THE RESCUE
It was nearly midnight. The house was quiet. It was so still as to
suggest no life at all within its simple, hospitable walls. It was in
darkness, too, at least from the outside, for all curtains had been
drawn for the night, with as much care as though it were a dwelling
facing upon some busy thoroughfare in a city.
But, late as the hour was, the occupants of the old ranch house were
not in bed. Hazel was awake, and sitting expectantly waiting in her
bedroom, while somewhere within the purlieus of the kitchen Hip-Lee sat
before an open window in the darkness, doubtless dreaming wakefully of
some flea-ridden village up country in his homeland.
Upstairs, too, there were no signs of those slumbers which were so long
overdue. Mr. James Carbhoy was seated in a comfortable rocker-chair
adjacent to his dressing bureau, making an effort to become interested
in the "History of the Conquest of Mexico" by the light of a
well-trimmed oil lamp.
Not one word, however, of the pages he had read had conveyed interest
to his preoccupied mind. It is doubtful if their meaning had been
conveyed with any degree of continuity. He was irritable--irritable
and a shade despondent.
He had been a captive in that valley for over seven weeks, and the
imprisonment had begun to tell upon his stalwart hardihood. Seven long
weeks of his own company, under easy and even pleasant circumstances.
Even Hazel's company, shadowed as she was by the hated Hip-Lee, had
been denied him. Had it been otherwise he might have felt less
dispirited, for he liked and admired her; and, in spite of the fact
that on that one memorable occasion when he had talked to her alone she
had betrayed, what he now was firmly convinced was her own perfidious
share in his kidnapping, he was human enough to disregard it, and only
remember that she was an extremely pretty and wholly charming creature.
Yes, he knew now that he had been duped by this daughter of Mallinsbee,
whom he knew owned Buffalo Point, and the whole thing had been a
financial coup engineered by the "smarts" who belonged to his faction.
He had solved the whole problem of his captivity in one revealing
flash, the moment he had learned that this girl was the daughter of
Mallinsbee. He had needed no other information. His keenly trained
mind, with its wide understanding of the methods of financial
interests, had driven straight to the heart of the matter. It was only
the details which had been lacking. But even these had, in a measure,
been filled in during his long hours of solitude and concentrated
thought.
It was some of the obscured riddles which beset him now, as they had
beset him for days. He could not account for his own confidential
agent Slosson in the matter. Had he been bought over? It seemed
impossible, since Slosson had advised the depot remaining at Snake's
Fall, which was against Mallinsbee's interests. Had he been dealt
with, too? It seemed more likely. But if this were so it made the
daring or desperation of the whole coup suggest to his mind that he was
dealing with men of unusual caliber, and consequently the situation
possessed for him possibilities of a most unpleasant character.
Then, again, the fact that they were content to leave him unapproached
in his captivity puzzled and disquieted him even more. What could they
achieve with regard to the railroad without his authority? Nothing,
positively nothing, he assured himself. Then what was the purpose to
be served? He could not even guess, and the uncertainty of it all
annoyed, irritated, worried him as the time went on.
His mind was full of all these concerns as he sat reading the romantic
story of a people with impossible names, and so he lost all the
beauties of one of the most perfect romances in the world. Finally, he
set the book aside and prepared for bed and more hours of worried
sleeplessness.
James Carbhoy was a typical New Yorker of the best type. In an
unexaggerated way he was fastidious of his appearance and gave a
careful regard to his bodily welfare. He was a man who luxuriated in
cleanly habits of living, and his linen was a sort of passion with him.
In his captivity he had been well cared for in this respect, and the
only cause he had for complaint was the absence of his daily bath,
which he seriously deplored.
Now he went to the old-fashioned washstand, prepared for his nightly
ablutions, and laid himself out a clean suit of pyjamas. Then he
divested himself of some of his upper garments. He had just started to
remove his shirt, and one arm still remained in its sleeve as he
proceeded to remove it coatwise, when all further action was quite
suddenly suspended and he stood listening.
A sound had reached his quick ears, a curious sound which, at that hour
of the night, was quite incomprehensible to him. After some breathless
moments he abandoned the divestment of his clothing and swiftly
restored his coat and vest. Then he extinguished his light and drew
the curtains from before the window and opened it further. He sat down
on his bedstead and, resting an elbow on the window-ledge, gazed out
into the starlit, moonless night.
The sound which had held his attention was still evident. It was the
sound of galloping horses in the distance, the soft plod of many hoofs
over the rich grass of the valley. It was faint but distinct, and, to
this man's inexperienced ears, suggested a large party of horses,
probably horsemen, approaching his prison. With what object? he
wondered, and, wondering, a feeling of excitement took possession of
him.
Five minutes later his attention was distracted to another direction.
Other sounds reached him, sounds which emanated from close about his
prison itself. There was a movement going on just below him, and
horses were moving about, apparently somewhere in front, where he knew
the corrals to be. His excitement increased. In all his long weeks of
imprisonment he had seen nothing of his captors and no signs of them.
Now, apparently, they were below him, possibly keeping guard, and he
wondered if they had been there every night, silent warders, whose
presence had been all undiscovered by himself.
It was difficult, difficult to understand or to believe. Yet there was
no doubt that men were gathered below; he could faintly hear their
voices talking in hushed tones, and, equally, he could plainly hear the
sound of their horses. He wished there was a moon to give him light
enough to see what was going on.
But now the more distant sounds had grown louder, and as they grew the
voices below spoke in less guarded tones. And from the manner of their
speech the listening man knew that something serious was afoot.
A sudden resolve now formulated in his mind, and he left his place at
the window and stood up. Then he moved swiftly to his door and opened
it. The house seemed wrapped in silence, and he moved out to the head
of the small flight of stairs leading to the floor below. He passed
down and reached the door of the parlor.
Here he paused for a moment listening. All was still within, and he
cautiously opened the door. The lamp was lit, and, standing beside the
table, upon which the breakfast things were already set, he discovered
the figure of the daughter of Mallinsbee with her back turned towards
him. There was another figure present, too, and, to his intense
chagrin, the millionaire beheld the yellow features of Hip-Lee near the
curtained window.
However, he passed into the room, and Hazel turned confronting him. He
gazed intently into her face, so serious and apparently troubled. The
yellow lamplight imparted a curious hue, and the man fancied she looked
seriously frightened.
"What's happening?" he demanded, and an unusual brusqueness was in his
tone.
The girl's eyes surveyed his expression swiftly. She looked for
something she feared to discover there, and the faintest sigh of relief
escaped her as she realized that her fears were unfounded.
"That's what we--are trying to find out," she replied, her words
accompanied by a glance of simple, half-fearful helplessness.
The man checked the reply which promptly rose to his lips. He
remembered in time that this girl was the daughter of Mallinsbee and
that she was exceedingly pretty. To the former he had no desire to
give anything away, while to the latter he desired to display every
courtesy.
"Our guards seem to be on the alert, and--somebody is approaching,"
said the millionaire, with a baffling smile. "If it weren't such a
peaceful spot I'd say there was an atmosphere of--trouble."
"I--I sort of feel that way, too," said Hazel in a scared manner. She
had gathered all her histrionic abilities together, and intended to use
them. "I wonder what trouble it is?"
"Seems as if it was for the men who--took us," observed Carbhoy, with a
dryness he could not quite disguise.
"You--mean our folks have located our whereabouts and--are going to
rescue us?"
The millionaire smiled into the innocent, questioning eyes, which, he
knew, concealed a humorous guile.
"I didn't just mean that," he said. "Maybe the trouble won't come
yet." He glanced at the Chinaman standing sphinx-like at the curtains.
"Must he remain?" he said, appealing directly to the girl.
Hazel felt the necessity for a bold move.
"Don't let him worry you. We can't help ourselves. I dare not risk
offending him." She conjured a well-feigned shudder.
The millionaire laughed, and his laugh left the girl troubled and
disconcerted. She would have liked to know what lay behind it.
However, she kept to her attitude of fear. She must play her part to
the end.
"Hark!" Carbhoy turned his head, listening intently. The girl
followed his example. "Say----" The millionaire broke off, and his
smile was replaced by a look of puzzled incredulity.
A shot had been fired. It was answered by a shot from somewhere close
to the house. A look of doubt sprang into his gray eyes, and he darted
to the window and unceremoniously brushed the hated Chinaman aside. He
drew the curtain cautiously aside and peered out into the bight. Hazel
beheld the change of expression and his quick, alert movements with
satisfaction. She knew that the sounds of the shots had disconcerted
him. He was more than impressed. He was convinced.
Then followed a portentous few moments. The two single shots were
converted into something like a rattle of musketry. And intermingled
with it came the hoarse, blasphemous cries of men, and the pounding of
horses' hoofs racing hither and thither. The man at the window
remained silent, his eyes glued to the crack of the divided curtains.
He saw flashes of gunfire and the dim outline of moving figures. But
the details of the scene were hidden from him by the darkness. Hazel,
standing close behind him, rose to a great effort. One hand was laid
abruptly upon his arm, and her nervous fingers clutched at his
coat-sleeve as though she were seeking support. She caught a sharp
breath.
"My God!" she cried in a tense whisper, while somehow her whole body
shook.
Carbhoy gave one glance in her direction. His eyes and features had
become tense with excitement. With his disengaged hand he patted the
girl's with a reassuring gentleness, and finally it remained resting
upon her clutching fingers.
"It's a scrap up all right," he said, with conviction that had no fear
in it. "But it's their game, not----"
But his words were cut short by the great shouting that went up outside
the house. Then came more firing, and the sharp plonk of bullets as
they struck the building were plainly heard by the watchers. Hazel
urged the man at the curtains--
"Come away. For goodness' sake come away. A stray shot! That window!
You----"
She strove to drag the man away in a wild assumption of panic. But the
millionaire intended to miss nothing of what was going on. The danger
of his position did not occur to him. He firmly released himself from
her clutch.
"You sit right down, my dear," he said kindly. "Just get right out of
line with this window. I want to see this out. Say, hark! They're
hitting it up good, eh?"
His eyes were alight with the excitement of battle, and Hazel, watching
him, with fear carefully expressed in her eyes, could not help but
admire the spirit of her lover's father, and more than ever regret the
part she was forced to play.
She withdrew obediently as the sounds of battle waxed and the cries of
the combatants made the still night hideous. The firing had become
almost incessant, and the bullets seemed to hail upon the building from
every direction. Then, too, the galloping horses added to the tumult,
and it was pretty obvious the defenders were charging their opponents.
"There seems to be about two to one attacking," said the millionaire
over his shoulder presently.
As he turned he surveyed with pity the strong look of terror the girl
had contrived. He never once looked in the detested Chinaman's
direction. In his heart he would not have regretted a chance shot
disturbing those yellow, immobile features.
Then, turning back again quickly--
"I wonder!"
Now that the battle seemed to be at its height, and whilst awaiting its
issue, he had time for conjecture. What was the meaning of it? And
who were the attacking party? Was Slosson at its head? Had Harker
sent up and was this a sheriff's posse? Both seemed possible. Yet
neither, somehow, convinced him. Whoever were attacking, it was pretty
certain in his mind that his release was the object.
But the moment passed, and he became absorbed once more in the battle
itself. It seemed miraculous to his twentieth-century ideas that such
a condition of things could prevail. Why, it was like the old romantic
days of the hard drinking, hard swearing "bad men," and a sort of
boyish delight in the excitement of it all swept through his veins. He
had no time or thought for the part the now terror-stricken girl had
played in his captivity. All he felt was a large-hearted, chivalrous
regret for her present condition, of which no doubt remained in his
mind.
A rush of horsemen charged up to the building. The watching man saw
their outline distinctly. There seemed to him at least eight or ten.
He saw another crowd, smaller numerically, charge at them, and then the
revolvers spat out their vicious flashes of ruddy fire. The crowd
dispersed and gathered again. Another fusillade. Then something
seemed to happen. The whole crowd swept away in the darkness, and the
sounds of shooting and the cries of men died away into the distance.
He waited awhile to assure himself that, so far as their position was
concerned, the battle was at an end. Then he turned away from the
window.
"They've cleaned 'em out," he said sharply. "I can't tell whose outed.
They've ridden off at the gallop, firing and cursing as they went.
Maybe our captors have driven the others off. Maybe it's the other
way. We'll--hark!"
He was back at the window again in a second.
"They're coming back," he cried. "Say----"
Hazel was at his side in a moment.
"Are they the----?"
"Can't say who," cried Carbhoy, peering intently. "A big bunch of 'em."
"Our men were only four," said Hazel quickly.
The millionaire was too intent to look round, and so he missed the
girl's smile over at Hip-Lee. But the tone of her voice was
unmistakable in its anxiety.
"There's eight or more here," he cried. "Say, they're dismounting!
They're----"
"They're coming into the house!" cried Hazel in an extravagant panic.
"They----"
At that instant a loud voice beyond the door of the room was heard
shouting to the men outside--
"Keep a keen eye while I go through the house! Don't let a soul
escape. If they've hurt one hair of her head somebody's going to pay,
and pay dear."
The millionaire was standing stock still in the middle of the room. A
curious look was gleaming in his steady eyes. Hazel, in the midst of
her pretended panic, beheld it and interpreted it. She read in it a
recognition of the speaker's voice, but she also read incredulity and
amazement.
But at that instant the door burst open and a great figure rushed
headlong into the room. As the girl beheld it she flung wide her arms
and, with a cry, ran towards the intruder.
"Gordon! Gordon! At last, at last!" she cried. "Oh, I thought you
would never find me! Never, never!"
Her final exclamations were lost in the bosom of his tweed coat, as she
flung herself into his arms and burst into a flood of hysterical
weeping and laughter.
"Hazel! My poor little Hazel! Say, I've been nearly crazy. I----"
Gordon broke off, the girl still lying in his arms. His eyes had
lifted to the face of his father, and their keen, steady glance became
instantly absorbed by the gray speculation behind the other's.
"Dad! You?"
The astonishment, the incredulity were perfect. They might well have
deceived anybody.
"Sure," said the millionaire dryly. Then, "I don't guess they've hurt
her any, though. Maybe you best hand her over to her father," he went
on, pointing at the burly figure of Silas Mallinsbee, who, with his
patch well down over his eye, had appeared at that moment in the
doorway. "Guess he'll know how to soothe her some. Meanwhile you'll
maybe tell me how you lit on our trail."
The man's smile was disarming, yet Gordon fancied he detected a shadow
of that lurking irony which he knew so well in his father.
He turned about, however, and passed Hazel over to the rancher, while
he added tender injunctions--
"Say, Mr. Mallinsbee, she's scared all to death. You best get her to
bed. Poor little girl! Say, I'd like----"
But he did not complete his sentence. Instead he turned to his father,
as Hazel, with difficulty restraining her laughter, was led from the
room by her solemn-faced, fierce-eyed parent.
"Say, Dad, what in the name of all creation has brought you here?"
The millionaire turned, and a cold eye of hatred settled upon the
background which Hip-Lee formed to the picture.
"Do we need that yellow reptile present?" he said unemotionally.
"I guess not," said Gordon readily. Then he pointed the door to the
Mongolian. "Get!" he ejaculated. And the injunction was acted upon
with silent alacrity.
Then the two men faced each other.
"Well?" demanded the father.
The son smiled amiably.
"Well?" he retorted. And both men sat down.