It was a long, tedious climb back up the side of the slope.
With almost every step the night watchman and the Mexican clamored for a hearing, for details of the charge against them, but they met with scant courtesy. Both Nestor and Lieutenant Gordon understood that they were fearful that they were to be taken at once back to New York, in which case they would be deprived of a chance to plunder the hidden mine, which they had come so far to find. Nestor had explained, very briefly, to the lieutenant that the Mexican and the watchman were there in quest of treasure, but had not confided to him the whole story of the Cameron tragedy, it being separate and distinct from the issue which had brought the secret service men to Mexico.
Don Miguel maintained a dignified silence--as dignified as a panting man can hold--through-out the tiresome journey, except on one occasion. Once, while the night watchman was violently demanding information concerning the crime with which he was to be charged, the diplomat asked:
"Why are you so silent concerning the man's alleged crime?
It appears to me that you are conducting an abduction rather than an arrest. I, also, am anxious to know something of the charges against me.""You shall know in good time," replied the lieutenant.
"I believe," Don Miguel went on, "that I can convince even you, prejudiced though you are, that you are making a great mistake--a costly mistake, both for yourself and your government.""When we reach the tents I will listen to you," was the short reply, and the little party went on its way in silence for a long time, silent save for the mutterings of the Mexican and his fellow-conspirator, as Nestor believed the watchman to be.
Moonlight lay like a silver mist over the stubborn paths the party was following. Moving objects could be observed at a great distance, where the character of the surface permitted, and now and then moving bodies of men were discernible on the slopes of faraway peaks. Don Miguel's dusky face seemed to brighten, his eyes to gather almost a smile, whenever such parties were seen. It was plain to his captors that he looked upon the wandering bands as friendly to his interests.
Always the marching men--if scrambling up a mountain side in undignified positions may justly be described as marching--were headed for heights above. All were proceeding as silently as possible, too, and that gave an air of secrecy, of mystery, to the wild scenery and the romantic moonlight. Occasionally the flickering gold of a camp-fire mingled with the silver of the moon.
Just before dawn, when the members of the party were nearly ready to drop from exhaustion, a sharp challenge rang out ahead, and Lieutenant Gordon gave a word which caused a cautious guard to withdraw his threatening gun, and to hasten forward to greet his chief. With his first breath he asked a question.
"Have you seen anything of those confounded boys?""The drummer and the Bowery lad?" asked the lieutenant. "Why, we left them with you when we went down the hill.""Well, they're gone!" exclaimed the guard, despondently.
"Gone!" repeated Nestor, stepping forward. "Where have they gone?
Has anything been heard of Fremont?"
"Not a word," said the guard, answering only the last question.
"It is my idea that the other boys sneaked off in the hope of finding him. I sent them into one of the tents to sleep, and when I looked in a short time later, they were not there.""It is certain that they were not carried off?" asked Lieutenant Gordon.
"Certain," was the reply. "We watched the tents every second.""And yet the boys got away without being seen," said the lieutenant, angrily.
"I don't see how they did it," was the abashed reply.
"I have little doubt that they have been carried away by the men who captured Fremont," Nestor said, gravely. "Still, it may be that they have only wandered off in search of the boy. It is a serious situation.""The mountain is swarming with men," the lieutenant said. "The only wonder is that we have not been attacked. I fear that the boys have been captured, even if they only wandered away to look for their friend."Nestor walked restlessly about the little camp for a moment and then looked into the two tents, as if expecting to find some one there.
"Where is Shaw?" he asked, then, alarm in his voice. "Where is the boy we sent on ahead of us? He must have reached here a long time ago."The guards looked surprised at the question.
"Why," one of them said, "no one came here from below but yourselves.
We have seen no one."
Nestor stood for a moment as if he thought the men were playing a trick on him, then the gravity of the situation asserted itself. What mischief was afoot in the mountains? Why had the boys disappeared, while there had been no attempt to obstruct the passage of the secret service men as they moved about?
"It seems, then, that there is another lost boy," said Lieutenant Gordon.
"That makes four. It is most remarkable."
"Yes," said Nestor, "Fremont, Jimmie, Shaw, and this drummer you told me about. I think we have our work cut out for us now.""It is the second time Peter Fenton has been lost to-night," Gordon said, with a smile. "He was lost and we found him--lost and hungry, but full of courage.""Peter Fenton!" exclaimed Nestor. "I know him well as a member of the Panther Patrol. A bright boy, and full of information concerning Mexico.
