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Frank Merriwell's Bravery, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 10. In Cade's Canyon |
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_ CHAPTER X. IN CADE'S CANYON The moon had swung far down to the west when the outlaws entered Cade's Canyon amid the mountains and finally reached an old hut, where they halted. "You must be rather pegged, chief," said one of the men, addressing Frank. "Well, I am not feeling too frisky," said the boy. "I didn't sleep much in Elreno jail, for I wanted to be wideawake when the lynchers came." The men had removed their masks, but their faces were shaded by wide-brimmed hats, and Frank was not able to study their features. However, he had heard the voices of several, and he felt sure he would not forget them. He was not going to be in a hurry about escaping. There was plenty of time, and he was beginning to believe that he must be the perfect double of Black Harry, else why should these men be thus deceived? He wondered if none of them would detect the difference when daylight came. "If they do--well, I can't be worse off than I was in Elreno jail. I'll have weapons, and I can fight. I may be able to make it hot for them before they down me." Frank was reckless, and he felt a strange delight in the adventure through which he was passing. Somehow, now that he had escaped being lynched, he believed he would be successful in bringing Black Harry to book and proving his own innocence. Frank's first care was to obtain some revolvers, and he was soon in possession of a pair of fine weapons. With these loaded and ready to his hand, he breathed easier. Of course he had no idea of sleeping, but he entered the hut and looked the place over. Morning was not far away, and the time soon passed, while Frank pretended to sleep. At daybreak he was astir, and looking the place over. The cabin was built in a strange spot, standing close to the verge of a chasm that opened down into the lower depths of the canyon, through which ran a stream of water. Dan Cade, the man who had built the cabin there, was said to have been crazy. He had lived there years before the opening of Oklahoma to settlement, and had died there in that wild gorge. His only friends were the Indians, as he hated and mistrusted his own race. It had often been remarked by those who passed through the canyon that no man in his right mind would have built a cabin in such a place. It looked as if the building was crouching on the verge of the chasm, preparing to spring headlong into the creek below. Here the outlaws had camped. Frank found a flight of stairs that led to the cabin loft. They were shaky, but he ascended to investigate. There was a square door, shaped like a window, at the back end of the cabin, and this the boy opened. He thrust his head out, and found he was looking down the face of the bluff straight into the stream far below. The light that shone into the loft revealed, to the boy's surprise and wonder, a coil of rope. He examined this, and found a stout clasp-hook at one end. The other end of the rope was made fast to a rafter. For some time Frank wondered to what use old Cade had put the rope, but it came to him at last. "With this he drew his water from the stream down there." This seemed evident, as there was no other apparent means of procuring water. The outlaws slept heavily, apparently fatigued by their exertions of the night. They had left sentinels in both directions, up and down the canyon, so that they could not be taken by surprise should they be followed by enemies. The sun had not risen when Frank went forth into the morning air. The horses were tethered near the cabin, and a half-blood Indian was watching them. As Frank approached, the half-blood peered out from beneath the blanket, which was drawn up over his head. The boy saw the fellow's beady eyes regarding him, and then the blanket was drawn closer, indicating that the Indian was satisfied. Once more Frank thought that he must be the perfect counterpart of Black Harry, else he would arouse the suspicion of the fellow who owned those eyes. Frank believed it would be an easy thing to mount one of the horses and ride away, as if he was going a short distance. He believed he could do so without being challenged or questioned, and the desire to attempt it was almost ungovernable. Then came another thought. Where could he go? Surely he could not return to Elreno, for, now that he had been carried away by Black Harry's Braves, he was branded in that town as the youthful outlaw beyond the shadow of a doubt. He did not know which way to turn, and the thought that his situation was most remarkable forced itself upon him. If he remained among the outlaws, they were liable to discover how they had been fooled, and that would make them furious. If he escaped and hastened to any of the nearby towns, it was pretty certain that he would be taken for Black Harry and lynched. "This is a real jolly scrape!" thought the boy, ruefully. "What can I do?" Well might he ask himself the question. He walked a short distance down the canyon, and thought it over. The impulse was on him to get away as soon as possible, but his sober judgment told him that he would leap from the frying-pan into the fire. Frank did not care to be lynched. He seemed helpless for the time. Although he longed to fight for his honor, he was unable to strike a blow. The result of his walk was a determination to stay with the outlaws and keep up the deception as long as he could. Black Harry himself must appear sooner or later, and Frank longed to see the young rascal whom he so much resembled. Most boys would have improved the opportunity to get away, but Frank was not built of ordinary material, and it was like him to do the unexpected. He strolled back to the cabin, seeming quite at his ease. It was not far from sunrise, and the men began to stir. Several of them came out of the hut, and a fire was built. Of a sudden, from far up the canyon, came the musical blast of a bugle, causing the outlaws to start and look at each other in surprise. They listened, and it was repeated. One of the men turned sharply on Frank, hoarsely crying: "What does that mean?" "I don't know," replied the boy, at the same time feeling for his revolvers, with the idea that there was trouble on hand. "It is your signal!" burst from the man's lips. "And that means trickery! There is something wrong!" "You're right!" cried several voices. More of the braves came running out of the cabin, there was a hustling for arms, and the men prepared for trouble. "My signal?" repeated Frank, to himself. "By that he must mean it is the signal of Black Harry! He is coming!" Frank felt the blood tingling in his veins. Black Harry was coming! "Now," muttered Frank, "I shall have a chance to strike a blow for myself! Let Black Harry come on!" _ |
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