CHAPTER XIV.
A TOBOGGAN TO DISASTER.
Pluckily forward plunged the pony, as if anxious to redeem his untimelystumble.
"It'll take them some time to get to their ponies and unhobble them,"thought Rob. "If I've luck, I may get away yet."
Keeping steadily to the direction the girl had pointed out, the boypressed on at as fast a clip as he dared. The farther he rode ahead ofthe pursuing tribe, the better chance he stood of getting beyond theirearshot.
It was risky riding, though, through an unknown country on such a darknight. What sort of going it was under foot, Rob could only tell by theuncertain gait of the beast he bestrode. Bushes occasionally brushed inhis face, scratching it, and once in a while an extra strong bunch ofchaparral would press against his legs, almost brushing him from hispony's back.
Suddenly the way took a steep downward pitch.
"I hope this isn't another precipice," thought the boy, as the ponyhalf-slid, half-clambered down in the darkness. Presently his hoofssplashed in water, and Rob knew they were crossing a creek. He drew backon his single rein and listened intently. Fortunately the wind, whatthere was of it, set toward him.
Borne on it he could hear distant shouts and cries. To his intensesatisfaction, it seemed to him that they were farther off than when hehad first heard them.
"Gained on them!" muttered Rob triumphantly. "Now, if daylight wouldonly come along----"
But it was long to wait till daylight, and in the meantime Rob did notdare remain where he was. The Indians probably knew the mountains like abook, and would work them on a system. In such an event his onlysalvation lay in keeping moving. All at once he stopped, with a suddenheart leap, as his pony scrambled up the farther bank of the creek.
A shrill cry sounded close behind him.
Could it be possible that the advance guard of the Indians hadapproached him so nearly?
The next instant Rob gave a laugh of relief. The shrill cry came again.
"Whoo-to-too, who-o-o!"
"Only an owl," exclaimed the boy. "Hullo, though, that's funny! There'sanother answering it--and by George! there's another!"
From the woods to the right and left had come similar hoots to theowl-like sound he had noted behind him. At the same instant, theunmistakable sound of a dislodged stone bounding and rattling down thesteep incline he had just descended was borne to his ears.
"That's no owl," gasped Rob, "it's Indians!"
As he realized how badly he had been fooled, his pony topped the rise.To any one below in the hollow, the outline of the pony and the boyshowed blackly against the stars. Suddenly a sound like an angry bee infull flight hummed close to Rob's ear, and the next moment there came asharp report behind him.
Instantaneously the hoots to the right and left flanks redoubled, andbegan closing in. All at once one of the birdlike cries sounded right infront of the escaping white boy.
He was hemmed in by Indians!
The craft of the red men had proven too much for Rob. Even the darknesshad not prevented their unerringly tracking him. By their skillfulwoodcraft and keenness of perception they had succeeded in discoveringhim and surrounding him.
For an instant Rob's heart stood still. Then, as a second shot whizzedby his ear, aimed by the unseen marksman below, he urged his pony onover the rise.
The advance, however, over the rocky ground sounded as loud as theapproach of a squadron of cavalry. Wild cries and yells rang out onevery side of the boy. What was he to do?
One of those inspirations born in moments of keen stress came to him inhis extremity. If all went well, he would fool the Indians yet, hard asthey were to deceive.
Slipping noiselessly from his pony as he rode under a dark clump ofpinon trees, the boy turned it loose. The little animal, to hissurprise, immediately turned backward, heading round toward the camp.But this turn of events, at first alarming, ultimately proved to be thevery best thing that could have happened for Rob, who had at first hopedthat the pony would trot forward.
The Indians, hearing its rapid footsteps galloping back, reasoned thatRob, realizing that he was headed off, had turned his mount in adesperate effort to escape that way. Yelling like demons, anddischarging their rifles in an almost continuous fusillade, the Indianswheeled and rode after the retreating pony. Naturally, the more theyshouted and fired, the faster the little animal ran, and every step tookthem farther from Rob, who was crouching under his pinon trees.
Not till they got back to their camp did the redskins discover that thewhite boy had served craft with strategy, and outwitted them. It wasthen too late to follow up the pursuit that night. The redskins knewthat any one cunning enough to have devised such a trick would not havestood still while they were chasing a will-o'-the-wisp in the oppositedirection to their desired quarry.
And they were right in this assumption. Rob, as soon as the beat oftheir ponies' hoofs had grown faint, had chuckled to himself at theirmistake, and silently as possible resumed his journey. If it had been ahard ride, it was a doubly hard tramp he had before him.
Susyjan had told him that a trail lay not so very far ahead. In thedarkness it was possible that he might have lost it. If he had, withoutfood or water, he would soon be in a serious position. But Rob,nevertheless, determined that his best course lay in pushing on, andthrough the darkness he steadily and pluckily advanced.
Presently he began to ascend what he knew must be a hill ormountainside. This complicated the problem. To go on along level groundwas one thing, but to attempt to continue his way over an acclivity assteep as the one that faced him seemed foolhardy. Every step he tookmight be leading him farther and farther astray.
"Oh, for a nice soft bed!" muttered Rob. "But not having one, a goodflat stone would do."
Soon afterward, following a lot of feeling about, he managed to find aflat-surfaced rock which seemed to promise well for a rough and readycouch. To the boy's delight, it retained some of the warmth of the sunwhich had beaten on it all day, and had he possessed a blanket to throwover it, might not have proved unacceptable as a sleeping place.
Casting himself down on it, Rob soon dozed off, nor did he awaken tillthe blackness turned to the gray that preceded the dawn. Viewed bydaylight, Rob found his surroundings such that he was glad that he hadnot proceeded any farther during the night. He lay on a hillside behinda screen of chaparral. But what caused him to feel some apprehension,when he thought of what might have happened had he continued hisjourney, was the fact that below his rock quite a steep slope droppeddown to the valley below. It was a drop of some thirty feet, and whilein the daylight any active man or boy could have clambered down itwithout injury, in the dark night it might have meant broken bones.
But Rob had little time to think of such possibilities. Something elsesuddenly occupied all his attention, and that something was an odor offrying bacon!
Mingled with it came the unmistakable aroma of tobacco. Somebody wascamped near him, that was a certainty. His first impulse was to shout,but he checked it. It speaks volumes for the Western training that theboy was rapidly acquiring when it is said that before he showed himselffrom behind his chaparral, he gazed cautiously through that leafyscreen.
Below him he saw three figures seated about a fire, over which wasfrying the bacon that had aroused his hunger almost to the exclamationpoint. The three campers, whose ponies were tethered a short distancefrom them, had their backs turned to Rob, but presently one of themturned to reach something from a saddle bag. Rob came very near touttering a startled exclamation and betraying his hiding place as he sawthe man's features.
It was Hank Handcraft.
The former beachcomber wore Western clothes and had trimmed his onceluxuriant and scraggly beard, but he was none the less unmistakablyHandcraft. Nor, as almost simultaneously Hank's companions turned, wasRob's astonishment at all lessened, for one of them was Bill Bender andthe other was the ranch boy to whom he had given a lesson in jiujitsu--Clark Jennings.
"Hurry up and stow your
grub, Hank," Clark was saying. "We've got tolight out of this neighborhood for a while and stick around the ranch."
"You think that old Harkness is suspicious, then?" inquired Hank.
"No, our disguises were too good. I'll bet they're cussin' the Moquisnow."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Bill Bender. "That was a great idea, dressing uplike Indians. I guess we got even on old Harkness for driving thosesheep off his pastures."
"You bet! and we'll do worse to him before we get through," gruntedClark. "It's pie for me. More especially as I can get even, at the sametime, with that young sniffler, Harry Harkness, and his friends from theEast--your old pals, Bill."
"No pals of mine. You can bet your life on that," grunted Bill. "Thebest thing I'd heard for a long time was when you told me about JackCurtiss shoving that kid Rob into the river. I'd like to have seen it.If it hadn't been for those Boy Scouts, as they call themselves, Hankand Jack and I would have been East now, instead of in this God-forsakencountry."
"What are you kicking at?" laughed Clark. "You've done pretty well sinceyou've been here, and if we can get that bunch of mavericks ofHarkness's, we'll all have a pocketful of money."
"When are you going after them?" asked Hank, placing a big bit of baconon a hunk of bread and gnawing on it in a satisfied way that set Robhalf crazy to watch.
"Soon as they are turned out on the Far Pasture. When they get over thescare of the stampede, they'll leave the place unwatched, and we'll haveour chance. We ought to get five hundred apiece out of it, anyhow."
"That would look good to me," grunted Hank.
"Oh, the scoundrels!" breathed Rob to himself. "They're plotting tosteal some of Mr. Harkness's mavericks. I remember now hearing him speakof turning them out in the Far Pasture."
"Then we can clear out and get back East," concluded Bill, "and takepoor old Jack with us. He isn't making out very well."
"Sort of hanger-on in that gambling place, isn't he?" asked Clark.
"I guess that's what you'd call it."
Soon after the group saddled up their ponies and prepared to leave theirtemporary camp. That they were on the trail, after having concludedtheir dastardly attempt to stampede Mr. Harkness's cattle, Rob had nodoubt, judging by their conversation.
"Better put that fire out!" warned Clark. "Scatter the ashes. We don'twant any one trailing us."
The three worthies bent together over the ashes, while their saddledponies stood eying them at some short distance.
"Guess I'd better pull back out of this before they take it into theirheads to look around," thought Rob, who in his eagerness to hear whatwas going forward below had thrust his head out through the bush whichscreened him.
With the object of drawing back again, he braced himself on one hand andpushed backward. How it happened he never knew, for he had been verycareful, but suddenly the small rock on which the pressure of his handrested gave way with a crash.
Clawing wildly at the bush, Rob sought to save himself from being flungheadlong down the hill into the camp below him, but it was too late.
Down the hill he shot at lightning speed, in the midst of a roaring,rattling landslide of rocks and earth.
The men in the camp started and turned as the sudden uproar of Rob'sinvoluntary toboggan slide reached their ears.
"What the----" shouted Hank Handcraft.
"Who is----" began Clark, when Rob's feet caught him in the stomach andcannoned him against Hank Handcraft. Clutching wildly to prevent his ownfall, Hank caught Bill Bender's sleeve, and the next instant all threeof the campers were rolling in a confused mass in the ashes of theirfire.
"It's a bear!" yelled Hank.
"Bear nothing!" bellowed Clark Jennings, as Rob scrambled to his feetand darted off like a shot. "It's a boy!"
"After him!" shouted Bill Bender, snatching up a rifle and aiming it."That kid's Rob Blake."