THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL.
Had Jeffries Mayberry and Rob Blake possessed the wonderfully sensitive intuition of the Indian agent's beautiful horse, they might have been able to feel, as they set out from the shanty in the clearing, that they were being followed and observed by more than one pair of cruel, beady eyes. Not being endowed with any such faculties, however, they followed the trail without any misgivings.
The Indian agent, fortunately, had the good sense to accept the uneasiness of his steed as a sign of nearby danger. He had, for that reason, altered his previous determination to leave Rob behind in the hut till he returned with the soldiers from Fort Miles. And it was well that he did so, as we shall see.
Hardly had the ring of Ranger's hoofs died out than a dozen dusky forms slid from the brush into the clearing and looked cautiously about. Seeing no cause for alarm, they entered the shanty and stripped it of everything they considered valuable. The Moquis, for such they were, then returned to the spot where they had tethered their ponies, and took the trail after Mayberry and his young companion. It was the scent of the ponies that had aroused Ranger's uneasiness, although the Indians, with their customary caution, had, as has been said, tethered them some little distance from the shanty.
All that night, as Mr. Mayberry and his young companion rode steadily forward toward Red Flat, the objective point at which the Indian agent had determined to aim, the redskins stealthily dogged their tracks. Never by so much as an incautious move, however, did they betray their presence. Red Flat had been chosen as their destination by Mr. Mayberry on account of the superior attractions in point of distance it offered to the other station of Sentinel Peak. It was out of his way, it is true, but he determined to tax Ranger with the extra miles rather than expose Rob to peril, or keep him separated from his friends longer than needful.
It was early dawn when they clattered into Red Flat, a small settlement with the essential store and post office. Its communication with the outside world consisted of the telephone and a stage which once a day trundled through. To the chagrin of the two travelers, however, the store in which the 'phone was located had been locked up during its owner's absence, and it was necessary to await his return before they could use the instrument. This opportunity, as we know, did not occur before the afternoon. In the meantime, Rob had hired a pony from the blacksmith of the place, and started off for the Harkness ranch.
He had not been gone ten minutes when Ben Starkey, the storekeeper, drove into town. He had been off on a distant pasture, rounding up some sheep, which had kept him away till that time.
"Hullo, Mr. Mayberry," he hailed, as he saw the Indian agent. "What brings you here? Come to buy a plow, or a shotgun to manage those 'babies' of yours?"
"Neither," smiled the agent; "but if you will open up the store, Ben, I'd like to telephone."
"All right. Want to use the talk box, eh?" chattered the storekeeper, as he unfastened sundry locks and bolts. "There you are. Now talk your head off."