BETWEEN TWO FIRES.
Snarling in very much the manner of an angry cat, the lion, which had
appeared at the mouth of the cave, began to come forward more rapidly.
At the same instant, as if by mutual consent, his mate started to
advance from the rear of the cave. It was evident that if they did not
wish to be seriously injured, perhaps killed, the Motor Rangers would
have to act, and act quickly.
But what were they to do? Nat it was who solved the question. The floor
of the cave was littered with boulders of various sizes, ranging from
stones of a pound or so in weight, up to huge rocks beyond a boy's
power to lift.
Stooping down swiftly Nat selected a stone a little larger than a
baseball, and then throwing himself into a pitching posture, awaited
the oncoming cougar, approaching from the cave mouth.
The boy had been the best pitcher the Santa Barbara Academy had ever
produced, and his companions saw in a flash that he meant to exercise
his skill now in a way of which he had little dreamed when on the
diamond. His hand described an evolution in the air, far too quick to
be followed by the eye. The next instant the stone left his grasp, and
swished through the atmosphere.
Straight and true it sped to its mark.
And it struck home none too quick. The lion had already crouched for a
spring on the defenseless lads, who stood between himself and his mate,
when Nat's missile was discharged.
Crack!
The sharp noise of the stone's impact with the skull of the crouching
feline sounded like a rifle shot.
"Bull's-eye!" yelled Joe excitedly.
And bull's-eye it was. The rock had a sharp edge which Nat, in his
haste, had not noticed. As it struck the lion's head it did so with the
keen surface foremost. Like a knife it drove its way into the skull
and the lion, with a howl of pain and fury, turned, stumbled forward a
few paces, and then rolled over.
Before the others could stop him, Ding-dong Bell, entirely forgetting
the other lion, dashed forward to examine the fallen monster. The
result of his action was that his career came very near being
terminated then and there. The cougar had only been stunned, and as the
stuttering boy gave one of its ears a tug, it leaped erect once more
and struck a blow at him with its chisel-like claws that would have
torn him badly had they struck.
But Ding-dong, though deliberate in his speech, was quick in action. He
leaped backward like an acrobat, as he saw the mighty muscles tauten
for action, and so escaped being felled by the blow. He could feel it
"swish" past his nose, however, and entirely too close to be pleasant.
In the meantime, Nat, realizing that his best move would be to get to
their arms, had made a flying leap for the auto and seized an automatic
rifle of heavy calibre. As Ding-dong leaped back he aimed and fired,
but in the darkness he missed, and with a mighty bound the wounded
cougar leaped out of the cave and dashed off through the storm into the
brush on the hillside above.
"One!" exclaimed Nat, like Monte Cristo in the play.
The others gave a low laugh. They could afford not to worry so much
now. True, there was one of the cougars still back in the cave, but
with their rifles in their hands the lads had little to fear.
"I felt for a minute, though, like I did that time the Mexican devil
sprang on me near the gulf village," said Nat, recalling one of his
most perilous moments in Lower California.
But there was little time for conversation. Nat had hardly uttered
his last remark before the cougar at the rear of the cave began to
give signs that it too was meditating an attack. There are few animals
that will not fight desperately when cornered, even a rat making a
formidable foe sometimes under such conditions, and cornered the
cougar unquestionably was.
"She's coming," warned Joe in a low voice, as a rumbling growl
resounded above the roar of the storm outside.
"L-l-let her c-c-come," sputtered Ding-dong defiantly.
"Better climb into the car, boys," said Nat in a whispered tone, "we
can get better aim from an elevation."
Accordingly they clambered into the tonneau of the motor vehicle, and
kneeling on the seat awaited the onslaught which they knew must come in
a few seconds.
"I've half a mind to let her go, if we can without putting ourselves in
danger," said Nat, "it doesn't seem fair somehow to shoot down a poor
brute in cold blood."
"But that poor brute would attack you without hesitation if you lay
injured on a trail," Joe reminded him; "these cougars, too, kill
hundreds of sheep and young calves, just for the sheer love of
killing, for half of what they kill they never touch."
"That's right," agreed Nat, "still fair play is a jewel, and----"
Further words were taken out of his mouth by something that occurred
just at that instant, and settled the fate of the cougar then and there.
Ding-dong Bell, whose unlucky day it seemed to be, had, in his
excitement, been leaning far over the back of the tonneau, peering
into the darkness at the rear of the cave. He was trying to detect the
shadowy outlines of the cougar. A few seconds before Joe Hartley had
said:--
"Look out, Ding-dong, or you'll go overboard."
The stuttering youth's reply had been a scornful snicker. But now,
however, he craned his neck just a bit too far. His upper quarters
over-balanced his stumpy legs and body, and with a howl that rivalled
the cougar's, he toppled clean over the edge of the tonneau.
The floor of the cave sloped steeply toward the rear, and when
Ding-dong struck it he did not stop. Instead, the momentum lent him
by his fall appeared to propel him forward down the sloping floor.
He yelled for help as he felt himself rapidly and involuntarily being
borne toward the hidden cougar.
By some mysterious combination of misfortune, too, the carbide in the
lamp, which had not been renewed since they left Santa Barbara, gave
out with a flicker and a fizz at this moment. The cave was plunged
into almost total darkness. Nat's heart came into his throat as he
realized that if the cougar was not killed within the next few seconds,
Ding-dong's life might pay the forfeit.
"Good gracious!" shouted Joe above poor Ding-dong's cries, "how are we
going to see to shoot?"
"Aim at the eyes," grated out Nat earnestly, "it's our only chance."
As he spoke there came an angry snarl and a hissing snort. It mingled
with a shout of alarm from Ding-dong, who had now stopped rolling, but
was not yet on his feet. The she-cougar had seen his peril and had
taken the opportunity to bring down at least one of her enemies.
Straight up, as if impelled by a powerful steel spring, she shot. But
even as she was in mid-spring two rifles cracked, and with a convulsive
struggle the great tawny body fell with a thud to the floor of the
cave, clawing and scratching and uttering piercing roars and cries.
"Put her out of her misery," said Nat, as Ding-dong, having regained
his feet, darted at the top of his speed for the mouth of the cave.
Once more the rifles blazed away at the two green points of fire which
marked the wounded cougar's eyes. This time dead silence followed
the reports, which reverberated deafeningly in the confines of the
cave. There was no doubt but that the animal was dead. But where was
Ding-dong?
His companion Motor Rangers looked anxiously about them, but could see
nothing of him. In the excitement they had not noticed him dart by.
Presently, however, a slight noise near the cave month attracted their
attention. There was Ding-dong out in the rain, and drenched to the
skin, peering into the cave.
"C-a-can I c-c-c-come in?" he asked hesitatingly.
"Yes, and hurry up, too," ordered Nat in as stern a voice as he could
command. "Your first duty," he went on, "will be to dig down in the
clothes chest and put on dry things. Then you will refill the lamps
with carbide, which you ought to have done two days ago, and after that
you may patch up the tear the wind made in our shelter hood."
"And--phwit--after that?" inquired Ding-dong with so serious an aspect
that they had to laugh.
"I'll think up something to keep you out of mischief," said Nat finally.
While Ding-dong set about his tasks after investing himself in dry
clothes, the others skinned the cougar and kindled a fire with some
driftwood that lay about the cave. Hot coffee was then brewed, and
some of the stores opened. After imbibing several cups of the steaming
mixture, and eating numerous slices of bread and butter, the Motor
Rangers felt better.
By this time, too, the storm had almost passed over, only a slight
drizzle remaining to tell of the visit of the mountain tempest. An
investigation of the cave failed to show any trace of a regular den in
it, and the boys came to the conclusion, which was probably correct,
that the cougars had merely taken to it for shelter from the storm.
However that was, all three of them felt that they had had a mighty
narrow escape. Ding-dong inwardly resolved that from that time on
he would take care to have the lamps packed with carbide, for Nat's
relation of how nearly the sudden cessation of the light had cost him
his life gave the stuttering youth many qualms.
"I guess the storm is about over," said Joe, looking out of the cave
while holding a tin cup of coffee in his hand.
"I see enough blue sky to m-m-m-make a pair of pants for every
s-s-s-s-sailor in the navy," remarked Ding-dong, who had joined him.
"That's a sure sign of clearer weather," said Nat, "come on, boys,
pack up the cups and get the car ready and we'll go ahead."
"Where are we going to stop to-night?" asked Joe. "I guess we can't be
many miles from Lariat, can we?"
"I'll see," rejoined Nat, diving into his breast pocket and pulling out
a map stoutly mounted on tough linen to prevent tearing. He pored over
it for a moment.
"The map puts Lariat about fifteen miles from here," he said.
"What sort of a p-p-p-lace is it?" Ding-dong wished to know.
"A small post-office station," rejoined Nat. "I don't imagine that
there is even a hotel there."
Ding-dong, who didn't object to the luxuries of life, sighed. Somehow,
he had been looking forward to stopping at a hotel that night. He said
nothing, however, well knowing how his complaints would be received.
The auto was soon moving out of the cave in which they had had so
exciting an encounter. Nat was at the wheel and his two companions in
the tonneau. The faces of all were as beaming as the weather had now
turned out. These boys dearly loved the sensation of taking to the road
and proceeding on into the unknown and adventurous.
The rough strip separating the road, as we must in courtesy call it,
from the steep rock-face in which the cave lay, was speedily traversed
and the auto's nose headed north. For some time they bowled along at
a slow speed, the track growing rapidly rougher and rougher, till it
seemed that nothing on wheels could get over it.
"What's the m-m-m-matter?" asked Ding-dong suddenly of Joe Hartley, who
for a bumpy mile or two had sat with his head cocked on one side as if
listening intently for something.
"I'm listening for a puncture," grinned Joe, resuming his posture of
attention.
As the road grew rougher the walls of the valley began to close in.
They grew more lofty as the pass grew narrower, till only a thin strip
of blue sky showed at the summit. The rugged slopes were clothed with
a sparse growth of pine timber and chaparral. Immense faces of rock
cropped out among these. The whole scene had a wild and savage aspect.
Suddenly they reached a spot where the road took an abrupt dip
downward. From the summit the descent looked as steep as the wall of
a house. Fortunately, they carried an emergency brake, so that the
steepness of the declivity did not alarm them. Without hesitating
Nat allowed the car to roll over the summit and begin the drop. The
exhilaration of the rapid motion made him delay applying his emergency
just as soon as he should have, and the car had been running at
considerable speed when there came a sudden shout from Joe:--
"Look, Nat! Look!"
The boy, who had been adjusting his spark lever, looked up suddenly.
They were just rounding a curve, beyond which the road pitched down
more steeply than ever.
At the bottom of the long hill stood an obstacle. Nat at a glance
made it out as a stage coach of the old-fashioned "thorough-brace
type." It was stationary, however, and its passengers stood about it
in scattered groups, while, so far as Nat could see, no horses were
attached to it.
"Better go slow. There seems to be something the matter down there at
the bottom of the grade," the boy remarked.
At the same instant his hand sought the emergency brake lever and he
pushed it forward.
There was a loud crack as he did so, and an alarmed look flashed across
his face as the lever suddenly felt "loose" in his hand. The car seemed
to give an abrupt leap forward and plunge on more swiftly than ever.
Below him Nat could see the scattered figures pointing upward
excitedly. He waved and yelled to warn them that he had no control
over the car which was tearing forward with the speed of the wind. The
ordinary brake had no effect on it under the speed it had now gathered.
Lurching and plunging like a ship at sea, it rushed onward.
Directly in its path, immovable as a rock, was the stage coach. All
three of the Motor Rangers' bronzed, sunburned faces blanched as they
rushed onward to what seemed inevitable disaster.