“Maybe he won’t be glad to see us!” responded Cranny.
As the four clattered up to the entrance, the Tacoma lad slipped off the back of his plunging horse and thrust the bridle into Dick Travers’ hands.
“I’ll get him out, fellows,” he gasped. Then an expression of dismay came over his features. For the first time he had taken a careful look at the building. It wore a silent and deserted appearance.
“I was afraid of it!” groaned Edmunds. “But for goodness’ sake, Cranny——”
The lad had already dashed toward the open door, so the newspaper man’s sentence remained unfinished.
Cranny Beaumont felt that his mission was doomed to failure; a loud ringing yell uttered when he reached the foot of the stairs only brought back a series of hollow, weird echoes. He rushed up, calling as he went, “Jimmy, hello, Jimmy, are you here? Jimmy!” And still no answer from the young pianist came to his ears.
The door of the room stood wide open and one glance inside told him that his fears were well founded—Jimmy was gone. The Texas boy’s belongings lay scattered about in the greatest confusion. Everything pointed to the fact that he had made a hurried exit.
“Nothin’ doin’!” groaned Cranny. “Maybe he’s safe on the other side o’ the Rio an’ maybe he isn’t! Now I wonder what we’d better—— Great Scott!”
A frightful explosion, which seemed fairly to jar the boards beneath his feet, accompanied by the sounds of breaking glass, sent him, pale-faced and trembling, against the wall. With a dreadful fear tugging at his heart, he heard a wild clamor in the street just below and saw a column of white smoke rising against the low adobe building on the opposite side of the street.
Cranny Beaumont’s terror lasted only an instant. Rushing down-stairs at topmost speed, he made for the street, uttering a cry of dismay when he discovered that the horsemen were no longer grouped before the entrance. Nor did he see any one else. Men, women, and children had all vanished.