THE ESCAPE
"What about that fire?" asked Mr. Bellmore, as he galloped on beside Dave.
"I don't know," was the doubtful answer. "What do you say, Pete?"
"What's that?" called back the foreman, his eyes never leaving the dim
figure that was racing on ahead.
"The fire he started," replied Dave. "Won't it eat back to the cattle?"
"It may. But they've got enough men to fight it now, and the plowed strip
will stop almost any blaze. Come on, we want to get that skunk!"
"Do you think he set the big fire, Pete?"
"I don't know what to think, I'm goin' to catch him first!" was the grim
reply. "I'll do my thinkin' afterward."
The glow of the big fire was dying away now. One reason for this was that
the blaze was working its way behind a range of hills. Another was found
in the coming of the dawn, the fire paling before the glow of the rising
sun.
Dave gave a look back at the blaze in the grass he had seen started by the
crouching figure. The flames were spreading in the dry, tinder-like grass,
and for a moment Dave was worried. Then he reflected that the cowboys who
were with the herd ought to be able to handle it, and, as Pete had said,
the plowed strip would act in the same manner as had the burned area.
"We've got to take a chance," murmured Dave, "and it can't be a much worse
chance than the one we took earlier in the night. And we must get that
fellow!"
It would be the worst possible procedure to leave loose in the country so
desperate a character as one who would deliberately start a prairie fire.
He could do untold damage.
"I wonder who he is?" mused Dave. Yet in his heart he had an answer ready.
"Some of the Molick crowd," he whispered. "Their ranch would be safe with
the wind blowing the way it does now, and they must know it would send the
fire right down on us. It was the Molick crowd, I'll wager a hat!"
He hurried on with the others. Dawn was breaking rapidly now. It seemed
scarcely more than a few minutes since Dave saw that glow in the midnight
sky, yet it was several hours. But so crowded had they been with work and
worry that it seemed hardly more than one--or, at most, a few minutes.
The figure ahead was riding desperately to escape.
"He's got a good horse critter," observed Pete, admiringly. He could
admire even an enemy's mount.
"Yes, but he can't keep up that speed," said Mr. Bellmore. "And our
animals are fresh."
This was true, as during the fire-fighting the ponies of the Bar U ranch
had been able to rest. Now they were fresh for the chase that was on. And
a fierce chase it was.
Setting a prairie fire, when the person who did it could not but know it
would eat its way toward a bunch of cattle, was a crime not far from horse
stealing, than which there is no blacker offense in the West, where a
man's life depends on his horse. And the person who was riding thus
desperately away must have known, or at least feared, that quick vengeance
would be dealt out to him.
"Th' skunk!" muttered Pete, as he and the others swept on. "Th' mean,
onery skunk!"
Up came the sun from below the horizon, shining red in the smoke-filled
air--red and dim, like some great balloon. The morning was hot with the
heat of the fire, and it would soon be warmer and more depressing from the
heat of the sun's rays.
"It's a good thing dad has his cattle where there's some water for them,"
said Dave.
"Yes," agreed Pete. "There isn't much, but it's better than being over at
the other place, where Molick and his crowd can cut us off altogether."
"If worst comes to worst, and he's built up that dam again," said the
engineer, "we'll go and tear it down once more."
"That's what we will," Pete said. "I'm not going to lose the cattle for
want of some water, when we saved 'em from the fire."
Dave was about to make a remark, when he gave a cry of surprise instead.
"What's up?" asked Pete.
"Look! If that isn't Len Molick I'll eat my rope!" cried the young
cowpuncher. "Len Molick started that fire!"
"It's him all right," agreed Pete, after an instant's glance.
The figure racing on ahead so desperately had turned for a moment in the
saddle, and this turning gave a view of his face. Dave had seen it was his
enemy--the enemy who had taunted him with his lack of knowledge concerning
his birth and parentage.
"And we've caught him with the goods," remarked Pete, indulging in the
slang which meant so much. "He'll go to jail for this."
"If we catch him," suggested Mr. Bellmore.
"Oh, we'll get him," declared Pete. "Come on here you cayuse you!" he
called merrily to his mount.
But alas for Pete's hopes. Whether the extra burst of speed was more than
his horse could respond to, or whether in the excess of his zeal Pete
forgot his usual caution probably would never be known.
But the fact of the matter was that his horse Stepped into the burrow of a
prairie dog, and, a moment later, the foreman went flying over the head of
his steed, landing on the soft grass some distance away.
Dave and Mr. Bellmore pulled up at once, but they had hardly done so
before Pete leaped to his feet.
"Ride on I Ride on!" he yelled. "Don't mind me. Get that skunk!"
"But you may be hurt!" Dave called.
"Hurt? No, not a bit! I'm all right!"
"What about the horse?" asked the engineer.
The animal had picked himself up, and walked with a limp toward his
master, for Pete had trained him well.
"Poor brute's got a twisted shoulder--I'll have to ride him slow after I
rub him down," Pete said, mournfully enough. "I can't make any kind of
speed on him. Ride on, you fellows! Don't let that skunk get away!"
It was the law and custom of the range. When a chase was on, if one failed
and fell behind, the other, or others, must keep going. It was a hard law,
but life on the range was not easy, nor was it one for children.
"All right!" called Dave, recognizing the necessity for prompt action.
"We'll get him!"
"And watch out for him," Pete warned them. "He'll be desperate if he finds
you're closing in on him."
"We'll watch out," said Mr. Bellmore.
Again he and Dave dashed on, leaving Pete to minister to his injured
horse. The foreman at once proceeded to rub vigorously the strained
shoulder with a bunch of grass. His steed winced it the pain, but seemed
to know it was for its own good.
"I'll have to go back," Pete said, mournfully. "But I hope they catch that
skunk!"
It was the meanest name he could think of to call Len Molick.
The chase was resumed. Pete's accident had cost Dave and his companion
some precious moments and they had lost distance. But they felt that,
eventually, they must win. For their horses were fresher than was the
mount of the youth who had set the fire, and already they had appreciably
lessened the distance between them.
Len's horse had shown a wonderful burst of speed at first, and he had
secured a quick start.
"But it won't do him any good," said Dave. "We'll have him ridden down in
ten minutes more."
"I hope so," murmured Mr. Bellmore, "Why. Can't Kurd stand it?"
"Oh, yes, but I'm afraid I can't. This is more riding than I've done since
I had my accident, and my ankle is paining me."
"Say, you drop out," Dave urged him. "I can manage Len all right."
"Indeed I'll not drop out! I'm going to stay in to the finish, but I'll be
glad when it comes. This Western life is, indeed, rough and ready, Dave."
"Then you're not a Westerner by birth?"
"No, I came from the East. I'll have to tell you my story some day. It's
rather a curious one."
Dave reflected that his own was, also, but he was not so sure he wanted to
tell it. Every day had increased his admiration for Mr. Bellmore, but
there are some facts that we keep even from our best friends.
They were on a downward slope now, and the going was better. Slowly but
surely they were overtaking Len. Now and then he glanced back over his
shoulder, as if to measure the distance separating him from his pursuers.
"Do you think he'll shoot?" asked Mr. Bellmore.
"He may," said Dave, calmly. "He's a big enough bully to do so, but he's
the worst shot you ever heard of. I really believe he's afraid of a gun."
"Still, sometimes those chaps make a bull's-eye out of pure luck."
"We've got to take the chance," Dave said. "Keep well down on your horse's
neck."
But Len showed no intention of drawing a weapon. Probably it was all he
could do to manage his now fast-tiring steed.
Suddenly the stillness of the morning was broken by a prolonged shrill
screech.
"What's that?" cried Mr. Bellmore.
"Railroad train," said Dave. "The line passes just below us. You can see
the smoke of the train in a minute. There she is--a fast freight. Whistled
because they're going to stop for water I guess. Yes, there she goes up to
the tank."
Down below them they could see the crawling freight. As they watched they
saw it draw up to the tank and stop. Water poured into the tender of the
engine.
"Why, look at Len! He's riding straight for the freight!" cried Dave.
"That's what he is," echoed Mr. Bellmore. "Maybe he's going to take it!"
"If he does--" murmured Dave.
They spurred on, but were too far away. A moment later they saw Len leap
from his horse, abandon the creature, and jump on one of the freight cars.
The engine whistled, started off and rapidly gathered speed, taking Len
away from his pursuers.
"Well, if that isn't tough luck!" bitterly said Dave, as they pulled up.
Len had escaped. There was no use in chasing the fast freight.