The boys, caught at once with the idea, suppressed their delight, and peered over the top and sides of the ridge. Suddenly a nerve-wracking groan was heard, and seemingly it came from the depths of the shallow hole in which Fritz was working. The Dutchman paused in his labor, mopped the sweat from his face, and looked around.
“Vat iss dot?” he puffed. “Vat I hear all at vonce? Who shpoke mit me?”
Again Merry caused a hair-raising groan to come from the hole. A yell of fear escaped Fritz. Dropping his shovel, he pawed out of the hole, and got behind a rock a dozen feet away. From this point of vantage he stared cautiously back at the hole and, his voice shaking with fear, inquired:
“Who shpoke mit me? Vat it iss, blease? I don’d hear nodding like dot in der tream, py chiminy grickeds!”
“How dare you disturb my bones, looking for treasure?” came a hollow voice from the ragged opening in the earth. “I am the big Indian chief, Hoop-en-de-doo, and I will haunt you and take your scalp! I shall call all my braves from the happy hunting grounds, and we will dance the medicine and go on the war trail; we will——”
Merry was interrupted by a wild shriek that went clattering up and down the gulch in terrifying echoes. Fritz was not the author of it, for he seemed stricken dumb and rooted to the ground. It was the Mexican who had given vent to the blood-curdling cry. Frightened out of his wits, Silva, still emitting yell after yell, bounded like a deer for the trail and the home camp.
Fritz did not see Silva, but the fierce howling, coming nearer and nearer, must have given him the idea that Chief Hoop-en-de-doo and all his shadowy band of warriors were after him. Fritz awoke to feverish activity in less than a second. He whirled, and, with remarkable speed considering his size, scrambled for Tinaja Wells. Silva chased him clear to the camp, where Fritz, utterly exhausted, dropped in a heap and rolled into the chuck tent. The Mexican vanished into some other spot that he considered safe.
When the boys, roaring with laughter, finally reached the grove, they were met by the professor and a young fellow with blue eyes and light, curling hair. There was a stranger in camp, it seemed, and Merry and his companions smothered their merriment to give Borrodaile a chance to free his mind.
“Merriwell,” said the professor, “this hilarity is most untimely. This young gentleman, I fear, will think you are a lot of hoodlums. Allow me to present Mr. Ellis Darrel, who has just arrived from Gold Hill and is earnestly in search of information respecting the Gold Hill Athletic Club. Darrel, Frank Merriwell, junior.”
Darrel was smiling. There was something about him which, at the very first glance, appealed to Merry. The two shook hands cordially.