TIED TO THE STAKE.
When Comanche Tony had glided from his companions at the bend of the
canyon, little did he think what was in store for him.
Stung to the quick by the unjustified slur of the brother of the
bandit-chieftain, he was fiercely resentful, muttering to himself as
he dodged from rock to rock.
Silently, stealthily, the wily old bandit drew nearer and nearer to the
fire.
But he was labouring under a disadvantage that was to be his undoing.
Constantly was he looking at the two fires as he advanced and their
glare so blinded him that he was unable to see aught at either side of
them.
But the crouching forms that lurked in the shadows of the cliffs were
not so handicapped because their backs were toward the flames.
Warned by the echo of hoofbeats, as the outlaws rode down the canyon,
the Indians had ample time to arrange their ambush.
Who the travellers were, it mattered not to them.
They were on the warpath and redskin or paleface was equally welcome.
Yet so craftily did Comanche Tony approach that he was almost upon them
ere the keen eyes of the expectant bucks had detected his stooping form
as he glided from one rock to another with absolute noiselessness.
Startled to think that any one could get so near to them and
disappointed that they were to capture only one prisoner, the bucks
watched the bandit steal nearer and nearer.
Bodies crouched, muscles tense, the savages waited till their victim
was close to the fire.
Scenting a trick, since he had been allowed to approach unchallenged
and could discern no sleeping forms about the fire, Comanche Tony had
turned, determined to get back to his pals without delay.
But he was too late.
No sooner had he faced about than the air was full of leaping forms
which the glare from the fires showed to be streaked with gaudy-hued
paints.
Instantly the outlaw realized that they were Indians.
Yet so sudden had been their appearance that they were upon him,
encircling him with their powerful arms, ere he could draw his six
shooters.
For the moment, it maddened him to think that he, old Indian fighter
that he was, had walked unsuspectingly into the snare of the cunning
redmen, but only for a moment.
If he had been caught, his pals should not be.
And, utterly heedless of what the consequences might be to himself, the
intrepid old bandit let out a yell.
Startled, the bucks gazed at their captive an instant, then their
amazement gave way to snarls as a dozen hands sought Tony's throat, to
choke off his outcry.
And it was the terrific pressure exerted by the steel-like fingers that
had given to the shout of warning, the peculiar half wail, half roar,
which Jesse and his men had heard.
Maddened by such defiance, the redskins uttered a few hoarse commands
and the next instant Tony felt himself lifted from his feet and
carried, in sturdy arms, up a path in the cliff.
But even then, desperate as his predicament was, the fearless outlaw's
thoughts were of his fellows rather than of himself and he muttered:
"I've warned the boys, anyhow, no matter if I did get caught in
springing the trap."
Yet he was quickly recalled to his surroundings by feeling his feet set
on a rock.
Accustomed by this time to the darkness, Comanche Tony was able to make
out that he and his captors were on a ledge in the cliff along the edge
of which was a black, irregular mass.
Forgetting, in his eagerness to discover what this was, that he was a
prisoner, the intrepid bandit stepped forward.
Uttering vicious grunts, two bucks grabbed him and threw him roughly
against the wall of rock behind them.
"Paleface heap fool," snarled one of his guards. "Get too fresh, fall
over ledge, spoil Injun's fun!"
"By my scalp, but I must have suthin' pleasant ahead of me if fallin'
to my death will spoil these devil's fun!" thought Comanche Tony.
But again the contemplation of the perilousness of his own plight was
forgotten in the realization that his reckless attempt to warn his pals
had been of no avail.
For, in the brief interval that he had gazed on the edge of the ledge,
he had seen several bucks frantically beating out the two fires with
their blankets, and he knew that whatever their game, the world-famous
desperado and his men would be in grave danger, forced, as they would
be, to advance in the darkness.
Yet had he been an instant later, he would have seen the same braves
hurriedly scoop handfuls of dirt onto the glowing coals, after which
they covered the piles with their blankets and bounded up the path to
the ledge.
On their arrival, a hasty pow-wow was held and the next minute Comanche
Tony had learned the purpose of the irregular mass of black along the
edge of the ledge.
Lying flat on their bellies, the Indians braced their feet against the
wall of rock and threw out their hands in front of them.
A sickening fear gripped the heart of the bandit as he divined that the
objects were stones to be hurled from the ledge.
Wondering if he could warn his pals of the terrible fate awaiting them,
Tony's eyes were drawn to the figure of an Indian standing clear of the
others.
Like a statue he loomed.
All at once, he uttered an ear splitting yell.
He had caught sight of a black line of objects moving in the canyon
below.
Immediately his braves joined in and as the strident warwhoops rent the
air, the prostrate bucks exerted their strength and the first avalanche
of stones was started on its mission of death.
But that it was launched too soon, the reader already knows.
The suspense to Tony, however, was awful as he strained his ears for
the sound of his pals' voices.
And as he heard their yells of defiance he heaved a mighty sigh of
relief which ended in a grunt of delight as he saw the figure of the
Indian lookout topple and pitch to the bottom even while the report of
a pistol rang out.
"That was Jesse's shot, I'll bet!" he chuckled.
But his exultation vanished as he saw the bucks stretched out on the
ledge move along to more stones.
And then it was that, tempting Fate for the second time, he had
shouted his warning to his pals to flee for their lives.
Too late was it for the redskins to save their missiles as his cry rang
out.
But even as the boulders were hurtling to the bottom of the canyon, the
braves leaped to their feet and charged him.
So terrible was their anger, that they almost crushed the bandit as
they pressed about him.
"Have your fun if you want," grunted Comanche Tony. "I can't die but
once. But it'll be the sorriest work you devils ever did if you do kill
me!"
The tone in which the fearless old Indian fighter uttered this defiance
was as calm and cool as though he were talking to a group of children
instead of to a pack of blood-thirsty savages.
His gameness amazed his captors, though it only made them crush him
against the rocks the more furiously.
But as he closed his eyes to keep out the sight of the hideous,
passion-distorted faces before him, a deep-lunged voice uttered some
sharp commands.
In a trice, the terrible pressure relaxed and the next moment the
outlaw felt himself again raised from his feet and borne rapidly upward.
Ere many minutes he could tell that he was again on a level and
instantly his mind sought some scheme by which he could kill time.
For he felt that the world-famous desperado would not leave him to the
anything but tender mercies of the savages.
Yet had he known that his beloved chief was even then returning to his
pals, having failed to find a way to scale the wall of rock, he would
have been sad, indeed.
But he did not know and his ignorance was bliss, in truth.
As Comanche Tony racked his brain for some manner to delay his captors,
more commands rang out and the Indians who were carrying him set him
down.
The moon had just risen above the peaks of the mountains to the east
and, in its light, the bandit saw that he was on a plateau sparsely
covered with stunted trees.
To one of these his captors guided him.
As he reached it, a couple of the braves lopped off the lower branches.
Whirling him roughly, his guards backed him against the tree trunk and
while they held him, others deftly bound him to the improvised stake
with lariats they had brought with them from the bottom of the canyon.
Grave, indeed, was his situation.
And it needed no one to tell the captive bandit that the redmen
proposed to burn him at the stake when they should tire of their
preliminary tortures.
But as his plight became more desperate, Comanche Tony became the more
determined to gain time.
Only one expedient was there of which he could think that was adequate
in his dire extremity.
He must scare the painted bucks.
And while he was considering whether he could do this the most readily
by threatening them with vengeance at the hands of the world-famous
desperado, or by telling them a squad of United States cavalry were on
their trail, the Indians made what was, to them, a fatal move.
They kindled a fire about two rods from where Comanche Tony stood tied
to the stake.
As the tongues of flame leaped in the air, their reflection was seen by
Jesse James and his men in the canyon.
"By thunder! Do you suppose that's from the Injuns or the sojers?"
asked Wild Bill, as his chief sprang to his feet.
"I don't know. _But I'm going to find out!_
"There's no need of waiting till morning.
"Come on, everybody. We'll go down to where the first fires were."
Quickly the desperadoes started, for they had ill liked the thought of
leaving their pal to his fate.
With Texas Jack and Wild Bill at his side, the bandit chieftain
advanced till he reached the heaps of broken boulders that had come so
near to being their death a short time before.
As the bandits gazed up at the top of the wall of rock, Texas remarked:
"It's a cinch, Jess, those bucks have some trail up the cliff. We
didn't find any place to scale it, back where we come from, and by the
looks of the wall ahead, there isn't any break, so they couldn't have
got to the end of the canyon and back on top in such a short time.
"That being so, it means there's some path near here."
"Then we'll look for it. Get busy, boys. Comanche Tony's life may
depend on our haste."
With a will, the outlaws set about examining the side of the canyon.
And while they searched, their pal was sparring for time with his
infuriated captives.
"See here, my buckos," he said, his voice as cool as when he had
addressed them before, "I reckon you're making a mistake. I haven't
done you any harm.
"_But if you touch a hair on my head thar's not one of you who won't be
shot to pay for it!_"
The redskin warriors, to the number of a score, had been standing about
the fire, now and then turning toward their captive as they jabbered
excitedly, evidently arguing over some part of their contemplated
torture.
But as the calm words fell on their ears, they all faced about, while
one of them, whose peculiar head-dress proclaimed him to be a chief,
grunted:
"Paleface talk heap big. Navajos fool paleface frien's. How um know
Navajos kill paleface. Heap Injun in country."
"That may be. But my friends are not ordinary men. _They're smarter
than any palefaces you ever saw._"
"You got caught. Heap smart, huh," and the chieftain grunted in disgust.
"True enough. I did. _But my pals didn't._ They were smart enough not
to get under the cliff where you shoved the rocks over."
Guttural grunts came from several of the Indians and quickly the chief
demanded:
"Who you?"
"I don't know that it's any of your business."
"Me know. Great Bear know. Paleface army scout."
Instantly the bandit realized that the braves had decided he was
connected with the soldiers of the Great Father in Washington.
And quickly was he to see his advantage.
"You're wrong there, Great Bear," he declared. "I told you you were
making a mistake.
"I don't belong to the sojers any more'n you do.
"_My chief's greater'n any sojers!_ He's got two battalions chasin' him
now!"
This announcement produced a profound sensation among the braves and
excitedly they jabbered.
But whatever his warriors were urging, their chief refused, again
turning toward his prisoner:
"Paleface talk heap big. No fool Great Bear. Great Bear burn paleface
at stake. Paleface frien's cum, Injun fight um, scalp um. Ugh! Ugh!"
And he sucked in his breath, making a gruesome sound.
But Comanche Tony refused to be frightened.
He knew that the Navajos were a peaceful tribe, as Indian tribes went,
and he wondered what had sent them on the warpath, till suddenly he
remembered the attack on the cabin Jesse had repulsed just before he
had made his race for life from the Vigilantes, and it occurred to him
that perhaps these were some of the same bucks seeking revenge.
If such should be the case, it would never do for him to disclose his
identity.
Their words had told him that they had no fear of the cavalrymen, so
that reference to them would stand him in no stead, and as minute after
minute went by without any sound or sign of Jesse, his hope began to
fail him.
Yet no trace was there in his face of what was passing in his mind.
Indeed, his wonderful coolness puzzled the redskins.
They had been accustomed to see white men cringe and tremble before
them, and the words of Great Bear had doubtless been intended to strike
terror to his heart.
But the fact that he was cool and indifferent made them think they had
captured a man who knew no fear.
One more attempt they made, however, to break their captive's spirit.
After a consultation with two or three of his warriors, Great Bear
spoke a few words in a low voice.
Immediately four bucks stepped from the circle about the fire, their
scalping knives in their hands.
Came a sharp command from the chief.
As with one movement, the braves raised their arms and lowered them,
sending the wicked blades straight at their helpless victim.
Shrilly the knives whistled as they sailed through the air.
Fascinated, Comanche Tony watched the flashes of steel as they sped
toward him.
Could any strain have been more nerve-destroying?
Any one of the four blades, should it strike a vital spot, would kill
him.
But all four were speeding toward him together, so nicely had the bucks
gauged their throws.
Yet the bandit was too familiar with the nature of the redman not to
know that instead of striking him where death would result, the blades
would simply inflict painful flesh wounds, that the red devils might
gloat in the sight of his blood and agony.
Every nerve in his body was atingle as he waited for the impact.
Of a sudden, however, he made a terrible discovery.
The knives were coming for his head.
Like a flash, it occurred to him that his eyes and ears were the
targets.
A trice he contemplated the possibility of dodging them, for his head
was not bound.
But the realization came to him that while he might avoid one of the
whistling blades, he could not escape all four, and he decided to make
no move.
Fortunate, indeed, was it that he did so.
Nearer and nearer came the knives.
Yet it seemed to Comanche Tony that years had elapsed since they had
left the hands of the savages.
Of a sudden, he felt a cool draught against his cheeks, and then he
could no longer see the awful blades.
Scarce able to believe his senses, he could feel no pain.
Then it dawned on him that the bucks had been testing his courage by
aiming the scalping knives so they would just miss him, if he remained
motionless--and he thanked his lucky stars that he had not tried to
dodge them.
It was the very refinement of torture to which he had been subjected.
And well the redmen knew it.
To see the wicked blades coming for his head and not to move it when he
was free to do so was an ordeal such as only one man in a million could
survive.
But Comanche Tony was that one man.
Eagerly the bucks had watched him.
When they saw he had faced death unflinchingly, they grunted in
grudging admiration.
"Paleface heap brave," exclaimed Great Bear. "Me know um now. Only one
paleface got nerve like that. Him Jess Jame. You Jess Jame.
"Injun hate Jess Jame!
"You got die!"
The logic of the chief was crude. But it answered his purpose and again
he repeated:
"Injun hate Jess Jame! Um got die! Burn um at stake!"
Turning to his warriors, Great Bear addressed them in the Navajos
language earnestly.
And so engrossed were the bucks in listening to the words of their
chief that they failed to see three faces rise cautiously above the
edge of the cliff and gaze at the strange scene.
Jesse had found the trail and was soon to make his presence known.
When the bandit-chieftain and his men had reached the ledge whence the
rocks had been hurled at them, he had ordered all but Wild Bill and
Texas Jack to wait there while he and his chosen pals climbed to the
top, fearing that the approach of all might be heard by the redmen.
Sweeping the top of the cliff with a hurried glance the world-famous
desperado had seen, with joy, that he was in time to save the life of
his chum.
Yet because he was aware that to act too soon would be as bad as to act
too late, he dropped back behind the cliff again.
"Texas, go down and bring the others up," he whispered, putting his
mouth close to his pal's ear. "Don't make a sound going down. But it
won't matter coming back.
"_I reckon the fun'll be on before you get here!_
"But hurry. We'll have our hands full."
Hastily the bandit descended and again Jesse straightened up and peered
over the edge of the precipice.
And what he saw made his face grow hard as he raised his six shooters.
Bearing burning brands in their hands, two bucks were advancing toward
their victim tied to the stake, while two more carried armsful of dried
twigs and leaves.
Less than ten feet were they from Comanche Tony.
Squatting about the campfire, prepared to enjoy the writhings of their
captive, sat the rest of the Indians.
The distance from the edge of the cliff to the stake was too great for
a pistol shot.
Yet Jesse realized that he must act at once were he to spare his chum
awful suffering.
Bending toward Wild Bill, he breathed:
"We've got to rush 'em! Come on! Nail the devil's with the firebrands
first!"
With a stillness marvelous in the rapidity of their actions, the two
desperadoes gained the top of the precipice and dashed forward.
So engrossed were the bucks in watching their fellows that they had not
seen the bandits.
"Give 'em a yell, then shoot!" whispered Jesse.
With a will the two outlaws gave the old guerrilla battle cry that had
made Quantrell's men known and feared.
Panic-stricken, the redskins leaped to their feet.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack went the four six-shooters in the
desperadoes' hands.
And with each bark of a pistol one of the Indians advancing toward
Comanche Tony, pitched forward, a bullet hole in his heart.
But only for a minute did the braves lose their heads.
Thundering at his warriors, Great Bear commanded:
"Charge them! They are only two, we are twenty! We can push them off
the precipice!"
Inspired by the words of their chief, which had been uttered in their
native tongue, the braves drew their revolvers, opening fire on Jesse
and Wild Bill as they advanced.
Never had the guerrilla battle cry sounded so sweet as it did to the
ears of Comanche Tony as he stood, bound fast to the stake, watching
the bucks approach with the firebrands and twigs with which to kindle a
blaze about his feet.
But, when turning his head, he saw only Wild Bill and Jesse and a
moment later beheld the warriors rally to the charge, he was filled
with fear.
Two men, no matter how brave, would have little chance against the
overwhelming numbers of the redskins.
Then he remembered that his six-shooters had not been taken from him
and he bellowed:
"Jess! Jess! Cut me loose! I've got my guns! I can help you!"
"Keep pumping at the devils, Bill," commanded the world-famous
desperado. "We've got to stand 'em off till the others get here!"
And, discharging his own shooting irons the while, Jesse ran to
Comanche Tony.
But though the shots of the Indians had been wild at first, they were
so close to the outlaws now that many a bullet ploughed through their
flesh.
Seeing Jesse's purpose, Great Bear ordered the fire to be trained on
him.
And so furiously did the bucks respond that the bandit-chieftain was
forced to give ground.
Delirious were the yells of the braves as they saw this move.
But their rejoicing was short lived.
Aware, from the shots and shouts, that the fight was on, Texas and the
rest of the bandits hastened up the trail, reaching the top just as
their leader and Wild Bill were retreating toward the edge of the cliff.
"Hold your ground! We're coming!" yelled Frank.
Never were words more welcome than these as they rang in the ears of
the sorely pressed outlaws.
And even as they heard them, a volley crashed from the guns of their
fellows.
Surprised at the unlooked for re-enforcements, the bucks, however, held
their own.
But only for a few minutes.
The fusilade of lead poured into them was too galling.
Though they outnumbered the bandits almost two to one, for death had
thinned their ranks, Jesse and his men fired three times as rapidly.
Fast and furious raged the battle.
Then, of a sudden, Great Bear shouted a command.
With one accord, the bucks whirled and ran for the farther side of the
cliff.
And, while some of his men pursued them, Jesse hurried to Comanche Tony
and slashed the bonds with his bowie-knife.