CHAPTER VI
THE HIDDEN TRAIL OF MENDOZA
There was an immediate scattering of the ten cowboys. Every one was eager to be first to make a discovery. Jumping to the ground, they searched the earth for traces that would indicate how the herd had not passed into the quivering quicksands, but turned aside.
No matter how cleverly the rustlers had concealed the marks of the many hoofs, and left a few time-worn tracks to deceive, some of those keen eyes now on the search were bound to discover what they so eagerly sought.
A quick call from one quarter soon announced that the expected signs had been found. Riding that way Frank and Bob saw that the trailer Scotty was indicating his discovery to Bart Heminway and the stockman.
They agreed with him that it pointed to the fact of the herd having been driven that way. A little further on, and they saw fresh signs that had escaped the scrutiny of the rustlers when they were busy concealing all marks, as they believed, to indicate the passage of the lost herd.
So it continued until finally they reached rocky ground, where there would be less to conceal.
“I can’t see how they do it,” declared Bob, as he watched the two men in the lead running back and forth like a couple of dogs, their ponies having been taken in charge by some of their comrades.
“Well,” chuckled Frank, “I happen to know that one of them, Scotty there, would be just as surprised to hear you read any book you happened to pick up; because, you see, Scotty doesn’t know how to read. The ground is like a printed page to him. He sees scores of little signs you would never notice. And they tell him things, just as the letters, placed in combinations, tell you a certain word is meant.”
“But Frank, look over yonder,” said Bob, pointing ahead.
“Yes, I see it, all right,” replied the other, with a nod and a laugh.
“Our old friend, Thunder Mountain, isn’t it?” demanded Bob.
“That’s right,” replied the other. “The same place where we had our little bunch of adventures with a grizzly, a cloudburst, and a few other things; not to forget a certain fellow named Peg Grant, who tried to play the game ahead of us, but fell down.”
“And, Frank, you notice, I reckon, that we seem to be heading right in the direction of that big arroyo that leads up the side of the mountain?” Bob went on.
“That doesn’t surprise me one little bit, Bob,” his chum remarked. “You remember we figured all that out. Fact is, things begin to look mighty good to me; and I reckon we’re closer to finding that secret corral of Pedro Mendoza right at this very minute than anybody has ever been before.”
“It’s noon now; and there’s your father holding up his hand,” Bob remarked.
“Which means he wants a halt called, while we take a cold snack, and talk matters over,” Frank observed. “You know, my dad is noted for being cool, and going slow about things. I’ve seen lots of others lose their heads; but he was nearer to being excited last night than I ever saw him. Chances are, we may lie low here half the afternoon, because he’d rather climb that canyon after nightfall.”
Frank’s prophecy proved a true one, for as they ate and talked, the stockman proceeded to explain his plan, which was really to remain quiet where they were, under the shade of a clump of willows, until the afternoon was well spent. Then the ride could be resumed, though no one doubted now where it would lead them, with that canyon mouth so near at hand.
Several hours passed. They were almost endless to impatient Bob, who suffered very much because of his nervousness, and a desire to be moving. But finally Colonel Haywood seemed to be satisfied that the object of the delay had been accomplished, whatever that might be; and he gave the word for which the cow punchers had been so eagerly waiting.
Again they were on the move. Just as Frank had said, the trail led them into the great arroyo, that looked like a cleft in the mountain from a little distance.
Sometimes this pass was used by stockmen on one side of the range as a means of getting a herd over to the other side. Hence it was not strange to find plain traces of cattle having been driven along here. And the rustlers depended on this very knowledge to allow of a slackening of their labors in trying to wipe out all tell-tale marks.
Once in the gap, and the sun was no longer to be seen. Indeed, it looked dim between those high walls, and one could almost believe evening must be near at hand.
“And to think, Frank,” said Bob, “that when we were here before we thought these cliffs were the real thing. We know better now, don’t we? We’ve been in the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. And, Frank, you could put that wall yonder against one of the colored ones up there, and it would look like an ant hill. Am I right?”
“I reckon you are, Bob,” replied the other. “But that hasn’t anything to do with our finding the lost cattle. Let’s think of that now. Watch Scotty up ahead there. He’s going some, I tell you. A hound couldn’t follow tracks much better.”
“He’s a wonder, that’s what,” declared Bob.
“And I suppose you’re picking up heaps of information right along, eh?” Frank asked, with an amused smile.
“To be sure I am; but there seems to be no end to the game,” replied Bob. “I’m just loaded up to my neck with questions I want to ask Scotty when I get a chance. He must tell me why he did this thing and that.”
“And this is only the beginning, you’ll find,” observed Frank. “There are a lot more coming along soon that you don’t want to miss, Bob.”
They kept along for another half hour, continually ascending the rocky pass. To Bob there was an added interest in their surroundings because of the adventures that had come to Frank and himself during their earlier visit to Thunder Mountain, as recorded in the first volume of this series.
“Look, Frank!” he exclaimed, calling the attention of his companion to a certain place, high up on one of the walls, “wasn’t that where we had to climb to get away from the flood that rushed through this pass when the cloudburst came?”
“Yes,” replied the other, “I can see the very ledge we stood on, wondering if we would be carried away, or not. That was a narrow squeak, Bob, for us.”
“I believe you, Frank; but we pulled through, all right. More than once since then, when things have looked ticklish, I think of that time, and make up my mind the sky isn’t so dark as it looks. But it sure is getting near night down in this hole!”
“Are you watching Scotty, Bob?” demanded Frank.
“I saw him turn aside just then,” replied the other. “Looked like he was interested a little in that narrow crack in the wall; but I see he’s passed on, and is waving to the bunch to come after him; so I reckon there wasn’t anything doing there.”
“Huh! don’t be too sure of that,” said Frank.
“Why, what do you mean?” demanded his chum, eagerly.
“Because I saw Scotty give my dad a quick sign that stood for something,” Frank went on to say.
“About that little hole in the wall, you mean?” asked Bob.
“It was while he was down on his hands and knees there that he made it, so I’ve got a hunch it was about that same hole. But don’t seem to pay any particular attention as we ride past.”
“Then you think there might be somebody watching us; is that it?” asked Bob.
“Why not, if these rustlers are half as smart as they say, don’t you think they would be apt to have a vidette posted on the side of the mountain?” and Frank declined to turn his head in the slightest as they rode past the cleft, that hardly seemed wide enough for a fat steer to pass into.
They rode slowly along up the canyon, picking their way carefully around such obstructions as came in the path.
“Have you been looking to see if there are as many signs up here as below?” Bob asked of his chum, as he noticed Frank watching the ground by bending over in his saddle.
“I don’t seem to get on to them, if they are,” replied the other. “But then, we’d better hold in our horses a little, and hear what Scotty has to say. Pretty soon he’ll call a halt, and then we’ll know.”
But they continued on until it became so dark in the canyon that the ponies frequently stumbled. Scotty had fallen back, and was riding alongside the stockman now, with whom he seemed to be conversing eagerly, as though he had news worth while to communicate.
Then Colonel Haywood threw up his hand. It was a signal to halt, recognized by every one in the party. Pressing in a little circle around the leaders, they waited to hear how things were working.
“We leave the ponies up here, boys,” said the stockman, “and go back on foot. Do you remember noticing that little split in the left side of the arroyo, where Scotty halted a few seconds? Well, the herd was driven through that, one at a time. It’s the secret passage no one has ever been able to find, up to now.”
All sorts of low exclamations told how eagerly the cow punchers received the welcome news that the long hidden trail had been found.
“How do you suppose Scotty ever made that out?” asked Bob, unable to hold his curiosity in check. “Frank, do you reckon he found the tracks of the cattle on the stones, where the rustlers failed to make ’em out?”
“Well, there might be lots of ways of knowing that,” replied the other boy. “And to tell you the truth, Bob, I saw Scotty taking a quick look at the sharp edges of the rock just where the crack starts. Now, it wouldn’t surprise, me much if he discovered some bunches of hair fastened there, where it was rubbed off the flank of a steer that didn’t quite take the middle of the road while passing in.”
“I never thought of that,” Bob said, in a low tone. “That’s another page made clear. Oh! but all this is mighty interesting to me, I tell you, Frank. I only wish I could write shorthand, and I’d have it all down in black and white.”
“Huh! better have it written in your memory, where it can never be rubbed out,” remarked Frank, dismounting, as all the others were doing.