Frank Merriwell's Triumph Part 20

"He would have blessed me with a knife between my ribs had I been deceived by him," a.s.serted Merriwell. "In my saddlebags you will find some stout cord. Give it to me."

A few moments later, in spite of his occasional struggles, the captured rascal was securely bound.

"There," said Merry, "I think that will hold you for a while. Now, boys, I am going to see what has become of the holy father. This is his cloak."

"You're not going back there alone," protested d.i.c.k, at once.

"Not on your life!" agreed Buckhart. "We are with you, Frank."

They followed him into the yard, where the darkness was now deep, and came together to the entrance of the mission, but without discovering anything of the aged monk. Standing in the corridor, they peered in at the yawning door, but could see or hear nothing. Frank called to the monk, but only echoes answered him from the black interior of the mission.

"Here's where you may get all the fight you want, Buckhart," he said grimly. "Be ready for anything, boys."

"I am a heap ready, you bet your boots!" answered the Texan, who had a pistol in his hand.

"Same here," said d.i.c.k.

Frank struck a match on the cemented wall. A cold wind from the interior of the building came rus.h.i.+ng through the open door and blew it out. It was like the breath of some dangerous, unseen monster hidden within the mission. Merry promptly struck another match. This time he shaded it with his hands and protected it until it sprang into a strong glow.

Then, with his hands concaved behind it, he advanced through the doorway, throwing its light forward. Almost immediately an exclamation escaped his lips, for a few feet within, lying on the cold floor, he discovered a human form. As he bent over the figure, he saw to his dismay it was the monk from whose body the brown cloak had been stripped.

Then the match went out.

"Is he dead, Frank?" whispered d.i.c.k.

"I can't tell," answered Merry. "I didn't get a fair look at him. We will know in a moment."

He lighted another match and bent over the prostrate man. The light showed him the eyes of the monk fixed stonily on his face. It also showed him that a gag had been forced between the old man's teeth and fastened there. The father was bound securely with a lariat.

"He is far from dead!" exclaimed Merry, in satisfaction. "Here, d.i.c.k, cut this rope and set him free. Get that gag out of his mouth, while I hold matches for you to do so."

Soon the rope was cut, the gag removed, and together they lifted the old man to his feet. Frank then picked him up and carried him out into the open air.

"You seem to have met with misfortune, father," he said. "I sincerely hope you are not harmed much."

"My son," quavered the agitated monk, "it is not my body that is harmed; it is my spirit. Against no living creature in all the world would I raise my hand. Why should any one seize me and choke me in such a manner? Much less, why should any who profess to be of the holy faith do such a thing?"

"They were frauds, father--frauds and rascals of the blackest dye."

"But two of them came here to pray," murmured the priest, as if he could not believe such a thing possible. "Have we not suffered indignities enough? Our lands have been taken from us and we have been stripped of everything."

"They were infidels, father. You may be sure of that."

"Infidels and impostors!" exclaimed the old man, with a slight show of spirit. "But I couldn't think men who spoke the language of old Spain and who prayed to Heaven could be such base creatures."

"What they certain deserve," growled Buckhart, unable to repress his indignation longer, "is to be shot up a whole lot, and I'd sure like the job of doing it."

"I don't understand it--I cannot understand it!" muttered the monk.

"It's far beyond me to comprehend. Why did they set upon me, my son?" he questioned, his unsteady hand touching Frank's arm. "Why did they seek to slay you?"

"Wait a minute, father, and I will explain," said Merry.

He then told briefly of the abduction of Felicia and his pursuit of her captors. As he spoke, the aged listener betrayed some signs of excitement.

"My son, is all this true?" he solemnly questioned. "You are not one of our faith, yet your words ring true."

"I swear it, father."

"Then I have been twice deceived!" cried the old man, with surprising energy, shaking his hands in the empty air. "Yesterday there came here two men and a sweet-faced child. They told me they were taking her home.

I believed them. With her they knelt at the shrine to pray. I blessed them, and they went on their way."

"At last!" burst from Merry's lips. "Now there's no question. Now we know we're on the right trail! Father, that little girl is a cousin of my half-brother here. He will tell you if I have spoken the truth."

"Every word of it is true," affirmed d.i.c.k, who spoke Spanish as fluently as Frank. "If you can tell us whither they were taking her, father, you may aid us greatly in our search for her."

"Alas! it is not possible for me to tell you! I know that they were bound eastward. Beyond these mountains are the great San Bernardino plains, a mighty and trackless desert. Where they could go in that direction I cannot say."

"Is it possible to cross the desert?" questioned d.i.c.k.

"It is a waste of burning sand. Who tries to cross it on foot or mounted is almost certain to leave his bones somewhere in that desert."

"Then if they kept straight on----"

"If they kept straight on," said the old monk, "I fear greatly you will never again behold the child you seek."

"They are not fools!" exclaimed Frank. "It is not likely they will try to cross the desert. The fact that they have taken so much trouble to endeavor to check pursuit here is proof they felt hard pushed. Is there no town, no human habitation beyond these mountains?"

"No town," declared the father. "Straight over to the east you will come to the El Diablo Valley. It is deep and wild, and in it are some ruined buildings of stone and cement. Tradition says they were built long ago by Joaquin Murietta, a Californian outlaw, who waged war on all Americans. He expected to retreat there some day and defend himself against all a.s.sailants. At least, so the legend runs, although I much doubt if he built the castle which is now called Castle Hidalgo. Of late it has another occupant, who has taken the name of Joaquin--Black Joaquin he is called."

"Well, this is somewhat interesting, too," declared Merry. "Is this new Joaquin endeavoring to follow in the footsteps of his predecessor?"

"I believe there is a price upon his head."

Merry turned to d.i.c.k with sudden conviction.

"Our trail leads to Castle Hidalgo," he a.s.serted. "I am satisfied of that. I am also satisfied that I have here encountered some of Black Joaquin's satellites."

"And I will wager something," d.i.c.k added, "that we have one of them this minute, bound hand and foot, a short distance away."

"That's right," said Frank, "and we may be able to squeeze a little information from him. Father, the man who has your cloak is outside the gate. Perhaps you may know him. Come and look at him."

Together they left the yard and came to the spot where the man with the scar was supposed to be. On the ground lay the old monk's cloak, but the man was gone. Undoubtedly he had been set free by some of his comrades.

CHAPTER X.

THREE IN A TRAP.