At the last minute Captain Moore had given the boys half a dozen rockets, and explained how the fireworks were to be set off. Everything they could do to puzzle the enemy was to be done.

At last they gained the top of Conner's Hill--so called because Major Conner fell there while battling with some stage-robbers early in the seventies.

Bringing around his bugle, Ca.s.s blew a long blast and then a regular military call, which echoed and re-echoed throughout the mountains.

This was followed by a long roll on the drum, and then another call on the bugle.

After this all waited impatiently, gazing in the direction of the fort, which was, of course, hidden in the darkness.

"There they go!" cried Joe, and as he spoke two rockets flared up, dying out almost instantly.

The boys had planted two of the fireworks given them, and now these were touched off and went hissing skyward, leaving a trail of sparks behind.

Two minutes later a single rocket went up from the fort.

"That's the last," observed old Benson.

"I'll wager that will set the Indians and the desperadoes to thinking,"

said Ca.s.s.

"They'll think some more when they see a camp-fire over Decker's Falls,"

put in Bernstein. "They'll imagine that they are being surrounded."

"Don't be too sure," came from the old scout. "White Ox is no fool. He has been through too much fighting. If we can only make him hold off a bit that's as much as we can expect. You can bet he'll have spies up here in less than an hour from now."

The march was now for Decker's Falls, a distance three miles to the westward. Again they advanced in Indian file, Bernstein now leading and old Benson bringing up the rear.

A mile had been covered, when the regular in front called a halt.

"A small camp is ahead," he said. "There, through the trees."

Without delay old Benson went forward to investigate.

He found three desperadoes talking earnestly among themselves, while warming some coffee over a small fire.

Listening to their talk he learned that they had been out on the trails leading to Fort Prescott, and had come in with the news that no re-enforcements for Fort Carson were within forty miles of the latter place.

"Gilroy and White Ox will be glad to hear our news," said one of the crowd. "They've been afraid all along Colonel Fairfield had sent out for aid."

Not stopping to hear anything further, old Benson crawled back to the place where he had left the others.

"We must capture those men, dead or alive," he said. "If they carry their news to the enemy there will be another attack on the fort within an hour."

Leaving the drum, bugle, and remaining rockets in a safe place, our friends advanced until all could see the three desperadoes quite plainly.

One of the fellows was unknown to Joe, but the others were Gus Fetter and Nat Potts.

The desperadoes had placed their rifles against a tree, and old Benson motioned to the boys to secure the weapons.

As Joe grabbed up two of the firearms and Darry the third, the desperadoes leaped to their feet in alarm.

"Hands up!" sang out old Benson. "Hands up, or you are all dead men!"

The scout's rifle was raised, and so were the weapons of Ca.s.s and Bernstein, and the desperadoes found themselves at a disadvantage.

Yet Fetter was game, and he quickly reached for a pistol hanging in his belt.

But the movement, quick as it was, was not quick enough for Bernstein, and as the regular's rifle rang out Fetter fell headlong across the camp-fire.

"Do you surrender?" asked old Benson.

"Yes," came from Potts, sulkily, and his companion said the same. In the meantime Fetter had rolled from the camp-fire and was breathing his last at Potts' feet.

The sight was a thrilling one, and caused Joe and Darry to shudder.

"Can't I do something for that poor wretch?" asked Joe, of Benson, but before the old scout could answer Fetter breathed his last.

In a few minutes more Potts was made a close prisoner.

While he was being tied up, the third man made a quick leap into the woods.

"After him!" cried Benson, and Ca.s.s and Bernstein did as commanded. Soon the desperado and the two regulars were out of sight and hearing.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

BURNING OF THE STOCKADE.

"What will you do with him?" asked Joe of Benson, as he pointed to Nat Potts.

"Don't be hard on me," pleaded Potts. "I meant you no harm."

"You ought to be hung," grunted the old scout. "You aint fit to live and you know it, Potts. You could make an honest living if you wanted to, but you would rather cheat and steal."

"It was Matt Gilroy who got me into this," answered Potts. "He----"

"Don't put it off on to somebody else, Potts!" cried the old scout wrathfully. "If you aint got backbone enough to be honest, it's your own fault."

"Will you let me go, if I promise to leave this Territory?" asked Potts eagerly.

"No, sirree!" was Benson's answer. "You shall suffer the full extent of the law, and don't you forget it!"

While waiting for the return of Ca.s.s and Bernstein, the old scout searched Potts and the dead body of Fetter, taking away all their weapons and some papers which Potts carried.

These papers showed how deep-laid was the plot which the desperadoes had formed to gain possession of the money stored at Fort Carson, and how they had duped the Indians under White Ox and other chiefs to a.s.sist them.

At last Ca.s.s and Bernstein came back, all out of breath with running.