Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho Part 6

"Vell! vell!" he exclaimed, looking back into the stable for the twentieth time, to a.s.sure 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 pa.s.s 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k Lewis now: my enemies are all behind me, and I know I am safe. Hallo! What's that?"

It was a bullet, which whistled through the air most uncomfortably near his head. Another followed close after, and plowed up the ground in front of him, and then came the crack of two rifles in quick succession. Frank felt the cold chills creeping all over him; and the next time he looked back he discovered several men, whom he had not seen before, hurrying out of the rancho with their weapons in their hands, followed by three on horseback. This was a most discouraging prospect. He did not stand in much fear of the bullets (although it was by no means pleasant to hear them whistling around him), but he was afraid of those mounted men. He could not hope to distance them, and he trembled when he thought of the fate in store for him when they came near enough to reach him with their la.s.sos. If they did not choke him to death, they would take him back to the rancho a prisoner, and that would be almost as bad. Of course he did not intend that they should do either if he could prevent it. He was armed, and if they succeeded in overtaking him, he would show them how he could use a revolver.

Frank had accomplished more than half the distance that lay between him and the woods before the hors.e.m.e.n came out; and he hoped to be able to reach its friendly shelter before they could come up with him.

He did it, too, although his escape was a very narrow one. As he dashed into the bushes he heard the la.s.sos whistling through the air behind him, and he even felt the "wind" of one as it flew past his ear. But once fairly in the woods he was safe from those dreaded weapons. The Rancheros could not use their lariats among the trees, and neither did they attempt to follow him farther. They fired their pistols at him, and then began circling around the woods to cut him off from the creek, and place themselves between him and his home.

Frank kept straight on into the woods for at least two miles, without once slackening his speed, and then turned and ran toward the creek.

When he came within sight of it, he sat down on a log to recover his breath, and to listen for the sounds of pursuit.

"I thank my lucky stars that they are all Mexicans," panted he, glancing suspiciously through the bushes on all sides of him. "If there had been a few such rifle-shots among them as d.i.c.k Lewis and old Bob Kelly I should not be here now. Fifty thousand dollars! I little dreamed that I should ever have a price set upon my head."

For ten minutes Frank sat on the log, resting after his long run, and thinking over the incidents that had transpired at the rancho. He believed now that Don Carlos was one of the robbers; the evidence against him was strong enough to satisfy any one of his guilt. The air of mystery with which every thing was conducted; the unusual number of men on the rancho; the magical manner in which they had appeared the instant their services were needed; the Spaniard's unreasonable alarm at Archie's absence; and his attempts to detain Frank--all these things were against him. Frank understood now what the Don meant when he said that he knew why the boys had come there. He probably mistrusted that the settlers were suspicious of him, and had sent Frank and Archie to his rancho to spy out something. If that was his idea, Frank thought it a very ridiculous one; for he might have known that two boys would not have been selected to carry out so dangerous an enterprise, while there were such men as d.i.c.k and Bob in the country. His guilty conscience made him betray himself--that was the secret of the matter.

Frank was not yet safe by any means. He knew that Don Carlos and his men would leave no stone unturned to effect his capture--it would be dangerous to them to allow him to go home after what had transpired at the rancho--and that they would search every nook and corner of the mountains, and hunt him down as they would a wolf. Still he had no fears for his own safety; but, now that the excitement of the race was over, he was deeply concerned about his cousin. There was a mystery attending his disappearance that he could not fathom. He hoped that Archie had left the room while he was reading, and that he had slipped out of the rancho and gone home. That was not much like his cousin's way of doing business, but it was the only reasonable way in which he could explain his absence.

"That boy could not long exist without getting into some sort of a sc.r.a.pe," said Frank; "and if I ever put eyes on him again, I'll watch him more closely than I have done heretofore."

"Stand where you are; don't move hand or foot," said a gruff voice, breaking in upon his reverie.

Frank sprang up, and found himself face to face with a Ranchero, who stood holding his rifle to his shoulder, with his finger resting on the trigger.

CHAPTER VIII.

ARCHIE LEARNS SOMETHING.

If Don Carlos had only known where his missing guest was all this while, and what he was doing, and what he was seeing, he would have had good cause for alarm. Archie was not at home, as Frank fondly hoped, nor was he outside the rancho. He was in a worse predicament than he had ever been in before, and was learning some things about Don Carlos and his house that greatly astonished him.

We said that the last time Frank saw him, he was standing before a large oil-painting in the room where the Spaniard had left them. It was a life-size picture of an Indian warrior; and so well was it executed that, as Archie stood looking at it, he almost expected to see the savage open his lips to give the war-whoop, and then draw the bow which he carried in his hand, and discharge an arrow at him.

"The man who painted that was an artist, and understood his business,"

said Archie, to himself. "I have seen lots of those fellows, and that's just the way they look."

Something in the picture, which he had not before noticed, caught his eye at this moment, and interrupted the thread of his soliloquy. The handle of the warrior's hunting-knife, which he wore in his belt, was rounded off into a k.n.o.b at the end, and Archie was sure that it stood out a little way from the canvas. He leaned forward and looked at it more closely, and sure enough it was a wooden b.u.t.ton, which fitted into the end of the handle of the knife, and not a painted one. He stepped up and examined it with his fingers, and to his surprise it yielded to his touch.

"Now I'd like to know what this means," thought he, pressing the k.n.o.b harder than before. "This thing must be attached to a spring, because it comes back when I let go of it. Well--by--gracious!"

It was very seldom indeed that Archie used any slang words, but sometimes, when he was greatly excited or astonished, he did like other boys--forgot all the good resolutions he had made regarding this bad habit. It was no wonder that he was amazed now, for the painting began to move as if it had been suddenly endowed with life. It opened before him like a door, swinging swiftly back on a pair of invisible hinges, and revealing a narrow, winding stairway which seemed to run down into a cellar beneath the outer wall. Archie stood like a wooden boy for a few seconds, his neck outstretched, his eyes dilating and trying to pierce through the thick darkness which enveloped the stairs, and then, scarcely knowing what he was about, he stepped cautiously into the pa.s.sage. An instant afterward he would have given every thing he possessed, or ever expected to possess, if he had been a little more prudent; but then it was too late. The painting swung back to its place as swiftly and noiselessly as it had opened, and the smooth click of a spring-lock told Archie that he was a prisoner. He did not intend to remain one long, however. He understood the mystery of that secret door, and it would not be many seconds before he would get out again. Perhaps Frank would now be willing to look up from his book long enough to hear him tell of this wonderful discovery he had made; and perhaps, too, he would be ready to believe that he had some foundation for his suspicions.

Talking thus to himself, Archie groped his way back to the painting (for now that the opening was closed the pa.s.sage was as dark as midnight), and began to pa.s.s his hands over it, searching hurriedly for the concealed spring. He now found that the back of the picture was formed of heavy oak planks, nearly a foot in thickness; or, to make the matter clearer, the whole contrivance was simply a ponderous door, with the painting spread over one side of it to conceal it. But where was the spring? Archie ran his fingers over every inch of the door, from top to bottom, but could not find it. He examined every one of the planks separately, and finally turned his attention to the huge blocks of stone which formed the walls, in the hope that he might find the spring imbedded in one of them. Five minutes--ten minutes--a quarter of an hour were pa.s.sed in this way, and then Archie sank down upon the floor, all in a heap, panting and sweating as though he had been engaged in the most violent exercise. His face was very pale, his hands trembled as though he were suffering from an attack of the ague, and one to have seen him at that moment would have believed that he was almost overcome with fear. His words, however, did not indicate the fact.

"Now here's fun," said he, with a desperate attempt to keep up his courage; "here's sport--here's joy by the wagon-load. I am cornered easy enough, and it serves me just right for prying about where I had no business. What will the Don say when he comes back and finds me gone?"

As this thought pa.s.sed through Archie's mind, he sprang to his feet, the cold perspiration starting out anew from every pore in his body, and his heart beating fast and furiously. What _would_ the old Spaniard think when he found that one of his guests was missing, and, above all, what would he _do_? If he was an innocent man, and Archie's suspicions regarding him were without any foundation, he would hunt him up and release him; there would be a hearty laugh all around; and the Don would have a long story to tell about the pa.s.sage-way, the reasons why he had built it, and the use he had made of it. But suppose that Archie's suspicions were correct--that Don Carlos was really one of the robbers, and that the pa.s.sage led to some underground cavern where he and his men concealed their plunder--what would he do when he found that his secret had been discovered? Archie did not stop to answer this question, but once more searched all over the door for the spring; but with no better success than before. Then he pounded upon the door, and called his cousin; but the walls were thick, and the sound of his voice did not reach Frank, who read on in blissful ignorance of what was transpiring on the other side of the painting.

"He must have gone out," said Archie, now beginning to be thoroughly alarmed, "and I am left to my own resources, which are scarce, I can tell you. What if one of the band should come up here with a light?"

Archie pulled his revolver from his pocket, faced about, and peered through the darkness in the direction of the stairs, listening intently, and almost imagining that he heard light footsteps approaching. But he was alone in the pa.s.sage-way, and having satisfied himself on this point, he leaned against the wall to think over the situation, and determine upon some course of action.

"It would be awkward to be caught here--for the robber, I mean, for it is my opinion that he would go down those stairs with much greater haste than he came up. Of course there must be two ends to this pa.s.sage, and as I can not get out here, I must try some other way of escape. I can't be in a much worse fix than I am now."

As Archie said this, he put his revolver into his pocket again, and began feeling his way along the wall toward the stairs. It was a dangerous undertaking, for the floor might be full of trap-doors, for all he knew, and one of them might open beneath his feet at any moment, and let him down into some dungeon; or, he might run against one of the robbers in the darkness, who would slip a la.s.so around his neck, and make a prisoner of him before he could raise an arm to defend himself. He reached the head of the stairs, however, without any such misfortune, and slowly and cautiously felt his way to the bottom. There he found himself in a pa.s.sage-way which ran at right angles with the one above. After a moment's deliberation, he decided that if he followed it to the left it would lead him under the court (through which Frank was, at that very moment, running a race with Pedro for the gate), and that was the way Archie did not want to go.

By turning to the right, if the pa.s.sage ran far enough in that direction, he would reach the bank of the creek, and there he might find some way of escape. Having decided this point, he was about to move on again, when he was frightened nearly out of his senses by hearing a whisper close at his elbow:

"Beppo, is this you?"

The fight for which Archie had been bracing his nerves ever since he first made up his mind to visit Don Carlos' rancho, was to come off now--he was sure of that. He was much calmer than he had thought he could be under such circ.u.mstances, but still he trembled violently in every limb as he drew his revolver, and thrust it straight out before him in the direction from which the voice came. A person thinks rapidly when in danger, and during the moment's pause that followed the question thus unexpectedly propounded to him, Archie thought over and rejected a dozen wild schemes which suggested themselves to him.

One, however, he accepted. He would reveal himself to the man, and if the latter would agree to show him the way above ground, it would be all right; he would then be willing to believe that Don Carlos was an honest man, and that there was nothing wrong about him or his rancho.

But if the man made an outcry, and began shouting for help, or tried to secure him, he would give him some idea of American pluck and muscle.

"Beppo, is that you?" asked the voice again, in the same cautious whisper. Then, before Archie had time to act on the resolution he had just formed, the man, whoever he was, continued: "here are the keys.

We shall be ready in half an hour. Follow this gang-way, and enter the first door on your left. Be sure and lock the door after you, because there's always somebody roaming about here, and you might be discovered. Do your work well, now, and the revolver is yours."

A moment afterward Archie stood holding a bunch of keys in his hand, and listening with beating heart to the retreating footsteps of the man, who was hurrying toward the other end of the pa.s.sage. He had never been more excited and alarmed in his life. If the man had brought a lantern with him, the fight he had been expecting would certainly have come off.

When the sound of the footsteps had died away, Archie drew a long breath of relief, and began to congratulate himself on his escape, and to repeat what the man had said to him. Two things were evident: one was that he had been mistaken for Beppo, a Mexican boy about his own age who was employed on the rancho; the other, that he had some sort of a secret commission to execute, and that for the faithful performance of his work, he would be rewarded by the present of a revolver. What that commission was, Archie neither knew or cared; he had something of much more importance to think about. Suppose the man should happen to meet the genuine Beppo, and should find out that he had given the keys to somebody else! Would he not try to ascertain who that some one else was, and wouldn't he call for help, and begin a thorough search of the rancho?

"I haven't a single instant to lose," said Archie, to himself. "Let me see! I must follow this gang-way and open the first door on my left, and be sure and lock it after me. I don't much like to do it, for there is no knowing what I may find in that room. I hope one of these keys will let me out of this den of robbers."