RALPH’S HOUR OF DANGER.

“The next moment the door was flung open and a flood of light rushed into the room. The latter came from a lantern carried by the bearded man, who was the individual that had unlocked the door. In a flash it came to me to employ the fellow’s own tactics on himself. Before he had recovered from his evident astonishment at seeing me on my feet, I flung myself at him like a thunderbolt.

“With the lantern he could not raise his hands in time to defend himself, and he went down under my onslaught like a log. And then a startling and astonishing thing occurred. My fingers had become entangled in that monstrous beard, and in pulling them away the mass of black hair came with them. It was as if a mask had been pulled off and revealed the face underneath.

“The countenance I then beheld was the last on earth I expected to see just then.

“It was that of Alvarez himself. He snarled like a vicious dog when he saw what I had done. But I had him down and he could do nothing. I forgot to mention that when he entered the room he had with him a coil of hair rope, no doubt intending to bind me before I should recover consciousness. I now used this on Alvarez while he bit and literally foamed at the mouth. It was turning the tables with a vengeance.

“’Now then, you hound,’ I said, when I had finished, ‘tell me where those cattle are and where your ponies are, or I’ll kill you here and now instead of taking you back across the Border.’

“Of course, I had no intention of carrying out such a threat; but I put on such a ferocious look as I spoke that the fellow changed from a defiant, snapping wolf to a timid, cowering cur in an instant. He begged me to save his life and he would tell me the whole truth.

“’See that you do,’ I said sternly.

“He told me that the lonely house was used as headquarters for his gang, all of whom were now absent on a drive in another part of the province.

“I was glad enough to hear this, for I by no means fancied having a big fight on my hands, which would have been the case had the rascal’s companions reappeared. My next questions, of course, dealt with the whereabouts of the stolen cattle. He told me they were all rounded up in a gulch not far from the house. I told him that at daybreak we would go and get them and that he should help me drive them back across the Border.

“To this he readily consented and side by side we waited for daylight. As soon as it broke we made a hasty meal, I having to feed my prisoner, for I dared not release his hands. This done, I ordered him to set out ahead of me and show me the way to the secret caÑon where the cattle were cached. First, however, I made him take me to where the ponies were picketed in a corral at the bottom of an arroyo. It was not more than a few hundred yards from the house, but so well concealed that if I had not heard one of the animals whinny, as I told you, I should never have guessed at its existence. Before setting out, too, I looked my pinto over and was glad to see that he appeared to be getting over the effects of the poisonous dose.

“I tied Alvarez’s feet together under his pony’s body and made him ride in front of me all the way to a range of low hills, in which he said lay the place were the stolen cattle were ‘cached’ before being driven to the coast. It was a wild and desolate–looking spot, but after traversing the foothills of the dreary range we came to a valley in which there was a stream and a plentiful crop of wild oats and bunch grass. Feeding placidly amongst these was a bunch of cattle which I instantly recognized as those I was in search of.

“I made Alvarez help me round them up and then began a drive the like of which I never participated in before. We stopped at the ranch house on the return journey for the pinto, who was, by this time, strong enough to be led behind one of the other ponies. What a drive that was! Besides watching the cattle, I had to keep a constant eye on Alvarez, whom I had determined to bring back a captive to the States.

“But in spite of all my vigilance the tricky fellow escaped me. Rightly judging that I valued the cattle more than his worthless hide, he waited till we reached the vicinity of the Border. Then, taking his opportunity when the cattle were restless, he struck spurs to his horse and, tied as he was, dashed off. I fired after him, but that did not stop him. The last I saw of him was a cloud of dust. It would have been useless to pursue him, so I devoted myself to the cattle, and the next night brought them home again safe and sound.

“Soon after that I became a Ranger, and have remained one ever since. I’d like to tell you lads other tales of the Border, but it is late and we must make an early start, so now—good–night.”

“Good–night,” echoed the boys, who had listened with the deepest interest to the grizzled Ranger’s story, “we shall dream of that lone ranch house.”

“I often do, I can assure you,” rejoined Captain Atkinson, with a laugh. “I wonder if Alvarez does. I’ve never heard of him from that day to this, except that I did hear some place that he had become a revolutionary leader in Mexico.”

At the moment Captain Atkinson little imagined how close he was to a second meeting with the notorious Alvarez, revolutionist and cattle rustler.

********

Jack flung himself face downward on the turf at the crest of the precipice he had so miraculously conquered. His senses were swimming, his lungs felt as if they would burst, his heart beat wildly, shaking his frame. In truth the boy had come perilously close to the limit of endurance. The feat he had accomplished would have been a test to a hardened Border man, let alone a youth.

For the first few minutes Jack felt a deep conviction that he was going to die—and he didn’t much care. But as life came back he struggled to his feet and began to look about him. First he peered down into the valley he had left to see if he could signal Alvarez and give him to understand that he was bringing help if possible. But deep purple shadows now obscured the valley floor, and he could see nothing of the drama that was taking place below him.

It will be recalled, of course, that we left Alvarez thunderstruck at the approach of three figures along the valley from the direction of the Pool of Death. This was just after he had watched Jack’s speck–like form vanish over the cliff top. For the sake of clearness we will now relate what took place in the valley following Alvarez’s discovery of the approach of the newcomers, and then go on to tell what befell Jack after his recovery from exhaustion.

Alvarez kept his eyes fixed in wonderment on the trio as they came down the valley. All at once he recognized one, slightly in advance, with a cry of astonishment. At the same instant Captain Atkinson, for it was he, recognized Alvarez. For an instant neither spoke, and the two lads accompanying the captain, who, as the reader will have guessed, were Ralph Stetson and Walt Phelps, also came to a halt.

“What’s the matter, captain?” inquired Ralph, regarding the Mexican with some astonishment, for his perturbation was only too evident.

“Why, boys, of all the adventures that have befallen us since we set out to look for Jack this is the most surprising.”

“How is that?” inquired Ralph.

“Simply that this man before us is the very Alvarez about whom I told you the other night.”

But the reader must be wondering how the captain of the Rangers and the two lads came to be in the inaccessible valley. To explain this we must, at the risk of being tedious, go back a few hours.

The morning following Captain Atkinson’s narration of his experience with Alvarez the trail had once more been taken up. Before many hours had passed the searchers came to the fork in the Rio, and stopped almost nonplussed. They had no means of judging whether the boat or raft which they believed had carried off Jack had gone down the Rio or had been swept down the branch stream.

The question was decided in an ingenious manner by Captain Atkinson. Some distance above the fork in the stream lay a big log near the water’s edge. Doubtless it had been carried down in some freshet. At any rate, to the Ranger’s shrewd mind it suggested a way of solving the problem. Under his direction the boys rolled it into the stream, wading out with it as far as they dared.

Then they watched it as the river swept it along. At the fork a current caught the log and whirled it off down the branch stream.

“That decides it,” declared Captain Atkinson, “we will follow the fork of the Rio. If Jack was on anything that floated it would have been swept from the main stream in the same way as that log.”

They then proceeded to find a way to cross the main stream so as to get on the bank of the branch current. They soon found a ford about a mile up the river. After some cautious reconnoitering Captain Atkinson decided to cross the stream at that point. But he warned the boys that they might have to swim with their horses before they reached the other side.

“It is impossible to tell if there aren’t deep holes in the middle of the stream,” he said. “In case we do flounder into any of them just fling yourself from the saddle, keeping hold of the pommel. Then let the ponies do the rest and they will land you safe and sound.”

For the first few yards all went well. The water came up to the ponies’ withers, but it did not appear to get deeper. Ralph was just congratulating himself that they would get across with ease and safety if things continued that way when his pony suddenly floundered into a deep hole. Instantly it lost its footing and went clear under.

Ralph had not time to extricate his feet from the stirrups, and was carried with it. As he vanished from view under the turbid current an alarmed cry broke from both Captain Atkinson and Walt Phelps.