CHAPTER XIX.
OUTWITTING HIS ENEMIES.
There was a feeling of pity in Nat's heart for the unfortunate ponyhe bestrode. The lad was fond of all animals, and it galled him to becompelled to drive the exhausted beast so unmercifully, but it had tobe done if his life were to be saved.
Crack! crack! came the cruel quirt once more, and the cayuse gamelystruggled onward. Its nostrils were distended and its eyes starting outof its head with exhaustion. Its sunken flanks heaved convulsively. Natrecognized the symptoms. A few paces more and the pony would be donefor.
"Come on, old bronco!" he urged, "just a little way farther."
With a heart-breaking gasp the little animal responded, and in a coupleof jumps it was within the friendly shelter of the leafy cover. A yellof rage and baffled fury came from his pursuers as Nat vanished. Theboy chuckled to himself.
"I guess I take the first trick," he thought, but his self-gratulationwas a little premature. As he plunged on amid the friendly shelterhe could still hear behind him the shouts of pursuit. The men werescattering and moving forward through the wood. There seemed but littlechance in view of these maneuvers, that Nat, with only his exhaustedpony under him, could get clear away. As the shouts resounded closerhis former fear rushed back with redoubled force.
Suddenly his heart almost stopped beating.
In the wood in front of him he could hear the hoof-tramplings ofanother horse.
They were coming in his direction. Who could it be? Nat realized thatit was not likely to prove anybody who was friendly to him. He wasdesperately casting about for some way out of this new and utterlyunexpected situation, when, with a snort, the approaching animalplunged through the brush separating it from Nat. As it came into viewthe boy gave a sharp exclamation of surprise.
The new arrival was Herr Muller's locoed horse, now, seemingly, quiterecovered from its "late indisposition." It whinnied in a low tone asit spied Nat's pony, and coming alongside, nuzzled up against it.
To Nat's joy, Bismark showed no signs of being scared of him, andallowed the boy to handle him. But in the few, brief seconds that hadelapsed while this was taking place, Col. Morello's gang had drawnperilously near. The trampling and crashing as they rode through thewoods was quite distinct now.
"After him, boys," Nat could hear the colonel saying, "that boy knowsour hiding place. We've got to get him or get out of the country."
"We'll get him all right, colonel," Nat heard Manuello answerconfidently.
"Yep. He won't go far on that foundered pony," came another voice.
In those few, tense moments of breathing space Nat rapidly thought outa plan of escape. Deftly he slipped the saddle and bridle off theoutlaw's pony, and transferred them to Bismark's back.
Then, as the chase drew closer, he gave the trembling pony a finalwhack on the rump with the quirt. The little animal sprang forward, itshoofs making a tremendous noise among the loose rocks on the hillside.
Half frantic with fear, its alarm overcame its spent vitality, and itclattered off.
"Wow! There he goes!"
"Yip-ee-ee! After him, boys!"
"Now we've got him!"
These and a score of other triumphant cries came from the outlaws'throats as they heard the pony making off as fast as it could amongthe trees, and naturally assumed that Nat was on its back. With yellsand shrieks of satisfaction they gave chase, firing volleys of bulletsafter it. The fusillade and the shouts, of course, only added to thepony's fear, and made it proceed with more expedition.
As the cries of the chase grew faint in the distance, Nat listenedintently, and then, satisfied that the outlaws had swept far from hisvicinity, urged Bismark cautiously forward. This time he travelled inthe right direction, profiting by his experiment with his watch. Buturge Bismark on as he would, darkness fell before he was out of thewilderness. But still he pressed on. In his position he knew that itwas important that he reach the camp as soon as possible. Not only onhis own account, but in order that he might give warning of the attackthat Col. Morello would almost certainly make as soon as he realizedthat his prisoner had got clear away. If they had been interested inthe Motor Rangers' capture before, the outlaws must by now be doublyanxious to secure them, Nat argued. The reason for this had been voicedby Col. Morello himself while he was conducting the chase in the wood:
"That boy knows our hiding place."
"You bet I do," thought Nat to himself, "and if I don't see to it thatthe whole bunch is smoked out of there before long it won't be myfault."
Tethering Bismark to a tree the boy clambered up the trunk. His objectin so doing was to get some idea of his whereabouts.
But it was dark, I hear some reader remark.
True, but even in the darkness there is one unfailing guide to thewoodsman, providing the skies be clear, as they were on this night. Thenorth star was what Nat was after. By it he would gauge his direction.Getting a line on it from the outer star of "the dipper" bowl, Nat soonmade certain that he had not, as he had for a time feared, wanderedfrom his course.
Descending the tree once more, he looked at his watch. It was almostmidnight, yet in the excitement of his flight he felt no exhaustionor even hunger. He was terribly thirsty though, and would have givena lot for a drink of water. However, the young Motor Ranger had facedhardships enough not to waste time wishing for the unattainable. So,remounting Bismark, he pressed on toward the east, knowing that if herode long enough he must strike the valley which would bring him to hisfriends.
All at once, a short distance ahead, he heard a tiny tinkle comingthrough the darkness. It was like the murmuring of a little bell. Natknew, though, that it was the voice of a little stream, and a morewelcome sound, except the voices of his comrades, he could not haveheard at that moment.
"Here's where we get a drink, Bismark, you old prodigal son," he saidin a low tone.
A few paces more brought them into a little dip in the hillside downwhich the tiny watercourse ran. Tumbling off his horse Nat stretchedhimself out flat and fairly wallowed in the water. When he hadrefreshed his thirst, Bismark drinking just below him, the boy lavedhis face and neck, and this done felt immensely better.
He was just rising from this al-fresco bath when, from almost in frontof his face as it seemed, came a sound somewhat like the dry rattleof peas in a bladder. It was harsh and unmusical, and to Nat, moststartling, for it meant that he had poked his countenance almost intothe evil wedge-shaped head of a big mountain rattler.
"Wow!" yelled the boy tumbling backward like an acrobat.
At the same instant a dark, lithe thing that glittered dully in thestarlight, was launched by his cheek. So close did it come that italmost touched him. But Nat was not destined to be bitten that nightat least. As the long body encountered the ground after striking, andBismark jumped back snorting alarmedly, Nat picked up a big rock andterminated Mr. Rattler's existence on the spot.
Sure of his direction now, the boy remounted, and crossing the stream,arrived in due course near to the camp. The first thing he almoststumbled across was the prostrate form of Herr Muller, sound asleepjust outside the flickering circle of light cast by the fire.
"Now for some fun," thought Nat, and slipping off his horse he crouchedbehind the sleeping Teuton, and with a long blade of grass, begantickling his ear. At first Herr Muller simply stirred uneasily, andkicked about a bit. Then finally he sat up erect and wide awake. Thefirst thing he saw was a tall, dark form bent over him.
With a wild succession of whoops and frantic yells he set off for thecamp in an astonishing series of leaps and bounds, causing Nat toexclaim as he watched the performance:--
"That Dutchman could certainly carry off a medal for broad jumping."
A few of the leaps brought Herr Muller fairly into the camp-fire,scattering the embers right and left and thoroughly alarming theawakened adventurers.
As they started up and seized their arms, Nat caused an abruptcessation of the threatened hostilities by a loud hail:--
"Hullo, fellows!"
"It's Nat--whoop hurroo!" came in a joyous chorus, and as descriptionis lamentably inadequate to set forth some scenes, I will leave each ofmy readers to imagine for himself how many times Nat's hand was wrungpump-handle fashion, and how many times he was asked:--
"How did it happen?"