A PERILOUS CLIMB.
Buffalo Bill had retained the lariats that had been on the two horses
abandoned, and had them with him now, and these he meant to use in
scaling the steep wall he had seen before him.
With them on his arm he approached the wall, after darkness had fallen,
leaving the Yankee in hiding in the midst of some bushes not far from
its base.
The handkerchief had been seen still fluttering from the barred window
when the last rays of the sunset touched the tower, and the spot had
been carefully marked by the scout. He had no fear of going astray; the
only thing he questioned was his ability to mount the wall. Yet he was a
good climber, and he hoped to have no trouble.
Enos Spalding, left behind, gnawed his gnarled fingers and grumbled to
himself, for he had gone without food many hours.
Having reached the moat before the wall, the scout climbed carefully
down into it, finding water not more than ankle deep, with some slimy
ooze and a growth of rank weeds and grasses.
At the base of the wall he stopped and reconnoitered, then found the
exact spot he had located during the day with his glasses.
Above this point, he had discovered, was a small projection. He hurled
one of the lariats up through the darkness, hoping to loop its noose
over the projection. More than a dozen times he tried and failed, but
his persistence was at last rewarded. He drew down on the rope to see
that it was really fast and would support him; then he began to climb
it, with feet set against the wall. The second lariat he bore on his
arm.
When he had gained the projection, he clung there by his eyebrows, as it
were, and hurled the second lariat upward, with an outswing of his arm.
Time and again the folds of the lariat fell down about him.
It would have been a difficult feat to noose that second projection even
in the daytime, at night the task was infinitely harder.
He began to grow tired from swinging the noose upward so many times,
when it caught, as the one had done, before, and held fast. He left the
first lariat in position, and began to climb the second, intending to
leave them in place, to facilitate a quick descent in case of need.
This noose had caught on the projection of stone just below the barred
window; and in a very short time the scout had his face at that window,
having clutched the ledge and drawn himself up.
At the scout’s back, tied there, was a strong stick of wood, with which
he had armed himself, in addition to his revolvers and his knife.
“Hist!” he called, as he clung to the window and tried to look through
the bars.
The handkerchief was in position; he felt it flutter against his cheek.
“Hist!” he called, still louder.
There was a startled stir in the room and after an instant a voice
whispered: “What is it?” The words were in Spanish.
“If there is a prisoner in here, I have come to aid him,” said the
scout.
“Thank Heaven!”
There was a scrambling sound, as if some one slid to the floor, and then
soft footfalls. A face was pressed close against the bars on the inner
side.
“Who is it?” was asked in Spanish.
“I am an American scout, and if prisoners are held here, I stand ready
to aid them. Is this Leon Ruiz?”
“Ruiz is dead; he died in the tower at the other corner, a week ago.”
“That is impossible,” said the scout, “for I saw and talked with him but
two nights since.”
There was no answer to this, save the excited breathing of the man
crouched at the tower window.
“Speak quickly,” said the scout. “I cannot sustain myself here longer;
the strain is too great. I shall have to lower myself. Are you Prince
Mogador?”
The answer was a joyful cry, and then the words:
“I am Prince Mogador! You bring me help? You have come to get me out of
the clutches of these foul fiends?”
“Yes.”
“But you cannot get in! You cannot get through these bars, unless you
have a saw. I have tried to force them, but failed.”
“Reach your hand through and clasp mine,” said the scout. “That will
assist me. If you can support me here in that way for a few seconds I
may be able to loosen one of the bars. They are secured on the outside,
I discover.”
Trembling hands came through the bars and clutched the scout by the
wrist. But those hands had the holding power of steel, the scout found;
hope of escape had filled their owner with renewed strength.
With one hand thus freed, the scout took the strong stick of wood that
he carried lashed to his back, and thrust an end between the bars of the
window.
“Hold hard!” he ordered, and threw his weight on the stick.
The window bars were of iron, fastened on the outside by heavy staples,
yet the force of the wrench thus given tore loose the staples at one
end.
But for the clinging hands that clutched him the scout would have fallen
when the staples lost their hold and the window bar twisted around. He
caught the projection, and again hoisted himself.
“That was good!” he said. “One more, and you can come out of that. Your
fingers clung like iron.”
“Hope makes me strong, señor,” was the trembling answer.
The scout rested a moment or two.
“Now, again!” he said, “hold for your life!”
Again he thrust in the stick and threw his weight upon the outer end.
There was a cracking sound; the stick itself broke; the bar had been
loosened, though the scout had come near falling. Then he crawled up
again, using the rope.
“Now, you can come through, and before morning we can be far from here.
You may tell me your story after we have got down from this and the
peril is not so great. Hold hard!”
There was an interruption, the scout heard a suspicious sound. He
whispered his discovery to Prince Mogador. He felt the rope shake by
which he had ascended. Then he heard the voice of the Yankee, who had
climbed the first rope undiscovered and was now mounting the second.
“By gravy! aire ye up there?” he asked.
“Yes, what is it? What does this mean?”
“It means, Cody, that I was crowded aout daown there by some men, and
had tew make a run fur it. I run tew this wall. While I was flaounderin’
raound in that consarned moat, they come on me ag’in, so clost that I
see the only thing I could do was to climb up here, and so I clumb.
But——”
His trembling explanation was cut short by words in Spanish shouted from
below.
Then a revolver cracked, spurting its fire into the darkness. The bullet
shattered itself against the iron of the last bar the scout had torn
away.
“Wow!” cried the Yankee, as if he had been hit. “That was cuttin’ some
clost, I tell ye!”
The way below was blocked, for other revolvers popped there, and other
voices were heard.
The frightened Yankee, swaying on the rope and clutching blindly at the
wall for support, was almost ready to fall headlong.
“Cody, I can’t hold on here a minute longer!” he appealed. “Can’t ye git
higher, er git somewhere? They’ll shoot us here, sure as guns!”
Buffalo Bill felt one of the bullets cut through his coat and burn his
arm, so close did it pass to his body.
The men below did not see who was at the window, but they had
discovered, or suspected, this attempt at a rescue, and they were
popping away in the darkness, sending their lead perilously near.
“We’ll have to climb into the room,” said the scout, with sudden
decision. He regretted the necessity, but he drew himself up and crawled
between the broken bars and dropped into the room.
Prince Mogador clasped him enthusiastically round the shoulders, in the
impulsive Spanish fashion.
“My rescuer! My savior!” he panted.
“Let me help the other man in,” said the scout, freeing himself. “This
is bad—bad! If we could have had but five minutes longer.”
Then he dragged the frightened and panting Yankee through the bars into
the little room of the tower.
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