The travelers went into the hut, where dishes of native food were placed before them. The Hardys were almost sickened by the queer preparations which seemed, as Joe said, to be made of ''red pepper and lye.'' Yet they were so hungry that they forced themselves to make a meal.
While the boys were eating they heard a thunder of hoofs beyond the fence. One of the half-breeds ran out to open the gate. A native rode into the yard and dismounted. The two men talked together in low tones and finally walked toward the hut.
The newcomer was a lean, swarthy fellow with a drooping mustache. He darted a sharp glance toward Yaqui and the Hardy boys as he crossed the threshold. Suddenly Frank rose halfway to his feet, stifling an exclamation of surprise.
"What's the matter?" asked Joe.
His brother sat down again. The half-breeds were looking at him suspiciously.
"Nothing," he said.
A moment later, when the men in the hut were talking quietly in a corner, he gripped his brother's arm.
"Joe," he whispered. "That man looks like the fellow who attacked me in the garden at Senior Marcheta's place."
CHAPTER XV
Captured by Bandits
"The fellow who knocked you out?" gasped Joe. '' Are you sure?''
"I'm almost positive," replied Frank excitedly. "I had no more than a glimpse of the man at the time, but I'm certain he's the same one. "
The native glanced toward them at this moment, whereupon Frank tried to feign indifference. He was convinced that the man was in Pedro Vincenzo's hire, yet he knew that any attempt to confront him with the fact would be useless.
The stranger came over to Taqui and began to talk to him. The Hardy boys could not understand the conversation, but they assumed that the newcomer was asking their guide questions about them. They heard the Indian mention the name of Senor Marcheta, then "Americanos" and "Hardy." Finally the man withdrew, said good-bye to the half-breeds, and strode out into the yard. A moment later he rode away.
"What did lie ask you, Yaqui?" inquired Frank.
"He wanted to know where you came from and why you were here.''
"You didn't tell him, I hope."
"I told him nothing."
"You mentioned our names."
"Yes. But there was no harm in that."
The Indian then told them he had learned from the half-breeds that there was a road about a mile from the hut. By traveling up into the foothills they would be able to make connections with a highway which would take them to the city.
"These men know nothing of the caravan. I think we should waste no more time," Yaqui said. "However, it is as you wish."
"Yes, I guess we had better go back to town,'' Joe agreed.
They were disappointed, for the boys had convinced themselves that the American prisoner whom Joe had seen in the camp at the oasis had indeed been Elmer Tremmer. To have lost the trail by such a narrow margin was inexpressibly aggravating.
"No use crying over spilled milk," Frank said philosophically. "We've lost out, so we may as well go back to town and tell Dad what happened. Perhaps he'll be able to find some trace of that caravan."
They paid the half-breed for the food they had eaten, then went out into the yard. Suspicious eyes followed them as they mounted their ponies and set out again, Yaqui leading the way. They found the road without any trouble. It was little more than a dusty cow-path running into the foothills.
Frank could not free his mind of the recollection of the native who had come to the hut.
"What was one of Pedro Vincenzo's men doing in such an out of the way place?" he asked, as he and Joe jogged quietly along under the burning sun. "If that wasn't the fellow who knocked me out that night I tackled Vincenzo, I'll eat my hat."
"Perhaps he was with the caravan," suggested Joe. "He might have come back to see if they were being followed."
"Perhaps," Frank agreed doubtfully. "I'm sorry Yaqui let him know our names. It was an accident, of course, but it's unfortunate it had to happen. Somehow, I have a feeling that we haven't seen the last of that Mexican."
Before them the road wound through the hills. Far in the distance they could see the grim mass of the mountains against the sky. When they looked back they could see the enormous desolation of the desert. Now that the excitement of the chase had worn off they felt tired and dispirited.
The road wound about the foot of a steep hill, twisting and curving so that often they could not see the path for more than a few yards ahead. Yaqui was riding around one of these bends when his pony suddenly shied violently, almost throwing its rider from the saddle.
The same instant the boys heard a shot and a chorus of wild yells. They saw two Mexicans rush out from a place of concealment among the bushes at the roadside and grab the Indian's horse by the bridle. Frank looked back. A pony and rider came plunging down the slope in a cloud of dust and stones, cutting off escape to the rear.
It all happened so suddenly that neither Frank nor Joe could grasp the situation, for the roadway appeared to be alive with swarthy, evil-faced men, some on horseback, others on foot. They seemed to have sprung up out of the ground. One burly ruffian seized the bridle of Joe's pony, which was rearing and plunging in fright, while another snatched the reins out of Frank's hands.
''Bandits!'' cried Joe. ''We're caught!''
There were about a dozen of them, and it was plain that they had been lying in ambush at the bend in the road. The men were heavily armed and as unsavory a crew of rascals as can be imagined.
One fellow, who was mounted on a spirited pinto pony, seemed to be the leader, for he stood up in the stirrups and shouted orders at the others. He was a stout, villainous looking fellow with a livid scar down his right cheek.
Yaqui made no resistance, but raised his arms in the air. The attack had been so sudden and so well planned that the bandits were in command of the situation from the start. Frank and Joe followed their guide's example and put up their hands also.
"Thank goodness, we haven't much money with us," said Frank. "I suppose that's what these men want."
"Unless they intend to hold us for ransom," muttered Joe.
The bandit leader rode toward the boys, showing his teeth in an evil smile. He said something that the Hardys could not understand. Frank pointed to their guide.
"What does he want, Yaqui? Our money?"
With a bandit clinging to the bridle of his horse, Yaqui rode over and spoke to the leader. Then he turned to the boys and shook his head.
"It is not so simple as that," he said. "You are to give him your money, yes. But more than that, we are to be taken prisoners."
"Why?" demanded Frank angrily. "Tell him he can have our money if he'll let us go. We have only a few dollars anyway."
Yaqui interpreted this to the bandit chief who merely shook his head curtly and rasped out a sharp command, motioning to the boys’ pockets. Reluctantly the Hardys handed over the money in their possession. The bandit leader stuffed it into his pocket, then wheeled his pony about and shouted to his men.
Instantly there was great confusion. More horses were led out from hiding places among the bushes, and in a few minutes all the outlaws were in the saddle. The Hardy boys and Yaqui were in the middle of the milling group, so that there was no chance of their making a break for liberty.
"Pedro Vincenzo is at the bottom of this," declared Frank. " I know it."
"That's why his man came to the hut. He wanted to know where we were and where we were going," Joe said disconsolately. "What do you think they intend to do with us?"
Frank was angry now. He spoke to Yaqui.
"Tell them we're not going with them. Tell their leader that we're American citizens and that Senor Marcheta will have every soldier in Mexico on their trail if we disappear."
The Indian obeyed. He interpreted Frank's words to the bandit leader. His only answer was a scowl and an ugly laugh.
"So?" gritted the man with the scar. ''The Americanos do not weesh to come weeth us?" He rode up beside Frank's horse. ''Senor,'' he said, "you are my prisoner. You weel do as I say."
"I warn you that we're American citizens," declared Frank. "We have friends. You won't get away with this. The soldiers–"
''Bah!'' sneered the bandit chief. ''Soldiers! The soldiers have try to catch me for years. And always they fail."
Then a change came over his face. His eyes became narrow and cruel. His hand swept to his belt and rose again. In the sunlight there flashed the blade of a knife!
CHAPTER XVI
The Cave Prison
Involuntarily Frank drew back as the wicked knife was brandished before his eyes. Joe cried out in alarm, for he thought the bandit chief intended some harm to his brother. But the man with the scar only laughed harshly.
"Do you weesh me to use thees knife?" he asked.
Then, thrusting the weapon back into his belt, he swung his horse around and rode back to the head of his men. He struck off down a narrow trail that led away from the side of the road.
Hemmed in by bandits, the prisoners had no choice but to obey. With sinister-faced men on horses ahead and behind them they had no chance to escape, and they knew it.
Within a few minutes they were far off the road and following the trail through a wild region that led deeper into the hill country.
"Keep a stiff upper lip, Joe! We'll see Bayport again–some day."
Joe mustered up a smile.
"It's Dad I'm thinking of," he said. "He won't know what's happened to us. And if any search is made for us, it will never be in this part of the country. They'll hunt for us in the desert."
"We've been in scrapes almost as bad as this one, and got out of them again."
"That's true. And who knows-maybe we'll learn a little more about Pedro Vincenzo. I'm sure he's back of this business."
The Hardy boys had obtained very little rest and sleep in the past few days, so eager had they been to press hard on the trail of the caravan. As a result, they were now almost exhausted.
"The only thing that keeps me going," said Frank wearily, "is the thought that maybe we're on the trail of Tremmer and Pedro after all."
Joe glanced at Yaqui.
"What will they do to us?" he asked quietly.
The Indian shrugged.
"Quien sabe," he replied. "Perhaps we die."
This was not very reassuring.
"They wouldn't dare," cried Joe.
"Who would know?" returned Yaqui. "Who is to say that we came to this part of the country? Who is to say that we did not die of thirst in the desert!"
The boys began to realize that their plight was very serious. It would be almost impossible for Fenton Hardy and Senor Marcheta to trace them, for it was certain that the natives in the huts near the desert would say nothing because of their fear of the bandits.
The trail led toward the hills, and into country that gradually became wilder and steeper. The riders were in the very heart of the mountains, when darkness fell. Great lowering slopes rose on every side. In the distance the boys could hear the roar of a river. In the gloom they could see ahead the mouth of a great gorge.
Up in the high country it grew cold, and the boys were soon shivering. They were weak from exposure and hunger, but they were not allowed a respite.
Suddenly Joe, utterly exhausted, lunged forward and slipped from his horse.
"Joe," called Frank, "Joe, what is the matter?"
A bandit guard leaped to the ground. His pony, unattended, reared and plunged toward the numb lad on the trail. It was a moment of agony to Frank.
"Let me help my brother," he shouted.
Suiting action to words, he lashed the offending horse, which side-stepped just in time.
Joe opened his eyes.
"Oh, Frank," he muttered, "I guess I fell asleep or something."
But Frank knew better. He realized it was due to lack of food and rest that his brother had been faint, and decided to get better treatment. He set up a terrible howl, and the bandit leader gave a command to the procession.
"Halt!" he roared in Spanish.
"We need something to eat," shouted the older Hardy boy. "Right now!"
The chief paid no attention to the suffering prisoners; instead, he spoke sharply to one of his men, who dismounted and went ahead on foot. The native's shadowy figure could be seen entering the gorge. He returned presently and whistled. Then the cortege moved on.
As the group came into the ravine the boys saw lights ahead and the blaze of a camp fire. Two or three natives came running up with cries of welcome.
"Home, sweet home!" said Joe with a wan smile.
This, obviously, was the headquarters of the bandits. The men dismounted and handed their horses over to native servants, then sprawled wearily beside the fire. Stiff and sore, Frank and Joe got down, hungrily sniffing the fragrant odors of food. A brown-faced woman brought them plates of some sort of stew. It was highly seasoned and very hot, but they devoured it gratefully, although, at another time they might not have managed to eat it at all.
"Tastes a bit like liquid fire seasoned with brimstone," said Frank, "but it hits the spot just the same. I'm so hungry I could eat a rubber boot."
"Without butter," mumbled Joe, his mouth full.
Finally the bandit chief gave an order to one of his men, who came over to the captives.
"Follow me!"
Along a narrow path he led the prisoners toward the cliff, holding aloft a blazing torch.
"What now?" murmured Frank as they followed their guide.
The trail led up a steep slope, so steep that they had difficulty in keeping a foothold. It went higher and higher until, when they looked back, they could see the light of the bandit camp far below in the gorge. Then they were forced to walk along a narrow ledge on the face of the cliff until the light of the torch revealed the mouth of a small cave.
Here the bandit stood aside, spoke to Yaqui, and motioned the three captives to enter.
"We are to sleep here," the Indian explained calmly.
The boys were too weary to resist, so they crawled through the small opening. The bandit tossed the torch in after them. Then he set to work sealing up the cave mouth with adobe bricks that were piled about the entrance.
"Surely we're not going to be tombed up here!" cried Frank.
"This is our prison," Yaqui said.
Although the entrance was small, the cave itself was of substantial proportions. It contained a few rough pallets of straw, but nothing more. The Indian set the torch in a crevice, and in its nickering light the trio looked gloomily at one another.
"Why, we must be among the cave dwellers!'' Joe exclaimed.
"The natives who live here," explained Yaqui, "are descend from cliff dwellers. Real Indian tribes have nothing to do with them. They are outcast."
"Why?"
"Because they work with bandits."
"They wouldn't help us?"
The Indian shook his head.
"If we managed to get out of here, Yaqui," said Frank, "do you think you could guide us back?"
"I could find my way," admitted their guide slowly. "But we will not get away from here. We can only wait."
"I wonder what these people plan to do with us."
"Our lives have been spared. It is ransom they want, I think."
"There's something more than that. This is Pedro Vincenzo's work,'' declared Joe. ''He thought we were getting too close on his heels and he wants us out of the way. That's my guess."
"Perhaps," said Yaqui indifferently.
Why they had been captured did not greatly matter to him. The point was that they were prisoners and that there was very little they could do about it.
"I'd get a great kick out of this, being among the cliff dwellers and all," remarked Frank, "if I only knew that we could pack up and go home whenever we liked."
In the guttering light of the torch Joe noticed a strange object on the floor. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands.
"Why, it's a bracelet!"
The ornament, made of silver, was slightly tarnished. It was set with colored stones. Yaqui examined it with interest.
"Is it valuable?" Joe asked.
"The stones are semi-precious," said the guide. "It is worth a little money." He handed back the bracelet with a smile. "A little souvenir to take home with you."
"If we ever get home," grumbled Joe.
The bandit who had led them to the cave had finished sealing up the entrance. Now they could hear him clumping off down the narrow trail. Away in the distance the boys could hear the roar of the river and the sound of voices from around the campfire below. It was strange to think that a few short days had brought such a change in their fortunes.
"Just think," Frank said, "a little more than a week ago we were at home in Bayport. Now we're in a bandit camp in the mountains of Mexico!"
"That's what we get for trying to be detectives," Joe reminded him. "Don't talk about Bayport. I'm going to sleep."
"Me too," Frank answered. "I'm so tired I can't keep my eyes open."
The torch was guttering and filling the cave with smoke, so Yaqui extinguished the light In the darkness there was a rustling of straw and sundry groans and yawns as the prisoners lay down to sleep on the pallets. They were so exhausted that even the worries of their position could not keep them awake. In a very few minutes they had fallen into a deep slumber.
Daylight was filtering into the gloomy cave when Frank opened his eyes next morning. Between the chinks of the bricks at the entrance he could see the bright sunshine. As he stirred and raised himself on one elbow, Joe woke up, blinking.
"Where am I?" the latter muttered in surprise. Then he remembered. "Gosh, I was dreaming I was back home in Bayport and that Aunt Gertrude was yelling at me from the foot of the stairs and telling me I'd be late for school."
"No school for us today," Frank answered with a grin. He sat up, stretching his arms. "This isn't much of a bed, but I surely slept well on it."
He glanced toward the other side of the cave. Then his jaw dropped and his mouth opened in astonishment.
"Am I seeing things?" he muttered.
Joe sat up quickly. The pallet on the other side of the cave was empty.
"Why–why– where's Yaqui?" he gasped.
Frank leaped to his feet and circled swiftly around their rocky prison. The Indian had vanished. For a moment he thought their guide might be secreting himself and playing some sort of a joke on them, but he soon saw that there was no hiding place in the cave. The entrance was still sealed up with adobe bricks. Yaqui was gone. Frank sat down limply on his pallet.
"He has deserted us!"
CHAPTER XVII
Pedro Vincenzo
The Hardy boys looked at each other in dismay. Up to this time the presence of Yaqui had encouraged them, for they knew that if ever they were to escape from the bandits they would have to rely largely upon his help. Now they felt that their only friend had proved unreliable, and had left them to their fate.
"I can't believe it," Joe said. "Yaqui isn't that sort of fellow. He wouldn't let us down."
"I don't want to believe it," replied Frank. "But how else can you explain it? He isn't here. He waited until we were asleep and then cleared out.''
"Perhaps he went to see if he could get help."
"Maybe. But why couldn't he tell us before he left?"
In the back of their minds was the dread suspicion that Yaqui had left them to the mercies of the bandits, and that the native had sought to save his own life at the expense of theirs. They had trusted him so implicitly that no thought of treachery had entered their minds, so that now the shock was doubly great.
"We'll have to take care of ourselves," Frank said, as he went toward the mouth of the cave. "Yaqui must have thought our lives were in danger, or he wouldn't have deserted us like that.''
"Even now I can't believe he has let us down. There is some other explanation. I'll bank on it that he went to get help and just didn't want to wake us up. That man is honest."
Frank kicked idly at the bricks across the mouth of the cave.
"I hope we haven't been left here to starve," he said. "I could eat three meals all at once right now."
"What beats me is how Yaqui got out."
"Since he did, we can."
The bricks were jammed solidly in the opening. Although Frank labored frantically at them, he could not budge the heavy barrier. Then he noticed that the top of the entrance came to a point, one large brick having been wedged in at that spot to hold the others in place. Joe suggested that this should be the centre of attack.
"It's the key to the whole blockade," he said. "Get that one loose and the rest will be easy."
The top brick itself was not easy to dislodge, however. It was crammed in so tightly and solidly that there seemed to be no chance of its being worked loose. The boys picked up rocks from the floor of the cave and banged and hanv mered vigorously at the obstacle.
Finally the brick began to yield. Frank and Joe redoubled their efforts.
"It's moving!" cried the latter presently.
Suddenly the adobe square shifted, slipped out of place, and went thumping to the ledge outside. The boys looked through the opening. Far below them lay the encampment and the river that ran through the gorge. A few women were moving about among the huts, but the boys could see no sign of either the bandits or the horses.
"Let's get out of here. There's no one on guard," remarked Frank. "And I'm going to find some food."
Now that the key brick was out the boys had no further difficulty. In a few minutes they had cleared away a space that enabled them to leave the cave and emerge into the fresh air of the mountainside.
"If we can only find our ponies we may be able to escape," said Joe. "What shall we do? Take a chance on going down toward the camp?"
"I'm game. If the bandits catch us, they will put us back in our prison again. But if we keep our wits about us, we shan't be caught."
They made their way down the path from the cave mouth, well aware that against the Bide of the cliff they would be plainly visible to anyone who might chance to be looking that way from the camp below. Here and there grew bushes with berries, and the boys were tempted to strip off the fruit and eat it. They kept each other from doing so, however, mindful of their unfamiliarity with native edibles and their experience with the cactus nectar in the desert.
By the time the boys reached the level just above the river bank they were satisfied that they had not been seen. They hid in the shelter of a huge rock and took stock of their surroundings. The village had been built on an enormous even space between the base of the cliff and a second slope that led steeply to the stream in the gorge. At a little distance a flight of old stone steps ran down toward the water's edge.
The boys were surprised to see that the cave in which they had been imprisoned was not the only opening in the face of the precipice. It was literally pitted with similar entrances, Borne large, others small, yet all opening upon terraced trails that eventually led to the water.
"Any sign of the ponies?" asked Frank.
Joe shook his head.
"There isn't a horse in sight. And where are the bandits? They can't all be asleep."
The boys hurried across the open landing to the top of the stairs.
"No use taking the direction of the camp. We'll be seen," said Frank.
Suddenly Joe grabbed his arm.
"Duck!" he gasped.
The brothers crouched down on the steps just as a horse and rider came clattering around the side of the bluff where they had been hiding. The man was one of the bandits, but he was in too much of a hurry to give more than a passing glance to the stairway. A moment later he flashed by and rode on.
"We'd better get out of here," muttered Joe. "It's a bit too close to the public highway for comfort."
Frank agreed, so cautiously the boys crept down the steps, which had been carved out of the solid rock and were evidently centuries old prehistoric staircase that had survived the wind, the rain, and the footfalls of years.
No one was in sight, when the Hardys reached the river. Before them ran a smooth, wide stream about a hundred yards from bank to bank. On the opposite side rose high walls of forest, a veritable jungle of green trees and creepers interspersed with thousands of gay tropical flowers. It was a beautiful scene, and in any other circumstances the boys might have appreciated it more.
Just now their minds were occupied with the problem of escape. And the more they surveyed the situation the greater the problem became. They heard shouts from beyond the bend, and it was evident they came from some of the bandits.
"We can't escape without the ponies, that's certain," Frank said. "Probably they are tethered back of the camp, and if we go that way, we shall be seen."
"We might follow the river," Joe suggested. "Perhaps there will be camps farther down where we can hire horses."
"Hire them! We haven't any money. And I doubt if any of the natives will lend horses to strangers."
Just then they heard footsteps on the stone stairs above. The boys quickly hid among the rocks by the river bank.
Two natives came down the steps. One of them was carrying a basket, the other a bundle of cacti. As the boys watched, mystified, the man with the cacti went down to the water's edge, picked up a stone, and pounded away the prickly spines of the plant.
The other, in the meantime, removed the cover from the basket and a cloud of steam rose into the air. Protecting his hands with a cloth, he took out a rock and tossed it into the water where it fell hissing beneath the surface.
"Yaqui told me about that," whispered Joe. "That native is throwing hot rocks into the river to ward off the water serpent. It's one of the superstitions of these people."
When he had pitched in a few stones, the man with the cacti waded out from shore, dropped the sodden leaves into the water, and began to stamp upon them.
"He's fishing," Joe explained. "That's a species of cactus that acts like a sleeping powder. He's stamping the juice out of it. Watch."
After some time the brothers saw a fish floating on the surface. Instantly one of the natives seized it and threw it upon the shore a few feet from the boys. Then a trout floated up, stupefied by the liquid from the cactus. It, too, was gathered in. The Hardys, although they did not know it at the moment, were witnessing a method of fishing that has been used by Mexican cliff dwellers since prehistoric times.
"Not much sport about it," said Frank. "But I suppose if you want food in a hurry it can't be beat."
"Food in a hurry!" groaned Joe. "Say, I have an idea."
In a moment he was moving cautiously toward a bush and in an instant had broken off a long twig. Secreting himself again near Frank, he held the point of his newly contrived rod before him and speared one of the fish. Then slowly he drew it back.
"Clever, Brother," said Frank. "But I never could eat a raw, poisoned fish."
"It is not poisoned," replied Joe. "Only sleepy. And anyway, its flesh is all right."