MORE ABOUT SILK STOCKING.
"Turn about is fair play, Springer," said George. "I fed you when you
were hungry, put you on your horse and gave you a chance to escape to
this side of the river, and you must help me in some way."
"I don't see how I can do it," replied the wounded cattle-thief, who
seemed to be alarmed by the proposition. "If I do an' am ketched at it,
I'm a goner. You didn't run no risk by helpin' me."
"I didn't!" exclaimed George. "I know a story worth two of that. What do
you suppose the settlers would do to me, if they should find out that I
had given aid and comfort to such a man as you are?"
"How are they goin' to find it out? It ain't likely that any one of us
will tell 'em of it."
"And neither is it likely that I shall tell Fletcher if you assist me,"
answered George. "You see, Springer----"
"Easy! easy!" whispered the man, raising his hand warningly. "He's
coming."
"Who is coming?"
"The boss."
George faced about and saw a tall fellow, dressed in Mexican costume,
picking his way among the recumbent guerrillas who were stretched out on
their ponchos in the court-yard, waiting for breakfast. As he came
nearer, George turned away from Springer, and looked at him with a good
deal of curiosity. He was not a Mexican--there was that much to be said
in his favor--but there was nothing in his face that induced the captive
to appeal to his sympathies. When the boy descended the steps leading
down from the verandah, the robber chief stood at the foot waiting for
him.
"So you're George Ackerman, are you?" said he, thrusting his hands deep
into his pockets and looking down at the boy. "Now, I want to know, who
told you so much?"
The man spoke in an abrupt tone, but his face wore a good-natured smile,
and George did not feel in the least afraid of him.
"The fellows who brought you in here last night, seem to think that
Philip has been talking too much," continued Fletcher; "and if that is
the case, I want to know it."
If the man had looked toward Springer, who at that moment appeared to be
busily engaged in adjusting the bandages he wore about his wounded legs,
he would have seen that his face had grown very white, and that he was
listening intently for George's reply.
"You can ask Philip about that the next time you see him," was the
answer, which was given in a tone that was calculated to strengthen
Fletcher's suspicions against the cook. "I know why my uncle wants to
get rid of me, and how he intends to accomplish his object; and whether
or not he will succeed, depends entirely upon yourself. I am your
prisoner, and you have the power to do with me as you please."
"Well, you are a cool one, that's a fact," exclaimed Fletcher, who
seemed to be astonished at the boy's courage. "He will succeed, so far
as getting rid of all his cattle is concerned, your uncle will;
but----"
"They are not his cattle," interrupted George. "They belong to me
individually."
"No odds. We don't care who belongs to 'em, so long as we get 'em,"
replied the guerrilla, cheerfully. "As I was going on to say, your uncle
will get rid of all his cattle, but he won't get rid of you, by a long
shot. We want the beef, and we don't care how we get it, if we don't
have to fight for it; but I aint going to put an ugly hand on you, and
I'll make it hot for anybody who does. I haint got nothing against you.
You don't stand between _me_ and a fortune. I reckon there are others in
the settlement who know as much as you do?"
"There are some there who suspect as much as I know," replied George. "I
had a long talk with one of my friends about it, night before last."
"Then Philip will have to come away from that ranche, for he won't be of
no more use there," said Fletcher. "Now, I aint a going to be any harder
on you than I can help. You can walk around the ranche as much as you
please; but you can see for yourself, that it won't be of no use for you
to try to get away. If we should catch you at that, we'd have to shut
you up in one of those rooms and put a guard over you. Come on, and
let's get some breakfast."
"What are you going to do with me, any how?" asked George, as he
followed the guerrilla toward the other end of the court-yard.
"O, we'll let you visit with us, until we get all Ackerman's cattle; and
then we'll set you back across the river, so that you can make it warm
for the old rascal," replied Fletcher, with an encouraging wink.
"I don't want to stay here until my stock is all stolen," said George;
and he added to himself: "I won't, either."
The boy breathed much easier after his interview with the robber chief.
He had never expected to be so well treated by the man who always led
the guerrillas on their plundering expeditions, and whose deeds of
violence had much to do with the reputation those same guerrillas bore.
He had the assurance that no harm was intended him, and consequently his
mind was at rest on that score; but he did not want to stay there a
passive prisoner, and, what was more, he was determined that he would
not. If he saw a chance for escape he would improve it, and he would
take some desperate risks, too.
That day was a dreary one to George, who could find nothing to interest
him. He could not smoke and doze away the long hours in his blanket, as
the Mexicans did, and he had already seen every thing there was to be
seen about the rancho. He was surprised at the manner in which the
guerrillas performed garrison duty. There was no guard mount, such as he
had seen at the fort on the other side of the river; there was no sentry
at the gateway, no herdsmen to take care of the horses, the most of
which were allowed to run loose in the valley; and if Springer had not
told him that the regiment had been sent there to watch the rancho, he
never would have known it from anything they did to indicate the fact.
No one paid the least attention to him, not even Springer, who must have
taken himself off to some safe hiding-place, for George could not find
him again.
"He is afraid that I will ask him to assist me in making my escape,"
thought the boy, and he made a pretty shrewd guess as to the cause of
the man's sudden disappearance. "Well, who cares? If they are going to
allow me to run around as I please, I'll not ask help of any body. I
wonder what they have done with my horse?"
George answered this question for himself by directing his course toward
the room into which he had seen Ranger led the night before. The animal
was still there. He greeted his master with a low whinny of recognition,
and rubbed his head familiarly against his shoulders when the boy patted
his glossy neck. He tried to follow George, too, when the latter went
out, but he was tied to a ring in the wall, and his master dared not set
him at liberty.
"I am afraid that our days of companionship are over, Ranger," said
George, as he put his hands into his pockets and sauntered toward the
gate. "Fletcher seems to think that I can't get away from here if he
keeps you tied up. But there are other horses close at hand, some of
them as good as you are, probably, and I must take one of them."
There was no one at the gate to stop him, and George went through it,
and turning around an angle of the wall bent his steps towards the place
where the horses belonging to the guerrillas were grazing, walking
slowly and stopping now and then to look about him as if he had
determined upon nothing in particular. He did not know how many pairs of
eyes there might be watching him, and he was careful to do nothing to
excite the suspicions of his guard, if he had any. He moved leisurely
around the building and then went back through the gate and lay down
upon his blanket, which he had spread in front of the room that had
served him and his captors for a sleeping apartment. His short walk
outside the walls had satisfied him that unless some restraint was put
upon his actions his captivity would be of very short duration. If he
could leave the rancho after dark, it would be no trouble at all for him
to capture one of the horses that were feeding on the plain, and set out
for the nearest ford. He resolved that he would attempt it that very
night.
George made three or four more excursions outside the rancho that
afternoon, each time going a little farther away from the building than
before, and when he came in from his last ramble he had been gone two
hours, and Fletcher was looking for him.
"O, here you are," he exclaimed, as George approached him. "I reckoned
that perhaps you had skipped out."
The man said this with a grin which made George believe that perhaps his
escape could not be accomplished so easily after all. It told him as
plainly as words that he was watched.
"Skipped out!" repeated George, "I guess not. I have no desire to be
shut up in one of these rooms with a guard over me."
"I saw you looking at the horses," continued Fletcher. "Did you notice
that fellow with the white mane and tail, and four white feet?"
Yes, George had noticed him, and with the eye of a horseman, too. The
animal would have been conspicuous for his beauty in a drove of
thoroughbreds; and among the shaggy, ill-conditioned beasts that the
guerrillas owned, he looked like a well-dressed gentleman surrounded by
a crowd of ragamuffins.
"That's the fellow that followed us off on the night we went to your
rancho after that money box," said Fletcher. "He's just lightning, and
if some of those rich fellows down there with Max don't offer me
something handsome for him, I'll keep him myself."
"It must be the stolen horse that goes by the name of Silk Stocking,"
thought George. "I wonder if he would let me catch him? If he would, I
could get Ned out of one scrape easily enough."
"I reckon you won't be lonesome to-night while I am gone, will you?"
continued Fletcher, as he led the way into one of the rooms in which a
dozen or more guerrillas were sitting on the floor eating their supper
of broiled beef and tortillas. These, as George afterward learned, were
the men whom Fletcher had selected to accompany him on a raid he
intended to make that night. "Well, I can't help it if you are lonesome,
for business is business, and has got to be attended to while the moon
shines. We can't go but two or three times more, and then we'll have to
stop for a whole month," added the boss cattle-thief, with a deep sigh
of regret.
"That knocks me," said George, to himself. "I can't carry out my plans
while these fellows are off on a raid, for while I am looking around for
a ford I might run right into them. If I don't succeed in the very first
attempt I am done for." Then aloud he said: "You'll not hurt any body
while you are gone, will you?"
"Not if we can help it," replied Fletcher, in the most unconcerned
manner possible. "We're bound to have the cattle, and those who don't
want to get popped over will stay in doors, where they belong."
It was all George could do to refrain from telling the nonchalant robber
that things would not always be so--that if he lived, he would see the
day that he could not rob and shoot honest settlers without being
followed across the river and punished wherever he was found--and if he
had told him so, he would have uttered nothing but the truth. The time
did come, sure enough, and Fletcher lived to see it, when the simple
crossing of the Rio Grande did not insure the safety of the raiders.
They were pursued into their own territory and soundly thrashed there,
and George Ackerman himself was the first guide who led the troops in
the pursuit. But, angry as he was, the boy did not give utterance to the
thoughts that were flashing through his mind. He knew that it would be
folly to irritate the guerrilla, for the latter might put him in close
confinement, and then there would be no such thing as escape for him.
Supper over, the cattle-thieves went out to saddle their horses, and
when everything was ready for the start, they mounted and rode away,
Fletcher pausing long enough to ask his captive if he had any word to
send across the river. George replied that he had not, adding, in
undertone;
"I wish I could send word to the settlers to be on the alert, to give
you the worst whipping you ever had."
But, if George had only known it, there was no need of sending warning
to the settlers. Fletcher came back just before daylight with no cattle,
and three men less than he had when he went out. The noise the
guerrillas made on their return awoke George, who gleaned from the few
scraps of their conversation that he was able to catch, that they had
had their trouble for their pains--that the ranchemen were waiting for
them, and whipped them beautifully before they fairly gained a footing
on Texas soil.
"Good for the ranchemen," thought George, as he rolled himself up in his
blanket and tried to find an easy place for his head on his hard pillow.
"If that is the way they are going to do business, it will be a long
time before you get your pay for making a prisoner of me."
The boy did not leave his blanket the next morning until Fletcher came
in to tell him that breakfast was ready. He could hear the guerrillas
grumbling lustily over the ill-luck that had attended their companions
the night before, and he was in no hurry to mingle with them, for fear
they might vent their spite upon him in some way; but they showed no
disposition to do anything of the kind. Fletcher looked very savage and
was not as talkative as usual; the men in his mess swore a little more
over this meal, and that was all George saw or heard to indicate that
anything had gone wrong with them.
Although the raiders had been badly punished, they were by no means
disheartened. As soon as breakfast was over, they took fresh horses, and
reinforced by a dozen or more companions, set out to try another ford
twenty miles further up the river. They came back early the next
morning, and this time they were very jubilant, for they had met with
glorious success. They had brought five hundred head of stock back with
them, and some unfortunate rancheman on the other side of the river was
ten thousand dollars poorer than he had been a few hours before.
Fletcher and his men spent two more nights in this way, and to George's
intense disgust, they came back full handed each time. He had the
opportunity to look at the cattle before they were sent into the
interior, and had the satisfaction of seeing that none of them bore his
brand.
On the fifth morning of his captivity, George encountered Springer on
the verandah. He had sought an interview with him every day, but
Springer had taken good care to keep out of his way, because he knew
that he could not assist him in his efforts to escape without running
the risk of bringing himself into trouble with the boss cattle-thief. On
this particular morning, however, he purposely intercepted the boy while
the latter was taking his usual walk around the court-yard. He had
something of importance to say to him.
"Wal, George, you ain't gone yet, have you?" said Springer, after he had
looked all around to make sure that there was no one within ear-shot.
"No, but I haven't been wasting any time," was the reply. "I have
learned that I can go in and out of the rancho whenever I please, and I
have made a friend of Silk Stocking."
"Who's that?" inquired Springer.
"That is the name of the horse you raiders brought away with you on the
night you made the attack on our rancho," replied George. "I have fed
him crackers every day until he has learned to know me, and will let me
catch him any where. I got on his back last night, and if I had been
certain that the road was clear, you wouldn't have seen me here this
morning. I would have made a bold dash for home and freedom."
"It's just as well that you didn't try it," said Springer, hastily,
"kase the road wasn't cl'ar. You might have run plump into Fletcher's
gang afore you knowed it. Now I'll tell you what's a fact: I can't help
you none only by giving you good advice, an' I am risking my life by
doin' that. The road will be clear to-night, an' if you are bound to
start for the other side of the Rio, you'd best do it afore you see the
sun rise agin. Fletcher aint goin' on no more raids till next full moon,
but he's goin' to start with the regiment, bright an' 'arly to-morrow
morning, for our old camp at Queretaro; an' I'll just tell you what's a
fact, if you ever let yourself be took so far into the country as that,
it will be a long time afore you see Texas agin. Fletcher don't mean no
harm to you, but thar's fightin' goin' on down thar, an' I don't know
what may happen to us."
"I am glad you told me," said George. "I'll be off this very night.
Good-by, Springer. Don't go on any more cattle raids, will you?"
"I aint likely to go on any more for a while," said Springer. "I shall
be laid up for another month at least."
He looked all around the court-yard to make sure that there was no one
watching him, and then cordially shook the hand that George extended
toward him.
"If you had been engaged in some honest business that night you would
not have received those wounds," said the boy. "Now, when you get well,
cut loose from such fellows as these with whom you are now associating,
and turn over a new leaf. Good-by!"
"Good-by, an' good luck to you," said Springer, heartily.
George walked slowly across the court-yard, passed out of the gate and
went toward the place where the horses were feeding. Silk Stocking was
cropping the grass a little apart from the others--he seemed to be a
high-toned horse, and to look upon himself as something better than the
rest of the drove--and when George whistled to him he promptly raised
his head and came up to receive the piece of cracker which the boy had
taken care to put into his pocket that morning.
"I don't wonder that those men were so determined to recover possession
of you, old fellow," said George, as he ran his fingers through the
animal's long white mane. "You are a regular pet and as gentle as you
are handsome. Now don't go back on me when I come out to catch you
to-night, and I will see that you find your way back into the hands of
your lawful master."
George did not dare spend a great while in Silk Stocking's company, for
fear that some of the guerrillas might see him and suspect something; so
he walked slowly toward the rancho, after seeing him eat the cracker,
and the horse began cropping the grass again.
The hours always pass away slowly when one is impatient, and this was
the longest and gloomiest day of George's captivity. He spent it, as the
most of the guerrillas spent all their unemployed moments, lying at his
ease on his blanket; but to a boy of George's active habits this was
anything but an agreeable way of killing time. He found an opportunity
during the day to secure his lasso, which he tied around his waist,
buttoning his buckskin coat over it so that it was concealed from view.
George went to bed at dark, but of course he did not go to sleep. For
long hours he rolled uneasily about on his blanket, alternating between
hope and fear, and waiting impatiently for the guerrillas to retire to
their rooms; but there seemed to be more than the usual number of
wakeful and talkative ones among them, and it was almost midnight before
silence settled down over the rancho. Then he sat up on his blanket and
looked about him.