"So that's where ye are!" muttered the old scout.
The bear raised himself on his hind legs and let out a growl at the newcomers. Hardly had the sound arose upon the air when Benson's rifle cracked, and a bullet hit the beast in the breast. Down went the animal on all fours, but did not tumble further. Instead, he made a swift bound for the scout's horse.
Crack! It was now Darry's rifle that spoke up, and the bear was hit again, this time in the right front knee. He dropped, but quickly arose, shaking the wounded leg in the air and uttering a tremendous roar of pain and rage.
Neither horse would now stand still, and both danced around so lively that each rider had all he could do to keep his saddle. But even while his steed pranced in this fashion, old Benson managed to draw his pistol, and two additional shots rang out, both hitting the bear in the side. The roars of the beast were now incessant, and the horses threatened to bolt in spite of all the riders could do to stop them.
"Come!" cried the old scout, and turned from the scene. Thinking he meant to go off to reload, Darry followed. But when at a safe distance Benson sprang to the ground and tied his horse to a tree.
"I'd rather finish him afoot," explained the old hunter, and slipped another cartridge into his rifle. "You can stay here if you wish."
"Not much!" murmured Darry, and came down also. In a minute he was following the old scout. When they came up a second time they found the bear crawling around, roaring in a lower tone. Evidently he was more than half exhausted.
"Another good shot will finish him," sang out Joe, from a bottom limb of the tree. "Why don't you give it to him in the ear?"
"I will," answered the old scout, and circled around, watching his opportunity. At length it came – the rifle cracked sharply, and Bruin fell on his side, to rise no more.
"Hurrah! That's a big haul!" cried Darry, much delighted. "I was wishing we'd get a bear some time while we were out here."
"It's lucky the bear didn't get Joe," remarked Benson. "They generally come up a tree after their victim."
"I jumped from one tree to the other," answered the youth. "But I had quite an exciting time, I can assure you."
"How in the world did you get here?" questioned Darry, as Joe leaped to the ground. "Did you get through to another cave? Benson thought that might be the case."
"That was the case, Darry. And I've had a wonderful adventure, too," added Joe earnestly. Then he told his story, to which the others listened with close attention. When he came to mention Gilroy, Fetter, and Potts, old Benson uttered a low whistle.
"So that gang has turned up again, eh?" muttered the old scout. "This will be news to Colonel Fairfield. I reckon he'll be glad to be put on guard. If the quartermaster was held up it would prove a big loss."
"Is it true that Colonel Fairfield killed this Gilroy's chum?"
"Perhaps he did. The colonel was in that mix-up, and after it was over Dan Hickey was found dead in the bushes. But it was a fair fight, and the desperadoes knew what to expect when they went in for it."
"When does the quartermaster expect to come through with the money?"
"I don't know, Joe. Like as not it will be soon. And that being the case, we had better not lose time here, but get to the fort just as soon as we can," concluded the old scout.
CHAPTER VI
DARRY MAKES A DISCOVERY
As pressed as they were for time, Darry and Joe begged that the bearskin be saved, and did all they could toward helping the old scout skin the beast. With the pelt they took along about twenty pounds of the juiciest steaks.
"It's a pity to leave the rest to the wolves!" sighed Joe. "But it can't be helped. What a feast they will have!"
"I'm going to sling the beast into a tree," replied old Benson. "That may help save it until somebody else comes this way. The soldiers from the fort use the trail yonder, you know."
Soon they were on the way to where Benson and Darry had left Joe's horse. As Joe was tired from his night's adventure, his cousin and the old scout took turns in carrying him behind them. Even then his eyes would occasionally close.
"We can't make the fort to-night, that's certain," said the old scout.
"Not if we pushed on hard?" asked Darry.
"Joe can't push on as fast as that, Darry. He'll want to rest as soon as sundown comes."
"Perhaps I can get a nap at noon, while you two get dinner ready," suggested Joe. "I wonder if we'll meet those rascals anywhere on the road? I hope not, for they'd be certain to recognize me."
"We'll keep an eye open for 'em," responded Benson dryly. "And see to it that your shooting-irons are ready for use."
"Why – do you think they'd attack us?" asked Darry quickly.
"They might – if they thought we were carrying anything of value. To such desperadoes all are fish that swim near their net."
"It's a pity the government can't stamp such a gang out, Benson."
"The government has stamped out lots of 'em, lad. Why, ten years ago none of these trails was safe. Nearly every horseman and stage-coach was held up. To-day you don't hear of a hold-up once in six months."
"Is this Gilroy a very bad man?"
"He is – in a way. He's a well-educated fellow, so I've been told, and not as brutal as some. But he's committed some robberies that have no equal in the history of these parts. Once he painted himself as an Indian and went to the agency, and there collected a lot of money which was coming to the redskins, the agent taking him for Chief Snowbird of the Modocs. The trick wasn't discovered until three days later, when the real Snowbird turned up. Even then it wasn't known who did the trick."
"And how was Gilroy found out?"
"A fellow named Downes, who belonged to the gang, was captured, and he gave the secret away. But it cost Downes his life, for he got away from the soldiers, and while he was in the mountains some of his gang shot and killed him."
At this story both Joe and Darry shuddered.
"What a lawless set!" muttered Joe. "One could hardly believe it unless he saw it with his own eyes."
"In a rough country the men are bound to be more or less rough, lad. Look at California, for instance. To-day it's as quiet and orderly as Massachusetts or Illinois. But in the days of '49 it wasn't that way. Many a miner was held up for his gold dust, and many a miner's secret of a rich find was stolen from him and the miner himself murdered."
"And how long do you think it will take to make this territory perfectly safe?"
"There aint no telling about that, but probably when you are as old as I am now you'll be able to travel anywhere without fear of being stopped. The railroads are a-coming in, towns are building up, and one of these days the desperadoes and stage-coach robbers will all be a thing of the past – and a good job done."
The third horse had been found, and now Joe was riding in his own saddle. The rain of the night before had made the trail dustless, and the air was as pure and sweet as one could wish.
By noon they calculated that they had covered ten miles of the worst portion of the distance to the fort. The ride had been a strain to Joe, and when old Benson called a halt he was glad enough to slip to the ground and throw himself in the shade of a tree to rest. Darry and the old scout lit a fire, and soon had a nice steak preparing for dinner.
"He's asleep," said Darry, a little later, pointing to Joe. "Poor fellow! supposing we let him rest for a couple of hours? I haven't the heart to wake him up."
"All right," answered Benson. The pair ate their dinner without arousing Joe, and after it was over the scout sat down near at hand to smoke his stumpy brier-root pipe, filling it with cut-plug which was as black as coal, and puffing away with