A DOUBLE CAPTURE
Grace started away at a brisk trot, followed by Elfreda Briggs, until
they reached the bank of the creek.
“My gracious, Loyalheart, but you can race,” gasped J. Elfreda.
“Please work downstream, Elfreda. Watch carefully for footprints and
broken twigs. I shall proceed upstream. About a quarter of a mile above
here several deep canyons branch off, and it is possible that Emma may
have taken one of these in search of flowers and lost her way,” said
Grace.
“How far shall I go?” questioned Miss Briggs.
“Meet me here in an hour. Should you need me in the meantime, or,
should you find Emma, fire three signal shots, with an interval between
each shot. If in need of assistance I will do the same, and, should you
hear three interval shots, answer them by the same signal with your
rifle. That will be a warning to the camp as well. Hippy understands
that, in case we give such a signal, he is to come on the run, and
bring the girls with him, so that they may not be left alone in the
camp. Good-bye and the best of luck.”
Grace turned and hurried up the stream, Elfreda proceeding in the
opposite direction. Grace ran on until she reached the point where the
narrow canyons radiated out from the one the girls had first taken on
their way to the picnic ground.
A stream of clear, sparkling mountain water was rippling down each
radiating canyon, and fragrant wild flowers gently nodded their
greeting along the bank of the stream, from the crevices of rocks and
from little patches of dirt that clung precariously to the mountainside.
“I do not believe Emma Dean could resist these flowers,” murmured Grace.
In order to observe both banks, Grace stepped into the stream that
flowed from the larger of the canyons, and waded along it, regardless
of the fact that the icy-cold water instantly took all feeling from
her feet, her whole attention being centered on the flower-bordered
banks of the stream. Grace was peering at the wild flowers, looking for
plucked stems.
The Overton girl suddenly uttered an exclamation and sank down on her
knees at the edge of the creek.
“Ah! Plucked flowers. Some one has picked them within a few hours, for
the stems are still bleeding.”
Grace began examining the ground with infinite care, but though she
found flowers that had been crushed down, she failed to find a single
distinct footprint. Further up the stream, however, she came upon that
for which she had been searching--the imprint of a human foot, a small,
slender foot.
Reasonably certain that she had at last come upon the trail of her
missing companion, Grace sprang up and ran as rapidly as the rough
going would permit, plunging deeper and deeper into the canyon that was
now dimmed with the gloom of the approaching mountain night.
The Overton girl’s first impression was that she should fire her
rifle, but believing that Emma could not be far away, unless she had
wandered into still another canyon and become wholly lost in the maze,
Grace decided first to search a little further. At several such canyon
intersections Grace herself became confused, but careful examination of
a few yards of her own trail to the rear soon set her straight.
From time to time she would pause and raise her voice in a long-drawn
call that must have reached far up the canyon and up the mountainside
as well.
“I shall have to signal for assistance,” finally decided Grace,
the gloom now having become so deep that she was no longer able to
distinguish the tell-tale marks left by Emma Dean’s shoes.
“When Hippy and the girls come, we will build fires, and, with torches,
follow the trail until we find her.”
Grace decided to signal for assistance, and pointing her rifle into the
air she fired three times at intervals. She waited, listening intently.
There was no response that she could hear, so she fired three more
signal shots.
This time three faint reports were borne to her ears, but whether they
were the echoes of her own shots or the answer to her signals, Grace
did not know.
When about to move forward again, Grace’s nerves gave a tremendous jump
as a human voice sounded close at hand.
“What do you all reckon you’re shootin’ at?” demanded the voice. It was
a woman’s voice, which, in the circumstances, was a welcome thing to
Grace Harlowe, even though it was a voice that she did not know.
Grace whirled and brought her rifle to bear on the owner of the voice.
She peered into the darkness and was barely able to make out the form
of the speaker.
“Who are you?” demanded Grace.
“I reckon you’d better say somethin’ for yourself,” answered the woman.
“Very well. I am looking for a young woman who is missing from my
party, and who, I believe, came up this canyon.”
“Is her name Dean?”
“Yes, yes!” cried Grace. “You have found her?”
“I reckon so. The kid fell down and hurt herself a little. She’s up the
canyon a piece. I’ll show you.”
“Oh, thank you.”
The woman turned and strode away, Grace following, her anxiety for Emma
banishing all thoughts from mind of the strangeness of this woman’s
presence in the dark canyon.
With the rifle still tucked under her arm, Grace stumbled along over
the rough ground, managing to keep up with her guide, at the expense
of several falls. Grace knew that she was proceeding in the direction
which she believed Emma had followed, and she was, therefore, eager to
get ahead as rapidly as possible.
“Is Miss Dean badly hurt?” she questioned anxiously, stepping up beside
her companion.
“Hurt her ankle, thet’s all,” was the brief reply.
“Oh, that is too bad. How much further have we to go?”
“Reckon we’re there now. Miss Dean!”
“Emma! Are you there?” cried Grace.
“Grace! Oh, Grace! Save me!” wailed Emma Dean.
Grace Harlowe sprang forward, ahead of her companion, but she did
not reach Emma. A pair of wiry arms were suddenly thrown about her,
pinioning the Overton girl’s arms to her sides. Grace wriggled and
struggled desperately, using every trick she knew to free herself, and
appeared to be getting the best of the struggle, when an unlooked-for
interruption occurred.
“Bud!” cried the woman sharply.
A man sprang forward in response to the call.
“Take her gun!” panted the woman. “She’s a terror.”
The rifle was wrenched from Grace’s hand, then the man jerked her hands
behind her back and tied them there.
“Thar! I don’t reckon as you’ll do much more fightin’ right smart,”
declared the woman, releasing her grip and stepping back, breathing
heavily.
Grace, too, was breathing hard, but more from resentment than from
exhaustion. She now swiftly began to reason out the meaning of what
had occurred, and in a moment it became clear to her that she was in
the hands of the band that had been harassing the Overton girls on the
Apache Trail.
“Emma, are you hurt?” called Grace.
“Only my feelings. They’re wrecked,” answered Emma with a touch of her
old-time humor. “Come here, Grace.”
“Stay where you be!” commanded the woman.
“You are not otherwise hurt?” begged Grace.
“No,” answered Emma.
“Now, woman, if you do not mind explaining the meaning of this
high-handed affair, I am quite ready to listen,” announced Grace
Harlowe evenly, at the same time facing her captor, whose face she had
not yet been able to see in the darkness.
“Shut up!” ordered the man. “We got to git out of here on the jump.
Belle, you rustle her along, an’ if she gits balky, hit her a clip over
the haid. You owe her one anyhow.”
“I demand that you release us both instantly!” answered Grace.
Without replying, the woman roughly grasped Grace by an arm and
propelled her along at a swift pace, Grace stumbling over nearly every
step of the way, until they came up with two men who were guarding
several horses. At this juncture, the man addressed as “Bud” came
hurrying up to them, leading Emma Dean. Her hands, also, were securely
bound behind her, and Emma was abusing and threatening her conductor at
every step of the way.
“Oh, Grace!” she cried plaintively when she was halted close by her
friend.
“Keep quiet, Emma, please,” warned Grace. “Are your hands tied?”
“Yes. The brutes tied the rope so tight that it hurts awfully.”
“If we untie your hands will you promise not to try to get away?”
questioned Belle, addressing both girls.
“No!” answered Grace with emphasis.
The woman shrugged her shoulders.
“Cut them loose,” she ordered. “They can’t ride thet way without
fallin’ off. You women! If you try to run away, you’ll be shot, thet’s
all,” warned Belle as Bud severed the ropes that held the hands of the
two girls.
“Git up! Both of you. Be lively ’bout it, too,” he ordered, pointing to
one of the horses.
Grace took all the time in mounting that she dared, and Emma crowded
into the saddle behind her.
“Give the critter his haid. He knows where to go better’n you do, I
reckon,” advised Bud, swinging into his own saddle.
The woman rode up and took the lead, Bud falling in behind Grace and
Emma. Grace saw one man ride forward and join Belle, while still
another remained behind, standing by his horse. Evidently he was not
going with them.
The party then started up the canyon, the ponies now and then breaking
into a trot, as the footing permitted. Soon after the start, they began
climbing the mountain side, along what Grace realized was a narrow
trail, too narrow for safety, and on which the ordinarily sure-footed
ponies slipped and stumbled perilously.
“Tell me what occurred,” whispered Grace to her companion.
“I was picking flowers when that woman caught hold of me. I never heard
her approach, and she nearly scared me out of my wits when she grabbed
me and clapped a hand over my mouth. Grace, I overheard the woman and
that fellow Bud talking, and I learned some things. You can’t guess why
they have stolen us.”
“In revenge, I presume, for what we did to Con Bates and his fellows.
This, undoubtedly, is the gang that has been harassing us.”
“Yes, that is one reason. The other is that they hope to get some money
for us.”
“You mean ransom?” asked Grace in a guarded whisper.
“Yes. Isn’t it silly? It’s romantic, too.”
“So, that is it, eh? They will have a fine time getting it. I still
have my revolver inside my waist, Emma Dean, and, if necessary, I shall
use it. I don’t think they will dare to really harm us, but we must be
on the alert every minute for an opportunity to escape. Leave all that
to me, for I shall know when the time is opportune for such a move on
our part.”
“What if they search you and find the revolver?” questioned Emma.
“They had better not try it,” muttered Grace.
She told Emma that the Overton outfit were no doubt, even then,
searching for them, though she said she doubted the ability of the
searchers to pick up and follow the trail.
“Should Mr. Fairweather get back in time, he can and will follow it,
and I shall expect him to do that very thing. Above all, keep your
head, Emma dear, and do not talk too much. The less they know about us
the better. I don’t believe they know who I am, and I sincerely hope
they do not find out.”
“Yes, they do know. How, I can’t even guess, but one of the men came up
and reported to that ruffian, Bud, that you were coming up the trail
with Belle. He referred to you as the ‘Harlowe woman.’”
“Hm-m-m-m-m,” mused Grace. “They are sharper than I thought. Hold tight
to me, Emma. It won’t do at all for either of us to slip off. We are
liable to be shot if we do.”
As they worked their way up the mountain trail, Grace tore bits of
linen from her handkerchief and cautiously allowed them to drift to the
ground, hoping thereby to so mark the trail that their friends would
see and understand.
The captors did not speak a word to the girls, slipping hoofs, creaking
leather and the heavy breathing of the ponies being the only sounds
accompanying the journey.
Some time near morning a halt was made, and for a few minutes Bud and
the woman sat on their ponies listening. Grace surmised that they had
heard something. Either this or they were expecting to hear something.
A few minutes later the man who had been left down in the canyon came
jogging up to them, giving a signal whistle while still some distance
to the rear.
The woman rode out a few yards to meet the newcomer, and was joined
by Bud, whereupon an animated, but low-toned conversation between the
three ensued.
“Hang on! There’s goin’ to be some rough ridin’,” warned Belle as she
galloped up to the two girls, following the conference. “We’ve got to
make a certain place before sun-up. No funny business, neither,” she
added warningly.
It was a grilling ride that the Overton girls experienced during the
next two hours. A halt finally was called to enable two of the men to
go back and mask the trail of the ponies, but just how it was done
Grace was unable to see, owing to the darkness that still enshrouded
the mountains.
Day dawned slowly, finding the party threading its way through rocky
defiles, now well at the top of the ridge of mountains. Gray, rolling
hills and rocky towers were all about them, and in the east the
grayness of the skies was gradually giving way to pale rose and silver
that lengthened and brightened along a horizon broken by many mountain
peaks.
The party finally came to a halt in an open space, well screened by
rocks from view of any roving eyes that might be observing from near or
distant mountain tops.
There the captors made a hurried breakfast. Grace and Emma were
directed to help themselves to food, which they did, then sat down by
themselves to eat, under the observant eyes of their captors.
The men plainly were ill at ease, and it was evident that they still
were listening expectantly. Finally, one of the men saddled his horse
and rode back, he soon being lost to sight among the rocks.
“Those ruffians really fear that they are being followed,” muttered
Grace, barely loud enough for Emma, for whose ears the words were
intended, to hear. “They have sent that fellow back to take an
observation. I wonder if they have good reason for thinking that they
_are_ being followed?”
“Why can’t we cut and run?” suggested Emma.
“There is nothing to hinder our doing so, except that we probably
should be shot before we reached yonder rocks.”
“There comes Belle now!” whispered Emma excitedly.
“Keep quiet, please, and let me do the talking,” advised Grace.
The woman was approaching the two girls at a rapid step, an expression
in her eyes that Grace Harlowe did not like. In repose, Belle’s face,
while regular, and rather attractive at first glance, showed hard
lines, particularly about the mouth, indicating that, when occasion
demanded, she could be hard and merciless. The expression that the face
of their captor wore as she came towards them gave promise that the
present might be such an occasion.
Belle halted before the Overton girls and stood regarding them through
narrowed eyelids. Then she spoke, and what she had to say brought a
pallor to Emma Dean’s face, and stirred the fighting instincts of Grace
Harlowe to the danger point.