CHAPTER XIII
Trailing the Outlaws
For a few minutes the wildest confusion prevailed in the saloon. Thenoise of the shooting had emptied the other bar-rooms, as well as thehouses of the little settlement, and from all quarters people cameflocking to the scene of the tragedy. The dead man was removed to aroom in the rear, and the wounds of the others were bound up with rudesurgery, pending the arrival of a doctor, for whom one of the cowboys hadridden off post haste.
Bert's quick mind was busy piecing together the events of the pastcrowded hour. That the stranger was left-handed, although unusual in thatregion, proved nothing by itself. But the dead steer had borne the markof a left-handed man--and Pedro was in charge of a part of Melton'sstock--and he had sneaked away from his work to talk with this ruffian,apparently by appointment--and the latter had given the half-breed money.Had Bert known the additional fact that Pedro had been riding herd in thesection where a large drove had recently disappeared, the conclusionwould have been irresistible that he and the stranger had been in leagueto "rustle" Melton's cattle. But even without this last fact, theevidence was strong enough. All of these happenings, taken together,pointed unerringly toward the identity of one at least of the rustlersand gave the clue to the mystery.
His first impulse was to follow the fleeing murderer and either try tocapture him or find out the rendezvous of the gang to which he belonged.But when he ran out to his horse, the fugitive had vanished, and therewas nothing in the dusty road that gave any inkling of the direction hehad taken.
Pursuit being impossible, there was but one thing left for him to do. Hemust get back to the ranch at once and reveal all he knew or guessed ofthe conspiracy. Pedro, at any rate, would be within reach, and ajudicious application of the "third degree" could probably wring fromhim enough to put them on the track of the rustlers and bring the gang tojustice. And his blood tingled at the thought of the fight that wasprobably coming, for the rustlers, brought to bay, would not surrendertamely. It was better to die from a bullet than dangle at the end of arope, and they would battle with the fierceness of cornered rats.
He untied his horse, sprang into the saddle and set out for the ranch.His horse had had a good rest and was full of running, especially as hisface was turned homeward. But, despite his own impatience, Bert subduedhis mount to a trot that he could keep up indefinitely, and gave himselfup to reviewing the stirring scenes from which he had just emerged.
He was passing through a patch of woodland, from which a deep gullydiverged to the right, when he heard the whinny of a horse. Instantly heclapped his hand over the nostrils of his own mount to keep him fromanswering. Then he slid to the ground, tied a rope around his horse'sjaws to keep him quiet and secured him to a tree. On hands and knees hecrept forward through the underbrush in the direction of the sound. Hereached the bank of the gully and peered over.
A little brook ran over the stones at the bottom of the gulch. Stoopingover it was a man with his back toward him. A horse was picketed near by,contentedly munching the grass that grew thick and lush on the border ofthe stream. The man's right arm was bared to the elbow, and he wasdashing water on a wound just above the wrist. Then he tore a strip fromhis shirt and proceeded to bandage the arm as best he could, accompanyingthe action with groans and curses that told of the pain he was enduring.
Bert's first thought was to steal down upon the man and at the point ofhis revolver demand his surrender. He had the drop on him, and, quick asthe ruffian had proved himself on the draw, he would be at too great adisadvantage to resist. But, after all, what right had he to arrest theman? As far as the shooting in the saloon was concerned, the dead man hadstarted the fight, and the other had acted in self-defense. The questionof cheating was an open one that could probably never be determined. Ithad not been a murder, but a duel, and the quicker hand and better shothad won. There was no call for Bert to interfere.
As to the charge of cattle rustling, he had absolutely no proof to goupon. He had the moral conviction that the man was mixed up in theaffair, but not a scintilla of evidence that would stand for a moment ina court of law. It would be high-handed and indefensible to make this mana prisoner, and take him on to the ranch for questioning by Melton. Hewould simply stand on his rights and defy them to prove anything againsthim. They would be forced to let him go, and, being henceforth on hisguard, it would be doubly difficult to trap him and his gang.
No, the waiting game was the only one to play under the circumstances,and Bert replaced the revolver that he had half drawn from his belt. Buthe had no intention of resuming his journey to the ranch. Fate hadbrought him in contact with this man, when he had given up allexpectation of finding him, and he was too good a sportsman to overlookany point in the game. He would keep him in sight, hang on his flank,follow his trail wherever it led, in the hope of finding the rendezvousof the gang. Then he would ride with whip and spur to the ranch, Meltonwould gather his men together, and they would swoop down on the outlaws'camp and catch them red-handed with their booty.
While he was settling on this course of action as promising the bestresults, the man had completed the task of bandaging. Bert looked forhim to unhobble his horse and resume his journey. But, to his surprise,the fellow stretched himself out on the grass as though in no particularhurry. Yet there was an air of expectancy about him, and it flashedacross Bert that he was waiting for some one. And this impression washeightened by the glances he cast toward the upper end of the gully, andthe way he lifted his head from time to time as though listening for asignal.
It came at last, a whistle three times repeated. Instantly he sent backan answering call, and a moment later two men emerged from the fartherend of the ravine and rode their horses slowly toward their waitingcompanion.
They were dressed in ordinary cowboy fashion and rode as though they hadbeen born to the saddle. In addition to the revolvers in their holsters,each carried a rifle slung in the hollow of the arm. One was of enormousbulk and a shock of flaming red hair showed beneath his sombrero. Theother was of medium build, but wiry and quick as a cat in his movements.Both were of the same evil stamp as the first, although they lacked thelook of authority that marked him as a natural leader.
They gave an exclamation of surprise as they saw the bandaged arm, andwere off their horses in an instant.
"What's the matter, cap?" inquired the smaller man. "Did they get youbad?"
"Bad enough," snarled the other with a string of blasphemies. "I guessthey've broken a bone in my wrist. But the feller that did it will neverdo no more shooting." And in fervid words, interrupted by curses as hissore arm gave a worse twinge than usual, he related the events leadingup to the affray.
The others listened with perfunctory grunts of sympathy, although theyseemed less concerned about him personally than over the changes thewounding might make in their plans.
"It's lucky it's the right arm, anyway," consoled one of them. "Yer'llstill be able to shoot as well as ever until yer get all right again."
"Yes," assented the captain grudgingly, "it's the first time I've everfelt glad that I'm left-handed. And I'm shore glad that I fixed that dealup with the half-breed before the scrap came off. Handed him over hisshare of the last swag, and got it all settled to pull off another tricka week from to-morrow."
They gathered eagerly about him to learn the details, and Bert strainedhis ears to catch the fragments of conversation that floated up to him.He could detect the name of "Melton" and "Pedro" as often recurring, butto his intense disappointment could get no coherent idea of the felonythe rustlers had in view. Had he done so, his quest would have ended thenand there. It would then be simply a matter of laying an ambush at thegiven time and place, into which the rascals would walk blindly, and fromwhich there would be no escape. But when at last the conference was over,he was no wiser than before, except that his suspicions as to thehalf-breed had become a certainty.
The afternoon was well along now, and the captain, casting a glance atthe sun, rose hastily to
his feet.
"Come along," he growled. "We can do our chinning later on. We'll haveall we can do now to get to camp before dark."
"Before dark." Bert looked at his watch. It was nearly six o'clock. Itwould not be fully dark until eight. That meant that the rendezvous ofthe gang was within two hours' ride. Allowing ten miles an hour, it meanta distance of perhaps twenty miles.
But that was assuming that they went on well-traveled roads, where thehorses could be given their head. Bert felt sure that they would not dothis. The conditions of their lawless life made it necessary for them toseek refuge in the wilds, where riding would be hard and slow. Their lairwas doubtless in some secluded valley or coulee, where they could hidethe stolen stock, secure from discovery until a favorable opportunityoffered to drive it out at night far from the plundered ranches. Theplace, therefore, might not be more than fifteen miles distant. Otherwisethe outlaws would hardly be able to make it in the time mentioned, overthe rough trails they would probably follow. That this conjecture wascorrect was proved by the fact that, instead of returning to the broadroad up which Bert had ridden, the men mounted their horses and turnedtheir heads in the opposite direction up the ravine.
But how could he follow without detection? If he let them get too farahead, he might lose track of them altogether. On the other hand, if hefollowed too closely they might hear the sound of his horse's feet, or,turning in the saddle, might see his figure outlined against the sky. Inthat case the game was up. It would be a matter of flight, or anencounter in which, against such odds, he could look for nothing butcapture or death. And in either event, his plans for the breaking upof the band would come to nothing.
There was but one alternative. He must follow on foot.
He was in superb condition and could do it easily. Running was his game.He had taken the measure of the fleetest runners in the country, and had,by so doing, won the right to represent America in the Olympic Games. Andwhen he had carried off the honors in the Marathon race over the crackflyers of all the world, he had made the distance of twenty-six miles, uphill and down, in a trifle over two hours and thirty minutes, or asustained rate of more than ten miles an hour. To be sure, he was thentrained to the hour and at the top of his form. But even now, althoughnot strictly in training, his outdoor life and clean living had kept himin fine fettle, and he was fit to "run for a man's life." A horse couldbeat him in a sprint, but there were few mustangs on the ranch that hecould not have worn down and beaten in a stretch of twenty miles.
It was with no lack of confidence, therefore, that he reached hisdecision.
He hurried back to his horse, tore a scrap of paper from his note-bookand hastily scribbled a note to Dick. It was in cipher, so that if itfell into hostile hands no one else could understand its purport. He toldhim of his discovery and urged him to have Melton put Pedro under guarduntil his return. He adjured him not to worry, as he would probably beback before twenty-four hours.
A word of greeting to Tom and the Meltons, and he placed the papersecurely under the saddle, with just an end protruding to attract notice.Then he released the horse, untied his jaws, gave him a smart slap onthe back and sent him off toward home. The delighted broncho threw uphis heels and set off at a pace that promised soon to get him to hiswell-filled manger. Then, with a last glance at his weapon, to see thatit was in perfect trim, Bert vanished into the woods and set out upon thetrail as silently and swiftly as an Indian.
CHAPTER XIV
The Race for Life
He could hear the crackling of the shrubbery as the horses of the outlawspushed their way through to the higher ground, and it was not long beforehe caught sight of them, riding in single file, the captain leading theway.
With the utmost caution he followed, taking advantage of every bush andtree, ready to dodge behind them or fall to the ground as the case mightdemand. For a time they proceeded at a walk, owing to the rough going,but as soon as they got to more level ground they put the spurs to theirhorses and galloped on at a rapid gait. Bert drifted after them like aghost, never letting them get more than half a mile a head, for fear thatthey might turn into some byroad and give him the slip. Twice one of themen turned in the saddle and looked behind him, probably more as theresult of habit than from any real fear that they might be followed, buteach time Bert had discounted the movement and was lying flat on theground.
As the latter had surmised, the most of the way lay through a genuinewilderness, over mountain trails and through ravines that lent themselvesadmirably to the lawless purposes of the outlaws. Probably since the oldIndian days, no human feet beside their own had trodden these wilds thatoffered no temptations to the farmer or grazier.
Before long the sun had vanished over the western rim and twilight cameon rapidly. This rendered Bert's task, easier by diminishing the chancesof detection, and as the twilight deepened into dusk, he graduallydecreased the distance until, when it was fully dark, he had venturedto draw so near that he could hear the jingle of their trappings and anoccasional monosyllable that passed between the riders.
Suddenly, as they rode into a little valley, a light gleamed out from ashack half a mile distant. It was the first sign of a human habitationBert had seen. At the sight, an oath of satisfaction broke from theleader, and the three urged on their horses, who responded willingly.It was evident that they had reached the end of their journey.
As they dashed into the clearing in front of the house, the door wasthrown open and several men came out to greet the newcomers. The saddleswere taken from the horses' backs and they were turned loose to graze.Then the party entered the house and the door was closed.
For a few minutes Bert remained perfectly motionless. There had been nobarking of dogs, and, after listening intently, he became convinced thatno living thing was out of doors in the vicinity of the shack. Withinfinite caution he wormed his way along the ground and, reaching awindow in the rear of the house, drew himself to the sill and peered overthe edge.
There were six men gathered about a table in the center of the room, uponwhich a seventh, who seemed to be the cook, was placing dishes of baconand beans. The chief, whose arm had been bathed and rebound in a cottonbandage, was seated at the head of the table. A bottle of whiskey waspassing from hand to hand as a preliminary to the more substantial partof the meal, and the men who had just arrived were evidently retailingto their fellow rascals the events that had led up to the shooting.
So engrossed was Bert in watching the outlaws, that he did not see orhear the approach of a dark figure stealing up behind him. An arm shotout and a pistol butt came down on his head with a crash. A myriad ofsparks flashed before his eyes, there was the roar of a cataract in hisears, and he fell to the ground like a log.
When consciousness came back to him it was morning. He was lying on thefloor of the shack and the hot sun was streaming in upon him. His headached horribly, and for a moment he wondered where he was. Then graduallyhe recalled the events of the day before, the fracas in the saloon, thetracking of the rustlers, the looking in at the window. But then it wasnight, and now it was broad daylight. What had happened to him?
He put his hand to his head and felt that his hair was matted with blood.Then he tried to rise to his feet, but found that they were tiedtogether, and sank back with a groan. The wall of the house was justbehind him, and he edged painfully toward it, until he was able to sit upand have some support for his back. Then with swimming eyes he lookedaround him.
As his vision cleared, he saw that there were two men sitting in thecenter of the room. They had not spoken a word, but had watched with asort of amused interest his gradual coming back to life. In one of themhe recognized the outlaw captain, and the other was the burly, red-hairedgiant, whose trail he had followed the afternoon before. There was notrace of the others and they had evidently gone to attend to the stock,or on some errand connected with the operations of the band.
The leader's eyes fastened on Bert with a penetrating glare, as though hesought to read the secrets of
his soul. The captive met his look calmlyand defiantly, and for a moment there was a silent duel. But Bert's gazeremained level, and the captain, a little disconcerted at his failure tomake his prisoner cringe, resorted to taunts.
"Feel kind o' wobbly, eh?" he jeered. "Got a bad little hangover fromlast night? Perhaps we were a little playful, but it's just our heartyway of welcomin' strangers. 'Specially when they come without aninvitation and we ketches them peepin' through the winders. But we don'tmean no harm, do we, Red?" and he leered at his companion, who grinneddutifully in response to his leader's humor.
Bert made no answer.
"Now look here, young feller," snapped the speaker, dropping hiselaborate sarcasm and veering round to his natural ferocity, "you ain'ttongue-tied, I reckon, and I want to know right quick, pronto, whatyou're doin' round these diggin's, anyhow. One of our men comin' in fromthe stables caught you spyin' through the winder. He gave yer one on thenob, and dragged yer in here. Now, who are yer, where do yer come fromand what are yer doin' in these parts. Speak quick now, or by----" and hebroke into a torrent of vile oaths and death-dealing threats, while hefingered nervously the knife that hung in his belt.
Before Bert could reply one of the band entered the room. He glanced atthe prisoner, and a sudden recognition leaped to his eyes.
"I know that feller," he exclaimed excitedly, turning to his chief. "Icouldn't just place him last night when his eyes was shut, but now I'mplumb sure of him. He's livin' over to the Melton ranch with a couple ofpals of his'n. Seen him there more than once. Ain't that straight?" toBert.
"Yes," said Bert boldly, "that's straight."
The man's identification was absolute and the time for silence or evasionwas past. He was trapped and absolutely in their power. That they wouldkill him he had little doubt. A life more or less meant little to theseruthless scoundrels. But if he had to meet death, he would meet itunafraid.
The name of the ranch owner acted on the chief like an electric shock. Heleaped to his feet with a curse.
"So Melton sent you to spy on us, did he?" he demanded furiously.
"He did not," answered Bert.
There was a conviction in the tone that checked the headlong rush thatthe captain had seemed about to make. He sat down again and pondered, hisface working with rage and apprehension. At last he reached a decision,and Bert read in his eyes that his doom had been pronounced.
"It don't make no difference whether yer tellin' the truth or lyin'," hesnarled. "Ye've learned too much fur me to let yer live. If I turned yerloose, ye'd have Melton and his bunch down on us in no time. Keep a closewatch on him, Red," he commanded as he rose to his feet. "I've got somethings to look after that'll keep me busy till dinner-time, and afterthat we'll put this maverick where he won't do no more spyin'."
"How about breakfast?" asked Bert coolly. "You're not going to starve meto death, are you?"
The outlaw looked at him with astonishment, not unmixed with a sort ofgrudging admiration.
"Ye're a cool one," he responded after a moment's hesitation. "Ye'dbetter be thinkin' of sayin' yer prayers instead of eatin'. Rustle alittle grub fer 'im, Red, though it seems plumb sinful to waste goodchuck on a feller that's as good as dead already." And with this ominousremark he went out, accompanied by the man who had identified thecaptive, leaving Bert alone with his jailer.
"Red" got together some cold meat and beans and placed them on the floorwithin Bert's reach. He ate heartily, knowing that above everything elsehe must preserve his strength. And while he ate his mind was busy.
At any rate, he had a little respite. It would be at least two hoursbefore noontime, and many things might happen before then. He did notdisguise from himself that his situation was desperate. But, though theremight be but one chance in a thousand of escape, he was determined tofind and seize that chance.
His feet had been tied in such a manner that while, if he stood up, hewould be able to take steps a foot apart, he could by no possibility runaway. The knot at each ankle was skillfully looped in cowboy fashion, andunder the watchful eyes of "Red" there was no chance to unfasten them.His knife and pistol had been taken from him, as well as his watch andmoney. So thoroughly had he been "frisked" that, as he felt his pocketscarelessly, he found that nothing had been left except a bunch of keysthat the rustlers had disdained as booty, and a convex piece of glassthat belonged to an old telescope that he had been taking apart a day ortwo before.
As his hand came in contact with it a thought sprang into his mind thatsent his pulses leaping in wild delirium. Could he do it? Why not?
Without any pretence of concealment he drew it with the keys from hispocket and fingered it idly, looking out of the window as though histhoughts were far away. "Red" looked at the articles, recognized theirharmless character, and with an indifferent grunt went on smoking.
The fierce sun of the dog days was coming hotly through the open window.Still handling the glass dreamily, Bert brought it in such a positionthat its convex surface gathered the rays of the sun into one blisteringshaft. This he directed on the center of the rope that stretched betweenhis feet.
Slowly but surely it began to darken. The tiny threads of which it wascomposed twisted and shriveled and broke. Bert hunched up his knees,and sat as though rapt in brooding contemplation, while all the time thattiny shaft bored deeper and deeper into the rope like a red hot iron.
For half an hour this continued until Bert was convinced that the ropewas burned to the core, and that under a vigorous effort it would snaplike thread.
He moved around uneasily, fidgeting and twisting with an occasional groanuntil "Red" unbent sufficiently from his surly indifference to ask him"what was eatin' of him."
"I'm in a fearfully cramped position," explained Bert, meekly. "Do youmind if I stand up for a minute and stretch?"
"Red" cogitated a moment.
"No law agin it, I reckon," he conceded ungraciously.
Bert labored painfully and clumsily to his feet, yawned wearily andstretched his arms above his head. Then with one quick jerk he burst therope and went into "Red" like a thunderbolt. Before that crashing impactof bone and muscle that had triumphed on many a football field, thestartled outlaw hit the floor with a tremendous thump, while Bert'ssinewy hands tightened on his throat.
But there was no resistance, and after a moment Bert relaxed his grasp.The rustler's head had struck on the sill of the door and the blow hadrendered him unconscious.
Springing to his feet, Bert grasped the knife that lay on the table, andsawed desperately at the ends of rope that dangled about his feet. Afew minutes sufficed and he was free. Then he took the revolver from thebelt of his fallen enemy, and, after a swift glance round the clearing,bolted for the woods like a deer.
He had almost reached cover when he heard a yell behind him and a bulletzipped past his head. He turned and saw one of the outlaws rushing fromthe corral behind the house, while others, attracted by the shot, wererunning to mount their horses. Then he dived into the woods and ran forhis life.
Through the forest aisles he slipped like a shadow, and for a time hemore than held his own. But his pursuers had the advantage of knowing theground, while he had to choose his course on the spur of the moment. Helost precious seconds in dodging obstacles, and he could hear the clatterof horses coming nearer and nearer. At any moment a bullet might bringhim down.
The wound in his head was bleeding now under his tremendous exertions,and he began to grow dizzy and faint. But, although his strength wasebbing, his heart was as high and his spirit as undaunted as ever. Hewould never surrender. As a last resource he had his revolver, and, if hehad to die, he would take some of the outlaws with him. The thud of hoofswas nearer now, and bullets began to whiz past him. A voice that heknew was that of the leader of the gang shouted to him to halt. Beforehim was a thinning of the woods that indicated open country. On a levelcourse they could never get him. His second wind was coming back and hewould distance them yet. On, on, he went, running like the wind.
A few rods ahead the trail bent round in a sweeping curve, and as Bertapproached it on flying feet, he heard horsemen coming from thatdirection. With a groan he halted. They had him surrounded, then. He hadno chance. The game was up. He drew his revolver and dropped on his kneeto aim.
And then round the curve with a rush and a roar, riding like fiends, cameMelton, Dick and Tom, with twenty cowboys at their back.
There was a wild whoop when they caught sight of Bert, and his comradesflung themselves from the saddle and rushed toward him. Melton, withoutdismounting, reached over and gave him a bear grip that said more thanwords. Then he straightened up and rode on at the head of his men to meetthe rustlers.
The latter, however, did not await his coming. They broke and ran,bending low over the necks of their horses. But Melton's blood was up andhe rode them down relentlessly. Rifle and revolver shots merged into onecrackling fusillade. The cornered outlaws fought to the last ditch whenovertaken, and no one asked for quarter. And when at last the fight wasover, five, including the captain, lay stretched lifeless upon theground. One, by hard riding and his knowledge of the country, hadescaped, and "Red," still looking dazed and foolish, was a prisoner.
The cowboys were for stringing him up on the spot, but Bert, who hadswung up behind Dick and been in at the finish, pleaded hard that hislife might be spared.
"You win," conceded Melton. "You've done too much for me to refuse youanything. We'll turn him over to the sheriff, and he'll have all thechance that's coming to him, which, between you and me, I think is mightylittle."
Then he turned to Pedro, who, as Bert now noticed for the first time, wassitting tied upon his horse and guarded by two of the ranchmen.
"Cut his ropes," he commanded, "and turn him loose. I promised the houndhis life if he led me to the rustlers' camp, and I keep my word."
Melton gathered his force together and they took up their march for home,jubilant at the success of the expedition.
"It's all due to you, you young dare-devil," said Melton, as he and thereunited comrades rode back at the head of the squad. "Sandy found yourpony neighing to get in the corral, and brought your note to Dick. Inabbed Pedro and handled him some savage until the fellow wilted. Then wesaddled and started out at the first sign of daybreak and you know therest. And I guess, by thunder, that we got here just in time."
And when they reached the ranch, motherly Mrs. Melton folded him in herarms with tears in her eyes, unable to speak. She washed and bandaged thewound, which proved to be not serious, and sent him straightway off tobed. Bert laughingly protested, but he had to yield.
* * * * *
It was with immense regret, a few days later, that the boys parted fromtheir warm-hearted host and hostess. But duty and the East were calling,and they had to go. They had passed a glorious summer, full of theexcitement in which their adventurous souls delighted. Far out from thecar windows they leaned and waved their hands, until the kindly figureson the platform were lost to sight.
The cowboys too had turned out in a body to bid their friends good-by,and, as the train started, they tossed their hats in the air and firedtheir six-shooters till their cartridges gave out. Then they wheeledtheir bronchos and headed for the ranch.
"No use talkin'," Sandy broke out suddenly that night as they weresmoking their pipes in the bunkhouse, "that Wilson is the finest fellerthat ever wore shoe leather."
Buck, who was half asleep, roused himself.
"Oh, I wouldn't go quite so far as that," he drawled, mistaking thereference. "Still, he's makin' a pretty fair President."
"Shucks," snorted Sandy, "I didn't mean _him_. I was talkin' of Bert."
THE END
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