CHAPTER X.THE KIDNAPED GIRL.
“Choke off the kid, Bill! Are you crazy, to let her screech like that?”
The command came quick and sharp and suppressed.
“Hanged ef I like this yar business of chokin’ babbys! I wouldn’t mind ef she wuz a man.”
The retort was growled forth in a gruff bass voice. Two dark forms were seen coming along the path. One of them, the one in advance, carried in his arms a little girl of twelve.
The ruffians did not observe Frank and Bart until they were quite close. Then, of a sudden, as the big fellow in advance halted, uttering a startled oath, Merriwell’s clear voice rang out:
“Drop that child, you whelps, or we’ll drop you.”
The man behind made a quick movement, and Frank flung himself from the saddle. It was well Merry did so, for the man had whipped out a revolver and fired over the shoulder of his companion, the bullet whistling past Frank’s ear as he dropped.
“Got him!” grated the man, evidently believing he had shot the youth. “Down goes the other one!”
Bart had a revolver in his grasp, but, in the gloom of the timber, he had refrained from firing, fearing to injure the girl, who now uttered another cry for help.
But Hodge knew he was in danger, and he feared Frank had been hit by the shot of the ruffian. He ducked beside the neck of his horse and was barely in time to save his life, for another flash of fire punctured the shadows, another report rang through the timber, and the second bullet cut a hole through the hat of the dark-faced youth.
Then Hodge saw Merriwell leaping straight at the ruffian in advance, and he knew Frank was not seriously hurt. With a shout of relief and satisfaction, Bart sprang to the ground and jumped after Frank.
“Give it to the dogs, Merry!” he exclaimed.
Merriwell was on the big ruffian in a moment. The man had swung the child under his arms, and he brought forth a revolver as Frank came up.
The young athlete ducked and struck out, and the revolver was sent spinning from the grasp of the wretch, being discharged as it flew through the air.
Then Merry was on the scoundrel and the ruffian was forced to drop the child and meet the attack of the fearless youth.
Hodge went past like a leaping panther, but the other man had darted behind a tree and melted away amid the underbrush in a most surprising manner, andwhile Bart slashed about in search of the fellow who had disappeared, Merriwell fought the other, who was a gigantic man of remarkable strength.
The child had crept away a short distance, where it crouched on the ground, watching the battle in fascination and fear.
“Dern yer!” growled the ruffian. “Whatever do ye mean by botherin’ two peaceable gents in this yar way?”
“We mean business,” answered Frank.
“Waal, danged ef I don’t cut yer inter ribbons!” declared the giant, as he made a movement and wrenched forth a knife.
Frank moved swiftly, and was barely in time to fasten his fingers on the wrist of the murderous wretch.
“No, you don’t!” he exclaimed. “I object to anything of the sort!”
“Object and be dished!” came from the other. “Why, do you think yer kin hold that yar hand? Ye’re nothin’ but a kid!”
Then the ruffian made a furious, wrenching twist to get his hand free, but, to his surprise, the grip of the beardless youth was like steel, and he failed utterly in his attempt.
This was the fellow’s first surprise; others followed swiftly.
“What’s this?” he howled, in fury. “Dang my hoofs! kin you hang on that way?”
“You’ll find I’m something of a sticker,” laughed Frank.
Now, the other did not know that when Frank Merriwell laughed in that peculiar manner he was the most dangerous, and he fancied the youth thought the affair not at all serious.
“I’ll git him in a minute,” the ruffian mentally decided, “an’ I’ll give him the length of this yar toad-sticker, which’ll convince him that this is a mighty sad world, I reckon.”
But though he made another furious attempt to get his hand free, the fingers of the youth were like riveted bands. Then the ruffian grew still more angry.
“Double dern yer!” he panted. “You kin hang on, so I reckon I’ll just have ter break yer back!”
Then he tried to fling Frank to the ground, but Merry used a wrestling-trip, and the man went down instead. In the fall the grip of the youth was almost broken, and, with a snarl of satisfaction, the ruffian twisted his wrist free.
Then he swung back his hand to drive that terrible knife to the hilt between Merry’s ribs. But Frank knew his danger, and, like a flash, he had the thick, hairy wrist again in his clutch.
The man swore and tried to fling his youthful antagonistoff, but he found he could not do so and retain his hold on the knife. Then he relinquished the knife and put every effort into the struggle to hurl Merry aside.
The little girl, on her knees by the foot of a great tree, watched this fearful battle with distended eyes.
Bart Hodge was still beating about for the man who had so cleverly vanished in the gloom. There was a sudden report, as fire belched from a tangled thicket, and a bullet grazed Bart’s cheek.
Hodge dropped, knowing now the other man had sought shelter, and waited till he felt that he could bring one of the youths down with a sure shot. Evidently the man believed he had succeeded, for he rose to his feet, so that Bart obtained a glimpse of him.
In his impatient rage, Hodge did not wait for the fellow to advance, but he took a quick aim and fired immediately. Down went the man.
“Soaked him!” said Bart grimly. “He brought it on himself.”
Then he lifted himself to his feet. It was Bart’s turn to meet with surprise, for again from the thicket came a flash of fire, and this time Hodge felt something burn and sting in his shoulder.
With a shout of fury, Hodge leaped straight toward the thicket, into which he fearlessly plunged, reckless of his life.
But when he reached the spot where he believed the enemy must be, he found no one there. The desperado had slipped away as Hodge came leaping toward the spot, being aided to escape by the deepening darkness.
Finding the man was not there, the conviction came on Hodge that he was crouching near, waiting to obtain another shot, which he would take care to make sure. Then the instinct of self-preservation overcame Bart’s great fury, and he crouched close to the ground, holding his revolver ready, while he peered about in the gloom and listened.
Not far away the battle between Frank and the giant ruffian was still raging fiercely.
With every sense on the alert, Bart squatted there, ready to shoot or spring. His nerves were tingling, but he did his best to be steady and cool. An encounter of this sort, however, was something to unsteady the nerves of almost any man, and it was not at all strange that Bart found himself shaking somewhat as he remained motionless and waiting.
The breathing of the floundering giant who was trying to conquer Merriwell sounded hoarsely through the gloom, and there was something awesome in it. Suddenly the sounds stopped. The struggle seemed to be ended. Who had conquered?
At the risk of betraying his position to the manwho might be waiting to shoot at him, Bart ventured to call:
“Merriwell!”
Hodge’s heart gave a leap of joy when Frank’s voice answered:
“Here! Are you all right?”
“Sure thing! And you?”
“Well, I’ve succeeded in quieting this chap, though he did put up an awful fight.”
“Look out for the other!”
“Then he is——”
“He’s around here somewhere. I popped at him two or three times, but I didn’t bag him.”
Crouching low, Bart moved as quietly as he could toward Frank, still ready to shoot instantly. But in the gloom no pistol flashed, and no deadly bullet sang through the timber.
Bart found Merriwell with his arm about the frightened child, while near-by, on the ground, lay the body of the giant, sprawling grotesquely.
“Have you killed him?” asked Hodge, looking down at the silent ruffian.
“I’m afraid so,” said Frank.
“Afraid?” exclaimed the dark-faced youth.
“Yes.”
“Why afraid?”
“I have no desire to kill anybody.”
“But this murderous dog——”
“Not even a human being of his caliber.”
“Well,” said Hodge grimly, “I did my level best to bore the other cur, and my conscience would not have troubled me had I succeeded. How did you do this one?”
“He had wonderful strength and wind, and he thrashed round to beat the band. I was forced to be at my best all the time, and I hurled him back repeatedly after he had partly succeeded in rising with me. The last time I did so his head struck against the exposed root of that tree, and it doubled under him with a snap like a pistol-shot. Then he was limp as a rag, and the fight was over, so far as he was concerned.”
Bart caught the ruffian by the shoulders and partly lifted him. Then he let the fellow drop back, a slight shiver running over him.
“Neck broken!” he said shortly.
“Broken!” exclaimed Frank. “As bad as that?”
“Sure thing!” said Hodge. “He won’t try to kidnap any more children, for I reckon that was what they were doing with this one.”
Frank turned his attention to the child once more, while Bart looked after the tired mustangs. As he approached the animals, a figure suddenly sprang out of the gloom and onto the back of one of them. Therewas a yell, and away dashed the animal along the path, bearing the ruffian who had escaped.
Hodge took a shot at the fellow, and then, finding the man still clung to the mustang, having disappeared in the gloom, he fired again in the direction of the sound. Still the mustang fled on with its burden, and Bart muttered an exclamation of rage.
The other animal had been alarmed by this, and Bart found some trouble in approaching the creature, though he finally succeeded in capturing him.
“Well, Merriwell,” he said, as he returned, leading the single mount, “we’ve lost one of our beasts.”
Frank had been trying to allay the fears of the trembling child, and he simply made a gesture for Bart to be quiet, which was seen and understood, for all of the fast-deepening shadows.
“We will not harm you,” Merry was saying, in a soft, gentle way. “You need have no further fear. What is your name?”
“Felicia,” was the low answer. “But Old Joe calls me Star Eyes.”
“Felicia—what a pretty name!” said Frank. “And these bad men were carrying you off?”
“Yes. Please take me home.”
“We’ll do that, little Felicia. Your home is here, in the valley?”
“Yes, sir. It’s in the Black Woods, by Lake Sunshine.”
“Lake Sunshine? Another pretty name! What do you call the valley?”
“Pleasant Valley.”
“And that is a pretty name, too.”
“My mama named the lake, and the valley, and the woods. But now she’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes, and papa says she’s gone to a beautifuler world than this, though it doesn’t seem to me it can be true, and I know just where papa put her in the ground when she died. I was there putting flowers on her grave, and the grave of the Good Stranger, when those bad men grabbed me and carried me away.”
Frank felt a queer thrill.
“The Good Stranger?” he said. “Who was that?”
“Oh, I loved him, and Dick loved him, and we all loved him, for he was so kind. But the fever took him, and he died, too. He is buried near my mama.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t know. Old Joe called him White Beard, but I just called him uncle.”
“How long ago was it that he died?”
“More than a week, now. Papa buried him, too.”
Bart’s hand fell on the shoulder of Frank, who was kneeling, with one arm about the little girl. That touch told that Hodge was beginning to realize just what Merry’s questions were leading to, which filled him with eagerness.
“What is your papa’s name?” asked Merry, and then held his breath as he waited for the answer.
“I just call him papa,” said the child. “Please take me to him. He will be so sorry when he finds I’m not at home.”
“In a moment we’ll take you to him. You call him papa, but what do others call him?”
“Nobody ever comes here much, except Old Joe, and he calls my papa Silent Tongue.”
“Who is Old Joe?”
“A good Indian.”
Merry started a bit, and then quickly asked:
“Do you mean Old Joe Crowfoot?”
“Papa calls him Crowfoot sometimes. Please take me to my papa.”
“The scent grows hot!” muttered Hodge.
“And did you never hear your father called anything but Silent Tongue? What did your mother call him?”
“Most times she called him dearest, but sometimes she called him——”
“Yes, yes—she called him what?”
“Juan.”
“I knew it!” broke from Hodge. “We’re on the right trail, Merry!”
“At last!” exclaimed Frank, in deep satisfaction. “Little Felicia, we’ll take you to your father without delay.”