IN HOT PURSUIT.
The party of savages with the two captives in their midst, evidently
intended to reach the hills, if possible, before being overtaken by the
Steam Man.
At first Frank had fancied it easy to cut them off.
But there were several depressions in the prairie which the Man had to
circuit, and the distance was greater than Frank had really dreamed of.
Like a runaway locomotive the Steam Man raced over the plain.
The vigilants were having a running fight with the savages.
But Frank Reade, Jr., was doomed to disappointment.
He failed to cut off the band of abductors, and they vanished from sight
in a deep pass.
It was too rocky a trail for the Steam Man to follow. Thus far the
villains had the best of it.
“Golly sakes, Marse Frank!” cried Pomp, “dey done git away wif dem
prisoners fo’ suah.”
“It looks like it,” agreed Frank, in a baffled tone, “but there ought to
be some way to cut them off.”
“Begorra, there’s only won way,” declared Barney.
“What is that?”
“Let the naygur sthay with the man, an’ you an’ I will go afther the
divils a-foot,” said the Celt.
For a moment Frank entertained no hopes of the success of such a plan.
Then he glanced back to the prairie where the vigilants and the Indians
were having their Battle.
It was nip and tuck between them, but Frank saw that the vigilants were
fast getting the best of it.
Not more than half a dozen of the savages had the captives in charge.
To be sure, the odds were three to one, yet Frank believed that with the
plucky Barney’s help, they could defeat them.
To think with Frank Reade, Jr., was to act.
He did not waste time, but seizing a rifle, cried:
“Your idea is a good one, Barney. We will act upon it. Pomp, keep a
sharp eye out for danger untill we return.”
“A’right Marse Frank,” replied the faithful darky.
Barney, delighted that Frank had seen fit to adopt his plan, was quickly
ready and they left the wagon.
The Indians, to be sure, had the start of them, but the pass was rocky
and it was hardly likely that they would succeed in getting a great
lead.
Swiftly the two rescuers pressed forward.
They climbed over piles of bowlders, crept through narrow defiles, and
climbed high steeps.
It seemed that progress must be slow for the ponies of the Indians, and
they should be overtaken before long.
Suddenly Barney paused with a sharp cry.
He seized Frank by the arm and pulled him back into the cover of an
angle in the mountain wall.
He was none too soon.
The crack of rifles smote upon the air and the shower of bullets came
down into the pass.
“Bejabers, I saw the spalpeens just in the nick av time!” declared
Barney, peering around the edge of the cliff wall. “Av I hadn’t we’d
have been dead gossoons as sure as me name is Barney.”
“You’re right there!” cried Frank, slipping extra cartridges into his
rifle; “that was a close call.”
“Indade it was.”
“I had no idea we were so near the rascals.”
“Bejabers, I didn’t mesilf till I see the top-knot av wan of thim over
that ridge yonder.”
“They are ready for us, then.”
“Bejabers, and we’re ready too. If I iver get a bead on any wan av them
there’ll be a job for the coroner, bad cess to thim.”
“Where are they? I can’t see their position very well.”
“Aisy, Misther Frank,” said Barney, “they’re hiding up yonder jist
ferninst that big scrub av an oak on the edge of the cliff.”
Frank looked in that direction. Suddenly Barney gave a sharp cry.
“Whurro!” he yelled.
Quick as a flash his rifle went to his shoulder.
Crack!
A yell of agony rang through the gorge. Then down over the cliff tumbled
an Indian almost at the Celt’s feet.
The bullet had pierced his skull and his final account was settled.
“Good shot, Barney!” cried Frank, “that only leaves five for us to
tackle.”
Then quick as a flash the young inventor threw his rifle to his
shoulder.
Crack!
Another yell, a death cry went up on the air of the defile.
“Bejabers, that’s only four av the divils left,” chuckled Barney. “It’s
only two to wan, Misther Frank.”
“You’re right, Barney!” cried Frank, with enthusiasm, “but the odds are
yet too great.”
The outlook now was certainly encouraging for the rescue of the
prisoners.
But the two rescuers knew better than to essay an open attack.
The Indian method of warfare was in this case far the best. They
remained strictly under cover.
All was quiet on the bluff above.
But it was not by any means likely that the foe were inactive.
The great danger now was that they would continue to slip away deeper
into the hills and reach some inaccessible hiding place.
Our rescuers waited as long as seemed consistent with safety.
Then Frank said:
“I think we’d better make a break, Barney.”
“All roight, sorr,” replied the Celt. “Do yez think it safe?”
“We must use caution. It may be possible that they are trying to draw us
from our hiding place.”
“So I thought, sorr.”
“Again, they may be far into the hills by this time. We will gain
nothing by staying here.”
“All roight, sorr.”
Barney begun to scan the side of the cliff. A path was not visible
anywhere. Yet the Celt did not believe it impossible to climb to the
top.
If this could be done they might then succeed in getting upon level
ground with the foe and escape the risk of their bullets.
Frank divined Barney’s purpose and said:
“I think we can climb it, Barney.”
“Bejabers we’ll thry.”
Barney had just got his hands and feet into niches in the cliff when a
startling sound came up the pass.
“Hark!”
“What is it?”
The tramp of ponies’ feet could be heard and the distant baffled yells
of savages were wafted up on the breeze.
“The Indians are coming up the pass,” cried Frank, with dismay. “Barney,
there’s not an instant to lose.”
“Begorra, yez are roight,” cried the Celt, beginning to make his way up
the cliff.
It was a smart climb up the steep wall, but it was safely made at
length.
They were now on level ground with the four captors. But a careful
reconnoitering of the vicinity showed that they had left.
In the lull in the conflict they had slipped away into the hills.
But Barney took the trail and they went forward again in pursuit.
The sounds of the foe coming up the pass in their rear, however, every
moment became plainer.
But fortunately, just at a point where the trail diverged deeper into
the hills, the foe must have turned in another direction for very soon
the sounds died out.
“We have nothing to fear from them,” cried Frank, with a breath of
relief. “They have gone in another direction.”
Very soon the hills began to merge into a deep valley. Through this
there ran a swift stream.
As Frank and Barney entered the valley Barney shouted:
“Be me sowl, there be the spalpeens now.”
“Where?” asked Frank.
“Jist down there ferninst that grove of trees, Misther Frank.”
“Sure enough.”
The four savages and their captors were plainly seen on the banks of the
creek.
They were just in the act of embarking in a canoe.
Frank saw that he must act quick if he would prevent this.
So he said, sharply:
“Go to the right, Barney, I will go to the left, and we must head them
off.”
“All right, sorr.”
Away went Barney on the mad run. The savages had already got the canoe
into the water.
They saw him coming and a yell was the signal. The captives were hustled
into the light craft and it was pushed out from the shore.
Down into the current it went. There was no time to lose.
Frank Reade, Jr., came to a stop and raised his rifle. It was a
desperate chance but he took it.
A quick aim, a bead skillfully drawn on one of the paddlers and——
Crack!
A wild Indian yell went up and the prow of the canoe swung around.
Over into the water went the doomed savage. The shot had been a good
one.
But the canoe was at the moment at the head of some swift rapids.
The next moment it was racing down them, and turning a bend in the
stream, vanished from view.
Frank had not time to draw another bead before it was out of sight, and
when it reached the lower level and came into view again it was out of
range.
Barney came along now and shouted:
“Be jabers, yez did well, Misther Frank. That was a beautiful shot.
There’s only three av ther red divils left.”
This was true, but the three savages seemed likely to elude their
pursuers after all.
The canoe was racing down the stream, and fast nearing a defile in the
hills.
If it should enter this, there was little doubt but that the fugitives
would make their escape.
Frank and Barney saw this in the same moment.
“Begorra, Mother Frank, we must cut the divils off!” cried the Celt.
“Forward, then!” cried Frank. “Is there not a short cut?”
Both looked for this. In the same instant they espied it.
The creek took a long turn, and by cutting directly across a meadow the
two pursuers saw that they would be likely to cut off the savages.
Accordingly they started forward on the run.
The Indian captors saw their move at once, and an angry yell went up
from them.
One of them rose in the canoe and took quick aim and fired.
The bullet whistled close to Barney’s ear. The Celt stopped and cocked
his rifle.
“Be jabers, I’ll spoil that fellow!” he cried, “Have at yez, ye
blatherskite!”
Barney’s rifle spoke.
But the motion of the canoe very likely destroyed the aim, for the
bullet did not take effect.
At this point the canoe took a swift course, and in the twinkling of an
eye seemed to have overcome the skilled hand at the paddles.
In a flash it went over and the entire party were dumped into the waters
of the creek.
A great cry went up from Frank Reade, Jr.
“My God! they will be drowned!”
Forward the brave young inventor rushed. He thought of poor Barrows with
his hands tied.
Thrown into the waters of the creek, it did not seem as if any power on
earth could save him.
But two of the savages had seized the prisoners. The canoe had
overturned in close proximity to the shore.
The third savage gave assistance, and as the water did not chance to be
deep, all got ashore.
“Now we have them!” cried Frank, confidently.
But his statement was premature.
Even as it seemed that the rescue was certain, an incident occurred to
prevent.
From behind a small hillock appeared Red Bear’s gang of Apaches, full
half a hundred strong.