THE Rocky Mountain Series
PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES.

THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.

FRANK AT DON CARLOS’ RANCHO.

BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF “THE GUNBOAT SERIES,” “THE GO-AHEAD SERIES,” ETC.

PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES.
CINCINNATI, O.:
R. W. CARROLL & CO.

CONTENTS.

DON CARLOS’ RANCHO.

CHAPTER I.
ALL ABOUT HORSES.

Archie Winters found that he had been mistaken in the opinions he had formed concerning life in California. When he first arrived at his uncle’s rancho, he had declared that the fun and excitement were all over, and that he and Frank were destined to drag out a weary, monotonous existence until the time came for them to return home. But Arthur Vane, with the assistance of Pierre Costello and his band, had made things exceedingly lively for him and Frank, and now they were both willing to acknowledge that they had had much more than they wanted of perilous adventure.

The time never hung heavily on their hands, for there was always something interesting going on. First, Dick Thomas returned from San Francisco, and he and Johnny Harris became constant visitors at Mr. Winters’s rancho. Then came several unsuccessful hunts after a grizzly bear, which persisted in breaking into the cow-pen every night, and finally an incident happened that brought about a long string of adventures, and raised Frank and Archie higher than ever in the estimation of the settlers. On the morning on which we introduce them, they, together with Johnny and Dick, were gathered in a room in Mr. Winters’s rancho—the same room in which Frank had had one of those memorable encounters with the highwayman—talking the matter over.

The boys were in a state of siege. Every opening, except the port-holes, through which a breath of air might find its way in to them, was closed, and the room was as hot as an oven. They were perspiring like butchers; but not one of them thought of throwing open a door or window. Frank was stretched out on the bed, drumming on his guitar; Archie was walking restlessly up and down the floor, thrashing his boots with his riding whip; Dick Thomas was looking up at the pictures on the walls; and Johnny Harris was standing with his face close to one of the port-holes, fanning himself vigorously with his hat. Silence reigned in the room, broken only by the crack of Archie’s whip, and light footsteps outside the door, with which were occasionally mingled low angry growls, and the rattling of a chain. None of the boys had spoken during the last ten minutes; and that, to those who knew them, would have been sufficient evidence that they were thinking about something exciting.

“Frank,” said Archie, at last, “why don’t you stop that noise? I don’t see how you can lie there and pound on that thing. One would think you were making merry over our misfortune.”

Frank very good-naturedly laid down the obnoxious guitar, and placing his hands under his head, looked at Archie as if waiting to hear what he had to say next.

“I would do something desperate, if I only had half a chance,” continued the latter, shaking his fist in the air, and flourishing his whip about so recklessly that Dick retreated into a corner, out of his reach. “If I had those villains here I’d—I’d”——

“O, take it easy,” said Frank. “I don’t see the use of making any fuss about it, for the mischief has been done, and we can’t help it.”

“Take it easy!” repeated Archie, in disgust, “how can I? It would provoke any body in the world, except you, and you never get provoked at any thing. I don’t believe you are even sorry.”

“Yes, I am. I feel as badly about it as you do. I would not have lost Roderick for five hundred dollars. He carried me many a mile, and I owned him so long that I had become greatly attached to him. He was the swiftest and best trained horse in the settlement.”

“Except mine,” returned Archie, quickly. “Would your horse walk on his hind legs, or pick up your hat or whip for you? Mine would; and if Roderick was not once badly beaten by him in a fair race, no horse was ever beaten in the world.”

Frank and Archie, as we know, had been rivals from their earliest boyhood, and now they had enthusiastic opponents in Johnny and Dick. Each one insisted that he owned the best horse, the best dog, and the best gun; and that he could beat the others at riding, running, jumping, wrestling, and throwing the lasso. They all made loud boasts, claiming superiority in every boyish accomplishment, but that was done merely for sport; for each of them knew that, in some things, he was a long way behind the others. The honors were about equally divided, the extra ones falling to the lot of Frank Nelson. He was the strongest fellow, the swiftest runner, the best shot with a rifle or revolver, and wonderfully expert in wrestling. Johnny Harris had once ridden a wild mustang, which was so vicious and unruly that none of the other boys could be induced to mount him, and consequently he was the champion horseman. Archie was the best jumper, and, until within a few days, had owned a horse that was equal to any trick pony the boys had ever seen in a circus. Archie’s whole soul was wrapped up in that horse, for he was the only one that had ever beaten Roderick in a fair race. Dick Thomas was the happy possessor of a pack of splendid hounds, and could boast that he never missed his mark with the lasso. He had been a formidable rival for Archie in jumping, and for Frank in shooting and running; but had, at last, been compelled to give up the contest, and acknowledge himself beaten.

Frank and Archie were in great trouble—they had lost their horses. The animals had gone the way a good many other chargers had gone during the last three weeks, for nearly every farmer in that neighborhood had to mourn the loss of some favorite nag, which had disappeared, and left no trace behind. Every one said that there was an organized band of horse-thieves around; but who they were, or what they did with their booty, could not be ascertained. Large rewards had been offered; the ranches had been patrolled of nights; the settlers had turned out to a man, and searched every nook and corner of the mountains they could get at; but, in spite of all their vigilance valuable horses were stolen every night, and no traces could be discovered of them or the robbers. The settlers seemed to have given up all hopes of ever bringing the guilty parties to justice; for now, when a horse was missing, there was nothing done, and but little said about it. There was no blowing of horns, and gathering of armed men, as had been the case a few days before. The farmers smiled, said that misery loved company, and seemed to think no more about the matter; but they were wide awake, and every man was watching his neighbor. Mr. Winters had been a heavy loser, and now Frank and Archie had come in for a share of the trouble. Roderick and King James (that was the name of the horse that had taken the place of Sleepy Sam in Archie’s affections) were gone, and of course the boys were highly indignant. One thing that made Archie so angry was the fact that no one, except Johnny and Dick, seemed to sympathize with him. Frank played lively tunes on his guitar, and advised him to “take it easy,” while Uncle James, when Archie reported his loss to him, poked him in the ribs with his finger, and said: “Aha! now you can have the pleasure of going afoot, like the rest of us.”

There was no danger that the boys would be obliged to go afoot. There were plenty of fine horses on the ranch, and Dick and old Bob, and half a dozen other Rancheros, were ready and willing to capture and break any nag they might select; but was there a Roderick or a King James among all these horses? The lost steeds were regarded by their young owners as perfect specimens of their species. They were so intelligent that they could be taught any thing that horses ever learned; so swift that nothing in the settlement could keep pace with them; so restless and fiery that they would never stand still long enough for their masters to be fairly seated in the saddle; and yet so docile that they could be managed, and driven any where, without a bridle. Were there any horses on the rancho that possessed all these good qualities? The boys were sure there were not.

We must stop here long enough to tell how Archie came by his horse, and why he gave him that odd name.

We have spoken of Captain Porter, an old fur-trader, who owned a rancho a few miles distant from the one belonging to Mr. Winters. He was a fleshy, jolly old gentleman, who always took a great deal of interest in every thing the boys did, and listened to the stories of their adventures with as much good nature as he exhibited in relating his own. Having lived on the frontier from his earliest boyhood, he had seen a world of excitement and adventure; and the easy way he had of recounting his exploits over his after-dinner pipe, proved an attraction too strong to be resisted by the boys, who scarcely allowed a day to pass without a visit to his rancho. They had a happy faculty of making friends wherever they went; and it was not long before the old fur-trader began to show that they held a prominent place in his estimation. He presented Frank with Marmion, the dog which had done him such good service in his encounters with Pierre Costello, and shortly afterward he treated Archie in a still more handsome manner.

One day the cousins rode over to dine with the captain, and while on the way, Archie, who could never be persuaded to acknowledge that Roderick was a swifter horse than Sleepy Sam, challenged Frank to a trial of speed. The race came off, and Archie, as usual, was badly beaten. When Frank dismounted at the captain’s door, his cousin was not in sight.

“Where’s the little one?” asked the fur-trader, who was seated on the porch, enjoying his long Indian pipe.

“He is coming,” replied Frank. “Whenever he is on horseback he can’t be easy unless he is racing with somebody,” he added, to explain how he came to leave him so far behind.

“And do you always beat him?”

“Always. He grumbles and scolds about it at a great rate, but it doesn’t seem to help the matter any. He has tried every horse on uncle’s rancho, too; but has never been able to find one that can beat Roderick.”

The captain settled back in his chair, and looked at the mustang as he was being led away by one of the Rancheros; and, when Archie came up, trying to smile, but looking rather crestfallen over his defeat, he winked at him, and nodded his head in a very significant manner. Neither of the boys knew what he meant; but Archie found out when dinner was over, for then the trader drew him aside, and held a whispered consultation with him. Frank regarded them both with suspicion, and when Archie looked at him, and wrinkled up his nose, and made other mysterious signs, he became satisfied that they were getting up some sort of a conspiracy. Nothing was said or done, however, that threw any light on the matter until they were ready to start for home; and then, when their horses were brought out, Frank saw that Sleepy Sam was not there. In his place was a small, clean-limbed animal, as black as midnight, which was pawing the ground, and jumping about as if impatient to be off. While Frank stood looking at him, and admiring his fine points, Archie seized the bridle, and sprang into the saddle.

“Hallo!” exclaimed his cousin, who now thought he understood the meaning of the mysterious winks and whisperings, “who owns that horse?”

“He belongs to the subscriber,” replied Archie, highly elated.

“He is a fine-looking animal, but I don’t know what you are going to do with him.”

“Don’t you? Well, jump into your saddle and I’ll show you. He was presented to me by Captain Porter, on condition that I make him beat that ugly-looking mustang of yours; and I am going to do it.”

“It isn’t my style to allow a challenge like that to pass unnoticed,” said Frank, as he mounted Roderick. “Hold on! Don’t be in such a hurry. Come back here, and give me a fair chance.”

The boys had a good deal of trouble in getting started, for Archie showed a disposition to “jockey.” His expectations had been raised to the highest pitch by the captain’s glowing description of the black’s wonderful speed, but he knew what Roderick could do, and he did not intend to allow his cousin to get the start of him by so much as an inch. In order to prevent that, he managed to keep a little in advance of Frank. But at last, after several false starts, they got off together, and the trader witnessed a race that was worth going miles to see. He entered heartily into the sport, clapping his hands, and shouting and laughing at the top of his voice; and when the rivals had passed out of sight of the rancho, he returned to his seat, his face all wrinkled up with smiles, and his fat sides shaking with suppressed mirth.

Archie had not overrated the powers of his horse. He took the lead at the start, and, what was more, increased it at every jump. For half a mile he went at an astonishing rate, carrying his rider faster than he had ever traveled before on horseback; but then the furious pace began to tell on him, and the mustang, which was good for a three-mile race at any time, gained rapidly. Archie, who had kept one eye over his shoulder all the while, noticed this, and knowing that Roderick’s long wind would bring him out winner, if the race continued much farther, pulled up his horse and stopped.

“Now see here,” exclaimed Frank, “this is not fair.”

“What isn’t?” asked his cousin, innocently.

“Why, to give up the race when I begin to gain on you. Come on; this question isn’t decided yet.”

“I think it is,” replied Archie. “I am entirely satisfied. Didn’t I keep ahead of you for half a mile?”

“Yes, but I want to explain.”

“A fellow who is beaten always wants to make some excuses or explanations. I have beaten you fairly. I own the swiftest horse in the settlement, thanks to Captain Porter, and I have just thought of an appropriate name for him. The genuine Roderick, the rebel your horse is named after, had things all his own way for a while, but met his equal, at last, in King James, who whipped him in a fair fight. Your Roderick has found his match now, and I don’t know any better name for the gallant little nag that has beaten him, than King James. That is what I shall call him.”

Frank had boasted loudly of the mustang’s victories over Sleepy Sam, and now Archie paid him back in his own coin. It was of no use for him to say that he would not acknowledge himself beaten—that Roderick was a “long-winded” horse, and that in a race of three miles he would leave the black one-third of the distance behind—for Archie would not listen; nor could he be induced to consent to another trial of speed. He was very proud of his victory, and loved every glossy hair of the little horse which had vanquished the hitherto invincible Roderick. But now he was gone. He was in the hands of some unknown thieves, who had entered the stable during the night, and made off with him and the mustang. The robbers must have known something about the merits of the two horses, for there were several other fine animals in the stable, but they were the only ones taken. The loss fell heavily on the boys, for they had expected to ride those horses to the head-waters of the Missouri during the coming autumn. Captain Porter was getting ready to start northward, on one of his annual trading expeditions, and Frank and Archie, and the two trappers, were to accompany him. It was the captain’s intention to spend a few weeks in trapping on the Missouri and its tributary streams, and, when cold weather came, to go into winter-quarters in the mountains.

The cousins had nearly gone wild with delight when Uncle James decided that they might join the expedition, and had looked forward with impatience to the day set for the start. What splendid sport they would enjoy! What multitudes of beavers and otters they would trap; what havoc they would make among the buffaloes and antelopes; and what fine opportunities they would have to listen to the trappers’ stories, when they were snug in their warm cabin in the mountains, with a fire blazing cheerfully on the hearth, while the fierce winter was piling up the snow-drifts without! Frank and Archie had often talked of these things; but now the journey across the plains, and the excitements attending a winter’s sojourn in the mountains, had lost all charms for them. Indeed, during the last week, Archie had repeatedly declared that he would not stir a step. If he could not ride King James on the expedition he would not go; he would stay at home.

“I can’t see why the farmers don’t wake up and do something,” said Archie, who was so deeply engrossed with his troubles that he did not notice that he was flourishing his whip in unpleasant proximity to his cousin’s ears. “If they are willing to let their horses go without making any attempt to recover them, I am not. The thieves are hidden somewhere in the mountains—I am sure of that—and if I were a man I would not sleep soundly until I had found them.”

“It isn’t often that I wish any body harm,” said Frank, “but I hope Roderick will throw the man who stole him, head over heels, the first time he tries to mount him.”

“Look out, fellows!” exclaimed Johnny, suddenly.

A heavy tramping was heard in the hall, which grew louder as the footsteps approached the door. The sound had a strange effect upon the boys, for they all uttered exclamations, and began running about the room. Frank sprang up and perched himself upon the head-board of the bed; Dick seized a chair, and thrust it out in front of him, as if waiting to receive the attack of some enemy; while Johnny ran to one of the windows, and endeavored to open the shutters. But the heavy bar, with which they were fastened, fitted tightly in its place, and seeing that the door of the wardrobe was ajar, he squeezed through it, and shut himself in. Archie was the only one who stood his ground.

CHAPTER II.
ABOUT BEARS.

Archie’s actions indicated that he had made up his mind to fight something. He threw off his hat, pushed back his sleeves, and winding the lash of his whip around his hand, raised the butt, in readiness to strike.

“If you don’t want a headache for the rest of the day, you had better look out for yourself,” exclaimed Frank. “You made him very angry.”

“Come in here!” cried Johnny, from the wardrobe. “There’s room enough for another, with tight squeezing.”

“I sha’n’t run a step,” replied Archie. “I am in no humor for nonsense this morning, and if Phil comes near me he will wish he hadn’t.”

The door opened at this moment, and in came Mr. Winters, Mr. Harris, and Mr. Thomas, all booted and spurred, and dusty with fast riding. The last named gentleman entered the room in a very undignified manner. The instant the door was opened, a half-grown bear slipped in between his feet, knocking them out from under him, and causing him to sit down on the animal’s back very suddenly. To save himself from falling to the floor, Mr. Thomas seized the bear’s long hair with both hands, and was brought into the room in triumph.

This bear was the Phil of which Archie had spoken, and the enemy that had been keeping him and his companions in a state of siege during the last half hour. Archie had done something Phil did not like; and he had loitered about in the hall, awaiting an opportunity to be revenged. Now that he had got into the room, he was fierce for a fight; and the boys, who had measured strength with him often enough to know that he was a very unpleasant fellow to have about when he was angry, thought it best to keep out of his way—all except Archie, who was in very bad humor, and would have held his ground against a dozen Phils. The bear, accepting his determined manner and threatening attitude as a challenge to combat, rushed straight at him, and in a moment more would have held him in a very loving embrace, had not Dick seized the chain that was fastened to Phil’s collar, and brought him to a standstill.

“Put the rascal out of doors,” said Mr. Winters. “The first thing you know, he will hurt some of you boys.”

But Phil did not give any one a chance to put him out. He raised himself on his hind legs, tumbling off Mr. Thomas, who measured his length on the floor, and disregarding the blows which Archie showered upon him with his whip, sprang upon him and threw him down.

“Pull him off, fellows,” shouted Archie, who knew that the punishment was coming now.

Frank jumped down from the head-board, Johnny came out of the closet, and both ran to assist Dick, who still clung manfully to the chain; but before they could reach him, Phil gave Archie a ringing slap on each side of his head, and made good his retreat from the room. The next that was seen of him, he was out in the court trying to start a fight with Marmion.

THE BEAR’S REVENGE.—[Page 24.]

Phil was a rough play-fellow, but he was full of his tricks, always ready for a fight or a frolic, and he held a prominent place in the affections of the boys, who looked upon him as a great institution; but by every one else on the rancho he was regarded as an unmitigated nuisance. One great fault with Phil was, that he was too much like some young people. He always wanted his own way in every thing, and if he could not have it, he would grumble and go into the sulks. He would wander off by himself and pout for hours together, like a foolish boy who had been denied something his mother thought he ought not to have, sticking out his lips after the most approved fashion, and growling and scolding to himself at a wonderful rate. On these occasions it was not safe to venture near him.

Phil was an expert wrestler and boxer, and as long as he could get the better of his antagonist he would keep in excellent humor. He would not growl or scratch him with his claws, and would always wait till he got a fair hold before he made any attempt to throw him down. But when he met his match, as he always did whenever he interfered with Frank, there would be trouble directly. When Phil found that he could not throw him, he would growl and get mad; and then there was always a fight or a foot-race. The boys generally thought it best to run when he was thoroughly aroused, for he was considerably larger than a Newfoundland dog, his teeth and claws were sharp, his paws heavy, and he used them in good earnest.

Phil was as treacherous as an Indian. Whenever a stranger visited the rancho, he would run to meet him, rub himself against his legs, turn summersaults for his amusement, and try, by every means in his power, to show that he was glad to see him; and all this while he would be watching for an opportunity to play a trick upon him. He would sneak around behind him, and if the visitor did not keep his eyes open, the first thing he knew his heels would fly up, and he would sit down upon the ground in a great hurry.

Another bad trait in Phil’s character was, that he never forgot an injury. He always avenged a wrong done him, and if he could not get at the guilty party, he would take satisfaction on some one else. Many a time, when Frank turned him loose in the morning, was he obliged to stand punishment for something Archie had done to him the night before. Phil, catching him off his guard, would trip him up, box his ears, and run off to escape the consequences; and the next time Frank met him he would be as friendly as ever, unless some one had been teasing him in the meantime. He seemed to cherish unbounded affection for Frank (that is, when he was in good humor), but he disliked Archie as much as Marmion did; and he had good cause to be angry at him on this particular morning. Archie had been unreasonably cross and ugly ever since his horse was stolen; and when the bear came up and greeted him in a friendly manner, by putting his paw on his shoulder, Archie, by taking some unfair advantage of him, succeeded in throwing him down, and cramming a handful of grass into his mouth; and that was an indignity that Phil would not submit to. He flew into a terrible rage, and the boys, knowing that something unpleasant would happen if Phil succeeded in getting his paws on any of them, ran into their room, and fastened all the doors and windows. The bear followed, and after trying in vain to effect an entrance through one of the port-holes, took his stand in the hall, and waited for them to come out. When Mr. Winters and his companions entered the room, he went in with them, and squared accounts with Archie, by boxing his ears so soundly that he had a headache all the rest of the day.

Uncle James and Mr. Harris laughed at Mr. Thomas, and the boys smiled behind their handkerchiefs. Mr. Thomas made some very uncomplimentary remarks about bears in general, and Phil in particular, and helping himself to a chair, resumed the conversation which this little incident had interrupted.

“It will be of no use, Mr. Winters,” said he, “for it has been tried already. He has been chased with dogs, caught in traps, and shot at numberless times; but he is to-day as lively and full of mischief as he was a year ago. He is bound to die a natural death.”

Mr. Thomas was speaking of the bear which had so often robbed Uncle James’s cow-pen, and after the boys had listened for a few minutes to the conversation that followed, they learned that this pest had visited the rancho again during the previous night, and walked off with a fine calf, for which Mr. Winters had refused a hundred dollars a few days before. More than that, he had got into a trap which had been made especially for him, but had succeeded in working his way out. This same trap had caught and held two good-sized bears, which had tried their best to escape, but it was not strong enough to confine him. He had tumbled the logs about in every direction, and made off with the bait with which the trap was set.

This bear was a well-known character in that section of the country—as well known as Mr. Winters himself. He was called “Old Davy;” and this name had been given to him to distinguish him from a few other old settlers of the same species; but these had been killed off, one after another, and now Old Davy was left alone. Those who had seen him, described him as a monster animal, fully as large as two ordinary bears. He could be recognized by a large bald spot on his forehead, which was, doubtless, the scar of a wound received during some of his numerous battles, and his track could be distinguished from those of other bears by the peculiar shape of the print left by one of his hind feet. A portion of the foot had either been shot away, or lost during a conflict with dogs, and the track made by this wounded member, showed only the claws and the ball of the foot. But this did not interfere with Old Davy’s traveling, or his fighting, either. He could wander over a good portion of the county in a night, and had, more than once, demonstrated his ability to whip all the dogs that could get around him. Between him and the horse-thieves, the farmers had lost many a dollar.

When Old Davy and his exploits had been thoroughly discussed, Mr. Winters told his nephews why he had come in there. He was on the point of starting for San Diego, to be gone three or four days; and he wanted the boys to manage affairs during his absence. “There is not much to be done,” said he, with a laugh, “but if you can manage to shoot Old Davy and catch those horse-thieves while I am gone, I should be delighted.”

The boys told themselves that they had not the slightest intention of going within a mile of Old Davy. If men like Dick Lewis and Bob Kelly, who had hunted grizzly bears all their lives, could not kill him, they certainly had no business with him. And as for the horse-thieves, they were, doubtless, a band of desperadoes, who used their revolvers or bowie-knives upon any one who came in their way, and the boys were quite sure that they would let them alone also. But, after all, they had a good deal to do with the horse-thieves, and with Old Davy also. Some exciting events happened in the settlement during the next few hours, and when Uncle James returned from San Diego, he was more astonished than he was when he listened to Frank’s story of his first encounter with Pierre Costello.

CHAPTER III.
A STRANGE STORY.

“Now,” said Archie, when he had seen Uncle James ride off toward San Diego, “what’s to be done? It’s dreadful slow hanging around the house all the while, and I propose that we visit that bear trap. We might repair it, you know, and perhaps we can make it strong enough to hold Old Davy the next time he gets into it.”

As no objections were raised to this proposition, the boys strolled slowly toward the stable, where Mr. Winters now kept all his fine riding stock, it being unsafe to allow the animals to run at large. There was no danger that the robbers would get any more horses out of that stable, for Dick Lewis and old Bob Kelly had taken up their quarters there. Archie thought it would have been a good thing for him and Frank, if this precaution had been adopted a few days before.

The stable was full of horses, but Frank and Archie could not find any to suit them. While Johnny and Dick were saddling their nags, the cousins, with their bridles in their hands, walked slowly up and down the floor, critically examining the twenty sleek, well-kept animals which were standing quietly in their respective stalls; but they measured every thing by Roderick and King James now, and none of their uncle’s horses were good enough for them.

“I believe I won’t go, fellows,” said Archie, at length. “I have a good mind to say that I will never leave the rancho again, until I get my horse back. Will you agree to that, Frank, if I will?”

“No, sir!” replied his cousin, quickly. “I can’t see the use of hurting my nose to spite my face. I am going on that expedition with Captain Porter this winter, if I have to ride a mule.”

“Well, it beats me that there is no one here who can catch those robbers,” said Archie, bitterly. “Dick Lewis, I have lost all faith in you.”

The trapper was seated on a bench beside the door, busy at work on a new hunting shirt, which, like all the rest of his garments, was gaudily ornamented with beads and bright-colored pieces of cloth. He smiled good-naturedly at Archie, but made no reply.

“I built my hopes high upon you,” continued the latter. “You have spent your life on the frontier; fought all through the Mexican war; have shot dozens of grizzly bears and Indians; been in numberless scrapes with all sorts of desperate characters, and yet you allow Old Davy to invade the rancho every night, and walk off with some of uncle’s best stock, and permit a band of horse-thieves to settle down here in our very midst, and carry on their trade without a word of protest. What do you mean by it?”

“We have done all we could, little ’un—me an’ old Bob have,” replied the trapper. “But don’t you know that thar are things movin’ around us all the while, that no livin’ man can’t foller, ’cause they don’t leave no trail?”

“Of course there are,” said Johnny. “Birds, for instance.”

“But the birds didn’t steal my horse,” exclaimed Archie.

“I aint sayin’ they did,” returned Dick. “I know well enough that your hosses were stole by men, ’cause I seed the prints of their feet in front of this yere very door. I know which way they went, too, fur me an’ old Bob tracked em.”

“You did?” cried Frank. “Then why didn’t you follow them up, and catch them?”

“’Cause we couldn’t; that’s the reason. It’s a leetle the queerest thing I ever hearn tell on.”

“What is?” asked all the boys in a breath. They began to get interested and excited now, for the trapper’s mysterious manner indicated that he had some great secret to communicate.

“I haint sartin that I had oughter say any thing about it,” replied Dick. “It’s something I can’t begin to see through, an’ that’s the reason I haint told your uncle of it. You ’member when Mr. Winters lost them two hosses of his’n, don’t you? Wal, the next mornin’ me an’ ole Bob tracked ’em nigh onto five miles, an’ finally lost their trail about a hundred yards from the creek that flows on this side of Don Carlos’ rancho. Thar war the prints of their hoofs in the soft ’arth, as plain as bar’s ears, an’ thar the trail ended. Now, where did them two hosses go to? That’s what I want to know.”

“Perhaps they turned up or down the creek to find a ford,” said Frank.

“They couldn’t have done that without leavin’ a trail, could they? It was a good hundred yards to the creek, as I told you, an’ me an’ Bob sarched every inch of the ground, but couldn’t find the print of a single hoof.”

“The robbers may have doubled on their trail, for the purpose of throwing you off the scent,” suggested Johnny.

“I don’t reckon that men who have hunted wild Injuns an’ varmints as long as me an’ Bob have, could be fooled by sich a trick as that ar’,” replied the trapper. “I have since found out all about it, youngsters. Them hosses didn’t make no more trail; that’s the reason we couldn’t foller ’em.”

“Then, of course, they didn’t go any farther,” said Dick Thomas.

“Yes, they did. They went acrost that creek, an’ into Don Carlos’ rancho, an’ never touched the ground, nor the water either.”

“Into Don Carlos’ rancho!” repeated Archie in great astonishment.

“And never touched the ground!” echoed Johnny. “Were they carried over?”

“Sartinly not. They walked.”

“How could two solid flesh-and-blood horses walk a hundred yards without stepping on the ground?” asked Frank.

“They could step on something else, couldn’t they? They walked on clouds!”

As the trapper said this, he settled back on the bench, and looked at the boys, to observe the effect this astounding announcement would have upon them. He expected them to be greatly amazed, and they certainly were. Any four boys in the world would have been amazed to hear such a declaration fall from the lips of a man whom they knew to be strictly truthful, and who, moreover, was not jesting, but speaking in sober earnest. They looked at the trapper a moment, and then at one another, and finally Johnny and Dick Thomas burst into a loud laugh; while the cousins, who were better acquainted with their old friend, thrust their hands deep into their pockets with an air which said plainly that they did not understand the matter at all, and waited patiently for him to explain.

“You may believe it or not,” said Dick, “but it’s a fact, ’cause ole Bob seed it with his own eyes. He watched the hul thing from beginning to end, and it well-nigh skeered him to death.”

“What did he see?” asked Frank, growing more and more bewildered. “I didn’t suppose that Bob was afraid of any living thing.”

“Nor he aint, nuther,” returned the trapper, quickly. “But show him something that can’t be hurt by a rifle-ball, an’ he’ll take to his heels as quick as any body. As I was sayin’, the trail of them two hosses ended thar on the bank of that creek, an’ we couldn’t find it ag’in. Me an’ ole Bob puzzled our heads over it fur a long time, an’ we finally made up our minds that that ar’ old Spaniard, Don Carlos, could tell us all about the matter if he was a mind to, an’ Bob said that we would go back the next night, an’ watch his rancho. Wal, when the next night come, we couldn’t both go, ’cause your uncle said he wanted one of us to keep an eye on the stables: so I stayed at home, an’ ole Bob went alone. He was gone about three hours, an’ when he come back I seed a sight I never seed afore, an’ one I never expect to see ag’in. Ole Bob’s face was as white as a Sunday shirt, an’ he was shakin’ all over like a man with the ager.”

“What had he seen?” repeated Frank, who was impatient to get at the bottom of the mystery.

“Easy, easy, youngster, I’m comin’ to that,” replied Dick. “Now, I’ve knowed ole Bob ever since I was knee-high to a duck, an’ I’ve been with him in more ’n a hundred fights with Injuns, an’ Greasers, an’ varmints—sometimes, too, when we jest did get away with our ha’r, an’ that was all—but I never seed him skeered afore. It made me feel kinder funny, I tell you, ’cause I knowed that thar had been something onnatural goin’ on; an’ I aint ashamed to say that I looked all around this yere stable, to make sure that me an’ him were alone. The ole feller didn’t say any thing, till he had filled his pipe an’ smoked it about half out; an’ then he told me what he had seed. ‘Dick,’ says he, ‘thar’s been awful things agoin’ on about that ar’ old Greaser’s rancho, an’ if I hadn’t seed it all with my own two eyes, I shouldn’t believe it. I went down thar where we lost the trail last night, an’ arter hidin’ my hoss in the bushes, tuk up a position from which I could watch both sides of the creek. I knowed that Don Carlos had gone to bed, ’cause thar was no light about the rancho, an’ the doors an’ winder-shutters were all closed. I hadn’t been thar in the bushes long, afore I heered the trampin’ of hosses; but it stopped all of a sudden, an’ fur the next five minutes I lay thar on the ground listenin,’ an’ peepin’ through the trees, tryin’ to get a sight at the fellers. But I couldn’t see ’em, an’ finally I begun to crawl up closer.

“‘Now, the last time I looked at the rancho, it was dark an’ still, an’ thar wasn’t a sign of a human bein’ about it; an’ durin’ the two minutes I was crawlin’ t’wards them hossmen, thar wasn’t even the rustlin’ of a leaf to tell me that thar was any thing goin’ on. But sich fellers as them that live in that rancho don’t make no noise about their work. They had done a good deal in them two minutes; an’ when I looked acrost the creek ag’in, I knowed how it come that we had lost the trail of them hosses. I seed enough to skeer me wuss nor I was ever skeered afore, an’ if I could have got up from the ground, I should have made tracks from thar sudden: but, Dick, I couldn’t move—something held me fast.

“‘I told you that the last time I looked t’wards the rancho it was all dark, didn’t I? Wal, it wasn’t so now. The walls of the buildin’, an’ the bank of the creek, were lighted up by streaks of fire; an’ where they come from I couldn’t tell. Howsomever, I didn’t think much about that, fur I seed somethin’ else that made my ole ’coon-skin cap raise up on my head. It was a bridge of clouds, which ran from the wall of the buildin’ down to the water’s edge. Mebbe you won’t believe that, Dick, but I seed it with my own eyes. Them streaks of fire, that come from the rancho, lighted up every thing fur a hundred yards around; an’ I could see the clouds a rollin’ an’ tumblin’ like the smoke from the mouth of a cannon. More ’n that, thar was a small flatboat in the creek, which I hadn’t seed thar afore, an’ on it were four hosses an’ three men. Two of the hosses were Roderick and King Jeems. Each one had a feller on his back, an’ each feller was holdin’ another hoss by the bridle.

“‘By the time I had noted these things the boat begun to move, an’ then I seed something else that skeered me. That ar’ boat, Dick, was rowed acrost that creek without hands. It’s a fact, ’cause I seed it. I rubbed my eyes to make sure that I wasn’t dreamin’, but thar wasn’t no mistake about it. Them two fellers sot thar on their hosses, without layin’ a finger on an oar or paddle, the other stood in the starn, with his hands in his pockets, an’ yet the boat carried them acrost. It wasn’t no time in reachin’ the other bank, an’ when it stopped, the hossmen rode out on this bridge of clouds, which seemed to have been put thar on purpose fur them, and went t’wards the house. I kept clost watch of them, to see which way they turned, but they didn’t turn at all. They kept straight ahead, an’ went into the rancho. I rubbed my eyes ag’in, an’ when I opened ’em the boat wasn’t thar, the bridge of clouds had disappeared, the fire had gone out, an’ the rancho was as dark an’ silent as though thar had never been nobody about it. I tell you, Dick, I was skeered when I seed that; but I’ve got a leetle courage, I reckon, an’ I made up my mind that I would find out the meanin’ of them strange doin’s, or die a tryin’. I had seed them two fellers go into the rancho, an’ I wanted to know how they got in, an’ what they were goin’ to do thar. I didn’t stop to think the matter over, ’cause I knowed I should back out if I did; but jumpin’ to my feet, I ran down the bank of the creek to the water, an’ struck out for the other shore. I wasn’t long in gettin’ acrost, an’ presently I found myself standin’ clost to the wall where I had seed the fire shinin’, an’ where them two hossmen had gone in. Was I really awake? Had I seed any body about thar at all? Dick, thar wasn’t a door or winder on that side of the buildin’! The wall was as solid as the ground—not a single crack or crevice in it. How could them two fellers have gone through a stone wall five foot thick? I axed myself that question, an’ then I fetched a little whistle, an’ turned an’ run fur my life. I swum that creek quicker’n it was ever swum afore, I reckon; an’ when I reached my hoss, I put spurs to him, an’ come home a flyin’. I kept lookin’ back all the while, to see if thar wasn’t somethin’ follerin’ me, an’ I didn’t draw an easy breath until I come within sight of this rancho. I’ve seed an’ heered of a heap of queer things durin’ the sixty years I’ve been knocked about on the prairy, but this yere is a leetle ahead of ’em all.’ That’s the way old Bob told me his story, youngsters,” said Dick, in conclusion. “You may laugh at it if you want to, but I won’t, ’cause I know that every word of it is the truth.”

For a few moments after the trapper ceased speaking, the boys stood looking at him and at one another in blank amazement. His story reminded them of the tales of enchantment they had read in the Arabian Nights. As strange as it may seem, however, they were not so much astonished at the recital of the singular events that had happened at the old Spaniard’s rancho, as they were to know that Roderick and King James had been seen to go in there. Frank turned the matter over in his mind, and told himself that he had heard something that would, sooner or later, lead to the breaking up of the robber-band. Like the others, he could not explain the “bridge of clouds,” nor could he understand how a boat could be ferried across a wide creek without hands, or how a solid stone wall, five feet thick, could open to admit the horsemen; but still he knew that if these things had really happened, they were the results of human agency, and that there was nothing supernatural about them. He did not believe that Don Carlos had any thing to do with the horse-thieves, and yet it did not seem possible that such proceedings as the old trapper had witnessed could go on in his rancho without his knowledge. Don Carlos was a prominent personage in the settlement. He was one of the wealthiest men in Southern California, numbered his cattle and horses by thousands, his money by bushels instead of dollars (Uncle James had once told his nephews that he had seen three barrels of gold in the old Spaniard’s bed-room), and there was no need that he should risk his life by engaging in any such business. Besides, he had lost several fine horses himself, and had been untiring in his efforts to discover the thieves. If he was one of the guilty parties, he certainly had reason to congratulate himself on the skillful manner in which he had avoided arousing the suspicions of his neighbors.

“I have told you the story, youngsters,” said Dick, “an’ you can do what you think best. You can bear one thing in mind, howsomever, an’ that is, if you’re goin’ to be keerless, like you allers are, an’ try to find out what’s been goin’ on at that rancho, you can look to the settlers for help, if you want any. Ole Bob says that thar aint money enough in Californy to hire him to go back thar; an’ if he won’t go, you’d better believe that Dick Lewis won’t go nuther. I don’t want to see any thing that ole Bob is afeared of.”

“I think we had better let the matter rest until Uncle James returns,” said Frank. “He will know what ought to be done. Now let us go out and look at that trap.”

“You had better keep away from thar,” said Dick. “If Ole Davy happens to be prowlin’ about in the woods, he’ll larn you more of the nater of grizzly bars than you ever knowed afore.”

“O, we’re not going to trouble him,” replied Johnny.

“And if he knows when he is well off he won’t trouble us either,” said Archie. “I’ve wanted to fight somebody ever since I lost that horse; and I’m just as willing it should be Old Davy as any one else.”

The cousins had a good deal of trouble in selecting their horses; but, with the trapper’s assistance, they were finally mounted to their satisfaction, and after securing their weapons, and a couple of axes, with which to repair the trap, they whistled to their dogs, and galloped toward the mountains.

CHAPTER IV.
“OLD DAVY.”

It was a long time before the boys ceased to wonder at the singular story they had just heard. They discussed it while they were riding toward the mountains; but after they had all expressed an opinion, they were as much in the dark as they had been before. They could not understand it at all. Dick Thomas declared that old Bob must have fallen asleep while he was watching the rancho, and that the bridge of clouds, the streaks of fire, and the boat that was ferried across the creek without hands, were things which he had seen only in his dreams. Such incidents, he said, might have happened in feudal times, and in some old castle which had been built with secret doors and dungeons and passage-ways; but no one need try to make him believe that they could take place at that late day, in a civilized country, and in a house that had been erected simply for a dwelling. It was ridiculous. Johnny said that was his opinion, too; but Frank and Archie, who knew that the old trapper was not the man to fall asleep while watching for an enemy, were confident that something unusual and exciting had been going on at Don Carlos’ rancho. Bob was a very ignorant man, and of course he was superstitious. He believed in signs and omens, and any thing he could not account for was sure to frighten him. This may have led him to exaggerate the occurrences at the rancho, but, for all that, they knew that he had been a witness to some strange scenes.

“Old Bob didn’t make up that story,” said Archie, decidedly, “and he never dreamed it, either. He saw something, and I’ll know what it was before I am two days older. It’s my opinion that that old Spaniard has got my horse: and if he has, he must give him up, or there’ll be a bigger fuss in this settlement than there was when the Indians attacked it years ago.”

But all thoughts of Don Carlos and his rancho, and the mysterious things that had happened there, were soon driven out of their minds; for, by this time, they had reached the spring near which Frank, Archie, and Johnny had been captured by Pierre and his band, and there they found the trap of which they were in search. It was built of heavy logs, with a movable top, like the lid of a box, to which, when the trap was set, a “trigger” was adjusted, in such a manner that, when the bait was removed, the top would fall down, confining the bear in the pen. The boys thought that Old Davy must have possessed immense power of muscle to work his way out of that trap. He had left the marks of his great claws and teeth on the logs, and there were the prints of his feet where he had passed along the muddy bank of the spring into the woods.

Frank and his companions sat in their saddles looking at the trap, while the dogs, with all the bristles on their backs sticking straight up, ran about in a state of intense excitement. The boys were all thinking about the same thing: and that was, if they dared to send on the dogs, and could find and shoot Old Davy, what a feather it would be in their caps! That would be doing something that Dick Lewis and Bob Kelly and all the best hunters in the settlement had tried in vain to accomplish. There was one of their number who was reckless enough to believe that they could do it, and that was Archie Winters.

“Hi! hi!” he yelled, so suddenly that he startled all his companions. “Look to him, dogs. Hunt him up!”

No sooner were the words spoken, than the dogs uttered a simultaneous yelp, and disappeared in the bushes. There were five of them in the pack—Marmion, and four splendid hounds, which belonged to Dick. Their young masters had often declared that they should never follow Old Davy’s trail, for he was a famous hand to destroy dogs, and during his numerous fights, he had killed nearly all the finest animals of this species in the settlement. A few months before, every farmer in that section of the country had pointed with pride to his pack of fifteen or twenty hounds, to which he gave as much care and attention as he bestowed upon his horses; but Old Davy had thinned them all out, and now some of the settlers had only two or three remaining. Frank and Dick had, thus far, kept their favorites at a safe distance from the grizzly, but Archie had sent them right into his mouth. When the dogs came up with him, they would of course attack him, and that would be the last of them. A bear that could demolish twenty fierce hounds in a single fight, would not wink over five antagonists. However, it was too late to recall them. They were already out of sight, and yelping fierce and loud as they swept up the mountain in pursuit of the grizzly.

“I’ve seen my hounds for the last time,” said Dick.

“And I’ll never put eyes on Marmion again,” chimed in Frank. “What made you send them on, Archie?”

“Now look here, fellows,” replied the latter. “We have said a hundred times that we wanted to see Old Davy, and I’d like to know if we’ll ever have a better chance than we’ve got now. Let’s follow the dogs, and when they bring us within sight of the bear, we’ll call them off. We can look at him without having a fight with him, can’t we?”

The others were by no means sure of that. Those who knew Old Davy best said that he was a quarrelsome fellow, and that he never hesitated to assault anybody who invaded his dominions. A black bear, unless driven desperate by hunger, will generally take to his heels at the sight of a human being; but Old Davy was a grizzly, and one of the most ferocious of his species. But, although the boys were well aware of all these facts, they did not hesitate to follow Archie, who, without waiting to hear what his companions had to say to his proposition, put spurs to his horse, and dashed into the bushes. They unslung their guns as they went (although they all declared that they had not the slightest intention of shooting at the bear if they came up with him), and, guided by the hoarse baying of the hounds in front, galloped through the trees, and up the side of the mountain, like a squad of cavalry on the charge.

The higher they went the more difficult the ascent became. The bushes were thick, fallen logs incumbered the ground, and the trees and saplings grew so closely together that their horses could scarcely force their way through them. It was a splendid hiding-place for a bear, and Frank could not help asking himself how many chances there were in a hundred that all of them would succeed in making their escape, if Old Davy should suddenly pounce down upon them.

After a tedious, fatiguing ride of half an hour, during which time the music of the hounds continued to ring out louder and clearer, as the trail grew warmer, they reached the top of a spur of the mountain, and were on the point of descending into the ravine on the opposite side, when Dick Thomas, who was leading the way, suddenly uttered an exclamation, and stopped his horse.

“What is it?” asked his companions in a breath.

“We’d better be getting away from here, fellows,” replied Dick, so excited that he could scarcely speak plainly. “There’s the old rascal himself.”

“Who? Where? You don’t mean Old Davy!”

The boys had talked bravely enough about meeting this dreaded monster; but now that they were close upon him, their courage began to ooze out at the ends of their fingers, and the faces they turned toward Dick were a good deal paler than usual.

“Yes, I do mean Old Davy. Don’t you see him sitting there at the foot of that mammoth oak?”

The boys looked through the trees in the direction Dick pointed, and, sure enough, there was the grizzly, scarcely more than a hundred yards distant. There could be no mistake as to his identity, for there was the bald spot on his forehead as plain as daylight. They had got themselves into a nice scrape.

That was the first thought that passed through Frank’s mind, and the next was that he would never again have a word to say about Marmion’s courage. He had never been more astonished in his life, than he was when he witnessed the actions of his favorite. The hero of a score of hard-fought battles, the dog that had been at the killing of half a dozen bears, and never once hesitated to attack the largest of them—Marmion the infallible, upon discovering Old Davy, uttered one howl of terror, and faced about and fled for dear life. The hounds followed close at his heels, and such a scrambling to get out of harm’s way Frank had never seen before. They were out of sight in an instant.

The boys had prepared themselves to see something frightful when they came within sight of Old Davy, and they were not disappointed. He was even larger and uglier than their imaginations had pictured him. He sat on his haunches at the root of a huge oak, swinging his head slowly, from side to side, and apparently unconscious of the presence of the young hunters.

“Well, fellows,” said Frank, who was the coolest one in the party, “we’ve found the old villain, and now what are we going to do with him?”

“Let’s shoot at him and run,” suggested Archie.

“If the ground was clear, and I had my own horse, I would agree to that,” replied Frank. “But don’t you know that this mountain behind us is almost impassable? What would happen to us if we should fail to kill or disable him, and our horses should become entangled in the bushes?”

“Well, we must do something very soon,” said Johnny, “for the old fellow isn’t going to sit there much longer. He is getting uneasy.”

Frank raised himself in his stirrups and took a survey of the ground before him, like a general who was about to lead his forces into action. But he had no intention of provoking a fight with their enemy. His only desire was to bring himself and companions safely out of the dangerous predicament in which they had thoughtlessly placed themselves. He was certain that when they began to retreat, the grizzly would assume the offensive; and in a race through those thick bushes, he would have a decided advantage, and might succeed in overtaking some of them.

“There is only one thing we can do,” said he, “and that is to get down to the bottom of the ravine.”

“Why, we’ll have to go right past Old Davy to get there,” said Archie.

“We can’t help that. We must reach clear ground, where we will have a fair chance for our lives, if he takes it into his head to attack us. Move in single file, boys, keep close together, and if Old Davy shows fight, we’ll give him a volley, and take to our heels.”

“That’s the way to do it,” said Dick, approvingly. “You give the commands, Frank, and then every thing will be done in order.”

The boys were, by this time, recovering from the nervousness that had been occasioned by the first sight of the grizzly; and, as their courage returned, there was more than one among them who secretly determined that he would not leave the field, until he had had at least one fair shot at the bear. They had swift horses under them, trusty weapons in their hands, and they knew that if Old Davy would keep quiet until they were well out of the bushes into clear ground, there was nothing to be afraid of.

Frank turned his horse and rode slowly down the mountain toward the bottom of the ravine, his companions following after in single file. They carried their rifles across their saddles in front of them, cocked and ready for instant use, and each boy kept his eyes fastened upon the grizzly. Old Davy watched them closely, too; and when he saw them moving about among the bushes, he raised his head and uttered an angry growl. That growl had a demoralizing effect upon the young hunters, for their line of battle was broken in an instant, and Frank’s horse made one or two frantic leaps down the mountain, almost unseating his rider. The general consternation was greatly increased when Johnny called out that the bear was coming.

“Take it easy, boys!” shouted Frank, with difficulty restraining his frightened horse. “There’s time enough. Wait till he comes out of the bushes, and fire at that bald spot on his forehead. Be sure of your aim, now.”

It required no little nerve for the young hunters to sit there in their saddles and await the onslaught of that enraged grizzly. They could not see him now, but they heard his angry growls, and saw the bushes shake and bend as he charged toward them. Presently his enormous head and shoulders emerged from a thicket scarcely more than twenty-five yards distant, and Frank gave the word.

“Ready! Aim! Fire!” he shouted.

Four shining rifle-barrels arose in line, four sights covered the bear’s head, four fingers pressed the trigger at the same instant, a roar that awoke the echoes far and near rang through the mountains, and before the smoke cleared away, four frightened horses had dashed past Old Davy, and were carrying their riders down the ravine with the speed of the wind. The boys knew that their hands trembled, but they were all good marksmen, and they were sure that at least one of the four bullets that had been fired at the grizzly’s head, had found a lodgment in some vital part; but what was their amazement, when they reached the bottom of the ravine, and turned in their saddles and looked back, to see Old Davy still on his feet, and coming down the mountain in hot pursuit, he did not appear to have been in the least injured by the storm of bullets they had rained upon him.

CHAPTER V.
A RUNNING FIGHT.

It was one of Dick’s sayings that bear-hunting was a “business by itself”—as much so as book-keeping or steamboating; and Frank and Archie had been in California long enough to learn that the trapper told the truth in this, as in other matters. It was a favorite pastime with the settlers in that section of the country, and the cousins had seen as many as thirty men take part in a single hunt. They were generally divided into two parties: some went in the drive—that is, they followed the hounds, and if the bear was brought to bay by them, they signaled to their companions with their hunting horns. The others were scattered about among the mountains, watching the “runaways,” and holding themselves in readiness to shoot the bear if he attempted to pass by them. This was the part our four boys always took in a bear-hunt, and they had engaged in so many during the last few weeks, that they began to consider themselves experts in the business. They had never killed a grizzly, but they could boast of having had an exciting fight with one. How it would have ended it is hard to tell. The boys were getting the worst of it (by that we mean that the bear was charging upon them, and they were running for dear life toward the place where they had left their horses), when Mr. Harris, who happened to be near at hand, came up and put an end to the fight by shooting the bear through the head. The boys afterward had reason to wish that he had stayed away a few minutes longer; for all the hunters in the settlement laughed at them, and Mr. Harris created a great deal of amusement by showing how Johnny looked when he was running through the bushes, with his coat-tails sticking straight out behind him. They defended themselves against the charge of cowardice with a good deal of spirit, and did not, by any means, acknowledge themselves whipped. They affirmed that it was their intention to draw the bear into open ground, and continue the fight on horseback; but the old hunters refused to believe this story, and the boys solemnly avowed that, if they ever got a fair chance, they would show them that they could kill a bear as well as any body. Now they had an opportunity to try their skill on Old Davy, and this was the time to make good their boasts. The result of this day’s work would be a fair test of their abilities as bear-hunters. There were no dogs to worry the grizzly, and no experienced men, with quick eyes and steady hands, to ride up and rescue them if they came to close quarters with their enemy. They had no one to depend upon but themselves; and, if they killed the bear, the glory would be all their own.

“I am going to have one more shot at that fellow before I leave him,” said Archie, with as much apparent indifference as though he was speaking of shooting at a squirrel. “He’ll never rob any more cow-pens when I am done with him.”

The boys were all wonderfully brave and reckless now that they imagined themselves safe from the claws of the grizzly: but when they reached the bottom of the ravine, and found that their situation there was not much better than it had been on the mountain-side, their courage all left them again, and they had nothing more to say about shooting Old Davy. They were really in more danger now than they had been before, for they had but one way to run. On two sides of them were precipitous cliffs, which could not be scaled on horseback; behind them was the grizzly; and in front an almost impenetrable wall of bushes shut them off from the prairie beyond. They took this all in at a glance, and, knowing that there was but one way of escape open to them, they urged their horses forward at increased speed, and dashed pell-mell into the bushes, where, a moment afterward, they found themselves brought to a dead halt. Their horses, snorting with terror, exerted themselves to the utmost, but without making any perceptible headway, and but a short distance behind them came the bear, lumbering along as easily as though the bushes, which effectually checked their progress, had been nothing more than so many straws in his way. It was a critical moment, and more than one among the young hunters gave himself up for lost. Beyond a doubt it would have been the last bear-hunt for somebody, had it not been for the coolness and courage of Frank Nelson. Seeing that the grizzly was gaining rapidly, and that he would certainly overtake them before they could work their way out of the bushes, he very deliberately slung his rifle over his shoulder, and drew one of his revolvers. Reining in his plunging, frantic horse, he faced about in his saddle, and took a deliberate aim at the bear’s head.

“Shoot close, Frank,” said Johnny, whose horse seemed to be hopelessly entangled in the bushes. “If you miss, somebody is done for.”

With almost breathless anxiety his companions awaited the result of his shot; and when the smoke of the revolver had cleared away, and Old Davy was seen struggling on the ground, the shout that went up from four pairs of strong lungs was almost deafening.

“Hurrah for the champion rifle-shot!” yelled Dick. “He’s down!”

“But he’s up again!” exclaimed Frank, “Push ahead, fellows!”

During the delay occasioned by Frank’s lucky shot, short as it was, the boys gained considerable ground; and before the grizzly was fairly on his feet again, they had worked their way out of the bushes into the bed of a creek which ran through the ravine. As the water was but a few inches deep, it formed an excellent highway; and, with another shout, the boys gave rein to their horses, which set off at a rapid gallop, leaving Old Davy far in the rear. They were safe now, and their courage rose again.

“Isn’t there any way to get the better of that fellow?” asked Archie. “If we can induce him to follow us out on the prairie, I’ll ride home after Dick Lewis. He’ll fix him.”

“Oh, he will follow us,” replied Johnny: “you need not be at all uneasy about that. I guess you haven’t learned much about grizzlies yet.”

Archie thought of the adventures he had had with these animals when he and his friends were encamped at the Old Bear’s Hole, and told himself that he had learned a good deal about them; perhaps quite as much as his friend Johnny, who had lived among them all his life.

“I declare, he’s coming now,” continued the latter, looking over his shoulder. “I don’t believe we have hurt him at all.”

The others were of the same opinion. Old Davy made headway astonishingly for an animal that had five bullets in him, and during the next ten minutes they did not gain on him more than a stone’s throw. But that did not cause them any uneasiness. They knew that the grizzly could not overtake them as long as the way was clear before them, and as they dashed along they discussed the best means of conquering their dreaded enemy. When they got him out on the prairie should they stop and fight him, or go home after the trapper? They knew that they would gain a good deal of honor, if they could exhibit the grizzly’s skin as a trophy of their prowess, but they were so much afraid of him that they did not want to permit him to come within shooting distance of them again, if they could avoid it. They did not have time, however, to come to any decision on these points, for they suddenly discovered something that drove all their plans for Old Davy’s destruction out of their minds, and turned their thoughts to a matter of much more importance—their own safety. As they swept around an abrupt bend in the creek, they found themselves brought to a standstill by a huge tree which had fallen across the ravine. Against the body of the tree was piled a mass of smaller logs and branches, which had probably lodged there during high water, the whole forming an obstruction at least seven feet in height. They could not go around it, because of the cliffs on each side; and they dared not turn back, for there was the grizzly close behind them. They were fairly cornered.

The boys became appalled when they saw the danger of their situation, and for a moment they sat in their saddles as motionless as if they had been turned into stone. Then a glance over their shoulders showed them that the grizzly still kept up the pursuit; and that once more aroused them.

“What shall we do?” asked Archie, turning his pale face toward his cousin, to whom he always looked for advice and assistance in times of danger.

Frank’s answer was not given in words. When they first discovered the obstruction in their path, they had stopped their horses, and during the half a minute of inactivity that preceded Archie’s question, Frank had taken a survey of the situation, and determined upon his course. The others knew what it was when they saw him bend forward in his saddle, and gather his reins firmly in his hand.

“You can’t do it!” Dick almost gasped. “It is too high.”

Before the words were fairly uttered, Frank’s horse was flying down the ravine at the top of his speed. For a moment the gravel and water flew about in all directions, then there was a crushing among the branches which had lodged against the body of the tree, and Frank had disappeared from view. His horse had jumped the log; and if the others could be induced to follow, the young hunters were safe.

“I did it easily enough, didn’t I?” shouted Frank, waving his hat to his companions. “Come on, fellows. It’s your only chance.”

As soon as he could stop his horse he turned to wait for the others. Then for the first time he realized how high the obstruction was—what a tremendous jump his horse must have made to carry him safely over it—and he trembled when he saw his companions preparing to follow him. As he sat in his saddle, he could just look over the log and watch their movements. A very slight accident—a single instant’s hesitation on the part of one of their horses—might result in a terrible tragedy.

Johnny was the first to take the leap. In response to a light touch from his spurs, his horse arose in the air and sailed over the log like a bird. Two of them were safe, and their courage arose again wonderfully: but now misfortunes befell them. Archie’s horse made an awkward start, and striking his fore-feet against a branch of the tree, fell rather than jumped over the obstruction, dashing his rider with stunning violence to the ground. Dick’s horse came on gallantly enough, but stopped when he reached the log, laid back his ears, and stubbornly refused to move an inch in any direction. Johnny turned white with terror, and the ramrod with which Frank was driving home a ball in his rifle, trembled like a leaf in his grasp. There was Archie lying stunned and bleeding where he had fallen, Dick on a balky horse, which only kicked viciously when his rider touched him with his spurs, and the bear close behind, and coming on as fiercely as ever.

Frank gazed in bewilderment and dismay at the scene before him, and his first impulse was to put spurs to his horse and ride away, that he might not see what would follow when the grizzly came up. But that feeling was short-lived. He knew that neither Archie nor Dick would have deserted him had he been in their situation, and if he could not save them, he would, at least, have the satisfaction of knowing that he had done what he could.

“Johnny,” he exclaimed, in a voice which to save his life he could scarcely raise above a whisper, “can you take Archie in front of you?”

“Hand him up here,” was Johnny’s reply. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Dick,” continued Frank, “jump down from that horse, and mount Archie’s.”

Dick was prompt to act upon the suggestion. He threw himself from his horse, which he sincerely hoped would stand where he was until Old Davy could get his claws upon him, tumbled over the log, and in a moment more was safe in Archie’s saddle. Frank, in the mean time, had raised his cousin from the ground, and placed him upon Johnny’s horse; and by the time the grizzly came in sight, the boys were ready to continue their flight.

“Ride for life, now, Johnny,” said Frank. “Remember that you have got a double load, and don’t spare the whip.”

“Don’t be uneasy,” was the answer. “I’ve a splendid horse, and I won’t be long”——

Another misfortune cut short Johnny’s words. If his horse was a splendid animal, he was also a most vicious one, and he did not like to carry double. No sooner did he feel Archie’s weight on his back, than he set off at a furious pace, and suddenly throwing down his head, sent both his heels high into the air. Johnny, being an excellent horseman, and always on the watch for such eccentricities, would have had no difficulty in retaining his seat, had not the saddlegirth parted with a loud snap, throwing him and Archie headlong to the ground.

“Did any body ever hear of such luck!” growled Johnny, who was on his feet almost as soon as he touched the ground. “Come here, Dick; you’ll have to take him now.”

He gave one parting glance at his horse, which was flying down the ravine, and then raised his insensible companion in his arms, and ran toward Dick, who galloped up to meet him. The former took the wounded hunter upon his horse and continued his flight, while Johnny picked up his gun, and drew a bee-line for the nearest tree.

While this was going on, Frank had finished loading his rifle, and dismounted from his horse, and was now standing in front of the log, awaiting the approach of the grizzly, and ready to carry out his self-imposed task of covering the retreat of the others. In one hand he held his bridle, and in the other his trusty weapon, which he raised to his shoulder now and then, as he caught sight of the grizzly through the branches of the tree. He knew that every thing depended upon the result of this shot, and he was resolved that he would not fire until a fair mark was presented. He tried to argue himself into the belief that Old Davy was a squirrel, and that he could easily put a ball into one of his eyes at a distance of fifty yards. He recalled to mind some of the excellent shots he had made during the last few days, and tried hard to keep up his courage by telling himself that it was seldom indeed that he missed his mark. Still he did miss sometimes, and what would be the result if he missed now? His life would not be worth a moment’s purchase. He would not have time to mount before the grizzly would be close upon him. But even if he did succeed in making his escape, how far could Dick’s horse carry his double load before he would be overtaken? Once more Frank raised his rifle, and just at that moment Old Davy’s head and shoulders appeared above the log, not more than ten feet distant. His mouth was open, showing a frightful array of teeth, his ears were laid back close to his head, his eyes seemed to shoot forth angry sparks of fire, and, altogether, his appearance was enough to shake the strongest nerves. But Frank’s were as firm as a rock. The trusty rifle was held as steadily as though it were a part of him it had served so long and faithfully; and just as the grizzly’s fore-feet touched the ground, a sharp report rang through the ravine, and for an instant the smoke concealed both hunter and bear from the view of Johnny, who, from his perch in a neighboring tree, had watched all that was going on before him with breathless anxiety. When the smoke cleared away he saw Frank standing erect and unharmed, and Old Davy lying motionless where he had fallen. Frank’s bullet had reached its mark.

CHAPTER VI.
DON CARLOS’ RANCHO.

Old Davy, the terror of the country, the destroyer of dogs, and winner of goodness knows how many desperate battles—Old Davy the invincible—had met his match at last in Frank Nelson, a boy of sixteen. The young hunter had long enjoyed an enviable reputation, dating as far back as his desperate fight with the moose, which had taken place during the previous winter, while he and Archie were sojourning at Uncle Joe’s cabin. Since that time he had been the hero of as many scrapes as a boy of his age could well get into. He had been lost on the prairie; stampeded with a herd of buffaloes; passed a night in the camp of a band of blood-thirsty outlaws, who stole his horse and threatened to tie him to a tree and leave him to the mercy of the wolves; had three desperate encounters with a highwayman, and been captured at last and held as a prisoner by him; and in all these trying situations he had shown that he possessed a wonderful degree of courage, and had always conducted himself in a way to draw forth the highest praise from his friends the trappers. But all his former exploits were as nothing compared with the feat he had just accomplished. He had a reputation now that any farmer in that country would have been proud to possess. He would be pointed out as the one who had killed a monster which had held his own against all the men and dogs that could be brought against him; and when he heard old bear-hunters recounting their adventures, and boasting of their achievements, he could hold his head as high as any of them.

That was what Frank thought half an hour after the fight was over; but, when he stood there looking at his prize and at his companions—at Archie, who sat on the ground beside the bear, with his aching head resting on his hands, and at Dick, one or both of whom had been saved by his lucky shot, he never reflected on the glory he had won. He could not help thinking of what the consequences would have been if he, in his excitement, had missed the bear, or failed to disable him.

Never before had the boys engaged in so exciting a battle. It was far ahead of any of their former hunts. It had been ended so fortunately, too! Archie had a lame shoulder and a bruised nose, and for a few minutes had been utterly unconscious of what was going on around him; but he did not feel half so badly about it as Dick did over the trick his horse had played upon him.

“I’ll fix him for that,” said the boy, with a threatening shake of his head. “I’ll put him in one of father’s teams, and make him work for his living. I don’t owe him any thanks for coming out of this fight with a whole skin. After he has made a few trips between our rancho and San Diego, hauling heavy loads of provisions, he’ll wish he had behaved himself.”

“I’ll tell you what I am going to do with mine,” said Archie, with a glance of contempt at the nag which had been the cause of his misfortune: “I’ll leave him out of doors to-night, and let the horse-thieves steal him.”

“I don’t see how you can be revenged on the horse by doing that,” said Frank. “I don’t suppose it makes much difference to him who he has for a master.”

“Who said I wanted to be revenged on the horse?” asked Archie. “I don’t; but I’ll take a terrible revenge on the robbers. Perhaps the fellow who gets this horse will try to jump him over a log, and the horse will fall down with him, as he did with me, and smash the robber’s nose, and knock his shoulder out of joint. That’s the way I’ll get even with him.”

“Three cheers for the champion rifle-shot and bear-killer!” yelled Johnny, for the twentieth time.

Again and again the ravine echoed with lusty shouts—even Archie lifted his pale face and joined in with a feeble voice—and having thus given vent to their enthusiasm, the boys pulled off their jackets and began the work of removing the grizzly’s skin.

“That will be a valuable addition to our museum at home, won’t it?” asked Archie, stretching himself out in the shade of a tree close by. “When it is stuffed and mounted, it will be worth all our other specimens put together. I’d give something to know what Dick Lewis will have to say about it. Hallo!”

The boys looked up to see what had caused this exclamation, and discovered the trapper standing at a little distance from them, closely watching their operations. They had often seen him astonished, but never before had they seen such a look of utter amazement as that which now overspread his face. He stood with his body bent forward, his neck stretched out, and his eyes almost starting from their sockets. With one hand he held his horse, and in the other his rifle, with the butt of which he was thumping the ground energetically, as if giving emphasis to some thoughts that were passing through his mind. His whole attitude and appearance indicated that he was little prepared for the scene he was witnessing.

“Hallo, Dick!” exclaimed Johnny; “we’re glad to see you. You and old Bob can just hang up your fiddles now. There’s a hunter in the settlement who is a long way ahead of both of you.”

The trapper tied his horse to a limb of the nearest tree, and walked toward the boys. “You amazin’ keerless feller!” said he, addressing himself to Frank, “I b’lieve it’s my bounden duty to take this yere ramrod out of my gun an’ give you the best kind of a wallopin’.”

“You had better be careful how you talk to him,” said Dick Thomas. “He’s the man who killed Old Davy.”

“Don’t I know all about it?” exclaimed the trapper. “Didn’t I say to myself this mornin’, when you fellers left the rancho, that somethin’ was goin’ to happen? Didn’t I saddle up my hoss an’ foller you, to keep an eye on you, an’ haint you gone an’ fit an’ killed that ar’ grizzly bar afore I could find you, to lend you a helpin’ hand? You have; an’ it beats any thing I ever heern tell on. The next thing I know you will be foolin’ around among them hoss-thieves.”

This was the way Dick always lectured Frank and Archie whenever they did any thing that astonished him, and a stranger, to have heard him speak, would have supposed that somebody had ordered him to watch the cousins closely, and keep them out of trouble; and that he had found the task an exceedingly difficult one to perform. The stranger would have believed, too, that he was very angry; but the boys knew that the fierce scowl he had assumed was intended to conceal a very different feeling—that he was highly elated over their victory, and that, before a week had passed, he would tell it to every body in the settlement. They knew, also, that the story would lose nothing in passing through his hands; for, although Dick always confined himself strictly to the truth when relating his own adventures, he did not hesitate to exaggerate a little when recounting the exploits of his “youngsters.”

“I wouldn’t be in Uncle Jeems’s boots fur nothin’,” said the trapper, filling his pipe and looking severely at Frank. “He promised your folks, afore we left Lawrence, that he would keep you out of all danger, an’ bring you safe back to your hum; but how he’s a goin’ to do it I can’t tell. I wouldn’t make no sich bargain as that ar’ with no man, ’cause I couldn’t live up to it. What’s the matter with you, little un?”

“I’ve got a broken head, and a lame shoulder, and a cracked nose, and somehow I don’t feel all right,” replied Archie.

“Don’t! Wal, tell us all about it.”

The trapper settled back on his elbow to listen, and Dick Thomas, who was a smooth-tongued fellow, related the story of their adventures from beginning to end. As he proceeded, the scowl gradually faded from the backwoodsman’s face; and when he told how Frank had stood there at the log, and risked his life to secure the retreat of the others, Dick slapped the young hero on the back so heartily that he felt the effects of the blow for a quarter of an hour afterward. When the story was finished, he unsheathed his long bowie and assisted the boys in removing the grizzly’s skin; and as soon as this had been done, he placed Archie on his horse, and led the way toward home.

Their morning’s work had sharpened the boys’ appetites, and the excellent dinner which the housekeeper served up for them rapidly disappeared before their attacks. Even Archie disposed of his full share of the eatables, and after a hearty meal, pushed back his chair, declaring that he was all right, and ready for any thing the others had to propose, even if it was a fight with another Old Davy.

When the grizzly’s skin had been stretched upon a frame to dry, the boys lounged about the house for an hour or two, talking over the incidents of the morning; and then Johnny and Dick bade the cousins good-by, and started for home. Archie was lonesome and restless after they had gone. While Frank sat in his easychair, deeply interested in some favorite author, Archie lay stretched out on the bed, tossing his heels in the air, and scarcely knowing what to do with himself. His lost horse was still uppermost in his mind, and he wanted to talk about him, and about nothing else. There was Frank, as serene and undisturbed as usual, poring over the pages of some dry book, when he knew that the steed he valued so highly was within five miles of him! Archie did not see how any body could read under such circumstances, and he told his cousin so. He did not want to stay in the house either; and, what was more, he wouldn’t. He wanted to go somewhere, and do something.

“Well,” said Frank, laying down his book, “let’s hear what you have to propose. I am quite at your service.”

“Suppose we beard the lion in his den,” said Archie.

“All right. Show me the lion.”

“O, I am not joking. Let’s visit Don Carlos. Mark my words now, Frank: that old rascal knows more about the horse-thieves, than any body else in the country. We are on pretty good terms with him, and perhaps he will invite us to stay all night. If he does, we may be able to learn something about the bridge of clouds, and the other strange things old Bob saw there. Will you go?”

“Of course. But I’ll tell you what it is: You are going to be disappointed. We must not let Don Carlos know that we suspect any thing, for if we do, we may get ourselves into trouble.”

“I guess we are smart enough to look out for that. We will listen to his stories, and hear him rail at the robbers, and lament the loss of his fine horses, and all that, and act as though we believed every word of it. We mustn’t let Dick know where we are going,” added Archie. “He would be sure to make a fuss about it, for he has somehow got it into his head that he is our guardian in uncle’s absence.”

One would think that the cousins had already seen enough of excitement and perilous adventure, to satisfy any two boys in the world; and that, after their recent narrow escape from the clutches of Old Davy, they would think twice before undertaking so dangerous an enterprise as this, which Archie had called “bearding the lion in his den.” The way they went about their preparations, however, showed that they were in earnest, and that they were fully determined to learn more about the mysterious rancho, that is, if there was any thing more to be learned. Frank did not think there was. Of course the friendly old Spaniard would insist that they should accept his hospitality for the night, as he always did when they visited him. They had passed two or three nights under his roof, without seeing or hearing any thing unusual, and they would do it again. As for Don Carlos’ complicity with the horse-thieves, that was all in Archie’s eye. It was only another of the thousand-and-one foolish notions he was continually getting into his head, and when morning came he would be obliged to acknowledge the fact. Archie, on the other hand, had made up his mind to see some queer sights during the night, if they remained at Don Carlos’ rancho. He knew that he would have to fight somebody, and he prepared for it by putting a small revolver into his pocket, as did Frank, also. He was satisfied, too, that Bob had seen his horse go into the Spaniard’s rancho; and, if he was still there, Archie would have him out, or he would raise a fuss about the old fellow’s ears that would make him think he had stirred up a hornet’s nest.

“Just think of it!” exclaimed Archie, indignantly. “Our horses are being used every night by those robbers! O, you may smile and shake your head as much as you please, but I know it is so!” Frank thought if his cousin’s convictions on this point were as strong as the blow he struck the table to emphasize his words, they must have been very powerful indeed. “Now, I can tell you in a few words just how this matter stands,” continued Archie, “and one of these days you will see that I am right. The robbers make their head-quarters at that rancho, and ride Roderick and King James on their plundering expeditions. They know that the animals are swift, and that if they are discovered they can run away from their pursuers very easily. But my horse sha’n’t engage in any such business. He is a good honest horse, and I am not going to have him taught any bad habits.”

In a few minutes the boys were in their saddles, and galloping through the grove toward the creek. They carried their rifles slung over their shoulders by broad straps, their navy revolvers in their holsters, and their small pistols in their pockets. They rode the same horses that had carried them through the fight with the grizzly, Archie remarking that although his nag was not much of a jumper, he was a good one to go, and he might have occasion to use a fast horse before morning. They succeeded in leaving the rancho without the trapper’s knowledge; and in half an hour drew rein on the bank of the creek a short distance from Don Carlos’ rancho.

The building was like a good many others in that country—there was nothing remarkable about it, either in its appearance or history. It had stood a siege, and there were plenty of bullet-marks about it; and the same was true of the rancho in which Frank and Archie lived. It was built in the form of a hollow-square; the rough stone walls were five feet thick; and all the openings, except the port-holes, were protected by heavy plank doors and shutters, through which a rifle-ball could not penetrate. A tall flag-staff arose from the open court in the center, and from it floated the Stars and Stripes. Don Carlos was evidently patriotic.

The boys gazed long and earnestly at the building, and Archie was a good deal disappointed because he did not see some signs of the curious things the old trapper had witnessed there. They saw something else, however, at least Frank did, and he called Archie’s attention to it, by inquiring:

“Do you see the second port-hole from the right-hand side of the building?”

“I do,” replied his cousin; “and I see something sticking out of it. It looks to me like a spy-glass.”

“That’s just what it is. There is somebody in there watching us. And wasn’t that flag flying at the mast-head when we first saw it?”

“Of course it was,” answered Archie, beginning to get excited, “and now it is at half-mast. Now it is being hauled down altogether,” he added, as the bunting disappeared behind the walls of the rancho. “What can it mean? It must be a signal of some kind; and I—I—believe I won’t go any farther. I’ll return home and report the matter.”

“What good will that do?” asked Frank.

“Why, when uncle comes back, he can raise a crowd of men, and storm the old villain.”

“I don’t think he would do it. He would want the very strongest evidence before he would consent to assault a peaceable settler in his own dwelling, and that is something we haven’t got yet. Of course we can say that we saw somebody watching us through a spy-glass, and that the flag was hauled down when we came in sight; but that doesn’t prove any thing. If we should go home with that story, every body would laugh at us.”

“It is proof enough for me,” said Archie, “and I don’t care about trusting myself inside that rancho. I believe I’ll go back.”

“And I will go on,” said his cousin, riding down the bank toward the ford. “If Don Carlos asks me to stay all night, I’ll do it: and I shall feel as safe under his roof as I would at home.”

Archie pulled off his sombrero, and scratched his head in deep perplexity. He did not want to go home without Frank, and neither did he want to go with him into the rancho. The hauling down of the flag had made him timid. If it was not a signal, why was it pulled down at that time of day—two hours before sunset? If he had never been satisfied before that there was something wrong with Don Carlos, he was now. Beyond a doubt he was connected with the robbers—he was their leader, perhaps—and when he and Frank went into the rancho, they would find themselves surrounded by a crowd of villainous Mexicans, broken-down miners, and other desperate characters, who would never allow them to go out again. Worse than all, they could not hope for assistance, for they had left the rancho without telling any one where they were going; and when their absence was discovered, their friends would not know where to look for them.

“Frank,” exclaimed Archie, “are you really going in there?”

“I am, if I can get in,” replied his cousin, who was by this time half way across the ford. “Come on. I want to satisfy you that you have been wrongfully accusing an honest man.”

“And I’ll show you that I haven’t,” said Archie, galloping down the bank of the creek, and into the water. “If you are bound to go on, of course I shall stick to you.”

While the boys were riding toward the rancho they kept their eyes fastened on the port-hole, and saw that the person with the spy-glass closely followed all their movements. They discovered nothing else that looked suspicious, however, and when they dashed through the gate-way and drew up in the court, the reception they met with, from the proprietor of the rancho, went a long way toward convincing Archie that he had made a great mistake.

Don Carlos was a small, slim man, with a very sallow face, a long, hooked nose, and an immense gray mustache, which covered all the lower part of his face. He called himself a Spaniard: but he looked more like a German Jew, and talked exactly like one. He was as polite as a Frenchman; and when the boys rode up to the porch, he pulled off his sombrero, and stood bowing and scraping to them until they dismounted from their horses.

“Ach! here ish my goot leetle poys!” he exclaimed, in his broken English. “I peen so glad to see you. You shall shtay mit me now all night, of course, aint it? Peppo!” he added, in a louder tone, addressing a young Mexican who stood at a little distance, looking on—“you von grand rascal! dake dis horses to dem shtables. I do so hope dem horse-dieves won’t shteal ’em pefore mornings. Valk right in de house, leetle poys.”

“The more I see of this old fellow, the more I am convinced that he is a Dutchman,” thought Archie, as he followed Frank and the Don into the rancho. “I’ve met a good many Spaniards since I have been in California, but I never heard one talk like that.”

Their host conducted them through a long wide hall, the walls of which were ornamented with old-fashioned pictures and implements of the chase, and ushered them into an elegantly-furnished room, where he left them to take care of themselves; telling them that his herdsmen were out collecting a drove of cattle to be sent to San Diego, and that it was necessary that he should superintend their operations. If the boys wanted to read, there were plenty of books on the center-table; and if they did not feel like sitting still, they might walk about the rancho, and see if they could find any thing to amuse them. Supper would be ready at sunset; he would then be back, and would pass the evening with them.

“What do you think now, Archie?” asked Frank, when the Don had gone out. “Is this the sort of a reception a robber would be likely to extend to visitors? Do you suppose that if there was any thing wrong here, he would have allowed us the freedom of the house so readily?”

“He does that merely to blind us,” replied his cousin. “He is more polite and attentive than he used to be, and that makes me suspicious. If we don’t wish ourselves a thousand miles from here before morning, I will make you a present of my horse when I get him.”

Frank recalled these words a few hours afterward, and told himself that Archie had more sense than he had ever given him credit for.

CHAPTER VII.
A HEAVY REWARD.

Frank, we repeat, was obliged to come over to his cousin’s way of thinking before he was many hours older; but now he believed his own opinions to be correct, and showed his contempt for Archie’s by settling back into an arm-chair, and becoming deeply interested in a book which he selected from among the numerous volumes on the center-table. Archie, being left to himself, walked restlessly about the room, looking at the pictures, gazing out at the port-holes, examining the weapons that hung on the walls, and so interested was he in his investigations, that his good-breeding alone restrained him from peering into closets and wardrobes. He kept up an incessant talking, but Frank’s answers were given only in monosyllables, and Archie finally became disgusted, and left him to read in peace. “You will turn into a book one of these fine days,” said he. “But I’ll tell you what it is, old fellow, you’ll not take things so very easily much longer.”

Archie continued his walk about the room, passing his hands over the walls, looking under the bed, and behind tables and sofas, as if searching for something that he was in a great hurry to find, and the last his cousin saw of him he was standing with his hands behind his back, and his head turned on one side, closely examining a large oil-painting which extended from the ceiling to the floor. The next time Frank looked up, he was alone in the room—Archie had disappeared.

“What trick are you up to now?” exclaimed Frank, laying down his book. “Come out from under that bed. What would you have to say for yourself if the Don should come in and find you there?”

But Archie was not under the bed, nor was he anywhere in the room. Frank called him, but there was no answer. He looked into every nook and corner of the apartment in which it was possible that Archie could have concealed himself, and then he caught up his hat and hurried through the hall, looking into all the rooms he passed, and out into the court. The rancho seemed to be deserted, with the exception of a solitary Mexican, who stood leaning against a door-post on the opposite side of the court. This man scowled fiercely, and looked suspiciously at him as he came up; and instead of making inquiries about Archie, as he had intended, Frank thrust his hands into his pockets, and strolled slowly toward the stables, peering in at the doors and windows, and keeping one eye on the Mexican, who closely watched every move he made.

“Archie hasn’t had time to get far away,” thought Frank; “and no doubt he is roaming about the rancho, searching high and low for some evidence to confirm his ridiculous suspicions concerning Don Carlos; and that is something he won’t find, of course. That is a villainous-looking fellow,” he added, with another glance over his shoulder toward the Mexican, “and I should feel quite as well pleased if he would take less interest in my movements. He acts as though he had been stationed there to watch me.”

Frank finally found his way to the stables, but without discovering any signs of the missing Archie. He found his horse there, and his cousin’s, standing quietly in their stalls; and he also saw several other fine animals, which the Don had doubtless brought in there for protection from the horse-thieves. Frank did not think it very probable that he would lose any more of his stock, for the most expert robber would have found it a difficult task to effect an entrance through those well-secured doors; and, more than that, Frank noticed that there were several beds in a small room adjoining the stable, and the garments, lassos, weapons, and other articles that were scattered about, showed that the apartment belonged to some of the Don’s Rancheros. The old Spaniard was not out on the rancho with his herdsmen, as Frank had supposed, but he was in this room, holding an earnest conversation with some one who disappeared very suddenly and mysteriously when Frank thrust his head in at the door. The latter thought, by his actions, that the old Spaniard would rather not have been discovered; but he greeted his guest very cordially, and seeing that he was alone, made hurried inquiries for Archie.

“He is out somewhere looking around, I suppose,” answered Frank. “No doubt he will turn up all right in a few minutes.”

“Ah, yes,” said the Don, with some anxiety in his tone; “but I would like to know vare he ish. Peppo! you von grand rascal!”

The young Mexican was on hand immediately. He came out of a dark corner of the stable, to which he had retreated when Frank came in, and where he had stood watching him.

“Peppo!” continued his employer, “it’s petter you go find dis leetle poys, and tell him we will have some suppers now.”

There was nothing in the old Spaniard’s words or manner to indicate that haste was desirable, but Beppo, perhaps, seeing or hearing something that escaped Frank’s notice, started off on a keen run. This seemed to be a signal to the Mexican who stood leaning against the door-post, for he walked rapidly across the court, and presently half a dozen Rancheros appeared and hurried about in different directions, all searching for Archie. The Don watched their movements, and so did Frank. The former was evidently growing uneasy, and his guest certainly was. The Spaniard stepped nervously about, talking hurriedly in his broken English on indifferent matters, and laughing uproariously at his own jokes; and Frank glanced toward the gate-way as if he had half a mind to take to his heels. He believed, now, that it would have been much better for him if he had kept at a respectful distance from Don Carlos and his rancho. A dread of impending evil, which he could not shake off, began to press upon him; and it was plain to him that if he was not in a scrape already, he soon would be. It is true that nothing had been said to induce this belief, but he had seen and felt enough to satisfy him that such was the fact. In the first place, it seemed to him that an air of mystery brooded over the rancho, and that the Don, in spite of his cordial greeting and jovial manner, was trying to conceal something from him. He acted, now, as though he did not want him there. And then, the sudden appearance of those men was another thing that troubled Frank. Until within a moment he had seen but two persons on the rancho besides the Spaniard, but, at an instant’s warning, half a dozen herdsmen had sprung into view, and to save his life he could not tell where they had come from. They appeared at the same moment, and in different directions, as if they had come up out of the ground, or found their way into the court through secret trap-doors in the pavement. Why had they remained concealed? and what was the reason that Archie’s disappearance had created such a commotion among them? Frank judged from the old Spaniard’s words that he was particularly anxious to know where Archie was, and what he was doing; and this implied that there were things about the rancho that the Don did not want him to see.

Frank’s uneasiness increased as the search progressed, and finally he became thoroughly frightened when he noticed the excited looks of the Rancheros as they hurried past him, and heard the angry, threatening words which they exchanged with one another. The Don began to be alarmed also.

“Vell! vell!” he exclaimed, looking back into the stable for the twentieth time, to assure himself that Archie’s horse was still there, “vare ish dis leetle poys?”

“He may have gone out,” replied Frank, with as much indifference as he could command. “I’ll step to the gate and look for him.” “And when I get there,” he added, mentally, “I won’t stop. I’ll show you Greasers some running that will make you wonder. You may be all right in here, but I don’t like your company.”

Frank had great confidence in himself, and he was certain that if he could only get half way to the gate, he could elude any attempts that might be made to detain him. He had not the remotest idea, however, that any such attempts would be made. That would be a heinous offense in the eyes of the settlers, who would never allow it to pass unnoticed. Frank turned to leave the Don, but the latter stepped forward and laid a heavy hand on his arm. “I guess it’s petter you don’t go,” said he.

Frank was thunderstruck. The old Spaniard’s tone and manner showed him that he was in earnest, and he knew now that Archie’s suspicions were correct, and that he himself had been sadly mistaken in the opinions he had formed regarding his host. If he had been allowed his choice in the matter, he would much rather have been standing in front of that log, awaiting the onset of another Old Davy. He would have felt more certain of escape than he did now, surrounded as he was by those villainous Mexicans. A wonderful change had come over Don Carlos. His jovial, good-natured smile had given way to a terrible scowl, and his face was pale with rage or fear; Frank could not tell which. With the next words he uttered, he threw off the mask entirely, and appeared in his true character.

“This is von grand shwindle,” he exclaimed, making a sudden effort to seize Frank by the collar. “I know now why you come here to mine house. Hi, Bedro! make dat gate shut. It’s petter you don’t go, leetle poys.”

“It is better I do go,” replied Frank, quickly. “I want you to understand that it will take a man with more muscle than you have got to detain me.”

During the next two minutes the Don learned more of the qualities that go to make up a sixteen-year-old Young America, than he had ever known before. Frank was as quick as a cat in his movements, and he knew that if he hoped to escape from the rancho now was his time or never. Pedro was already hurrying toward the gate, to execute the commands of his employer, and if that gate was once closed on him, he was a prisoner. While the Old Spaniard was speaking, he thrust out his arm; but his fingers, instead of fastening upon Frank’s collar, closed only upon the empty air. An instant afterward the boy was half way across the court, and he and Pedro were having a lively race for the gate; while the Don stood watching them, his body bent forward, and his mouth and eyes open to their widest extent. He could not understand how Frank had escaped. The ease with which he had slipped out of his clutches bewildered him. But his inactivity did not long continue, for he speedily became aware that the clumsy Pedro was no match, in a hurried, off-hand foot-race, for the nimble young hunter.

“Hi! hi!” he yelled, stamping his foot frantically on the pavement; “catch him! catch him! Vat you making dere, Bedro? Von dousand tollars to de mans vot catches dat leetle poys! Two! dree! five dousand!” he added, in a still louder tone, seeing that Frank was rapidly leaving Pedro behind, and nearing the gate. “Ach! mine heavens! Ten dousand!”

The fugitive heard every word he said, and his wonder, astonishment, and alarm increased proportionately with the rewards the Spaniard offered for his capture; and how intense must have been his amazement and terror when he heard the Don declare in frantic tones that he would give twenty, forty, and finally, fifty thousand dollars, if he was captured alive and unharmed.

“It is some consolation to know that he doesn’t mean to kill me,” thought Frank. “I don’t intend to let him take me prisoner, either. The offer of every cent he is worth, could not make those awkward Mexicans run fast enough to beat me in a fair race.”

If Frank had run swiftly before, his headway was fairly astonishing now. He exerted himself to the utmost, and flew over the ground at a rate of speed that the fleet-footed Dick Lewis himself would not have been ashamed of. A few leaps brought him to the gate, through which he went like an arrow from a bow, and bent his steps toward the nearest patch of woods, which was about a quarter of a mile distant. The Rancheros followed him, but they might as well have tried to overtake a railway train, or a bird on the wing.

Don Carlos was almost beside himself. He stood in the gate-way gazing after the fugitive, flourishing his arms wildly about his head, shouting orders to his men in Spanish and English, and calling upon Frank to stop and surrender himself a prisoner, or he would do something terrible to him.

“I think it would be a good plan to catch me first,” said Frank, to himself, looking back at his pursuers. “I am like Dick Lewis now: my enemies are all behind me, and I know I am safe. Hallo! What’s that?”