RUSTLERS ARE HARD PRESSED
“The mules is still heah,” cried Jim.
“Of course they aire, an’ I’ll bet my mule scared them fellers off.
Thar ain’t a man livin’ that can git away with that cayuse of mine,”
declared Sam.
“Leastwise when he has mine to frighten them off,” added Jim.
“I think you are right, James. Your mule would frighten the beasts
of the jungles,” said Emma.
“Missie, you’re wrong. Jim’s mule is the finest chunk o’ mule flesh
that you ever seen,” declared Sam.
“You said it, old Whiskers. That critter of yours can’t hold a
firebrand to him,” agreed Jim.
“He can’t, eh? Wal, I’ll show ye whether he can or not. Thar ain’t a
mule on four feet that can come up to mine,” averred Sam heatedly.
“Will you kindly stop your wrangling and do something?” begged Tom
Gray. “Hippy, are the rifles safe?”
“Yes. They didn’t find them, thank goodness.”
Grace and her companions, who had been making a hasty inventory of
their belongings, announced that not a thing was missing.
“I reckon that our boys got here too soon and chased the critters
away,” boomed the rancher. “What do you folks think you’re going to
do now?”
“That is the question before the house,” observed Stacy.
“Where would the horse thieves be likely to take the stock?” asked
Grace.
“No one knows where their hang-out is, but I’ve heard that it’s up
in the canyon country, where it is said there are acres of rich
grass and plenty of hiding places, but nobody ever succeeded in
tracking ’em very far. They are too smart. The boys won’t find ’em,
but we’ll wait till they get back.”
“Where is the canyon country to which you refer, Mr. Bindloss?”
asked Miss Briggs.
“On the other side of the valley in the mountains.”
“Then is it not reasonable to suppose that they will attempt to
cross the valley tonight so as to be in their lair by daylight?”
persisted Elfreda.
“Sure they will,” agreed Bindloss.
“Can you spare enough men to ride back and forth for a few miles on
this side? It is possible that they might intercept the thieves and
possibly recover at least one of our animals,” suggested Miss
Briggs.
“You’re right. Miss, you have a head on your shoulders. Pete, you
take all the boys that are left here and hit it along the valley,
stringing out ’bout half a mile apart and watch like all possessed,”
directed Bindloss.
“We want to be in on that, Mr. Bindloss. How about ponies for
Captain Gray and myself?” asked Hippy eagerly.
“You can have the one I’m riding, and Nevada will ride back to the
ranch and get one for Captain Gray. Hustle, Nevada! The rest of you
fellows go on, and don’t be afraid to string out. Sam, I reckon you
and Jim better stick around. No telling what might be pulled off by
that gang. I’ve been thinking that mebby this is a sort of come-back
for Sam’s shooting that fellow in the wrist the other night. I’ll
bet it’s the same gang, but there’s something more to it. I don’t
know what, but I reckon on you folks finding out one of these days.”
“You may be certain that we will,” spoke up Emma. “And please, Mr.
Bindloss, try to remember your dreams, for they may have a powerful
bearing on this affair. Each of you do the same and tell them to me
in the morning.”
“It ain’t dreams, it’s lead that’s goin’ to settle this heah
matter,” observed Sam.
Nevada soon returned with a mustang for Tom Gray. The animal was not
particularly good-natured, and gave Tom no little trouble at first,
but fortunately he was not unhorsed, and the party was soon
galloping away, each man carrying a rifle and fifty rounds of
ammunition.
A few miles down the valley they were halted by Pete and told to
spread out between him and the camp and keep a sharp lookout. Three
rifle shots were to be fired as a signal that the thieves had been
discovered. The men rode slowly back and forth, hailing as they met
at the end of their beats, and thus the night wore on with nothing
more disturbing than the howls of coyotes up in the mountains.
“Is it us that those fellows are howling at?” questioned Tom Gray as
he met Two-gun Pete.
“I don’t reckon so. The breeze ain’t blowin’ right fer them to scent
us.”
“Then it is probable that they are howling at someone up in the
hills, isn’t it?”
“Cap’n, I reckon as you aire right ’bout thet. Somethin’ aire
stirrin’. I feels it in my bones. Can you folks shoot?”
“Pretty well when we can see, but not in such darkness as this. Can
you?”
“Shore I kin shoot in the dark, but thet ain’t sayin’ I can hit what
I’m shootin at,” chuckled Pete.
While the Overland men and cowboys were watching the foothills for
the horse thieves, the girls of their party were busy making their
camp comfortable and chatting with Joe Bindloss, who found himself
much attracted to them. Then again, he felt it wise to remain with
them until the men returned.
Jim-Sam were striding back and forth with “ears pricked up, jest
huntin’ fer trouble,” as they listened to sounds of the night rather
than to what those about them were saying. Both men finally sat down
in the shadows on the mountain side of the camp, but not a word did
either man have to say.
“May I sit down with you boys?” asked Emma, skipping over to them.
“You are expecting something, I know, and I would just love to be in
on it.”
“Please, Missie, git back,” urged Sam. “Mebby nothin’ll happen. Most
likely nothin’ will, but we got to listen and watch, fer—Skip!” he
added in a whisper.
Jim felt his companion stiffen ever so little, and Emma, observing
the expression on his face, without another word, turned and ran
back to her companions. Sam had heard something, and Jim’s nod
indicated that he too heard it, but neither man moved from his
position, though Sam Conifer’s hand might have been seen caressing
the big revolver butt that protruded from his holster.
Over yonder by the campfire there were chatter and joking and
laughter, the old rancher being entertained as he had not been in
many years, in fact not since he was a youngster in Illinois where
he had been born and reared. Jim-Sam now heard nothing of the
merriment, every faculty being bent on the slight rustling that both
could hear in the bushes to the rear of them. It was not the breeze
that was stirring the foliage, for there was no breeze, and they
knew that it was either man or animal creeping up on them, though
neither man could be certain that their own presence, there in the
shadows, had been discovered.
Sam suddenly decided that the time for action was at hand. With one
of those marvellously flashing movements that seemed so little a
part of him, the old man jerked his weapon from its holster and
fired back over his shoulder into the bushes without even looking
around.
Nora uttered a scream, and the other girls sprang to their feet,
while Joe Bindloss, uttering a roar, charged towards the guides,
both of whom, now having risen, were shooting into the bushes.
Bindloss suddenly realized that the firing was not one-sided, for he
heard bullets zing past his ears. The Overland girls also at once
discovered that they were under fire—revolver fire—and springing
away from the campfire, they threw themselves prone on the ground.
The rancher at this juncture took a hand in the shooting. The
Overland girls, despite their fright, gazed at him in admiration.
Bindloss, standing in the light of the campfire, was working his
revolver, firing at the flashes he saw coming from the bushes. He
made a splendid mark, but nothing touched him, though twice Jim-Sam
heard grunts in the bushes, that told that someone there had been
hit.
“I can’t stand this!” cried Emma. “I’m going to get my rifle.”
“Lie still!” commanded Grace. “Let the men do the fighting. If they
need us we shall know it, and that will be time enough.”
Emma sank back, complaining to herself. Stacy was nowhere in sight,
but they knew that he was in hiding, for he had disappeared at the
first shot fired by Sam Conifer.
The firing from the bushes ceased suddenly, the defense of the camp
probably having grown too warm, as the Overlanders reasoned out the
situation. Now the three men fairly riddled the bushes with their
shooting, sweeping the entire spread of foliage for several yards to
the right and left of them.
A sharp cry from one of the girls drew the attention of Jim-Sam and
Joe Bindloss to them.
“Horses!” shouted Grace.
The three men instantly divined her meaning. The attackers had taken
to their mounts, and, with quick perception of what their defenders’
next action would be, the Overland girls snatched up rifles and
thrust them into the hands of the men as the latter ran for the
open.
The heavy report of a rifle before the three men were clear of the
camp, was the first intimation that Stacy Brown had come out of
hiding. He was shooting at the retreating horsemen, now that it was
reasonably safe for him to do so. A few seconds later Jim-Sam and
Joe Bindloss were firing at the sound of retreating hoof-beats, and
they kept on firing until the hoof-beats finally died away.
* * * * *
“Hark!” exclaimed Tom Gray as the sound of rifle fire from the
Overland camp reached them.
“I heah it,” answered Two-gun Pete. “Rifles! They aire at it fer
keeps.”
“Then let’s go. Man, they need us!” urged Tom, his tone reflecting
his excitement.
“Wait! Hold yer hosses fer a bit.”
They heard the few answering scattering shots fired by the fleeing
attackers; then the firing died out. Pete, with head cocked to one
side, interpreted the sounds and the silence aright.
“Yer folks have got ’em on the run. Reckon we’ll be goin’. Jest jog
along so thet we don’t run into somethin’ headlong,” he advised.
Tom Gray, worried and full of eagerness to get into action, had to
put a firm check on himself to keep from racing on in the lead of
his companion. Ahead of them somewhere they knew that Hippy Wingate
was on the lookout for the horse thieves, and so long as nothing was
heard from him there appeared to be no need for haste, but while
Tom’s every faculty was centered on what lay ahead of them, Two-gun
Pete, like the mustang he was riding, gave as much attention to the
rear as he did to what was ahead.
A flash suddenly leaped up in the darkness ahead, followed by a
sharp report. Then guns banged with a speed that reminded Tom Gray
of nights on the firing line in France.
“He’s met ’em! Ride!” yelled Two-gun Pete, putting spurs to his
horse.
Tom needed no urging, nor did his pony. The little animal uttered a
whistling snort and plunged ahead, its nose at the flank of Pete’s
flying mustang.
[Illustration: “He’s Met ’Em! Ride!”]
“He’s turned ’em!” flung back Pete. “They aire headin’ ’cross the
valley. That feller shore has got nerve.”
No more was said, but both men swerved their mounts farther out into
the valley to head off the fleeing horsemen, and drew up on them
slowly. Pete saw that Hippy Wingate was fighting with all the odds
against him, but that he was holding his own. Had there been light,
the Overlander would have been in a much more serious situation.
As the two men neared the scene of the fighting, Tom Gray uttered a
long-drawn yell, which Hippy heard, recognized, and answered. The
attackers heard too, and put on a fresh burst of speed. Observing
this, Pete jerked his rifle from its holster and emptied his
magazine at them. Up to this time, however, Tom Gray had not fired.
“No use. We aire losin’ ground,” shouted Pete. “Ride till we git
close enough to use the barkers. I never was no good at long-range
shootin’.”
A few moments later the horses of the ruffians became faintly
discernible, and Pete rode straight at them. The ruffians were
shooting as they raced, and Lieutenant Hippy Wingate was banging
away at them and yelling like an Indian on the warpath. About this
time Tom and Pete opened up with their revolvers. A pony went down
and its rider was seen to plunge over its head. Pete jerked his
mustang aside just in time to avoid running into the fallen man and
horse. There were fully half a dozen of the supposed horse thieves,
some of whom were leading other animals behind them, and it was
these to whom Pete devoted his attention, believing that the led
horses were stolen animals.
The three pursuers were spread out in fan shape now, Hippy Wingate
on the extreme right, running in on the fleeing men head-on, then
ducking and swinging out, after emptying his weapon at them.
“Hit!” he muttered as a sudden burning sensation was felt in the
calf of his left leg. “Take that!” he yelled. Taking a desperate
chance he rode right in among the scattered horsemen, hoping to cut
them off and give his own companions an opportunity to do more
effective work.
Hippy emptied two revolvers at the raiders, then all at once
something suddenly seemed to snap in his head, and Hippy Wingate
reeled in his saddle. Sudden and deeper darkness enveloped him, and
Hippy fell forward on the neck of his mustang, both feet slipping
from the stirrups. For a moment he clung there. He did not hear the
scream of his pony as a bullet hit the plucky little animal, nor did
he feel the impact when both he and the pony went down in the dust
and lay motionless where they had fallen.