The Auto Boys' Mystery

"By cripes! Anderson can't make it, Chip! We ought to have waited and helped him over. That log's mighty slippery. Looks as if someone had fallen off already. What had we better do?"

"Say, Paul, this trail leads right back in the direction of them rocks where we spent last night. What do ye think of that?"

But Paul was now calling to Nels on the other side. He had heard what Chip said and shouted to the big Swede its import. At this Nels solved the difficulty in a few words, directing the boys–if they were sure of this–to follow the new trail while Nels would go back to the head of the slough and rejoin them somewhere near the foot of the rocky ridge they had previously traversed.

Still the trail was puzzling. Both lads found not only a fresh trail leading ridgeward, but signs of an earlier trail, now much rainwashed, that led towards the slough, not away from it as the fresh trail did.

"Tell you what I believe, Paul," remarked Chip after studying the situation over. "When Murky first struck out he was trying to get clear off, probably east somewhere. He must 'a' come this way, tried to cross the run here and couldn't. He might 'a' fell off that log where you saw them stains.

"What would he do then? Why, strike for higher ground; git to some place where he could make a fire. That took him back to where he run against us. And if it hadn't 'a' been for Nels, I ain't sure but what he'd a got the best in that mix-up. What do you think?"

What Chip thought was indicated by his pointing finger, for he was ahead, following the trail, now growing more and more indistinct. Paul came up and looked at the faint outline of tracks now turning abruptly up the rocky ridge.

"Murky–if 'twas Murky–is goin' right back where he and us spent last night. Now what would he be doin' that for? There hain't but one reason that counts," affirmed Chip. "He's hid out that money somewhere–don't you reckon?"

All at once the significance of this appealed to both the boys. As with one accord they eagerly resumed their trail hunt, but it was with such scant success that Paul finally shook his head in discouragement. Chip, now on hands and knees, stooping, at times almost crawling, was inclined to give up too.

"You remember how we lost that trail before on this ridge and only found it when we separated, taking in the lowland on either side?"

"Yep! That's what we'll have to do now. Wish Nels was here. Wonder where he is now?" And Paul peered in the direction of the slough.

With one accord both lads waited a few minutes, but seeing no sign of the vanished Swede, it was agreed that Chip should take one side of the ridge and Paul the other, and at each mile of progress or thereabouts, should let each other know. If, meanwhile, one should strike the trail again he should call or go in search of the other.

Possibly Paul had gone a mile, when a rumbling, heavy voice halted him. No trail had he found, but–there was Anderson coming, having at last rounded the head of the slough.

"You find him yet?" meaning the vanished trail. "He bane go dis way?"

"No, we lost it on the ridge like we did before. Chip is looking for it on the other side of this slope. I hope he has better luck than us."

"Let's res' a leetle, Paul," and Nels slumped heavily down.

At this juncture came a faint call from the other side of the ridge. Paul jumped up again, saying:

"Come on, Mr. Anderson! That must be Chip. He's found something, for we agreed to let each other know, whichever came on anything first."

And Paul gave an answering shout, starting up the gentle rise of the rocky elevation, on top of which both trails had vanished.

"Alright–I bane coomin'," responded Nels as he wearily got up and tried to keep up with Paul's hasty steps, but soon gave that up. "I bane tired–all een–das w'at."

Young Slider had felt all along the keenest interest in the recovery of that stolen money. His dead father's participation therein probably kept him stimulated by a desire to show his new-found friends, the Auto Boys that he was worthy to be trusted.

After some futile search he was at length gratified to discover signs of the vanished trail. It came down from the higher ground where the rocks and gravel made it indistinguishable. Filled with new courage he followed on, pleased that it became more plain as the lower ground grew softer and more mushy. At this juncture he began calling to Paul, and perhaps it was indiscreet in view of what presently happened.

But Chip was not thinking of himself. Instead, as he gave his last shout and heard the faint echo of Paul's reply, he only thought that he was again on the track of Murky. Where was Murky now?

"I hope we'll soon know," he said to himself as he plodded on, on–eyes on the ground and seeing little of things around him. "I hope Paul hurries. He'd help a lot–"

"Blame me!" A savage growl struck on Chip's ears. "It's that durned little Slider cuss."

With a curdling chill Chip raised his eyes and was astounded by what he saw. Having gone farther than he thought, amid his eagerness to get on and his constant scrutiny of the trail, he saw around him the same rocks rising to his right that they had approached the night before. And right under the heavy ledge where he and Paul had been sheltered, prior to Murky's attack, stood Murky himself, mud-slimed, gaunt, fierce, and scowlingly savage.

"Ain't I never goin' to git rid of you?" he snapped, drawing menacingly near. "You'll not dodge me this time!"

With this Murky lurched forward, his claw-like hand reaching forth. Chip let out a yell of terror. He could not help it. The yell would come, and it rang far-reaching, striking on Anderson's ear as the Swede, having recovered, was crossing the ridge's backbone not so very far away. That yell smote upon Paul not unlike the effect of an unexpected thunder clap. But Paul recognized the voice. Chip was in trouble. He–Paul–was not with him. Gripping his courage, he rushed on, rounding a bulge of rock just in time to see Chip being dragged within that same recess whence both Murky and Nels had emerged the night before, one to attack, the other to rescue the two boys.

"Look here!" cried Paul, now more angry than ever, his fear of Murky quite gone for the time being. "You let that boy alone! Hear me?"

Apparently the tramp did not, for he disappeared through the elbowed recess still dragging the struggling Chip. Just then Paul stumbled and was nearly thrown down by hitting a smooth, round rock with his foot. Recovering, he picked up that rock and darted through the recess after Murky with his captive. His other hand also found that pistol with which he had clipped the robber's ear, and which Paul had hung onto, thinking he might have a use for it. No cartridges were in it of course, but still it was a weapon.

In one corner of that recess where the fire had been built Murky had young Slider down and apparently was choking the life out of the lad. Without a word Paul ran up, heaved the rock and, as luck would have it, struck the robber fairly right over the head.

A less hard-headed man would have toppled over. But Murky was hard-headed as well as hard-hearted. He reeled upon his knees and his clutch upon Chip relaxed sufficiently to enable that thoroughly frightened youngster to wriggle away on hands and knees while Murky was recovering.

The latter scrambled to his feet, his head smarting. Roaring, he lunged at Paul, who darted back, his only real weapon gone and wondering what to do next. More by instinct than anything he levelled the empty pistol at the robber, shouting at the same time:

"Keep off–keep off! I–I'll shoot–"

But by this time Murky had recovered his poise and his strength as well. For all he knew Paul might send bullets his way, but that did not now stop the ruffian. With a savage snort of anger he sprang upon the boy, wrenched from him the pistol and straightway began to beat Paul over the head. About this time Murky felt a clinging form jump upon his back, wind its thin arms and legs around his half reeling frame, as Paul struck at him with boyish impetuosity, though the blows were futile so far as doing the man any serious harm.

"Blame ye both!" he exploded. "I'll fix ye–blast ye!"

And fix them both he methodically proceeded to do. Seizing Paul by the scruff of his neck and twisting Chip somehow under his other arm, he then tried to bang their heads together. Luckily he did not succeed before there was a sudden interruption.

For the second time there came in Murky's rear a rumbling roar of anger. Nels Anderson, just arrived, breathless, exhausted, was yet ready to do what might be done by a tired man almost without the use of his arms.

At the sound close behind him Murky turned, his savage claws fastened in the half helpless boys' clothing. Pushing them before him, he rushed upon the Swede. The impact was too much for Nels.

Back he staggered, his heels tripping, and fell with the two youngsters on top of his prostrate bulk.

By the time the three got to their feet again Murky had vanished. But they heard him farther on, and in an instant Chip was off, crying:

"We mustn't lose him! He's back after that money! I just know it!"

Was Chip right? Only quick work might solve that riddle. In a trice Paul was at Chip's heels while Nels, puffing more than ever, yet still game, came on after. Arrived at the next turning, they saw Murky dragging at something in a dark corner or crevice of rock. Seeing his pursuers coming, Murky rushed blindly at them. Chip managed to dodge but Paul was overborne and, stumbling back, brought up against Nels, and again a rough-and-tumble struggle began. Meantime Chip, having dodged, saw what Murky, down on his knees, had been dragging at when again surprised. Intuition told him what it might be. Instead of going to the aid of his companions Chip stooped over, dragged out a wet, soiled package from a deeper crevice, ran off through another passage that seemed to wind among a number of converging boulders, and–a moment later returned empty-handed to where the fight was still going on.

Murky now had the big Swede down and was pummelling him over head and face with his fists. Anderson was rolling, twisting about, striving ineffectually to wriggle loose. From behind Paul Jones was doing his best to drag the robber back. Paul had him by the hair and collar. When Chip came back, he had managed to hit Paul with one right-handed fist and the boy was gasping.

All this went through Chip like a flash of lightning out of a clear sky. Seizing a good sized fragment of rock, he began pounding Murky about the head.

"Blame ye!" roared the thief. "Will ye quit? I–I'll–"

Further utterance was checked by Murky's turning and flinging himself full length upon young Slider. Bearing him to the ground, the lad was soon knocked into unconsciousness by Murky's powerful blows.

"Git outer my way!" he shouted, rising and making a break for the same place where Chip had seen him stooping not ten minutes before. "Blame me! I–I'll–where is it? What have ye done with it? Ye will, will ye?"

By this time, blinded by baffled rage, Murky proceeded–as Chip afterwards expressed it–"to wipe up the earth" with his opponents.

CHAPTER XVI