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Frank Merriwell, Junior's, Golden Trail, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 5. On To Happenchance |
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_ CHAPTER V. ON TO HAPPENCHANCE The boys were not long in discovering that the two motor cycles they were riding were fine machines. With the searchlights boring long holes in the dark, Merry and Clancy seemed fairly to fly over the trail. It seemed to them as though they had hardly started before the mass of deep shadow which marked the location of Loco's adobe lay almost in front of them on the right. The house was dark. Frank, after getting out of the saddle, examined his watch under the lamp. "Ten o'clock," he announced to Clancy. "The Loco family must all be in bed, Clan." "Rout some one out, Chip," said Clan, "and see if you can pick up any news. While you're doing that I'll skirmish around and see if there is a recently ridden horse at Pete's hitching pole or in his corral." Frank crossed the open space that lay between the road and the adobe and drummed on the front door with his knuckles. After two or three attempts he succeeded in arousing some one who demanded to know what was wanted. "I want a word with Pete Loco." Frank called. The door was unbolted and drawn open, revealing a swarthy-visaged man in shirt and trousers, holding a candle. "What in blazes d'ye want?" asked the man with the candle in no very pleasant tone. "I'm Pete Loco." "Any visitors staying with you to-night, Mr. Loco," Frank inquired. "I reckon not! Think this here's a hotel?" "I'm looking for a prospector named Porter. The last we saw of him he was coming in this direction." "Nick Porter? He's over to the mine. Seen him there this afternoon." "He's not there now. He left the mine and came this way." "Well, I haven't seen him, an' he ain't here." With that Pete Loco shut the door, and Frank could hear him shoot the bolt. Turning away, Frank met Clancy just coming around the corner of the house. "Loco says he doesn't know anything about our man, Clancy," reported Frank. "I guess he's telling the truth, Chip," Clancy replied. "I can't find any extra live stock around, and it's hardly possible, anyhow, that Porter would stop such a short distance from the mine. It's a safe bet that he's gone on to McGurvin's." Frank was in a quandary. "This adobe," said he, "is at the forks of the trail. One branch goes to the mine and Ophir, and the other leads to Gold Hill. It's just possible that Porter took the Gold Hill fork and didn't go on to McGurvin's." "He wouldn't do that, Chip." Clancy answered. "If he had wanted to go to Gold Hill he would have turned north from the mine and taken the shorter road through Ophir." "Unless," Frank qualified, "he had reasons for not wanting to pass through Ophir. Porter might have thought that we would use the telephone if he went that way, and have some one stop him." "Tell you what we can do," Clancy suggested, taken somewhat with Merry's logic and yet not quite satisfied to recede from his own position, "we can go on to McGurvin's; then, if we don't overhaul Porter on the road, or pick up any clews at McGurvin's, we can come back and take the Gold Hill fork from here. We can get over the ground like an express train with these machines, and can ride circles all around that horse that carried the prospector away from the mine." "Good!" agreed Frank. "We'll see how long it will take us to get to McGurvin's. It's only seven or eight miles." "Hit 'er up, Chip," cried the red-headed chap; "you won't find me taking any of your dust." Once more they got their machines in motion along the trail. The going was none too good, and Merry got his machine going at a pace that might have been reckless had not the brilliant, far-flung rays of the searchlight laid the way so clearly before his eyes. "That the best you can do?" called Clancy, whirring along at his chum's side. "This will do," Frank answered. "We're not on a boulevard, remember." Clancy gave a laugh of sheer exhilaration, for the thrill of that wild dash through the night and across the desert was in his veins. "We'll be running Porter down before we can see him, Chip," he called, the wind of their flight casting his words behind him in splintering echoes. But Merriwell had no fear of that. If Nick Porter had ridden hard, he would already have had time to cover the distance between the mine and McGurvin's. McGurvin's ranch was the last place, short of Happenchance in the Picket Post Mountains, where water could be secured. Surely, if Porter had come that way, he would stop at the ranch. He had left the mine too hurriedly to equip himself with water canteens and rations for a prolonged stay in the desert. Frank's hopes were mounting high as the motor cycles devoured the distance that separated their riders front McGurvin's. At last, in fifteen or twenty minutes--certainly less than half an hour--the mad pace was slowed as the destination hove duskily into sight. A yellow gleam showed at one of the windows of the ranch house, and suggested that the proprietor might be entertaining a caller. The machines were halted at a little distance from the dwelling, and Merry stole forward to reconnoiter, ere announcing himself in person to McGurvin. There was no curtain at the window through which shone the lamp-light, and the lad crept up to it and looked into the room. Only one man was visible, and that was the ranch owner himself. He sat by a table, reading. "I guess we're off the track, Roper," said Frank, rejoining Clancy. "I can't see any one but McGurvin through the window, and he's spelling out the news in a paper. If Porter was there, he and McGurvin would certainly be together." "Not so certainly, Chip." answered Chancy. "Let's look in the corral for a tired horse. If we find one, then surely it's Porter's, and Porter has got into the house and gone to bed." Only one horse and a burro were found, and the horse showed no evidence of recent hard riding. Frank was deeply puzzled. "If the prospector came this way," said he, "there would be nothing else for it but for him to stop here. He wouldn't dare go on into the desert without foot and water." "Possibly he stopped, got what he wanted, and went on," Clancy hazarded. "No, Clan. We can't be much more than half an hour from the mine; if we suppose that Porter had a full hour the start of us--it couldn't have been more than that--then he had only an hour and a half to ride here, and no time to pick up food and water and push his tired horse on into the desert. We'd better go back to Loco's and take the fork to Gold Hill." "Let's not be in a rush, Chip. Now that we're here, we'd better find out what McGurvin has got to say." "Of course," Frank returned, "we'll have a word or two with the rancher before we turn back." The rancher was not surprised to have visitors drop in on him at that hour. The better part of his income was derived from the sale of water, brought up from his well by burro power, to prospectors and others who happened along that way. Such customers were liable to straggle in from any quarter at any hour. "'Pears mighty like I've seen you fellers some place before," said the rancher, staring hard at the boys. "Say," and his face cleared, "wasn't you along this way a few days ago with Barzy Blunt an' some more, runnin' some fool race or other." He referred to the "relay Marathon," which Frank and his chums had run against Blunt and his cowboy friends, to file in Gold Hill a location notice of Borrodaile's claim. "Yes," smiled Frank, "we're the fellows." "Well, sufferin' Mike!" guffawed McGurvin. "Sot down an' be sociable, can't ye?" "We're in something of a hurry, McGurvin," Frank went on, "and can't stop long. Do you know a prospector named Porter?" McGurvin's face went blank, and he dug his fingers into his tousled hair. "Not Andy Porter, from up Phoenix way?" he asked. "Squints with his off eye, and walks with a limp?" "No," Frank answered, "this man is a big fellow, whiskers, ropy hair, gray eyes." "New one on me," said McGurvin. "Then, you haven't seen anything of him?" "Nary a thing. What's he done? Stole a hoss?" "We don't know what he has done, McGurvin. All we want is to have a talk with him. Can you spare us a couple of canteens, full of water, and a bag of rations--enough for two or three meals?" "Shore," answered the rancher, "that's what I'm here fer. Dollar fer the water in the canteens, an' two dollars fer the canteens; then another two dollars fer the hand-out. Makes five, don't it?" McGurvin had the reputation of being more or less of a robber. Having a monopoly of the water in that locality, he set his own prices, and did not fear competition. "Five dollars is all right, McGurvin," said Frank. "Blunt was out this way this afternoon, with a couple his pards," remarked McGurvin, unaware of the bomb was exploding. "They watered up, rested a spell, an' hiked on to the Picket Posts." Merry was startled, but contrived not to show it. Clancy jumped, but his chum gave him a warning glance. "Hustle around and get those supplies for us, please," urged Frank. "We're in a hurry." "Hosses to water?" queried the rancher, starting for a rear door. "No horses, McGurvin. "Ottermobile, I reckon," deplored McCurvin. "If them things git too thick in the desert they'll be the ruination of me. I'll have yore stuff ready in ten minutes." He went out through the door, Clancy leaped excitedly toward Merriwell. "What's on your mind now, Chip?" he whispered. "Why the grub and water?" "I made up my mind, all of a sudden, to extend this of ours to Happenchance." "You're crazy!" gasped Clancy. "How can we find the way? It would be hard enough in broad daylight, but at night we'd get all twisted up, and end by losing ourselves in the foothills. If we're going to Happenchance, Chip, we'd better camp right here until morning, then cross the rough country when we can see what we're about." "I had made up my mind to go on to-night," Merry answered, "even before McGurvin told us that about Barzy Blunt." "Gee, but that was a bombshell! What do you suppose Blunt is doing out this way?" "It's possible he may know something about the professor. Why did he go on to the Picket Posts? What business has Barzy Blunt got around the old camp of Happenchance, where the professor's claim is located? Before McGurvin told us Blunt had gone in that direction, I had made up my mind that we ought to take a look at the deserted town; now that I know Blunt is there. I am more anxious than ever to get to the place." "But what about Porter?" "Where he has gone is a mystery," said Merriwell, "but I think Blunt and his cowboy friends offer a more promising clew to the prof's whereabouts. We'll forget about Porter for the present, and give our attention to Blunt." They talked in whispers for a short time longer, and then sat back suddenly in their chairs as McGurvin came into the room with two filled canteens and a small canvas bag of rations. Merry exchanged five silver dollars for the supplies, and then the rancher followed the boys out and watched them while they started their machines. "A couple o' gasoline go-devils, by thunder!" muttered McGurvin. "All kinds o' ways o' beatin' a man that sells water out o' his rights. If ye didn't have them contraptions, ye'd be shackin' along on a couple o' bronks, an my well 'u'd bring me in two bits a head fer each of 'em." The rancher was still sputtering as the boys raced off through the starlight, heading into the desert. As soon as they were well away. McGurvin's wrath died in his throat, and he gave vent to a husky chuckle. "On ter Happenchance, or I'm a Piute!" he muttered jubilantly. "Go it, you crazy galoots--but I 'opine ye won't find what ye're a-lookin' fer." Still chuckling, he turned back into the house and pounded on a stovepipe that ran through the ceiling and into a room overhead. "Have they gone, McGurvin?" came a muffled voice from above. "I reckon they have, Nick," laughed the rancher; "they went pippity-poppin' away, each of 'em on a couple o' wheels run by gasoline." "Where'd they go?" "Happenchance, I reckon. Leastways, they headed inter the desert, p'intin' thataway." A satisfied grunt echoed from above. "Lucky I hitched yore bronk out in the scrub," went on McGurvin complacently. "I'll bet a-plenty them kids was nosin' around afore they come in here. But they didn't find nothin', nary, they didn't." _"Buenas noches_, Mac," called down the man upstairs, "I'm turnin' in." The words were followed by a faint echo of hoarse laughter. McGurvin caught up the sound with some heartiness as he locked the door, blew out the light, and went groping through the dark for his own bed. _ |
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