With cold beads of perspiration covering his body Alan again pretended sleep. It was now apparent that they had been followed, and, no doubt, by Navajos. Perhaps this was the end of their toilsome retreat. With visions of death presenting themselves, he wondered again whether he ought to arouse Ned. Then he realized the futility of such action. As the moccasined feet drew near Alan could read death in each approaching sound. But at the edge of the trees there was another pause, and then he knew that the Indians had scattered.

Straining every muscle in an effort to breathe naturally, like one asleep, the boy counted the seconds while he waited for the clutch of a savage hand. And as the moment passed and the attack did not come he tried to speculate on what the strangers were doing. A guttural half exclamation soon allowed him a quick breath of temporary relief. The Indians were only after their supplies.

The savages had found the half-concealed packs of the two boys. Alan knew this by the location of the sounds that now came to him, and then, as the prowlers withdrew again into the open and the faint moonlight, it could be seen that they were bearing all the belongings of the two lads. For perhaps ten minutes Alan lay without moving and watched the Indians. He could make out that they were hastily looking over the packs and dividing what yet remained among themselves. Then ponies were led to the place of the camp fire and the members of the band quickly threw themselves on their animals and disappeared into the night.

Almost paralyzed with the knowledge of what this meant Alan now softly put his hand on Ned's face:

"Are you awake?" came instantly from Ned.

"Are you?" retorted Alan in surprise.

"Yes," whispered Ned, "I saw it all. But I didn't move, because I was afraid of arousing you."

"Here, too," exclaimed Alan. "Did you feel them take your revolver?"

Ned's band flew to his belt.

"Is yours gone too? I saw them when they came up from the fire. But you did right to keep still. If we had moved I expect we'd have had our throats cut."

"That was one of them I saw to-day," added Alan, "and I guess we're lucky to be alive."

"Yes," added Ned rising to his feet, "we are. They are satisfied, I suppose, to let us starve."

The prospect was a trying one. If the range behind them was the one they hoped it was, there was only one more valley between its summit and the outer ridge of the Tunit Chas. If they could reach this ridge they believed they might see Mount Wilson's peak. But even that meant another thirty miles to the scene of the attack on Buck's camp on the banks of the Chusco. And from that place it was eighty-five miles to a railroad and help!

The boys sat in the edge of the pines as the new moon disappeared, leaving them in utter darkness, and tried desperately to encourage each other. Both had the grit to set themselves stoutly to the apparently hopeless task. Without food or firearms and possibly without water, they knew they would find the task gigantic. But nothing was to be gained by waiting for starvation and death in the wilderness, and their decision was to do what they could, to try the almost impossible, and if they failed to fail with their faces toward the east.

"Why not start now?" urged Alan. "Let's use what strength we have."

But Ned showed him the folly of this.

"A night's rest will enable us to make better time to-morrow. And besides, we can't make headway when we can't follow the compass."

Retiring a little further into the woods the boys composed themselves again and before long were once more fast asleep.



CHAPTER XXXII

ALAN SUCCUMBS TO EXHAUSTION

The boys were up at dawn. Not an article had the marauders left but the two water canteens which had fortunately been left hanging from the low branches of a pine. It was useless to look for more—there was nothing more to be found.

"Anyway," laughed Ned, "it leaves us in light marching order and we can make better time. I'm glad we had a good supper."

As no breakfast was in sight the two boys filled the water bottles at the creek in the valley, and at five o'clock, taking their bearings due east, Ned and Alan struck upwards through the pine woods. It was a not unpleasant climb while the boys were fresh, but as the slope grew more precipitous the work began to tell. At one o'clock the crest was reached.

"How would you like a piece of broiled bacon, some pancakes and a cup of coffee, Ned?" asked Alan as they paused to rest.

"In the middle of the day and on the top of a mountain I always prefer plain water," laughed Ned in reply. "Here's to you!"

With a big drink from the lukewarm canteens the boys did not pause long.

"To-night," continued Ned, "we ought to sleep high up in the foothills over there."

With that inspiration the sore-footed and jaded lads made good time going down the slope. Then another rivulet was encountered, in which they bathed and by which they rested a spell. Alan would have been glad to pass the night here, but Ned urged him on, and as night fell again the hungry, exhausted boys found themselves far up on the new slope. Then they slept again, restlessly and on the rocky ground, for they had abandoned their blankets.

The boys did not wait for daylight. In the half dawn they were afoot.

"Take another hitch in your belt, chum, and don't think of the Placida." laughed Ned. "We'll make it all right, somehow."

Stiff in limb, their feet twitching with the pain of blisters, Ned and Alan toiled slowly through the last of the pines and out into the rocky higher slopes of the range. It was like climbing an upright wall, Alan said, but the pain of going on was less than the despair of giving up. A little after six o'clock Ned, ahead, pulled himself breathless to the highest point.

Alan stopped a little below and waited in anxiety. Before he could ask whether it was the last ridge, Ned's voice broke out into a shout.

"Come on, old man, we're all right. There's old Wilson, the grandest mountain peak in the world. Hurrah for Mount Wilson!"

But there was no echo to his exclamation. Poor Alan, succumbing to pain and exhaustion, had sunk insensible to the ground. In another moment Ned was at his chum's side. Forcing some water between Alan's lips and bathing his face with some more of the precious liquid, Ned soon brought him back to consciousness. Alan sprang up in chagrin, and with tears in his eyes insisted that he had only stumbled and fallen. But Ned knew the truth. His friend's bright eyes and feverish skin told that his condition was grave. The unseen tears came to Ned's eyes, for it was at least thirty miles to more water and the plains. And should they even reach the Chusco, he could see only death in the desert.

"You'll feel better in the cool of the woods down there," said Ned gently, "and maybe we can kill a rabbit. Hurrah, come on, Alan! Brace up. It's all down hill, now. Here's for the woods and broiled rabbit!"

In a new spurt of life another start was made and the two chums set out down the slope. In one of Ned's hands was a rock. It was to be the death warrant of any small animal, and his eyes were busy examining each sheltered rocky nook and bush. Suddenly a feverish hand caught his.

"Look," whispered Alan.

Ned's eyes followed his chum's gaze.

It was a spiral of thin smoke in the trees below.

With a shout, Ned sprang forward. Then he turned. Alan was standing still. Ned's heart grew cold:

"See the smoke," Alan was repeating, "see the nice smoke. Maybe it's a house on fire."

His friend was delirious. Ned flew to his side once more and again his touch revived the exhausted boy. Almost five days of wandering and the exhausting toil on the mesa had proved too much for the more delicate Alan, and Ned realized with sickening horror that the situation was critical.

"I'm all right, Ned," answered Alan when his chum was once more with him; "just a little lightheaded. But that's all."

What was to be done? The smoke might be that of a forest fire. And it might mean Indians. But even an enemy is welcome when starvation and death confronts one. Almost at the end of his own resources, the determined Ned forced himself into a last effort. He used no words of persuasion, for Alan allowed Ned to take his hand, and thus, silently and slowly, the two moved forward again. Perhaps another half mile was made between rocks and down gullies and then Alan exclaimed pitifully:

"It's no use, Ned, I can't, I can't. My feet." Burying his fevered face in his hands, the boy wept, partly in pain and partly because he knew that he was holding back his chum.

At such periods Ned Napier was at his best. With kind words he sought to encourage his friend. He used the little water left to bathe Alan's face, and the last of his shirt in binding anew his friend's bleeding feet. He tried to joke and speculated on the possibilities of the smoke beyond them, but it was without avail. Poor Alan could not rise again. The fever of exhaustion was on him and with a last appeal to Ned to leave him the boy threw himself on the ground and fainted away.

There was no doubt now as to what was to be done. Unless he could bring help to his friend in a short time Ned knew it would mean death. And that meant death for both, for young Napier would never abandon his friend. Like a drunken man Ned turned and stumbled forward.



CHAPTER XXXIII

A FORLORN DASH FOR HELP

Am hour later Alan Hope, carried by the faithful Elmer Grissom and the jovial Bob Russell, was laid gently on a blanket by the fire whose smoke had attracted the attention of the ragged, worn wanderers. Not until the sun had set did the exhausted lad open his eyes again. But water and food had been forced through his lips and when reason came back strength was not far behind.

Ned sat by his chum's side all day, bathing his face and making him as comfortable as possible; from Elmer's medicine packet. A few mouthfuls of food had sufficed Ned. But that night, when Alan came again to his senses, the four boys held a thanksgiving about a cheerful fire and ate together. But it was no banquet.

What had happened was soon repeated to the weak but happy Alan. Elmer and Bob had waited and watched for ten days, using their stores sparingly and ready always for the return of Ned and Alan. Two days they had seen the Cibola a speck in the sky far to the west, and had watched it from the little waterfall on the edge of the plateau. Then it disappeared and they never saw it again. This was three days after the boys departed from Camp Eagle.

Husbanding their provisions as well as they could, they at last decided to start on their return to the outside world.

This was two days before. The tent and the heavier articles were hidden in a cache. Their food had been reduced to a meager quantity. They had two pounds of bacon, six pounds of flour, two ounces of tea and a little over a pound of beans. In addition they had a half dozen bouillon tablets, a little salt, pepper and sugar, and a complete and unopened medicine packet in which were quinine, adhesive plaster, cotton, bandages, morphine, and other needed and compact drugs. With this light pack each boy had a rifle and a revolver, a few cooking utensils and a blanket.

Elmer had his own water bottle, and Bob improvised two out of the empty baking powder can and a lard pail.

Thus equipped, Camp Eagle was abandoned, and led by their compass Elmer and Bob had set out bravely for Mount Wilson and the Chusco. But it was with no small regret that they made their way up the long slope behind them and then across the valley beyond. But, fresh and strong of limb, they pushed forward and with Mount Wilson as a landmark made camp on the second night in the timber on the slope of the outer range.

Never wholly despairing of meeting Ned and Alan again, the two boys were frugal both of their strength and their stores. The food they carried would have been sufficient for a healthy man for perhaps a week. They could not count on reaching civilization again within that time, even with good luck. That meant half rations at the best. But if accidents came and delay even half rations would be cut down. So, that night, in camp, there was no feasting. A little tea, and a cake of dough apiece made their supper; and then they slept.

In the morning as they were about to breakfast and be off again Bob caught sight of a deer. A little jerked venison would not come amiss, he thought, and as the ammunition was plentiful he darted through the woods in pursuit. The fact that Bob was a poor hunter probably saved Alan's life. He was gone an hour and a half and when he returned it was after seven o'clock.

The two boys had just extinguished their fire and were about to shoulder their packs when a well-known but strained call arrested them.

"Camp ahoy?"

It was their leader, Ned Napier, his cheeks sunken, and his body swaying from weakness, but cheery as of old, advancing slowly through the trees.

Food and a night's rest restored Ned's strength. "And now, my friends," said he in the morning, "these bandages and a little food and good companionship have worked wonders. We are all ourselves again. But we can't stay here, pleasant—as it is. Alan ought not to travel for another day and then he ought to have some husky attendant. Bob, you are nominated for that job. Elmer and I will take a few pinches of tea, the soup tablets, one revolver and a rifle and—"

"And what?" exclaimed Alan, suspicious of Ned's suggestion.

"And," continued Ned, "We'll just dash on ahead and bring you some help."

"No, siree," shouted Alan. "Do you think get back to Clarkeville, one hundred and fifteen miles or more, on six soup tablets? And for me? If you think you ought to go, all right. But you'll take half of the food."

"Or more," interrupted Bob, "give us a little flour and salt and some matches. I reckon I can get a deer before night."

But Ned convinced them in the end that he was right. He argued that each mile he and Elmer made in advance was nearer help. Alan must advance slowly.

"All you've got to do," he explained to Bob and Alan, "is to reach the Chusco, where Elmer camped, and take care of yourselves for seven or eight days. And we'll be there to help you, unless something happens. You won't have much to eat but you'll have water and you have ammunition."

And at seven o'clock that morning they parted. Just before the farewells Alan called Ned to one side and said:

"Hadn't you better take my bag?" indicating the jewel case under his arm.

"Why?" answered Ned.

"Well, you know we may never see each other again."

Ned took his chum's hand.

"Alan," he said, "we were not born to lose ourselves in the woods, much less to die there. We'll meet again all right. Don't you have any fears on that point. But if we shouldn't, I won't care for amethysts or pearls. If I don't see you again it'll be because I'm beyond the need of those things."

There were handshakes and cheering, good wishes, and the relief section was off.

"Elmer," said Alan, after the two had been trailing through the trees Indian fashion some time, "it is daylight at four o'clock and dark at seven—that's fifteen hours. Can you walk two miles an hour?"

"Sho'ly," smiled Elmer, showing his white teeth.

"Well, that's thirty miles a day. If we could do that for four days we'd be in Clarkeville!"

"Claikeville in fo' days it am den," echoed Elmer, "or bust."

"We've got six soup tablets. If we dine on one at ten o'clock in the morning and one at seven o'clock in the evening we'll have regular meals for three days."

"And de las' day we won't need none, we'll be in such a hurry," added the colored boy, happy again in Ned's company.

That was the spirit in which the expedition started. Late that afternoon they emerged from the timber and were on the sandy foothills where progress was faster. Ned's feet bothered him and he was in constant pain, but the adhesive plaster and cotton had been of the greatest help. There was no pause. The first day's schedule he was determined to make and at about eight o'clock the relief expedition gave a shout. The Chusco lay before them.

A little fire, some tea and bouillon—made in the pan after the tea was consumed—and the two boys found a bed on the soft sand with no covering but the deep Mexican sky. At dawn they were up and away after a bath in the muddy river. Elmer was now the guide and he readily picked up Buck's old wagon trail. Sharp at ten o'clock a halt was made for breakfast, bouillon now without tea. Ned, his face a little more sunken and his legs a little more unsteady than the day before, was sitting on the ground resting his burning feet, when Elmer suddenly touched him on the shoulder, set the soup pan quickly on the sand and drew his revolver.

Far down the trail a horseman was approaching. Behind him in the distance followed a wagon. What did this mean?

"Well, whoever it is, we'll have the soup," said Ned.

This consumed, Ned and his friend started forward.

"If it's good luck we'll meet it sooner this way," said Ned, "if it's bad we'll know the worst quicker."

But it was good luck. The rider soon galloped up and swung his wide hat in the air. It was Curt Bradley, the mayor of Clarkeville.



CHAPTER XXXIV

THE RESCUE

They told Ned afterwards that he keeled over in the sand and fainted dead away, but he always insisted that he didn't faint, that he knew everything that was going on. Yet he did not hear a word of the long story told by Elmer. When he roused himself he was lying in the shade of the big freight wagon and a couple of cowboys were getting breakfast ready.

Then Mayor Bradley explained his presence in that mysterious way in which bad news always travels friendly Indians had sent him word of the attack on Buck's outfit and of the death of the veteran plainsman. This news had just reached Clarkeville and Mayor Bradley had at once set out to find the body if possible, and assist those who escaped.

Of course all speed was made toward the foothills and that evening Alan and Bob, the former only a shadow of the lively youngster who had left Clarkeville but two weeks before, were found and rescued. That night there was a new camp on the Chusco and meat and hot bread. The only shadow to dim the happiness of the rescued boys was the recollection of the murdered Buck.

The return to Clarkeville was made by easy stages in four days, and even Alan was nearly his old self when that town was reached. One night's rest in real beds, with fresh linen from the baggage they had left behind them, and baths, removed the traces of privation and suffering. There was little more to detain Ned and Alan.

A telegram was dispatched to Major Honeywell at Kansas City, where the boys and their patrons had agreed to meet. Then Ned's tool chest was forwarded by freight to Chicago. In company with Mayor Bradley Ned and Alan visited Mrs. Bourke, Buck's widow. Retaining enough to cover the costs of transportation to Kansas City he gave the widow what remained of his funds, nearly five hundred dollars, and all the heavy stores remaining in the corral.

At midnight of that day four wide-awake and alert boys, neatly clad in summer suits, boarded the local train bound east for Albuquerque. The last hand they shook was that of Mayor Bradley.

"Mr. Mayor," said Ned as he parted from his friend, "I'm sorry I can't tell you why we were here, or what we were doing. But you were our friend and we'll never forget you. Some day I'm going to show you how highly we regard you. And some day I hope I'll be able to tell you what our mission was."

Three days later the quartette of boys sprang from the Limited in the Union depot at Kansas City. The parting had come. None of the boys knew what that meant until the last moment.

"'Ned," said Bob Russell, once again in the field of his profession, "I've had many a strange assignment in my work and I expect to have many another, but I'll never have one like this. I've got the story of my life, but I haven't got yours. If the time ever comes when I can write it, when you are free to tell it, just remember your best friend, Bob Russell, reporter, Kansas City Comet."

"Bob," answered Ned wringing his hand, "you have missed a good story. I'm sorry. It wasn't because you were not a good reporter. It was just our good luck. But if things work out the way I hope, I'm going to give you something better than a good story."

"And," broke in Alan, "just want to say this: if chance ever throws adventures my way again I hope that the companions I share it with will always include Bob Russell."

The details of how Ned and Alan, just one day late, kept their engagement with major Honeywell and Senor' Oje in the Coates House, and of the almost unbelievable report they made and the rich evidence of its genuineness that they submitted do not really belong in an account of the flight of the Cibola. Two things were done at once, however. A handsome gold watch was purchased and sent to Mayor Bradley with the compliments of Ned and Alan, and Senor Oje forwarded an additional check for a thousand dollars to Buck's widow.

The report on the value of the stones carried from the treasure temple by the two boys was such that Senor Oje gave them his check for $25,000. Out of this each boy contributed part of his share toward a sum sufficient to give Elmer a business education. Finally the two boys bought a draft for a thousand dollars, payable to Robert Russell. With it went this note: "Please accept this as some slight compensation for the story you did not get."

But in good time Bob Russell did get his story. For, otherwise, this narrative would never have been written.

How it came about that Bob got his story; how the treasure left in the Turquoise Temple was finally lifted; how the young aeronauts in doing it battled successfully with a maelstrom in the clouds, were driven far out over the Pacific, cast away on a derelict and finally made an escape with their "sneering idol" by aeroplane into the wilds of Mexico, is a later and more remarkable chapter in the adventures of Ned Napier and Alan Hope, to be told in "The Air-Ship Boys Adrift, or Saved by an Aeroplane."

THE END