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by Margaret Burnham

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Title: The Girl Aviators on Golden Wings

Author: Margaret Burnham

Release Date: September, 2004  [EBook #6459]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on December 15, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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No. 2 of a series.


THE GIRL AVIATORS ON GOLDEN WINGS

By Margaret Burnham





CHAPTER I

THE GREAT ALKALI


"And so this is the great Nevada desert!"

Peggy Prescott wrinkled her nose rather disdainfully as she gazed
from the open window of the car out over the white, glittering
expanse--dotted here and there with gloomy-looking clumps of sage
brush--through which they had been traveling for some little time
past.

"This is it," nodded her brother Roy; "what do you think of it,
sis?"

"Um--er, I shall have to wait a while before I answer that,"
rejoined Peggy judicially.

"Well, here's Jimsy; let's ask him," cried Roy, as a lad of his own
age, accompanied by a slender, graceful girl, came down the aisle of
the car and approached the section in which the two young Prescotts
were sitting.

"Jimsy Bancroft," demanded Roy, "we are now on the great Nevada
desert, or on the edge of it.  Does it meet with your approval?"

"There's plenty of it anyhow," laughed Jimsy, "and really it's very
much like what I expected it would be."

"I feel like a regular cowgirl or--a--er--well, what the newspapers
call a typical Westerner already," said Jess Bancroft, Jimsy's
sister.

"Only typical Westerners don't protect their delicate complexions
from dust with cold cream," laughed Peggy, holding up a finger
reprovingly.  "As if any beauty magazine won't tell you it's a
woman's duty to take the greatest care of her complexion," parried
Jess.  "Roy and I have been sitting out on the observation platform
on the last coach--that is, we sat there till the dust drove us in."

She shook the folds of a long, light pongee automobile coat she wore
and a little cloud of dust arose.  They all coughed as the pungent
stuff circulated.

"Ugh," cried Roy, "it makes your eyes smart."

"That's the alkali in it," quoth Jimsy sagely, "alkali is--"

"Very unpleasant," coughed Peggy.

"But as we are likely to have to endure it for the next few weeks,"
struck in Roy, "we might as well lose no time in getting accustomed
to it."

"Well girls and boys," came a deep, pleasant voice behind them, "we
shall be in Blue Creek in a short time now, so gather up your
belongings.  I'll take care of the aeroplane outfits and the other
stuff in the baggage car," he went on, "and here comes Miss Prescott
now."

The lady referred to was a sweet-faced woman of some fifty years of
age, though it was easy to see that the years had dealt kindly with
her during her placid life in the village of Sandy Beach, on Long
Island, New York, where she had made, her home.  Miss Prescott was
the aunt of the two Prescott children, and since their father's
death some time before had been both mother and father to them--their
own mother having passed away when they were but small children.

As readers of the first volume of this series know, Mr. Prescott had
been an inventor of some distinction.  Dying, he had confided to his
son and daughter his plans for a non-capsizable aeroplane of great
power.  His son had promised to carry on the work, and had devoted
his legacy to this purpose.

In that volume, which was called "The Girl Aviators and the Phantom
Airship," it will be recalled, it was told how Peggy had been of
material aid to her brother in his plans and hopes, and had, in
reality, "saved the day" for him when he fell into the hands of some
enemies.  This occurred on the eve of a great aeroplane contest in
which Roy had entered in the hopes of winning the first prize.  With
the money thus obtained he planned to pay off a mortgage held on
Miss Prescott's home by an unscrupulous old banker, whose son was
the prime mover in the plots against Roy.

One of the means adopted to force him to sell his secrets was the
manipulation of a phantom aeroplane which, for a time, sadly puzzled
the lad and his sister.  The mystery was solved in a strange way,
however, and almost at the same time, the baffling problem of what
had become of Mrs. Bancroft's jewels was also unraveled.  All this
did not take place without many adventures being encountered by the
four chums. Among these was the encounter with the old hermit, Peter
Bell, who, through Peggy's agency, was restored to his brother,
James Bell, the millionaire western mining man.

James Bell became much interested in the Prescotts and their
aeroplanes.  Finally he made an advantageous proposal to Roy to
travel West and operate for him a line of aeroplanes from some
desert mines he had discovered on a trip which almost cost him his
life.  As autos could not cross the alkali, and transportation of
the product by wagons would have been prohibitive in cost, as well
as almost impossible to achieve, Mr. Bell had hit on the happy idea
of conveying the precious product of his property by aeroplane.

At the same time, it so happened that Mr. Bancroft, the father of
Jess and Jimsy, was summoned West by an important railroad deal.
This being the case, Jess and Jimsy at once set to work plotting how
they could gain their father's consent to their accompanying Peggy
and Roy.  It was finally gained, although Mrs. Bancroft shook her
head over the matter, and, at first, would by no means hear of such
a thing.  But Mr. Bancroft urged that it would be a good thing for
the children to see the great West, and that as Miss Prescott was to
accompany the party, there would be no risk of their running wild.

But while the youngsters had all been so eager for the time to come
for starting on their long journey that they could hardly eat, much
less sleep, Miss Prescott had viewed with alarm the prospects ahead
of her.  In her mind the West was a vague jumble of rough cowboys,
Indians, highwaymen and desperate characters in general.  But there
was no help for it.  In addition to feeling it was her duty to
accompany her young charges, her physician had also recommended her
to seek the dry, rarefied air of the great Nevada plateau.

"It will be the very thing for your lungs, my dear madame," he had
said; "they are by no means as strong as I could wish."

"Oh, but doctor, the Indians, the--the--" Miss Prescott had begun,
when the physician cut her short.

"The only Indians left in the West now are all busy working for Wild
West shows," he said, with a laugh; "and as for any other fancied
cause of alarm, I dare say you will find the Western men quite as
chivalrous and courteous as their Eastern brethren."

And so it happened that the dust-covered train was rolling across
the arid solitudes at the edge of the great alkali desert with our
party of friends on board.  All were looking forward to adventures,
but how strange and unexpected some of the happenings that befell
them were to be not one of the party even dreamed.

The only member of the adventurous little band not now accounted for
is Peter Bell, the former recluse.  Peter was forward in the smoking
car enjoying his old black pipe, which was his delight and solace
and Miss Prescott's particular abomination.  Among Peter's other
peculiarities, acquired in a long and solitary life, was a habit he
had of sometimes making, his remarks in verse.  He entered the car
just as the conversation we have recorded was in progress.

"Soon, my good friends, o'er the desert, so bold, we all shall be
flying with excellent gold."

A general laugh from the young folks greeted him, and Roy struck in
with:

"That's if we don't fall to the earth from the sky, and land up in a
smash on the white alkali."

The merriment that greeted this was cut short by the raucous voices
of the trainmen.

"Blue Creek!  Blue Creek!"

Instantly the liveliest bustle prevailed.  Belongings of all sorts
were hastily bundled together.  So intent, in fact, was our party on
its preparations for its plunge into the unknown that not one of
them noticed two men who stood watching them intently from the
opposite end of the car.

"So we've run the old fox into the ground," remarked one of them, a
tall, heavily built fellow with a crop of short, reddish hair that
bristled like the remnants of an old tooth brush.  He was clean-shaven
and had a weak, cruel mouth and a pair of narrow little eyes, through
which he could, however, shoot a penetrating glance when anything
interested him.  Both he and his companion, a sallow, black-haired
personage with a drooping pair of moustaches, were just then, seemingly,
much engrossed.

"Yes, some place off thar'," rejoined the black-haired man with a
wave of his hand toward the west--in which the sun, a ball of red
fire, was now dropping, "some whar off thar, across that alkali, Jim
Bell has his golden-egged goose."

"Hush, not so loud, Sam; one of those kids is looking at us."

"Pshaw, they hain't got sense to suspect nuthin'," was the scornful
reply.  "Wonder if Buck Bellew will be hyar ter meet us."

As he spoke the train wheels ceased to revolve and the cars came to
a standstill in Blue Creek, a sun-bitten outpost of the "Big
Alkali."




CHAPTER II

AT THE NATIONAL HOUSE


Blue Creek was experiencing a spasm of excitement unusual to it.  As
a general thing, the dwellers on the edge of the great alkali
wastes--once the bed of a mighty inland sea--were by far too much
occupied in keeping reasonably cool, to betray even a passing
interest in anything; except the arrival of a train of
desolate-looking mules bearing gold from the barren, melancholy
hills that rimmed the far-reaching alkali solitudes.

But the dust-whitened train, which twice a day puffed into Blue
Creek and twice a day puffed joyfully out again, had, on this
particular afternoon, set down a party which had caused unusual
speculation among the Blue Creekites.

"Thar's Jim Bell, frum out the desert, an' an old gent who looks
like he might be some kin to Jim, and then thar's them likely
lookin' lads an' those uncommon purty gals.  Never know Jim hed a
fam'ly afore.  Ef he hez he's kep it mighty quiet all these ya'rs."

These remarks emanated from the throat of Cash Dallam, owner of the
National House, Blue Creek's leading, and likewise only, hotel.  The
National was a board structure, formerly painted--with some
originality of taste--a bright orange hue, relieved with red
trimmings round doors, windows and eaves.  But the sun had blistered
and the hot desert winds had cracked and peeled its originally gaudy
hues, and it was now a melancholy monotone of dull, pallid yellow.
Here and there the paint had vanished altogether, and the bleached
boards showed underneath.  Like most of the other structures in Blue
Creek--which boasted a general store, post office and Chinese
laundry and restaurant combined the National House was coated with a
thin layer of gray alkali dust, the gift of the glittering desert
beyond its gates.

Cash Dallam's companions on the porch, which faced the railroad
station and so was a favorite lounging place for the prominent
citizens of Blue Creek and the guests of the hostelry, seemed only
languidly interested.

"Thet's a powerful pile of baggage they're toting round," observed
"Shavings" Magoon, who owed his nickname to the peculiar color and
length of his hair, which looked as if it might have been gathered
up bodily from the floor of a carpenter's shop and transferred to
the top of his wrinkled countenance, about which it hung like a
dubious aureole.

"You say that the tall chap yonder is Jim, Bell?"

The question, asked with some appearance of interest, came from a
slender, dark-haired man in a blue shirt and leather "chaps," his
face overshadowed by a big sombrero, who up to this time had not
spoken.  He had been leaning against the front wall of the National,
thoughtfully removing some more of its paint by scraping it with the
big rowelled Mexican spurs which he affected.  These spurs, heavily
mounted with Silver, together with a red sash he wore in the Mexican
style about his waist, rather marked him out from his fellows on the
National's porch.

Cash Dallam looked round as if in astonishment at the voice.

"Why hal-lo, stranger," he said, "whar you bin hidin' all these
moons?  Yes, that's Jim Bell, sure enough.  Wouldn't think he wuz a
millionaire ter look at him, would yer?"

The other shook his head.

"Can't most always sometimes tell," he remarked humorously; "that's
a right pretty gal yonder, too.  Any of you heard what Jim Bell's
doing in Blue Creek?"  The question came abruptly.

"Don't rightly know," was Cash's reply, "but I heard thet before he
went Fast Jim Bell worked his way further inter ther desert than any
man has ever bin.  What he wuz arter I dunno, but it wouldn't be
like Jim Bell ter risk his life fer muthin'."

"Do you reckon it was gold?"

The slender young man's dark eyes kindled in the word he used there
was some potent fascination for him.

"Donno 'bout gold," said Cash, thoughtfully; "Thar's silver, yes,
and platinum back younder.  So ther Injuns say anyhow.  But thar's
mighty few white men hes ever got thet fur, an' if they did, they
never come back to tell."  He gazed out over the crystalline,
quivering desert, burning whitely as a spangled Christmas card under
the scorching sun.  In his day Cash had seen many set out across it
who never reappeared.

"Pity thar hain't no way of gitting thar without having ter use
stock."

"Ortermobiles?" suggested a withered old man with the desert tan and
wrinkles upon him.

"Tired 'em," struck in another of the same type.  "No go.  Sunk to
ther hubs in mud holes an' then if it wusn't thet ther wuz ther sand
to shove through and they hed ter give it up.  No, ther vehicle or
ther critter hain't invented that's goin' ter get away off thar back
of beyond whar the gold lies--or whar they say it does," he added
rather doubtfully.  "When I was a kid back East my poor mother used
ter tell me that gold lay at ther end of ther rainbow.  I began
huntin' it then and I've kep' it up ever since, an' will to ther
end, I reckon."

"You say the vehicle isn't invented that will cross that stretch of
alkali?" asked the tall young man, with a jingle of the metal
ornaments hanging from the chased shank of his spurs.

"Thet's what.  No rig, er devil wagon, er critters neither."

The reply was given with the emphasis of conviction.

"How about airships?"

The remark was dropped carelessly almost, by the spur-wearer.

"Airships!  By ginger, thet's so!"

The pessimist spoke in a rather crestfallen tone.

"Seems ter me I read in an Eastern paper a while back suthin' about
Jim Bell's bin at a place near New York and engaging a young chap
ter build him some aeroplanes.  Thar was a good bit of mystery about
it.  Say, boys, I wonder ef that's what Jim Bell's in Blue Creek
fur?"

"Thar's one thing sartin," spoke up "Shavings" Magoon, "ef Jim
Bell's got ther means ter git an aerial gold line he'll be safe
enough frum them ornery road agents like ther fellers thet stuck up
ther Laredo stage only last week an' got away with the specie box
from Red River Falls.  I reckon thar ain't no stage robbers with
acroplanes yet a while."

"Queer thing about that Laredo robbery," put in Cash thoughtfully,
"thar was several inter it, an' it seems thet they've all got clar
away."

"Good thing for them, eh?" said the stranger, jingling his spur
ornaments harder than ever.

Cash sniffed.

"Good thing.  Wall, stranger, I'd hate ter tell you what 'ud be the
least of what 'ud happened to them, it would freeze your blood."

"Not an unpleasant thing to have happen to day," said the stranger,
carelessly, and carefully flicking some gray dust from his "chaps"
with his rawhide quirt, "so you think that Jim Bell means to start
some sort of an air line from whatever he has discovered in the
interior into this place?"

"Don't know nothing about it," snapped Cash, rather impatiently;
"you're a heap interested in Jim Bell, stranger."

"Naturally.  He's quite a famous man in his way.  I suppose he is
one of the greatest mining authorities in the West."

But at this point Cash perceived that Mr. Bell's party had finished
seeing to the disposal of their piles of baggage and were headed for
the hotel.  The operation had been a long one, as they bestowed
particular attention upon sundry wooden boxes of oblong shape which
might have held almost anything.  Whatever their contents might be
they were evidently held in some esteem by the Bell party.

A few seconds after Cash had broken off the conversation so
abruptly, he was greeting the new arrivals.  The other porch
loungers stood sheepishly at some distance, some of them uneasily
twisting their fingers.  The presence of the young girls in the
party filled them with a bashful terror such as the had never
experienced in the numerous adventures and perils through which most
of them had passed.

"The young ladies are Miss Prescott and Miss Bancroft," Mr. Bell
said, introducing his companions, after the fashion of the Western
country, to the hotel proprietor; "this is Roy Prescott and his
chum, Jimsy Bancroft, and this," indicating the man whose
resemblance to himself had already been remarked upon, "this is my
brother, Mr. Peter Bell."

"Glad ter meet yer, miss; glad ter meet yer all, I'm sure,"
sputtered out Cash with one of his finest bows, and Cash was
reckoned to be "a right elegant chap" in that primitive society.





CHAPTER III

VOICES IN THE NIGHT


After supper--a queer meal to their Eastern tastes--the young folks
were glad enough to retire to their rooms.

"Oh, what a funny place!" cried Jess, as she and Peggy, carrying a
glass lamp which reeked of kerosene, entered their chamber.  The
walls were of rough boards with no attempt at ornamentation, a
gorgeous checked crazy-quilt covered the bed--for though the days
are hot on the desert, the nights are quite sharp.  The floor, like
the walls, was bare, and when the girls peered at themselves in the
tiny mirror they gave little squeals of amused disgust.  The heat of
the sun, too, had drawn out the resinous qualities of the raw wood,
and the room was impregnated with an aroma not unlike that of a pine
forest under a hot sun.

"I expect we'll see some much funnier places before we get back
East," said Peggy decidedly, and beginning to unpack her
silver-fitted dressing-bag, which was the one luxury she had allowed
herself.

"I expect so, too; and I think it's jolly to rough it," chimed in
her chum; "but it's hard to get used to it all at once.  Stepping
right off a Pullman into this is rather a sharp contrast, you must
admit."

"It is," agreed Peggy, heartily.  She stepped to the window and
gazed out on an uncovered porch outside.  It was, in fact, the roof
of the one below.  On it flourished quite a little grove of scraggly
plants of various kinds, which were carefully tended by Cash's wife.
They were, perhaps, the only green things in Blue Creek.

But Peggy had little eye for all this.  Her lips parted in a quick
gasp of admiration as she gazed upon the night spell of the desert.
The dark sky was sprinkled with countless stars, large and luminous
and beaming with a softer, stronger light than in the North.  A
brooding silence hung over the town--the silence of the desert.  The
hush was broken only by the droning notes of a song, accompanied on
a guitar, which came from off in the distance on the outskirts of
the little settlement.  The music emphasized rather than broke the
silence.

Jess came to Peggy's side, and upon her, too, descended the feeling
of awe that the "Great Alkali" casts over all who encounter it for
the first time.

"Peggy," she said at length, "I'm--I'm the least bit frightened."

Her chum felt a slight shiver run through the girl as she pressed
against her.

"Frightened, girlie?  Frightened of what?"

"I don't just know.  That's what makes it feel so bad.  I guess it's
the silence, the sense of all that loneliness out beyond there that
upsets me.  It feels almost as if there were some living presence
off over the alkali that meant us harm."

"I think I know what the matter is," said Peggy gently, "you're
tired and overwrought.  Come, let us get to bed, for Mr. Bell has
ordered in early start in the morning."

Just how long afterward it was the awakened Peggy had no means of
telling, but as she lay sleepless she felt a longing to look out
over the light-shrouded desert once more.  Arising she tiptoed to
the window, and drawing the shade without making more than the
merest rustle of noise she looked out.  As she did so Peggy almost
uttered a startled exclamation, which, however, she instantly
checked.

Three men had just emerged upon the balcony from an adjoining
window.  They brought chairs with them and sat there smoking.  Peggy
could catch the rank, strong odor of the tobacco.

"It's better out here and we can talk more quietly," said one of
them, as they sat down.  "You say that Bell and his outfit start
to-morrow?"

"That's what I overheard him say when I was listening to 'em talking
arter supper," struck in another voice, "so I guess it's the early
trail for us, too."

"Reckon so," came in a third speaker; "Jim Bell is going to travel
fast.  He's got the best horses and mules in this part of the
country, and he won't spare 'em."

"You mean the alkali won't, I guess," put in the first speaker with
an unpleasant laugh; "but he won't go far with ther stock.  At the
last waterhole he'll leave 'em and go on by aeroplane."

"You're crazy!"

"Never more sensible in my life.  I--"

"Hush!  Don't make such a racket.  Fer all we know some of them may
be awake and hear us.  Now the old Steer Wells trail--"

But here the speaker sank his voice so low that it was impossible to
hear his further words.  But Peggy, as she crept back to bed with
her heart throbbing a little bit fast, felt vaguely that the
conversation boded some ill to the mining man and his party of gold
seekers.

"I'm sure I recognized one of those voices," she said to herself;
"it was that of the tall, dark young man with the immense spurs and
that picturesque red sash, who was eyeing us so at supper.  Jess and
I thought he looked like a romantic brigand.  What if he should turn
out in real earnest to be a desperate character?"

Determining to speak to Jim Bell in the morning about the
conversation she had overheard, Peggy dropped off into a deep
slumber at last, but her dreams were disturbing ones.  Now she was
traversing the Big Alkali, with its pungent dust in her nostrils and
her feet crunching its crusty surface.  She was lost, and would have
cried out had she been able to open her lips.  Then she was dying of
thirst.  Her lips were parched and cracked and the sun beat
pitilessly down.  So the hours passed till the stars began to pale
and a new day was at hand.  Before sunrise the party had been
called, and, filled with excitement, made the wooden walls of the
National Rouse resound with the hum of preparation.

Now, though Peggy at midnight had fully determined to tell Mr. Bell
all she had overheard, Peggy, in the bright, crisp early dawn, felt
that to do so would be absurd.  After all, the men might merely have
been chatting about the party, whose expedition was surely an
adventurous and interesting one.  It might make Mr. Bell think her a
victim of girlish fancies if she went to him with the story, so
Peggy decided to remain silent.  Afterward she was sorry for this.

As arrangements had been made with the ubiquitous Cash for burros
and ponies before the party left for the West, there was little or
no delay in getting started.  The girls uttered delighted
exclamations as their little animals were led up to the hotel steps
by a long-legged Mexican who was to accompany the party to Steer
Wells, where the ponies were to be abandoned and a permanent camp
formed.  From that point the dash into the alkali would be made by
aeroplane.

For Peggy there was a lively little "calico" animal which both girls
pronounced "a darling."  But Jess was no less pleased with her
little animal, a bright bay with a white star on its forehead.  For
the boys similar animals had been provided, while Miss Prescott's
mount was a rather raw-boned gray of sedate appearance.  In her
youth Miss Prescott had done a good deal of horseback riding, and
the manner in which she sat her mount showed that she had not
forgotten her horsemanship.  Mr. Bell and his brother bestrode
rather heavier animals than the rest of the party, while Juan, the
guide, contented himself with a remarkably small burro.  When in the
saddle his lanky legs stuck out on either side of his long-eared
steed and appeared to be sort of auxiliary propellers for the
creature.

Six pack burros had been obtained, and on two of these the camp
equipment and utensils were carried.  The remainder of the little
animals carried the wooden cases in which the three monoplanes were
packed, and the boxes containing mining instruments and tools.  One
of these was painted red, and in it was carried a supply of "giant"
powder--a kind of dynamite used in mining operations.

"I shall keep my eye on that particular burro," remarked Jimsy, "and
if he ever runs away I shall gallop off in the opposite direction."

But Mr. Bell explained that the explosive stuff was packed in such a
manner that even the most violent shock would not set it off.

"Still, we won't experiment," declared Roy.

Ten minutes after the cavalcade had drawn up in front of the hotel,
attracting the attention of the entire population of Blue Creek, the
party was ready to set out on the first stage of their adventurous,
journey.  The girls looked very natty in corduroy skirts, neat
riding boots, with plain linen waists and jaunty sombreros.  The
boys, like Mr. Bell and his brother, were in khaki, and each carried
a fine rifle, the gift of Mr. Bell.  Miss Prescott had at first
wished to resuscitate her old riding habit, but instead, before she
left the East, the girls had persuaded her to have an up-to-date one
made of cool, greenish khaki.

"You look like a modern Diana," said Mr. Bell, with a gallant bow,
which brought the color Miss Prescott's blooming cheeks.

"Really, Mr. Bell, that is too bad of you, when you know I am trying
to grow old gracefully," retorted Miss Prescott.

"And now," said Mr. Bell, running a watchful eye over the entire
outfit, "we are all ready to start."

A cheer, which the girls took up, came ringing from the boys'
throats.

"Hooray!" they shouted.

"Good luck!" cried Cash Dallam from his porch, and several in the
crowd caught up the cry..

Juan uttered a series of extraordinary whoops, and working his legs
like the long limbs of a seventeen-year locust, he dashed to the
head of the procession.  The next minute they were off, the pack
burros trotting behind in a sedate line.

But just as they started an odd thing happened.  Peggy experienced
that peculiar feeling which sensitive persons feel when they are
being watched.  Glancing quickly round she encountered the
penetrating glance of the tall, dark young man who had formed one of
the group on the porch the previous evening.  He turned his eyes
away instantly as he perceived that his interested gaze had been
intercepted.  As he did so, Peggy, despite the heat, felt a little
shiver run through her.

But the emotion passed in a moment under the excitement of the dash
forward.  Before long, the rough habitations of Blue Creek lay far
behind them, and in front there lay, glittering under the blinding
sun, the far-reaching expanse of the desert.  Off to the southwest
hovered what seemed to be a blue cloud on the horizon.  But they
knew that in that direction lay the Black Rock hills, a desolate
chain of low, barren mountains.

As if by instinct they all drew rein as the solitudes closed in
about them.  Rising in his stirrups Mr. Bell pointed into the
distance.  "Yonder lies the end of the rainbow!" he exclaimed with a
touch of rude poetry.

"And back there are the wings to fetch forth the pot of gold,"
laughed Jess, indicating the packing cases on the burros' backs.

"Yes, the golden wings," struck in Peggy, but there was a wistful
note underlying her light tone.  The spell of the desert, the
unreclaimed and desolate, was upon her.





CHAPTER IV

THE DESERT HAWKS


While our little party had been making its way so arduously across
the almost impenetrable waste of sand and alkali, another party
equipped with tough, desert-bred horses and a knowledge, so intimate
as to be uncanny, of the secret ways and trails of the sun-bitten
land, had made preparations for departure.

It had been no fancy on Peggy's part when she imagined that she
heard the partial details of a plot against Mr. Bell on the night
during which she had lain awake in the rough hotel of Blue Creek.
Had the party possessed the power of seeing through partitions of
solid timber, they would have been able to behold within that room a
scene transpiring which must, inevitably, have filled them with
uneasiness and even alarm.

Red Bill Summers, one of the best known of the desert hawks, as the
nefarious rascals who ply their highwayman's trade on the desert are
sometimes called, had been one of the passengers on the train whose
keenly observing eyes had surveyed the little party as they
disembarked.  His companion, the man with the drooping moustache was
likewise invested with a somewhat sinister reputation.  But probably
the worst of the trio who foregathered that night at the National
House was the romantic looking young man with the red sash and the
silver spurs whom the others called Buck Bellew.

Mr. Bell and his expedition into the desert formed the topic of
their conversation.  It was evident, as they talked, that their main
desire was to trap or decoy him on his way, but as they discussed
plans this intention gradually changed.

"He's got kids with him, and young gals, too;" said the
dark-mustached man, who seemed to be a little less ruffianly than
his companions, "we don't want to do them no harm."

"Not if we can help it," rejoined Red Bill Summers, wrinkling his
low forehead, "but I ain't goin' ter let them stand in our way."

"Of course not," chimed in Buck Bellew, playing with the tassels on
his red sash, and jingling his silver-mounted spurs in a somewhat
dandified fashion, "pretty girls, too," he added.

"Ther point's just this," struck in Red Bill, apparently paying no
attention to the other's conversation, "Jim Bell's got a desert mine
some place out thar yonder.  This young chap he had with him, what's
his name--"

"Prescott," suggested Buck Bellew.

"Ay, Prescott, that's it.  Wal, this yer Prescott has invented some
sort of an air ship, I read that in the papers.  It's pretty clear
to my mind that this air ship is going to be used in getting the
gold out of the desert.  That's plain enough, eh?"

"Yes, if your first idee is right.  If he's got a paying mine in
reality," agreed Bellew.

"Oh, I'm satisfied on that point.  Jim Bell's too old a fox to go
inter the desert onless he had stithin' worth going arter."

"Well, what are we going to do about it?" asked the third man with a
grin, "build an aeroplane, too.  For myself I'm free to confess I
ain't no sky pilot and don't never expect to be one."

"This ain't a minstrel show," scowled Red Bill.

"Couldn't help laffin' though," said the black-mustached one,
"talkin' uv aviators reminded me of that story of the feller who
went ter see I lier doctor and git some medicine.  Ther doc he says,
'I want you to take three drops in water very day.'  Ther young chap
fainted.  When he recovered they asked him what the matter was.  He
says, 'I'm an aviator. Three drops in water would finish me in a
week.'"

"That'll do from you," grunted Red Bill, without the trace of a
smile at this little anecdote, "let's git down to bizness.  Those
folks leave here to-morrow.  They'll go early in the morning.  "We
can't follow them too close without excitin' suspicion.  The problem
is to keep track of them without they're knowing it."

"Don't they take any servants or help?" asked Bellew after a pause.

"Yes, they do."

"You're certain?"

"I made it my business to find out.  They are going to take a guide.
Have him engaged, in fact."

"Who is he?"

"Oh, a no good Mexican, a chap named Juan Baptista."

"Juan Baptista!" exclaimed Bellew slapping his leg, "that's fine.
Couldn't be better."

"You know him?"

"So well that he'll have to do anything I say."

"You can make him obey you then?"

"I know of a horse stealing case in which he was mixed up.  If he
won't do what we tell him to I'll threaten him with exposure."

"Good.  He is sleeping in the corral with their ponies.  Let's go
down there now and rouse him out.  Then we'll have part of the
business settled."

"I'm agreeable.  Come on."

As noiselessly as possible the three plotters crept from the room
and tip-toed down the corridors.  Following a long passage they
presently emerged into a star-lit stable-yard.  In that part of the
west doors are not locked at night, so they could go out without
bothering about a key.

"Where's the corral?" whispered Buck as they came out of the hotel.

"Right over there.  See that haystack.  The greaser's asleep this
side of it.  Right under where that saddle is hanging on the fence."

"All right.  Come on."

Led by Buck Bellew, whose spurs gave out an occasional jingle, they
crept across the yard.  Presently they came upon a dark bundle lying
huddled at the foot of the corral palings.

Bellew stirred the inanimate bundle with his foot.  The spurs gave
out a tinkling, musical jingle.  The thing moved, stirred and
finally galvanized into life.  It was finally revealed as the figure
of a rather ill-favored Mexican, unusually tall for one of his race
who are, as a rule, squat and small.

"Buenas tardes, Juan!" greeted Buck Bellew.

"Buenas tardes, senors," was the response.  "But what for do you
disturb me in thees way.  Know that to-morrow with the rising of
the sun I have to awake and saddle the beasts, and fare forth into
the alkali with party of gringoes."

"That's all right.  That's what we came to talk to you about, Juan,"
said Bellew.  He bent low and pushed his face almost into the
Mexican's brown and sleepy countenance.

"Do you know me!" he grated out.

"Todos Santos!  Caramba!  It is the Senor Bellew!"

"Not so loud Juan.  There may be somebody around who would recognize
that name.  It is enough that you know me."

"What do you wish with me, senor?"

The Mexican's voice shook.  Evidently he feared this tall,
good-looking, though dissolute, young Gringo.

"You are to escort a party of gringos headed by a Senor Bell as far
as Steer Wells, are you not?"

"Si senor.  As I said to-morrow before the rising of the sun must I
be awake.  I must saddle and pack, and--"

"All right.  Never mind that.  I have a little bit of work for you
to perform, too.  If you do it well you will be rewarded.  If not--"

"If not senor--?"

"If not--well don't let us dwell on unpleasant subjects.  I want you
to ride with these gringos.  Listen to all that they say.  Talk to
them and learn from them all that you can."

"Of what?"

"Of their destination--of where they are going--what they are going
to do when they get there, and so on.  You understand?"

"Perfectly senor.  But they have paid me well and promised more.
Senor Bell is a good man.  He is--"

"Will you do what I tell you?"

The voice was sharp and imperious.

"Senor, I would do much for you.  But this--"

The Mexican spread his hands helplessly.

"I cannot.  It would be too bad a thing to do."

"Very well.  I'll call Cash Dallam.  Tell him who you are and how it
was you who was concerned in the theft of those horses from Diablo
River.  You know what would happen to you then.  You know--"

But the Mexican was down on his knees.  His hands were raised in
mute appeal.  His teeth' chattered like the busy heels of a clog
dancer.

"No, no, senor.  Santa Maria, no, no!" he begged.

"It's entirely up to you," was the cold response.  "Now will you do
as I say?"

"Yes, yes.  A thousand times yes, senor.  Anything you say--
anything."

"I thought so," rejoined Bellew grimly.  He turned with a look of
triumph to the two silent spectators of the scene, who nodded
smilingly.  The Mexican's pitiful agitation seemed only to amuse
those callous hearts.

"You will travel, as I said, with these gringos," pursued Bellew,
"and glean all the information you can.  Then, when you have found
out all about where they mean to go, and how long they mean to stay
and so on, you will find an opportunity to drop out of their
company."

"Si senor," quavered the man, "and then--"

"And then you will be met by us.  We shall take care of you."

"But Senor Bell and the senoritas?"

"We will take care of them, too," was the grim response.

It was not till the next day, at noon, that the three desert hawks
left the hotel, long after the departure of the Bell party.  They
rode slowly in the opposite direction to that in which the other
party had gone, till they had gotten out of sight of the little
town.  Then, taking advantage of every dip and rise in the surface
of the plain, they retraced their steps and soon were riding on the
track of the Bell outfit.

"Whar wa'ar you all ther forenoon?" asked the black-mustached man
of Red Bill as they rode along.

"I was doing a bit of profitable business," was the rejoinder.

"Selling something?"

"No finding something out.  Boys, Jim Bell's in our power."

"In our power," laughed the other, a laugh in which Bellew chimed
in.  "I reckon you don't know him yet."

"Don't eh?" snarled Red Bill, stung into acrimonious retort.  "I
reckon your brain works just a bit too quick, Buck."

"Waal, ef you know so much, let's hear it?"

The red-sashed, silver-spurred Buck Bellew reined in closer to his
companions, rowelling his little active "paint" horse as he did so,
till it jumped and curvetted.

"It's just this," said Red Bill Summers, unconsciously lowering his
tone although there was no one about to hear but his companions, a
few, blasted-looking yuccas and, far overhead, a wheeling buzzard.

"Jim Bell ain't never filed no location of ther mine with ther
guv'ment."

If he had expected to produce a sensation, he must have felt
justified by the results of this announcement.  Buck Bellew
whistled.  The black-mustached man gave a low, long-drawn-out
exclamation of:

"Wo-o-o-w!"

"Thought you'd sit up and take notice," grinned their leader.
"Sounds foolish-like, but it's true.  I searched ther records, but
it ain't on 'em."

"Maybe he's filed a claim some place else," suggested the
black-mustached man.

"There you go, throwing cold water as usual," snorted Buck Bellew.

"Taint cold water.  It's common, ornery hoss sense.  That's what it
is.  Do you s'pose that any man 'ud be foolish enough to locate a
rich mine an' then not file a claim to it?"

"Heard of sich things been done," commented Red Bill.  "Maybe he
ain't over and above anxious fer anyone ter go in alongside of him
afore he's had a chanct ter take up some more land.  Maybe--"

"Waal, no use guessing at sich things," rejoined Buck; "fer my part
I guess Red is right.  Jim Bell ain't had the hoss sense te file a
claim.  And if he ain't--"

"That makes it all the easier fer us.  Wonder ef thet feller Juan is
learning much?"

Bill Summers was the speaker.

"He's sharp as a steel trap," volunteered Bellew, "when he wants to
be."

"I guess arter that dressing down you giv' him las' night he'll want
to be, all right," opined the black-mustached man.

"Guess so," grinned Buck; "if he ain't, it'll be the worse fer him."

As he spoke they topped a little rise.  Over in front of them, and
on all sides--the desert, vast, illimitable, untrod of man, lay, a
desolate expanse of nothingness.

Far, far off could be seen a tiny blue cloud, resting on the
horizon--the desert range.

"Thar's whar Jim Bell's mine is, I'll bet a hoss and saddle," said
Bellew reining in his horse and pointing to the distant azure mass.

"Guess you'd win," nodded Red Bill Summers, "and," he added, his
keen eyes narrowing to slits he gazed straight ahead, "and thar, I
reckon, is Jim Bell himself and his party."

They followed the direction of his gaze.  Far off across the
glittering ocean of sand and alkali a yellowish cloud--almost
vaporish, arose.  It seemed to be a sort of water spout on land.  It
drifted lazily upward.  The experienced desert hawks knew it for
what it was.  The dust cloud raised by a company of travelers.

As their glances rested on it intently, not one of the three figures
toping the crest of the little rise, spoke.

Their tired horses, too, stood absolutely still.  Men and animals
might have been petrified figures, carved out of the desolation
about them.  There was a something impressive about them as they
stood there in the midst of the desert glare.  Silent, hawk-like,
and intent.  Their very poses seemed to convey a sense of menace--of
danger.

Suddenly they wheeled and turned, and their mounts, as the spurs
struck their damp sides, broke into a lope.  As they galloped, Red
Bill burst into a song.  A lugubrious, melancholy thing, like most
of the songs of the plainsmen.

"Bury me out on lone prair-ee
Out where the snakes and the coyotes be;
Drop not a tear on my sage brush grave
Out on the lone prair-e-e-e-e-e!"

Then the others struck in, their ponies' hoofs making an
accompaniment to the gruesome words:

"The sands will shift in the desert wind;
My bones will rot in the alkali kind;
I'll be happier there than ever I be
In my grave, on the lone prair-e-e-e-e-e!"

It began to sound like a dirge, but still the leader of the hawks of
the desert kept it up.  He bellowed it out now in a harsh, shrill
voice.  It rasped uncomfortably, like rusty iron grating on rusty
iron.

"Maybe upon the judgment day;
When all sinners their debt must pay;
They'll find me and bind me and judge poor me;
All in my grave, on the lone prair-e-e-e-e-e-e!"

As the last words of this dismal chant rang out, an echo seemed to
be flung back at the singer from behind a neighboring ridge, upon
which the lone yuccas stood upright, like, so many figures of formed
bits of humanity.

"Ye-e-e-e-e-e-e!"

It came in a long drawn out wail that fairly seemed to make the
desert ring with its gruesome echoes.  All at once it was taken up
from another point.  Then another echoed it back.  It seemed to be
proceeding from a dozen quarters of the compass at once.

Strong nerved as all three of the riders were, it appeared to make a
strange impression on them.

"What in the name of Kit Carson wuz that?" demanded Red Bill drawing
rein.

"Dunno.  It sounded like someone havin' fun with that ther cheerful
little song of yourn," said the black-mustached man.

"That's what it did.  I'd like to find the varmint.  I'd make some
fun fer him."

The man scowled savagely.  His nerves had been unpleasantly shaken
by the wild, unearthly cries.

"It didn't sound human," he said at length; "tell you what, let's
jes' look aroun' and see if we kin find any trace of who done it."

Buck Bellew said nothing but he grinned to himself.  Plainly
something amused him hugely.

"All right;" he said, "we'll look."

They rode about among the desert dips and gullies for some time, but
they could discover no trace of any agency that could have produced
the weird cries.  Both Red Bill and the black-mustached man were
plainly nonplussed.

"This beats all," opined Summers.  "I don't even see a track any
place."

"Nor don't I," rejoined his companion seriously.  Both were
superstitious men, a failing apparently not shared by Bellew, who
stood regarding them, seated easily sideways in his saddle, with an
amused look.

"Hey Bellew, why don't you come an' look.  You alters wuz a good
tracker?" demanded Red Bill looking up suddenly.

"Not fer me, thanks," was the easy response, "ef you want to hunt
spooks--"

"Who said it wuz a spook or any such pack uv nonsense?" glared back
Summers.

"I didn't," declared the black-mustached man with great
positiveness.

"No more did I," angrily sputtered Red Bill "thar ain't no such
things nohow."

"I dunno," said the black-mustached man seriously.  "I do recollec'
hearing my old grandmother, back East, tell about a ghost what she
seen once.  Want ter hear about it?"

No one replied, and taking silence for consent, he went on.

"Grandmother was married to a decent old chap that was a teamster.
He used to haul farm stuff to the city in the day and it was often
pretty late afore he got out again.  Well, on his way he had to pass
a cemetery, a buryin' ground you know, and I tell you he didn't like
it.  It sort of got on his nerves to think that some night one of
them dead folks lying there all so quiet might arise from ther
graves.

"It seems as how it allers haunted him ter think that some night as
he wuz drivin' by that ther buryin' ground--"

"Yer said that once before," snapped Summers looking nervously about
him, "get on with your story."

"Well I am, ain't I?"

"Not fast enough."

"Waal this is a ghost story and ghosts don't move fast."

"Ho! ho!" laughed Bellew hollowly.

"As I was sayin', grandpop didn't like the idee of some night seeing
a tall form, all in white, come gliding down among them tombstones,
and raising its hand cry to him in a solemn voice--"

"Wow."

The shout came from Summers.  He had suddenly felt something light
on his shoulder.  Thence it had crawled to neck and laid clammy feet
upon him. It was an immense dragon fly, but he had evidently
mistaken it for something else, to judge by the start and
exclamation he had given.

"Ain't gittin' on yer nerves, be I?" asked the black-mustached man
innocently.

"No, no.  Get on with your fool story for goodness sake."

"You wuz a sayin' thet your fool grandpop wuz supposin' that ef
something said to him as he wuz-oh, go on and tell it yourself!"

"All right.  Well then grandpop was jes' a thinkin' how awful it 'ud
be ef anything like that ever did happen.  He'd come home and talk
to grandma'am at nights about it.  I tell you his nerves was
powerful upsot.  Suthin' like yours."

"Like mine, you long-legged lizard!"

"I mean like yours might hev bin ef you'd bin in my grandpop's
place, Red."

"Oh, all right.  Perceed.  What nex'?"

"Waal, one night jes what he'd bin a dreadin' did come ter pass.  He
was goin' by ther graveyard when he hearn the awfulest screech you
ever hearn--"

"Yow-e-ow-ee-ow-ow!"

Red Bill Summers started and turned pale.  It was a repetition of
the cry that had interrupted his song.  Without wasting time on
ceremonies, he dug his spurs into his horse and dashed off.  The
narrator of the ghost story, as badly scared as his companion,
followed him at post haste.  Ther Bellew laughing heartily, turned
and followed them.  But at a more leisurely speed.  From time to
time, as he pursued the flying forms, his big frame shook with
mirth.  Somebody once said that a man who gives a hearty laugh was
not all bad.  If this is true, there must have been considerable
good in Buck Bellew.

After about a mile of riding he overtook the other two.

"What's the hurry?" he inquired easily.

"Nuthin', nuthin'," said Summers, still a bit shaky, "my pony scairt
at suthin, I reckon, and jes' naturally dashed off.  I had a hard
job te pull the cayuse in."

"Same hyar, same hyar," said the black-mustached man.

"Rot!" laughed Bellew.  "In my opinion, you're both a pair of
cowards.  Don't pull your gun on me, Summers.  You wouldn't fire at
me, and you know it."

Summers sullenly put up his gun.

"Say, what's ther matter with you, Buck?" he asked grumpily.

"What's the matter with you two, you mean?  Why, you dashed off like
a girl in a red sweater with a bull on her heels."

"I tole you ther ponies ran away," said Summers, shifting his little
eyes.  Somehow he couldn't look Bellew in the face.

"Yes, and I guess what made 'em run was suthin' like this--"

A quizzical look stole over Bellew's lean, handsome features.  All
at once the air became filled with the same mysterious sounds that
had so alarmed Summers and the other man.

"Ye-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ow-w-w-w-w-w-e-e-eeeee!"

"Buck!  You consarned old ventriloconquest!" shouted Summers, vastly
relieved as Bellew burst into a roar of hearty laughter.

"Forgot I used to be ventriloquist with a medicine show, eh?"
chuckled Bellew, rolling about in his saddle.  "Come in handy
sometimes, don't it?"

"Waal, next time yer goin' ter practice, jes' let us know in
advance."

Summers' face held rather a sheepish grin as he spoke.  The
black-mustached man looked even more foolish.

"Make a good signal, wouldn't it?" asked Bellew presently.

"Yes.  By the way, reckon you could imitate a coyote, Buck?"

"Easy.  Listen!"

A perfect imitation of a coyote's yapping, hyena-like cry rang out.

"Great.  Maybe we can use that sometime."

How soon that cry was to be used, and to what disastrous effect on
our little party of adventurers, we shall see as our story
progresses.  But the next time Buck Bellew gave that thrilling,
spine-tightening cry, was to be under far different circumstances,
and with far different results--results fraught with great
importance to our young adventurers.




CHAPTER V

THE DIVINING RODS


"What wonderful clouds.  They remind one of the fantastic palaces of
the Arabian Nights!" exclaimed Miss Prescott.

It was at the close of the noonday halt that she spoke, reclining
with the rest of the party under a canvas shelter, beneath which
lunch had been eaten.

Off to the southwest the clouds she referred to had been, in fact,
gathering for some time.  Domed, terraced and pinnacled, they rose
in gloomy grandeur on the far horizon.  But Miss Prescott had not
been the first to notice them.  For some reason Mr. Bell, after
gazing at the vaporous masses for a few minutes, looked rather
troubled.  He summoned Juan, who was feeding his beloved burro, and
waved his hand toward the clouds, the same time speaking rapidly in
Spanish.

"What is it?  Is there a storm coming?" asked Jess, noting Mr.
Bell's somewhat troubled look.

"I do not know, and Juan says he is not certain yet either," was the
response.  "Let us hope not, however."

"I don't see why it should trouble us," said Peggy.  "We have good
tents and shelter, and as far as a good wetting is concerned I
should think it would do this dried up place a lot of good."

"That is not what was worrying me," confessed Mr. Bell with a smile;
"if it was to be an ordinary Eastern storm I should not mind any
more than you.  But the desert has many moods--as many as--you will
pardon me--a young lady.  Even the storms of the Big Alkali are not
like others.  They are dry storms."

"This would be no place for an umbrella dealer then," remarked Jimsy
airily.

"No, I am speaking seriously," went on Mr. Bell; "frequently such
storms do great damage through lightning, although, during their
progress, not a drop of rain falls.  The electrical display,
however, is sometimes terrific.  That is what I mean when I say 'a
dry storm."'

"I can't bear lightning," cried Jess; "I always go in the cellar at
home when it comes."

"Never mind, Jess, Roy and I will dig you one if the storm hits us,"
put in her brother gallantly.

"And one for me, too, please!" cried Miss Prescott; "I'm dreadfully
afraid of lightning."

"Well, let us hope that we shall none of us have any cause for
alarm," put in Peter Bell, the former hermit.  "When I lived my
solitary life I often used to wander out in the height of a storm.
It was beautiful to watch the lightning ripping and tearing across
the sky.  The lightning and the thunder did not scare me a bit.
But--."

"You'd soon have changed your mind if by lightning you'd been hit,"
struck in Jimsy before the old man could complete his verse.  A good
natured laugh, in which Peter Bell joined as heartily as the others,
followed this bit of improvisation.

"Well, let us be pressing on," said Mr. Bell presently; "we are not
carrying any too heavy a water supply, and I am anxious to replenish
it by nightfall.  By the way, that means a new experience for you
youngsters.  You will get your first taste of alkali water."

"But how are you going to get water in this desert?" exclaimed Roy
wonderingly.

"You will see before many hours," was the reply with which they had
to be content.

All that afternoon they pressed on without anything of interest
occurring.  The distant clouds grew more imposing and blacker in
hue, but they seemed to draw no closer.  The heat, however, was
oppressive, and the glare of the desert hurt Peggy's eyes.

"If they didn't look so hideous, I wish I'd brought along those old
smoked glasses I wore on the beach at Atlantic City," she thought
more than once.

Sundown found the party skirting along the foot of rough, broken
hills clothed with a scanty vegetation.  Juan nodded approvingly and
at once suggested making the camp there.

"We'll see if there is any water first," said Mr. Bell.

"It looks as if you need not take the trouble," declared Roy, "it's
as dry as a week-old crust."

"Not quite so fast, young man," laughed Mr. Bell, "appearances are
often deceitful, especially on the desert."

He dismounted, and reaching into one of the packs drew forth a
slender forked stick.  Then, while they all gazed in a puzzled
silence at his actions, he passed it hither and thither over the dry
floor of the desert.

"Oh, I know what it is now!" cried Peggy suddenly.  "It's a divining
rod!"

"A divining rod?" echoed Roy.  "What's that?"

"Oh, look!" cried Jess, before Peggy could answer; "it's moving!"

The slender switch held by Mr. Bell was certainly behaving in a very
odd manner.  It could be seen to bend and sway and hop and skip
about as if it had been suddenly endued with life.  Mr. Bell, who
was by now at some distance from the party, looked up with a
satisfied expression.

"Get a shovel and dig here!" he ordered Juan.  But the Mexican had
fallen into a deep slumber from which it took not a little effort to
awaken him.  When he was finally roused and made to understand what
was required of him, he set to work with a will, however, and made
the dirt fly.

The boys pitched in, too, and before long quite a deep hole had been
excavated.  The girls, peeping cautiously over its edge, gave a
delighted cry.  Actual water was beginning to drain into it from the
side.  True, it was not of the color or temperature they had been
used to associating with the fluid, but still the sight of it was
welcome enough to the travel-stained wayfarers.

"You can come out now, boys, and leave the hole to fill up, which it
will soon do," declared Mr. Bell.

The interval of waiting for the water to flow in a goodly quantity
was spent in adjusting the girls' tent, and in setting the camp to
rights generally.  A sort of blue-colored bunch grass grew in
considerable quantities about the water hole, and this the burros
seemed to find quite palatable.  The ponies and horses, however,
would not touch it, and had to be regaled on the pressed hay and
grain which were carried for the purpose.

In the midst of all this there came a sudden sharp cry from the
water hole, followed by a loud splash.

"It's old Mr. Bell!  He's fallen into the water hole!" shrilled
Peggy.

"Head over heels, too.  Hurry and we'll get him out," cried the
boys.

Roy seized up a lariat, and followed by the others started for the
hole.  It was as they had guessed.  Venturing too close to the brink
of the excavation, old Mr. Bell had slipped, and the former hermit
was floundering about like a grampus in the water when his rescuers
appeared.  Luckily, it was not deep, and they soon had him out of it
and on his feet.  The old man, with great good nature, declared that
he had rather enjoyed his involuntary bath than otherwise.  He was
so mud-stained and drenched, however, that it was necessary for him
to make an immediate change of clothes.  When he emerged from his
tent with dry apparel, the aged recluse felt moved to compose a
verse, which he did as follows:

"Within the mud hole's watery depths,
A grave I almost met,
But luckily I was pulled out Alive, but very wet."

"Well, Peter," laughed his brother, "you certainly are a poetic
philosopher.  But now, if you are quite finished with the water
hole, we will draw some for our own use, and then Juan can let the
stock have a drink."

As the first bucket for camp use was drawn, Peggy hastened up with a
cup and extended it.

"Oh, do let me have a drink," she exclaimed; "I'm dying with thirst
and can't wait for tea."

"Same here," cried Jess, eagerly.

Mr. Bell smiled and eyed them quizzically.

"I wouldn't advise you young ladies to try it till it has been
boiled," he said, "but of course if you insist--"

"We do," cried both girls.

"Fill the cups, Juan," ordered Mr. Bell.

The guide did so, and Peggy and Jess eagerly raised the receptacles.
But hardly had they taken a swallow before they hurriedly ceased
drinking.

"Oh, what awful stuff!" sputtered Peggy, while Jess simply gasped.

"Bah!  It tastes like aged eggs added Roy, who had also taken a
swallow.  "Is it poisonous?"

"Not a bit of it," laughed Mr. Bell; "it is simply alkali water, and
when you have drunk as much of it as I have you'll be used to it and
not mind it.  But I must admit that on first introduction it is
rather trying.  It is better when it is boiled, though.  It seems to
lose that acrid flavor."

And so it proved; and Miss Prescott declared that she had never
enjoyed a cup of tea so much as the one she drank that evening at
supper on the desert.  As dusk fell, Juan produced a battered guitar
from a case which was strapped to the back of his saddle, and
seating himself cross-legged in the midst of a semi-circle of
enthusiastic listeners he banged out a lot of Spanish airs.

Then Jimsy danced a jig with incomparable agility and Roy did some
tricks with cards and handkerchiefs that were declared superior to
anything heretofore seen.  But the little entertainment was to come
to an abrupt conclusion.  So engrossed had they been in its progress
that they had not noticed that the sky had clouded over, and that it
had suddenly grown insufferably oppressive.

All at once a red glare enveloped the camp.  It lasted only for the
fraction of a second, but in its brief existence it displayed some
very white and alarmed faces.

The electric storm that Mr. Bell had dreaded was upon them.





CHAPTER VI

A DRY STORM


In describing what immediately followed, Peggy has always declared
that her sole impression was of continuous "flash and crash."

The first red glare, as a jagged streak of lightning tore across the
sky, was followed by an earsplitting thunder roll.  Almost instantly
the entire heavens became alive with wriggling serpents of light.
The criss-cross work of the bolts ranged in hue from a vivid
eye-burning blue to an angry red.  And all the time the thunder
roared and crashed in one unceasing pandemonium.  A smell of
brimstone and sulphur filled the air.  The tethered stock whinnied
and plunged about in mad terror.

"Juan, look to the stock!" shouted Mr. Bell above the turmoil.  But
Juan, at the first crash, had flung himself face downward on the
sand and lay there trembling and praying.

As there seemed no possibility of getting him up, the boys and Mr.
Bell set to work on the by no means easy task of securing the
terrified animals more carefully.

In the meantime, the girls, in Miss Prescott's tent, were having a
hard time to convince that lady that the end of the universe was not
at hand.

"Oh, dear, why did we ever come out here!" cried the terrified
woman; and then the next minute:

"Just hark at that!  We shall all be killed!  I know it!  Oh, this
is terrible!"

"It will soon be over, aunt, dear," exclaimed Peggy bravely, though
her own head ached and her eyes burned cruelly from the glare and
uproar.

"Yes, dear Miss Prescott," chimed in Jess; "it can't last; it--"

There was a sudden blinding glare, followed by a crash that seemed
as if the skies must have been rent open.  With it mingled a loud
scream from Miss Prescott and cries and shouts from outside the
tent.

"Something in the camp has been struck!" exclaimed Peggy rushing to
the tent door.

"It's Juan's burro!" cried Jess, who had followed her; "look at the
poor thing, off over there."

In the radiance of the electric display they could see quite plainly
the still form of the little animal lying outstretched on the
ground. Juan heard the girl's cry, and for the first time since the
storm had begun he moved.  Directly he perceived the motionless form
of his mount he appeared to lose all his terror of the storm, and
sprinted off toward it on his long legs.  As he ran he called aloud
on all the saints to look down upon his miserable fate.

But as he reached the side of his long-eared companion, the
creature, which had only been stunned by the bolt, suddenly sprang
to its feet and, no doubt crazed by fear, began striking out with
its hind hoofs.  As ill luck would have it, poor Juan came within
direct range of the first kick, and was sent flying backward by its
force.

Behind him lay the water hole, and before he could stop the cowardly
guide found himself over the brink and struggling in the muddy
water.  His cries for help were piercing, but as Mr. Bell and the
boys were busy, and as they knew that the Mexican was in no actual
peril, they left him there for a time.

In the meantime, the first terrific violence of the storm had
subsided, and before long it passed.  As it growled and muttered off
in the distance, lighting up the desert with an occasional livid
glare, Juan came scrambling out of the mud-hole.  He did not say a
word, but went straight up to his burro.  He saddled it in silence,
strapped his old guitar on its back and, swinging himself into the
saddle, dashed off across the alkali, his long legs working like
pendulums on either side of the little creature.  It actually seemed
as if he were propelling instead of riding it.

 The boys wanted to know if they should set off in pursuit of their
errant guide, but Mr. Bell said that it would be the best thing to
let him go if he wished.

"He was more of a hindrance than a help," he declared, "and he and
his burro between them ate far more than their share of food."

"But won't the poor man become lost or starve?" asked Miss Prescott,
who, now that her alarm had passed with the storm, had joined the
group.

"Not much danger of that," laughed Mr. Bell, "a fellow of Juan's
type can subsist on next to nothing if he has to, and his burro is
as tough as he is, I suspect."

"At any rate, he must have thought so when he got that kick,"
laughed Peggy.

"It reminded me of a verse I once heard," put in the former hermit.

And then, without waiting for anyone to ask him to repeat the lines
in question, he struck up:

"As a rule, never fool
With a buzz saw or a mule."

"I expect that's excellent advice," laughed the old man's brother,
"but now, ladies and gentlemen, as the excitement of the night seems
to be over, I think we had better retire.  Remember, an early start
to-morrow, and if all goes well we ought to be at Steer Wells by
nightfall."

"If we steer well," muttered Jimsy, not daring to perpetrate the pun
in a louder tone of voice.

Fifteen minutes later, silence entrenched the camp, which seemed
like a tiny island of humanity in the vast silence stretched round
about.  As they slumbered, the girls, with their silver-mounted
revolvers--gifts from Mr. Bell--under their pillows, the clouds of
the dry storm rolled away altogether, and the effulgent moon of the
Nevada solitudes arose.

Her rays silvered the desolate range of barren hills and threw into
sharp relief the black shadows which marked the deep gulches,
cutting the otherwise smoothly rounded surfaces of the strange
formation.

Suddenly, from one of the gulches, the figure of a man on horseback
emerged and stood, motionless as a statue, bathed in moonlight on an
elevation directly overlooking the camp.  For perhaps five minutes
the horseman remained thus, silent as his surroundings.  But
suddenly a shrill whinny rang out from one of the horses belonging
to our party, who had seen the strange animal.

Instantly the figure turned and wheeled, and when Mr. Bell, ever on
the alert, emerged from his tent to ascertain what the noise might
portend, nothing was to be seen.

"That's odd," muttered the mining man, "horses don't usually whinny
in the night except to others of their kind who may suddenly appear.
I wonder--but, pshaw!" he broke off; "the thing's impossible.  Even
if our mission were known nobody would dare to molest us.

"But just the same," he continued, as, after a careful scrutiny, he
returned to the tent he shared with his brother, "but just the same
I'd like to know just why that animal whinnied."

Whoever the watcher of the camp had been, he did not reappear that
night, but while old Mr. Bell prepared breakfast, and the girls were
what the boys called "fixing up," the mining man summoned the boys
to him and observed that he wished them to take a little stroll to
see if better grass for the stock could not be found in the hills.
This was so obviously an excuse to get them off for a quiet talk
that the lads exchanged glances of inquiry.  They said nothing,
however, but followed Mr. Bell as he struck off toward the barren
range.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the camp the mining man
informed them of his suspicions and of what he had heard the night
before.

"On thinking it over I am more than ever convinced that somebody
must have been hovering about the camp last night," he declared,
"but it is no use alarming the others unnecessarily, and, after all,
I may be mistaken.  In any event, from now on, we will post
ourselves on sentry duty at night so as not to be taken by surprise
in the event of any malefactors attacking us."

"Then you really think, sir, that somebody may have wind of the
object of our journey and molest us?" inquired Roy soberly.

"I don't know; but it is always best to be on the safe side," was
the rejoinder; "the towns on the edge of the desert are full of bad
characters and it is possible that in some way the reason of our
expedition has leaked out."

By this time they had walked as far as the mouth of one of the bare
canyons that split the range of low, barren hills.  Roy, whose eyes
had been thoughtfully fixed on the ground, suddenly gave a sharp
exclamation.

"Look here, Mr. Bell," he exclaimed, pointing downward, "what do you
make of that?"

He indicated the imprints of a horse's hoofs on the dry ground.

"You have sharp eyes, my boy," was the reply; "those hoof-prints are
not more than a few hot old, and certainly clinch my idea that
someone on horseback was in the vicinity of the camp last night."

Jimsy looked rather grave at this.  Roy, too, had a troubled note in
his voice as he inquired:

"What do you make of it all, Mr. Bell?"

"Too early to say yet, my boy," said the mining man, who had been
studying the hoof-prints, "but I can tell you this, that only one
man was here last night."

"We have nothing to fear from one man," exclaimed Jimsy.

"I know that," was Mr. Bell's response, "but this lone visitor of
last night may have been only the scout or forerunner of the others,
whoever they may be."

"That's so," agreed Roy, "at any rate he must have had some strong
object in spying on us."

 Nobody would come out into this desolate place without an aim of
some sort."

"No question but that you are right there," agreed Mr. Bell, whose
face was grave, "I have half a mind to turn back and not bring the
ladies further into what may prove to be a serious situation."

"So far as Peggy is concerned you'd have a hard time trying to get
her to turn back now," declared Roy; "her mind is bent upon helping
to get the air line from the mine into working order, and I guess
Jess feels the same way about it."

"It would be a sad blow to them to have to go back now," agreed
Jimsy; "suppose, Mr. Bell, we wait and make our suspicions more of a
certainty before we decide upon anything."

"Perhaps that would be the best course," agreed the lad's elder,
"but I must confess I feel sorely troubled.  It is agreed, is it
not, that not a word of our suspicions are to be breathed to the
ladies?"

"Oh, of course," agreed Roy; "after all," he added cheerfully, "the
man who left those tracks may have been a prospector or a desert
traveler of some kind, and have had no sinister motives."

"I am inclined to think that, too," said Mr. Bell, after a pause;
"after all, nobody could have any object in attacking us at such a
time."



CHAPTER VII

PROFESSOR "WANDERING WILLIAM"


The ponies, and the larger steeds ridden by the elders of the party,
were pushed forward at a rapid gait all the morning.  As had been
explained by Mr. Bell, it was necessary for them to reach Steer
Wells by sundown, as they could not hope to encounter any more water
holes till they gained that point.

In the meantime, water was carried by means of an ingenious
arrangement of Mr. Bell's.  This was nothing more or less than two
large bags of water-proof fabric, which could be filled and then
flung on the pack burros' backs.  In this way enough was carried for
each of the animals to have a scanty supply, although there was none
too much left over.  That day's luncheon halt was made near a stony,
arid canyon in the barren hills, along whose bases they were still
traveling.

While the others set about getting a meal, Peggy and Jess linked
arms and wandered off a short distance from the camp, bent on
exploring.  All at once Peggy gave a sudden, sharp little cry.

"Oh, Jess, look! What a funny little creature!"

"Ugh, what a horrid looking thing!  What can it be?" exclaimed
Jimsy's sister.

"It's--it's like a large spider!" cried Peggy suddenly, "and what
horrid hairy legs it has, and--oh, Jess--it's going to attack us!"

"I do believe it is o-o-o-h!"

The cry was a long drawn out one of shrill alarm as the "large
spider," as Peggy had termed it, tucked its legs under its fat,
hairy body and made a deliberate spring at the two girls.  Only
their agility in leaping backward saved them from being landed upon
by it.  But far from being dismayed apparently, the creature was
merely enraged by this failure.  It was gathering itself for another
spring when:

Crack!

There was a puff of smoke and a vicious report from Peggy's little
revolver, and the next instant the thing that had so alarmed the two
young girls lay still.  At the same moment the rest of the party,
frightened by the sound of the sudden shot, came running up.

"A tarantula!" cried Mr. Bell, "and one of the biggest I have ever
seen.  It is fortunate for you, young ladies, that he did not bite
you or there might have been a different tale to tell.  Which of you
shot it?"

"Oh, Peggy of course," cheerfully admitted Jess; "I can't pull the
trigger yet without shutting my eyes."

"Hurrah for Peggy Prescott, America's premier girl rifle and
revolver shot!" shouted Jimsy in blatant imitation of a show man.

"What a pair of fangs!" cried Roy, who had picked up the dead
tarantula and was examining it carefully.

The girls could not repress a shudder as they looked at the dead
giant spider, lying with its great legs outstretched, on Roy's hand.

"The Mexicans have a superstition that even if one does not die from
the effects of their bites that the tarantula can inoculate a person
with dancing poison," said Mr. Bell.

"Dancing poison?" they all cried in an astonished chorus.

"Yes," explained the mining man, "that is to say, that its poison
will cause a sort of St. Vitus's dance."

"Good gracious!  How unpleasant!" cried Jess.  "I'm awfully fond of
dancing, but I wouldn't care to come by my fun that way."

"Better than being bitten by the kissing bug anyhow," teased Roy
mischievously.

The episode of the tarantula furnished plenty of conversation
through the luncheon hour, and caused Miss Prescott many shudders.
The poor lady was beginning to think that more dangers lurked in the
desert than on any of her most dreaded street crossings in New York.

But little time was spent over the midday meal, and then the final
"leg" of their dash across the alkali to Steer Wells began.  The sun
was low, bathing the desert in a crimson glow, when Mr. Bell, who
was riding in advance, gave a sudden shout and pointed ahead to a
patch of forlorn looking trees in the distance.

"Steer Wells," he announced.

The boys gave a cheer and plunged forward, with Peggy and Jess close
behind.  But the others advanced more sedately.

But as they drew closer to the clump of trees standing so oddly
isolated amid the waste of alkali, they noted with surprise that
they were not to be the only persons to share the hospitality of the
oasis.  From amid the foliage a column of blue smoke was rising,
betokening the presence of other wayfarers.  Instantly speculation
became rife among the young folks.  Who could be the sharers of
their excursion into the untraveled wastes?  They were soon to
discover.

A strange figure stepped from the trees as the ponies, in a cloud of
dust, dashed up.  It was that of a tall, angular man with a pair of
iron-rimmed spectacles perched on a protuberant nose.  He was clean
shaven, except for a goatee, and his wrinkled skin was the color of
old leather.  Long locks of gray hair hung lankly almost to his
narrow, sloping shoulders.  Above these straggly wisps was perched
jauntily a big sombrero of regulation plainsman type.  But the
strangest feature of this strange personage lay in the remainder of
his attire, which consisted of a long black frock coat hanging
baggily to his knees and a pair of trousers of the largest and most
aggressive check pattern imaginable.  His feet were encased in
patent leather boots, over which were gaiters of a brilliant yellow.

Under the trees could now be seen a small wagon painted a bright
red, which bore upon its sides the inscription:

 "Professor Wandering William, Indian Herb Remedies.  They make the
desert of life to bloom like the Rose Gardens of Mount Hybla.  50
cents per bottle or half a dozen for $2.50."

The professor's angular mule team were browsing on the scanty grass
that grew within the circle of trees, while above a fire of chips
and twigs there hung an iron pot, which evidently contained the
professor's supper.  As for the professor himself, he clearly stood
revealed in the person of the strange character who now, taking off
his sombrero, waved it three times around his head in solemn rhythm,
and then, raising a high pitched voice, shouted:

"Welcome!  Thrice welcome to this fertile spot amid the stony
desert.  Like the Great Indian Herb Remedy, it blooms like the Rose
Gardens of Hybla.  Ahem!"

The conclusion of this speech was a dry cough, after which the
professor solemnly readjusted his hat, and coming forward, said in
quite ordinary tones:


"Howdy-do."

By this time the remainder of the party had galloped up, and arrived
just as the young folks, hardly knowing what to say, had responded
"howdy-do" likewise.

"I hardly expected to find anyone else here," said Mr. Bell, and
then by way of introduction, he rattled off their names, the
professor bowing low as each was presented.

"And now," said he, "allow me to present myself, Professor Wandering
William, proprietor and originator of the Great Indian Herb
Medicine, good alike for man or beast, child or adult.  Insist on
the original and only.  Allow me," and the speaker suddenly whisked
round with unexpected agility and darting toward his wagon opened
the back of the vehicle and presently reappeared with several small
bottles.  He handed one to each of the new arrivals.

"Samples!" he explained, "and free as the birds of the air.  If you
like the samples, make a purchase.  Money back if not exactly as
represented."

With as grave faces as they could assume, they all thanked this
queer character, and then Mr. Bell asked.

"May I inquire what you are doing in the desert, Professor.  I
should think you would find this part of the country a most
unprofitable field."

"My dear sir," rejoined the professor, "twice a year I make a
pilgrimage into the desert to gather the ingredients of The Remedy.
You behold me now almost at the conclusion of my labors.  In a few
days I shall return to the haunts of civilization and gladden the
hearts of mankind by disbursing The Remedy on my terms as quoted on
the wagon yonder."

The professor lent a hand in unsaddling and unpacking the stock of
the adventurers, and proved to be of great assistance in several
ways.  Evidently he was an experienced plainsman and he suggested
many ways in which their equipment might be lightened and adjusted.
His odd manner of talking only possessed him at intervals, and at
other times he seemed to converse like any rational being.

This put a queer idea into Peggy's head.

"I wonder if he's acting a part?" she thought to herself.  But the
next minute the professor's exaggerated gestures and tones convinced
her to the contrary.  Although his manner was as outlandish as his
choice of clothes, still there was a certain something about it
which negatived the idea of its being assumed, unless the professor
was a most consummate actor.  He informed the party that he had set
out to cut across the desert from California and had had several
narrow escapes from death by reason of lack of water.

I le appeared much interested when Mr. Bell in formed him that the
party had started out from Blue Creek, adding--as he deemed wisest--
that they were a party of tenderfeet anxious to explore the desert
at first hand.

"So you were in Blue Creek recently, eh?" he said, with an entire
lack of his exaggerated manner, but in crisp tones that fairly
snapped; "didn't hear anything there of Red Bill Summers, did you?"

With a half smile Mr. Bell replied that they had not had the
pleasure of the gentleman's acquaintance.

"Don't know about the pleasure part of it," shot out the professor,
"he's the most desperate crook this side of Pikes Peak.  I'd give a
good deal for a look at him myself.  I--I have a professional
interest in him," he added, with a queer smile which set his eyes to
snapping and crackling.

"A medical interest, I suppose?" inquired Mr. Bell, "you think he'd
make an interesting study?"

"Most interesting," was the reply in quiet, thoughtful tones.

But the next instant the professor was back at his old pompous,
high-flown verbal gymnastics, and after supper he entertained them
till bedtime with tales of his experiences, to which both boys and
girls listened with wide-eyed astonishment.

"The oddest character I have ever encountered," declared Mr. Bell,
as the professor, after bowing low to the ladies and apostrophizing
the male portion of his audience, retired to his red wagon, within
which he slept.

They all agreed to this, but Peggy said rather timidly:

"Somehow I don't think he's quite as odd as we think him."

"What do you mean, my dear?" asked Mr. Bell.

"Why, when he spoke about that Red Billy whatever his name was, did
you see how different he looked?  Younger somehow, and--and oh,
quite different.  I don't know just how, but he wasn't the same at
all."

"Oh, Peggy's trying to work up a romantic mystery about the
professor," teased Jess; "maybe he's a wandering British lord in
disguise or the interesting but wayward son of a millionaire with a
hobby for socialism."

The others burst into laughter at Jess's raillery, but Miss Prescott
gently said:

"There is a great deal in womanly intuition, my dear, and for my
part I had the same feeling as you.  I mean that that man was not
just what he appeared to be, namely, a chattering, ignorant quack."

"Well, as we may have him for a neighbor for some days we shall have
a chance to watch him closely," said Mr. Bell.

But in this the leader of the party of adventurers turned out to be
wrong, for when they awoke the next morning the grove did not
contain the professor or his red wagon.  Only the ashes of his fire
were there to tell of his sojourn.  But on one of the trees they
found pinned a note.

"Sorry to leave so abruptly, but circumstances compelled.  Perhaps
we shall meet again.  Who knows!"

And that, for many days, was to be the last they saw of the
professor.  When they re-encountered him--but of the surprising
circumstances under which this was to take place we shall learn
later.




CHAPTER VIII

A DESERT FIGHT


There was too much before them for the party to spend much time in
speculation concerning the professor's sudden disappearance.
Immediately after breakfast Mr. Bell called the boys aside and said:

"How long will it take to get an aeroplane ready?"

The question came briskly, as did all Mr. Bell's speeches.

"I think I can promise to have a machine ready for flight by noon,"
was Roy's rejoinder after a brief interval of thought.

"Good!  In that case we will waste no time in getting to work.  I am
anxious to reach the mine and stake it out properly for claim filing
purposes.  The less delay the better."

It was news to both boys that the definite legal claim to his
discovery had not yet been made by Mr. Bell.

"Well, at any rate you are not likely to be bothered by claim
jumpers away off here," commented Roy.

"No, I hardly think so," was the response, "but in these matters one
cannot be too careful.  Since the news spread that I have struck it
rich there are men capable of enduring any hardship if there exists
a possibility of wresting it from me."

"I should have thought that in order to be on the safe side you
would have filed your claim before you came East," put in Peggy, who
had joined the little group of consultants.

"I would have done so were it not for the fact that to have filed my
claim and given the location would have set on my track the entire,
restless gold-seeking horde that hangs about desert towns," said Mr.
Bell, with some warmth.  "It is an outrageous thing, but
nevertheless a fact, that the moment one files a claim it becomes
public property.  In my opinion the government should protect the
locator of a gold find."

"But would that be quite fair to the others," said Peggy softly.
"Shouldn't everybody have an opportunity to develop natural
resources?"

Mr. Bell gazed at her admiringly.

"You are right, my dear, and I'm a selfish old bear," he said, "but
just the same, not all gold-seekers make desirable neighbors.  Many
desperate men are among them."

Peggy's mind wandered back to that midnight conversation she had
overheard on the porch of the National House.  But the same dread of
ridicule that she had experienced then still held her, and she
refrained from mentioning it.

By noon, with such good will did they work, that not only was one of
the monoplanes erected and ready for flight, but a second was
partially assembled, and only required the finishing touches to be
in readiness for its aerial dash.  While the boys, with the girls
eagerly helping them, worked on the flying machine, Mr. Bell
carefully studied a map he had made of the mine's location, and
tested his compass.  This done he--as sailors say--"laid out a
course" for himself.  From the springs the mine lay about due
southeast and some hundred and twenty miles away.

In case of accidents the mining man traced carefully a second map,
which was to be left behind in the camp so as to be constantly
available in case anything happened to the first one, it had been
decided that Jimsy, who by this time had become quite a skillful
aviator, was to accompany Mr. Bell in the preliminary flight.

Roy and Mr. Peter Bell were to be left in charge of the camp, and in
the event of the first aeroplane not returning that night the
second, one was to be dispatched in search of it.

As an old plainsman, Mr. Bell had not laid his plans without taking
into consideration the possibility of accident to the aeroplane, and
none realized better than he did what serious consequences such an
accident might have.

In the chassis of the machine with the travelers were placed a stock
of canned goods, a pick and shovel and several hundred feet of fine
but tough rope.  A supply of water in stone jars and an extra stock
of gasoline were also taken along.  At the conclusion of the noon
meal the motor was started and found to be working perfectly.
Nothing then remained to be done but to bid hasty "au revoirs" and
wing off across the barren wastes.

"If all goes well we may be back to-night," said Mr. Bell as he
slipped into the seat set tandem-wise behind Jimsy.

"And if not?" inquired Roy.

"In that case," and Mr. Bell's voice held a grave note, "in that
case you will take the other monoplane and start out to look for
us."

The roar of the motor as Jimsy started it drowned further words.
Blue smoke and livid flames burst from the exhausts.  The structure
of the flying machine shook and quivered under the force of the
explosions.  The next instant the first aeroplane to invade the Big
Alkali scudded off across the level floor of the desert, and after
some five hundred feet of land travel soared upward.  In fifteen
minutes it was a fast diminishing speck against the burnished blue
of the Nevada sky.

There was some feeling of loneliness in the hearts of those left
behind as they turned back toward the camp under the straggly
willows.  But this was speedily dissipated by that sovereign tonic
for such feelings-namely, work.  Much was to be done on the
remaining monoplane, and with the exception of brief intervals of
"fooling" the young people spent the rest of the day on finishing
its equipment.  Sunset found the machine ready for flight and the
girl aviators and Roy very ready indeed for the supper to which
Peter Bell presently summoned them by loud and insistent beating on
a tin pan.

You may be sure that as the sun dipped lower, the sky toward the
southwest had been frequently swept by expectant eyes, but supper
was served and eaten, and the purple shadows of night began softly
to drape the glaring desert and still there came no sign of the
homing aeroplane.

"Reckon they don't want to risk a night flight and so have decided
to camp at the mine," suggested old Peter Bell in response to Miss
Prescott's rather querulous wondering as to the reason of the
non-return.

"That must be it," agreed Roy easily, demolishing the last of a can
of chicken.

Truth to tell, inwardly he had not expected the travelers back that
night, and perhaps there lingered, too, in his mind, a faint desire
to test out the other aeroplane in a task of rescue, in the event of
the one Jimsy was driving breaking down.

But when morning came without a sign of the missing monoplane
speculation crystallized into a real and keen anxiety.  It was
determined to delay no longer but set out at once in search of it.
To this end the recently equipped airship was stocked with food and
water, and shortly before noon Roy finished the final tuning up of
the engine.  The others watched him anxiously as he worked.  It
seemed clear enough that some real accident must have occurred to
the other machine.

"James would never keep us in suspense like this," said Mr. Bell,
"if he could reach us and relieve our anxiety."

Roy was just about to clamber into the chassis when Peggy and Jess,
who had been missing for several minutes, emerged from their tent.
Each girl wore an aviation hood and stout leather gauntlets.
Plainly they were dressed for aerial flight.  Roy gazed at them
quizzically.

"I hate to disappoint you girls," he said, "but I've got to play a
lone hand in this thing."

"No such thing," said Peggy in her briskest tones; "what if anything
happened to you?  Who would run the machine if we weren't along?"

"That's quite true, Roy," struck in Jess, "and besides if--if
anything has gone wrong with Jimsy who has a better right to be near
him than I?"

Roy looked perplexed.

"What am I to do, Aunt Sally?" he appealed, turning to Miss
Prescott.

To Peggy's astonishment, as much as anyone else's, Miss Prescott did
not veto their going.

"I think it would be great folly for you to go on an expedition of
this kind alone," she said, addressing Roy.  "As Peggy says, if
anything went wrong what could you do alone?"

"Oh, aunt, you're a dear!" cried Peggy, giving the kindly old lady a
bear hug.

"But I make one condition," continued Miss Prescott, "and that is,
that whatever you find, you do not delay, but report back here as
soon as possible.  I could not bear much more anxiety."

This was readily promised, and ten minutes later the three young
aviators were in the chassis of the big monoplane.  After a moment's
fiddling with levers and adjustments Roy started the motor.  Heavily
laden as it was the staunch aeroplane shot upward steadily after a
short run.  As it grew rapidly smaller, and finally became a mere
black shoe button in the distance, Miss Prescott turned to old Peter
Bell with a sigh.

"Heaven grant they all come back safe and sound," she exclaimed.

"Amen to that, ma'am," was the response, and then unconsciously
lapsing into his rhythmical way of expressing himself, the old man
added: "Though flying through the air so high they'll come back
safely by and by."

And then, while old Peter shuffled off to water the stock, Miss
Prescott fell to continuing her fancy work which the good lady had
brought with her from the Fast.  An odd picture she made, sitting
there in that dreary grove in the desert, with her New England
suggestion of primness and house-wifely qualities showing in
striking contrast to the strange setting of the rest of the picture.





CHAPTER IX

AGAINST HEAVY ODDS


"Any sign of them yet, Roy?"

Peggy leaned forward and gently touched her brother's arm.

"I can't see a solitary speck that even remotely resembles them," he
said.  "It looks bad," he added with considerable anxiety in his
tones.

Peggy took a peep at the plan which was spread out before Roy on a
little shelf designed to hold aerial charts.  Then she glanced at
the compass and the distance indicator.

"We must be close to the place now," she said; "it's somewhere off
there, isn't it?"

"There" was a range of low hills cut and slashed by steep-walled
gullies and canyons.  In some of these canyons there appeared to be
traces of vegetation, giving rise to the suspicion that water might
be obtained there by digging.

Roy nodded.

"That's the place, and there's that high cone shaped hill that the
plan indicates as the location of the mine."

"But there's not a trace of them-oh, Jimsy!"

Jess's tones were vibrant with cruel anxiety.  Her face was pale and
troubled.  As for Peggy, her heart began to beat uncomfortably fast.
But she wisely gave no outer sign.

"Don't worry, girlie," she said in as cheerful and brisk a tone as
she could call up on the spur of the moment, "it will be all right.
I'm sure of it."

Circling high above the range of barren hills they took a thorough
survey of them.  There was no sign of the missing aeroplane or her
occupants, but all at once beneath them they saw something that
caused them all to utter an astonished shout.

In one of the shallower gullies there was suddenly revealed the
forms of an immense pack of animals of a gray color and not unlike
dogs.

"Wolves!" cried Peggy.

"No, they are coyotes," declared Roy; "I recollect now hearing Mr.
Bell say that these hills were frequented by them."

While they still hovered above the strange sight, a sudden swing
brought another angle of the gully into view, and there, hidden
hitherto by a huge rock, was the missing aeroplane.

But of its occupants there was not a trace.

"We must descend at once," decided Roy.

"But, Roy, the coyotes!"

It was Jess who spoke.  The sight of the immense pack of the brutes
thoroughly unnerved her.  As they swung lower, too, they could hear
the yappings and howlings of the savage band.

"I don't think they will bother us," said Roy.  "I've heard Mr. Bell
say that they are cowardly creatures."

"If they do we'll have to fly up again," said Peggy; "but we simply
must examine that aeroplane for some clue of the others'
whereabouts.  Besides we have our revolvers."

"And can use them, too," said Roy with decision.  "Now look out and
hold tight, for I'm going to make a quick drop."

The gully seemed to rush upward at the aeroplane as it swooped down,
coming to rest finally, almost alongside its companion machine.
Luckily, the big rock before mentioned concealed the new arrivals
from the view of the pack gathered further up the gully.

No time was lost in alighting and examining the machine, but beyond
the fact that none of the food or water had been disturbed there was
no clue there.  Another puzzling fact was that the rifles Mr. Bell
and Jimsy had brought with them still lay in the chassis.  This
seemed to dispose of the theory that they had been attacked.  But
what could have become of them?  Was it possible that the coyotes--?
Roy gave an involuntary shiver as a thought he did not dare allow
himself to retain flashed across his mind.  And yet it was odd the
presence of that numerous pack all steadily centered about one spot.

"I'm going to try firing a shot into the air," said Roy suddenly;
"if they are in the vicinity they will hear it and answer if they
can."

"Oh, yes, do that, Roy," begged Jess. "Oh, I'm almost crazy with
worry!  What can have happened?"

The sharp bark of Roy's pistol cut short her half hysterical
outbreak.  Following the report they listened intently and then:

"Hark!" exclaimed Peggy, her eyes round and her pulses beating
wildly.  "Wasn't that a shout?  Listen, there it is again!"

"I heard it that time, too," exclaimed Roy.

"And I!" cried Jess.

"It came from down the canyon where those coyotes are," went on
Peggy.

"That's right, sis, and it complicates our search," said Roy, "but
we've got to go on now.  You girls wait here for me while I
investigate, and--and you'd better take those rifles out of the
other aeroplane."

"Oh, Roy, you're not going alone?" Peggy appealed.

"I'm not going to let you girls take a chance till I see what's
ahead, that's one sure thing," was the rejoinder.

Before another word could be said the boy, revolver in hand,
vanished round the big rock.  Hardly had he done so, when there was
borne to the girls' ears the most appalling confusion of sounds they
had ever heard.  The bedlam was, punctuated by several sharp shots,
and Roy appeared running from round the rock.  His hat was off, and
as he approached he shouted:

"Get back to the aeroplanes!  The pack's after us!"

At the same instant there appeared the leaders of the onrush.
Great, half-famished looking brutes, whose red mouths gaped open
ferociously and whose eyes burned wickedly.

But Roy had hardly had time to shout his warning before an accident,
entirely unexpected, occurred.  His foot caught on a stone and he
came down with a crash.  The next moment the pack would have been
upon him, but Peggy jerked the rifle she had selected to her
shoulder and fired into the midst of the savage horde.  With a howl
of anguish one of the creatures leaped high in a death agony and
came toppling down among his mates, a limp, inanimate mass.  This
checked the surging onrush for an instant, and in that instant Roy
was on his feet and sprinting briskly toward the girls.

Straight for the aeroplanes they headed.  Reaching them they
entrenched themselves in what they could not but feel was an
immensely insecure position.

"Thank you, sis," was all that Roy, with a bit of a choke in his
voice, was able to gasp out before the leaders of the pack were on
them.

More by instinct than with any definite idea, the young people began
desperately pumping lead into the seething confusion of gray backs
and red gaping mouths.

All at once poor Jess, half beside herself with terror, gave a
throaty little gasp.

"I think I'm going to faint," she exclaimed feebly.

Peggy gave her a sharp glance.

"You'll do no such thing, Jess Bancroft," she said sharply, although
the pity in her eyes belied the harshness of the words, "if you do
I'll--I'll never speak to you again!"

The words had their calculated effect, and Jess made a brave rally.
At almost the same instant a shot from Roy's rifle brought down the
largest of the creatures of the desert, a big hungry looking brute
with tawny, scraggy hair and bristling hackles.  As he rolled over
with a howl of anguish and rage a sudden wavering passed through the
pack.  It was like a wind-shadow sweeping over a field of summer
wheat.

"Hooray, we've got them beaten!" shouted Roy, enthusiastically.

The lad was right.  Their leader fallen, the remainder of the pack
had seemingly no liking for keeping up the attack.  Still snarling
they began to retreat slowly--a backward movement, which presently
changed into a mad, helter skelter rush.  Panic seized on them, and
down the dry arroyo they fled, a dense cloud of yellow, pungent dust
rising behind them.  In a few seconds all that remained to tell of
the battle in the gulch were the still bodies of the brutes that had
fallen before the boy and girl aviators' rifles.

They were contemplating the scene when, from further up the gully,
there came a sound that set all their pulses beating.

It was the shout of a human voice.

"Thank heaven you were not too late!"

While they were still standing stock still in startled immobility at
the recognition of Mr. Bell's voice, there came another hail.

"Hello, Jess!  Hello, Peggy and Roy!"

Emerging from the cloud of dust which was still thick, there
staggered toward them two uncanny looking figures in which they had
at first some difficulty in recognizing Mr. Bell and Jimsy Bancroft.
But when they did what a shout went up!

It echoed about the dead hills and rang hollowly in the silent
gully.  An instant later the reunited adventurers were busily
engaged in exchanging greetings of which my readers can guess the
tenor.  Then came explanations.

"On arriving in the arroyo," said Mr. Bell, "Jimsy and I decided to
set out at once to examine the mine site, and lay if off for
purposes of proper location with the United States government.  I
must tell you that the mine--or rather the site of it--is located in
that cavern yonder further up the arroyo."

"Why it was round the entrance to that that the coyotes were
gathered when we first dropped!" cried Peggy.

"Exactly.  And very much to our discomfort, too, I can tell you,"
rejoined Mr. Bell dryly.

"They had you besieged!" exclaimed Roy.

"That's just it, my boy.  They must have been famished, or they
never would have gathered up the courage to do it, for, as a rule,
one man can put a whole pack of the brutes to flight.  I suppose,
however, they realized that they had us cornered, for, with a sort
of deadly deliberation, they seated themselves round the mouth of
the cavern, seemingly awaiting the proper time for us to be starved
out or driven forth by thirst.  Luckily, however, we had canteens
with us and a scanty supply of food, otherwise it might have been
the last of us."

Jess shuddered and drew very close to Jimsy.

"And you had no weapons," volunteered Roy.

"Ah, I see you encountered our guns in the chassis of the aeroplane.
No, foolishly, I'll admit, we omitted to arm ourselves for such a
short excursion.  Of course we never dreamed of any danger of that
sort in this lonely place, and least of all from the source from
which it came.  But I can, tell you, it was an ugly feeling when, on
preparing to emerge with some specimens of the ore-bearing rocks, we
found ourselves facing a grim semi-circle, banked dozens deep, of
those famished coyotes. They greeted our appearance with a howl, and
when we tried to scare them off they just settled down on their
haunches to wait."

"Their silence was worse than their yapping and barking, I think,"
struck in Jimsy.

"It certainly was," agreed Mr. Bell; "both of us tried to keep up
good hearts, but when the night passed and morning still found the
brutes there, things began to look bad.  Of course we knew that you
would set out to look for us when we did not return, but we did not
know if you would reach here in time."

"But you did," cried Jimsy, regarding the dead bodies of coyotes the
vanquished pack had left behind.

"And excellent work your rifles did, too," declared Mr. Bell warmly.

"Our rifles and--the Girl Aviators," said Roy, and proceeded to tell
the interested listeners from the cavern some incidents which caused
them to open their eyes and regard our girls with unconcealed
admiration.





CHAPTER X

RESCUED BY AEROPLANE


"What's that down there?"

Roy pointed downward from the aeroplane to a small black object
crawling painfully over the glistening white billows of alkali far
below them.

The lad, his sister and Jess were on their way back from the arroyo
in which the battle with the coyotes had occurred.  Mr. Bell and
Jimsy had been left behind, for the former was anxious to "prospect"
his mine as thoroughly as possible in order to ascertain if it gave
indications of living up to its first rich promise.  A brief
inspection of the cave had thoroughly disgusted Peggy and Jess.

"Is this a rich gold mine!" Jess had cried, indignantly regarding
the dull walls on which the torches had glowed unflatteringly; "it
looks more like the interior of the cellar at home."

"All is not gold that glitters," Mr. Bell had responded with a
smile.  At the same moment he had flaked off a chunk of dark colored
metal with his knife.

"There, Miss Jess," he exclaimed, handing it to the girl, "that is
almost pure gold, and I am in hopes that there is lots more where
that came from."

And they had been kind enough not to laugh too immoderately at
Jess's discomfiture.

A short time later, having located a water hole and partaken of a
good lunch, Roy and his companions had re-embarked and started back
to camp with the joyful tidings that the missing adventurers had
been found.  They had been under way but a short time when Roy's
attention had been attracted by the moving dot which had caused him
to utter the exclamation recorded at the beginning of this chapter.

Against the flat, baking, quivering expanse of alkali the crawling
splotch of black showed up as plainly as a blot of ink on a sheet of
clean white blotting paper.  Peering over the edge of the chassis they
all scrutinized it closely.

"It's--it's a man!" cried Jess at length.

"So it is!" declared Peggy, "and on foot.  What can he be doing out
in this desert country without a horse?"

"He's in trouble anyhow," declared Roy, excitedly.  "See, he's
staggering along so painfully that it looks as if he couldn't go a
step further.  I'm going to drop and find out what the trouble is."

As he spoke the boy threw in the descending clutch, and the big
monoplane began to drop as swiftly as a buzzard that has espied some
prey far beneath him.

As they rushed downward the whirr of their descent seemed to arouse
the being so painfully crawling over the hot waste beneath them.  He
looked up, and then, extending his hands upward in a gesture of
bewilderment, he staggered forward and the next instant stretched
his length on the alkali, falling face downward.

"Oh, he is dead!" shrilled Jess, clasping her hands.

"I don't think so," was Roy's grave reply, "but we must get to him
as quickly as we can."

There was no need to tell Peggy to get the water canteen ready.  Her
busy little, fingers were fumbling with it.  As they touched the
ground she leaped nimbly from the chassis and sped over the burning
desert floor to the side of the recumbent wayfarer.  A second later
Roy and Jess joined her.  Very tenderly they turned the insensible
man upon his back and dashed the water upon his face.

He was a short, rather stockily built man of middle age, and
obviously, from his mahogany colored skin and lank black hair, a
Mexican.  He was dressed in a tattered shirt with a serape thrown
about the neck to keep off the blazing rays of the sun.  His feet
were encased in a kind of moccasins over which spurs were strapped.
Evidently, then, he had been mounted at some time--presumably
recently, but where was his horse?  How did he come to be wandering
under the maddening heat of the sun over the vast alkali waste.  But
these were questions the answers to which had to be deferred for the
present, for it began to appear doubtful if they had arrived in time
to fan the wanderer's vital spark back into flame.

But at length their ministrations met with their reward.  The man's
eyelids flickered and a deep sigh escaped his lips.  Before long
they could press the water canteen to his mouth.  He seized it with
avidity and would have drained it.

"Only a little," cried Peggy; "I read once how a man, dying of
thirst, was killed outright when he was given too much water to
drink."

So Roy wrenched the canteen from the prostrated man's feeble grasp
before he had drained more than a mouthful or two.  But even that
had revived him, and he was able to sit up and gaze about
bewilderedly.  All at once his eyes rested on Peggy, and he seemed
to regard her as the means of his salvation from a terrible death on
the alkali.  Kneeling down he cried out in a pitifully cracked
voice:

"You missie angel from heaven.  Me Alverado your servant always.  No
go away ever!"

"By ginger, Peggy, you've made a conquest!" cried Roy, half
hysterically.

Now that the strain of the struggle between life and death was over
Peggy flushed and looked embarrassed.  She was not used to the
exaggerated character of the Mexican.  But if she feared another
outburst it did not come.  Far too much exhausted to say more,
Alverado--as he called himself--sank back once more on the alkali.

"Quick!  Carry him to the aeroplane and get him into camp," cried
Roy, raising the half-conscious Mexican's head.  "You girls take his
feet and we'll put him in the bottom of the chassis on those
cushions."

Consequently, when the aeroplane once more took the air it was to
fly lower than usual under its additional burden, but in the hearts
of all three of its American occupants there rang the joy of having
saved a human life from the unsparing alkali.

"Aunt Sally!  Aunt Sally!  Everything's all right and we've got a
patient for you," was Peggy's rather uncomplimentary greeting as the
aeroplane alighted and came spinning across the dusty expanse toward
the willow clump.

Miss Prescott threw up her hands and old Mr. Peter Bell hastened
from amidst his beloved horses.

"Everything's all right but you've got a patient!" cried the New
England lady, who looked very prim and unwesternlike in a gingham
gown and sun bonnet to match.

"No time for explanations now," cried Roy.  "Come on, Mr. Bell, and
help us get our sick man out and then we'll tell you all about how
we found Jimsy and Mr. Bell at the mine."

With Mr. Bell's assistance it did not take long to transfer Alverado
from the aeroplane to a cot, and Miss Prescott, who, as Roy said,
would "rather nurse than eat," ministered to him to such good effect
that by nightfall he was able to sit up and tell his story.  In the
meantime the excited youngsters had related their narratives, which
Miss Prescott interrupted in a dozen places by: "Land's sakes!"
"Good gracious me!"

"Oh, what a dreadful country!" and much more to the same effect.

All the time he was relating his story Alverado kept his eyes fixed
on Peggy's face, with much the same expression as that worn by a
faithful spaniel.  At first this fixed gaze annoyed the young girl
not a little, but soon she realized that it was entirely respectful
and meant as a tribute, for the Mexican evidently regarded her as
his rescuer in chief.

Alverado's story proved vague and sketchy, but he could not be
induced to enlarge upon it.  In brief his tale was that some years
before, when crossing the desert on his way from a mine he owned, he
had been attacked by a band of highwaymen.  They had wrecked his
wagon and murdered his family, who were traveling with him.  They
had attacked him because of their impression that he was carrying
much gold with him, whereas, in reality, he had secured nothing but
a living from his desert mine.  In their rage at being thwarted, the
miscreants had wiped out the Mexican's family and left him for dead
with a wound in his skull.

But a wandering band of Nevada Indians had happened along while the
Mexican still lay unconscious and, reviving him, carried him with
them over the border into California.  He had parted from them soon
after and drifted down into Mexico.  In time he accumulated a small
fortune, but the thought of the wrong he had suffered never left his
heart.  At last his affairs reached a stage where he felt justified
in returning to Nevada to try to find some trace of his wrongers,
and demand justice.  He had set out well equipped, but, a few days
before the young aviators encountered him, his water burro had
stumbled and fallen, and in the fall had broken the water kegs it
carried.  From that time on his trip across the alkali had been a
nightmare.  First his pony had died, and then his two remaining pack
burros.  He had obtained a scanty supply of thirst quenching stuff
from the pulpy insides of cactus and maguey leaves, but when the
aviators had discovered him he had been in the last stages of death
from thirst and exhaustion--the death that so many men on the alkali
have met alone and bravely.

"Do you know the name of the men who attacked you and treated you so
cruelly?" asked Peggy, breaking the tense silence which followed the
conclusion of the Mexican's dramatic narrative.

A dark look crossed the man's swarthy features.

"One name onlee I know, mees," he said, with a snarl which somehow
reminded Peggy of the coyotes of the arroyo.

"And his name was?"

"Red Beel Soomers!"

"'Red Bill Summers!" they all echoed, except Miss Prescott and old
Mr. Peter Bell, the latter of whom had fallen into a reverie.

As if they had been emblazoned in electric lights, the words of
Professor Wandering William flashed across Peggy's brain.

"The most desperate ruffian on the Nevada desert."

And at the same time, with one of those quick, flashes of intuition
which growing girls share with grown women, Peggy sensed a vague
connection between that sinister conversation she had overheard on
her wakeful night at the National House and the dreaded Red Bill.





CHAPTER XI

THE HORSE HUNTERS


Bright and early the next day the aeroplane whizzed back to the
arroyo, carrying a fresh supply of food and water, for Mr. Bell had
decided to investigate his "prospect" thoroughly while he had an
opportunity.  To his mind, he had declared, the lead, or pay streak,
ran back far into the base of the barren hills, and might yield
almost untold of riches if worked properly.  Among the supplies
carried by the aeroplane, therefore, was a stock of dynamite from
the red painted box.

In the meantime Alverado had to be accepted perforce as a member of
the party.  In the first place, he showed no disposition to leave,
and in the second, even had he done so, there was no horse or burro
that could be spared for him to ride.  When Mr. Bell heard of the
new addition to the camp he was at first not best pleased.  Every
additional mouth meant an extra strain on their supplies, but he
surrendered to the inevitable, and finally remarked:

"Oh, well, I guess he'll be useful enough about the place.  Anyhow,
if we need him we can put him to work in the mine."

Peggy and Jess had accompanied Roy over in the aeroplane to the
mine, but Mr. Bell insisted on their returning.  "This is not work
for women or girls," he said, much to Peggy's inward disgust.

Jess, with her daintier ideas, however, was nothing averse to the
thought of getting back to the creature comforts of the permanent
camp in the willows.

"But who's going to get you back, I'd like to know," exclaimed Mr.
Bell, shoving back his sombrero and scratching his head perplexedly;
"it's important, for reasons you know of, that I should prospect
this claim so that I can record it to the limit, and to do that I'll
need Roy.  Maybe after all, you'd better stay."

Peggy's eyes danced delightedly, but Jess spoiled it all by saying:

Why, Peggy can run the aeroplane better than either Roy or Jimsy,
Mr. Bell."

"O-h-h!  Jess!" shouted Roy derisively.

"Well, she can, and you know it, too," declared Jess loyally.

"Why that's so, isn't it?" cried Mr. Bell, glad of this way out of
his difficulty.  After that there was nothing for Peggy to do but to
give in gracefully.

The two girls were ready to start back when Mr. Bell reached into
his pocket and drew forth a bit of carefully folded paper.

"I'll entrust this to you," he said to Peggy; "it's for my brother.
It's a correct description of the mine's location so far as we have
explored it.  The plan is a duplicate one, and I'll feel safer if I
know that, beside the original, my brother has a copy.  In the event
of one being lost a lot of work would be saved."

Soon after this, adieus were said, and the aeroplane soared high
into the clear, burning air above the desolate ridges.  Under
Peggy's skillful hands the plane fairly flew.  At the pace they
proceeded it was not long before the willows, a dark clump amid the
surrounding ocean of glittering waste, came into view.  A veteran of
the air could not have made a more accurate or an easier landing
that did Peggy.  The big machine glided to the ground as softly as a
feather, just at the edge of the patch of shade and verdure which
made up Steer Wells.

That afternoon, after the midday meal, a cloud of dust to the
southward excited everybody's attention.  After scanning the
oncoming pillar closely Alverado announced that it was caused by a
party of horsemen, and it soon became evident that the willow clump
was their destination.

"Oh, mercy, I do hope they aren't Indians and we shall all be
murdered in our beds!" cried Miss Prescott in considerable alarm.
The good lady clasped her hands together distractedly.

"We might be murdered in our hammocks, aunt," observed Peggy,
indicating two gaudy specimens of the hanging lounges which had been
suspended under the shade; "but only very lazy people could be
murdered in bed at two o'clock in the afternoon."

"You know perfectly well what I mean," Miss Prescott began with
dignity, when Alverado, who, like the rest, had been watching the
advancing cavalcade eagerly, suddenly announced:

"They vaqueros--cowboys!"

"Cowboys!" shrilled Miss Prescott.  "That's worse.  Oh, dear, I wish
I'd never come to the land of the cowboys!"

"You speak as if they were some sort of animal, aunt," laughed
Peggy.  "I daresay there is no reason to be alarmed at them.  I've
always heard that they were very courteous and deferential to
ladies."

"What would cowboys be doing away out here where there isn't a cow
or a calf or even an old mule in sight?" inquired Jess.

"Maybe on wild horse hunt," rejoined Alverado with a shrug.

"Are there wild horses hereabouts then?" asked old Mr. Bell, and
then quite absent-mindedly he began murmuring:

"Masseppa, Masseppa tied to a wild horse;
In the way of revenge, as a matter of course."

"Plentee wild horse," was the Mexican's rejoinder.  "They cross the
desert sometimes to get fresh range.  Cowboy trail them and cut them
off and lasso them. Then they break them to ride."

"Oh, what a shame!" cried Peggy, impulsively.

"No shame go-od," declared the Mexican stolidly; "bye an' bye wild
horse all gone.  Good."

"I think it's hateful," declared Jess; "just the same I should like
to see a wild horse hunt," she added with girlish inconsistence.

"So should I if they'd let them all go again," agreed Peggy.

Old Mr. Bell laughed, for which he was gently reproved by Miss
Prescott.

"I shall bring this matter to the attention of the Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals back home," she said somewhat
snappishly.

But there was no opportunity to exchange more remarks on the
subject.

Uttering a shrill series of "ye-o-o-ows" the riders bore down on the
little desert camp.  From the heaving sides of the ponies, plastered
with the gray alkali of the desert, clouds of steam were rising.
Their riders, with mouths screened from the biting dust with red
handkerchiefs, were seemingly engaged in a race for the willow clump
where water and shade awaited them.

"Yip-yip-y-e-e-e-e-e-e!"

The sound came raucously from behind a dozen bandaged mouths as the
band swept down oil tile camp.  And then suddenly:

Bang!  Bang!  Bang!

A volley of revolver shots resounded as the jubilant horse hunters--
as Alverado had shrewdly suspected they were--dashed forward.

"Oh, Land of Goshen!" screamed Miss Prescott, as, with her fingers
in her ears, she fled into her tent and pulled the flap to.  Peggy
and Jess stood their ground boldly enough, although Jess's face
turned rather pale and her breath heaved in perturbation.

"Keep still, honey, they won't hurt you," comforted Peggy amid the
uproar.

Suddenly the leader of the horsemen drew his pony up abruptly,
throwing the cat-like little beast almost back upon his haunches.

"Boys!  Ladies!" he shouted.

Instantly every sombrero came off and was swept round each rider's
head in a broad circle.  It was a pretty bit of homage and the girls
bowed in acknowledgment of it.

"Hooray!" yelled the horsemen as they flung themselves from their
steaming but still active little mounts.

 "They're not so bad after all," breathed Jess, still, however,
clinging to Peggy's shirt-waisted arm.

But the leader, hat in hand, was now advancing toward the two girls.
The others hung back looking rather sheepish.  They were not in the
habit of meeting ladies, and to encounter two young and pretty girls
in the midst of the alkali was evidently a shock to them.  The
leader was a stalwart figure of a man, who might have stepped from
the advertising matter of a Wild West show.  Leather chaparejos
encased his long legs.  Round his throat was loosely knotted the red
handkerchief which they all wore when riding to protect their mouths
and nostrils from the dust.  His shirt was once blue, but it was so
covered with the gray of the alkali that it was difficult to tell
what color it might have been originally.  For the rest he wore a
big sombrero, the leather band of which was spangled with stars
worked in silver wire, and a pair of workmanlike-looking gauntlets
covered his hands.

"Beg pardon, ladies, for makin' sich a rough house," he said
hesitating, "but, yer see, ther boys wall we didn't hardly expec'
ter fin' ladies present."

"I'm sure we enjoyed it very much," rejoined Peggy quite at ease and
her own cool self now "It was like--er--like Buffalo Bill--"

"Only more so," put in Jess, with her most bewitching smile.

"Um--er--quite so," rejoined the plainsman, rather more at ease now;
"ye see, we're a party that's out on a horse hunt.  We got on ther
tracks of the band ther other side of ther San Quentin range, and
figgering thet they'd cut across here ter git to ther feeding
grounds on ther Pablo range on t'other side of ther desert we
stopped in here fer water an' shade."

"My name's Bud Reynolds," he volunteered tentatively.

Peggy took the hint conveyed.

"And we are part of a scientific exploring party," she said.

"College gals, by gee!" breathed Bud in what he thought was an
inaudible aside.

"The party is in charge of Mr. James Bell.  This is his brother, Mr.
Peter Bell--"

"Glad ter meet yer, I'm sure," said Bud with a low bow as the poet
hermit stepped forward.

"I am Miss Margaret Prescott; this is my chum, Miss Bancroft, and
there is my aunt, Miss Sally Prescott--"

Peggy, with a perfectly grave face, indicated Miss Prescott's tent,
from between the flaps of which that New England lady's spectacled
countenance was peering.

"Come out, auntie," she added.

"Oh, Peggy, is it perfectly safe?" queried Miss Prescott anxiously.

"Safe, mum!" exclaimed Bud expansively.  "If it was any safer you'd
hav ter send fer ther perlice.  Jes becos we're rough and ain't got
on full evenin' dress you musn't think we're dangerous, mum," he
went on more gravely.  "I'll warrant you'll fin' better fellers
right here on ther alkali than on Fit' Avenoo back in New York."

"Oh, do you come from New York," cried the romantic Jess, scenting
what she would have called "a dear of a story."

"A long time ago I did," rejoined Bud slowly.  "But come on, boys,"
he resumed with a return to his old careless manner, "come up an' be
interduced."

The others, hats in hand, shuffled forward.  It was plainly a novel
experience for them.

"And now," said Peggy cheerfully, when the ceremony had been
concluded, "you all look dreadfully tired and hot.  The water hole's
right over there.  When you've got off some of that dust we shall
have something for you to eat and some coffee."

This announcement took the horse hunters by storm.  With yips and
whoops they dashed off to the water hole, while Miss Sally and old
Peter Bell began to prepare a hasty meal for the unexpected
visitors.





CHAPTER XII

THE WATER THIEVES


It was an hour or more later when, having inspected the aeroplane
and marveled much thereat, the horse hunters arose to take their
leave.  They would have to press on, they explained, to reach the
rendezvous of the wild horses in the San Pablo range.  These hills
lay far to the northeast.  Bud perspiringly made the farewell
speech.

"Thankin' you one and all," he began, with perhaps a vague
recollection of the last circus he had seen, and there he stopped
short.

"Anyhow we thanks you," he said, getting a fresh start and jerking
the words out as if they had been shots from a revolver.  "It ain't
every day we has a pleasure like this here hes bin--"

"Hooray!" yelled the other horse hunters, who, already mounted,
stood behind their leader at the edge of the willows.

"An'--an'--wall, ther desert hes dangers uv its own an' if at any
time Bud Reynolds er ther boys kin help yer out send fer them to
ther San Pablo Range and if we're thar we'll be with yer ter ther
last bank uv ther last ditch."

With a sigh of relief Bud flung himself upon his pony and drove the
spurs home.  Amidst a tornado of yells and shouts the rest, waving
their sombreros wildly, dashed off after him.  In a few moments they
were only a cloud of dust on the alkali.

"I declare I feel kind of sad now they're gone," said Miss Sally
after an interval of silence.

"Rough diamonds," opined old Mr. Bell guardedly.

"But they've got warm, big hearts," stoutly declared Peggy.  "I wish—"

She stopped abruptly.

"Wish what, Peggy dear?" asked Jess, noting the troubled look that
had crept over her chum's face.

"Oh, nothing at all," rejoined Peggy.  But she was not speaking the
whole truth, for the girl had been thinking what a bulwark of
strength Bud and his followers would have been against the vague
menace of Red Bill.

It was late that night--after midnight as well as Peggy could
judge--that she was awakened by Jess bending over her cot in the
tent that both girls shared.

"O-h-h! Peggy, Peggy!  I'm frightened!" wailed the girl aviator's
chum.

"Frightened?  Of what dear?" asked Peggy wide awake in an instant.

"I--I don't just know," quavered Jess, "but, Oh, Peggy, you'll think
I'm an awful 'fraid cat, but I'm absolutely certain I heard
footsteps, stealthy footsteps outside just now."

"Nonsense, girlie.  It must have been a nightmare," rejoined Peggy
with sharp assurance.

"I might have thought so," went on Jess, "but I looked out through
the flap of the tent to make sure and I'm certain as that I'm
standing here now that I saw some figures on horseback over by the
water hole."

"Perhaps another party of horse hunters," suggested Peggy
soothingly.

"But, Peggy dear, they made hardly any noise.  That is, the horses I
mean.  I heard men's footsteps, but after a minute they mounted and
rode off, and--oh, it was too ghostly for anything--they made no
noise at all."

"You mean you couldn't hear any sound of the ponies' hoofs?" asked
Peggy incredulously.

"No, they moved in absolute silence.  Peggy, you don't think it was
anything supernatural, do you?"

For answer Peggy drew her revolver from under her pillow and tiptoed
to the tent flap.  It faced the water hole and in the bright white
moonlight a clear view of it could be obtained.  But after a
prolonged scrutiny Jess's plucky chum was unable to make out any
objects other than the usual ones appertaining to the camp.

"Imagination, my dear," she said, with positiveness.  But Jess still
shuddered and seemed under the influence of some strange fear.

"It was not imagination, Peggy.  It wasn't it really wasn't."

"Well, we'll look in the morning and if we find tracks we shall know
that you are right, and we'll get the boys back for a while anyhow,"
reassured Peggy.

But in the morning it was Alverado who came to the tent and in an
excited voice asked to see "missee" at once.

Peggy hastily completed dressing and emerged, leaving Jess still
asleep.  Something warned her that it would be best not to arouse
her chum just then.

"What is it, Alverado?" she asked, as the Mexican, betraying every
mark of agitation, hastened to her side.

"Santa Maria, missee," breathed the Mexican, "water almost all
gone!"

"The water is almost all gone?" quavered Peggy, beginning to sense
what was coming.

"Yes, missee.  Me go there this morning and--Madre de Dios--the
water hole almost empty."

"Were there any tracks?" inquired Peggy anxiously.

"Plenty tracks, but the man's had the cavallos' feet bundled in
sacks so make no noise--leave no tracks."

"Let me have a look."

With Alverado at her side Peggy hastened toward the water hole.  She
could hardly repress an exclamation of alarm as she gazed at the
hole.  Bare six inches of muddy water was on the bottom, where the
day before there had been a foot or more.  All about were vague
blotty-looking tracks which showed plainly enough the manner in
which the marauders had concealed all noise of their movements.  The
muffled hoofs would naturally give forth no sound.

"So Jess was right after all," breathed Peggy softly; "but who could
have done such a thing?  And why?"

But the latter question had not framed itself in her mind before it
was answered.  Without water they would not be able to exist at
Steer Wells for twenty-four hours.  A retreat would be equally
impracticable.  It was all horribly clear.  The theft of the water
was the first step in a deliberate plan to drive them out.  The
motive, too, was plain enough in the light of the overheard
conversation at the National Hotel.  The men who wanted Mr. Bell's
mi