John Goldfrap - The Border Boys with the Texas Rangers

“Lost Valley!” echoed Jack, struck by the dismal suggestion of the name. “Is there no way out?”

His companion shook his head.

“The legend says that they who blunder into the valley never escape,” he declared.

Jack could not repress a shudder as he thought of the skull by the pool; but the next instant he regained his nerve, for he knew that the stream must emerge from the valley somewhere.

“But surely this river has to find a way out of the valley?” he asked.

“Si, señor,” was the reply, “but the stream, so they say, burrows its way through a tunnel by which no human being could hope to pass.”

“Then you mean that we are prisoners here?”

“Unless somebody discovers us – yes.”

“Are there many people dwelling in this part of the country?” inquired Jack, with a sinking heart, for, despite his effort to keep up his cheerfulness, his hope was fast ebbing.

“No, it is a wild section devoted to cattle raising, and only a few wandering vaqueros ever come this way. It is from them that the news of the Lost Valley, which this may be, reached the outer world.”

“But we must escape,” cried Jack wildly, “we can’t remain here. We have no food, no means of getting any, and – ”

“I have my revolver,” interrupted the Mexican, “also plenty of cartridges. Perhaps we can find some game.”

This at least was a spark of cheering news. Both Jack and the Mexican were almost famished and decided to set out at once to see if they could bring down anything to serve as food. A revolver is not much of a weapon to use in hunting; but the Mexican declared that he was highly proficient with it. Jack hadn’t much confidence in his own ability as a revolver shot, so it was agreed that his dark–skinned companion should do the shooting.

They ranged the valley for some time without seeing a sign of life, when suddenly, from a clump of trees, there sprang three deer – two does and a buck.

Bang! went the revolver, and the buck slackened speed and staggered. A crimson stream from his shoulder showed that he had been badly wounded. But it took two more shots to bring him down. He was then dispatched with Jack’s knife. No time was lost in cutting off some steaks from the dead buck, a fire was speedily kindled and an appetizing aroma of broiling venison came from it. The meat was cooked by being held over the glowing wood coals on sticks of hard wood. Jack could hardly wait till his was cooked to eat it.

Fresh deer meat is not the delicacy that some of my readers may suppose. It is coarse, stringy and rather tasteless; but neither Jack nor his companion were in a mood to be particular. They devoured the meat ravenously, although they had no salt, bread or any other relish. But the meat strengthened Jack wonderfully, and as soon as it had been eaten he proposed that they should explore the valley thoroughly in an attempt to find a way out.

The Mexican was nothing loath; but he was dubious about there being any avenue of escape. However, with the stoical fatalism of his race he appeared to accept the situation philosophically.

Before setting out on their expedition the deer meat was hung in one of the trees as a protection in case any wild animals should get scent of it. This done, the Border Boy and his oddly contrasted companion set off, trudging around the valley in a determined effort to effect their escape in some way.

Several cañons that opened off into the rocky walls were examined, but they all proved to be “blind” and impassable. In exploring one of these Jack had a thrilling adventure.

His foot slipped on a rock and he plunged into a deep hole among some boulders. He was about to scramble out again, when from one of the rock crevices a hideous flat head darted. At the same time a curious dry, rattling sound was heard on every side of him. The boy recognized the noise with a sharp thrill of alarm.

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