Frank Merriwell's Triumph Part 36

"Ugh!" was the only reply vouchsafed.

Somehow that grunt seemed familiar. Bart had heard it before, but it simply increased his amazement. Lowering the rifle, he stared wonderingly.

"Great Scott!" he breathed. "Is it possible? Are you old Joe?"

"Heap same," was the curt answer.

In a twinkling Bart dropped the rifle on the table and strode forward to shake the hand of an old friend.

"Old Joe Crowfoot!" he shouted. "Where under the stars did you drop from?"

"Joe he come visit. How, how!"

"Why, you amazing old Nomad!" cried Bart, in delight. "You're always turning up just when you're wanted the most, and if ever you were wanted it is now."

"Frank him not here?"

"No."

"Joe he want see Frank."

"If that's the case, you will have to wait a while."

"Strong Heart he better be here," declared the aged redskin. "Heap lot o' trouble pretty soon."

"That's right, Joe. But how do you know anything about it?"

"Joe he know. Him no fool. Him find out."

Bart had extended his hand, and now he a.s.sisted the old man to his feet.

Although old Joe tried to conceal the fact, he seemed rather stiff in his joints just then.

"What's the matter, Crowfoot?" questioned Bart. "Rheumatism troubles you again?"

"Debble got old Joe in his bones," indignantly returned the savage. "Old Joe him no good any more. Make old Joe mad when him think he no good."

Under other circ.u.mstances the indignation of the redskin over his infirmities might have been somewhat amusing.

"But tell me--tell me how you came to be here at this time," questioned Hodge. "We last saw you away up in Wyoming. You said then that you'd never travel south again."

"Heap think so then. When winter he come Joe have debble ache in his bones plenty bad. Sabe?"

"And so the rheumatism and cold weather drove you south, eh?"

"One time," said the redskin, drawing his blanket about his shoulders with an air of dignity, "Joe him face cold and never feel um. One time him no care how cold. One time he laugh at snow and ice. Then all him bones be good. Then old Joe a heap strong to hunt. Now it ain't the same. Once Joe him hunt the grizzly bear for game; now he hunt poker."

In spite of himself, Bart was forced to smile. He knew something of the skill of old Joe at the white man's game of poker, and the thought of the old Indian who had once tracked the grizzly now turned to gambling was both amusing and remarkable.

"So that is what brought you south. You turned this way to escape the cold and to find at the same time the kind of game you were after?"

"Heap so," nodded Crowfoot, as he produced from beneath his blanket a greasy pack of cards. "I came to play some. Mebbe I find um good players here."

"I don't know where, Joe," said Hodge.

"Mebbe over yon," suggested the Indian, waving his hand toward the southern end of the valley.

"See here, Joe," said Bart, "those men down there are my enemies. They have betrayed me. There are valuable mines in this valley, and they belong to Frank Merriwell and myself. These ruffians mean to seize them.

Even now they are ready to shoot me on sight, and intend to drop Frank when he appears."

"Heap bad," observed Joe, without betraying the slightest emotion.

"Bad!" cried Hodge. "I should say so!"

"Too many for you, Black Eyes," a.s.serted the redskin. "Mebbe you pull up stake and lope?"

"Not by a blamed sight!" grated Hodge. "I will stay here and defend these mines as long as I am able to lift a weapon."

The Indian shook his head.

"Heap young, heap young," he declared, as if speaking to himself. "Blood hot. Joe him know. Once him blood hot."

"Well, you don't suppose I'd let them drive me out, do you?" indignantly demanded Hodge. "You don't think I'd betray Frank like that! He left me here in charge of the property, and here I will remain. I want you to stick by me, Joe."

"Ugh!" grunted the old fellow noncommittally. "Mebbe not much difference to old Joe. I may croak pretty soon now. Mebbe only make it some quicker."

"Perhaps that's right," said Hodge slowly. "I have no right to ask you to lose your life in helping me fight against overwhelming odds. It's not your quarrel, Joe. You can do as you please."

"Joe him think it over," said the Indian. "No like to see Frank lose um mines, but him have plenty more."

Bart turned away, not without a feeling of disappointment. As he did so, through the still open door he caught a glimpse of a man who was advancing toward the cabin. Instantly he strode toward the door, and his eyes rested on Texas Bland, who was several rods away.

"Oh, Mr. Hodge!" Bland called at once. "I want yer ter come over yon.

The men has quit work, and they refuse to strike another stroke."

Trying to repress and conceal his indignation, Bart asked, as if wholly unsuspicious of the real situation:

"What's the matter, Bland?"

"I dunno," lied the scoundrel. "I can't make 'em work; perhaps you can, sir."

Suddenly, almost without being aware of what was happening, Bart permitted his hot indignation to get the best of his judgment.

Instantly, as he stepped out of the cabin, he blazed:

"You're lying, Bland, and I know it! I am on to the whole dastardly game! You're at the bottom of it, too! You have incited the men to mutiny. I know your plot, you treacherous whelp! I know you meant to get me over there for the purpose of a.s.sa.s.sinating me. The end of this business will be a rope for you, Bland. Go back and tell your dogs I am onto their game. Go back and bring them here. They will meet a hot reception!"

Texas Bland had been astonished, but now, quick as a flash, he whipped out a revolver for the purpose of taking a shot at Hodge, whose hands were empty. Rapid though he was in his movements, he was not quick enough, for within the cabin sounded the loud report of a rifle, and the bullet knocked Bland's pistol from his hand, smas.h.i.+ng two of his fingers.