Hal Kenyon Disappears

"Mountain, pine tree, ca?on, gulch,

Cookies, bacon!-like 'em much.

Canteen, hike-stick!

Hi-hi-hike-stick!

Lakefarm! mummy!

Flathead!-Ra-a-a!"

Thirty lusty juvenile throats, strong with frequent exercise, caused Mummy Ca?on to ring with this school-yell. It was almost evening, and the boys of Lakefarm School were on their return from a day's outing in the mountains. Clad in Boy Scout uniforms and wearing Rough Rider hats, they presented a picturesque appearance in that wild, rocky, mountain country, while their school-yell echoed among the hills, bright in the setting sun.

It was midsummer, yet thirty of the forty-four regular students were in attendance during the summer term, evidence of the popularity of the school, for they were all boys of the age that welcomes vacation time with cheers.

In spring this ca?on was a beautiful place; in summer it lost some of its freshness, but was still beautiful; in fall it lost more of life, but beauty still clung to it; in winter, it was a picture that called for deep admiration. It also might well have been named Echo Ca?on; indeed many in that part of Colorado often called it that. But Mummy Ca?on it had been christened, and this was the only name by which it was known on the maps and in the guide books.

Interesting stories were told about this great mountain gorge. They had to do with the ancient inhabitants of the country, the cliff-dwellers, ruins of whose homes were to be found here and there high up in steep places. The boys of Lakefarm knew these stories by heart. They had been told over and over and added to until enough new and interesting details had been gathered around the original stories to fill a book.

Dr. Regulus Byrd, head master, Chief Scout, and owner of Lakefarm, was as peculiar as his name. Some called him eccentric, but the boys of the school and the friends of the doctor did not agree. The boys loved him as few schoolmasters ever are loved; the older people of the district declared that when it came to a pinch, Dr. Byrd never lacked judgment.

The doctor and the two instructors of the school, Mr. Frankland and Mr. Porter, were with the boys on the outing from which they were now returning. Mr. Frankland was a short, brisk, wide-awake man, who smiled frequently and shrewdly. Mr. Porter was an odd personage, dignified and very positive in all things, but an excellent instructor in manual training. After the procession had advanced well toward the heart of the gully and given two or three school-yells that raised the echoes, Mr. Porter said:

"Dr. Byrd, we're only three miles from home. Why not stop here, build a fire, and sit around and talk a while?"

"That's the stuff," came from several of the boys at the same time. Dr. Byrd had a boy's heart, and as there was no good reason for opposing the suggestion, he gave his consent.

In a jiffy the boys scattered in all directions in search of firewood; up the side of the hill and along the near bank of a noisy mountain stream, and soon were returning with armfuls of dead wood. Most of them were experienced in building camp fires in true frontier style, and the work progressed rapidly.

Two of the boys, Hal Kenyon and Byron Bowler, were delegated to the work of starting the fire. This was not done by striking a match and touching it to some dry leaves. The method employed was one more suited to the romantic scene. First, Hal and Byron searched until they found two serviceable pieces of dry cottonwood root. Having good, strong, sharp pocketknives, they proceeded to whittle and shave the roots. One was made flat and about three-fourths of an inch thick; the other was cut slim and round and sharpened at both ends. In one edge of the flat piece was cut a notch, and close to the notch was sunk a hole to fit one end of the slim piece. Then a small hand-piece with a socket for the other end of the drill was prepared by Byron, while Hal cut a section of a small green limb, two feet long, which with a thong made a bow.

All the material needed for starting a fire was now ready save a supply of tinder. This was obtained by rubbing a piece of dry cedar on a rough boulder, producing a handful of easily lighted shreds. The notched piece of wood was now placed on a flat rock, the drill was inserted in place and the string of the bow looped tightly over it. Then the top-socket-piece was set on the other end for a handle, and the bow was drawn back and forth, the notched piece being held in place under the foot of the operator.

Hal Kenyon operated the device. The drill revolved rapidly in the socket, and presently a fine brown powder was flowing into the notch. In a few seconds this powder was smoking densely and slight fanning with a hat brought a flame.

Some of the tinder was now applied and after a little blowing, a tiny flame leaped up. The rest of the tinder was then applied, followed by some cedar bark and small wood. Pretty soon the fire was roaring and crackling, while the boys piled on more fuel.

"Now for our camp-fire yell," cried Hal when the last armful of fuel had been deposited on the burning heap. Immediately the ca?on rang and echoed with thirty young voices chanting the following:

"Camp-fire, rah!

Smoke-punk, ha!

Tinder, Lakefarm!

Rah-rah-rah!"

This yell was repeated several times until it seemed as if the rocks poised aloft would be shaken loose and come crashing down on the reckless Boy Scouts. Then the boys scattered again, each returning presently with another load of fuel, which was deposited near the blazing pile.

"Well done, my lads, well done," announced Dr. Byrd as the last load was dropped. "Now what are we going to do next?"

"Eat supper," replied Allie Atkins, with a slap of his hand on his hungry region.

"Of course; I almost forgot that," laughed the doctor. "I'm always forgetting my stomach. That's the reason I haven't dyspepsia. Always forget your stomachs, boys, until they remind you of their existence and you'll be all right in that spot. But what are we going to eat? Nothing left, is there?"

"How about the fish?" inquired Walter Hurst, commonly known as "Pickles" because of his fondness for that table delicacy.

"That's right. This is just the time and place to cook them."

The suggestion was followed accordingly. The fish-two score of mountain trout-had been caught by the boys in the Rio Grande several miles to the east early in the morning. As they had enough other food for breakfast and dinner, their catch had been saved for the next morning's meal at the school.

Of course the doctor had not forgotten the fish when he asked the boys what they would eat for supper. But he always appeared to have a poor memory and few ideas when on a trip with his Scouts. He made it a rule to compel the boys to suggest and do every useful thing within their power.

So they prepared the meal on this occasion, as they had done on others. Fireplaces were constructed with stones, frying-pans were placed over them, and the fish were soon sputtering appetizingly. Fortunately, they still had a moderate supply of bread, butter, jam and coffee, so that all appetites were fairly well satisfied.

The pans and coffee pots and cups were washed in the dashing stream, the remains of the meal were cleared away, more fuel was thrown on the camp fire, and all gathered before it for the next number of the unprepared program. For a few minutes the boys chatted on the incidents of their three days' hike and exploration. Then one of them suggested:

"Let's tell stories."

A proposal of this kind under such circumstances is always favorably received by true Boy Scouts. There was a general note of approval, and Dr. Byrd inquired:

"Well, what shall it be first?"

"Flathead Mountain," suggested Pickles.

"Good!" exclaimed Frank Bowler.

"And have somebody slam somebody in the face," proposed Clayton White, the joker of the school. "That'll suit 'Bad.'"

Frank Bowler had been nicknamed "Bad" because he was continually talking about "clipping somebody on the jaw," or "slamming some one in the face," or "putting somebody to the bad."

"I'll push you one on the chin if you don't close your face," growled "Bad" in an undertone to the last speaker.

Clayton only grinned. He was not at all afraid, as he was a year older than Frank and thought himself stronger.

"Well, who has something more to add to the story of Flathead?" inquired the owner of Lakefarm.

"I have," replied Hal Kenyon.

"Very well, Hal, we'll listen to you first," announced the doctor, and all became attentive with a readiness that indicated almost military training.

It was well known how Mummy Ca?on obtained its name. High up on the face of a bluff was a large rock, almost human in shape, in wrappings like a mummy. Mummy Ca?on had not yet attracted the attention of sight-seers. No railroad ran near it, and only a rattling stage-coach line carried visitors between the nearest depot and the small settlement of Jamestown, or "Jimtown," as it was popularly called, near which Dr. Byrd had located his boys' school.

Dr. Byrd had served many years as a physician on English ships visiting the Orient, and, by both inheritance and good fortune, had become wealthy. When about fifty years old he found that the heat and dampness of the tropical climate were undermining his health and that he must heed the warnings of nature. So he returned home, but in London found that his throat still troubled him, and he decided that he most move elsewhere.

His children being grown and married, he and his wife sold part of their personal effects and came to America. Then they traveled about a good deal, trying to find a climate that would promote better health for the doctor, but every place they visited proved unsatisfactory until they reached Colorado.

The altitude of this state, second highest of all the states of the Union, together with the atmospheric conditions, proved "just the thing." But where should they make their home? Denver was delightful as to climate, but the doctor was not contented there. He loved nature, to be out of doors; he had no patience with clanging street cars, smoking engines, and houses huddled together. So they began their search anew.

One day they stopped at Lake City and took a stage-coach ride over the La Garita Mountains. The vehicle was only a rattling two-seated open buggy, drawn by four horses that might have pulled a plow over any American field, but it was dignified with the name stage-coach. The driver was a young man who had a contract with the government for transporting mail to and from various mining points along the way, and he added to his profits by carrying passengers and all manner of light freight.

Along the foot of the mountains they rode for several miles, then up a grade and around a spur of a perpendicular hill, up, up, up, winding here and there, overlooking deep gullies, dashing downgrade into a ragged valley, with its noisy brook; then up again and on and around they wound to where the pines stuck in the mountain sides like toothpicks.

In the course of this journey they passed through Mummy Ca?on. But this gorge had not yet received its name, and when the imaginative Dr. Byrd beheld the "swathed form" on the face of a lofty bluff, he called attention to it.

"That's the mummy," said the driver in a matter-of-fact way.

"It looks just like an Egyptian mummy," declared the doctor. "Does everybody call it that?"

"Everybody around here does."

"What's the name of this ca?on?"

"'Tain't got none. I s'pose it'll get a name one o'these days when more people settle 'round here."

"It's going to have one right now," announced the doctor. "Its name is Mummy Ca?on. I call you two as witnesses of the christening."

"You'll have to stay here a while and tell everybody or the name won't stick," laughed Mrs. Byrd.

"And that's just what I'm going to do," was the surprising answer. "I'm going to make my home right near here-with your permission, of course, my dear. This is just the country I want to live in. It's good for my health. It's good for my eyes; I like to look at it."

That settled it. Mrs. Byrd was amiable and happy to live in any place where her husband's health could improve. Moreover, she, too, was delighted with the scenery and praised it almost as much as did the doctor.

But there were other features of special interest in the ca?on. This part of the state had once been inhabited by the cliff-dwellers, prehistoric Pueblo Indians. Ruins of their early dwellings and defenses were to be found here and there, although usually they were in such dilapidated condition that it was difficult to make out their character except at close range.

The "mummy bluff" stood out high on the side of a most remarkable mountain, especially noticeable because of its shape. The sides looked unscalable and the top appeared to have been cut off clean and level with a monster knife, a few hundred feet lower than the neighboring lofty peaks. Before leaving the ca?on, Dr. Byrd gave a name also to this mountain. He called it Flathead.

The doctor was well pleased with "Jimtown." In fact, he was pleased with everything now. The mining settlement was booming when he and Mrs. Byrd arrived. It was located close to the side of a mountain; a few of the houses, in fact, stood a short distance up on the steep slope. The place was so busy that nobody seemed to have time to notice the arrival of so humble a pair as a London physician and his wife, and they selected a site and built a home without attracting any particular attention.

The site was located near a pretty mountain-spring lake that fed a tributary of the Rio Grande. It was about three miles from Mummy Ca?on. The scenery of course was beautiful, as it is in all of mountainous Colorado. The lake was clear and cold. It rested in a pocket more than a hundred feet above a delightful valley and behind it was a range of tall, steep, snow-capped mountains. The outlet was down several natural terraces that converted the little river into a succession of dashing cascades before it reached the valley.

This place was several miles from "Jimtown," the nearest settlement. Dr. Byrd engaged servants and began the cultivation of a considerable farm. The beauty of the spot and the personality of the settlers soon attracted attention, and several others moved there and began the cultivation of farms. Before long a post office branch was opened and the stage-coach line ran two miles out of its way to deliver mail, groceries and general supplies.

Meanwhile the doctor made acquaintances rapidly. He was a most entertaining person to meet. He had traveled extensively and seemed to know the world. He had an excellent library and a magnificent collection of curios from many countries. Moreover, he had a delightful personality, tall, straight, athletic figure, kindly intelligent face, and a shock of curly iron-gray hair that commanded the admiration of all who saw it.

But the doctor's best friends were boys. And there was a reason for this. The boys whom he met always found in him a best friend. He knew all about them, their likes and dislikes, their sports and their hardships. He had a vivid recollection of his own boyhood days, and he could reel off yarns by the hour. Just put him into a company of youngsters and let him begin: "When I was a boy," and everybody was all attention in an instant. Of course there were not many boys living in the neighborhood of the new mountain home, but there were a good many in Jimtown, where the doctor soon became a familiar figure. And there was always company at "Lakefarm," as he had named the place, and the "company" always was urged to bring the boys along. Frequently they would remain at Lakefarm after the grown-ups had departed, and every summer the place became "a regular boy ranch," as one visitor called it.

Finally the doctor got so interested in "boy-ology" that he resolved to open a boys' school. Manual training had become quite the fashion in the making of young men all over the country and this appealed to the owner of Lakefarm. So he let his ideas become known and was astonished as well as pleased at the indorsement they received.

Five years after settling at Lakefarm Dr. Byrd built a schoolhouse and a shop and a dormitory on his farm, engaged instructors and servants, and then announced that he was ready to receive pupils. It was surprising how rapidly the school was filled. In two weeks Dr. Byrd announced that he could receive no more, and the registry list was closed.

Most of the boys were of either wealthy or well-to-do parents. Naturally this was an almost necessary condition, as the tuition and living expenses at an institution of this kind were not the lowest. But to offset this, the doctor made arrangements for receiving a few pupils on nominal payments or free of charge. One of these poor boys was Hal Kenyon, whom Dr. Byrd found selling newspapers on a street corner in Denver. Hal proved to be such a bright lad that the owner of Lakefarm decided at once to do something for him. Hal's parents were willing and he went to school in the mountains.

Three successful and happy years had passed since the opening of the school on Lakefarm. Meanwhile the settlement around the school grew until the census enumerator reported fifty families. Previously the town had been known as Byrd's Place, or just Byrd's, but now the subject of a permanent name arose and a meeting was called to settle the matter.

Flathead was the name selected. After this the name of the school was changed in the popular mind. Officially it bore the title of Lakefarm Institute, but soon it was spoken of frequently as Flathead School, while some humorously played on the idea suggested in the name and styled it the "School for Level-headed Boys."

This latter pleased Dr. Byrd very well, for it expressed his purpose in a few words, to develop in his pupils a liberal supply of common sense.

That was the history of Mummy Ca?on, Flathead Mountain and Lakefarm Institute. The mountain was partly visible from the school. On their return to the farm from Mummy Ca?on the Boy Scouts would have to walk on through the ca?on, past old Flathead, and up the stream that came dashing noisily down from Lakefarm and joined Flathead River north of the big gorge.

The peakless mountain was located near the lower end of the ca?on, and it was from a bluff on the mountain side that the "mummy" stood forth. Before the sun went down the Scouts could see the outlines of this freak of nature from their position at the camp fire, but as it sank beneath the high horizon and the ca?on grew dark, both the bluff and the "mummy" were lost to view. But presently the moon rose over Old Flathead.

Under such circumstances Hal Kenyon began his legend of the ca?on, relating it as follows:

"Flathead Mountain was once a giant. He was the biggest giant that ever lived. His name wasn't Flathead then. His head ran up to a peak, and the people called him Sugar Loaf.

"But his heart was made of stone, the hardest kind, and his brains were all up in the peak of his head. And those brains didn't amount to much, for they had such a small place to rest in that they were squeezed into half their natural size.

"And since he didn't have much brains and his heart was made of stone, he was a cruel giant. He did all kinds of mean things. He killed and ate all the boys he could lay his hands on. There weren't any Boy Scouts in those days, or they'd have gone out and killed him."

"I'd have clouted him in the jaw," interrupted Frank Bowler energetically. "Just one good swift punch on the chin-"

"Yes, you would, Bad," jeered Pickles; "you're all the time talking about clouting somebody-but you never do."

"I don't, eh?"

"Come, come, boys," warned the doctor. "That's not very dignified talk for a Boy Scout, Frank. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. It's silly. Go ahead, Harry. We'll let Frank tell us how he would have licked the giant after you've finished."

"Well," continued Hal, "I was going to tell how a boy like Bad did clout the giant in the face, or something worse, but he interrupted me. You see it was this way. A good many years ago, a boy called Smash lived near here. That was before the giant lost his peak. Smash went around smashing everybody in the face. The giant met him in the woods one day and nodded his head at him and said hello.

"'Come off the heap; don't talk to me,'" jeered Smash. 'I'll lay my mit on your mouth.'

"'Ho, ho, ho!' laughed the giant. 'You're the conceitedest kid that ever came to this ca?on.'

"'Where's the best place to hit you?' asked Smash.

"'Right here on my ankle,' replied the giant. 'You can't reach any higher.'

"'Let me stand on your ear, and I'll give you a nailer,' said Smash.

"The giant picked Smash up with two fingers and stood him on his ear.

"'Now, let me have your axe,' said Smash.

"'What!' roared the giant.

"'Let me have your axe.'

"'Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!' laughed the giant. 'You couldn't get your arms around the handle.'

"'I can't, eh? Just give it to me and I'll knock your brains out.'

"'All right, you conceited kid,' said the giant. 'Here it is. Bust away.'

"He always carried his axe with him to cut firewood, and he gave it to the boy. Smash's fingers seemed suddenly to grow very long and very strong, for they seized the handle and lifted it up. Then, before the giant realized what was happening, Smash gave the axe a mighty swing and cut the top of his head off."

"Hurrah for Smash!" exclaimed Bad.

"Wait a minute," said Hal. "There's more coming and you won't be so happy over it."

"Did Smash fall off his ear?" inquired one of the boys.

"Good guess," replied Hal. "That's just what happened."

"Did he break his neck?" asked another.

"I don't know; but it was just as bad. He fell faster than the top of the giant's head and the giant's brains spilt on top of him and drownded him."

"Drowned him, you mean," corrected Mr. Porter. But the correction was not noticed. The boys were loudly expressing their opinions of the story. Some liked it; others were displeased.

"Served him right for having the big-head," declared Joe Moffett wisely.

"You bet it did," agreed Vincent Pyle.

"Didn't either," shouted Frank Bowler. "That's a crazy story. You can't tell me. Why, do you think a boy who could stand on a giant's ear and cut off the top of his head with a axe as big as forty trees would get in such a scrape?"

"No," replied several. "Yes," declared others.

"You're crazy," said Bad, addressing the latter. "Why, he'd 'a' fell in the giant's pocket, or caught hold o' one of his whiskers, or hung onto his watch chain."

"That's a good argument," pronounced Dr. Byrd. "What have you to say to it, Hal?"

"Bad's wrong," replied the story teller.

"I want you boys to quit calling Frank 'Bad,'" said the doctor sternly. "He isn't bad at all. He's just extravagant in his talk."

"I don't care what they call me," declared Frank, who was rather proud of his nickname.

"Just so we don't call you down, eh?" Pickles amended.

"If you do, I'll clean you up."

Pickles was smaller than Bad and did not resent this threat. The doctor did not regard Frank's talk very seriously and so did not remonstrate. He remembered similar experiences of his own and believed that hard knocks are a much better cure than constant preaching for the brag and bluff of a boy.

"Where'd you get that story?" inquired Byron Bowler, Bad's one-year-older brother. "Make it up yourself?"

"No, Pepper helped me," replied Hal. Pepperill Humphrey was an old servant of the doctor's who had traveled with him much and followed his employer soon after the latter settled in Colorado. He was an interesting character, one of those old-style family servants who had grown up with the families for whom they worked.

"We worked it out together," continued Hal.

"Did you put me in it or did Pepper?" inquired Frank.

"I didn't know you were in it," replied Hal with a mischievous grin plainly visible in the firelight.

"Oh, Smarty! You know what I mean. You meant Smash for me."

"I put Smash in the story, yes; but you never did any such things as he did."

Hal and Frank were very good friends, and Hal knew better than to take seriously Bad's "fierce" attitude. He liked his warlike friend best when he was threatening to "clean somebody up." There was something amusing about him when he was making one of his idle threats.

"Now, who's going to tell us a story about the mummy?" inquired Mr. Frankland.

"I have one on that if nobody else has," announced Dr. Byrd.

"Tell it," cried several of the boys eagerly.

"It isn't very long," said the doctor; "but it fits in well with Hal's story. The giant, by the way, had water on the brain: that's why Smash was drowned.

"Well, Smash, by the way, was an Indian. And he had a brother whose name was Rash. This brother was continually doing the most outlandish things and performing the most wonderful feats. After the top of the giant's head was cut off and his brains gone, the giant died. But as he was very stockily built, he did not fall over, but continued to stand there. Trees and bushes and grass and flowers grew all over and he became a mountain.

"Now, Rash was a witness of the death of Smash. He was sailing above in an airship-"

"What!"

"In an airship!"

"Yes, why not?" he replied.

"Who ever heard of Indians having airships!" said Bad in tones of disgust.

"This Indian was a real inventor," explained Dr. Byrd. "But he kept the secrets of all his inventions to himself, so that when he died all his work died with him. When he saw the fearful accident that had befallen his brother, he glided down to offer assistance. The giant was dead, although standing erect; but Smash had disappeared, all but one foot. That was sticking out from under the hollow peak of the giant's head, which had fallen over the boy and caged him in.

"Rash alighted and attempted to turn the peak over; but although he was very strong, he was unable to do this. So he flew away, and a few days later he returned with several other Indians. With the aid of some tree trunks for levers they elevated one side of the peak-prison and pulled out the body of the prisoner.

"The brain of the giant proved to have been a most remarkable substance. It had a strong odor of spices and chemicals and had converted Smash's body into a mummy. The flesh was becoming hard as stone and it was evident that no decay could follow.

"Although Rash was a reckless and daring fellow, he had not the great fault that had brought Smash to a sad end. He appreciated the danger of such a nature and desired to warn all others against a like fate. So he wrapped the body in cloths, as some of the Indian tribes have done, and saturated the cloths with diluted giant's brain to preserve them. Then he put the body on his airship and arose to the giant's forehead, and landed with his burden on a beetling eyebrow. There he hewed out a shallow niche, into which, he set the mummified Smash and cemented him fast; and on the giant's forehead he remains to-day as a warning not only to boys who are continually threatening to clean some one up, but also to giants who may be so foolish as to put great power into the hands of boastful youths."

Everybody except Frank applauded this story. After the hand-clapping and shouts of glee had subsided, Bad remarked disdainfully:

"That story's all bunk. The mummy on the mountain's as big as a elephant. How could it have been a boy?"

"Oh, those Indians were giants themselves, though they weren't anything like as big as Flathead," exclaimed Dr. Byrd.

At this moment all were startled by a most remarkable noise. It was a heavy whirring sound and came from overhead. Instinctively they all looked up and beheld in the moonlight a very strange object. But, strange though it was, every one of the boys recognized its nature almost immediately.

"It's an airship," cried one.

"An aeroplane," shouted another.

"He's volplaning," exclaimed Dr. Byrd in startled tones. "I wonder what he means. He can't be going to land here."

"He seems to be in trouble," said Mr. Frankland. "Yes, he's coming down."

"Look out, everybody!" shouted Dr. Byrd. "No telling where he'll land."

There was no need of a second warning. Evidently the aviator was losing control of his machine. It acted as if one wing had been clipped. Suddenly, within fifty feet of the ground, the aeroplane plunged and fell with a crash and a thud less than a hundred feet from the camp fire.