Part 7 (2/2)

Jo stooped down at the brink and scarcely put his thirsty lips to the water when some instinct of warning made him look quickly around and he saw a small dark object directly back of him.

”Pardon, Senor, for startling you;” it was the voice of the dwarf, ”but I, too, was very thirsty. It is in the air.”

”You needn't have been so quiet about it,” said Jo, crossly. This little rat always had a way of baffling and irritating him, because he did not have Jim's force, which could beat down the dwarf when occasion demanded it, or the stoicism of Juarez, which blocked the hunchback.

”I came softly, Senor,” said the Mexican, imperturbably, ”because I did not wish to disturb the slumbers of the Senors who are resting.”

”Get down and drink, then,” said Jo, who, though he realized that the Mexican was up to some hidden deviltry, did not know how to meet him.

Jim and Juarez would have knocked him out of the camp if they had discovered him trailing them, with a warning that he would be shot if he put in an appearance again.

While the Mexican was pretending to drink, Jo satisfied his thirst at a point of the pool where he would be safe from a sudden attack by the hunchback. For Jo was not a fool by any means. Then he got to his feet and with the Mexican ahead of him, he saw to that, he made his way back to the camp.

Scarcely had Jo seated himself upon the rock again than he heard a stick snap upon the mountain side above the horses, so he got to his feet to investigate.

”You can stay where you are, Manuello,” said Jo. ”I don't need your company this time.” The Mexican laughed softly to himself.

”I hope the Senor Americano will not get lonesome,” he said.

Jo made a careful search in the direction of the sound but found no sign of a human being lurking among the trees. Though he felt exceedingly nervous, he was unable to account therefor or give a reason.

Very quietly he went the rounds, so as not to awake the boys, who, however, were sleeping heavily. He found the horses all right standing with drooping heads as though dozing, Jo's black with his neck over Tom's bay, as these horses were great chums. But Caliente and Juarez's roan were not sociable and kept strictly to themselves.

Then Jo returned to the rock where he had been sitting. He stirred the dying fire so that it sent up a feeble spurt of flame by the aid of which he looked at his watch. It lacked a few minutes of ten. The Mexican had taken up his old place on the ground watching for his chance. He was anxious that the attack should take place during Jo's watch for he had his doubts in regard to Juarez or the redoubtable Jim proving easy victims.

All this time, Captain Bill Broom and his crew had been keeping watch upon their intended victims from the top of the cliff above the pool.

They could see every move from the time the Frontier Boys had arrived until they lay down near the smouldering fire.

”They are a husky lot,” was the Captain's first comment. ”That tall fellar, I guess, is a horse tamer and Injun fighter.”

Some time later when the altercation occurred about the coffee and Juarez expressed his opinion about the Mexican, the Captain could scarcely keep from haw-hawing right out.

”Them fellars have got some dis'pline,” commented the saturnine mate.

”You're right they hev,” said the Captain.

”That lad don't know how to handle my pet rattlesnake,” was the Captain's comment when the Mexican trailed Jo to the drinking pool.

After Jo had returned from making his rounds and had resumed his guard again, the Captain decided that the time had come for action.

”Now, lads,” he ordered, ”pull off your shoes and the first man that makes a sound will get his neck cracked. Knock 'em out, if necessary, but no killing this time.”

Then they started, the Captain in the lead, and old Pete bringing up the rear. They had had a good many hours in that vicinity and had made a path from their hiding place to the soft dust trail. So they moved in their sock feet without a sound. There was an oppressive stillness in that dark canyon under the heavy blanket of fog.

Already it had began to lower and as the sailors advanced with snail-like slowness the heavy white fog settled down, filling the canyon with its white opaqueness. You could not see five feet in front, and the moisture beaded itself upon the eyebrows and mustaches of the men.

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