CHAPTER XII

TREACHERY FEARED

“I would suggest,” Gilroy remarked, as the boys stood in front of the barrier looking anxiously out in every direction, “that you prepare a bit of luncheon. I must confess that this mountain air gives me an appetite, and I had a light breakfast, you know.”

“All right,” Jimmie replied. “I’ll build a fire, put on the big kettle and make a bear stew that will put an inch of fat on your ribs.”

“A bear stew?” repeated Gilroy, holding up his white hands in horror.

“Sure, a bear stew.”

“You don’t mean to say that the ferocious creatures known as bears are served as food in this outrageous country, do you?”

“Certainly!” laughed Jimmie. “The bear is the noblest work of God when it comes to making a stew.”

“I couldn’t eat bear stew, indeed I couldn’t,” gasped Gilroy.

“All right,” Jimmie said, “then we’ll cook you some eggs.”

The boy set to work preparing the stew. The larder was well stocked with provisions, and he had plenty of vegetables and rice to use, so in a couple of hours he had a great kettle bubbling fragrantly over the fire. Gilroy was supplied with eggs and soda biscuit.

Leaving the confidential clerk munching his supper and looking about for bears, Ned and Jimmie walked around the corner of rock and stood looking over the fast-darkening landscape.

“I’ll tell you what it is,” Jimmie said, at length. “Those boys are in trouble somewhere. It’s an even bet that they’ve been geezled by the ginks that grabbed us.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Ned answered.

“Look here,” Jimmie went on, in a moment. “I know the way to that old mission place. I could find my way there in the dark of the moon blindfolded. Now suppose I sneak over and see if there’s any trace of the boys there or thereabouts?”

“We’d better wait a short time,” Ned answered. “The outlaws in the subterranean rooms will naturally be doubly watchful after our sensational escape, and so we’d better wait until along in the night.”

“They may not be there at all,” Jimmie finally said. “They may be just lost in the mountains.”

“I don’t think they would really get lost,” Ned decided.

While the boys talked around the angle of rock, a shrill cry followed by a pistol shot came from the camp.

In a moment Norman, the Boy Scout messenger boy, came dashing around the corner, white-faced and out of breath. He dropped down close to where the boys were standing and looked up at Ned with appealing eyes. He was evidently very much exhausted, for his breath came in short, hard gasps. There were spots of blood on his hands, as if they had been torn on rocky surfaces.

“Well?” asked Ned shortly. “What do you want here?”

Norman half arose and peered around the angle of rock.

“I came running up to the fire a minute ago,” he said, still panting, “and some one in the cave shot at me as I passed.”

“Don’t you think you deserve shooting?” asked Ned.

“Shooting for what?” asked the other faintly.

“Because you have proven yourself a treacherous guide!” answered Ned.

“Aw, pitch him down the hill!” gritted Jimmie.

“Wait until I explain!” gasped Norman. “I have only a minute to spare.”

“Well, what is it?” asked Ned.

“And get a new plot this time!” put in Jimmie. “Don’t go to bringing out any old fake note!”

“You’ll understand, some day,” Norman said, lifting his eyes frankly to those of the boys. “You’ll know all about it before long.”

“Get down to business!” ordered Ned.

“Then listen,” Norman went on. “Some of your friends are in trouble up near the summit.”

“And you want us to follow you to the scene of activity!” laughed Jimmie. “That’s almost as good as answering the note in person.”

“Now listen to me,” pleaded Norman.

“You worked that game once,” roared Jimmie. “You got me geezled in the woods, and you got Ned lugged into the old mission.”

“Let me tell you,” Norman went on. “I was sent out into the mountains to look for you boys. I went off to the west because I didn’t want to find you. I thought you wouldn’t be in that direction.”

“That’s called ‘bunk’ in New York,” Jimmie insisted.

“Let the boy have his say,” Ned suggested.

“I went off to the west,” continued Norman, “and walked a long way. I didn’t want to go back to the mission at all, but I knew that if I didn’t something serious would take place in New York.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Jimmie.

“I can’t tell you,” answered the boy. “I can only say that upon my keeping on good terms with Toombs and his gang depends the liberty and happiness of a person I am very fond of.”

Jimmie snorted his disbelief, but Ned motioned for Norman to go on.

“When I got high up on the hill, I came to a depression known to the mountaineers as the Devil’s Punch Bowl.”

“Wasn’t any punch in it, was there?” asked Jimmie, in derision.

“Just as I was about to turn away, I heard shouts from the bottom of the pit. I drew nearer to the edge and looked down. Two boys were beckoning and shouting to me to run for assistance.”

“Two?” asked Ned anxiously.

“Only two,” replied Norman. “There was another lying on the ground and he looked to me as if he might be dead.”

“Why didn’t you find out?” asked Ned.

“There is always quite a wind up on the mountains at this time of night,” the boy answered, “and I couldn’t understand all they said. I understood, however, that they wanted me to come for you.”

“And you want us to go with you to this Devil’s Punch Bowl, I presume,” scoffed Jimmie.

“If you can find the place alone, I’ll go back to the old mission,” answered Norman. “It is not so very far away.”

“What sort of a place is this Devil’s Punch Bowl?” asked Ned, moving toward the cave and beckoning Norman to follow.

“It is just a deep pit between two ridges,” was the answer. “It must be a hundred or more feet to the bottom. The sides are so steep that escape from it is impossible.”

“It must be a dangerous place,” Ned agreed.

“The mountaineers claim that no one ever left it alive,” replied the boy with a very grave face.

“What ought we to take with us,” asked Ned, “in order to be of assistance to the boys? What do you suggest?”

“You must take plenty of ropes,” was the answer.

Jimmie looked up into Ned’s face appealingly.

“You’re not going with this gink?” he asked.

“I certainly am,” replied Ned. “The boys may really be in trouble.”

“Then I’ll go, too,” Jimmie decided, “but I’ll tell you right now that I don’t believe a word of this story.”

“Will you show the way?” asked Ned, bringing out a large coil of rope.

“Yes,” was the reply, “if you’ll treat me fairly while we’re together. Some one shot at me from the cave as I came by.”

Gilroy was now seen looking out of the cave. The firelight showed a set and frightened face.

“That’s the boy!” he shouted, pointing a fat finger at Norman. “That’s the boy that tried to sneak into the cave while you were away.”

“That’s the man that shot at me!” Norman said. “I guess he thought I was a burglar. I didn’t try to get into the cave at all, but just looked over the barrier.”

“I saw him trying to climb over!” shouted Gilroy.

“Never mind all that now,” Ned advised. “If the boys really are in trouble we can’t afford to lose any time getting to them.”

“I’ll give you another reason why you ought to hurry,” Norman went on, “I’ve been gone from the camp quite a long time, and I don’t know what’s going on there, of course, but I can tell you right now that your camp will be watched tonight. There may be someone watching me now.”

“What is the real object of all this?” asked Ned. “We have nothing those fellows have use for, either information or documents of any kind.”

“You probably couldn’t make them believe that,” suggested Norman. “At any rate,” he went on, “if they believed what you say, they would still try to drive you out of the country.”

“Had the outlaws anything to do with the plight in which you found the boys?” asked Jimmie.

“Certainly not!” was the reply. “When the boys escaped from the outlaws, they took the upper route back to your cave and came upon the Devil’s Punch Bowl. My idea is that one fell in and that the others, in some manner, worked their way down to the bottom and attempted to get him out. They didn’t say so, but that’s the way it looked to me.”

“So the half-breeds captured the boys, did they?” Jimmie asked.

“Yes,” was the reply. “Some one sent up a Boy Scout help signal in the forest below here, and the boys must have gone to see what it meant. The half-breeds were wandering around there and captured them, but the boys got away by some trick or other and took to the mountain.”

Jimmie stood looking at Ned with a shamed face.

“Say!” he said, “I made that Boy Scout signal, just before those ginks started to march me off to the old mission. I never thought our boys would take any notice of it. I guess I’m to blame for all this trouble, Ned. I must be getting awful dense, never to remember that our boys were looking for just such signs at the time I left the camp.”

“I saw the signal,” Norman said, “and answered it. I was cooking in front of Toombs’ tent when the two columns of smoke showed and I built another fire on the plea that I needed two to cook the dinner. The fires didn’t make much smoke, so I soaked some of the wood I put on.”

“And I saw your signal, too,” Jimmie explained, “and started toward it. That’s the time the half-breeds gave me the pinch.”

“Now,” said Ned, turning to Norman, “we’re going to leave Gilroy, the man who mistook you for a burglar, here to watch the camp while we go to the assistance of the boys. I don’t think you’d better go with us. We may come upon a bunch of the outlaws and have to fight. If with us, you would be recognized and that would end your usefulness so far as we are concerned.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you any more,” Norman said hesitatingly. “It would be terrible if the news got back to New York that I had turned traitor to Toombs. I can’t endure the thought!”

“What would happen?” asked Jimmie. “Why don’t you speak plainly?”

“I can’t tell you what would happen,” the boy answered. “It is something I don’t even dare think about.”

“Then of course you can’t afford to accompany us to the Devil’s Punch Bowl,” Ned said, “and I was about to suggest that you remain here with Gilroy for a short time after our departure.”

“Aw, let Gilroy take care of himself!” Jimmie said.

Ned laughed as he threw a long coil of rope over his shoulder and provided himself with a couple of electric flashlights.

“Gilroy,” he said, “would be having three fits at a time if he knew that we are leaving him here alone in the night. If the boy will remain a short time until we get out of sight and hearing, that will help matters materially. You’ll stay will you?” he added.

“Only a few minutes,” answered Norman.

“And if there is to be a raid on the camp tonight,” Ned went on, “perhaps you may be able to warn us in time.”

“I can’t promise that,” the boy said. “I can’t take any chance on offending Mr. Toombs. I know that he’s a dirty trickster, and that he means mischief to you boys, but I’ve said all I dare say.”

The boy entered the cave and engaged in conversation with Gilroy, in accordance with Ned’s instructions, and Ned and Jimmie, who had in the meantime received definite instructions as to the location of the Devil’s Punch Bowl, started up the steep slope of the mountain.

“Suppose the boy is lying?” asked Jimmie anxiously.