BOY SCOUTS TO THE RESCUE.
Amid wild yells from the assemblage on the farther side of the pit, the
young brave who had attained temporary ascendency over the tribe cast
the snake down on the ground before the recumbent form of the Indian
agent. The reptile at first appeared dazed, and made no move, hostile or
otherwise. Presently, however, as a deep hush fell over the Indians
gazing on the scene, the creature began to sound his rattle.
It was a dull, "horny" sound, like the rattling of dried peas in a
bladder. The veins on Mayberry's forehead swelled as he made a desperate
effort to burst his bonds, but the green hide held like iron, and he
realized that all resistance was useless. Breathing a prayer, he
resigned himself for what was to follow. Suddenly the serpent seemed to
become endowed with furious rage. It lashed its mottled tail, and then
carefully gauging its distance from the captive, coiled itself for the
death strike.
Not a sound was to be heard above the deep, expectant hush, as the red
glow fell on the strange, cruel scene: the agonized man, helpless, and
the flat, triangular head of the deadly reptile, drawn back as if to
give greater force to its death blow.
The Indian agent, as he had abundantly shown, was no coward, nor was his
a heart to be stirred by any ordinary ordeal. But the cruel suspense
that now ensued broke down even his iron nerves. As he gazed like a
fascinated bird into the leaden eyes of the menacing rattler, his
courage faltered, and he uttered a despairing cry.
It was answered by a cruel jeer from the frenzied Indians. In the tense
excitement none of them had, however, noticed the first moves in an act
that was destined presently to change the whole complexion of the scene.
Old Black Cloud knew that the agent's heart was wrapped up in his horse.
So far as any one knew, Mayberry had neither relative nor close friend
in the world. In the Indian's eyes, then, the captive would surely wish
his horse near him in the hour of his doom.
For one as skilled in silent movement as the old chief, it was an easy
matter to slip from his place in the shadows at the rear of the
fascinated horde, and with a couple of deft strokes of his knife set
Ranger at liberty. Then he silently stole back, and was seated in his
former place in a less space of time than it took Ranger to realize that
he was free.
The captive's despairing cry reached the horse's ears, and he knew his
master's voice.
While the mocking laugh of the tribe was still echoing from the rocks,
four iron-shod hoofs struck the earth in a mighty leap, and Ranger
alighted heavily in the midst of the amazed throng. With yells and cries
of terror, the Indians, who did not know what had occurred, were bowled
over right and left. One young brave lay groaning with a pair of broken
ribs. Another's arm was snapped where Ranger's hoofs had struck.
Without pausing one instant, the animal, whose only anxiety was to reach
Jeffries Mayberry's side, once more shook his head and, with a shrill
whinny, sprang forward. This leap brought him over the heads of the red
men, to the very brink of the fiery pit.
Overcoming his natural dread of fire--a far greater terror to horses
than almost any other--Ranger gathered his clean-cut limbs for a mighty
leap. In one clean jump he cleared the glowing coals. Diamond Snake and
his attendant masters of ceremonies had not, in the brief space of time
allotted to them for comprehension, made out what was occurring on the
opposite side of the pit.
They had not the slightest warning, therefore, when, through the lurid
glow, the form of Ranger, crimsoned by the reflection, came leaping like
a thunderbolt.
Over went Diamond Snake, toppling backward to avoid the terrible hoofs.
With a yell of superstitious terror, the other "priests" gave way.
Right and left they ran, shouting that the Great Spirit had sent an
infernal messenger among them.
But above all the shrieks, and confusion, and angry shouts rang out one
terrible cry. It issued from the lips of Diamond Snake. The hind hoofs
of the alighting horse had struck him, and, as has been said, he toppled
backward.
Too late he saw behind him the glowing pit of fiery coals. Nerving every
muscle in his sinewy frame, the young Moqui warrior strove to avert his
doom, but try as he would he could not check his impetus.
He reached the edge of the pit, and with one dreadful cry pitched over
backward. For a brief space the red glow grew blackened where he had
fallen, but an instant later the intense heat had consumed him, and
nothing remained to mark the end of the ambitious young Moqui.
At the moment that Ranger had alighted, the rattlesnake, terrified by
the near proximity of the trampling hoofs, released its body as if a
steel spring had been set free, and gave its death strike. But as the
poison-laden fangs drove toward him, Jeffries Mayberry jerked his head
to one side. The rattler had missed. Before it could gather itself for a
second attack, it lay, a trampled mass, under Ranger's hoofs. The horse
whinnied with pleasure as it gazed at its master. Then it stamped with
impatience as it received no response. For the first and last time in
his life, Jeffries Mayberry had fainted.
With a howl of rage, like the angry voice of a storm, the Moquis,
gathering up their weapons, rushed forward to avenge themselves for the
tragic death of Diamond Snake. But they had not reached the edge of the
fiery pit before a loud cry halted them. It was Black Cloud. The old
Indian stood upright upon a bowlder, and pointed to the entrance of the
rocky bowl.
"Now will my brothers listen to the voice of reason?" he shouted above
the tumult.
A chorus of jeers and shouts greeted him. The mind of the tribe was a
single one in that moment. The death of Jeffries Mayberry, in the same
pit as that into which his steed had cast the popular young Diamond
Snake, was their raging desire.
"Then look!" rang out the voice of Black Cloud, as he pointed to the
rocky path at the westerly side of the bowl.
As the eyes of the redskins followed the patriarch's pointing finger, a
perfect howl went up once more. The moonlight illumined the figure of a
solitary horseman.
A score of rifles were instantly leveled at him, but as the weapons came
to the marksmen's shoulders, the lone rider vanished as suddenly as he
had appeared.
"Fools!" shouted Black Cloud, as the Moquis, with cries of rage, pressed
on to Jeffries Mayberry's side, "that horseman is the forerunner of the
white man's vengeance!"
As he spoke, a rifle cracked, and the noble old chief vanished from the
rock. Apparently a bullet from the rifle of one of his own followers had
felled him. But, as a matter of fact, Black Cloud, with native cunning,
had perceived that in the mood his rebellious followers then were, his
safest plan was to keep out of sight. As the bullet hummed past his
ear, therefore, he toppled from the rock as if dead. From behind the big
bowlder he watched the events that were to follow.
A young brave, anxious to earn the plaudits of his tribesmen by being
the instrument of vengeance on Mayberry, rushed forward, and throwing
himself on the unconscious man, seized him by the waist and was about to
swing him into the flaming pit, when, with a shrill whinny of rage,
Ranger's forefeet struck him down. He lay breathing heavily, an ugly
wound gaping in his head. As if maddened by this, the great horse
plunged, striking and kicking, into the crowd of hated Indians, bowling
over and injuring several. But the temporary panic thus created lasted
but a minute.
A volley was fired at the noble figure of the raging horse, and he fell,
still fighting, by his master's side.
At the same instant a young redskin sprang forward with an uplifted
"agency" axe. He raised it above his head, and was about to bury it in
the horse's skull, when something struck the axe and sent it whizzing
out of his hand. Simultaneously a sharp crack sounded from the upper end
of the rock bowl.
Shouts of alarm sounded on all sides. The Moquis realized they were
attacked, and that it was a bullet that had sent the axe spinning out of
the murderous young brave's hand.
"Hooray!"
The cry rang out loudly above the Indian whoops and cries, as Rob Blake
swept down the rocky trail, followed by the Boy Scouts, cheering as if
their throats would split.
Right and left the Moquis went down under their ponies' hoofs, too
terrified by the very suddenness of the attack to offer any resistance.
A few half-hearted shots were fired, and one or two sombreros were
drilled, but, aside from that, no one was injured. The arrival of Mr.
Harkness and his cow-punchers ended what little resistance there had
been. It was soon over, and the Moquis herded in a sullen, defiant band
at the lower end of the bowl.
Rob and his friends hastened forward to Jeffries Mayberry's side, and
cut his bonds; and the first thing that the rescued man gazed upon when
he recovered consciousness was a circle of friendly faces.
"Well, Mayberry," burst out Mr. Harkness, "I told you so. I hate to say
it, but I told you so. If it hadn't been for the Boy Scouts here, we'd
never have saved you."
"No, I guess not, Harkness," breathed the agent, "and this is not the
place to tell you all how I feel. But, but----"
His voice faltered as he gazed at Ranger, who still lay on the ground.
Blinky and some of the cow-punchers had been examining his injuries.
"Is Ranger seriously hurt?"
The agent's throat sounded dry. He could hardly bring himself to ask the
question.
"No, he'll be around in a while," announced Blinky; "only a tendon on
the off front leg is sprained. He'll carry a few scars, though."
And so it proved, for, though Ranger was soon as well as ever, he
carried with him to his last days the marks of that night. But his
owner, as you may imagine, treasured every one of them, for each blemish
spoke to him of his horse's affection and nobility.
"Hullo, here come the soldiers!" exclaimed Tubby suddenly, with that
fleshy youth's usual indifferent manner.
A bugle call and a loud cheer announced the news at the same moment.
"So they are!" exclaimed Mr. Mayberry, who by this time was standing
upright, although he still had to lean weakly on the shoulder of Mr.
Harkness.
"A good thing you didn't wait for them," remarked Blinky; "they'd have
come too late."
"That was not their fault," put in Mr. Harkness. "The messenger I sent
to Sentinel Peak could not have reached there more than an hour or two
ago. They must have ridden like the wind."
Indeed, as the bronzed troopers clattered, cheering, into the rocky
basin, their steaming, dripping horses bore ample testimony to the pace
they had kept up.
"Confounded luck, arriving just too late for the music!" exclaimed the
young officer at their head, after first greetings had been exchanged.
"I see, though, that you have handled the situation well."
"Yes, thanks to the Boy Scouts," said Mr. Harkness.
"Ah, that is an organization of which I have often heard," observed the
soldier. "They are destined to do great work for our country in the
future."
"We hope so," said Rob simply.
* * * * *
Little more is left to be told of the Boy Scouts' adventures on the
range. The rebellious Moquis, thoroughly cowed by their lesson, went
peaceably back to the reservation, and accepted Black Cloud once more as
their chief. Their break from the place set aside for them, though, was
paid for by the stoppage of more than one privilege. In course of time
Mr. Mayberry recovered some of his faith in the Indian character, but
even he admits that his optimism has been severely shaken.
Possibly, if you were to pay a visit to the tribe, you might be tempted
to ask who a certain graceful young squaw is, whose buckskin garments
are literally covered with wonderful bead work, and round whose slender
neck hang so many chains of red, yellow, amber and blue globules that
you might be inclined to think it would make her stoop-shouldered.
If you asked her her name you would be told that she is Susyjan. She is
regarded as the most attractive young squaw in the tribe, and her
fortunate husband will have to give her old father many ponies and
blankets before he can hope to win her hand. The source of Susyjan's
beady splendor, however, has always, as you may imagine, remained a
mystery to the tribe.
Clark Jennings and his unworthy accomplices were tried in due course for
their offenses against the law, and received various heavy sentences. In
a Western community few more serious crimes, for obvious reasons, can
be committed than cattle stealing.
The days following the surrender of the renegade tribe were happy ones
for the young Eastern scouts. In due course of time, the uniforms Rob
had ordered for the Ranger Patrol arrived, and the organization is now
one of the most flourishing in the B. S. of A.
Hunting trips were organized and many excursions made into the
mountains. The boys, too, shared in the excitement of a round-up, and
proved themselves of use in many ways. Altogether, the Boy Scouts has
become a name to conjure with in that part of Arizona.
What became of Silver Tip?
Well, the story of how Rob had Silver Tip at his mercy, and let the huge
brute go, has become a ranch classic. This is no place to relate it at
length, but one day on a mountain hunt the monarch of the hills and the
boy who had once rushed wildly upon the monster's shaggy form, met face
to face.
Did Silver Tip recognize the lad? Who can tell? Animals possess many
faculties and instincts we do not credit them with. Be that as it may,
it seemed to the imaginative Rob that the monster's eyes bore a craven
look, as if he realized that judgment was come upon him. Rob stood alone
upon a rocky ledge. Below him the great brute gazed upward, in the
position he had frozen into on his first discovery of the young hunter.
Rob raised his heavy rifle to his shoulder. The great creature was at
his mercy. He paused an instant and then slowly lowered the weapon
again.
"Go on, old Silver Tip!" he said. "Let some one else wipe out your
wicked old life."
Tubby was highly indignant when he heard of this.
"Gee whiz!" he exclaimed, "you ought to have thought of me, Rob. I've
been hearing about bear steak ever since I've been out here, and now
I've lost about the only chance I've ever had to stick my teeth into
one."
One day a letter came to the ranch house which caused several long faces
to be drawn. It announced the opening, within a week, of the Hampton
Academy.
And so--as all good things have to draw to a close--the happy, eventful
days of the Boy Scouts on the Range ended. But had they realized it, the
exciting scenes through which they had passed were only a milestone in
their adventurous lives.
We shall meet our young friends again, and follow them through many more
stirring incidents and scenes in the next volume of this series. Some of
these will be connected with the wonderful new science of aerial
navigation.
This new installment of their adventures will be called: THE BOY
SCOUTS AND THE ARMY AIRSHIP.
THE END.
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BOY SCOUT SERIES
BY
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MODERN BOY SCOUT STORIES FOR BOYS
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=The Boy Scouts on the Range.=
Connected with the dwellings of the vanished race of cliff-dwellers was
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There are few boys who have not read of the weird snake dance and other
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vanishing Indians are explained in interesting detail. Few boys' books
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the Moquis.
Through the fascinating pages of the narrative also stalks, like a grim
figure of impending tragedy, the shaggy form of Silver Tip, the giant
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For instance the lost lead vein which is one of the objects of the boys'
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| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the |
| original document have been preserved. |
| |
| Typographical errors corrected in the text: |
| |
| Page 26 Samuri changed to Samurai |
| Page 89 struck changed to stuck |
| Page 113 Charlie changed to Charley |
| Page 151 croked changed to croaked |
| Page 206 Jenning's changed to Jennings's |
| Page 226 earthern changed to earthen |
| Page 243 fandangoes changed to fandangos |
| Page 297 safeest changed to safest |
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