CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Captured

The middle Indian—the one without a rifle—was the first to speak. “Drop your packs to the ground,” he ordered. His voice was hard and guttural. “And do it slow.”

Mike stiffened in anger, and for a moment Sandy thought he was going to try to make a break for it. “Take it easy,” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Better do what he says.”

Mike shook his head stubbornly. “They’re not going to do any shooting,” he insisted. “The others are too close.”

The Indian gave a short, unpleasant laugh. “You think they’d get back in time?” he asked.

“They’d be back in time to get you!” Mike flared.

“Try it,” the Indian invited. His voice became hard and menacing. “We could pick you off and wait for the others to come running back. This place makes a perfect ambush.”

The realization that Hank and his father might also be killed sobered Mike considerably. He reached up and loosened the strap that held his bedroll and rifle. Keeping his eyes on the rifles that stared down at them, Sandy did the same.

“Now move back. And keep your hands up in the air.”

Sandy and Mike did as they were told. The two armed Indians vaulted lightly down from their perch, approached the blankets, and took the boys’ guns.

“All right,” the Indian on the rock ordered. “Pick up your packs and climb up here.”

“Where are we going?” Sandy demanded.

“You’ll find out soon enough” came the answer. “Just keep moving—and don’t try anything.”

For the better part of an hour, they moved silently ahead, climbing higher into the mountains, avoiding what trails there were, keeping close to the protective cover afforded by the thick stands of jack pine. At last they arrived at a small clearing, perched high on the top of a lonely, desolate peak. The clearing was admirably situated, with an unobstructed view on three sides and accessible only by a single trail that wound tortuously up through jagged piles of razor-sharp rock. Sandy noticed the remains of a fire surrounded by three blanket rolls. It was an uncomfortable but well-hidden campsite.

“Sit over there,” the lead Indian commanded. He walked over to a blanket roll and rummaged through it. The other Indians stood to one side, keeping their guns trained on Sandy and Mike.

“What’s all this about?” Sandy said irritably. “What do you want from us?”

“Nothing,” the Indian replied. “Not a single thing. It’s Eagle Plume we want—Joe, to you.”

“Then you must be the three Crows!” Mike blurted out.

The Indian straightened up from his pack and looked at them. There was a flat, veiled expression in his eyes. “Yes,” he said quietly, “we’re Crows. So Joe’s been telling you about us.”

Sandy glanced over at Mike to warn him into silence. “He mentioned you once,” he replied. “Said there was some bad feeling between you.”

“What else did he say?” It was more of a command than a question.

“Nothing. Joe didn’t talk much.”

The Indian nodded. “I can believe that. He wouldn’t want you to know too much.”

“About what?”

“Never mind,” the Indian said briefly. “I bet you never guessed that Joe has been using you all this time.”

“Using us!”

“Sure. He had to find some way of getting to Mormon Crossing. You made it easy for him.”

Sandy and Mike digested this piece of news in silence. Joe didn’t seem like the kind who would deliberately “use” somebody and then disappear without a word. But there was no effective reply to what they had heard.

“It’s too bad you had to poke your noses into this,” the Indian went on. “But now that you’re here, you can be useful.”

“We wouldn’t lift a finger to help you!” Mike declared hotly.

The Indian threw him a disdainful look. “You won’t have anything to say about it.” He reached down and drew a long rope from his pack. He tossed it to one of the Indians with a rifle. “Tie them up,” he ordered. “The dark one first.” Mike struggled to his feet and the second Indian moved around to a point directly behind Sandy. “I wouldn’t try that,” the leader advised Mike sharply. “Unless you want to see your friend shot. I wouldn’t kill him—just a bullet in his leg, maybe. But I don’t think he’d like it much.”

Mike stiffened, his mouth a grim line of anger, but he allowed the Indian to pin his arms behind his back. The Crow worked quickly and efficiently. In a moment Mike was helpless.

“Now the other one,” the Indian said. Sandy felt strong hands grab his arms and twist a length of rope tightly around his wrists. He gasped involuntarily as the rope bit deep into his skin. A second rope was coiled around his ankles. Rough hands threw him heavily on the ground, ran a line through his wrist bindings and joined the other end to the rope that held his ankles. When this was drawn tight, Sandy’s legs were jerked back, forcing his spine into an awkward arc. The halter knotted between the two bindings made it impossible for him to move. If he tried to work his fingers free, the pressure drew his legs further up behind him. Any motion from his feet pulled his arms painfully out of joint.

When the job was done, the lead Indians seemed satisfied. “Good,” he grunted. “That’ll keep you from wandering off.” He glanced speculatively up at the sky. “Couple more hours of daylight,” he said. “Time enough to try to find Joe and have a talk with him.”

“What are you going to do with us?” Sandy asked, gritting his teeth against the pain of the ropes.

“Leave you here until we get back. Don’t worry. You’ll be all right. You’re too valuable to us alive—for now, anyway.”

Sandy let the last remark pass. “How do you know where to find Joe?”

“Curious, aren’t you?” The Indian leaned down and picked up Sandy’s rifle. “To tell you the truth,” he said, throwing open the bolt, “I don’t know.” He slammed the bolt shut and moved off. “But if we don’t find him today, we’ll talk to him tomorrow. Don’t worry. We’ll get together sooner or later.” He made an abrupt motion with his head and the other two Indians disappeared silently down the trail.

“The quicker we see Joe,” he said, “the quicker you two get out of here. So wish us luck.” He turned and followed his companions. Sandy and Mike could hear the subdued tones of whispered conversation, then silence.

By working himself around on one shoulder, Sandy managed to twist himself into a position where he could see Mike. “You okay?” he called softly.

Mike grunted sourly. “I’d feel a lot better if I could figure this thing out.”

“Joe sure seems to have gotten himself into a mess of trouble,” Sandy said.

“What about us, for Pete’s sake! We’re not doing too badly.”

Despite their situation, Sandy grinned. “You’re right,” he admitted. “Those boys don’t fool around, do they?”

Mike pulled himself around and grimaced. “One thing I’ll have to hand them. They tie a mean knot.”

“Can you move at all?” Sandy asked.

“Sure,” Mike replied bitterly. “Just enough to break my back!”

“There’s a knife in my bedroll over there,” Sandy speculated.

“Do you think you can make it?”

“I don’t know. I can try pushing myself along the ground.”

Sandy concentrated on lunging forward, but after a few minutes he knew it wasn’t going to work. “No good,” he panted. “I can’t make any headway.”

“How long did they say they’d be gone?”

“Till dark. That’s about an hour and a half. I’m afraid my arms are going to drop off before then. How do yours feel?”

“Not too good.” The tightly knotted ropes were beginning to cut off circulation and it occurred to Sandy that he’d better keep his fingers and toes in motion.

He was about to advise Mike to do the same when he heard a faint scraping noise that froze him into immobility. It came a second time, a short distance to his rear. He experienced a moment of panic as he envisioned a mountain lion stalking up to the camp, but he managed to keep his voice calm when he called out to Mike.

“Hey, Mike! Do you hear anything?”

Mike cocked his head. “No,” he said. “Not a thing.”

“It sounds like somebody coming up the trail.”

Mike strained his head to take a look. “No,” he began, “I don’t see any ...” His voice broke off in an excited shout. “Joe! What are you doing here?”

“Shhh!” came a voice. “Keep it down. Lie still and let me get you out of those ropes.”

The next instant Joe was kneeling by Sandy’s side, a sharp knife in one hand.