Twice Bought Part 34

Drake sighed sleepily, and gave a short and intensely subdued cough, as he turned his lips to a brown ear which seemed to rise out of the gra.s.s for the purpose, and spoke something that was inaudible to all save that ear. Instantly hand, lips, and ear withdrew, leaving the trapper in apparently deep repose. A sharp knife, however, had touched his bonds, and he knew that he was free.

A few minutes later, and the same hand touched Tom Brixton's arm. He would probably have betrayed himself by an exclamation, but remembering Drake's "Be ready," he lay perfectly still while the hands, knife, and lips did their work. The latter merely said, in broken English, "Rise when me rise, an' run!"

Next instant Unaco leaped to his feet and, with a terrific yell of defiance, bounded into the bushes. Tom Brixton followed him like an arrow, and so prompt was Mahoghany Drake to act that he and Tom came into violent collision as they cleared the circle of light thrown by the few sinking embers of the camp-fires. No damage, however, was done. At the same moment the band of Indians in ambush sprang up with their terrible war whoop, and rushed towards the camp. This effectually checked the pursuit which had been instantly begun by the surprised bandits, who at once retired to the shelter of the mingled rocks and shrubs in the centre of the hollow, from out of which position they fired several tremendous volleys.

"That's right--waste yer ammunition," said Paul Bevan, with a short laugh, as he and the rest lay quickly down to let the leaden shower pa.s.s over.

"It's always the way wi' men taken by surprise," said Drake, who, with Brixton and the chief, had stopped in their flight and turned with their friends. "They blaze away wildly for a bit, just to relieve their feelin's, I s'pose. But they'll soon stop."

"An' what'll we do now?" inquired Flinders, "for it seems to me we've got all we want out o' them, an' it's no use fightin' them for mere fun--though it's mesilf that used to like fightin' for that same; but I think the air of Oregon has made me more peaceful inclined."

"But the country has been kept for a long time in constant alarm and turmoil by these men," said Fred Westly, "and, although I like fighting as little as any man, I cannot help thinking that we owe it as a duty to society to capture as many of them as we can, especially now that we seem to have caught them in a sort of trap."

"What says Mahoghany Drake on the subject!" asked Unaco.

"I vote for fightin', 'cause there'll be no peace in the country till the band is broken up."

"Might it not be better to hold them prisoners here?" suggested Paul Bevan. "They can't escape, you tell me, except by this side, and there's nothin' so good for tamin' men as hunger."

"Ah!" said Tom Brixton, "you speak the truth, Bevan; I have tried it."

"But what does Unaco himself think?" asked Westly.

"We must fight 'em at once, an' root them out neck and crop!"

These words were spoken, not by the Indian, but by a deep ba.s.s voice which sent a thrill of surprise, not unmingled with alarm, to more hearts than one; and no wonder, for it was the voice of Gashford, the big bully of Pine Tree Diggings!

CHAPTER TWENTY.

To account for the sudden appearance of Gashford, as told in our last chapter, it is necessary to explain that two marauding Indians chanced to pay Pine Tree Diggings a visit one night, almost immediately after the unsuccessful attack made by Stalker and his men. The savages were more successful than the white robbers had been. They managed to carry off a considerable quant.i.ty of gold without being discovered, and Gashford, erroneously attributing their depredations to a second visit from Stalker, was so enraged that he resolved to pursue and utterly root out the robber-band. Volunteers were not wanting. Fifty stout young fellows offered their services, and, at the head of these, Gashford set out for the Sawback Mountains, which were known to be the retreat of the bandits. An Indian, who knew the region well, and had once been ill-treated by Stalker, became a willing guide.

He led the gold-diggers to the robbers' retreat, and there, learning from a brother savage that the robber-chief and his men had gone off to hunt up Paul Bevan in the region that belonged to Unaco, he led his party by a short cut over the mountains, and chanced to come on the scene of action at the critical moment, when Unaco and his party were about to attack the robbers. Ignorant of who the parties were that contended, yet feeling pretty sure that the men he sought for probably formed one of them, he formed the somewhat hazardous determination, personally and alone, to join the rush of the a.s.sailants, under cover of the darkness; telling his lieutenant, Crossby, to await his return, or to bring on his men at the run if they should hear his well-known signal.

On joining the attacking party without having been observed--or, rather, having been taken for one of the band in the uncertain light--he recognised Westly's and Flinders's voices at once, and thus it was that he suddenly gave his unasked advice on the subject then under discussion.

But Stalker's bold spirit settled the question for them in an unexpected manner. Perceiving at once that he had been led into a trap, he felt that his only chance lay in decisive and rapid action.

"Men," he said to those who crowded round him in the centre of the thicket which formed their encampment, "we've bin caught. Our only chance lies in a bold rush and then scatter. Are you ready?"

"Ready!" responded nearly every man. Those who might have been unwilling were silent, for they knew that objection would be useless.

"Come on, then, an' give them a screech when ye burst out!"

Like an avalanche of demons the robber band rushed down the slope and crashed into their foes, and a yell that might well have been born of the regions below rang from cliff to cliff, but the Indians were not daunted. Taken by surprise, however, many of them were overturned in the rush, when high above the din arose the ba.s.s roar of Gashford.

Crossby heard the signal and led his men down to the scene of battle at a rapid run. But the robbers were too quick for them; most of them were already scattering far and wide through the wilderness. Only one group had been checked, and, strange to say, that was the party that happened to cl.u.s.ter round and rush with their chief.

But the reason was clear enough, for that section of the foe had been met by Mahoghany Drake, Bevan, Westly, Brixton, Flinders, and the rest, while Gashford at last met his match, in the person of the gigantic Stalker. But they did not meet on equal terms, for the robber's wounded arm was almost useless. Still, with the other arm he fired a shot at the huge digger, missed, and, flinging the weapon at his head, grappled with him. There was a low precipice or rocky ledge, about fifteen feet high, close to them. Over this the two giants went after a brief but furious struggle, and here, after the short fight was over, they were found, grasping each other by their throats, and in a state of insensibility.

Only two other prisoners were taken besides Stalker--one by Bevan, the other by Flinders. But these were known by Drake to be poor wretches who had only joined the band a few weeks before, and as they protested that they had been captured and forced to join, they were set free.

"You see, it's of no manner o' use hangin' the wretched critters,"

observed Drake to Bevan, confidentially, when they were returning to the Indian village the following morning. "It would do them no good. All that we wanted was to break up the band and captur' the chief, which bein' done, it would be a shame to shed blood uselessly."

"But we must hang Stalker," said little Tolly, who had taken part in the attack, and whose sense of justice, it seems, would have been violated if the leader of the band had been spared.

"I'm inclined to think he won't want hangin', Tolly," replied Drake, gravely. "That tumble didn't improve his wounded arm, for Gashford fell atop of him."

The trapper's fear was justified. When Stalker was carried into the Indian village and examined by Fred Westly, it was found that, besides other injuries, two of his ribs had been broken, and he was already in high fever.

Betty Bevan, whose sympathy with all sufferers was strong, volunteered to nurse him, and, as she was unquestionably the best nurse in the place, her services were accepted. Thus it came about that the robber-chief and the Rose of Oregon were for a time brought into close companions.h.i.+p.

On the morning after their return to the Indian village, Paul Bevan and Betty sauntered away towards the lake. The Rose had been with Stalker the latter part of the night, and after breakfast had said she would take a stroll to let the fresh air blow sleepiness away. Paul had offered to go with her.

"Well, Betty, la.s.s, what think ye of this robber-chief, now you've seen somethin' of him at close quarters?" asked Paul, as they reached the margin of the lake.

"I have scarcely seen him in his right mind, father, for he has been wandering a little at times during the night; and, oh! you cannot think what terrible things he has been talking about."

"Has he?" said Paul, glancing at Betty with sudden earnestness. "What did he speak about?"

"I can scarcely tell you, for at times he mixed up his ideas so that I could not understand him, but I fear he has led a very bad life and done many wicked things. He brought in your name, too, pretty often, and seemed to confuse you with himself, putting on you the blame of deeds which just a minute before he had confessed he had himself done."

"Ay, did he?" said Paul, with a peculiar expression and tone. "Well, he warn't far wrong, for I _have_ helped him sometimes."

"Father!" exclaimed Betty, with a shocked look--"but you misunderstand.

He spoke of such things as burglary and highway robbery, and you could never have helped him in deeds of that kind."

"Oh! he spoke of such things as these, did he?" returned Paul. "Well, yes, he's bin up to a deal of mischief in his day. And what did you say to him, la.s.s? Did you try to quiet him?"

"What could I say, father, except tell him the old, old story of Jesus and His love; that He came to seek and to save the lost, even the chief of sinners?"

"An' how did he take it?" inquired Paul, with a grave, almost an anxious look.

"At first he would not listen, but when I began to read the Word to him, and then tried to explain what seemed suitable to him, he got up on his unhurt elbow and looked at me with such a peculiar and intense look that I felt almost alarmed, and was forced to stop. Then he seemed to wander again in his mind, for he said such a strange thing."

"What was that, Betty?"

"He said I was like his mother."

"Well, la.s.s, he wasn't far wrong, for you _are_ uncommon like her."

"Did you know his mother, then?"

"Ay, Betty, I knowed her well, an' a fine, good-lookin' woman she was, wi' a kindly, religious soul, just like yours. She was a'most heartbroken about her son, who was always wild, but she had a strong power over him, for he was very fond of her, and I've no doubt that your readin' the Bible an' telling him about Christ brought back old times to his mind."

"But if his mother was so good and taught him so carefully, and, as I doubt not, prayed often and earnestly for him, how was it that he fell into such awful ways?" asked Betty.

"It was the old, old story, la.s.s, on the other side o' the question-- drink and bad companions--and--and _I_ was one of them."