CHAPTER XXVII.

SHANGOWAH’S BACKERS.

When young Joe and Dick arrived at the room of the Indians in the Sunset House they were astonished to find it empty. The door had remained locked, but old Joe Crowfoot was not to be found in that room. Young Joe even looked beneath the bed in search of him.

“He’s gone,” said Dick. “He’s not here.”

“But how could he get out?” muttered the young Indian, puzzled and dismayed. “I had the key, and the door was locked, as you saw.”

Merriwell thrust his head out of the window and looked down to the ground. The room was a second-story one.

“Perhaps he jumped.”

“No,” said young Joe positively, “he didn’t do that.”

“I’m not so sure of it. I’ve seen the time when he would think nothing of dropping out of a window this distance from the ground.”

“That time is past. Really, Dick, my grandfather is getting old and feeble. He’s not the man he was. I’ve seen a great change in him. I doubt if he could jump from this window to the ground without injuring himself.”

“Old as he is,” returned Dick, “I’ll guarantee, if put to it, or pitted against a desperate enemy, he would astonish some people. I’ve seen him before when he seemed nearly all in, and I’ve likewise seen him ‘come back.’”

Dick opened the closet door and peered into it. Suddenly he lifted his hand, with his ear bent toward the closet.

Young Joe stepped swiftly and noiselessly to the Yale man’s side.

A faint smile crept over Dick Merriwell’s face.

“We’ve located Shangowah,” he said, in a low tone, as the sound of voices came to their ears. “He’s in the adjoining room, and, so help me! I believe he’s playing poker with a bunch in there.”

Mingled with the murmur of voices they heard the clinking of money and shuffling of cards.

“You’re right,” whispered young Joe. “But how did he get in there?”

Even as he asked that question his eyes answered it, for he discovered the opening high up at the back of the closet, and he knew the old Indian had mounted the shelves, squirmed through that opening and entered the next room in a decidedly unusual manner.

“He will play poker and he will drink,” muttered young Joe. “He says he’s too old to abandon such habits, though he’s rather proud because his grandson has listened to the counsel of Injun Heart and never become a confirmed victim of such practices.

“It’s ten to one.” Joe went on, as he closed the closet door, “that he’s fallen in with a bunch of sharks, and he’s in poor condition to take care of himself.”

“If that is true,” laughed Dick, “it will be something unusual; for, sober or otherwise, I’ve never yet seen Shangowah in such a condition that he could not look after number one. However, I think it will be well enough to get in there if we can and pry him away from that bunch.”

As they reached the door of the other room the sound of loud, angry, and excited voices came to their ears, Merriwell’s hand fell on the doorknob, but the door was locked.

“Kill him!” shouted a voice within the room.

Dick stepped back two strides, then he flung himself forward, and his shoulder crashed against the door, which flew open, the lock broken.

Into that room leaped the two youths red and white. In a twinkling they had seized old Crowfoot’s assailants and sent them reeling right and left. The aged Indian was torn free from the hostile hands that had clutched him.

“Ugh!” he grunted stoically. “Heap much obliged.”

“What’s the row in here?” demanded Dick Merriwell.

Buzzsaw Stover gathered himself up from the corner into which he had spun from the hand of Merriwell.

“We caught that dirty old wolf cheating!” he howled hoarsely. “He substituted a card from a pack of his own.”

“Ugh!” grunted old Joe once more. “You cheat. You put up one, two, three, and some more little job on old Crowfoot. You think he not see? You think he no have eyes? He see you monkey with pasteboards. He see other man pass you card under table. He see you try to swipe stack of money from him. Cheat? You biggest blame thief on two legs!”

“It’s a lie!” panted Stover. “I’ll choke the breath out of the old robber! Come on, fellows! Going to let these two kids come in here and bluff us?”

His companions answered with vicious cries, and, following his example, proceeded to attack the intruders.

During the next few moments there were lively times in that room. If those Outlaws fancied that by superior strength and overwhelming numbers they were going to have a snap with their opponents, they fooled themselves to the limit. Young Joe Crowfoot could use his fists with all the skill of a finished boxer; and, side by side with Merriwell, he took care of his share of the assailants. Gentle Willie Touch got a punch in the wind that promptly put him hors de combat, and Warwhoop Clinker was given a thump on the bugle that nearly drove his proboscis back into his face.

Meanwhile, South-paw Pope had “got his” from Dick, and once more Merriwell reached for Buzzsaw’s jaw and found it. Stover dropped into the same corner from which he had lately emerged and sat very limp and dazed, prevented from keeling over by the angle of the partitions.

While this was taking place old Joe Crowfoot calmly proceeded to rake his own money off the table and take possession of the big jack pot which had brought about the clash. The money piled in front of the chairs at which the Indian’s associates in the game had sat was left untouched.

“Now we puckachee,” said old Joe; “we vamoose. We make a sneak.”

He wabbled a bit as he passed through the open door. Dick and young Joe followed him, leaving the Outlaws to recover.

“Oh! oh!” gasped Gentle Willie. “I’ll never draw a full breath again.”

“My nose!” groaned Clinker, whose face was an unpleasant, gory spectacle.

Pope made his complaint, but for the time being Stover had nothing to say.

Having recovered a short time later, however, Buzzsaw raged like a lunatic.

“There’ll be murder in this town!” he snarled. “I’ll have that feller Merriwell’s hide before another day is over.”

“Are we going to let that old Injun get away with the money?” asked Pope.

“No!” was the furious answer. “We’ll take it away from him. Come on, let’s find him.”

But they looked for Shangowah in vain. When they finally inquired at the desk they were informed that old Crowfoot and young Joe had settled and left the hotel for good. No one knew where they had gone.