CHAPTER XIV.
THE AGED SCOUT GIVES AN EXHIBITION OF HIS ABILITY.
“Well done, man! Well done, Pinky!” shouted Sandy.
And with all speed possible he rode to the assistance of his bunkmate, as, with Bowser in his clutch, the cowboy emerged from the very grasp of death.
Not a moment too soon did he arrive!
Blinded by the hot smoke, choking and coughing, the cowboy from the Double Cross outfit was reeling in his saddle, his strength having given out after the rescue of his employer, though he still unconsciously clutched Bowser’s belt.
But, before he fell Sandy’s strong arm encircled him.
Because of their horror at seeing one of their number give his life to the relentless wall of flames, as they supposed, Hawks and the men with him had not seen the thrilling rescue and it was not till they heard the foreman’s shout of congratulation to Pinky that they had any idea there was any one near them.
No sooner had his words rung out, however, than they were upon their feet and quickly they swarmed about the prostrate form of the man they had given up as dead and his rescuers.
Even when they saw him saved, the narrowness of the ranchman’s escape from such a horrible fate held them silent as they anxiously poured brandy and other stimulants down his throat.
But it was not many minutes before they were afforded the joyous relief of seeing Bowser open his eyes.
Thus satisfied that their fellow had, indeed, been saved in time, Dude and the others turned their attention to Pinky, who was quickly revived, while Hawks talked with Sandy.
The owner of the Double Cross ranch, however, was aware that he had not been saved by any of the three men who had been hiding in the bushes to intercept the Midnight Raider. Indeed, his last memory was of seeing them dashing for safety, giving no heed to his desperate call for assistance. And as his mind came back to its normal condition, he asked, feebly:
“Who—who saved me?”
“Pinky!” returned several voices.
“Pinky? Why—why—what’s he doing here? I thought he was back at the ranch, looking after Sarah?” Then, another idea flashed into his mind, and he asked, “There—hasn’t anythingmorehappened at home, has there?”
“Not a thing, Sam,” exclaimed his foreman, moving to where his master could see him.
“What, you here, too?” ejaculated Bowser.
“Yes, Charlie Harris and his wife came over to see Sarah, and he told us to join you—and from the fixPinky found you in, I reckon it was an all-fired good thing we come just when we did!”
“No doubt about that,” returned the ranchman. “To say nothing of saving me, we’ll need you before we run that cowlifter down. But I thought I left you at the Star and Moon?”
Briefly Sandy told him of his actions, not even omitting a description of the scene when Mrs. Bowser had held them from leaving the ranch at the point of her rifle, knowing full well that the woman would tell about it upon their return and believing it would seem less serious when his master was still in forceful remembrance of the fact that the timely arrival of his two men was all that had saved his life.
As the picture of the angry and determined women was set before their minds, the men laughed heartily.
“There’s no doubt but that Sarah’s a woman who’s bound to have her own way,” commented the owner of the Double Cross. “And I don’t mind a bit saying I’d much rather it was you standing before her rifle than me. She’s some nervous.”
“Well, so long’s everything is all right back at the ranch and we’ve got two more men than we thought you’d have, let’s have grub,” proposed Grouch. “I’m hungry.”
“Sure we’ll have grub—when you overhaul our ponies,” snapped Dude. “You start out and round ’em up, and we’ll have a fire ready when you get back.”
Thus reminded that the loss of their horses also meant the loss of their food, which was all in the saddle bags, the avengers were thrown into no pleasant frame of mind.
But the two cowboys whose arrival had been so opportune quickly restored their good humor by announcing they had brought all the grub they could lay hands on. And, without more ado, the men who had come so near to a horrible death, set about having a meal.
Meantime, the aged scout and his two companions had heard the fusillade of shots which had been fired at the man they had routed from his retreat.
“Hooray! They’ve got the cuss!” shouted Ki Yi, gleefully, as the reports reached their ears.
“Got nothin’!” snorted Nig.
“Why not?” demanded Deadshot. “Can’t you hear them firing?”
“Uhuh!”
“Then what makes you say they haven’t got him?”
“Too many shots! Injun fool paleface! No trick um, no keep firing! Scalping Louie heap smart!”
From this logic there was no getting away and, though they stared at one another in dismay, the two cowboys accepted the aged scout’s statement without quibble.
“What’s to do?” asked Deadshot, after several minutes had brought no further comment from their guide.
“Find paleface.”
“That sounds easy, but how are we going to get out of this hole without our ponies which the cattle drove off?” inquired Ki Yi. “I’m not keen on walking myself, especially when you’re liable to sink out of sight if you don’t step just so.”
“Oh, we can keep hold of Nig’s rope,” rejoined Deadshot.
“No need walk,” grunted the aged scout.
“How are we going, fly?” grinned the man from the Star and Moon. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t got my airship with me this trip,” he added, jestingly, seeking to restore Nig’s good humor—which the escape of his arch-enemy through the hands of the ranchmen and cowboys had sadly upset. “But perhaps you have one hidden in the swamp somewhere back of us, like you did your pony, Nig.”
“Paleface heap funny—nit!” snapped the old half-breed. “Maybe no think so if Louie get um scalp.”
“That sure wouldn’t make a hit with me,” rejoined Ki Yi. “But if Deadshot and me haven’t got to walk, will you kindly tell us how we are to travel, seeing as how we’ve only got one pony among three?”
“And that one so short, Ki Yi couldn’t sit it without pulling up his knees,” added the member of the Double Cross outfit.
“Pinto carry plenty easy—but slow,” responded Nig.
“Well, if that flea bitten bunch of hide and bones can stand it, I reckon we can,” grinned Ki Yi.
But, despite his mocking words, both he and the other cowboy glanced at the little piece of horseflesh with renewed respect and only too thankful to be spared the danger from a misstep which would land them in a sucking mudhole or from being bitten by some deadly poisonous snake, the two cowpunchers mounted behind their aged guide.
The task they had undertaken, however, proved even too much for the wily old half-breed, familiar with every foot of the swamps as he had been. For the fire had obliterated all the old landmarks, leaving a cover of charred grass and saplings in its wake which hid the treacherous deathpools, while from all about rose a steam sickening in its stench.
Wondering if they would ever be able to live through it and thanking their stars they were not obliged to walk, the cowboys were busy looking about them when the aged half-breed drew rein.
“No use. No make it,” he grunted, scanning the blackened, foul-smelling waste. “Only paleface and fools try go through um.”
“Much obliged for the comparison, but what do you propose to do?” asked Deadshot. “We sure can’t stay here. I believe I’d rather make a try at getting through on foot, by myself, than dying in this hole!”
“Who say stay here?” demanded Nig.
“What else is there to do, if you say we can’t go on?”
“Go back.”
“But what good will that do?”
This lack of ability to grasp his purpose, disgusted the aged scout.
“Say, you think Nig fool enuff to get in where only one way get out, like paleface?” he snorted. “We turn roun’ and go by the other trail.”
Chagrined to think they had both showed such a lamentable lack of ordinary woodcraft, the cowboys looked at one another.
“By thunder! we are a pretty pair!” exclaimed Deadshot. “Here we’d clean forgotten there was any other way to get out of this death hole. Say, Nig, it’s a mighty good thing we’ve got you to help us or, if we didn’t show any more common sense than we have so far. Scalping Louie could raid all the ranches within a hundred miles while we sat round somewhere, thinking we’d got him cornered.”
“That’s no dream,” assented the man from the Star and Moon outfit. “If we ever do get the cuss, the credit’ll probably belong to Nig.”
All the while the cowpunchers were berating themselvesfor their forgetting the other trails leading into the bottoms, they were riding toward the West, and it was not long before they found, to their delight, that the going was easier than along the track by which they had entered.
“How much out of our way is this going to take us?” inquired Ki Yi, after they had proceeded for an hour or so.
“By turning to South, ’fore long, no make much more than twenty mile.”
“How near will that bring us to where the cattle were driven in?” he asked, continuing his questions.
“Mebbe ten, mebbe twelve mile South.”
“Well, I suppose you know what you’re talking about. But I can’t see how you figure that out,” declared Deadshot. “Here you say our having to go back and round will take us twenty miles out of the way and yet we’ll bring up in about ten from where we started.”
“Uhuh. Go West. Go South. Go North. Swamp not all burned. Nig know trail save um going clear out.”
“Say, isn’t it easy when you know the answer?” chuckled Ki Yi. “Deadshot, the best thing for you and me to do is to keep our mouths shut before we show Nig any more of our ignorance.”
And accordingly, the two cowboys held their peace while the aged scout guided his pony with infinite skill in and out among the death holes, turning so many times that neither of the men at his back were able to keep any idea of direction.
Several times, the member of the Star and Moon outfit had it on his tongue’s end to ask toward which point of the compass they were traveling, but his pride prevented and just as it seemed to them that they were going in a great circle, they were amazed to emerge from a clump of saplings and underbrush and behold the plains in front of them.
In delighted surprise, the cowboys gazed at the welcome grass of the rolling prairies.
“I sure do take off my hat to you, Nig,” exclaimed Ki Yi. “I’ve seen some good work in my life, but I never saw anything equal to what you’ve done. I’m all-fired glad it’s on Scalping Louie’s trail you are, and not mine!”
Though the cowpuncher had intended his words to be complimentary, even hoping that they might restore the aged scout’s good nature, he could not have made a more unfortunate remark.
“Huh! Me on Louie’s trail some more, plenty! If Bowser and palefaces no been heap fool, no need trail Louie!” he grunted. “Now mebbe day mebbe week, mebbe never—if fool sojers take um back to reservation. No been for fool paleface, Nig had Louie by now!”
Though the men at his back both believed his words, they were determined not to let him dwell upon the idea that the presence of themselves and the other avengers was a handicap rather than an assistance and Deadshot quickly exclaimed:
“Oh, well, I don’t see how you could have got him alone. Besides, you won’t have the hard time you think picking up his trail again. All we’ve got to do is to find the rest of our crowd and they’ll be able to tell us in which direction the ornery crittur went.”
But the aged scout was not to be propitiated so easily.
“Heap good that do!” he snorted. “Paleface see Louie go South, mebbe. Good. But while they eating grub, thinking catch um in the morning, Louie him sneak back and go North.”
“There won’t be any danger of his doing that, nowyou’rewith us,” shrewdly interposed Deadshot. “The very fact that they can tell you in which direction Scalping Louie went will save you just so much time in getting on his trail because you won’t be obliged to go searching round for it at random.”
Though he gave no indication either by sign or speech that this statement was correct and appealed to him, the aged scout, however, became less taciturn as they rode Northward.
“What makes you go up instead of to the East or South?” asked Ki Yi. “You don’t think the rest of our bunch are fools enough to try to flee from a fire by riding in front of it, when they could turn to one side or back and get away, do you?”
“No. We go up because we find paleface waiting near trail for us.”
“What, do you think they’ll sit quietly down and give Scalping Louie the chance to get away when they can follow him?”
“Paleface no follow Louie,” returned the aged scout.
“What makes you think that?”
“Wait for us. Bowser, um want wait for Nig. Nig know. Hawk, um heap talk. No got good think cap. Bowser, um think we come back same trail we went in, so um wait near there.”
That this opinion of the clever old half-breed not alone showed his marvelous ability to read human nature, but was in accordance with the facts, the reader already knows—and it was not long before the cowboys were made aware of it also.
By the time the strange trio mounted upon the back of the flea-bitten pinto had reached the plains, dusk was upon them, which steadily increased until it was almost pitch dark.
Of a sudden, as they mounted a rise in the prairies, the aged scout pointed ahead.
In the distance could be seen the fitful flicker of a fire.
“Man, dear, you don’t suppose that could be the Midnight Raider, do you?” eagerly inquired Deadshot.
“What, Louie build a fire when um know um being hunted? Injun no such fool,” retorted Nig, with infinite scorn in his voice.
“Then who is it?”
“No know. Think Bowser and palefaces.”
Unable to dispute this assertion, the cowboys held their peace, for they realized that from the actions not only of their bunkmates, but of themselves, they had no right to resent the contempt for their scouting powers which the old half-breed held.
From time to time, as they steadily approached, they could see the form of some man silhouetted against the flare, as he arose and moved about.
“Howling coyotes! but couldn’t we pick him off easy!” exclaimed Ki Yi, after one of these movements which were made without any apparent thought that there might be enemies afoot.
“And he’d never know what hit him!” returned Deadshot.
“Say, let’s throw a crimp into the bunch!” ejaculated the member of the Star and Moon outfit, all at once.
“How?” demanded his companion.
“Sneak up on ’em and hold ’em up!”
“Man, dear! But that would be good fun!” returned Deadshot. Then, turning to the old half-breed, he asked: “Do you think we could do it, Nig?”
“Uhuh! Heap easy!”
“Then let’s do it!” exclaimed the two cowboys, together.
The thought of giving Bowser and his men a practical illustration of his ability to stalk his game, whether man or beast, appealed to the aged scout, and readily he entered into the joke.
Without delay, the trio dismounted and Nig, by means of a few gutteral commands, made his pinto lie down.
“No need cover um. So dark no one see,” he declared. “You keep close to me. Do what me do.”
Having taken a thorough observation of the exact location of the campfire, the aged scout doubled up, crouching so low that his back could not have been seen above the top of the grass, even if it had not been dark, and advanced, gliding through the mesquite so skillfully that it was nigh impossible for the cowboys to follow him. But out of consideration for them, he paused occasionally, giving them the opportunity to catch up to him.
“We must be pretty close to ’em now,” whispered Ki Yi, after they had proceeded for some ten minutes.
“Uhuh. Palefaces no more thirty yards away.”
“Then let’s rush ’em!” exclaimed Deadshot.
“Get heap full lead,” returned Nig.
This response suggested a contingency that had not hitherto occurred to the cowpunchers and the thought filled them with alarm.
“Won’t we, anyway?” queried Ki Yi, anxiously. “Seems to me it would be better to go back to get the pony and then ride up, shouting to them as we came.”
“Not much!” returned the aged scout. “We play um joke. Come on. Do just what I do.”
It was not without many misgivings, however, that his companions followed him, as, crouching even lower than before, Nig crept upon the unsuspecting ranchmen and cowboys squatting about the fire.
When they were so near that they could not only hear their voices but understand what was being said, the two cowpunchers expected that their guide would play his coup.
But the aged scout was determined to impress the entire outfit with his amazing ability—and it was not until there were scarce a foot of grass between him and his play-victims that he paused.
Then, turning and signing to his companions that he was ready to act, Nig drew his six shooters.
With a leap, he rose from the grass.
“Hands up!” he yelled, at the same time covering the men about the fire with his guns.
In amazement, Bowser and the rest of the avengers whirled in the direction whence the startling command had come—finding to their astonishment that they were gazing into the muzzles of six revolvers.