CHAPTER VII.

ON GUARD.

Ned Campbell sat his horse with an air of irresolution. For a moment he appeared at a loss what course to pursue.

He glanced quickly around him. The black column of smoke had disappeared. Evidently Zeb Ruel had regained the other party.

Ned was in a quandary whether to hasten to join them, to search for Fannie, or to follow up the faint clue that lay before him, which might lead to the discovery of his lost friend and almost brother, Fred Hawksley. With an effort he decided.

“It is what Fannie would wish, did she know it,” he muttered, as he shook the reins free. “There are better eyes than mine at work over yonder, and I could do no particular good. She would tell me to hunt for poor Fred.”

Campbell was following the trail of the spotted mustang, bending low in his saddle, for the ground was rapidly becoming more hard as he advanced, and the small hoofs had not cut deeply into the turf. Though keen-eyed, the young hunter soon found that he must dismount, or run the risk of losing the trail altogether.

Like a well-trained dog, the big bay horse followed him at a little distance. Step by step Ned picked up the trail, that gradually grew fainter and more indistinct.

Its course led along nearly equidistant from the _motte_ and the _baranca_, yet heading so that, if maintained, the _baranca_ would be headed. Yet Ned knew that this could not have been done, in the short time that he was hidden from view. He knew that the trail either entered the wood or else the _baranca_.

If the former, he must find it; if the latter, a few minutes’ delay would matter little, as the rider could not possibly leave it without his knowledge, for both ends were within his range of vision. Reasoning thus, Campbell kept on for over half a mile, more than once losing the trail, only to find it again the next moment.

But now he lost it altogether. A strip of flinty ground led from the _baranca_ clear to the timber’s edge. At the edge of this strip, all traces ended.

One glance decided this, and then Campbell skirted the further side, until at the underbrush. He saw that a horse could not have forced a passage into the timber without leaving unmistakable traces of so doing. A grim smile lighted up his countenance. He knew now that the _baranca_ contained his quarry.

“So much settled,” he muttered, triumphantly. “I don’t think the time is lost, for now I will have only one side to watch. Come, Miss, madam, whichever you may be. I think you will find it harder to pull the wool over my eyes now than last week. It’s you and I for it now, and the smartest brain wins.”

Signing for his horse to follow him, Campbell looked to his rifle, and glided toward the edge of the _baranca_. He paused upon the edge, and while closely scrutinizing much of its bottom as possible from his position, he meditated deeply.

“It’s plain,” he muttered, finally, “she took the piebald with her, else I must have seen its tracks. There are places where a horse can be concealed down there, but not many. Now shall I go down and hunt her out? No—were it only for myself, I would, and take the chances of her picking me off with that rifle of hers. But then! Fred. I won’t lose the game now by carelessness or foolishness. She must come out some time. I can stand it as long as she can. But first, for a good stand. Ha! I have it—the pile of rocks. She must be this side of that, for a goat could scarcely clamber over it. That will do. Then I’ll only have one way to look.”

Ned only hesitated for a moment, then narrowly examined the side of the _baranca_. As another proof that his suspicions were well founded, he soon discovered a path, narrow and steep, yet amply wide enough to permit a sure-footed horse to ascend or descend without much difficulty, leading down to the bottom of the ravine. His keen eye could detect the signs of hoofs having pressed its surface, though how recently could only be surmised.

“It leads in the right direction, too—that is, toward the pile of rocks. Somewhere near that I believe lies the secret. If so, the game’s mine.”

The young hunter had decided upon his course. Craft and cunning must be his aid now. The stakes played for were far too important to be lost by a rash or premature move.

Motioning his horse to remain stationary, Ned hastened to the timber and soon secured several small leafy branches, and a handful of dried grass. Holding these, he glided cautiously along the escarpment, his eyes closely scanning every foot of the bottom.

He neared the rocky barricade without discovering any thing that could possibly afford concealment for a horse, and then crouching down, he narrowly examined the pile. It will be remembered that he, in company with the other young hunters, had searched the _opposite_ side of the barricade, on the night Fred Hawksley disappeared.

Campbell saw numerous crevices and small cavities, but none nearly large enough to admit the passage of a horse, yet, knowing that upon this point rested his last chance, he set about his work. First he started the big horse out, a few yards from the escarpment, beyond sight from the ravine, yet so that a single leap would carry him ready to mount. Then with strips cut from his hunting-shirt, he carefully bound the twigs and dried grass upon his head and shoulders, in such a manner that his vision was unobstructed, while concealing his form. This arranged to his satisfaction, he lay down upon the ground, with eyes riveted upon the rocky pile, his weapons ready for use.

Ned was a true hunter. More than once he had lain in wait for game almost without stirring a muscle, for half a day. And now this quality stood him in good stead; only this time his game was human.

For two hours he lay motionless, patiently watching, only shifting his gaze occasionally up the _baranca_, to make sure that his quarry was not escaping him in that direction. As he cautiously turned his head toward the barricade, after one of these glances, a glow of light filled his eyes, and he started convulsively.

He saw that his surmises were well founded. Before him stood the woman—the strange rider whom he firmly believed to be a decoy for some deep and subtle purpose.

Campbell could plainly distinguish her features, together with the upper portion of her form as she stood behind a bowlder, her face uplifted toward his position. Even in that brief glance he was forcibly impressed with her beauty.

He had time but for the one glance, for then the vision disappeared like magic. How, was plain. He could still see the dark niche that her form had filled, and he knew that this must be the entrance to some underground retreat that had, most probably, been washed out by the surgings of the water that frequently filled the _baranca_ to its brim, in the rainy seasons.

His resolution was taken in a moment. He forgot his usual prudence, in the thought that the solution of his friend’s strange disappearance lay within his grasp. He did not give a thought to the danger he might be running, nor of the force he might encounter in his search for the strange woman.

“Run to earth at last!” he muttered as he looked to the caps of his revolvers. “You shall not escape me this time. I’ll know where Fred is if I have to force the words from your lips.”

Campbell critically scanned the side of the _baranca_ beneath him. It was precipitous, and yet he did not like to lose the time for going up to the path. So lowering himself by the hands, he dropped lightly to the rocky ground beneath, accomplishing the feat in safety.

Drawing a revolver, he cautiously moved the rocky pile, his eyes riveted upon the opening in which he had beheld the strange woman. As he peered into the dark hole, for the first time a doubt as to the prudence of his course struck him, and he hesitated, in doubt whether it would not be wise to signal to his friends, knowing that the smoke column would quickly bring some of them to his side.

Better for him had he followed this plan, but with the game so close at hand, he could not bring himself to wait. Perhaps, after all, she was alone.

Forcing himself to believe this, Campbell placed a hand upon the bowlder, and lightly vaulted into the crevice. All before him seemed dark and black, and he paused for a moment to accustom his eyes to the change.

At that juncture a slight rustling sound met his ear, and quick as thought, he threw forward his left arm, at the same time raising his pistol. The action was purely instinctive, for he could see nothing, but it probably saved his life.

A crushing blow from some unseen weapon fell upon his fore-arm, hurling it helpless to his side, then all was a blank. The same blow had fallen, though with broken force, full upon his forehead, felling him senseless to the rocks.

The sight of this strange woman had set Campbell’s brain on fire, and he acted without the slightest precaution or forethought. Had he but reflected for a moment, he must have known that she had noticed him, recognizing the presence of an enemy, even through the disguising grass and twigs. What else could have caused her sudden retreat? But Ned was too greatly excited to notice this, and he suffered the consequences.

How long he remained insensible he never knew, but it must have been for some time, for, when he awoke, a scene something similar to that which met the wounded outlaw’s astonished gaze greeted his vision. The experience of the two men had been almost exactly similar. Both had narrowly escaped death at the hands of the same being—the old man, Albert Mestayer.

But Ned was more fortunate, in that he found his hurts carefully dressed. This was the first point that he noticed on returning to consciousness. The next was, that a thong or cord of some kind held his feet firmly to the rude but comfortable pallet upon which he lay.

“Father, he has awakened,” uttered a low, soft voice from close to his head, and Campbell heard a faint rustle there.

The voice thrilled through his brain like liquid music. Never before had he heard tones so sweet or melodious. In wonder at it, he forgot his hurts, his perilous situation—every thing but the voice.

A light step echoed through the rock-bound chamber, and a tall form came and stood over him, with folded arms, gazing down upon his countenance with vividly-glowing eyes. It was the man who had called himself Albert Mestayer, but Ned could not remember having ever met him before.

“You are right, Lola. Go, now. I wish to be alone with this man for a time.”

A light, graceful form glided past him and paused within range of Campbell’s vision, her eyes resting softly upon his face. A light of pity seemed to beam from their liquid depths as she uttered:

“You will not—not harm him, father?”

“Go—it is not your place to question me. You forget yourself, child,” sternly replied Mestayer, his brow contracting.

With another glance at the bewildered hunter, Lola disappeared from view. Then the eyes of the two men met fully, and Campbell read in those of the tall man a depth of hatred that for a moment chilled his blood. But then his courage returned, and he was once more himself, cool and collected.

“Well, sir, will you tell me what this treatment means, if, as I suppose, you are the one who struck me in the dark?”

“And may I ask why you were prowling round my home with drawn revolver?” retorted Mestayer.

“I was seeking for a friend, and had reason to believe that he was detained here by force,” boldly added Campbell, closely eying the old man; but the sneering smile didn’t change in the least.

“Who do you allude to?”

“Fred Hawksley. He followed your—that woman here, a week ago, and has not been seen or heard of since.”

“How do you know that he came here?”

“I was with the party that followed him and her. We saw by the trail that he came here.”

“I thought as much. Well, there is no need of keeping the truth from you, for I don’t think you will ever betray me—for a very good reason. He did come here—in much the same manner that you did. But he is not here now,” and the old man laughed diabolically.

“You did not murder him?” faltered Campbell.

“Never mind. You had far better be thinking of your own self. It may be beyond your power to do so ere long.”

“Threatened men live long. But tell me: _where is Fannie Hawksley_?” suddenly added the young hunter.

This random shaft told. Mestayer started and seemed confused. Campbell saw that his sudden suspicion was correct.

“How did you find—what do you know about that? But bah! I’m a fool. It’s only guess-work. You are nobody’s fool, my friend. I give you credit for that. But first—before I answer you, what is she to you that you take such an interest in her?”

“She is my promised wife.”

“_Was_, you mean. I am glad to see that I was not misinformed. Prepare yourself, my poor friend, for some affecting news,” he added, mockingly. “Your true love is no more. However, you have one consolation. You will not be long separated from her.”

“Bah! I know you are lying—I can see it in your eyes,” scornfully retorted the young hunter.

Mestayer started and his face flushed darkly, his eyes blazing with anger. His clenched fist uprose as if to deal a crushing blow upon the pale but undaunted face of the hunter, when a lithe form sprung forward and caught his arm. It was Lola.

“Father—think what you do! Strike a bound and helpless man—for shame!”

With an effort that seemed wondrous in a man so old, he hurled the maiden across the chamber, with a bitter curse.

For a moment Campbell thought he meant to slay her, but then with an effort, Mestayer calmed his passion, saying in a stern tone:

“Go, now, and see that you keep your station. No more eavesdropping, or it will be the worse for you. Stay—I forgot. Remain here and keep guard over this man, until I return. It is time James was going.”

Lola returned and sunk down beside the couch where lay the young hunter. His gaze followed her motions and then their eyes met; but only for a moment. Then Lola’s eyes drooped, a burning blush suffusing her rich complexion. Very different was her appearance then from what it had been when confronting James Mestayer, under somewhat similar circumstances.

In point of fact she was in greater peril at that moment than Campbell himself. The face of the handsome hunter had made a deep impression upon her heart, and for the first time in her life, Lola began to realize the meaning of the term, _love_.