CHAPTER X.
A THRILLING RESCUE.
No sooner had he given his suggestion to Sandy than Ki Yi buried the rowels of his spurs in the pony’s flanks and darted after Deadshot.
“Hey, you numbskull, where you going?” shouted the owner of the Double Cross ranch, angrily. “I didn’t give you a mount just to have you go off by yourself. Wait for the rest of us. We’ve got to decide which is the direction to take.”
“Haven’t got time,” retorted the cowboy, exasperatingly. “There’s been too much talk already. I know which way Deadshot went, and he’s on the raider’s trail.”
“Then we’ll follow you,” called the owner of the Star and Moon. And quickly the troop of horsemen leaped their ponies in the wake of Ki Yi.
In the meantime, Deadshot and the lone horseman he was pursuing were dashing over the plains.
Whether he was following his quarry or not, the cowboy from the Double Cross ranch did not know. He had hoped that the raider would continue the running fight with which the chase had opened, thereby enabling him to gauge correctly the exact course the man he was pursuing was taking.
But the fiend who had stolen Bowser’s cattle and burned Hawks’ buildings was far too clever to give his whereabouts away in any such manner.
From the fact that the cowboys had exchanged shots with him—and had come off second best—he realized that the search for him would be unrelenting. In consequence, he was determined they should not know exactly in what direction he was headed. That they would trail the Double Cross steers to the Sangammon swamps, he did not doubt. Yet he believed that, could he enter the bottoms without being seen in the act, he would be able to elude his pursuers and eventually drive out the cattle and sell them.
He forgot, however, that the cause of wrongdoers never enjoys ultimate success.
Consequently, he thought only of his purpose to throw the cowboy off his track.
With that end in view, he rode low over his horse, dropping to one side or the other, Indian fashion, when a rise in the plains might expose his form to the eyes he knew were strained for a glimpse of him, at the same time swerving his course to the North that he might cross the trail made by the steers he had lifted and swing into the swamp from a direction almost opposite that where his pursuers would expect.
Thus deprived of any guidance as to the position of his quarry, Deadshot was forced to rely on his powers of deduction.
That the stolen cattle had been driven to the swamp he knew. And he was also convinced that the man who had burned Hawks’ buildings was the lifter who had deceived the entire Double Cross outfit with his spectral trick. With these two premises, it was not difficult for him to reach the conclusion that the fugitive would seek the shelter of the bottom lands. And accordingly he decided to strike the shortest route to the Sangammon swamps in the hope that he might outride the man he was pursuing, because of the greater freshness of his own mount, and arrive in time to intercept the raider.
Having evolved his method of procedure, therefore, Deadshot settled down grimly to his long night ride.
But that his plan was to come to naught, the reader already knows.
As they trailed in his wake, however, Ki Yi and the other avengers were mystified by the lack of shooting. To them, the silence seemed to indicate that some mishap had overtaken the cowboy, and great was their anxiety on that account.
Once or twice, Bowser suggested the advisability of making a search for him, but each time he was overruled.
“If Deadshot did lose his pony, like Ki Yi, he would know enough to go back to what’s left of my home ranch,” finally declared Hawks. “And if he’d been wounded, he would either have ridden for us or to the ranch. So it’s all the same. It’s my opinion, though, that he has set out to follow the fiend alone. You know you gave him a pretty severe call down for not hitting the man when he dashed from the shadow of the bunkhouse out onto the plains.”
This mention of the spectral appearance presented by the Midnight Raider turned their minds to the manner in which he worked his trick.
Many were the suggestions advanced, but none were correct.
That he was first white and then seemed to vanish from sight, they all knew. Yet had they been close enough to see how the trickster produced the uncanny effect, they would have been surprised—and humiliated—by its simplicity.
The ghostly appearance was obtained from a peaked hood which fitted over the fellow’s head and a long, flowing robe, white on one side and black on the other.
By seizing the ends of the robe, with the white side out, as he always wore it when starting on a raid, and waving his arms, he could produce the eerie, floating effect. And as his horse was a dark brown, by either riding slowly or leaping and plunging, he could give suggestion of traveling through the air, at will.
And his disappearing act was equally easy.
Whenever pursuit grew too close or he desired to inspire additional terror vanishing and then appearing again, he simply pulled the robe over his head, keeping the black side out.
But in their ignorance of the truth, the cowboys taxed their imaginations to the utmost, without any other satisfaction than the whiling away of the weary hours they swept through the waving grass until dawn enabled them to scan the plains for a sight of either friend or foe.
Having ridden at a terrific pace, considering the handicap afforded by the darkness and the tall grass, Deadshot reached the edge of the swamps before daylight, and, to his satisfaction, was able to conceal his pony in some saplings and then climb into them, from which point of vantage he hoped to discover the cowlifter sneaking toward his hiding place.
With the gradual lightening of the plains, he was suddenlythrown into great excitement by the sight of a lone horseman approaching the bottoms cautiously.
Clutching his rifle tightly, he drew a bead on the man.
But, fortunately for both, he did not pull the trigger.
What the reason was, Deadshot said later he could not tell. But his failure so to do spared the life of Ki Yi—for the approaching horseman was none other than the man from the Star and Moon outfit who had made a desperate attempt to catch up with his pal from the Double Cross.
Trembling as he thought how near he can come to shooting down his friend, Deadshot waited to see what Ki Yi would do.
But the cowboy was a scout of no mean ability.
Rising in his stirrups from time to time as he drew nearer and nearer to the edge of the swamp, he soon discovered the trail through the dew-laden grass which his pal had made.
And, as he did so, he, too, threw his rifle to his shoulder. Then, realizing that any one hiding in the underbrush surrounding the bottom lands would be able to see him when he could not detect the person concealed, he suddenly slid from his pony, hobbled it, and, crouching so low that his back was not visible above the waving tops of the grass, resumed his following of the trail.
Arrived at the saplings, however, it did not take him long to discover and recognize Deadshot’s horse. But where the cowboy was, he was unable to make out until a chuckle caused him to look up into the branches directly over his head.
“That’s one on me,” he exclaimed, in a low voice, shaking his fist at his pal.
“No doubt of that. And it’s a mighty good thing it was I in the tree instead of Mr. Cowlifter. I came mighty near putting a bullet into you as it was when I first caught sight of you,” he added, shuddering at the closeness of the call.
“But you ought to have known it was I,” returned Ki Yi.
“Don’t see why. I knew your pony had been shot under you and I didn’t have any idea how soon you’d get another.”
“That’s true enough. But you were chasing the raider, not he you.”
“Which shows how little you know about it. Having a fresher mount than he, after he stopped firing so that I couldn’t get a line on him, I decided to outride him and be here to greet him.”
“Well, did you?”
“More than I know. He hasn’t come yet—and he won’t if you leave your broncho out there where any one can see it.”
“I’ll bring him in, but I don’t believe we’ll get a shot at the ornery cuss from this side of the swamp. He’s either beaten you to it or he’s struck the bottoms from some other direction.”
And, as the reader knows, this is just what the Midnight Raider had done.
After making his pony fast close beside Deadshot’s, Ki Yi climbed into a neighboring sapling, and together they watched until about nine o’clock, when they agreed their quarry had given them the slip, and they descended to have a bite to eat.
This finished, they discussed whether or not they should do some scouting on their own hook while waiting for the rest of the outfits to come up, finally abandoning the idea in the fear that the horsemen might not find their trails and enter the swamp at some other point.
And well for the ranch owners was it that they did!
Having been unable to keep Ki Yi in sight, they had headed for the Southern end of the swamps, while their two cowboys had struck out for the middle. Consequently, it was only because the latter were keeping a lookout for their pals that they discovered them several miles away, about the middle of the forenoon.
“Man, dear, but I’m glad to see you!” exclaimed Bowser, as Deadshot and Ki Yi joined them. “Every man jack of us has a different idea how we ought to go about trailing the raider, and none of us know enough about the business to track a buffalo. But, now you’re here, we’ll turn the leadership over to you.”
This suggestion met with the approval of Hawks, much to the delight of his men.
“That being the case, I reckon we’d best hit the trail where the cattle was driven in,” declared Deadshot. “Ki Yi and I’ve been watching since daybreak and nary a sight of the crittur have we seen, nor we didn’t run across any trail on our way here, and unless you-all did, it’s a cinch the man we’re after didn’t enter the swamp to the South or at the middle.”
“We didn’t see as much as a coyote track,” returned the owner of the Star and Moon, “so the cattle trail it is.”
And without more ado, the avengers headed their ponies Northward and entered the Sangammon bottom lands at the precise spot where Bowser’s steers had, some twenty-four hours previous.
Aware of the treacherous mudholes, Deadshot and Ki Yi followed the cattle trail as best they could. But the task was no simple one, for the reason that the softness of the footing left no hoof marks and the grass had had time to recover from its brushing aside or down, except in instances where it had been trampled into the mire.
So much noise did the ponies make, plunging and splashing as they struggled to get out of the mud that the two leaders soon realized that their coming would be heard by any one in hiding in sufficient time to make a getaway or establish an ambuscade, and accordingly they called a halt to discuss what was best to do.
But, before they could begin the council of war, one of their number came near death!
In his desire to ride alongside Deadshot, Bowser reinedhis pony out of the trail. But scarce a yard had he advanced than the animal stepped into one of the dread mudholes and began to sink with incredible rapidity.
“Help! Help! I’m being sucked under!” shouted the terror-stricken man.
Understanding full well the danger that threatened the owner of the Double Cross ranch, Deadshot and Ki Yi ordered the others to halt and hold their ponies where they were while they themselves dismounted and rushed to the rescue.
“We’ll take him one on each side,” exclaimed Ki Yi, as they drew near the wildly-struggling horse.
To the man sinking to such a horrible death and to the others watching, it seemed as though the two cowboys never would reach him.
Yet they were making haste with all speed possible.
Already Bowser’s stirrups had been gripped in the relentless maw of the mudhole, and they realized that it would require all of their strength to draw him from the powerful and mysterious suction. Consequently, it was of the utmost importance that they choose footing that would not give way with them, thereby precipitating them into the mudhole—and sending all three to their death.
But the footing for the rescuers grew worse instead of better.
“We can’t make it, this way!” cried Deadshot.
“Man, dear, you’re sure not going to desert me?” pleaded the fast-disappearing ranchman.
“Not for a minute!” returned his cowboy. “Hey, Hawks, and the rest of you! throw your lariats over Sam’s shoulders.”
With a will, the men obeyed and for the next few seconds the air resounded with the whistling of the rawhides as they sped to their goal.
“Great work!” exclaimed Ki Yi. “Now, Sam, place them under your arms.”
His fingers almost useless, so did the ranchman’s hands tremble with fear, the work was slow.
Seeing that if they were not to be balked in their rescue, quick action must be taken, Deadshot cried:
“Back to your pony, Ki Yi! Sling me your rope! Sam can never get the nooses under his arms by himself. I’ve got to help him!”
“But your weight added to his will be too much for the pony! It’s almost out of sight now!” protested Hawks.
“It’s up to you fellows to keep us from going down!” returned the cowboy. “Keep your wits about you and act quick—when I give the word!”
Never stopping to question his orders, Ki Yi had leaped back to his broncho, seized his lasso and cast it deftly over Deadshot’s shoulders.
Grasping the rawhide as it settled, the cowpuncher slipped it under his arms and then, summoning all his strength, jumped for the back of Bowser’s pony.
In breathless silence, the others watched.
Squarely he landed behind the ranchman’s back.
But to the horror of the spectators, the shock sent the pony and Bowser down a foot.
“Turn your horses and ride for all your worth!” yelled Deadshot.
And, as the men obeyed, he completed the work of slipping the lariats beneath the ranchman’s arms.
Frantically the cowpunchers spurred their bronchos.
The lassos taughtened, then for a nerve-wracking moment there was a silence as the men watched to see whether they would be able to draw the two men from the awful death.
Slowly at first, then rapidly, Bowser’s body was dragged from the sucking mudhole, Deadshot clinging to his back.
But, as the men were hauled to safety, there came a terror-stricken shriek from the pony in the mudhole, followed by the gloating swish of the brackish water as it settled over the spot where the animal had disappeared!