The great forepaws – armed with claws as sharp and heavy as chilled-steel chisels – extended. In another instant the lad would have been in the monster's death grip, when an intervention, as sudden as it was unexpected, occurred.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE INDIAN AGENT
From the dense surrounding clumps of chaparral there had suddenly emerged the figure of a tall, bearded man, with keen blue eyes and a striking air of self-reliance and resolution. It was Mr. Mayberry, the Indian agent. Over his arm he carried an automatic rifle, which he instantly jerked to his shoulder as his amazed eyes fell on the extraordinary scene before him. Surely Jeffries Mayberry was the first man who had ever gazed upon the spectacle of a boy, unarmed and alone, attacking the hugest grizzly in that part of the country.
"The boy is mad!" was his first thought, and, as we know, he was not far wrong in this surmise.
But it was no time for speculation as to the causes of this strange scene, and Jeffries Mayberry was not the man to indulge in rumination when the necessity called for immediate action.
Bang!
For the twentieth – or was it the hundredth? – time in his eventful life, Silver Tip felt the impingement of a bullet. But with the monster's usual good fortune, the ball did not pierce a vital part. Instead, it buried itself in the fleshy part of the brute's forequarters, inflicting a wound that made him bellow with pain and face round on this new foe.
As Silver Tip, in regal majesty, swung his huge form about, Rob crumpled up in a heap and lay senseless on the hot ground.
For an instant it looked as if the great monarch of the Santa Catapinas meant to attack the Indian agent. But it seemed that he changed his mind as he faced him. An animal so relentlessly hunted, and so often wounded as Silver Tip, becomes endowed with almost human cunning and reasoning power, and part of Silver Tip's immunity from mortal wounds had doubtless been due to this. Most grizzlies, when wounded, charge furiously on their tormentors, thus assuring their fatal injury. These had never been Silver Tip's tactics. He had always preferred to "fight and run away, and live to fight some other day."
So it was now. For the space of a breath, the two splendid specimens of human kind and the animal kingdom stared into each other's eyes. In his admiration of the magnificent brute before him, Jeffries Mayberry held his fire. He could not bring himself to kill the splendid creature unless such an action became necessary in self-defense. Were there more hunters like him, our forests and plains would not have become devastated of many of the species once so plentiful among them.
Suddenly the bear's eyes turned away under the steady scrutiny of the plainsman, and with a growl that was half a whine, he dropped on all fours and lumbered off.
"Lucky for you you didn't hurt this boy, or even your splendid majesty wouldn't have saved you," muttered Jeffries Mayberry, reaching the unconscious Rob's side in three or four rapid strides.
"Hum! in bad shape," he murmured, laying open the boy's blue flannel shirt and placing a hand over his heart. "Good thing I happened along when I did, and – Hullo!" he gave a long, low whistle of astonishment. "It's one of those kids that my bad boy Moquis held up this side of Mesaville. Well, here's a discovery."
He stood erect, and placing his fingers to his lips, blew a shrill, piercing call.
The next instant a splendid cream-colored horse came bounding into the clearing, shaking his head impatiently and whinnying as his large liquid eyes fell on his master.
"Here, Ranger," said Mayberry, addressing the beautiful steed as if it had possessed the faculty of understanding. "Here is a poor boy overcome for want of food and water, and I think he's got a touch of the sun. We've got to get him home, Ranger."
Ranger pawed the ground with one forefoot and his nostrils dilated. His keen senses indicated to him that a bear had been about, and if there is one creature of which Western horses are thoroughly afraid it is his majesty, King Bruin.
Perceiving this, Mayberry spoke a few reassuring words to the splendid horse, which instantly quieted down, though it still glanced apprehensively about it. The Indian agent's next action was to place Rob's senseless form across the saddle, while he himself swung rapidly up behind the cantle.
Lightly pressing the rein to the left side of his horse's glossy neck, the Indian agent urged it forward into the chaparral. Ranger's dainty skin shivered at the rough touch of the prickly stuff, but he went unflinchingly in the direction his master guided him.
After an hour or more of riding, Mayberry emerged on a curiously located open space. It lay at the bottom of a saucer-like depression, which might, in some remote day, have been a volcanic fire basin. Now, however, it was covered with a luxuriant growth of wild oats, and at the bottom bubbled up a little spring. All about it shot up scarred mountain sides, with scanty timber hanging to their rocky ribs. In the midst of this isolation and wilderness it looked strange to see a small cabin located. It was somewhat tumbledown, to be sure, and had, in fact, been erected there in the early fifties by a wandering prospector. Jeffries Mayberry, seeking a convenient spot from which to keep up his surveillance over his Moquis, had stumbled upon it by accident, and with an old woodsman's skill had rendered it quite habitable.
So, at least, Rob thought, when half an hour later he recovered consciousness in the cool gloom of the shanty. He was lying on a bed of fragrant boughs, and above him was the shingle roof of the hut, through holes in which he could see the blue sky.
"Where on earth am I?" was Rob's first thought, as consciousness rushed back like a tide that has been temporarily stemmed.
Gradually the events preceding his collapse grew clear to him, and he retraced recent happenings up to the appearance of the grizzly. Of his delirious attack upon the monster, he had, of course, no recollection.
"I must get up and find out where this is, and how I got here," was Rob's first thought, and with this intention he rose to his feet. To his intense astonishment, the room instantly whirled dizzily about him, and the earthen floor seemed to rise and smite him in the face. What had happened was that the weakened boy had fallen headlong. As he lay there, a hearty voice rang out in an amused tone:
"Hello, hello! Pretty weak, ain't you, for a boy who wanted to fight grizzlies with his bare hands?"
Rob looked up. The big form of Jeffries Mayberry stood framed in the doorway.
He came forward and, gently as a woman, placed Rob on the couch.
"Why – why, it's Mr. Mayberry!" gasped Rob, as his eyes fell on his companion's kindly, bearded features.
"Yes, it's me, right enough," laughed the Indian agent. "And now, if you'll lie quiet for a minute, I'll see how some rabbit stew is getting along. How does that sound?"
"Fine!" smiled Rob, and, indeed, the mention of food had set all his appetite on edge again. "But see here, Mr. Mayberry, I don't want to be babied this way. I'm going to get up and – "
"You are going to do nothing of the sort," exclaimed the Indian agent. "Here, Ranger." Again he gave the peculiar whistle, and Ranger's dainty head appeared inquiringly in the doorway.
"Watch that boy, Ranger, and if he tries to get up – grab him!"
With these words, the kind-hearted Indian agent vanished, to superintend the composition of the stew he was making over a camp fire outside.
"Well," thought Rob, "this is a funny situation. I'm in a hut, and haven't the least idea how I got here. A horse is set to guard me, and – I wonder," he went on, "if that horse is really a watch dog, or if that was just a bluff."
It was a good evidence of Rob's returning vitality that he stretched out a foot to test Ranger's watchfulness.
Instantly the sharp, pointed ears lay flat back on the horse's head, and the whites of his eyes showed menacingly.
"I guess I'll stay here!" laughed Rob.
As soon as he resumed his posture, Ranger's ears came forward, and the kind light came back into his eyes.
"I've heard of horses that were broken that way," thought Rob, "but this is the first I have ever seen."
Had Rob known it, such horses as Ranger – animals trained to the same wonderful pitch of intelligence – are not uncommon in the Southwest. Presently Mr. Mayberry appeared with a bowl of what to Rob smelled more appetizing than anything he had ever known.
"Ah-h-h-h-h!" he exclaimed, as his nostrils caught the savor.
"Wade in," said Mr. Mayberry, placing the dish on a rough, home-made table by his side. And "wade in" Rob did. He could have finished half a dozen more bowls like it – or so he felt – but Mr. Mayberry told him that after such a fast as he had endured it was important to "go slow."
So much better was the boy after dispatching the meal that he was able to get up, and after a short time spent in staggering about, he quite recovered his faculties.
"Now," said Mr. Mayberry, "tell me how you came to be where I found you?"
Rob told him, his narrative being interrupted from time to time by exclamations of astonishment from the Indian agent.
"This youth, Clark Jennings," interrupted Mr. Mayberry once, "has been a thorn in my side for years. His father is almost as bad. They have frequently committed all sorts of outrages on ranchers and implicated the Indians in them. Not only that, but they have paid the most unprincipled of the Moquis to help them in their cattle stealing and fence cutting."
"I wonder they haven't ever been captured," said Rob.
"Well," said Mr. Mayberry, "as the saying goes, it is almost impossible to 'get the goods' on them. And you say you know this cousin of his from the East, and his companions?"
"Very well," rejoined Rob, "some time I will tell you about our experiences in the East with their gang. They actually kidnapped one of our Boy Scouts, and imprisoned him in a hut."
"Why, they could have been imprisoned for that!"
"They would have been if it had not been for the fact that they fled to the West."
Rob soon concluded his narration, and Mr. Mayberry then related to him some of his own movements of the last few days. Despairing of rounding up the Moquis by moral suasion, he had telegraphed to Fort Miles for a detachment of troops. He was to meet them the next evening at Sentinel Peak, a mountain about ten miles from his present camping-place. The Indian agent had succeeded in locating the valley in which the great Snake Dance was to be held, and, in consequence, was ready to raid it with the troops at the height of the ceremonies.
"Such an action will break up their practices for many years," he declared.
"When are you going to start for the peak?" asked Rob.
"I had not intended to leave till to-morrow," said Mr. Mayberry, "but since you have told me you are anxious that your friends should be informed of your safety, I must start this evening in order to reach a settlement from which I can telephone to the Harkness ranch."
Rob's heart sank. Mr. Mayberry had not said "we." The boy had hoped it would be possible for him to go along. The Indian agent saw his manifest disappointment and hastened to reassure him.
"I would gladly take you," he said, "but it is too arduous a trip for even Ranger to carry more than one. You will be safe here till I return with the troops. I will come by here with an extra horse, and, if possible, with your friends, and then we will ride together on the Moquis."
A shrill whinny suddenly sounded outside.
"Hullo, what's the matter with Ranger?" exclaimed Mr. Mayberry, springing up, followed by Rob.
Outside the hut the boy saw a strange sight. The splendid horse was gazing about him apprehensively, and stamping the ground impatiently. His nostrils were dilated, showing red inside, and his whole appearance was one of intense nervousness.
"What's the matter with him?" asked Rob, noting in a swift glance that Mr. Mayberry's face had become suddenly clouded.
"Well," said Mayberry succinctly, "there are only two things which make him act like that – Indians and bears – and I reckon there are no bears about right now.
"But Ranger scents danger," he went on. "I am certain of it. Old horse, you'll have to carry double, after all."
CHAPTER XIX.
BLACK CLOUD'S VISIT
It was mid-afternoon of the day following the start of Mr. Mayberry and Rob, riding double, from the shanty in the lonely basin. Gathered in the big living room of the ranch house of the Harkness range was a cheerless little group, consisting of the Boy Scouts of the Ranger Patrol, Mr. Harkness and several cow-punchers, including Blinky. They had returned, disheartened and apprehensive, a few hours before, from a painstaking search of the mountains for a trace of Rob. But they had found absolutely none, and as Mr. Harkness had just said, felt as if they had indeed reached "the end of the rope."
"You don't think, then, there is a chance of our finding him?"
It was Merritt who spoke.
"I'm afraid, much as I dislike to say it, my boy, that we have used up every possible resource at our command," rejoined the rancher.
"Then what are we to do? We can't give up the search like this. He may be wandering about in the mountains now."
"With nothing to eat," put in Tubby tragically.
"I only wish you could suggest something," said Mr. Harkness in a weary tone, that made Merritt ashamed of his querulous speech.
"What your experience has been unable to suggest it is unlikely that we could think of," he rejoined. "I've only one thing to say, Mr. Harkness, and that is that we delay notifying his parents in the East till the last flicker of hope has died out."
"You mean that we may still hear some news of him?"
"I know Rob Blake," rejoined Merritt, "and if he has an ounce of strength he will make his way back."
"But the tracks of the big bear?"
"Silver Tip," put in Harry.
"That looks bad, I know," stubbornly rejoined Merritt; "but somehow I feel that Rob will yet come out all right."
"I hope so, I am sure," breathed Mr. Harkness fervently.
As the reader will have guessed by the rancher's remark, the searching party had encountered the tracks of the big grizzly in the course of their wanderings. Huge as were the monster's paws, there was no danger of mistaking them for those of any of his kindred. The fact that the huge brute was on that side of the range had proved a disturbing factor in the hunt for Rob Blake. It indicated another source of danger to the missing boy, aside from the peril of Indians, hunger and thirst, and many other dangers that he might have to face.
Suddenly Mr. Harkness started up from the big hewn-oak chair in which he had flung himself, and sat up, listening intently. The others did the same, Blinky running to the window.
"There's some one on a pony coming over the foothills like blazes bent for election!" he announced.
"Wh-o is it?" demanded Mr. Harkness.
"Can't make out. Doesn't ride like any of this outfit," said Blinky.
"Maybe it's news of Rob," exclaimed Merritt.
The same thought flamed up in the heart of each of the returned searchers.
"It's an Indian!" cried Blinky suddenly.
"How do you know?"
"Can tell by his riding. I can see his blanket flapping out, too."
"Perhaps he has news of the boy."
"He knows something of importance; he wants to get here quick," was the cow-puncher's rejoinder. "He's spurring on that plug of his for all he's worth. Indians don't ride that hard unless they are in a hurry."
Everybody was on their feet now, and by common consent a movement toward the door began.
They had not long to wait before the rider galloped up, and drew rein so violently as to cast his mount back on its haunches. As Blinky had said, the newcomer was an Indian. He had evidently ridden long and hard. His pony's coat was covered with a coating of dust, and his blanket was whitened with the same stuff. The paint on his face was almost obliterated by the same substance.
"How!" he exclaimed, gazing with a hawklike intensity into the ring of faces.
"How!" said Mr. Harkness in the same manner. "Black Cloud!" he exclaimed the next instant, as the chief slipped from his pony.
The chief nodded gravely, and then looked about him uneasily. He evidently did not like to be the centre of so many curious faces. Divining his thought, the rancher invited him inside, ordering one of the cow-punchers to take the chief's pony.
"Has – has he news of Rob?" begged Merritt, pressing forward.
"Now, see here, Merritt," said Mr. Harkness, not unkindly, "the way of an Indian is one of the wonders of the world. You leave him to me, and if he does know anything of the boy I'll get it out of him."
Together the Indian chief and the rancher passed into the living room of the ranch house, and the door closed on them.
For more than an hour they remained closeted, and then they emerged once more. Black Cloud, so the eager boys noticed, looked more than usually grim and determined, while Mr. Harkness's face bore a stern look. The Indian's pony, which had been fed, watered and rubbed down, was brought round for him, and he cast once more a searching glance about him. Then, without a word, he leaped upon his little animal's back and dashed off.
"He – he had news?" demanded Merritt, the foremost in the rush that instantly surrounded Mr. Harkness.
"Yes, grave news," was the reply; "but come inside. I will tell you all he told me. In the first place, to relieve your anxiety, I must tell you that while Rob was for a time a prisoner of the tribe, he is so no longer, having, as we surmised after we saw his sombrero on that scamp's saddle, escaped."
"Then nobody knows where he is?"
"That's it."
Blank looks were exchanged as they clustered about the rancher to hear what the chief of the Moquis had visited him for. Evidently, from the rancher's manner, there were graver thoughts still in his mind.
"To explain to you what is to follow," he said, "I must say that things are now at a crisis as regards the leadership of the Moquis tribe. For the first time in many years Black Cloud's power is threatened. A younger chief, named Diamond Snake, has attained great supremacy in the tribe, and is using his influence to undermine the leadership of Black Cloud. Diamond Snake is not a full-blooded Indian, but he once worked for Clark Jennings on his father's ranch, before the family moved here."
"Gosh-jigger them!" burst out Blinky devoutly.
"Black Cloud, who is a pretty sensible Indian, refused to have anything to do with Jennings and his gang, and as late as last night, he tells me, warned them not to try to implicate his tribe in trouble. In spite of that, an attack is to be made on our mavericks in the Far Pasture by Jennings and his crowd, disguised as Moquis, and – "
"It was Jennings and that bunch, for a bet, that stampeded the cattle!" cried Blinky.
"I think so. They could easily rig themselves up as Moquis and deceive any one, particularly in the excitement. Black Cloud became suspicious after his interview with Jennings, and laid in hiding in the brush. What he heard confirmed his suspicion that Jennings meant to disguise himself and his helpers as Indians, when they raided the cattle, and so throw the blame on the tribe. Old Black Cloud readily saw that this would work him immeasurable harm, so rode right off to warn me."
"But why should he do this?" asked Merritt.
"It's clear enough," rejoined the rancher. "He knows I'm pretty influential, and he also knows that there's a hot time coming for his tribe when they are finally rounded up. By coming to me and telling me of Jennings's plans, he figures that I, on my part, will go to the front for him and save his tribe from any severe penalty."
"But will you?" asked Harry.
"I promised him to," rejoined Mr. Harkness. "His visit may be the means of saving me thousands of dollars. But now I am in a serious predicament. Most of my punchers are off on the Bone Mound Range, rounding up mavericks. Jennings will have quite a force, and how are we to oppose him?"
"We'll help you," spoke up Harry boldly.
"Who?"
"Why, the Boy Scouts. Except Merritt and Tubby, we can all rope, and not one of us is scared of a little shooting, or anything like that."
"Well, I don't like the idea of taking you boys into danger."
"I guess you'll have to take them," put in Blinky soberly.
"Why?"
"Well, there's only myself and three other punchers, and we'll need at least a dozen to take care of the raid. Let the kids help. They'll do all right. I watched 'em carefully while we were trailing poor Rob, and they're made of the right stuff."
So it was arranged that the boys were to take part in protecting the Far Pasture against Clark Jennings and his marauders. There was now little doubt in the minds of Mr. Harkness and the others that the stampede had been instigated by Clark and his friends, disguised as Moquis. In fact, we know from the conversation we overheard in the mountains that such was the case.
"Where has Black Cloud gone, to join the snake dance?" asked Merritt, when this had been settled.
"No; at least, he has gone there, but with the object of preventing it, if possible. In some way he has learned that Mayberry has sent for soldiers, and that he means to surprise the tribe at the height of their revelry. Black Cloud, for this reason, is determined to stop it if he can."
"Can he, do you think?" asked Harry.
"I don't know. He told me that Diamond Snake, in order to make himself more popular with the tribe, was a red-hot advocate of giving the dance with all its trimmings."
"I'd like to see it," said Merritt suddenly.
"See them eating rattlers, eh?" put in Blinky.
"Do they eat them?" asked Tubby, interested at once at the mention of his favorite topic.
"Eat 'em alive," was the startling reply; "that is, except the ones they throw into a red-hot pit of coals."
"Did you ever see a snake dance?" asked Merritt eagerly.
"No, but I heard my grandpop talk about 'em. He's one of the few white men that ever saw one and got out alive."
"What do you mean?"
"That by Moqui law if a white man is caught looking on at their fal-de-lals and fandangos, he is tortured to death."
"Hum! I guess I don't want to see one as badly as I thought I did," muttered Tubby.
At this instant there came a sharp ring at the telephone. Mr. Harkness hastened to the instrument and took up the receiver. His face paled, and then broke into a joyous smile as he heard the voice at the other end.
"News of Rob!" he shouted, wheeling about.
Instantly they pressed forward about him, eager to hear.
"He's – Hullo! Yes. What's that? Oh, yes. Boys, Rob was at Red Flat some time ago. He is now mounted and on his way here. I am talking to Mr. Mayberry, the Indian agent, who saved him from a terrible death."
"How far is Red Flat from here?"
"About twenty miles, and the boy has a good horse."
"He ought to be here in a couple of hours, then?"
"About that," rejoined Mr. Harkness, resuming his conversation with the Indian agent. Suddenly they heard his voice raised as if in expostulation.
"Don't do any such thing, Mayberry!" the boys heard the rancher exclaim. "You are mad to attempt it!"
"Oh, I know, duty is duty, but it's no man's duty to place his head in a trap. Why, man alive, it's courting death, you – "
"He's rung off," he exclaimed, turning to the inquiring group behind him. "I don't know what I wouldn't give to be able to stop him in what he is about to do."
"Is he in trouble?" asked Harry.
"No, my boy, but he soon will be. He is going to 'reason' with the Indians. Reason with them!" he burst out bitterly. "Reason with a rock, a rattlesnake, a coyote, or anything else senseless or cruel, but don't reason with an Indian."
"If you're enjoyin' this here present life," put in Blinky sagely.