SIM HAS A CLOSE CALL
“Oh!” cried Bob, who had just caught a fleeting glimpse of man and
rider tottering on the verge of the broken cliff trail, which had
evidently been blown away by the explosion of a dynamite cartridge
placed there for that purpose by the retreating fugitives, in order
to cut off pursuit.
Frank saw more.
He knew that Sim, being an old cowman, and accustomed to leaving his
saddle in a hurry when some peril threatened, had shaken his feet
free from the stirrups. One wild spring, and the trail-finder managed
to clutch hold of the rock, though his horse went plunging down into
space.
Frank was out of his own saddle in a second. Another, and he had
snatched the rope which he always carried, to be used as a lariat
when chasing steers, or a means of keeping his horse from straying
too far away at night.
Buckskin seemed to know that this was no time for any prancing.
He behaved himself splendidly. On the other hand the big bay of
the former superintendent gave evidence of fright, jumping up,
apparently desirous of trying to turn around, an impossible feat on
that narrow shelf, or at least one accompanied by extreme hazard.
Frank knew then that it all depended on him, if Sim was to be
rescued. He could see that the man was still dangling there, his only
hold being the tip of the rock. At any moment his grip might loosen,
and he would be hurled down after his horse, that lay motionless more
than eighty feet below.
Frank watched his chance, and managed to slip past the rearing steed
of Mr. Riley, without being struck by the flying hoofs.
Now he was close above Sim. One glance told the boy that he could not
hope to bend down and catch hold of the man. His rope would have to
be used; but just how he could place the loop was a question, with
both arms of the man held aloft.
Sim solved the puzzle for him by elevating his legs, bent at the
knee. Instantly Frank knew what he wanted him to do—drop the loop of
his lariat over both legs, and then draw taut. In case Sim’s grip was
broken, while he might hang head downward, at least he could not take
that terrible plunge.
Frank was a pretty good hand at throwing the rope, and those upturned
legs offered so easy a mark that he could hardly fail to drop the
noose over them at the first attempt.
When this had been accomplished his next movement was to whip the
rope around a point of rock that jutted out close at hand. It was the
same action that a cowboy would bring into play in snubbing a steer
he had roped.
“Great!” cried Bob, who had watched all this with eyes that seemed to
be fairly bulging from his head.
But there was still more to be done. Sim had managed to secure only
a makeshift grip on the rock. His hands were slipping by degrees,
though he had held on with desperation until he felt the rope drawn
taut, and knew that Frank had made fast above.
Then he let go!
Bob gave an involuntary cry. He could not help it, even while
understanding how this emergency had been provided against by his
chum who used the rope.
“Somebody give me a hand!” called Frank, who had hold of the lariat
close to where it had been several times wound around the projecting
stone.
Bob dropped out of the saddle. Really, considering the fact that this
sort of business was quite new to him, the black Kentucky horse was
acting very well. Perhaps Domino took pattern from his companion,
Buckskin. At any rate he did not prance wildly, after the fashion of
the big bay ridden by Mr. Riley; and Bob afterwards declared that he
was quite proud of his mount.
Of course, once the two stout boys bent to the task, they quickly
drew the dangling Sim to the top of the wall, so that he could
scramble on to the cliff path. Outside of being red in the face, from
his having hung head downward, the ex-cowboy seemed none the worse
for his experience.
But he was in a pretty heated condition mentally. To his mind that
trick played by the two fugitives was the meanest thing ever heard
of. Frank, of course, understood that the main object had been to
destroy the cliff path, so as to cut off pursuit. That the explosion
had been delayed a little longer than calculated on, was only an
accident.
“I’m out of the game by it, anyhow!” grumbled Sim, as he crawled to
the edge, to look down to where his late mount lay.
“What are we going to do now?” asked Bob, who once more had hold of
the bridle of his horse, though he did not try to mount.
“The game didn’t work, fellers,” called Sim, who had changed his
position, and was now examining the break in the path. “Looky here,
there’s enough footing left to get the hosses over, with a little
care.”
“That’s right,” remarked Mr. Riley, now also dismounted, his big
bay acting more tractably. “I reckon I can coax old Brickdust here
to amble over. Come along, you skittish rascal, and show your good
points.”
Bob fairly held his breath as he watched how the former
superintendent of the mine first stepped along the narrow ledge
himself, and, holding the bridle, urged his steed to do the same.
One little misstep, and nothing could keep the horse from toppling
over the ridge, just as Sim’s unlucky mount had done. There was
some snorting on the part of the big bay; but the animal seemed to
appreciate the situation. Keeping as close to the face of the wall
of stone as possible, and stepping carefully, Brickdust crossed the
broken spot in the cliff trail.
“Sim, you help Bob get his mount over,” said Frank, as he started to
follow the example of Mr. Riley.
Of course Buckskin gave no trouble. He had been brought up amid
such wild surroundings, and was as sure-footed as a mountain goat.
Besides, doubtless during the innumerable gallops taken by Frank,
they had frequently been compelled to navigate ticklish paths, where
a slip meant disaster; so the horse was used to such things.
“Let me have the bridle; and you go ahead, Bob, so your hoss kin
keep his eye on ye,” said Sim.
Bob noticed how the other failed to wind the bridle around his wrist.
On the contrary Sim held it in such a way that he could let go
instantly, should Domino act frightened while in the danger zone. Nor
could the ex-cowboy be blamed for such caution. One experience was
quite enough for him. And a drop into that yawning gulf was almost
sure death.
Domino proved a sensible horse. He stepped carefully, and snorted as
though appreciating the situation; but he managed to get over to the
wider ledge without once slipping.
Bob breathed easy again. Had anything happened he must have felt
heavy-hearted for a long time; because the black animal seemed to
enter into his very life, such were the warm associations between
them.
“Sorry to lose you, Sim!” exclaimed Mr. Riley, as he once more
climbed into his saddle, ready to take up the pursuit.
“And I’m all knocked to pieces by my misfortune!” grumbled the
trailer. “Hope ye have good luck, Mr. Riley, an’ fetch the stuff back
again. So-long, boys!”
They were off again, leaving Sim there on the shelf, waving them
good-by.
Both Frank and Mr. Riley were on the lookout for signs of those whom
they were chasing. Even Bob strained his eyes to catch some glimpses
of them, though he hardly knew in which direction to look.
“Have you seen anything of them, Frank?” he asked, presently, when he
urged his horse alongside Buckskin.
“Sure,” came the confident reply. “Several times I’ve caught sight
of the pair. They’re whipping up to beat the band; but we seem to be
gaining all the while.”
“Must have surprised ’em to see us, after they played such a clever
game to cut off all pursuit, eh?” went on his chum.
“That’s a fact, Bob; they expected that dynamite to smash the whole
trail, and leave a gap no horse could pass over. But it failed to do
its work, even if Sim did lose his horse, and come near going down
himself.”
“Whew! but it was some ticklish when that explosion came,” remarked
Bob, with a little whistle. “I’ll never forget it as long as I live.
I thought Domino would sure stand up on his hind legs, and try to
wheel around. That would have wound me up, and both of us must have
gone over the edge. Excuse me from chasing after a couple of treasure
thieves along a path that is hung in the air.”
“Well, we’re nearly out of this end of the mountains now, and there
they go off on the level plain,” Frank remarked, pointing with his
right hand.
“It’s going to be a stern chase then,” declared his chum.
“Looks like it, Bob; but the one thing I don’t like is that night
will be down on us in short order now. We don’t have long twilight in
the Southwest, you know. And while there ought to be a pretty fair
moon, I notice that clouds are swarming up over yonder, so that in
less than half an hour its going to be some dark.”
Bob looked up at the sky, then toward the distant fugitives, and
shook his head, as if the situation did not exactly appeal to him.