THE OUTLAWS TRICKED.
Black John had got rid of all but six of his men, one of those
remaining being Toby Sam. The others he had dispatched on various
missions, and in that manner he meant to dispose of them all, one by
one.
His horses were nearly exhausted now; he had ridden hard through the
night, and all through the hours of the forenoon, and the previous
day the horses had little rest.
Lena Forest was almost in a state of collapse, from exhaustion; and
Bruce Clayton was not in much better state. His hands being tied
together, and his feet tied under the belly of his horse, so cramped
him that at times he suffered not only from fatigue, but such intense
pain that it was torture.
Little Black John cared for these things. He had an iron frame that
resisted fatigue, and his men were as hardened to such things as
himself.
But the exhausted horses had reached a point where their speed was
little better than a walk, and soon they would be unable to go on.
Even Black John had a mental vision of pursuers hot on his trail. At
this juncture, it seemed to him a godsend, when he beheld a number of
horses grazing in a little valley, through which ran the trail he was
following.
“Mustangs!” he said. “What luck!”
He and his companions drew rein and looked down at the horses. More
than a dozen in number, with heads down, not apparently having seen
the horsemen, they presented a tempting sight to the eyes of Black
John and his comrades.
During the night, grown reckless and tired of wearing them, Black
John and his companions had removed the half masks that had
concealed and disfigured their countenances, and stood revealed to
the prisoners in their true persons. It was an intimation to the
prisoners that they could not hope to escape, and that death, or
worse, awaited them.
“There’s a cañon over there,” said Black John, as he studied the
mustangs and their situation. “If we could herd ’em into the mouth o’
that, and then rush ’em, and drive ’em into it, we could ketch some
of ’em. And we’ve got to have some new horses.”
He knew the region, and knew that this cañon became choked and ended
less than a mile back of its opening; so that, if the horses could be
forced into it, they would fall easy victims to the mustangers.
Acting on Black John’s suggestions, his men spread out, several
hundred yards apart, and began to move down into the valley.
Black John kept the prisoners with him, and close by him was Toby Sam.
So certain were the mustangers that the horses they saw were wild
ones that the only care they used was in endeavoring to ride upon
them in such a way as to throw them toward the mouth of the cañon.
But when the bandits had ridden so close that they began to wonder at
the fact that the mustangs did not race away in fright, there was a
sudden and startling transformation.
An Indian appeared on the back of each of the “mustangs;” an Indian
striped and painted hideously, armed with feathered lance and rifle.
These redskins charged the white men, with hideous yells.
Black John uttered an oath of amazement, and jerked his tired horse
around. He stretched forth a hand to catch the bridle rein of the
horse ridden by Lena Forest. He saw his comrades lashing their jaded
animals, in efforts to escape, and saw the redskins riding upon them.
An Indian chief rode toward him, with rifle uplifted.
Black John dropped the bridle rein of the girl’s horse, and, drawing
his revolver, he rode to meet the chief, firing upon him. He saw the
chief tumble to the ground, with a bullet in his forehead.
Black John was really a capable fighter, the natural leader of the
wild men he grouped about him.
Another Indian was coming toward him, and this Indian he shot out of
the saddle.
But by this time the horse ridden by the girl was galloping off at
its best gait, and was really going fast, for fright gave it renewed
strength.
With a running leap, Black John sprang to the back of one of the
Indian ponies, and then tried to catch the other.
Several Indians rushing upon him compelled him to abandon his attempt
to capture the second pony.
He yelled defiance at them, as they shot at him and hurled their
lances; and, with backward shots from his revolver, he rode away at a
furious pace, following the girl.
He saw that several of his men were down, that others were fighting
with Indians, while still others were, like himself, riding away for
safety.
The chase that followed was a hot one, and Black John was pressed
hard; but the pony he now had under him was fast, and he did not
spare it. He overtook the girl, shouting to her to stop. When she did
not, he rode up beside her galloping horse. Then he fairly lifted her
from its back, throwing her against his side; and, holding her there
by main strength, he galloped furiously on.
“Git up behind me!” he shouted. “If you don’t, you’ll tumble, and it
will be the worse for you.”
She was too weak to obey him; her mind, also, revolted at the thought
of going farther with him. She preferred to fall to the ground, and
meet death there.
In desperation, Black John stopped his horse, and shifted her to its
back, in front of him.
“You go with me,” he said. “D’ye want them Injuns to git ye? You’re a
fool, if ye do!”
The Indian pursuers were coming up rapidly; but again Black John
urged on the plucky mustang, and found it so superior as a runner
that it again drew away from the Indians, in spite of its double
burden.
Lena was in a fainting condition by this time. Weakened by the
terrible exertions she had been forced to undergo, and by the mental
agony she had endured, she had no strength of mind or body left.
Black John was separated now from all of his men. Some of them were
down, killed by the redskins; the others were in flight. Even Toby
Sam was no longer near him.
“’Twon’t be so bad,” was his thought, “if I can only git away from
the Injuns. Whatever turns up later, I’ll have a good excuse to give
for sep’rating myself from the boyees. I’m hopin’ I’ll never meet any
of ’em again, to make an explanation needful, but if I should I’ve
shorely got it now. But them cussed Injuns!”
He looked back, and saw several redskins still chasing him, and he
knew if they stuck to it long enough they would probably tire down
his pony, for, in the long run, the double burden would tell on it.
When that came, he knew he would have to fight the Indians.
“But they’ll think they’ve struck a rattler if they crowd me!” was
his grim thought.
He drove his spurs into the sides of the mustang. Unused to such
things, it jumped forward, with a squeal of pain, greatly adding to
its speed.
“I’ll make it,” was the thought of the ruffian. “And what more can
I want? I’ve got the emeralds and the girl, and I’ve got rid of
the fellers that might be inclined to make trouble--would shorely
make trouble if they knowed I had the emeralds. I’ll hit some trail
runnin’ into Mexican territory, and git out of the country. And then!”
He looked at the white face of the girl, who had fallen limp in his
villainous arms.