The Mark On The Door Part 10

Yaqui stood up, shaded his eyes, and gazed out across the desert for several minutes.

Finally he shook his head.

"No soldiers yet," he murmured. Then, turning to the boys, he said, '' These people are far ahead. It will be easy to follow their trail across the desert, but we may lose them when "We reach the hills. Yet we can try."

us 116 "Let's do so by all means," declared Frank. "It's our only chance. The soldiers may not get here until tomorrow.''

"Tomorrow will be too late," said Yaqui. "If we are to follow the trail we must set out at once."

It was aggravating to think that the solution of the mystery had been s.n.a.t.c.hed out of their grasp in the very moment of success. The Hardy boys were convinced that the presence of the American prisoner in the desert camp was the answer to the riddle of Tremmer's disappearance.

"Soldiers or no soldiers," Frank said, his jaw set with determination,'' we 're going to follow those oasis people!"

Their preparations completed, the boys mounted their ponies. Yaqui swung himself lightly into his saddle and the group started out toward the fertile spot where the natives had been camping. The Indian set the pace.

It was not yet sunset when they reached the oasis. The waters of the pool looked cool and inviting in the shade, a welcome in direct contrast to the harsh bleakness of the desert surrounding it.

The camp was, of course, deserted. Yaqui dismounted and examined the tracks in the sand made by those who had left.

"Their burros are heavily loaded," he said 117 at last. "They will travel slowly. Perhaps we may be able to overtake them before they reach the edge of the desert."

The boys were hot and tired after their ride, and seized the opportunity to bathe in the waters of the lagoon, and to take a much-needed rest in the cool shade.

As Joe stretched himself at full length, his toe suddenly touched an odd-shaped stone.

The boy peered down at the mineral.

"What's the matter?" queried Frank. "Thought you were going to sleep."

"That rock never belonged here," muttered his brother. "It was brought to this spot by some one."

The Hardys, scenting a mystery, at once forgot their fatigue. They lifted the peculiarly marked stone and set it to one side.

"Now, I wish I were a ground hog," laughed Joe. "I'd like to do a little digging."

"What do you think you would find?"

"I confess I don't know what to expect. But I really believe this is a marked spot. Let's do a little excavating."

Frank agreed. Furiously the boys drew aside great heaps of earth. Suddenly Joe's hand touched an object.

"I've found something," lie exclaimed excitedly.

"Sure as shooting," agreed Frank. "It's a 118 piece of antelope skin," he continued as he leaned closer over the hole.

"It's a cover to something."

"Look!" cried Frank as he cleared away more soil.

Joe bent nearer the hide. Clearly burned into the fur was the unmistakable symbol P with the burning f.a.gots beneath.

"Do you suppose-" asked Joe with awe, "that we have uncovered-----"

The young detective got no further in his supposition, for at that moment Yaqui, who had been asleep a little distance away, aroused himself. When he saw the stone and the digging, he cried out in alarm: '' Stop! Stop! You must quickly cover the dead man! Evil spirits-you will be-----"

The Indian did not finish, so amazed was he at the change in the att.i.tude of the two boys. They were hastily throwing back the dirt. To the untutored mind the native was at once convinced the lads were fearful of the dreaded punishment his G.o.ds would mete out to the grave despoilers. It was an ill omen-no doubt the search for the fleeing campers would come to some bad end.

However, Joe and Frank were whispering between themselves about an entirely different angle of the case.

" Gee! I didn 't expect this, Frank.''

119 "Neither did I. Wouldn't Chet find an excuse to run off if he saw this!"

"But that marking on the skin was plain. Do you suppose the fellow died a natural death, or was killed for disobedience ?''

"I believe that brand is the signet of a cruel, heartless man whom we must track down,"

answered the older Hardy brother.

The stone was replaced on the exact spot from which the lads had taken it. Then Yaqui brought the ponies together.

"Frank," whispered Joe a bit hoa.r.s.ely, "you don't believe that poor fellow buried there could be Elmer Tremmer, do you?"

"I was wondering that myself. Perhaps we should have investigated further."

"Well, it's too late now. We'll just have to trust to luck that the missing witness is ahead of us in company with the natives."

The group resolved to push on without delay. As darkness fell several hours later, they were obliged to slacken their pace. Yaqui was finding it more difficult now to follow the tracks. Then, too, their ponies were tiring. To add to their difficulties a light wind sprang up, blowing stinging clouds of sand into their faces.

"That is bad," said Yaqui. "It is blotting out the trail. We will make camp for the night."

Anxiously the boys gazed into the darkness, 120 The Mark on the Boor hoping that they might see the glow of the fugitives ' fire.

"No such luck," muttered Frank. "And worse than that, if this wind keeps up there won't be a track left for us to follow."

In the morning the situation looked hopeless to the unpracticed eyes of the Hardy boys, but the three set out again. This time they made slower progress, for Yaqui was scanning the sand intently. Here and there, especially in the lee of the b.u.t.tes, he found indentations that convinced him he was on the right course.

At length the trio came to the desert's edge. The wastes gave way to rock, then to fertile country; but it was almost as lonely. The work of trailing the fugitives became more and more difficult. They came upon a half-breed squatter who told them he had seen the caravan pa.s.sing to the westward. It was a long time before Yaqui picked up the track again. There were no towns, no villages where information might be obtained. Their progress became slower than ever.

On the second day the Hardy boys were almost ready to give up.

"Do you think we'll ever find them, Yaqui?" asked Frank.

The Indian shrugged.

"Maybe," he answered. "Not very far ahead. We lost much time."

121 Their food supply had been exhausted for gome time, but they managed to buy edibles from the natives they encountered. Frank and Joe would have turned back, but Yaqui pointed out that it would be easier to return to the city by going across country than by making the long return journey through the desert again.

"It's hopeless," Frank said on the third day, as their weary ponies trudged toward a tiny adobe hut which their guide had spied in the distance. "We'll tell Yaqui to set his course for home.''

"We're lucky we have him," remarked Joe. "I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea where we are."

"Somewhere in Mexico, that's all I know. But he'll get us back to the city safe enough. I hope Dad isn't worrying about us."

As they drew nearer to the hut they could see that the place was completely surrounded by a fence of tangled and p.r.i.c.kly cacti, so formidable, that anyone attempting to squeeze his way through the hedge would have his clothes torn off his back.

"A robber would think twice before he'd try to climb over that,'' remarked Frank.

"It is nopal cactus," explained Yaqui. "It is not only a fence but a garden. The tuna fruit grows on it."

"How do we get in?"

122 Yaqui smiled. A native was slouching out of the hut. The man came across the little yard and called out to the Indian, who answered him. The man, a half-breed, bowed respectfully to the boys' guide, then hastened to open a gate in the hedge. A few mongrel dogs yapped as the travelers rode into the yard, but their owner sent them yelping back behind the hut.

Two other men lounged out of the doorway into the sunlight. They looked on in silence as the boys dismounted. Frank and Joe were conscious of their suspicious and uneasy glances.

"We don't seem to be very welcome," Joe said.

Yaqui shrugged.

"Bah! Half-breeds!" he said contemptuously. "I am a pure blood Yaqui. They shall do as I say."

It was evident that the shabby natives recognized Yaqui's superiority. The very tone of his voice was commanding as he ordered food. He had a long talk with the men in their own language, presumably asking if they had seen the caravan. But they shook their heads.

"There is something strange here," Yaqui muttered. "These fellows are lying." Although he persisted in his questioning, he failed to elicit any information.

The travelers went into the hut, where dishes 123 of native food were placed before them. The Hardys were almost sickened by the queer preparations which seemed, as Joe said, to be made of '' red pepper and lye.'' Yet they were so hungry that they forced themselves to make a meal.

While the boys were eating they heard a thunder of hoofs beyond the fence. One of the half-breeds ran out to open the gate. A native rode into the yard and dismounted. The two men talked together in low tones and finally walked toward the hut.

The newcomer was a lean, swarthy fellow with a drooping mustache. He darted a sharp glance toward Yaqui and the Hardy boys as he crossed the threshold. Suddenly Frank rose halfway to his feet, stifling an exclamation of surprise.

"What's the matter?" asked Joe.

His brother sat down again. The half-breeds were looking at him suspiciously.

"Nothing," he said.

A moment later, when the men in the hut were talking quietly in a corner, he gripped hia brother's arm.

"Joe," he whispered. "That man looks like the fellow who attacked me in the garden at fienor Marcheta's place."

CHAPTER XV.

CAPTURED BY BANDITS.

"the fellow who knocked you out?" gasped Joe. '' Are you sure ?''

"I'm almost positive," replied Frank excitedly. "I had no more than a glimpse of the man man at the time, but I'm certain he's the same one."

The native glanced toward them at this moment, whereupon Frank tried to feign indifference. He was convinced that the man was in Pedro Vincenzo's hire, yet he knew that any attempt to confront him with the fact would be useless.

The stranger came over to Taqui and began to talk to him. The Hardy boys could not understand the conversation, but they a.s.sumed that the newcomer was asking their guide questions about them. They heard the Indian mention the name of Senor Marcheta, then "Americanos" and "Hardy." Finally the man withdrew, said good-bye to the half-breeds, and strode out into the yard. A moment later he rode away.

124.

125 "What did lie ask you, Yaqui?" inquired Frank.

"He wanted to know where you came from and why you were here.''

"You didn't tell him, I hope."

"I told him nothing."

"You mentioned our names."

"Yes. But there was no harm in that."

The Indian then told them he had learned from the half-breeds that there was a road about a mile from the hut. By traveling up into the foothills they would be able to make connections with a highway which would take them to the city.

"These men know nothing of the caravan. I think we should waste no more time," Yaqui said. "However, it is as you wish."

"Yes, I guess we had better go back to town,'' Joe agreed.

They were disappointed, for the boys had convinced themselves that the American prisoner whom Joe had seen in the camp at the oasis had indeed been Elmer Tremmer. To have lost the trail by such a narrow margin was inexpressibly aggravating.

"No use crying over spilled milk," Frank said philosophically. "We've lost out, so we may as well go back to town and tell Dad what happened. Perhaps he'll be able to find some trace of that caravan."

126 They paid the half-hreed for the food they had eaten, then went out into the yard.

Suspicious eyes followed them as they mounted their ponies and set out again, Yaqui leading the way. They found the road without any trouble. It was little more than a dusty cow-path running into the foothills.

Frank could not free his mind of the recollection of the native who had come to the hut.

"What was one of Pedro Vincenzo's men doing in such an out of the way place?" he asked, as he and Joe jogged quietly along under the burning sun. "If that wasn't the fellow who knocked me out that night I tackled Vin-cenzo, I'll eat my hat."

"Perhaps he was with the caravan," suggested Joe. "He might have come back to see if they were being followed."

"Perhaps," Frank agreed doubtfully. "I'm sorry Yaqui let him know our names. It was an accident, of course, but it's unfortunate it had to happen. Somehow, I have a feeling that we haven't seen the last of that Mexican."