But how the pain racked him! It seemed as if every bone was aching and every muscle sore. The feet had been wholly worn from each stocking, and his own feet were torn and bleeding. He had preserved his shoes, but when he came to put them on he groaned with anguish. His feet were so swollen that it was torture to cover them, and he could not tie the strings; but they must be protected, and he did not rise until they were thus armored.

He was without any weapons, but the torment of his wounds drove that fact from his mind. All that he wanted now was to get away from the spot where he could not help believing he was still in danger of recapture. But when he stood erect and the agony shot through his frame, he asked himself whether it was possible to travel to the plateau without help; and yet the effort must be made.

He had a general knowledge of his situation, and, bracing himself for the effort, he began the work. It was torture from the first, but after taking a few steps his system partly accommodated itself to the requirement and he progressed better than he anticipated. He was still on the wrong side of the canyon, which it was necessary to leave before rejoining his friends. He was wise enough to distrust his own capacity after the fearful strain, and did not make the attempt until he found a place where the width was hardly one-half of the extent leaped by him and Jack Dudley. As it was, the jump, into which he put all his vigor, landed him just clear of the edge, a fact which did much to lessen the sharp suffering caused by alighting on his feet.

He yearned to sit down and rest, but was restrained by the certainty that it would make his anguish more intense when he resumed his tramp toward camp. Furthermore, as he believed himself nearing safety, his impatience deepened and kept him at work when he should have ceased.

As he painfully trudged along, his thoughts reverted to his climb up the side of the canyon and he shuddered; for, now that it was over, he could not comprehend how he dared ever make the effort. Not for the world would he repeat it, even by daylight.

"Heaven brought me safely through," was his grateful thought.

But as he drew near the plateau his musings turned thither. He had counted upon finding Jack Dudley and the guide there; but they might be miles away, and he would not see them for days. He knew he needed attention from his friends and could not sustain himself much longer. If he should be unable to find them——

But all these gloomy forebodings were scattered a few minutes later by the glimmer of the camp-fire on the other side of the plateau. One of his friends at least must be there, and providentially it proved that both were present.



CHAPTER XXI.

HOW IT ALL ENDED.

At last the clothing of Jack Dudley was dried, and he felt thoroughly comfortable in body. While he was employed in the pleasant task, Hank Hazletine went away in quest of food. It took time and hard work to find it, but his remarkable skill as a hunter enabled him to do so, and when he returned he brought enough venison to serve for the evening and morning meal. No professor of the culinary art could have prepared the meat more excellently than he over the bed of live coals. The odor was so appetizing that the youth was in misery because of his impatience, but the guide would not let him touch a mouthful until the food was done "to the queen's taste." Then they had their feast.

And yet the two were oppressed by thoughts of the absent one. The attempts of his friends during the day to help or to get trace of Fred Greenwood had been brought to naught, and it looked as if they would have to consent to the humiliating terms of Tozer and Motoza, with strong probability that the missing youth was never again to be seen alive.

"I think, Hank," said Jack, when the cowman had lit his pipe, "that we should run no more risks."

"How can we help it?"

"When you meet Tozer to-morrow morning by appointment, tell him the price he asks will be paid, but everything must be square and above board."

The guide looked at his companion a moment in silence. Then he said:

"If you'll turn the matter over in your mind, younker, you'll see that this bus'ness can't be put through without giving the scamps the chance to swindle us the worst sort of way. They won't give up the boy on our promise to pay 'em the money and no questions asked, for they don't b'leve we'll do it; so we've got to give 'em the money and trust to their honor to keep their part. Trust to their honor," repeated Hank, with all the scorn he could throw into voice and manner; "as if they knowed what it means."

"I know from what you have said that Tozer and Motoza are cunning, but——"

In order to receive all the warmth possible, Jack Dudley was sitting within the cavern and facing outward, while his companion faced him, with his back toward the plateau and mountains beyond. Jack suddenly broke off his remark, for in the gloom behind the cowman he saw something move. That something quickly took the form of a white-faced, exhausted youth trudging painfully forward and ready to sink to the ground with weakness.

"Heavens! can it be?" gasped Jack, half-rising to his feet and staring across the camp-fire. The next moment, and while Hazletine was looking in the same direction, as astounded as the youth, the elder made one bound and was at the side of Fred Greenwood, whom he caught in his arms as he sagged downward in a state of utter collapse.

In the course of the following hour everything was made clear. Under the tender ministrations of Jack Dudley and Hank Hazletine the returned wanderer recovered to a great degree his strength, and to the fullest degree his naturally buoyant spirits. The faint odor of the broiling meat which lingered in the air awoke his ravenous appetite, but knowing how long he had been without food, the cowman would not permit him to eat more than a tithe of what he craved. After a time he gave him more, until his appetite was fairly well satisfied.

"Jack," said Fred, with something of his old waggishness, as he looked across the fire into the face of his comrade, "let's go home."

"You forget that we have a month's vacation, and it is hardly half gone. We can stay another week and then be sure of being back to school in time. You lamented more than I because we could not have a longer play-spell. Your sentiments have changed."

The younger lad pointed to his feet.

"There's the reason. If I were like you I shouldn't think of leaving this delightful country until the last day; but I shall need all the vacation to get on my feet again. Do you comprehend?"

"Yes; your demonstration is logical. True, you have lost your rifle and pistol, the same as myself, but we could get others at the ranch, and no doubt meet with plenty more enjoyable adventures, but not as you are. I shall be very willing to start home with you to-morrow morning. What do you think of it, Hank?"

"I'm blamed sorry this bus'ness has to wind up as it does, but there's no help fur it, and we'll leave fur the ranch after breakfast."

"Will you keep your appointment with Tozer?"

"I've been thinking of that; yes, I'll meet him."

There was a peculiar intonation in these words that caused both boys to look into that bearded face, but they could not be sure of his meaning.

It was Fred who spoke:

"Hank, there is one matter as to which I cannot feel certain; I want your opinion of it."

"Wal, I'm listening."

"After Motoza forced me into the cavern at the side of the canyon he went off and has not returned yet, unless he did so after I left. Now, why didn't he go back?"

"Why should he go back? He felt sartin there was no way fur you to git out, and if I'd been told that your only chance was to climb the wall I'd 'greed with him, though you struck the spot where I done it myself."

"He must have known I hadn't a mouthful of food?"

"He couldn't help knowing it."

"The question in my mind is this: what he said to me, as well as what you have told, proves that he understood the whole scheme of my being ransomed. Tozer must have known where I was; he knew that to bring the ransom business to a head would require several days, even with the use of the telegraph; they expected me to stay in the cavern all the time. How long would they have left me there without bringing me anything to eat?"

"They'd never brought you anything."

"Then when the time came to surrender me to my friends I should have been dead."

The cowman nodded his head.

"There ain't no doubt of that."

"And they couldn't have carried out their part of the agreement."

"Which the same they knowed."

"But it seems unreasonable. It would have placed both in peril, from which I cannot see how it was possible for them to escape. If they gave me up after receiving the money they would be safe against punishment. Why, then, should they place themselves in such great danger when they had nothing to gain and all to lose by doing so? That is what I can't understand, and I am sure my brain has become clearer."

It was the same view of the question that had puzzled Jack Dudley, and the two boys listened with interest to the explanation of the veteran.

"Tozer of himself would turn you over sound in limb and body; but, since it was the Sioux who done all the work, as you have showed us, Bill had to make a sort of compromise with the villain, and that compromise was that you should be left with Motoza till the hour come fur you to be produced. That was the price Bill had to pay Motoza fur what he done. It wasn't Tozer, but the Sioux, that was fixing things so as to starve you to death."

The cowman spoke with a deliberation and seriousness that left no doubt he believed every word uttered, and the boys were convinced he was right.

"Bill is as mean as they make 'em," added Hazletine, "but he'd rather grab a pile of money than kill a chap he don't like. It's t'other way with the Sioux. He likes money well 'nough, fur he knows it'll buy firewater, but the sweetest enjoyment he can have is to revenge himself on a person he hates, and from what I've heard he hates you as hard as he knows how."

"There is no doubt of that," said Jack; "I shall never forget the expression of his face when Fred made him give up my rifle."

Fred was thoughtful a moment, and then asked:

"Hank, what do you mean to do about Tozer?"

"Wal, until I larned your story I was fixed to shoot him on sight."

"But what of the agreement you would have to make before he gave me up?"

"I'd kept that the same as the other folks, but it wouldn't be long afore I'd git a chance to pick a quarrel with him over other matters, and then it would be him or me; and," added the cowman, with a grim smile, "I don't think it would be me."

"Do you still hold to that resolve?"

"I can't say that I do. I don't see that Bill meant any hurt except to make some money out of you, and he couldn't help taking chances on that. If he could have had his way he'd turned you over to us as well as when you left; so I think I'll wait to see what his next trick is to be afore I draw a bead on him. I'll take another plan—I'll give him the laugh."

"Give him the laugh!" repeated the wondering Jack Dudley; "what do you mean by that?"

"I'll meet him here to-morrer morning, and, after we've talked a while, let him see you or know how things stand, and then I'll just laugh at him till I drop to the ground and roll over on my back. Won't he feel cheap?"

The conceit was so odd that both boys smiled.

"That certainly is a curious way to punish a man for doing a wrong. It seems to me that, since he had so much to do with abducting Fred, he ought to be arrested, tried, and punished. He should be made to suffer for his crime."

Hank showed his hard sense by replying:

"I don't deny that, but there's no way of punishing him. He hasn't done a thing fur which you could make the court say he's guilty. The younker there that spent more time than he liked in the canyon has never even seed Bill Tozer. What reason, then, has he fur saying Bill had anything to do with the bus'ness?"

"Didn't he admit as much to you?"

"Not a word! He give himself away in his talk, but whenever he said anything 'bout things he reminded me it was all guesswork."

"Could not Motoza be made to swear against him?"

"He might, and he might not. If he did, why, Bill would swear t'other way, and make it look as if he was trying to play the friend for the younker. It would be like some folks, after the thing was over, proposing to buy Bill a gold medal fur showing himself such a good and noble man. No; my plan is best. When I give him the laugh he'll feel worse than if he was sent up fur ten years."

"It looks as if there is no other way of punishing him," remarked Fred; "but the case is different with Motoza."

"Wal, rather!"

It would be impossible to convey a true idea of the manner of Hank Hazletine when he uttered these words. He nodded his head, clinched his free hand, and his eyes seemed to flash fire.

"Do you mean to kill him, Hank?"

"O, no," was the scornful response; "I'm going to take his hand and tell him how much I love him. I'll wipe the paint off one cheek, so as to make room fur a brotherly kiss. I'll send him to your folks, that you may have him for a playmate. He'll be so sweet and nice among the little younkers. That's what I'll do with dear Motoza!"

It was impossible not to read the terrible purpose that lay behind all this. The boys made no mistake. Jack Dudley shuddered, but was silent. He knew the miscreant richly merited the threatened retribution, and yet he wished it were not impending.

Surely, if anyone was justified in calling down vengeance upon the head of the vagrant Sioux it was his victim—he who had felt his hatred, and whose physical sufferings must remind him of the same for weeks to come. But Fred Greenwood was in a gracious and forgiving mood. His heart throbbed when he recalled what he had so recently passed through, but he could not lose sight of the blessed fact that he had passed through it all. He was with his beloved comrade again, not much the worse for his experience. In truth he was a little homesick, and was stirred with sweet delight at the thought that, if all went well, he should be with his parents within the coming week.

And yet he was oppressed by the thought that one of the results of his short visit to Wyoming was to be the death of a human being. He was sure he could never shake off the remembrance, and should he ever wish to return in the future to renew his hunt under more favorable conditions, the memory would haunt him. It mattered not that the wretch deserved to be executed for the crime, in the commission of which he had been interrupted before he could complete it. He was a savage, a heathen, a barbarian, who was following the light as he understood it. Why, therefore, should not mercy be shown to him?

There are many things which Jack Dudley and Fred Greenwood have done during their youthful lives that are creditable to them, but there is none which gives the two greater pleasure than the remembrance of the moral victory gained in their argument with Hank Hazletine. Fred opened the plea, and his comrade quickly rallied to his help. Their aim was to convince their guide that it was wrong for him to carry out his purpose regarding the Sioux. That the fellow should be punished was not to be questioned, but it should be done in a legitimate way and by the constituted authorities. Hazletine insisted that the conditions were such that Motoza would never be thus punished, at least not to the extent he ought to be; therefore, it was the duty of Hazletine to attend to the matter himself.

The argument lasted for two hours. The boys were able, bright and ingenious, but they had truth on their side, and by and by the grim cowman showed signs of weakening. What knocked the props from under him was the fact which he was compelled to admit that the Sioux was only following the teachings he had received from infancy; that he lacked the light and knowledge with which Hazletine had been favored; that it was the duty of the white people to educate, civilize and Christianize the red men, who have been treated with cruel injustice from the very discovery of our country.

It cannot be said that the guide yielded with good grace, but yield he did, and the victory was secured. He pledged the boys not to offer any harm to Motoza for his last crime, and indeed would never harm him, unless it should become necessary in self defence.

"But I s'pose you hain't any 'bjection to my giving the laugh to Bill?" he said, with ludicrous dismay; "there ain't nothing wrong in that, is there?"

"Nothing at all," replied the pleased Fred; "we shall enjoy it as much as you."

"Which the same being the case, it's time you went to sleep; I'll keep watch and call you when I git ready."

Bidding their friend good-night, the boys wrapped themselves in their blankets and speedily sank into slumber.

The kind-hearted guide did not disturb either, and when they opened their eyes the sun was in the sky. Fred Greenwood was in a bad shape with his swollen and lacerated feet, but his naturally rugged frame recovered rapidly from the trying strain to which it had been subjected. He proved that his appetite was as vigorous as ever, and was eager to reach the ranch with the least possible delay. Hank promised him no time should be wasted.

A lookout was kept for Bill Tozer, the boys remaining in the cavern, where they could not be seen. There was the possibility, of course, that the man had learned of the escape of the young prisoner, but all doubt was removed when, at the appointed time, he appeared on the edge of the plateau and strode confidently to the point where Hazletine, just outside the cavern, awaited his coming.

The two shook hands and immediately got down to business. The scamp felt that he commanded the situation and he was disposed to push matters.

"I've been thinking over what you said yesterday," remarked the guide, "and have made up my mind that I can't do it."

"You can't, eh? It's the only thing you can do; Motoza insists that the price shall be ten thousand dollars, but I'll stick by the original agreement and call it half that sum."

"Let me see," said the cowman, thoughtfully; "you promise to give us back the younker safe and sound, provided his friends hand you five thousand dollars?"

"That's it; you understand the whole business. You know, of course, Hank, that I'm only acting as the friend——"

"Don't git over any more of that stuff, Bill. Are we to give you the money afore you produce the younker?"

"Certainly; that's the only way to do business."

"S'pose you bring him, and then I'll ask his folks if they want to make you a present of five thousand dollars—how'll that work?"

Tozer broke into laughter.

"You ought to be ashamed to talk such nonsense. The only way by which you can see your young friend again is to hand us the money, give a pledge not to ask any questions or try to punish Motoza or me——"

The jaw of the man suddenly dropped and he ceased speaking, for at that moment he saw Jack Dudley and his limping companion walk out from the cavern and smilingly approach.

The whole truth flashed upon him. He was outwitted as he had never been outwitted before in all his life. Without speaking a syllable, he wheeled around and started at a rapid stride across the plateau toward the point where he had first appeared, with feelings which it is impossible to imagine.

And didn't Hank Hazletine "give him the laugh?" He bent over with mirth, staggering backward until he had to place his hand against the side of the cavern to save himself from falling. It really seemed as if his uproarious mirth must have penetrated a mile in every direction, and it did not cease until some minutes after the discomfited victim had disappeared. Jack and Fred laughed, too, until their sides ached; and who shall deny that there was not full cause for their merriment?

An hour later, the ponies, saddled and bridled, were threading their way out of the foot-hills for the ranch, which was reached without further incident. There the boys remained several days until Fred had recovered to a large extent from his hurts, when they rode to the station at Fort Steele, where they shook hands with the honest Hank Hazletine and bade him good-by.

And thus it came about that on the first Monday in the following November Jack Dudley and Fred Greenwood were in their respective seats at school, as eager and ambitious to press their studies as they had been to visit Bowman's ranch, in Southwestern Wyoming, in which ranch, by the way, they advised Mr. Dudley to retain his half-ownership.

"It's worth all it cost you, father," said Jack, "and perhaps one of these days you will want the V. W. W. to go out and take another look at it."

"Perhaps," was the dubious reply of the parent.

THE END