"I wonder if Pedro is really here?" said Joe in low tones.
"Perhaps we shall soon know," Juan replied.
There was a warning whisper from Senor Marcheta.
"Silence!"
CHAPTER XII
The Prisoner
When Senor Marcheta and the two boys were close enough to the camp to distinguish what was going on, they lay perfectly still in the sand. They were at a safe distance beyond the radiance of the fire and well in the shadows of a sand dune that would afford protection of a kind, should they be forced to beat a hasty retreat.
The firelight shone upon about a dozen men and women who appeared to be gypsies. They were clad in quaint, colorful costumes, and two of the girls were dancing to the soft music of the guitar. After a while a man lying near one of the tents began to sing. It was evident that the party had no suspicion that they were being watched.
Suddenly Joe gripped Juan's arm.
''Look!" he whispered. ''On the flap of the largest tent. Do you see if?"
Juan followed the direction of Joe's pointing finger.
"I see a mark," he whispered in reply. "The fire is burning too low to give enough light for me to make it out clearly. Ah, the flames are rising again. I can see better now. Why, it is the same–the same mark–"
"That was on the door of your home," returned Joe excitedly.
They could see it distinctly now in the light east by the flickering flames. It was the familiar symbol of the letter P in a blaze of fagots, the same strange symbol the Hardy boys had found on the door of Pedro Vincenzo's room in Bayport. Juan and Joe were puzzled over this odd coincidence, with the latter positive now that Pedro Vincenzo must have some connection with the camp.
The music died away, the dancing girls crouched down beside the fire, and a man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall and dark-skinned, with coal black hair, and wore a 'scrape flung carelessly about his shoulders.
He began to speak to the others in Spanish, which Joe could not understand. Juan, however, listened intently and after a while translated the speaker's remarks.
"He is complaining," whispered Juan. "He says they have not been paid for a long time. Their supplies are running low. He wants to know if the others are content to wait here much longer."
There was a low murmur of dissent from the men around the fire. The speaker paced up and down, gesticulating, talking in a loud, harsh voice.
Juan gave a start of surprise.
"Pedro!" he whispered. "He mentions the name Pedro."
He listened for a while, then continued.
"If Pedro does not come soon they will have to go out and steal."
One of the listeners spoke up in a quiet, authoritative voice. Juan translated:
"This man says that they must not steal. They are fools, he tells them, to wait for Pedro. He believes something has happened to Pedro, that he is either dead or in jail, and that he will never return."
The man in the serape –the one who seemed obviously to be the leader of the band–then spoke again.
"He is suggesting that they break camp and go home. It is only a day's ride west of the oasis."
The leader's talk seemed to make a distinct impression upon his followers. One man after another got up and spoke. Juan had some difficulty keeping up with them, but the sum and substance of it all appeared to be that they thought they had waited long enough, and that they would risk starvation in the desert should they remain.
"Pedro is not with them, that is certain," whispered Senior Marcheta. "I believe these are Pedro Pancho's followers, beyond a doubt. We have come on a wild-goose chase."
The leader then raised his hand for silence. He spoke only a few words, but what he said was evidently important. No one answered him and all his followers looked uneasily at one another.
"I cannot understand this," Juan whispered. "He asks them what they are to do with the American prisoner."
"Prisoner!" Joe almost shouted aloud. To him the words 'American prisoner' could mean only one man and that man was Elmer Tremmer, the missing witness.
Juan glanced curiously at Joe. He could not understand the reason for the other lad's excitement. He listened as the leader of the gang went on speaking.
"He is saying," Juan whispered finally, "that Pedro may never come for the prisoner if they take the American into the mountains with them. He is suggesting that they leave the man in the desert."
Evidently this idea was not favored by the others. Two or three of the men grunted objections. One of them, according to Juan, said that they must keep the prisoner if they ever hoped to get money from Pedro.
"Pedro may come. If we do not have the prisoner he will never pay us. But if we have the prisoner we can force Pedro to give us our money," the fellow argued.
Joe was greatly agitated. He craned his neck as he tried to get a better view of the camp, and attempted to see the faces of the people around the fire.
"I want to know more about that American," he whispered to Juan. "I wonder where they keep him. I'm going closer."
"Don't be foolish," the Mexican boy urged. "You may be caught."
"I'll be careful."
Although Juan and Senor Marcheta begged him to remain where he was, Joe began to crawl away through the sand. He wanted to work around to the rear of the camp in the hope that he might learn where the prisoner was being kept. In a few moments the darkness swallowed him up. Juan and his father were left alone on the slope.
Joe kept well out of range of the firelight. He crept slowly around toward the back of the tents, but this spot was quite deserted. Was the prisoner in one of the tents?
He was positive that the man must be Elmer Tremmer and that Pedro had left him there in charge of this roving band of natives. In any case, if the prisoner was an American he must be rescued. Perhaps when Frank and the Yaqui returned they might be able to think up a plan.
Some distance over toward the big pool of water that shone in the starlight Joe caught sight of a figure lying in the sand. Another form was crouching nearby, the figure of a native with a blanket flung over his shoulders and a rifle across his knees.
Joe went as close as he dared. He could hear the sounds of talk and laughter from the direction of the campfire. The rifle bearer stirred uneasily and looked about him. Joe lay motionless. The man shifted the blanket a little and settled down again. The figure in the sand did not move.
Inch by inch Joe crept nearer. He was sure that the man with the rifle was a guard and that the other was the American prisoner. The boy edged around so that he was behind the crouching form.
The figure lying in the sand moved an arm, groaned, then sat up. He yawned and stretched.
"Are you people trying to starve me?" he muttered. "I'm hungry."
The guard growled something unintelligible.
"I wish somebody around here could talk English," said the prisoner bitterly.
He turned at that moment and the light of the fire shone dimly upon his face. Joe could not see the man very clearly, so he edged forward a little more, trying to get into a position where he could catch a glimpse of the prisoner's features.
"I don't see why you have to watch me all the time," grumbled the American. "Don't worry. I won't run away."
The native did not answer.
Just then the prisoner turned slightly and the light fell clearly upon his face. Joe leaned forward, staring.
Had he found Elmer Tremmer, the missing witness, at last?
CHAPTER XIII
The Rider's Clue
Joe Hardy knew Elmer Tremmer by sight. He had seen the man in Bayport several times and remembered him as a quiet, inoffensive little fellow, a rather gray, inconsequential man of about fifty. Elmer Tremmer, as Joe remembered him, had a gray mustache and wore hornrimmed glasses.
Now, as the light fell upon the face of the prisoner in the desert, Joe suppressed a murmur of disappointment. This man wore no glasses. Neither had he a mustache, but this was not surprising, as the barber in the Texas town had intimated that Elmer Tremmer had had his mustache removed. The prisoner's face was unshaven and there was a stubble of half-grown beard about his chin. In the dim light Joe was unable to identify him.
A moment later the man turned his head away. Joe wished heartily that he had known the missing witness better when he was in Bayport. Then he might have identified the man by his voice.
Suddenly, from over in front of the tents, he heard a shout of alarm. Yells of excitement broke out. A man came running out of the firelight and called to the prisoner's guard. In a moment the sentinel leaped to his feet and urged the American before him into one of the tents. Joe could see men running back and forth.
"They've caught Juan and Senor Marcheta!" he thought.
Quickly he scrambled to his feet and ran back into the darkness of the sand dunes. Over to one side he caught a glimpse of dark figures hurrying out of the camp toward the slope on which Juan and Senor Marcheta had been lying.
Joe knew that he would only be courting disaster if he went toward his comrades now. It would be sheer foolhardiness should he try to rejoin them. He made a wide circle out across the desert, taking shelter in the hollows of the dunes, until at last he was out of sight of the camp altogether. Once he heard the report of a rifle and an outburst of shouting.
What had happened? There was no doubt in his mind but that his friends had somehow been discovered. If they had been taken prisoners, his own plight was serious.
He got to his feet and walked down a long hollow between the sand dunes. No longer could he hear sounds from the camp. The stars flamed overhead and the silence was so deep that he might have been the only living being within hundreds of miles.
He crept quietly up to the top of the next dune. Suddenly he stopped, his heart in his mouth, for the silence was broken by the low murmur of voices.
Joe flung himself flat in the sand and lay there. Against the sky beyond the top of the dune he saw a moving figure. Joe almost cried aloud in relief. Senor Marcheta and Juan were up there on the other side of the dune. Joe Hardy climbed over the crest.
"Juan! Senor!" he whispered.
They wheeled about.
"Joe!" cried Juan eagerly. "Is it you? We've been so anxious!"
"And I've been worried about you," Joe said as he came up to them. "I was over on the other side of the camp when I heard the row and I was sure you'd been caught."
"They didn't see us," Juan said. "Somebody in the camp heard us talking and raised the alarm. They all came out to look for us, but we were mighty well hidden by that time. So they decided they had been mistaken and gave up the search."
"I think we had better clear out of here anyway," Joe.suggested. "There is nothing we can do and we may bring trouble on ourselves if we hang around."
"We will go back to the place where we left the horses," Senor Marcheta said.
Joe told them nothing about the American prisoner. He went back down the slope with them and soon they were retreating from the vicinity of the camp. When they returned to the place where they had hobbled the ponies they wrapped themselves up in their blankets and went to sleep.
Dawn broke over the desert in a blaze of glory. Frank and the Yaqui had promised to meet Joe and the Marchetas at an odd-shaped butte with a top like a pyramid. Juan said that the Indian was sure to keep his word.
"He'll be there, and exactly when he promised," said the Mexican boy. "The Yaquis are Very dependable."
"This man in particular," declared Senor Marcheta. "When he worked for me I trusted him above all my other employees."
They set out once more under the blazing sun. Soon the distant oasis was lost to sight beyond the rolling dunes of sand. At about mid-morning Juan spied a tiny object in the distance.
"Here they are!" he said confidently.
He was right. Before noon Frank and the Yaqui were riding up to them. Joe could not help but marvel that the Indian had found his way back to the appointed place so unerringly across the trackless desert.
Frank, mounted on a small dappled pony that the Yaqui had borrowed in town, drew up beside his brother.
"Looks as if the rest of the trip is off," he said quietly.
"What do you mean?" asked Joe.
He noticed that the Indian was talking in an earnest voice to Senor Marcheta and Juan.
"There was a message waiting for Juan's father when we got back to the town," Frank said. "Apparently they're needed back home at once."
"Anything wrong?"
"No. It's a business matter."
"But we can't turn back now!" exclaimed Joe. "It's impossible. Why, Frank, I've stumbled on the biggest clue of all. There's an American prisoner in that camp at the oasis. For all I know, the man may be Elmer Tremmer."
Frank was greatly excited by this news.
"An American prisoner!" he exclaimed. "How do you know?"
"We crept up close to the camp last night and overheard the people talking about him. They're Pedro Vincenzo's men, I'm sure. "Pedro has deserted them and they're planning to clear out. I saw the prisoner myself-just got a glimpse of him–and I don't know whether he is Tremmer or not. He didn't have a mustache and he didn't wear glasses."
"We certainly can't give up the search now," Frank said decisively. "Even if Juan and Senor Marcheta have to return there's nothing to prevent us from carrying on."
"But how could we ever find our way back? We don't know anything about the desert."
"The Yaqui does. If we can persuade him to stay with us we won't have anything to worry about."
At this moment Juan and Senor Marcheta rode up to them.
"Boys," said the latter, "I regret extremely that business calls my son and me back to the city. It is a very important matter. The Yaqui brings me a message demanding that we return at once."
"We were just discussing that," said Frank. "Would it not be possible for us to stay?"
"In the desert? Alone? I could not permit that. I am responsible for your safety."
"But if the Yaqui remained with us we would be quite safe."
"That is true," admitted Senor Marcheta. "But is it necessary for you to stay? Is this affair so very important?"
"It's very important,'' said Frank. ''I can't explain the whole business to you, Senor Marcheta, but we are trying to help our father in a case. Joe tells me there is an American prisoner in that camp at the oasis. We must rescue him somehow."
Senor Marcheta nodded.
"But I am afraid three of you will not be able to set the man free. I shall suggest this. When Juan and I get to the town on the edge of the desert, we will send soldiers out to help you rescue this prisoner."
"That's a dandy idea!" exclaimed Joe enthusiastically. "We won't have long to wait, will we?"
"Juan and I should reach the place before evening. We'll try to send the soldiers out at once. But first of all I'll ask the Yaqui if he cares to stay."
Senor Marcheta spoke to the Indian, and it was soon evident that the native was agreeable to remaining with the Hardy boys. Frank and the Yaqui had brought an extra supply of food with them, so that there were no serious obstacles in the way of their remaining. Senor Marcheta, who evidently placed great confidence in the Yaqui, solemnly instructed the man that he would be responsible for the safety of los Americanos. The Indian placed his hand above his heart.
"They will be safe, Senor," he promised.
In a few minutes the party broke up. Juan and his father said good-bye to their young friends. The Mexican lad was greatly put out because his share of the adventure had come to such an untimely end. He suspected that there was more excitement to come, but he tried to be cheerful about it and waved gaily to the Hardy boys as he rode away. In a little while the two ponies were hardly more than tiny moving dots on the sunbaked surface of the desert.
''What shall we call you?'' Frank asked their coppery-skinned guide.
"Yaqui," returned the native promptly.
"Yaqui it is, then. Senor Marcheta has told you what we want to do?"
The Indian nodded.
"We are to stay until the soldiers come."
It was a long wait, and a monotonous one. Frank and Joe managed to snatch a little sleep in the shade of a great cactus plant, and whiled away the afternoon until night fell.
Frank was eager to push on toward the oasis and spy out the ground for himself, but Yaqui did not favor the idea.
"We are three," he pointed out. "They are many. If we are seen, it may be too late when the soldiers come."
"That's reasonable enough," agreed Joe. "It wouldn't pay to spoil it all by being impatient. I suppose we had better wait."
Under the desert stars they spent the night. When morning came the boys eagerly scanned the horizon for some sign of the promised soldiers. But the skyline was unbroken.
There was nothing but a great expanse of sand, shimmering in the heat. The sun rose higher and still there was no moving object among the distant dunes.
"Perhaps there weren't any soldiers in the town," said Joe, disappointed.
"Perhaps they wouldn't come."
Yaqui said nothing. He crouched on the sand, his arms around his knees, and gazed steadily into the distance.
Toward midday they caught sight of a traveler on horseback, followed by a small burro, about a mile to the northeast. He was coming toward them from the direction of the oasis.
"Perhaps this is one of Pedro's men!" exclaimed Frank.
As the rider approached they saw that he was a Mexican. He hailed them in his own language, evidently surprised to see the three camped in such a place. Yaqui called back to him, and when the traveler rode up, asked him questions. He was evidently inquiring about the people at the oasis, as the boys judged by his frequent gestures in its direction. There was a lengthy conversation between the pair and at last Yaqui turned to the Hardy boys.
"This man has just come from the oasis."
"And what does he say?"
"There is no one staying there now. But he saw a caravan moving toward the edge of the desert."
CHAPTER XIV
The Mysterious Traveler
"They’ve given us the slip!" cried Frank. "They've broken camp and gone back to the mountains after all."
"We'll never find them now!" said Joe disconsolately.
Yaqui and the stranger exchanged a few more words. Then the Mexican rode away, the burro bells tinkling solemnly as he resumed his lonely journey across the sand wastes.
"Can't we set out after them, Yaqui?" asked Frank desperately. "We must free that prisoner.''
"If only the soldiers would come," Joe groaned.
Yaqui stood up, shaded his eyes, and gazed out across the desert for several minutes. Finally he shook his head.
"No soldiers yet," he murmured. Then, turning to the boys, he said, ''These people are far ahead. It will be easy to follow their trail across the desert, but we may lose them when we reach the hills. Yet we can try."
"Let's do so by all means," declared Frank. "It's our only chance. The soldiers may not get here until tomorrow.''
"Tomorrow will be too late," said Yaqui. "If we are to follow the trail we must set out at once."
It was aggravating to think that the solution of the mystery had been snatched out of their grasp in the very moment of success. The Hardy boys were convinced that the presence of the American prisoner in the desert camp was the answer to the riddle of Tremmer's disappearance.
"Soldiers or no soldiers," Frank said, his jaw set with determination,'' we 're going to follow those oasis people!"
Their preparations completed, the boys mounted their ponies. Yaqui swung himself lightly into his saddle and the group started out toward the fertile spot where the natives had been camping. The Indian set the pace.
It was not yet sunset when they reached the oasis. The waters of the pool looked cool and inviting in the shade, a welcome in direct contrast to the harsh bleakness of the desert surrounding it.
The camp was, of course, deserted. Yaqui dismounted and examined the tracks in the sand made by those who had left.
"Their burros are heavily loaded," he said at last. "They will travel slowly. Perhaps we may be able to overtake them before they reach the edge of the desert."
The boys were hot and tired after their ride, and seized the opportunity to bathe in the waters of the lagoon, and to take a much-needed rest in the cool shade.
As Joe stretched himself at full length, his toe suddenly touched an odd-shaped stone.
The boy peered down at the mineral.
"What's the matter?" queried Frank. "Thought you were going to sleep."
"That rock never belonged here," muttered his brother. "It was brought to this spot by some one."
The Hardys, scenting a mystery, at once forgot their fatigue. They lifted the peculiarly marked stone and set it to one side.
"Now, I wish I were a ground hog," laughed Joe. "I'd like to do a little digging."
"What do you think you would find?"
"I confess I don't know what to expect. But I really believe this is a marked spot. Let's do a little excavating."
Frank agreed. Furiously the boys drew aside great heaps of earth. Suddenly Joe's hand touched an object.
"I've found something," lie exclaimed excitedly.
"Sure as shooting," agreed Frank. "It's a piece of antelope skin," he continued as he leaned closer over the hole.
"It's a cover to something."
"Look!" cried Frank as he cleared away more soil.
Joe bent nearer the hide. Clearly burned into the fur was the unmistakable symbol P with the burning fagots beneath.
"Do you suppose–" asked Joe with awe, "that we have uncovered–"
The young detective got no further in his supposition, for at that moment Yaqui, who had been asleep a little distance away, aroused himself. When he saw the stone and the digging, he cried out in alarm:
''Stop! Stop! You must quickly cover the dead man! Evil spirits–you will be–"
The Indian did not finish, so amazed was he at the change in the attitude of the two boys. They were hastily throwing back the dirt. To the untutored mind the native was at once convinced the lads were fearful of the dreaded punishment his gods would mete out to the grave despoilers. It was an ill omen-no doubt the search for the fleeing campers would come to some bad end.
However, Joe and Frank were whispering between themselves about an entirely different angle of the case.
"Gee! I didn't expect this, Frank.''
"Neither did I. Wouldn't Chet find an excuse to run off if he saw this!"
"But that marking on the skin was plain. Do you suppose the fellow died a natural death, or was killed for disobedience?''
"I believe that brand is the signet of a cruel, heartless man whom we must track down," answered the older Hardy brother.
The stone was replaced on the exact spot from which the lads had taken it. Then Yaqui brought the ponies together.
"Frank," whispered Joe a bit hoarsely, "you don't believe that poor fellow buried there could be Elmer Tremmer, do you?"
"I was wondering that myself. Perhaps we should have investigated further."
"Well, it's too late now. We'll just have to trust to luck that the missing witness is ahead of us in company with the natives."
The group resolved to push on without delay. As darkness fell several hours later, they were obliged to slacken their pace. Yaqui was finding it more difficult now to follow the tracks. Then, too, their ponies were tiring. To add to their difficulties a light wind sprang up, blowing stinging clouds of sand into their faces.
"That is bad," said Yaqui. "It is blotting out the trail. We will make camp for the night."
Anxiously the boys gazed into the darkness, hoping that they might see the glow of the fugitives fire.
"No such luck," muttered Frank. "And worse than that, if this wind keeps up there won't be a track left for us to follow."
In the morning the situation looked hopeless to the unpracticed eyes of the Hardy boys, but the three set out again. This time they made slower progress, for Yaqui was scanning the sand intently. Here and there, especially in the lee of the buttes, he found indentations that convinced him he was on the right course.
At length the trio came to the desert's edge. The wastes gave way to rock, then to fertile country; but it was almost as lonely. The work of trailing the fugitives became more and more difficult. They came upon a half-breed squatter who told them he had seen the caravan passing to the westward. It was a long time before Yaqui picked up the track again. There were no towns, no villages where information might be obtained. Their progress became slower than ever.
On the second day the Hardy boys were almost ready to give up.
"Do you think we'll ever find them, Yaqui?" asked Frank.
The Indian shrugged.
"Maybe," he answered. "Not very far ahead. We lost much time."
Their food supply had been exhausted for some time, but they managed to buy edibles from the natives they encountered. Frank and Joe would have turned back, but Yaqui pointed out that it would be easier to return to the city by going across country than by making the long return journey through the desert again.
"It's hopeless," Frank said on the third day, as their weary ponies trudged toward a tiny adobe hut which their guide had spied in the distance. "We'll tell Yaqui to set his course for home.''
"We're lucky we have him," remarked Joe. "I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea where we are."
"Somewhere in Mexico, that's all I know. But he'll get us back to the city safe enough. I hope Dad isn't worrying about us."
As they drew nearer to the hut they could see that the place was completely surrounded by a fence of tangled and prickly cacti, so formidable, that anyone attempting to squeeze his way through the hedge would have his clothes torn off his back.
"A robber would think twice before he'd try to climb over that,'' remarked Frank.
"It is nopal cactus," explained Yaqui. "It is not only a fence but a garden. The tuna fruit grows on it."
"How do we get in?"
Yaqui smiled. A native was slouching out of the hut. The man came across the little yard and called out to the Indian, who answered him. The man, a half-breed, bowed respectfully to the boys' guide, then hastened to open a gate in the hedge. A few mongrel dogs yapped as the travelers rode into the yard, but their owner sent them yelping back behind the hut.
Two other men lounged out of the doorway into the sunlight. They looked on in silence as the boys dismounted. Frank and Joe were conscious of their suspicious and uneasy glances.
"We don't seem to be very welcome," Joe said.
Yaqui shrugged.
"Bah! Half-breeds!" he said contemptuously. "I am a pure blood Yaqui. They shall do as I say."
It was evident that the shabby natives recognized Yaqui's superiority. The very tone of his voice was commanding as he ordered food. He had a long talk with the men in their own language, presumably asking if they had seen the caravan. But they shook their heads.
"There is something strange here," Yaqui muttered. "These fellows are lying." Although he persisted in his questioning, he failed to elicit any information.