THE CLEW.
Though Chigilli, the Kiowa chief, had acted so promptly in dispatching a
runner for reinforcements, that fact was likely to avail him little, for
the movements of the settlers were prompt and decided. The outlaw, James
Mestayer, was the cause of this.
First, Jack Colton had recognized him, and now, recovered from the
effects of his fall, was eager to attack them. Then Archibald Hawksley,
in the confused struggle, believed that in him he saw the abductor of
his daughter.
Though it was Albert Mestayer who performed that deed, his disguise had
made him look like a much younger man, and there was a family
resemblance between the uncle and nephew, so that Hawksley’s mistake was
natural.
A plan of attack, bold and daring, was quickly arranged.
“Jack Colton, you will take one-half of the men, and I’ll lead the
others,” hurriedly commanded Hawksley. “You go to the right and gain the
foot of the hill. Then when I give the signal, close in. But remember,
the white man must be taken _alive_.”
Separating, the two parties rode up to the hill base, then dismounting,
drew their revolvers, ready for work. At the signal they glided rapidly
along, and soon reached the defile before a shot was fired.
Then ensued a scene of frightful confusion. It was not a fight that can
be drawn in words, for each man fought on his own hook, singling out his
foe with eyes for naught else.
Though brief, it was bloody in the extreme. For a few moments the Kiowas
fought bravely, but then the rapid detonation of the white men’s
revolvers proved too much for their courage, and the survivors fled up
the hollow, only to encounter another foe.
Zeb Ruel and his two companions, Fenton and Morley, being out of sight
of their comrades below, knew nothing of their movements until the sound
of firearms, together with vengeful shouts and shrill cries, announced
the commencement of the struggle. Divining the truth, they began
descending the ridge side, in order to assist their comrades.
Though too late to take part in the struggle proper, the fleeing
red-skins ran headlong against their weapons. Three rifle-cracks, and
only two Kiowas remained, standing bewildered by this new and unexpected
danger. Then, amidst a storm of revolver bullets, they tried to scale
the steep hill, but ere half-way to its top, the last Kiowa flung aloft
his arms, and rolled back to the base, dead.
Mestayer had fought bravely, but his time had come. Both Colton and
Hawksley assailed him. Colton fell, with a bullet through his breast,
but before the outlaw could do more, Hawksley was upon him.
In the desperate struggle that ensued, his wounds aided in giving the
settler the victory, and ere the last reports echoed from up the valley,
Mestayer was securely bound, a prisoner.
“Who is’t ye’ve got, Hawksley?” cried Zeb Ruel, coming up at this
moment. “Hellow, Jap Morton, as I’m a sinner!”
“The man that carried off Fannie, I believe,” but the settler hesitated
as he now for the first time took a good square look at his captive.
“I never stole her—I know nothing about the matter,” sullenly replied
Mestayer, his eyes drooping.
“You lie, villain!” snarled Hawksley, springing upon the prostrate
figure. “Tell me—tell me quick, or I’ll choke the vile life out of your
carcass!”
“Easy—easy, neighbor,” quoth Ruel, as he dragged the infuriated settler
from his victim. “A feller cain’t easy speak when his thrapple is shet
tight in a vise. Leave the or’nery cuss to me. I’ll bring him round, I
reckon. D’ y’ hear, Jap Morton?—best tell me what ye know.”
“I’ll tell you all I know. It’s not much, but it’ll show you that I had
no hand in the matter. An old man named Albert Mestayer, in disguise,
deceived you and stole your daughter.”
“You’re lying now!”
“I’m not—it’s the truth. You may not believe it, for the report was
spread long ago that he was dead. Have you forgotten the man who killed
your brother, Christopher Hawksley?”
The settler staggered back as though dealt a deadly blow. He had not
recognized the name at first, so many years had passed by since those
dark days. Seeing his agitation, Ruel took up the examination.
“What’d he steal her fer?”
“Revenge. Hawksley knows for what.”
“I do—go on,” faintly muttered the settler.
“He was met, on his return, by three men—part of those who—who burned
Colton’s house. They, in the dim light, thought it was me, and they
believed that I had betrayed them in that matter. There was a fight, in
which the old man shot two, when the other made off. His horse had been
hurt, and so was the girl. She was shot in the side. If you followed his
trail, you must have lost it in the river. He rode there, and seeing
that his horse was nearly dead, he shot him and sent it floating
down-stream, to cover his trail. Then he waded up-stream, finally
reaching his retreat.”
“Where is that?”
“In the _baranca_ that cuts through the ten-mile prairie. In the east
side is concealed a good-sized cave. He lives there.”
“And the gal?” asked Ruel, in answer to a sign from the agitated father.
“I don’t know whether she is living or not. Mestayer told me that she
was fatally wounded.”
“A durned lie—don’t yer b’lieve him, neighbor,” splurted Ruel, as
Hawksley sunk to the ground with a bitter groan. “Now, what of Fred
Hawksley? An’ who is that gal that he rid a’ter?”
“Mestayer’s daughter. He is hidden there, but he is crazy. The old man
hit him on the head with a club, and injured his brain.”
“Ask him about Ned,” suggested Fenton.
“If you mean Ned Campbell, he’s there, too,” quickly replied Mestayer.
“Ge-long to thunderation! A hull nestfull—any more?” spluttered Ruel,
amazed.
“No,” then adding, quickly. “Now I have told you all, you will set me
free?”
“Not much—sca’cely. How d’ we know but it’s all a pesky lie, jist
hatched up as you went along? No, sir; your part o’ the barg’in don’t
end ontel a’ter you show us this wonderful hole in the ground, an’ we
see how matters railly stan’.”
“Come,” said Hawksley, in a strained, unnaturally still voice, “we are
losing time here; let us be riding.”
“Co-rect. Git yer horses, boys. I’ll ketch one fer this chap. He’s got
to show us the hole, or I’ll know the why.”
Mestayer was mounted upon one of the spare horses, and tied firmly to
the saddle. Ruel rode beside him, while Hawksley led the way at a rapid
rate.
The ten miles were soon covered, and the party found themselves at the
_baranca_. Dismounting, they silently approached the spot indicated by
Mestayer.