CHAPTER XVTHE FIGHT
Inthe silence of the night the reports of the rifle shots sounded extraordinarily near. To Dave, Sam and Don it seemed as though the firing was right at hand; yet there could be no doubt that the faint, dusky figures, which the moonlight disclosed on the other side of the Rio, were responsible for it.
“Great Scott!” cried Don, his voice vibrating with excitement. “That must be a hot scrap—can you make anything out, Dave?”
The historian, who had a field-glass raised to his eyes, silently handed over the instrument, while Sam, peering fixedly, exclaimed: “Well—that’s bringing their troubles pretty close to the United States border; eh, fellows!”
The New Orleans boy found that a great deal could be made out by means of the binocular. A hot fight was on between two forces of considerable size. Through the circle of pale greenish light he could see riders dashingfrantically about, and soldiers unhorsed running for cover. Altogether, the scene was one of the greatest noise, violence and confusion.
“Who in thunder ever expected us to run across anything like that?” he breathed.
“Doesn’t surprise me in the least,” remarked Sam, calmly. “Let’s have a look, Don.”
Then while he turned the glass on the combatants, the three remained silent for a considerable time as they watched with the greatest interest the struggle on the opposite shore.
“By George!” blurted out Sam, suddenly; he let his hands drop and swung around to face his companions. “As I live they’re going to——”
“What?” fairly shouted Don.
“Wait a second!” Sam was once more studying the situation through the glass. “Yes, sir!—some of those soldiers are actually going to cross the river.”
Don Stratton in his eagerness, forgetting politeness, seized the instrument from the other’s extended hand. In another instant hesaw the indistinct figures in the distance become quite strong and clear. One side, evidently disastrously defeated and now in full flight, had already reached the shelving banks of the river, where in a panic-stricken effort to escape from their hotly pursuing foes they were boldly riding out into the stream.
“I wonder what the Texas Rangers will think of that!” shouted Don. “Hadn’t we better——”
“You may be sure that by this time they all know about it,” put in Dave quietly.
“Probably there’ll be something doing soon, eh?”
“It looks that way.”
“What shall we do?”
“Let’s go down by the river and see the Rangers riding past,” cried Sam.
Following this suggestion the three dashed recklessly down the slope, their eyes often turning toward the Mexican soldiers heading for the United States shore.
The victors drawn up on the bank sent a parting volley of shots after them, then slowly withdrew toward a near-by range of low, rounded hills.
So far there were no indications of the Rangers’ presence in the locality, but the lads felt sure that the hurrying Mexicans were soon destined to meet with an unpleasant surprise.
“Those chaps are making mighty fast time, though,” panted Dick.
“They’ll soon be making faster time back,” predicted Sam, grimly.
Reaching a broad level stretch, the boys made for the river, a proceeding not at all to the liking of Don Stratton, who began to fear that the hot-headed Mexicans might mistake them for Rangers and fire.
He mentioned his thoughts to Sam. The Rambler, however, shook his head.
“I don’t believe we’re in a bit of danger, Don,” he responded in reassuring tones. “You may be sure they won’t be anxious to start any scrap on United States soil. Hello—hear anything?”
“By George! The Texas Rangers at last!” cried Don.
A faint steady pounding of horses’ hoofs to the south had reached his ears.
Eagerly the three wheeled about to scan the border of the river.
“Hooray, hooray,” cried Don. “Here they come, full tilt, too. See ’em, fellows?”
A number of faint dark specks were rapidly growing larger. But Dave Brandon expressed the thoughts of all when he exclaimed: “They’ll never get here in time to prevent the Mexicans from landing.”
The singular drama of the night unrolled before their eyes held a peculiar fascination for the lads. Hastening along intent upon seeing the last act they looked alternately from one body of horsemen to the other.
Already the soldiers were close enough for them to see the moonlight glinting on spurs and rifles. Judging from the appearance of the horses the exertion of swimming and wading over sand-bars must have told heavily on their strength, for in spite of fierce commands and cracking quirts, they lumbered along so slowly that Don excitedly remarked: “Those chaps won’t beat the Rangers out by very much, after all!”
“Suppose we climb that hill over yonder,” puffed Sam. “From the top we’ll be able to see in which direction they head.”
“All right,” panted Dave.
Before they had time to reach its base, the dripping horses struggled across the last strip of muddy beach and disappeared behind a jutting point.
The Rangers’ horses, fresh and strong after a good rest, were thundering along at topmost speed. Just as the boys, breathing hard from their arduous work, scrambled to the summit of the ridge, they clattered by.
From their point of vantage the three immediately caught sight of the fleeing soldiers, a number of whom were scattering in various directions.
“Sergeant Howell’s bunch will never be able to round them up now!” predicted Don. “Ah! They go—see how those nags of theirs can travel! Say, this beats a motion-picture thriller, doesn’t it?”
Interested and excited, the group watched the Rangers rapidly overhauling the main body. Both pursued and pursuers, riding over the crests of hills and down into deeply shadowed valleys, were often lost to view. The sound of the pounding hoofs became steadily fainter, and finally there was nothing to tell, either by sight or sound, ofthe wild race taking place among the Texas hills.
“I wonder if the Mexicans will put up a scrap!” remarked Don in a disturbed tone.
“I’m afraid so!” said the historian soberly.
“My! Wouldn’t I like to see what is going on now. It’s tough to have to stay here in suspense.”
The boys made no attempt to conceal their worried state of mind. Every one had come to like the big-hearted courageous Rangers immensely, and the thought that they might be made the target for Mexican bullets was a profoundly disturbing one.
The minutes dragged slowly by. Suddenly the sharp report of a rifle shot ringing out came as a jarring shock to their nerves. Then a second, quickly followed by a perfect fusillade, made the boys look at one another with paling faces.
“The scrap’s started!” cried Sam.
“Isn’t it dreadful!” exclaimed Don. “I’m so afraid——”
He paused suddenly, for a singular fact had been impressed upon his mind. He was once more hearing the sound of running horses.What could it mean? Had the fugitives reversed the rôles?
“I don’t understand it a bit!” he breathed.
“Nor I,” cried Sam.
“All I know is that they seem to be coming back this way and mighty fast,” put in Dave.
Puzzled as well as alarmed, the three watched and waited, expecting to hear just what shortly did happen—another crackling volley of shots.
Dave Brandon, with the field-glasses raised to his eyes, suddenly uttered an exclamation.
He had seen a flying group of horsemen appear over the top of a mesquite-covered hill to form, for an instant, an indistinct collection of silhouettes against the sky. Following these came still others until an astonishing number of riders were rushing over the ridge and disappearing into the valley below.
“It’s certainly a much bigger crowd than ever passed along this way,” responded Dave in answer to his companions’ eager questions.
“What a mysterious affair it is,” murmured Don.
Although none of the horsemen could nowbe seen, their course could be easily traced by an occasional yell or the report of a rifle.
“By George! They’re heading for the Rio, all right!” cried Don. “Hello——”
A number had abruptly ridden into view from behind a ridge and were now racing toward the stream.
“The Mexican soldiers again!” declared Dave, keenly studying the distant figures through his glass. “Yes, sir! It’s back to Mexico for that particular crowd.”
“Rounded up, after all!” said Don. “My, I do wonder if——”
“Don’t let’s think about it,” pleaded Sam. His frowning brow and firm set lips told of unpleasant reflections running through his mind. Then abruptly he added, “Fellows, I can’t stand this inaction a moment longer. Let’s beat it!”
“Yes, come ahead!” cried Dave.
Just for a moment they watched the column of dusky figures progressing farther out into the river; and thus being buffeted about from shore to shore the lads could not help but feel a certain sympathy for them.
With Dave Brandon in the lead they crasheddown the incline, slipping and sliding, scattering rocks and stones in their passage. Then once more at the base all started pell-mell toward the river. Their view to the north remained cut off by intervening ridges, until the bank of the Rio was reached. From that point they could see far ahead another group of riders—a sight which put hope into their hearts.
“Quick, Dave! Hoist that magnifier to your optics!” pleaded Don.
There was a moment’s tense silence as the historian obeyed, and a shout when he exclaimed, with an audible sigh of relief: “Boys, it looks all right to me—but——”
“What?” demanded Sam.
“I can’t understand what has become of all those other riders we saw.”
“We’ll soon know all about it,” said Don, cheerfully.
The boys’ rapid walking and the Rangers’ steady pace brought the two parties together much sooner than the former had anticipated.
“Hello, there!” yelled Don. “Is everybody all right?”
His question brought back a response inJack Stovall’s clear voice which made all three give a lusty yell of joy.
“Sure! They never touched us!”
Then, in answer to a rapid volley of questions, the young Ranger added: “So ye actually saw all that big bunch, eh? Who were they——? Why, United States soldiers of course—a scoutin’ party. They heard the Mexicans firin’ from away up the river an’ beat it this way for all they were worth. Lucky for us, too.”
“Yes, but for that a whole lot of the men might have given us the slip,” remarked Alvin. “Between the two of us, we soon had ’em swinging along on the back track. The soldiers did most of the firing—shot over their brown heads, too, which was a pretty polite response, considering the fact that the Mexicans started the scrap.”
“One of the Texas Rangers’ jobs is to see that undesirable citizens o’ Mexico can’t cross over the border whenever they git a notion into their heads they’d like to!” put in Jack Stovall. “So to-day, boys, we’ve earned our pay.”
“True enough,” laughed Sergeant Howell.He turned toward the historian. “How’s that, Dave—where did the soldiers get to? Oh, the bunch started right off in the other direction.”
“Yes, they know’d well enough the Mexicans had enough of the American side for to-night,” grinned Jim Roland. “They was in such a rush to git back they never even stopped to leave their visitin’ cards.”
“I do hope there wasn’t any ‘watchfully waiting’ crowd all ready to tackle the poor chaps the moment they reached the other side,” remarked Sam, thoughtfully.
“As we haven’t heard any fireworks, I guess it’s all right,” said Don.
All the way back to camp, every member of the party kept a sharp lookout, but not a sign of life was to be seen on the Mexican shore.
That night the boys slept as soundly as they ever had in their lives. On the day following the thunder-storm an early start was made for detachment quarters. Riding at an easy gait they did not arrive until the afternoon. Then both Rangers and boys learned something which filled them with considerable alarm.Tom Clifton was missing, and though Bob Somers and Ranger Cole had been continually searching for him, not a trace of the Rambler could be found.