The man who, at the time we write of, was known by the name of Jake the
Flint had acquired the character of the most daring and cruel scoundrel
in a region where villains were by no means rare. His exploits
indicated a spirit that was utterly reckless of life, whether his own or
that of his fellow-men, and many were the trappers, hunters, and
Redskins who would have given a good deal and gone far to have the
chance of putting a bullet in his carcass.
But, as is not unfrequently the case with such men, Jake seemed to bear
a charmed life, and when knife, bullet, and rope, cut short the career
of many less guilty men, Jake had hitherto managed to elude his
captors--at one time by strategy, at another by a bold dash for life,
and sometimes by "luck." No one had a kind word for Jake, no one loved,
though many feared, admired, and hated him. This may seem strange, for
it is usually found that even in the case of the most noted outlaws
there is a woman or a man, or both--who cling to them with affection.
Perhaps the fact that Jake was exceptionally harsh and cruel at all
times, may account for this, as it accounted for his sobriquet of Flint.
He was called by some of those who knew him a "God-forsaken man." We
merely state the fact, but are very far from adopting the expression,
for it ill becomes any man of mortal mould to pronounce his fellow-man
God-forsaken.
In the meantime we feel it to be no breach of charity to say that Jake
had forsaken God, for his foul language and bloody deeds proved the fact
beyond all question. He was deceitful as well as cruel, and those who
knew him best felt sure that his acting under Buck Tom was a mere ruse.
There is little doubt that he had done so for the purpose of obtaining
an influence over a gang of desperadoes, ready to hand, as it were, and
that the moment he saw his opportunity he would kill Buck Tom and take
command. The only thing that had kept him from doing so sooner, it was
thought, was the fact that Buck had the power to gain the affection of
his men, as well as to cause them to fear him, so that Jake had not yet
found the time ripe for action.
After the outlaw had been put into the room by himself, as already
stated, the door locked, and a sentry posted below the window, he
immediately turned with all his energy to examine into his circumstances
and prospects. First of all his wrists were manacled. That, however,
gave him little concern, for his hands were unusually small and
delicate, and he knew from experience that he could slip them out of any
handcuffs that would close easily on his wrists--a fact that he had
carefully concealed, and of which men were not yet aware, as he had not
yet been under the necessity of availing himself of the circumstance.
The rope with which he had been bound on the way to the ranch had been
removed, the handcuffs being deemed sufficient. As the window of his
prison was over thirty feet from the ground, and a sentinel with a
carbine and revolver stood below, it was thought that the bird who had
so frequently escaped his cage before was safe at last, and fairly on
his way to the gallows.
Not so thought Jake the Flint. Despair did not seem to be a possibility
to him. Accordingly, he examined his prison carefully, and with a
hopeful smile. The examination was soon completed, for the room
presented no facilities whatever for escape. There was no bed from
which to take the sheets and blankets to extemporise a rope. No
mattress to throw over the window so as to break a heavy man's fall. No
chimney by which to ascend to the roof, no furniture, indeed, of any
kind beyond a deal chair and table. The door was of solid oak and
bolted outside.
Obviously the window was his only chance. He went to it and looked out.
The depth was too much, he knew, for even his strong bones to stand the
shock; and the sentinel paced to and fro underneath with loaded carbine.
"If any one would only lay a feather-bed down there," thought Jake, "I'd
jump an' take my chance."
While he was gazing meditatively on the fair prospect of land and water
that lay before him, one of the bolts of the door was withdrawn, then
another, and the door slowly opened.
For an instant the outlaw gathered himself up for a rush, with a view to
sell his life dearly, and he had even begun to draw one of his hands out
of the manacles, when the folly and hopelessness of the attempt struck
him. He quickly checked himself, and met his jailor (one of the
troopers) with a smiling countenance as he entered and laid a loaf and a
jug of water on the table.
The rattle of a musket outside told Jake that his jailor had not come
alone.
Without a word the man turned, and was leaving the room, when Jake, in a
voice of great humility, asked him to stop.
"You couldn't remove these things, could you?" he said, holding out his
fettered hands.
"No," answered the trooper, sharply.
"Ah!" sighed Jake, "I feared it was agin the rules. You couldn't let me
have the use of a file, could you, for a few minutes? What! agin' rules
too? It's a pity, for I'm used to brush my teeth with a file of a
mornin', an' I like to do it before breakfast."
Jake interlarded his speech with a variety of oaths, with which we will
not defile the paper, but he could extract no further reply from the
trooper than a glance of scorn.
Left to himself, Jake again went to the window, which was a small
cottage one, opening inwards like a door. He opened it and looked out.
The sentinel instantly raised his carbine and ordered him to shut it.
"Hullo! Silas, is that you?" cried Jake in surprise, but paying no
attention to the threat, "I thought you had quit for Heaven durin' the
last skrimidge wi' the Reds down in Kansas? Glad to see you lookin' so
well. How's your wife an' the child'n, Silas?"
"Come now, Jake," said the trooper sternly, "you know it's all up with
you, so you needn't go talkin' bosh like that--more need to say your
prayers. Stand back and shut the window, I say, else I'll put a bullet
through your gizzard."
"Well now, Silas," said Jake, remonstratively, and opening the breast of
his red shirt as he spoke, "I didn't expect that of an old friend like
you--indeed I didn't. But, see here, if you raaly are goin' to fire
take good aim an' keep clear o' the heart and liver. The gizzard lies
hereabout (pointing to his breast) and easy to hit if you've a steady
hand. I know the exact spot, for I've had the cuttin' up of a good
bunch o' men in my day, an' I can't bear to see a thing muddled. But
hold on, Silas, I won't put ye to the pain o' shootin' me. I'll shut
the window if you'll make me a promise."
"What's that?" demanded the trooper, still covering the outlaw, however,
with his carbine.
"You know I'm goin' to my doom--that's what poetical folk call it,
Silas--an' I want you to help me wind up my affairs, as the lawyers say.
Well, this here (holding up a coin) is my last dollar, the remains o'
my fortin', Silas, an' this here bit o' paper that I'm rappin' round it,
is my last will an' testimonial. You'll not refuse to give it to my
only friend on arth, Hunky Ben, for I've no wife or chick to weep o'er
my grave, even though they knew where it was. You'll do this for me,
Silas, won't you?"
"All right--pitch it down."
Jake threw the coin, which fell on the ground a few feet in front of the
trooper, who stooped to pick it up.
With one agile bound the outlaw leaped from the window and descended on
the trooper's back, which was broken by the crashing blow, and Jake
rolled over him with considerable violence, but the poor man's body had
proved a sufficient buffer, and Jake rose unhurt. Deliberately taking
the carbine from the dead man's hand, and plucking the revolver from his
belt, he sauntered off in the direction of the stables. These being too
small to contain all the troop-horses, some of the animals were picketed
in an open shed, and several troopers were rubbing them down. The men
took Jake for one of the cow-boys of the ranch, for he passed them
whistling.
Entering the stable he glanced quickly round, selected the finest horse,
and, loosing its halter from the stall, turned the animal's head to the
door.
"What are ye doin' wi' the captain's horse?" demanded a trooper, who
chanced to be in the neighbouring stall.
"The captain wants it. Hold his head till I get on him. He's frisky,"
said Jake, in a voice of authority.
The man was taken aback and obeyed; but as Jake mounted he turned
suddenly pale.
The outlaw, observing the change, drew the revolver, and, pointing it at
the trooper's head, said, in a low savage voice, "A word, a sound, and
your brains are on the floor!"
The man stood open-mouthed, as if petrified. Jake shook the reins of
the fiery horse and bounded through the door-way, stooping to the
saddle-bow as he went. He could see, even at that moment, that the
trooper, recovering himself, was on the point of uttering a shout.
Wheeling round in the saddle he fired, and the man fell with a bullet in
his brain.
The shot of course aroused the whole ranch. Men rushed into the yard
with and without arms in wild confusion, but only in time to see a
flying horseman cross the square and make for the gate. A rattling
irregular volley was sent after him, but the only effect it had was to
cause the outlaw to turn round in the saddle and wave his hat, while he
gave vent to a yell of triumph. Another moment and he was beyond the
bluff and had disappeared.
"Boot and saddle!" instantly rang out at the ranch, and every
preparation was made for pursuit, though, mounted as Jake was on the
best horse of the troop, they could not hope to overtake him.
Hunky Ben, at his own particular request was permitted to go on in
advance.
"You see, sir," he said to the captain, "my Black Polly an't quite as
good as your charger, but she's more used to this sort o' country, an' I
can take the short cuts where your horse could hardly follow."
"Go, Ben, and good luck go with you! Besides, we can do without you,
now that we have Mr Brooke to guide us."
"Come wi' me, sir," said Hunky Ben, as he passed Charlie on his way to
the stables. "Don't you hesitate, Mr Brooke, to guide the captain to
the cave of Buck Tom. I'm goin' on before you to hunt up the reptiles--
to try an' catch Jake the Flint."
The scout chuckled inwardly as he said this.
"But why go in advance? You can never overtake the scoundrel with such
a start and on such a horse."
"Never you mind what I can or can't do," said Ben, entering the stable
where the dead trooper still lay, and unfastening Black Polly. "I've no
time to explain. All I know is that your friend Leather is sure to be
hanged if he's cotched, an' I'm sure he's an innocent man--therefore,
I'm goin' to save him. It's best for you to know nothin' more than
that, for I see you're not used to tellin' lies. Can you trust _me_?"
"Certainly I can. The look of your face, Ben, even more than the
character you bear, would induce me to trust you."
"Well then, Mr Brooke, the first sign o' trust is to obey orders
without askin' questions."
"True, when the orders are given by one who has a right to command,"
returned Charlie.
"Just so, an' my right to command lies in the fact that the life o' your
friend Leather depends on your obedience."
"I'm your humble servant, then. But what am I to do?"
"Do whatever Captain Wilmot orders without objectin', an' speak nothing
but the truth. You don't need to speak the _whole_ truth, hows'ever,"
added the scout thoughtfully, as he led out his coal-black steed. "Your
friend Leather has got a Christian name of course. Don't mention it. I
don't want to hear it. Say nothin' about it to anybody. The time may
come when it may be useful to drop the name of Leather and call your
friend Mister whatever the tother name may be. Now mind what I've said
to ye."
As he spoke the last words the scout touched the neck of his beautiful
mare, and in another minute was seen racing at full speed over the
rolling plain.