Part 20 (1/2)

”Yes, I have no doubt,” said the Spaniard carelessly puffing at his cigarette. ”This Pa.s.s is used occasionally by ranchmen and herders.”

”There have been five or six horses here,” said Jim, whose experiences had made him suspicious.

”There are no Indians,” said Jo, ”in this section, at least none who are on the warpath.”

”I suppose you do have cattle rustlers, Senor?” inquired Jim.

”Yes, there is a band of outlaws,” replied the Spaniard, ”that raids from as far north as our ranch, south to San Diego, but we have seen no trace of them for many months.”

”Then, Senor,” remarked Jim, ”it is about time that they paid you another visit.”

”Ah, Senor Darlington,” exclaimed the Spaniard. ”We Castilians do not reason so. We say that there is no trouble today, why worry about tomorrow. Perhaps these bandits may have starved to death, or been hung, or the good Padres may have persuaded them by the fear of h.e.l.l, to become quiet, sheep raising citizens. G.o.d knows.”

”I fear that they are raising sheep in their old style,” grinned Jo. The pun glanced off the Spaniard harmlessly.

”The theory that they may be hung, sounds plausible, Senor,” admitted Jim. ”But before we advance into the Pa.s.s, I will scout a little.”

”If the Senor pleases,” responded the Spaniard courteously.

”Do you chance to know of a small, hunchbacked Mexican who is more or less in this section of the country, Senor?” Jim suddenly inquired.

The Spaniard flushed with red anger and spit emphatically on the ground.

”You give him into my hands and I will reward you well,” cried the Spaniard.

Jim made no immediate reply but gazed thoughtfully at the ground. He was considering the case. This was not the time to turn aside in a chase for even so desperate a criminal as the hunchbacked greaser. So he made no definite reply to the Spaniard.

After the horses were fed, and watered, and while Jo was looking after the coffee, Jim started off, to do a little scouting up the Pa.s.s. The first thing that he did was to slip off his heavy riding boots, which the stylish Jo had forced him to buy, and to put on his noiseless footed moccasins.

Then with his revolver loaded and ready to his hand, he went swiftly and silently up the trail that followed through thick brush, gradually working up the side of the mountain. It was no difficult task to follow the tracks of the horses. In a half hour's swift climbing he came to the top of a stony ridge, over which the trail curved, and dipped down the other side.

Jim now saw that the Pa.s.s was an irregular one with recurrent spurs, thrusting out from the mountains on either side, at quite frequent intervals. There were innumerable chances for ambuscades. Jim did not stand in the trail but to one side partially hidden in a thicket.

All the time his keen eyes were taking in the canyon below, not however admiring the scenery. In fact there was nothing particularly beautiful, or interesting in the view. In the Rockies and further South too he had seen canyons incomparable to the rather ordinary ones that he had seen in California.

Jim was watching for some slight movement of a living creature in the canyon. Finally he gave it up, and was about to turn away, then he gave a start, he saw one, two, three, men crouch across the trail, a quarter of a mile below, and disappear into the thick brush. He was almost certain that the first one was the hunchback.

That was all that Jim wanted to see. He noiselessly took the back trail, thinking over the best course to pursue. He would have liked nothing better under ordinary circ.u.mstances than to fight it out with the outlaws and to capture the hunchback. But their first object must be the rescue of Tom and Juarez.

Was there not some way by which they could get to the South without going through this bandit infested Pa.s.s?

”Well brother, what didst thou find?” inquired Jo, who was at times pleased to be dramatic.

”Very few specimens in the way of bandits,” replied Jim.

”As I said, Senor,” remarked the Spaniard, ”they have become good citizens.”

”Not yet, I am sure, because they are alive.”

”That is a good one, Jim,” remarked Jo, appreciatively, but the Spaniard was politely mystified. ”Same as Indians.”