A monster black bear had collided with Conroy's horse, sending the runaway to its knees.
The astounded leader of the Ramblers saw Jack catapulted into the air and bruin knocked flat on his back.
Then his own broncho, with a snort of terror, swerved abruptly, dashing off at right angles.
The riderless horse had turned, and was now thundering diagonally across the turf. Bob Somers' quick eye saw that nothing could prevent his own broncho and the terrified animal from crashing together. With lightning speed, he threw one leg over the pommel and jumped.
Jack Conroy lay stunned by the force of his impact with the ground. But the fresh breeze, together with his strong recuperative powers, almost instantly began to restore him to his senses.
Presently, scarcely realizing what had happened, his thoughts all oddly jumbled together, he half opened his eyes.
A low, rumbling growl brought the light of understanding back to his face. With a strong effort, he struggled to a sitting position, and stared in open-mouthed wonder at a remarkable sight.
"Great Cæsar!"
A black bear but several yards away was just clumsily regaining an upright position. Its little eyes were snapping with fear and anger. The big chap had been so jarred and shaken that only a realization of great danger could have induced him to move.
For a moment, Jack and the bear studied each other attentively. It was a wonderfully short moment, however. Jack, uttering an exclamation, managed to turn and shoot a glance over his shoulder. To his amazement, he saw Bob Somers approaching on foot at top speed and five horsemen fighting to control their bronchos.
"Thunderation!"
The black bear, having evidently come to the conclusion that Jack was responsible for all his misfortunes, gave an angry snarl, opened his mouth to show a row of perfect teeth, and began to lumber forward.
Jack wasn't quite sure whether he had been badly injured or not, but decided that the time to find out hadn't come. Pains and aches seemed to drop away as easily as the dust from his shoulders when he scrambled to his feet with a lusty yell and fled.
The enemy, apparently satisfied at this tribute to his power, came to a halt, raised his shaggy head and gazed curiously at the horsemen; then, uttering a grunt of extreme disapproval, plunged away.
"Hurt, Jack?" called Bob, breathlessly.
"Hurt?" yelled the others.
Jack stopped his flight abruptly.
Now that all danger, as well as suspense, was over, shooting pains in various parts of his anatomy began to make themselves felt with a force that caused him to wince.
"Hurt, Jack?" cried Bob again, as, with flying leaps, he reached the big boy's side.
Conroy felt his side and shoulder, then his arms.
"I've been dented in about a hundred places, Somers," he grinned, weakly. "Gee, but my shoulder hurts; that crash when I landed was a corker—no bones broken, though. What happened to you, Bob? Had to jump, eh? Just what I was about to do when the bronc-saver came out to say 'Good-day!'"
The other riders, who by this time had succeeded in controlling their horses, cantered rapidly up, and Jack was kept busy for a few moments answering their excited questions.
The relief of the crowd was voiced in a joyous cheer when all presently realized that, in spite of his terrific shaking up and fall, Jack Conroy had escaped serious injury.
"An' don't forget a little 'tiger' for the bear, fellows," laughed Jack. "As a bronc-saver, he was a daisy. No, I wasn't scared, Tommy; never would have let that silly dub of a sorrel chuck me over five hundred an' eighty feet through the air—no, sir. Ouch! Wow! Another wireless!"
"We'd better not do any more traveling to-day, fellows," suggested Bob. "Some mighty good places to camp right around here; what do you say?"
"Suits me," said Jack, ruefully rubbing his shoulder. "I don't feel quite fit, yet. Say, Dave, where'd your packhorse an' the other broncs get to?"
"He broke away just as I overtook the crowd," answered Dave, apologetically. "You see, I hadn't tied the rope very tight, and one glance at the bear was enough."
"Oh!" Jack stared hard at the landscape. "Bet the silly dub's 'bout five miles away by this time, Dave," he drawled. "Don't see 'im anywhere."
"We oughtn't to kick, after your having such great luck," laughed Bob. "A mighty narrow escape, Jack!"
"For the bronc, you mean," corrected the big lad, dryly. "Shucks! This ridin' business is pie for me, if nothin' rises off the earth to hit the little brute. Let's see what it's like at the edge o' the bluff. Then we'd better hustle an' chase after those runaways."
Limping slightly, Jack, with Bob at his side, walked toward the fringe of bushes. Both kept a sharp lookout for bears or other foes, but discovered nothing alarming.
Skirting around the vegetation, they soon came to an open space and peered cautiously over the edge. The sight fairly took their breath away.
A wall of barren rock dropped almost vertically for fully two hundred feet, and from that point sloped abruptly to the valley below. Here and there, on dizzy-looking ledges, patches of stunted vegetation had gained a foothold, and, struggling hard for life, added a touch of contrasting color to the grim reddish rock. At the base, far beneath them, the two looked upon the tops of a dense growth of timber, huge slabs of bare rock and great boulders. The cliff sent a clear, purplish shadow over the rolling valley, to cut sharply against the glittering sunlight beyond.
Jack gave a shrill whistle.
"Great Scott, isn't that awful?" He shivered and drew back.
"You bet; and but for bruin your bronc might be lying dead at the base."
"That's right, Somers! After this, let's be kind to bears. Come on!"
Bob assisted Jack to mount behind Dick, then sprang astride Tom Clifton's broncho, and the cavalcade was in motion again.
Reaching the point where the mad race had begun, they looked earnestly about for any signs of their horses. Those belonging to Bob and Jack Conroy were soon discovered peacefully browsing in the direction of a heavily-timbered section on the west, but the packhorse had disappeared.
"Oh, ginger!" groaned Dick. "Isn't that about the limit? Hello—he went right down into the valley."
"How do you know?" asked Tommy, quickly.
"It's easy; the little dub has jolted off some of the stuff. See that shiny thing on the ground?"
"Oh, yes!"
"That's one of our canteens, sure; and—why—say, there's the commissary department now, away off, just coming up on that rise; eh, fellows?"
"Yes; that must be the little brute," agreed Tim, shading his eyes. "Havin' the time o' his life, too."
"An' somebody'll have the time o' his life bringin' him back," remarked Jack, with a glance toward his own broncho near the timber line. "It'll take about an hour an' eighty minutes, Dave."
"Correct," sighed Dave. "It was my fault; so the job is up to me."
"Not on your life," chirped Tim. "You'd be back 'bout the time the moon dragged itself up over the hills. Say, Dave, that's a great expression for your book—'dragged itself up'—eh?"
"I'll make a note of it," laughed Dave.
"Whoever is goin' after the commissary department had better drag himself down the hill," remarked Jack, as he slipped from his seat behind Dick Travers.
"I'll go with Tim," announced the latter.
"You chaps almost deserve near-hero medals," chuckled Dave, an expression of intense relief crossing his round face. "Look out for yourselves. Yes; we'll have a fire going by the time you get back. So-long!"
"Or longer," murmured Tim. "Whoop! We may have a fine chase."
"Git up!" shouted Dick.
The two cantered swiftly off. Dick stopped an instant to pick up the canteen.
For a long distance the way led through high, bunchy grass which seemed to undulate like waves of the sea as the breeze swept up from the valley. Gradually the descent grew steeper and more difficult. Ridges, innocent-looking from above, became on closer inspection difficult passes choked with vegetation and rocks.
The cliff's frowning heights rose higher and higher above them. In the shadow of its gigantic crags they reined up for a moment to rest their tired bronchos.
"Great sight!" said Tim, looking up.
"I should say so," answered Dick, shivering as he recalled Jack's recent danger.
"Gee! In all that excitement, I most forgot our first glimpse o' Wanna's mountain—that must be it. In a few days, Dick, if our good luck keeps up, we'll be prospectin' on its slopes. Honest, it gives me a sort o' funny feelin'."
"If we don't find anything, Tim, I'll have all kinds of the same brand," grinned Dick, softly. "Wouldn't it be fierce? Hello! There's the packhorse now—third ridge."
"Yes! Gee! Let's whoop it up a bit, or he'll reach the Jabberwock first."
In obedience to a touch of the quirt, the sturdy little bronchos bounded off, and were soon treading in single file a wide expanse of soft, marshy ground. On the east they could see a dense forest extending off for a considerable distance.
Presently they were obliged to dismount in a wild little gorge, and force their way through tangled briars to the brink of a stream which tinkled its way merrily between a fringe of tall vegetation.
"Bet the bronc was smart enough to find an easier way than this," grumbled Tim.
"Well, if we're not smart, we're smarting, all right," said Dick, with a faint smile, as he looked at his scratched-up hands. "We'll have a nice, cool drink, fill our canteens, and let the broncs indulge."
The animals quaffed the clear water eagerly; so did the boys. Then, after a short rest, they sprang into the saddle again, crossed the stream, and urged the bronchos up a steep slope.
At the top, Dick turned.
"Hello! One of the fellows is out near the end of the cliff!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Look, Tim!"
The other cast a glance over his shoulder at the rugged heights, deep in shadow. He saw the figure of a horseman silhouetted clearly against the blue sky, the animal and its rider having more the appearance of a bronze statue than of life.
"Wonder which one o' 'em it is?" murmured Tim, interestedly.
Dick stared hard and shook his head.
The horseman stood for an instant longer; then they saw him whip quickly about and disappear.
"It's Bob Somers—that's my guess," remarked Dick. "We'll soon know. Come on, Tim."
After a hard struggle, the two finally reached the ridge where the packhorse had last been seen; but the animal was nowhere in sight.
"Isn't this the dickens of a note?" growled Dick, in puzzled tones.
"The idiotic little brute can't be very far off, though." Tim spoke consolingly.
There was silence for several moments while each lad stood up in his stirrups to take a searching look in all directions. Between them and the woods was another rise, and beyond this stretched a broad rolling valley encircled by high wooded hills.
The cold, glittering sunlight was fast losing its strength; somber hues were stealing over fields of waving brown and yellow grasses, and, as shadows deepened and lengthened, the dampness and feeling of night crept into the air. A dense silence enveloped the vast expanse of wilderness; even the breeze which gently touched their faces seemed to be dying away.
"If that bronc doesn't turn up mighty soon we'll have to hike back without him," growled Dick, glancing at the sky.
"Oh, ginger! That's only too true," sighed Tim. "Before the moon comes up it'll be black as pitch."
"And if night falls while we're down here, we may do some falling in going up," grinned Dick.
"The prize is yours, son," laughed Tim.
For over an hour the boys kept up their search, finally reaching a dense forest. They ventured only a short distance within its shadowed, mysterious depths, for both realized that to delay any longer would mean a difficult, as well as dangerous, struggle back to camp through the darkness.
"An' we can't do a bit o' good stayin' here," wailed Tim.
"Anyway, it's mighty lucky the grub was divided up between the two packhorses."
"Their ways are beyond understanding."
"And suppose we lose this one altogether; wouldn't that be awful? All of our prospector's tools snugly tucked away on his back, too."
"For goodness' sake, don't let's even think of such a thing," said Tim, shrugging his shoulders. "Can't imagine where on earth the brute has gone."
"It means getting up mighty early to-morrow morning to look for him again."
"And maybe every morning for a solid month," added Tim, ominously; "an' by that time he'll have scattered the stuff about till the ground looks like the counter of a five an' ten cent store."
Disconsolately, they rode between the great tree trunks toward the light again. By following a route much further to the east the two found traveling easier, and pushed ahead at a fast clip. A sunset glow was rapidly fading; valley and plains became a cold, cheerless gray; undulating ridges cut sharply against the sky, and the gigantic crags towering above them began to assume an air of grim majesty.
A sprinkling of stars was faintly showing in the fast-deepening blue when Dick and Tim at length came in sight of a camp-fire surrounded by a group of shadowy figures.
As the two cantered up, a volley of questions was flung toward them.
"What! You couldn't find the packhorse!" cried Bob, in astonishment.
"Great Scott!" howled Jack Conroy. "This is about the limit."
"And all my fault, too," sighed Dave.
"Bet you're tryin' to spring some kind o' a silly joke on us, Tim," said Jack, suspiciously.
"Not a bit of it, Jack."
"Well, by gum!" The big boy spitefully kicked a glowing ember back into the flames. "We're in a pretty fix now—but I knew it."
"Knew what?"
"That we were goin' to run up against somethin' hard pretty soon."
"Well, Dick and I ran up against a heapin'-over measure o' hard things down there," said Tim, solemnly, holding up his scratched hands for inspection. "Say, is there a bite to eat?"
Bob Somers pointed to a brace of quail lying on a piece of bark.
"Dave and I went back into the woods," he explained. "Seems to be all kinds of game about; it didn't take us long to get these."
"Which one of you chaps rode out on the end of the cliff?" asked Dick Travers, casually.
"On the end of the cliff!" echoed Bob. "Neither Dave nor I was anywhere near it."
"Well, then, whoever it was looked just too cute for words; you, Sam?"
"We didn't stir from this spot while Bob and Dave were away," answered Sam, earnestly.
"What!" cried Tim, amazed.
"But we saw some one up there," persisted Dick, staring with wide-open eyes at the group, "and if it wasn't any of you, who in the dickens could it have been?"
"Is that another silly joke?" demanded Jack, fiercely.
"Do you think we've just joined the United Order of Funny Men?" snorted Tim, as he sprang to the ground. "It's the unvarnished, bona fide truth; eh, Travers?"
Dick, holding his impatient broncho by the bridle, drew a long breath, and nodded.
"Gee! Here's a nice mystery: first, we hear shots; then, on the same day, a horseman rides up and takes a good long squint at us. Mighty odd you chaps didn't run across him."
"Goodness gracious, this place just seems full of people," murmured Tommy, turning to stare anxiously in all directions.
"And I don't like it a little bit, either," confided Dick. "Do you think—that is—suppose—"
"Say anythin' 'bout Pete Colliver, an' it means a whole lot o' trouble—remember!" howled Jack. He held up a warning finger. "That's settled—or somebody around here will be."
"Oh, get out," growled Dick, leading his broncho to where the others were tethered.
The boys had selected for their camp an inviting spot on a level, grassy stretch. Close by, a growth of scrubby trees and underbrush supplied them with plenty of fuel. On the west was a wide, deep gully filled with a profusion of vines and weeds, between which, here and there, could be seen moss-covered rocks.
"All hands pitch in and get those birds prepared," laughed Bob.
The quail were soon toasting over a bed of red-hot embers and sending forth a savory odor. Even the loss of the packhorse did not seem to affect their appetites in the least.
"Oh, ho," sighed Dave, as he finished his last mouthful, "isn't that Egyptian blackness out there?"
"Looks to me more like good old Washington blackness," grinned Bob.
Outside of a dancing circle of firelight, everything was lost in impenetrable gloom.
The boys wondered if the mysterious horseman knew of their presence, and, if so, why he had not come forward. Then, discussing the prospect of finding their missing beast of burden, Jack Conroy cheerfully insisted that its innocent young life had probably already paid a forfeit to a pack of hungry coyotes.
Leaving Dick Travers to stand first guard, the others finally rolled themselves up in their blankets and turned in, hugging the fire closely, for the air had a decidedly wintry feeling.
Dick began to pace to and fro, the soft pat, pat of his footfalls mingling with the sound of bronchos munching the grass or occasionally stamping. It seemed very lonely and desolate, but he speculated whether, in that mysterious gloom beyond the firelight, there might not be other human beings wandering about; and every unusually loud sound of snapping twig or rustle borne on the wind made him keenly alert.
A long time passed; yawns came with steadily increasing frequency, and on several occasions only heroic efforts saved him from falling over into a doze.
"Hello," he murmured, suddenly, "there's the moon coming up; isn't that dandy?"
In the east, a faint glow was beginning to show. It slowly increased, edging masses of low-lying clouds with lines of silvery white. Dick almost forgot his sleepy feelings as he watched them growing stronger and stronger. Presently the rim of the moon appeared in view over the hills.
"Gee! That's a corking fine sight," muttered Dick. "Wouldn't Dave like—"
His sentence came to an abrupt close.
With a suddenness that made him almost jump, the bronchos began snorting and neighing loudly, evidently in the grip of frantic fear.
