SHOWERS OF ROCKS.
Stealing a cautious glance over the brink of the precipice, I
discovered the robber coiled up under a projecting rock, about five
rods from the place where the sheriff had been looking for him. It was
ticklish business, though, after I had heard one bullet whistle by my
ears, I felt more like a veteran, and found my courage increasing.
Still I was careful not to expose my head again to the robber’s aim,
for I had a certain regard for my head, and the contents thereof, which
made me rather tender of it. It may not have been a very good head,
but it was the best one I had, and I did not like to have it damaged,
for no one could give me another if I lost it. Besides, I was afraid
it would hurt Grace Toppleton’s feelings, as well as my own, to have a
hole through my head.
I lay upon the ground and did not deem it prudent to attempt to obtain
a second glance at the robber at once. But I kept this position only
long enough to consider what I should do next. I crawled back a little
way from the ravine, where I could lift my body up without being seen
by the villain. I then made signs to the sheriff on the other side to
indicate to him the precise location of the fugitive. He understood me
perfectly, and, guided by my signals, he advanced to that part of the
bluff directly over the robber’s head. When he had reached the right
spot, I nodded my head to signify the fact.
The bluff was well supplied with rocks, and the sheriff followed up
the tactics I had suggested, by rolling them over the brink of the
precipice. It was evident enough to me that the robber could not stand
this sort of treatment for any great length of time; for, though none
of the rocks thrown into the chasm were larger than a man’s head, they
were heavy enough to smash a man’s skull after falling from fifteen to
twenty feet. Of course the chances of hitting him with stones rolled
blindly into the ravine were not very good; but, if we followed up the
shower, he was in danger of being hit sooner or later.
“Pitch them in, Mr. Bradshaw!” I shouted. “Give him plenty of them.”
“Where is he now?” asked the sheriff.
“He isn’t far from you. Let him have a shower of them,” I added.
Taking a position myself far enough from the gully to be out of reach
of the robber’s pistol, I began to help my companion on the other side,
and for a few minutes we rained down the rocks into the chasm with
a zeal which threatened to bury the victim beneath them. But, as we
heard nothing of him, I concluded, after a time, that he had changed
his position, or that his head had been broken, and we suspended the
assault when we were tired of the hard work it involved.
I then crawled up to the chasm as close as I dared to go, and listened
attentively for any sound which might indicate the robber’s presence;
but it was his policy to keep entirely still, and I obtained no
information. The sheriff did the same thing on his side of the gully,
and we occasionally glanced at each other for intelligence. As we
continued the search, and our excitement increased, both of us became
more venturesome. We were soon reminded again of the folly of exposing
our heads to the fire of the desperado in the chasm. I saw the sheriff
dodge, and heard the crack of a pistol in the chasm.
“All right!” shouted Mr. Bradshaw to me. “Nobody damaged. He’s right
under you, Wolf.”
“I know where he is now,” I replied; and I renewed the assault with a
volley of rocks.
The sheriff did the same, and there was a heavy shower of stones into
the abyss. We followed it up for half an hour, throwing the missiles
in different places for several rods, so as to cover any change of
position the robber might make. But the labor was heavy, and seemed to
be unprofitable, while we were working in the dark. Making a signal to
the officer to continue the assault on his side, I walked down to the
bridge, where I could look into the chasm, and be out of the reach of a
ball from the robber’s pistol. From this secure position I obtained a
full view of the rascal. He was crouching under the overhanging cliff,
at least five rods from the place where the sheriff was throwing over
the rocks. The desperado raised his pistol, and fired as soon as he saw
me; but I knew the weapon would not carry half the distance, and I was
brave enough not to flinch.
I was tired of carrying on the war in this blind manner. I had been on
the bluff over an hour, and nothing had been accomplished. I crossed
the bridge, and walked up to the place where the sheriff lay. I had an
idea, which I hoped would bring matters to an issue.
“Hold on, Mr. Bradshaw,” said I, as I approached him. “You are wasting
your ammunition. The fellow is a hundred feet from you.”
“This is hard work,” replied the sheriff, wiping the perspiration from
his brow.
“Yes, and almost useless. I don’t believe we have hit him a single
time.”
“I thought he must be smashed to jelly by this time.”
“No; he is crouching under an overhanging rock, out here,” I added,
pointing to the place where I had seen him.
“Hold on, then, and I will give him some more,” said the zealous
officer.
“No, let him rest a few minutes. One of us must keep watch of him at a
safe distance from his pistol,” I continued, picking up a little stick
from the ground. “Let us have some signals. I will go down where I can
see him, and direct you so that you can throw the rocks in where he is.”
“Good! I like that,” replied the officer.
“When I raise this stick, it means farther from me; when I lower it,
nearer to me. When I carry it out to the right, it means on your side
of the chasm; when to the left, on the other side,” I proceeded,
suiting the action to the word.
“I understand. Up means farther off; down, nearer to you; right, nearer
to me; left, farther from me. That’s a good idea, Wolf, and we shall
smash him this time.”
“And when you are in the right place I will raise both hands,” I added.
I returned to the bridge, and looked for the robber again. He was not
in the place where I had last seen him, and I concluded that, as he
had explored the gully from the point where he landed, he had gone in
the direction of the fallen tree over the chasm. Taking the side of
the gully opposite that on which the sheriff was, I followed it in the
direction of the tree. There was a turn in the gully, and I was obliged
to fall back into the road which lay near it, in order not to expose
myself. I soon reached a point where I could see the fallen tree. The
robber was directly under it, busily at work doing something which I
could not see.
I raised my hand with the stick in it as high as I could, to indicate
to the sheriff that he had a considerable distance to go. He increased
his speed, and when he reached the tree, I raised both hands, the
signal that he was in the right place. But by this time he needed no
telegram from me; for, precisely as I had suggested that he would do,
he threw his cord over the trunk of the fallen tree. The officer saw
the line, and taking position at a safe distance, he began to pour in
the rocks with a vigor which threatened to annihilate the robber, and
bury him beneath the _débris_. I had a fair view of the whole scene.
The desperado was trying to climb up his rope, and had actually begun
the ascent, when he suddenly dropped upon the ground. It was plain
enough to me that a rock had hit him.
“Hold on!” I shouted, at the top of my lungs, for I did not wish to
have the fellow unnecessarily injured.
The sheriff promptly suspended his operations, and I ran with all speed
to the fallen tree. Mr. Bradshaw lay down on his stomach, and crawled
towards the chasm. As I approached, I saw him retreat a little, which
assured me the fugitive was not killed.
“He hasn’t got enough yet,” said the sheriff, as I arrived on the other
side of the chasm; and he immediately launched another rock into the
abyss.
“Hold on!” shouted the robber.
“What do you want?” demanded Mr. Bradshaw.
“Don’t throw any more rocks down,” replied the rascal, in a tone which
indicated that he was in pain. “You have broken my shoulder now.”
“Do you surrender?” called the sheriff.
“Yes.”
“All right; throw up your pistol, then.”
“I can’t throw it up--my shoulder is broken,” answered the robber.
I happened to have a fish-line in my pocket, one end of which I threw
into the chasm.
“Tie your pistol to this line,” I added, “and I will haul it out.”
I heard him moving in the gully, and I crept forward to as point where
I could see him. He was tying the pistol to the fish-line.
“Pull it up,” said he.
I drew up the revolver, and put it in my pocket. I then dropped
down the line again, and directed him to send up his other pistol.
He persisted that he had only one, and I told him to send up his
cartridges, and any knife he had about him. He attached a box of
cartridges and a small bowie-knife to the line, which I drew up.
“Now come up yourself,” said Mr. Bradshaw. “But I want you to
understand, if you attempt any treachery you are a dead man.”
“I can’t get up,” replied the robber. “My shoulder is broken.”
“If his shoulder is broken, he can’t very well shin up that rope,” I
added.
“How shall we get him out?” asked the sheriff.
“We can take him off in the boat,” I replied. “Indeed, that’s the only
way we can get him out, unless we hoist him out with his line.”
“As we must return to Centreport in the boat, that will be the easiest
way,” replied the sheriff.
I crossed the chasm on the trunk of the tree, and, after a short
consultation with the sheriff, it was agreed that he should remain
on the bluff, and see that the robber did not escape while we were
bringing up the Belle, and that I should go with Tom, and take him on
board at the place where he had landed. If we both left the bluff, he
might still be smart enough to escape, in spite of his injury.
I hastened down the path, and, hailing Tom, was soon on board of the
Belle. I told the skipper we had damaged the robber so that he was
willing to surrender, and had given up his pistol, which I exhibited.
By the time we reached the point in the gully where the Raven had
grounded, the robber had arrived there, and the sheriff at the point on
the bluff above him. On the way, I had loaded all the barrels of the
robber’s revolver, and held it in my hand. But the desperado seemed to
be very badly injured, and I was obliged to help him into the boat. He
seated himself opposite me, and I put his travelling-bag in the cuddy.
Pushing off, Tom headed the Belle out into the lake, in order to take
a tack so as to reach the foot of the path, and receive the sheriff
on board. Under the lee of the Raven, the skipper put the helm down,
and I went forward to clear away the jib. While I was thus occupied,
the robber made a sudden spring at Tom, and taking him up in his arms,
tossed him into the lake. The deed was done in the twinkling of an eye.
The robber then made a leap towards me.
[Illustration: THE ROBBER MAKES A NEW MOVE. Page 197.]