Frank Merriwell's Triumph: or, The Disappearance of Felicia

“You are right,” smiled the man Merry knew as Dulzura. “But you are hasty. It is only lately the pursuers I most feared have fallen into my hands. Had you waited a little it might have given me more satisfaction. You were always too hasty, Ramon.”

The rebuke was of the mildest sort, and Ramon accepted it without a show of anger.

“However,” continued the chief, “I can pardon you this once, but you shall be satisfied. I have not at hand all I have promised you, but it is where I can soon secure it. Nevertheless, I have something here, and it shall be divided among you.”

As he said this, he drew forth a leather pouch, which he flung with a careless gesture upon the table. It struck with a heavy thud and a slight clanking sound.

“I call upon you,” he said, “to see that it is divided equally and fairly. The rest shall be paid you soon. Carlos, I would speak with you.”

He then turned toward the door, and Carlos followed him. Outside, in the shadows, they halted not fifteen feet from Frank.

“Carlos,” said Joaquin, “not one coin more will those dogs get. I have no further use for them. You and I must abandon them and get away before the coming of another day. It is no longer well for us to remain in this land. As Black Joaquin my work is done. Can we reach Spain in safety with the girl, our fortunes are made. But those snarling curs will object if they suspect we are contemplating leaving them behind. You I depend on. You know where the wine is kept. Take this which I give you and with it drug the wine. When you have done so, bring it for them to drink. Make merry with them, and encourage them to drink deeply. They will sleep soundly after that, and we shall have no trouble. I will get the girl ready. Before those fools awaken I shall be far from here, and we can laugh at them.”

“Good!” said Carlos, having accepted from Joaquin’s hand the bottle proffered him. “It shall be done. Leave it to me.”

The chief clapped his trusted comrade upon the shoulder.

“Faithful Carlos!” he said. “With me you shall share the reward. Lose no time, for time is precious now.”

“The Americans,” questioned Carlos, “what of them?”

“Leave them where they are. Let them starve there.”

Little did they dream when they turned away that they were followed by Frank Merriwell, who observed the greatest possible caution. They separated, and it was Black Joaquin whose footsteps led Frank through many winding ways and up long flights of stairs into one of the turrets. When Joaquin unbarred the door and entered the little room up there Frank was near at hand. Merry stole forward and peered into that room, from which the light shone forth.

“She’s there!” he told himself, in deep satisfaction, as he beheld Felicia.

The captive girl had been weeping. When Joaquin saw this he spoke to her in a voice that seemed full of tenderness and compassion.

“My dear child,” he said, “why do you shed these foolish tears?”

“Oh, sir!” exclaimed Felicia, “where are the friends I saw from the window? Why are they not permitted to come to me?”

“They are near and you shall see them soon,” was the treacherous promise.

“How am I to believe you?” cried the girl. “You told me I should find my father here. You told me he was hiding here to escape his enemies. You told me he had sent for me to come to him, longing to see my face once more. I believed you. I trusted you. At your command I even deceived the good friends I knew in San Diego. Now I fear it was wrong and wicked for me to do so. Now I know it was wrong! But what was I to do? You told me, over and over, that my father would be placed in awful peril if I breathed a word of the truth.”

“Which clears up that part of the mystery,” thought Frank, as he listened outside.

“I told you nothing but the truth,” declared Joaquin. “Your father sent that message to you by me.”

“But he is not here – he is not here!” panted the distressed child. “You said I should find him here. If you deceive me in that, why not in everything?”

“Your father was here, but ere we could reach this place he found it necessary to depart. Enemies were searching for him, and he was forced to flee; but he left a message for me, telling me whither he went and directing me to bring you. Trust me, Felicia, and you shall soon see him.”

Frank quivered a little with rage as he listened to the lying wretch.

Felicia drew a little nearer and looked earnestly into the face of the man.

“Oh, I can’t believe you are deceiving me!” she said. “You do not seem so terribly wicked.”

He laughed pleasantly.

“I know it must seem suspicious to you, child; but trust me a little longer.”

“If you had only let my friends come to me!”

“Within two hours you shall be with them. Some of my men, I regret to say, I cannot trust, and so I hastened to send your friends away. They are not far from here, and we will join them. Are you ready to go, child?”

“Quite ready,” she answered.

“Then give me your hand and trust me in everything.”

She placed her hand confidingly in his, and they turned toward the door. Then Black Joaquin found himself face to face with a great surprise, for in that doorway stood Frank Merriwell, a cocked pistol leveled straight toward the scoundrel’s heart.

“Up with your hands, Joaquin!” commanded Merry sharply. “One moment of hesitation on your part and I shall pull the trigger. I will send your black soul to the bar of judgment as true as my name is Frank Merriwell!”

The villain paled and was utterly dumfounded by the marvelous appearance of the man he believed secure in the dungeon.

“Put up your hands!” palpitated Frank, and in that second command there was something that caused Black Joaquin to quickly lift his hands above his head.

“One cry, one sound, even a murmur from your lips, will cause me to shoot you on the spot,” declared the young American.

Felicia had been spellbound, but now she started forward, uttering a cry.

“Be careful,” warned Frank, not taking his eyes off Joaquin for an instant. “Don’t touch me! Keep out of the way!”

She paused and hastened to say:

“You must not hurt him, Frank. He is taking me to my father.”

“He has lied to you from start to finish, like the treacherous snake he is,” asserted Merry. “He doesn’t mean to take you to your father.”

Then he advanced two steps, and another command came from his lips.

“Face about, Joaquin,” he said, “and walk straight toward that wall. Be quick about it, too.”

Now, for all of the complaints of his followers that he seldom placed himself in danger, Black Joaquin was not a coward. Nevertheless, in those terrible, gleaming eyes of the American youth he had seen something that robbed him of his usual nerve and convinced him beyond doubt that unless he obeyed to the letter he would be shot on the spot. This being the case, he turned as directed and advanced until his face was against the wall.

“Stand thus,” said Frank, “and don’t move for your very life.”

One glance around showed him a blanket upon a couch. Behind Joaquin’s back he quickly took out and opened a knife.

“Here, Felicia, take this and cut that blanket into narrow strips. Hasten as much as possible.”

She was, however, too trembling and excited to make the needed haste. Seeing this, Frank lost no time in searching Joaquin’s person and disarming him, removing every dangerous weapon he found upon the man.

When this was done, he directed Felicia to bring the blanket, and, holding his pistol ready in his left hand, he gave her directions and assistance in cutting and tearing it into strips. As soon as one good, strong strip had been removed from the blanket Frank took it, seized Joaquin’s hands, twisting them downward and backward behind his back, and tied them thus. After this he was able to remove from the blanket further strips he needed, although as he worked his pistol was ready for instant use. All the while he kept Joaquin with his face toward the wall, three times cautioning the man against turning his head in the slightest.

With the strips removed from the blanket Joaquin’s ankles were securely tied. Then Frank unceremoniously kicked the fellow’s feet from beneath him and lowered him to the floor upon his back. The rage, fury, and hatred in the conquered fellow’s eyes was terrible to behold, but Merriwell heeded it not in the least. Deftly he rolled a wad of the blanket and forced it between Joaquin’s teeth. With another piece of the torn blanket he fastened it there, knotting a strip behind the man’s head. He took pains to make this as secure as possible, so that it would require no simple effort to remove it.

“Now, Black Joaquin, otherwise known as Felipe Dulzura,” said Frank, standing over the man and looking down on him, “we will bid you good-night. You can rest easy here until your comrades recover on the morrow and release you. Perhaps they will find you. I hope, for your sake, that you do not smother before they awaken and come here. You have my best wishes for a short life and a speedy hanging.”

With Felicia he left the chamber, closing and barring the door behind them.

Thus far Frank’s success had been enough to astonish himself, but now he thought with dismay of Dick and Brad still confined in the chamber from which he had escaped. As with Felicia he descended the stairs he paused, hearing in some distant portion of the ruins the sound of singing.

“Carlos is doing his work,” he thought. “He has brought them the wine. Thanks, Carlos; you have given me great assistance.”

Merry decided that it would be necessary to conceal Felicia somewhere while he sought to return to Dick and Brad by means of the secret passage.

He found his way back to the terrace from which he had first looked down into the courtyard after his escape. As they reached that place, Merry heard beneath him some slight sound that caused him to again look downward. He was surprised to see a dark figure coming from the direction of the stables and leading three horses. His surprise increased when the feet of the horses gave forth no more than a faint, muffled sound on the courtyard flagging.

“What’s up now?” he asked himself. “That must be Carlos preparing for flight. Whoever it is, he has muffled the feet of those horses. More than that, I believe they are our horses.”

The human being and the horses crossed the courtyard and disappeared into the arched passage that led outward.

“Keep close behind me, Felicia,” whispered Merry. “Be courageous. I may have to leave you for a short time; but I will return as soon as possible.”

He had decided to conceal her in the secret passage while he endeavored to return to the prison chamber. The door of the passage he found to be slightly ajar. Swinging it open, he entered, with Felicia at his heels. Barely had he advanced ten feet into the passage before he felt himself suddenly clutched by a pair of strong hands.

“Keep still, Felicia!” called Frank, knowing she would be greatly frightened by the struggle.

Instantly the hold of these hands slackened and a joyous voice exclaimed in his ear:

“Frank! Frank! my brother, is it you?”

“Dick!” gasped Frank; “how did you get here?”

“We managed to pry open a hidden door which was disclosed when a part of the wall fell after you crept into that opening,” said Dick.

“Where is Brad?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. We separated to search for you. He was to meet me here. We agreed on a signal. When you entered the passage without giving the signal I thought you must be an enemy.”

“It’s up to us now,” said Merry, “to find Brad and get away from here in a hurry. We have a fine chance to do so. I can’t explain everything, but I will tell you later. Here is Felicia.”

“Felicia!” gasped Dick.

She uttered a low cry of joy, and the cousins were clasped in each other’s arms.

“Come,” said Merry. “Moments are precious.”

“But Brad – ”

“We will hope that luck may lead us to him.”

But it was something more than luck, for Brad Buckhart was returning to meet Dick as he had promised when they encountered him. He heard them, and, thinking it might be Dick, whistled the soft signal agreed upon. Immediately Dick answered, and when the Texan found them all together, he came very near throwing up his hat and giving a cowboy yell.

“Oh, great jumping horned toads!” he whispered. “If this don’t beat the record you can have my horse, saddle, and the whole blamed outfit! Talk about your miracles! So help me Davy Crockett, this is the greatest on record. You hear me gurgle!”

“There is yet danger in the air,” said Merry. “As we were seeking the passage I saw a man, leading three horses with muffled feet, crossing the courtyard below. It must have been Carlos, Black Joaquin’s lieutenant, for they planned a flight to-night, and Joaquin’s wretched gang has been drugged.”

“Guess again,” advised the Texan, chuckling. “The gent you observed was yours truly, Bradley Buckhart.”

“You?” gasped Frank, astonished.

“Precisely, pard – precisely. I was it. In my perambulations I discovered our horses, and it struck me as being something a whole lot proper to get them outside and have them where we could straddle them in a hurry when we took to our heels. I muffled their feet with the aid of blankets, and I can lead the way straight to them.”

“Brad, you’re a dandy!” laughed Frank softly. “Watch out for Carlos and lead on, you son of the Lone Star State.”

They had come down into the courtyard when somewhere above, amid the ruins, there was a sudden sound of high-pitched voices, followed by a single pistol shot. Then came silence.

“If fortune is still with us,” said Merry, “the bullet from that pistol lodged in the carcass of Carlos. Evidently he has kicked up some sort of trouble, and I fancy a little chap by the name of Ramon fired that shot.”

Outside the ruins they came upon the horses where Buckhart had concealed them. They were not long in mounting. Frank took up Felicia behind him, and away they rode into the night, with no hand raised to stay them.

CHAPTER XII.

A LIVELY FISTIC BOUT

Three days later they arrived in San Diego, where Felicia was returned to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Staples, the former having given up the search in despair.

It was Frank who led a party of Americans to the Castle Hidalgo, in El Diablo Valley. The only human being found there was a man who had been shot and left where he fell in one of the chambers of the ruins. As Merry looked at the body, he grimly said:

“Retribution, swift and terrible, overtook you, Carlos, on that dark night. Who can say the hand of Providence was not in it? You were the only one who might have given us trouble, for your chief was bound and gagged, and your mates were drugged by your own hands. It is likely that Black Joaquin yet lives; but it is certain he must in time meet his just deserts.”

Fearing that Black Joaquin would not give up his scheming to get possession of the girl, Frank decided that it was unsafe to leave her in San Diego. Therefore, when he started on his return to Arizona, accompanied by Dick and Brad, he took Felicia along.

The railroad journey to Prescott was made without any incident worth recording. Having arrived there, Merry secured accommodations at the best hotel, for he expected to remain in the place a day or more before setting out for his new mines in the Enchanted Valley, where he had left Wiley and Hodge.

Little Abe was found safe in Prescott, where he had been left by Merry. But for the fact that what she had passed through had shaken Felicia’s nerves and left her in a very excited frame of mind, the whole party would have been in high spirits. Dick was anxious to visit the mines, and the prospect was also attractive to Buckhart.

Imagine Frank’s surprise, on leaving the hotel an hour after his arrival, to encounter Cap’n Wiley on the street. The sailor looked somewhat battered and weather-worn, and there was an unnatural flush in his cheeks and a suspicious odor upon his breath. The moment his eyes fell on Merry he stopped short and made a profound salute.

“Mate Merriwell!” he cried, “it is with a sensation of the most profound satisfaction that my eyes again behold your unexpected reappearance.”

“Cap’n,” said Frank soberly, shaking his head, “I fear you have been looking on the corn juice. There is something suspicious about your breath and your heightened color.”

“Hush!” said the marine marvel. “The dreadful ordeal through which I have lately promulgated myself made it necessary for me to take something in the way of medicine. Mr. Merriwell, there have been riotous doings since you departed.”

“Any trouble in regard to the new mine?” asked Merry, somewhat anxiously.

“Oh, no; nothing of that sort. I have been tending strictly to business. At the suggestion of Mate Hodge, I gathered up in Cottonwood, Central Butte, Stoddard, Bigbug, Cherry and elsewhere a score of hale and hearty laborers and piloted them safely to the valley, where they now are. He then sent me hither for supplies and other needed articles. I have secured half a dozen more good men, who will journey with us to the valley.”

“Now, Wiley,” said Frank, “tell me about these men you say you have engaged. What sort of men are they?”

“They are charming,” assured the sailor. “You remember your Terrible Thirty.”

“Yes.”

“Well, they are men of the same class. They are the real thing.”

“But I am afraid such men are not just what we want, cap’n.”

The sailor looked surprised.

“Why not?” he questioned.

“What we need are miners, not fighting men. It happened that I was able to control the Thirty, and they proved valuable to me at that time. You remember that as miners I couldn’t retain one of them. You say you have picked up some more men here?”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’d like to look them over, cap’n. Where are they?”

“If you will perambulate with me, I will present you to the bunch. I have them corralled not far away.”

“Lead on,” said Frank. “I will look them over.”

Wiley led the way straight to a saloon, which they entered. As they walked in, several men were drinking at the bar, and Merry distinctly heard one of them, a huge, pockmarked fellow, say:

“It sure is ten chances to one the gent loses his mine afore he ever sets eyes on it again.”

Frank recognized the fellow at a glance. He was a desperado with a bad reputation, and was known as Spotted Dan.

“There they are,” said Wiley. “Those fine boys I have collected. You can see at a glance that they are the real thing.”

“Altogether too real!” muttered Frank.

He was confident that the words of Spotted Dan referred to him, and in a twinkling his mind was made up.

“Mates,” said Wiley, calling the attention of the ruffians, “it gives me untold pleasure to introduce you to Mr. Merriwell, the owner of the mines I told you about.”

They turned and looked Frank over. His youthful appearance seemed to surprise them, and it was evident that they regarded him as a tenderfoot.

Frank lost no time.

“It’s my duty to inform you, gentlemen,” he said, “that Cap’n Wiley has made a slight mistake. I shall not need you.”

This seemed to astonish them.

“What’s that?” cried Spotted Dan hoarsely. “Whatever is this you says, mister?”

Frank quietly repeated his words, upon which one of the ruffians swore.

“I reckons you is the one mistaken,” said Spotted Dan, stepping out. “I opines, sir, that you does need us.”

“Then you opine wrong.”

“We has been engaged all fair and square, and we sticks by it. We proposes to see that you sticks by it, too.”

“Cap’n Wiley had no authority from me to engage anybody,” declared Merry. “That being the case, you can see at once that no agreement made with him counts for anything.”

“Say you so?” sneered Dan. “Well, now, we thinks a heap different.”

“What you think is a matter of indifference to me,” said Merry, looking the ruffian straight in the eyes.

“Whatever does you take us fer?” snarled the pox-marked fellow. “We’re no kids to be fooled with this yere way. You shakes us none whatever. If you tries it – ”

“What then?” asked Merry, in a low tone.

“What then? Well, by the everlasting, I chaws you up! I flattens you out! There will be a funeral in Prescott to-morrow!”

“There may be,” said Frank; “but, if there is, you will be highly interested, and yet you will know nothing about it.”

Spotted Dan glared at Merry in his fiercest manner. It seemed to astonish him that the smooth-faced young man was not in the least awed by this fierceness.

“Look a here, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, “do yer know who yer dealing with in this yere piece of business?”

“From all appearances, I should say that I am dealing with a thoroughbred ruffian,” was the serene answer.

“Yer dealing with a bad man with a record, and don’t yer forget it,” snarled Dan. “My record is as long as my arm. And whar I goes I leaves graves in my footsteps. I adds to the population of the cemeteries.”

“You’re plainly a big bluffer and a blowhard,” said Frank.

Then, as Spotted Dan made a suspicious movement, quick as a flash of light a pistol appeared in Merriwell’s hand.

“Don’t try to pull a gun on me, you big duffer!” exclaimed the youth. “If you do, I will run a couple of tunnels in you.”

“Correct in the most minute particular,” chipped in Cap’n Wiley. “He will do it scientifically and skillfully. When it comes to shooting, he is a shooter from Shooterville. Say, you oughter see him shoot out a pigeon’s eye at four thousand yards! Why, he can shoot with his feet better than any man in this bunch! At the same time I happen to be provided with a couple of large-bore fowling pieces, and I shall feel it my duty to shed real gore in case any of you other gents take a notion to chip in to this little circus.”

While speaking the sailor had produced a pair of Colt’s revolvers, which he now flourished with reckless abandon.

“Oh, that is the way yer does it, is it?” sneered Spotted Dan. “Mebbe yer thinks this settles it. Well, wait and see. You has the drop now; but our turn comes. It’s a good thing fer you, young feller,” he declared, still glaring at Frank, “that I don’t git my paws on yer. Ef I’d ever hit yer a crack with my maul you would sprout wings instanter. Sometimes I gits at yer, tenderfoot, and I hammers yer all up.”

“You think you will,” retorted Merry. “You might find yourself up against a snag.”

“Waal, ef I can’t knock you stiff in less than one minute, I’ll take to my hole and stay thar for a year.”

“I presume you would consider this engagement ended in case you fail to put me down and out in short order?” said Merry. “If you were the one whipped, you would call all dealings off?”

“Sartin sure. I’d be so ashamed of myself I’d never look a dog in the face again.”

“Give your weapons to one of your pards there,” directed Merry. “I will pass mine to Wiley, and I’ll agree to take off my coat and give you a chance to do me up right here.”

“I think I smell smoke,” murmured the sailor, sniffing the air. “I think I smell fire and brimstone. I think there will be doings around here directly.”

“Whoop!” cried Spotted Dan. “It’s a go! Say, I makes you look like a piece of fresh beefsteak in just about two shakes.”

Then he turned to one of his companions and handed over a pistol and knife. He wore no coat, and when he had cast his old hat on the floor and thrust back his sleeves, exposing his brawny, hairy arms, he declared he was ready.

The barkeeper had remonstrated. Merry was known in Prescott, and to the man behind the bar he said:

“Whatever damage is done I will pay for. I will set ’em up for every one who comes in for the next hour besides.”

Then he placed his revolver on the bar and coolly drew off his coat, which he lay beside the pistol.

“Keep your ellipticals parabolically peeled,” warned Cap’n Wiley. “The gent with the dented countenance looks like a Peruvian dog. I don’t know as there is a Peruvian dog, but I judge so, because I have heard of Peruvian bark.”

Merry said nothing. His face was calm and grim as he thrust back the sleeves of his woolen shirt. He had a handsome forearm, finely developed and finely moulded, with the flesh firm and hard and the supple muscles showing beneath the silken skin.

“Come on!” cried Spotted Dan eagerly. “Step right out yere and git yer medicine.”