Читать книгу The Bradys Out West; or Winning A Hard Case - Francis Worcester Doughty - Страница 5

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The Bradys were reasonably sure that Vail and his gang had a rendezvous somewhere in the Black River Hills.

Just where this was it was now their province to find out.

It did not take them long to hit upon a plan of action.

They left the trail and cut through a rough defile.

After some climbing they came out upon a spur of the mountain.

From this point they had an extended view.

They saw that which was to them most important.

Far down in the valley below was the little frontier and mining town known as Red Cliff.

It was situated on the banks of a winding river.

In the wilds which surrounded it were rich mines.

These were operated by means of the placer.

The miner, however, found many foes in the pursuit of his calling.

The Blackfoot savages had a number of villages in this region, and they were notorious thieves and murderers.

On the other hand was the desperate gang of outlaws under the lead of Mosely or Vail.

So bold were these desperados that often the very precincts of Red Cliff were invaded.

The brave band of vigilantes under Clifton Brown had in vain tried to overthrow them.

But though stray members were caught and at once strung up to the branches of some mountain pine, the main body of the road-riders set the vigilantes at defiance.

In vain Brown tried to root them out.

In all cases he was worsted.

In open ground no doubt he could have whipped the gang.

But in their mountain fastnesses the bandits were simply unconquerable.

The two detectives had formed a daring and resolute plan.

It was a complete departure from any usual method.

This was to employ no co-operation of any sort. It was not even known by any person but themselves that they were in this part of the West.

They did not call upon Clifton Brown for assistance.

Their plan was to invade the enemy’s country “incog.” and unknown.

Their force of two was small, to be sure, but they believed more efficient than numbers.

First they desired to locate by secret work the stronghold of the robbers.

Then they would devise a plan to rescue the captive girl.

If need be, it would then be time enough to call on the vigilantes for assistance.

The two detectives stood on the mountain spur.

They looked far down the mountain trail and saw a black speck with what looked like ants attached to it.

It was the stage on its way into Red Cliff.

“Humph!” said Old King Brady. “That was a plucky crowd on that stage, Harry.”

“Well, I should say so. Not much of chivalry in their make-up.”

“Pretty wild region.”

“Yes.”

“It’s the first western case we’ve had for a good while.”

“So it is.”

“Nobody suspects that we are out here.”

“Not a soul.”

“I believe we shall win.”

“But it will be a hard case.”

“Very likely.”

The detectives scanned the country and took in every detail, making a mental map of it.

Suddenly Old King Brady started.

“Look!” he cried.

He pointed far up through the mountain defiles.

There were a number of horsemen filing through a gorge.

They looked like ants at that great distance. The detectives watched them curiously.

It was not difficult to guess who they were.

No doubt Vail and his wife Beatrice rode at the head of the party.

The detectives made a note of the locality.

Then Old King Brady said:

“Come, Harry; let us try and reach that spot.”

The old detective took a compass and set his course.

The sun was two hours past the meridian. A good part of the day was yet left.

The two detectives started on their course.

But before they had gone far Old King Brady called a halt.

“There is no better time,” he said, doffing his Quaker hat and coat. “Let us change our disguises.”

“A good idea!” agreed Young King Brady. “What shall it be?”

“Miners or prospectors.”

“Good!”

The transition made by the detectives was sudden and wonderful.

The coats turned inside out were rough and coarse. The surtouts of gray were removed and showed the red shirts of the miner.

The trousers were turned inside out and rolled into the boot legs.

The flat-brim hats were collapsed and worn under the shirt. Then rough slouch hats were donned.

Beards finished the make-up.

The erstwhile sedate Quakers could never have been recognized in this rough garb of the miner.

To be sure, they had no kit of tools.

But this would hardly tell against them, for any sort of a plausible story of getting lost could be told.

Thus equipped they started again on their course.

For over an hour they clambered on.

They passed through dense groves of mountain pine, along the brinks of cliffs, over huge piles of ledge, and finally came upon a well-beaten path.

Human footprints were easily distinguishable upon it.

This was deemed important.

A footpath in these wilds meant the presence of human beings.

As the detectives could think of no other than the outlaws they presumed of course that they must be near their stronghold.

They proceeded cautiously now.

It might be that they would stumble upon the gang at any moment.

Along the path they cautiously made their way.

Suddenly Old King Brady paused.

“Sh!” he exclaimed. “I hear a human voice.”

The detectives listened.

A strange sound came to their ears.

It was a human voice raised in singing. What was more, the words were those of a hymn.

The detectives stared.

What did it mean?

Surely Vail’s men could hardly be in the habit of singing hymns.

Old King Brady pushed nearer and peered through the thicket. He beheld a strange sight.

He saw a small cabin of logs placed against the side of a cliff.

In its doorway sat a character as strange as any he had ever gazed upon.

He was patriarchal in appearance, dressed in buckskin, with long, flowing white hair and beard.

He was singing in a melodious voice a sacred hymn. No other person was near.

But on a bench by the door sat a sable crow. Under the bench crouched a wolf-dog. In a cage near was a cub bear.

This strange array of pets seemed engaged raptly in listening to the singing.

It was a curious spectacle.

The detectives were wonder-struck.

What did it mean?

Who was this curious old man with his array of pets? Was it possible that he lived here alone?

But at this moment the wolf-dog started out from under the bench with a growl.

He had scented the detectives beyond a doubt.

The old man ceased singing and looked up.

“Down, Tiger!” he exclaimed in a stern voice. “Where are your manners, sir? Advance, stranger! Whoever you are, welcome to the abode of Milo the Hermit!”

The Bradys saw that their presence was known.

At once they stepped out into view.

They approached the strange habitation and its stranger inhabitant.

Old King Brady saluted the hermit, and said:

“My good sir, I salute you! We are out of our way and came upon you wholly by chance.”

“Many do that,” replied the hermit. “But they are always welcome. You are hungry and a-weary.”

“Both,” replied Young King Brady.

“Pray seat yourselves on this bench and I will bring you food and drink.”

The detectives complied.

The hermit soon emerged with a jug of water and some coarse bread and bear’s meat, with haunch of deer.

The meat was sliced cold, but cooked to a fine turn, and the detectives ate with relish.

It was not the sort of fare they were used to, but it was none the less good.

After they had eaten, the hermit, who had watched them, said:

“You come from the world outside. Little news reaches me here. Tell me, is the country at peace?”

“It is,” replied Old King Brady. “We have a quarrel with no one.”

“Heaven be praised!” said the hermit fervently. “When I took up my abode here we were at war with each other—the North against the South.”

“What!” exclaimed Old King Brady in surprise. “Have you been in this out-of-the-way place since then?”

“It is true,” replied Milo.

“And you have heard nothing of what has transpired since?”

“Only vague reports. People seldom come here.”

“But,” exclaimed Young King Brady, “why do you exile yourself thus?”

A spasm of pain contorted the features of the hermit.

For a moment he seemed overcome and unable to reply.