THE ELECTRICAL GUARD.
After the battle at the grove, when it was discovered that Pomp was
among the missing, in fact the sole party then missed, great was the
surprise, and many were the conjectures on the part of his friends.
“He’s not killed,” said Charley.
“No,” said Barry Brown, who had been around the field again, “he’s not
among the killed, and I’m of the opinion that he’s been scooped in by
some of the reds.”
“Perhaps so,” said Charley, “although I did not credit them with being
smart enough to scoop Pomp.”
Harry Hale was sitting on the ground with his back against a tree.
He had about as big a headache as any small man would care to carry
around with him, for that blow with the club was a terrible one.
He had been picked up for dead by one of the men, and handed over to
Barry Brown, who soon brought him back to life by applying a little
whisky outside, and then using the very same universal remedy for the
inside of the patient.
Hale did not feel very good, but he was slowly coming around, for his
head was hard, and his constitution was like iron.
“See here,” said the leader of the prospecting party, “we haven’t
thought anything about that boy. Where is he?”
“He hid in that cluster of bushes,” replied one of the men, pointing to
the spot where Ralph had secreted himself. “He’s probably fainted with
fright. I’ll rake him out.”
But, of course, he failed to rake the boy out, although he searched all
through the grove with the others to aid him.
“He’s gone,” was announced.
“This is mighty funny,” said Harry Hale. “Both carried away without
anybody seeing the thing done. Charley?”
“Yes,” said Gorse.
“Have you looked in the wagon? Pomp may be hiding there for a lark.”
“That’s so,” said Charley, and made a search that resulted in the
discovery of the absence of the darkey’s banjo, which fact he made
known to the others.
“That settles it,” said the lanky stableman who had so long hoodwinked
Captain Jerry Prime. “I understand the whole thing now. He has been
taken away with his banjo to make fun at Cheeky Charley’s wedding,
which takes place to-morrow morning a few miles distant from here.
Captain Prime has given him a little layout, and they’ve captured Pomp
to play the banjo for them. Rest easy, and in the morning we’ll pile
down upon them while the fun is running high and carry off the darkey
before their eyes.”
“That’s all we can do,” said Charley. “Hark! there’s Frank.”
Three shrill whistles rang out on the still night air.
Gorse seized the whistle-cord of his Steam Man and answered.
For a few moments, at intervals, this sort of signaling was kept up,
and then the blazing eyes of the Steam Horse appeared in view as the
metal steed trotted rapidly up to them over the prairie.
“All over?” cried Frank, as he came to a halt at the grove.
“Yes, all done,” said Barry Brown; “and for a small, private affair it
was a real nice selected party, although the side dishes of chopped
noses were not to my taste.”
“Where’s Barney?” anxiously inquired the Western boy of his cousin.
“Don’t know,” said Frank, with a shake of his head; “he’s been carried
off along with his fiddle.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the men, for now it was apparent that Jack’s
conjecture was correct, and that both men had been carried away on
account of their ability to furnish music for the outlaw’s wedding.
“What’s the racket?” asked Frank.
“Why, Pomp and his banjo are gone, too,” said Charley, with a smile,
and then he told his cousin the stableman’s idea.
“I’m glad,” said Frank. “We can rescue them both in the morning. What
camp is that out there?”
“The combined enemy.”
“In numbers?”
“Two to one or more against this party,” said Charley. “If they don’t
trouble us we will not trouble them. Come, drive your horse in under
the trees.”
The machines were both safely brought into the grove, where by
the light of the little camp-fire the drivers of the respective
contrivances thoroughly cleaned all parts, and had things in readiness
for a rapid run at any moment.
Then guards were selected to watch over the slumbers of the rest, but
Frank put in his oar.
“It is quite unnecessary, gentlemen,” said the young genius; “there is
no need that any of you should lose one hour’s sleep in order to guard
the slumbers of this party. If you will give me your aid for one minute
I’ll undertake to guard the camp and go to sleep myself.”
They looked at him in surprise.
“If he says he can do, he can,” said Charley Gorse.
“You bet he can,” said Harry Hale.
Frank stepped to his wagon, went down into that wonderful trunk,
produced his coils of wire, batteries and binding posts, and spread out
the apparatus on the ground.
“You take this wire and go around that way, and you take this one,
and strike off in an opposite direction;” and, as he spoke, he handed
the ringed ends of the wire to different ones, and in less than three
minutes he had half a dozen thin wires connected from point to point,
encircling the little grove with copper.
Then he attached his ends to both batteries, screwed down all his
posts, and announced:
“Gentlemen, you can retire. The camp is guarded; but I advise you all
not to walk in your sleep or you’ll certainly experience something
shocking.”
And then the young inventor tumbled into his wagon and passed into the
land of dreams, feeling the utmost security in his electrical guard.
The rest looked rather doubtfully at the odd contrivance.
“I don’t much like to go off snoozing with a pack of bloodthirsty
redskins just out of gunshot, and nothing to warn me of their approach
but that,” said one of the prospectors.
“Fear not,” said Harry Hale. “The reds can’t beat this wonderful little
rascal if they try. You can depend on him as I do.”
And to prove his confidence in Frank Reade’s genius he threw himself on
the ground and was soon asleep.
The men felt skeptical, many of them, but they were tired out and
sleepy, and all were soon in the land of Nod.
A few hours passed by in quietness, and then a startling cry rang out.
Every man in the camp leaped to his feet, and the grove resounded with
cries of
“What is it?”
“Who is hurt?”
“Who shrieked?”
And Frank Reade coolly hopped down from the wagon, ran to his
batteries, and increased the power, and immediately a second cry rang
out.
“That’s the ticket” he said. “Follow the course of the wires, my
friends, and you’ll find a redskin hanging on to one of them, simply
because he can’t let it go.”
And with a movement of his hand he produced another scream.
Away darted half a dozen of the men around the circle.
“Found!” came to Frank’s ears, as they came upon a tall redskin who
was standing erect by a big bush, his teeth tightly clenched, his
copper-colored face half bleached, and an expression of agony on his
features.
His fingers were closed around one of the wires, and his most strenuous
efforts failed to disconnect the electrical attachment.
The guard had done its duty, and the young inventor was triumphant and
full of glee.
“Grab him, and take away his weapon,” he commanded.
Half a dozen hands seized the redskin and disarmed him.
He belonged to the party that had chased the prospectors.
As soon as the rascal was secured, Frank disconnected the wire by means
of a switch, or cut-out, and with a deep groan the red man’s hands
unclasped and fell heavily to his side, and he was carried to the
camp-fire.
“What do you think of the electrical guard, now?” demanded Frank Reade.
“That it is a credit to the inventor of the Steam Horse,” said the man
who had doubted its efficiency. “The prisoner is your property. What
will you do with the rascal?”
For answer Frank picked up a long knife, severed the captive’s bonds,
and taking him by the hand, led him to the edge of the grove, and,
pointing to the distant cluster of tents, dimly visible in the faint
starlight:
“Go,” he said.
The Indian knelt at his feet, placed his hands above his head, and then
was up and away like a flash.
“He’s my friend for life,” said Frank, and went back to his bunk.
In the morning he and Charley started away with Barry Brown, Hale, Jack
and Jared Dwight; the stableman directing the course to the spot where
Cheeky Charley was holding high carnival.
As they expected, they found everything in full blast, and while
everybody was dancing mad, they rushed pell-mell into the squirming
pack.