Chapter III: Trapped

Having adjusted their blankets to their shoulders, Shaw set about finding a suitable hiding place for his note, while his fellow comrade made ready a "broken staff"--a sign which, seen by any Mounted Scout, told him that important information had been hidden by a fellow member of the service.

The preparation of the symbol was simple.

Cutting a green branch from a near-by shrub, Jennings broke the top, letting the end hang down, and then set the "broken staff" in the middle of the trail, with the hanging tip on the side toward the spot where Shaw had hidden the note--which happened to be under a stone placed against the boulder.

Interestedly the youngster watched the placing of this signal that served as a method of communication between the scouts not in the "rules and regulations," being one of the many signs that had been devised by the men themselves and, therefore, only to be learned by experience.

"Suppose some one else sees the signal. Won't they remove it or read the note?" asked Scotty.

"Not much," returned Shaw. "That the 'broken staff' is one of the Scouts' signals is known to most travelers of the trails. But, just what it means, they don't know, and they have a mighty wholesome respect for it. Why, I've seen men ride ten feet around one of 'em so's to be sure not to interfere with it."

"But, hasn't any scout told what it means?"

"Not yet!" returned Jennings, with an emphasis that was significant. "And there's a bullet waiting for the man who betrays the secret signals of the Mounted Scouts. It's a part of our unwritten code. You'll find, kiddo, after you've served a bit, that there's more in our unwritten rules than in the ones the colonel beat into your noddle."

"But, how can I learn them?" the youngster inquired, his eagerness to master the mysteries of his calling evident in his voice.

"By keeping your eyes and ears open when you're on patrol," replied Shaw.

During the latter part of this conversation, the trio had made their way, for a second time, down to the plateau, whence their horses had been spirited away.

And, as Shaw had predicted, the sunlight enabled them to learn the manner of their silent departure.

Dropping to his knees with a sudden exclamation, the veteran studied intently for a few minutes the ground surrounding a spot where the shoe prints showed where one of the horses had stood, then got up, a look of utter disgust on his face.

"Say, Jennings, you and me ought to go back to the 'rookie' school," he snorted. "Red worked the old game of binding the hoofs in rags, and here we never thought of it."

Without reply, the other veteran scanned the marks discovered by his fellow, evincing his confirmation by a corroborative nod of his head as he rose to his feet.

But his next move showed that he did not take the trick calmly.

"You may have caught us napping this time, Red Rogers!" he hissed, shaking his fist menacingly. "But, before Andy Jennings is through with you, you'll wish you'd never lifted his pony!"

"Same here," grunted Shaw.

And without more ado, the three scouts who had been so humiliated by the notorious outlaw, took up the task of recovering their horses and bringing the desperadoes to justice.

Cautiously, with eye and ears alert, they followed the tracks up the mountainside.

Far above them, on a plateau to the right of the trail, a different scene was presented.

At the back of the shelf of land, which was some forty feet wide, rose a wall of rock, severed by a wide cleft. Deep within this, the fitful flare of a camp fire glowed, disclosing the forms of two men and a woman, while browsing contentedly near the entrance, but on the plateau, were the three army horses.

Fairly bristling were the men with guns and knives, while only by her skirts did the girl differ in appearance from her companions, for she, too, wore a cartridge belt about her waist, into which were thrust two six shooters and a bowie-knife.

"It was worth all the risk to hear the scouts cry 'Red Rogers,'" declared the outlaw, as he recounted the incidents of his discovery to his companions.

And jeering were the comments made upon the stupidity of the scouts by the others.

"What do you suppose they'll do now, go back to the Fort for reinforcements?" asked the girl.

"Most likely," asserted the other man.

But the outlaw held a different opinion.

"I'll bet all the gold in my belt against a pebble they're on our trail now. That's why I left the horses on the plateau where they could be seen."

"But what's the use of running the risk of a gun shot so soon, Red?" demanded the girl.

"There won't be any risk, Rosie," returned the desperado. "But, even if there was, I'd take it. I need those scouts as bad as we did their horses."

This statement puzzled Red's companions. For a few moments they sought to reason it out, then gave it up and asked, almost in the same breath.

"Why?"

"Because with them in my power, I can make some sort of terms in case the other scouts surround me. If I'd had a couple of hostages, I'd never have been caught the last time."

Readily recognizing the advantage such a capture would give them, the girl jumped to her feet.

"Let's go out and see if they're trailing us," she exclaimed, hurrying to the mouth of the cave.

But, before she could pass out onto the plateau, Red halted her.

"Come back here, Rosie," he commanded. "If you're so keen to know, I'll find out. While I'm willing to let the scouts see the ponies, I want them to think I'm asleep."

These words showed plainly the calculating cunning of the bandit.

As he reached the mouth of the cave, Red dropped on his belly and with infinite caution wormed himself across the plateau to the edge.

And the sight that greeted his eyes almost caused him to shout with glee.

Climbing steadily, came the three scouts.

Easily could the outlaw have picked them off with his rifle. But, as he explained to Rosie, he wanted them alive.

Stealthily working his way back, Red re-entered the cave.

"Come on. They're almost here," he chuckled, grimly. "Pedro, you take the first man. Let him get far enough onto the plateau so the second one won't turn back. I'll take him. Rosie, you cover the third fellow with your six shooters. When Pedro and I have bound our men, we'll attend to yours.

"Careful, now. Pedro, bring the lariats. Down on your bellies. There are some rocks we can hide behind. Remember--a sound may spoil the whole game."

With consummate stealth, the desperadoes gained their hiding places and, every sense alert, awaited the scouts' appearance.

In utter ignorance of the trap laid for them, Jennings, Shaw and Scotty toiled up the trail, in the order named.

Without difficulty, they had traced the route taken by the horses because the iron shoes against the rocky trail had cut the rags, leaving telltale prints here and there.

With the sun, the wind had arisen and as a gust blew down from the direction of the plateau, Jennings stopped in his tracks, sniffed the air excitedly, then threw his rifle to a "ready."

"Our ponies are close at hand. I smell 'em;" he breathed to his companions. "Watch out, now. Don't shoot until you can make your shot count."

Cautiously the trio resumed their ascent.

And as Jennings' head rose above the level of the plateau, again he stopped.

But this time he did not speak.

Holding up three fingers, he nodded toward the shelf of rock, then beckoned his companions to join him, placing his fingers on his lips to enjoin silence.

With rifle butts at their shoulders, the scouts mounted the plateau in single file.

The sight of the ponies brought grins of delight to their faces.

"Where can Red be?" breathed Scotty.

"Asleep, probably," returned Shaw.

But scarce had the words left their lips than the scouts were made aware of their falsity.

With yells, bloodcurdling in their ferocity, the outlaw and Pedro leaped upon the backs of Shaw and Jennings, respectively, carrying them to the ground, while Rosie, boring the muzzles of her six shooters into Scotty's back, hissed:

"Move a muscle, and I'll pump your carcass full of lead!"