Books: The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico
F >>
Frank Gee Patchin >> The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 | 10 |
11
Mr. Marquand started, eyeing both lads questioningly.
"Yes; he is associated with me in a business venture."
"Told you so," interjected Stacy.
"What of him?"
Tad wished he was well out of it all. To be obliged to tell all he
knew of Bob Lasar, and to the latter's partner, was rather a
troublesome undertaking.
Plucking up courage, Tad briefly related all that he and his companion
had overheard on the train as they were approaching Bluewater to all
of which their host listened with grave attention and increasing
interest.
"The incident probably would not have come back to me again but for
certain things that happened to-day," Tad continued.
"Would either of you know Lasar were you to see him again, do you
think?"
"My friend Chunky Brown saw him here to-day."
"Saw him get out of the stage in front of this very hotel," nodded
Stacy.
"You are right. He is here. Mr. Lasar had stopped off at a near-by
town on a personal matter. Can you describe the man whom you saw with
him on the train?"
"As I remember him, he was slightly taller than Mr. Lasar, with red
hair and a moustache of the same shade."
"Yes, that's Joe Comstock. No doubt about that," nodded Mr. Marquand.
"You didn't hear them say what their plan was, then?"
"Not definitely. Only that they intended to rid themselves of you
after having obtained possession of your plans for finding the
treasure, or at least learning where it is hidden."
"Hm-m-m!"
Mr. Marquand sat thoughtfully silent for several minutes, the lines of
his face growing tense and hard. The boys could see that he was
exerting, a strong effort to control himself.
"You-- you haven't told them your plans?" questioned Tad, in a subdued
voice.
"No. I was going to do so to-night, if Comstock had arrived. He may
get in yet."
"But you won't do so now-- will you?"
"No! I thank you, boys," exclaimed their host, extending an impulsive
hand to each at the same time.
"Then-- then our information is going to be of some use to you?"
"More than you can have any idea of. You have done me a greater
service than you know. I thank you-- thank you from the bottom of my
heart! Perhaps, ere long I may be able to show my appreciation in a
more substantial manner."
Marquand ceased speaking abruptly and began pacing back and forth,
hands thrust deep into his coat pockets. He was a man of slight build,
but strong and wiry. He was well past middle age, erect and forceful.
Looking at him, Tad found himself wondering how such a man could have
gotten into the clutches of two such rascals as Bob Lasar and Joe
Comstock. Tad hoped their host would offer some explanation, while
Chunky was nearly bursting with curiosity. Mr. Marquand appeared to
have forgotten their presence entirely.
"I think we had better be going now," suggested Tad, rising.
"Wait!" commanded their host. "Sit down! I have something to say to
you. Then, perhaps, I'll walk back to your camp and have a talk with
the Professor. What sort of man is your guide?"
"He's a very fine man--"
"That's my idea. What you heard on the train is borne out by several
little things that have come under my observation within the last few
days, but I did not think they would go as far as you have indicated.
I will tell you frankly, that I expect the treasure which we hope to
find to be a big one. How I happened to take these men in with me, in
the search for it, is unnecessary to state. However, I am done with
them, now, for good. They know that I have not put my information on
paper, or else they might have made an end of me before this."
"Is the treasure near this vicinity, Mr. Marquand?" asked Tad.
"About two days' journey. I expect to find it at or near the ruins of
an old Pueblo house. You know they built their homes one on top of
another. Some of their adobe houses are six and seven stories high.
Even if we locate the place, we may experience great difficulty in
finding that of which we are in search. How would you boys like to
join me? It will be an interesting experience for you?"
"Help-- help you find the buried treasure?" questioned Chunky, his
face red with suppressed excitement.
"Yes."
"Great!" chorused the lads.
"I'll talk with Professor Zepplin. Come, we will go over to the camp
now."
When Mr. Marquand and the Professor had finished their conference, Tad
and Chunky leaned forward eagerly to learn the result.
"Yes," nodded Mr. Marquand; "you're all going to help me find the
ancient Pueblo treasure."
CHAPTER XXII
IN HAND-TO-HAND CONFLICT
"I'm done with you, Bob Lasar! And you, too, Comstock!" thundered Mr.
Marquand, as the rascals stood at the door of his room some two hours
later.
Mr. Marquand had been waiting for them, and with him was Tad Butler,
whom he had urged to accompany him back to the hotel that he might be
a witness to what took place. Perhaps, too, Mr. Marquand reasoned that
his former associates might not take the same attitude toward him in
the presence of the boy that they might otherwise take.
The two men had halted in the doorway as Mr. Marquand hurled his
decision at them.
Lasar shoved his companion into the room and closed the door.
"Sit down, both of you! So you thought to hoodwink me-- to get the
secret of the treasure and then put me out of the way, eh? That was
your game, was it? Well, it's all off now. I'll have nothing further
to do with you."
"Why-- why, Mr. Marquand, it's all a mistake!" began one of the pair.
"Perhaps you'll deny having plotted against me on a train on your way
to Bluewater."
"I deny ever having tried to put up a game on--"
"Master Tad, did you ever see these men before?"
They turned on the lad quickly. Neither man had previously observed
him.
"Yes, sir."
"Where?"
"On the train, as you mentioned just now."
"And they were plotting my life?"
"So it seemed to me, sir."
"What have you to say to that?" demanded Mr. Marquand.
"That the boy lies!"
Tad's face flushed angrily.
"That'll do," said Marquand, more quietly.
"Then you believe him-- you do not believe me?"
"I believe him. I know he has told me the truth. Now, it isn't
necessary to explain to you. You deserve no explanation and you'll get
none further than what you already have."
"But--"
"No 'buts' about it. I said I was done with you. Now, I want you to
get out of my sight! You're a couple of rogues-- so crooked that you
can't walk straight."
Bob Lasar's face had grown livid with rage. His anger was rapidly
getting beyond all bounds. Tad observed it and saw the storm coming.
It arrived a moment later when Lasar whipped out a revolver.
Before Mr. Marquand could make a move to draw his own weapon Bob had
aimed his weapon and pulled the trigger.
Tad, instantly divining the purpose of the man when he saw his hand
fly to the pistol holster under his coat, sprang forward.
There was a deafening report. A bullet buried itself in the ceiling of
the room.
Tad had struck up the desperado's arm just in the nick of time, thus
preventing a terrible crime. But the end was not yet. There were five
more bullets in the cylinder of the weapon, as the lad knew full well.
He grabbed Lasar's arm, hanging on desperately, at the same time
trying to get a wrestling hold.
The weapon went off again, this time sending a bullet into the floor.
"Look out for the other fellow!" shouted Tad.
Mr. Marquand already had done so. Comstock had just made an attempt to
draw his own weapon when Marquand threw himself upon the man. The two
went crashing to the floor, while Tad and Lasar were battling all over
the room, the latter's weapon barking viciously every little while.
Lasar was much more powerful than his slender antagonist, but Tad
being very quick on his feet managed to keep out of the way of the
revolver and at the same time to avoid being thrown.
Suddenly, the boy gave the gun-hand of his opponent a quick twist.
Lasar uttered a sharp exclamation of pain. The revolver clattered to
the floor.
Quick as a flash, Tad threw a leg behind the knee of his antagonist,
gave it a quick jerk, with the result that Lasar went to the floor
with great violence.
By this time, occupants of the hotel were running down the hall, while
others were hammering at the door. Lasar had turned the key upon
entering the room.
Those within did not have time to listen to the demands of those in
the hall, who were demanding admission.
Mr. Marquand, as soon as he got his opponent down, quickly disarmed
him.
"Get up!" he commanded. "I don't want to kill you. I ought to do so,
but I won't."
He sprang from Comstock, and jerking Tad from Lasar, whom the lad was
making heroic efforts to hold down, pulled the fallen rascal to his
feet.
"Get out, both of you!" he commanded, covering both his visitors with
his weapon.
Lasar, in struggling to his feet, reached for his revolver.
"Drop it or I'll fill you full of lead!"
At that instant, the door burst open and half a dozen men sprang into
the room.
Lasar, seeing that he was caught, leaped through the open window. He
was followed closely by Comstock. He, too, made a clean leap, landing
on the soft ground below.
"What's the meaning of this shooting?" shouted the proprietor, his
face flushed with anger.
"Two men tried to murder me," replied Marquand coolly.
"It looks as though you were doing your share of it," snapped the
proprietor, noting his guest's belligerent attitude and drawn weapon.
Just then three shots in quick succession were fired from the outside.
Two of the bullets narrowly missed some of the men, who had forced
their way into the room.
As the third shot was fired, Tad threw one hand to his head; then drew
it away grinning.
"Those rascals have evidently gotten a new supply of fire arms," he
said.
A bullet had gone through his hair and his scalp burned where the lead
had brushed it.
All of the newcomers drew their revolvers and sprang to the window.
"Don't shoot!" cried the Pony Rider Boy; "You'll hit the wrong one.
There are a hundred people down there."
"He's right!" shouted Mr. Marquand, pushing his way between the men
and the window, at the imminent risk of getting a bullet in his back
from either Lasar or Comstock. "Let 'em go. They'll be running for
home about this time. They are a couple of scoundrels, sir."
"But the damage. Look at my fine room."
"I'll pay for the damage, and I'll quit your hotel now. I've had
enough of the place," retorted Mr. Marquand, pulling a roll of bills
from his pocket. "How much is it?"
"Well, you see--"
"How much is it?"
"Well, I guess twenty-five would be about right. You see--"
"Here's your twenty-five. Clear out!"
With many apologies the proprietor, accompanied by the others, backed
from the room.
"We came pretty near having a fight, didn't we?" Marquand smiled,
looking at Tad for the first time since the disturbance began.
"Almost."
"He would have got me if you hadn't knocked up his gun-hand. That's
another one I owe you. Well, maybe we'll have a pay day soon."
"You had better go back to camp with me, and bunk in with us
to-night," suggested the lad, "We shall want to make an early start in
the morning, anyway. I think it will be safer there, too. That pair
won't dare come fooling around our camp, knowing they can't trifle
with us," added the lad, with a note of pride in his tone.
"I'll do it. Not that I'm afraid of anything that walks on two legs,
but the sooner we hitch up the better it'll be. Got room enough?"
"Plenty. Where's your pony?"
"Up near your camp. Come on."
The man and the boy walked from the hotel, the former looking neither
to the right nor to the left, Tad observing their surroundings half
suspiciously. He was sure they had not yet heard the last of Bob Lasar
and Joe Comstock. In this he was right.
Marquand and the boy had gone no more than ten rods from the hotel,
when the report of a revolver was heard, and a bullet fired from the
corner of an adobe building passed within an inch of Mr. Marquand's
head.
With wonderful quickness the latter drew and sent three shots at the
flash.
Whether he had hit any thing or not he did not know.
"Run! I don't want you to get hit," cried the boy's new friend,
grasping Tad by the hand and starting off at a brisk pace.
"Bullets don't scare me, so long as they don't hit me," laughed young
Butler.
CHAPTER XXIII
MOONBEAM POINTS THE WAY
The moon will be here in a moment."
"What was it the old Pueblo chief said, Mr. Marquand?"
"'When the full of the moon has come and shoots its first arrow over
the crests of the Guadalupes, it points the way to the treasure of my
ancient people,'" quoted Mr. Marquand.
"I presume that would be taken to mean that, at a certain phase of the
moon, one of its beams points to where the treasure is hidden,"
explained Professor Zepplin. "But what leads you to believe this is
the Pueblo village of your particular chief's ancestors?"
"Yes; I don't see why it might not be any of the ruined adobe houses
in this valley?" said Ned Rector.
They had journeyed rapidly over mountain and plain to the valley of
the Guadalupes, where Mr. Marquand had informed them that he expected
to find the treasure. In the three days consumed on the journey, the
travelers had seen nothing of either Lasar or Comstock. Evidently the
pair had decided to leave the country while they still had the chance,
fearing that perhaps Mr. Marquand might invoke the aid of the law to
rid himself of them if they remained.
The Pony Rider Boys and their outfit had arrived that afternoon, and
during the remaining hours of daylight they had been excitedly
exploring the ancient dwellings, most of which were in a dilapidated
condition. There was one, however, two stories in height, that was in
an excellent state of preservation. In fact it appeared as if it had
only recently been vacated. After an examination of all the ruins Mr.
Marquand had discovered what led him to believe that this was the
structure which the old Pueblo chief referred to in his description of
the resting place of the treasure. The chief had said he had never
been near the spot. He was the only member of his tribe to whom the
secret had been handed down, and he in turn had transmitted it to the
white man who now stood within the shadow of the ancient dwelling
place.
"I have my reasons for believing this is the place," answered Mr.
Marquand, in response to the Professor's question. "If I am wrong, we
shall have to wait until the moon rises to-morrow night. Come inside
now, and we will close the door."
All hands crowded into the cool chamber, closing the heavy wooden door
that barred the entrance.
"Don't see how moonlight can get through solid walls," muttered Stacy.
"Ought to leave the door open."
No one answered him. In the darkened chamber, with its peculiar, musty
odors, the boys did not feel in the mood for hilarity or even for
speech. There was something about their situation that seemed to
impress them profoundly.
"Stand over against the wall on the side, so as not to obstruct any
light that might possibly get in here," directed Mr. Marquand.
The others moved silently to the side of the room indicated by him.
They had stood thus for fully five minutes when an exclamation from
Stacy broke the stillness harshly.
"Look! Look!" cried the fat boy.
A slender shaft of light had suddenly pierced the blackness, coming
they knew not whence. It was there.
"Must be a pin hole through the wall up near the ceiling," suggested
Kris Kringle.
The silver thread shot across the chamber, ending abruptly on the
adobe floor some three feet from the back wall.
"That's the spot!" shouted Mr. Marquand triumphantly.
He threw himself on the floor, and with his knife scratched a cross on
the spot where the moonbeam rested. Scarcely had he done so when the
delicate shaft of light disappeared as suddenly as it had come.
"It's gone," breathed the boys.
"But it has pointed the way."
"And we have followed the silver trail to its end," added Ned Rector
poetically.
"Bring the tools!" cried Mr. Marquand.
While they were doing so, he struck a match and lighted the lantern
that they had brought with them from their camp in the foothills. His
first care was to bar the door with the heavy wooden timber that he
had cut and which he now slipped into its fastenings.
A close examination of the floor revealed no marks save those put
there by the treasure-hunter's knife.
"This house seems to be built on the solid ground. I do not think you
will find anything under it," protested the Professor.
"There are houses under every one of these buildings," answered Mr.
Marquand. He held a short, keen edged bar in place, while Kris Kringle
swung the maul. Gradually they cut a ring about two feet in diameter
about the cross. The material of which the floor had been made had
been tempered with the years and was almost as hard as flint.
The steady thud of the heavy maul, accompanied by the click, click of
the cutting bar, the dim light, the silent, expectant faces, formed a
weird picture in this silent desert place.
After a full half hour of this the two men paused, and stood back,
drawing sleeves across their foreheads to wipe away the perspiration.
Stacy Brown walked pompously over to the circle.
"Maybe I can fall through it. If I can't, nobody can," he said,
jumping up and down on the spot where they had been cutting.
There followed a rambling sound, and with a yell, Stacy Brown suddenly
disappeared from sight. In place of the circle in which he had been
standing was a black, ragged hole, from which particles of the mortar
were still crumbling and rattling to the bottom of the pit.
"Are you there?" cried Kris Kringle, leaping to the spot, thrusting
the lantern down through the opening. "Master Stacy!"
"Wow!" responded the boy from the depths.
"Did it hurt you?"
"How far did you fall?"
This and other questions were hurled at the fat boy, as his companions
crowded about the opening.
"I'm killed. That'll answer all your questions," replied Stacy. "Hurry
up! Get my remains out of this place."
The rays of the lantern disclosed a short stairway, built of the same
material of which the house itself had been constructed.
Mr. Marquand forced himself past the guide and was down the steps in a
twinkling. He was followed by the wondering Pony Rider Boys, Professor
Zepplin and Kris Kringle in short order, for all crowded down through
the narrow opening.
Chunky had hit the top step and rolled all the way down. He had
scrambled to his feet and was rubbing his shins by the time his
friends reached him. His clothes were torn and he was covered with
dust.
"Fell down the cellar, didn't I?" he grinned.
But no one gave any heed to him now. Mr. Marquand had snatched at the
lantern and was running from point to point of the chamber in which
they found themselves. He was laboring under great excitement.
"Here's another opening," he shouted. "We haven't got to the bottom
yet."
Another flight of stairs led to still another and smaller chamber
below. Mr. Marquand let out a yell the moment he reached the bottom.
The others rushed pell-mell after him.
There, with it's top just showing above the dirt was a long iron
chest.
"Give me the maul!" shouted the excited treasure seeker.
He attacked the rusty iron fastenings; at last the cover yielded to
his thunderous blows and falling on its edge, toppled over to the
floor with a crash.
"Somebody's old clothes," chuckled Stacy, peering into the open chest.
The garments, priestly robes that lay at the top, fell to pieces the
instant Mr. Marquand laid violent hands on them.
"Look! Look! Was I right or was I wrong?" he cried, beside himself
with joy.
There, before their astonished eyes, lay a chest of gold-- coins
dulled by age, small nuggets and chunks of silver, all heaped
indiscriminately in the treasure chest.
"I did it!" shouted Chunky. "I did it with my little feet! I fell in
and discovered the treasure!"
The tongues of the Pony Rider Boys were suddenly loosened. Such a
shout as they set up probably never had been heard before in the
ancient adobe mansion of the Pueblos. Cheer after cheer echoed through
the chambers and reached the ears of a dozen desperadoes who were
skulking amid the sage brush without.
Professor Zepplin scooped up a handful of the coins and examined them
under the lantern.
"Old Spanish coins," he informed them. "Pure gold. And look at these
nuggets! Where do you suppose the Indians found them?"
"There are hidden mines in the State," informed Mr. Marquand. "Some of
these days they will be discovered. I have been hunting for them
myself, but without success. Boys, what do you think of it now? If it
had not been for you I might never have seen this sight."
Their eyes were fairly bulging as they gazed at the heap of gold.
Chunky squatted down scooping up a double handful and letting the
coins run through his fingers. Then the other boys dipped in, laughing
for pure joy, more because their adventure had borne fruit than for
the love of the gold itself.
"Must be more'n a bushel of it," announced Stacy.
"Those old Franciscans must have been saving up for a rainy day. And
it never rained here at all," suggested Ned humorously.
"Shall we count it?" asked Mr. Marquand.
"Just as you wish," replied the Professor.
"Were I in your place, Mr. Marquand, I should get the stuff out of
here as soon as possible. You can't tell what may happen. I would
suggest that we secure the treasure and be on our way at once. You
will want to get it to a bank as quickly as possible. This is one of
the things that cannot be kept quiet."
"You are right. Will somebody go over to the camp and get those gunny
sacks of mine? I don't want to lose sight of my find for a minute. You
know how I feel about it-- not that I do not trust you. You know--"
"Surely we understand," smiled Tad.
"And you all have an interest in it-- you shall share the treasure
with me--"
"No, we don't," shouted the boys. "We've had more than a million
dollars worth of fun out of it already."
"Certainly not," added the Professor.
"We'll discuss that later," said Mr. Marquand firmly. "Just now we
must take care of what we have found. Who will get the bags?"
"We will," answered the boys promptly.
"No; you stay here. I'll get them," answered Kris Kringle. "Light me
up the stairs so I don't break my neck in this old rookery.
One of the boys lighted the way to the next floor, then stepped back
into the cellar, where Mr. Marquand was turning over the treasure in
an effort to find out if the pile extended all the way to the bottom
of the chest.
In the meantime Kris Kringle unbarred the door and threw it part way
open. He did it cautiously, as if half expecting trouble.
He threw the door to with a bang, springing to one side, and dropping
the bar back into place.
The reason for his sudden change of plans was that no sooner had the
door opened than several thirty-eight calibre bullets were fired from
the sage brush outside.
Kris Kringle waited to learn whether those in the cellar had heard the
shots. But they had not. They were some distance below ground, and
their minds were wholly taken up with the great treasure before them.
After a few moments the guide once more removed the bar, first having
drawn his revolver in case of sudden surprise. Then he cautiously
opened the door an inch or so.
At first nothing happened. The moonlit landscape lay as silent and
peaceful as if there were not a human being on the desert.
There were six distinct flashes all at once and a rain of lead
showered into the door.
Kris Kringle took a pot shot at one of the flashes, then slammed the
door shut and barred it.
"Well; I hope that would get you," he muttered.
Hastily retracing his steps he called the party up to the second
cellar.
"Did you fetch the sacks?" called Mr. Marquand.
"No, but I've fetched trouble. It's coming in sackfuls."
"What do you mean?"
"We're besieged."
"Besieged?" wondered the Professor.
"Yes; there's a crowd outside, and they've been trying to shoot me up.
Must be some of your friends, Mr. Marquand."
"Lasar and Comstock? The scoundrels!" growled Mr. Marquand. "But we'll
make short work of them."
"Not so easy as you think There are more than two out there-- there's
a crowd and they've got rifles. Our rifles are over in the camp. I've
got a six-shooter and so have you, but what do they amount to against
half a dozen rifles?"
"I'll talk to them, if I can get any place to make them hear,"
announced Mr. Marquand, starting up the stairs.
"I reckon there's a window on the second floor, but you'd better be
careful that you don't get winged," warned the guide.
Mr. Marquand went right on, and the others followed. As the guide had
said there was a small window on the floor above the ground,
apparently the only one in the house.
Mr. Marquand hailed the besiegers.
"Who are you and what do you mean by shooting us up in this fashion?"
he demanded.
"You ought to know who we are, Jim Marquand, and you know what we
want!"
"Yes, I know you all right, Lasar, and I'll make you smart for this."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 | 10 |
11