CHAPTER XIX.MERCILESS.
“Mendez, I have service for you to perform.”
The speaker was Kent King, the Gambler Guide, and he stood upon a rock that commanded the entrance to a cañon in his front, and from which he had a view of the prairie a mile beyond.
It was a wild, picturesque spot, the mountain retreat of the bandits, and a formidable position to attack. The night before, with twoscore of followers, he had gone to his retreat, after committing deeds of deviltry a savage would have revolted at.
Well he knew that the vigilantes would pursue him, and that once aroused they would hunt him and his band to the death. His men had urged that they keep the open trail and seek other scenes; but Kent King had an object in remaining, and was determined not to be driven from the neighborhood where dwelt Mary Hale.
Now, as he gazed far across the prairie, he saw a large body of horsemen approaching, and, with emotions of dread, he recognized in advance Captain Dash, the Texan, and his terrible Revolver Riders.
“We could hold out a week here, perhaps, but not longer, so I must act at once,” he said; and then, having made up his mind, apparently, he called to a villainous-looking Mexican standing near.
“Yes, señor chief, what would you have me do?” asked Mendez.
“Serve me well, and you shall have a golden reward; you have a fleet horse?”
“Yes, señor.”
“Go and get him ready for a hard ride, and prepare your traps, for I do not care to have you return here.”
The Mexican obeyed, not sorry to avoid the fight he knew was coming. Soon he returned to where his chief stood.
“I have written a letter here. Take it to Parson Miller; you know where he lives, and he will tell you what to do. Go by the secret outlet to this retreat, and ride like the wind.”
“Yes, señor chief.”
The Mexican sprang on his horse and rode away, while Kent King turned to his men, who were rapidly gathering around him.
“We are going to have a brush with the enemy, boys, but we can stand them off for a few days, and then secretly retreat at night. Are you all ready for the fight?”
He ran his eyes over the villainous-looking band, which certainly was a hard crowd, for there were German, Spanish, Mexican, American, negro, and even Chinese bravadoes in the lot, and all of them men who were legal candidates for the gallows.
In half an hour more the Revolver Riders and vigilantes came in sight, and camped in the valley below, as if they had come to stay and meant business. Kent King watched them holding councils of war with a sneer upon his handsome, but cruel, dissipated face, and in his eyes shone a triumphant light.
When darkness at length came upon the scene, the camp fires were lighted below in the valley. It was evident that the vigilantes knew just where their game was, and intended to starve them out, knowing thatthe entrance to the rocky bowl, or cañon, where the renegades were, was under their control, and escape could be prevented.
About midnight the settlers moved to the attack from different points, verging toward the pass leading to the retreat. Without, the rattle of firearms made lively music. The bandits met them with coolness. Their deadly fire beat off the assailants, who were forced to retire to their camp and plan some other method of attack.
Thus the night and following day passed, and the vigilantes remained camped in the valley below. As soon as darkness came on, Kent King went the round of his forces, and then suddenly disappeared from the sight of his men.
Gaining a secluded spot among the rocks, where a number of horses were picketed, he quickly bridled and saddled his own animal, and, mounting, rode quietly away. Taking a path that led still farther up the mountain, a most hazardous trail to follow even in daylight, he went fearlessly along, until he reached the summit of the hill, along the ridge of which he rode for half a mile.
Coming to a thicket of pines, he entered it, and found a path leading down the mountainside, opposite to the one on which the vigilantes were encamped. Gaining the valley and a broad trail, he was about to urge his horse into a gallop, when he heard the clink of iron against rock.
Instantly he dashed into the shelter of some huge bowlders, for he knew that horsemen were coming. There he quietly awaited. Presently dark forms came in sight, two horsemen abreast, and fully a hundred innumber. At their head he recognized by the starlight one whom he knew to be leading the vigilantes and Revolver Riders to his stronghold.
It was Prairie Pete, one of the best guides on the plains and in the mountains, and the direction in which he was riding proved that he knew the secret, though dangerous, path to the retreat.
They passed within six feet of the bowlder, over the top of which the outlaw looked. It was a moment of fearful suspense to him, for a movement of his horse, or a rider swerving from the trail, would have betrayed him.
With a sigh of relief, he saw them pass on. Then, though he knew he could dash across a nearer path, gain the secret trail and warn his men, who could, thus warned, easily beat off their foes, he rode on his way, saying savagely:
“Let them capture them! What care I, for sooner or later they would all be hanged! I will look after myself only; and, if Mendez served me faithfully, within twenty-four hours I will be far from here.”
As he rode along, there came to him the sound of distant firing and shouting. Involuntarily he drew up and listened for a while.
“They have captured the retreat, and the Trail Bandits are no more, for that is the wild Texas yell of victory,” he muttered.
Then, dashing the spurs into the flanks of his horse, he rode on like the wind.