BACK TO "BIG B."
"Well, we haven't caught up to 'em yet," remarked Joe Duncan, about noon
the next day, when they stopped for a little lunch and to allow the
horses to drink at a water hole and rest.
"No, the beggars keep well ahead of us," agreed Blake, shading his eyes
with his hand and gazing off across the hot, sunlit stretch that lay
before them. "Oh, if they have opened those film boxes!" he exclaimed
hopelessly.
"They have ponies, and that's more than I calculated on," remarked Hank.
"I thought when they raided our camp that they were after our animals,
and when they didn't take 'em I thought it was because they were afraid
of being chased as horse-thieves by a sheriff's posse. Now I see they
didn't want our mounts, as they had plenty of their own. It was grub
they were after, and they got it."
"And our picture films," added Blake. "Don't forget that."
"That was only a mistake, I tell you," insisted Hank, "though, for that
matter, the Indians wouldn't hesitate to take 'em just for fun, if they
thought they could make trouble that way."
"And they will make a heap of trouble, too, I'm afraid," spoke Blake.
"Here now!" called Joe, in jollier tones. "Don't come any of that C. C.
Piper business, Blake. Look on the bright side."
"Well, I suppose I ought to, but it's hard work."
They had traveled all that morning, hoping to come up with the roving
band of Indians. But they had had no success.
Hank did pick up the trail of the raiders soon after starting out. The
Indians had left their horses tethered some distance from the camp, and
had crept up afoot, probably having spied Blake, Joe and Hank from afar
the previous evening. And though the moccasined feet of the savages left
little trace on the hard and sun-baked earth, there was enough "sign"
for so experienced a trailer as was Hank to pick up.
Thus he had been led to where the horses had been left, and after that
it was easy enough to follow the marks of the hoofs.
"There are about twenty-five in this band, as near as I can make out,"
said Hank, "and every one of 'em has a horse of some sort. Pretty good
travelers, too, I take it, since our animals were fresh and we haven't
been able to come up to 'em yet, though we've kept up a pretty fair
gait. But we'll get 'em yet."
"If only it isn't too late," spoke Blake, whose one fear was that the
valuable picture films would be spoiled. "Let's hurry on."
"Another little rest will do the horses good," said the cowboy guide.
"Then we can push on so much the faster. Our horses are our best
friends, and we've got to treat 'em right if we want the best service
out of them. Another half-hour and we'll push on."
And, though Blake fretted and fumed at the delay, he knew it would not
be best to insist on having his way. Soon, however, they were in the
saddle again and once more in pursuit.
"The trail is getting fresher," declared Hank, about four o'clock that
afternoon. "Their horses are tiring, I guess, and ours seem to be
holding out pretty well."
"Which means----" began Joe.
"That we may get up to them before dark," went on the cowboy. "And then
we'll see what happens."
"Will they run, do you think?" inquired Blake.
"They will as long as their horses hold out, for they must know that
this ghost-dance business is about over and that most of their friends
are back on the reservations. But when we come up to them----" and the
cowboy paused and significantly examined his revolver.
"Does it mean a fight?" went on Blake, and he could not restrain a catch
in his breath. It was one thing to have an Indian fight with some
shelter, but different out in the open.
"Well, I hardly think it will be what you might call regular and
up-to-date fighting," replied Hank. "They may fire their guns and
revolvers at us to try and frighten us back, but I don't actually
believe that they'll make trouble. They know the punishment would be too
serious. And I believe a lot of those Indians have only blank cartridges
that they had when they were in some Wild West show. I know there was
mighty little whining of bullets, for all the shooting they did last
night. But, at the same time," he went on, "it's best to be prepared for
emergencies."
They continued on, and the boys had now become so used to the signs of
the Indian trail that they could note the changes almost as well as
could Hank.
Here they could see where a rest was made, and again where some animal
went out of the beaten path. Bits of the Indians' finery, too, were
noted every once in a while--a bit of gaudy bead trimming, a discarded
moccasin or some dyed feathers.
"I do hope we come up with them before dark," said Joe. "If we have to
stay out on the trail all night, and part of next day, we may find
nothing left of our things and the pack burros when we reach camp
again."
In order to make better time our friends had left behind, at the place
where the Indians had raided them, the pack animals, their cameras, a
few films not taken by the Indians, and as much of their provisions as
they thought would not be needed on the trail.
"I think this evening will end it," declared Hank. "We might push on a
little faster, as the going is good right here."
The horses were urged to greater speed, and they responded gamely. They
seemed to realize the necessity for haste, and took advantage of the
momentary betterment in the surface over which they were traveling.
The sun was sinking lower and lower in the west and the shadows were
lengthening. Eagerly the boys and the cowboy scout peered ahead,
straining their eyes for a glimpse of those whom they were pursuing.
Then there came a bit of rough ground, and the pace was slower. Next
followed a little rise, and, as this was topped, Blake, who had taken
the lead for a short distance, uttered a cry and pointed forward with
eager hand.
"What is it?" cried Joe and Hank together.
"There they are!" yelled Blake. "The Indians! Right below us! Come on!"
Riding to his side, the others saw a sharp descent, then a level plain
stretching away for many miles. And moving slowly over this plain was a
band of about twenty-five Indians, mounted on ponies that seemed
scarcely able to move.
"That's them!" cried Hank, as he dug his heels into the sides of his
horse. "At 'em, boys! A short, swift gallop will bring us up to 'em now,
and then--well, we'll see what will happen!"
"Come on!" yelled Blake, and side by side the trio rode down into the
valley, their animals seeming to take on new strength as they saw their
quarry before them.
"They've noticed us!" exclaimed Blake.
"That's right!" agreed Hank. "Well, now to see if we can catch 'em!"
A movement amid the stragglers of the band told that they had glimpsed
the approach of the whites. There was a distant shout, and at once the
whole party was galloping off.
"They'll distance us!" cried Blake. "They're going to get away!"
"Not very far," was Hank's opinion. "Their horses are about done up.
This is a last spurt."
His trained eye had shown him that the Indians were using quirts and
their heels to spur the tired animals to a last burst of speed. True,
the ponies did leap ahead for a few minutes; but not even the wild
shouting of the redmen, the frantic beating of their steeds, and the
firing of their guns could make the wearied muscles of the ponies
respond for long.
The spurt lasted only a few seconds, and then came a noticeable slowing
down. On the contrary, the horses of our friends, though they had
traveled far and hard, were in better condition and much fresher.
"Come on!" cried Hank, rising in his stirrups and swinging his hat
around his head, while he sent forth yells of defiance. "Come on, boys!
We have 'em!"
He, too, began to shoot, but in the air as before, and the boys followed
his example. Their horses were shortening the distance between the two
parties.
Suddenly one of the Indians was observed to toss something from him. It
fell to the ground and rolled to one side of the trail.
"What's that?" cried Joe.
"One of the boxes of exposed film!" cried Blake. "They know what we're
after. Oh, if only it isn't damaged!"
"We can soon tell!" cried Hank, taking the lead. Then he yelled, between
reports of his revolver:
"Hi there! you red beggars, give up! Drop that stuff you took from our
camp! You haven't any of the grub left, I suppose, but we want those
pictures! Drop 'em!"
Whether his talk was understood, or not, was not known; but others of
the Indians began tossing away either boxes of film or other
things--aside from food--which they had taken from the camp. They never
stopped their horses, though, but ever urged on the tired beasts.
"Here's the first reel!" cried Blake, as he came up to where it lay.
Quickly dismounting, he picked it up.
"Not hurt a bit!" he cried exultantly; "and the seals haven't been
broken, showing that it hasn't been opened."
"Good!" cried Hank. "You go slow and pick up what you can, and Joe and I
will chase after the Indians. Evidently they're going to run for it."
And it did seem so. The Indians never paused, but continued to toss
away article after article. They seemed afraid of the consequences
should they be caught with anything belonging to the whites in their
possession. They may have taken Hank and the boys for the advance-guard
of a sheriff's posse, and, knowing they had been doing wrong, were
afraid. At any rate they made no stand.
"I've got 'em all!" finally yelled Blake.
"Then there's no use chasing after 'em any farther," said Hank. "Hold
on, Joe," for the boy was pushing on.
The horses of the pursuers were pulled down to a walk. The Indians
noticed this at once, and, seeming to realize that the chase was over,
they halted, and, turning, gazed in a body at the moving picture boys
and their cowboy guide.
"Had enough, I reckon," murmured Hank. "I guess you can't go on much
farther. Well, we'll turn back a ways and put some miles between us, so
you won't try any of your tricks again, and then we'll go into camp
ourselves. Got everything, Blake?"
"Yes, every reel of film, and not one has been opened, by good luck.
Maybe they thought it was powerful 'medicine,' and didn't want to run
any chances."
"We don't care, as long as we have 'em back," remarked Joe, gleefully.
"And now for a good rest."
They turned back, and as they did so the Indians gave a last shout of
defiance and began to make camp for themselves. It was as if a lot of
schoolboys, playing truant, had been rounded up, and as a last
indication of defiance had given their class yell.
"Good riddance to you," remarked Hank. "I don't want to see you again
for a good many years."
Collecting the things the Indians had thrown away, our friends rode on
until dark, and then, out of sight of the roving redmen, they made a
simple camp. They stood guard by turns, but there was no night alarm.
The next day they reached the place where they had picketed the pack
animals. Nothing had been disturbed.
"And now for Big B ranch!" exclaimed Blake, when once more the little
cavalcade was under way.
"And glad enough I'll be to see it!" said Hank; "though I sure will miss
you fellows."
"The same here," echoed Joe, and Blake nodded in accord.
They traveled on for another day, finding good water and plenty of
grazing for the steeds. Their provisions ran a bit low, for the Indians
had helped themselves liberally, but they managed to shoot some small
game.
And, on the second day after parting from the Indians, they topped a
rise, from the height of which Hank cried:
"There she is, boys!"
"What?" asked Blake.
"Big B ranch! We're back in civilization again!"