Curry then briefly related the whole story, to which Dick and his friends listened with the greatest interest.
“That’s how it were,” finished Curry. “I allows to your brother I sure could take that gang to the nearest jail. He and his pard, Hodge, stays to guard their mines, leaving the job of disposing of those tough gents to we three. We makes a fizzle of it, and now the whole outfit is bound back for the Enchanted Valley. They are frothing to get at your brother and do him up. At the same time, they counts on salivating the old Injun what fools them a-plenty.”
“Frank will fight to the last,” said Dick. “We must help him some way. We’re all armed, and I think we can furnish you with weapons. Are you with us, or are you ready to give up?”
“Pete Curry, of Cottonwood, gives up none at all,” was the reply. “I counts on hiking somewhar to get weapons and horses and then hustling back for the purpose of doing whatever I can to help your brother.”
“If you try to do that, you will be too late to render any assistance,” declared Dick.
“Then give us some shooting irons and what goes in ’em and we’re with yer,” said Curry.
This arrangement was quickly settled on, after which Dick rode back for Felicia and little Abe. When he reached the spot where they had been left, however, he was not a little surprised and alarmed to find they were no longer there. In vain he looked for them. He called their names, but his voice died in the silence of the desolate hollows. There was no answer, and Dick’s fears grew apace.
What had become of Felicia and little Abe?
Left to themselves, they fell to talking of the singular things which had happened.