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"For goodness' sake, do something," begged Tad. "You've taken enough time already to shoot the tree clean off the map." "Who's doing this shooting, you or I?" asked Chunky. Tad sat down helplessly. Stacy was not to be hurried. The more one urged him, the slower did he become. "Look out, I'm going to shoot now. Everybody lie low!" Stacy spun himself around like a top.
They consulted with the Professor about this, upon his return from a collecting trip along the foot of the mountains. But the Professor was sure Juan would be in in time for supper. Such was not the case, however. After the meal had been finished Tad announced his intention of riding off in the direction Juan had gone, to see if the guide could not be found. "I'll go with you," announced Stacy.
"I was afraid Walt would go over the falls, pony and all," he explained, wheeling alongside Ned Rector and picking him up from the rock. "I'll run a foot race with you when we get ashore," laughed Tad. "Go you," answered Ned promptly. "The one who loses has to get up and cook the breakfast."
A rifle was reposing in each man's holster, as Tad observed instantly. He was thankful to note that the guns were not in the hands of the Indians. The lad's right hand had dropped carelessly to the saddle horn, the fingers cautiously gathering in the coils of the lariat that hung there. The red men did not appear to have observed his act. "Lie low!" commanded Tad, scarcely above a whisper.
"Did you get the bonds back?" asked Sobber, with sudden interest. It may be added here that Sid Merrick had gone back long after the chase to look for the pocketbook, but, of course, had been unable to get any trace of it. "We did." "My uncle didn't steal them. Your uncle put them in his hands to sell," went on Tad Sobber, with sudden boldness.
The family was originally from Touraine, and dates back to the Crusaders, and is most aristocratic." "He looks it," murmured the thin grandmother, fixing her lorgnettes on Dan's broad shoulders as he moved away to join Tad and Freddy, who were making friends with Polly's poodle. "I have never seen a boy carry himself better. Blood will tell, as I have always insisted, Stella."
Shrugs of the shoulders was all the answer that Tad could get, so he decided to make the best of his position and escape at the first opportunity. Keeping his eyes on the alert he followed along without further protest. Once, as they ascended a sudden rise of ground on the gallop, he discovered two horsemen on beyond them about half a mile as near as he was able to judge.
Chancing to look up, he observed the guide, Lige Thomas, standing before him, eyeing him keenly. "Warm, isn't?" grinned Tad. "Rather. Put the towel down. I want to look at that cheek." Tad hesitated, drew the towel away, and gazed back at the guide with a challenge in his eyes. Lige examined the wound carefully. "How'd you get it?" he demanded, straightening up. "Why do you ask that?
By this time, Tad's arms were about the log. From the slight vibration he knew that Kris Kringle was somewhere between himself and the top, yet not a sound did the guide make. Tad made no more, and they would have been keen ears, indeed, that could have detected our friends' presence by sound alone. When the lad finally reached the top a hand was laid on his shoulder.
That means that they are quite likely to hover about in your vicinity. That will narrow down our field of operations considerably. We shan't be faraway from you at any stage of the game; in fact, I think it might be well to have two or three of our men in your party all the time. Do you understand?" "I begin to," nodded the professor. "That will be fine," answered Tad with glowing face.
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