The Mark On The Door Part 8

"That was a narrow escape," he said to the Hardy boys. "This species is very like a poison cactus, but fortunately it isn't. Another variety-----"

"And harmless?" asked Joe.

"Quite harmless," he replied, greatly to their comfort. "After this, do not drink from a cactus unless you ask me about it first. Some of them contain poison, while others hold a drug that would put you to sleep in a few minutes. It's very fortunate that you happened to drink from a harmless one."

Juan mopped the sweat from his brow. He had been trembling with fear.

"That gave me a bad scare," he admitted.

'' How about me ?'' asked Joe with a grin. '' I thought Twas going to drop dead on the spot."

"A miss is as good as a mile," said Frank, climbing back on his horse. "Let's get going.

That was a lesson we'll remember for a while."

The four resumed their journey across the great desert, interested in the bright-hued lizards that lay sunning themselves lazily in the sand. Occasionally a great horned toad *would hop across their path. ( ( They finally came to a b.u.t.te of reddish rock, deeply seamed and worn away by the impact 92 of sand blown against it in the course of years. As they were riding around it Senor Mar-cheta's horse suddenly lurched, then stumbled and fell. The Mexican was a good horseman, and managed to slip one foot out of the stirrup and leap to the ground just as the animal went sprawling. The horse had stepped into a hole that had been hidden from view by a hillock of sand. When the rest of the party dismounted and went over to the steed, they saw that its leg was oddly twisted.

"Broken," said Senor Marcheta, after several vain attempts to help the horse to its feet.

Juan whistled ruefully.

"I guess that puts an end to the trip," he said.

Senor Marcheta did not answer. He was examining the animal's leg. After a while he stood up and drew a revolver from his belt. He patted the horse's head gently.

"Good-bye, old fellow," he said. "I can't leave you to die of thirst in the desert." Then, turning about, he said to the boys, "Look the other way!"

After they had done so a shot rang out. When the boys looked around again the horse was lying motionless in the sand.

"We cannot go ahead, that is certain," said Juan. "You'll have to ride with me, Father."

"It is too bad, especially when we have come 93 go far," said Senor Marcheta reluctantly. Then he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed out across the desert. "Someone is coming," he remarked. out across the desert. "Someone is coming," he remarked.

Frank and Joe could see no one. They could distinguish nothing but rolling sand dunes extending like great waves far into the distance. However, a moment later a figure began to rise above the crest of one of the dunes. First they saw his head, then his shoulders, then the head of a horse. Finally animal and rider came over the top of the dune. The man reined in his steed, stood up in the stirrups, and gazed at the travelers.

He was a magnificent figure in the sunlight; a tall, broad-shouldered Indian with coppery skin, riding a wiry little pony. A moment later, satisfied that Senor Marcheta's party were friendly, he dug his heels into the pony's flanks and rode toward them.

"A full-blooded Yaqui Indian," explained Juan as the stranger approached. "Perhaps he'll be able to help us."

The Yaqui raised his arm in greeting as he came up. Senor Marcheta uttered a cry of recognition.

"Why, I know this man!" he exclaimed. "He once worked for me."

It was evident that the Yaqui also recognized Befior Marcheta. They exchanged a few 94 friendly words in Spanish. Frank and Joe were greatly interested in the newcomer. They had never seen a finer specimen of manhood. He was powerfully built, lean and athletic, with the clear eyes and untroubled face of one who lives close to nature.

Senor Marcheta and the Indian talked for some time. Finally Juan's father turned to the boys.

"The Yaqui has offered to take one of us back to town with him for another pony. It will be too heavy a load for his horse if I ride with him."

"I'll go," said Frank readily.

"Are you sure you won't mind?"

"Not a bit of it. But do you think I could find my way back again?"

"The Yaqui will come back with you. He couldn't get lost in the desert if he tried. He has promised to guide us when he returns. In fact, he tells me that the oasis known as the 'Headquarters' isn't very far from here."

The Indian rose in his stirrups and extended his arm toward the northeast, where a distant line of dunes stretched out before them.

'' Over there,'' he said. '' Not far. When the sun sets you will be close."

Arrangements were quickly made for the exchange of horses. Senor Marcheta took Frank's pony while the elder Hardy boy 95 climbed up into the saddle behind the Yaqui. A few moments later the two parties separated, prank and the Indian toward the town, Joe and the Marchetas heading on into the desert.

The sun was just sinking toward the western horizon in a blaze of glowing light, when Juan suddenly reined in his pony.

"We must be careful now," he said. "I think I see a camp against the sky. Yes-there are trees-and tents."

"Your young eyes are better than mine," said Senor Marcheta, coming to a stop. "I can see nothing."

They had halted at the top of a low b.u.t.te. Great sunbaked leagues of desert stretched il-limitably before them. Joe followed the direction of Juan's gaze, and in the distance could barely distinguish a few trees silhouetted against the sky.

"It is the oasis," said Juan. "I think we had better stay here until it becomes dark."

They dismounted, and ate a hearty meal from the provisions they had taken with them from the inn. Beneath the rim of the b.u.t.te they knew they were secure from observation by anyone in the distant camp. The sky flamed with glorious colors as the sun slowly sank beyond the horizon. Darkness came swiftly, bringing a welcome coolness after the heat of the day.

96 "We shall ride on now," decided Senor Mar-cheta finally.

The sky blazed with stars. The pink glow of a campfire indicated the location of the oasis as the party rode ahead. Fortunately the successive sand dunes afforded plenty of cover so that they were ahle to approach within half a mile of the place without fear of being observed. Then, in a little hollow out of sight of the camp, they hobbled their horses.

"Let's creep up closer," suggested Juan. "Maybe we can learn who is camping there."

Senor Marcheta was dubious.

"We may learn nothing, and if we are seen we may get a bullet or two for our curiosity,"

he said.

"Perhaps Pedro is here. We can't give up now, after having come so far."

Senor Marcheta was fully alive to the dangers of .stealing up to spy on a desert camp in the dead of night, but Juan and Joe finally persuaded him to do so.

"For a little while, then," he agreed. "But you must not go too close. They have sharp ears, these people of the desert."

The three made their way to the top of the dune. Now they could see the campfire clearly. The light shone on a scattered group of tents and on the calm waters of the oasis, in which the clear stars were reflected as if in a mirror.

97 Figures moved to and fro in the ruddy firelight. Soft music came from a guitar.

Bit by bit Joe and his companions crept over the crest and moved silently down the slope in the direction of the oasis. The Hardy boy's heart was pounding with excitement. The three made scarcely a sound in the soft, yielding sand a? they crept closer to the camp. The night was very still. The music of the guitar thrummed dreamily. They heard a burst of laughter, and a man approached the fire. He threw on fresh fuel so that the flames leaped higher.

"I wonder if Pedro is really here?" said Joe in low tones.

"Perhaps we shall soon know," Juan replied.

There was a warning whisper from Senor Marcheta.

" Silence 1"

CHAPTER XII.

THE PRISONER.

when Senor Marcheta and th< two="" boya="" were="" close="" enough="" to="" the="" camp="" to="" distinguish="" what="" was="" going="" on,="" they="" lay="" perfectly="" still="" in="" the="" sand.="" they="" were="" at="" a="" safe="" distance="" beyond="" the="" radiance="" of="" the="" fire="" and="" well="" in="" the="" shadows="" of="" a="" sand="" dune="" that="" would="" afford="" protection="" of="" a="" kind,="" should="" they="" be="" forced="" to="" beat="" a="" hasty="">

The firelight shone upon about a dozen men and women who appeared to be gypsies.

They were clad in quaint, colorful costumes, and two of the girls were dancing to the soft music of the guitar. After a while a man lying near one of the tents began to sing. It was evident that the party had no suspicion that they were being watched.

Suddenly Joe gripped Juan's arm.

'' Look!" he whispered. '' On the flap of the largest tent. Do you see if?"

Juan followed the direction of Joe's pointing finger.

"I see a mark," he whispered in reply98 99 "The fire is burning too low to give enough light for me to make it out clearly. Ah, the flames are rising again. I can see better now. Why, it is the same-the same mark------"

"That was on the door of your home," returned Joe excitedly.

They could see it distinctly now in the light east by the flickering flames. It was the familiar symbol of the letter P in a blaze of f.a.gots, the same strange symbol the Hardy boys had found on the door of Pedro Vincenzo 's 's room in Bayport. Juan and Joe were puzzled room in Bayport. Juan and Joe were puzzled over this odd coincidence, with the latter positive now that Pedro Vincenzo must have some connection with the camp.

The music died away, the dancing girls crouched down beside the fire, and a man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall and dark-skinned, with coal black hair, and wore a 'sc.r.a.pe flung carelessly about his shoulders. flung carelessly about his shoulders.

He began to speak to the others in Spanish, *which Joe could not understand. Juan, however, listened intently and after a while translated the speaker's remarks.

"He is complaining," whispered Juan. "He Bays they have not been paid for a long time.

Their supplies are running low. He wants to know if the others are content to wait here much longer."

There was a low murmur of dissent from the i*fc 100 men around the fire. The speaker paced up and down, gesticulating, talking in a loud, harsh voice.

Juan gave a start of surprise.

"Pedro!" he whispered. "He mentions the name Pedro."

He listened for a while, then continued.

"If Pedro does not come soon they will have to go out and steal."

One of the listeners spoke up in a quiet, authoritative voice. Juan translated: "This man says that they must not steal. They are fools, he tells them, to wait for Pedro.

He believes something has happened to Pedro, that he is either dead or in jail, and that he will never return."

The man in the serape serape-the one who seemed obviously to be the leader of the band-then spoke again.

"He is suggesting that they break camp and go home. It is only a day's ride west of the oasis."

The leader's talk seemed to make a distinct impression upon his followers. One man after another got up and spoke. Juan had some difficulty keeping up with them, but the sum and substance of it all appeared to be that they thought they had waited long enough, and that they would risk starvation in the desert should they remain.

101 "Pedro is not with them, that is certain," whispered Senior Marcheta. "I believe these are Pedro Pancho's followers, beyond a doubt. We have come on a wild-goose chase."

The leader then raised his hand for silence. He spoke only a few words, but what he said was evidently important. No one answered him and all his followers looked uneasily at one another.

"I cannot understand this," Juan whispered. "He asks them what they are to do with the American prisoner."

"Prisoner!" Joe almost shouted aloud. To him the words 'American prisoner' could mean only one man and that man was Elmer Trem-mer, the missing witness.

Juan glanced curiously at Joe. He could not understand the reason for the other lad's excitement. He listened as the leader of the gang went on speaking.

"He is saying," Juan whispered finally, "that Pedro may never come for the prisoner if they take the American into the mountains with them. He is suggesting that they leave the man in the desert."

Evidently this idea was not favored by the others. Two or three of the men grunted objections. One of them, according to Juan, said that they must keep the prisoner if they ever hoped to get money from Pedro.

102 The Mark on the Boor "Pedro may come. If we do not have the prisoner he will never pay us. But if we have the prisoner we can force Pedro to give us our money," the fellow argued.

Joe was greatly agitated. He craned his neck as he tried to get a better view of the camp, and attempted to see the faces of the people around the fire.

"I want to know more about that American," he whispered to Juan. "I wonder where they keep him. I'm going closer."

"Don't be foolish," the Mexican boy urged. "You may be caught."

"I'll be careful."

Although Juan and Senor Marcheta begged him to remain where he was, Joe began to crawl away through the sand. He wanted to work around to the rear of the camp in the hope that he might learn where the prisoner was being kept. In a few moments the darkness swallowed him up. Juan and his father were left alone on the slope.

Joe kept well out of range of the firelight. He crept slowly around toward the back of the tents, but this spot was quite deserted. Was the prisoner in one of the tents?

He was positive that the man must be Elmer Tremmer and that Pedro had left him there in charge of this roving band of natives. In any case, if the prisoner was an American he must be rescued. Perhaps when Frank and the Yaqui returned they might be able to think up a plan.

Some distance over toward the big pool of water that shone in the starlight Joe caught sight of a figure lying in the sand. Another form was crouching nearby, the figure of a native with a blanket flung over his shoulders and a rifle across his knees.

Joe went as close as he dared. He could hear the sounds of talk and laughter from the direction of the campfire. The rifle bearer stirred uneasily and looked about him. Joe lay motionless. The man s.h.i.+fted the blanket a little and settled down again. The figure in the sand did not move.

Inch ~by ~by inch Joe crept nearer. He was sure that the man with the rifle was a guard and inch Joe crept nearer. He was sure that the man with the rifle was a guard and that the other was the American prisoner. The boy edged around so that he was behind the crouching form.