Frontier Boys on the Coast Part 4

"We might just as well ride now, boys," said Jim. "The horses are good and rested and we will soon be going down grade instead of up."

The horses had been following in single file back of the four boys. They were to be trusted not to cut up any shindigs or to wander from the narrow mountain trail. The boys had had them a long time and together they had gone through the numerous hardships and adventures. They were as perfectly trained as Uncle Sam's cavalry horses.

The horses halted as the boys dropped back to their sides, and they swung into the saddle simultaneously. Jim rode in the lead on a splendid gray, with a powerful arching neck, strong shoulders and hindquarters made for speed. Him, he called Caliente. Next rode Tom on a pretty bay.

Then Jo on a black of medium size but finely built for speed and endurance. Juarez brought up the rear on his roan, a sinewy animal with a broncho strain in him which was liable to crop out at unexpected moments.

It is to be noticed that there was a certain formation in the way the column rode. Jim, the strong and resourceful in front, and Tom, the less experienced and capable, following, forming the first division. The second division was composed of Jo and Juarez.

Juarez having an equally important position with the leader, for he was rear guard, a more trying position sometimes than being in front for in their travels through dangerous regions, it was the man in the rear who was more apt to be cut off by the wily Indians. But the cool and crafty Juarez was not likely to be caught napping.

Even now you notice as they ride along through the comparatively safe region of the coast range that Jim and Juarez are ever on the alert, glancing this way and that, halting to examine some peculiar mark on the trail, and not a motion of tree or bush upon either mountain slope escapes their attention. They had lived too long in the midst of treacherous enemies, Indians and outlaws, to be taken off their guard.

They had been in Mexico on a venture the outcome of which was all their fondest dreams could wish for. Their expedition over, Tom was for going home, to at least deposit the treasure they had gained, but the others had outvoted him, and now the long pleasure trip to Hawaii was their object.

Now, if they but had known it, they were riding to meet the most deadly danger that they had yet encountered. For as you know, Captain Broom and his party were advancing to meet them. In an open or running fight, we know perfectly well that the boys could take care of themselves, but in the skipper of the Sea Eagle, they were to meet a far more dangerous opponent than in Eagle Feather, described in "The Frontier Boys in Colorado" or Cal Jenkins in Kansas and in Mexico as detailed in "Overland Trail" and in "Mexico." In compliance with a determined plan, they were now on their way to Hawaii.

Not only had Captain Broom the craftiness and cruelty of the Indian, but the cool, hard judgment of the New England Yankee, coupled with a knowledge of their possessions, supposedly limited to themselves alone.

The Mexican spy, who had reported the route the boys were going to take, had given the game into his master's hands.

"I wonder what has become of our one-eyed greaser friend," said Jim, "we haven't seen any sign of him since he gave us the shake a week ago at the hunting camp. I kind of thought we might run across him again."

"It's good riddance to bad rubbish," said Juarez in a surly tone. "If I had my way I'd hang him to the first oak tree on general principles and on account of his personal appearance. I bet he is a treacherous little rat."

"He isn't very pretty, that's a fact," admitted Jim, "but he is a useful little beast about the camp and can do a lot of ch.o.r.es."

"I kind of like to hear him play his guitar," put in Jo, "and sing those Mexican tunes. They certainly sound pretty."

"He's a picturesque beggar too," remarked Tom. "Just the kind that in the old days would have been made a king's jester. They dressed 'em up in a blazing bright style then. That hump would have made his fortune."

Tom, as you remember, was an authority on Romance, and as pertaining to which he always carried two favorite volumes, much worn by hard travel and frequent usage, but which no amount of ridicule by his brothers could make him give up.

"Have it your own way," acceded Juarez, "but he is not the sort of animal that I would recommend for a household pet."

"Well, he is gone," said Jim, "so we don't need to worry about him."

"I don't know but that I would a little rather have him in sight," said Juarez. "Then you know where he is."

Jim laughed good-naturedly at the prejudice that Juarez showed against the little greaser and put it down to his darkly suspicious nature acquired by his life among the Indians. It would have been better if Jim had taken more stock in his comrade's suspicions. Now, Jim was not to be caught napping when once an enemy had declared himself, but it was his nature to be open-minded and unsuspicious.

The four Frontier Boys were riding up a winding trail through a narrow mountain valley, having reached a point almost level with the summits, which rose several thousand feet above the eastern plain. It had been a hard, all day climb, and the horses were tired and the gray dust was caked upon their sweaty riders.

Let us take a look at our old acquaintances, Jim, Tom, Jo and Juarez, to see if they have changed any since we saw them last. They are dressed about as we have always known them. In gray flannel shirts and pants of the same color, moccasins on their feet and on their heads battered sombreros with the flaps turned back.

Their coats are tied back of the saddles, and their shirts open at the throat for the air is hot and dry in that California mountain valley.

Their rifles are swung across their shoulders held by straps, revolvers in the holsters at their hips.

Jim sits in the saddle tall and sinewy, grown somewhat thinner by constant exercise and by the drying effect of the desert air. His skin is baked to an absolute brown. Juarez, too, is black as an Indian and he rather looks like one with his hair quite long and of a coa.r.s.e black fibre. The boys look a little fine-drawn but sinewy and strong and fit for any adventure.

CHAPTER VI

THE HUNCHBACK

The shadows were already falling on that side of the range as the boys rode slowly into a narrow pa.s.s. The shade was a decided relief from the glare of the California sun that they had encountered all day.

"Gosh, but I should like to have a cool breath from the Rockies,"

declared Juarez with emphasis, "This sort of a climate makes me tired.

Nothing but the sun staring at you all the time. It goes down clear and comes up with the same kind of a grin on its face."

"It will be cooler when we get on the other side," said Jim, encouragingly, "and it won't be long now."

"I hope we will strike water on the other side," remarked Jo. "I'm tired of looking at that bald-headed stream down there," indicating the dry blistered bed of a former water-course.

Nothing more was said until of a sudden they rode to the top of the Pa.s.s, and saw a new landscape spread out before them.

It was a broad and beautiful view, with the sun striking the wide Pacific, with a blazing glare of silver and below the wooded slope of the mountains, stretched an apparently level plain, where roamed countless cattle, and innumerable sheep. It had all the breadth characteristic of the Californian landscape.

"That's a pretty good looking view," remarked Jim admiringly. He would have been still more interested if he could have seen a trim-looking black vessel in a small cove directly west but a good many miles distant.

"I wonder if it isn't going to rain," said Tom. "See those clouds rolling in over the ocean."

"Rain!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jim with superior wisdom, a wisdom that appertains particularly to older brothers, "I guess not. Those are fog clouds.

That's a sure sign in this country that it won't rain."

"Well, I'm glad to see them, anyway," said Juarez. "It looks sort of stormy even if it isn't."

It was restful, there was no question about that, the change from the constant glare of a white sun in a blue sky, to the soft damp grayness of the fog. It was already rolling over the level plain towards the mountains and, in a short time, a high fog was spread over the whole sky.

The boys had ridden down the western side of the range for a distance of a half mile, when Jim suddenly waved his hand backward in a sign of caution for the column to halt. He leaned forward, looking intently in a northwesterly direction to a point on the opposite side of the mountain valley. Juarez followed the direction of the leader's look with a keen gaze.

"I was sure that I saw some one slipping through the undergrowth on the opposite side over there," Jim finally said, "but I could not make sure whether it was a man or some sort of animal."

"I noticed the bushes shaking," said Juarez, "but I did not see anything."

"Might have been a brown bear," hazarded Jo.

"They do have them in this range," put in Tom.

"Perhaps it is the bear that we hunted for two days on the other slope,"

said Juarez, "and he has come to give himself up."

"We had better keep our eyes open," advised Jim, though he did not take the trouble to unsling his rifle. "Jo, you and Tom watch the upper side, Juarez will take care of the trail in front."

"All right, boss," said Juarez, cheerfully.

"How much reward, captain, for the first glimpse of the lost child?"