Frank Merriwell's Triumph Part 11

Was Wiley a traitor? This question, which flashed through Frank's mind, seemed answered in the affirmative by the behavior of the sailor, who was chatting on intimate terms with his new a.s.sociates.

Of course Frank had decided at once that Shawmut and Henry had somehow learned of his expedition in search of Benson Clark's lost mine and had followed him. Henry's left hand was swathed in a blood-stained bandage, the sight of which convinced the watching youth that it was this fellow who had s.n.a.t.c.hed the map and who afterward had been winged in the pursuit. In spite of appearances, Frank did not like to believe that Cap'n Wiley had played him false. From his position he was able to hear the conversation of the trio, and so he lay still and listened.

"We sartain is all right here fer ter-night," observed Shawmut. "We will never be disturbed any afore morning."

"Perchance you are right, mate," said the sailor; "but in the morning we must seek the seclusion of some still more secure retreat. My late a.s.sociate, the only and original Frank Merriwell, will be considerable aroused over what has happened. I am positive it will agitate his equipoise to a protracted extent. My vivid imagination pictures a look of supine astonishment on his intellectual countenance when he returns and finds his whole outfit and little Walter vanished into thin, pellucid air."

Shawmut laughed hoa.r.s.ely.

"I certain opine he was knocked silly," he said.

"But he is a bad man," put in Henry. "To-morrow he rakes this valley with a fine-toothed comb. And he is a heap keerless with his shooting irons. Look at this yere paw of mine. He done that, and some time I'll settle with him."

The fellow snarled the final words as he held up his bandaged hand.

"Yes," nodded the sailor, "he has a way of shooting in a most obstreperous manner. The only thing that is disturbing my mental placitude is that he may take to the war path in search of my lovely scalp."

"Confound you!" thought Frank, in great anger. "So you are a traitor, after all! Hodge was right about you. You're due for a very unpleasant settlement with me, Cap'n Wiley."

"What binds me to you with links of steel, mates," said the sailor, "is the fact that you are well supplied with that necessary article of exuberancy known to the vulgar and unpoetical as tanglefoot. Seems to me it's a long time between drinks."

"You certain must have a big thirst," observed Shawmut, as he produced a cold bottle and held it toward the sailor, who immediately arose and clutched it with both hands.

"Mates, it has been so long since I have looked a drink in the face that it seems like a total stranger to me. Excuse me while I absorb a small portion of mountain dew."

His pipe was dropped, and he wiped the mouth of the bottle with his hand after drawing the cork. He then placed the bottle to his lips and turned its bottom skyward.

"So it is for that stuff you sell your friends, is it?" thought Frank.

Having remained with his eyes closed and the bottle upturned for some moments, the sailor finally lowered it and heaved a sigh of mingled satisfaction and regret.

"My only sorrow," he said, "is that I haven't a neck as long as a giraffe's. If the giraffe should take to drink, what delight he would enjoy in feeling the ardent trickle down his oozle! Have something on me, boys."

He then returned the bottle, and the ruffians drank from it.

"There," said Wiley, picking up his pipe, "my interior anatomy glows with golden rapture. I am once more myself. Oh, booze, thou art the comforter of mankind! You cause the poor man to forget his sorrows and his misfortunes. For him you build bright castles and paint glorious pictures. For him you remove far away the cares and troubles of life.

You make him a king, even while you make him still more of a pauper. You give him at first all the joys of the world and at last the delirium tremens.

"Next to women, you are the best thing and the worst thing in this whole wide world. Mates, you see I am both a poet and a philosopher. It's no disparagement to me, for I was born that way, and I can't help it. Ever since my joyful boyhood days on Negro Island I have looked with a loving eye on the beauties of nature and on the extracted fluid of the corn.

But what of this world's riches has my mighty intellect and my poetic soul brought me? I am still a poor man."

"But you won't be long arter we diskeevers this mine," said Shawmut. "If you sticks by us, we gives you a third share."

"Your generosity overwhelms me. But it must not be forgotten that we yet have Frank Merriwell to dispose of. It is vain for you to try to frighten him away from this valley. Last night you attempted it with your spook trick, but it didn't work."

"What's that?" exclaimed Henry. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh," said the sailor, "you can't deceive little Walter. We heard you doing that spook turn. But it was time wasted."

Henry and Shawmut exchanged puzzled looks.

"You certain will have to explain what you are driving at," growled Shawmut.

"Don't you know?"

"None whatever."

"I fear you are still seeking to deceive me."

"Not a bit of it," averred Henry. "Whatever was yer talking about, Wiley?"

"Why, last eve, after we had partaken of our repast and were disporting ourselves in comfort on the bosom of mother earth, there came through the atmosphere above us a singing voice which sang a sweet song all about dead men and such things. Afterward the voice warned us to hoist anchor, set sail, and get out of this port. It claimed to be the voice of Benson Clark, the man who first found the mine here, and who was afterward shot full of holes by some amus.e.m.e.nt-seeking redskins. I surely fancied you were concerned in that little joke, mates."

Both the ruffians shook their heads.

"We has nothing to do with it," denied Shawmut.

"Well, now it is indeed a deep, dark mystery," observed the sailor. "Do you suppose, mates, that the spook of Benson Clark is lingering in this vicinity?"

"We takes no stock in spooks," a.s.serted Henry.

"And thus you show your deep logical sense," slowly nodded the sailor.

"I congratulate you; but the mystery of that voice is unsolved, and it continues to perplex me."

The listening man high up on the embankment was also perplexed. If Shawmut and Henry knew nothing of the mysterious warning voice, the enigma was still unsolved. As he thought of this matter, Merry soon decided that these ruffians had spoken the truth in denying all knowledge of the affair. These men talked in the rough dialect of their kind. The unseen singer had not used that dialect; and, therefore, the mystery of the valley remained a mystery still.

Frank continued to watch and listen.

"It's no spook we're worried about," declared Henry. "If we dispose of this yere Merriwell, we will be all right. With you ter help us, Wiley, we oughter do the trick."

"Sure, sure," agreed the sailor.

"Thar is three of us," said Shawmut, "and that certain makes us more than a match for them. The kid and the crazy galoot don't count. We has only Merriwell and Hodge to buck against."

"They are quite enough, mates--quite enough," put in the sailor. "We will have to get up early in the morning to get ahead of them."

"This yere Merriwell certain is no tenderfoot," agreed Shawmut.

Wiley arose and slapped the speaker on the shoulder in a friendly, familiar manner.

"Now you're talking," he nodded. "He is a bad man with a record longer than your arm. I have dealt with hundreds of them, however; and I think my colossal brain will be more than a match for him. Did you ever hear how I got the best of Bat Masterson? It's a thrilling tale. Listen and I will unfold it to you. You know Bat was the real thing. Beyond question, he was the worst bad man that ever perambulated the border. Yet I humbled him to his knees and made him beg for mercy. That was some several years ago. At that time--"

Wiley was fairly launched on one of his yarns, but at that moment Frank Merriwell heard a slight movement and attempted to turn quickly, when he was given a thrust by a powerful pair of hands, which hurled him forward from the embankment and sent him whirling down toward the tent below.

Frank struck on the tent, which served to break his fall somewhat, but he was temporarily stunned. When he recovered, he found himself bound hand and foot and his three captors surveying him by the light of the fire.

"Well, wouldn't it jar you!" exclaimed the sailor. "It was almost too easy. Why, mates, he must 'a' been up there listening to our innocent conversation, and somehow he lost his hold and took a tumble."

Shawmut laughed hoa.r.s.ely.