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CHAPTER XIX.
JIM HICKS, PROSPECTOR

The sharp eyes of Coyote Pete were not long in discovering the cause of the startling interruption to the adulation of Maud.

Through a clump of brush some distance above the trail, a strange, wild face was peering at them. Yet, despite its tangle of beard, and the battered hat which crowned its tangled locks, the countenance was a kindly one, and there was friendliness in its blue eyes. Above all, it was the face of an American. Pete, and Jack, too, for that matter, would have thrown themselves rejoicingly on the neck of the most disreputable of their countrymen, if they had happened to meet him at that moment.

"Traveling?" inquired the stranger, coming out from his concealment and disclosing a well-knit body dressed in plainsman's garb. The butt of a revolver glinted suggestively on his left thigh.

"Reckon so," rejoined Pete.

"Whar frum?"

"South."

"Whar to?"

"North."

"Ain't very communicative, be yer, stranger?"

"Wa'al, you see, we ain't had a regular introduction," rejoined Pete, with range humor, a grin spreading over his countenance.

"My name's Jim Hicks; I'm prospecting up through this yer God-forsaken place."

"Mine's Peter Aloysius Archibald De Peyster," rejoined Coyote Pete, and, although he then gasped in amazement, Jack was later to learn that this was the redoubtable cow-puncher's real name. In fact, he had had more than one fight on account of it.

"Don't laugh," he warned.

"Not a snicker," was the reply, "but that sure is a fancy name, stranger. Sounds like a Christmas tree, all lights, and tinsel, and glitter."

"Humph," rejoined the cow-puncher, glancing sharply at the other, but, perceiving no sign of amusement on that leathern countenance, he went on, "and this is my young friend, Jack Merrill, the son of Merrill, the cattle-man."

"Say," burst out Jack, who had been doing some thinking, "are you J. H.?"

"That is my usual initials," rejoined the prospector, bending a keen glance on the boy.

"Ho – ho – ho!" laughed Pete, "I reckon we crossed your trail to-day. Did you mislay a wash-pan?"

"Why, yep," rejoined the other, a rather embarrassed look coming over his face, and a bit of red creeping up under the tan, "you see, I was camped down the trail last night, when the all-firedest thing happened that I ever bumped into."

"What was it?" asked Jack mischievously, scenting here an explanation of the occurrences of the night.

"Why, I was sound asleep down by the creek, when, all of a sudden, I hear'n a fearful racket above me. I looked up and I seen a devil with red eyes and a blue tail, all surrounded by blue fire, coming toward me, and – "

"Hold on, stranger – wait a minute. I ain't through yit. Wa'al, sir, I out with my pepper box and let fly, but the critter, whatever it was, jes' giv' the awfulest laugh I ever heard, and vanished in a cloud of blue smoke."

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Jack, while Pete joined in the merriment, holding his sides.

The prospector looked at them suspiciously.

"Why – why – why," gasped Pete, "barrin' the red fire and the trimmings, I reckon your devil was jes' our old mule, Maud."

"That onery, one-eared critter yonder!" yelled the prospector, "that perambulating, four-legged accumulation of cats'-meat scare me out of two years' growth! Stan' aside, strangers – "

"Why, what are you going to do?" exclaimed Jack in a somewhat alarmed tone, as the prospector's hand flew to his six-shooter.

"Jes' ventilate the promiscuous disposition of that animal of your'n, stranger."

As he spoke, he coolly raised his pistol, preparatory to sweeping it down and firing point-blank at poor Maud. But Coyote Pete was on him with a wild yell.

"Here, here, none of that in this camp, stranger," he bellowed, as his mighty arms bore the astonished prospector to the ground, and they rolled over and over; "ef you've got any nuggets lyin' loose you don't want, give 'em to us to decorate that noble creature, but you'll shoot me afore you shoot Maud."

As for Jack, after his first alarm, all he could do was to roar with laughter at the two big Westerners rolling about on the ground, and filling the air with vigorous expletives.

"Here, here, get up," he cried at length. "Aren't you ashamed of yourselves?"

The two stopped their struggle for a moment and scrambled to their feet.

"I'll take back my remarks about your mule," said the prospector, apparently unruffled by the sudden strenuous interlude.

"And I'll withdraw my objection to you on account of that bullet you fired at us last night," said Pete solemnly.

"Accepted," said the ranger with equal gravity, "and now, if you two fellers feels like scoffin' – "

"Scoffing?" said Jack. "I thought we'd had enough of that."

"He means eating," chuckled Pete. "What a question to ask!"

"Wa'al, then, I'm camped about a quarter of a mile frum here, and will be glad to have your company. I come down to find out what was the matter, when I hear'n that mule critter of yours a-singin' once more. Glad to have met congenial company."

"We'll have to bring the mule," said Jack.

"All right. So long as she don't fight with my outfit, I've no objection," rejoined the prospector; "but come on, or that rabbit stew will be getting burned."

"Rabbit stew!" exclaimed Coyote Pete. "Oh, I never thought to hear them words again."

Rapidly they retraced their steps, leading Maud by her hitching rope. Soon they reached a small branch path, which they had not noticed on their way up. It led back into the brush where Jim Hicks, it appeared, had camped. As they neared it, a savory odor of rabbit stew became apparent. Pete sniffed ecstatically.

"Say, stranger," he asked in a trembling voice, "is they – is they onions in that stew, or does my nose deceive me?"

"Mr. De Peyster," rejoined the prospector, "your organ of smelling is kerrict, sir. There is four of the finest Bermudas obtainable in that rabbit stew."

"Hold me," murmured Pete to Jack, a sudden look of lassitude coming over his weather-beaten face.

"Why, why, what's the matter?" exclaimed Jack in some real alarm.

"I – I think I'm going to faint, and I forgot to bring my smellin' salts," grinned Pete, favoring the boy with a portentous wink.

The formality of the West did not permit Jim Hicks to ask any questions of his guests. In fact, in that section of the country such a procedure would have been adjudged a terrible breach of good manners. On the border every man's business is his own, and no questions asked.

When, however, three or more helpings of rabbit stew had become a part of Coyote Pete, and an equal number was being assimilated into the person of Jack Merrill, the cow-puncher took advantage of the temporary absence of Jim Hicks – who had gone to see after his ponies – to ask Jack if he thought it wise to tell the prospector some of their story.

"I certainly do," replied Jack. "He is a queer character, certainly, but under all his peculiarities he seems to be shrewd and kindly."

"That's what I think, too," agreed Pete. "He may be able to help us."

After Coyote Pete and Jim Hicks had their pipes lighted, therefore, for the prospector carried a good supply of "Lone Jack," Coyote Pete began. The prospector listened with many exclamations of surprise to their story, till they reached the part concerning the old Mission of San Gabriel. Then he jumped to his feet, and, dashing his pipe to the ground, applied a few vigorous epithets to Black Ramon and his gang.

"That's the bunch of coyotes that drove me out of there just as I was about to make my fortune," he cried.

"Drove you out of there?"

"Make yer fortune?" cried his two puzzled listeners.

"Yep; listen," and Jim Hicks told them substantially the story, which we have already perused in his notebook, so providentially delivered into the hands of the prisoners of the old church. The man who willed it to him was a dying recluse he had aided.

"And there the book is, written in with onion juice stuffed in a cranny of the wall for any one's finding and nobody's reading," chuckled the prospector in conclusion. "It was the only thing I could do. You see, I didn't know whether those greasers would catch me or not, so I concluded the best thing to do would be to take no chances, and hide it."

"You think you can find it again?" asked Jack, fascinated by the old prospector's strange story.

"Why, I dunno, son. You see, I was in such a hurry to get away when I heard them fellers coming, that I just stuffed it in a crack in the wall. If they got inquisitive they could easy get it out, but they wouldn't suspect nothing, for the book looked blank."

"But how did you escape without their seeing you?"

"Ah, you've got to trust an old borderer for that," grinned Jim Hicks. "You see, when I got near the church, thinks I to myself, 'now, Jim Hicks, you don't want to burn your bridges behind you' so I just left my pony hidden in a little arroyo about half a mile away. When I heard them coming by the front of the place, I slipped out the other side and into the brush. After a lot of wrigging about through the scrub, I reached my pony, and rode back up here to where I had my outfit cached."

"Then you don't know whether there's treasure there or not?" asked Jack.

"Wa'al, there's treasure there all right, no doubt o' that. That Spanish fellow – I told you how I helped him when he was dying – swore he didn't lie to me, and I believe him. But he hinted at there being some sort of difficulty in the way of getting at it. The breath of death, I think he called it. Guess he meant the greasers' garlic."

"I guess so," responded Jack; "how I wish that we could go with you right now and explore the secret tunnel."

"Wa'al, we've got to get in communication with the ranch first, and then we can get the greaser troops and get after that band of scallywags," said Pete.

"And we must be two days' ride from it now," sighed Jack. "In the meantime, what will be happening to the others?"

"That's the trouble," mused Pete, "if only we'd had a chance, we might have struck out and got the troops ourselves. But the greasers cut us off, and we're of more use here, even as out of the way as we are, than we would be in Black Ramon's clutches."

"Tell yer what," exclaimed Jim Hicks suddenly, "you don't hev ter ride all ther way to ther ranch."

"What's that?" asked Pete.

"No. I mean what I say. Use the telephone."

"What?"

Jack and Pete looked at the eccentric prospector as if they thought he had gone crazy in good earnest.

"Oh, I'm not locoed. Has your father got talk bo' at the ranch, boy?"

"Yes," rejoined Jack.

"Then it's easy."

The prospector spoke with such easy confidence that, in spite of themselves, Jack and Pete began to pay serious attention to his words.

"Oh, yes; I suppose we jes' climb a sugar-pine and asked Central ter give us Grizzly one twenty-three?" inquired Pete, sardonically.

"Nope," rejoined the miner, quite unruffled; "but hain't yer never thought that there's a telephone at the big water dam?"

"Thunders of Vesuvius, that's right!" exclaimed Pete, leaping to his feet and executing a jig.

"How do we get there, though?" asked Jack. "We must be miles from it."

"Not so very far. I know a trail across the mountain that'll get us there a whole lot sooner than you'd think possible."

"Oh-didy-dd diddy-dum; Dum-dididdy-dee!" hummed Pete cutting all sorts of capers, "oh, now won't we get after those greasers."

"When can we start?" asked Jack.

"Sun up to-morrow."

"Good. I won't rest easy till I know that we're on the way to save Ralph and the others."

CHAPTER XX.
RALPH A TRUE HERO

"Ralph!"

The voice sounded in the boy's ears like the chiming of a far-away bell. Lying prone on the floor of the tunnel, overcome by the foul gases, he had been unconscious, he did not know for how long, when he felt his shoulders roughly shaken and Walt Phelps' voice in his ear.

His head ached terribly, and he felt weak and dizzy, but he struggled to reply.

"Oh, Walt, what is it? What has happened?"

"Why, we've all been knocked out, I guess," said Walt; "but the gas must be escaping, now, for although my head still feels as if a boiler factory was at work in it, I can think and feel."

The professor's voice now struck in as he recovered consciousness.

"Boys!" he exclaimed. "Are you there?"

"Yes, yes, professor; do you feel strong enough to move?"

"I think so. It is important that we should get out of here at once. I imagine that the gas must have become so distributed by this time that it has lost its harmful effect, but we must get to the open air."

"I agree with you," chimed in Ralph.

"What, Ralph, my boy, you here?" exclaimed the professor. "Why, you were far in advance. How do you come to be with us now?"

As modestly as he could, Ralph related how he had turned back into the black tunnel.

"That was bravely done, bravely done, my boy," exclaimed the professor warmly.

Even in the darkness Ralph colored with pleasure, as Walt added his praise to the scientist's.

Soon after they started for the entrance of the tunnel once more, Ralph having told them of his discovery of the shaft.

"Possibly there are steps cut in it. Let us hope so," said the professor. "If there are not, we shall be as badly off as before, for we cannot get back through the tunnel."

"No," said Ralph with a shudder, "I would not face the horrors of the place again for a whole lot."

A careful investigation of the shaft soon revealed, to their great joy, that a flight of steps had indeed been cut in it, doubtless to enable the old Mission dwellers to ascend and descend from the surface of the earth when they desired.

"The question now is," said the professor suddenly, "where are we? On what sort of ground will these steps lead us out?"

"Give it up," said Walt. "I should judge, though, we must have come a mile or more through the tunnel."

"Quite that," agreed the professor.

"Well, the only way to find out our location is to climb up and see what we come out on," said Ralph, to put an end to the hesitation. "Who'll be first up?"

There was quite an argument over this, the professor declaring that, as he was the eldest, he ought to assume the danger. Ralph ended it by springing on to the first of the rough and slippery steps himself.

"Come on," he cried, though in a lowered tone.

A few seconds of climbing brought the boy to the mouth of the shaft. It was quite thickly over-grown with brush, and had evidently not been used for many years. For an instant Ralph hesitated before he shoved through the scrub surrounding the entrance, but when he did so, and stood outside the natural barrier with the professor and Walt Phelps beside him, he uttered an exclamation of unbounded astonishment, which was echoed by his companions.

Before them the moon was rising, tingeing the tops of the distant range with a silvery light. The illumination also flooded the scene before them.

They stood in a sort of vast, natural basin, of considerable extent, surrounded by rocky walls.

"It's a sunken valley," exclaimed Ralph.

And so it was, in fact.

"Look at the cattle and horses, will you?" cried the practical Walt Phelps, who had been gazing about him.

"Sure enough. There must be several score head of stock in here," was Ralph's astonished cry.

"Say," exclaimed Walt suddenly, "do you know what I believe?"

"What?" inquired Ralph.

"That by accident we have stumbled upon Black Ramon's pasturage."

"What! – the place where he keeps the stolen cattle and horses?"

"That's the idea."

"Say, I believe you are right, and, speaking of that, there's something very familiar looking about that little buckskin pony, feeding off there." Ralph pointed at a small animal cropping the grass some ten rods away. "If that isn't Petticoats – the one that tumbled me into the canal – I'll lose a bet, that's all."

"I believe you're right," cried Walt Phelps; "and that other pony beyond, is the dead spit of Firewater, Jack Merrill's favorite mount."

"And, if I mistake not, that large, bony animal yonder, regarding me with a suspicious optic, is the equine I bestrode at the time we were captured," exclaimed the professor, who had been looking eagerly about him.

"Boys, this is a wonderful discovery," he went on. "I have read of these sunken valleys, but have never seen one before; I should like to examine the geological formation hereabouts."

"Some other time," laughed Ralph; "what I wonder at is that the Mexicans never discovered the secret passage."

"That's not surprising," chimed in Walt Phelps, "the mouth of it is all screened with thick brush, and unless you fairly fell into it you would never know it was there."

"That is so," agreed the professor, "but now, boys, that we are once more in the blessed air, what are we to do?"

"My advice would be to press on till we can find some village. Once there, we shall be safe, and can find some soldiers, or, at least, summon them from wherever their garrison may be. It is our duty to Jack Merrill and Coyote Pete to use every means in our power to save them," said the professor, who, of course was, like his companions, ignorant of the fact that at that very minute the two he spoke of were riding over the distant foothills for their lives.

This also explained why the party that had just emerged from the tunnel were not molested. Every man that could be spared from immediate guard duty had been summoned to help form the great human circle, which, as we know, Ramon had attempted to spread about Jack Merrill and the sagacious cow-puncher.

"There doesn't seem to be anybody about," said Walt, after a short silence, "let's get in the shadow of the rock wall and creep forward."

"Better yet, if we only had some rope," suggested Ralph.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, both Petticoats and the other two ranch horses seem to be friendly, why couldn't we ride them?"

"The very thing, if only we could make hackamores," cried Walt.

As Ralph had remarked, the ranch horses had come closer, and were sniffing curiously. To the boy's delight, he now saw that they had halters on. As is often done in the West, when the start had been made from the ranch the bridles had been placed on over the halters, so that when the Mexicans turned the stolen ponies loose, being too lazy to remove the halters, they had left them in place.

"Coax 'em," whispered Walt, holding out his hand flat, as if he had something in it.

Ralph and the professor did the same, and, hesitatingly, and with many snorts, the ponies drew closer, including the professor's raw-boned mount. As they suddenly gathered up courage, and came right up to the boys, each seized his pony by the halter. The professor followed their example instantly.

"Now, to mount," said Walt. "By hookey, I tell you I feel better when I get a pony under me again."

But the boys' attention was suddenly diverted to the professor, who was endeavoring to mount his tall animal, which stood meekly awaiting the conclusion of his efforts. The professor had never mounted a bareback horse before, and imagined, apparently, that the correct method was to shin up the quadruped's forelegs. The boys, notwithstanding their risky situation, could not forbear roaring with laughter at his comical efforts.

"Put one hand on his withers, and the other on his back, and then spring upward," said Walt; "you'll find it easy, then."

The professor obediently doubled his long legs under him, placed his hands as directed, and gave a mighty spring.

Bump!

Such a mighty leap did he give that he over-shot the mark, and came down in a heap on the other side. He gave a groan as he alighted.

"What's the matter?" demanded Ralph, almost doubled up with laughter at the weird spectacle.

"Oh, boys, I am in pain. I've landed on my os ridiculosus."

"Your what?" shouted Walt.

"My os ridiculosus – my funny bone. Ouch!"

The professor groaned aloud as he held his elbow and rocked back and forth. The big, bony horse looked meekly around at him, as much as to say: "Don't blame me, it wasn't my fault."

"Here, we'll give you a hand," said Walt, coming around to the professor's side and leading Firewater. Ralph followed his example. Together they hoisted the professor on to the back of his scrawny mount.

"Why, this feels like sitting on a clothes horse," grumbled the professor, as he felt the bony elevation of the gray's spinal column.

"Never mind, can't be helped," laughed Ralph, springing on Petticoats' broad back, while Walt mounted Firewater, "we'll make a circus rider of you yet, professor."

"Not on this horse, please," remonstrated the man of science, as all three animals were urged to a fast trot.

The boys decided that as there was no one in sight, the Mexicans had left the valley unguarded for the night, and so did not hesitate to make all the speed they could. As a matter of fact, the valley was seldom visited except when a shipment of stolen cattle or ponies was required. It was, as the professor had said, a natural basin from which there was but one outlet, and that the boys were shortly to find.

For some time they rode along in the dark shadow of the rocky walls, which varied in height from about twenty feet to small precipices of a hundred feet or more.

"Say, it looks as if there wasn't any way out of this basin," began Ralph finally, in an impatient tone.

"There must be," replied Walt; "otherwise, how did they get the cattle and ponies into it?"

"Dropped 'em from a balloon, by the looks of it," rejoined Ralph, with a good-natured laugh at his own stupidity.

"Indeed, it looks as if such might have been the case," said the professor, "for all the visible sign there is of a pathway."

"Hold on! What's that there, dead ahead of us?" exclaimed Walt suddenly.

He had been riding a little in advance, and now drew rein abruptly and pointed to a darker shadow which lay against the gloom of the rock wall.

"Looks like a path," admitted Ralph.

"It's a camino, sure enough," cried Walt, the next instant.

"A what?"

"A camino, a trail, you know."

"Well, I don't care what you call it, so long as it gets us out of here," exclaimed Ralph, eagerly pressing forward.

As Walt had guessed, the darker shadow, on closer investigation, proved to be a rugged trail leading at a steep incline out of the sunken valley. In a few seconds after its discovery their horses' hoofs were clattering up it.

"Great heavens, if there is any one about they'll think there's a charge of cavalry coming," cried Ralph.

"Can't be helped," rejoined Walt, "we've nothing to muffle them with. In any event, if they were to discover us, we shouldn't stand a chance."

But they reached the apparent summit of the trail, and a rough gate, without adventure. It was only the work of a few instants to open the portal, and, after riding a few hundred yards, they found themselves on a billowy expanse of rolling foothills. Far off flashed lights, and to their north the vague outlines of the Sierra de la Hacheta faintly showed.

"Where are we going to ride to, now?" asked Ralph.

"Anywhere away from those lights," rejoined Walt, pointing behind them; "that's the mission. I guess they are looking for us now, and it's going to be 'bad medicine' if they get us."

"Oh, dear," groaned the professor, "I cannot imagine any worse punishment than riding this bony brute. His backbone makes me feel like being seated on a cross-cut saw."

"Never mind, professor, if we can only strike a town of some sort, we shall soon be out of our misery," laughed Ralph. "Come on, then, forward!"

He kicked Petticoats' fat sides, and the little buckskin leaped forward, followed by the others. All that night they rode, and by daybreak reached a small village – a mere huddle of huts, in fact. But it had its dignitaries, as they were soon to find out. As they clattered down its main street, scores of raggedly clothed, brown-skinned natives came out to gaze at them, but not one offered to do anything. Walt had a little Spanish at his command, and, selecting one man, who seemed slightly more intelligent than the rest, he told him they were travelers in need of food and rest. The man seemed to comprehend, and nodded with a grin. Beckoning to the party, he led them forward to a large adobe building at the other end of the one street, which practically comprised the village.

He ushered them in with a bow, after they had dismounted and tied their horses outside. The boys found themselves facing a little, paunchy man, with an air of vast importance investing him. He asked a few rapid questions of their guide in Spanish, and then issued an order to a ragged-looking fellow standing by his side.

"I guess he's gone for breakfast," mused Ralph; "queer way of doing things, but anything for something to eat."

But in a moment the ragged man reappeared without food, but with several others as ragged as himself. The boys noticed they all carried rifles.

The first ragged man beckoned to them, and the fat, paunchy official waved his hand in token of dismissal. He also bowed low. The boys and the professor, not to be outdone in politeness, also bowed low. Then they followed their guide. He led them round behind the adobe which they had just left, and approached a small building.

"The dining-room, I guess," said Walt cheerfully, as the three stepped through a narrow door-way into a dark interior.

"I don't see any table or – Great Scott, what's that?" broke off Ralph suddenly.

The door had closed with a clang, and they heard the big bar on the outside being placed in position.

"Hey, there, let us out!"

"What are you doing?"

"Where's our breakfast?"

These exclamations came in chorus from the travelers. For an instant there was silence without, and then came a snarling sort of cry, which sounded very much like a contemptuous:

"Yah-h-h-h-h!"

Furiously the two boys fell on the stout door and shook it. It remained as firmly rooted in position as rock.

"We're prisoners once more," gasped Ralph.