OUTWITTING HIS ENEMIES.
There was a feeling of pity in Nat's heart for the unfortunate pony
he bestrode. The lad was fond of all animals, and it galled him to be
compelled to drive the exhausted beast so unmercifully, but it had to
be done if his life were to be saved.
Crack! crack! came the cruel quirt once more, and the cayuse gamely
struggled onward. Its nostrils were distended and its eyes starting out
of its head with exhaustion. Its sunken flanks heaved convulsively. Nat
recognized the symptoms. A few paces more and the pony would be done
for.
"Come on, old bronco!" he urged, "just a little way farther."
With a heart-breaking gasp the little animal responded, and in a couple
of jumps it was within the friendly shelter of the leafy cover. A yell
of rage and baffled fury came from his pursuers as Nat vanished. The
boy chuckled to himself.
"I guess I take the first trick," he thought, but his self-gratulation
was a little premature. As he plunged on amid the friendly shelter
he could still hear behind him the shouts of pursuit. The men were
scattering and moving forward through the wood. There seemed but little
chance in view of these maneuvers, that Nat, with only his exhausted
pony under him, could get clear away. As the shouts resounded closer
his former fear rushed back with redoubled force.
Suddenly his heart almost stopped beating.
In the wood in front of him he could hear the hoof-tramplings of
another horse.
They were coming in his direction. Who could it be? Nat realized that
it was not likely to prove anybody who was friendly to him. He was
desperately casting about for some way out of this new and utterly
unexpected situation, when, with a snort, the approaching animal
plunged through the brush separating it from Nat. As it came into view
the boy gave a sharp exclamation of surprise.
The new arrival was Herr Muller's locoed horse, now, seemingly, quite
recovered from its "late indisposition." It whinnied in a low tone as
it spied Nat's pony, and coming alongside, nuzzled up against it.
To Nat's joy, Bismark showed no signs of being scared of him, and
allowed the boy to handle him. But in the few, brief seconds that had
elapsed while this was taking place, Col. Morello's gang had drawn
perilously near. The trampling and crashing as they rode through the
woods was quite distinct now.
"After him, boys," Nat could hear the colonel saying, "that boy knows
our hiding place. We've got to get him or get out of the country."
"We'll get him all right, colonel," Nat heard Manuello answer
confidently.
"Yep. He won't go far on that foundered pony," came another voice.
In those few, tense moments of breathing space Nat rapidly thought out
a plan of escape. Deftly he slipped the saddle and bridle off the
outlaw's pony, and transferred them to Bismark's back.
Then, as the chase drew closer, he gave the trembling pony a final
whack on the rump with the quirt. The little animal sprang forward, its
hoofs making a tremendous noise among the loose rocks on the hillside.
Half frantic with fear, its alarm overcame its spent vitality, and it
clattered off.
"Wow! There he goes!"
"Yip-ee-ee! After him, boys!"
"Now we've got him!"
These and a score of other triumphant cries came from the outlaws'
throats as they heard the pony making off as fast as it could among
the trees, and naturally assumed that Nat was on its back. With yells
and shrieks of satisfaction they gave chase, firing volleys of bullets
after it. The fusillade and the shouts, of course, only added to the
pony's fear, and made it proceed with more expedition.
As the cries of the chase grew faint in the distance, Nat listened
intently, and then, satisfied that the outlaws had swept far from his
vicinity, urged Bismark cautiously forward. This time he travelled in
the right direction, profiting by his experiment with his watch. But
urge Bismark on as he would, darkness fell before he was out of the
wilderness. But still he pressed on. In his position he knew that it
was important that he reach the camp as soon as possible. Not only on
his own account, but in order that he might give warning of the attack
that Col. Morello would almost certainly make as soon as he realized
that his prisoner had got clear away. If they had been interested in
the Motor Rangers' capture before, the outlaws must by now be doubly
anxious to secure them, Nat argued. The reason for this had been voiced
by Col. Morello himself while he was conducting the chase in the wood:
"That boy knows our hiding place."
"You bet I do," thought Nat to himself, "and if I don't see to it that
the whole bunch is smoked out of there before long it won't be my
fault."
Tethering Bismark to a tree the boy clambered up the trunk. His object
in so doing was to get some idea of his whereabouts.
But it was dark, I hear some reader remark.
True, but even in the darkness there is one unfailing guide to the
woodsman, providing the skies be clear, as they were on this night. The
north star was what Nat was after. By it he would gauge his direction.
Getting a line on it from the outer star of "the dipper" bowl, Nat soon
made certain that he had not, as he had for a time feared, wandered
from his course.
Descending the tree once more, he looked at his watch. It was almost
midnight, yet in the excitement of his flight he felt no exhaustion
or even hunger. He was terribly thirsty though, and would have given
a lot for a drink of water. However, the young Motor Ranger had faced
hardships enough not to waste time wishing for the unattainable. So,
remounting Bismark, he pressed on toward the east, knowing that if he
rode long enough he must strike the valley which would bring him to his
friends.
All at once, a short distance ahead, he heard a tiny tinkle coming
through the darkness. It was like the murmuring of a little bell. Nat
knew, though, that it was the voice of a little stream, and a more
welcome sound, except the voices of his comrades, he could not have
heard at that moment.
"Here's where we get a drink, Bismark, you old prodigal son," he said
in a low tone.
A few paces more brought them into a little dip in the hillside down
which the tiny watercourse ran. Tumbling off his horse Nat stretched
himself out flat and fairly wallowed in the water. When he had
refreshed his thirst, Bismark drinking just below him, the boy laved
his face and neck, and this done felt immensely better.
He was just rising from this al-fresco bath when, from almost in front
of his face as it seemed, came a sound somewhat like the dry rattle
of peas in a bladder. It was harsh and unmusical, and to Nat, most
startling, for it meant that he had poked his countenance almost into
the evil wedge-shaped head of a big mountain rattler.
"Wow!" yelled the boy tumbling backward like an acrobat.
At the same instant a dark, lithe thing that glittered dully in the
starlight, was launched by his cheek. So close did it come that it
almost touched him. But Nat was not destined to be bitten that night
at least. As the long body encountered the ground after striking, and
Bismark jumped back snorting alarmedly, Nat picked up a big rock and
terminated Mr. Rattler's existence on the spot.
Sure of his direction now, the boy remounted, and crossing the stream,
arrived in due course near to the camp. The first thing he almost
stumbled across was the prostrate form of Herr Muller, sound asleep
just outside the flickering circle of light cast by the fire.
"Now for some fun," thought Nat, and slipping off his horse he crouched
behind the sleeping Teuton, and with a long blade of grass, began
tickling his ear. At first Herr Muller simply stirred uneasily, and
kicked about a bit. Then finally he sat up erect and wide awake. The
first thing he saw was a tall, dark form bent over him.
With a wild succession of whoops and frantic yells he set off for the
camp in an astonishing series of leaps and bounds, causing Nat to
exclaim as he watched the performance:--
"That Dutchman could certainly carry off a medal for broad jumping."
A few of the leaps brought Herr Muller fairly into the camp-fire,
scattering the embers right and left and thoroughly alarming the
awakened adventurers.
As they started up and seized their arms, Nat caused an abrupt
cessation of the threatened hostilities by a loud hail:--
"Hullo, fellows!"
"It's Nat--whoop hurroo!" came in a joyous chorus, and as description
is lamentably inadequate to set forth some scenes, I will leave each of
my readers to imagine for himself how many times Nat's hand was wrung
pump-handle fashion, and how many times he was asked:--
"How did it happen?"