THE EIGHTH MOCCASIN APPEARS
"GIVE it up?" queried the leader.
"I answered you before on that head," retorted Sergeant Overton.
"Don't be a fool, kid. We don't want to hurt you. All we want is that
revolver."
"I don't want to give it up," rejoined Hal.
"You'd better!"
"It isn't mine to give, anyway. It belongs to the United States
Government."
"Uncle Sam will never see that revolver again," declared the leader of
the invaders, with profane emphasis. "And you'll never see your friends
again if you don't hit it fast for the ground."
"I'm here until further orders."
"You've got your orders!"
"I don't take any orders from you," retorted Hal with fine scorn.
"Open up on the fool, boys--all together!"
Three spurts of flame jetted out from the cover that the ruffians had
taken.
Hal steadied his arm by resting it across a branch before him, and fired
back, his aim, as before, at the leader.
He had the satisfaction of seeing that rascal's head duck below cover.
Though he could not know it then, Overton had clipped a lock of hair
from the fellow's hatless head.
Another volley, which Hal answered with another shot.
"What do you fellows want with guns if you can't shoot better!" hailed
Overton derisively.
He didn't want them to shoot any better, but he was trying to anger them
and thus make their shooting wilder.
"It won't take us more than half a minute more to get you," flung back
the leader.
Now that fellow raised himself, exposing himself more, but getting a
solid left-hand rest for his rifle.
Hal could see and feel that the rifle was pointed fairly at him.
On the instinct of the moment the young sergeant fired. And he would
have scored, had he not seen the other two riflemen leaving their cover
also to get a better aim. That realization spoiled his shot.
"Gracious! That was my last cartridge, too!" groaned the young sergeant
inwardly.
The realization made him feel creepy. It is one thing to fight bravely,
when one has the fighting tools and a knowledge of their use. But it is
quite another thing to face the certainty of being helpless with so many
armed foes bent on one's destruction.
None the less, summoning up all his courage, Hal broke the revolver at
the breech, allowing the ejector to shed the empty shells on the ground
underneath.
With lightning motions Hal went through the sham of filling his cylinder
with fresh cartridges.
"No use, little man! No use at all. If you had any more cartridges you'd
get me now--but you can't. Come on, boys! We'll go under the tree and
smoke him out!"
As he spoke, the leader moved boldly from cover, exposing the whole
length of his body.
It would have made a splendid mark for as expert a shot as Sergeant Hal
Overton. The soldier boy did raise his revolver, as though to shoot, but
the leader, coolly confident, continued to come forward.
Of course Hal could not shoot, and the rest seeing that, also came out
from cover.
Chuckling, all but the one whose jaw Hal had injured, the wretches moved
forward, halting just under the tree.
"Coming down now?" demanded the leader, directing the muzzle of his
stolen rifle up the tree.
"I don't know," mimicked Hal.
"Ever hear what the treed 'coon said to Davy Crockett?" inquired the
scoundrel facetiously.
"If it's a chestnut I'll stand hearing it again," proposed the young
sergeant.
"Well, friend, when the raccoon saw Davy pointing his gun upward, he
called down: 'Don't shoot, Davy! I'll come down.'"
"Great!" mocked young Overton.
"Are you going to do like the 'coon?"
Hal's answer was to raise his right hand suddenly and hurling his now
useless revolver.
There was no time to dodge. One of the riflemen below received the
impact of the descending weapon squarely on top of his head and he
keeled over, falling into a bush.
"You said all you wanted was my revolver," announced Sergeant Hal.
"Well, you have it. Now on your way with it."
The dropped revolver had been picked up by another of the crowd, and now
two men raised their guns to shoot Hal Overton out of the tree.
But their leader struck down their guns.
"None of that, unless we have to," he commanded. "The sergeant's a game
one, and he's not to blame for trying to defend his camp. He can't do
any more harm now, and I won't have him hurt unless he forces us to do
it. Now, then, young man, are you coming down out of that tree?"
"Why?" challenged Hal. "You said that all you wanted was my revolver.
You have that now, and all the rifles in camp. What do you need of me?"
"We've got to slip away from here quick," retorted the leader with a
deceptive show of good-nature and fair-mindedness. "But do you think,
Sergeant, we're going to be fools enough to dust out of here and leave
you to come down out of the tree and trail us along, then come back here
for help and bag us all. No, no, young man! We know the regulars, and
we're not going to leave any cards in the hands of the fighting line of
the Army."
"But it's so comfortable up here," objected Hal.
"I'm going to give you, Sergeant, until I count three. Then, if you
haven't started, we'll simply have to bring you down like a cantankerous
grizzly. Or, if you start and then stop again, we'll shoot just the
same. We can't afford to waste any more time talking."
Where had Hal seen this man before? Where and when had he heard that
voice?
Face and voice both seemed strangely familiar, yet, to save him, Overton
could not place the fellow at that moment.
"One!" counted the leader, and Hal saw three rifle muzzles pointed at
him.
"Two!"
"All right! I'm the 'coon. Be with you in a minute, Davy Crockett,"
laughed Sergeant Hal Overton.
It was hard luck, but the soldier boy felt that he had made all the
fight that could be expected of any one. There seemed no sense in being
killed for sheer stubbornness, now that he had not a ghost of a chance
of fighting back.
Having once started groundward, Overton continued to descend rapidly.
As he reached the last limb on his descent he took a swift slide and
landed among his captors.
"Good boy," mimicked the leader of the invaders. "Now continue to be
sensible. Just lie down on your face and put your hands behind your back
the way your two men did. Nothing happened to them and nothing worse
will happen to you."
The wretch's words were smooth and oily. To Hal it really looked as
though this fellow respected gameness enough not to take it out on a
defenseless enemy.
So Hal lay face downward and gave up his hands for binding.
Wrap! wrap! He felt the cord passing swiftly around his wrists, and then
an extra turn was taken around his ankles.
"Your name's Overton, isn't it?" asked the leader with a wicked grin on
his face.
"Yes."
"Then you're the man we want."
"From the way you acted I judged that you wanted me," mocked Hal dryly.
"Yes; but we wanted you for more than general reasons. In fact, we want
you, most of all, for purely personal reasons. Or, at least, one of our
fellows does. Here he comes."
An eighth man of the wretched crew now came swiftly forward from the
hiding that he had kept from the first.
As he came he chuckled maliciously, and Hal Overton knew that sinister
laugh.
Then the fellow halted, bending over the prostrate, tied young sergeant.
The face was the face of that evil deserter from the Army--ex-Private
Hinkey!