Frank Merriwell Down South Part 15

"Can't do it," came back the reply. "The horse won't stop!"

"Jump off--fall off--get off some way!"

"All right! here goes!"

In another moment Professor Scotch, for it really was that individual, flung himself from the back of the animal he had ridden, struck the ground, rolled over and over like a ball, and lay still within thirty feet of Frank, groaning dolefully.

In the meantime, Al Bushnell was working his Winchester in a manner that was simply amazing, for a steady stream of fire seemed to pour from the muzzle of the weapon, and the cracking of the weapon echoed through the streets of Huejugilla el Alto like the rattling fire from a line of infantry.

After that first shot Bushnell lowered the muzzle of his weapon, as, in most cases at short range, his motto was to "shoot low," for he well knew more lead could be wasted by shooting too high than in any other manner.

In about three seconds he had thrown the pursuing bandits into the utmost confusion, for they had never before encountered such a reception in Huejugilla el Alto, and it was the last thing they had expected. With all possible haste, they reined about and took to flight, hearing the bullets whistling about them, or feeling their horses leap madly at the sting of lead or go plunging to the ground.

The inhabitants of the town had fled into their houses before the rush of the bandits, so there was little danger that any of Bushnell's bullets would reach innocent persons.

The confusion and rout of the bandits was brought about in a few seconds, and Bushnell was heard to mutter:

"One white man is good fer a hundred onery Greasers any time! Ther derned skunks hain't got a blamed bit of sand!"

Frank ran and lifted the fallen professor, flinging the man across his shoulder, and carrying him into the hotel.

Hans followed with frantic haste, and Bushnell came sauntering lazily in after the bandits had been routed and driven back.

"Are you badly hurt, professor?" asked Frank, anxiously.

"I'm killed!" groaned Scotch, dolefully. "I'm shot full of holes, and every bone in my body is broken! Farewell, my boy! We'll meet in a better land, where there are no bandits to molest or make afraid."

"Where are you shot?"

"Everywhere--all over! You can't touch me where I'm not shot! They fired more than four hundred bullets through me! I am so full of holes that I wonder you can see me at all!"

Bushnell made a hasty examination of the professor, who lay on the floor, groaning faintly, his eyes closed.

"Look hyar, pard," said the Westerner, roughly, "ef you want ter pa.s.s in yer chips ye'll hev ter stand up an' let me put a few more holes in yer.

I can't find a place whar you're touched by a bullet an' I'm blowed ef I 'low you broke a bone when ye tumbled from ther hawse."

The professor sat up with a sudden snap.

"What's that?" he cried. "I'm not shot? I'm not all broke up? Is it possible? Can I believe you?"

"Yah," nodded Hans, gravely; "I can belief me. You vas all righdt brofessor, und dot is sdraight."

"Wow!" shouted Scotch, bounding to his feet like a rubber ball. "That's what I call great luck! Why, I thought I must be killed sure! I don't know how I escaped all those bullets. And then the fall! Providence must have been with me."

"Vell, I don'd know apoudt dot pefore you come der town in," said Hans; "but you vos alone mit yourself when we saw you, brofessor."

The landlord of the hotel came bustling up in a perfect tumult of terror, wringing his hands and almost weeping.

"Oh, senors!" he cried, in Spanish, "what have you done? You have ruined me! You stopped at my house, and you shoot the ladrones. Ah, senors, you know not what that means to me. Pacheco will come down on me--he will raid my house; I am a ruined man, and you are responsible for it. You must leave my house without delay! If you remain here, the whole town will rise against me! All the people will know this must make Pacheco very angry, and they will know he must take revenge on the place. They will be angry with me because I allow it. Carramba! How could I help it?

I could do nothing. It came, and it was all over before I know what was doing. Senors, you must have pity on me--you must leave my house immeditely."

Bushnell caught enough of this to translate it to the others.

"Ther best thing we kin do is ter git out instanter," he said. "Ef we wait, ther outlaws will watch every road out of ther town, an' we'll hev trouble in gittin' away."

"Then let's get away immediately," fluttered the professor. "If I fall into their hands again, I'm a dead man!"

"Yes, we will get out immediately," decided Frank; "but we'll do it as secretly and silently as possible."

Bushnell nodded his satisfaction, and, thirty minutes later, the party was ready to move. They left the hotel by a back way, and, guided by the landlord, made their way along dark and narrow streets, creeping cautiously through the town till the outskirts were reached.

There Frank gave the landlord some money, and, after calling down blessings on their heads, he quickly slipped away and disappeared.

"Now we'll hustle right along," said the Westerner. "We'll put a good long stretch between ourselves an' Huejugilla el Alto before mornin'.

We're off, bound straight inter ther mountains----"

"And straight for the Silver Palace," added Frank.

CHAPTER X.

THE STRANGER.

They were fortunate in getting away without being seen by any of the bandits, and at dawn they were well up into the mountains, where Bushnell found a secluded place for them to camp and rest, as rest was something of which they all sorely stood in need.

Bushnell prepared breakfast, and Frank insisted that Professor Scotch should explain how he escaped from Pacheco's gang.

"Don't ask me," sighed the little man, fondling his red whiskers. "I can't explain it--really I can't."

"Why not?"

"Well, you see, I don't know how I happened to do it. They forced me to write that letter against my will, two of them standing over me with drawn daggers while I was writing, and prodding me a bit whenever I refused to put down the words Pacheco ordered written."

"Then Pacheco speaks English?"

"As well as I do."

"What does he look like?"

"I don't know."

"How is that?"

"He kept his face concealed with his serape quite up to his eyes."

"Thar's a mystery about Pacheco," broke in Bushnell. "No one seems ter know jest what ther varmint looks like."