Two Boys in Wyoming: A Tale of Adventure<br />(Northwest Series, No. 3) by Edward Sylvester Ellis (simple ebook reader TXT) 📗

without giving the scamps the chance to swindle us the worst sort of way. They won't give up the boy on our promise to pay 'em the money and no questions asked, for they don't b'leve we'll do it; so we've got to give 'em the money and trust to their honor to keep their part. Trust to their honor," repeated Hank, with all the scorn he could throw into voice and manner; "as if they knowed what it means."

"I know from what you have said that Tozer and Motoza are cunning, but——"

In order to receive all the warmth possible, Jack Dudley was sitting within the cavern and facing outward, while his companion faced him, with his back toward the plateau and mountains beyond. Jack suddenly broke off his remark, for in the gloom behind the cowman he saw something move. That something quickly took the form of a white-faced, exhausted youth trudging painfully forward and ready to sink to the ground with weakness.

"Heavens! can it be?" gasped Jack, half-rising to his feet and staring across the camp-fire. The next moment, and while Hazletine was looking in the same direction, as astounded as the youth, the elder made one bound and was at the side of Fred Greenwood, whom he caught in his arms as he sagged downward in a state of utter collapse.

In the course of the following hour everything was made clear. Under the tender ministrations of Jack Dudley and Hank Hazletine the returned wanderer recovered to a great degree his strength, and to the fullest degree his naturally buoyant spirits. The faint odor of the broiling meat which lingered in the air awoke his ravenous appetite, but knowing how long he had been without food, the cowman would not permit him to eat more than a tithe of what he craved. After a time he gave him more, until his appetite was fairly well satisfied.

"Jack," said Fred, with something of his old waggishness, as he looked across the fire into the face of his comrade, "let's go home."

"You forget that we have a month's vacation, and it is hardly half gone. We can stay another week and then be sure of being back to school in time. You lamented more than I because we could not have a longer play-spell. Your sentiments have changed."

The younger lad pointed to his feet.

"There's the reason. If I were like you I shouldn't think of leaving this delightful country until the last day; but I shall need all the vacation to get on my feet again. Do you comprehend?"

"Yes; your demonstration is logical. True, you have lost your rifle and pistol, the same as myself, but we could get others at the ranch, and no doubt meet with plenty more enjoyable adventures, but not as you are. I shall be very willing to start home with you to-morrow morning. What do you think of it, Hank?"

"I'm blamed sorry this bus'ness has to wind up as it does, but there's no help fur it, and we'll leave fur the ranch after breakfast."

"Will you keep your appointment with Tozer?"

"I've been thinking of that; yes, I'll meet him."

There was a peculiar intonation in these words that caused both boys to look into that bearded face, but they could not be sure of his meaning.

It was Fred who spoke:

"Hank, there is one matter as to which I cannot feel certain; I want your opinion of it."

"Wal, I'm listening."

"After Motoza forced me into the cavern at the side of the canyon he went off and has not returned yet, unless he did so after I left. Now, why didn't he go back?"

"Why should he go back? He felt sartin there was no way fur you to git out, and if I'd been told that your only chance was to climb the wall I'd 'greed with him, though you struck the spot where I done it myself."

"He must have known I hadn't a mouthful of food?"

"He couldn't help knowing it."

"The question in my mind is this: what he said to me, as well as what you have told, proves that he understood the whole scheme of my being ransomed. Tozer must have known where I was; he knew that to bring the ransom business to a head would require several days, even with the use of the telegraph; they expected me to stay in the cavern all the time. How long would they have left me there without bringing me anything to eat?"

"They'd never brought you anything."

"Then when the time came to surrender me to my friends I should have been dead."

The cowman nodded his head.

"There ain't no doubt of that."

"And they couldn't have carried out their part of the agreement."

"Which the same they knowed."

"But it seems unreasonable. It would have placed both in peril, from which I cannot see how it was possible for them to escape. If they gave me up after receiving the money they would be safe against punishment. Why, then, should they place themselves in such great danger when they had nothing to gain and all to lose by doing so? That is what I can't understand, and I am sure my brain has become clearer."

It was the same view of the question that had puzzled Jack Dudley, and the two boys listened with interest to the explanation of the veteran.

"Tozer of himself would turn you over sound in limb and body; but, since it was the Sioux who done all the work, as you have showed us, Bill had to make a sort of compromise with the villain, and that compromise was that you should be left with Motoza till the hour come fur you to be produced. That was the price Bill had to pay Motoza fur what he done. It wasn't Tozer, but the Sioux, that was fixing things so as to starve you to death."

The cowman spoke with a deliberation and seriousness that left no doubt he believed every word uttered, and the boys were convinced he was right.

"Bill is as mean as they make 'em," added Hazletine, "but he'd rather grab a pile of money than kill a chap he don't like. It's t'other way with the Sioux. He likes money well 'nough, fur he knows it'll buy firewater, but the sweetest enjoyment he can have is to revenge himself on a person he hates, and from what I've heard he hates you as hard as he knows how."

"There is no doubt of that," said Jack; "I shall never forget the expression of his face when Fred made him give up my rifle."

Fred was thoughtful a moment, and then asked:

"Hank, what do you mean to do about Tozer?"

"Wal, until I larned your story I was fixed to shoot him on sight."

"But what of the agreement you would have to make before he gave me up?"

"I'd kept that the same as the other folks, but it wouldn't be long afore I'd git a chance to pick a quarrel with him over other matters, and then it would be him or me; and," added the cowman, with a grim smile, "I don't think it would be me."

"Do you still hold to that resolve?"

"I can't say that I do. I don't see that Bill meant any hurt except to make some money out of you, and he couldn't help taking chances on that. If he could have had his way he'd turned you over to us as well as when you left; so I think I'll wait to see what his next trick is to be afore I draw a bead on him. I'll take another plan—I'll give him the laugh."

"Give him the laugh!" repeated the wondering Jack Dudley; "what do you mean by that?"

"I'll meet him here to-morrer morning, and, after we've talked a while, let him see you or know how things stand, and then I'll just laugh at him till I drop to the ground and roll over on my back. Won't he feel cheap?"

The conceit was so odd that both boys smiled.

"That certainly is a curious way to punish a man for doing a wrong. It seems to me that, since he had so much to do with abducting Fred, he ought to be arrested, tried, and punished. He should be made to suffer for his crime."

Hank showed his hard sense by replying:

"I don't deny that, but there's no way of punishing him. He hasn't done a thing fur which you could make the court say he's guilty. The younker there that spent more time than he liked in the canyon has never even seed Bill Tozer. What reason, then, has he fur saying Bill had anything to do with the bus'ness?"

"Didn't he admit as much to you?"

"Not a word! He give himself away in his talk, but whenever he said anything 'bout things he reminded me it was all guesswork."

"Could not Motoza be made to swear against him?"

"He might, and he might not. If he did, why, Bill would swear t'other way, and make it look as if he was trying to play the friend for the younker. It would be like some folks, after the thing was over, proposing to buy Bill a gold medal fur showing himself such a good and noble man. No; my plan is best. When I give him the laugh he'll feel worse than if he was sent up fur ten years."

"It looks as if there is no other way of punishing him," remarked Fred; "but the case is different with Motoza."

"Wal, rather!"

It would be impossible to convey a true idea of the manner of Hank Hazletine when he uttered these words. He nodded his head, clinched his free hand, and his eyes seemed to flash fire.

"Do you mean to kill him, Hank?"

"O, no," was the scornful response; "I'm going to take his hand and tell him how much I love him. I'll wipe the paint off one cheek, so as to make room fur a brotherly kiss. I'll send him to your folks, that you may have him for a playmate. He'll be so sweet and nice among the little younkers. That's what I'll do with dear Motoza!"

It was impossible not to read the terrible purpose that lay behind all this. The boys made no mistake. Jack Dudley shuddered, but was silent. He knew the miscreant richly merited the threatened retribution, and yet he wished it were not impending.

Surely, if anyone was justified in calling down vengeance upon the head of the vagrant Sioux it was his victim—he who had felt his hatred, and whose physical sufferings must remind him of the same for weeks to come. But Fred Greenwood was in a gracious and forgiving mood. His heart throbbed when he recalled what he had so recently passed through, but he could not lose sight of the blessed fact that he had passed through it all. He was with his beloved comrade again, not much the worse for his experience. In truth he was a little homesick, and was stirred with sweet delight at the thought that, if all went well, he should be with his parents within the coming week.

And yet he was oppressed by the thought that one of the results of his short visit to Wyoming was to be the death of a human being. He was sure he could never shake off the remembrance, and should he ever wish to return in the future to renew his hunt under more favorable conditions, the memory would haunt him. It mattered not that the wretch deserved to be executed for the crime, in the commission of which he had been interrupted before he could complete it. He was a savage, a heathen, a barbarian, who was following the light as he understood it. Why, therefore, should not mercy be shown to him?

There are many things which Jack Dudley and Fred Greenwood have done during their youthful lives that are creditable to them, but there is none which gives the two greater pleasure than the remembrance of the moral victory gained in their argument with Hank Hazletine. Fred opened the plea, and his comrade quickly rallied to his help. Their aim was to convince their guide that it was wrong for him to carry out his purpose regarding the Sioux. That the fellow should be punished was not to be questioned, but it should be done in a legitimate way and by the constituted authorities. Hazletine insisted that the conditions were such that Motoza would never be thus punished, at least not to the extent he ought to be; therefore, it was the duty of Hazletine to attend to the matter himself.

The argument lasted for two hours. The boys were able, bright and ingenious, but they had truth on their side, and by and by the grim cowman