Two Boys in Wyoming - Edward Sylvester Ellis (web ebook reader .txt) 📗

they had just passed.

"Do you intend to stay on that side of the canyon?" asked Fred.

"I don't know that there is any choice between our places, but if you feel lonely I'll come over to your help."

"I thought you might want to pick up the gun you threw away."

Jack looked at each of his hands in turn and laughed.

"Do you know I had forgotten all about that? I don't remember having thrown it aside."

"I saw you do it, and it was a lucky thing you did."

The two walked beside the canyon until they came to a straight place, where Jack easily made the leap and joined his friend. Then they set out to recover the Winchester, which, as matters stood, was almost beyond value to them.

"I can't recall the spot where I dropped it," remarked Jack, allowing his companion to take the lead.

"I do; you and I were doing such tall running then, and for some minutes afterward, that we covered more ground than would be supposed. That's the spot, just ahead."

He indicated an open space, thirty or forty feet in width, lying between a ridge of boulders, over which it was astonishing how the fugitive had managed to make such good progress.

"We shall find it right there----"

Fred checked his words, for at that moment they came upon the spot he had in mind and both swept their gaze over it. Their dismay may be imagined when they saw nothing of the Winchester.

"You must be mistaken as to the place," said Jack.

"I can't be; it was just after you had leaped down from that low boulder that you gave your right arm a swing and away the gun went."

"Did you notice where it landed?"

"I can put my hand on the very spot."

"Do so."

Fred led the way a few paces and said:

"It was there, and nowhere else."

Jack bent over and carefully studied the earth.

"My gracious! you are right; that dent in the ground was made by the stock of my gun, and it couldn't have gone its own length further."

The space was clear for several yards, and they would have discerned a small coin lying anywhere on it, but nothing suggesting a weapon was in sight.

A momentary consternation took possession of them. Only one conclusion was possible: some person had taken the Winchester.

"Do you suppose it was Hank, who wanted to have some fun with us?" asked Fred.

Jack shook his head.

"At any other time I might believe it, but Hank isn't one to look for fun when the lives of two persons are in danger. It wasn't he."

"Who, then, could it be?"

Again Jack shook his head.

"You know there are a number of Indians hunting in this neighborhood. Some of them may have been near us, and, hearing our cries and the reports of our guns, started to find out what it meant. Coming upon my Winchester, they carried it off."

This was the most reasonable explanation they could think of, but it did not lessen their disappointment at the loss of the indispensable weapon.

"I won't stand it!" exclaimed Jack, whose indignation was rising; "the man who took that gun must give it back!"

It was impossible to know in what direction to look for the pilferer, but the youth's long strides led him toward the break in the walls of the canyon where they had seen the three Indians earlier in the forenoon. Whether it was reasonable to expect to find them, or rather the thief, there, would be hard to say, but Jack did find the one for whom he was looking.

Half the intervening distance was passed, when he turned his head and said in an excited undertone to his companion:

"He's just ahead, and as sure as I live the thief is Motoza!"

Before Fred, slightly at the rear, could gain sight of the Indian, Jack broke into a lope and called:

"Hold on there, Motoza! You have something that belongs to me."

The dusky vagrant was alone and walking at a moderate pace from the youth. Although he did not look around until hailed he must have known he was followed, but he stopped short and wheeled about with a wondering expression on his painted face.

There could be no mistake by Jack Dudley, for Motoza was carrying two Winchesters, one in either hand, and a glance enabled the youth to recognize his own property.

"Howdy, brother?" asked Motoza, with the old grin on his face.

Jack was too angry to be tactful. He continued his rapid strides, and as he drew near reached out his hand.

"Never mind how I do; give me my rifle."

But with the fingers of Jack almost on the weapon, Motoza shifted his hand backward, so that the gun was held behind his body. He did not stir, but continued grinning.

"What do you mean?" demanded Jack, his face flushed, and his anger greater than before; "didn't you hear me ask for my gun?"

"Whooh! brother frow way gun--me pick him up--he mine."

"I threw it down so as to have a better chance of getting away from the grizzly bear; I intended to pick it up again. I know you are a great thief, Motoza, but you can't steal that Winchester from me; hand it over!"

And Jack extended his hand again; but the Sioux persisted in keeping the weapon behind him, though his own was in front, where the lad might have been tempted to snatch it from his grasp.

The youth was fast losing his self-command. He had learned the character of this vagrant from Hazletine, and it was plain that he meant to retain the valuable weapon, while Jack was equally determined he should not.

"I tell you for the last time to give me my gun! _Do you hear?_"

The demand was made in a loud voice and accompanied by a threatening step toward the Indian, who showed no fear. The grin, however, had left his face, and he recoiled a step with such a tigerish expression on his ugly countenance that his assailant ought to have been warned of his danger. Motoza, the Sioux, was ready to commit murder for the sake of retaining that which did not belong to him.

"Stop!" commanded Fred Greenwood, whom both seemed to have forgotten in the flurry of the moment.

The younger was standing a little to the rear and to one side, but his Winchester, it will be remembered, was in his hand, and was now pointed at the dusky scamp.

"Motoza, if you want to preserve that sweet countenance of yours, hand that gun to my friend before I let daylight through you!"


CHAPTER XIII.

A STRANGE OCCURRENCE.

Once more Motoza had allowed an American youth to get the drop on him, for he could not mistake the meaning of that command, nor the deeper eloquence of the pose of Fred Greenwood with his rifle at a dead level. The Sioux must have despised himself for his forgetfulness.

But he had already proven the readiness with which he accepted a situation, no matter how unwelcome. The hand that held the weapon of Jack Dudley whipped round to the front with a deft movement, which, however, was not quicker than the return of the grin to his countenance.

"Motoza friend--he not want gun of brother," he remarked.

"You wouldn't get it if you _did_ want it," said Jack, not to be mollified by this sudden change of front. Instead of accepting the hypocritical proffer, the youth was imprudent enough to add, as he felt his Winchester once more in his grasp:

"You are the meanest thief in the country, Motoza, and this must be the last time you try your hand on us."

"Off with you!" added Fred, beginning to tire with the constraint of his position; "good-by, Motoza, and I hope we shall not meet again."

At the moment of obeying, the Sioux glanced at the lad who had thus turned the tables on him. The expression of his face was frightful. Ferocious hate, thirst for revenge and flaming anger shone through the coat of paint and were concentrated on the younger of the youths. Fred saw it and cared not, but Jack was so alarmed that he almost wished his comrade would fire his weapon and thus shut out the fruition of the horrible threat that gleamed through that look.

It lasted, however, but an instant. Much in the same manner as in the grove, when caught at a disadvantage by Jack Dudley, the Sioux walked off and was quickly lost to view.

Neither of the boys spoke for several minutes. Then Jack asked, in an awed voice:

"Did you see his face when he turned toward you just before walking away?"

"Yes; and I have seen handsomer ones."

"You may make light of it, Fred, but I was much nearer than you, and that expression will haunt me for many a day and night to come."

To the astonishment of the elder, Fred began laughing, as if he found it all very amusing. Jack, in surprise, asked the cause of his mirth.

"If Motoza had only known the truth! There isn't a cartridge either in the magazine or the chamber of my rifle, which reminds me."

And still laughing, the younger proceeded to fill the magazine from his belt and to put his Winchester in condition for immediate use.

"We have been told many times, Jack, that the first thing to do after firing a gun is to reload, and I see how much more important it is here than at home."

When Jack came to examine his weapon he found a half-dozen cartridges remaining in the magazine, and he, too, placed the weapon in the best form for use. They changed their position, returning to the spot where the crisis had taken place with the grizzly, for both felt some misgiving concerning the Sioux, who could not be far off.

"Jack, what about the feelings of Motoza _now_?"

"It begins to look as if Hank was right. I am sure the Indian doesn't hold much friendship for either of us. He is bad clean through."

"He may have some regard for _you_, but there wasn't much tender affection in the last lingering look he gave _me_."

Jack shuddered.

"I never saw anything like it. If he had had the power he would have killed you with that look. I feel like urging Hank, when we next see him, to make a change of quarters."

"Why?"

"That we may find some section where we are not likely to meet Motoza again. I don't understand why so many Indians are off the reservation. There must be a number of them that are friends of Motoza, and they will try some other trick on us."

"He has tried one or two already," replied Fred, much less impressed with the danger than his friend.

"True, we have had remarkably good fortune, but it can't last. Motoza will learn to be more cunning next time."

"If you feel that way, Jack, the best thing for us to do is to go home."

"Your words are hardly worthy of you, Fred," replied Jack, hurt at the slur.

"I ask your pardon. I know it is your friendship for me that speaks, but I cannot feel