CHAPTER XVII.

ONCE MORE IN THE ENEMY’S POWER.

It had been Col. Clark’s firm intention to return to the fort for reinforcements.

It was a long ways, but he did not reckon this. He thought only of securing a sufficient body of men to cope successfully with the cowboys.

So on they rode the little remnant of the squad for the far distant fort.

But after a night had been spent in camp, just as the bugle called “boots and saddles,” one of the guard sighted a body of horsemen just coming over a swell in the prairie.

The alarm was given and Clark rode out to investigate.

One glance was enough and a cry of joy escaped his lips.

“Hurrah!” he cried. “We are in luck. It is Romaine’s company of one hundred men. Forward all!”

With cheers the little band rode out to meet the reinforcements.

The command had been sent out under Captain Romaine to search for Clark and his men.

The two officers shook hands and explanations were made.

“You have come just in the nick of time, Romaine,” declared Clark. “We can now return and whip the cowboys.”

“We are with you, colonel!” declared the captain with a salute. “The boys are itching for some hot work.”

“Well, I will promise it to them,” laughed Clark, as he took command.

At once the cavalry set out at full gallop for the hills.

It seemed like a strange fate that guided them almost to the very scene of the conflict.

The firing was heard long before the pass was reached, and Clark hurried his men forward.

He at once threw them into the pass in the rear of Cliff’s gang.

It was an opportune moment, too.

Just as the last cartridge of the vigilants was used the cavalry struck the rear of the cowboy gang.

Instantly a panic seized Cliff’s men. They made a brief stand, and then were driven up a side defile into the hills.

Here they made a stubborn stand.

The cavalry literally cleared the pass, and riding through came into the midst of the vigilants.

The scene which followed baffles description.

In a moment Clark and big Harmon were shaking hands with the deepest emotion.

“Ye came jest in the nick of time, Clark,” declared the vigilant chief. “In ten minutes more we might have all been dead men.”

“Then we are in luck,” cried the colonel, “for which I am very glad. Ah, Mr. Reade, I am glad to see you.”

“The same,” replied Frank, as he gripped hands with the colonel.

Then Clark rode away up the defile to see what was going on there.

He found the fiercest kind of a battle in progress. The cowboys had intrenched themselves once more and were making a bold stand.

The cavalry outnumbered them, but they were in a very advantageous position.

The best efforts of Clark’s men would not suffice to dislodge them.

For a long while the sanguine battle went on.

In vain Clark tried to eject them from their position. His bravest efforts met with failure.

The intrepid colonel knew that if he could get the foe into the open he could hope to whip them.

But as it was it looked certainly as if his plucky little band would be badly decimated in the accomplishment of the desired end.

In this quandary Frank Reade, Jr., appeared upon the spot.

The young inventor had borrowed a horse of one of the vigilants and rode up to see how the fight was going on.

“Well, colonel,” he said, greeting Clark, “how are you making out?”

“Not as well as I could desire,” replied the colonel in a dejected manner.

“What is the matter?”

“Why, I can’t drive the rascals.”

“Why not?”

“They have a position up there in the hills which is unassailable.”

“I disagree with you,” said Frank, quietly. “I am not a military engineer, but I am a land surveyor and I tell you their position on that hill is not of the best.”

Clark was staggered.

“Why, it is the best position about here,” he declared.

“No,” said Frank, gravely. “Yonder is a much better position.”

He pointed to a hill to the right, and which the one upon which the cowboys were seemed to overlook.

“What—try to command the foe from that hill?” cried Clark, scornfully. “We would only expose ourselves, and they would sweep us from it like chaff before the wind.”

“No, they wouldn’t.”

“Now, Mr. Reade, what is the use for you to talk that way? The hill upon which they are is higher than this one.”

“It may be higher in the number of feet,” replied Frank, “but not in advantage of position.”

“How do you make that out?”

“It is easy enough to see. The top of this hill is smooth, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“The top of theirs is craggy and they cannot climb up to it. Their position is far from the top. A position on the top of yonder hill will easily look down into their camp.”

Clark was surprised, but he saw the logic of Frank’s remark.

“By Jove!” he cried. “Perhaps you are right.”

“I think you will find that I am.”

“But I would have taken my oath that they had the highest position around here.”

“Well, that would seem to be really so, for the hill itself is higher. Yet it is but an optical delusion.”

Clark extended his hand to Frank.

“Mr. Reade,” he cried warmly. “You are right. I acknowledge my mistake. Perhaps your opportune suggestion may enable us to whip the foe.”

“If it is of any value, I am highly pleased!” said Frank, modestly.

“I feel that it is, and I shall at once proceed to take the hill.”

Clark at once proceeded to do this. By his command his men moved up the back side of the hill.

This protected them from the bullets of the cowboys.

Arrived at the top of the smooth hill, it was found that Frank Reade, Jr., was right.

They were enabled to look right down upon the cowboys in their position.

“Hurrah!” cried Clark, jubilantly, “that means victory.”

A volley was given the astonished cowboys. They returned with ill effect.

The tables were exactly turned upon them, and they were not slow to see the point.

A red-hot fire was kept up for some little time, but the cowboys no longer held the advantage.

Indeed it began to look muchly as if they were to be driven from their position.

Suddenly all firing ceased.

The cowboy gang were not in sight, nor did they fire another shot.

Clark feared a stratagem or some fatal decoy, and dared not at once order a charge.

But finally he became convinced that the cowboys had evacuated their position and had made a retreat.

Flushed with victory Clark ordered his men to charge.

Up the slope they went with fixed bayonets. But when they cleared the top of the intrenchments, hastily thrown up by the cowboys, it was found that they had gone.

They had departed quite unceremoniously and completely.

Not an article of any kind was left behind.

Indeed it also became a mystery as to the course taken by them. Not a sign of a trail could be found.

It baffled the cavalrymen.

“By Jupiter!” exclaimed Clark, in disgust, “how are you going to fight such a shadowy foe. If they would only come out like men and fight it out it would be all right. But they don’t dare do it.”

“You would whip them,” said Frank Reade, Jr., with a laugh. “That is why they are playing hide and seek.”

“I suppose so, but it makes it pretty hard for me. I suppose the best course now is to send out scouts and scour the hills.”

“Exactly.”

“All right. I will do it.”

“I hope you will succeed.”

“Thank you. I will do it or die.”

“That is a good resolution.”

“Well, I mean it, every word of it.”

With this Clark ordered his men to horse, and the quest at once began.

Frank did not believe that he could be of further service just now, so he decided to return to the Steam Man.

Mounting his horse he rode down through the defile. In a few moments he reached the spot where the remnant of the brave Vigilant band were.

There was the Steam Man intact, but Frank saw at a glance that something was wrong about the camp.

Everybody appeared to be deeply excited. Young Barrows was seen wringing his hands and rushing about madly.

Frank sent his horse forward rapidly.

Barney saw him coming and ran out to meet him.

“Och hone, Misther Frank!” he cried.

“Well!” exclaimed Frank, reining up his horse, “what is the matter?”

“Sure, somethin’ terrible has happened since ye went away.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Shure, sor, the young lady, Bessie, has gone, sor, an’ divil a wan av us kin foind her anywhere.”

“Bessie Rodman gone?” gasped Frank. “Can that be possible?”

“Shure, sor, it is, an’ faix they all do believe that the divils av cowboys, be the orders av Artemus Cliff, have got her agin.”

“Great heavens!” cried Frank, with horror, “how on earth could they have done that? Is there not enough of you here to prevent?”

“Shure, sor, that is thrue enough,” cried Barney. “But it’s the girrul’s fault hersilf, as ivery wan believes.”

“Her fault!” cried Frank, in surprise. “How could that be?”