THE RUNNING NIGHT FIGHT.
An instant, the ranchmen and cowboys stood, too dumbfounded to move.
Then the shriek of a mocking jeer galvanized them into action.
Bang! Bang! Bang! went their guns, the deeper explosions of the rifles
and the staccato barks of the six shooters sounding above the roar of
the flames.
But, as though shielded by a magic armour, the spectre raced on,
unscathed by the rain of bullets.
“To the corral!”
“They’re after the cattle!”
“Get horses and after ’em!”
In shrill confusion, the shouts of advice and command were uttered by
cowboys and foremen.
But loud above them all rang Bowser’s roar:
“Deadshot, get your man!”
Striving with might and main to live up to his nickname, the cowboy
from the Double Cross ranch rushed on foot after the fleeing spectre,
pumping lead at it as fast as he could throw shells into his repeating
rifle.
The combination of effort to “make good” and the uneven footing,
however, proved too much for the cowboy, and when his magazine was
empty, the lone horseman was still riding away.
Realizing that were they to overtake the man, they must take up the
pursuit without delay, the ranch owners shouted at the rest of their
men to mount and give chase.
“Remember, a thousand dollars to the fellow who drops the fiend!”
shouted Bowser.
“And I’ll give the same!” yelled the owner of the burned ranch houses.
The thought of being burned out of house and home by the very miscreant
of whom they were planning to go in pursuit was sufficient incentive to
make the cowpunchers eager to inflict vengeance on the men who had so
defied them.
But the announcement of the two thousand dollars reward turned this
eagerness into frantic endeavor.
Yelling and shouting to one another, the cowboys raced hither and
thither, trying to catch their ponies which had dashed terror-stricken
from the burning corral.
“Hadn’t we better send some of the men to the cattle yard, to prevent
the raiders lifting any of the critturs?” asked Sandy, coming close to
his master.
The corral into which Hawks’ boys had driven the steers was so
situated, however, that the light from the flames enabled the men to
see three sides of the barbed-wire fence, while back of the fourth, the
flare lighted the plains.
And as they strained their eyes, no human form could they see except
the white spectre.
“Man, dear! he’s stopped and is watching his work!” cried Deadshot.
Instantly the eyes of the ranchmen and several of the cowboys, who
were near enough to hear the words, followed the direction of their
companion’s pointing finger.
There, as calm as though he were watching some cowpuncher frolic, sat
the white figure upon his horse.
“Skulls and crossbones! don’t you suppose there are any more of the
raiders?” queried Sandy, suddenly.
“Reckon that’s all,” grunted Ki Yi. “If there had been more of ’em, we
would have been told by a few bullets.”
“Nonsense!” retorted Bowser. “You don’t mean to tell me that one lone
horseman could bedevil my men and me, cut my fences, stampede my cattle
and get away with fifty of ’em, do you? Man, you’re crazy!”
“I ain’t saying there warn’t more than one in the raid on the Double
Cross,” returned Ki Yi. “What I said was there’s only one mixed up in
this here night’s business.”
“Then, by thunder! get busy, you dubs, and corral him!” roared the
owner of the Star and Moon. “The idea of one man being able to burn my
buildings and get away when I’ve four men of my own and Bowser has two
right on the spot!”
Stung by the scorn and disgust in the ranchman’s tones, Ki Yi, Dude and
Deadshot were moving away to take some of the ponies the other members
of the Star and Moon outfit had managed to catch when they were halted
by Sandy’s words.
“I wouldn’t be too quick to break away, Hen,” he cautioned. “Your
steers may be quiet enough now--the only fussing they’re doing is what
is naturally to be expected with the fire flaring in their eyes--but
I don’t doubt for a minute, there are five or six raiders in amongst
’em, ready to cut loose and stampede the critturs the minute they see
us riding away. That’s probably part of their scheme--they’re counting
on our giving chase to that ghostie. That’s probably why he’s sitting
out there, so all-fired cool. It don’t stand to reason that a lone man
would take such chances against eight when he could be hiking across
the plains, putting distance between us and him while we’re making up
our minds what to do.”
The obvious soundness of the foreman’s argument gave it instant
attention from the ranch owners.
In the first place, it tended to lessen the odium of their having
been thrown into a panic--in addition to being made to suffer very
appreciable losses--by one man. And though their eyes showed them only
a single raider, they were only too willing to believe that more of
them were hidden among the cattle, merely awaiting a propitious moment
to make their presence known.
Accordingly, they accepted more readily the suggestion of Sandy than
was warranted in view of the fact that both Deadshot and Ki Yi believed
the Midnight Raider was the lone horseman, spectral in appearance,
that mocked them so tauntingly by remaining in plain sight of the
destruction he had wrought.
“That’s more like the truth, Hen,” asserted the owner of the Double
Cross, after he had deliberated over his foreman’s words a few moments.
“Ki Yi and Deadshot always were excitable boys. It’s a good thing Sandy
has a little common sense and the courage to express it, or we’d have
been stampeded by the two of ’em into chasing that howling devil--and
giving the rest of the gang the chance to carry off your cattle at
their pleasure.”
“Righto!” returned Hawks. “There’s nothing pays more than making haste
slowly.
“Hey, you fellows, bring horses for Sam and me and then we’ll ride over
to the corral and inspect the fences.”
“Then you don’t care about getting that spook?” inquired Deadshot.
“Last night, you remember, Sam, you was all for chasing the lifters,
notwithstanding the fact you didn’t have the slightest idea in which
direction they had ridden, and letting the cattle go. _Now_, when you
have the biggest sort of a chance to run down the cuss, you are all for
patrolling the corral.
“If _I_ was running this business, and a man had driven off a bunch
of my steers, and then set the buildings, belonging to the man I was
getting to join the trail with me, afire, and I saw the man who turned
the tricks a-watching what I was going to do, I’d want to pump his
good-for-nothing carcass so full of lead it wouldn’t stay on his horse.
That would make sure of at least _one_ of ’em--and I’m inclined to
agree with Ki Yi that when we get that one, we’ve got the gang.”
“You’re the great little talker, Deadshot; the only trouble is you talk
too much. A person can’t tell when you’re saying things just for the
sake of hearing yourself saying them, or whether you’re talking facts,”
retorted the owner of the Double Cross.
“It’s my judgment there are more of the devils in amongst the cattle,
and for that reason, I’m for inspecting the corral fence. By being
on the spot, we’ll be able to get the whole crowd instead of only
one--like we would if we set sail after that fiend out yonder.”
“To the corral it is,” exclaimed Hawks. “So let’s get over there and
not stand arguing here. First thing we know, they’ll rush out and we’ll
lose the whole kit and boodle, as Sam says.”
“Which we’ll do anyhow!” growled Ki Yi to Deadshot.
But the cowboys were too wise to press the argument any harder
and, declaring one to another that the blame would not be on their
shoulders, they cantered over to the corral.
Bitterly, indeed, were the ranch owners to rue their decision!
“How long do you intend to patrol the fences?” asked Dude, as the eight
men drew close to the corral.
“If we find the barbed wire is cut, till the devils show themselves,”
returned the owner of the Star and Moon, “even if we have to stay here
all night.”
“According to that, if the fences aren’t cut, do you mean you will
believe the raiders aren’t inside?” sneered Deadshot.
The tone of the cowboy angered Bowser and Hawks, and the former was not
slow in letting him know it.
“Don’t try to get smart, Deadshot,” he snapped. “You know as well as
I do--or you ought to know--that the reason we aren’t accepting your
advice is because we can’t trust you.
“Of course, if we find the fences haven’t been tampered with, we’ll
turn our attention to the spectral rider. So be lively and inspect the
cor----”
“Well, you’ll be too late to round up _that_ chap to-night,” retorted
Deadshot, grimly.
“Why?” demanded both the ranchmen.
“Because he’s disappeared!”
In amazement, the men turned in the direction in which they had seen
the lone horseman calmly sitting his pony.
Not a sign of him was visible!
“But he was there a few minutes ago!” gasped several of the cowpunchers.
“So was Hen’s house,” grunted Deadshot.
“Watch out for the fences!” cried Sandy. “His going is probably the
signal for the dash from the corral!”
With spur and quirt, the cowboys raced around the enclosure which,
fortunately for them, was still illumined by the flares from the ruins
of the ranch house, while Bowser and Hawks waited near the gate in
silence.
“Nothing wrong with the wires on the East;” reported Sandy, the first
of the cowpunchers to complete his tour of inspection.
Comment by the ranchmen was prevented by the quick succession in which
the rest of their boys rode in, announcing that on the other sides of
the big yard the fences were intact.
“Tricked!” grunted Ki Yi. “That Midnight Raider is sure one nervy
crittur!”
“That’s the ticket--but he hasn’t got anything on me!” retorted
Deadshot. “Sam, I suppose you don’t mind if I hit his trail _now_, do
you?”
“Go as far as you like--only get the devil!” returned his master.
“Then come on, Ki Yi! We’ve no time to lose!” shouted the man from the
Double Cross.
And, without giving either of the ranch owners the chance to proffer
any advice, even had they been so inclined, which they were not on
account of the fiasco of the inspection, the two cowpunchers dashed out
onto the plains in the direction where they had last seen the lone
horseman.
“He’s worked the same vanishing act he did at the Double Cross!”
declared Deadshot, as he raced along beside his companion. “So don’t
expect to see something white suddenly bob up.”
Quickly the two men, whose opinions had been disregarded, got beyond
the line where the reflection of the fire illumined the plains for them.
But, though they could not distinguish objects ahead of them readily,
their bodies were distinctly outlined against the background of
flames--as they were soon to learn to their sorrow!
Scarce another hundred yards had they ridden, than Bang! went a rifle
to the West of them and an instant later, Ki Yi’s horse gave a snort of
pain and plunged forward, all but throwing his rider over his head.
With a string of shocking oaths, the cowboy disentangled himself from
his stirrups and began to pump his rifle in the direction whence the
shell had come.
“Get to him, man! Get to him!” he shouted at Deadshot. “Your pony is
fresh and you can soon overhaul him. I’ll let you get his direction by
drawing his fire. It’s a cinch he can’t blaze away at both of us at the
same time--when we are in different places.”
The last words of the dismounted member of the Star and Moon outfit
were lost upon Deadshot, however.
No sooner had he seen the fate that had overtaken his comrade than he
had dashed away.
“You may have given me the slip once, you ornery crittur, but you can’t
get away from Deadshot Pete twice running!” he hissed.
Yet the bragging cowpuncher was almost forced to eat his words!
True to his promise, Ki Yi was doing his best to hold the attention of
the lone horseman by sending bullet after bullet in his direction.
But the Midnight Raider was clever, and, safe in the cover of the
darkness, he stopped firing to discover what had become of his other
pursuer.
As he beheld him leaping his horse over the waving grass, he grinned.
“The surest way to stop him is to drop his horse, too,” he muttered to
himself. And, taking careful aim, he waited until Deadshot was within
less than two hundred yards of him, then fired.
But his second shot was not so lucky as his first.
Instead of tumbling the pony over, the shell sailed harmlessly over the
cowpuncher’s head.
“So that’s where you are, eh?” snapped Deadshot, as he gauged the
direction of the raider. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
And, as he uttered the words, he threw his rifle to his shoulder and
pulled the trigger.
Realizing that he had failed of his purpose, the lone horseman was too
shrewd to linger, and, whirling his pony, headed for his hiding place,
with the Double Cross cowboy in hot pursuit.