CHAPTER XVI.

POMP MAKES ACTION.

Now let us return to Pomp and the Steam Man, whom in the detail of the thrilling adventures just chronicled we have neglected.

The darkey entertained nothing like fear at being left alone on board the Steam Man.

Indeed, he rather enjoyed the responsibility thus put upon him.

He could occasionally hear rifle shots from the hills, which assured him that Frank and Barney were making it hot for the savages.

“Golly!” he muttered, “I jes’ reckon dem Injines git de worstest ob dat fight. Ki dar, if dey amn’t comin’ dis yer way. I spec’s I better move.”

This was true.

The Indians had been driven before the vigilants, and starting for the hills were coming straight toward the Steam Man.

It was evident that they meant to enter the hills at this point.

Pomp knew that it would be folly to remain where he was with the Steam Man.

The savages might ruin the machine as he could not hope alone to hold them at bay.

So he opened the throttle and started away with the Man.

He kept on until satisfied that he had reached a safe point.

Meanwhile the Indians reached the pass and entered it.

The vigilants, however, did not seem in a hurry to pursue. They remained on the battle ground for some while looking after their dead and wounded.

When they did start for the pass Pomp had returned and was there stationed.

As they came up the darky put his head out of the screen door and shouted:

“Good fo’ yo’, Marse Harmon. Jes yo’ gib dem Injuns a good lickin’ fo’ luck. I reckon yo’ kin do it.”

“I reckon we can, Pomp,” replied Harmon. “At least we’ll try it.”

“If yo’ sees Marse Frank, jes tole him fo’ me, dat his carriage am waitin’ fo’ him. Will yo’?”

Harmon replied that he would and rode away laughing immoderately.

The vigilants all vanished up the pass. It seemed ages after they had gone, when Pomp received another great surprise.

Suddenly, hearing the clatter of hoofs he turned his head, and scrutinized the prairie.

A thrilling sight met his gaze.

There, coming over a swell in the plain was a body of horsemen.

It required but a glance for the darky to recognize them.

They were the cowboys with Artemus Cliff at their head. They were riding directly down upon the Steam Man.

They were just coming from the scene of their victory over Clark. Pomp’s eyes stuck out like agates and he sprung to his feet.

“Glory fo’ goodness!” he gasped. “Dat am Cliff and his debbils. I jes’ reckon I get out dere way.”

In an instant he opened the throttle and let the Steam Man race out upon the prairie.

The cowboys gave a wild yell, and attempted pursuit.

But they could not keep anywhere near the Man, and finally abandoned it. With baffled yells they returned and disappeared in the pass.

“Golly, dat am a berry bad fing for Marse Frank an’ de oders,” muttered Pomp. “Dey will neber be anticipating de comin’ ob dem rapscallions, an’ dat will make tings berry bad, indeed.”

The darky at once began to wax anxious as to the fate of his friends.

He began to feel as if it was very much his duty to enter the hills and render what assistance he could.

But what was to be done with the Steam Man?

Pomp reflected that he might take it with him if he could only find some way of doing so.

To attempt to traverse the rocky Pass was out of the question.

The darky was in a quandary.

Soon he heard the sounds of firing. The battle was on, and at no great distance, either.

Pomp could hardly contain himself. He walked up and down in the cage like a prisoner in his cell.

“Ob co’se, I has Marse Frank’s ordahs to stay yere,” he muttered, “but it am evident dat Marse Frank needs all de help dat he can get. Whatebber I kin do, I jes’ don’ know what.”

The darky sat down and began sober reflection.

He was a shrewd fellow, and as a result he was not long in formulating a plan.

He sprang up finally.

“By golly, I’ll jes’ do dat fing!” he cried, finally. “It am de bes’ fing I kin do.”

He opened the throttle and started the Steam Man along the base of the hills. With keen eye he studied the possibility of entering them.

By the pass it was impossible. But he imagined that it would not be difficult to find another means.

Nor was he disappointed.

At a certain point the hillside was shorn of trees and bowlders. It made a smooth surface even over the brow of the height.

As the Steam Man was provided with power to climb any height of this sort, Pomp at once set his course up the height.

Up went the Steam Man with prodigious strides.

Nearer the top he drew. Pomp had no means of knowing whether it would be possible to go further or not.

But his best hopes were realized upon reaching the summit.

Down a gentle incline the Steam Man went, and through a scattered grove of trees, and came out into a valley deep in the hills.

The sound of firing was now quite plain.

Indeed, as Pomp guided the Man down into the valley, he saw the powder smoke of the conflict in the pass, just a short way up the valley.

“By golly!” muttered the darky, joyfully, “I reckon dat I get dar jes’ in de bes’ time. Won’t Marse Frank be glad fo’ to see me!”

But at that moment a startling thing occurred.

The Man was traveling slowly, when just as the bottom of the incline was reached, two powerful savages sprung out of the grass and seized the throttle rein.

Pomp was so taken by surprise that for a moment he could not act.

The pulling of the rein closed the throttle, and the Man came to a halt.

Pomp could not use the rein to open it again, and had there been more of the red foe, the Steam Man would have been at their mercy.

But there were only two of them, and while one held the rein the other essayed to hack his way into the wagon with his tomahawk.

Pomp acted with the rapidity of thought.

“G’way from dar yo’ red imp!” he yelled, picking up a revolver. “If you don’t I’ll jes’ bore a hole in yo’.”

But the red man did not desist, and Pomp, springing to a loop-hole fired at him.

The bullet went true to its aim, and the Indian fell dead.

The other savage seeing the fate of his companion let out a baffled yell, and relaxing his grip on the valve rein fled precipitately.

Pomp did not take the pains to fire at him, but coolly picked up the valve rein, opened the throttle and the Steam Man went on.

Straight for the scene of the conflict at the mouth of the Pass Pomp went.

When he came upon the scene he found a thrilling and sanguine conflict in progress.

At sight of the Steam Man a cheer went up from the Vigilants.

In a moment Frank and Barney were aboard and shaking hands with Pomp.

The situation was quickly explained.

“I thought mos’ likely yo’ would want de Steam Man, Marse Frank,” said the faithful darky. “So I jes’ fetched him ober to yo’.”

“You have done well, Pomp,” said Frank, joyfully. “Of course, this insures our safety. With the Steam Man we would easily escape the cowboys. But it will never do to leave these brave Vigilants to their mercy.”

“Ob co’se not, Marse Frank,” cried Pomp, seizing his rifle. “Jes’ yo’ let dis chile draw a bead on dem rapscallions. I’ll show dem dat Pomp kin use a rifle.”

The Steam Man was placed in the van of the line of battle.

Protected as they were by the impervious screen, those on board could fire with advantage at the cowboys.

The battle was a hot one, but every moment the cowboys slowly gained ground.

What was worse, the ammunition of the Vigilants seemed to be giving out.

With plenty of ammunition, it was possible that the Vigilants could have held them at bay for a long while.

But, of course, when the ammunition should give out, the battle would be ended.

White-faced, but determined, the brave plainsmen stood their ground.

Not a man of them thought of retreat. All were prepared to give up their lives like heroes.

There seemed no way of getting out of their present desperate situation.

To retreat was about equal to an impossibility, for it would be out upon the open plain where they would be shot down like sheep.

The situation was an awful one.

“Durn it, I don’t keer for myself,” said bluff Harmon, the vigilant leader, “but some of the boys have families dependent on ‘em. Ah, that dog of a Cliff has sins to answer fer.”

“You are right,” agreed Frank Reade, Jr. “But there must be some way of getting out of this scrape.”

“How?”

“Ah, that is a sticker. There is no hope of reinforcements near?”

“None whatever.”

“The Steam Man could be sent for them in quick time, if such a thing were possible.”

“But it is not. The nearest place is Ranch V, and that is Cliff’s own den. We know that.”

“Certainly.”

“The fort is too far off. There is just one forlorn hope.”

“Ah!”

“The cavalry.”

“But they may have been all wiped out.”

“Very true. Well, we must die then like men. But, Mr. Reade, there is no reason why you should not take the girl in your Steam Man and make your escape.”

Frank placed a hand upon the vigilant captain’s shoulder.

“Yes!” he said, briefly. “I could do that.”

“Then do it. We will hold the foe at bay until——”

“Stop!”

Harmon looked his surprise.

“You do not know me,” said Frank Reade, Jr., determinedly, “do you think I would desert you in this hour of need?”

“But——”

“Never! If you die so do we. Until the last the Steam Man will stand his ground.”

With tears of emotion in his eyes Harmon gripped Frank’s hand.

“God bless you!” was all he could say.

At this moment one of the vigilants came up excitedly.

“We are just firing the last cartridges,” he declared. “What shall we do? Is it a retreat, Harmon?”

“Retreat!” cried the vigilant leader, clubbing his rifle. “Never! Come on one and all. The crisis has come. Now let us show them how brave men can die.”

The cowboys with their wild cheers were forcing the crippled vigilants back.

But even in the moment of their victory a strange sound came from the rear and a mighty cry went up from the throats of the vigilants.

“Hurrah! We are saved! Rescue has come at last.”