“Up the rocks, men, quick!” cried the inspector in command of the
little _posse_ of police.
Promptly the troopers swarmed forward from behind their horses,
rushed to the side of the ravine, and began clambering up it. The
majority of them chose a place where the cliff sloped gently back
and was broken up into shelves and ledges like a natural stairway.
A couple remained entrenched behind the horses, with their rifles
leveled across their own animals’ backs, covering their comrades.
The inspector led the rush up the rocks. No shots were fired at
them, and it was plain that the White Hoods had fled the scene.
The inspector topped the cliff first, a revolver in either hand.
With eyes fiercely peering into the bushes and the darkness before
him, he sidled up hurriedly to Sergeant Dick.
“Thank heaven, we came this way, sergeant. We were just in the nick
o’ time.”
In another half-minute John Dick was free in body and limb again,
and the inspector was shaking him by the hand, while the troopers
could be heard beating the bushes all about and searching these with
bulls’-eyes and electric torches to find the trail of the rustlers.
A pleased shout denoted a discovery, and the inspector and Sergeant
Dick at once made for the spot.
“Inspector,” said Dick, quietly, as they went, “we needn’t trouble
about following their trail. I know who two of the band are, or, at
any rate, I believe I know who they are. And, what is more, I have
discovered the band’s secret duffing-den, and can lead you to it.”
“You know two of them, and where their duffing-yard is? Excellent!
Who are the pair?”
“Bill Seymour, the shepherd hereabouts on Lonewater Ranch, _and his
wife_. At least, as I said, I have reason to believe that they are
two of the gang.”
“_And his wife!_”
“Yes. And she’s not the only woman in the gang. There are several.
They disguise themselves as men, of course, and are the wives
and--and daughters, I believe, of the others.”
“You suspect others than the Seymours, then?”
“I do; but I will not name any others yet for fear I am making a
dreadful mistake. If you will allow me _carte blanche_ in the
matter, however, inspector, and not ask me to name these other
suspects right away, I will take means to verify my suspicions
within the next twenty-four hours.”
“Do as you please, sergeant. I will not interfere with you,” replied
the inspector, whose name was Medhurst. “Now what we must do is at
once divide our forces, I suppose, and let one party make for the
Seymours’ hut, to lay them by the heels, and the other accompany you
to this duffing-yard you say you’ve discovered.”
“I think we can kill the two birds with the one stone, inspector,”
replied Sergeant Dick, who had been studying the positions of the
stars while he was talking. “We are on the northwest side of the
cliffs of the Wonderful Echo, are we not? And not far from the
Seymours’ shanty?”
“That is so. The Indians and trappers round here call these curious
terraced heights just along to our right the Cliffs of the Wonderful
Echo. Their name on the map, and of the whole range, is the Waikuta
Hills.”
“Well, I believe the entrance to the secret duffing-yard of the gang
is close beside the Seymour shanty. Let us make a move thither at
once. If we lose no time we may find the entire gang at the shanty,
for they can have no idea, I think, that I suspect even the two
Seymours.”
“You wouldn’t advise dividing our force--sending a few of the men
along the trail the fellows have left?”
“No, for two reasons, inspector. First, because I must tell you the
band wear armor under their white smocks and hoods.”
“What!”
“It is true. They wear coats of mail, capable of stopping a bullet,
just like the Kelly Gang of bushrangers did in Australia. You’ve
read of Ned Kelly, the iron bushranger?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Well, this gang all wear a similar kind of armor. Evidently they
got their idea from the Kelly Gang. And with them thus protected,
we’ll need all the men we’ve got, inspector, if not more, to capture
or wipe them out.”
“By Jove, yes, in that case.”
“My other reason against your sending any of the troopers to follow
the trail is that the fellows are bound to blind it effectually, as
they have done before.”
“Just so, or it might mean sending the men to their death; the White
Hoods might form an ambush, and, iron-clad as they are--” He broke
off, and added, “I will send a man on to Paquita for reënforcements,
and we’ll make for the Seymours’ place.”
Without further delay, one of the two troopers with the horses in
the ravine was sent galloping on down the road, south towards the
Indian Reservation. Inspector Medhurst, Sergeant Dick, and the
troopers around them returned to the man’s companion; and, all
mounted, Dick being taken up behind the inspector, who rode a big,
powerful bay, strong enough to carry them both a good few miles
without turning a hair.
Northward, then, they struck, back along the road leading towards
Lonewater, the way they had come.
Only a short distance did the road skirt the line of hills, then
these turned sharply eastward, while the road continued on
northward.
The hoofs of the horses, being muffled, had made no sound on the
road. And the party now quitted this and followed the cliff-line,
striking across an undulating meadow-like country, or prairie,
broken up here and there by wooded hills or “buttes.”
As they rode at the gallop, it was not easy to carry on a
conversation. Nevertheless, Sergeant Dick and Inspector Medhurst
were able to exchange occasional remarks on account of the way they
were riding; and the former explained that he had heard the
ringleader of the White Hoods call one of the others “Bud.”
“Bud!” exclaimed the inspector. “That’s Bill Seymour right enough.
He goes by the nickname of ‘Bud’ among his friends. He’s better
known as ‘Bud’ Seymour than Bill, as a matter of fact.”
“That so? I didn’t know that, but when the Arnolds were directing me
as to my best way of getting to Lonewater, they mentioned Bill
Seymour--I was to make a half-way call at his place--and one of the
sons chanced to refer to him once as ‘Bud’ Seymour. His wife, too, I
understand, is named Martha, and one of the White Hoods, who was
certainly a woman, the fellow ‘Bud’ called ‘Martha,’ as he helped
her to her feet just before they vamoosed.”
“That’s good enough,” gleefully crowed Inspector Medhurst. “Seymour
and his wife are members of the gang, sure enough.”
Medhurst went on to explain that the foreman of the Lonewater Ranch
had been visiting the Seymours earlier in the evening, and, on his
way eastward to pay his respects to the Arnolds, had seen three of
the White Hoods riding towards him.
“They did not see him,” said the inspector. “He had just pulled up
among some trees to light his pipe, and he hid himself and his
horse, and waited until they had passed by. Then he postponed his
call at ‘Water Castle,’ and made back to Lonewater at top-speed to
rouse us out after the fellows. From the direction the three were
taking, he concluded they were making round the hills for the
Paquita Road, and so we came this way. I thought they might be after
the Paquita and Lonewater stage, and so ordered the horses to be
muffled, and lucky for you, sergeant, that I did, eh?”
“Yes, indeed, sir. The foreman of Lonewater saw only _three_ of the
gang. H’m!”
Neither of the pair said anything further until, presently, the
inspector whispered that they were close to the Seymours’ shanty,
and silently signaled to the troopers behind to halt and dismount.
“We’ll creep up to the place on foot and try to carry it at a rush,
in case they are all inside,” he added.
As before, two troopers were left with the horses, and the pair were
instructed to prevent the animals from neighing. Ten in number, the
rest of the police were spread out in a long line, with the
inspector at one end of it and Sergeant Dick at the other, and they
crept forward through the darkness and the billowy grass.
The pace was purposely slow, and each man put his heel on the ground
before the toe at every step, thus making no noise.
The high, beetling cliffs on the right hand overshadowed them all,
but, before they had advanced fifty yards, Sergeant Dick saw the
blacker outline of the log-hut cutting the skyline.
All was in darkness as if the inmates were asleep or absent.
Stealthily the police deployed still more, so as to enclose the
hut--throw their line from one side of it to the other, and hem it
in against the cliff-wall at its back. Then the whispered word was
passed along from man to man to close in upon it, as they advanced
again.
Not a sound broke the stillness of the night. The grass now was
short, and the ground hard and rocky in places, so the troopers put
their toes first to earth and raised their feet high with each step,
in accordance with the rules taught them for moving silently under
such conditions.
They got up close to the hut--within half a dozen strides of it--and
then with a swift rush reached the door and windows--were around it.
Unceremoniously, the troopers in front of the door immediately
battered at it with their rifle-butts, waking a hundred echoes from
the cliffs and hills while those at the windows thrust their
rifle-barrels in under the shutters to pry these open.
In less time almost than it takes to relate it, a window-shutter at
either side of the premises had been forced open, and the assailants
were ready to pour as many volleys into the house.
Everything remained silent within, however, and Sergeant Dick called
out, softly:
“They are not back yet, inspector. The place is deserted, I should
say.”
It was as he said, and, abandoning the assault on the stout,
strongly barred door, all the police flocked to the unshuttered
windows. These were forced in their turn, but with as little noise
as possible now, and the troopers climbed in and ranged through the
rooms.
“There’s an underground passage leading from the hut to a secret
cave within the cliffs, inspector. Do you know?” Sergeant Dick said,
as he and the inspector met inside the kitchen, entering through
opposite windows.
“Look for it, men. It will be in one of the inner rooms. There’s no
sign of it here.”
“Here it is, sir!” immediately sang out one of the troopers from the
bedroom.
Sergeant Dick and his superior officer ran in and saw the troopers
raising a trapdoor in the floor. It had been covered by a strip of
druggeting, and, moreover, by the bed.
These had been dragged aside before the troopers entered, evidently
by the Seymours, who had gone out that way.
A square, box-like hole, timbered all round, about four feet deep,
was uncovered.