his eyes fastened upon Archie’s lantern, called loudly for help.

“We’re discovered at last,” whispered Frank.

“But we’re not caught,” was Archie’s encouraging reply. “Let’s go into this room.”

Archie had noticed one thing that night, and that was, that the greater the hurry he was in to find a key to open any of the doors, the more time he wasted in finding it. There must have been twenty-five or thirty keys on the bunch, and he tried nearly all of them, before he found one that would turn the bolt. His hand trembled so violently that he could scarcely insert the keys into the lock, and, in his haste, he dropped the bunch more than once.

“How thankful I would be if that fellow should lose the power of speech for about five minutes,” said Archie, who seemed to be very much disconcerted by the Mexican’s furious yells. “I might as well give it up,” he added, in despair. “If the right key is on this bunch, I can’t find it.”

“Never say die,” replied Frank, who stood close at his cousin’s side, holding the lantern in one hand, and his revolver in the other. “We’ll not give up until we are bound hand and foot.”

All this while the Mexican had never once ceased his calls for assistance. He kept up a continuous roar, and presently answering shouts, and the tramping of numerous feet, told the fugitives that he had succeeded in attracting the attention of some of his companions. The reinforcements came on rapidly, and arrived in sight, and Archie had not yet been able to find a key that would open the door.

“Take it easy,” said Frank, who began to fear that his cousin’s nervousness and impatience would prove their ruin. He spoke calmly enough, but his face was very pale, and the lantern trembled in his grasp. This was the severest test that had been applied to his courage since he stood at that log awaiting the approach of the wounded and enraged grizzly; and yet he could speak in his ordinary tone of voice, without the least impatience, and advise his terrified and excited cousin to “take it easy.” It showed what nerve he had. He was getting desperate; and while he kept one eye upon Archie, and the other turned toward the farther end of the passage, he was calculating his chances for emptying his six-shooter among the Mexicans, before they could close around him. “There is nothing to be gained by being in such a hurry,” he added, as his cousin once more dropped the keys. “The more haste the less speed, you know.”

At this moment lights flashed in the passage, and dark forms came on at a rapid run. The prospect was certainly disheartening. Their only chance for escape was through that door, which refused to open for them, and there were their enemies, at least half a dozen of them, not more than twenty feet distant. But their good fortune had not yet deserted them. The right key was found, just in the nick of time—not a single instant too soon—the door flew open, and Frank and Archie, uttering a simultaneous cry of joy, slipped through and slammed it behind them. The moment it was closed Frank braced himself against it, and Archie inserted the key into the lock; but, before he could turn the bolt, a strong hand grasped the latch, and a stalwart Mexican threw his weight against the door, which was forced partly open, in spite of all Frank’s efforts to prevent it. A moment afterward, a hand holding a murderous looking bowie-knife appeared, followed first by a dark, scowling face, and then by a pair of broad shoulders. One of the Mexicans, who had reached the door a little in advance of his companions, was trying to squeeze himself into the the room; and he seemed in a fair way to accomplish his object.

“Here’s fifty thousand dollars,” said he, exultingly. “Come here, somebody. He’s got a pistol.”

The boys jammed the door against the Ranchero, with all their strength, but he was a match for both of them, and besides he had a great advantage. Frank and Archie could find no foothold upon the hard dirt floor. Their feet slipped about in every direction, and the Mexican, having braced himself against the door-post, was slowly but surely pushing them back. He would certainly have succeeded in working his way into the room, had it not been for Frank’s revolver. The sight of the cocked weapon, thrust full in his face, drove him back, and before the rest of the Mexicans could come to his assistance, the door was closed and fastened.

“Whew!” whispered Archie, drawing a long breath, and wiping the big drops of perspiration from his forehead, “that was a close shave, wasn’t it? It doesn’t seem to suit them very well.”

If one might judge by the uproar that arose in the passage, the Mexicans were certainly very much disappointed. They yelled at the top of their lungs, and some struck the door with their knives, while others threw themselves against it and tried to burst it open. But that door was not a common door. It was made of heavy planks, and was strong enough to successfully resist all their attacks. There was but one way in which they could effect an entrance, and that was by cutting the door down with an ax. Before that could be done, the fugitives would have ample time to hunt up a new hiding-place.

The boys had been so terrified by their recent danger, and so intent on preventing their enemies from following them into the room, that they had not thought of any thing else. They had not had time to look about the apartment in which they had taken refuge; and if there had been a dozen men in there, they would not have known it. As soon as they had somewhat recovered their composure, and satisfied themselves that their enemies in the passage-way could not immediately effect an entrance, they began an examination of the room, and found that, like most of the others in the underground portion of the rancho, it was used as a receptacle for various odds and ends, being filled with boxes, bales of goods, and articles of like description. They noticed also that the room communicated with another, and that the door between them stood wide open; and scarcely had they observed these points, before they became aware that there were men on the opposite side of that door. They could not see them, but they could distinctly hear their voices. One was angrily demanding something, and another was answering in an imploring tone. The men, whoever they were, had evidently got into some difficulty; for, with the voices, was occasionally mingled the sounds of a furious struggle.

“There’s a fight going on in there,” whispered Archie. “I hope they will keep one another employed until we can get out of here. Which way shall we go?”

That was the very question Frank was asking himself, and it was one he could not answer. If they went back into the passage, they would run directly into the clutches of their enemies; and if they retreated into the adjoining room, they would be captured by the men who were quarreling there. It would be useless for them to conceal themselves among the boxes and bales of goods, for two men could thoroughly ransack the room in half a minute’s time, and their hiding-place would speedily be discovered.

“Oh, we are caught at last,” said Archie, after he had thought the matter over. “We can’t stir a step, for our enemies are all around us.”

Thump! thump! Both boys jumped as if some one had suddenly fired a pistol close to their ears. The Rancheros in the passage had secured an ax, and were beginning the work of cutting down the door. The blows fell fast and furiously, and before the cousins had fairly made up their minds what was going on, the door began to shake and tremble violently. Something must be done at once; for in two minutes more the room would be filled with Rancheros. The boys looked at each other, and both seemed to have decided upon the same course of action; for, with one accord, they started toward the opposite side of the room. They moved swiftly, but noiselessly, and when they reached the door, they stopped and looked in and beheld a scene that filled them with astonishment. By the light of a lantern, which stood on a table in the center of the room, they saw a man lying upon the floor, and another kneeling upon his breast, and holding him by the throat with one hand, while, with the other, he flourished a knife in the air. The prostrate man was the chief of the robber band, and his antagonist was Pierre Costello. They were talking in angry, excited tones, and during the few seconds the cousins stood at the door, undecided how to act, they caught enough of the conversation to understand the cause of the trouble.

Pierre had boasted to Frank, before he left him in the ravine, that he had two strings to his bow this time. In case Don Carlos refused to pay him the reward he had offered for Frank’s capture, he would keep his prisoner safe, until his uncle ransomed him. If one failed, the other would not, for Mr. Winters would willingly give every cent he was worth, rather than permit harm to befall his nephew. But something was always happening to upset Pierre’s plans. The Rancheros, whom he had tried to cheat out of their share of the money, had followed him to the mountains, and taken charge of the prisoner themselves. Pierre was in the court when Frank was brought in, and although he said nothing, he was highly enraged. He could, of course, have claimed a portion of the reward, but that would not satisfy him—he wanted it all; and he mentally resolved that, before morning, he would smuggle Frank out of the rancho, and carry him back to the mountains.

While thinking the matter over, and trying to decide upon the best plan for accomplishing his object, he came to the conclusion that it would be well to make a change in his programme. He was satisfied that the events of the night had broken up the robber band (the disappearance of Frank and Archie would create a great commotion in the settlement, and the Don’s secret would be certain to leak out somewhere), and Pierre determined to secure his own safety by deserting his friends, and leaving the country. He would not, however, go empty handed. The Don had plenty of gold stowed away in some secret cavern; Pierre wanted some of it; and the only way he could get it was to compel the chief to conduct him to its place of concealment. This he had decided to do; and when the Don went below to renew his search for Archie, Pierre accompanied him; and after leading him into a deserted room in a remote corner of the rancho (one of the few which happened to be unlocked), he ordered the Don to show him where the coveted gold was hidden. Frightened by the sight of the knife which Pierre brandished before his eyes, the chief would have gladly complied with the demand, but, for the simple reason, that he could not get into the room where his treasure was concealed. The key was attached to the bunch in Archie’s pocket. He had long ago missed the keys from their accustomed nail in his room, but he did not know what had become of them.

“I don’t can do it, Meester Bierre,” groaned the Don, for the twentieth time. “I don’t got de key. It’s lost.”

“You can’t make me believe that story,” replied Pierre, tightening his grasp on the Don’s throat, and raising his knife as he spoke. “Once more, and for the last time, where is it?”

The Don’s answer was cut short by an interruption that was as sudden as it was unexpected. Two figures glided quickly into the room, and while one stopped to close and lock the door, the other ran straight up to Pierre, and presented a cocked revolver in his face. The robber, who had been so fully occupied with the Don that he had not heard the sounds of the ax, or the noise occasioned by the struggle at the door, was astonished beyond measure. The hand in which he held the knife fell slowly to his side, his under jaw dropped down, and he shrunk away from the muzzle of the revolver without uttering a word.

“Ach!” exclaimed the Don, who was no less amazed than Pierre, “here ish von of dese leetle poys!”

“Here are both of them,” said Archie, who, having succeeded in finding a key to lock the door, now hurried up with a pistol in each hand. “Well—by—gracious! Pierre Costello!”

Archie was as much astonished at finding himself in the presence of his old enemy, as his cousin had been. He bent down and gazed earnestly into Pierre’s face, and then straightened up and leveled both his pistols at the robber’s head. “Why, Frank!” he exclaimed, “it’s he, sure enough.”

“I know it. This is not the first time I have met him to-night. Drop that knife,” he added, sternly, addressing himself to Pierre. “Now, stretch yourself out on the floor, face downward, and put your hands behind your back.”

The Ranchero, at this moment, did not act much like the reckless, desperate man he had appeared a short time before. The sight of the pistols took all the courage out of him; and he obeyed both Frank’s commands without an instant’s hesitation. The sash, which the latter wore around his waist, answered all the purposes of a rope, and Pierre speedily found himself as helpless as though he had been in double-irons.

The Don, in the meantime, had regained his feet, and stood watching all that was going on with a smile of great satisfaction on his face. The astonishment occasioned by the unexpected appearance of the boys, was, for the moment, lost sight of in the delight and thankfulness he felt at finding himself released from the power of his enemy.

“Now, dis ish all right,” said he, gleefully. “It’s petter you makes dat rope pooty fast, leetle poys. Ach! I fix you, Meester Bierre,” he added, shaking his clenched hand at the prostrate robber; “I makes blenty droubles for you, mine friend. Come mit me, leetle poys; I shows you de way out, now.”

Frank and Archie were not in the least surprised at this proposition. It was a part of their plan to compel the Don to guide them out of the rancho, and they knew that he would readily consent. They knew, too, that he was as treacherous as an Indian, and that he would bear watching. It was their intention to keep as close to him as possible.

“Go ahead, Don,” said Archie, taking the lantern from the table; “but bear one thing in mind, and that is, at the very first exhibition of treachery on your part, we will shoot you with as little hesitation as we shot Old Davy this morning.”

The chief earnestly protested that the boys need have no fears on that score. They had done him a great service in saving him from the knife of Pierre Costello, and he would repay it by showing them the way out of the rancho. Besides, he was not foolish enough to attempt any treachery, while those three loaded pistols were so near him. The boys listened to all he said, but did not believe a word of it. It was not reasonable to suppose that he would permit them to escape, when he knew that, as soon as they reached home, they would tell their friends every thing that had happened at the rancho. They were as well satisfied that he had some plan in his head, as if he had told them so; but they were resolved to watch him so closely that he would have no opportunity to carry it out.

When Archie picked up the lantern, the Don started toward a door at the farther end of the room, which, upon being opened, revealed a narrow stone stairway leading up to the rooms above. As they were about to ascend these stairs, a loud crash in the adjoining room, followed by a chorus of hoarse yells, told the boys that the Rancheros had at last succeeded in cutting down the door. The Don would have stopped to inquire into the cause of the disturbance, but his companions pushed him on; and while Frank watched him to see that he did not escape, Archie overhauled his keys until he found one that would lock the door. This done, the Don led the way up the stairs, the boys following close at his heels.

CHAPTER XV.
THE BRIDGE OF CLOUDS.

There seemed to be no end to the stairway. It wound and twisted about in a bewildering fashion, and, before they reached the top, Frank and Archie came to the conclusion that they had either been a long way under the ground, or else that the rancho was a much taller building than they had imagined it to be. At last, however, their guide pushed open a door, and the boys found themselves in the same room to which he had conducted them when they first arrived at the rancho. Still closely followed by his watchful companions, the Don went straight across the room, and stopped in front of a wardrobe.

“Now, leetle poys,” said he, addressing himself to Archie, “you got the keys. Make dis door open.”

Archie quickly found a key that would fit the lock, and when the boys entered the wardrobe, they discovered that, although it was used as a receptacle for clothing, it was intended to conceal a door that led into some secret apartment. When this door had been opened—it was so heavy that it taxed Archie’s strength to the utmost to move it—the cousins found themselves in a room, about twenty feet square, which had one peculiarity that they noticed as soon as they crossed the threshold. There was not a single opening in it; and when Archie had shut the door, they found themselves surrounded on all sides by rough stone walls. Even the door itself, which closed behind them with the sharp click of a spring lock, could not be seen.

“I say, Don,” exclaimed Frank, “what use do you make of this dungeon? I don’t see any thing stowed away here.”

The chief’s answer was not given in words. He was standing close by Frank’s side, and before the latter could move, he had suddenly jerked the lantern from his hand, and dashed it upon the floor, smashing it into a thousand pieces, and extinguishing the light. As quick as thought Frank bounded forward, and made a blind clutch at the place where he had last seen the Don, but with no other result than to come in violent contact with the wall. A moment afterward, the astonished and bewildered boys heard a grating sound at the other side of the room, and the Don’s voice calling to them through the darkness.

“Dis ish all right,” said he. “Dere’s somethings shtowed away here now, ain’t it? It’s petter you shtays here awhile.”

The truth flashed through the boys’ minds at once—they were prisoners again. In spite of all their vigilance, the chief had succeeded in carrying out the plan he had formed while he was watching the operation of binding Pierre Costello. His movements had been so rapid, that, even had his captives been aware of his intention, they could not have prevented him from carrying it into execution. Before they could tell what was the matter, the lantern had been smashed, their treacherous enemy had made his exit from the room in some mysterious manner, and they were alone in the darkness.

“We’re in for it now,” panted Archie, sinking down upon the floor all in a heap. “We’ve got out of some tight places to-night, but there is no escape from this predicament. The Don will soon be back with his men.”

“And if they once get their hands upon us, we need never expect to see home again,” said Frank. “Give me some of your matches, and we will examine the walls of this dungeon. There’s a spring to that door, and if we can find it, we can get out.”

After the matches had been lighted, the boys found that the first difficulty to be overcome was the finding of the door. They did not know where to look for it, for the walls appeared to be as solid as the ground. They made the circuit of the room several times, lighting new matches as fast as the old ones were consumed, and carefully examining each separate stone in the wall, from the floor up to a level with their heads; but nothing in the shape of a spring or lock rewarded their search. Then they turned their attention to the floor; but, if there was any opening in the solid oak planks, it could not be found. Five minutes—it seemed much longer to the frightened and excited boys—were passed in this way, and then, for the first time that night, Frank’s courage and fortitude were utterly exhausted.

“It’s no use,” said he. “The Don got out somewhere, but it is very evident that we can’t. We might as well sit down, and wait for him to come in and dispose of us. Do you see any thing encouraging?” he added, noticing that his cousin was holding a match above his head, and closely examining the roof of the dungeon.

“I believe I do,” replied Archie. “Isn’t that a scuttle?”

“That’s just what it is,” exclaimed Frank, joyfully; “and it is fastened with hooks.”

“Oh, if we could only get up there,” cried Archie. “But there isn’t a thing here for a fellow to stand upon.”

“I’ve got a pair of shoulders. Come here, and I will hold you up.”

After burning another match to determine the exact position of the scuttle, Frank took his stand directly beneath it, and in a moment more, Archie was balanced on his shoulders, and panting loudly, as he strove with nervous haste to unfasten the hooks. Every thing bothers when one is in a hurry, and one’s fingers are all thumbs. It was awkward working in that intense darkness, and, besides, the hooks had been driven into the staples so tightly, that it required the outlay of all Archie’s strength to start them. But patience and perseverance conquered at last, and in an excited voice he informed his cousin that he had unfastened the scuttle, and asked him if he should open it.

“Of course,” replied Frank.

“But how do we know what we shall find on the other side? Perhaps it leads into a room full of Mexicans.”

“We must run that risk. Venture nothing, gain nothing, you know.”

Frank awaited the issue of events with a good deal of anxiety. He heard the heavy scuttle lifted slowly and cautiously from its place, then a smothered cry of exultation, and the weight was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. Upon looking up, he saw the stars shining down upon him through the scuttle-hole, and his cousin’s heels disappearing over the combings.

“We are safe now,” whispered Archie, thrusting his head into the opening, and extending his hand down into the darkness. “I am on the roof of the rancho. Give us your fist.”

“I can’t reach you,” replied Frank.

Archie hesitated a moment, and then pulled off his jacket, and firmly grasping one of the sleeves, threw the other down to his cousin. One hundred and fifty pounds was no light weight for a boy of his size to sustain, but he clung manfully to the jacket, while Frank went up, hand-over-hand, as a sailor goes up a rope. He soon ascended high enough to seize the combings of the scuttle, and in a moment more stood safe upon the roof.

The cousins did not stop to congratulate themselves upon their good fortune. Time was much too precious for that, and, besides, they did not yet regard their escape as a settled thing. There was the creek to be crossed; a belt of timber to be passed; and five miles of lonely prairie to be traversed, before they reached their uncle’s rancho; and there was no knowing what might happen to them while they were making this journey. Their first care was to put the scuttle back in its place, so that the Don, when he returned to the dungeon, should not immediately discover the manner of their escape, and the next to reconnoiter the ground before them. They found themselves on the roof of a wing of the rancho—a space about twenty feet square. On three sides was a stone parapet, two feet high, and on the fourth loomed up the walls of the main building. In this wall was a door, which opened upon the wing. The boys merely glanced at it, and scarcely thought of it again; but they afterward had good cause to remember it. They looked all around them, but there was no one in sight; they listened intently, but could hear nothing.

“The coast seems to be clear,” said Archie, walking to the parapet and looking cautiously over, “and we had better be off. It isn’t more than fifteen or twenty feet to the ground, and we can hang by our hands and drop without much danger of injuring ourselves.”

“Be careful,” said Frank. “A sprained ankle wouldn’t be a funny thing, just now.”

The boys jumped upon the wall, and were on the point of swinging themselves over, when an interruption they had not dreamed of arrested their movements. Frank’s quick ear caught the faint tramping of horses’ hoofs. He laid his hand upon his cousin’s arm, and they sprang back to the roof, and concealed themselves behind the parapet.

“Something is always bothering us,” said Archie, straining his eyes through the darkness in the direction from which the sound came. “What’s up now, I wonder!”

If Frank had known just what was about to transpire, he could not have described it in less time than the scene occupied in taking place. While Archie was speaking, the sound of the horses’ hoofs ceased, and a faint light, like that emitted by a match, blazed up in the bushes on the opposite side of the creek. The signal (for the boys were sure it was a signal) was repeated twice, and then arose a commotion in the house, as if men were running hurriedly about. This continued for a few seconds, and then a flatboat suddenly made its appearance in the creek. Where it came from, the boys could not imagine; but there it was, and there was a man in it, who was sculling it toward the opposite bank.