CHAPTER XXXIV.
A MESSAGE FROM STELLA.
Dick had some difficulty in keeping his seat on the pony's back, for hecould not hold on to the cantle of the saddle, and Spraddle wabbleddreadfully, as he stumbled among the bowlders in the coulee.
But before long they were out on the prairie again, and Dick observedthat they were headed toward the mountains.
They had several miles to go to reach the mountains, and it was justgetting dusk when they entered upon a broad and beautiful valley, which,as it ran east and west, was flooded with the light from the settingsun.
Here the Indian turned in the saddle and looked at Dick with amalevolent smile.
"Turn white boy loose," he grunted.
Dick twisted around, and the Indian untied the cord that bound hiswrists.
"White boy try to run away, I kill um," said the Indian, showing histeeth in a horrible look of ferocity that chilled Dick to the bone.
"All right," he said; "I'll not try to run away again."
"Kill um if do," growled the Indian, hissing, at the pony, which is theIndian way of making a pony go forward, and means the same as a whiteman's "Get up!"
Dick was dreadfully hungry, but he said nothing, clinging to the cantleof the saddle with both hands, for the pony was now loping.
They had gone up the valley for several miles, when suddenly the Indianturned aside down a dark and narrow defile, still at a lope.
Even Dick realized the danger of this, for the floor of the defile wascovered with large, loose stones, over which Spraddle was continuallystumbling, for he had come a long way and was tired, besides the addedweight of the Indian was more than he was accustomed to carry.
It had grown very dark, and Dick could not see the pony's ears when hetwisted around to look past the Indian.
He knew that it was to be a moonlight night, but the moon was not upyet, and would not be for an hour or more. In fact, it was doubtful ifthe light of the moon would penetrate to the bottom of the defile untilit was high in the heavens, so deep was the defile and so steep itswalls.
Dick had given up wondering and worrying, and had forced himself to becontent with his situation, as he knew that he could not better it any.
Suddenly he became aware that the Indian was asleep, for he was droopingin the saddle, and was breathing deeply and steadily.
Now, thought Dick, was the time to escape, if any. He tried to slip fromthe pony's back, but in an instant the Indian was awake, and, reachingaround, grasped Dick's wrist, twisting it until the boy gave a sharp cryof pain.
The Indian slipped from the back of the pony, and again bound Dick'swrists behind him, and with a grunt climbed into the saddle and urgedSpraddle on, slapping him across the face with the end of the rein.
"Don't you do that," cried Dick, who never abused Spraddle himself, andcouldn't stand it to see any one else, particularly a dirty Indian, beathis pet.
"White boy shut up, or Pokopokowo beat him plenty," growled the Indian.
"If you dare beat me, Ted Strong will fix you when he gets you," saidDick hotly.
But the Indian only laughed, and continued to beat poor Spraddle overthe face, to the pain and anger of Dick, who, however, realized that hewas absolutely helpless.
But Pokopokowo was soon to be paid for his cruelty, and by poor Spraddlehimself.
Spraddle, stung by the blows, was stumbling along at a good pace overthe bowlders that lay in his way, with the Indian urging him faster allthe time.
Suddenly there was a great heave. Spraddle went down, almost turning asomersault, as his tired feet struck a larger bowlder than he hadencountered before.
The Indian, who was dozing again, shot over his head as if from acatapult, and Dick went sprawling forward over the saddle onto the neckof the pony.
Fortunately, the pony righted itself in time to save Dick from a hardfall, and he stayed on Spraddle's back, talking to him gently.
At the sound of Dick's voice the pony became quiet, and Dick halfsprawled, half fell to the ground. The boy was in a pretty bad fix, forthe Indian had tied his hands securely. He thought of ways by which hemight cut the cord, but it seemed hopeless. He had heard somewhere ofbound men releasing themselves by wearing their bonds asunder againstthe rough edge of a rock, and determined to try it for himself.
If he could only get his hands free, he might escape yet. Backing up tothe wall of the canon, he felt with his hands for a rock, and soon knewthat he was against one. As he sawed his hands back and forth, he waslistening for some sound from the Indian, but heard none.
Could it be that the fall had killed Pokopokowo?
To his joy, he felt the cord part, and his hands were free. At thatmoment there came a flood of light into the defile, for the moon hadrisen overhead.
Lying on the floor of the defile, lay the Indian, with a deep gashacross his forehead, where it had struck a sharp rock. His ugly face wascovered with blood, making it additionally hideous.
By the side of the Indian lay Dick's precious rifle, and he stooped topick it up. As he did so, something glistened beside it, and Dick pickedit up.
It was the little, round mirror that the Indian had worn around hisneck. Dick pocketed it for proof of his adventure when he should againreach camp, and, picking up his rifle, climbed upon Spraddle's back,turned him around, and drove down the defile.
When he reached the open valley it was as bright as day, and under hiscoaxing and kind words the tired little pony, relieved of the Indian'sweight, picked up his feet and set forth at a brisk pace into the west,in which direction Dick knew the cow camp lay.
It was almost daylight when Bill McCall, the cook, roused from hisblankets to begin the preparations for breakfast. He leaped to his feetand listened.
Not far away he heard the sound of the pony's footsteps approaching.Bill was an old cow-puncher, and he knew instantly that the pony wastired, and that he was under saddle, and also that the saddle wasoccupied.
The footsteps came nearer, and just as they were close to the campdaylight came on with a rush, as it does on the plains, and Bill gave agreat shout of joy which brought every puncher in camp scrambling out ofhis blankets, for there rode in a very tired little boy on a very tiredlittle, pony.
The boy was pale and tired from hunger and his long hours in the saddle,and it was all the pony could do to stagger in.
"It's little Dick," shouted Bud. "Well, jumpin' sand hills, wharyou-all been all night? Takin' a leetle pleasure pasear?"
"Oh, Bud, I'm so tired and hungry," said Dick, as Bud lifted him fromthe saddle.
"Here you, Bill, git busy in a hurry. This kid ain't hed nothin' ter eatin a week. He's 'most starved. Bile yer coffee double-quick, an' git upa mess o' bacon an' flapjacks pretty dern pronto, if yer don't want meter git inter yer wool."
Bud was rubbing the cold and chafed wrists of the boy beside the fire,which one of the boys had replenished. The boys surrounded little Dickwith many inquiries, but Bud shooed them away.
"Don't yer answer a bloomin' question until yer gits yer system packedwith cooky's best grub. I reckon, now, yer could eat erbout eighteen o'them twelve-inch flapjacks what Bill makes, an' drink somethin' like agallon o' ther fust coffee what comes out o' ther pot."
Little Dick smiled, as he watched with glistening eyes the rapidmovements of Bill McCall as he hustled over his fire, the air redolentwith the odors of coffee and bacon and griddle cakes, so that his mouthfairly watered.
When Bill shouted breakfast, Ted and Bud sat Dick down and loaded hisplate with good things, which he caused to disappear in a hurry.
But after a while he was stuffed like a Christmas turkey, and put histin plate away with a sigh, and absolutely cleaned.
"Now," said Ted, when he saw this good sign, "where have you been allday and all night? We've been scared about you. Thought we had lost you,too."
Dick went ahead with his story from the very beginning, and told of thedownfall of Pokopokowo, and his escape, and of his all-night ride intothe west
, to accidentally stumble, at daylight, into camp.
The boys listened in amazement to this record of courage on the part ofits youngest member, and some seemed to doubt the Indian part of it.
"Sho, yer dreamin', kid," said Sol Flatbush, the cow-puncher. "Tharain't no Injuns like that in this yere part o' ther country. Why, anInjun wouldn't dare carry off a kid like that."
"You don't believe it, eh?" exclaimed Dick hotly.
"I believe yer," said Bud soothingly, for the boy was very nervous frombeing up all night and his hard ride, which would have taxed theenergies of a grown man. "Don't yer mind what thet ole pelican says. Heain't got no more sense than a last year's bird's nest, nohow."
"The Indian had this around his neck," said Dick, "and when he fell itcame loose from his neck, and I picked it up, for I thought some onemight think I wasn't telling the truth. Now, I'm tired, and I can't keepmy eyes open."
His head began to nod, and his eyes closed.
Bud picked him up and carried him to a pair of blankets which had beenspread on the shady side of Mrs. Graham's tent, and laid him down andleft him dead to the world.
Dick had placed the little, round looking-glass in Ted's hand.
As he took it, Ted uttered an exclamation.
"By Jove," he exclaimed, "I believe this is the little glass Stella usedto carry in her pocket. Why, what is this?"
Ted was holding the little mirror up to the sky, apparently in anendeavor to look through it.
"What is it?" asked Bud, approaching the fire.
"Dick has brought back Stella's little pocket mirror," said Ted. "I'dknow it anywhere. But the back has been torn off it."
"Tooken off ther neck o' an Injun?" said Bud, dropping his usual jollymanner. "I thought yer said thar wa'n't no bad Injuns eround yere, SolFlatbush. What d'yer make o' that?"
Sol Flatbush got a little pale.
"Thar ain't none," he said. "All ther Injuns on the reservation ispeaceable. They knows they couldn't do no monkey business with all themsojers at Fort Sill."
"Yet here's a kid run off with by an Injun, and he brings back a pocketmirror what belonged to Stella Fosdick. Sol Flatbush, ye've got ter givea better defense o' ther Injuns than that."
"What hev I got ter do with ther Injuns?" asked Flatbush defiantly.
"Search me. But ye've made a wrong diagnosis, an' I don't like yer brando' talk none. I think myself thet yer too friendly ter ther redskins."
"What d'ye mean?" cried Flatbush, springing to his feet.
"I mean thet I don't trust yer none. I think ye're a skunk, an' I don'tlike ter see yer face eround this yere camp. How much do this outfit oweyer?"
"Three months' wage," answered the cow-puncher sourly.
Bud went down into his leather pouch and extracted a roll of bills, andskinned off several.
"Thar it is. Skidoo! An' don't try ter mingle with this outfit nonehereafter. Thar'll be a new foreman o' ther night herd what ain't got somany friends in this yere locality."
"What d'yer mean by that?" Flatbush's hand sprang to his side.
But Bud was quicker, and in the flash of an eye had the muzzle of hissix-shooter under the nose of the night foreman, who shrank from it.
"I mean thet yer a crook, an' I'll give yer jest three minutes ter ropeyer hoss an' git."
Flatbush turned and hurried to the remuda, caught and saddled his horse,and rode out of camp.
"I've had my eye on that maverick fer quite some time," said Bud,turning to the boys after he had watched Flatbush fade into thedistance. "I've suspected him o' turnin' off our cattle every night. Ihaven't caught him at it, or thar wouldn't've been no necessity o'chasin' him out. He'd've gone feet foremost."
"What do you think of it, Bud?" asked Ted, handing the little mirrorover to the golden-haired puncher.
Bud took it in his hand, and looked at it a long time.
"It shore is Stella's," he said. "I reckernize it by this leetle dent onther side o' it."
He was holding it in the palm of his hand, looking down at it intently.
"Hello, what's this?" Bud held the mirror against the sleeve of his blueshirt.
"Pipin' pelicans," he muttered, "if thar ain't some kind o' a pitcher onit."
Ted went to his side and looked at the mirror.
"I believe you're right," he said. "Let me look at it."
"What do you make of it?" asked Bud.
All the boys crowded around, watching Ted eagerly.
"This is evidently intended for the picture of a stone wall," said Ted,"and that wavy line behind it is meant for mountains."
"What's that?" asked Bud, pointing to the picture.
"I guess it is meant for a hole in the stone wall," said Ted.
"Wow!" said Bud. "That's as easy as livin' on a farm. Don't yer see? Itis a message from the Hole in the Wall."
"By Jove, you're right. The Hole in the Wall in the Wichita Mountains."
"What is that right below it?"
"It looks like a star. It is a star."
"It is Stella's signature," said Ben. "Stella is the Latin for star.Don't you see, she has sent this message out from the Hole in the Wall,where she is a prisoner? It's as plain as day to me."
"You're right," shouted Ted. "Into your saddles, boys; we're off to theHole in the Wall at once."