THE FIGHT IN THE COURT.
Frank was certainly in a predicament. He had his choice between
revealing the hiding-place of the office key, and being hanged with his
own lasso--a most disagreeable alternative. On one side was a lingering
death, and on the other, something of which Frank stood almost as much
in awe--disgrace. Never before had so heavy a responsibility rested upon
him; and if he lost that money, what other evidence would be needed to
prove that he was not worthy of being trusted?
"Come, come!" exclaimed the Ranchero, impatiently. "Are you going to
answer my question?"
"I don't know whether I am or not," replied Frank. "Don't be in such a
hurry. Can't you give me time to think about it?"
"You have had time enough already," growled Pierre. "But I'll give you
two minutes more, and while you are thinking the matter over, you can
bear one thing in mind: and that is, if you don't tell me where that
office key is, you'll never see daylight again."
The expression on Pierre's countenance told Frank that the villain meant
all he said.
Frank leaned his head against the wall, closed his eyes, and made use of
those two minutes in trying to conjure up some plan to defeat the
robber. He had not the slightest intention of allowing him to put his
hands on that money if it were possible for him to prevent it, and he
was wondering if he could not make use of a little strategy. If he could
invent some excuse to get Pierre out of the room for a few moments, he
was sure that he could release his hands. Would it not be a good plan to
tell him where he had hidden the key, and while Pierre was in the office
searching for the gold, free himself from his bonds, and seize his
rifle, and make the villain a prisoner? Wouldn't it be a glorious
exploit, one of which he could be justly proud, if he could save the
twelve thousand dollars, and capture the Ranchero besides? Frank
thought it would, and determined to try it.
"Pierre," said he, "if I tell you where that key is, what will you do?"
"_If!_" exclaimed the Ranchero; "there are no ifs or ands about it. You
must tell me where it is."
"But what I want to know is, what will you do with me?"
"I promise you, upon the honor of a gentleman, that no harm shall be
done you."
"Gentleman!" sneered Frank. "The State's prison is full of such
gentlemen as you are. If I were trying to rob a man of a few cents, I'd
never think of calling myself a gentleman."
"Now, just look here," said Pierre, "if you think you can fool me, you
were never more mistaken in your life. A few cents, indeed! I heard all
that passed between you and Mr. Brown, and I know that there are twelve
thousand dollars somewhere in that office. I call it a fortune. It is
much more than I could ever earn herding cattle, and I am bound to have
it. Where's that key?"
"You must answer my question first," said Frank. "If you had the key in
your hand now, what would you do with me?"
"Well, as I am not fool enough to give you the least chance for escape,
the first thing I should do would be to tie you hard and fast to that
bed-post. Then I'd take the gold, mount my horse, and be off to the
mountains."
"And leave me tied up here?" exclaimed the prisoner.
"Exactly. Felix, or the housekeeper, would release you in the morning."
This answer came upon Frank like a bucket of cold water. His fine plan
for releasing himself and capturing the robber would not work. The
latter saw his look of disappointment, and laughed derisively.
"I am too old," said he, "to allow a boy like you to play any tricks
upon me. You won't tell me where the key is, then?"
"No, I won't. If that money was mine, you might take it, and I would run
the risk of catching you before you could get very far away with it. But
it belongs to my uncle; you have no claim upon it, and, what's more, you
sha'n't touch it."
"Is that your final answer?" asked the Ranchero, bracing himself for a
strong pull. "You had better ponder the matter well before you decide.
What do you suppose your uncle will think, when he comes home and finds
you hanging to this hook? He had rather lose the money a thousand times
over than to part with you."
Frank shuddered as the Ranchero said this, and, for the first time, he
felt his firmness giving away. But he was possessed of no ordinary
degree of fortitude, and, after a momentary thrill of terror, his
courage returned, and he looked at Pierre as bravely as ever.
The Ranchero paused for a moment or two, to give his last words time to
have their full effect, and then said: "Once more--yes or no."
"No, I tell you," was the firm reply. Scarcely were the words out of his
mouth, when the Ranchero began to pull down upon the lasso, and Frank,
in spite of his desperate struggles, was drawn up until he almost swung
clear of the floor. Pierre held him in this position for a few
seconds--it seemed an age to Frank, who retained his consciousness all
the while--and then gradually slackened up on the lasso, until his
prisoner's feet once more rested firmly on the floor. Frank reeled a
moment like a drunken man, gazed about him with a bewildered air, and
attempted to raise his hands to his throat, while the Ranchero stood
watching him with a smile of triumph.
"I have given you one more chance," said he. "Have you come to your
senses yet."
Frank tried in vain to reply. The choking he had endured had deprived
him of his power of utterance, but it had not affected his courage or
his determination. There was not the least sign of yielding about him.
Pierre had thus far conducted his operations with the most business-like
coolness, and in much the same spirit that he would have exhibited had
he been breaking one of Mr. Winters's wild horses to the saddle. He had
smiled at times, as he would have smiled at the efforts of the horse to
escape, and the thought that he should fail in his object had never
entered his head. He had been certain that he could frighten or torture
Frank into revealing the hiding-place of the office key; but now he
began to believe that he had reckoned without his host. He was
astonished and enraged at the wonderful firmness displayed by his
prisoner. He had never imagined that this sixteen-year-old boy would
prove an obstacle too great to be overcome.
"You are the most obstinate colt I ever tried to manage," said Pierre,
in a voice choked with passion; "but I'll break one of two things--your
spirit or your neck; it makes no difference to me which."
Without waiting to give his prisoner time to recover his power of
speech, the Ranchero wound the lariat around his hands, and was about to
pull him up again, when he was startled by the clatter of a horse's
hoofs in the court.
The sound worked a great change in Pierre. As if by magic, the savage
scowl faded from his face, and he stood for an instant the very picture
of terror. All thoughts of the twelve thousand dollars, and the
vengeance he had determined to wreak upon his prisoner, were banished
from his mind, and gave place to the desire to escape from the house as
secretly and speedily as possible.
"Who can that be?" he muttered, dropping the lasso, and throwing a
frightened glance ever his shoulder toward the door.
"I'm sure I don't know," said Frank, speaking with the greatest
difficulty; "and I don't care who it is, if he will only make a prisoner
of you."
The Ranchero scowled fiercely upon his plucky captive, hesitated a
moment, as if he had half a mind to be revenged upon him before he left
the house, and then, catching up his knife, and extinguishing the lamp,
he jerked open one of the windows, and disappeared in the darkness.
Frank was no less astonished than delighted at his unexpected
deliverance. He tried to shout, to attract the attention of the unknown
horseman, but all his efforts were unavailing. His attempts to release
his hands, however, which he commenced the instant the Ranchero left the
room, were more successful. Pierre's carelessness in tying the knots was
a point in his favor then; for, in less time than it takes to record the
fact, Frank was free. He threw the noose off his neck, pulled the lasso
down from the hook, and hastily coiling it up in one hand, he ran to
the place where he had left his rifle, fully determined that the robber
should not escape from the ranch without an attempt on his part to
capture him. His rifle was gone. The Ranchero had caught it up as he
bounded through the window, thinking he might find use for it, in case
he should happen to run against the visitor in the dark.
Frank looked upon the loss of his rifle as a great misfortune; for, not
only did he believe the weapon lost to him forever, but he was powerless
to effect the capture of the Ranchero, even if he succeeded in finding
him. However, he did not waste time in vain regrets. He sprang through
the window, and, running around the house, entered the court, to look
for the horseman whose timely arrival had saved his life. He went as far
as the archway that led into the court, and there he suddenly paused,
and the blood rushed back upon his heart, leaving his face as pale as
death itself. He had told the Ranchero that a dozen such men as he could
not overcome his uncle; but the scene before him belied his words. Flat
upon his back, in the middle of the court, lay Mr. Winters, with Pierre
Costello kneeling on his breast, one hand grasping his victim's throat,
and the other holding aloft his murderous-looking bowie, whose bright
blade glistened in the moonlight like burnished silver.
Frank started back, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. There could be no
mistake about it, for the moon shone brightly, rendering all the objects
in the court as plainly visible as if it had been broad daylight. He was
not only terribly frightened, but he was utterly confounded. He had
believed Mr. Winters to be fast asleep in his bed at the hotel in San
Diego; but there he was, when Frank least expected him, and, more than
that, he was being worsted in his struggle with Pierre. The boy could
not understand it.
"Unhand me, you scoundrel!" he heard Uncle James say, in a feeble voice.
"Not until you have given me the key of the safe," was the robber's
answer. "I have worked hard for that gold to-night, and I am not going
to leave the ranch without it."
Then commenced a furious struggle, and Frank turned away his head, lest
he should see that gleaming knife buried in his uncle's body.
Never before had Frank been so thoroughly overcome with fear. He had
just passed through in ordeal that would have tried the nerves of the
bravest man, and he had scarcely flinched; but to stand there a witness
of his uncle's deadly peril, believing himself powerless to aid him, was
indeed enough to strike terror to his heart.
"O, if I only had my rifle, or one of my pistols!" cried Frank,
"wouldn't I tumble that villain in a hurry? Or if I could find a club,
or could loosen one of these stones"--
Frank suddenly remembered that he held in his hand a weapon quite as
effective at short range, when skilfully used, as either a rifle or
pistol. It was his lasso; and, until that instant, he had forgotten all
about it. Then the blood flew to his cheeks; his power of action
returned, and his arms seemed nerved with the strength of giants. How
thankful was he, then, that his desire to become as expert as his two
friends, Johnny Harris and Dick Thomas, had led him to practice with
that novel weapon.
With a bound like an antelope he started toward the struggling men,
swinging his lasso around his head as he ran. Pierre, believing that he
had left Frank securely bound, and being too intent upon taking care of
his new prisoner to look for enemies in his rear, heard not the sound of
his approaching footsteps, nor did he dream of danger until the noose,
which, but a few moments before, had been around Frank's neck, settled
down over his own. Then he knew that his game was up. With a piercing
cry of terror he sprang to his feet, and, with frantic haste, endeavored
to throw off the lariat; but Frank was too quick for him.
"Aha!" he exclaimed, trying to imitate the tone in which the Ranchero
had spoken that same word but a few moments before. "Aha! Now I am going
to break one of two things--your spirit or your neck; I don't care
which. One good turn deserves another, you know."
As Frank said this, he threw all his strength into his arms, and gave
the lasso a vigorous jerk, which caused Pierre's heels to fly up, and
his head to come in violent contact with the pavement of the court.
"Now, then, Uncle James," exclaimed Frank, "we've got him. No you
don't!" he added, as the Ranchero made a desperate attempt to regain his
feet; "come back here!" and he gave him a second jerk, which brought him
to the ground again.
Frank was blessed with more than an ordinary share of muscle for a boy
of his age; but he could not hope to compete successfully with a man of
Pierre's size and experience, even though he held him at great
disadvantage. The Ranchero, as active as a cat, thrashed about at an
astonishing rate, and, before Frank knew what was going on, he had cut
the lasso with his knife--an action which caused our hero, who was
pulling back on the lariat with all his strength, to toss up his heels,
and sit down upon the rough stones of the court, very suddenly, while
Pierre, finding himself at liberty, jumped up, and ran for his life.
Mr. Winters had by this time regained his feet, and, catching up Frank's
rifle, which lay beside him on the pavement, he took a flying shot at
the robber just as he was running through the archway. Pierre's escape
was a very narrow one; for the bullet went through the brim of his
sombrero, and cut off a lock of his hair.