As we never talked much on the trail, especially when we might be near the enemy, Fitzpatrick made a sign that we climb straight to the top of the slope and follow along there, to strike the trail. And if the fellows had turned off anywhere, in gulch or to camp, we were better fixed above them than below them.

We scouted carefully along this ridge, and came to a gulch. A path led through, where cattle had traveled, and in the damp dirt were the burro tracks. Hurrah! They were soft and fresh.

The sun was going to set early, in a cloud bank, and those fellows would be camping soon. It was no use to rush them when they were traveling; they had guns and would hang on to the burros. The way to do was to crawl into their camp. So we traveled slower, in order to give them time to camp.

After a while we smelled smoke. The timber was thick, and the general and I each climbed a tree, to see where that smoke came from. I was away at the top of a pine, and from that tree the view was grand. Pilot Peak stood up in the wrong direction, as if we had been going around, and mountains and timber were everywhere. I saw the smoke. And away to the north, ten miles, it seemed to me I could see another smoke, with the sun showing it up. It was a column smoke, and I guessed that it was a smoke signal set by the three Scouts we had left, to show us where camp was.

But the smoke that we were after rose in a blue haze above the trees down in a little park about a quarter of a mile on our right. We left a "warning" sign, and stalked the smoke.

Although Fitzpatrick has only one whole arm, he can stalk as well as any of us. We advanced cautiously, and could smell the smoke stronger and stronger; we began to stoop and to crawl and when we had wriggled we must halt and listen. We could not hear anybody talking.

The general led, and Fitz and I crawled behind him, in a snake scout. I think that maybe we might have done better if we had stalked from three directions. Everything was very quiet, and when we could see where the fire ought to be we made scarcely a sound. The general brushed out of his way any twigs that would crack.

It was a fine stalk. We approached from behind a cedar, and parting the branches the general looked through. He beckoned to us, and we wriggled along and looked through. There was a fire, and our flags stuck beside it, and Sally and Apache standing tied to a bush, and blankets thrown down--but not anybody at home! The two fellows must be out fishing or hunting, and this seemed a good chance.

The general signed. We all were to rush in, Fitz would grab the flag, and I a burro and the general a burro, and we would skip out and travel fast, across country.

I knew that by separating and turning and other tricks we would outwit those two kids, if we got any kind of a start.

We listened, holding our breath. n.o.body seemed near. Now was the time.

The general stood, Fitz and I stood, and in we darted. Fitz grabbed the flag, and I was just hauling at Sally while the general slashed the picket-ropes with his knife, when there rose a tremendous yell and laugh and from all about people charged in on us.

Before we could escape we were seized. They were eight to our three. Two of them were the two kids Bat and Walt, and the other six were town fellows--Bill Duane, Tony Matthews, Bert Hawley, Mike Delavan, and a couple more.

How they whooped! We felt cheap. The camp had been a trap. The two kids Bat and Walt had come upon the other crowd accidentally, and had told about us and that maybe we were trailing them, and they all had ambushed us. We ought to have reconnoitered more, instead of thinking about stalking. We ought to have been more suspicious, and not have underestimated the enemy. (Note 35.) This was just a made-to-order camp. The camp of the town gang was about three hundred yards away, lower, in another open place, by a creek. They tied our arms and led us down there.

"Aw, we thought you fellers were Scouts!" jeered Bat. "You're easy."

He and Walt took the credit right to themselves.

"What do you want with us?" demanded General Ashley, of Bill Duane. "We haven't done anything to harm you."

"We'll show you," said Bill. "First we're going to skin you, and then we're going to burn you at the stake, and then we're going to kill you."

Of course we knew that he was only fooling; but it was a bad fix, just the same. They might keep us, for meanness; and Major Henry and Kit Carson and Jed Smith wouldn't know exactly what to do and we'd be wasting valuable time. That was the worst: we were delaying the message!

And I had myself to blame for this, because I went to sleep on guard. A little mistake may lead to a lot of trouble.

And now the worst happened. When they got us to the main camp Bill Duane walked up to General Ashley and said: "Where you got that message, Red?"

"What message?" answered General Ashley.

"Aw, get out!" laughed Bill. "If we untie you will you fork it over or do you want me to search you?"

"'Tisn't your message, and if I had it I wouldn't give it to you. But you'd better untie us, just the same. And we want those burros and our flags."

"Hold him till I search him, fellows," said Bill. "He's got it, I bet.

He's the Big Scout."

Fitz and I couldn't do a thing. One of the gang put his arm under the general's chin and held him tight, and Bill Duane went through him. He didn't find the message in any pockets; but he saw the buckskin thong, and hauled on it, and out came the packet from under the general's shirt.

Bill put it in his own pocket.

"There!" he said. "Now what you going to do about it?"

The general was as red all over as his hair and looked as if he wanted to fight or cry. Fitz was white and red in spots, and I was so mad I shook.

"Nothing, now," said the general, huskily. "You don't give us a chance to do anything. You're a lot of cowards--tying us up and searching us, and taking our things."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BILL DUANE WENT THROUGH HIM."]

Then they laughed at us some more, and all jeered and made fun, and said that they would take the message through for us. I tell you, it was humiliating, to be bound that way, as prisoners, and to think that we had failed in our trust. As Scouts we had been no good--and I was to blame just because I had fallen asleep at my post.

They were beginning to quit laughing at us, and were starting to get supper, when suddenly I heard horse's hoofs, and down the bridle path that led along an edge of the park rode a man. He heard the noise and he saw us tied, I guess, for he came over.

"What's the matter here?" he asked.

The gang calmed down in a twinkling. They weren't so brash, now.

"Nothin'," said Bill.

"Who you got here? What's the rumpus?" he insisted.

"They've taken us prisoners and are keeping us, and they've got our burros and flags and a message," spoke up the general.

He was a small man with a black mustache and blackish whiskers growing.

He rode a bay horse with a K Cross on its right shoulder, and the saddle had bra.s.s-bound stirrups. He wore a black slouch hat and was in black shirt-sleeves, and ordinary pants and shoes.

"What message?" he asked.

"A message we were carrying."

"Where?"

"Across from our town to Green Valley."

"Why?"

"Just for fun."

"Aw, that's a lie. They were to get twenty-five dollars for doing it on time. Now we cash it in ourselves," spoke Bill. "It was a race, and they don't make good. See?"

That was a lie, sure. We weren't to be paid a cent--and we didn't want to be paid.

"Who's got the message now?" asked the man.

"He has," said the general, pointing at Bill.

"Let's see it."