Part 13 (2/2)

”No more do I,” confessed Frank. ”There is no doubt but Burk was dead, and the corpse did not walk away of its own accord. It was my intention to investigate the mystery, but later events prevented.”

Frank then explained about the kidnaping of Professor Scotch by the bandits.

While the boy was relating this, Bushnell was closely studying the guide's face, as revealed by the firelight. Frank noted that a strange look seemed to come into the eyes of the Westerner, and he appeared to be holding himself in check.

When this explanation was finished, Bushnell asked:

”And you are on your way ter Huejugilla el Alto with ther hope of rescuin' ther professor?”

”We are,” replied Frank.

”You pet my life,” nodded Hans.

”This is the guide who was recommended to you in Zacatecas?”

”Yes.”

”You trust him fully?”

”We are obliged to do so.”

”Wa'al, boys, ef this yere critter can't take yer straight ter Pacheco, n.o.body kin.”

”What do you mean?”

”Jest this!” cried Bushnell, explosively; ”this yere Greaser galoot w'at yer calls Pedro is n.o.body but Ferez!”

”Who is Ferez?”

”He's Pacheco's lieutenant!”

Frank uttered a cry of amazement and anger, wheeling quickly on the Mexican, his hand seeking the b.u.t.t of a revolver.

But the dark-faced rascal seemed ready for such an exposure, for, with a yell of defiance, he dropped behind his horse, and the animal shot like a rocket from the firelight into the shadows which lay thick on the desert.

Bushnell opened up with a brace of revolvers, sending a dozen bullets whistling after the fellow, in less than as many seconds.

At the first shot, Hans Dunnerwust fell off his horse, striking on his back on the sand, where he lay, faintly gurgling:

”Uf you don'd shood der odder vay, I vos a tead man!”

”Don't let him escape with a whole skin!” shouted Frank, as he began to work a revolver, although he was blinded by the flashes from Bushnell's weapon so that he was forced to shoot by guess.

Ferez seemed to bear a charmed life, for he fled straight on into the night, sending back a mocking shout of laughter. From far out on the waste, he cried:

”Bah, Gringo dogs! You cannot harm me! I will see you again, _Americanoes_. This is not the last.”

With an angry exclamation of disappointment and anger, Bushnell flung his empty revolvers on the sand at his feet.

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