BLACK RAMON’S TRICKERY.
“This looks like some of that rascal Ramon’s work!”
Jack paused in the fruitless search and wiped the perspiration from his
forehead.
The officer of the Rangers, whose name was Antonio Del Rio, carefully
rolled a brown paper cigarette and lighted it before he glanced up at
the troubled young countenance before him.
“I think you are right, senor. During your absence he and his band must
have surprised the camp and carried your amigos off as prisoners, that
is, unless they themselves have taken to the trail.”
“And leave me behind! Not likely. No, senor, they have met with some
foul play.”
“I proffer you my services and those of my Rangers,” was the prompt
rejoinder, “we will set out at once.”
“But the question is, in which direction shall we go?” asked Jack,
frankly bewildered.
“Wait. I will call Juan Andreas. He is the most expert tracker in the
Rurales, and if there is a chance of picking up their trail, he will do
it.”
Andreas proved to be a small, shrivelled Mexican on a “paint” or
spotted pony. Jack saw that his eyes flashed like those of an old
hunting dog, as, in obedience to his superior’s command, he slipped
from his pony and began running about in the surrounding woods,
crouching low, with his nose almost on the ground.
Suddenly he stopped, straightened up, and with a gesture almost regal,
he raised a hand and pointed to the west.
“They go that way,” he said in Mexican.
The young officer nodded. The notes of the bugle rang out, and an
instant later the camp site was once more deserted as the cavalcade
dashed off through the dense woods in hot pursuit of the missing men
and boys.
It is now time that we inquire for ourselves just what was happening
and had happened to Ralph, Walt, Coyote Pete and the professor. After
Jack had left the camp then, the professor with his geological hammer
had started out to get specimens, of which he already had several
pounds, much to Coyote Pete’s disgust.
He wandered down the canyon and had perhaps gone further than he
intended, when suddenly he was seized from behind, his arms pinioned
and the cold muzzle of a pistol pressed to the back of his neck.
“Now march,” came a crisp order, and the man of science, being also
a man of discernment, “marched.” He did not dare to turn his head,
but from the trampling of hoofs behind him he judged that several men
must be following in his wake. Before long he found that they were
undoubtedly headed for the Border Boys’ camp. But he dared make no
outcry, for the old man had guessed already that his captors must be
Black Ramon’s men, and he knew that they held human life no dearer than
so much dust.
Arrived near to the camp, the old man was tied to a tree and gagged,
and then his captors, whom he now recognized as Ramon’s band, scattered
among the trees in such a manner that they completely encircled the
camp. All at once one of them began to make a peculiar sound,—a
perfect imitation of the “gur-gur-gur-gobble” of the wild turkey.
How the professor longed to warn the boys of the crafty trap that was
being set for them! But he was powerless to do anything. As the wily
band of marauders had guessed, the “skirling” of the supposed turkey
was enough to set the camp agog. Snatching up shotguns, Walt and Ralph
plunged off into the underbrush. They had not gone twenty paces before
the brigands, noiselessly as panthers, seized and bound them, old coats
being held over their heads to prevent their making any outcry. This
done, they were bound to the same tree as the professor.
The capture of Coyote Pete alone, now remained to be accomplished.
For, as we know, though the marauders were not aware of the fact, Jack
was far from the camp at the time. But in Coyote the Mexicans caught a
Tartar. The old plainsman was frying some bacon, stooping low over the
coals, when the sharp crack of a twig behind him caught his attentive
ear. Like a flash he bounded erect, but not before the muzzles of a
dozen rifles were aimed at him from the underbrush.
Black Ramon was taking no chances with Coyote Pete, whom he knew both
by reputation and experience.
For one instant, as he took in the situation, Coyote was still as a
figure carved from marble. Only the heaving of his chest under his blue
shirt showed that he was, for him, considerably startled.
Suddenly, and without the slightest warning, the old plainsman
crouched low, and then dashing straight at the nearest Mexican, seized
him by the legs, and before the others had recovered their senses,
he had hurled the fellow backward by an expert wrestling trick. The
astonished Mexican alighted in the midst of the campfire, overturning
the spider, from which he was plentifully sprinkled with scalding bacon
fat.
In this way Coyote, cut off from reaching his own weapons, managed to
possess himself of a rifle.
“Now,” he shouted, “the first varmint that fires at me gets some of
this lead. I may only have one shot, but I’ll make that one tell.”
A storm of bullets was the result, but Coyote with that quick foresight
which was his characteristic, threw himself flat behind a large rock,
with the result that the leaden hail spattered against the solid stone.
Suddenly a figure on a black horse rode into the little clearing. It
was Ramon himself. Without the slightest hesitation Coyote threw up
his rifle to his shoulder, and, disregarding his own danger, fired
point blank at the outlaw leader.
But for once Coyote Pete’s aim was at fault. Ramon was not even
scratched by the missile.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Pete, “I begin ter think thar is suthin’ in that
story that he bears a charmed life arter all. I had a plum bead on him
and——”
In his astonishment at his missing such an easy shot, the cow-puncher
had not noticed several forms creeping through the dark woods behind
him. Before he had a chance to defend himself, he was dealt a mighty
blow on the back of the head by a “clubbed” rifle in the hands of one
of the outlaws whose head was encircled by a big bandage.
“Take that for the blow you struck me at the rancho,” grunted the
fellow, as Pete, spreading his arms, fell forward like a stunned ox.
The man who had dealt the blow was the same whom Pete had knocked off
the ladder on that memorable night at the lonely rancho.
“Pick him up and place him with the others,” ordered Ramon, without the
slightest trace of any emotion whatever showing on his copper-colored
face.
This order was swiftly carried out, and the consternation of the others
may be imagined when they saw the cow-puncher’s lanky form being
carried by two of the raiders. They had heard the shots and at first
they feared that Pete was dead, but to their relief, the next minute,
they overheard Ramon remark:
“Throw him upon his horse when you bring it up. He’ll be all right in a
short time.”
Presently the boys, with eyes that flamed with indignation, saw the
Mexicans leading up their stock, not forgetting the pack burros, whose
burdens had been hastily hitched on.
“Caramba, but I would like to lay my hands on that other one, that
Merrill boy, more than all the rest,” snarled Ramon through his yellow
teeth. “Take the gag out of that boy’s mouth yonder, and ask him where
Jack Merrill is,” commanded Ramon of one of his men, none other in
fact than the Acosta for whom Jack had been mistaken.
Ralph was the prisoner designated by Ramon, and not a little relieved
was he to have the not-over clean bit of cloth, with which his mouth
had been stopped, removed from his teeth.
“Now then,” blustered Ramon, “where is Jack Merrill?”
“Far from here and on a mission to Santa Anita,” retorted Ralph boldly.
He was an honest lad, but in such a case deceit was the only course
possible. If he had told the truth, the bandits were quite capable of
hiding and waiting for the boy, thus enmeshing the whole party.
“What has he gone there for? Be careful, boy, and speak the truth.”
“To get the Mexican Rangers to run down all such rascals as you,” was
the bold reply, and one which an instant later Ralph wished he had
bitten out his tongue before he made.
“Well, that being the case, forewarned is forearmed, as you say in
your country,” rejoined Ramon. Then in Spanish he gave orders to mount
immediately. First, however, he presented Jack’s pony Firewater to
Acosta, as a recompense, presumably, for the loss of the latter’s own
animal.
The boys and the professor were hustled into saddles and their legs
tied together under the ponies’ bellies. Ramon stood by looking on
sardonically while this was being done.
“You are not at the lone rancho now,” he chuckled, “but in the heart
of the most lonesome range of mountains in Mexico. That was a clever
trick of yours to escape with the senorita, but now you are going to
pay for it. Ah, yes, I shall have a revenge, and such a revenge it will
be, too!” He showed his long yellow fangs as he spoke, and chuckled
hideously. In spite of their determination to be calm, the lads
shuddered a bit. But the professor stared stonily at the ruffian.
“Am I to understand that it is your intention to abduct us?” he
demanded.
“It is,” was the rejoinder, “I mean to make you useful to me in many
ways. As my slaves in Trembling Mountain I’ll make you wish every hour
of the day that you had never tried to thwart Black Ramon. Forward!”
At the command the band dashed off. Coyote Pete, still unconscious,
tied to the saddle of his horse. The boys’ gags had been removed, as
had the professor’s of course, and as the rush of hoofs drowned other
sounds, Walt found an opportunity to say to Ralph:
“Thank goodness, old Jack’s still at large. Depend upon it, he’ll find
some way to get the Mexican Rangers and help us out of this.”
But Ralph shook his head.
“We’re at the last ditch now, Walt,” he replied. “I don’t see a chance
for us.”