Part 5 (1/2)

inquired Jo.

Jim paid no attention to this sally, but kept his eye on the trail ahead. The trees were quite thick on either side of the trail and as dusk was coming on, it was difficult to make out any object clearly.

Just as Jim rode around a turn in the trail, Caliente reared and leaped to one side and a less skillful rider would have been thrown.

”Easy, old boy,” said the rider, patting his horse's neck. Caliente stood trembling and snorting and watching a curious object that was struggling up the bank towards the trail.

It was hard to tell what it was, whether man or beast and the dusk only served to make it more obscure. Then the object scrambled up on to the trail and Jim at once recognized the dwarf Mexican with his high-crowned sombrero and his velvet suit richly slashed. With his crooked back and one eye, he was anything but a prepossessing-looking creature. Caliente, when he, too, recognized who it was, put back his ears and rushed with bared teeth for the Mexican.

Spitting out a curse, the greaser jumped to one side with a marked agility, and Jim succeeded after a struggle in bringing his furious steed to terms, but he had his hands full and there were not very many men who could manage Caliente when he got into one of his rages.

”Hi! Manuel,” (every Mexican was Manuel to the boys), cried Jim, ”look out for my Tiger, he wants to eat that velvet suit of yours.”

”Si, Senor,” called Manuel from a safe station on a granite rock. ”He is a tiger as your Honor says.”

One would have expected to hear the crooked little greaser speak in a harsh croaking voice, but instead it had a rich sonorous quality.

”Do you know where there is any water in this country?” asked Jo. ”We are as dry as a desert.”

”Certainly, Senor, I will show you,” replied Manuel. (It was true that Manuel spoke in Spanish of which language the boys had a working knowledge, due to their sojourn in the southwest. But I shall put his words in English.) ”Where is Senor Juarez?” inquired the dwarf. ”I do not see him.”

”The Senor is still with us,” replied Jim, gravely, ”but you cannot see him on account of the dusk, but you might hear him,” he added in a lower tone.

It was true that Juarez was growling to himself about the greaser for whom you know he had a cordial antipathy, a feeling which was reciprocated by the Mexican.

”Lead on, Manuel,” urged Jim, ”we want to make camp before morning.”

”But, Senor, the tiger will eat me up,” objected the Mexican.

”I will take care of Caliente. He won't bite you. Go ahead.”

”Si, Senor,” a.s.sented Manuel.

Then he jumped down from the rock and took the trail at a discreet distance ahead of Jim's horse, who was held in check by his rider though his temper seemed in no wise abated. There was something sinister in the figure of the Mexican as he led the way down the trail.

All in black, except the gray of his hat with its golden cord and the tinsel of his clothes. There was something malignant in his make-up and even the unimaginative Jim was affected by the presence of the Mexican, while Juarez was very uneasy, and asked Jo and Tom to allow him to move up next to the Captain. This they did, though it left Jo as rear guard on that rocky trail.

He seemed quite isolated but he had become sufficiently enured to danger and though he kept a wary eye, he was not nervous. The boys had unholstered their pistols and Juarez kept a straight eye on the moving shadow in the darkness ahead. At the first sign of attack or treachery, he was going to get that particular Manuel.

”I've got my eye on the little varmint,” said Juarez in a low voice to Jim. ”He may be leading us into an ambush.”

”Oh, I guess not,” said Jim, with a note of hesitation in his voice. ”We have got to find water anyway. The horses are suffering for it, and this beggar can show us where we can locate it.”

Just then Manuel threw up his hand with a shrill whistle that had every malignant intention in it. Juarez raised his pistol just ready to fire, when the Mexican laughed shrilly.

”Senor Juarez very nervous. I just stretch and whistle a little and he want to shoot.”

A peculiar smile came over Juarez's face, but he said nothing. All the stolid Indian in his nature came to the surface. He merely grunted contemptuously at the Mexican's remark and this made the volatile Manuel uneasy in his turn, for he wanted to realize that his malice had struck home, but Juarez did not give him that satisfaction. There was a sort of hidden duel between these two, the subtle Mexican and the crafty Indian nature of Juarez. It remained to be seen who would win.

The four Frontier Boys went silently along down the dark canyon, each one occupied with his own thoughts and the ill-omened Mexican guide in the lead. Juarez kept a sharp lookout on either side of the trail expecting an ambush. His horse seemed to feel something of the strain his rider was under, as a horse will. Once he s.h.i.+ed at something he saw in a clump of bushes, and nearly went off the trail. It was only with the aid of Juarez's horsemans.h.i.+p that he clawed his way back to safety.