Kiddie the Scout

Kiddie whistled a shrill, long, tremulous note. He was an uncommonly good whistler. The sound was echoed and re-echoed from every chasm and cañon on the far shores of the lake; it might have been heard many miles away.

Above the island and over the forest the air was sprinkled with startled birds; from the dark ravine of Laramie Pass a pair of eagles took flight.

Isa Blagg drew his paddle and waved his hat. He followed Kiddie's canoe into the little bay that was its mooring place on the farther side of the island.

"Located you at last!" he said, as he stepped ashore. "Gid Birkenshaw told me I sh'd find you somewheres around the lake; but he didn't say nothin' 'bout your bein' camped on an island. I bin searchin' along the shores; found one o' your campin' grounds in among the trees, though you'd cleaned it up so's it wasn't easy ter be sure it was a campin' place at all. Guess you didn't intend anybody ter foller on your tracks, or you'd ha' left some signs around. How do, Rube?"

He shook hands with the two trappers, and then turned to help in the work of cleaning and frying the fish for tea.

"Gee!" he exclaimed, at sight of the afternoon's catch. "Never notioned thar was so many fish in the whole of your lake 's all that, Kiddie! Why, they're 'most as pretty an' colourful as birds, too. Say, are they all the same breed?"

"Oh, no," Rube told him, indicating the various kinds in rotation. "Them thar's pickerel, that's a bream, these are shiners, pouts, an' chivins; the others are trout an' perch. We'll cook 'em all together, though."

"Young Rube's gettin' quite a professional hand at cookin'," said Kiddie, measuring out pinches of tea. "You'll hear of him one o' these days takin' on the job of chef in some high-class New York hotel. He's got twenty-one diff'rent ways of cookin' eggs, an' as many of potatoes. You didn't happen ter bring along any eggs or potatoes, did you, Isa? Rube an' I are livin' quite simply, but I'm figuring that you'll be lookin' for variety in the matter of food. You'll stay with us, won't you, Sheriff, until we break camp?"

Isa Blagg shook his head.

"No, Kiddie; no," he responded. "It would suit me right down t' th' dust; but it ain't possible. I'm here t' consult you on a matter o' business; an' soon's I'm through with it, I gotter quit."

CHAPTER XIII

A MATTER OF BUSINESS

Isa Blagg was in no haste to state the nature of the business which had brought him upon so long a journey in search of Kiddie; and Kiddie did not press him for an explanation of his unexpected visit.

"Rube an' I, we ain't gettin' anyways tired of each other's company," Kiddie remarked when the meal was over and Isa was taking out his pipe. "All the same, Sheriff, we're main glad ter see you. Got any news?"

"News?" Isa was lighting his pipe. "No, thar ain't a whole lot. Things is kinder quiet along the trail, an' you ain't missin' a great deal of excitement. I'm told as Broken Feather's bin seen about again. Seems he's bin laid up f'r a while back with the bullet wound you gave him. But he ain't bin interferin' none, an' in any case, he don't come within my jurisdiction. Nick Undrell's different."

"What about Nick Undrell?" Kiddie asked.

"That fetches me up against the point," returned Isa. "That's the business brought me on your trail. But before we drag in Nick, I'll start at the beginnin'. I don't doubt you remember the name of Sanson T. Wrangler."

"Yes," Kiddie affirmed, "he kept a prosperous general store in Laramie. Used to sell very good candy an' a variety of temperance drinks, includin' a special brew of lemon squash, of which delectable beverage I've consumed some quarts."

"That's the man," resumed Isa. "But 'tain't just c'rrect ter call Sanson prosperous. Thar's a heap of competition in the temp'rance drink line, an' the retailin' of candy don't represent a gold mine. Sanson T. Wrangler's store hasn't flourished since the time he was in Leavenworth hospital for an operation. His speculations was unfortunate. He lost a heap of dollars an' got inter debt. His chief creditor threatened law proceedings against him if he didn't shell out slick. Ter meet his liabilities he sold out a quantity of his stock. He borrowed where he could, an' one way with another, he accumulated enough capital ter pay that debt on the stipulated date, which was last Monday. Are you listenin', Kiddie? You're gazin' up inter them clouds as if you was composin' a poem to 'em, 'stead of cipherin' out the problem I'm puttin' in front of you."

"I assure you I'm all attention, Isa," Kiddie averred. "I expect you're going to tell me now that Sanson T. Wrangler got foolin' around in some low down gamblin' saloon and lost that pile of dollars over a game of poker. What?"

"No," continued Isa, "that wasn't the way of it; though I allow he was in Brierley's saloon Saturday night, boastin' to his friends about how he'd rounded up the cash, and had locked it away in his iron safe back of the store. On Sunday he didn't show up at meetin': nobody saw him all day. Next mornin' his store wasn't opened as usual. The matter was put inter my hands, an' I entered the premises t' investigate. First thing I see was Sanson T. Wrangler's iron safe standin' open an' empty, th' account books an' papers bein' flung around in disorder. Second thing was Sanson T. Wrangler hisself lyin' huddled up in a corner 'f th' room, gagged an' apparently unconscious."

"Why 'apparently'?" questioned Kiddie.

"Didn't move, didn't make no sound," explained the sheriff. "When I turned him over he was kinder mazy, didn't know where he was or what had occurred, an' was like as he was sick. Afterward, however, he was able t' give a circumstantial account of the robbery. His wife an' daughter'd gone away to St. Louis. He was livin' alone in th' emporium. Sunday evenin' he was on the point of goin' out ter meetin' when, on openin' the door, he caught sight of two masked men—strangers, so far's he c'n tell, though he'd an idea as to the identity of one of 'em. They dropped on him instanter; a pair of arms was flung around him, and a cloth that had a sickly sweet smell, like the stuff given him in hospital t' send him asleep, was clapped over his head. He struggled, but was soon overpowered, dragged across the floor, and deposited unconscious in the darkest corner of the room. It was while I was present that he first come ter know that his thief-proof safe had been opened and that his pile of greenbacks had been stolen. The safe had been opened with the key hidden back of the tobacco jar on his writin' desk."

Isa Blagg broke off, looking to Kiddie for comment.

"Well?" said Kiddie. "Go on. What's your theory? You mentioned the name of Nick Undrell a while back. Have you arrested him?"

"Nick's vamoosed," resumed the sheriff; "an' that goes against him. He was sure in Laramie Saturday night—even in Brierley's saloon. He knew about Sanson T. Wrangler's pile o' money bein' fixed up in the safe. He wasn't anyways friendly disposed to Sanson T. neither. Thar's a heap of evidence pointin' straight to Nick Undrell. It's in Nick's methods ter wear a black face-mask an' leave his victim helplessly gagged. I allow as Jim Thurston declares he met Nick at Three Crossings Sunday evenin'; but Jim's a pard of Nick's, an' his unsupported word ain't worth a whole lot, anyway."

Rube Carter leant forward. He was deeply interested in this case of burglary with violence.

"Say, now, sheriff," he interposed, "didn't you look for footprints and finger-marks?"

Isa shook his head.

"Never knew a clean boot make a print on a soft pile carpet," he answered. "As fer finger-marks—Sanson T. Wrangler's ready ter swear in court as the criminals both wore gloves, fully provin' that they wasn't novices in the burglary business."

He turned again to Kiddie.

"Knowin' as you're kinder int'rested in the moral regeneration of Nick Undrell, Kiddie," he went on, "I've hesitated ter issue a warrant for the man's arrest. I concluded that before goin' to extreme measures I should be wise ter take your advice. I'm here now for that purpose."

Kiddie smiled.

"My personal interest in him would be no excuse for your allowin' a guilty man to go free and unpunished," he observed judicially. "If you believe that Nick Undrell committed this burglary, then by all means issue your warrant and have him arrested. There are circumstances in the case, however, which do not seem to me to support your suspicions. Let us examine them. You suspect Nick because he knew of the money and where it was kept. He wasn't the only one who knew. Sanson T. Wrangler had publicly boasted of his readiness to meet his liabilities, and every man in the crowded saloon must have known just as much as Nick. I allow that Nick's an old offender; but it ain't fair to condemn him on mere supposition, simply because the victim in this case is alleged to have been gagged by a man wearing a mask. I'm not saying that Nick didn't do it, mind you; but you've got to prove that Jim Thurston was lying when he said he saw Nick along at Three Crossings on Sunday evening—a good seventy miles away from the scene of the crime."

Kiddie paused for a moment.

"Were Sanson's shirt-sleeves buttoned at the wrist, or were they rolled up?" he asked abruptly.

"Rolled up t' the elbow," Isa answered quickly. "His arms was bare."

"And the bag or cloth, with the chloroform in it, was drawn down over his hat, I suppose?" pursued Kiddie.

"No. His hat was hangin' up, back of the door. But you're right about the bag. It was like a big nightcap. He'd pulled it off."

"You smelt the sickly sweet smell about the room when you entered, did you, Isa?"

"Can't say as I did. Guess it had evaporated by then."

"Dare say," nodded Kiddie. "Y'see it was at least twelve hours afterwards, and—say, now, don't you reckon twelve hours a precious long time for a man to lie insensible after only one dose of chloroform?"

"Dunno," said the sheriff, "I'm ignorant of the effects an' uses of them outlandish drugs."

"And yet you imagine that Nick Undrell knew how to use it, or get hold of a dose of it, even if he knew! Why, I don't figure that Nick ever heard the name of the stuff—not havin' been in hospital, like Sanson T. Wrangler. If you ask me, Isa, I don't believe there was any chloroform within a day's ride of Laramie on Sunday evening. Just put your wits to work, my friend. To begin with, Sanson T.'s wife and daughter were away in St. Louis. That was real convenient. Then the money disappeared from the thief-proof safe just at the time when it was to have been paid up to clear off the debt—that was equally convenient. I'm told that the thieves attacked him when Sanson opened the door to go out to meeting. But did any one ever know a respectable citizen go out to meeting with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and without his hat? Or would he go out leaving the key of the safe on the open desk table? Then the stupefying effects of chloroform would not certainly last more than an hour, although the sickly smell of the drug would linger about the closed room for quite twelve."

"Say, Kiddie," Rube interrupted, "you've gotten on this yer crime problem the same's you'd track a wild critter in the woods. Seems ter me, you've run that critter right into its lair. All you've been sayin's as clear's the water in the lake. I c'n see the bottom plain, an' I figure it up as thar wasn't no burglary at all, thar wasn't no masked men or chloroform. Sanson T. Wrangler made the whole thing up ter cover his own tracks, an' the only thief in the case was Sanson T. Wrangler hisself."

"Exactly," nodded Kiddie.

"Shake!" cried Isa Blagg, thrusting out his hand. "You're sure right, Kiddie; plumb right, you are. You've gotten straight's a die to the very innards of the problem. The hull evidence supports your theory. Here's me, a perfessional lawyer, so ter speak, bin puzzlin' my head over that alleged crime f'r days on end, an' never c'd make top nor tail of it; an' you, settin' idle at this yer camp fire, have solved it as easy an' as slick 's you might cipher out a sum in simple arithmetic."

Kiddie shrugged his shoulders.

"It's merely the application of common sense to a very ordinary proposition," he said.

"Kiddie don't jump at no rash conclusions," observed Rube Carter. "Trainin' in scout-craft has sharpened his wits at ev'ry point. He follers th' evidence of a crime same 's he'd foller on the tracks of a wild critter of the woods."

"Exactly," Kiddie nodded. "There's no difference."

"He looks at a thing all round an' through an' through 'fore he fixes up his mind about it," Rube went on, addressing the sheriff. "You an' me, Isa, we ain't built the same 's Kiddie. We ain't so slick or so clever at analysin'. Because a galoot like this yer Sanson T. Wrangler happens along an' says he's bin robbed, you never waits t' inquire if he's tellin' the truth. You dash off on a false trail t' arrest a innercent man. Kiddie has a way o' workin' that's all his own, an' if he don't allus hit the bull's-eye fust shot, at least he never misses the target."

"I allow Kiddie's cute," acknowledged Isa. "He's got the sagacity of a Injun combined with the trained intelligence of a civilized human. If Kiddie wasn't so all-fired scrupulous about truth an' justice, he'd make a passable magistrate. But I reckon his ambitions don't lie in that direction."

The sheriff stood up and glanced towards his canoe.

"Guess it's 'bout time for me ter think of quittin'," he remarked.

"But you'll stop in camp with us to-night?" said Kiddie. "Now that you're through with that robbery problem, there's no occasion for hustle, an' I guess Rube c'n make you as comfortable 's if you were stayin' in a high-class Cincinnati hotel."

"Nothing would please me better'n to be your lordship's guest for a night," returned Isa. "I'm goin' ter stay. Th' experience of sleepin' on a island 'll be suthin' of a novelty. Thar's a spice of adventure about it that I appreciate. Gideon Birkenshaw 'll conclude I've located your camp. He won't worry any on my account. When shall I tell Gid you'll be home?"

"The time is not limited," returned Kiddie. "Rube and I are a long way from bein' tired of campin' out, and we've got 'most all we want. We ain't worryin' about letters or newspapers or any engagements or duties. We're havin' a real good holiday, an' it's goin' ter last as long as the fine weather holds. But I'll tell you what you c'n do for us, sheriff. You've got plenty of cargo space in that canoe, an' we've some green pelts—the skins of critters we've trapped—that you c'n take back with you. Abe Harum knows what to do with 'em."

"Figurin' ter make this yer island your headquarters, I guess?" observed Isa.

"No," Kiddie answered, glancing aside at Rube. "We've exhausted the interests of the island. Rube has an idea he'd like t' explore some of those dark an' dismal cañons on the far side of the lake. We're only waitin' until he makes up his mind which one to choose."

"Then we've no need ter hang around much longer," said Rube, "for I've fixed on Lone Wolf Cañon. There's a strong appeal in the name of Lone Wolf."

"Gives promise of romantic solitood, don't it?" mused the sheriff. "I'm not hankerin' after solitoods, myself. For real enjoyment, give me Brierley's saloon in Laramie on a Saturday night."

"Ah," rejoined Rube, "you never learnt the meanin' of campin' out. You ain't got the instincts of a scout, the same as Kiddie an' me. Don't suppose you even knows the name of the bird that's bin warblin' so sweet for the past half-hour in the tree over your head."

Isa turned and looked up into the tree.

"No," he said, "until you mentioned it, I wasn't aware that there was any warblin' in the programme."

"Don't you pay any heed to Rube, sheriff," Kiddie interposed. "It's a special hobby of his to know a bird by its notes. The songster you're listenin' to now is just a whip-poor-will. It starts every evening precisely at sunset. When it quits singing, we reckon it's time to crawl into our sleepin' bags."

Isa Blagg was in no hurry for the bird to cease its singing. Indeed, it was long after the usual bed-time when at length he consented to leave the bivouac fire.

On the following morning he awoke with alarm to find himself alone on the island. He searched for Kiddie and Rube, and was beginning to fear that they had marooned him, when at last he discovered them swimming far out in the lake, where he had never thought of looking for them. They were so far away that he supposed he would have ample time to prepare breakfast for them; but on going to the fire he found the kettle boiling, the clean plates set ready, and the cut bacon waiting in the frying-pan. He strode to the creek and saw that his canoe was already loaded with the neatly-packed pelts that he was to take with him to Birkenshaw's.

"Gee!" he said to himself. "Never seen such a pair as them two in all my days. I ain't in it. They gets in front o' me every time!"

"We didn't ask you to come out and have a swim with us, Isa," greeted Kiddie as he stepped ashore.

"No use if you had done, Kiddie," returned Isa. "I never been in deep water in my life. None the less, I've gotten a healthy appetite for that bacon. Sleepin' on a island suits me. I'm real glad I came."

He paddled off in his canoe immediately after breakfast, when also Kiddie and Rube prepared to break camp.

CHAPTER XIV

LONE WOLF CAÑON.

They were not long in crossing to the farther side of the lake and making a landing within the entrance to Lone Wolf Cañon. Neither of them had ever been here before, and they were disappointed in the prospect presented by the steep walls of barren cliff and the sunless gloom.

"Seems ter me we may as well leave our traps in the canoe," said Rube. "There ain't much chance of findin' any game where there's no bush for the wild critters ter hide, an' no herbage for the little 'uns ter feed on."

"It's the kind of place where our guns'll be of more use than the traps," Kiddie added. "I c'n make out a beaten track winding down among the rocks there. 'Tain't a human footpath, I reckon. Guess it was made by mountain goats, antelopes, deer, foxes, wolves, an' even buffalo, comin' down t' th' water for their evenin' drink. Have a close look, an' see if you can distinguish any footprints."

Rube examined the ground at various points, particularly near the water, where it was moist.

"Quite right, Kiddie," he reported. "It's sure a water trail. I made out the tracks of a bear and a lynx; an' thar's heaps of others that might be any of the critters you've named."

"There's birds as well," said Kiddie, "eagles, hawks, wild turkeys, grouse."

"I've never seen a eagle close at hand," Rube regretted. "I want to, badly. Did y' ever shoot one, Kiddie?"

"No, I've no use f'r a dead eagle. Caught one in a fox-trap once, in Lost Man's Gulch. Hadn't visited that trap for several days. When I went to it, there was a fine male eagle in it, an' all round about were the remains of rabbits an' birds. Couldn't make out at first just how that trapped eagle had gotten so much food. The rabbits an' lambs an' grouse didn't sure go up an' ask him ter kill an' eat them, and thar wasn't any humans near to take pity on him. Well, I watched from a distance, an' after a while I see the eagle's mate fly down an' give him a cub fox. That's how it had been all the time."

"Say, what did you do then, Kiddie?" Rube asked.

"Went an' opened the trap an' came away with two fine tail feathers and a nasty scratch on the arm," Kiddie answered, turning from the canoe to search for a suitable pitch for the camp.

He found a good place on a stretch of sloping ground between two high rocks at the edge of the lake, and in a very little time the teepee was erected, a fire well kindled, and the camp in order.

Their store of food had been almost exhausted on the island, where they had not set their traps and had caught only fish. They still had abundance of flour, however, as well as tea, sugar, tinned milk, and rice; and Kiddie was confident in the prospect of being able soon to add meat to his larder.

On that same evening of their arrival in Lone Wolf Cañon, he went out with his gun and climbed the mountain side in search of game. But he returned to camp without having fired a shot, and with only a capful of thimbleberries as spoil.

"Didn't you see anything?" Rube questioned.

"Oh, yes," said Kiddie, "I saw plenty—a big-horn antelope that was too far away for a shot, a herd of black-tail deer, still farther away, a family of rattlesnakes, a skunk, and a racoon. And you'll be interested to know that there's a pair of white-tail eagles nestin' on one of the crags up the cañon. I got a good view of them from the opposite side."

"I'm goin' ter have a look at those eagles," decided Rube. "I'll go to-morrow evenin' the same time as when you were there, an' when they're likely to be at home."

On the following evening his expedition was interfered with by the fact that earlier in the day Kiddie had stalked and killed a black-tail deer and needed Rube's help in carrying the carcass into camp and cutting it up for venison.

But Rube was not to be denied a sight of the eagles, even if he could not hope to capture an eaglet and take it home with him as a pet.

"I see you're preparin' yourself for a climb up those crags, eh?" said Kiddie on the next afternoon. He spoke without encouragement.

"Yep," Rube nodded. "Any objections t' offer?"

"Not exactly objections," returned Kiddie. "I was only thinkin'."

"A habit you have—thinkin'. What was you thinkin', Kiddie?"

In response, Kiddie looked around at the mountains and the sky.

"Wind's changed," he said. "Looks like rain, don't it? Might keep off till after sunset time, though."

"Guess I'll chance it, anyway," resolved Rube.

Kiddie had told him exactly where the eagles' eyrie was situated and how he might most easily and safely approach it, first by ascending the gradual slope of the mountain and then working his way round on the face of the precipice, and then again ascending by a craggy cleft that would bring him close to the nesting-place. And Kiddie's directions and advice were always too practical to be ignored. Rube followed them exactly.

It would have been well for him if before starting he had also paid more serious heed to Kiddie's suggestion regarding the weather. But Kiddie had not insisted. Like Rube himself, he had not foreseen more than a mere evening shower of refreshing rain.

In Rube's absence, Kiddie occupied himself with the ordinary work of the camp. He was always scrupulously orderly and methodical; never allowing any refuse to accumulate, always regulating the fire to his requirements, washing up after every meal, and having a fixed place for each utensil and for the different kinds of food and stores.

All of his camps were ordered on a similar plan; so much so that one was a duplicate of another, differing only in situation and natural surroundings.

It was the same with his packing. The things that were most urgently needed were always packed last, to be ready to hand on his arrival at a new pitch.

Over his work, Kiddie watched Rube climbing the mountain side, and once or twice he whistled to him to let him know that he was going all right. But very soon Rube disappeared into the brooding gloom of the cañon, and Kiddie continued with his work until every tin-pot shone like silver and the whole camp was faultlessly tidy.

"Queer how fond of that boy I've got to be," he said to himself. "I'm missing him already." He glanced round at the mountain tops and the lowering clouds. "Don't like the look of that mist that's rolling down," he reflected. "He ought to turn back; but I don't suppose he will. Hullo! he's disturbed the eagles! I hope he got a good view of them first."

The majestic pair of birds had taken wing, and were now gliding on seemingly motionless pinions through the misty air. Kiddie watched them as they crossed over the lake, growing smaller and smaller until they became tiny specks in the distance and were lost to sight among the dark ravines of the Rattlesnake Range.

At dusk, when it was time for Rube's return, Kiddie got ready some venison cutlets and chipped potatoes for frying with them for supper. But before beginning his cooking he waited until he should hear Rube's signal call from afar. He sat by the fire listening for it with his eyes bent on the slope of the hill where he expected Rube to appear.

The long minutes went by, but he heard no signal call and saw no sign of his companion. Still, he was not anxious. Rube might be sheltering from the rain under the lee of some rock.

The mist on the mountains thickened, the darkness of night and the drizzling rain blotted out all landmarks.

Kiddie whistled at regular intervals—a long, penetrating whistle it was. He piled more fuel on the fire, so that the glow might serve as a guide. He knew that there would be no use in going out in search of Rube. They might so easily miss each other in these trackless wilds; unless indeed, Rube was hurt and unable to move about. Climbing in the fog among rocks slippery with rain and wet moss, he was likely enough to have missed his footing and injured a limb in his fall.

This thought that Rube was possibly lying helpless on the crags began to worry Kiddie as the night grew late. He blamed himself for having allowed the boy to go forth alone on such a hazardous adventure.

"It's the kind of thing I'd have done myself when I was his age," he reflected. "I can't blame Rube. But I ought to have stopped him from going when I saw that there was rain coming on and saw the mist gathering on the hills. Pity we didn't bring the hound with us after all. Sheila would sure have found him."

Fearing that he might yet have to go out in search of the boy, he cooked his own supper. He had already packed all his stores under the shelter of the wigwam and the canoe, covering the latter with the ground-sheet. He had also lighted the hurricane lamp and suspended it from the top of the totem pole.

He ate his supper in the teepee, but more than once got up from the solitary meal to open the door-flap and look out searchingly in the darkness for signs of Rube.

Towards midnight the light of the moon behind the clouds lessened the surrounding darkness. He could dimly distinguish the mountain ridges, outlined against the sky. The rain had ceased. The mist had lifted from the heights; but it still hung in fantastic layers between the walls of Lone Wolf Cañon.

"If it's only the fog that's kept him, he ought to be back in camp within another hour," he told himself, as the moon broke through a rack of drifting clouds.

He waited for a while, and then renewed his whistling, sending messages in the Morse code, which Rube very well understood.

But no answer came; only the repeated echoes of his own shrill whistle.

An hour went by, and yet another hour.

"Rube's wise in his way," Kiddie meditated. "I guess he's having a sleep up there rather than risk his neck by climbing down that precipice in the dark. There's no moonlight deep down in the cañon. Quite right of him to wait until sunrise."

Thus arguing, Kiddie entered the teepee, dropped the door-flap, and turned into his sleeping-bag.

But he did not sleep. All the while he lay listening and at the same time trying to realize just what had happened to Rube. It was his excellent habit when puzzling out any such problem as this to imagine himself to be the other person and to figure himself in that other person's situation. He did not consider what he himself would do in the circumstances, but what the other, having a different character, would attempt.

And so it was now. He imagined himself to be Rube Carter climbing across the face of a steep precipice overhanging a chasm so deep and narrow that the level strip of rocky ground at the base of it could not be seen. A false step, a slip of foot or hand, would mean a fall to certain death.

But Rube was too good and cautious a climber to make a mistake. He had got near enough to the eagles to startle them into flight, and this had happened just before the mist had rolled down the mountain sides into the cañon.

Now, Rube knew well that to climb down a precipice is always more difficult than the ascent; and that to attempt the descent in a thick mist was doubly perilous. Kiddie argued, therefore, that Rube had either remained where he was when overtaken by the mist, or else that he had climbed farther up the mountain. This, indeed, was in any case the safer way, and although it would mean a long and weary tramp back to camp, still he might be expected soon after daybreak.

From earliest dawn until long after sunrise, Kiddie waited in hope, and when Rube did not return he resolved to go out in search of him.

If Rube were seriously hurt, it would be necessary to take him home to Birkenshaw's with the least possible delay. Kiddie therefore packed up the teepee and the stores in the canoe and left the latter ready for launching. He took his rifle and revolvers with him, filled his haversack with food, and did not neglect to take his pocket box of surgical dressings. In case Rube should return in his absence, he left a message in picture-writing on the paddle of the canoe.

He followed Rube's direction over the shoulder of the mountain, and then began to look for tracks, finding them now and again, and particularly at the point where Rube had left the hill-side to begin his difficult climb across the face of the precipice. Here he had dropped a stick that he had carried, and he had evidently sat down to tighten the thongs of his moccasins. Kiddie had now no doubt of his way. He knew that Rube would instinctively take the easiest and quickest course to the eagles' nest.

He found the place without much difficulty, and had proof in some detached fragments of moss and lichen that Rube had been here in advance of him, and had been able to look down into the eagles' nest, where the female was even now sitting unconcerned on her eggs.

Kiddie did not disturb her, as Rube had probably done. Instead, he searched for signs of Rube himself.

Yes, Rube had not attempted the perilous descent. He had waited until the rain had ceased and the mist had lifted. High up above where he stood, Kiddie saw the scratch of a slipping foot on the wet moss, which showed that Rube had climbed upward. Again, still higher up, there was a similar mark, and above this the way was easy as a step-ladder, needing only very ordinary care, a sure foot, and steady nerves.

At the top of the ascent Kiddie came out upon the farther side of Lone Wolf Mountain, which now interposed between him and Sweetwater Lake. To reach the lake side he must either return as he came, or else cross the next valley and work his way round the base of the mountain. He judged that Rube had not hesitated to take the latter and longer course.

He walked round in a circle, searching for a track in the soft ground, and at last he came upon the impression of Rube's moccasins. He followed their direction. Presently he realized that Rube had been running and that his tracks were leading in quite an unexpected direction.

Greatly wondering, Kiddie went on and on. Then he came to an abrupt stop and stood staring in astonished alarm at the ground. At his feet lay two crumpled up eagle's feathers. A yard or so away from them was Rube's fur cap, pierced by an Indian arrow. And all around were the confused impressions of Indians' feet.

Kiddie drew a long breath as he picked up the boy's hat.

"That's the way of it," he said. "That's why Rube never came back. He's been captured by Indians!"

CHAPTER XV

THE CRY OF THE JAY

Up to the point to which Kiddie had tracked him, Rube Carter had done precisely what Kiddie had conjectured he would do. He had reached the eagles' eyrie just as the mist began to envelop him and cut off his direct retreat.

He had not deliberately startled the birds to flight. The male had been perched like a faithful sentinel on a point of rock, above his mate sitting on her eggs. Rube had a long, close view of the pair of them, and had watched without molesting them. But presently he had the boyish idea that it would be interesting to see and count their eggs, and take note of how their nest was lined.

Cautiously he approached the nest, moving very slowly and stealthily. But the guardian male resented this bold intrusion, and attacked him with beak and talons and fiercely-flapping wings.

Rube drew his revolver, but did not shoot. He used the weapon only as a club with which to defend himself, while he sheltered his body from the assault by crouching low, with his back wedged in a cleft of rock.

The eagle pursued him there and glared at him menacingly. He had what he afterwards called a grand sight of the bird's wonderful clear eyes, its hooked beak, and its wicked-looking claws, and he marvelled at the enormous stretch of its pinions.

Once it made a dash at him, spreading itself close against the wall of rock, covering him like a cloak. He thrust out his free hand to grab at one of its legs, but, missing the leg, he seized hold of its tail, pulling out three of the long white plumes. He crouched still closer in his shelter, where neither beak nor talon could touch him. And soon the eagle drew off.

When at length he raised his head to investigate, he saw the two birds rising through the misty air and flying off together over the mountains.

Rain was now falling heavily, and the mist was thickening. He heard the whisper of the mountain streams growing louder and louder until it became a deep, prolonged murmur. Quite near to him a torrent of brown, foaming water was rushing and leaping down the steep.

Rube knew it would be futile to attempt to return to camp before daybreak. He judged that Kiddie would understand his absence and not worry unduly. So he ate what food he had brought in his haversack, and, regardless of the driving rain, curled himself up to try to sleep.

Once during the long, uncomfortable night he heard from afar, or fancied that he heard, Kiddie's familiar, penetrating whistle. He knew that his own comparatively feeble whistle in response would not carry far enough to be even faintly heard. There were no means by which he could send back an answering signal. No fire smoke or fitful glow could be seen, no cry or call be heard.

Later in the night, when the moon broke through the clouds, he again very faintly caught the sound of Kiddie's whistle; so faintly that he could not distinguish the notes which he believed were being sent forth as a message in the Morse code.

Rube held his breath and listened; but all that he heard now to break the silence of the vast desolation was the weird howl of some far away koshinee—the dreaded buffalo wolf of the prairies.

When the rain had ceased, and the black mountain peaks could be seen against the lesser blackness of the sky, he still thought it prudent to remain where he was.

One of the last things that Kiddie had said to him was: "Be careful. Don't hurry; don't worry," and, rather than risk a climb up the wet and slippery rocks, he again curled himself up and closed his eyes in sleep.

The red dawn was breaking when he awoke shivering with cold. His buckskin clothes were wet and clammy, and his limbs were stiff.

He sat up and looked about him.

The two eagles had returned and were exactly as he had seen them at first, the male keeping sentry on the point of rock above his nested mate. The mountain torrents still babbled. On the farther side of the cañon was a beautiful waterfall as white as chalk against the indigo darkness of the cliff down which it leapt into the unseen depths. The jagged shapes of the mountains were now exceedingly clear, showing alp above alp into the far blue distance.

Rube was excessively hungry. And there was nothing for him to eat, unless indeed he had chosen to make a meal of a fragment of rabbit flesh that had fallen from the eagles' nest.

"Wonder what Kiddie's havin' for breakfast!" he said to himself longingly. "Fried kidney, I expect, outer that stag he shot. Guess he'll be worryin' some 'bout my not bein' back in camp yet. I'd best quit an' get back right away. No; I ain't goin' back the way I come. I'm figurin' as th' easiest an' safest way's ter climb up higher an' then make tracks across Lone Wolf Mountain an' down to the lake. That's what Kiddie'd do, I reckon."

He looked upward, calculating his direction. Before he moved away he picked up his eagle plumes. He had been lying on them; their feathering was ruffled and their quills were fractured. Still, they were worth preserving as trophies of his adventure.

The ascent of the cliff was not difficult, though at first he made two or three awkward slips on the wet moss and lichen. After a while the climbing became quite easy, and he reached the rounded shoulder of Lone Wolf Mountain without difficulty. Here, however—as Kiddie afterwards discovered—he was obliged to make a long detour in order to get to the farther side of the mountain.

Rube started off at a brisk walk, and was in hopes of reaching camp early in the forenoon. The wild desolation of these mountain heights oppressed him. So much so that he was startled by the cry of a jay.

He looked round, thinking it strange that such a bird should live here—here, where there were no trees and none of the smaller animals for a jay to kill and feed upon.

As he turned, he saw a movement beside an outcropping rock. At the same instant something like the buzz of a large insect sounded close over his head. He saw an arrow strike the ground and remain upright, trembling with the impact.

Rube knew now the meaning of the jay's cry. It was not the cry of a bird, but the signal call of an Indian.

He started to run in his original direction, but he had not gone more than a hundred yards when another arrow struck his cap, taking it off. He staggered, then, taking a new direction, ran a few strides, then stopped in hesitation, seeing an Indian rise to his knees, fixing an arrow to his bowstring.

With a quick glance Rube realized that he was surrounded, and that there was no way of escape, no shelter of any sort on the barren mountain side. He drew his revolver as the Redskins closed in upon him.

Just as he was about to press the trigger, he reflected upon the inevitable consequences. They would capture him in any case; he could not escape. But if he killed one of their tribe they would torture him to death; whereas, if he quietly submitted, there would still be a chance of his being set free and unharmed.

The Indians had already seen his pistol, however, and they did not doubt that he intended to use it. They ran swiftly up to him. One approached from behind and seized him by the arms.

Rube struggled, but was soon overpowered and flung to the ground, where his hands were tied to his back. What became of his cap and revolver he did not see, for a greasy, ill-smelling rag was bound tightly over his eyes.

They led him away, forcing him to a quick walk down the mountain side, for miles and miles, it seemed. He often stumbled on the rough ground.

Sometimes he was half-pushed, half-dragged along the rocky side of a watercourse; more than once he was led waist deep across a rushing stream that was icy cold. Then there was a steep climb up another mountain slope and down into a farther valley.

Here the Indians came to a halt. Rube heard the movements of horses, and presently he was lifted and flung over the back of one of them. He managed to get comfortably astride, in spite of his imprisoned hands. Fortunately for himself, he was a good rider and could keep his seat on the pony's bare back without great difficulty.

All the time he was thinking less of his own position as a captive than of Kiddie. He knew very surely that Kiddie would be anxious about him. What would he do? Would he just wait in camp in fretful annoyance?

Rube knew Kiddie pretty well by now; knew that so soon as a reasonable time had gone by he would judge that an accident of some kind had caused the delay, and would set out in search.

"Pity I didn't blaze the trail, somehow," Rube reflected. "Dessay he'll squander heaps of valuable time lookin' fer my dead body along the foot of the cliffs away down in the cañon. Though I reckon he'd foller on my tracks as far's he could. If Kiddie noticed that pair of eagles takin' flight, he'll know it was my bein' near their nest that scared 'em. He'll make for the nest, sure."

Rube was applying Kiddie's method of imagining himself in the other person's place, and, following up this process, he decided that it would not be very long before Kiddie would get on to the track of these Indians.