The Border Boys on the Trail

"Is she going to have a fit?" asked Jack.

"Naw, she's going ter sing. Mules don't speak often, but when they do, they do it about something worth while. Hark!"

He-haw-he-haw-he-haw-he-haw!

Maud's song of triumph, as Pete had described it, went echoing up and down the cañon in the most discordant series of sounds known to the ear of man. But if there had been a hundred Mexicans in earshot, neither of the two fugitives would have grudged Maud her vocal exercise, nor have attempted to cut it short.

As it was, however, the mule's pean of victory had evidently reached other ears than those of Jack Merrill and Coyote Pete. They were still petting her and wishing for lumps of sugar and gold head stalls and all sorts of equine delicacies when both were startled by a gruff voice addressing them.

"Hullo, strangers!"

"Hullo yourself!" rejoined Pete, considerably surprised, and peering about him keenly.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE TREASURE OF THE MISSION

The effect of their first sudden immersion into the total blackness of the tunnel was paralyzing to Ralph, the professor, and Walt Phelps. The air, too, was still oppressive and musty with the accumulation of ages.

"Has any one got a match?" was the professor's first inquiry.

"Don't know," rejoined Walt Phelps, "I most generally have, but them greasers went through me pretty thoroughly. Hold on, though; wait! Hooray! I had a hole in my pocket, and some slipped through into the lining of my coat."

"Light up," said Ralph eagerly, "and let's see what sort of a horrible hole we are in."

A sputter, a crackle, and then a blessed flood of light, as Walt Phelps lit one of the precious matches of which he had found three or four.

"Now, see how much you can take in in one match-length," urged the red-headed ranch boy, as he held the match high in the air.

Its radiance showed them that they were in a narrow, walled tunnel, into which the steps from the trap-door above had led them. Right ahead stretched blackness, behind was blackness, only in the little illuminated circle in which they stood in fact, was there any relief from the gloom. The professor uttered a sudden gleeful exclamation, and at the same instant Walt dropped the match with a loud exclamation of:

"Ouch!"

He had held on to it so long he had burned his fingers.

"Never mind," consoled the professor; "that match, Walter, has shown us one important thing."

"And what is that?" asked Ralph.

"That there is an opening to this passage somewhere."

"Why, how – "

"Simple enough. The flame flickered, as Walter held the match up. That shows there must be a draught, and where there is a draught there must be an opening."

"Then, for goodness sake, let's make for it," exclaimed Ralph, stumbling forward in the darkness "I can't stand this blackness much longer."

With his hands spread in front of him the boy started off, the others following. Walter would have lighted another match, but this the professor vetoed. He argued that, not knowing what lay ahead of them, they had better reserve their store for a real emergency. The boys agreed to this readily.

They had gone about two hundred yards when Ralph, whose hands were feeling along the walls as he went, gave a sudden exclamation. Up to this point the passage had been about six feet in height, and four or more in width. Now, however, it contracted until they had to double up, and could only just squeeze through. It grew unendurably hot, too, and as the floor had steadily declined as they went, they argued that they must have reached a considerable depth.

Ralph's exclamation had been caused by a peculiar substance with which his fingers had suddenly come in contact. Heretofore the walls had been rough, and in places rocky. Suddenly, however, his fingers encountered a rounded, smooth surface.

"What's the matter?" asked the professor, who was behind.

"I don't know. There's something odd imbedded in the wall right here. Can we spare a match?"

"I think under the circumstances we might," said the professor.

Walter accordingly kindled a fresh lucifer.

As its rays shone out, every one of the party shrank back with a cry of horror.

From the wall a grinning skull was gazing at them.

The ranch boy dropped his match with a cry of terror and startled alarm. Even the professor's nerves were shaken by this sudden apparition.

"F-f-for g-g-goodness' sake, strike another!" stuttered Ralph.

With trembling hands Walt struck another light, and this time they nerved themselves to examine the wall more carefully. The skull was imbedded in the rock, and by its side they now perceived was a skeleton hand, pointing down the tunnel. The professor also noted some marks at its side. There were five of them – short, straight lines, scratched in the wall.

"Why, boys," he said, as the match died out, "there is nothing to be alarmed at. The skull is placed there as some sort of a pointer, or indicator, as I take it. That hand shows the direction in which the treasure lies, and the five scratches mean either five feet, or five yards, in this direction."

This simple explanation nerved the boys wonderfully, and they carefully paced off five feet.

"Another match, Walter," ordered the professor.

"The last but one," said the boy, as he struck it.

Hastily they gazed about them, but not a sign could they perceive of any break in the wall or floor, which might serve as a hiding-place for the treasure indicated in the miner's invisible writing.

"Shall we try at five yards?" asked Ralph.

"We will put it to a popular vote," rejoined the professor. "It will mean burning up our last match, but on the other hand – "

"I'm willing to use it – how about you, Walt?" came from Ralph.

"Sure," responded the ranch boy.

The professor made rapid mental calculations, and then paced off the additional distance necessary to make up the five yards from the original starting-place.

"Now," he said, coming to a halt.

How carefully Walt Phelps nursed that tiny yellow flame, as it burst into being. How eagerly they glanced about them, greedy of every morsel of its light.

Suddenly the professor gave a cry.

"Look!" he sputtered out.