"Great Scott!" cried Jack, in joy and amazement.
"Shout a little louder, will you?" said Tim, as fiercely as he dared. "That might start 'im off an' give us the chance o' havin' an all night's job."
The packhorse, with a loud neigh, kicked up his heels, and dashed away; but his long rope, catching around a mass of bushes and tree trunks, brought the animal to a sudden stop.
"Doesn't this beat anything you ever heard of?" burst out Dick Travers. "How on earth did this bronc ever get back here, eh, fellows?"
"That's beyond me," said Sam Randall.
"Queerer jinks never happened," cried Tom, his eyes snapping with excitement.
"To think that the silly duffer had actually sense enough to turn around an' toddle back," murmured Jack. "Honest, but this is the most natural dream I've ever had. Aren't you fellows really snoozin' 'round the fire at this very moment? Please don't wake me up."
"Truth is stranger'n dreams, sometimes, Jacky," grinned Tim.
The seven stood silently a moment, looking at each other in the greatest perplexity. The return of the packhorse seemed to hold an element of mystery which appealed strongly to their imaginations.
Had the broncho returned of his own accord?
Bob Somers thought not; and he voiced his convictions a moment later, as he stooped over to examine the rope.
"Fellows, the bronc never could have wrapped it around trunks and branches in this way," he remarked; "that's certain."
Dave Brandon's eyes ran quickly over the hemp.
"Not in a lifetime, Bob."
The crowd, eagerly looking on, nodded approval.
"I should call this the dickens of a puzzle," piped Tom.
"Maybe that strange horseman we saw on the cliff had a hand in it," cried Dick, animatedly; "eh, Bob? Let's see if any of the department store on his back is missing."
A quick search revealed everything in its proper place.
"What does it all mean?" demanded Jack, fiercely. "If some one led the critter back, why did he, or they, leave him here? Nobody could have missed seeing that firelight."
"Ask us a hard one," chirruped Tim. "But isn't this the greatest piece o' luck?"
"And how long do you think the bronc's been here?" asked Dick.
"Another poser," answered Tim. "Perhaps he didn't arrive until after old Luna bobbed up to oversee this part o' the earth again. We could chirp all night about it an' not know. Shall we—"
"We shall," said Dave firmly, between yawns. "The crowd owes a vote of thanks to some person, or persons. Every one is overjoyed, eh? But it mustn't prevent us from getting our sleep. Whose turn on guard is it—yours, Sam?"
"I'm afraid it is."
"That's enough to make all the rest of us afraid."
Smiling broadly, the literary boy walked over to the packhorse, seized his bridle, and when Bob had unloosened the rope began leading him toward their camp.
Excitement all over, the seven became conscious of an unpleasant chill in the air. It nipped their hands and faces, making the prospect of hugging close to a roaring fire doubly attractive. So, like a victorious little army, they hurried along, the moon sending their shadows weirdly straggling over the turf, and it didn't take the boys very long to resume their former positions.
Sam took his turn on guard, and after two hours' lonely vigil aroused Tom.
When morning came, an astonishing discovery was made: Dick Travers had disappeared.
It was Jack Conroy, on the final watch, who noted his absence from among the group of sleepers. And by this time a cold, gray light was spreading slowly out in the east. Ghostly streamers of mist hung low, forming cheerless barriers to the view beyond. A screeching hawk winged its way high up. Jack, chilled and hungry, stopped his almost ceaseless pacing to and fro, and came to a halt before the prostrate figures.
"Hello!" He stared hard, and rubbed his blinking eyes. "Hello! Only five o' 'em," he muttered. "That's mighty odd; where in thunder's Dick? He didn't get up while I've been here, that's sure. Hello, Dick!" He raised his voice. "Hello, Dick!"
Some of the sleepers stirred, but that was all. In the stillness, his voice sounded with a weird, sepulchral tone, and he almost shivered.
"Hello, Dick—I say, Travers, where are you?" roared Jack, beginning to suspect that Dick was trying to play a joke on him. "Come on, now; you'll have to get up earlier'n this to get ahead o' me; trot out!"
Bob Somers hastily unrolled himself from the folds of his blanket and scrambled to his feet; so did Sam and Tommy.
"What's up?" demanded Bob, quickly.
"Dick is," responded Jack.
"Dick?"
"Yes; an' he won't answer me, the silly idiot."
"How's that? He can't be far off."
"Of course he can't; that's what makes it so queer."
The buzz of voices awakened Tim, and soon all but Dave Brandon were upon their feet, eagerly discussing the strange affair.
Sam and Tom explained that during their watches they had paid but little attention to the sleepers.
"Could Dick have left without your knowing it?" asked Bob.
Sam nodded.
"Sure thing, Bob. Sometimes I hiked quite a long distance from the fire."
"Me too," chimed in Tom.
"No 'me too' business here," asserted Jack. "Travers never skipped out while I did my little stunt o' soldierin'; no, sir."
"Oh, cracky! I wonder what it all means!" wailed Tom.
"And so do I," came in drowsy tones from a recumbent figure. "You chaps make such a hullaballoo I—I—can't—sleep."
Dave's eyes were closing again, when a loud "Dick's missing!" from Jack Conroy opened them wide.
"What—what!" gasped the stout boy, promptly raising himself on his elbow. "Dick missing!"
"Sure as shootin', Dave; he beat it, an' without sayin' a word."
"Did he take his gun?"
"Yes; but he couldn't do any huntin' by moonlight; an' why is he stayin' away such a long time, eh?—it's been hours."
Dave, now thoroughly awake, slowly arose, a worried expression on his round face.
"Oh, ho, but it is strange," he murmured. "Risky business to be prowling around alone in this wild country."
"You bet!" came from Jack. "Bears, panthers an' wildcats likely to be hidin' behind any rock or thicket."
"Dick isn't the sort of fellow to do such a thing without having some good reason."
"What could it be, Dave?"
"Goodness only knows."
"Confound it! This is worse than the packhorse mystery," grumbled Tim. "Let's yell again, an' if there's no answer some o' us ought to prospect around in a hurry."
A volume of ear-splitting sounds rushed off into space. But neither it nor several others which followed brought forth the slightest response.
The boys looked at each other with worried faces.
"Gee! I don't like this a bit," confessed Bob.
"If Dick is playin' a joke on us I'll—I'll make him sorry for it," stormed Jack.
"Let's get away from here," cried Tim, dashing toward the horses.
The bronchos were quickly saddled; Bob, Jack and Tim vaulted upon their backs.
"By the time you have grub ready, fellows, we'll probably be here with Dick," cried Bob, as he gave his pony a touch of the quirt.
The three cantered briskly toward a line of vapory blanket which still stretched gloomily across the landscape. A few moments later their forms were enveloped in the mist and the clatter of hoofs quieted down.
Separating, the three rode about for almost an hour, frequently sending over the air the Rambler Club's special signal. But only mocking echoes answered. It seemed as lonely and desolate as a country never before trodden by human beings.
Meanwhile, the sun, shining like burnished gold through gray clouds, rose higher and higher, and the mist became slowly dissipated. From their widely separated positions the boys eagerly scanned the rolling valley, but not a sign of Dick Travers could be seen.
When they came together again, gloomy feelings were mirrored upon their faces.
"Worse and worse," cried Bob. "I'll fire; perhaps he'll hear that."
Crack! A puff of smoke floated slowly off. Crack! Another thin column joined it.
"Nothing!" Bob Somers' voice had a cheerless ring.
They cantered back to camp, where the others, hoping every moment to have their anxiety relieved, awaited them. Their questions showed plainly how much they were disturbed by the unexpected event.
"It beats the Dutch!" cried Sam, after Bob had explained. "Where in the world can old Dick be?"
"I feel sure he's all right," said Dave, though his voice trembled slightly.
Bacon and flapjacks were nicely browned, while a big coffee-pot hissed joyously upon a bed of red-hot coals; but the six had almost forgotten hunger, only taking time to eat so as to sustain their strength.
"Fellows, I move that we go to the end of the cliff; it's a good lookout point," suggested Dave, when the hasty meal was over.
"Bully idea," agreed Jack.
"An' let's go right away," added Tim.
Breakfast dishes, unwashed, were piled into a bag and thrown on the back of a packhorse, and a few moments later, with Sam leading Dick Travers' mount, the bronchos were spread out over the level surface, pounding along at a fast gallop.
The sting of the cold air rushing by seemed to bring out every spark of life in the fiery little animals; they fairly flew, and their riders made no attempt to check the headlong flight until a line of vegetation looming distinctly into view warned them that the edge of the cliff was near.
With almost one accord, they reined up, sprang to the ground, found convenient places to tether their ponies and then walked out to the point upon which Bob and Jack had stood the day before.
Six pairs of eyes keenly scanned the vast stretch of nature. It was Dave Brandon who presently broke the tense silence.
"Look!" he said, simply, extending his arm.
Far off, by the line of timber, they saw a tiny thread-like line of blue rising almost straight in the air.
"Smoke!" yelled Jack, excitedly. "By Jove! A camp-fire—it—it must be Dick's."
"Of course," piped Tom, enthusiastically. "Hooray! Knew all the time he was safe. Wow! Isn't this great, though?"
Bob Somers shook his head.
"No use shouting too soon," he said, reflectively. "Why should Dick have built a fire away down there in the valley?"
"Instead o' comin' back to camp," supplemented Jack.
"Yes!"
"That's the next poser, all right," admitted Tom, with a shade of disappointment. "It might be that horseman Dick and Tim saw up here. And say—"
"Well?" queried Tim.
"Perhaps Dick and he happened to run across each other, and Dick thought he'd stay with him for a while, just for a lark, eh?"
This idea did not appeal to the others.
"Not on your life," scoffed Tim.
"Suppose we fire off a few rounds," suggested Dave. "If Mr. Unknown should happen to hear the racket, he might come out from that timber and favor us with a view of himself."
"You're certainly the candy kid, all right," laughed Bob, taking the field-glass from its case. "Go ahead with the firing."
Several guns were immediately pointed in the air.
"One—two—three!" counted Bob.
A thunderous report which almost deafened them was carried off on the slight breeze.
Bob had his eyes to the field-glass. The thread-like line of smoke became a whirling column, apparently close at hand. In eager expectancy, he kept the instrument directed close around it, uttering an exclamation as a hoped-for event actually occurred.
A boy was seen moving about at the edge of the timber.
Presently he came out into the open, looking so clear and distinct that something strangely familiar in his appearance made Bob draw a long, deep breath.
"Goodness gracious!"
"Now what?" cried Jack, impatiently. "These—"
Perceiving that Bob had extended the glass toward him, he stopped suddenly and seized it.
"By all that's wonderful!"
In the field of view Jack saw a short, stocky figure, easily recognizable. Then:
"Pete Colliver!" fell from his lips.