A PLOT THAT FAILED
Captain Dan Rugley seemed to forget his rheumatism. Excitement is often
a strong mental corrective; and with his mind upon the dearest
possession of his old age, the ranchman forgot all bodily ills.
Victorino was scarcely out of the compound when the Captain had summoned
Ming from the dining-room and San Soo from his pots and pans.
"Put off dinner. Maybe we won't have any dinner to-night, San Soo," said
the owner of the Bar-T. "We're in trouble. You and Ming shut the doors
when I go out and bar them. Stand watch. Don't let a soul in unless I
come back or Miss Frances appears. Understand, boys?"
"Can do," declared the bigger Chinaman, with impassive face.
"Me understland Clapen velly well," said Ming, who wished always to show
that he "spoke Melican."
"All right," returned Captain Rugley. "Help me with this coat, San.
Ming! Bring me my belt and gun. Yes, that's it. It's loaded. Plenty of
cartridges in that box? So. Now I'm off," concluded the Captain, and
went to the door again to meet Silent Sam Harding, the foreman.
"Read this," jerked out the ranchman, and thrust the crumpled letter
into Sam Harding's hand.
Without a word the foreman spread open the paper and studied it. In
perfectly plain handwriting he read the following astonishing epistle:
"Captain Dan Rugley,
"Bar-T Ranch.
"We've got your girl. She will be held prisoner exactly
twenty-four hours from time you receive this. Then, if you have
not made arrangements to pay our agent $5,000 (five thousand
dolls.), something will happen to your girl. We are willing to
put our necks in a noose for the five thousand. Come across, and
come across quick. No check. Cash does it. You can get cash at
branch bank in Jackleg. We will know when you get cash and then
you'll be told who to hand money to and how to find your girl.
Remember, we mean business. You try to trail us, or rescue your
daughter without paying five thousand and we'll get square with
you by fixing the girl. That's all at present."
This threatening missive was unsigned. Silent Sam read it twice. Then he
handed it back to the Captain.
"Does it look like a joke to you--a poor sort of a joke?" whispered the
ranchman.
"I wouldn't say so," muttered Sam.
"I'm going after them," said Captain Rugley, with determination.
"How?"
"Somebody handed Vic this on the trail. He'll show us where. We'll try
to pick up the man's traces. Of course it was one of the scoundrels
handed the letter to Vic."
"Who do ye think they are?" asked Sam, slowly.
"I don't know," said the worried ranchman. "But whoever they are they
shall suffer if they harm a hair of her head!"
"That's what," said Sam, quietly. "But ain't you an idee who they be?"
"That fellow who took the old trunk away from Frances?"
"Might be. And he must have partners."
"So I've said right along," declared the ranchman, vigorously. "Where
did you leave Frances, Sam?"
"After the jack hunt? Right thar with Miz' Edwards and her crowd."
"Was young Pratt Sanderson with them?"
"Sure."
"That's it!" growled Captain Dan Rugley, smiting one palm with his other
fist. "She'd ride off with him. Thinks him all right----"
"Ye don't mean to say ye think he's in this mean mess?"
"I don't know. He's turned up whenever we've had trouble lately. If it
wasn't so far to Bill Edwards' I'd ride that way and find out if the
fellow is there, or what they know about him."
Silent Sam earned his nickname, if ever, during the next hour. He did
not say ten words; but his efficient management got a posse of the most
trustworthy men together, and they rode away from the ranch-house.
There was no use advising the Captain not to accompany the party. Nobody
dared thwart him after a glance into his grim face.
The hard-bitted Cherry which he always rode was held down to the pace of
the other horses with an iron hand. The Captain rode as securely in his
saddle as he had before rheumatism seized upon his limbs.
How long this false strength, inspired by his fear and indignation,
would remain with him the others did not know. Sam and his mates watched
"the Old Cap" with wonder.
Victorino's gaze was fixed upon the doughty ranchman's back with many
different emotions in his trouble-torn mind. He was wondering what would
happen to him if Captain Rugley ever learned that he had told a
falsehood about that note.
He was so scared that he dared not lead the party to a false trail. He
told them just where he had met Ratty M'Gill; but he stuck to his
imaginary description of the person who had entrusted the letter to him.
"Going, west, you say?" said Captain Rugley. "It might be to lead us off
the trail. And then again, he might be going right back to whatever
place they have Frances hidden.
"I fear we'll have a hard time following a trail to-night, anyway. But
Sam says he left the folks after the jack hunt over there by Cottonwood
Bottom. I think we'd better search the length of that stream first."
Sam spoke up suddenly: "Frances asked me if there were any close
thickets where a man might hide out, along those banks."
"She did?"
"Yes. It just come to me," said the foreman. "When we were beating up
those jacks."
"Enough said!" ejaculated the ranchman. "Come on, boys!"
Through the dusk they rode straight away toward the ford. And although
the old Captain could hardly hope it, every moment the horse was bearing
him nearer and nearer to his lost daughter.
Dusk had long since fallen; but there was a faint moon and a multitude
of stars. On the open plain the shadows of the horses and riders moved
in grotesque procession. In the hollow far down the stream, where Pete
had made his camp, the shadows were deep and oppressive.
The fellow kept alive but a spark of fire. Now and then he threw on a
stick for replenishing. Outside the feeble light cast by the flickering
flames, one could scarcely see at all.
But there were two faintly outlined forms near the fire beside that of
the burly Pete. Occasionally a groan issued from the lips of Pratt
Sanderson, for he lay senseless, a great bruise upon his head, his
wrists and ankles tied with painful security.
The other form was that of Frances herself. She did not speak nor moan,
although she was quite wide awake. She, too, was tied up in such a way
that she could not possibly free herself.
And she was frightened--desperately frightened!
She had reason to be. The ex-orderly from the Bylittle Soldiers' Home
had proved himself to be a perfect madman when he found that the girl
and Pratt were really escaping.
Evidently he had seized upon the desperate attempt to hold Frances for
ransom as a last resort. She had played into his hands by riding down
into this hollow.
Pratt Sanderson's interference had enraged the fellow to the limit. And
when the young man had momentarily gotten the best of him, Pete was
fairly insane for the time being.
With his rifle broken the man was unable to shoot, for Frances' revolver
which he had obtained at the beginning of the scuffle was empty. The
small gun she had used shooting jacks had been sent back with Sam to the
ranch.
The girl was urging Molly through the brush and Pratt was tearing after
her, their direction bringing them nearer and nearer to the young man's
grey pony, when suddenly Frances heard Pratt scream.
She glanced back, pulling in the excited pinto with a strong hand. Her
friend was pitching forward to the ground. He had been struck by her
pistol, which Pete had flung with all his might.
The next moment with an exultant cry the man sprang from his horse upon
the prostrate Pratt.
"Get off him! Go away!" cried Frances, pulling Molly around.
But the brush was too thick, and the pinto got tangled up in it. Fearful
for Pratt's safety, and never thinking of her own, the girl sprang from
the saddle and ran back.
This was what Pete was expecting. Pratt was safe enough--senseless and
moaning on the ground.
When the girl came near Pete leaped up, seized her by the wrists, jerked
her toward him, and held her firmly with one hand while he produced a
soiled bandanna, with which he quickly knotted her wrists together.
No matter how hard she fought, he was so much more powerful than she
that the ranchman's daughter could not break his hold. In five minutes
she was tied and thrown to the ground, quite as helpless as Pratt
himself.
Pete left her lying where she fell and picked up Pratt first. Him the
fellow carried back to the campfire and tied both hand and foot before
he returned for Frances.
All the time the man uttered the most fearful imprecations, and showed
so much callousness toward the injured young man that the girl begged
him, with tears, to do something to ease Pratt.
"Let him lie there and grunt," growled Pete. "Didn't he chuck me into
that fire? My back's all blistered."
He pulled on a coat, for his clothes had been quite torn away above his
waist at the back when he was putting out the fire.
Frances suffered keenly herself, for the man had tied her wrists and
ankles so tightly that the cords cut into the flesh whenever she tried
to move them. Beside, she lay in a most uncomfortable position.
But to hear Pratt groan was terrible. The blow on the head had seriously
hurt him--of that there could be no doubt. When she called to him he did
not answer, and finally Pete commanded her to keep silence.
"Ye want to make a fuss so as to draw somebody down here--I kin see what
you are up to."
Frances had a wholesome fear of him by this time. She had seen Pete at
his worst--and had felt his heavy hand, too. She was bruised and
suffering pain herself. But Pratt's case was much worse than her own
just then and her whole heart went out to the young man from Amarillo.
Pete sat over his little fire and smoked. He was evidently expecting
Ratty M'Gill to return; but for some reason Ratty was delayed.
Doubtless the two plotters had proposed to themselves that Captain
Rugley would be too ill to take the lead in any chase after the
kidnappers. Perhaps Pete even hoped that the old ranchman would agree
immediately to the terms of ransom set forth in the note Ratty had taken
to the Bar-T.
The ex-cowpuncher was to linger around and see what would be done about
the message to the Captain; then come here and report to Pete. And as
the hours dragged by, and it drew near midnight, with no appearance of
the messenger, the chief plotter grew more anxious.
He huddled over the fire, almost enclosing it with his arms and legs for
warmth. Frances, lying beyond, and out of the puny radiance of its
warmth, felt the chill of the night air keenly. Pete did not even offer
her a blanket.
But her attention was engaged by thoughts of Pratt Sanderson's
sufferings. The young man groaned faintly from time to time, but he gave
no other sign of life.
As Frances lay shivering on the ground her keen senses suddenly
apprehended a new sound. She raised her head a little and the sound was
absent. She dropped back upon the earth again and it returned--a
throbbing sound, distant, faint but insistent.
What could it be? Frances was first startled, then puzzled by it. Each
time that she raised her head the noise drifted away; then it returned
when her ear was against the ground.
"It's a horse--it's several horses," she finally whispered to herself.
"Can it be----?"
She sat up suddenly. Pete immediately commanded her to lie down.
"I'm cramped," said the girl, speaking clearly. "Can't you change these
cords? I won't try to run away."
"I'd hurt you if you did," growled the fellow. "And I ain't going to
change them cords."
"Oh, do!" cried Frances, more loudly.
"Shut up and lay down there!" ordered Pete, raising his own voice.
"No, I will not!" retorted the girl, deliberately tempting Pete into one
of his rages. If he became angry and yelled at her all the better!
"Do what I tell ye!" exclaimed the man. "Ain't ye l'arned that I mean
what I say yet?"
"I must move my limbs. They're cramped and co-o-old!" wailed Frances,
and she put a deal of energy into her cry.
Pete began to get stiffly to his feet. "Do like I tell ye, and lie
down--or I'll knock ye down!" he threatened.
At that the girl risked uttering a cry and shrank back with a semblance
of fear. Aye, there was more than a semblance of fear in the attitude,
for she believed he would strike her. She had shrieked, however, at the
top of her voice.
"Shut your mouth, ye crazy thing!" exclaimed the man, and he leaped
toward her.
Frances threw herself back upon the ground. She heard the clatter of
hoofbeats approaching. They could be mistaken for no other sound.
"Daddy! Daddy! Help! Help!"
Her voice was piercing. The cry for her father was involuntary, for she
believed him too ill to leave the ranch-house.
But the answering shout that came down the wind was unmistakable.
"Daddy! Daddy!" Frances cried again, eagerly, loudly.
Pete was about to strike her; but he darted back and stood erect. The
horses were plunging madly down the hillside through the brush. The
party of rescue was already upon the camp.
The scoundrelly Pete leaped away to reach his own horse. He must have
found the creature quickly in the darkness; for before the men from the
Bar-T pulled in their horses before the smouldering campfire, Frances
heard the rush of Pete's old pony as it dashed away down the stream.
"Daddy!" cried Frances for a third time. "We're here--Pratt and I. Look
out for Pratt; he's hurt. I'm all right."
"Somebody throw some brush on that fire!" commanded the old ranchman.
"Let's see what's been doing here."
"Sam, take a couple of the boys and go after that fellow. You can follow
that horse by sound."
He climbed stiffly out of his own saddle, and when the firelight flashed
up revealing the little glade to better purpose, it was Captain Dan
Rugley who lifted Frances to her feet and cut her bonds.