A THRILLING RESCUE IN MID-AIR
Buck, the guide, and Elmer Grissom had reached their appointed
rendezvous at two o'clock that afternoon. The hot journey had been
tedious and uneventful. Only at the half-breed settlement twenty
miles north of Clarkeville had they seen a human being. Therefore,
after they had been in camp about an hour, even the vigilant,
experienced Buck was startled to observe suddenly a solitary
Indian--his horse as statuesque as himself--watching them from a
knoll some two hundred yards distant.
As the old scout raised both hands in signal of peace the Indian
rode forward. The man was not in the Indian panoply of the old
days, except that he wore moccasins and had two bands of red and
yellow paint on his broad, dark face. A black wide-brimmed hat, a
faded blue shirt and trousers completed his outfit.
"How?" exclaimed the Indian.
"Navajo?" answered Buck.
"Ute!" came the answer. "Where go?"
"Right here," said Buck good-naturedly, pointing to the ground.
"Ute land!" retorted the Indian without a trace of expression in his
face.
"No," retorted Buck sharply, "not Ute land. Ute land there,"
pointing north, "in Colorado."
"Ute land!" exclaimed the red man again, this time scowling.
Buck only shook his head.
Then the Indian suddenly threw himself from his horse, strode to the
wagon and threw up the tail curtain. Safely stored therein he saw
the protected tins of gasoline.
"Whisky?" he exclaimed.
"No," laughed Elmer, "not whisky."
"Whisky," repeated the stranger turning towards Buck; "drink!"
But Buck shook his head.
With out another word the Ute walked haughtily to his horse, threw
himself upon it, and, clasping his heels to its sides, rode quickly
away.
"I'm sorry," exclaimed the veteran at last.
"I had no idea that there were Utes around here."'
"He doesn't seem dangerous," commented Elmer.
"No," answered Buck, "men who'd cut your throat for a horse never
do. The chances are he isn't alone."
Elmer looked up in surprise.
"We'll just make sure," exclaimed Buck, making as light of the
affair as possible. "I don't want to lose my horses and you don't
want to lose your freight. We'll make ourselves ready in case our
friends come back to make us a little visit."
And as night came on and Elmer helped Buck draw the wagon close to
the river bank, where approach from the rear would be difficult, the
boy began to realize what it meant to get away from the telegraph
and policemen and law and order. And when the experienced scout
unloaded a portion of their heavier freight and began to build a
small barrier Elmer's usual joviality cooled into silence. The
three piles of brush and driftwood from the river were laid out some
distance in front of the camp in preparation for the agreed signal
fires and then, before the sun went down, the scout and his
companion made their camp fire and had supper.
"What do yo' expec' dey'll do?" asked the colored lad at last.
"Well, you can't tell. Injuns are puzzles. When they steal they
steal in the dark. When they fight they fight at daybreak."
"What do yo' suggest?"
"To tell the truth, son," answered Buck, "there ain't much to do but
keep yer eyes open and pop it to the first red horse thief ye see
crawlin' around in the night."
"Hadn't we better light our signal fires?" asked Elmer.
"There won't be any signal fires to-night," replied Buck, slowly,
"if you want my advice. It's one thing for a bluffin' Ute to walk
up in the daylight when you've got a fair chance to give him as good
as he sends, and its another thing for him to get a bead on you a
sittin' in the light o' yer camp fire--him in the dark."
Elmer saw and understood.
So night fell in silence with Buck and Elmer keyed up and ready to
meet any possible attack.
Nothing happened until several hours had passed. Neither Elmer nor
Buck were any the less alert, however. The old scout was pacing up
and down in front of the barricade and perhaps a hundred feet from
it. Elmer could just hear his soft footfalls in the sand. Suddenly
these ceased. Almost at the same moment there was the crack of
Buck's rifle, a groan and a moment later the scout was inside the
barricade.
"I guess I got him all right," he whispered, "he was makin' too much
noise."
This was the shot Ned heard miles away in the Cibola.
Again for some minutes there was no sound and then, suddenly and
from the left, came a spit of flame in the dark. Almost before
Elmer heard the explosion Buck's gun had spoken in reply. Both
bullets went wild, but Buck explained that it was necessary to give
shot for shot, "and right at 'em," said Buck, "as it takes a little
o' the ginger out o' them."
But the besiegers had undoubtedly widened out. The next signs of
them were two shots, almost together. Elmer's rifle made quick
reply, but, to the boy's surprise, Buck failed to fire in return.
The scout had disappeared from his companion's side. Before Elmer
could call out he heard a rush at the end of the barricade, and then
two explosions almost together and not ten feet away. He could not
describe the sound that followed, but he knew that it meant the
convulsions of human beings in agony. He whispered his companion's
name, but there was no answer--only a gasp.
In the black darkness the colored boy, revolver in hand, crawled
forward. At the end of the barricade Buck's body was lying. As the
boy's hand fell on the old man's breast he knew that it was blood he
felt.
"Buck," he whispered, "Buck! Is yo' hurt?"
He put his arm under his friend's head. For a moment the unconscious
form yielded and then convulsively straightened. Elmer knew that his
companion and protector was dead.
With strength that he did not know he had Elmer laid Buck's dead
body behind the little wall of freight boxes.
Then, as if by intuition, he sprang forward and found what he
suspected--the unmoving form of an Indian. Unable to see, Elmer
quickly felt over the adjacent ground with his hands and discovered
the dead Ute's rifle. The revolver was gone. In the same manner he
recovered both Buck's rifle and revolver, and then prepared to do
his duty--to protect his employer's goods so long as he could.
He was scarcely entrenched again, with the three magazine rifles
laid on the barricade before him, when his straining ears heard a
new sound. Far away and faint, but meaning only one thing, the soft
chugging of a motor. The Cibola! There could be no doubt of it.
The instant feeling of relief was shattered even as it gave Elmer
new courage; to attempt to light the signal fires would probably
mean instant death. And without them how would his friends know his
position or peril? But one thing he could do; and even knowing that
it would mean an answering shot from the skulking horse thieves he
discharged his revolver into the air.
Then the sound of the motor died away and the long minutes dragged
by. When it began again, and more softly, the sound was nearer.
Nearer, and nearer it came and then the circle of light fell on the
wagon and was gone. "At least they know where I am," thought Elmer
to himself, and settled down courageously for renewed attack,
determined to hold out to the last. At this moment came the shot
that put out the Cibola's light.
The nervy boy had been tempted to abandon the wagon and follow the
light, but his second judgment was against this. "If they can, the
boys will come back," he argued, "and I'll only get out of this when
I have to."
To Elmer's surprise the attackers had been strangely silent for some
time. With more experience he would have known that this meant even
greater danger, but he only hoped it was due to the distracting and
mysterious flying light. Then the sepulchral green light burst out
in its funnel-like volume. It was coming back. It flared, went
out, shot over the distant sands again like a searching' eye and
then began moving straight up the river bank towards the wagon.
Then came the earth rending explosion. Nor could the besieged boy
know even then that Ned's well-aimed bomb had sent five Utes to
their last sleep.
When the sound of the explosion had died away and Elmer had
recovered himself--for the shock had thrown him forward on the
barricade--the whirr of the Cibola's motor was again far away. But
it was directly above him!
As if the attackers had been paralyzed by the explosion, the long
interval continued without a shot. Then suddenly, from the right
and left and front, the real attack began. One shot sounded as a
signal, and then from a half circle before him half a dozen bullets
tore their way towards the boy and his barricade. Most of them went
wild. Two hit the boxes and half stunned the lone guardian behind
them. The assailants did not know that one of the two white men was
dead, and Elmer, in hopes temporarily to deceive them, fired two of
the rifles at the same moment.
But his enemies were closing in; the half circle was growing smaller
and the crash of the bullets in the wagon above him and in the
barricade in front told the boy that the end could not be far away.
To the right in the direction of the explosion there was a gap in
the fast closing circle. It was folly to delay longer. If escape
were possible, it was in that direction. He would make one
desperate attempt. One shot remained in his rifles. Putting it
where he thought it would do the most good, and catching up the two
yet full revolvers, the colored boy crawled under the wagon and
crept hastily along the river bank.
And yet he did not dare to attempt to pass the end of the Indian
semi-circle. It was one chance in a thousand. Throwing himself on
the ground, he waited. "Crack!" It was the rifle of an Indian, not
fifty feet away and coming nearer. The stealthy footfalls told
Elmer that his foe was heading straight for the river bank and that
he was in the Ute's path. Then he could hear the Indian's deep
breathing. Detection was inevitable.
One last thing remained to be done--to kill the Indian and make a
dash forward down the river bank. And he must act before his foe
discovered him. Elmer's revolver flashed fire and he saw his foe of
the red and yellow face bound into the air and then topple forward
with a cry of anguish.
The boy turned, but too late. Directly in front he heard the sudden
shouts of other Indians. The river at his back! Flight down its
cement-like bank was impossible. He might plunge forward and pray
that the water was beneath.
The death cry of the man he had shot and the echoing yells of the
Indians behind him had been taken up by others. He knew the
determined savages were making a final rush. Indian cries seemed to
come from the very ground at his feet. He hesitated no lodger.
As he turned to the river a sudden and strange wave of cool air
struck down on him from above. Without reasoning he paused. That
pause saved his life. In that swift moment he heard the low creak
of something straining. His eyes pierced the black about him. Was
it a shadow? Something was brushing by him like a great bird asleep
on the wing. Then it was on him.
"Ned?" It was only a whisper but it was enough.
"Elmer, here, quick!"
Even the whisper had brought an instant shot, but the colored boy
had hurled himself toward the voice and an instant later a strong
young arm was about the besieged lad.
It was Ned Napier on the swaying ladder of the Cibola.
"Cut away," came the low quick order and before even the nearby
besiegers could locate the sound Bob Russell, high above, had
slashed the lashings of a bag of ballast. The big balloon sprang
forward, Elmer dangling in the air, and then settled again to the
earth as the desperate colored boy found the last rung of the ladder
and clung fast opposite his rescuer.
"Another, another," called Ned springing up the fragile length of
the doubly laden ladder.
A thud on the ground told where another bag of ballast had fallen.
The crash of the fallen fifty-pound bag of sand probably saved the
Cibola. Shot after shot poured in the direction of the sound,
although the Cibola, dragging forward, yet refused to rise. Elmer,
at the bottom of the ladder, was helping the car onward in low
bounds by touching the ground with one foot.
Then the air craft settled again. Elmer's weight was too much. A
mad thought came into the boy's brain. The Indians had located the
new invader and yells nearby told that hot pursuit was already being
made. Then the spit, spit, of new shots showed the risk the boys
had taken. Elmer realized it. Should he hang on and endanger the
lives of his friends, or should he let go?
There seemed no time to think, but the boy's hand had already
loosened when out of the black came the hot breath of the foremost
pursuer. As the savage sprang forward Elmer's free arm gave him a
blow full in the face. At the same instant the Cibola sprang upward
like a bullet. A volley of shots rang out below, but they were too
late. The balloon had saved Elmer's life, and even before the lad
had made his way up the swaying ladder into the cabin it was a
thousand feet in the air.