Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

The table of contents was inserted by the transcriber.

FRANK READE, JR., IN THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT.

The subscription Price of the Frank Reade Library by the year is $2.50; $1.25 per six months, post-paid. Address FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 34 and 36 North Moore Street. Box 2730.

FRANK READE, JR.,
With His New Steam Horse in the Great American Desert;
OR,
THE SANDY TRAIL OF DEATH.

By “NONAME,”

Author of “Frank Reade, Jr., With His New Steam Horse Among the Cowboys; or, The League of the Plains,” etc.

Table of Contents.

CHAPTER I.
THE CASE OF BENJAMIN ASTLEY.

When it became noised about that Frank Reade, Jr., the distinguished inventor, was about to make a trip to the far West with his wonderful Steam Horse, public interest became greatly excited.

For those of my readers who may never have read any of the accounts of his wonderful adventures, I will state that Frank Reade, Jr., was a wonderful inventor of marvelous things; that his father was a famous inventor before him, and that Frank, Jr., took to the trade as naturally as a duck does to water.

Years ago, Frank Reade, Sr., had founded the town of Readestown, U. S. A.

And there had erected large machine shops, to which the younger Reade greatly added in later days.

The new Steam Man, invented by Frank Reade, Jr., had made a great furore.

But apropos of this came the New Steam Horse, and for a marvel of ingenuity and mechanical skill, it simply could not be surpassed.

For the benefit of certain of my readers, I will give a brief description of the New Steam Horse; a better idea of which, however, can be gathered from a study of the artist’s picture upon the front page of this book.

Then we will proceed to the exciting incidents of this story, which will describe a most exciting trip into a strange region.

The Steam Horse was the pattern of an ordinary equine done in steel. The body was made of steel plates, ingeniously fastened with various joints and bosses.

It is easy enough to make the likeness of a horse thus, but to make it mechanical, to gallop and display other evidences of life, is by no means so easy.

Frank Reade, Jr., realized this, but he was not one to be baffled in a given undertaking.

He was some while in studying out the problem.

But it came at last.

Of course, to go with the Horse there must be a wagon.

But first Frank designed the mechanism of the Horse.

In the plan which he drew, he located the furnace in the chest of the Horse, with a door to open so that coal could be thrown in.

The main body of the Horse contained the boiler. It was an easy matter thus to get up steam.

Upon the saddle was placed the steam gauge and indicator. Between the Horse’s ears was placed the whistle.

The nostrils contained the escape valve, and the lower jaw of the Horse connected with the throttle and whistle valves, so that pressure upon a long pair of reins would regulate the speed of the Horse.

The most difficult matter, however, was the delicate armatures and driving rods of the legs.

The cylinders were placed upon the shafts of the wagon.

These propelled the driving rods, which in turn worked heavy armatures, which caused the Horse’s legs to take a long and quick stride.

The hind legs were worked in the same manner by means of driving rods connected with the armature of the forward legs.

It was astonishing to note with what marvelous rapidity the Steam Horse would pick up its feet and gallop.

Steel spikes upon his feet enabled him to go all the faster.

We have imperfectly described the Horse; now, let us take a look at the wagon.

In this the travelers were to ride, and it was necessary that it should be safe and strong.

It was made with four strong iron wheels with grooved tires of rubber, so that the roughest ground could be traveled over.

The body of the wagon was of thinly rolled but tough steel.

The interior was quite spacious and vigorously divided up into various uses.

A coal bunker was provided upon the sides of the wagon.

Over these were cushioned seats, easily made into sleeping bunks.

Forward by the high dasher was a compartment for the storing of provisions and any necessary stores.

But the most wonderful of all was the canopy or top which covered the wagon.

This was made of thin but bullet-proof plates of steel arranged like a window-lattice, so that by touching a spring the four sides would promptly roll up, leaving the wagon open on all sides.

When the lattice work was down loopholes were provided in it by means of which shots could be fired at an attacking foe.

Altogether the new Steam Horse was a wonderful invention and quite a safe equipage to travel across the plains of the wild West with.

At least Frank Reade, Jr., thought so, and did not hesitate to risk the trip.

His only traveling companions upon his famous trips were two faithful servants, a jolly Irishman known as Barney O’Shea, and a comical moke of a negro called Pomp.

Barney and Pomp were unique characters to a certainty.

While the best of friends in reality, they were constantly engaged in badgering and teasing each other.

One was as well gifted in this direction as the other, so they generally came out about even.

The object of Frank Reade, Jr.’s proposed trip to the West was a thrilling one.

His attention had one day been claimed by a singular statement in a newspaper.

The statement read thus:

“The Mystery of a Marked Bullet.”

“A strange incident for which a man is now languishing in Silver City jail awaiting the execution of a sentence of death for murder.

“Six months ago a party of prospectors were coming over the Divide by a rocky foot trail.

“There were twelve in the party, and they were all miners. Some had had fair luck, and others were going home empty-handed.

“Suddenly one of them espied what he believed was a huge buffalo grazing in the canyon far below.

“At once the question of marksmanship came up. There were two expert shots in the party, Bert Mason and Sid Powell.

“A wager was made as to which one could hit the buffalo. It was arranged that both should shoot at the same time, using marked bullets.

“The bullet nearest the buffalo’s heart should belong to the winner.

“The trick was quickly made, the stakes put up, and both men fired.

“The supposed buffalo leaped in the air with a wild yell of pain and fell to the ground, while a mule cantered away up the canyon.

“The object had not been a buffalo, but a white man with a fur coat on riding slowly along on a mule.

“Of course Mason and Powell looked at each other with horror.

“‘Great beavers, Sid!’ gasped Mason, ‘we’ve killed a man!’

“‘I swan that’s so!’ agreed Bert Mason, in horror. ‘What’ll we do?’

“Of course there was nothing else to do but to climb down and see if the victim was really dead.

“The two horrified prospectors did so.

“They found that the man was dead to a certainty. One bullet had lodged in his brain and the other in his shoulder.

“The bullet in the brain of course was the fatal one, and that bore Bert Mason’s mark.

“It looked as if he was the real murderer, if the affair could be called murder. What made the matter worse, however, was the fact that the man was a prominent citizen of Silver City.

“Neither Mason nor Powell dared to go to Silver City after that.

“Both cut sticks and went into the woods to hide. Sid Powell was killed by Indians, but Bert Mason became a road agent.

“He was hunted for years for the murder of Clem Johnson. Suddenly he disappeared and was seen no more in those parts.

“But six months ago a man was arrested in Silver City who answered his description to a jot, and who went by the name of Benjamin Astley.

“He was horrified when accused of being identical with Mason. He was at the altar with a happy bride-elect when arrested. The shock nearly killed the bride, who fainted upon the spot.

“Astley is in a terrible state of mind. He has detectives looking for the real Bert Mason. What makes the case look worse for Astley was the fact that one of the marked bullets was found upon him, and it tallied with the one found in Clem Johnson’s skull.

“Astley has been convicted as the murderer and will doubtless hang. Yet the evidence would look to be purely circumstantial, and an innocent man may suffer for the crime.”

Frank Reade, Jr., had become deeply interested in the complex case.

“That man is innocent!” he declared, with firm conviction. “It is too bad to hang him upon such evidence.”

“Bejabers, I believe yez are roight, sor!” agreed Barney O’Shea.

“I done fink dat man am de victim ob cirkumstances!” declared Pomp, sagely.

“The real murderer Mason is no doubt at large now,” cried Frank. “I declare he ought to be found.”

The more Frank thought of the matter the better satisfied he became that the ends of justice were being defeated.

“That is just the hot-headed way they do things in the West,” he declared. “Upon my word it is awful.”

Finally a resolution seized Frank.

One morning he came down to the shop and gave orders to have the Steam Horse made ready for a trip.

Of course the workmen set about it without asking questions.

But the report got abroad and many and various were the surmises.

Finally one of the curious ones ventured to approach Frank point blank.

“Where are you going this time, Mr. Reade? Not to the North Pole?”

“No,” replied Frank, crisply. “I am going West to find Bert Mason the true murderer of Clem Johnson. If it is in my power, I mean to clear up the mystery and set this unfortunate Benjamin Astley right once more. I shall hope for success.”

CHAPTER II.
THE QUICKSAND.

There was no other motive on Frank’s part otherwise than to see justice done.

He was a great lover of fair-play and although Astley and all the parties concerned were strangers to him, he wanted to see the wrong righted.

Barney and Pomp had become fully as interested in the case as he had himself.

“Yo’ kin jes’ bet we’ll stick by yo’ Marse Frank!” cried Pomp. “Yo’ hab got de right ob it.”

“Be jabers, if that Mason was any part av a man, he’d cum forrard an’ shoulder the blame hisself,” said Barney.

“Ah! but I imagine that he is a big rascal!” declared Frank. “It will be our work to find him.”

“Shure we’ll do that!”

“I hope so!”

So it happened, that one day the Steam Horse was packed in sections and shipped to a small station on the verge of the Great American Desert.

Frank had got a slight clew that Mason was hiding in the desert to avoid arrest.

If this was true, it would now be in order to find him.

This Frank meant to do if such a thing was possible.

The Steam Horse had been shipped to the nearest point to the desert.

Several hundred miles, however, of a wild country had to be crossed.

The young inventor knew that the deadly Comanche Indians frequently ranged as far north as this.

To fall in with any of them would be unpleasant, to say the least.

However, Frank was not the one to borrow trouble.

He unloaded the Steam Horse at the little Western station and had the sections put together by skilled mechanics who had come on the special train.

Then, getting aboard the wagon with Barney and Pomp, after steam had been got up, the start was made.

The Steam Horse started away across the desolate plains at a rapid gallop.

Soon the railroad station and every other sign of civilization was out of sight.

As far as the eye could reach upon either hand naught could be seen but an unbroken expanse of plain.

It was a dreary and desolate sight.

For a whole day this sort of thing was encountered. Then at night a small lake was sighted.

“Begorra!” cried Barney. “We’ll ’ave a dhrink av that water anyway!”

So the Celt alighted from the wagon when the shores of the lake were reached, and bending down applied his lips to the water.

He took a deep draught of the liquid, and the next moment he wished he had not done so.

With a gasping cry he leaped to his feet.

“Bad luck to the same!” he howled. “Shure it’s the divil’s own kind av stuff. It’s nigh burned the mouth off me.”

“Why, of course, you silly fellow,” cried Frank. “Don’t you know that the water in all of the lakes in this part of the country is salt.”

“Shure I know it now, to me sorrow,” cried Barney, holding on to his mug.

Then a brilliant thought came to him.

The mischievous spirit of the fellow was at once aroused.

Pomp was in the wagon busying himself about the cooking and had not seen Barney’s experience.

The Celt chuckled.

“Och hone!” he muttered. “I’ll paralyze that naygur now or me name ain’t Barney O’Shea.”

With this he procured a dipper and filled it with the water from the lake.

The liquid was as clean and fresh looking as if it had just come from the best of springs.

Barney held the dipper up and shouted:

“Whurroo! I say, naygur! Wud yez luk this way?”

“What fo’ yo’ want ob me?” cried Pomp, coming to the door of the wagon.

“Don’t yez want a dhrink? Shure I think yez might be dhry.”

Pomp was very thirsty.

Therefore he replied eagerly:

“All right, I’ish, yo’ fetch me dat watah an’ I cook yo’ sumfin’ good fo’ yo’ supper. Dat am a fac’.”

“All roight, bejabers,” cried Barney. “I’ll take ye on that, naygur.”

So Barney went up to the wagon with the dipper filled with the saline fluid.

Pomp took the dipper and glanced at the water.

It looked to him as pure and delicious as nectar.

Tipping his head back, he proceeded to pour it down his throat in copious draughts. The effect was terrific.

For a moment he was doubled up like a jumping jack, with awful contortion of the features.

It was a question for a few moments if he would not actually collapse with strangulation.

But he managed to get his breath after a moment.

As for Barney, he was turning somersaults in the sand, and fairly killing himself with laughter.

“Begorra, that’s the funniest I iver seen in me loife yit!” he roared. “Shure, the fools are not all dead yit, on me sowl!”

“Ki—yi—huh! Golly massy sakes! I’se mos’ dead, yes I is. Gorramighty, I jes’ kill yo’ fo’ dat, I’ish!”

Pomp, now recovered, made a dash out of the wagon for Barney.

Had he caught the Celt at that moment, he would no doubt have pitched into him in good earnest.

But the Celt was too quick.

He was away over the plain like a bullet out of a gun.

Pomp chased him for full three hundred yards, when an astonishing thing happened.

Suddenly Barney gave a yell, floundered about for a moment, and seemed to be drawn by some irresistible power downward into the ground.

He sank to his hips in a jiffy in the clear sand, and seemed likely to sink much deeper.

In an instant both Barney and Pomp realized the serious truth.

Barney had inadvertently jumped into a prairie quicksand.

The treacherous sand had closed over him with a vise-like grip, and was every moment drawing him deeper.

Of course to be drawn to the depths of the fatal quicksand meant death.

At once all thoughts of fooling left the minds of both.

Pomp forgot the trick played upon him, and saw only that Barney was in most imminent danger of his life.

At once the darky sought steps to relieve his companion.

“Golly sakes! what am de mattah, I’ish?” cried Pomp, in alarm, halting on the verge of the bed of quicksand.

“Shure the sand is a-suckin’ me in fasther an’ fasther,” cried Barney. “Shure wud yez help me, Misther Frank?”

But Frank Reade, Jr., had already seen the trouble.

He was coming to the spot as fast as he could.

In his hands he carried his rifle and a lariat.

“Keep cool, Barney,” he cried, as he came up. “Don’t make a move till I tell you.”

“All right, sor,” cried Barney, readily. “Phwativer is it, sor?”

“Why, it is a prairie quicksand,” replied Frank. “They are not uncommon hereabouts.”

“Shure, I’ve no desire to go to the cinter av the airth.”

“We won’t let you,” cried Frank. “Here, pass this under your arm.”

Frank placed the rifle across the space of quicksand and Barney passed his arm over it.

This arrested the downward process and Barney was safe for the time.

But he was quite unable to extricate himself.

The question was, how to get him out of the clinging sands. But Frank Reade, Jr., knew how to do it.

He threw the noose of the lariat over Barney’s shoulders. Then he said:

“Now hang on. We’ll try and pull you out.”

Frank and Pomp laid hold on the rope and exerted their full strength.

But they could hardly move the Celt. The sands were so mighty and clinging that their resistance could not be overcome with that amount of force.

“Golly, Marse Frank!” puffed Pomp, “I don’ fink we’re gwine fo’ to git dat chile out ob dat place.”

“Keep cool!” said Frank, quietly. “We will find a way.”

Frank went back and brought the Steam Horse up.

He fastened one end of the lariat to the rear axle of the wagon.

Then he started the Horse slowly.

The result was that Barney suddenly began to emerge from his imprisonment in the sand.

Slowly but surely he was dragged from his uncomfortable position. Clear of the clinging sands Frank stopped the Steam Horse.

Then Barney scrambled to his feet.

He glanced at the treacherous spot from which he had just emerged and then at his bedraggled person.

“Begorra, naygur, I think we’d betther call accounts square!” he cried. “Shore it’s mesilf as has the divils ind av the bargain this toime.”

“A’right, I’ish, I’ll fo’gib yo’ dis time if yo’ don’ try any sich fing on me agin,” replied Pomp.

“I’ll agree wid yez!”

And this ended the affair.

Camp was made by the saline lake that night, however.

Darkness settled down thickly and to enliven the dullness of the hour, Pomp brought out his banjo and Barney his fiddle.

They played very well together, and as the melodies from the two instruments floated forth upon the air, it did much to dispel the natural feeling of desolation peculiar to the region.

Frank Reade, Jr., thus far had not dreamed of danger.

Nothing had been seen to warrant the assumption that there was another human being within fifty miles.

Some hungry coyotes came snapping and snarling about the wagon.

Barney put one of them out of the way with his revolver and this for a time silenced the rest.

But as the hour of midnight drew nearer Frank began to think of sleep.

He had hardly stretched himself out upon the bunk, however, when a startling thing occurred.

Suddenly Barney dropped his fiddle and sprung up.

“Be me sowl, the divils are all about us!” he roared. “Shure, ye kin see their forms iverywhere!”

At the same moment a flight of arrows came rattling against the metal body of the wagon.

In an instant Frank was upon his feet. The gloom was broken with the headlight of the Steam Horse now, and the foe could be plainly seen.

It was a critical moment.

CHAPTER III.
CORRALLED.

Frank knew at once that they had been discovered by a band of Comanches.

The savages had crept up in the darkness and had for a time been puzzled at the make-up of the Steam Horse.

This had delayed their attack.

But it came, nevertheless, and in a furious manner.

The arrows began to fly in literal clouds. There was great danger of getting struck, as Frank well knew.

The young inventor quickly pressed the spring which shut the metal sides of the wagon.

They were now perfectly secure from the arrows.

But there was an amount of danger in a close combat which Frank did not relish.

Accordingly he decided to make a move from the spot.

There was sufficient steam up to give the Horse fair speed.

Frank pulled on the reins and sent the Steam Horse forward.

Barney and Pomp went to the loopholes and opened fire upon the red foe.

Of course it was firing at random in the intense darkness.

The headlight of the Horse lit up for a ways in advance. But the red foe were swarming all about.

The din was something terrific as the red foe kept up a perpetual yelling and howling.

“Bejabers, I niver kin git a fair shot at the omadhauns,” cried Barney, “they do be dodging about so much like the devil, shure one kin niver tell which way to fire.”

“Jes’ yo’ fire anywheres—jes’ de same as I does!” cried Pomp. “Yo’s dead suah for to hit some on ’em.”

“Begorra, that’s phwat I’m after doing,” cried the Celt.

But Frank was anxious to get away from the foe.

Of course they had the best of the running fight, but it was impossible to tell just where the course they were pursuing would take them to.

In the intense darkness they might at any moment run into some quicksand or saline lake.

Frank endeavored to keep the Steam Horse up to a good rate of speed.

He hung to the brake handle and kept a keen watch ahead, as far as he could see in the radius of light from the headlight of the Steam Horse.

For what seemed an interminable length of time this sort of thing went on.

Then it came to a sudden termination.

Of a sudden the whooping and yelling ceased, and the savages disappeared.

Nothing more was seen or heard of them for a time.

Frank was not a little surprised and puzzled.

“I wonder what game they are up to now?” he muttered. “I think we will keep a sharp look out.”

He was not deceived.

He did not by any means credit the assumption that the savages had given up the contest.

This was not a reasonable hypothesis.

“Begorra, mebbe we’re comin’ to some hole in the ground, or something av the sort!” cried Barney, suspiciously.

“It will do no harm to keep a good watch anyway,” rejoined Frank.

And this was done.

The Steam Horse now went on at a moderate pace, and Frank increased, if anything, his watchfulness.

The Comanches did not show up, and seemed to have wholly abandoned the fight.

Time wore on, and it was near dawn when through the shadows Barney saw a dark object which caused a sharp cry to escape his lips.

“Luk out, Misther Frank!” he cried. “Shure wud yez see phwat is ahead.”

Frank’s gaze was blinded by the headlight’s glare for a moment.

But he closed the throttle and brought the Horse to a stop.

He was not a moment too soon.

They were at the base of a high cliff of rock which towered above fully a thousand feet.

If Barney had not seen the cliff just in time they would certainly have dashed full into the cliff.

This no doubt would have damaged the Steam Horse greatly if not destroyed it entirely.

“A lucky escape!” cried Frank, “but where in the world are we, Barney? I saw nothing of any elevation when we camped last night.”

“Shure, sor, we’ve cum a good ways,” declared Barney.

“We must have. Is this the base of some high hill, or——”

“Shure it’s in a canyon I think we are, sor!” cried Barney. “Don’t yez see that there be walls all about av us?”

“You’re right!” cried Frank, as the rapidly growing dawn began to make the vicinity clear.

Then the voyagers were treated to a genuine surprise party as the vicinity became quite plain.

They were in what seemed like a mighty amphitheater fully two miles in circumference, hemmed in with precipitous cliffs in almost a complete circle.

Where the circle was broken was visible the entrance to this peculiar amphitheater.

Through this, by a singular chance, the Steam Horse had entered.

Frank understood the situation at a glance.

“Upon my word!” exclaimed the young inventor in amazement and trepidation, “we’ve stumbled into a nice trap now, haven’t we?”

“Begorra, I should say so!” ejaculated Barney, with a grimace of comical sort.

“I done fink dat am a fac’,” assented Pomp, seriously.

“I wonder if those savages did not know it and hung back on purpose?”

A chilling thought struck Frank.

Indeed it was not impossible but that they were even now in waiting at the narrow entrance to the place.

If so it would be a nice little ambush for the Steam Horse to fall into.

One thing was sure.

The best thing to be done was to get out of that spot just as soon as possible.

Accordingly Frank at once headed the Horse for the exit.

But as they drew near to the narrow passage, Frank found his worst fears confirmed.

He stopped the Horse.

“It’s just as I thought,” he muttered. “We’re in a trap.”

Fully a hundred hostile Comanches were blocking the entrance to the amphitheater, if such it could be called, with stones.

For the Steam Horse to pass over the barricade was utterly impossible.

They were hemmed in—trapped!

It was a thrilling realization.

For a moment all three stood looking at each other in blank amazement and indecision.

“Bejabers, it’s a foine thrick they have played on us this toime!” cried Barney.

“Golly! I specs dem Injuns knowed all de time we’d be suah fo’ to come in dis place,” exclaimed Pomp.

“Well, we will have to fight our way out,” said Frank, desperately.

Then a happy thought seemed to strike him.

“But first let us see if there is not some other method of leaving the place,” he cried.

“Bejabers, I don’t think that,” cried Barney, looking doubtfully at the high surrounding cliffs.

“Perhaps not!”

However, Frank turned the Horse about and began to make a circle of the enclosure.

But everywhere the cliffs seemed to present the same impregnable face.

There did not seem a crevice anywhere by which one could have hoped to crawl out of the place.

It was a hopeless outlook.

There seemed no other way but to fight a way out through the pass.