Part 40 (2/2)

Reynolds spent part of the afternoon writing a long letter to the editor. He had much to tell him about the country, his experiences in the wilderness, and the mysterious ruler of Glen West. But of Glen he said little, nothing, in fact, that would in any way arouse Harmon's suspicion of the writer's deep interest in the girl.

When the letter was finished he took it over to the roadhouse to mail, and then spent the rest of the afternoon upon the creek in an effort to learn, if possible, something about Frontier Samson. But although he questioned all the miners he saw, not one could enlighten him in the least degree. He thought that several looked at him curiously when he asked about the old prospector, and he wondered what they meant.

He spent some time far up the creek, and ate the lunch he had brought with him in a quiet place near the stream which flowed down the valley, and provided the necessary water for the sluice-boxes where the precious gold was washed out. He enjoyed the seclusion, as it gave him an opportunity to think over what the editor had written, and also about Glen. He intended to leave early the next morning for Glen West by way of Crooked Trail, and he knew that Glen would be waiting and eager to greet him. Her face stood out clear and distinct in his mind, and he recalled the words she had spoken, and her charming manner. His heart beat fast as he thought of her, and he believed that she loved him. He chided himself for not pouring out his heart to her that evening as they stood by the side of the inland lake. The expression in her eyes and the tone of her voice were those of a woman whose heart must be filled with love, so he reasoned. Yes, he would speak to her just as soon as he reached Glen West. The way would be short, for she was his guiding star, and he would speed swiftly to the one he loved.

It was dusk when he at length rose to his feet and started down the creek. He did not hurry as he had the whole evening before him, and there was no one awaiting his coming. But there would be someone tomorrow, and his heart thrilled, and his eyes shone with animation as he thought of the girl beyond the Golden Crest.

Part way down Big Draw valley, and on the left side, was a sharp break in the bank, where a small creek met the larger one. This in ages past had evidently been a river, whose bed was now dry. It was up this creek that the trail led out into the hills, the one that Reynolds had always taken when he went forth on his hunting expeditions. The entrance to this draw was now wrapped in semi-darkness, for the high tree-clad banks shouldered toward each other, thus shutting out the dim light of departing day.

Reynolds reached this place, and with a glance up the trail which he would take in the morning, he had almost reached the opposite side, when, without a word of warning, a light was flashed into his eyes, and in an instant he was swept from his feet, hurled to the ground, and his arms securely bound. He had no chance to defend himself, for everything happened so quickly. There seemed to be quite a crowd of men holding him fast, some sitting upon his body, while others held his hands and feet. Although He strained and struggled desperately to free himself, his efforts were of no avail, and he soon realised that he might as well reserve his strength for whatever lay ahead.

”Now get on yer feet, an' be d---- quick about it, too.” It was Curly's voice, and Reynolds knew that the villain was at the bottom of this affair.

He made no reply, however, but at once struggled to a standing position and looked around. There appeared to be more than a dozen men, and by the dim light he recognized several. They had been drinking, he could easily tell, and were in a quarrelsome mood, and wrangled with one another as to what they should do with their captive. One was for stringing him up to a tree; another was for shooting him; while a third suggested that they should pitch him head first down one of the mining-shafts. But Curly would not listen to these propositions, and gave orders that the prisoner should be taken up the creek in the direction of Crooked Trail.

”It's safer there,” he told them, ”an' we don't want our fun spoiled by the Police.”

”There's none in camp to-night,” one explained. ”They're all off on the trail.”

”An' lucky fer us,” Curly replied. ”Anyway, let's hustle an' get out of this.”

Reynolds was immediately seized and hurried up the creek. He tried to think and plan some way of escape. He realised that the situation was serious, for with Curly, devilish and full of revenge, and at the head of a band of half-drunken men as reckless as himself, there was no knowing what he might do. But he was determined to be game, and await further developments as calmly as possible.

As they moved forward he partly learned from the men's conversation why they had waylaid him. He found out that Curly had been filling his companions' minds with gross lies, and now inflamed with impure whiskey they were willing tools in the hands of their revengeful leader.

CHAPTER XXVIII

HELP FROM THE HILLS

After they had stumbled on for about fifteen minutes Curly called a halt, and ordered the men to build a fire.

”This is as good a place as any,” he told them. ”No one will bother us here to-night, an' that's all we care.”

Cursing and grumbling in a maudlin manner, several of the men gathered a number of sticks, and soon a fire was started. As the flames shot up Reynolds could see plainly the faces of his captors, and as he watched them his prospects did not seem very bright. They were men as reckless as Curly himself, and being half drunk they had lost all sense of responsibility. They did exactly what their leader commanded, notwithstanding their incessant complaints. This was exactly what Curly wanted. He had supplied them with liquor, but had taken little himself.

When the fire had been lighted, Reynolds was securely tied to a tree standing near. The rope which bound him was drawn tight and caused him considerable pain, although he exhibited no outward sign. But his heart was hot within him, especially when he looked upon Curly's sneering and jubilant face. If he could only be free for a few minutes he would attack the entire bunch, and revel in the fight. But to be bound and helpless was most galling.

”How d'ye like it?” Curly asked, coming up close to Reynolds. ”Having a good time, eh? This is our picnic to-night.”

”So I see,” and the captive's lips curled in a sarcastic smile. ”But just let me free for about five minutes, and then you'll see whose picnic it is.”

”Not on yer life. We've got ye sure now, an' intend to keep ye that way until we're through with ye. What would yer little girlie say if she could see ye now?”

”To whom do you refer?”

”Oh, I guess you know, all right,” and Curly grinned. ”She's pretty, isn't she? But she has no use for me. She prefers a white-livered sucker like you.”

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