CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
HUNKY BEN IS SORELY PERPLEXED.
It was one of Hunky Ben's few weaknesses to take pride in being wellmounted. When he left the tavern he bestrode one of his best steeds--ablack charger of unusual size, which he had purchased while on a tradingtrip in Texas--and many a time had he ridden it while guiding the UnitedStates troops in their frequent expeditions against ill-disposedIndians. Taken both together it would have been hard to equal, andimpossible to match, Hunky Ben and his coal-black mare.
From the way that Ben rode, on quitting the tavern, it might have beensupposed that legions of wild Indians were at his heels. But aftergoing about a few miles at racing speed he reined in, and finally pulledup at a spot where a very slight pathway diverged. Here he sat quitestill for a few minutes in meditation. Then he muttered softly tohimself--for Ben was often and for long periods alone in the woods andon the plains, and found it somewhat "sociable-like" to mutter histhoughts audibly:
"You've not cotched him up after all, Ben," he said. "Black Pollya'most equals a streak o' lightnin', but the Britisher got too long astart o' ye, an' he's clearly in a hurry. Now, if I follow on he'llhear your foot-falls, Polly, an' p'raps be scared into goin' faster tohis doom. Whereas, if I go off the track here an' drive ahead so as togit to the Blue Fork before him, I'll be able to stop the Buck's littlegame, an' save the poor fellow's life. Buck is sure to stop him at theBlue Fork, for it's a handy spot for a road-agent, [a highwayman] andthere's no other near."
Hunky Ben was pre-eminently a man of action. As he uttered or thoughtthe last word he gave a little chirp which sent Black Polly along thediverging track at a speed which almost justified the comparison of herto lightning.
The Blue Fork was a narrow pass or gorge in the hills, the footpaththrough which was rendered rugged and dangerous for cattle because ofthe rocks that had fallen during the course of ages from the cliffs oneither side. Seen from a short distance off on the main track themountains beyond had a brilliantly blue appearance, and a few hundredyards on the other side of the pass the track forked--hence the name.One fork led up to Traitor's Trap, the other to the fort of QuesterCreek, an out-post of United States troops for which Hunky Ben was boundwith the warning that the Redskins were contemplating mischief. As Benhad conjectured, this was the spot selected by Buck Tom as the mostsuitable place for waylaying his intended victim. Doubtless he supposedthat no Englishman would travel in such a country without a good deal ofmoney about him, and he resolved to relieve him of it.
It was through a thick belt of wood that the scout had to gallop atfirst, and he soon outstripped the traveller who kept to the main and,at that part, more circuitous road, and who was besides obliged toadvance cautiously in several places. On nearing his destination,however, Ben pulled up, dismounted, fastened his mare to a tree, andproceeded the rest of the way on foot at a run, carrying his repeatingrifle with him. He had not gone far when he came upon a horse. It wasfastened, like his own, to a tree in a hollow.
"Ho! ho!" thought Ben, "you prefer to do yer dirty work on foot, MrBuck! Well, you're not far wrong in such a place."
Advancing now with great caution, the scout left the track and movedthrough the woods more like a visible ghost than a man, for he was wellversed in all the arts and wiles of the Indian, and his moccasined feetmade no sound whatever. Climbing up the pass at some height above thelevel of the road, so that he might be able to see all that took placebelow, he at last lay down at full length, and drew himself in snakefashion to the edge of the thicket that concealed him. Pushing asidethe bushes gently he looked down, and there, to his satisfaction, beheldthe man he was in search of, not thirty yards off.
Buck Tom was crouching behind a large mass of rock close to the track,and so lost in the dark shadow of it that no ordinary man could haveseen him; but nothing could escape the keen and practised eye of HunkyBen. He could not indeed make out the highwayman's form, but he knewthat he was there and that was enough. Laying his rifle on a rockbefore him in a handy position he silently watched the watcher.
During all this time the Englishman--whom the reader has doubtlessrecognised as Charlie Brooke--was pushing on as fast as he could in thehope of overtaking the man who could guide him to Traitor's Trap.
At last he came to the Blue Forks, and rode into the pass with theconfidence of one who suspects no evil. He drew rein, however, as headvanced, and picked his way carefully along the encumbered path.
He had barely reached the middle of it, where a clear space permittedthe moonbeams to fall brightly on the ground, when a stern voicesuddenly broke the stillness of the night with the words--
"Hands up!"
Charlie Brooke seemed either to be ignorant of the ways of the countryand of the fact that disobedience to the command involved sudden death,or he had grown unaccountably reckless, for instead of raising his armsand submitting to be searched by the robber who covered him with arevolver, he merely reined up and took off his hat, allowing the moon toshine full on his countenance.
The effect on Buck Tom was singular. Standing with his back to themoon, his expression could not be seen, but his arm dropped to his sideas if it had been paralysed, and the revolver fell to the ground.
Never had Buck Tom been nearer to his end than at that moment, for HunkyBen, seeing clearly what would be the consequence of the Englishman'snon-compliance with the command, was already pressing the trigger thatwould have sent a bullet into Buck Tom's brain, but the Englishman'sstrange conduct induced him to pause, and the effect on the robbercaused him to raise his head and open wide his eyes--also his ears!
"Ah! Ralph Ritson, has it come to this?" said Charlie, in a voice thattold only of pity and surprise.
For some moments Ralph did not speak. He was evidently stunned.Presently he recovered, and, passing his hand over his brow, but nevertaking his eyes off the handsome face of his former friend, he said in alow tone--
"I--I--don't feel very sure whether you're flesh and blood, Brooke, or aspirit--but--but--"
"I'm real enough to be able to shake hands, Ritson," returned our hero,dismounting, and going up to his former friend, who suffered him tograsp the hand that had been on the point of taking his life. "But canit be true, that I really find you a--"
"It is true, Charlie Brooke; quite true--but while you see the result,you do not see, and cannot easily understand, the hard grindinginjustice that has brought me to this. The last and worst blow Ireceived this very night. I have urgent need of money--not for myself,believe me--and I came down to David's store, at some personal risk, Imay add, to receive payment of a sum due me for acting as a cow-boy formany months. The company, instead of paying me--"
"Yes, I know; I heard it all," said Charlie.
"You were only shamming sleep, then?"
"Yes; I knew you at once."
"Well, then," continued Buck Tom (as we shall still continue to stylehim), "the disappointment made me so desperate that I determined to robyou--little thinking who you were--in order to help poor ShankLeather--"
"Does Shank stand in urgent need of help?" asked Charlie, interrupting.
"He does indeed. He has been very ill. We have run out of funds, andhe needs food and physic of a kind that the mountains don't furnish."
"Does he belong to your band, Ritson?"
"Well--nearly; not quite!"
"That is a strange answer. How far is it to where he lies just now?"
"Six miles, about."
"Come, then, I will go to him if you will show me the way," returnedCharlie, preparing to remount. "I have plenty of that which poor Shankstands so much in need of. In fact I have come here for the expresspurpose of hunting him and you up. Would it not be well, by the way, toride back to the store for some supplies?"
"No need," answered Buck Tom, stooping to pick up his revolver."There's another store not far from this, to which we can sendto-morrow. We can get what we want there."
"But what have you done with your hors
e?" asked Charlie; "I heard youstart on one."
"It is not far off. I'll go fetch it."
So saying the robber entered the bushes and disappeared. A few minuteslater the clattering of hoofs was heard, and in another moment he rodeup to the spot where our hero awaited him.
"Follow me," he said; "the road becomes better half a mile further on."
During all this time Hunky Ben had stood with his rifle ready, listeningwith the feelings of a man in a dream. He watched the robber and hisvictim ride quietly away until they were out of sight. Then he stoodup, tilted his cap on one side, and scratched his head in greatperplexity.
"Well, now," he said at length, "this is about the queerest affair I'vecomed across since I was raised. It's a marcy I was born with a quietspirit, for another chip off the small end of a moment an' Buck Tomwould have bin with his fathers in their happy, or otherwise, huntin'grounds! It's quite clear that them two have bin friends, mayhap pards,in the old country. An' Buck Tom (that's Ritson, I think he called him)has bin driven to it by injustice, has he? Ah! Buck, if all the worldthat suffers injustice was to take to robbery it's not many respectablefolk would be left to rob. Well, well, my comin' off in such asplittin' hurry to take care o' this Britisher is a wild-goose chasearter all! It's not the first one you've bin led into anyhow, an' it'stime you was lookin' arter yer own business, Hunky Ben."
While giving vent to these remarks in low muttering tones, the scout wasquickly retracing his steps to the place where he had tied up BlackPolly. Mounting her he returned to the main track, proceeded along ituntil he reached the place beyond the pass where the roads forked; then,selecting that which diverged to the left, he set off at a hard gallopin the direction of Quester Creek.