PEDRO’S MUSTANG RIDE.
The reader will remember Pedro, the stable-boy, who was sent by Jack to
carry the information to Harry Hale that resulted in the fight with the
teamsters and their red and white guards.
After performing his errand, Pedro mounted his hardy little mustang and
set off for the southwest to visit his parents, whom he had not seen
for a year.
They lived on the outskirts of a small village, just about fifty miles
from the spot he started from, and as his tough little pony was fresh,
Pedro expected to do the distance in seven or eight hours, with short
rests.
He longed to see his parents, and looked forward to the meeting with
joy.
He rode all day at a steady pace that covered a great deal of ground,
and at night fetched up before the little door-yard fronting his home.
The peaceful-looking cottage was there, but no one came eagerly forth
in answer to his blithe hail, and a strange misgiving made the blood
grow cold and chill around the boy’s heart as he leaped from the back
of his jaded steed.
He rushed up to the door.
Locked!
He shouted.
No sound came back for some time, and then a neighbor heard his voice
and in a moment several forms came toward him in the darkness.
“It is Pedro!” they cried.
“Poor Pedro!” said one.
“Unhappy boy!” said another.
“What do you mean?” cried the perplexed Pedro. “Where is my mother?--my
father?”
“Gone,” they sorrowfully said.
“Gone!” cried Pedro. “Dead?”
“No,” said an old man, “but they might better be dead. They have been
taken off by the outlaw and his band.”
“Sinyaro?”
“Yes, the terrible Sinyaro, who swears that your father has money
concealed. ’Twas but yesterday that he sent us your poor father’s right
ear, demanding that we send him a hundred dollars for each of the
prisoners, or else he will slay them by sunset to-morrow. Alas! we are
all too poor to raise that amount.”
“To-morrow night?” gasped Pedro. “The time is short.”
“Aye! and the bandit swears that he will bring them both to the edge of
the village and slay them before our very eyes,” said the old man.
“Hush,” cried Pedro; “let me think a moment. Ha! I have it; Harry
Hale--the Steam Man--the Steam Horse--all or any can save them if I can
get them there in time.”
“The Steam Horse!” said one. “The boy’s brain is turned.”
“He talks of Steam Men,” said another, in pitying tones. “The shock has
been too much for him.”
And they regarded him with glances of commiseration, while he leaned
his head on his hand and tried to collect his thoughts.
The time was too short to ride the distance, find the parties he
wanted, and get them back on time, and Pedro could not help shuddering.
It was a slim chance, but he had no other choice.
But how was he to ride back that long fifty miles?
One horse, nor two ordinary, would be able to do the distance in the
time that he wished to span the weary track, and yet he must do the
distance within five hours to allow of sufficient time to get the
rescuers to the village.
He turned to a tall, slim youth who stood at his side.
“Carlos?”
“Speak.”
“You have a pair of fleet mustangs?”
“Yes, and they are at your service,” said the youth.
“And yourself also?” asked Pedro.
“Command me,” said Carlos.
“Ride with one mustang to the next town, ten miles away,” said Pedro.
“Leave the other mustang for me. I am faint with hunger, and when I
have eaten I will mount your mustang and ride to where you are with all
speed, and you must have a fleet mustang ready for me to leap upon when
I dash in.”
“What would you do?”
“Save my parents’ life,” said the brave boy. “Before sunset to-morrow
rescuers shall be here. Away!”
Carlos vanished, carrying with him a small sum of money to pay for the
mustang he was to have ready at the next village.
“Who will give me food?” asked the hungry boy, and half a dozen eagerly
tried to lead him away to their humble cots, while others led forth the
fleet young mustang he was to ride.
He partook of a hearty meal, and then, with the good wishes of the
villagers, leaped upon the mustang and yelled:
“Away! for life or death!”
Like a rocket the fleet mustang went on the track.
Onward, with fearful bounds, the ground fairly gliding beneath the
flying hoofs of the fleet steed; through valleys, through groves, over
marshlands and meadows, past tall trees flitting like ghosts in the
starlight, and in an incredibly short space of time the gallant little
animal dashed into the village, where Carlos stood holding the bridle
of a fresh courier.
“Thanks,” cried Pedro, and with one flying leap he was upon the back of
the other mustang.
“Away,” he cried, and drove his spurs deep into the side of the steed.
With an angry snort the mustang dashed madly away, the strong hand of
the reckless rider guiding him with ease and skill.
With frightful bounds the incensed steed leaped over the irregular
ground, and in a few minutes his magnificent burst of speed brought him
out upon the level plain, where the mustang was pulled down to a long,
swinging gallop, that covered the ground very rapidly.
On, on, steadily onward; and when the noble little steed began to flag
the cruel spurs urged it on, and just as the mustang was failing, Pedro
dashed into a little town and pulled up at the door of the sole inn of
the village.
He leaped from the back of his foaming horse.
It was two hours past midnight, as he knew by the stars.
All was still, and the only sound he could hear was the heavy panting
of the exhausted mustang.
He pulled a pistol from his pocket, and with the iron-bound butt rapped
loudly on the door of the tavern.
“Awake!” he cried. “Haste! for life or death hangs on speed. Awake!”
And he rapped loudly.
Down came the landlord and one or two servants, lights flashed about
the place, and the door was flung open with a bang.
“What’s the matter?” demanded a man who stood there half-dressed.
“A case of life or death,” excitedly replied the boy; “on my speed
depends the fate of a man and woman. Give me the fleetest mustang in
your stable, take my tired one, and I will pay you what you please.
But, for God’s sake lose no time.”
The man had a heart.
He caught up a lantern, rushed to his stable, and ran back with a
wiry-looking mustang.
In a moment the saddle and bridle were transferred, and Pedro leaped
upon the back of a fresh horse.
“How much money?” he cried.
“Away!” cried the man with a heart, as he struck the mustang across the
rump with a whip.
Like an arrow from a bow the little tough-knot leaped away, swiftly as
the wind.
He was a fleet courser, and struck at once into that long easy stride
that tells wonderfully in an hour.
Onward, steadily onward under the silent stars, the fleet hoofs
springing from the soft grass of the plain with tireless tread.
Then, as the stars began to pale in the sky, two horsemen appeared in
the course of the flying mustang.
“Away!” shrieked Pedro. “This is for life or death!”
They stood firm in his course, and, with a determined cry, the boy drew
his revolvers.
“Crack!”
Down went one of the horsemen like a bolt.
“Crack!”
The steed of the other horseman was wounded, and as the rider fell to
the ground, he fired upon the boy.
A scream of pain from the gallant mustang told that he was hit; but
still he bounded onward and dashed fleetly away for a mile.
Then his strength began to fail, for his life blood was oozing forth
from a cruel wound in his shoulder.
With his eyes blazing, he essayed to leap onward; but he stumbled and
fell, and, like a rocket, Pedro shot over him, and landed stunned and
bruised on the level plain.
Was his terrible ride to be in vain? Was the bandit going to kill his
mother and father on the coming nightfall? Were his noble efforts to
save them to go for nought? We shall see.