THE KIDNAPED GIRL.
“Choke off the kid, Bill! Are you crazy, to let her screech like that?”
The command came quick and sharp and suppressed.
“Hanged ef I like this yar business of chokin’ babbys! I wouldn’t mind
ef she wuz a man.”
The retort was growled forth in a gruff bass voice. Two dark forms were
seen coming along the path. One of them, the one in advance, carried in
his arms a little girl of twelve.
The ruffians did not observe Frank and Bart until they were quite
close. Then, of a sudden, as the big fellow in advance halted, uttering
a startled oath, Merriwell’s clear voice rang out:
“Drop that child, you whelps, or we’ll drop you.”
The man behind made a quick movement, and Frank flung himself from
the saddle. It was well Merry did so, for the man had whipped out a
revolver and fired over the shoulder of his companion, the bullet
whistling past Frank’s ear as he dropped.
“Got him!” grated the man, evidently believing he had shot the youth.
“Down goes the other one!”
Bart had a revolver in his grasp, but, in the gloom of the timber, he
had refrained from firing, fearing to injure the girl, who now uttered
another cry for help.
But Hodge knew he was in danger, and he feared Frank had been hit by
the shot of the ruffian. He ducked beside the neck of his horse and was
barely in time to save his life, for another flash of fire punctured
the shadows, another report rang through the timber, and the second
bullet cut a hole through the hat of the dark-faced youth.
Then Hodge saw Merriwell leaping straight at the ruffian in advance,
and he knew Frank was not seriously hurt. With a shout of relief and
satisfaction, Bart sprang to the ground and jumped after Frank.
“Give it to the dogs, Merry!” he exclaimed.
Merriwell was on the big ruffian in a moment. The man had swung the
child under his arms, and he brought forth a revolver as Frank came up.
The young athlete ducked and struck out, and the revolver was sent
spinning from the grasp of the wretch, being discharged as it flew
through the air.
Then Merry was on the scoundrel and the ruffian was forced to drop the
child and meet the attack of the fearless youth.
Hodge went past like a leaping panther, but the other man had darted
behind a tree and melted away amid the underbrush in a most surprising
manner, and while Bart slashed about in search of the fellow who had
disappeared, Merriwell fought the other, who was a gigantic man of
remarkable strength.
The child had crept away a short distance, where it crouched on the
ground, watching the battle in fascination and fear.
“Dern yer!” growled the ruffian. “Whatever do ye mean by botherin’ two
peaceable gents in this yar way?”
“We mean business,” answered Frank.
“Waal, danged ef I don’t cut yer inter ribbons!” declared the giant, as
he made a movement and wrenched forth a knife.
Frank moved swiftly, and was barely in time to fasten his fingers on
the wrist of the murderous wretch.
“No, you don’t!” he exclaimed. “I object to anything of the sort!”
“Object and be dished!” came from the other. “Why, do you think yer kin
hold that yar hand? Ye’re nothin’ but a kid!”
Then the ruffian made a furious, wrenching twist to get his hand free,
but, to his surprise, the grip of the beardless youth was like steel,
and he failed utterly in his attempt.
This was the fellow’s first surprise; others followed swiftly.
“What’s this?” he howled, in fury. “Dang my hoofs! kin you hang on that
way?”
“You’ll find I’m something of a sticker,” laughed Frank.
Now, the other did not know that when Frank Merriwell laughed in that
peculiar manner he was the most dangerous, and he fancied the youth
thought the affair not at all serious.
“I’ll git him in a minute,” the ruffian mentally decided, “an’ I’ll
give him the length of this yar toad-sticker, which’ll convince him
that this is a mighty sad world, I reckon.”
But though he made another furious attempt to get his hand free, the
fingers of the youth were like riveted bands. Then the ruffian grew
still more angry.
“Double dern yer!” he panted. “You kin hang on, so I reckon I’ll just
have ter break yer back!”
Then he tried to fling Frank to the ground, but Merry used a
wrestling-trip, and the man went down instead. In the fall the grip of
the youth was almost broken, and, with a snarl of satisfaction, the
ruffian twisted his wrist free.
Then he swung back his hand to drive that terrible knife to the hilt
between Merry’s ribs. But Frank knew his danger, and, like a flash, he
had the thick, hairy wrist again in his clutch.
The man swore and tried to fling his youthful antagonist off, but he
found he could not do so and retain his hold on the knife. Then he
relinquished the knife and put every effort into the struggle to hurl
Merry aside.
The little girl, on her knees by the foot of a great tree, watched this
fearful battle with distended eyes.
Bart Hodge was still beating about for the man who had so cleverly
vanished in the gloom. There was a sudden report, as fire belched from
a tangled thicket, and a bullet grazed Bart’s cheek.
Hodge dropped, knowing now the other man had sought shelter, and waited
till he felt that he could bring one of the youths down with a sure
shot. Evidently the man believed he had succeeded, for he rose to his
feet, so that Bart obtained a glimpse of him.
In his impatient rage, Hodge did not wait for the fellow to advance,
but he took a quick aim and fired immediately. Down went the man.
“Soaked him!” said Bart grimly. “He brought it on himself.”
Then he lifted himself to his feet. It was Bart’s turn to meet with
surprise, for again from the thicket came a flash of fire, and this
time Hodge felt something burn and sting in his shoulder.
With a shout of fury, Hodge leaped straight toward the thicket, into
which he fearlessly plunged, reckless of his life.
But when he reached the spot where he believed the enemy must be,
he found no one there. The desperado had slipped away as Hodge came
leaping toward the spot, being aided to escape by the deepening
darkness.
Finding the man was not there, the conviction came on Hodge that he was
crouching near, waiting to obtain another shot, which he would take
care to make sure. Then the instinct of self-preservation overcame
Bart’s great fury, and he crouched close to the ground, holding his
revolver ready, while he peered about in the gloom and listened.
Not far away the battle between Frank and the giant ruffian was still
raging fiercely.
With every sense on the alert, Bart squatted there, ready to shoot or
spring. His nerves were tingling, but he did his best to be steady and
cool. An encounter of this sort, however, was something to unsteady the
nerves of almost any man, and it was not at all strange that Bart found
himself shaking somewhat as he remained motionless and waiting.
The breathing of the floundering giant who was trying to conquer
Merriwell sounded hoarsely through the gloom, and there was something
awesome in it. Suddenly the sounds stopped. The struggle seemed to be
ended. Who had conquered?
At the risk of betraying his position to the man who might be waiting
to shoot at him, Bart ventured to call:
“Merriwell!”
Hodge’s heart gave a leap of joy when Frank’s voice answered:
“Here! Are you all right?”
“Sure thing! And you?”
“Well, I’ve succeeded in quieting this chap, though he did put up an
awful fight.”
“Look out for the other!”
“Then he is----”
“He’s around here somewhere. I popped at him two or three times, but I
didn’t bag him.”
Crouching low, Bart moved as quietly as he could toward Frank, still
ready to shoot instantly. But in the gloom no pistol flashed, and no
deadly bullet sang through the timber.
Bart found Merriwell with his arm about the frightened child,
while near-by, on the ground, lay the body of the giant, sprawling
grotesquely.
“Have you killed him?” asked Hodge, looking down at the silent ruffian.
“I’m afraid so,” said Frank.
“Afraid?” exclaimed the dark-faced youth.
“Yes.”
“Why afraid?”
“I have no desire to kill anybody.”
“But this murderous dog----”
“Not even a human being of his caliber.”
“Well,” said Hodge grimly, “I did my level best to bore the other cur,
and my conscience would not have troubled me had I succeeded. How did
you do this one?”
“He had wonderful strength and wind, and he thrashed round to beat the
band. I was forced to be at my best all the time, and I hurled him back
repeatedly after he had partly succeeded in rising with me. The last
time I did so his head struck against the exposed root of that tree,
and it doubled under him with a snap like a pistol-shot. Then he was
limp as a rag, and the fight was over, so far as he was concerned.”
Bart caught the ruffian by the shoulders and partly lifted him. Then he
let the fellow drop back, a slight shiver running over him.
“Neck broken!” he said shortly.
“Broken!” exclaimed Frank. “As bad as that?”
“Sure thing!” said Hodge. “He won’t try to kidnap any more children,
for I reckon that was what they were doing with this one.”
Frank turned his attention to the child once more, while Bart looked
after the tired mustangs. As he approached the animals, a figure
suddenly sprang out of the gloom and onto the back of one of them.
There was a yell, and away dashed the animal along the path, bearing
the ruffian who had escaped.
Hodge took a shot at the fellow, and then, finding the man still clung
to the mustang, having disappeared in the gloom, he fired again in the
direction of the sound. Still the mustang fled on with its burden, and
Bart muttered an exclamation of rage.
The other animal had been alarmed by this, and Bart found some trouble
in approaching the creature, though he finally succeeded in capturing
him.
“Well, Merriwell,” he said, as he returned, leading the single mount,
“we’ve lost one of our beasts.”
Frank had been trying to allay the fears of the trembling child, and
he simply made a gesture for Bart to be quiet, which was seen and
understood, for all of the fast-deepening shadows.
“We will not harm you,” Merry was saying, in a soft, gentle way. “You
need have no further fear. What is your name?”
“Felicia,” was the low answer. “But Old Joe calls me Star Eyes.”
“Felicia--what a pretty name!” said Frank. “And these bad men were
carrying you off?”
“Yes. Please take me home.”
“We’ll do that, little Felicia. Your home is here, in the valley?”
“Yes, sir. It’s in the Black Woods, by Lake Sunshine.”
“Lake Sunshine? Another pretty name! What do you call the valley?”
“Pleasant Valley.”
“And that is a pretty name, too.”
“My mama named the lake, and the valley, and the woods. But now she’s
gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes, and papa says she’s gone to a beautifuler world than this, though
it doesn’t seem to me it can be true, and I know just where papa put
her in the ground when she died. I was there putting flowers on her
grave, and the grave of the Good Stranger, when those bad men grabbed
me and carried me away.”
Frank felt a queer thrill.
“The Good Stranger?” he said. “Who was that?”
“Oh, I loved him, and Dick loved him, and we all loved him, for he was
so kind. But the fever took him, and he died, too. He is buried near my
mama.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t know. Old Joe called him White Beard, but I just called him
uncle.”
“How long ago was it that he died?”
“More than a week, now. Papa buried him, too.”
Bart’s hand fell on the shoulder of Frank, who was kneeling, with one
arm about the little girl. That touch told that Hodge was beginning to
realize just what Merry’s questions were leading to, which filled him
with eagerness.
“What is your papa’s name?” asked Merry, and then held his breath as he
waited for the answer.
“I just call him papa,” said the child. “Please take me to him. He will
be so sorry when he finds I’m not at home.”
“In a moment we’ll take you to him. You call him papa, but what do
others call him?”
“Nobody ever comes here much, except Old Joe, and he calls my papa
Silent Tongue.”
“Who is Old Joe?”
“A good Indian.”
Merry started a bit, and then quickly asked:
“Do you mean Old Joe Crowfoot?”
“Papa calls him Crowfoot sometimes. Please take me to my papa.”
“The scent grows hot!” muttered Hodge.
“And did you never hear your father called anything but Silent Tongue?
What did your mother call him?”
“Most times she called him dearest, but sometimes she called him----”
“Yes, yes--she called him what?”
“Juan.”
“I knew it!” broke from Hodge. “We’re on the right trail, Merry!”
“At last!” exclaimed Frank, in deep satisfaction. “Little Felicia,
we’ll take you to your father without delay.”