last the boys saw of him he had gotten hold of a fat, good-natured little man, who looked like a drummer, and they could hear frequent exclamations of "Bah!" coming back toward them, like the explosions of a rapid-fire gun. A moment later the stage vanished behind a rocky turn in the road.
Soon after the boys were called in to supper. Among the company at the meal was a tall man with a black mustache drooping down each side of his mouth in typical Western fashion.
"He looks like the pictures of Alkali Ike," remarked Joe in an undertone as they concluded the meal and arose, leaving the black-mustached man and the others still eating.
Outside they found it was a beautiful night. The storm of the afternoon had laid the dust, and the moon was rising brilliantly in the clear and sharp atmosphere peculiar to the high regions of the Sierras. In the silvery radiance every rock and bush was outlined sharply. The road lay between black curtains of mountainside, like a stretch of white ribbon.
"Let's go for a stroll," suggested Nat, as they stood about on the veranda wondering what they could do with themselves till bedtime.
The other two were nothing loath, and so, without bothering to say a word to any one, the lads sauntered off down the road. The balmy scent of pines and the mountain laurel hung heavily in the air. Nat inhaled it delightedly.
"I tell you, fellows, this is living," he exclaimed.
"You bet," agreed Joe heartily.
"T-t-t-that p-p-pie was f-f-fine," said the unpoetical Ding-dong, smacking his lips at the recollection of the dessert.
"There you go," said Nat in mock disgust, "always harping on eating."
"T-th-that's b-b-better-phwit – than eating on harpoons, isn't it?" asked Ding-dong, with a look of injured innocence.
"I said harping on eating. Not harpoons on eating," retorted Nat.
"Oh," said Ding-dong. "Well, don't wail about it."
"Say, if you make any more puns I'll chuck you down into that canyon," threatened Joe, pointing downward into a black abyss which, at the portion of the road they had now reached, yawned to one side of the thoroughfare.
"You make me chuckle," grunted the incorrigible Ding-dong, avoiding the threatened fate, however, by clambering and hiding behind a madrone tree.
"Tell you what I'll do," cried Nat suddenly.
"Well, what?" demanded Joe, as Nat stopped short.
"I'll run you fellows a race to the bottom of the hill."
"You're on," cried Ding-dong from his retreat, and emerging immediately thereafter, "don't bust your emergency brake though, or we'll have more trouble."
He peered ahead down the moonlit canyon, and noted that the road was quite steep for a distance of about a quarter of a mile.
The boys were all good runners and experts, in fact, at all branches of athletics. Their blood fairly tingled as Nat lined them up and they stood awaiting the word "go."
At last it came.
Like arrows from so many bows the three boys shot forward, Ding-dong in the lead. How his stubby legs did move! Like pistons in their speed and activity. There was no question about it, Ding-dong could run. Five feet or so behind him came Joe and at his rear was Nat, who, knowing that he was ordinarily a faster runner than either, had handicapped himself a bit.
He speedily overhauled the others, however, although Ding-dong gave him a stiff tussle. Reaching the finishing line, Nat looked back up the moonlit road. Ding-dong and Joe were speeding toward him neck and neck.
"Go it, Ding-dong!" yelled Nat, "come on, Joe."
In a cloud of dust and small rocks the two contestants rushed on. Suddenly one of Ding-dong's feet caught in a rock, and at the impetus he had attained, the sudden shock caused him to soar upward into the air, as if he were about to essay a flight through space.
Extending his arms spread-eagle fashion, the fleshy, stuttering youth floundered above the ground for a brief second, and then, as Joe dashed across the line he came down with a resounding crash. Flat on his face he fell in the middle of the dusty road.
"Pick him up," exclaimed Nat as he saw the catastrophe.
Joe, who had by this time checked his speed, headed about after Nat, and started for the recumbent Ding-dong. As they neared his side, however, the lad jumped up with a grin on his rotund features.
"Fooled you, didn't I?" he chuckled.
"Goo – d gracious. I thought you had fractured every bone in your body," exclaimed Nat.
"Can't hurt me; I'm made of cast-iron," snickered Ding-dong.
"I always knew that applied to your head," said Joe, determined to tease the boy a bit in revenge for the fright he had given them, "but I never realized before that the complaint had spread all over you."
"I'd have won the race anyhow if I hadn't taken that tumble," retorted Ding-dong, and as this seemed to be no more than the truth the others had nothing to say in rejoinder.
"I guess we had better be getting back to the hotel," said Nat, "we want to get an early start to-morrow, so a good night's sleep will be in order."
But the words were hardly out of his mouth before he stopped short.
The boy had heard voices, apparently coming from the air above them. He soon realized, however, that in reality the speakers were on the mountain-side above them. In fact, he now saw that a trail cut into the road above the point at which they stood. In their dash down the hill they had not noticed it. The other lads, who had also heard the voices, needed no comment to remain quiet.
While they stood listening a figure appeared on the trail, walking rapidly down it. As the newcomer drew closer the boys recognized the features and tall, ungainly outline of the man with the black mustache – "Alkali Ike." He came forward as if with a definite purpose in mind. Evidently, he was not, like the boys, out for a moonlight stroll.
As he approached he stopped and listened intently. Then he gave a low, peculiar whistle. It was like the call of a night bird.
Instantly, from the hill-side above them they heard the signal – for such it seemed – replied to.
At the same instant whoever was on the hillside above began to advance downward. The boys, crouching back in a patch of shadow behind a chaparral clump, could hear the slipping and sliding of their horses' hoofs as they came down the rocky pathway.
CHAPTER V
AN APPOINTMENT ON THE TRAIL
"Something's up," whispered Joe, as if this fact was not perfectly obvious.
"Hush," warned Nat, "that fellow who just came down the trail is the chap we noticed at supper."
"Alkali Ike?"
"Yes. That's what you called him."
"He must have a date here."
"Looks that way. If I don't miss my guess he's here to meet whoever is coming on horseback down that trail."
"Are you going to stay right here?"
"We might as well. I've got an idea somehow that these chaps are up to some mischief. It doesn't look just right for them to be meeting way off here."
"That's right," agreed Joe, "but supposing they are desperate characters. They may make trouble for us."
"I guess not," rejoined Nat, "we're well hidden in the shadow here. There's not a chance of their seeing us."
"Well I hope not."
But the arrival of the horsemen on the trail put a stop to further conversation right then. There were two of them, both, so far as the boys could see, big, heavy men, mounted on active little ponies. Their long tapaderos, or leather stirrup coverings, almost touched the ground as they rode.
"Hello, Al," exclaimed one of them, as the black mustached man came forward to meet them.
"Hello, boys," was the rejoinder in an easy tone as if the speaker had