Jasper County Democrat, Volume 23, Number 77, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 December 1920 — COMRADES of PERIL [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

COMRADES of PERIL

By Randall Parrish

Copy rigtit A. C. McClurg A Co.

' BYNOFBIB. CHAPTER I.—Tom Bbeiby, * rancher, ridea in to the frontier town of Poya looking for a good time after « ion* eAU Of bard work and lonellneM on the Instead, he runs into a funeral—tha( of Dad Calkins, a retired army man pf whom little is known. A girl, still in her teens, survives Calkins. CHAPTER n.—McCarthy, a saloonkeeper and Ponca's leading cltlsen, decides that the girl, now alone In the World, should marry. Shelby starts a hunt for eligible husbands and the minIster goes to confer with the girt I' CHAPTER lll.—She agrees to pick a tmsiwnd from a'score of men lined up in per homa To his consternation, she selects ■belby, who had gone along merely M a spectator. He declines the honor. Indignant the girl dismisses the assemblage. Later, Shelby goes back to make hn explanation. She receives him good paturedly. runs into two of the rejected suitors, and tn a light worsts them both. Angered At their remarks, he returns to the girl, letermlned to marry her, if she will have him. After his explanation she agrees to marry him. CHAPTER V.—The wedding takes place* and the couple set out for Shelby's ranch. With them is the "Kid." Macklin, whom Shelby has hired as a helper on the ranch. On the way the girl tells her husband her name is Olga Carlyn. and also tells him something of the peculiar circumstances Of her life. CHAPTER Vl.—Leaving his wife in the house, Shelby goes to care for the horses. Returning, he is struck from behind by an unknown assailant Hours later he recovers consciousness, to find that his wife and the "Kid” have disappeared. He starts in pursuit CHAPTER VH.-ehelby overhears a conversation between two outlaws that throws some light on his wife’s history. He learns she is an heiress and that her abduction has been planned. Ho also learns that she has been taken to ••Wolves' Hole,” a haunt of bandits and “bad” Indians. The whereabouts of the Place is unknown to Shelby, though its reputation a* a resort of criminals ie widespread.

_ CHAPTER VIII. UK The Trail to Wolves’ Hole. jby lifted himself on one elbow, to breathe easily once | more. The vague shadows of the two I men had vanished, but their progress I through the underbrush could be plainIly distinguished. Feeling themselves ■ absolutely alone tn that wilderness ■ neither made the slightest effort to ■ proceed silently. Shelby sat upright ■on the edge of the gully, straining his ■eyes through the darkness. ■ A strange fortune had brought him ■the very Information he most needed. ■His whole thought centered instantly Bon the fate of the girl. What course ■would she choose under these clrcun> Betances, when the facts were finally ■revealed to her? Undoubtedly she be■leved him dead; her captors would ■mpress that fact upon her first of all, Ho as to make her realize her comHlete helplessness. Besides, she cared Hiothlng for him; had married him inHjifferently, merely to thus escape a worse fate. He could not hope MLt loyalty to him, under such condlHons, would greatly influence her deslon. Somehow the thought hurt ielby, and brought to him the knowlthat he did care. He cared very indeed, and this truth colored ■ s thought and decision. dare not follow those men at he could only wait where he B«s, and plan his course of action. iere was no danger 'of his losing ■ »m, for he knew where they were ■ Ipg, and, In a measure, at least, who they were. Shelby had been in that strange sink known Wolves’ hole, but he had talked :h a man who had. An immense e ln the Bad Lands, through which a branch of the Cottonwood, a malformation of nature, so concealed as to be invisible |U 11 the surprised traveler stood on very edge, and stared down Into gloomy depths below. The walls B|B e precipitous, impassable except HBhoot by daylight, and at only two ts could the sink be entered on |BB' eback; from the west beneath the action of a cataract, where the plunged headlong over a high of stone, and from the other BgTihy down a narrow ravine |HH igh a tunnel scooped out by some SOH nt in long-past ages. Originally vered by wandering trappers, ■B camped there out of the winter BB it had later become the headers for an illicit Indian trade in and finally the rendezvous for BH lais of all kinds, eager to get M d the‘reach of the law. It was ||||B -ed that there was actually a f|B there, with women of a class, ■ certain rude attempt at gov|||gß /it by a few self-constituted auwß>hf visioned all this in his mem--81-?\tloning his chance of ever ■ii' such a spot withsuspicion. It was plalntheir testimony that

Macklin waa raring Bia captive to thia upot for s*fe hiding. He and hl* Indian accessories had ridden on, anxious to reach this security with as little delay as possible. Rut would Shelby dare so follew? To be sure, except to the Kid. he was unknown, which might make him welcome. Yet the danger of detection was great. Apparently, there was no other feasible way In which he could hope to serve Olga. He weighed thia, with no conscious thought of himself, coldly and deliberately counting the chances, and decided to make the attempt Convinced as to his duty, and urged to it by the personal Interest he felt tn the girl. Shelby cast all hesitancy aside. He would make the attempt; fortune had surely favored him thus far. and might again. He went back to where the buckskin waited, mounted the animal, quiet enough by thia time, rode down to the edge of the stream, and sat silently In the saddle while the beast drank. It was a aanc. clear night, the stars overhead like lamps In the sky, the air cool and fresh. He turned the pony up the valley, making no effort to hurry the animal, desirous only at present of keeping well in the rear of the two horsemen ahead. He knew the course they would take, must take, up the valley of the Dragoon as far as the great bend, and then across the plateau until they reached the Cottonwood. He would simply follow cautiously until daylight, then search for the trail to make sure, and endeavor, from some elevation, to pick them np with hla field glasses. The grass in the valley was thick, but not long. It presented no obstacle to travel, but the horse’s hoofs made no noise.’ Finding the rider undemonstrative, the buckskin lowered his head and moved forward steadily at a rapid walk, Shelby swaying in the saddle, half asleep, yet keenly awake to any unusual sound. Hour after hour passed, the valley, narrowing as they advanced, the hills on either hand growing darker and more sharply defined, and the ribbon of the sky above constantly contrasting. The man endeavored to think, but found it useless; there was little he could plan In advance —only continue on and trust to fortune. His mind leaped from point to point, yet settled upon nothing. He knew where he was In a vague way, recalling to memory the outlines of this country as traced upon the map, but by this time he was well beyond the range of his own cattle, or any region he had ever hunted over. All about stretched the desert of the Bad Lands; he could picture in his mind the scene presented from those bluffs, either of broken, rocky country, or dismal desert, white with alkali. It was a land devoid even of animal or bird life, waterless and forlorn, avoided even by Indians except for concealment. In all those hours of darkness he heard no sound of life except the. distant howl of a coyote.

The first faint gray of dawn gave him glimpse of his surroundings, and, on a slight ridge of land, he finally drew up his tired mount and gazed curiously about. He dismounted, and, after a few moments’ scrutiny of the ground, decided that he was still safely on the troll of those traveling ahead. There were two traces sufficiently defined to Indicate the passage within a few hours of both Macklin’s party, and the two others. Neither outfit had made any effort at concealment, but Shelby, fearing the latter might be camped for breakfast, left his horse to crop on the short grass, while he advanced on foot. The trail was obscure, but not difficult to follow when once discovered. Hanley and his companion had not ventured the passage until dawn, the marks of their horses’ hoofs so fresh as to convince their trailer they were scarcely beyond the sound of his voice. He even found where they had dismounted, waiting for daylight, the ground littered with the ends of burnt cigarettes.

Shelby loitered an hour before venturing to follow. There was no other way out, and so he munched at a cold meal, and permitted the buckskin to browse along the bank of the stream, well concealed by a fringe of willows. Then, both horse and man refreshed, he went forward dn foot, leading the animal, and began the upward climb. In places It was not unlike a cave„ and Shelby had no idea how far he had gone, when he suddenly emerged out from the gloom into the sunlight of the summit, with a clear view across the level plateau. Shelby stopped, holding the horse back below the summit and gazed anxiously about. The soil left no trail and, with the naked eye, Sheloy was unable to distinguish a sign of life within the radius of vision. Everything had the appearance of death—the death of ages. He stood upright and swept the circle with his field glasses. He was barely in time; for far off there to the left, scarcely discernible even then against the black, overhanging ridges of rock, he made out two slowly moving objects. They were net distinct, he could not have sworn what they were, but there was no doubt in his mind as to their identity. He studied them eagerly until they disappeared down a coulee and then carefuly marked the course, his point of guidance' a high pinnacle of rock standing out against the sky. He was an hour reaching this objective, but once there he found the trail plainly traced along the edge of ttie bank. It led. in and out amid the intricacies of the hills, taking, of necessity, so winding: a course as to give Shelby no view ahead and soon confuted him to point of direction. He could only move forward cautiously, tearful’lest they might have halted for

some purpose, and watchful of every trace es their passage, as other ravines were constantly uniting with thia through which he was blindly feeling his way. He came to sand and lost all signs of the trail instantly, searching for it In vain for nearly an hour before confessing himself at fault. Then, leaving the horse below, he climbed the nearest hill for a view of hla surroundings. The sun gave him the proper directions, but all about stretched the same dreary, bare ridges of rock, offering no guidance. There was no life vJsl-

ble anywhere and although he waited for some time, sweeping his glasses back and forth,' he gained no glimpse of the two he endeavored to follow. They had vanished as though swallowed up by the earth. The sun was already In the west and desperately he determined to try the level. Even this, amid the intricacies of those branching passages between the round hills, was difficult to achieve, yet he finally discovered an exit and ventured toward the north, confident that the Cottonwood would surely He somewhere in that direction. He came upon It so suddenly and unexpectedly as to almost daze his faculties. Almost without warning he stood at the very edge of a yawning bole and stared In amazement down into those depths below. Again and again he had heard this scene described, yet had never before comprehended rts reality. A huge cut straight down, fully a mile wide, cleft the plain In two, with no visible signs of its presence until one stood at the very crater’* edge. At night he would have ridden off without the slightest warning of danger. And below I Feeling sick, dizzy, Shelby swung himself from the saddle, crept cautiously to the edge and looked down. He had no conception of the depth, for it already was hazy down there, as though he gazed through a blue fog, but how small those trees appeared, mere toy trees, and the silvery stream running through the center seemed scarcely a yard wide. A yard, why, if it was actually the Cottonwood, It must be a hundred feet from bank to bank ! God! What a hole I What a freak of nature! What a wilderness hiding place!

He lay motionless, with eyes searching up and down the valley. To the right he could not determine how far it extended, but to the left he could discern the sliver shield of water where the Cottonwood came tumbling over a precipice. One of the two possible entrances was there; the other must be along some one of those numerous side ravines, whose black entrances he could dimly perceive. It was all so serene, so peaceful, the truth seemed impossible—that he was actually gazing down into a veritable hell on earth, a rendezvous of white thieves and Indian murderers, a border fortress for all the nameless deviltry of the frontier. And he must invade the Hole, alone, if he would be of service to this woman captive! By sheer recklessness he must pierce the thing so the heart. Yet how was it to be done? Not even a mountain goat could find passage down those rocks even by daylight and in another hour all would be darkness. He could not remain' there; before night made the search impossible he must at least find water and a place in which to camp. He stared down Into those deepening mists below, already beginning to blot out the features of the valley.

“God, what a hole,” he breathed; “It is like looking straight into hell. The only way down must be somewhere to the left. Case told me they passed in under that waterfall.” He got to his feet, with the pony trailing behind, moved backward away from the edge of the chasm into the open plain. Suddenly, as his glance wandered searchingly toward the chain of rock hills, the man stopped, his heart pounding. What was that moving yonder, Just emerging from out the mouth of that ravine and becoming clearly outlined against the gray alkali? He knew almost instantly—the advance of a drove of cattle, debouching through the narrow defile and spreading out as they attained the wider open space. There must be a hundred head and even as he comprehended, horsemen appeared in their rear, spurring forward* to turn them to. the left down a shallow gulch.

There was no way he conic escape observation; do possibility of hiding oq that bare plain. Shelby’s brain worked like lightning. There were five riders; he could count them now; Indiana mostly, although one was surely white. There was nothing left him but audacity and He must take the chance, the one chnnce, mad. deaperate, yet yielding a |aw«lblllty of sucreas. He swung the field glasses to his eyee—yes. one rider was white, a squat figure with a red beard, and another, the fellow at thia end. appeared to be a Mexican. Then he laughed grimly; the vortex of hla glass rested on the exposed flank of the nearest steer and be saw the brand. By all the gods, they were his own cattle! The humor of It flashed la his eyes, but the Jaw of the man set sternly. The d—d thieves I He strode forward, the pony trailing at his heels, and then the Mexican saw him. throwing up one hand In a swift signal and spurring hie horse reckless'v across the gray plain. They met half way, Shelby stlfi afoot the other sweeping up at full speed, his horse brought fairly touts haunches by the cruel pressure of a Spanish bit The fellow waa a handsome devil but for the evil in his eyes and a disfiguring scar down one cheek. The eyes of the two met and the rider’s hand dropped instantly upon the exposed butt of a revolver. "Buenas dias, senor,” he said harshly, staring. "What is the meaning of —this?" Shelby smiled, coolly returning bls glance. “The meaning of what senorY’ he questioned shortly. “Your being here —alone I I have

not seen you before. You are not of the Wolves’ den." “Oh, Is that It, senor?” Indifferently. “Then maybe you will tell me how I am to find a way into this den of wolves? I have looked down yonder,” he waved his hand. , “You seek it, then?” “Sure; otherwise why should I be here? You will guide me?” “Caramba! It depends," suspiciously, yet somewhat disconcerted by the other's quiet manner. “I would know first. You are lost?” “Completely; yet It la a story easily told. I was with a man named Hanley an’ a fellow called Hank.” “Old Matt —I know him.” “Good; then I have met a friend. We were there, back in those hills, when my girth broke —see, where I have fixed It. I fell behind and they rode on. I thought to follow easily, but, you must know those hills, the trail was lost; perhaps I took a wrong turn, for suddenly I found myself on this plain.”

The Mexican sat motionless, his eyes as suspicious as ever, but his fingers no longer gripped on the revolver. The last of the cattle had disappeared down the coulee and the redbearded white man was riding toward them across the alkali. Neither changed "gbsltion until he cAme up, a lump of a fellow, with staring eyes anil complexion the color of parchment. “What the h —l is all this, Juan?” he questioned roughly. “Who Is the fellow?” “He travel with Matt Hanley an’ get lost; so he say.” “Hanley, hey! That’s some recommendation. Who else was with your party?” “A man called Hank.” “Slagin. Well, the story sounds straight so far; them two left here together; I happen to know that. What’s your name?” Shelby looked him squarely in the eye. “Churchill.” “What! Matt talked to me about that. Fellow named Macklin stalkin’ a girl down Ponca way.” “He’s got her; so Hanley says, an’ that’s what I’m here so “But you ain’t 01’ Churchill. The way I heard it he was sixty anyhow, an’ a down-easter.” “Virginia; he’s my father.” “Oh. h —l, an’ where you been?” “Soldierin’ mostly.” (TO BE CONTfmnSD.)

Ke Suddenly Emerged Out From the Gloom.

“You Are Not of the Wolvee’ Den."