Where Duty Called Part 14

The mountain outlaw was about to carry out his own order, when he received a terrific blow from Jack Greenland, which tumbled him from his seat to the ground. Jack and Ronie had been quick to perceive that in this exciting tableau lay their chance of action.

"Mount the free horse and ride down the road for your life!" said Jack.

"A bold dash will carry us through."

Then he sprang forward to capture the horse ridden by the insurgent chief, knowing that, could he be successful in this, it would throw the squad into confusion. Without a leader they were not likely to make a very effective pursuit. I have described the result of his swift and daring onset. And, as Rhoades, stunned by the blow, sank helpless to the earth, the fearless American seized the bridle rein of the frightened horse before it could clear itself from the hand of its former master. Almost simultaneously with this action Jack would have been in the saddle, but for the fact that the right foot of the insurgent had caught in the stirrup. This caused a brief delay, but, wrenching the offending limb aside, the captor vaulted into the seat just as two or three shots whistled through the air at random from the discomfited insurgents, who were at a loss to account for just what was being enacted in their midst. One of these bullets cut away a lock of his silvered hair, but, unminding his narrow escape, he turned the horse sharply about, crying to the woman, who had succeeded in heading her steed down the road:

"Ride for your life. It is your only hope."

She had already reached the outside circle of the little group, and her horse, a spirited one, cleared the last of the dismayed riders, to bear her down the way at a terrific pace, her long, black hair streaming in the wind as she sped on. Once a white face was turned backward for a moment, and then she disappeared from sight.

Meanwhile Ronie was having an experience equally as exciting and even more dangerous to his life and liberty. He had succeeded in catching upon the bridle of the horse that had thrown its rider, and he gained the saddle an instant later, while the terrified animal reared and plunged furiously. But the young engineer had secured a firm hold on the reins, and was likely to obtain quick control over the creature, when he found stout hands laid on the bridle with a power which threw the struggling brute back upon its haunches.

The attack of the insurgents, three in number, was so sudden and powerful that Ronie's escape seemed impossible.

"Shoot the dog!" cried one of the insurgents.

"Don't let him get away!" exclaimed the chief, who had rallied by this time sufficient to realize something of the situation.

Ronie knew he could expect no a.s.sistance from Jack, who was having all he could attend to, and he resolved to make a desperate attempt to get away. Accordingly, he whipped out the stout knife which had been given him by Manuel Marlin, and as the shots of his enemies sped past his head, he cut the reins upon which the insurgents were clinging, when the men, suddenly losing their hold, staggered forward, leaving the animal freed from their clutches.

Finding itself thus relieved of the weight dragging it down, the horse flung up its head, gave vent to a wild snort, and bounded madly over their writhing forms, to rush like a whirlwind down the road, scarcely a head behind Jack, mounted on the chief's fleet-footed steed. Though nearly unseated by this abrupt onset, Ronie held fast to his position, while he was borne on at a rate of speed which fairly took away his breath. Even Jack, going at his terrific pace, was pa.s.sed, and then the woman on the stout gray was outdistanced. Without check or guidance to its headlong flight, Ronie soon found that his horse was running away!

The cries and the rifle shots of his enemies were soon lost in the distance, but the young engineer had barely recovered his equilibrium, so to speak, when he became conscious of the approach of a body of hors.e.m.e.n from ahead. Naturally expecting only enemies, he began to wonder how he was to come out of this new danger. The sounds of the approaching horses told that this party were coming at a gait almost as swift as that by which he was carried along. Thus he was not given sufficient time in which to prepare for the meeting, if any preparation could be made by him in his plight, before he found himself carried into the very midst of a squad of a dozen hors.e.m.e.n, sweeping toward him at a breakneck pace. Wild shouts rang in his ears, but if efforts were made to stop him he was not aware of it. In some manner, never quite plain to him, he was carried through the party of riders, brus.h.i.+ng against them on the right and left, but clearing them in an incredible s.p.a.ce of time, to be still carried on with unabated speed.

So far Ronie had not gathered his scattered faculties enough to act, but now, remembering that the bridle was still left on the head of the horse he bestrode, he leaned forward and grasped the side straps close down to the bit. Perhaps the animal had begun to tire of its wild race.

At any rate, it quickly yielded to the strong hands wrenching at its mouth, and began to slacken its speed.

All this really took place in less time than it has taken to describe it, even in outline, and the excitement and confusion of the surprised riders in his rear were yet ringing in his ears, when Ronie, for the second time, became aware of the approach of hors.e.m.e.n. But before he could obtain control of his own horse, or antic.i.p.ate who might now be in his pathway, a stentorian voice thundered in English:

"Halt! Who comes here?"

CHAPTER XVI.

COLONEL MARCHAND.

It was fortunate for Ronie Rand that he had succeeded in getting control of the horse he rode, or his experiences in Venezuela would have terminated in a tragic manner. With the thrilling command of the leader of this body of hors.e.m.e.n, the firearms of his soldiers leaped to their shoulders, and in another moment a volley of bullets would have stopped the advance of our hero. Seeing only the inevitable to be met, he cried out:

"I am an American! I surrender if need be."

"Hold, men!" called out the officer. "He is a lone American. He cannot belong to the gang we are running down. Who are you, sir?"

"My name is Roland Rand, sir, and I have only recently reached this country. With a friend I am on my way to Caracas, and just escaped from the rebels under El Capitan."

Ronie had answered thus boldly and openly, for he was certain the body of soldiers in front of him were not a part of the insurgents he had just escaped by so narrow a margin. By this time the sound of other horses approaching came from near at hand, and the officer ordered his men to be in readiness to meet them. Believing them to be Jack and the captive woman, he wheeled smartly about, saying:

"I believe they are friends of mine. Hold up, Jack!" he cried, as the latter, with the woman riding abreast of him, came into sight. "I believe these are friends."

"Halt! Who comes here?" demanded the officer.

"Friends," replied Jack, suddenly checking his headlong flight, while the woman followed his example. Then, before anything further could be said or done, the officer did a most unexpected thing. Urging his horse close beside Ronie, he cried:

"Roland Rand! Is it possible I find you here?"

Ronie, at first thinking the other meant to do him harm, shrank back, but he quickly rallied at the familiar tone of the speaker. Then, with a wild feeling of joy, he looked more closely upon him, to exclaim the next moment:

"Colonel Marchand!"

"At your service, Mr. Rand, but I am puzzled to know how it is I meet you here, where I least expected to find you."

"It is a very long story to tell, Colonel Marchand, and I will gladly explain it all to you at the first opportunity. This is my friend, Jack Greenland," signifying that individual, who had not yet recovered from the surprise he had experienced.

"Glad to meet you, too, Mr. Greenland. But where is Harrie, Ronie? Is he coming behind you?"

"He is in prison at San Carlos, colonel. Jack and I were on our way to Caracas to find relief for him."

"What is he in prison for? The penitentiary is mainly filled with rebels now."

"That is the charge against him. He was taken under suspicious circ.u.mstances, but I can vouch for his honor."

"Then you are not rebels, Ronie?"

"No, sir--that is, we have not committed ourselves as being against the government."

"Good! You evidently carry a level head. I am at the head of a regiment fighting for President Castro. We were in hot pursuit of a body of the insurgents whom we routed in a fight below here. But who is this woman with you?"

"She is a captive in the hands of Rhoades' guerrillas. I do not know her name. Perhaps she will give it herself. We were trying to strike a blow in her behalf."

The strange woman, thus appealed to, said, in that musical voice so common to the better cla.s.s of Venezuelans:

"You are very kind, senors. I do not know that you would care to hear my name, for it has too often been a bone of contention in this unhappy land. My husband was Francisco de Caprian. I am not ashamed to say that."

Colonel Marchand uttered an exclamation of surprise, and, though Ronie Rand was expecting this reply, he could not wholly conceal his emotion at the mention of that name which he had learned to both fear and respect. He could not refrain from saying:

"You are Francisco's mother?"

"You know my son!" she cried somewhat wildly.

"We met him on the _Libertador_, senora. He is now in prison at San Carlos with our friend."

"Then he lives! They told me he was dead. Oh, my son! When shall I meet him again?"

"I do not understand this," declared Colonel Marchand, brusquely. "You talk of the _Libertador_, the outlawed scourge of the coast, of the De Caprians, every one of whom is denounced as spies, and of loyalty to Castro, the patriot president, all in the same breath."

"I will explain fully if I am given the opportunity," replied Ronie, stoutly.