THE HORNS OF A DILEMMA.
Few men, and still fewer boys, have ever been called upon to face the
agonizing suspense which Nat underwent in the next few seconds. So
close were the men to his hiding place that his nostrils could scent
the sharp, acrid odor of their cigarettes. He was still enough as he
crouched breathless upon the limb to have been carved out of wood, like
the branch upon which he rested. He did not even dare to wink his eyes
for fear of alarming the already aroused suspicions of the two men
below him.
"Guess those jays got scared at a lion or something," presently decided
the man who had been addressed as "colonel."
Nat, peering through his leafy screen, could see him as he sat upright
on his heavy saddle of carved leather and looked about him with a pair
of hawk-like eyes.
Colonel Morello, for Nat had guessed correctly when he concluded that
the man was the famous leader, was a man of about fifty years, with a
weather-beaten face, seamed and lined by years of exposure and hard
living. But his eye, as has been said, was as keen and restless as an
eagle's. A big scar made a livid mark across his cheek indicating the
course of a bullet, fired years before when Morello had been at the
head of a band of Mexican revolutionists. In that capacity, indeed, he
had earned his brevet rank of "colonel."
A broad-brim gray sombrero, with a silver embossed band of leather
about it, crowned the outlaw chief's head of glossy black hair, worn
rather long and streaked with gray. Across his saddle horn rested
a long-barrelled automatic rifle, of latest make and pattern. For
the rest his clothes were those of an everyday mountaineer with the
exception of a wide red sash. His horse was a fine buckskin animal, and
was almost as famous in Sierran legend as its redoubtable master.
His companion was a squat, evil-visaged Mexican, with none of the
latent nobility visible under the cruelty and rapaciousness which
marred what might have once been the prepossessing countenance of
Morello. His black hair hung in dank, streaky locks down to the greasy
shoulders of his well-worn buckskin coat, and framed a wrinkled face
as dark as a bit of smoked mahogany, in which glittered, like two live
coals, a pair of shifty black eyes. He was evidently an inferior to the
other in every way--except possibly in viciousness.
Such were the two men who had paused below the tree in which was
concealed, none too securely, the leader of the young Motor Rangers. As
to what his fate might be if he fell into their hands Nat could hazard
a guess.
All at once the lad noticed that the branch of the tree upon which he
was lying was in motion. His first thought was that one of the men
might be shaking it in some way. But no--neither of them had moved.
They were seemingly following the remark of the colonel regarding the
blue-jays, and taking a last look about before leaving. In another
moment Nat would have been safe, but as he moved his eyes to try and
see what had shaken the bough he suddenly became aware of an alarming
thing.
From the branch of another tree which intertwined with the one in which
he was hidden, there was creeping toward him a large animal. The boy
gave a horrified gasp as he saw its greenish eyes fixed steadily on him
with a purposeful glare.
Step by step, and not making as much noise as a stalking cat, the
creature drew closer. To Nat's terrified imagination it almost seemed
as if it had already given a death spring, and that he was in its
clutches.
Truly his predicament was a terrible one. If he remained as he was the
brute was almost certain to spring upon him. On the other hand to make
a move to escape would be to draw the attention of the outlaws to his
hiding place.
"Phew," thought Nat, "talk about being between two fires!"
Instinctively he drew his revolver. He felt that at least he stood more
of a chance with his human foes than he did with this tawny-coated
monster of the Sierran slopes.
If the worst came to the worst he would fire at the creature and trust
to luck to escaping from the opposite horn of his dilemma. But in
this Nat had reckoned without his host--or rather, his four-footed
enemy--for without the slightest warning the big creature launched
its lithe body through the air. With a cry of alarm Nat dropped, and
it landed right on the spot where a second before he had been. At the
same instant the colonel and his companion wheeled their horses with
a startled exclamation. The horses themselves, no less alarmed, were
pawing the ground and leaping about excitedly.
The boy's fall, and the howl of rage from the disappointed animal,
combined to make a sufficiently jarring interruption to the calm and
quiet of the mountain side.
"Caramba! what was that?" the colonel's voice rang out sharply.
"It's a boy!" cried his companion, pointing to Nat's recumbent form.
To the lad's dismay, in his fall his revolver had flown out of its
holster and rolled some distance down the hillside. He lay there
powerless, and too stunned and bruised by the shock of his fall to move.
But the great cat above him was not inactive. Foiled in its first
spring it gathered itself for a second pounce but the colonel's sharp
eye spied the tawny outline among the green boughs. Raising his rifle
he fired twice. At the first shot there came a howl of pain and rage.
At the second a crashing and clawing as the monster rolled out of the
tree and fell in a still, motionless heap not far from Nat.
"Even the mountain lions seem to work for us," exclaimed the colonel
triumphantly, as he dismounted and walked to Nat's side.
"Yes, señor, and if I make no mistake this lad here is one of the very
boys we are in search of."
"You are right. These Americans are devils. I make no doubt but this
one was on his way to spy into our manner of living at our fort. Eh
boy, isn't that true?"
"No," replied Nat, whose face was pale but resolute. He scrambled
painfully to his feet. Covered with dust, scratched in a dozen places
by his fall through the branches, and streaming with perspiration,
he was not an imposing looking youth right then; but whatever his
appearance might have been, his spirit was dauntless.
"No," he repeated, "I came up here to look for a horse that one of us
had lost."
"That's a very likely story," was the colonel's brief comment, in a
dry, harsh tone. His eyes grew hard as he spoke. Evidently he had made
up his mind that Nat was a spy.
"It is true," declared Nat, "I had no idea of spying into your affairs."
"Oh no," sneered the colonel vindictively, "I suppose you will tell us
next that you did not know where our fort is; that you were not aware
that it is up that gorge there?"
"This is the first I've heard of it," declared Nat truthfully.
"I hold a different opinion," was the rejoinder, "if you had not
been up here on some mischievous errand you would not have concealed
yourself in that tree. Eh, what have you to say to that?"
"Simply that from all I had heard of you and your band. I was afraid
to encounter you on uneven terms, and when I heard you coming, I hid,"
replied Nat.
"That is it, is it? Well, I have the honor to inform you that I don't
believe a word of your story. Do you know what we did with spies when I
was fighting on the border?"
Nat shook his head. The colonel's eyelids narrowed into two little
slits through which his dark orbs glinted flintily.
"We shot them," he whipped out.
For a moment Nat thought he was about to share the same fate. The
colonel raised his rifle menacingly and glanced along the sights. But
he lowered it the next minute and spoke again.
"Since you are so anxious to see our fort I shall gratify your wishes,"
he said. "Manuello, just take a turn or two about that boy and we'll
take him home with us; he'll be better game than that lion yonder."
Manuello nimbly tumbled off his horse, and in a trice had Nat bound
with his rawhide lariat. The boy was so securely bundled in it that
only his legs could move.
"Good!" approvingly said the colonel as he gazed at the tightly tied
captive, "it would be folly to take chances with these slippery
Americanos."
Manuello now remounted, and taking a half-hitch with the loose end of
his lariat about the saddle horn, he dug his spurs into his pony. The
little animal leaped forward, almost jerking Nat from his feet. He only
remained upright with an effort.
"Be careful, Manuello," warned the colonel, "he is too valuable a prize
to damage."
Every step was painful to Nat, bruised as he was, and weak from hunger
and thirst as well, but he pluckily gave no sign. He had deduced from
the fresh condition of his captors' ponies that they could not have
been ridden far. This argued that it would not be long before they
reached the outlaws' fortress.
In this surmise he was correct. The trail, after winding among
chaparral and madrone, plunged abruptly down and entered the gloomy
defile he had noticed when he first made up his mind that he was lost.
Viewed closely the place was even more sinister than it had seemed
at a distance. Hardly a tree grew on its rugged sides, which were of
a reddish brown rock. It seemed as if they had been, at some remote
period, seared with tremendous fires.
The trail itself presently evolved into a sort of gallery, hewn out
of the sheer cliff face. The precipice overhung it above, while below
was a dark rift that yawned upon unknown depths. So narrow was the
pass that a step even an inch or two out of the way would have plunged
the one making it over into the profundities of the chasm. A sort of
twilight reigned in the narrow gorge, making the surroundings appear
even more wild and gloomy. A chill came over Nat as he gazed about him.
Do what he would to keep up his spirits they sank to the lowest ebb as
he realized that he was being conducted into a place from which escape
seemed impossible. Without wings, no living creature could have escaped
from that gorge against the will of its lawless inhabitants.
Suddenly, the trail took an abrupt turn, and Nat saw before him the
outlaws' fort itself.