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diff --git a/old/50225-0.txt b/old/50225-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 87c4581..0000000 --- a/old/50225-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5291 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Danger at Mormon Crossing, by Roger Barlow - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Danger at Mormon Crossing - Sandy Steele Adventures #2 - -Author: Roger Barlow - -Release Date: October 15, 2015 [EBook #50225] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DANGER AT MORMON CROSSING *** - - - - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Dave Morgan, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - SANDY STEELE ADVENTURES - - Black Treasure - Danger at Mormon Crossing - Stormy Voyage - Fire at Red Lake - Secret Mission to Alaska - Troubled Waters - - - - - Sandy Steele Adventures - _DANGER AT - MORMON CROSSING_ - - - BY ROGER BARLOW - - - SIMON AND SCHUSTER - _New York, 1959_ - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - INCLUDING THE RIGHT OF REPRODUCTION - IN WHOLE OR IN PART IN ANY FORM - COPYRIGHT © 1959 BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC. - PUBLISHED BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC. - ROCKEFELLER CENTER, 630 FIFTH AVENUE - NEW YORK 20, N. Y. - - FIRST PRINTING - - LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 59-13882 - MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - BY H. WOLFF BOOK MFG. CO., INC., NEW YORK - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - 1 The Big Cats 7 - 2 White Water 21 - 3 Dog Leg Falls 34 - 4 Eagle Plume 43 - 5 Sighting In 55 - 6 Joe’s Story 68 - 7 Cutthroats 78 - 8 A Perfect Cast 88 - 9 Smoke on the Horizon 96 - 10 Lion Country 106 - 11 Hunting Talk 116 - 12 Rockslide 126 - 13 The Hidden Cave 138 - 14 Yellow Fury 147 - 15 Three Crows 158 - 16 Captured 167 - 17 The Secret of the Cave 175 - 18 The Story of Mormon Crossing 182 - - - - - CHAPTER ONE - The Big Cats - - -“Why don’t you call them tonight? We’ve got to know pretty soon.” - -The speaker was Arthur Cook, a deeply tanned giant of a man with -close-cropped graying hair, whose piercing blue eyes told of a lifetime -spent in open spaces. He was talking to a boy of sixteen who had wrapped -himself around a dining-room chair and was staring thoughtfully down at -a map on the table. - -“What do you say, Sandy?” Mr. Cook urged. “Want me to ring the -operator?” - -Sandy Steele looked up with sudden decision. “All right,” he said. -“We’ll get it settled right now.” - -“That’s the ticket!” chimed in Mr. Cook’s son, Michael, as he shouldered -his way through the swinging kitchen door, a glass of milk in one hand -and an enormous slice of layer cake in the other. “Then we can start -making plans right away.” - -“If you think you can spare us the time from your hobby,” his father -said dryly. - -“Hobby?” Mike’s jaws closed down over the cake. “What hobby?” - -“Eating. Or has it become a full-time job with you?” Mr. Cook turned to -Sandy. “Ever see anybody eat so much?” - -Sandy shook his head in mock amazement. “That son of yours sure can -stash it away!” - -Mike drained half the glass of milk in one gulp and grinned over at -them. “A long time ago,” he told them, “I made up my mind never to eat -on an empty stomach. That’s why I always have a snack before dinner.” He -finished the rest of the milk hastily. “That reminds me. Mom said to -clear all these maps out of the dining room. Soup’s almost on.” - -Mr. Cook got up and headed for the door to the hallway. “I’ll just have -time to place the call. What’s your number, Sandy?” - -“Valley 5-3649.” - -“Thanks. Mike, you take care of things in here for your mother.” - -“Sure ... and hey, Dad!” Mike looked earnestly at his father. - -“What?” - -“You can sound awfully convincing if you want, so make it good, huh? -It’d really be great if Sandy could come along.” - -Mr. Cook laughed and disappeared through the door. A moment later the -boys heard him dialing the long-distance operator. - -“Well?” Mike demanded as he gathered in the scattered maps. “What do you -think?” - -Sandy shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I don’t see why not, though. School’s -out for the summer and we haven’t made any plans of our own.” - -“Guess we’ll just have to hold our breath,” Mike said and started for -his father’s den with the papers he had collected. “Tell Mom the decks -are clear.” - -“Okay, but let me see that map again.” Sandy reached out and took a -large-scale National Geographic map of Idaho from the pile Mike was -carrying. A rough red crayon circle had been drawn around the Snake -River country in the southern part of the state. An _X_ was placed -further north near the town of Salmon and a thin line followed the Lost -River down through a blue-gray area known as the Lost River Range. -Judging from the color of the map, the altitude there varied between -8,000 and 11,000 feet. There wasn’t a sign of a town or a road for -miles. It was real Rocky Mountain country, unspoiled, wild and -beautiful, exactly as Sandy had always hoped one day to see it. - -And now, at last, he had a chance. Mr. Cook and Mike were planning a -pack trip along the Lost River and they wanted to take him along. In his -mind’s eye he already saw the rugged splendor of the mountains, smelled -the pungent smoke of a crackling campfire after a full day’s hunting or -fishing. - -“Hey, wake up! You look as if you’re dreaming.” It was Mike, back from -his father’s den. - -Sandy looked over at him, shook his head and sighed. “I was, Mike, I -really was.” - -Mike clapped a sympathetic hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Worrying -won’t help. Why don’t you hunt up Dad and see how he made out? I’ll call -you when dinner’s ready.” - -Sandy smiled back and nodded. He had known Mike and his parents for only -a little over ten days, but already they were like a second family to -him. He had heard about the Cooks for about as long as he could -remember. Mr. Cook was his father’s oldest friend. The two men had met -early in their careers and had worked on a number of projects together. -John Steele was a government geologist, while Arthur Cook was a mining -engineer—one of the best in the business, according to Sandy’s father. - -Their work took both men away from home a great deal of the time, and -for years they had been trying, without success, to bring their families -together. - -Finally, about three weeks ago, a letter arrived from Mr. Cook, inviting -all three Steeles to spend the first two weeks of the summer vacation in -Oakland, across the bay from San Francisco. - -“Throw some camping gear into your car,” Mr. Cook had advised. “We might -all take a run up to Lake Tahoe for some fishing. Sandy and Mike have -never met, but I can’t think of a better way for the two boys to get -acquainted than in the middle of a trout pool.” - -To Sandy’s intense disappointment they had to turn down the offer. His -father was snowed under with paper work at the office and he couldn’t -spare the time. - -But by return mail a second letter arrived. Why not send Sandy alone? -There didn’t seem to be any objections, and so it was arranged. - -Mike was a chunky, junior-sized version of his father, with dancing blue -eyes and a tendency to leap into things without thinking. Sandy was on -the slender side, with a strong, good-humored mouth and a shock of -unruly blond hair that never seemed to stay down properly. Despite their -differences in appearance and personality, the two boys hit it off right -from the start. And when Mr. Cook announced his plan for a month’s trip -through Idaho, it was assumed that Sandy would come along, provided, of -course, that he got his parents’ approval. - -Mr. Cook appeared at the dining-room door. “Your father’s on the wire,” -he said. “Want me to talk to him first?” - -Sandy nodded briefly and followed Mr. Cook out into the hallway. Mike, -who had overheard the exchange from the kitchen, slipped out and joined -them. - -Mr. Cook picked up the receiver, winked at Sandy and spoke into the -mouthpiece. “Hello, John; how have you been?... Good. John, I have a -favor to ask. Mike and I are planning a camping trip up to the Rockies -and we’d like Sandy’s company.... Where? North of the Snake River -country, in the Lost River Range. It’s for a month, but I think it would -be four weeks the boys will never forget.... What?... Oh, don’t worry -about that. We have plenty of equipment.... Yes, we’d leave in three -days and be back about the tenth of next month.... What’s that? Well -here, why don’t you ask him yourself?” - -Mr. Cook cupped a hand over the mouthpiece and nodded to Sandy. “He -wants to know how you feel about it.” - -“Let me talk to him!” Sandy nearly tripped over the rug in his hurry to -get to the phone. - -“Hello, Dad!” he shouted. “How do I feel about it! I think it’s a chance -of a lifetime!” There was a pause as Sandy listened carefully for -several minutes. “Sure,” he said at last, a grin of delight creeping -over his face. “You bet! Great, Dad! I’ll wire you as soon as we get -back. Goodbye and give Mom a hug for me!” - -Sandy put down the receiver and looked at the Cooks with a dazed smile -of happiness. “It’s all set!” he breathed. “What a great guy!” - -Mr. Cook beamed his pleasure as Mike bounded over to Sandy and walloped -him exuberantly on the back. “Attaboy, Sandy! I knew it all along!” - -“Well,” said Mr. Cook. “Congratulations on becoming an official member -of the expedition. Soon as dinner’s over, we’ll go into the den and do a -little homework—draw up a list of the things we’ll need and talk over -the kind of country we’ll be going through.” He looked over at Mike with -a smile on his face. “But let’s wait till after we’ve eaten. If we get -to talking about it at table, your mother won’t be able to get a word in -edgewise.” - -All through the meal, Sandy tried to put thoughts of the trip out of his -mind, but with little success. His attempts at polite table talk only -brought amused glances from Mrs. Cook. Mike, too, seemed preoccupied, -even to the point of refusing a third helping of fried chicken—an event -that so stunned his mother that she almost forgot dessert. - -When they finally finished, Mr. Cook pushed back from the table and -stood up. “And that, I think,” he said, smiling gently, “was the -quietest meal ever eaten in this house. You fellows are a couple of real -sparklers in the conversation line.” - -“Well, Dad ...” Mike began to protest. - -Mr. Cook held up his hand. “I know. I know. You want to talk about the -trip. I don’t blame you. So do I. Come on in here and let’s get it off -our chests.” He led the way into his comfortably furnished den and -paused before a pipe rack. The walls of the room were hung with Mr. -Cook’s hunting trophies. Two whitetail deer flanked a stone fireplace, -and over the mantel loomed the head of a huge Alaska brown bear. At one -end of the room, rows of bookcases shared wall space with a gleaming -walnut gun cabinet. - -Mr. Cook selected a pipe, fingered some tobacco into the bowl and -dropped into a chair near the fireplace. “Now,” he said. “Let’s have -some questions. The floor is open for discussion.” - -Both boys started together. - -“Do you think I’d better ...” Sandy blurted. - -“How are we going to ...” Mike began. - -They looked at each other and grinned. - -“After you, my dear Alphonse.” Mike bowed solemnly. “You’re the guest.” - -“Go ahead, Sandy,” Mr. Cook invited. - -Sandy leaned forward in his chair. “I was going to ask if I should send -for my rifle. I have a .22 at home.” - -Mr. Cook laughed and put down his pipe. “I don’t think you’d use it -once, Sandy,” he said. “This is big-game country we’re going into. We’ll -see mule deer and elk, pronghorn antelope and mountain goats. If we’re -lucky we may even spot a grizzly or a bighorn sheep. And we’re almost -certain to run into a mountain lion or two.” - -“A mountain lion,” Sandy breathed. “What a trophy that would make. I bet -Pepper March never even saw a mountain lion!” - -“Who’s Pepper March?” Mr. Cook asked. - -Sandy scowled. “Somebody I know back home,” he said. - -Mr. Cook smiled. “You don’t seem to like him much.” - -“Oh, he’s all right,” Sandy explained. “It’s just that he gets under my -skin sometimes.” - -“What would you do with a mountain-lion trophy?” Mr. Cook asked. “Do you -have room for him at home?” - -Sandy thought a moment. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “But I know -what I could do.” - -“What?” - -“Start a trophy room at Valley View High. Jerry and I could build some -cases, and Quiz—he’s our brainy friend—could write up descriptions of -all the animals—like they have in natural-history museums.” - -Mr. Cook nodded approvingly. “Good idea. A museum’s the perfect place -for a lion. But over a fireplace, I’d rather have a six-point buck any -day.” - -“How do you rate big-game trophies, Dad?” Mike asked. - -“That varies with the animal,” Mr. Cook replied. “An elk, for example, -is measured for spread between antlers, and the number of points—or -branches—growing out of each antler. If I remember rightly, the record -elk had a spread of nearly seventy inches and about seventeen points.” - -“Whew!” Sandy whistled. “He must have been built like a truck!” - -“He was a real granddaddy, all right,” said Mr. Cook and smiled at the -memory. “But to get back to your question about guns, Sandy. Here are -the cannons we’ll be taking along.” Mr. Cook got up and moved over to -the gun rack at the end of the room. - -“For power shooting, we’ll use this Weatherby .300 Magnum. And I think -you boys ought to get used to this one.” Mr. Cook reached up and took -down a beautifully balanced bolt-action rifle. “That’s a Remington 721 -in a .30/06 caliber. It’s lighter than the Weatherby but it packs quite -a punch.” - -“Enough to bring down a mountain lion?” Mike asked eagerly. - -Mr. Cook looked at the two boys and allowed a slight smile to play at -the corners of his mouth. “Since you both seem to have mountain lions on -the brain, I’ll tell you something I was going to keep a secret ...” - -But before he could finish, the sound of a telephone bell tinkled softly -from the desk in the den. - -“I’ll take it here, Julia!” Mr. Cook called as he reached for the -receiver. “Hello,” he said. He listened for a moment, then broke into a -beaming grin. - -“Hank Dawson! You old son of a gun! Good to hear from you.” With the -telephone still cradled to his ear, he maneuvered the cord across the -desk and sat down in the chair behind it. “So you got my telegram.... -Yes, we’ll be there. On the eighteenth. Oh, and Hank—bring along kits -for four. That’s right. A friend of ours is coming along. A lad named -Sandy Steele. Right. See you then. Goodbye.” - -Mr. Cook put down the telephone with a chuckle and swiveled around to -face the boys. “Well,” he said. “Speak of the devil ...” - -“Who was that?” Mike demanded. - -“That, Mike, was about the best professional guide and hunter in the -Rockies. His name’s Hank Dawson and he has a honey of a hunting lodge up -in the Lost River Range. The three of us have a date to meet Hank on the -eighteenth. He’s meeting us with pack mules and horses at a place called -Mormon Crossing on the Lost River. I think you’ll like Hank. He shares -an enthusiasm of yours.” - -“What’s that?” - -“Mountain lions. His hobby is going after the big cats. He makes a good -bit of money collecting the bounty on their hides. Hank says he wants to -take us up in the hills for a cougar hunt.” - -Mike jumped to his feet and gave a war whoop that rattled the windows. -“Where exactly is this place we’re going to?” he asked excitedly. -“What’s our first stop in Idaho?” - -“Which question do you want me to answer?” - -“Where are we going first?” - -Mr. Cook spread the map over his desk. “Here,” he said, pointing the -stem of his pipe at the juncture of three rivers in central Idaho. “Near -the town of Salmon. We’ll stop there, hire some boats and a guide and -get you two fellows used to a little white water.” - -“White water?” Sandy’s expression was blank. - -“Rapids. We’re going to have to run dozens on our trip downriver. -They’re dangerous, too. We’ll portage our way around the worst ones, but -we’ll go through most of them. By the way, do you know what portage is?” - -“Not exactly, no,” replied Sandy. - -“Well, it’s simple enough. When you get to a part of any stream that -isn’t navigable for one reason or another, you pull in to land and tote -everything, including the boat, to the next navigable part.” - -“‘Simple,’ he calls it,” groaned Mike. - -“It’s hard work, of course; but you’ll both come back in better shape -than you’ve ever been in your life.” - -Mike scrambled to his feet. “In that case,” he announced, “I’m going to -have to start preparing myself. I think I remember a little cold chicken -going back into the icebox, and that’s no way to treat chicken!” He -started for the door. - -“But you just finished dinner,” his father pointed out. - -“I know,” Mike shot back over his shoulder. “But I didn’t do a very good -job of it. Too busy thinking about the trip.” - -Mr. Cook made a notation on the paper in front of him. “Item one on our -list. Hire the _Queen Mary_ as a provision ship so Mike will never have -to go hungry.” - -“The _Queen Elizabeth’s_ bigger,” Mike called and disappeared into the -kitchen. - - - - - CHAPTER TWO - White Water - - -Four days later, Sandy and Mike stood on the pine-cloaked southern bank -of the Salmon River, looking down on a patch of foaming water that -boiled and hissed over jagged rocks, gleaming wet with spray. - -The boys stared at each other wordlessly. Sandy was the first to break -the silence. “What did your father call this place?” he asked. - -“Kindergarten Rapids,” Mike answered in an awed voice. “He said it was a -nice easy run to start with.” - -The boys turned back to the river. From where they watched, they could -see a tiny flotilla of bright, orange-colored air rafts bobbing along in -the quiet water above the rapids. At first the rafts seemed to float -lazily downstream, but as they approached the rapids, they gradually -picked up speed until they looked like miniature beetles racing along to -certain destruction on the shoals ahead. - -Within seconds the lead raft had entered the white water. At first -contact, it veered wildly to one side and was thrown roughly into the -air. Miraculously it landed right side up, but was immediately caught by -the relentless current and carried with express-train speed toward a -narrow ledge of rock. - -Sandy started to raise his hand and strained forward. Beside him, Mike -cried out a warning. But before they could move, the tiny, -fragile-looking craft had skimmed past the edge of the rock, missing it -by inches, and was careening wildly down the last of the rapids toward a -quiet pool in the bend of the river. Scurrying gaily behind the leader -came three others and finally a fourth. - -Mike sighed audibly. “Wow! So that’s Kindergarten Rapids! Where do I go -to get sent back a class?” - -Sandy leaned down to pick up the raft and paddle he had brought with -him. “Come on, boy, might as well face the music and get our first -lesson.” - -“All right,” Mike grumbled, reaching for his equipment. “Just write my -mother a nice letter. That’s all I ask.” - -They trudged along in silence for a few steps. “Say, who is it we’re -supposed to look up?” Mike suddenly asked. - -“Doug Henderson. He’s the son of the man who rented us the cabin. Mr. -Henderson said he’d be expecting us.” - -“I sure hope he knows what he’s talking about!” - -“According to Mr. Henderson, he’s been running these rapids ever since -he was seven years old.” - -Mike shook his head. “What some people will do for fun!” - -The boys scrambled down the side of a steep embankment and approached -the river. Crowded around a homemade dock directly ahead of them were -several boys about ten or eleven years of age. Except for the youngest -ones, who had on bathing trunks, all the boys were dressed in faded -dungarees and T-shirts. Sandy and Mike ambled up to the dock and hailed -a sturdy lad who was busy inflating his canvas raft. - -“Do you know where we can find Doug Henderson?” Sandy asked. - -The boy looked up and pointed. “Sure. Hey, Doug!” - -A friendly face covered with freckles popped up from the other side of -the dock. “Hi!” he called. “You the fellows that Pop sent over?” - -Out of the corner of his eye, Sandy saw Mike’s jaw drop. “That’s right.” -He smiled. “Think you can teach us to handle these?” He held out a raft. - -The boy rubbed his hands along the sides of his dungarees and vaulted -over a wooden piling sunk into the ground. “Sure!” he cried confidently. -“Nothing to it!” - -“So he’s been running these rapids ever since he was seven years old!” -Mike murmured. “That gives him about three weeks’ experience.” - -As usual Mike was exaggerating. Doug, though small, was nearly eleven -and he had all the assurance of a qualified expert in his field. - -“You’re going down the Lost River.” It was more a statement than a -question. - -“That’s right.” - -The boy shook his head in envy. “Lucky. It’s wonderful country. Have you -got a guide yet?” - -“My father’s out arranging for one now,” Mike said. - -“Hope he gets a good one. It makes all the difference.” He pronounced -this judgment with so much grown-up seriousness that Sandy had to fight -to suppress a smile. - -“You’re right,” he acknowledged, “but it won’t make any difference to us -unless we can learn how to shoot some of those rapids.” - -“All right, let’s have one of your rafts.” - -Sandy handed over his and watched carefully as Doug Henderson flopped it -on the ground. - -“Now the important thing to remember is balance. Sit in the middle of -the raft with your knees wedged tight against both sides—like this.” He -hopped in and demonstrated. - -“Don’t tense your body but keep your legs firm. Make sure your middle is -loose so you can turn your shoulders in both directions. You want to be -ready to handle trouble no matter what side it comes from. Okay so far?” - -Sandy and Mike nodded gravely. - -“You fellows know how to handle a canoe?” They both nodded a second -time. “Good. Then we don’t have to go into steering. Come on over here -and I’ll tell you about the rapids.” - -He led the way down to the end of the rickety dock toward the white -water and launched into a lecture that took nearly twenty minutes. - -It turned out that Doug knew every ripple and wave in the Kindergarten -Rapids. He told them what to expect in the way of currents, where a -whirlpool was likely to form, how to fight clear of the rocks and what -to do if they got thrown into the water. - -When he finished, he turned to them with finality. “And now you’re ready -to try it,” he announced. “You’ll get dumped but don’t let that bother -you. Everybody does. But you’ve got to remember to take it easy. If you -stiffen all up, you’re bound to tip over. Ready?” - -Mike scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Nope. But I guess -that doesn’t make any difference. Who’s first?” - -“We’ll all go together,” their freckle-faced instructor ordered. “You -two go on ahead and I’ll bring up the rear. That way I can tell you what -you did wrong when we get through the run.” - -“_If_ we get through,” Mike muttered, sliding his raft into the water. - -“Oh, you can’t help getting through,” Doug called out reassuringly. -“Even if you’re dead, the current’ll carry you.” - -“Thanks a lot,” Mike said as he got ready to cast off. “That takes a big -load off my mind.” The next instant the current was carrying him into -the middle of the river. - -Sandy took a firm grip on the sides of his raft and followed. Even as he -scrambled to keep his balance, he could feel the river tugging -insistently at his tiny craft. Bracing his knees, he reached down -gingerly to grab his paddle. The current was much stronger than he had -imagined. - -Suddenly a crosscurrent caught him amidships and sent him rolling -violently, like a cork on an angry sea. Every muscle in his body -tightened as he swayed back and forth to keep upright. Then he -remembered Doug’s advice: “Don’t fight the current. Ride with it and -relax.” - -Sandy took a deep breath and forced himself to ease up. Almost -immediately he felt more confident. The rocking motion continued, but he -was on top of each swell, his entire body moving gracefully with the -raft and not against it. - -Just as he was beginning to enjoy the ride, he heard the first rushing -noise of the rapids and he was catapulted forward. It crossed his mind -that this was like going off a high diving board; there was no turning -back. Then suddenly he was too busy to think. Everything became a series -of reflex actions. - -The raft spun with a snap and he was shooting off to the right. Sandy -leaned back on his haunches and stabbed the paddle down into the water -at his left. The shaft bit into the river and slowly hauled him back on -course. - -He heard a loud smack and felt himself flying through a curtain of white -spray. There was a sickening bump and he was back on the river, riding -furiously through a world of roaring noise and bone-jarring motion. A -long ledge of rock loomed up ahead. Sandy brought the paddle up and -pushed with all the strength in his shoulders. - -His little raft bounced away and was flung sideways into a channel -between two ledges. Doug had told them that this was the fastest point -in the rapids and he was right. Sandy’s raft quivered like a live animal -as it shot through the funnel of rushing water, twisting steadily to the -left. - -Further and further it leaned until water licked hungrily over the -sides. Sandy knew he had to right himself quickly and jammed all his -weight down on his right knee. As he did, an invisible hand seemed to -pluck at him and he felt himself pitch over. The paddle shot from his -hand, and in the next moment the waters of Salmon River closed over his -head. - -The current carried him, bouncing him around like an old sock in a -washing machine, for another thirty yards. Finally he was swept into a -pool of relatively quiet water. He cut for the surface, blinked the -water out of his eyes and looked up to see a grinning Doug Henderson -sitting calmly in his raft, fishing for Sandy’s lost paddle. - -“Nice try!” Doug nodded approvingly. “But you got too tense toward the -end. Head for shore and we’ll go through again.” - -Sandy flashed the boy a grin and struck out for the near bank where -Mike, looking mournful and disgusted with himself, was hauling himself -out of the water. As Sandy reached shore, Mike leaned down and held out -a hand. - -“I won’t need a drink for a week,” Mike announced, pulling Sandy up -beside him. “I just managed to swallow half the river. A couple more -tries like that and there won’t be any rapids to go through.” - -Sandy ran a hand through his dripping hair and looked back at the -rapids. Half a dozen rafts were shooting through them with ease. He -shook his head in admiration. “Look at them,” he said purposefully. “If -they can do it, so can we.” - -Mike nodded vehemently. “Now you’re talking. Let’s go!” - -Two hours and over a dozen tries later, Doug was ready to graduate both -of them from the Kindergarten Rapids. “See,” he said, spreading his -hands in a gesture of finality, “all it takes is a little practice. You -fellows could get through there now blindfolded.” - -“Maybe,” Mike admitted. “But I’ll wait for a while before I try it.” - -They were standing near the dock, toweling themselves vigorously after -four successful runs in a row, pleased at having mastered a new skill. -The crowd had grown since early morning and, along with the younger -boys, there were a number of older teen-agers dressed in flashy cowboy -boots and sombreros. The older boys eyed Sandy and Mike from under their -hats. - -“Who are the characters?” Mike demanded. - -Doug squinted over at them and made a wry face. “Oh, those! Don’t pay -any attention to them. I guess they heard you were around and came over -to see the fun.” - -“Well, the show’s over,” Sandy said as he picked up his raft. “We’ve got -to get back to your father’s.” - -“I’ll go along with you,” Doug said. Suddenly he stopped and ran -forward. “Hey!” he cried. “That’s my paddle!” - -One of the older boys was walking away with Doug’s ash-wood paddle. He -stopped when he heard the challenge and turned insolently. - -“Prove it,” he snapped. - -Doug planted himself in front of the boy and made a grab for the handle. -“There’s a notch up there on the hand grip. Give it to me and I’ll show -you.” - -The older boy winked at his companions and held up one hand. “I’ll -look,” he said. Carefully shielding the handle so that Doug couldn’t see -it, he stared down at the wood. When he looked up, he was grinning. -“You’re wrong, kid. There’s no notch. Now beat it.” - -Sandy felt a sudden surge of anger as he moved forward to stand beside -Doug. “Let me take a look at it,” he said slowly. He could feel his face -flush in an attempt to hold down his temper. - -The older boy turned to Sandy and stared at him rudely. A faint smile -twisted at the corner of his mouth. “Well, well,” he drawled. “A real -river expert, now, eh? Know all about rafts and paddles and such. Little -Doug here got you through the course.” - -“He did all right,” Sandy snapped. “Now, let’s see the paddle.” - -“Are you going to fight for it?” The question came as a mocking taunt. - -“If I have to.” - -The older boy made a clicking sound with his tongue and shook his head -reproachfully. “That’s no way to act. Suppose we settle this with a -little bet.” - -“What kind?” - -The older boy dug the paddle into the ground and leaned on it easily. -“Now that you’re such an ace in white water, let’s you and me go through -some rapids. Whoever gets dumped loses. The winner gets to keep the -paddle.” - -Sandy shook his head firmly. “The paddle doesn’t belong to either of us, -win or lose.” - -“Afraid?” The question came like a slap in the face. - -“No.” - -“I think you are.” - -Sandy breathed heavily, but managed to keep his temper. “All right,” he -said, biting off each word separately. “I’ll go through any rapids with -you. But we’ll settle the business about the paddle afterwards.” - -“Done!” - -Doug shook his head and grabbed Sandy’s arm. “Don’t do it!” he pleaded. -“He’s not going to take you down the Kindergarten.” - -“That’s right,” the older boy nodded. “I wouldn’t ask an expert like you -to go down a playground for kids. We’ll try something more interesting.” - -Mike moved up beside Sandy and grabbed his shoulder. “Take it easy, -Sandy,” he said softly. “Don’t get stampeded into anything.” - -Sandy’s face was white and stubborn. He shook his head doggedly. -“Thanks, Mike, but this is the way I have to do it.” He turned to the -older boy. “Where is this white water of yours?” - -“It’s right down the bend of the river near a place called Dog Leg -Falls.” - -There was a gasp from Doug. “Don’t do it, Sandy!” he begged. “Forget -about the paddle. You don’t know that part of the river. Two men got -drowned there last year.” - -Sandy looked steadily into the older boy’s grinning face, then walked -over and picked up his raft and paddle. - -“I’m ready whenever you are,” he announced in a quiet voice. - - - - - CHAPTER THREE - Dog Leg Falls - - -The boy standing opposite Sandy grunted. “Okay, champ,” he said -mockingly. “Follow me.” He swung the paddle up over his shoulder and was -halfway up the embankment when Mike’s voice rang out. - -“Just keep walking. We’ll find our own way.” Mike was amazed at the edge -in his words. He hadn’t realized he was so angry. - -The boy stiffened in exaggerated surprise and turned. He did it so -slowly that it was more of an insult than an acknowledgment. A sneering -smile played over his face as he stared at Mike. - -“Well, well,” he drawled. “Another county heard from. Maybe you’d like -to ...” - -“Cut that kind of talk and get out of here!” Mike’s tone was curt and -hard. He took a few steps up to the boy and looked at him squarely. - -The boy dangled the paddle carelessly from one hand and came down a few -steps toward Mike. “You wouldn’t be thinking about running out—now would -you?” - -“I don’t think I’d ask that question if I were you.” Mike’s tone was -deceptively soft but there was no mistaking the fire in his eyes. He -glanced over at the boy’s paddle. It was swinging in a wider arc, -drawing closer to him with each step. “And I’d put that paddle down -before somebody gets hurt.” - -For a moment Mike thought the boy was going to charge him. He shifted -his weight and got himself ready, but the attack never came. The paddle -suddenly stopped as the boy spun around on his heel and moved back up -the embankment, motioning for his friends to follow. Silently they -trooped along. - -Mike took a deep breath and relaxed. Then he turned and joined Sandy and -Doug at the dock. - -“Whew!” Doug whistled admiringly. “You really gave it to him!” - -“It didn’t take much, Doug,” Mike replied, keeping his eyes on Sandy’s -worried face. “Hey, Sandy,” he said softly. “You sure you want to go -through with this?” - -Sandy flashed him an amused look. “Want me to run away?” - -“No, but ...” - -“Then I guess that’s it. I’m in too far to back down now.” Sandy reached -out for his raft. “The only thing I need now is some information. How -about it, Doug?” he asked. “Do I get a briefing on those rapids?” - -Doug shuffled over to Sandy, one toe digging into the piled-up sand -along the dock. “Sandy ...” he began in a troubled voice. - -Sandy held up a hand. “That’s enough,” he said good-naturedly. “The only -lecture I want to hear from you is how to get myself through those -rapids I’ve let myself in for.” - -Doug stared up at him in momentary indecision. “All right,” he said. -“But let’s wait till we get there.” - - -Dog Leg Falls was about a mile upstream from the Kindergarten Rapids, in -a wild and barren part of the river. - -Mike took one look at the wild water, plunging noisily through the -funnel of rocks, and smiled weakly over at Sandy. “Wonder where you turn -off the faucet?” But it wasn’t much of a joke and nobody laughed. - -Down by the falls—which weren’t really falls at all, but a series of -turbulent runs of water—the banks of the river closed in on the channel -like two jaws, wrenching it violently around in a sharp L-shaped turn. -Through this narrow trough, the water snarled and fought its way, -cascading over the rocks at the bend in towering sheets of spray. - -On any other day, Sandy thought to himself, the rugged beauty and -awesome power of the river at Dog Leg Falls would make an exciting -spectacle. On this particular day, however, it looked vicious and -threatening. - -Sandy tore his eyes away from the river and forced himself to listen to -what Doug Henderson was saying. - -“... there’s really only one bad place. It’s just at the turn. See how -the river curves to the left?” - -Sandy shaded his eyes and peered over at the spray. He nodded silently. - -“Well, the current will try to pull you over to those rocks on the -right. You mustn’t let that happen. ’Cause if you get dumped too near -the rocks, there’s an undertow that’ll grab you.” - -“Won’t it carry me along through the channel?” - -Doug shook his head. “No, it won’t. It’ll tangle you up in the rocks. -They look solid from here, but they’re not. There are all sorts of -crevices and things, worn out by the water pounding against them. That’s -why it’s so dangerous.” - -There was a puzzled look on Sandy’s face. “I don’t get it.” - -“The crevices,” Doug explained patiently, “can catch you just like a -trap. You can put your foot in one of them and never get it out. It’ll -hold you under the water until you—” He faltered and looked away. - -Sandy nodded in grim understanding. “How do I keep away from them?” - -“When you enter the channel stay over to the left as far as you can. -Keep steering to the left no matter what the current does. If you’re -over far enough, you’ll make it with about three feet to spare. Think -you’ve got it?” - -“I think so. Let’s get this thing over with.” - -“You’re sure you’re all set?” Mike asked anxiously. - -“Yep.” - -Mike held out a hand. “Good luck, Sandy,” he said solemnly. - -Sandy, who looked surprisingly cheerful, grinned confidently. “There’s -nothing to it. All I have to do is remember what Doug told me. Come on.” - -Sandy led the way down to the water where about twenty silent boys were -gathered in tense expectation. Mike took a place near them and watched -Sandy wade a foot or two into the river. Standing by helplessly, he had -an overpowering urge to shout out, to stop the competition that was -about to take place. But before he could make a move, Sandy turned, -threw Mike a wink and swung into his raft. A second later he was -floating out from shore. The older boy pushed off directly behind Sandy. - -With Sandy in the lead, the two rafts shot toward the narrow opening of -Dog Leg Falls. From where he stood, Mike could see that Sandy was -holding the course Doug had charted. The tiny raft trembled and tugged -to the right, but Sandy held her steady. - -Mike felt a small hand grip his elbow with surprising strength. “He’s -going in just right.” Doug’s voice was breathless with excitement. - -Mike nodded and leaned forward. “Come on, Sandy,” he heard himself -murmur. “You’re doing great.” Suddenly the two rafts disappeared in a -boiling cloud of white spray. His muscles stiff with tension, Mike -strained to pick out the bobbing rafts. - -Doug spotted them before he did. “He’s okay!” he shouted. “That’s it, -Sandy!” - -Mike saw them the next instant. They were both leaning into the -dangerous turn. Sandy’s raft hugged the left-hand side of the channel, -well away from the sharp wall of rocks to his right. In another moment, -he would be through. Mike felt his fingernails dig into the palms of his -hands as he mentally fought the white water along with Sandy. - -“He’s rounding it! There’s room to spare!” Beside him, Doug was dancing -with excitement. “Look at him go!” - -Suddenly there was a gasp from the boys crowded along the shore. Mike’s -eyes widened with horror. The boy behind Sandy had stopped steering his -raft. He had shifted his position and was leaning ahead recklessly, a -paddle in his outstretched hand. - -“What’s he doing?” Mike yelled. - -“He’s trying to tip Sandy over!” Doug shouted. His voice trailed off as -he watched the paddle snake out and jab at Sandy’s raft. - -Mike stared with growing uneasiness as the two rafts slowly began to -spin. Faster and faster they whipped around, both boys now trying -desperately to keep their balance and stay on course. - -At that distance, with both rafts floundering through towering walls of -water, it was difficult to tell which raft was Sandy’s. Mike fought down -an impulse to yell a warning when he saw one of the rafts steadily tip -higher in the water. - -“He’s going to spill!” came a cry. - -Almost as if that were a signal, the raft shuddered and flipped over. -There was a flash of a figure flailing the water and then, over by the -deadly rocks of Dog Leg Falls, a head appeared. - -“He’s caught!” Doug’s face was white and frightened. “He’ll drown!” - -The second raft, meanwhile, was still afloat and coming around the turn -fast. With a final leap, it shook itself free of the white water and -skidded to safety. - -Mike forced himself to hunt for the figure in the water. Was it Sandy? -Or the other boy? There was a movement of color in the seething foam -near the rocks, and then out into the quiet part of the river popped a -paddle, an overturned raft and, following close behind, the head of a -swimmer, striking for the far shore. - -Sandy wouldn’t do that, Mike thought to himself. He’d head for the near -shore. It must be the other boy! He swung around and squinted at the -lone raft floating safely in the middle of the river. Whoever was in it -was trying to fish something out of the water. - -“He made it!” Doug yelled, dancing in excitement. “It’s Sandy! He’s all -right!” - -Suddenly Mike was laughing. Despite the dirty trick at the end, Sandy -had won out. It was the other boy who had fallen in—not Sandy. It was a -lucky thing he escaped with nothing worse than a thorough soaking. - -“Come on!” Mike yelled. “He’s coming in for a landing!” Together, Mike -and Doug sprinted down the bank of the river to meet the raft before it -touched shore. - -“Hey!” yelled Doug, breaking stride for a moment. “What’s he got in his -hand?” - -As Sandy guided his raft toward them Mike saw him grin and wave -something in the air. Then all at once he knew what it was. - -“It’s your paddle, Doug,” he chuckled. “Sandy picked it up out of the -water. Don’t you remember? That’s what this whole thing was supposed to -be about. Your paddle!” - -Laughing as they ran, the two of them splashed out into the river to -welcome Sandy. - - - - - CHAPTER FOUR - Eagle Plume - - -“Well, Mike,” Mr. Cook said as he settled down on a porch chair in front -of the cabin the Hendersons had rented them. “Think you can last till -dinner?” - -Mike, who was stretched out contentedly on a hammock slung between -corner posts, opened one eye sleepily. “Depends on what day,” he said. - -“I meant tonight.” - -Mike held up a hand in protest. “Oh no, please! I won’t be able to touch -a bite till next Tuesday.” He sighed happily. “You know, it’s a real -pleasure to meet a woman like Mrs. Henderson. She never batted an eye -when I asked for thirds.” - -“You sent her into a state of shock, most likely,” Sandy ventured. “She -couldn’t believe it after what you packed away.” - -“I couldn’t believe it myself,” Mike agreed, stretching lazily. “I must -have lost my head. Oh, well,” he said, smothering a yawn, “I’m just a -poor kid who didn’t know the ropes. Give me another chance, officer. -I’ll go straight.” - -“All right,” Sandy said severely. “Bread and water for three days. Next -case.” - -“Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you. I’ll never forget you for this.” - -“Say,” interrupted Mike’s father, putting his long legs up on the porch -railing. “If I can break into your act for a moment, I’d like to find -out how things went this morning. We were so busy talking about hunting -at lunch that I forgot to find out if you got your feet wet in some -white water.” - -Sandy and Mike exchanged glances. On their way back to the Hendersons’ -they had decided it would be just as well to skip over the experience at -Dog Leg Falls. - -“Why, sure,” Mike replied casually. “We went through three or four -times.” - -“Was Doug a good teacher?” - -“The best.” - -Mr. Cook groped for pipe and tobacco pouch. “I thought Doug acted sort -of funny all through lunch. Excited is more what I mean.” He cupped his -hand over the pipe bowl and began to fill it. “Anything happen this -morning?” - -Sandy caught Mike’s eye as he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Nothing -special.” - -“Hmmm.” Mr. Cook was drawing on his pipe. “You knew, didn’t you,” he -said between puffs, “that I’d hired a guide?” - -Mike propped himself up on one elbow. “No, Dad, you didn’t tell us.” - -“Well, I have. Fellow Mr. Henderson recommended.” - -“Who is he? What’s his name?” - -Mr. Cook pulled his feet down from the railing and stood up. There was a -look of amusement on his face as if he was enjoying a private joke. “If -you turn around, Mike, I’ll introduce you. He’s been standing behind you -for the last two minutes.” - -The two boys whirled around in surprise. Standing near the porch was a -short, dark man with deep-set brown eyes. His straight black hair, worn -long, was carefully brushed back and held in place by a battered gray -felt hat. A red checked shirt, well-worn suspenders and a loose pair of -trousers tucked into high-topped shoes completed his outfit. There was a -feeling of relaxed strength and quiet power about his bearing that -reminded the boys of the mountains that towered in the distance beyond -the river. He looked as if he were carved out of the same stuff—solid -granite. - -Mr. Cook shifted his pipe and extended his right hand. “Come on up and -meet the boys. Mike,” he said, “I’d like you to meet Chief Eagle Plume.” - -Mike almost pitched forward on his face as he scrambled out of the -hammock. The Indian glided over the porch steps and suddenly he was -standing next to all three of them. Sandy had never seen a man move so -effortlessly. - -“And this,” Mr. Cook went on, “is Sandy Steele, the third member of our -expedition.” - -The Indian nodded gravely as he acknowledged the introduction. Mike, who -was clearly puzzling over what to say next, decided the proper thing to -do was bow formally. - -“Heap glad you come with us,” he said solemnly. “We go trip together, we -catchum plenty—uh—” He glanced over at his father for some support, but -Mr. Cook was busy with his pipe. - -Mike gritted his teeth and plunged on. “Catchum plenty—ah—” - -“Scalps?” the Indian suggested helpfully. - -Mike blushed furiously. “Yes, I mean—no—” - -There was a flash of white as the Indian broke into an amused laugh. -“Sure hate to disillusion you, Mike. But that sort of thing’s a little -out of date.” - -Mike stared at him with a dazed expression. “But I....” He grinned -sheepishly. “I thought you were an Indian. That name, Chief Eagle -Plume....” - -“Oh, I am—a full-blooded Blackfoot. And your father got the name right. -It’s Eagle Plume, only most people call me Joe. It’s simpler.” He threw -Mike a friendly grin. “You wouldn’t guess it, but I even went to -college.” - -“No kidding! Where?” - -“Agricultural school in Montana.” - -“So you’re a farmer,” Mr. Cook said. - -Joe shook his head. “No, I studied animal husbandry. I figure on owning -a cattle ranch some day. Got one all picked out.” He gestured to a -chair. “Mind if I sit down?” - -“No, no. Here.” Mike pushed over a chair. - -Joe lowered himself comfortably and took off his hat. “Incidentally,” he -said, “last time I used that ‘Me heap big Injun’ routine was when I was -hired as an extra by a movie company.” - -Sandy moved over to the porch railing and hoisted himself up against a -post. “Gee, a movie star! Were you a real bad Indian?” - -Joe laughed. “I was a real dead Indian, that’s for sure. I got killed -eight different times in that picture. Some fun. The only trouble was -that I had to pretend to be a Crow Indian.” - -“What’s bad about that?” - -“Nothing really, I suppose. It’s just that Crows and Blackfeet never got -along too well together. Our ancestors fought over the same hunting -ground for years. We were always at war.” - -Mr. Cook scratched another match along the arm of his chair. “But that’s -all finished now, isn’t it? There’s no bad feeling any more.” - -Joe took a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and huddled over a light. -“You better not pay any attention to me. I just happen to know some -Crows I’m not too fond of.” - -“But that’s personal,” objected Mr. Cook. “Nothing to do with the whole -nation.” - -Joe hooked one leg over the other and frowned at the glowing tip of his -cigarette. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It’s personal, all right. And -mutual.” A look of hard anger clouded over his face, then disappeared -almost as quickly as it had come. “Well,” he said after a pause, his -good humor apparently restored, “so you’re going down Lost River to meet -Hank Dawson?” - -Mr. Cook’s face lit up. “Do you know Hank?” - -The Indian shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard of him. Where’s he -meeting you?” - -“At Mormon Crossing.” - -“Dad,” Mike interrupted, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that place. -I thought the Mormons settled Utah—around Salt Lake City.” - -“They did,” his father answered. “But some of them didn’t like it.” - -“And moved on,” Sandy chimed in. - -Mr. Cook turned to Sandy in surprise. “Right! How did you know?” - -“That last day before we left Oakland, Mike and I went downtown to do -some last-minute shopping. Remember?” - -“Sure.” - -“When we finished Mike said he wanted a soda. With Mike, that’s a full -hour’s proposition. I didn’t want any, so I said I’d meet him at the -library.” - -“Squealer,” muttered Mike. - -Joe looked at Mike in amazement. “You mean it takes him an hour to drink -a soda?” - -Sandy shrugged. “You know how it is. One soda leads to another.” - -“I see.” Joe nodded gravely. “He drinks.” - -Sandy sighed and nodded his head. “That’s about the size of it.” - -Joe looked over at Mike sympathetically. “Poor fellow.” - -“Hey, wait a minute,” cried Mike. “I’m not as bad as that. I can take -them or leave them alone.” - -“That’s what they all say,” his father said. He turned back to Sandy. -“But what’s this got to do with you knowing about the Mormons?” - -“Well, I went to the library,” Sandy explained, “and looked up Mormon -Crossing. I was just curious about the name.” - -“What did it say?” Joe suddenly sat forward, looking watchful. - -“It seems there was this party of Mormons on their way west from Ohio. -They didn’t stop in Utah, as so many of them did. They pushed on farther -west, planning to join the settlement in Nevada that was set up in 1849. -It’s not clear whether they never got there, or whether they got there -and turned back. The last anyone ever heard about them, they were in -Idaho. Mormon Crossing was where they forded the Lost River.” - -“What do you mean—the last anybody heard of them?” Mike wanted to know. - -Sandy threw up his hands. “They vanished. The theory is the Indians -massacred them. But nobody knows for sure.” - -“They were massacred, all right,” declared Joe, staring off into space. -“Every last one of them was killed.” - -Sandy frowned in bewilderment. “How do you know that?” - -Joe looked up sharply. “What?” - -“I said, how do you know? There weren’t any records. I asked.” - -“Oh,” said Joe, reaching for another cigarette. “I mean, that’s the way -it must have happened. It was pretty wild country then, and it all -belonged to my people. I’m afraid they didn’t take too kindly to -strangers.” - -“In any event,” said Sandy, changing the subject, “that’s how Mormon -Crossing got its name.” - -“And that’s where we’re going,” said Mike, throwing himself back on the -hammock. “Sounds like a real garden spot. Any of your relatives still -hang around there, Joe? Let me know and I’ll keep out of their way.” - -Joe grinned and shook his head. “We’re all nice and tame now, Mike,” he -said. - -“You never go on the warpath any more?” Mike made it sound as if he were -disappointed. - -“Just little ones. We kinda yell in whispers.” - -“To keep in practice, you mean?” - -“That’s it,” said Joe, throwing back his head in a laugh. “Then we’re -always ready in case another movie company wants to hire us.” - -“Don’t take any jobs for a month, Joe,” Mr. Cook said as he leaned over -to knock the ashes out of his pipe. “You’re all booked up.” - -“Suits me.” - -“When do we start, Dad?” Mike asked idly. - -“I thought in about two days.” - -“Two days!” The Indian was suddenly on his feet and over by Mr. Cook. -Again it crossed Sandy’s mind that Joe moved with the grace of a cat. “I -don’t mean to speak out of turn or anything,” he said, “but why waste -all that time?” - -“There’s a lot to be done,” Mr. Cook pointed out mildly. “The gear’s got -to be sorted and packed in trip boxes. The boats have to be loaded—” - -Joe sat down on the porch railing. “I can do it this afternoon.” - -“It’s a big job.” - -Joe shrugged. “I’ll handle it.” - -Mr. Cook looked up at Joe curiously. “You seem in an awful hurry to get -out of here.” - -Now Joe became flustered. “No,” he stammered. “That’s not it. It’s just -that ... that every day you stay here is a day lost.” - -Sandy remembered their appointment at Mormon Crossing. “What about Hank -Dawson? We’re not due to meet him for another five days.” - -“Oh, that’s no problem,” Mr. Cook replied. “Hank’s probably there -now—getting in some fishing.” - -“Then there’s nothing to hold you?” It was Joe again. - -“No,” Mr. Cook conceded. “Just the problem of getting ready.” - -Joe stared down at the porch flooring. “Well, suit yourself,” he said, -but it was clear he was not too happy about it. - -“Why don’t we go!” cried Mike suddenly, bounding up from his hammock. - -Mr. Cook was still unconvinced. “We have to check our ammunition and -sight in the guns. We haven’t had a chance to do that yet.” - -“Why don’t you do it right now?” Joe suggested eagerly. “You go on -downriver while I get things organized here. We’ll be ready by morning. -I guarantee it.” - -“Well,” Mr. Cook said dubiously. “What do you boys think about it?” - -“I’m all for it,” Mike asserted. - -“Sandy?” - -Sandy nodded. “The sooner the better for me.” - -Mr. Cook laughed. “Okay, Joe. You win. I’ll get the guns and you do the -rest.” - -“Yes, sir!” Joe grinned as he vaulted down the steps. “I’ll go see about -the boats.” The next instant he was gone and running down the path -toward the river. - -Mr. Cook watched him go and turned to the boys with a puzzled -expression. “Did you get the feeling there was something odd about all -that?” he asked. - -“I sure did,” Sandy said emphatically. “It started when I began talking -about Mormon Crossing.” - -Mr. Cook nodded in agreement and led the way into their cabin. “Let’s -take the guns a mile or two upstream and chew this thing over while -we’re walking. Frankly,” he concluded with a frown, “I don’t think I -like it much.” - - - - - CHAPTER FIVE - Sighting In - - -After half an hour of speculation, neither Sandy, Mike nor Mr. Cook -could come up with a reasonable explanation for Joe’s strange behavior. -But, as Mr. Cook said, that wasn’t too surprising. “We don’t have too -much to go on,” he pointed out. - -The three of them were walking along the south shore of the Salmon -River, not far from Dog Leg Falls. The country there was perfect for -their purpose: it was clear of woods and reasonably deserted. Sandy was -carrying several boxes of shells and four or five sheets of white -plastic material, painted over with a red bull’s-eye. Mike had a small -bale of packed straw he had found in Mr. Henderson’s stable, and Mr. -Cook was lugging two gun cases. - -“Let’s go over it once more,” Sandy insisted. “We know this much. Joe -wants to leave here in a hurry and Mormon Crossing means something to -him.” - -“You _think_ it means something to him,” Mr. Cook corrected. - -“We agreed that he began to act funny as soon as I started talking about -it. And besides, he seemed to be pretty sure about what happened to that -party of Mormons.” - -“But, Sandy,” Mike protested, “they were massacred more than a hundred -years ago. How could that make any difference to Joe now?” - -“That’s my whole point,” Sandy explained. “How did he know it was a -massacre? They might have died of starvation or any number of things. -Why was he so sure?” - -The three of them walked on, lost in thought. It was Mike who finally -broke the silence. “This may be crazy,” he began, “but Joe could have -some inside information.” - -“How do you mean?” his father asked. - -“He’s a Blackfoot,” Mike explained earnestly. “This used to be Blackfoot -country. Maybe the story about the Mormon massacre was handed down -within the tribe—you know, from father to son—until it reached Joe.” He -shifted the bale of straw to his other arm and began to talk more -quickly. “I know that Indians are part of our life now, but the tribe -still means something to them.” - -“You’re right.” Mr. Cook nodded. “They have a strong sense of tribal -identification. It’s quite possible that each tribe passes its own -legends along from generation to generation. Indians don’t keep any -records, so naturally it wouldn’t be in the library. Joe might have -heard about the massacre from his father or some of the elders of the -tribe.” - -Sandy still wasn’t satisfied. “That doesn’t answer the question about -why he wanted to leave in such a hurry.” - -“No,” Mr. Cook had to agree. “It doesn’t.” He started to say more, but -just then the path took a sharp turn and they came face to face with the -spectacle of the river gathering itself for its rush through Dog Leg -Falls. - -Mr. Cook stood and watched the lashing water of the rapids with a look -of admiration. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said. - -Behind his back, Sandy and Mike exchanged glances. - -“That all depends,” Sandy ventured uncertainly. - -Mr. Cook turned and smiled. “I guess it does, Sandy. I sure would hate -to try to battle through it on a raft, wouldn’t you?” - -Sandy coughed and turned away. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered. -“Er—don’t you think we’d better start to work?” - -Mr. Cook tore himself away from the sight of the rapids and nodded. -“Good idea. Let’s look for a shooting range.” - -“Over there.” Sandy pointed. “There’s a nice little hill and about fifty -yards of clearing.” - -“All right,” Mr. Cook said, picking up the gun cases. “You boys set up -the target.” - -“Wouldn’t dream of going through those rapids, eh?” Mike muttered out of -the corner of his mouth as he and Sandy walked over to the hill -together. - -Sandy grinned back at him. “What did you want me to say? That I do it -all the time for laughs?” He watched Mike put down the straw bale and -prop it solidly against the side of the hill. “Besides,” he whispered, -“you know something?” - -“What?” - -“I’m afraid I may dream about it some night—and wake up screaming.” - -“Come on!” a voice yelled. “You two fellows do more talking than a pair -of old ladies!” - -“Okay, Dad!” Mike shouted. “We’ll be ready in a minute.” - -Quickly he helped Sandy drape the plastic cloth over the bale so that -the concentric rings of the bull’s-eye faced Mr. Cook. - -“Let’s weight it down with some stones,” Sandy suggested. “One or two -shots and it’ll probably fly right off.” - -“Good idea.” - -“Boys!” It was Mr. Cook again. “Pace off fifty yards toward me.” - -They did as they were told, and in a few moments they were standing -beside Mike’s father, who was bending over the Remington .721. “There,” -he said, after the last shell slipped into place. “We’re all set.” He -held the rifle out to Sandy. “Care to try it?” he asked. - -Sandy took the gun and ran his hand down the smooth wood finish of the -stock. Checking to make sure the safety lock was on, he cradled it in -his arms and turned to Mr. Cook. - -“You know,” he said with a puzzled grin, “I’m not exactly sure what I’m -supposed to do.” - -“Ever shoot one of these before?” - -Sandy shook his head. “A .22 is about the only thing I’ve ever handled. -How does this gadget work?” He pointed to a telescopic sight mounted on -top of the gun stock. - -“Just like a regular sight,” Mr. Cook explained. “It’s detachable, you -see. If you’re shooting short distances, you take it off and use the -notch sight right on the barrel. But if your target is—oh, let’s say 250 -yards off, then you screw on this telescope. Take a look through it and -tell me what you see.” Sandy hoisted the gun up against his shoulder and -squinted through the round glass end of the scope. “Wow!” he exclaimed. -“That target looks as if it’s right on top of me.” - -“Well, it’s a telescope, you know. What else do you see?” - -“Two tiny cross hairs that intersect at right angles just about in the -center of the circle.” - -“Right. Now what you want to do is line up the intersection of those -cross hairs with the target. Got that?” - -Sandy nodded and, shifting his aim slightly, he focused on the exact -center of the bull’s-eye. “I’m on,” he said, holding the position as -best he could. “Okay,” Mr. Cook said. “Shoot.” - -Sandy took a deep breath and curled his finger slowly around the -trigger. He braced himself for the blast and recoil, every muscle poised -and tense, concentrating on the circle of red that filled the sight. - -Suddenly he felt an insistent tap on his shoulder. He jerked around to -find Mike’s grinning face staring into his. - -“Hate to bother you, Daniel Boone,” Mike said apologetically, “but -you’ll do better with that thing off.” - -“What thing?” - -Mike reached out and flipped off the safety catch. “Okay, sport,” he -said. “Fire away!” - -Sandy gave an embarrassed grunt and nodded. He brought up the rifle a -second time and tucked it into the hollow of his shoulder. Resting his -cheek against the curve of the stock, he closed down gently on the -trigger. The rifle bucked and roared in his hand. Sandy threw the bolt -and pumped another shell into place. - -“How did I do?” he asked. - -Mr. Cook peered at the target through a pair of field glasses. “About -five inches off center. Try again.” - -Sandy brought the rifle up. “Want me to allow for it?” - -“No, no,” Mr. Cook said quickly. “Aim for the target.” - -Sandy spread his feet a little farther apart and took a comfortable -stance. “Here goes.” - -The rifle barked again. “Same place,” Mr. Cook announced. “You sure you -were centered?” - -“As far as I could tell,” Sandy said, a little annoyed with himself for -missing a second time. - -“Let Mike have a try at it.” - -Sandy handed the rifle over to Mike and stepped back. Two shots rang out -in quick succession. Mike looked over at his father questioningly. - -“I guess that proves it,” came the answer. “Here, take a look.” He -ducked his head through the strap of the binoculars and turned the -glasses over to Sandy. - -Sandy swung over to the target and focused in on four neat holes -clustered close together about five inches to the right of the -bull’s-eye. - -“I don’t get it,” he said, lowering the glasses. “How come we’re -missing?” - -“The sights are off,” Mr. Cook explained. “A little adjusting will fix -that.” He reached into a side pocket on one of the gun cases and pulled -out a screw driver. “Now, let’s see,” he said, glancing over at the -target. “At fifty yards, a minute of angle has a value of about half an -inch. Each click on this scope is equal to two minutes of angle. That -would make—” he pursed his lips as he made the mental -calculation—“ahh—five clicks to bring her in line.” He shook his head -and pushed his hat back off his forehead. “That’s too much. We’ll have -to adjust the windage screws on the scope’s mount.” Squatting on his -haunches, he began to manipulate two screws on either side of the sight. - -“Hey, Dad!” Mike cut in. “You left me out in left field somewhere. How -about filling us in?” He turned to Sandy. “Do you know what’s going on?” -he asked. - -“I think so,” Sandy said as he looked over Mr. Cook’s shoulder. -“According to what we saw through the sight, we were right on target. -The only trouble was, the sight didn’t match up with the barrel of the -gun. It’s just sitting on top of the gun and it must have twisted around -to one side. Right now your father is trying to get the two of them back -together so that what we see is what we shoot at.” - -“That makes sense,” Mike conceded. “But how do you know which way to -turn the scope? Do you swivel it around to the left or to the right?” - -“That’s easy.” Sandy grabbed a twig and drew a small rectangle on the -ground. “Here’s your scope. And there—” he ran a dotted straight line -out to a spot he marked with an X—“that’s the target. You see the -scope’s pointing right at it.” Mike nodded and Sandy went on. - -“The four shots all fell about here.” He punched four holes to the right -of the X. - -“Which means,” Mike added, “that the gun was over to the right in -relation to the line of sight through the scope.” - -“You got it,” Sandy nodded. - -“So,” Mike went on, “in order to get the scope and barrel lined up -together, we have to move the cross hairs over to the right.” - -“And there are two ways of doing that,” Mr. Cook pointed out. “We can -move the cross hairs _inside_ the scope. Or we can move the scope -itself.” - -“What’s the difference?” Mike asked. - -“One is for fine adjustments.” He pointed to a knob on top of the -telescopic sight. “See this?” - -The boys nodded. - -“This,” he went on, “moves the cross hairs. And these—” he gestured to a -pair of screws—“turn the whole mount any degree you want.” He grinned at -them. “Simple, eh?” - -“One more question.” - -“Shoot.” - -“How do you know how much to turn it? All that business about a minute -of angle having a value of about half an inch at fifty yards—that’s all -Greek to me.” - -“You remember your geometry, don’t you, Mike? An angle cuts off an arc. -And you know how to measure an arc.” - -Mike looked surprised. “In minutes and degrees,” he said, with sudden -comprehension. - -“There’s your answer. Now I’ll grant you,” Mr. Cook added, “that I just -happen to know how big an arc an angle makes at various distances. But -that’s only because I’ve been working with guns for a long time. And if -I didn’t know, I could always figure it out. The rest,” he said, -standing up, “is trial and error. Let’s see how we did.” - -With a single easy motion, he hunched over the rifle and, in rapid -succession, poured three shots into the bull’s-eye. “Well?” he demanded -as he straightened up. - -Sandy peered through the binoculars. Three holes bunched together in the -space of a dime had perforated the plastic directly above the target. - -“You’re right on,” he announced. “But a little high.” - -“Good,” Mr. Cook replied. “We want to be high.” - -“How come?” Mike demanded. - -“Bullets don’t go straight forever,” Mr. Cook explained. “Gravity forces -them to curve down until they hit the ground. This rifle shoots a little -high at fifty yards. But it’ll be right on target at two hundred and -fifty—and that,” he pointed out, “will be about as close as you’ll get -to an elk.” He patted the gun with evident satisfaction. “She’s all -set,” he said. “Let’s get busy on the others.” Now that the boys knew -what they were doing, the work went faster. An hour and a half later, -they were finishing with the last rifle. - -“One more shot, Dad,” begged Mike. “I’m still not happy with this one.” - -His father shrugged. “Suit yourself. I think she’s fine.” - -“You watching, Sandy?” Mike called out, slinging up the gun. - -“Go ahead,” Sandy called. - -Mike had just put his eye against the sight when Sandy yelled out a -warning. “Hold it! There’s somebody coming down the hill.” - -“He sure is running fast, whoever he is,” commented Mr. Cook. “Take a -look through your glasses and see if we know him.” - -“Sure we do,” Sandy said after a pause. “It’s Doug Henderson. He looks -scared—almost as if somebody’s chasing him.” - -“Hey, Doug!” Mike yelled. “Over here!” - -The boy scrambled down the foot of the hill and came sprinting up to -them. His face was pale and his eyes were unnaturally large. - -“Is there anything wrong, Doug?” Mr. Cook asked. - -The boy gasped as he struggled to catch his breath. - -“It’s Joe,” he gulped. “Something’s happened to him.” - -“What?” Mr. Cook’s tone was sharp and worried. - -Doug swallowed hard and shook his head. “Don’t know,” he panted. “He’s -hurt. Dad says for you to come. It happened while he was loading your -trip boxes.” - - - - - CHAPTER SIX - Joe’s Story - - -Mr. Henderson was waiting for them on the porch of their cabin when they -arrived. “You can rest easy,” he called when he saw their worried faces. -“He’s not hurt bad.” - -Mr. Cook leaped up the steps two at a time. “What happened?” he -demanded. - -Mr. Henderson shrugged. “Can’t tell for sure. All we know is he got -himself a whack on the head an’ fell in the river.” - -“Was he knocked out?” - -“Colder’n a mackerel.” - -“Then he could have drowned!” cried Sandy. - -Mr. Henderson peered over at Sandy. “More’n likely,” he agreed. - -“Who fished him out?” Mr. Cook wanted to know. - -Mr. Henderson rubbed his jaw reflectively. “Now there was a lucky -thing,” he said. “’Bout four o’clock I told Luke—that’s my hired man—to -go down and check the calking on your boats. Seein’ as how they ain’t -been in the water since last summer, I figured ’twould be a good idea to -have a look at ’em. Well,” he continued, refusing to be hurried, “Luke -gets down to the place where I keep the boats and all of a sudden he -hears a kind of a yell and a splash. Being curious like, Luke decides to -have a look-see at what fell in. So he saunters on down to the river and -spots three fellers actin’ funny. They see him comin’ and start off the -other way. Luke hollers but they keep right on goin’. Injuns, he thinks -they were. Course, Luke’s gettin’ a bit old and his eyesight ain’t what -it used to be, so it might not be Injuns after all. You never can tell -about them things. I recollect once—it was in the summer of—” - -“But what about Joe?” insisted Sandy impatiently. - -Mr. Henderson shot him a reproachful glance. “I was just getting ’round -to that. Seein’ them Injuns, or whatever it was, made Luke move a little -faster and he gets down to the river just in time to see old Joe -a-floating away.” - -“He was on top of the water?” Sandy asked. - -“Well, no, not exactly,” Mr. Henderson admitted. “He was about three, -mebbe four feet down. But the current was carryin’ him along right -smart, y’see.” - -“What did Luke do?” - -“He hightails it over to another dock further downstream, grabs a boat -and, when Joe comes by, he fishes him out. That’s about all.” - -“Do you think those Indians, or whatever they were, had anything to do -with it?” Mr. Cook asked anxiously. - -“Hard to say. Best ask Joe.” - -Mr. Cook moved to the door. “Let’s do it now.” - -Mr. Henderson held out a hand. “Doc’s in there with him. He said to keep -everybody out till he’s through.” - -“It’s all right,” came a voice from inside the house. “Come on in.” - -The doctor had just finished and was buttoning his jacket as Mr. Cook -led the way through the front door. “Is he out of danger, Doctor?” Mr. -Cook asked. - -“Yes, indeed,” said the doctor, reaching for his medical bag. “He’s got -a nasty bump on the back of his head, but nothing serious. There’s no -concussion. He may be a little sick at his stomach from all the water he -swallowed, but that’ll pass. The only thing he needs right now is a -little broth and a good night’s sleep.” - -“He’ll get both,” Mr. Henderson promised. - -“Good.” The doctor moved to the door and turned. “You know,” he said, -“Joe’s a mighty lucky man. If Luke had been a few minutes later, he’d be -finished.” He shrugged and pushed his way out. “As it is, I expect he’ll -be up and around by tomorrow. Goodbye. Let me know if he becomes -delirious or suddenly starts to run a fever.” - -“We will,” Mr. Cook assured him. “Goodbye, Doctor, and thanks a lot.” - -“Right.” The doctor smiled around the room and stepped out of the cabin. - -“Well,” Mr. Cook said, after the doctor had gone. “I think we better ask -Joe a few questions. Where is he?” - -“He’s in this room right here.” Mr. Henderson walked over to a door and -knocked gently. “Joe!” he called. “You’ve got company.” - -“Come in!” answered a voice. - -Joe was sitting up in bed, wearing a red flannel nightshirt that -belonged to Mr. Henderson. With the white bandage wrapped around his -head he looked even more like an Indian than he had earlier that -afternoon. He smiled in welcome as he caught sight of the Cooks and -Sandy. “Boy!” he said. “Am I glad to see you again! Did you get those -guns sighted in?” - -Mr. Cook moved to the foot of the bed. “We had just finished when we -heard the news. What happened, Joe?” - -The Indian made an impatient gesture with one hand. “Foolish accident. I -was lining the boxes up along the dock when I thought I heard somebody -call my name. I looked up and turned around. Well, I guess I must have -lost my footing, because the next thing I knew I was falling in the -water. Then, all of a sudden, I felt this bang on my head and all the -lights went out. Cracked right into a piling, I guess.” He grinned up at -them. “Things like that happen sometimes. You can’t do much about it.” - -“What about those Indians, Joe?” Mr. Cook asked quietly. - -Joe’s eyes narrowed and Sandy thought he saw him grow pale. “What -Indians?” he said sharply. - -“Luke said he thought he saw some Indians right near the place where you -fell. He said they were coming away from the river after you went in.” -Mr. Cook laid a slight but significant stress on the word “after.” - -Joe tried to dismiss the Indians with a shrug. “If they were there, I -didn’t see them.” - -“Luke yelled out,” Mr. Cook continued, “but they didn’t stop.” - -“Why should they?” - -“Wouldn’t you stop if somebody called?” - -“That depends on who it was. Maybe they didn’t hear him.” He looked at -Mr. Cook with an unfriendly stare. “I don’t get it,” he said -resentfully. “What are you trying to prove?” - -There was a pause as Mr. Cook dragged over a chair and sat down beside -the bed. “Look, Joe,” he said, “take it easy. I’m not trying to prove a -thing. It’s just that there are a couple of things that are bothering -us.” Joe waited unsmilingly for Mr. Cook to go on. “Earlier today, you -mentioned some Crow Indians you didn’t seem to like very much. Next, you -can’t wait to get started on the trip to Mormon Crossing. And finally, -you almost get killed.” - -Joe looked thoughtfully down at the sheet. “And you think that all adds -up to something?” he asked. - -“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Is anybody after you, Joe? It looks -a little like it.” - -Joe leaned back with a smile. “I have to admit it looks funny,” he -conceded with a chuckle. “But I’m afraid you’ve been reading too many -mystery stories. Now,” he said, settling back comfortably, “let’s start -from the beginning. About those three Crows—it’s perfectly true I don’t -get along with them. But it wasn’t serious enough to lead to any -bloodshed. Besides, as far as I know, they’re still in Montana. It’s -also true that I’m eager to get going. I gave you my reasons this -afternoon and they still hold. Why waste time here when we can be on the -river? Finally, the accident.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “I -don’t know how to explain that, except to say that it was exactly -that—an accident. The Indians Luke saw were just a coincidence. I don’t -have the slightest idea of why they were there.” Joe looked around the -room and smiled disarmingly. “Sorry I can’t give you a more dramatic -story, but that’s the truth. Okay?” - -Mr. Cook stood up and moved the chair back against the wall. “All right, -Joe,” he said quietly. “No cross-examination.” - -The Indian seemed relieved. “Good,” he said. “Now what time do you want -to start tomorrow?” - -Mr. Cook stared at Joe in astonishment. “But great Scott, Joe! You’re in -no shape to travel!” - -“You heard what the doctor said.” - -“He said you’d be up and around by tomorrow, but he didn’t mean for you -to start downriver.” - -“It’s better than lying around here. Besides, a little exercise will get -my strength back a lot faster than a week in bed.” - -“Well,” Mr. Cook said as he turned to go out the door, “let’s see how -you feel in the morning.” - -“I’ll make you a sporting proposition,” Joe called. “If I say I’m ready, -will you leave?” - -“All right,” Mr. Cook agreed after a pause. “But don’t push yourself too -hard.” - -“Don’t worry,” Joe said, grinning. “And say,” he shouted as Mr. Cook was -closing the door, “better get to bed early tonight. I plan to be up at -five-thirty.” - -Mr. Cook nodded and pulled the door shut. The four of them trooped back -out onto the porch. “Well?” demanded Mr. Cook as he looked at each of -them in turn. “What do you think?” - -“I don’t know,” Sandy muttered. “It sounds all right, but....” - -“Exactly,” Mr. Cook agreed. “His story has too many holes as far as I’m -concerned.” - -“But why should he lie?” Mike objected. “If he’s in trouble, why doesn’t -he tell us? Maybe we could help.” - -“What struck you as the fishiest part of his story?” Mr. Cook asked -Sandy. - -“The accident on the dock” came the prompt reply. - -“It could have happened just that way,” Mr. Henderson volunteered. -“There’s more’n a couple of rotten boards on that dock. He could’ve -caught himself easy and pitched over.” - -Sandy refused to be convinced. “I doubt it,” he said. “Ever notice how -Joe moves? He’s as graceful as a cat.” - -“You’re right,” Mr. Henderson admitted. “But I just can’t bring myself -to call Joe a liar. I’ve known him a long time.” - -“What do you think of him?” Mr. Cook demanded. - -“As a guide or as a man?” - -“Both.” - -“As a man I’ve never known him to do a dishonest thing. And as a guide, -I’ve never known him to do a foolish one. I’d trust Joe anywhere.” - -“So would I,” Mr. Cook agreed. “That’s what makes it so funny. I like -him and I trust him and yet....” He shook his head helplessly. “There’s -something he’s not telling us.” - -“Want me to try to find another guide for you?” Mr. Henderson asked. - -Mr. Cook turned to Mike and Sandy. “What do you think, boys?” - -“Maybe he is mixed up in something, but I still vote we stick with him,” -Mike declared. - -Sandy nodded his head. “I’ll go along with that.” - -“All right,” Mr. Cook said decisively. “That’s decided. We’ll leave as -soon as Joe’s ready.” - -“Better do what he said,” Mr. Henderson advised, “and set your alarm -clocks for five-thirty.” - -“You think he’ll be ready then?” - -Mr. Henderson nodded. “He’s a pretty tough customer, is old Joe. When he -makes up his mind to do a thing—well, it gets done.” - -Mr. Cook grinned and threw up his hands in defeat. “Okay. I’m -convinced.” He turned and started back into the cabin. “Let’s get -going,” he said. “We’ve got some packing to do if we’re leaving for -Mormon Crossing in the morning.” - - - - - CHAPTER SEVEN - Cutthroats - - -Lying in the prow of the lead boat, with his head pillowed on a -rolled-up sleeping bag, Sandy watched the towering stands of green pine -glide smoothly by. This was their second day on the river and they had -yet to see a sign of human life. The clear, sparkling river wound -through what seemed to be an endless wilderness of mountain peaks and -sweet-smelling fir forests. - -The fast-flowing current carried them effortlessly ahead, deeper and -deeper into the wild, tangled beauty of the Lost River country. -Occasionally, Joe, who was stationed at the tiller in the rear of -Sandy’s boat, would yell, “White water ahead!” This was the signal for -Sandy to take up his paddle and brace himself firmly against the prow. -Then, as Joe steered skillfully through the suddenly turbulent water, -Sandy’s job was to keep the boat well away from potentially dangerous -rocks by pushing out with a heavy river paddle, whose shaft was almost -as thick as his wrist. Behind the first boat, Mike and his father tried -to follow the course Joe set. - -Only once—when Joe announced that the rapids ahead were too risky—did -they have to portage. It was a long, hot job. - -But most of the time they simply floated. Mr. Cook and Joe kept a hand -on the tillers of their boats, while Sandy and Mike watched the scenery -or sprawled lazily on their backs, drinking in the sun and the bracing -mountain air. - -As Sandy stretched and shifted into a more comfortable position, he -could hear Mike singing in the other boat. - -“‘Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam, and the deer and the -antelope play! Where seldom is heard a discouraging’—Hey, Joe!” - -“What?” - -“Ever see any antelopes?” - -“Sure.” - -“What do they play?” - -“Baseball mostly” came the reply. “And a little tennis, sometimes.” - -“Thanks. Just wondered.” Mike took a breath and plunged ahead. “And the -deer and the antelope play! It’s baseball at night! A discouraging -sight! After watching the tennis all day!” - -Sandy grinned and hoisted himself up to a sitting position. “I like the -original words better, Mike!” he shouted. - -In the other boat, Mike assumed a posture of dignified disappointment. -“That’s the trouble with people like you,” he replied haughtily. “You -never appreciate an original talent. Why, I predict in a hundred years, -they’ll be singing my songs from—” - -“Quiet, Mike!” The sharp command came from Joe, who was sitting -motionless in the stern of his boat. Slowly, he raised one hand and -pointed to the shore about a hundred yards ahead. “Look!” he said in a -low, urgent voice. “Look what’s over there.” - -Sandy turned and followed Joe’s finger. At first, all he saw was -restless motion in a grove of trees growing close by the river. Then, as -he watched, the underbrush parted and a head appeared. An instant later, -a huge mahogany bear was standing on the narrow strip of beach that ran -along the water. Cautiously, the bear lifted up its snout and sniffed -the breeze. Apparently satisfied, the animal waddled out to the edge of -the river. - -“Boy!” Sandy breathed. “Think we can get in a shot?” Keeping his eyes -glued on the bear, he reached around for a rifle. - -“No shooting,” ordered Joe. “It’s against the law.” - -“How come?” Sandy asked in surprise. - -“Can’t shoot bears from a boat,” Joe explained. “You have to be on dry -land. Besides,” he added, “that’s a sow bear.” - -“A what?” - -“A female. I bet she’s got cubs with her.” - -Joe’s guess turned out to be right. In a few moments, the big bear -turned around and was pushing something out from behind one of the -trees. Two little balls of fur tumbled out on the beach and began -wrestling near the water. The mother bear gave them both a cuff that -sent them streaking around behind her broad back. - -“Never shoot a sow bear, Sandy,” Joe was saying. “The cubs still need -her and would die without her. Every time you shoot a female, you’re -killing three animals. Bears, you see, usually have two in a litter.” - -Sandy forgot about the rifle and turned back to watch the family outing -on the beach ahead. Suddenly, when they were about fifty yards away, the -mother bear caught sight of them. With surprising speed, she snatched -her cubs and tucked them between her legs. Growling fiercely, her huge -snout wrinkled and her teeth bared, she backed slowly into the bushes. -But just as she was about to disappear into the trees, one of the cubs -broke away and scampered back out into the open. Exactly like any irate -mother, the bear let out a shrill scream of warning as she jumped to cut -him off. Growling and snarling, she scolded her tiny runaway and gave -him a slap that sent him spinning head over heels. The little bear -scrambled back to its feet and raced for the protection of the -underbrush. Still scolding and snarling, the big bear followed. Sandy -could hear the tirade go on for several minutes until, at last, it died -down. - -“Now there,” Mike observed, “is a mother who doesn’t believe in spoiling -her child. Did you see the spanking that little cub got?” - -“I sure did. I wonder if he knows why he got it.” - -“I think so,” Joe said. “Wild animals have to learn fast. She’s probably -giving them both a lecture right now.” - -“Speaking of lectures,” Mike called out to Sandy, “when are you going to -give me that lesson in bait casting?” - -“Soon as we find some fish,” Sandy replied. “I thought you said this -river was full of trout,” he said, turning to Joe. - -“It is. You’ll have your chance tonight after we make camp. I know a -pool ahead that’s a regular hangout for cutthroats.” - -“Cutthroats! Never heard of them.” - -“They’ve got a red slash on both sides of their lower jaw. I think this -is the only part of the world where you’ll find them.” - -“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Cook. “The Lewis and Clark expedition was the -first to describe them. They’re greedy fish and fighters.” - -“Hey!” Mike shouted. “Sounds good. How do they taste?” - -“You _would_ think of that,” his father commented. “But, for your -information, they’re delicious.” - -“Great!” answered Mike. “Put me down for three or four.” - -“Got to catch them first.” - -“Sandy’ll take care of that.” - -“How far away is that pool of yours, Joe?” - -“About five miles from here we’re going to run into the worst rapids on -the river. I call them Cutthroat Rapids because the trout run is just -upstream.” - -“Are they worse than Dog Leg Falls?” - -“Much worse. You can’t get through them. The river drops about six -feet—right on a row of razor-sharp rocks.” - -“Oh, oh!” cried Mike. “Sounds like another portage!” - -“You’re right. Feel the river picking up speed? That’s Cutthroat Rapids. -We’d better move over a little closer to the shore.” - -An hour later they were tied to the roots of a stranded drift log. Mr. -Cook and Joe were busy unloading gear for the night, while Sandy and -Mike inflated two small rubber rafts and checked over their fishing -equipment. When Mr. Cook saw the rafts, he raised an eyebrow. “How -come?” he demanded. - -“I thought we could move up and down along the shore a little easier -with these,” Sandy explained. - -“I guess you’re right. But isn’t it a little dangerous? We’re just above -Cutthroat Rapids.” - -“We’ll be careful,” Mike assured him. “Don’t worry about that.” - -“All right,” Mr. Cook agreed reluctantly. “But wrap a length of rope -around your middles. In case you start to drift, it might come in -handy.” - -“Okay,” Mike said breezily. “But now it’s time for us fishermen to go to -work. We’re bringing back tonight’s supper, you know.” - -“I’ll go grease up the frying pan right now,” Mr. Cook said, grinning at -his son. “It won’t take you more than ten minutes, will it?” - -“Give us fifteen.” - -Mr. Cook laughed and went back to help Joe build the fire. - -It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon by the time Sandy and Mike -got down to the river with their fiberglas casting rods. Taking a -position opposite some broken currents about three quarters of a mile -above the roaring cataracts of Cutthroat Rapids, Sandy unhooked the -catch of his reel and made ready for his first cast. - -“A good caster,” he told Mike, “can hit a leaf floating in the middle of -a stream.” He pointed to a small twig moving in their direction. -“That’ll be my target,” he said. - -Sandy placed his right foot in front of his left, almost as if he -intended to walk out into the water. He held his rod in front of his -body with his right hand. With an easy, swinging motion, he brought up -his rod until his thumb reached eye-level. The rod quivered back in an -arc, then lunged forward. The line snaked out and soared gracefully -through the air. - -A moment later there was an almost imperceptible splash about three -inches from the twig. Sandy kept a gentle pressure on the reel with his -thumb and allowed the bait to be carried along by the river for eight or -ten feet before he began to reel in. - -Mike whistled in admiration. “Pretty fancy. Let’s have a lesson.” - -“Okay,” Sandy said, putting down his rod. “Now hold your thumb against -the reel like this. Bring the rod up so that the tip is just about level -with your eyes. That’s it. Now, keep your elbow away from your body. No, -no. That’s too far. Just a couple of inches or so. Use your elbow as a -pivot and bring the rod up. Stop it when your thumb comes up even with -your eyes and then snap forward with your wrist as you come down with -your arm.” - -Mike nodded. “All right. Let me try.” - -Sandy stepped back and watched as Mike concentrated on his first cast. -The light rod whistled back and sprang forward. But instead of coming -out in an even play, the line fluttered from the reel and flew -erratically over the water. - -Mike shot a glance over at Sandy. “What did I do wrong?” he demanded. - -“Just about everything,” Sandy said, laughing. “First of all, relax. -You’re snapping the rod instead of swinging it. You just need a little -twist on the downstroke. In the second place, you’re not using your -thumb right. When the line begins to play out, make your thumb act like -a brake. Here, let’s try it again.” - -After forty minutes of Sandy’s expert coaching, Mike managed several -reasonably accurate casts. “Okay,” Sandy said approvingly. “You’re on -your own. I’m going to take the raft and drift downstream a little -ways.” - -“Watch the current,” Mike warned as he set himself for another cast. - -“Like a hawk,” Sandy said, pushing off from shore. - -But Sandy had underestimated the treacherous power of Lost River. - - - - - CHAPTER EIGHT - A Perfect Cast - - -The first hint that he was in trouble came when Sandy felt his raft give -a trembling lurch to one side and swing sharply out into the channel. He -had been casting for about fifteen minutes without success, keeping -close to the protection of the rocky shore as he searched the water -around him for the telltale ripple of a surfacing fish. Once or twice, -when he had strayed out toward the middle of the stream in pursuit of a -silvery flash, he quickly realized his danger and paddled back to -safety. But now he had gone too far. He was nearly ten yards away from -the near shore, moving at an ever-increasing rate of speed toward -Cutthroat Rapids. - -Still, he thought to himself, there was plenty of time to get back. The -rapids were a good half mile away and the river was not yet white with -lashing foam. - -In the end, it was a cutthroat trout that very nearly caused his death. -He was a big fellow—at least eighteen inches, Sandy figured—and he chose -that particular moment to break through the water with a twisting leap -that nearly sent him into Sandy’s lap. The sight of that magnificent -fish momentarily drove all thought of danger from Sandy’s head. Just one -cast more, he decided, and then he would head back. - -But Sandy never had a chance to make that cast. The river, in one of its -unpredictable shifts, suddenly grabbed his raft and sent it skimming and -twisting out into the main current. Dropping all thoughts of landing the -cutthroat, Sandy leaned hastily over to pick up his paddle. - -How it happened, Sandy never knew. One moment he had the paddle; the -next instant he saw it shoot out of his hand and land in the water out -of reach. He was helpless, caught in the grip of Lost River, minutes -away from a bone-shattering fall over Cutthroat Rapids. - -Fighting down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, Sandy twisted -around to call for help. Mike was standing just about where he had left -him, patiently practicing his casts, unaware of the terrible danger that -had suddenly overtaken Sandy. - -“Mike!” Sandy screamed, realizing, as he shouted, that nobody could help -him now. “Mike!” - -Mike looked up with a start. A look of surprise and horror passed over -his face as he took in the situation. Sandy saw him turn and shout -something to his father and Joe. Then he was running along the side of -the river, his fly rod still clutched in his hand. - -Cutthroat Rapids was closer now. It sent up a deep, angry roar as -hundreds of tons of water thundered over its rocks. Sandy’s fragile raft -swayed and shook, tossed in every direction by the seething current. -Clinging desperately to the slippery sides of his raft, Sandy could feel -a cold spray lash at his face. Shifting his weight to ride out the -bucking river, Sandy leaned to one side, then the other. Suddenly the -raft leaped out of the water, gave an agonized shake and fell back on -its side. The force of the fall threw Sandy from the raft and he was -swept along into the remorseless current. The raging waters carried him -for about fifteen feet before they slammed him, dazed and shaken, into -an obstruction that clogged the river just above the rapids. - -At first Sandy thought he had hit a rock. But as his groping hands -clawed for a grip, he felt the sharp scratch of a branch and the rough, -comforting scrape of a tree trunk. - -Miraculously, the current had deposited him on the upriver side of a log -jam that trembled less than twenty yards above the rapids. - -Gasping for breath, Sandy shook the water out of his eyes and took a -closer look at his island. He knew almost immediately that this was -merely a reprieve. Already the tangle of trees groaned and shifted under -the insistent tugging of the current. Here and there a few branches were -tearing free, too frail to withstand the pounding pressure of the surly -river. - -He glanced over at the nearest shore. Only about twenty feet. He hadn’t -realized he was that close. The distance gave him an idea. The rope -around his middle! Would it reach? Would he be able to throw it? Hardly -daring to believe he had a chance, he took a tight grip on a stout -branch and, with his free hand, began to unwind the line. - -When he looked back at the shore, the rope dangling from one hand, he -saw that Mike had arrived and was trying to wade out into the water -toward him. - -“No, Mike!” Sandy shouted. “You’ll be carried away!” He held his rope -over his head. “I’m going to try to throw this!” he yelled. - -But even as Sandy reared back to heave the line, he knew the light rope -would never carry all the way to the shore. He felt the log jam shudder -and move a few inches closer to the rapids. He put every ounce of his -strength into the throw, but the rope didn’t even reach halfway. - -Sandy’s mind raced over the possibilities of escape. There had to be a -way out. There just had to! - -“Sandy!” It was Mike calling out to him. “Get ready and watch your -eyes!” Sandy saw that Mike had taken up his fly rod and was about to -cast. Suddenly, as he realized what Mike had in mind, his heart gave a -leap. It might work! - -“Go ahead!” he shouted, ducking underneath a branch. Following the -instructions Sandy had given him, Mike brought up his rod in a free and -easy motion. The line hummed through the reel and floated above Sandy’s -head. As the lure hit the water a few feet to Sandy’s left, he reached -out for it blindly, ignoring the risk of a ripped finger. But the -current carried it in a mocking dance, just out of reach. - -Back on shore, Mike patiently reeled in his line and set himself for -another try. The log jam was breaking up now. Sandy could feel it sway -and give with each push from the river. He knew there wasn’t much time -left. - -Mike’s rod snapped forward and, as Sandy watched, the glittering lure -flashed through the air to settle lightly on the coarse bark of a branch -six inches from his head. - -Sandy felt the blood hammering in his temples as he maneuvered himself -over to the hook that seemed to hang there by a thread. With a trembling -hand, he reached out and snatched at the line. As his fingers closed -around it, he allowed himself a gasp of relief. - -“I’ve got it!” Sandy cried hoarsely. - -“Hurry up!” came a deep voice from the shore. Sandy looked up to see Mr. -Cook and Joe standing tensely beside Mike. “The jam’s about to give!” - -Even as he worked the end of his rope through two of the barbed hooks, -Sandy heard a noise that sounded like a piece of heavy paper being -ripped down the middle. A large branch—it was more like a small -tree—suddenly tore away and was swept down to the rapids by the surging -current. - -Sandy looped the rope once around the lure and signaled to shore. “All -right!” he shouted. - -The line gave a tug and began to inch toward Mike. Carefully Mike reeled -in, making sure that no sudden movement would shake the rope free. It -was halfway there now. Joe and Mr. Cook splashed into the water, ready -to grab it as it came within range. - -Sandy wanted to yell out at Mike to reel in faster, but he realized Mike -knew what he was doing. He couldn’t take a chance of a slip this time. -There wouldn’t be a third try. - -With agonizing slowness, the end of the rope crawled toward shore. -Another two or three feet. The log jam gave another sickening lurch, but -Sandy hardly noticed it. He was watching the rope. - -Suddenly it was there. Joe leaned over and grabbed the end. Mr. Cook -moved in beside him and, together, they pulled. - -“Come on!” Mr. Cook shouted. “We’ve got you!” - -Sandy filled his lungs with air and kicked off from the pile of logs -that had saved his life. The rope jerked once and then he was in the -water, being drawn along like an enormous, awkward fish. The river -fought to tear the rope out of his numbed fingers, but Sandy held on -desperately. The world around him had long ago ceased to be anything but -foaming water and crashing noise. There was an almost unbearable strain -on his arms as he was tossed back and forth like a prize in the deadly -tug of war between life and the river. - -Just as he thought he couldn’t hold out another second, he felt a strong -hand grip his arm. Fingers reached out and grabbed his belt, and the -next moment he was being supported by Joe and Mr. Cook. Mike was -standing on the shore ahead of him, his face white and shaken, his -casting rod still in his hand. - -“You’re all right, Sandy,” Mr. Cook was saying. “You’re safe now.” - -He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat and refused to come -out. Panting heavily, he was led up the beach and finally allowed to -rest. As he threw himself down on the ground, a crashing noise filled -the air. Sandy forced himself to look around. - -The tangled hump of tree branches was rising out of the water. As Sandy -watched with a dazed expression, it seemed to give a heaving sigh before -settling back into the river. There was a grinding roar and suddenly the -trees were gone, claimed by the howling fury of Cutthroat Rapids. A -minute later, and Sandy would have gone over too. - - - - - CHAPTER NINE - Smoke on the Horizon - - -“Care to talk about it, Sandy?” Mr. Cook asked as he threw three or four -thick slabs of bacon into a frying pan. Sandy was sitting, wrapped in a -blanket, propped up next to a roaring fire, a cup of steaming instant -bouillon in his hand. Joe was squatting on his heels, Indian-fashion, in -front of a flat rock, mixing up a batch of johnnycake. Mike was kneeling -beside Sandy, busy opening two No. 2 cans of peaches. A casual visitor -would have taken it for an ordinary camping party getting ready for a -relaxed evening meal. Except for Sandy’s drawn face, there was no hint -of their recent close brush with death. - -Sandy took a deep breath and another swallow of broth before he -answered. “Sure,” he replied. “But there’s not much to say. I kept -following the trout farther and farther out into the stream until -finally I realized I was too far.” - -“You couldn’t get back?” - -Sandy shook his head in disgust. “I shouldn’t really tell you this. It -makes me look like such a dope. I was just about to head back for shore -when suddenly this enormous trout finned out right under me. He must -have been at least a foot and a half.” - -“Whew,” whistled Joe softly. “That’s the one that always gets away.” - -Sandy smiled wanly. “That’s the one that almost got me! I went after -him.” - -“And that brought you out still farther into the river,” concluded Mr. -Cook. - -Sandy nodded grimly. “I felt the raft give a heave and I knew I’d better -get out of there. But I was in too much of a hurry, I guess. I grabbed -for the paddle and it shot out of my hand. Next thing I knew I was being -carried on down to the rapids. If it hadn’t been for Mike....” Sandy -broke off and shook his head. - -“You mean if it hadn’t been for the way you taught me to use that fly -rod!” Mike interrupted with a grin. “Boy, was I scared when I made that -cast out to you! I knew it had to be just right!” - -“And it was,” Mr. Cook said with a smile. - -“Prettiest cast I ever saw,” Joe admitted. “Bet you could thread a -needle with that thing.” - -Mike flushed and worked furiously at the second can of peaches. “Well,” -he said, “it worked out okay, so let’s forget it.” - -Sandy looked at the three of them and felt a lump rise in his throat. -“Listen,” he said, and he noticed his voice sounded strained and husky. -“I don’t know how to thank you—all of you—for what you did. I guess it -sounds sort of foolish to say that you saved my life, and all. But I -just....” - -Mr. Cook stood up and moved over beside Sandy. “Don’t say any more, -Sandy. There’s no need to thank us. We were very lucky, that’s all.” - -“But it was all my fault!” Sandy muttered, staring into the fire. “What -a bonehead thing to do!” - -“Sure,” Mr. Cook agreed cheerfully. “You should have been more careful. -But you weren’t.” He shrugged expressively. “Now that it’s all over and -done with, let’s look ahead.” - -After a moment’s silence, Sandy grinned up at him. “You’re right,” he -said. “I’ve got my eye on tomorrow. What’s the schedule?” - -Mr. Cook turned to Joe. “How about it? You’re the guide around here. -Think we’ll make Mormon Crossing?” - -Joe walked over and put the frying pan with its johnnycake batter on the -fire. “We’ll be there before lunch,” he predicted. He winked over at Mr. -Cook and Sandy. “If we can get Sleeping Beauty there on his feet bright -and early.” - -Mike, who always took a long time to wake up in the morning, ignored -this remark. Leaning back comfortably, he began to chew thoughtfully on -a blade of grass. “You know,” he said, “I read a book once that said -that all the great thinkers of the world like to sleep late. Brainy -fellows like us,” he explained, “just seem to need more rest. Besides,” -he reflected, “we do most of our heavy thinking at night.” - -“So that explains it,” his father remarked. - -“Explains what?” - -“That noise that comes out of your sleeping bag every night.” - -“You thought I was snoring?” Mike seemed surprised. - -“Yes,” Mr. Cook admitted. “I’m afraid I did.” - -Mike laughed disdainfully. “If you only knew the problems I have to -solve! Night after night I turn them over in my mind, searching for the -right answer....” He paused and looked at them seriously. “I tell you, -those problems are heavy. When I turn them over they make a big racket. -That must be what you keep hearing, Dad,” he confided. - -“Oh, oh!” Joe grinned. “Better stuff some cotton in your ears tonight,” -he said. - -“How come?” Sandy asked. - -“Mike’s going to have a real problem to solve. How to portage around -Cutthroat Rapids without doing any work.” - -“Another portage,” groaned Mike. - -“I wouldn’t advise trying to go through them,” Sandy remarked with a -smile. - -Mike grinned back at him. “Right!” he nodded. “There speaks a man of -experience. Joe,” he said, suddenly changing the subject, “you ever been -in the mountains above Mormon Crossing?” - -“Sure, a couple of times.” - -“What sort of country is it?” - -“A lot wilder than what we’ve gone through. In places it gets above the -timber line.” - -“Good hunting?” - -“The best. I can show you a rock bluff where you’ll see mountain goats -every morning.” - -“What about mountain lions?” Sandy asked eagerly. - -“You’ll get your cougar, Sandy,” Joe said. “Don’t worry. The Lost River -Range is full of game. A regular hunter’s paradise.” He shook the frying -pan and tested the johnny cake with a fork. “You know,” he said -meditatively, rocking back on his heels, “next to a little spot in -Montana I’ve got my eye on, I love this country best. It’s unspoiled,” -he explained. “It’s exactly the way it was when men like Jim Bridger and -John Colter first saw it nearly a hundred and fifty years ago.” - -“Who were they?” Sandy wanted to know. - -“Trappers. Guides, like myself. John Colter guided Lewis and Clark. He -traded with my people, the Blackfeet, and was the first white man ever -to see Yellowstone National Park. The Indians told him about it and he -went to have a look for himself. When he got back to his trading -station, nobody would believe him. A whole valley where the smoke comes -right out of the ground! They laughed in his face!” - -“What finally happened to Colter?” Mike asked. - -“He died, still sticking to his story. He was only about thirty-eight or -so. It was a hard country.” - -“It still is,” Mr. Cook said. - -“Yes,” Joe agreed. “But that’s what I like about it. Some day,” he said -softly, staring out at the setting sun in the west, “I’m going to settle -into that ranch in Montana and spend the rest of my life living with it. -Right in the back yard of the wilderness. I hope I never see another -city.” - -“When will that be?” Sandy asked. - -Joe laughed. “When I can save up enough money to buy it,” he replied. - -“What happens if it gets crowded?” Mike asked. “Full of tourists like -us?” - -“Not much chance!” Joe said. “Look at us. I bet we’re the first people -to come through here in months.” - -“Well, we’re not alone,” Mike observed, pointing off toward the river. -“The joint’s filling up.” - -The three of them swiveled around and followed Mike’s outstretched -finger. In the distance, behind a range of hills, in the direction from -which they had come, a lazy plume of smoke curled slowly above the -treetops. - -Joe gave a cry of surprise and jumped to his feet. He stood watching the -smoke, every muscle in his body tense, his hands balled tight into hard -fists at his side. Sandy saw he was breathing in shallow, panting gasps, -like a runner after a long race. - -Mr. Cook saw it too. He and Sandy exchanged glances. “What’s the matter, -Joe?” he asked. “You seem upset.” - -Joe turned with a start. “What ... upset?” he stammered. “No,” he said, -forcing a thin smile. “I just didn’t expect anybody else to be out -here.” - -“They seem to be following us downriver,” Mike observed. - -“Pity we won’t be able to meet them,” Mr. Cook remarked. “But we’ll be -leaving the river at Mormon Crossing.” - -As they were talking, the smoke suddenly stopped. It was as if someone -had thrown a bucket of water on the campfire. “That’s odd,” Mr. Cook -muttered. “I wonder why they did that? You don’t normally build a fire -and then douse it right away.” - -“No, you don’t,” Joe said grimly. He looked even more disturbed than he -had the day of his accident on the Henderson dock. It was especially -strange since Joe had been in excellent spirits all through the trip -downriver. - -There was an awkward pause that was broken by Mr. Cook bending over -their cookfire. “No sense in wondering about something that must be -fifteen or twenty miles away,” he declared. “Let’s eat.” - -Dinner was a silent, thoughtful affair. As soon as the dishes were -scraped and cleaned in the river, Mr. Cook announced he was going to -turn in. “We’ll be up by dawn tomorrow,” he said. “So I advise you boys -to do the same.” - -Mike yawned and said he thought it was a good idea. Fifteen minutes -later, the camp was quiet. But Sandy, who was stretched out near the -fire, found he couldn’t sleep. The excitement of his narrow escape from -the rapids was still with him. And now, added to that, here was Joe’s -odd behavior to worry about. - -Restlessly he tossed and turned, dead-tired, but still awake. Finally—it -must have been nearly nine o’clock because he saw the moon was beginning -to rise—he opened his eyes with an angry shake. - -Their clearing was in almost total darkness. The only light came from -the few embers that still glowed in the ashes. Suddenly Sandy became -aware of a figure on the other side of the fire. In the faint light -Sandy could just make out a face. It was Joe. - -He was sitting with his arms crossed over his drawn-up knees, staring -into the red coals. His eyes were clouded with worry and there was a -heavy, brooding look about his mouth. - -Sandy wondered whether to speak, but decided against it. Joe, he knew -from experience, was not a man who would willingly talk about his -troubles. All at once Sandy realized he was sleepy. He made up his mind -to forget about the mystery that surrounded Joe. He would think about -the cougar hunt tomorrow. And if he was very lucky, he would forget -about his experience in Cutthroat Rapids forever. - -He finally fell into a fitful sleep that was streaked and shattered by -nightmares. Three huge black crows were chasing Joe, and he was trying -to help. As they ran together, they came to a quiet stream. But as they -started to cross, the stream became a roaring river and the three crows -turned into giant cutthroat trout. Sandy could see the red slashes on -either side of their lower jaws as they strained to catch him in their -razor-sharp teeth. Twisting himself around in a desperate attempt to -escape, he swam faster through the boiling current. - -Suddenly he was awake, drenched with sweat and shaking like a reed. The -panic left him as soon as he knew where he was. Before he settled -himself back into his sleeping bag, he looked over at the fire. - -Joe was still there, the troubled look still on his face. After a -moment, Sandy slept deeply. - - - - - CHAPTER TEN - Lion Country - - -“Listen!” Hank Dawson threw up one hand as he reined in his horse. -Behind him the column of riders plowed to a sudden halt. “Hear that?” he -called. Down from the mountain above them, through the lonely, windswept -stands of ponderosa and jackpine, drifted a yelping chorus of excited -barks. - -“Dogs!” Sandy cried. “We must be nearly there.” - -Hank nodded. “About twenty minutes,” he said. “Hear that deep-voiced -bark? That’s Drum—the leader. Best lion dog I ever had.” He turned in -his saddle and called back to the others. “Not far to go now. Think you -can hold out?” - -They had been riding steadily since mid-morning, shortly after they -arrived at Mormon Crossing. Hank Dawson was waiting for them, as Mr. -Cook had predicted, with four pack mules and five saddle horses, ready -and eager to start the upland trek without delay. - -Hank Dawson turned out to be a huge, raw-boned man who looked, -unexpectedly, as if he had just stepped down from the deck of a Viking -ship. His thick blond hair and reddish-gold beard were both worn -long—because, as he explained, he couldn’t find his scissors and he -never bothered to take a razor with him into the mountains. - -Standing side by side, Joe and Hank Dawson made an odd contrast. Both -men had the same air of rugged power and quiet competence. But while -Joe’s strength was that of solid rock—planted firmly and unyieldingly in -the ground—Hank’s was that of a sturdy tree that towered high in the -clear mountain air. - -It was a subdued party that had pulled up to Mormon Crossing to meet -Hank that morning. Joe, although he had regained some of his composure -after seeing the smoke from the mysterious campfire the night before, -was still thoughtful and quiet. As for Sandy, the experience above -Cutthroat Rapids was too fresh a memory for him to be his normal, -cheerful self. - -But hard work quickly brightened the mood. The boats had to be beached, -turned upside down and covered with canvas tarpaulins. Trip boxes and -camping gear had to be unloaded, sorted, repacked and arranged evenly on -the backs of the sturdy, patient pack mules—bandy-legged little animals -that seemed to be willing to carry an incredible amount of baggage -without complaint. - -Hank Dawson directed the entire operation with practiced efficiency. He -gave Sandy and Mike the job of weeding out excess equipment and storing -it away. - -“That includes all your fishing tackle,” he told them. “You won’t be -needing that in the mountains. And the heavy camping stuff—like tents -and sleeping bags and cooking gear.” - -“All the comforts of home,” Mike observed ruefully. - -“That’s it,” Hank agreed. “Tents are too bulky. One frying pan apiece is -plenty, and a couple of blankets is all you’ll need for a bedroll.” - -“What about an air mattress?” Mike suggested hopefully. - -Hank brushed the idea aside. “That’s the trouble with most campers. They -go out on the trail with so much fancy equipment that they don’t have -time to enjoy what they came for. Why, I remember a party I guided -once—he came up here to get himself a mountain sheep.” Hank shook his -head in wonder. “That man was a walking sporting-goods store. Took three -mules for his equipment alone. It used to take us two hours in the -morning just to break camp. I tried to tell him right after dawn was the -best time to bag a sheep, but he wouldn’t listen.” - -“Did he ever get one?” Sandy asked. - -Hank smiled. “Sure,” he said. “I’ve got my reputation to think of. I got -up one morning while he was still in the sack and found me a real nice -ram. After I shot him, I propped him up against some rocks and went back -down to camp. ‘I think we’ll find ourselves a sheep today,’ I told him. -‘There’s a set of tracks near here that looks promising.’” Hank chuckled -and fished in his pocket for some cigarette makings. “Course, what he -didn’t know,” he went on, as he expertly rolled himself a smoke, “was -that no man alive ever saw tracks over solid rock. Anyway, he thought I -could and that was the important thing. I led him around for about an -hour and finally brought him to where he could see the ram I’d planted. -‘Go ahead,’ I told him. ‘Shoot before he gets away.’ Well, he rears up -his rifle and lets that sheep have it. The force of his bullet knocks -the sheep over just like I knew it would. I skinned it real quick so’s -he wouldn’t notice the second bullet hole and then gave him the head to -have mounted. He was the happiest man I ever saw. Guess he’s still -bragging about that shot.” - -“Do all guides have that kind of trouble?” Mr. Cook asked. - -Hank shrugged. “It’s bound to happen in this business. Ask Joe. He -knows.” - -The Indian nodded gravely. “I’ve been at it for nearly five years and -you’re about the best party I’ve ever taken out.” - -“Gee!” Mike laughed. “Can you imagine what some of the others must have -been like! We’re certainly not a prize bunch.” - -“Yes, you are,” Joe insisted. “At least you let me do my job. The -arguments some people give me!” - -“That’s it,” Hank cut in. “That’s exactly the trouble. People hire a -guide to tell them what to do—and then refuse to do it.” - -“Or else they want a long explanation,” Joe added. “Which you can’t give -because there isn’t time.” - -“Speaking of time,” Hank said, reaching into the bottom of one of the -boats to pull out a trip box. “We’ve got to get moving if we want to -make my place before nightfall. Start sorting that gear, boys.” - -“Aye, aye, sir!” Mike said smartly. “No questions asked.” - -Hank grunted approvingly as he brought the box up to his shoulder. -“Good. We’ll get along fine.” - -After about an hour’s work, the boats were beached and secured under -canvas covers, the mules were loaded and they were ready to mount. “I’ll -take the lead,” Hank announced. “Sandy, you follow behind me. Then you -and your father, Mike. Do you think you can handle those mules by -yourself, Joe?” The Indian nodded. “Good. One final word of advice. -We’ll be going up nearly four thousand feet. The trails are hard to -follow and sometimes they’ll look dangerous. But these animals have made -the trip before. So don’t try to guide them. Just give them their head -and they’ll get you up safe and sound.” He looked around inquiringly. -“All set? Then let’s go.” - -It seemed to Sandy that the trail led straight up, through narrow box -canyons and over barren stretches of rock fall where every step sent a -shower of loose stones cascading down the steep slope. Most of the time -he concentrated grimly on keeping his balance and breathed a prayer that -the wiry little pony underneath him knew what it was doing. -Occasionally, though, Hank would lead them across a relatively flat -plateau and let them stop to admire the view. - -They were standing on one of these ridges—the silvery ribbon of Lost -River far below them and a towering panorama of snow-capped peaks all -around them—when Mike sighed deeply. - -“What a perfect place,” he said, “for a picnic.” - -“A what?” his father asked. - -“Eats,” Mike explained. “Big thick roast beef sandwiches and a thermos -bottle full of cold milk.” - -“You wouldn’t be hungry, would you?” Mr. Cook said with a smile. - -“Oh no,” Mike assured him. “I’m not hungry, exactly. I’m just plain -starved. I’m so lightheaded from not having any food that I can’t stay -on the back of my horse. I keep floating away.” - -“I’m afraid we can’t stop to cook a meal,” Hank told Mike. “These -mountains are no fun in the dark.” - -“The death sentence,” Mike muttered gloomily. “I’ll never make it.” - -“Oh yes, you will,” Joe called out. “Indians used to travel for days -with nothing more than a handful of dried corn. If they did it, so can -you.” - -“I’m a little out of practice,” Mike pointed out. “Besides, I don’t have -any corn.” - -“But, Mike,” Hank said, “there’s food all around you.” - -“I know,” Mike replied gloomily. “I see it everywhere I look. Cold fried -chicken, hot buttered rolls, strawberry shortcake....” - -“No, I mean it,” Hank interrupted. “A man could live for days on the -food that grows in the mountains.” He swung down from his horse and -walked over to a whitebark pine. “See these cones?” He reached up, -twisted one from a branch, and broke it open. A dozen tiny -reddish-orange pellets spilled out into his hand. “These are pine nuts,” -he explained, holding one up for Mike to take. “They’re like the piñon -nuts that grow in the Southwest.” - -Mike took an experimental bite. “They’re delicious,” he announced. - -“Help yourself. Plenty more where that came from.” Hank walked over to a -clump of grass that was laced with delicate-looking flowers. “Here’s -something else,” he called, bending down to pull up the blossoms. Up -through the earth came white roots that resembled onions. “Camass -bulbs,” he said. “You boil them in water and they taste like potatoes. -They saved the Lewis and Clark expedition more than once. If we looked -hard enough, I imagine we could find some puffball mushrooms.” - -“What are they?” Sandy demanded. - -“Just like regular mushrooms,” Hank explained, “but much bigger. Some of -them grow to be the size of a basketball. Two of them will feed a dozen -men. In the fall,” he went on, “these mountains are covered with golden -currants. Wild grapes ripen later in the summer. What more could you ask -for?” - -“Nothing,” said Mike, munching happily. “Except maybe some more of these -nuts.” - -“Tear some loose and let’s get going,” Hank ordered. “It must be nearly -three o’clock by now.” - -For three more hours they plodded ahead, with Hank setting a steady, -tireless pace. The only sound that broke the mountain stillness was the -creak of saddle leather and the sharp, scraping noise made by the horses -as they carefully picked their way up the rocky trail. - -The sun was just beginning to turn a deep orange at their backs when -Hank finally called the weary riders to a halt and pointed out the -faint, echoing chorus of dogs in the distance. - -“How do they know we’re coming?” Sandy wondered. “Can they hear us so -far away?” - -“They’ve caught our scent,” Hank explained. “They have a very keen sense -of smell.” - -“How many dogs do you have?” Mike asked. - -“About twenty. Real scrappers, every one.” - -“I guess they have to be,” Sandy said, “to tangle with mountain lions.” - -“Say!” Mike said. “That’s right. We’re in mountain-lion country now.” He -turned in his saddle and peered up at the bluffs of raw rock above him. - -Hank nodded. “Yep,” he said. “They’re thick as fleas around here. You’ll -be close enough to shake hands with one before the week’s out.” - -Hank’s prediction, it turned out later, was almost too close for -comfort. - - - - - CHAPTER ELEVEN - Hunting Talk - - -Hank Dawson’s hunting lodge, high in the Lost River Mountains of Idaho, -was the first house Sandy had ever been in where no woman had ever set -foot. In every way it was a man’s paradise—designed exclusively for male -society. - -No chintz curtains cluttered the view. There were no pictures, prints or -china figurines on side tables, no hooked rugs underfoot, no attempt to -cover wooden walls with plaster or, even worse, with decorative -wallpaper. Hank Dawson had built himself a straightforward, sturdy -house. Massive, seasoned beams supported the roof. Half-rounded logs -formed the walls and the floor. All wood surfaces were scraped, sanded -and still fresh with the fragrant smell of the forest. - -An enormous forty-foot main room looked out on a breath-taking view of -jutting peaks and misty valleys. Behind the lodge bulged a huge rock -bluff, dotted with clusters of vivid green jackpine and traced by a thin -finger of crystal-clear water that trickled musically down its rough, -gray surface. - -One end of the living room was completely faced with a stone wall that -held the biggest fireplace Sandy had ever seen. Splendid heads of elk, -mule deer, mountain goats and pronghorn antelope filled up the rest of -the space. One animal, though, was significantly missing. Mike was the -first to notice it. - -“How come no mountain lions, Hank?” he asked. - -They were stretched out in front of the fireplace, deep in comfortable -chairs, relaxing as the stiffness of a hard day in the saddle drained -slowly out of their tired bodies. A full meal and the warm glow of the -fire had made them all pleasantly drowsy. - -Mr. Cook and Hank Dawson were both drawing thoughtfully on their pipes. -Joe sat with his head thrown back against the stone wall, the smoke from -his cigarette curling lazily through his fingers. Mike was propped up on -one elbow, staring into the fire with glazed fascination. Sandy was -lying on a large, overstuffed sofa, one hand absent-mindedly scratching -the floppy ear of a big-chested tan-and-black dog. - -The dog, Drum—Hank’s favorite lion hound—had adopted Sandy the first -moment they met. Ignoring everyone else, even Hank, he insisted on -padding around after him all evening and was now settled happily by his -side. - -Mike’s question broke a contented, peaceful silence that had lasted for -nearly ten minutes. - -“What’s that, Mike?” Hank said. - -Mike repeated his question. “I see every other kind of trophy up there, -but no lion,” he added. - -Hank tapped the bowl of his pipe reflectively against the side of the -fireplace. “Frankly,” he said, “I don’t think they’re worth mounting.” - -Mike looked surprised. “I thought they were the best prize of all.” - -Hank shook his head. “I don’t agree. Oh, they’re dangerous, all right. -Don’t make any mistake about that.” - -“How big do they get?” Sandy asked. - -“They vary,” Hank replied. “Mountain lions or pumas or cougars—they’re -the same animal, you know—are found all the way from British Columbia -down to the tip of South America. And the farther north you go, the -bigger they get. A full-grown male will weigh as much as two hundred -pounds. That makes them bigger than an African leopard.” - -“Then why don’t you like to hunt them?” Mike asked. - -“That’s just it. I don’t hunt them.” - -“Huh?” Mike was confused. - -“I kill them. There’s a big difference.” Hank shrugged and reached for a -match. “At least there is for me.” - -Sandy slid along the bottom of the sofa and sat up. “I don’t get it,” he -said. - -“Well,” Hank said deliberately through a cloud of smoke, “look at it -this way. If you had a vegetable garden and a woodchuck was tearing it -apart, what would you do?” - -“Shoot him,” Mike replied promptly. - -“You see?” Hank grinned. “I notice you didn’t use the word ‘hunt.’ -That’s exactly the way I feel about a cougar. They’re destructive beasts -and wanton killers. I’ve known them to kill fifty sheep in a night just -for the fun of it. That’s why I’ve declared war on them.” He paused and -looked up at the trophy heads lined up along the wall. “There’s another -reason I don’t care much for mountain lions. They’re no challenge to me -as a hunter. It’s no good trying to match wits with them because, -essentially, they’re cowards. All you do is set the dogs on their trail -and they do the rest. You just follow the pack and, after a little -while, you come up against your lion crouched in a tree like a -frightened old lady. After that, it doesn’t take much to knock it off.” - -“Couldn’t they kill the dogs?” Sandy asked. - -“Oh, yes,” Hank said. “And they do. Old Drum’s been clawed plenty of -times, but, knock on wood, he’s still alive and kicking. A cornered -animal is always dangerous. I’ve had them charge me on several -occasions. If they’re hungry enough they’ll come right up to a house. -One of them tried to get into my corral once. I shot him just outside, -on the path as you come up to the front door.” - -Mike shook his head in bewilderment. “I give up,” he said. “It sure -sounds like exciting sport to me. I wouldn’t exactly put it in the same -class as shooting woodchucks.” - -Mr. Cook spoke for the first time. “I think I know what Hank means. He’s -the man with the gun. He’s got the advantage. The sport isn’t in the -killing—it’s in the stalking.” - -“Right!” Hank agreed, leaning back comfortably. “I remember one time I -was hunting elk up in Thoroughfare Creek country in Wyoming. On the -first day, I spotted a real giant—oh, he was a beauty! He must have had -close to twenty points and a spread of nearly seventy inches. How I -wanted that head! Nothing else would do. I stalked that animal for ten -days trying to get into position for a shot. But he was a wise customer -and always managed to keep out of my way. Not that he got panicky or -ran!” Hank broke into a grin of admiration. “That’s the whole point. He -knew what I was after—I’m convinced of that—but he wouldn’t give me the -satisfaction of showing any fear. He was that proud. Well, as I say, we -played our little game for ten days and, finally, on the morning of the -eleventh, just as dawn was beginning to break through some gray clouds, -I stepped out into a clearing in the woods. I heard a noise behind me -and there was my elk. He was standing straight as an arrow, staring at -me—a perfect shot against the rising sun.” Hank threw up his hands. “But -I couldn’t do it. We stood looking at each other for about a minute or -two and then he slowly moved back into the woods—one of the most -majestic sights I’ve ever seen.” Hank found a twig and began to scrape -the bowl of his pipe. “I’ve never regretted losing that elk.” Hank -paused and corrected himself. “Actually, I didn’t lose him. He was -mine—in a way that no stuffed trophy will ever be.” - -Mr. Cook looked over at his son and Sandy. “You boys still want to -bother with a cougar?” - -Hank threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, come now, Arthur. Don’t -discourage them. Of course they do and I don’t blame them. I just hope -they’ll experience some real hunting, too.” - -Mike, who had been listening to Hank’s story with a rapt expression on -his face, scrambled to his feet. The quick movement made Drum open one -curious eye. “Why don’t we start tomorrow?” Mike cried excitedly. - -“Tomorrow?” his father said with a frown. “I’d just as soon wait a day -or two.” - -“Why?” - -“Well, for one thing, we’re up pretty high, you know. Before I go -scrambling around any mountain peaks, I’d like to get used to the -altitude.” - -“I’ll go out with the boys,” Hank said unexpectedly. “You can loaf -around the house and take it easy.” - -“How about it, Dad?” - -Mr. Cook shrugged and put down his pipe. “As far as I’m concerned -there’s no better man in the world to take you hunting than Hank. You’re -sure you want to, Hank?” - -“Positive.” - -“Then that’s settled.” Mr. Cook nodded over to the Indian, who was -sitting with his back against the stone wall. “How about you, Joe? Feel -like going out?” - -Joe smiled and shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so,” he said -quietly. “I’ll just wander around here for a while until I get my -mountain legs under me.” - -“Suit yourself,” Hank Dawson replied. “What’s your pleasure, gents?” he -said, turning back to the boys. - -“How do you mean?” Sandy asked. - -“What do you want to go out after—giraffes, elephants, saber-toothed -tigers—you name it!” - -“You’re the boss,” Mike said, grinning. “You say!” - -Hank paused and considered the question. “Well,” he said slowly, “how -about trying for an _Oreamnos montanus_?” - -“A _what_?” - -“A mountain goat to you, Mike.” - -“A mountain goat!” Mike’s face fell. “I thought we were going to go -after some big game—not a billy goat!” - -Hank laughed. “Don’t kid yourself—if you’ll pardon the pun. A mountain -goat is my personal candidate for the most dangerous animal in the -world.” - -“No fooling!” - -“I’m serious. A mountain goat lives in the most inaccessible places. -He’s got eyes like binoculars, he’s smart and fast, and he’s not afraid -of anything that walks. I’ve known of cases where mountain goats have -killed a lion. He may not be much to look at, but I can promise you an -exciting chase and one you won’t forget in a hurry. Okay?” - -Sandy and Mike both nodded their heads in agreement. “Okay,” they -chorused. - -“Good.” Hank stood up and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m for -bed,” he announced. “And you better do the same. If we’re going hunting -tomorrow, we’ll have to be up at....” - -“Oh, no!” Mike groaned as he lumbered to his feet. “Don’t tell me—dawn -again! Why is it,” he asked plaintively, “that everything around here -starts at dawn?” - -“Tell you what,” Hank said, moving to the door of one of the bedrooms -that opened off from the main room. “When we get back, we’ll let you lie -around in bed some morning all you like.” - -“Sure,” Sandy agreed. “We’ll let you sleep till six—or maybe even -seven.” - -“Lucky boy.” Mr. Cook chuckled as he reached over to turn down the wick -of the kerosene lamp. “Just let me know what the sunrise is like -tomorrow morning, will you? Personally, I plan to sleep until noon.” - -“Still want that goat?” Hank asked Mike, a smile playing at the corners -of his mouth. - -Mike grinned back at him. “See you at dawn,” he said. “If I’m lucky, I -may even have one eye open.” - - - - - CHAPTER TWELVE - Rockslide - - -The urgent jangling of the alarm clock woke Sandy first. The room was -icy cold and pitch-black, but the soft glow of the dial read -four-thirty. Sandy forced himself to grope free of the blanket and shut -off the insistent clamor. He leaned over and gave Mike’s shoulder a -shake. - -“Hey, Mike!” he called. - -Mike groaned, opened one eye, and then turned back to the wall, -muttering something under his breath. - -Sandy shook him a second time. “Wake up, Mike. Let’s go.” - -The figure under the blanket heaved up and settled back down on the -mattress. “Whazzamattawhyuh, huh?” it said. - -Sandy sighed and swung his feet down on the cold floor. “A brilliant -conversationalist,” he observed, reaching for his trousers. “May I quote -you on that?” A bulge under the blanket made a tempting target. He gave -it a friendly whack. “Rise and shine, boy. We’ve got a date with a -goat.” - -There was a sharp yelp and a flurry of movement. Slowly a tousled head -appeared from under the covers and regarded Sandy with a baleful look. -“No self-respecting goat is up at a time like this,” he said bitterly. -“So let me go back to sleep. What time is it, anyway?” - -“After four-thirty. I’m going to go out and see about breakfast. See you -in the kitchen.” - -Mike reached for the covers. “Good,” he grunted. “That gives me another -fifteen minutes.” - -Sandy stood over Mike’s bed threateningly. “You want the cold-water -treatment?” he said. - -“You win.” Mike struggled up and peered out at the morning. “Looks like -the middle of the night,” he said. - -“The sun’ll be up pretty soon. I’ll throw on some bacon and eggs while -you get dressed.” - -“Lots of eggs!” Mike shouted as Sandy opened the door and went out into -the main room. - -Hank was already up. A fire was going in the fireplace and Sandy could -hear noises coming from the kitchen. He pushed open the door to find -Hank mopping up a plate of eggs. He was dressed in a heavy flannel -shirt, a pair of corduroy trousers and high-topped, sturdy-looking -climbing shoes. A leather jacket, a bedroll and a rifle were propped -against the far wall. - -“I put out some bacon and eggs for you two,” he said when he saw Sandy. -“Got your gear all packed?” - -“We’re all ready. We did it last night.” He threw half a dozen thick -slabs of bacon into the frying pan and sat down beside Hank. “Doesn’t -look as if it’s going to be much of a day,” he said. - -“’Fraid not. We’re due for some rain.” Hank got up and scraped his -plate. “Hurry up with your breakfast and meet me outside. I’d like to be -up in the peaks by dawn.” - - -Later that morning, they stood on a narrow, windswept ledge of rock, -nearly ten thousand feet high, watching a pale, watery dawn touch the -tops of mountain peaks fifty miles away. It was an experience Sandy -would never forget. One moment they were in darkness; then gradually the -world around them began to take shape. First the tops of the ridges -loomed up out of the gray mist. As the sun rose higher, faint fingers of -light streaked down into the valleys far below, probing the shadowy -pools of night that still huddled there. - -Sandy and Mike stared at the scene wordlessly, lost in the wonder of the -view. Finally Mike sighed deeply. “It must have looked like this a -million years ago,” he said softly. - -Sandy nodded. “Not a living thing in sight. Just the mountains and the -wind....” - -“And the rain,” Hank said suddenly. “Here it comes.” - -The first spattering gusts of rain lashed the rock outcropping above -them. In the east, dirty ragged clouds scudded over the sun. “Want to go -back?” Hank asked. - -Sandy and Mike both shook their heads. “Not unless the rain drives the -goats away,” Sandy said. - -“Don’t worry about that,” Hank replied. “I told you they’re tough. -Weather like this won’t stop a goat.” He dropped the pack from his -shoulder and reached into a pocket for a pair of binoculars. “Here,” he -said, offering the glasses to Sandy. “Start looking.” - -Sandy brought the binoculars up to his eyes and started to scan the -neighboring peaks. “Where do I look?” he asked. - -“Notice how the south sides of all the peaks are covered with trees?” -Hank asked. Sandy nodded. “That’s because they get most of the sun.” - -“The sides facing north are practically all rock,” Sandy observed. - -“Except for a big yellow pine here and there. See them?” - -“Sure. And there seems to be something that looks like snow at the base -of each tree.” - -“Right.” - -“Snow!” Mike said. “At the end of June?” - -“It never had a chance to melt,” Hank explained. “The shade of the tree -keeps the ground cold until the middle of July. Now take a close look at -every patch of snow you can see. That’s where you’ll spot a goat.” - -Sandy swept back and forth across the peaks with his glasses. “Not a -thing,” he announced. - -“Let me look.” After a moment or two, Hank stiffened and leaned forward. -“There’s your billy goat,” he said. - -“Where?” Sandy cried. “I just looked there.” - -“Well, you didn’t look hard enough.” He turned the glasses back to -Sandy. “Try another peek.” - -Sandy focused in on a tiny white spot that stood out against the gray -granite. At first he thought it was a faint smear of snow. But then, -unexpectedly, he saw it move. “I’ll be darned!” he breathed. “You’re -right!” - -“Let me take a look!” Mike cried. He stared through the binoculars and -nodded his head excitedly. “I see him,” he cried. “How do you know it’s -a billy?” - -“I don’t think it’s a nanny goat,” Hank said. “This one’s all by himself -and nannies mostly stay together.” - -“Just like women!” Mike observed with a laugh. - -“That’s right.” Hank grinned. “I guess they like to gossip. And then -you’ll usually see some kids around if it’s a nanny.” - -“Anything else?” Sandy asked. - -“One more thing. Nannies are snow-white, but billies get dirty. From the -color, I’ll bet that goat’s a billy.” - -“Okay,” Mike said. “Now how do we get him?” - -They were separated from their quarry by a deep box canyon whose sides -plunged almost straight down from the narrow ledge at their feet. To -reach the goat, they would have to work their way down the sheer rock -wall, cross over a small stream that flowed along the canyon floor and -then climb up the far side. - -But instead of heading directly into the canyon, Hank Dawson led them -along the narrow ledge, around to the other side of the mountain. - -“We can’t climb right up under his nose,” he explained. “He’d spot us -for sure. We’re going to have to get behind and above him.” - -“Is there a trail up there?” Mike asked. - -“I doubt it. You all set for a rough ride?” - -The boys tightened their pack straps and nodded. - -“Then let’s go. We’ll have to move fast. He’s not going to stay up there -all morning.” - -Hank set a fast, sure-footed pace over a ledge that curled around the -peak like a vine. Sandy and Mike followed as best they could, -concentrating on keeping their balance as they worked their way over -rain-slippery rock, inches away from about 700 feet of space that yawned -emptily to their left. - -As they came puffing around the first turn, Hank was waiting for them, a -tree branch in either hand. - -“We’re in luck,” he said, pointing down. “A rockslide.” - -Sandy peered over the edge. Hundreds of small pieces of rock had spilled -down the side of the mountain, forming a steep pathway to the floor of -the canyon below. - -“Isn’t that dangerous?” Mike asked. “Won’t the whole thing give way?” - -“It’ll slide, if that’s what you mean,” Hank replied. “But it won’t all -come tumbling down at once. It’s sort of like running down a long sand -dune. The particles of sand keep slipping downhill, but the hill itself -holds together. Use these branches for balance and you’ll get down -without any trouble. Here, watch me.” - -With a carefree abandon that made the boys gasp, Hank flung himself down -on the river of rock. The force of his leap made the slide slip forward -about six feet. Rocks about the size of a man’s fist clattered and -grated downhill in a sagging wave with Hank riding on the crest. When it -stopped, he plunged his branch down and leaned on it to catch his -balance. Lifting one leg free, he used his makeshift alpenstock like a -pole vault to propel himself forward a second time. - -“Look at him go!” Mike said admiringly. - -“We’d better get going ourselves,” Sandy said. “Or he’ll be halfway up -the other side.” - -“What we need for this maneuver,” Mike said as he braced himself for a -take-off, “is a little armor for the seat of our pants. I have the -feeling we’re going to need it.” - -Sandy grinned at him, took a deep breath and jumped. His feet ground -into a bed of pebbles and suddenly he was sliding downhill. Clawing -wildly to keep upright, he felt the rocks brake to a halt. Before he -fell he managed to catch himself and push off for another short spurt. - -Their progress was remarkably fast. They made the 700-foot descent in a -matter of minutes, arriving at the bottom shaken, bruised, but -triumphant. - -“Good for you,” Hank said as they came hurtling down to join him. “You -made that like experts. It’s a little like skiing, isn’t it?” - -Mike managed a lopsided grin as he shook out a pocketful of pebbles. -“Think we’ll make the Olympics?” he asked. - -“Not this year, Mike,” Hank answered. - -“Good,” grunted Mike. “I can wait. Where to now?” - -“We’ll follow the canyon down to the other side of the peak and go up -there.” - -The south face of the peak was covered with scrubby pine that somehow -managed to grow despite a fifty-degree slope. Burdened by their rifles -and full packs, they began to haul themselves up, using tree trunks, -rock outcroppings and anything else that came to hand. Slowly they -inched along, scraping on their stomachs through soaking wet, sharp pine -needles that cut their faces and dripped water down the backs of their -necks. - -“Brother!” Mike muttered. “This is work!” - -“We can always go back if you don’t think it’s worth it,” Hank called -back. He was almost fifty yards ahead of them, moving through the -tangled underbrush with comparative ease. - -“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Mike replied. “I just wish I could get one hand -free. I’ve got a terrible itch on my right shoulder blade.” - -“You would think of that at a time like this!” Sandy said. - -“Just keep moving, please,” Mike said. “That’s a beautiful boot you’ve -got on, but not in my face.” - -“Hey, boys!” It was Hank calling from up ahead. - -“What?” Sandy said. - -“I’m going on and spot the goat,” he said. “I want some time to figure -out the best stalk for the shot. It’s a little clearer up ahead, so you -won’t have too much trouble. Just keep coming as fast as you can and -I’ll meet you at the top.” - -“Okay,” Sandy yelled. “We’ll see you up there.” - -“You’re sure you can find the way?” - -“Positive,” Sandy assured him. - -Hank waved a hand and scrambled out of sight. Behind him, Sandy heard -Mike mutter, “We’re a fine pair of hunters! Here we are—stuck on the -side of a mountain in the middle of a cloudburst like a couple of flies -caught on flypaper.” - -“Well, at least we can move,” Sandy said philosophically, shaking the -water out of his eyes. “Looks like another seventy-five yards or so. -Think you can make it?” - -“Carry on, old man.” - -After another five minutes of hard climbing, they broke through to a -clearing that led in one direction to another clump of trees. In the -other direction was another rock slide, similar to the one they had just -negotiated, but smaller. - -“Which way?” Mike wondered. - -“Hank said it was easy going from here on,” Sandy reasoned. “He must -mean up the slide.” - -“He certainly can’t mean through those trees,” Mike agreed. “Let’s try -it your way.” - -Moving along on all fours, Sandy started to scramble up the slippery -rock. He was surprised to find the going was much easier than he had -anticipated. - -“Hey!” he said. “This is a cinch.” - -“A real pleasure,” Mike echoed. - -They were halfway up when, abruptly, the rock slide gave an ominous -lurch. Both boys froze as they felt the tremor and heard a grinding -rumble beneath their feet. - -“I don’t think I like this!” Mike’s voice sounded shaky. - -“Me either,” Sandy said. “Let’s go back—quick!” - -“Right!” - -Sandy could hear Mike backtracking down the slide. There was a clatter -of loose rolling stones, a second, more violent tremor, and then a sharp -cry. - -“Sandy!” Mike shouted. “It’s giving way! I’m falling!” - -Forgetting his own balance, Sandy whirled around and grabbed for Mike’s -arm. Below him the entire slide was slowly caving in. Sandy’s fingers -tightened around Mike’s wrist but he could offer no support. - -Suddenly, the sliding surface gave way with a rush, and he was plunged -with sickening force through a roaring avalanche of grinding rock. - - - - - CHAPTER THIRTEEN - The Hidden Cave - - -Neither boy cried out. The accident had happened so suddenly there -wasn’t time. Sandy started to protect his head from flying hunks of -granite, but before he could lift his arms, he felt his body break -through the curtain of tumbling rock. The next instant his feet hit -solid ground and he was thrown over on his side. - -For a moment Sandy lay in semi-darkness, dazed by his fall. The -thundering roar of the avalanche was passing somewhere over his head. -Then he remembered Mike. “Mike—you all right?” he called, almost afraid -to ask the question. - -It seemed hours before he heard an answering gasp. “Yes. Wind knocked -out ... me.” - -Sandy pulled himself over beside Mike. A swirling cloud of dust cut down -visibility to a few inches. Just as he reached over to touch Mike’s arm, -there was a sigh and Mike struggled to sit up. “I’m okay now, thanks,” -he said. “I just couldn’t catch my breath.” He looked around -wonderingly. “What happened?” - -They were sitting in what looked like the entrance to a large cave that -sloped back down into the mountain at a steep slant. A jagged pile of -loose stones nearly—but not quite—blocked the mouth. - -“How did we get here?” Mike asked in an awed voice. The dust had settled -and they were sitting in a tomblike silence. Occasionally a single stone -clattered noisily down the slope outside. - -“I’ll tell you in a minute.” Sandy crawled over the rocks and stuck his -head out through the opening. - -“What do you see?” Mike called. - -“We got caught in an avalanche, all right,” Sandy said. “Half the -mountain seems to be down there below us.” - -“I still don’t see how we ended up in here.” - -“There’s only one explanation,” Sandy said as he scrambled back to join -Mike. “The slide was covering the mouth of this cave. When the rocks -started to give way, the entrance suddenly opened up and we fell in.” - -“And all that stuff passed right over our heads,” Mike said. - -“Looks like that’s it.” - -The two boys stared at each other in silence. “You know,” Sandy said -quietly, “we’re a couple of pretty lucky guys.” - -“I’ll say! If we had been any other place when the slide started to -go....” - -“We’d be down there at the bottom under a few hundred tons of rock,” -Sandy finished. - -“Let’s not talk about it.” Mike shivered. - -“All right,” Sandy agreed. “Let’s talk about how we’re going to get out -of here.” - -Mike’s brows knit together in a frown. “Do you think Hank knows what -happened?” - -Sandy laughed. “One thing’s for sure,” he said. “He certainly heard us. -That was a pretty big racket we set off.” - -“Yeah,” Mike agreed. “But I wonder if he knows where we are?” - -“I don’t see how he can,” Sandy replied. “Do you feel good enough to -crawl up to the entrance?” - -“Oh, sure,” Mike said. “I’m fine.” - -Together they scrambled over the loose rubble that had collected at the -mouth of the cave. “Let’s take it easy,” Sandy said, picking his way -with care. “We don’t want to start another one.” - -Mike flashed Sandy a grin over his shoulder. “Why not?” he demanded. -“Now that we’ve done it once, the next time should be easier.” - -“Do me a favor and practice it when I’m not around,” Sandy said with a -chuckle. He pulled himself up to the lip of the cave and leaned over. -“Nobody in sight,” he announced. - -“Do you think it’s safe to go down?” - -“I don’t know,” Sandy said. “I wish we could see Hank.” - -“I’ve got an idea,” Mike declared. “We’ve got our rifles. Why don’t we -fire off a couple of shots?” - -“Hey, that’s using your head!” Sandy commented. “Can you reach mine and -unstrap it?” Both boys still carried their rifles, having secured them -firmly to their packs before starting out. Sandy could feel Mike working -the slings of his rifle loose. “Got it?” he asked. - -“Just a minute,” Mike muttered. “There,” he said at last. “Where are the -shells?” - -“In a flap pocket on the side.” - -“I see them.” - -Mike opened the box and fed the shells into the chamber. “Here,” he -said. “Fire away. The safety’s on.” - -Sandy took the gun, flipped the safety switch and jabbed the barrel out -of the cave. He fired twice. The booming shots echoed hollowly as they -rumbled over the mountains. - -“Hear any answer?” Mike asked. - -“Give him a chance.” - -A moment later they heard a pair of muffled explosions. Mike grinned -over at Sandy. “That’s Hank, all right. Let’s try it again.” - -“Okay.” Sandy blasted two more holes in the sky and sat back to wait. -This time Hank answered almost immediately. - -“I wonder where he is?” Mike muttered. - -“Hank!” Sandy shouted. “Hello!” - -“Sandy!” came a voice. “Mike! Are you all right?” - -“We’re fine!” Sandy yelled. - -“Where are you?” - -“Up here!” - -“That’s a big help!” Hank’s voice was tinged with sarcasm. “Where’s ‘up -here’?” - -“He’s got a point,” Sandy muttered sheepishly. “Do you have a -handkerchief, Mike?” - -“I think so.” Mike fumbled in his pocket. “Here.” - -Quickly Sandy tied the white handkerchief to the forward sight of the -gun and poked it out over the ledge. “Can you see that?” he yelled. “I’m -waving a handkerchief.” - -After a minute or two there was an excited shout from below. “I’ve got -you! How’d you two ever manage to get up there?” - -“It wasn’t easy!” Mike yelled back. “If you can figure a way of getting -us down, we’ll let you in on our secret.” - -“What’s the matter with walking?” - -“You think it’s safe?” - -“Sure. It is now.” - -Sandy and Mike grinned at each other. “Sounds simple,” Mike said. “Let’s -go.” - -Minutes later they were down at the foot of the slope, telling Hank, as -best they could, what had happened. - -When they finished, Hank looked at both of them and shook his head. “You -know,” he said, “some people think there’s a guardian angel whose -special job is to look out for tenderfeet in the mountains. I never -believed it before. But I do now. There’s no other explanation.” - -Mike thought back over the past several days and broke into a grin. “If -there is such an angel,” he said, “the poor fellow must be close to a -nervous breakdown. He’s been working overtime.” - -Hank grunted and peered up the side of the mountain. “It’s funny about -that cave,” he said. “You think it’s a big one?” - -Sandy nodded. “It looked that way to us.” - -“It must have been covered over for a long time. I’ve never seen it -before.” - -“Why don’t we explore it some day?” - -“Not a bad idea.” Hank’s eyes were still glued to the hillside. “You can -hardly see it from here,” he said. “The rocks cover it up completely.” - -“A good place for an ambush—if there were any Indians around,” Sandy -commented. - -“Or a hiding place,” Mike suggested. - -Hank glanced at them with amusement. “You fellows sure have lively -imaginations.” - -“Well, you see,” Mike explained seriously, “we live such dull lives. -Nothing ever happens to us.” - -Hank laughed. “All right,” he said, “let’s give you a little action. -Still want that goat?” - -“Is he still around?” Sandy asked wonderingly. “After all that noise?” - -“You mean the goat we spotted up on the peak? Oh no! He lit out for -Canada soon as he heard you two tearing that mountain apart. But he’s -not the only billy in these hills. How about it?” He looked at them -closely. “Or are you still a little shaky?” - -Sandy turned to Mike. “What do you think?” he asked. It had almost -stopped raining, but instead of clearing, the sky had taken on an even -darker, more ominous color. Mike squinted up at the gathering clouds, -hitched his pack more comfortably onto his shoulders and nodded. “Let’s -go!” he said firmly. - -Hank grinned at them. “You boys are all right,” he said. “I’m going to -take you to a hill that’s swarming with goats. I never took anybody -there before. We might even get ourselves a head that’ll make the record -books.” - -But just as he started to turn down the trail, the storm broke with -violent, ear-shattering fury. Angry flickers of lightning danced across -the tops of nearby ridges. An earth-shaking peal of thunder boomed and -rattled down far-off valleys. The rain, which earlier had been falling -in a steady drizzle, now came flooding down in streaming torrents. - -“Let’s find some shelter,” Mike shouted. - -“Don’t bother,” Hank replied, pulling up the collar of his jacket. -“We’re about as wet as we’ll ever be. Let’s head back to the house. The -mountains aren’t safe in an electric storm.” - -Bracing himself against the wind, Hank hunched over and bulled his way -through the driving rain, with Sandy and Mike following. It was a -miserable hike back, climbing down muddy ravines and slipping over wet -gravelly rock. Sandy breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of -the well-worn trail that led down to Hank’s lodge. - -“Boy, that looks good!” he shouted above the wind. - -Mike looked back and started to say something, but an enormous clap of -thunder drowned his words. He gave it up and grinned instead. - -They were about halfway down the trail when two sharp reports rang out -over the howling storm. Hank stopped abruptly. - -“What’s that?” Mike asked. “Thunder?” - -As another report boomed out, Hank stiffened in surprise. - -“No,” he said uneasily, reaching for the rifle at his back. “Those are -shots. Somebody’s shooting down near the house.” - -Suddenly all three of them were running down the trail. They had heard a -sound that was definitely not a part of the storm. It was a terrible, -high-pitched scream that cut through the sighing wind like a knife. - - - - - CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Yellow Fury - - -Mike was the first to see his father. Mr. Cook was standing on the -porch, feet braced apart, a rifle cradled in his arms. Even at that -distance, they could see there was an air of tense watchfulness about -him, almost as though he expected a sudden attack. When he saw the three -of them pounding down the hill toward the house, he vaulted down the -steps, waving his arms in an urgent message of warning. But they were -still too far away to hear what he was trying to tell them. - -Hank broke stride briefly and levered a handful of shells into the -breech of his rifle. Without knowing why, Sandy followed suit. - -Mr. Cook was now standing in the middle of what could be considered -Hank’s back yard. The two corrals—one for the dogs and the other for the -pack animals—were over to his right. Hank’s lean-to that served as a -feed barn was fifty yards over to his left. The dogs, especially Drum, -were wild with excitement, adding to the noise and confusion with their -sharp yelps of eagerness. - -Sandy jammed the last shell into position and raced to catch up with -Mike and Hank. “Watch out!” he heard Mr. Cook cry. “He’s somewhere near -us.” - -“Who?” Sandy shouted breathlessly as he braked to a stop beside them. - -“There’s a wounded mountain lion around,” Hank said. The line of his jaw -was firm and his eyes looked grim. - -“He came up to the house about five minutes ago,” Mr. Cook explained. “I -was inside, sitting by the fire, when I heard a terrific racket behind -the house. All the dogs were barking at once. I went out to investigate -and saw them scratching and jumping, trying to get out of the corral. -Then I saw the cat. I raced back into the house, grabbed a gun and tried -for a shot. I should have been more careful and taken a little time. But -I was rattled. My first two shots were wild. The third one, though, got -him. I’m positive of that.” - -“Where was he when you hit him?” Hank asked. - -“Right over there. Near the watering trough.” - -“Let’s take a look.” Hank led the way over to the trough and crouched -down to examine the ground. “This rain’s coming down so fast it’s hard -to tell,” he muttered. He peered closely at the area around the trough -and then straightened with a grunt of satisfaction. “You got him all -right,” he said. “There’s a spill of fresh blood on the grass there.” - -“I’m sorry I didn’t put him away,” Mr. Cook apologized. “I thought I was -a better shot than that.” - -“Don’t blame you a bit,” Hank replied. “What with the storm and all, -this light’s tricky.” He turned to Sandy and Mike. “Well, you’ve got -your lion hunt, boys. We’re going to get that cat.” - -Sandy wheeled and started for the corral. “I’ll let the dogs out,” he -said. - -Hank threw out an arm to stop him. “Wait a minute. I don’t think we’ll -use them. We already know where he is.” He spoke to Mr. Cook. “Where did -you see him last?” - -Mr. Cook pointed in the direction of the feeding shed. “He was headed -that way.” - -“All right,” Hank said. “We’ll each take one side of the building. Check -your guns and make sure your safety’s off. As soon as you spot him, -start pouring lead. If you’ve got a side shot, aim right behind his -shoulder. If he’s coming at you head-on, blast him in the chest. Is that -clear?” - -They nodded and started to move away. “One thing more,” Hank added. -“Don’t take any chances. He’s wounded and he’s dangerous. This storm has -made him nervous and he’s probably plenty mad. Sandy, you take the north -side of the shed. Mike, you cover the west.” - -It was then that Sandy noticed for the first time that Joe wasn’t with -them. He started to ask why, but checked himself. There would be plenty -of time for that later. Thumbing the safety catch back, he curled his -finger around the trigger and moved cautiously into position. - -The rain was letting up a little, but it was still difficult to see. -Massive dark clouds continued to roll overhead. Trees, heavy with -rainwater, bent and rustled under the force of a snarling wind that -slashed at loose leaves and stirred bushes into sudden motion. - -Or was that the wind? - -Sandy froze and took a closer look. The top leaves of a bush about -seventy-five yards away trembled slightly and then settled back into -immobility. Crouched under the tangled stems of the bush was what looked -like a long, lean shape, hugging flatly against the ground. - -Sandy’s heart thumped under the pressure of pounding blood as he knelt -slowly to pick up a handful of stones. How long, he wondered, did it -take for a mountain lion in full charge to cover seventy-five yards? The -thought crossed his mind that he should shoot first, but he rejected it -almost immediately as being too risky. The first shot, Hank had told him -once, was the one that counted. Every competent hunter waited for his -quarry to present itself before he pulled the trigger. Shooting at -shadows was wasteful and dangerous. - -Sandy took a deep breath and heaved the stones into the bush. As they -whistled through the leaves and branches, he yanked his rifle up to his -shoulder and tensed himself for a flash of yellow fury. - -But nothing happened. - -The long, menacing shape under the bush hadn’t moved. Sandy’s hand was -shaking as he lowered the rifle. Breathing in short, dry gasps, he -forced himself to relax. There was nothing under the bush more dangerous -than a dead, half-rotted log. - -Feeling embarrassed and a little foolish, he turned to see how the -others were doing. Over to his right, Mike was sweeping carefully in -toward the shed, his body bent slightly forward in an attitude of -absorbed concentration. - -Just as Sandy craned around to locate Mr. Cook, the corner of his eye -caught a lightning-fast motion. It happened so quickly and was over so -fast that Sandy wasn’t sure, at first, whether he had actually seen it. - -Something vaguely earth-colored had dropped silently from a tree behind -Mike and was now hidden under a cover of tall grass that ran along the -border of the clearing. - -Uneasily, Sandy swung around and moved closer to the waving grass under -the tree. He saw a flurry among the stems and then what looked like a -ripple of motion less than forty yards behind Mike’s back. - -Sandy broke into a quick trot, narrowing the range to approximately -sixty yards. Mike was completely unaware of what was going on behind -him, and Sandy felt no inclination to shout. A startled cat might jump -before he was properly in position. - -There was another rippling movement from the clump of grass. Then slowly -the tangle of underbrush parted and Sandy saw the mountain lion. - -The big cat’s head was flat against the ground and his eyes were -fastened on Mike. Sandy sensed that the beast was gathering itself for a -spring, and suddenly he knew that he would have to fire quickly. - -Now that the crisis had come, Sandy was surprisingly calm. He brought -the rifle up to his shoulder and nestled his cheek comfortably against -the stock. As the mountain lion loomed up into the field of his -telescopic sight, Sandy noticed that his eyes were thin slits of yellow. -They looked malevolent and deadly. Powerful muscles at the joints of his -shoulders gathered and hunched into hard knots. In another moment they -would uncoil, sending two hundred pounds of clawing death down on Mike’s -unsuspecting back. - -Bracing himself for the gun’s recoil, Sandy took a deep breath and -squeezed slowly down on the trigger. The intersection of the two cross -hairs was centered on a spot directly above and behind the cougar’s -foreleg. Sandy could feel the trigger pressing harder into the crook of -his finger as he held the rifle steady. He closed down the last -sixteenth of an inch and held his breath. - -The cat made his move a split second before Sandy fired. Then three -things happened simultaneously. Sandy’s rifle roared out, missing a -fatal spot, but slamming into the cougar’s side. Mike whirled around at -the sound of the explosion, saw the cat and backed away instinctively. -As he stepped back, his foot caught on a stray root and he sprawled -awkwardly to the ground, losing his rifle. The impact of the bullet -momentarily broke the lion’s charge. The force of the blow sent him -spinning into the earth with a spine-tingling scream of pain and rage. -By the time he clawed back to his feet to renew his attack, Sandy had -managed to pump another shell into the chamber. - -This time he didn’t miss. He caught the cat three inches behind the -shoulder and could almost see the slug smack home. The lion lunged -through the air, jerked once and slumped to the ground, barely fifteen -feet from Mike’s frightened face. - -Still holding his rifle, Sandy walked unsteadily over to Mike. - -“You all right?” he asked huskily. - -Mike gulped and nodded wordlessly. His face was completely drained of -color. He made no attempt to stand up. - -The next moment, Mr. Cook was bending over his son, but Mike refused any -help and scrambled to his feet. He walked over to Sandy and extended his -hand. “Thanks, Sandy,” he said quietly. “I never expected to come out of -that alive.” - -Sandy took the outstretched hand and gave Mike a friendly punch on the -shoulder. “That makes us even, Mike.” - -Mike managed a weak grin of acknowledgment. “Let’s not do it again,” he -said. - -Hank, who had been covering the south side of the shed, was the last to -arrive on the scene. When he was told what had happened, he frowned and -walked over to Mr. Cook. - -“Listen, Arthur,” he said sincerely, “I’m sorry Mike had such a bad -time, but I guess it’s my fault. I should have stalked that lion alone.” - -“Don’t talk nonsense,” Mr. Cook replied. “The boys wouldn’t have let -you.” - -“Anyway,” Hank went on, “I never expected to see a mountain lion attack -from cover. They don’t normally do that, unless they’re being deviled by -dogs. I’ve been going after them for more than twenty years and this is -the first time anything like that’s ever happened. I knew there’d be a -little danger, but I didn’t think it would be quite so serious. I was -confident the boys would have plenty of time to place their shots.” - -“Well,” observed Mr. Cook with a smile, “they did. Or at least one of -them did.” - -They walked over to the dead mountain lion. Hank bent down and lifted -one enormous paw. “Right where I told you to shoot,” he said. “Nice -work, Sandy. I’ll skin it for you and you’ll have yourself a fine -trophy.” - -“I think Mike should have it,” Sandy said. “As a sort of reminder.” - -“No, thanks!” Mike protested. “I’d just as soon never see that cat -again. I’ll bag one of my own. Joe guaranteed it—remember?” Mike stopped -and looked around with a puzzled expression. - -“By the way,” he said, “where is Joe? You’d think he’d be here, with all -this shooting.” - -Mr. Cook cleared his throat and looked at the three of them strangely. -“I’ve got some news for you,” he said, “and I don’t know what to make of -it. Early this morning—right after you left—Joe and I were sitting on -the porch, cleaning the guns, when suddenly I noticed him start and grow -pale. I followed his eyes and there—up in the mountains behind the -lodge—I saw a thin column of smoke. You three didn’t light a campfire by -any chance?” - -They shook their heads. - -Mr. Cook raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I was afraid of that,” he went -on. “About an hour later I noticed that Joe was gone. I looked around -and called, but he wasn’t in the house or near it.” - -“What do you mean?” Sandy asked. - -“Exactly what I said,” Mr. Cook slowly replied. “Joe has -disappeared—vanished.” - - - - - CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Three Crows - - -“You don’t suppose,” Sandy suggested, and the words came out hesitantly, -“that he was killed by the lion? That he walked right across his path?” - -“The lion came down from above us,” Mr. Cook pointed out. “There’s no -guarantee that Joe went in that direction.” - -“But the smoke,” Sandy countered. “You said it was coming from the -mountain.” - -“Yes, but how do we know he went looking for the men that built the -fire? It seemed to me he didn’t especially want to meet them. He -probably went back down the trail to Mormon Crossing.” - -“That’s true,” Sandy admitted. “Except for one thing. It doesn’t sound -like Joe.” - -“I go along with Sandy,” Mike asserted. “Joe isn’t the kind of person -who backs away from trouble.” - -“Say, hold on for a minute,” Hank interrupted. “You people seem to know -an awful lot more than I do.” He turned to Mr. Cook. “What did you mean -just now when you said something about the men who built the fire? Have -you seen anybody on your trip upriver?” - -Mr. Cook quickly filled Hank in on the story of Joe’s mishap back in -Salmon. Hank listened attentively, without unnecessary interruptions. -Mr. Cook told him Joe’s story about the three Crow Indians and ended up -describing Joe’s reaction the night above Cutthroat Rapids when they saw -the mysterious smoke on the horizon. “It’s all too much of a pattern for -me to believe it’s coincidence,” Mr. Cook concluded. - -“But what kind of a pattern?” - -“I haven’t the foggiest idea.” - -“You left out one thing,” Sandy reminded Mr. Cook. “How he seemed to -know all about Mormon Crossing and the massacre.” - -“I thought we’d settled that. It was tribal lore passed down from his -elders.” - -“No,” Sandy insisted. “That’s still a theory. We don’t know for sure.” - -“Hey!” Mike interrupted suddenly. “Did you take a look to see if his -stuff is still around?” - -“I did,” his father replied. “And it is.” - -“Then he didn’t go back down to the river,” Mike said triumphantly. - -“Why do you say that?” - -“If he planned to run away, he’d take his things with him. If he -intended to come back, he wouldn’t bother.” - -Mr. Cook nodded in agreement. “You’ve got a point there.” - -“That means,” Mike went on, “that he’s up there somewhere in the -mountains.” - -“With the chances very good,” Sandy said, “of his being in trouble.” - -There was a pause as the four of them stared thoughtfully at the jagged -range of peaks that towered above them. The rain had tapered off and a -weak sun was struggling to break through the clouds. - -“Yes, you may be right,” Mr. Cook agreed. “But I’m afraid we can’t do -much. No sense in stumbling around without knowing where we’re going.” - -“Would you help him if you could?” Sandy asked eagerly. - -“Yes, I would,” Mr. Cook said with conviction. “I like Joe and if -there’s anything dishonest going on, I’m positive Joe’s not mixed up in -it.” - -“All right, then,” Sandy said unexpectedly. “Let’s go.” - -They stared at him in astonishment. “Where?” Mr. Cook said. “Where do we -start?” - -“You said Joe left his things?” - -“That’s right.” - -Sandy addressed his next question to Hank. “Those dogs of yours—they -track lions by scent, don’t they?” - -Hank granted that was so. - -“If we give them some of Joe’s clothing to sniff,” Sandy went on, -“wouldn’t they follow his scent?” - -“Like bloodhounds!” Mike cried. - -“Exactly. What about it?” - -“It might work,” Hank said slowly. “It’s certainly worth a try.” - -“I’ll go and get an old shirt of Joe’s,” Mike said, turning toward the -lodge. - -“Hang on a minute,” Mr. Cook ordered. “Let’s not rush out right away. If -we start tracking Joe, it might take some time. Overnight maybe. I -suggest we pack some supplies, get a good meal inside ourselves and then -go.” - -Mike grinned over at his father. “Now that,” he said enthusiastically, -“sounds like a first-rate idea—particularly the part about food.” - -“I thought you’d appreciate it,” Mr. Cook said dryly. - - -At first the dogs were undecided about Joe’s shirt. They sniffed it and -nosed it back and forth eagerly but refused to strike out on a course. -Instead they ran around in circles, some of them off in one direction, -others headed exactly the opposite way. - -It was Drum who finally called the pack to order. He had been moving -purposefully around the clearing, keeping his nose close to the ground, -when suddenly he stopped and began to scratch the earth. After a few -minutes of furious activity, he looked up and trotted back to the shirt -for a second sniff. It seemed to satisfy him. Raising his head, he -barked commandingly. The dogs around him stopped their aimless wandering -and turned around. A series of deep-throated barks brought them -scampering up as he led the way over the trail that curved deep into the -mountains. - -“That’s it!” cried Hank. “He’s got the scent! You can always tell.” - -Hurriedly they formed a line behind the dogs. Hank was first, Mr. Cook -second, while the boys brought up the rear. - -After nearly an hour of breathless climbing, Sandy saw they were -following the trail they had taken earlier that morning on the goat hunt -that had almost ended in disaster. “Look,” he said, pointing to a -tumbled pile of rocks spilled over the lower half of a peak. “Recognize -that?” - -Mike glanced over and grimaced. “I won’t forget it in a hurry.” - -Sandy stopped for a moment and peered up. “You can’t even see the cave -from here,” he remarked. - -“That’s right,” Mike said. “No wonder Hank had a hard time finding us.” - -“Hey, you two!” came a voice. “Stop admiring the view and keep moving.” - -“We’re coming!” Sandy shouted. “Boy,” he said, panting, “those dogs can -really travel.” - -Mike nodded. “Save your breath,” he advised. - -They moved ahead in silence for another twenty minutes when suddenly -Sandy heard Mike grunt irritably. “Darn it!” he muttered. - -Sandy turned to see Mike’s bedroll on the ground with his belongings -scattered beside it. “Strap broke,” Mike explained. - -“Hank!” Sandy shouted. “Can you wait a minute?” - -Hank turned and looked back. “What happened?” he yelled. - -“A bedroll strap broke. We’ll have it fixed in a minute.” - -“We’ll go on ahead to the top of this slope,” Hank shouted down. “We can -see a lot of the country from up there. I’ll collect the dogs and wait -for you.” - -“Okay! We’ll be right up.” - -Mike was hurriedly gathering together his equipment, frowning angrily as -he stuffed various articles into his blanket. “Everything happens to -me!” he said in an annoyed voice. “D’you think we can mend that strap?” - -“I think so. It won’t take long.” - -“Just when we’re in a hurry!” - -“What’s that?” Sandy said suddenly. - -“Where?” - -“Behind you.” - -Mike swiveled and made a grab for something lying on the ground. With a -sheepish grin he tried to tuck it into the folds of his bedroll. - -Sandy laughed when he saw what it was. “That looks suspiciously like a -sandwich wrapped in waxed paper.” - -“Wrong again,” Mike said cheerfully. “It’s two sandwiches. I thought we -might get a little hungry.” - -Sandy shook his head admiringly. “Remind me never to go into the grocery -business with you. You’d eat up all the profits before ...” - -But Mike wasn’t listening. He was staring down at a colorful patch of -red-checked cloth draped over a rock about three feet off the trail. - -“What’s the matter?” Sandy asked. - -Mike pointed to the patch. “Take a look at that,” he said. - -Sandy walked over and picked it up. “It’s a piece of cloth,” he said. - -“It’s more than that,” Mike said seriously. “It belongs to Joe’s shirt.” - -“Are you sure?” - -“Positive. Don’t you recognize the pattern? Big black stripes over the -red, with little yellow lines running through it.” - -Sandy nodded. “It’s Joe’s all right. What do we do now?” - -“Let’s get this strap fixed and tell Hank and Dad.” - -“It looks to me,” Sandy mused as he glanced over the terrain, “as if Joe -broke away from the trail right about here.” - -“What makes you say that?” Mike was busy tying a knot in his broken -strap. - -“Look where the piece fell. I think he climbed up here and tore his -shirt doing it. Maybe we ought to do a little exploring on our own.” - -Mike shook his head in disagreement. “Let’s stop being heroes. If Joe’s -in trouble, we won’t be able to help him alone.” - -“I guess you’re right,” Sandy admitted. “But I sure would like to know -what’s above those rocks.” - -“We’ll know in a little while,” Mike assured him, heaving the bedroll -over his shoulder, “soon as we can bring Dad and Hank down here.” - -“I think,” Sandy said in a very quiet voice, “that we’ll know sooner -than that.” - -“What do you mean?” Mike asked. He glanced at Sandy, and was surprised -to see the strange expression on his face. He followed Sandy’s gaze up -to the row of boulders above their heads, and suddenly he knew why Sandy -had frozen. - -Standing on the rocks were three men. Two of them carried rifles which -they kept trained down at the boys. All three, Mike saw, had the dark -complexion and long, straight hair of Indians. - - - - - CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Captured - - -The middle Indian—the one without a rifle—was the first to speak. “Drop -your packs to the ground,” he ordered. His voice was hard and guttural. -“And do it slow.” - -Mike stiffened in anger, and for a moment Sandy thought he was going to -try to make a break for it. “Take it easy,” he muttered out of the -corner of his mouth. “Better do what he says.” - -Mike shook his head stubbornly. “They’re not going to do any shooting,” -he insisted. “The others are too close.” - -The Indian gave a short, unpleasant laugh. “You think they’d get back in -time?” he asked. - -“They’d be back in time to get you!” Mike flared. - -“Try it,” the Indian invited. His voice became hard and menacing. “We -could pick you off and wait for the others to come running back. This -place makes a perfect ambush.” - -The realization that Hank and his father might also be killed sobered -Mike considerably. He reached up and loosened the strap that held his -bedroll and rifle. Keeping his eyes on the rifles that stared down at -them, Sandy did the same. - -“Now move back. And keep your hands up in the air.” - -Sandy and Mike did as they were told. The two armed Indians vaulted -lightly down from their perch, approached the blankets, and took the -boys’ guns. - -“All right,” the Indian on the rock ordered. “Pick up your packs and -climb up here.” - -“Where are we going?” Sandy demanded. - -“You’ll find out soon enough” came the answer. “Just keep moving—and -don’t try anything.” - -For the better part of an hour, they moved silently ahead, climbing -higher into the mountains, avoiding what trails there were, keeping -close to the protective cover afforded by the thick stands of jack pine. -At last they arrived at a small clearing, perched high on the top of a -lonely, desolate peak. The clearing was admirably situated, with an -unobstructed view on three sides and accessible only by a single trail -that wound tortuously up through jagged piles of razor-sharp rock. Sandy -noticed the remains of a fire surrounded by three blanket rolls. It was -an uncomfortable but well-hidden campsite. - -“Sit over there,” the lead Indian commanded. He walked over to a blanket -roll and rummaged through it. The other Indians stood to one side, -keeping their guns trained on Sandy and Mike. - -“What’s all this about?” Sandy said irritably. “What do you want from -us?” - -“Nothing,” the Indian replied. “Not a single thing. It’s Eagle Plume we -want—Joe, to you.” - -“Then you must be the three Crows!” Mike blurted out. - -The Indian straightened up from his pack and looked at them. There was a -flat, veiled expression in his eyes. “Yes,” he said quietly, “we’re -Crows. So Joe’s been telling you about us.” - -Sandy glanced over at Mike to warn him into silence. “He mentioned you -once,” he replied. “Said there was some bad feeling between you.” - -“What else did he say?” It was more of a command than a question. - -“Nothing. Joe didn’t talk much.” - -The Indian nodded. “I can believe that. He wouldn’t want you to know too -much.” - -“About what?” - -“Never mind,” the Indian said briefly. “I bet you never guessed that Joe -has been using you all this time.” - -“Using us!” - -“Sure. He had to find some way of getting to Mormon Crossing. You made -it easy for him.” - -Sandy and Mike digested this piece of news in silence. Joe didn’t seem -like the kind who would deliberately “use” somebody and then disappear -without a word. But there was no effective reply to what they had heard. - -“It’s too bad you had to poke your noses into this,” the Indian went on. -“But now that you’re here, you can be useful.” - -“We wouldn’t lift a finger to help you!” Mike declared hotly. - -The Indian threw him a disdainful look. “You won’t have anything to say -about it.” He reached down and drew a long rope from his pack. He tossed -it to one of the Indians with a rifle. “Tie them up,” he ordered. “The -dark one first.” Mike struggled to his feet and the second Indian moved -around to a point directly behind Sandy. “I wouldn’t try that,” the -leader advised Mike sharply. “Unless you want to see your friend shot. I -wouldn’t kill him—just a bullet in his leg, maybe. But I don’t think -he’d like it much.” - -Mike stiffened, his mouth a grim line of anger, but he allowed the -Indian to pin his arms behind his back. The Crow worked quickly and -efficiently. In a moment Mike was helpless. - -“Now the other one,” the Indian said. Sandy felt strong hands grab his -arms and twist a length of rope tightly around his wrists. He gasped -involuntarily as the rope bit deep into his skin. A second rope was -coiled around his ankles. Rough hands threw him heavily on the ground, -ran a line through his wrist bindings and joined the other end to the -rope that held his ankles. When this was drawn tight, Sandy’s legs were -jerked back, forcing his spine into an awkward arc. The halter knotted -between the two bindings made it impossible for him to move. If he tried -to work his fingers free, the pressure drew his legs further up behind -him. Any motion from his feet pulled his arms painfully out of joint. - -When the job was done, the lead Indians seemed satisfied. “Good,” he -grunted. “That’ll keep you from wandering off.” He glanced speculatively -up at the sky. “Couple more hours of daylight,” he said. “Time enough to -try to find Joe and have a talk with him.” - -“What are you going to do with us?” Sandy asked, gritting his teeth -against the pain of the ropes. - -“Leave you here until we get back. Don’t worry. You’ll be all right. -You’re too valuable to us alive—for now, anyway.” - -Sandy let the last remark pass. “How do you know where to find Joe?” - -“Curious, aren’t you?” The Indian leaned down and picked up Sandy’s -rifle. “To tell you the truth,” he said, throwing open the bolt, “I -don’t know.” He slammed the bolt shut and moved off. “But if we don’t -find him today, we’ll talk to him tomorrow. Don’t worry. We’ll get -together sooner or later.” He made an abrupt motion with his head and -the other two Indians disappeared silently down the trail. - -“The quicker we see Joe,” he said, “the quicker you two get out of here. -So wish us luck.” He turned and followed his companions. Sandy and Mike -could hear the subdued tones of whispered conversation, then silence. - -By working himself around on one shoulder, Sandy managed to twist -himself into a position where he could see Mike. “You okay?” he called -softly. - -Mike grunted sourly. “I’d feel a lot better if I could figure this thing -out.” - -“Joe sure seems to have gotten himself into a mess of trouble,” Sandy -said. - -“What about us, for Pete’s sake! We’re not doing too badly.” - -Despite their situation, Sandy grinned. “You’re right,” he admitted. -“Those boys don’t fool around, do they?” - -Mike pulled himself around and grimaced. “One thing I’ll have to hand -them. They tie a mean knot.” - -“Can you move at all?” Sandy asked. - -“Sure,” Mike replied bitterly. “Just enough to break my back!” - -“There’s a knife in my bedroll over there,” Sandy speculated. - -“Do you think you can make it?” - -“I don’t know. I can try pushing myself along the ground.” - -Sandy concentrated on lunging forward, but after a few minutes he knew -it wasn’t going to work. “No good,” he panted. “I can’t make any -headway.” - -“How long did they say they’d be gone?” - -“Till dark. That’s about an hour and a half. I’m afraid my arms are -going to drop off before then. How do yours feel?” - -“Not too good.” The tightly knotted ropes were beginning to cut off -circulation and it occurred to Sandy that he’d better keep his fingers -and toes in motion. - -He was about to advise Mike to do the same when he heard a faint -scraping noise that froze him into immobility. It came a second time, a -short distance to his rear. He experienced a moment of panic as he -envisioned a mountain lion stalking up to the camp, but he managed to -keep his voice calm when he called out to Mike. - -“Hey, Mike! Do you hear anything?” - -Mike cocked his head. “No,” he said. “Not a thing.” - -“It sounds like somebody coming up the trail.” - -Mike strained his head to take a look. “No,” he began, “I don’t see any -...” His voice broke off in an excited shout. “Joe! What are you doing -here?” - -“Shhh!” came a voice. “Keep it down. Lie still and let me get you out of -those ropes.” - -The next instant Joe was kneeling by Sandy’s side, a sharp knife in one -hand. - - - - - CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - The Secret of the Cave - - -“What’s going on, Joe?” Sandy demanded. He was rubbing his wrists, -trying to get the circulation going again while Joe was busy with the -knots that held Mike. - -“There’s no time for a long explanation now,” Joe said as he slashed -through the last of the ropes. “We’ve got to get out of here and find -the others.” - -“Those friends of yours seem to want something pretty bad,” Mike said as -he rolled over and got back on his feet. “What I don’t get is why they -think we can help them.” - -“You were taken as hostages,” Joe explained. “They were going to use you -to force me into something.” - -“Into what?” Sandy wanted to know. - -Joe stepped over and put his hand on Sandy’s shoulder. “Look,” he said. -“I know I’ve acted badly the last couple of days. I should have told you -right from the beginning. But, as I say, it’s a long story and we just -don’t have time now. Will you trust me for a little while longer?” - -Sandy nodded. “Sure. What’s the next move?” - -“To find Hank and Mr. Cook.” - -“Do you know where they are?” - -Joe shook his head. “No idea.” - -Sandy thought for a moment. “They probably went back to the house after -we disappeared.” - -“That sounds right,” Joe said. He looked up at the sky doubtfully. “But -we’ll never make it by dark.” - -“Then we’ll travel as far as we can and hide out till dawn.” - -Mike snapped his fingers. “I know just the place,” he said. “That cave -of ours. The one we fell into.” - -“Right!” Sandy nodded. - -“What cave?” Joe looked puzzled. - -“That’s a long story too,” Sandy replied with a grin. “We’ll tell you on -the way.” - -They reached the cave with about an hour of daylight to spare. Mike was -the first one to pull himself over the lip and into the opening. Then he -reached down and helped Joe in. - -“Welcome to our humble establishment,” he said, bending over in a deep -bow. “You’ll find this the perfect place for an overnight stop. The -rooms are spacious and well ventilated. Our rates are reasonable and I’m -sure you’ll find the service....” He checked himself when he saw the -look on Joe’s face. “What’s the matter?” he said. - -“You say this cave was hidden?” Joe asked. His voice sounded oddly -hollow. It was clear he was doing his best to hold down a mounting -excitement. - -“It was, before we knocked away the mountain,” Sandy said. - -“How deep is it?” - -“We didn’t feel much like exploring the last time we were here.” - -“Have you got a flashlight?” - -“In my bedroll.” - -“Let me have it, please.” - -Sandy reached into his blanket and handed over his flashlight. Joe -practically snatched it out of his hand and plunged off into the -interior of the cave. - -“Hey, wait for us!” Mike called. - -The cave slanted back at a sharp angle and opened gradually into a large -shallow cavern. Sandy stared at the blank wall opposite with a frown of -disappointment. “Not very big, is it?” he commented. - -But Joe didn’t hear him. He was down on his knees beside a pile of -stones near the right-hand wall. “Help me with these,” he called -urgently. - -Mike and Sandy exchanged puzzled glances and went over to the pile of -rocks. Joe was pulling it apart, working with a feverish concentration. -Sandy could hear him panting with excitement. - -Suddenly there was a hoarse cry as Joe tore away a large flat stone. -“Look!” he shouted. The boys leaned over his shoulder and, in the light -of the pocket flash, saw what appeared to be a goodsized wooden box. The -wood was very old and part of the top had rotted off. - -Joe swept the remaining stones out of the way and curled his fingers -under the lid. Bracing himself against the floor of the cave, he heaved -up with all his strength. There was a sharp tearing noise and the top -cracked open. - -“There!” said Joe, playing the flashlight down into the box. “That’s -what all this has been about.” - -Sandy gasped. The chest was full of neatly stacked bars of silver—much -of it tarnished with age, but still recognizable. - -For a moment nobody was able to speak. Sandy was the first to find his -voice. - -“Who does it belong to?” he whispered. - -“To us,” Joe said firmly. “To all of us.” - -“Us?” Sandy cried. “Why?” - -“Because you helped me find it. I couldn’t have done it without you.” - -Sandy started to say something but a familiar sound caught him up short. -“Listen!” he said urgently. The others stood still and held their -breath. “Do you hear it?” Sandy cried in excitement. “It’s the dogs. I -can hear Drum!” - -“They must be near the cave!” Mike shouted. The three of them wheeled -and sprinted for the entrance, the treasure momentarily forgotten. -“They’re getting closer!” Sandy yelled. In a final burst of speed, they -scrambled up to the lip of the cave and broke out into the fading -sunlight. Down at the bottom of the slope Sandy could see the first of -the dogs coming around a turn in the trail. Drum was in the lead. - -“Up here!” Sandy shouted, moving down the slope. “We’re up by the cave!” -Suddenly he felt himself grabbed from behind and slammed to the ground. - -A rifle roared and Sandy heard the angry whine of a bullet as it passed -over his head. - -“Back inside!” Joe shouted. - -Sandy looked up to see three figures coming toward them. “The Crows!” he -gasped. - -“Right!” Joe muttered as he struggled to his feet. But the first of the -Crows was already on top of them. With a last desperate lunge, the -Indian covered the remaining distance by throwing himself on Joe. Sandy -saw him slash down with his rifle butt and saw Joe duck the blow. Then -the two men were rolling on the ground, fighting grimly for possession -of the gun. - -Sandy barely had time to lean down and grab an apple-sized rock before -the other two Indians dove at him. Sandy heaved the rock at one of them, -saw it strike him full in the chest, and then whirled to meet the charge -of the second. Just as they were about to close, a snarling -black-and-tan flash brushed Sandy to one side and fastened on the -Indian’s throat. The Crow gave a frightened scream and battled to keep -away from the slashing jaws. It was Drum, Hank’s lead dog, who had -thrown himself at the Indian. The others in the pack were right behind -him. - -With a yell of terror, the Indian disappeared under a writhing wave of -growling dogs. - -“Down, Drum!” came an authoritative voice. Hank Dawson was striding -purposefully toward the mass of dogs. He waded into them without fear -and grabbed Drum firmly by the scruff of the neck. “Back!” he ordered. -Drum shook himself and moved off a few paces, sitting watchfully on his -hindquarters, ready to leap at his master’s command. The other dogs of -the pack followed his example. The Indian was lying on the ground, his -torn hands covering his head. - -Sandy glanced around to see how Joe was doing. He had subdued his -attacker and was standing to one side, panting heavily, a rifle in his -hand. The third Crow was sitting where Sandy’s rock had flattened him, a -look of dazed surprise on his face. - -“All right now,” Hank Dawson said sternly. “What’s this all about?” - - - - - CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - The Story of Mormon Crossing - - -“Ever hear of Sun Mountain?” It was evening, after dinner. They were all -sitting in front of the big stone fireplace, dead-tired, but determined -to hear Joe’s story at last. - -“Don’t think I have,” Hank rumbled. Nobody else answered. - -“Sun Mountain,” Joe went on, “is a fancy name for one of the ugliest -hunks of rock in the West.” - -“Where is it?” - -“In western Nevada, right near the California border.” Joe paused and -looked over at Hank. “You don’t have a map by any chance, do you?” - -“I think so.” Hank got up and plucked a dog-eared atlas down from a -nearby shelf. “This do?” - -“Sure.” Joe leafed through the pages until he came to a map of the -northwest United States. “Here,” he said as the others crowded around, -“is the place I’m talking about. Back in the days of the gold rush, Sun -Mountain was important for only one reason. Wagon trains coming west -used it as a guide. Right behind the mountain, you see, was a pass that -took them over the Sierras into California.” - -“It was the last jumping-off point before the gold fields,” Sandy -remarked. - -“Right,” Joe said. “But aside from that, nobody was interested in it. It -was a lonely, miserable place. Sweltering hot in the summer and bitter -cold in the winter. It didn’t have much in the way of trees or any kind -of growth because all the water around there was next door to being -poisonous.” - -“How come?” Mike demanded. - -“A mineral deposit inside the mountain seeped arsenic into the water. -Anyway,” Joe continued, “wagon-train parties would rest up there before -trying the pass. Sometimes they’d have to wait for days before they -could move ahead.” - -“What kept them back?” Sandy asked. - -“Snow up in the high peaks. The pass would be blocked.” Joe closed the -atlas and went back to his chair. “Some of the parties used to do a -little mining up around Sun Mountain while they waited—nothing much, you -understand—just enough to make the time go by till they got to the big -bonanzas in California.” Joe laughed and fished for a cigarette. “If -they’d only known,” he said. “The biggest bonanza of all was right under -their noses.” - -“Was there gold on Sun Mountain?” Sandy asked. - -Joe shook his head. “No, not gold. Silver. That whole mountain was -practically made of silver. You’ve heard of Virginia City?” - -“Sure!” Sandy cried. “The Comstock Lode!” - -“It was right on top of Sun Mountain. It was discovered in 1859. A vein -of pure silver nearly sixty feet wide. Before it was worked out, it was -worth nearly three quarters of a billion dollars.” - -Mike whistled softly. “Did you say _billion_?” - -“I did.” - -“And they passed it right by?” - -“Back in the 1850s they weren’t interested in silver. Everybody was -thinking about gold.” - -Mr. Cook leaned over and maneuvered another log onto the fire. “I’m -beginning to see the connection,” he said. “The silver you found in the -cave originally came from Sun Mountain.” - -“That’s right,” Joe said. “Somewhere in the 1850s a party of -Mormons....” - -“I knew it!” Sandy interrupted. “The same party that was massacred!” - -Joe smiled. “Yes,” he admitted. “You were right all the time. I didn’t -know that anybody knew about that incident. That’s why I was so startled -when you told the story the day we first met. It happened just the way -you described. They stopped over at Sun Mountain, found a rich vein of -silver, and then moved on. Maybe they wanted to found a new community of -their own. Anyway, they decided to head north. My people—the -Blackfeet—massacred them here in the mountains.” - -“How do you know that?” Hank asked. - -“The story of the massacre was handed down by my tribe. As a matter of -fact, it was my great-great-great-grandfather who led the raid.” - -“Score one for Mike,” Mr. Cook said. “That’s exactly the way he said it -happened.” - -Joe turned, to Mike and laughed. “You people seem to have figured out -everything.” - -“But how did you know about the silver?” Sandy insisted. - -“Before they were wiped out,” Joe explained, “the Mormons hid the silver -in the cave that you two found earlier today. Each man in the party was -given a map, just in case there were any survivors.” - -“But there weren’t?” - -Joe shook his head slowly. “No,” he said. “Every last one of them was -wiped out. My great-great-and-so-forth-grandfather found a copy of the -map. He kept it as a souvenir of the victory. In the years that went by, -it was lost. I happened to find it in among my father’s possessions -about six months ago. I knew about the story of the massacre and I’d -heard about the map. When I actually saw it, I got pretty excited.” - -“I can imagine,” Mr. Cook said. - -“I’m afraid I talked about it too much. Other people heard about it.” - -“Including our friends, the Crows,” Hank said. - -Joe nodded. “To make a long story short, they stole my copy of the map. -Luckily, I had it memorized. I knew I had to get out here before they -did, and when you offered me a job to come to Mormon Crossing, I thought -everything was going to be all right.” - -“But you hadn’t counted on their moving so fast,” Mr. Cook put in. - -“Even then,” Joe said grimly, “I didn’t think they’d actually try to -kill me.” He paused and stared into the fire. “I knew better after my -‘accident’ on Mr. Henderson’s dock in Salmon.” - -“Did they do that?” Sandy asked. - -“Yes,” Joe said. “They did. Apparently they were desperate enough to do -anything to keep me away from Mormon Crossing.” - -Mr. Cook leaned forward in his chair. “But, Joe,” he said, “why didn’t -you tell us?” - -Joe shook his head and shrugged. “I guess I should have,” he said. “But -I didn’t want you to get involved. I thought that once we got away, the -danger would be over.” - -“But then you saw the smoke,” Mike said. - -“And I knew they were on my trail. I didn’t know what to do,” Joe said. -“I knew I was putting you in danger and I didn’t want that, so I decided -to disappear and try to find the silver before they did.” - -“What good would that have done?” Mr. Cook pointed out. “They would just -have come after you later.” - -“You’re right,” Joe admitted. “I guess I was too worried to think things -through clearly. At any rate, I was up in the mountains when you came -looking for me. I saw Sandy and Mike get captured by the Crows. I -followed them up to the Crow campsite and waited for the Crows to leave. -You know the rest. They were going to use the boys as hostages to force -me into giving up the search.” - -“One thing still puzzles me,” Mr. Cook said. - -“What is it?” - -“First of all, if you and the Crows both knew where the silver was -located, why didn’t you pick it up right away?” - -“Because we couldn’t,” Joe explained. “We all went looking for the cave, -but it was too well hidden. If it hadn’t been for Sandy and Mike falling -into it, we’d still be running around up there in the mountains.” - -“Then why were the Crows up at the cave when we arrived with the dogs?” - -“They knew approximately where the cave should be. The map told them -that. They were hunting around, the same as I was. What were you doing -there?” - -“We were searching for you—or the boys. The dogs led us up to the cave -just in time to see the action.” - -“Lucky for us,” Sandy said. - -“I’ll say!” Mike grinned. “By the way, what’s going to happen to our -friends?” - -“The Crows?” - -“Yes.” - -“All taken care of,” Hank assured him. - -Mike looked surprised. “How?” he asked. - -“I’ve got a short-wave radio up here,” Hank explained. “I’ve called the -police and they’re sending a helicopter.” - -“Now there’s an unexpected touch,” said Mr. Cook, laughing. “In the -middle of all this wilderness a helicopter!” - -“A very handy device, Arthur,” Hank said. “Most of the Western states -today have an emergency helicopter service for backwoods communities and -isolated hunting parties. It’s saved a lot of lives.” - -“I imagine it has.” - -“When will it arrive?” - -“First thing in the morning. It’ll take the Crows to Boise. I’ve locked -them in the barn for the night. They’ll have to stand charges for -assault with intent to kill as well as a little matter of kidnaping.” - -Mike frowned. “Does that mean we’ll have to go, too?” - -“I’m afraid so. But don’t worry. It won’t be for long. We’ll be back -here in three or four days at the most.” - -“Joe too?” They all turned and looked at the Indian. - -He grinned and nodded his head. “Sure, I’ll be back,” he said. “I signed -on for a month, didn’t I?” - -“I thought maybe now that you’re a millionaire, you wouldn’t want to -keep on being a guide.” - -Joe laughed. “I’m not that rich. Three or four thousand dollars at the -most. Wouldn’t you say, Hank?” - -Hank nodded. “I figure it’s worth about that.” - -“Split five ways, that makes....” - -“Hey, hold on a minute!” Sandy cried. “We’re not going to take any of -it.” - -“Yes, you are,” Joe insisted. “I thought we decided that.” - -“No,” Mr. Cook said firmly. “It’s your money. You told us once about -that place in Montana you wanted. Well, now you can buy it.” - -Joe tried to protest, but he was overruled. “All right,” he said -finally. “But there are two things you can’t stop me from doing.” - -“What’s that?” Sandy asked. - -“Neither of the boys has a game rifle of his own. They’ll have one when -we get back here. The second thing is this. As soon as I get my place in -Montana, you people have a standing invitation to come up any time for -the best hunting and fishing in the Rockies.” - -“We’ll take you up on that, Joe,” Mr. Cook said. - -“You bet!” Sandy cried enthusiastically. - -Mike held up one hand. “There’s just one thing I want to know.” - -“What’s that?” - -“In Montana—does everything start at dawn? Or do you think maybe I could -get some sleep?” - -“Mike,” Joe replied, “when you come to visit me, I’ll arrange it so the -fish don’t start to bite before noon, and as far as I’m concerned, you -can do your hunting from a hammock.” - -“That,” said Mike, “is something I’m looking forward to.” - -“Right now,” Sandy said as he rose wearily to his feet, “the only thing -I’m looking forward to is a good night’s sleep. When did you say that -helicopter was going to get here?” - -Hank reached over and snuffed out the kerosene lamp on the mantel. “At -dawn,” he said. “Right on the stroke of five-thirty.” - -The general laughter drowned out Mike’s anguished groan of protest. - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - - ---Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public - domain in the country of publication. - ---Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and - dialect unchanged. - ---In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the - HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.) - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Danger at Mormon Crossing, by Roger Barlow - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DANGER AT MORMON CROSSING *** - -***** This file should be named 50225-0.txt or 50225-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/2/2/50225/ - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Dave Morgan, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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