Frank Merriwell Down South | Page 3

a little, like a bird freed of burden; but it suddenly collapsed, fluttered downward, and the mists leaped up and clutched it like a thousand exulting demons, dragging it down from our sight. We crawled up from the rocks, but it was a close call--a close call."
He lay exhausted, his eyes closed, his hand ceasing to fumble beneath the straw. Once more Professor Scotch gave him a little of the brandy.
Frank Merriwell was more than interested; he could feel his heart trembling with excitement. Something seemed to tell him that this man was speaking the truth, and he was eager to hear more.
For a long time the unfortunate lay gasping painfully for breath, but, at last, he was easier. He opened his eyes, and saw Frank watching him steadily, with an anxious expression.
"Ah!" he murmured, exultantly, "you believe me--you do not doubt! I must tell you everything. You shall be Jack Burk's heir. Think of it--heir to wealth enough to make you richer than Monte Cristo! Witness--witness that I make this boy my heir!"
He turned to the professor and Hans, and both bowed, the former saying:
"We are witnesses."
"Good! We escaped with our lives, but we brought little of the treasure with us. I was determined to find the way back there, and I made a map. See, here it is."
He thrust a soiled and crumpled piece of paper into Frank's hand, and the boy saw there were lines and writing on it.
"How we found our way out of the mountains, how we endured the heat of the desert I cannot tell," went on the weak voice of the man on the bed of straw. "We reached Zacatecas, and then Bushnell went for another balloon. He knows friends who have money and power, and he will get the balloon--if he lives."
"But the proof--the proof that you were going to show us?"
"It is here! Look!"
From beneath the straw Jack Burk drew forth a queer little figure of solid gold--a figure like the pictures of Aztec gods, which Frank had seen.
"This is proof!" declared the man. "It is some of the treasure we brought from the palace. Bushnell took the rest."
The professor excitedly grasped the little image, and gazed searchingly at it.
"It is all right--it is genuine!" he finally exclaimed.
"Of course it is genuine!" said the man on the bed of grass. "And there are more in the Silver Palace. There the treasures of the Aztecs were hidden, and they have remained. The country all around is full of fierce natives, who hold the palace in awe and prevent others from reaching it. They have kept the secret well, but----"
"Vot vos dot?" interrupted Hans.
At some distance on the plain outside the hut were wildly galloping horses, for they could hear hoof-beats and loud cries. Then came a fusillade of pistol shots!
[Illustration: "Frank began shooting, and his first bullet brought down one of the ponies of the pursuers." (See page 14)]
CHAPTER II.
GONE.
"Bandits!" cried Jack Burk. "It may be Pacheco!"
"Pacheco?" questioned Frank.
"Pacheco, the human hawk! He haunts the mountains and the desert. He pursued us across the desert, but we escaped him. I have been in hiding here to avoid him. He believes we brought much treasure from the mountains."
The professor had leaped to the door, and was looking away on the plain. Now he cried, excitedly:
"Look here! A band of horsemen pursuing a white man--plainly an American. Look, he is shooting again!"
Once more the shots were heard.
Frank ran to the door, catching up a rifle that had been leaning against the wall of the hut, for he knew he was in a "bad man's land."
"Stand aside!" he shouted, forcing his way past the professor. "No countryman of mine can be in danger that I do not try to give him a helping hand."
"What do you mean to do?"
"Get a crack at those Greasers."
"You are crazy! You will bring the entire band down on us!"
"Let 'em come! One Yankee is good for six Greasers."
Past the hut at a distance a single horseman was riding, hotly spurring the animal which bore him. At least a dozen dark-faced, fierce-looking ruffians, mounted on hardy little ponies, were in pursuit.
As Professor Scotch had said, the fugitive was plainly an American, a native of the United States. He had turned in the saddle to send bullets whistling back at his pursuers.
Frank ran out and dropped on one knee. The professor followed him, and Hans came from the hut.
Just as Frank lifted the rifle to his shoulder and was on the point of shooting, the voice of Jack Burk sounded from the doorway, to which he had dragged himself:
"It is Bushnell, my partner! Al! Al! Al Bushnell!"
His voice was faint and weak, and it did not reach the ears of the man out on the plain.
Then Frank began shooting, and his