One white man, who lead um, him get shot up a great lot. Him in no shape to lead um some more. So white men they wait for more men to come. Now they very much tired. They sleep a lot. Come down see um sleep. You like it."

Of a sudden the truth dawned on Frank.

"Why, you clever old rascal!" he laughed. "Hanged if I don't believe you've drugged them some way!"

"Joe he give um medicine, that all," protested the redskin. "Sometimes medicine make um sleep. Come see."

"Come on," said Frank, "we will follow this slick old rascal and find out how hard they are sleeping."

As they approached the cabins at the lower end of the valley they saw the fires were dying down, while from that locality no longer came shouts and singing, and, in truth, all the ruffians seemed fast asleep on the ground, where they had fallen or flung themselves.

Unhesitatingly Crowfoot led them amid the ma.s.s of drugged men, and the sinking firelight revealed on his leathery face a ghost of a shriveled smile.

"Medicine heap good sometimes," he observed. "Strong Heart find him enemies sleeping. Mebbe he takes hatchet and chop um up? Joe he get many scalps."

"You're a dandy, Crowfoot!" laughed Frank. "Here they are, Curry, the whole bunch. You can gather them and escort them to Cottonwood, or anywhere you please."

"And a great haul it is, pard," nodded Curry. "I sees three gents now what has rewards offered for them. It's my opinion that they hangs. Get to work, boys, and we will tie up the whole bunch so they can't wiggle when they awake."

Old Joe looked on in apparent dissatisfaction and dismay.

"You no chop um up some?" he questioned. "You no kill um a heap. Then what Joe him get? He no have a scalp."

"What do you get, Joe?" exclaimed Merry. "You have saved my mines for me. You get anything you want--anything but scalps."

CHAPTER XVIII.

A BUNCH OF PRISONERS.

Pete Curry and his two deputies set off the next morning with their prisoners--thirteen in all. They were taking the ruffians direct to the nearest point where they could be confined and afterward delivered for trial into the hands of certain officers, who would take several of them to different parts of Arizona where they had committed crimes. At noon the second day they reached a point in a barren valley where the sun beat fiercely. Scorched mountains rose to the east and west. They came to a halt.

In the party of sixteen there were only three horses, ridden by the officers. The prisoners had been compelled to tramp over the desert, the mountains, and valleys. The wrists of each captive were bound behind his back.

A tough-looking, desperate lot they were, taken all together. There were Mexicans and men with Indian blood in their veins among them. They had weather-beaten, leathery, bearded faces. Many of them had a hangdog expression. Their eyes were shiftless and full of treachery.

It was a most important capture for Curry, as there were among those men desperate characters for whose apprehension rewards had been offered. In short, it was a round-up of criminals that would make Curry's name known as that of a wonderfully successful officer of the law. He was proud of his accomplishment, although he regretfully admitted to himself that he deserved very little credit for it. He and his two companions had already been well paid by Frank Merriwell.

Now, with his weapons ready, Curry was watching the prisoners, while his two companions sought for water in the bed of the creek.

"How are you hitting her, Bill?" he called.

"She's moist, Pete," answered one of the diggers. "There's water here."

"It takes a right good while for her to gather in the hole," said the other digger. "If we makes a hole big enough, we will have some in an hour or so."

Curry took a look at the sky, the mountains, and the westering sun.

"Well, I opines we stops here a while," he said. "We may as well."

A big, burly fellow among the captives carelessly stalked toward Curry, who watched him with a keen eye.

"I say, Pete," said the prisoner familiarly, "mebbe you tells me just how this yere thing happens. I am a whole lot bothered over it."

"Why, Bland, I has you--I has you foul," retorted Curry, with a grim smile.

"That I certain admits," nodded the other; "but how it was did is what puzzles me a-plenty."

"You has some bad habits, Bland," returned the captor. "You monkeys with firewater, and, for a man like you, with a price on him, it's a keerless thing to do."

"No firewater ever lays me out," proudly retorted he of the drooping black mustache. "I knows my capacity when it come to the real stuff. But what I gits against this yere time is different a whole lot."

The deputy sheriff smiled again.

"Mebbe you're right, Bland," he admitted. "You thinks yourself a heap clever, but this time you is fooled right slick."

Texas Bland frowned.

"I confess, Pete, that it cuts me deep to realize it, but it certain is a fact that I gits tripped up. However, how it happened is what I wants ter know. There sure was dope in that booze."

"Likely you're correct," nodded Curry.

"How does it git there?"

"Have you noticed a certain old Injun in this bunch sence we started out?" asked the officer.

"No," said Bland, shaking his head. "I looks fer him some, but he is not yere. Does yer mean to insinuate that the old varmint loaded this bunch with dope?"

"Well, how does it look to you?"

"Why, ding his old pelt!" exclaimed the captive indignantly. "Some of the boys knowed him. Some o' them had seen him afore. One or two had seen him to their sorrer. They say to me that he plays poker somewhat slick. When he comes ambling into our camp, seeming a whole lot jagged hisself, I was a bit suspicious; but the boys what knowed him says he is all right, and so I takes a drink with him. Arter that I gits a heap sleepy and snoozes. Next I knows you is there, Pete, and you has us nailed solid."

"That's about the way of it," nodded Curry.

"And the old whelp dopes us, does he!" growled Texas Bland. "Whatever does he do that fer?"

"Why, Bland, that yere old redskin is a friend of Mr. Merriwell. He gives you the dope to help Merriwell. When we comes down into the valley there and finds you all sleeping sweetly, the old Injun proposes to scalp you up some. To be course, we objects, and then he seems mighty disappointed-like. He seems to think he is cheated. He seems to reckon that, having done the job so slick, your scalps belong to him."

Bland listened with a strange look on his face and a vengeful glare in his deepset eyes.

"So that's however it is!" he growled. "Well, I am some glad I finds it out."

"Mebbe it relieves your mind some of worry," returned the captor; "but it does you little good."

"Don't you think it!" returned Bland harshly. "I settles with that old Injun, you bet your boots!"