Boy's Cinema (1935-39)

20 huii as lie beheld the dim bed of it away beneath him, so that, his eyes recoiling from the spectacle, he averted his gaze. And then it was that ihe saw a ledge a little below him and some- what to his right, a ledge that merged into a kind of track which seemed to slant steeply down the face of the rock to the very base of the cliff. At sight of that ledge a feeling of hope was awakened in him, and he began to swing himself from side to Mile, pendulum-fashion, clinging tightly the while to the bush he had seized. Then all at once, when he judged that his body had gathered sufficient momentum, he released his grip on twigs and foliage as he was swaying towards the right. He dropped on to the ledge that was his objective. It was perilously narrow, and for a breathless instant he was in danger of losing his balance and toppling into the void, but he flung himself down on the craggy shelf and managed somehow to prevent himself from rolling off if. He lay there for several seconds, scarcely "able to believe that he was safe. Presently, however, he braced himself with an effort, and, struggling to his feet, he commenced to wend his wav down the track which sloped towards the base of the precipice. That track was smooth and slippery, and in descending it he was in constant danger of losing his footing with fatal result. Yet he succeeded in gaining the bed of the canyon without mishap, and. arriving there, he turned after a moment's hesitation towards the left- Stumbling along the gloomy guloh. he scanned the rock ramparts on each side of him and followed them upward with his eyes to their remote summits —upwards to beetling formations that permitted only a thin streak of moon- light to shine' into the canyon. There was no means of ascending either of the precipices that hemmed him in, unless it were by the track which he had negotiated and which offered no escape from the fissure. Then, after trudging vainly over a quarter of a mile of ground, he found his path blocked by a towering wall of cliff that checked further progress in the direction whish he had taken. He turned back and began to retrace his steps, walking in the wedge of • moonlight that filtered into the gulch. 'and he was immediately below that •high, remote shrub which had saved his life when he saw a man's boot protruding from a clutter of boulders near-by. He moved over to those boulders and discovered the shattered, lifeless body of an individual whose dress indicated that he had been a Mexican of the educated class, and, looking at the wretch pityingly, Clark guessed cor- rectly enough that lie was Cordoba, the missing secretary of the new governor who had been despatched to Santa Fe to take the place of Eseobedo Dupray. Beyond a doubt the fellow had been sen! to his doom through the trap- door which had been released under Clark's feet. Thus reflected (lie big frontiersman, and shuddered lo think that he himself might have been lying dead here a- well if fortune had not favoured him —a mangled corpse like this luckless man who had been hurled to destruction hours before. Then a black rage took pos~e>sion of the U.S. Government agent, and, in the I h roes of that emotion, he vowed to himself that if ever he escaped from these hills lie would never rest until lie had seen the Dupray-Zamora gang wiped out to the last man. September 10th, 1933. BOY'S CINEMA A little while later he was moving away from the huddled form of Cordoba and proceeding along the guloh, but he had not gone far before he was brought up short by another wall of rock that rose in his path. The canyon was closed in at both ends. That much Clark's investigation had revealed, and, though the cliffs at this extremity of the fissure were no more than fifty feet in height, they were completely insurmountable, those on his right and left hand leaning so close towards each other that only a meagre vista of sky could be seen beyond their converging rims. In short, Clark was a prisoner in this sombre cleft of the mountains—with no prospect, it seemed, of ever gaining his freedom. For all his courage, he groaned aloud as the full realisation of his plight was borne home to him. It would have been better to have shared the fate of Cordoba, lie told himself, than to stand confronted by a situation such as this—a situation which must mean for him a slow, lingering death by the pangs of hunger and thirst. Or had his foes perceived that he was still alive, he wondered, and would they appear above the canyon and open fire on him ? If they did, he might expose himself resignedly to the doom's biast of their guns as a welcome alterna- tive to a worse destiny. But no. he thought. From the trap- door in the gang's lair only a small por- tion of the slope down which he had tumbled could possibly be visible. The renegades could not have seen him clutch that shrub a few feet below the cliff's blink and swing thence on to the track by which he had reached the bed of the cleft. They doubtless imagined that he had plunged to the rocks at the base of the precipice, and that the life had been smashed out of him. Clark was right. Up in the cave from which he had fallen the trap-door had been re-set, and, convinced that the frontiersman was no more, Dupray and Zamora and their hirelings had returned to that inner compartment which was now the headquarters of the deposed Lieutenant Governor. At the moment Dupray was seated at the table there, and, his accomplices gathered around him, he was thought- fulls examining the note which had been taken from Clark Stuart when the lat- ter had been captured. His scrutiny of that note had sug- gested a cunning scheme to Dupray. and presently he looked up at the rogues who were assembled about him. "Stuart is dead." he remarked, finger- ing his smooth-shaven chin, "but no one knows that except ourselves—and T fancy, amigos. that we might make ~ood use of his name." Zamora eyed him in an inquiring manner. "What do you mean, Excellency?" he asked. Eseobedo Dupiay indicated the mis- sive he had been studying. "I refer to this note which Stuart wrote and which bears his signature," he announced. "It is a note request- ing Jamison to muster his men. join forces with the garrison of the citadel and inarch from Santa Fe. It is a note in whiih Stuart declares that he will inei 1 them three mile- north of Tascosa Bend on the Rio Eos Lunas, and then lead them to our hide-out." He paused, then adopted a sly tone. "We have every reason to believe that Stuarl wanted the Rider of the Pai i Stallion to deliver this note lo J.unison," lie went on. "According to Macklin md tlu> men who captured Stuart, he Every Tuesday seemed on the point of handing the note to the Rider when he was surprised." "1 hat's right," Macklin interposed. "I reckon the Rider don't speak English too good, or Stunt would've given the message by word o' mouth. Anyhow, I calculate we ain't got nothin' to worry about, even though the Rider got away. That note will never reach Jami- son now " Dupray silenced him with a gesture. "On the contrary, Macklin," he said softly, "I think it might be a good idea if the note did reach Jamison." His associates looked at him blankly. Then Zamora found his voice. "Are you crazy?" he blurted. "That message will bring the Jamison party and the presidio garrison within a mile or two of our hide-aw:ay. and when Stuart fails to meet them they're bound to start a search for him—a search that may fetch them all too close to this lair of ours." Dupray smiled. "I agiee, Zamora, that our hide-out would be in danger of becoming dis- covered." he observed, "if this note were delivered to Jamison without alteration. But it so happens that Stuart's handwriting is not of copper- plate pattern, and lends itself to such alteration. For instance, take this word ' north.' " He beckoned Zamora closer, and, con- sulting the note, pointed out the sentence it. which Clark had proposed meeting Jamison three miles north of Tascosa Bend on the Rio Los Lunas. "With a stroke of two of a pencil," Dupray continued, "that word 'north' could very easib' be transformed into the word ' south.' Look, I will de- monstrate what I mean." He took out a pencil and craftily changed the word in question so that, it read ' south ' instead of ' north.' Then he glanced at Zamora again. "You see?" he commented. "If Jamison received this message now', he ,'.n<l his men and the troops from the presidio would head for a point three miles south of Tascosa Bend, and, if they commenced a search for Stuart, there would be little chance of them exti nding their quest £ts far up as this locality." Zamora frowned. "That's true," he muttered. "But why send this note at all ? What would be your purpose in sending it?" "To draw the Jamison party from their wagon-et campment." was the swift response, "and the garrison from the fortress. Then, amigo, you ami your bravoes could bear down on Santa Fe, plumlei the Jamison prairie schooners of then merchandise—and. into the bar gain, force your way into the citadel and obtain that official seal which belongs to the new Governor and which would be ot such value to us." His henchman's eyes gleamed at tli.it. and the other members of the gany changed appreciative glances. "Ah. T understand, Excellen Zamora breathed. "Rut fell me, how is Stuart's note to be delivered?" "By an arrow launched into the wagon encam] ment,'' Dupray answered. 1 whistling arrow of the kind use<l by the Rider 01 the Painted Stallion. We have Beveral specimens here in this hide out— aiiows discharged by that meddler in the <ourse of Fri ne of his best-laid plans. One of your men, ira, will take one of thosi and fasten Clark Stuart's message to it. That man rmisl be within bowshol of the Jamison encampment lawn, and. the moment he has sent the shaft on its wav, he must make himself scarce, leaving Stuart's friends to imagine that