CHAPTER XXVI

TWO MEN DISAPPEAR

“These people will be your slaves from now on,” Margery said. “I know them. They ran to hide because they are afraid of you. If you do what I tell you we can get away safely after awhile!”

“All right,” said Tom.

He looked at Mort and Henry, crestfallen and a little surly, standing by the motion picture machine.

“We’re going off by ourselves,” he told them. “I’ve got you out of the trouble you made for yourself, Henry—twice now,” he was not boasting, but stating it as a fact. “I think the least you can do is to be honest with us from here on.”

Henry nodded, curtly, nudged Mort, and without a word of thanks, swung on his heel and slunk out.

“Let’s go to my hut,” Margery suggested. “It’s more comfortable to talk, and I’ve fixed up like a home in it.”

Unaware that the eyes of the man they had saved were still burning hotly with resentment at his own defeat, that he watched because he was still determined to get what he wanted, they walked across the dark square to a small hut where an Indian girl, about a year older than Margery, slept in a hammock. Margery stuck the torch she had brought into a makeshift holder against a supporting pillar of wood, and showed the three chums her makeshift home.

She had preserved some of her American taste of love and comfort, in spite of the hardships. There, with the other girl dismissed firmly, she and Tom took their first brother-and-sisterly embrace and the girl, now very shy, clasped hands with the two who had come with Tom to her rescue.

“Now,” said Tom, “Sis’, are you too tired to tell us some about yourself? It can wait——”

“No,” she said. “I’ll feel better if we know everything all together. I’ve had a dreadful time. But it will soon be over—thanks to you three fine friends. I love you all!”

Then she told them her story. After her parting with Tom, when he was prevented from going with her and his father to Mexico, she and their father had gone to the land of the chili bean and the tamale.

On the way their father had fallen into conversation with a man who was going back to Mexico “to work a mine.” He had tried to sell it but had failed; its samples of ore were not very convincing, although its owner had great faith that he was nearly ready to tap a fine vein of ore. But his health was poor and the Mexican climate, even among the hills, was detrimental to recovery; he wanted to dispose of his holdings.

Their father told her, Margery said, that he was going to look at the mine before they went on to the Dead Hope, and if he liked it he might take an option on it.

He did so, but the man, when he found that Mr. Carrol considered the property good, begged him to buy it outright so he could take the money and go to Nevada to grow better. Mr. Carrol had agreed to take a half-interest and the papers had been drawn up.

They had then gone on to the Dead Hope mine. He had, in Mexico City, left the man who sold him the half-interest in the mine.

With bated breath she disclosed his identity.

“It was Mort Beecher!” she said.

“Great grief!” gasped Nicky. “I’ll—wait till I see him——”

“Sh-h-h!” she warned. “He went off with the money father paid him and I guess he spent it in wild parties. But let me tell you the rest.

“The first night we were at the Good Hope mine house we were waked up by horses galloping, guns firing, men yelling. Father looked out and said it was bandits making an attack.”

“There was gold dust there,” Tom interrupted. She nodded and went on.

“Father got his gun and told me to stay quiet and not to leave the shack. He had to go to help the mine people. The mine was part of the property of the firm he was paid by, you see.”

“And he left you alone?” Nicky was surprised.

“Only while he helped drive off the bandits. He thought they would be frightened away. But——” she wiped her eyes on her sleeve, for there were no handkerchiefs in that primitive place, “Father—didn’t—come—back—ever!”

“No,” said Tom. “I wish we knew who fired the shot that——”

“I guess we never will know,” she said. “But this is what is important now. Father gave me some folded papers out of his pocket and said I must keep them until—he came back. But the fighting got worse and I was frightened. People began falling down in the open place and I was awfully scared.”

“It must have been terrible,” Cliff said, sympathetically.

“I saw a man coming across the open place and it was Mort Beecher, only I didn’t recognize him at first.”

“Yes,” Tom said, “he rescued you, Henry told us.”

“But Henry said you ran out while he held the horse, and Mort saved you,” Cliff said.

“That wasn’t so, at all,” she declared. “I did not run out! I was obeying father. But when I saw that man coming I thought I’d hide the papers, because father had said they were partnership agreements and a deed. So I—put them—under a board—it was loose—right under where the old stove stood.” The youths nodded.

“Then Mort Beecher came in and said he would save me, and he picked me up and carried me out to a mule.”

“I’ve thought, all along, that Mort was the real bandit,” Nicky said. “What you say all checks up. He sold part of the mine and then, when he found out there was gold dust to be taken he wanted to get the agreements back and have the money too!”

“But if he was the real bandit leader, why did he rescue me?”

“Didn’t he ask you about the papers?” Tom questioned.

She nodded.

“But not for a long time. After all the excitement was over. Then I said I didn’t have any papers and he was disappointed.”

“How did he get you away—Henry said he defended the pass while you were taken off, and that it was only ten minutes—but the gold was gone and so were you and Mort.”

“Up the trail we stopped. Mort unloaded the sacks and dropped them over the edge. I thought it must be awfully deep, but when he hit the burros and sent them flying up the trail he got down over the edge of the cliff and told me to jump into his arms.”

“And you did?” gasped Nicky.

“Yes. It was only down about six feet. Then he made me bend low and I saw the edge hung over a sort of shallow place under it. So we hid there while the bandits went past. After a long time he crawled up on the trail and pulled me up, and made me give him a sack of the gold dust first. Then we climbed an awful trail, up the side of the hill, and hid in a cave. After that night he went away and left me; I thought he wouldn’t come back, but he did—with food. Then we went on to where he had a mule—he must have caught it on the pass. We rode for ever so long, and finally we came to where a hut was. Old people lived there. He said we were lost and begged for food and they gave us some. After that we rode on again and he was always afraid the bandits would find us, and our mule got worn out and we had to leave him and walk. Then we got to where some more people lived and he bribed them with some gold dust and they gave him a mule and then we rode from there. Finally we came to a city; he disguised the sack with some old oilskins he found, and I think he sold the gold dust gradually to some banks, for we stayed there—it was a long time, I don’t remember how long.”

“The bandits must have traced him,” Nicky suggested. “For Henry said—no, it was Jack—we found Jack in Porto Bello, but never mind—he said Mort had told him, while they drank—they did that a lot——”

“You’re worse mixed up than a shaker full of soda water!” laughed Tom. “What he’s trying to say is that in tracing you we found a man who told us part of Mort’s story as Mort told it to him. It was that bandits followed Mort and he took you——”

“On a boat, and kept me in the cabin and disguised me and said I was his daughter——”

“And you cried and the stewardess got suspicious—” Cliff added. They were all trying to tell what they knew.

“And we were put ashore on a San Blas Indian island,” she smiled. “Tom, you remember how I loved to doctor my dolls and all? Well, I saw how the Indians lived and when I could make them understand and learned a few words I doctored them as well as I could—and all of a sudden, one night, some Indians from inland came—and they took me away. They thought I was a great spirit or something. But I didn’t have any medicines and I wasn’t very old and so I couldn’t help them.”

“Why didn’t they send you back?” demanded Tom.

“Maybe they were afraid of being caught for what they had done,” Nicky suggested.

“That must be it,” Margery agreed. “They didn’t make me prisoner or anything and they always treat me nice; but they didn’t have any use for me if I couldn’t cure them and so I just stayed and stayed because I didn’t know how to get away.”

“But you’ll get away now!” declared Nicky bravely.

“But what about the deeds and the partnership papers?” demanded Tom. “What did you do with them? They’d be mighty valuable.”

“I hid them the minute father went out,” she said.

“In the mine shack—at the Dead Hope?” Nicky cried.

She nodded.

“Under a board in the floor, under the stove,” she said.

“Golly!” cried Cliff, “that’s why Henry was so anxious to find Mort and to get you and learn about that.”

“That—and the rest of the gold dust,” Tom agreed.

“Well, they owe us their lives now,” Nicky asserted. “We can share some of what’s rightfully ours, and especially the half-interest in the Golden Sun mine.”

But, outside in the dark, there was a pair of ears that heard and a brain that was bound that no one should share except Mort and Henry.

Once before Henry had repaid the saving of his life by treachery.

He was planning to do so again.

“Well,” said Tom, “we’d better let Margery get some sleep. When the Indians come around in the morning we can plan to leave as soon as possible.” That was agreed to.

They were awakened soon after dawn by a tumult and excitement in the square. Margery met them, her hair blowing in the morning breeze.

“The two white men have gone!” she cried. “They left during the night!”

“Well, I guess they have gotten enough of this place,” Tom conceded.

“But the men are getting ready to pursue them—and—”

“Don’t let them!” Tom cried. “We saved them last night. Tell the chief it is Big Boy Tom’s will that they be allowed to go.”

Margery sped away on her light feet.

“That returns good for evil,” Tom said to Cliff and Nicky. “They only want to escape. They don’t know what we know!”

But—they did!