THE FIGHT
In the silence of the night the reports of the rifle shots sounded
extraordinarily near. To Dave, Sam and Don it seemed as though the
firing was right at hand; yet there could be no doubt that the faint,
dusky figures, which the moonlight disclosed on the other side of the
Rio, were responsible for it.
“Great Scott!” cried Don, his voice vibrating with excitement. “That
must be a hot scrap--can you make anything out, Dave?”
The historian, who had a field-glass raised to his eyes, silently
handed over the instrument, while Sam, peering fixedly, exclaimed:
“Well--that’s bringing their troubles pretty close to the United States
border; eh, fellows!”
The New Orleans boy found that a great deal could be made out by means
of the binocular. A hot fight was on between two forces of considerable
size. Through the circle of pale greenish light he could see riders
dashing frantically about, and soldiers unhorsed running for cover.
Altogether, the scene was one of the greatest noise, violence and
confusion.
“Who in thunder ever expected us to run across anything like that?” he
breathed.
“Doesn’t surprise me in the least,” remarked Sam, calmly. “Let’s have a
look, Don.”
Then while he turned the glass on the combatants, the three remained
silent for a considerable time as they watched with the greatest
interest the struggle on the opposite shore.
“By George!” blurted out Sam, suddenly; he let his hands drop and swung
around to face his companions. “As I live they’re going to----”
“What?” fairly shouted Don.
“Wait a second!” Sam was once more studying the situation through the
glass. “Yes, sir!--some of those soldiers are actually going to cross
the river.”
Don Stratton in his eagerness, forgetting politeness, seized the
instrument from the other’s extended hand. In another instant he
saw the indistinct figures in the distance become quite strong and
clear. One side, evidently disastrously defeated and now in full
flight, had already reached the shelving banks of the river, where in
a panic-stricken effort to escape from their hotly pursuing foes they
were boldly riding out into the stream.
“I wonder what the Texas Rangers will think of that!” shouted Don.
“Hadn’t we better----”
“You may be sure that by this time they all know about it,” put in Dave
quietly.
“Probably there’ll be something doing soon, eh?”
“It looks that way.”
“What shall we do?”
“Let’s go down by the river and see the Rangers riding past,” cried Sam.
Following this suggestion the three dashed recklessly down the slope,
their eyes often turning toward the Mexican soldiers heading for the
United States shore.
The victors drawn up on the bank sent a parting volley of shots after
them, then slowly withdrew toward a near-by range of low, rounded
hills.
So far there were no indications of the Rangers’ presence in the
locality, but the lads felt sure that the hurrying Mexicans were soon
destined to meet with an unpleasant surprise.
“Those chaps are making mighty fast time, though,” panted Dick.
“They’ll soon be making faster time back,” predicted Sam, grimly.
Reaching a broad level stretch, the boys made for the river, a
proceeding not at all to the liking of Don Stratton, who began to fear
that the hot-headed Mexicans might mistake them for Rangers and fire.
He mentioned his thoughts to Sam. The Rambler, however, shook his head.
“I don’t believe we’re in a bit of danger, Don,” he responded in
reassuring tones. “You may be sure they won’t be anxious to start any
scrap on United States soil. Hello--hear anything?”
“By George! The Texas Rangers at last!” cried Don.
A faint steady pounding of horses’ hoofs to the south had reached his
ears.
Eagerly the three wheeled about to scan the border of the river.
“Hooray, hooray,” cried Don. “Here they come, full tilt, too. See ’em,
fellows?”
A number of faint dark specks were rapidly growing larger. But Dave
Brandon expressed the thoughts of all when he exclaimed: “They’ll never
get here in time to prevent the Mexicans from landing.”
The singular drama of the night unrolled before their eyes held a
peculiar fascination for the lads. Hastening along intent upon seeing
the last act they looked alternately from one body of horsemen to the
other.
Already the soldiers were close enough for them to see the moonlight
glinting on spurs and rifles. Judging from the appearance of the horses
the exertion of swimming and wading over sand-bars must have told
heavily on their strength, for in spite of fierce commands and cracking
quirts, they lumbered along so slowly that Don excitedly remarked:
“Those chaps won’t beat the Rangers out by very much, after all!”
“Suppose we climb that hill over yonder,” puffed Sam. “From the top
we’ll be able to see in which direction they head.”
“All right,” panted Dave.
Before they had time to reach its base, the dripping horses struggled
across the last strip of muddy beach and disappeared behind a jutting
point.
The Rangers’ horses, fresh and strong after a good rest, were
thundering along at topmost speed. Just as the boys, breathing hard
from their arduous work, scrambled to the summit of the ridge, they
clattered by.
From their point of vantage the three immediately caught sight of
the fleeing soldiers, a number of whom were scattering in various
directions.
“Sergeant Howell’s bunch will never be able to round them up now!”
predicted Don. “Ah! They go--see how those nags of theirs can travel!
Say, this beats a motion-picture thriller, doesn’t it?”
Interested and excited, the group watched the Rangers rapidly
overhauling the main body. Both pursued and pursuers, riding over the
crests of hills and down into deeply shadowed valleys, were often lost
to view. The sound of the pounding hoofs became steadily fainter, and
finally there was nothing to tell, either by sight or sound, of the
wild race taking place among the Texas hills.
“I wonder if the Mexicans will put up a scrap!” remarked Don in a
disturbed tone.
“I’m afraid so!” said the historian soberly.
“My! Wouldn’t I like to see what is going on now. It’s tough to have to
stay here in suspense.”
The boys made no attempt to conceal their worried state of mind. Every
one had come to like the big-hearted courageous Rangers immensely, and
the thought that they might be made the target for Mexican bullets was
a profoundly disturbing one.
The minutes dragged slowly by. Suddenly the sharp report of a rifle
shot ringing out came as a jarring shock to their nerves. Then a
second, quickly followed by a perfect fusillade, made the boys look at
one another with paling faces.
“The scrap’s started!” cried Sam.
“Isn’t it dreadful!” exclaimed Don. “I’m so afraid----”
He paused suddenly, for a singular fact had been impressed upon his
mind. He was once more hearing the sound of running horses. What could
it mean? Had the fugitives reversed the rôles?
“I don’t understand it a bit!” he breathed.
“Nor I,” cried Sam.
“All I know is that they seem to be coming back this way and mighty
fast,” put in Dave.
Puzzled as well as alarmed, the three watched and waited, expecting to
hear just what shortly did happen--another crackling volley of shots.
Dave Brandon, with the field-glasses raised to his eyes, suddenly
uttered an exclamation.
He had seen a flying group of horsemen appear over the top of a
mesquite-covered hill to form, for an instant, an indistinct collection
of silhouettes against the sky. Following these came still others
until an astonishing number of riders were rushing over the ridge and
disappearing into the valley below.
“It’s certainly a much bigger crowd than ever passed along this way,”
responded Dave in answer to his companions’ eager questions.
“What a mysterious affair it is,” murmured Don.
Although none of the horsemen could now be seen, their course could be
easily traced by an occasional yell or the report of a rifle.
“By George! They’re heading for the Rio, all right!” cried Don.
“Hello----”
A number had abruptly ridden into view from behind a ridge and were now
racing toward the stream.
“The Mexican soldiers again!” declared Dave, keenly studying the
distant figures through his glass. “Yes, sir! It’s back to Mexico for
that particular crowd.”
“Rounded up, after all!” said Don. “My, I do wonder if----”
“Don’t let’s think about it,” pleaded Sam. His frowning brow and firm
set lips told of unpleasant reflections running through his mind. Then
abruptly he added, “Fellows, I can’t stand this inaction a moment
longer. Let’s beat it!”
“Yes, come ahead!” cried Dave.
Just for a moment they watched the column of dusky figures progressing
farther out into the river; and thus being buffeted about from shore to
shore the lads could not help but feel a certain sympathy for them.
With Dave Brandon in the lead they crashed down the incline, slipping
and sliding, scattering rocks and stones in their passage. Then once
more at the base all started pell-mell toward the river. Their view to
the north remained cut off by intervening ridges, until the bank of the
Rio was reached. From that point they could see far ahead another group
of riders--a sight which put hope into their hearts.
“Quick, Dave! Hoist that magnifier to your optics!” pleaded Don.
There was a moment’s tense silence as the historian obeyed, and a shout
when he exclaimed, with an audible sigh of relief: “Boys, it looks all
right to me--but----”
“What?” demanded Sam.
“I can’t understand what has become of all those other riders we saw.”
“We’ll soon know all about it,” said Don, cheerfully.
The boys’ rapid walking and the Rangers’ steady pace brought the two
parties together much sooner than the former had anticipated.
“Hello, there!” yelled Don. “Is everybody all right?”
His question brought back a response in Jack Stovall’s clear voice
which made all three give a lusty yell of joy.
“Sure! They never touched us!”
Then, in answer to a rapid volley of questions, the young Ranger added:
“So ye actually saw all that big bunch, eh? Who were they----? Why,
United States soldiers of course--a scoutin’ party. They heard the
Mexicans firin’ from away up the river an’ beat it this way for all
they were worth. Lucky for us, too.”
“Yes, but for that a whole lot of the men might have given us the
slip,” remarked Alvin. “Between the two of us, we soon had ’em swinging
along on the back track. The soldiers did most of the firing--shot over
their brown heads, too, which was a pretty polite response, considering
the fact that the Mexicans started the scrap.”
“One of the Texas Rangers’ jobs is to see that undesirable citizens
o’ Mexico can’t cross over the border whenever they git a notion into
their heads they’d like to!” put in Jack Stovall. “So to-day, boys,
we’ve earned our pay.”
“True enough,” laughed Sergeant Howell. He turned toward the
historian. “How’s that, Dave--where did the soldiers get to? Oh, the
bunch started right off in the other direction.”
“Yes, they know’d well enough the Mexicans had enough of the American
side for to-night,” grinned Jim Roland. “They was in such a rush to git
back they never even stopped to leave their visitin’ cards.”
“I do hope there wasn’t any ‘watchfully waiting’ crowd all ready to
tackle the poor chaps the moment they reached the other side,” remarked
Sam, thoughtfully.
“As we haven’t heard any fireworks, I guess it’s all right,” said Don.
All the way back to camp, every member of the party kept a sharp
lookout, but not a sign of life was to be seen on the Mexican shore.
That night the boys slept as soundly as they ever had in their lives.
On the day following the thunder-storm an early start was made for
detachment quarters. Riding at an easy gait they did not arrive until
the afternoon. Then both Rangers and boys learned something which
filled them with considerable alarm. Tom Clifton was missing, and
though Bob Somers and Ranger Cole had been continually searching for
him, not a trace of the Rambler could be found.