THE SOLITARY PURSUER.
HERBERT held his field glass to his eyes for several minutes, while he
carefully studied the group of horsemen out upon the plain. There were
four of them, beside the two pack animals, all apparently well mounted,
and the clear sunlight brought them into clear relief. Their ponies
were walking slowly, not exactly north, but bearing a little to the
west, so that the general direction was the same as that of our friends
on their way to New Mexico.
The horseman on the right was Nick Ribsam. Although the distance was
too great to distinguish his features, the presence of the pack horses
settled the question and there was no mistaking his personality: it was
he beyond all doubt.
“What can be the explanation of his presence with them?” was the
question which the alarmed Herbert asked himself, as he lowered his
glass and gazed absently in the direction, while he studied the most
perplexing problem that had yet presented itself.
He was impressed by the fact that there were three horsemen besides his
friend. That was the number that made up the band of Bell Rickard. What
more likely than that the three with Nick were the horse thieves?
In the hours that had passed since they were seen, far out on the
plains to the eastward, they possessed sufficient time to make their
way through the hills to this point. Indeed, they could have done so
after the sounds of firing ceased on the other side of the hills.
But this theory of necessity raised other perplexing questions. If
those three men were the criminals, where were Strubell and Lattin?
Where had they been, while the piece of treachery was pushed to a
conclusion? Was it supposable that they had remained idle and permitted
Nick’s most dangerous enemy to get him in his power?
Certainly not—_provided it was in their power to prevent it_.
The inference could not be escaped by Herbert that the cowboys had been
put out of the way by their enemies, and that, therefore, no further
help was to be expected from them.
Other questions presented themselves, which would have puzzled a more
experienced frontiersman than the young New Yorker.
He and Nick had discovered a second camp fire the afternoon before,
to the northward. Who kindled that, and what was its significance?
Evidently it had some connection with the Texans or the criminals, but
nothing could be learned to indicate its nature.
Were the continued absence and silence of the cowboys explainable on
any other theory than their own overthrow?
These questions, however, were put out of sight by the personal peril
of Nick Ribsam, and the anxiety of Herbert to do something for him
without delay.
His first inclination was to gallop back over the trail to the point
where he left Strubell and Lattin the afternoon before, and tell
them what had taken place. They were the only ones of whom aid could
reasonably be expected.
But it has been shown that he feared the worst concerning them. Time
was precious, and to cross the ridge and return would take a half hour,
which might be fatal to any other step toward helping Nick. This fear
was intensified by the discovery that the walk of the ponies to the
westward had become a gallop, which was fast widening the gap between
them and the ridge, where the distressed Herbert was trying to settle
what he ought to do, if indeed he could do anything, for his loved
friend.
“I will follow them,” was the conclusion which he reached after briefly
thinking over every phase of the question; “I don’t know that it will
do Nick any good, but it’s just what _he_ would do if our situations
were changed.”
Herbert was well aware that in making this important decision, the only
possible hope—and it was slight indeed—of doing anything for Nick
was by using the utmost discretion.
One might well ask what chance he could have against three veteran
plainsmen, who were without principle or honor. Had Herbert himself
been asked the question, he would have found it hard to answer. It may
be said that something in the nature of a ransom suggested itself,
though he was too wise to build much hope on that means.
The one thing clear in his mind was that he must hide his pursuit, if
he could do so, from all knowledge of the abductors. If they possessed
a field glass, as he believed was likely, they must have discerned him
at the foot of the hills, provided the instrument was turned in that
direction. Hopeful, however, that they had not done so, he drew his
pony behind a sheltering rock, and held his gaze fixed on the horsemen,
who maintained their gallop, which was fast taking them out of his
natural field of vision.
He waited until the fluttering specks were barely perceptible to the
unassisted eye, and then decided to follow the trail a little way to
the southward, before wheeling to the west. He thought it less likely
that he would be noticed, if he left the hills at a point removed
from where he had been waiting so long, and where, had the criminals
observed him, they would look for his reappearance.
He had ridden no more than a hundred yards, when, to his astonishment,
he came upon the site of the strangers’ last encampment. It was
directly beside the trail, where there was no water, but the
smouldering camp fire and the cropped grass showed that several hours
had been passed there. More important than all to the solitary pursuer
was the finding of the remains of an antelope that had furnished the
party with a meal. The youth had not eaten food since the preceding
noon, and, highly wrought as were his feelings, he was faint and in
need of nourishment. Enough fragments were scattered about for him
to obtain all he wanted in that line, so long as he was not over
fastidious.
Since he was hungry and there was no saying when he could secure
another meal, Herbert was wise in eating his fill. Then, when he swung
himself into the saddle, he looked across the plain and failed to see
the horsemen; but the glass, being brought into play, revealed them
apparently in the very rim of the horizon.
“Ah, they have changed their course!” he exclaimed; “that looks as if
they had no instrument after all and think I am beyond their sight.”
It will be remembered that beyond the level stretch of country, another
and loftier range of hills showed against the clear sky. The horsemen
were moving toward them, and Herbert believed it was with the purpose
of misleading him or anyone that undertook to follow them. True,
the trail left by them was so marked that, once taken, it could be
maintained without trouble to the end; but, for reasons already shown,
they were warranted in considering that improbable.
The pursuer, however, decided to take no chances that he could avoid.
Having started from the encampment of the preceding night, he was on
their track from the beginning, and he meant to maintain it to the end.
Everyone knows how deceptive distance is in the clear air of the
plains. Objects that appear but a few miles away prove to be two and
three times as far. Herbert Watrous had been long enough in Texas to
learn this fact. The range that he had noticed the afternoon before
seemed to be within half a day’s ride, but he was convinced it would
require brisk traveling to reach it by sunset.
Then, too, the plan he had fixed upon forced him to keep a long way
to the rear, so that, if the horsemen struck the other range by set
of sun, the night would be well along before he could come up with
them. There was no moon to help him, and this might interfere with his
programme.
But, as may be said, he had put his hand to the plough and did not look
back.
Contrary, however, to the maxim, this was an unfortunate mistake on his
part; for, had he, after riding the major part of the distance, turned
in his saddle and surveyed the course traversed, he would have made an
important discovery, and one, too, that must have had an important
bearing on the almost hopeless enterprise in which he was engaged.
But Herbert’s interest was all in front. Nick Ribsam was in the power
of his enemies, and possibly he could aid him, though common sense told
him that the chances were as ninety-nine to one that he would end the
business by putting himself in the same hole. A party of desperate men
that were cunning enough to make the sagacious Nick prisoner were not
likely to be annoyed by anything Herbert Watrous could do to checkmate
them; but youth is ardent and hopeful, and none of these things
weakened the pursuit of the New Yorker.