JACK was right, both in his conclusion that our crooked course had carried us into the geyser basin and in his promise that we should see marvellous things. Next morning began a week during which Percy and I went about with our eyes so wide open with astonishment that I wonder we ever managed to get them shut again.

Immediately after breakfast we walked to the edge of the pine-wood and looked out over the little valley which lay below us. It was an impressive and rather an awe-inspiring sight, even by daylight. The valley was almost entirely covered by the white deposit I have mentioned; whichever way one looked, up stream or down, he would see jets and clouds of steam rising in the sharp morning air; while the throbbing, rumbling, hissing noises going on all around gave one an uncomfortable feeling that a great unknown power, which might break out at any moment and from any point, was lying in wait somewhere below the surface.

Near the head of the valley, not very far removed from where we stood, was an extensive white mound, from which a puff of steam now and then issued as if in warning that something was going to happen. Walking over to this mound and ascending it by a series of natural steps, we peered cautiously down the hole at the top. It was like looking down a rough-walled well, coated with coloured plaster. There was a growling and a grumbling going on down below, and presently, puff! came a great ball of steam into our faces; we thought our eyebrows were gone. With admirable unanimity we jumped back and retreated to a more respectful distance.

Soon there was a great spasm, and a mass of hot water—tons of it—was jerked out of the crater. Percy and I, with one impulse, turned to fly, but Jack calling out, “It’s all right; it’s all right,” we stopped again; standing, however, all ready to run at the shortest notice.

This casting out of hot water was but the preliminary to a regular eruption. It was followed by volumes of steam which—like the “bolsters” of the night before—were blown away by the wind; next, a pillar of water about twenty feet high rose out of the orifice and sank down again; and then the strange monster seemed to take a deep breath, and a roaring column of water, five or six feet in diameter and a hundred and fifty feet high, as we judged, was ejected from the crater and stood erect, sometimes rising a little, sometimes falling a little, for ten minutes. Gradually it subsided, sank down, stopped. The exhibition was over.

None of us had said a word while this glorious display was in progress,—we were too full of wonder and admiration for speech,—nor did we, for a minute or two after it had ceased, break the silence. But then, Percy, suddenly stretching out his hands, relieved his mind by apostrophising our old enemy of Moseley’s school.

“Bates,” he exclaimed, “I forgive you! Bates, I’m much obliged to you! If it hadn’t been for you, Bates, my boy, I should never have seen this thing; and it’s worth—why, it’s worth a year in jail to have seen it.”

How we did chatter when once our tongues were loosened! We were as proud of having come upon this wonderful region as if we had discovered it ourselves.

It is a great temptation, and it would be very easy, to fill a chapter or two with descriptions of the marvels we saw in this truly astonishing country,—marvels at that time almost unknown to the world,—the many great geysers, and the thousands of hot springs of all sorts, sizes, and colours; but I refrain. It is enough to say that for a week we three proud and happy explorers went about in a state of chronic ecstasy and amazement; a state from which I, for one, expect never entirely to recover.

Much as we should have liked to prolong our stay, we remembered that ours was a business trip and not merely a sight-seeing excursion; we had qualms of conscience, too, when we recalled how long it was since we had been near a post-office; and accordingly, one morning, we packed up our belongings and reluctantly rode away from the enchanted valley.

We had gone but a short distance when we were startled by the sound of a jolly laugh issuing from the woods before us. With thoughts of Squeaky in our minds we cocked our rifles and stood waiting anxiously for whatever might turn up, when there rode into sight four horsemen, the leader of whom looked so very much more respectable than we did ourselves that our fears were at once allayed.

We expected the strangers to be as much surprised to see us as we were to see them, but, strangely enough, they were not surprised at all.

“Good-morning, gentlemen,” said the leader, heartily. “I’m glad to see you. Where’s the Doctor?”

“What doctor?” asked Jack, wondering.

“What doctor! Why, Doctor Hayden, of course. Don’t you belong to his party?”

“No sir,” replied Jack. “We don’t belong to any party. We are just travelling by ourselves.”

“Indeed!” said the gentleman, eying us as though he thought we were rather young to be doing anything of the sort. “I supposed you belonged to Doctor Hayden’s branch of the Geological Survey, which is coming up from Bozeman; we are expecting them any day. Which way are you travelling?”

“Why, we are not very particular, sir,” replied Jack, “but we want to get down to Bozeman pretty soon, that’s all. Can you tell us which is the best way?”

“You may follow down the Firehole, here,” responded the stranger, “or you may cut across country in that direction”—pointing eastward—“until you strike the Yellowstone, and follow that. By taking the latter course you would have the trail of the survey-party as a guide.”

“Thank you, sir. I think we’ll go by way of the Yellowstone, then. Should we strike due east from here?”

“Yes. Due east. Or you may bear north of east if you prefer; you will save a little time by doing so.”

“Then we will go north-east, as we wish to get to Bozeman as quickly as possible. Is there any danger from Indians on the way, sir?”

“No; I think not. But you will do well to look out for horse-thieves. They have a secret hiding-place somewhere about this country, and if they can run off your stock they will do so.”

“We will take care, sir. And many thanks for your information. Now, you fellows [to us], right about face, and quick march!”

At which command, waving our hands to the strangers, we turned our backs upon geyser-land and once more plunged into the woods.

In the middle of the second day we came out into a fine, park-like stretch of country, and there, straight before us, ran a large, easy-flowing river,—the celebrated Yellowstone.

Following along this handsome stream, stirring up flocks of wild ducks, and disturbing the snowy pelicans which were fishing in rows upon the banks, we came presently upon the trail of a large number of horses and mules going in the opposite direction.

“Good!” exclaimed Jack. “Here’s our guide to Bozeman. This is the trail of the survey-party, whom we must have passed in the woods sometime yesterday. With this trail and the river to steer by we ought to have no trouble in finding our way.”

The discovery of this trail had a very cheering effect upon us all. Not that we needed any cheering up, for our life in the wilds was, to Percy and me at least, the jolliest time we had ever spent, but after “wandering around loose” so long, never knowing with any certainty just where we were, it was pleasant to feel that in the winding thread cast down here among the grass we had the beginning of the road home; that by taking up this thread we might follow it to the great waters upon whose farther shore we should find, we were very sure, loving hands outstretched to welcome us.

But if the finding of the trail was pleasant to us, there were two members of our party who, I almost believe, were still more delighted; namely, our faithful mules. Sober old Joe turned into it at once and pegged along with his usual businesslike air; but Calliope, feeling that the occasion demanded a more emphatic expression of her satisfaction, lifted her head and sent forth so piercing a war-cry that the ducks and the pelicans fled squawking from the vicinity, the slumbering deer sprang startled to their feet, and even my Lord, the Grizzly, roused from his lair among the distant rocks, indignantly wondered what strange wild beast it might be that thus dared to molest his ancient, solitary reign.

With merry chatter, and with pleasant thoughts of the folks at home, we jogged briskly along, camping that night on the verge of a magnificent chasm, which, Jack said, would some day be known all over the world as a sight to come and see. It was worthy of such a destiny; for it was that splendid work of Nature, the Grand Cañon of the Yellowstone, than which, as it seemed to me, there could be nothing under heaven more beautiful or more impressive.

There was a threat of rain in the sky when, early next morning, we started out again upon our northward course. Soon the roughness of the country pushed us away from the river, and we found that the trail was leading us up over the shoulder of a big mountain, among whose rock-slides and ridges it was not always easy to follow it. As we ascended we shortly found ourselves among the clouds, and through their damp and chilly folds we urged our way, ever going up and up. Presently there was a grumble of thunder and the rain began to fall; the rain soon changed to snow; so, slouching our hats over our eyes, and turning up the collars of our overcoats, we plodded on for an hour or more, until, suddenly and unexpectedly, we rode out of this premature winter into the glorious autumn sunshine. We were above the clouds.

Towards the south and east, as far as we could see, was spread the dazzling white carpet, pierced in a thousand places by the mountain peaks which lay like islands on a shining sea. Nowhere else on the continent, I should think, can there be so vast a number of mountains crowded into so small a space; and nowhere else are they more inextricably jumbled together. It seems as though the mountain-chains which radiate from this common centre have here been pressed together and crumpled up; the symmetry of their lines destroyed. This confused and intricate mass of mountains might very well be called “The Cradle of the Rivers,” for from the snows which crown their heads issue three of the longest rivers of the United States: the Missouri, the Colorado, and the Snake. The rain-drops now falling from the clouds spread out beneath us might eventually find their way to the Gulf of Mexico, the Gulf of California, or the Pacific Ocean.

But while we were admiring the scene the clouds had gathered more heavily, and now we were treated to the interesting phenomenon of a smart thunder-storm going on beneath our feet. We could see the flashes of lightning illumine the clouds, we could hear the booming and the banging of the thunder, and knowing no reason why we should descend into this turmoil only to be wet through, we dismounted, and sat down in the sunshine to wait till it was over; a novel situation for all of us.

In the course of half an hour the storm began to break, and great rifts appeared in the clouds through which we could look down into the wet valleys below. It reminded me of pictures illustrating the spots on the sun. We were still sitting in the sun looking down through these rents in the cloud-carpet as they softly opened and closed, when Percy, seizing Jack by the arm, hastily exclaimed:

“Look, Jack! Look! Get your glass, quick!”

He pointed downwards, and there we saw, going at a brisk trot across one of the little valleys a bunch of horses with two men riding behind them.

Jack’s glass was out in a moment.

“Is it—?” Percy began.

“I believe it is,” interrupted Jack, knowing very well what the question was going to be. “Have a look yourself, and see if you recognise them.”

“That’s the pair, I believe,” said Percy. “Here, Tom, look quick, before they disappear. Should you know the horses again?”

The gap in the clouds was closing rapidly, but I had time to get a good look at the cavalcade.

“I can’t be quite certain,” said I. “You can’t very well identify a man by the back of his neck, especially when he has his collar turned up; but the number of loose horses is the same, and if the rider on the black horse isn’t Bates I’m very much mistaken.”

“What are they doing here now?” asked Percy. “I supposed they would have been far ahead of us by this time.”

“Perhaps they have been hiding in that secret place the gentleman spoke of,” Jack replied. “Or perhaps the horses were worn out and they have been resting them up in some high part of the mountains where they could keep a good lookout for anyone coming after them. They seem to be in a good deal of a hurry at present, anyhow; which is just as well, for they will make twenty miles to our ten, and if they are bound for Bozeman—though I should hardly think they would go there—they will keep well ahead of us at that pace. It won’t do to trust to that, though. I think we must set a guard at night for the rest of the distance; especially as they might even reach their destination, turn round again, and meet us on their way back, if they should return this way. And that, I think, is rather probable; for all those horses and mules of the survey-party must be a great temptation to gentlemen in their way of business.”

This decision of the commander-in-chief met with our cordial approval, and for the next few days we moved cautiously forward, keeping a sharp lookout by day, and setting a guard at night. And a most unpleasant duty did we find it, after a long day’s march, to stand guard through the hours of darkness, when, by rights, we should have been asleep; for, there being only three of us, and the nights being divided into two watches of four hours each, we could each secure but one clear night’s rest out of three—a great hardship to youngsters of our age.

It will be readily understood, therefore, that we had no spare blessings to bestow upon Squeaky for putting us to all this extra trouble, and that it was with much pleasure we went into camp one evening, believing that two more days’ march, and consequently only one more night of guard-mounting, would bring us to our destination.

We had unsaddled and turned loose the horses and mules that evening as usual; Percy was on his knees, making the fire; Jack, followed by Ulysses, had gone off to the creek for a bucket of water; I was in the act of stooping to pick up my rifle preparatory to making a tour of our camping-ground,—for it was my first watch that night,—when a voice behind me said in a low but peremptory tone:

“Drop that!”

I looked round sharply to find, pointed square at my chest, the muzzle of a rifle in the hands of a squat, red-haired man; while another taller man was covering Percy. That their intentions were evil it was easy to guess, for each of them was disguised by wearing a strip of rag across the upper part of his face, having holes cut in it to look through.

“Come here!” said the short man in a low voice. “Quick! Both of you.”

We advanced towards him.

“Sit down!” he commanded.

Having no means of resisting, we sat down, side by side.

“Now, keep quiet,” said the man; and turning to the other he went on: “Pardner, get behind them. If either of ’em moves, blow his head off.”

This gentle hint was not lost upon us; we sat silent and motionless while the red-haired man, slipping away among the trees, disappeared in the direction of the creek. In half a minute we heard his voice again; there was some angry growling of old Ulysses, a few loud, sharp words, and directly afterwards Jack appeared, carrying a bucket of water in one hand and dragging Ulysses by the collar with the other; urged upon his way by the persuasive influence of a rifle, the muzzle of which was being held within two feet of the small of his back.

“Tie up your dog,” said the man, “if you don’t want him shot; and then sit down by your friends.”

Jack did so—and there we were, captured at last, in spite of our precautions.

That our captors were Squeaky and Bates we had no doubt whatever. Squeaky’s voice would have betrayed him, even if we had had no previous suspicions. It was plain, from their wearing masks, that they wished to avoid recognition; besides which, Bates, as an extra precaution, and evidently by preconcerted arrangement, was careful not to say a word, knowing that we should almost certainly recognise his voice. As someone, however, must issue orders, it fell to Squeaky to take that risk of being found out; he perhaps hoping that if we should notice his peculiar voice we should never think of connecting it with the man whom we had overheard in the dark in the little cabin by the railroad track away back in Nebraska. It must be remembered that neither of them was aware of the fact that we had knowledge of their presence in this part of the world.

“What’s all this about?” asked Jack, with a great show of boldness, as soon as he was seated. “And who are you?” he added, at the same time giving me a surreptitious nudge in the ribs, which I passed on to Percy.

Jack, of course, knew very well that Squeaky would not give the desired information as to who they were; he merely asked the question as a hint to us to pretend we did not know them.

“I’ll give you all the explanation I think proper after supper,” Squeaky replied. “But there’s one thing I want you to understand right now: if one of you tries to get up off the ground he won’t succeed; he’ll be dead first. I mean it, mind you; so you’d better sit still if you don’t want a bullet through you.”

As we had some knowledge of the peculiarities of our captor’s character we took his word for it, and having little doubt that he did mean it we sat still accordingly. Had we been dealing with Bates alone we might perhaps have made a fight for it; he seemed to be nervous and agitated. But with Squeaky it was quite another matter. He had no nerves; and we felt pretty sure that if he should think it a good stroke of business to shoot one or all of us, no tenderness of conscience on his part would withhold him.

“Pardner,” said he, addressing Bates, “round up those guns; stack ’em there against that tree, and take the cartridges out.”

Bates did as commanded, always in silence, and then Squeaky said:

“That’s good. Now, you’d better go and bring down the horses. I’ll hold the prisoners.”

Bates retired into the woods, and in a quarter of an hour reappeared, riding the black horse and leading another, both of which he proceeded to picket in a little open space below the camp.

“Which of you boys is cook?” then asked the leader of this gang of two.

“I am,” replied Percy.

“All right. Get up, then, and cook supper for five. And don’t try any tricks. I’m a pretty good shot. Pardner, take your stand by the guns.”

Percy rose to his feet, and for half an hour we sat still while he made tea and cooked steaks of deer-meat enough for us all. Bread we already had in plenty, for only the day before he had made a batch large enough to last us until our journey’s end, as he supposed. He had not reckoned upon entertaining two uninvited guests.

Squeaky was a methodical rascal; we could not help admiring the orderly manner in which he conducted this affair. He must have thought out all the details beforehand; or else he had been engaged in a similar transaction on some previous occasion. As soon as the simple supper was ready he proceeded again to issue his orders.

“Cook,” said he, “feed your friends.”

Percy brought our suppers to Jack and me and set them down before us.

“Get your own share, and come and sit down again.”

Percy did so.

“Pardner, help yourself.”

We four having eaten our supper, Bates, at the command of his leader, once more took up his station behind us, while Squeaky helped himself to something to eat. Kneeling on his right knee, his rifle held ready for use in his left hand, he took a large piece of meat from the frying-pan, and holding it in his fingers he tore big fragments from it with his teeth; all the time keeping his watchful little eyes upon us. He reminded me of the Mississippi steamboat-mate, in that he resembled a dog engaged with a bone, who suspects that some other dog might like a share of it.

“Now, cook,” said he, as he wiped his greasy fingers upon his trouser-leg, “you can wash up; I guess you may as well help him”—nodding at me.

“Finished?” inquired the systematic villain, as soon as the culinary operations had been completed. “Well, then, just you sit down again, close together. I want to have a little talk with you. Pardner, stand a little way off from the end of the row, so as you can rake ’em if desirable.”

Having made these dispositions, Squeaky upturned our bucket and sat himself down upon it about ten feet away from us, his rifle across his knees and his finger on the trigger, and thus addressed us:

“Well, boys, I’m glad to see you at last. We’ve been looking for you for quite a spell, me and my pardner. We thought we’d lost you. It was just a chance we see you coming along this evening, and decided to look you up. Hope you’ve had a pleasant trip since you left Golconda.”

Squeaky made this final remark with so evident an expectation that we should be overcome with astonishment, that we hastened to accommodate him by looking as surprised as we conveniently could at such short notice.

“What do you mean?” asked Jack. “How do you know we came from Golconda? We’ve never met you before.”

“Oh, we know a thing or two, me and my pardner—eh, Pardner?”

Bates nodded.

“We know who you are, well enough. Don’t we, Pardner?”

Again Bates nodded.

“Can’t your partner speak?” asked Jack, innocently.

“Born deef and dumb,” replied Squeaky, without the slightest hesitation.

At this unexpected reply I forgot for the moment the awkwardness of our present situation, and the fact that we did not wish to betray our knowledge of the identity of the enemy, and began to laugh, when Jack, by a monitory pinch, brought me up again with a jerk.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Squeaky, scowling.

I became preternaturally solemn in an instant; and by good fortune I thought of a reasonable reply to the question.

“Why,” said I, “I was only thinking that your partner seemed to understand pretty well for a man born deaf.”

“Yes, he does that,” assented Squeaky, in such a matter-of-fact manner that I nearly laughed again.

“Well,” he continued, “we must get to business, because we won’t have any time to-morrow morning. Now, just listen to me, and you,”—pointing at Jack,—“you just pay attention; because the lives of these two boys depends on you. Just you keep that in mind, now. This is no laughing matter, you’ll find, young fellow,” with a grim nod at me. “I’m going to tell you what me and my pardner have been hunting you for; and mind you, I mean what I say.”

Squeaky hitched his bucket a trifle nearer, and shaking his forefinger at Jack he thus addressed him, slowly and with much emphasis:

“Attend to me, now,” said he. “To-morrow morning you’ll take your horse, and you’ll ride to Bozeman—you can make it by night if you start early—and as soon as you get to Bozeman you’ll telegraph to the fathers of these boys to send you ten thousand dollars.”

He paused for a moment to let his words take full effect, and then went on:

“As soon as you get the money you’ll ride back here with it alone, and you’ll go to the top of that flat-topped rock up there on the end of that rise—See it? You may stand up if you can’t.”

“I see it,” said Jack. “Well?”

“You’ll bring the money with you, you’ll go to that flat-topped rock, and you’ll build a big fire of green boughs on it so as to make a big smoke. We shall see your smoke, ’cause we shall be looking out for it, and my pardner here will come down to the rock, and you’ll follow him to the place where me and these two boys’ll be. Then you’ll turn over the money to me, and you and the boys can go where you like.”

We had little inclination to laugh now, and still less as Squeaky went on.

“We’ll give you time enough,—say, ten days. That’ll allow for accidents. We’ll look out for your smoke on the ninth and tenth days. If there’s no smoke by sunset of the tenth day—remember! sunset of the tenth day—I’ll shoot the boys, and you needn’t trouble to come at all.

“There; that’s your part of the business. Do you understand what you’ve got to do? or shall I tell you all over again? I’ll tell you as often as you like; because a mistake is likely to prove fatal.”

“I understand,” said Jack. “But——”

“Hold up a bit,” interrupted Squeaky; “I haven’t quite done yet. As soon as you leave to-morrow morning we shall go off to a hiding-place I know of. It won’t do you any good to bring a sheriff and posse to hunt for us; you couldn’t find the place in a thousand years unless it was by accident. If you should take the fancy to try the experiment—well, we shall know of it, and the effect is likely to be injurious to the health of your two friends here. You won’t find us; we shall be gone. And so will the boys—only they’ll be gone to the place that nobody ever comes back from.

“That’s all I’ve got to say. You know what you’ve got to do; and you know the consequences if you fail. It’s just a plain business deal. We have two boys for sale at ten thousand dollars the pair. If anyone wants them, they can have ’em. If not——”

He finished his sentence with a grim nod, and a significant pat upon the stock of his rifle.