CHAPTER II.

TIED TO THE STAKE.

When Comanche Tony had glided from his companions at the bend of the canyon, little did he think what was in store for him.

Stung to the quick by the unjustified slur of the brother of the bandit-chieftain, he was fiercely resentful, muttering to himself as he dodged from rock to rock.

Silently, stealthily, the wily old bandit drew nearer and nearer to the fire.

But he was labouring under a disadvantage that was to be his undoing.

Constantly was he looking at the two fires as he advanced and their glare so blinded him that he was unable to see aught at either side of them.

But the crouching forms that lurked in the shadows of the cliffs were not so handicapped because their backs were toward the flames.

Warned by the echo of hoofbeats, as the outlaws rode down the canyon, the Indians had ample time to arrange their ambush.

Who the travellers were, it mattered not to them.

They were on the warpath and redskin or paleface was equally welcome.

Yet so craftily did Comanche Tony approach that he was almost upon them ere the keen eyes of the expectant bucks had detected his stooping form as he glided from one rock to another with absolute noiselessness.

Startled to think that any one could get so near to them and disappointed that they were to capture only one prisoner, the bucks watched the bandit steal nearer and nearer.

Bodies crouched, muscles tense, the savages waited till their victim was close to the fire.

Scenting a trick, since he had been allowed to approach unchallenged and could discern no sleeping forms about the fire, Comanche Tony had turned, determined to get back to his pals without delay.

But he was too late.

No sooner had he faced about than the air was full of leaping forms which the glare from the fires showed to be streaked with gaudy-hued paints.

Instantly the outlaw realized that they were Indians.

Yet so sudden had been their appearance that they were upon him, encircling him with their powerful arms, ere he could draw his six shooters.

For the moment, it maddened him to think that he, old Indian fighter that he was, had walked unsuspectingly into the snare of the cunning redmen, but only for a moment.

If he had been caught, his pals should not be.

And, utterly heedless of what the consequences might be to himself, the intrepid old bandit let out a yell.

Startled, the bucks gazed at their captive an instant, then their amazement gave way to snarls as a dozen hands sought Tony's throat, to choke off his outcry.

And it was the terrific pressure exerted by the steel-like fingers that had given to the shout of warning, the peculiar half wail, half roar, which Jesse and his men had heard.

Maddened by such defiance, the redskins uttered a few hoarse commands and the next instant Tony felt himself lifted from his feet and carried, in sturdy arms, up a path in the cliff.

But even then, desperate as his predicament was, the fearless outlaw's thoughts were of his fellows rather than of himself and he muttered:

"I've warned the boys, anyhow, no matter if I did get caught in springing the trap."

Yet he was quickly recalled to his surroundings by feeling his feet set on a rock.

Accustomed by this time to the darkness, Comanche Tony was able to make out that he and his captors were on a ledge in the cliff along the edge of which was a black, irregular mass.

Forgetting, in his eagerness to discover what this was, that he was a prisoner, the intrepid bandit stepped forward.

Uttering vicious grunts, two bucks grabbed him and threw him roughly against the wall of rock behind them.

"Paleface heap fool," snarled one of his guards. "Get too fresh, fall over ledge, spoil Injun's fun!"

"By my scalp, but I must have suthin' pleasant ahead of me if fallin' to my death will spoil these devil's fun!" thought Comanche Tony.

But again the contemplation of the perilousness of his own plight was forgotten in the realization that his reckless attempt to warn his pals had been of no avail.

For, in the brief interval that he had gazed on the edge of the ledge, he had seen several bucks frantically beating out the two fires with their blankets, and he knew that whatever their game, the world-famous desperado and his men would be in grave danger, forced, as they would be, to advance in the darkness.

Yet had he been an instant later, he would have seen the same braves hurriedly scoop handfuls of dirt onto the glowing coals, after which they covered the piles with their blankets and bounded up the path to the ledge.

On their arrival, a hasty pow-wow was held and the next minute Comanche Tony had learned the purpose of the irregular mass of black along the edge of the ledge.

Lying flat on their bellies, the Indians braced their feet against the wall of rock and threw out their hands in front of them.

A sickening fear gripped the heart of the bandit as he divined that the objects were stones to be hurled from the ledge.

Wondering if he could warn his pals of the terrible fate awaiting them, Tony's eyes were drawn to the figure of an Indian standing clear of the others.

Like a statue he loomed.

All at once, he uttered an ear splitting yell.

He had caught sight of a black line of objects moving in the canyon below.

Immediately his braves joined in and as the strident warwhoops rent the air, the prostrate bucks exerted their strength and the first avalanche of stones was started on its mission of death.

But that it was launched too soon, the reader already knows.

The suspense to Tony, however, was awful as he strained his ears for the sound of his pals' voices.

And as he heard their yells of defiance he heaved a mighty sigh of relief which ended in a grunt of delight as he saw the figure of the Indian lookout topple and pitch to the bottom even while the report of a pistol rang out.

"That was Jesse's shot, I'll bet!" he chuckled.

But his exultation vanished as he saw the bucks stretched out on the ledge move along to more stones.

And then it was that, tempting Fate for the second time, he had shouted his warning to his pals to flee for their lives.

Too late was it for the redskins to save their missiles as his cry rang out.

But even as the boulders were hurtling to the bottom of the canyon, the braves leaped to their feet and charged him.

So terrible was their anger, that they almost crushed the bandit as they pressed about him.

"Have your fun if you want," grunted Comanche Tony. "I can't die but once. But it'll be the sorriest work you devils ever did if you do kill me!"

The tone in which the fearless old Indian fighter uttered this defiance was as calm and cool as though he were talking to a group of children instead of to a pack of blood-thirsty savages.

His gameness amazed his captors, though it only made them crush him against the rocks the more furiously.

But as he closed his eyes to keep out the sight of the hideous, passion-distorted faces before him, a deep-lunged voice uttered some sharp commands.

In a trice, the terrible pressure relaxed and the next moment the outlaw felt himself again raised from his feet and borne rapidly upward.

Ere many minutes he could tell that he was again on a level and instantly his mind sought some scheme by which he could kill time.

For he felt that the world-famous desperado would not leave him to the anything but tender mercies of the savages.

Yet had he known that his beloved chief was even then returning to his pals, having failed to find a way to scale the wall of rock, he would have been sad, indeed.

But he did not know and his ignorance was bliss, in truth.

As Comanche Tony racked his brain for some manner to delay his captors, more commands rang out and the Indians who were carrying him set him down.

The moon had just risen above the peaks of the mountains to the east and, in its light, the bandit saw that he was on a plateau sparsely covered with stunted trees.

To one of these his captors guided him.

As he reached it, a couple of the braves lopped off the lower branches.

Whirling him roughly, his guards backed him against the tree trunk and while they held him, others deftly bound him to the improvised stake with lariats they had brought with them from the bottom of the canyon.

Grave, indeed, was his situation.

And it needed no one to tell the captive bandit that the redmen proposed to burn him at the stake when they should tire of their preliminary tortures.

But as his plight became more desperate, Comanche Tony became the more determined to gain time.

Only one expedient was there of which he could think that was adequate in his dire extremity.

He must scare the painted bucks.

And while he was considering whether he could do this the most readily by threatening them with vengeance at the hands of the world-famous desperado, or by telling them a squad of United States cavalry were on their trail, the Indians made what was, to them, a fatal move.

They kindled a fire about two rods from where Comanche Tony stood tied to the stake.

As the tongues of flame leaped in the air, their reflection was seen by Jesse James and his men in the canyon.

"By thunder! Do you suppose that's from the Injuns or the sojers?" asked Wild Bill, as his chief sprang to his feet.

"I don't know. _But I'm going to find out!_

"There's no need of waiting till morning.

"Come on, everybody. We'll go down to where the first fires were."

Quickly the desperadoes started, for they had ill liked the thought of leaving their pal to his fate.

With Texas Jack and Wild Bill at his side, the bandit chieftain advanced till he reached the heaps of broken boulders that had come so near to being their death a short time before.

As the bandits gazed up at the top of the wall of rock, Texas remarked:

"It's a cinch, Jess, those bucks have some trail up the cliff. We didn't find any place to scale it, back where we come from, and by the looks of the wall ahead, there isn't any break, so they couldn't have got to the end of the canyon and back on top in such a short time.

"That being so, it means there's some path near here."

"Then we'll look for it. Get busy, boys. Comanche Tony's life may depend on our haste."

With a will, the outlaws set about examining the side of the canyon.

And while they searched, their pal was sparring for time with his infuriated captives.

"See here, my buckos," he said, his voice as cool as when he had addressed them before, "I reckon you're making a mistake. I haven't done you any harm.

"_But if you touch a hair on my head thar's not one of you who won't be shot to pay for it!_"

The redskin warriors, to the number of a score, had been standing about the fire, now and then turning toward their captive as they jabbered excitedly, evidently arguing over some part of their contemplated torture.

But as the calm words fell on their ears, they all faced about, while one of them, whose peculiar head-dress proclaimed him to be a chief, grunted:

"Paleface talk heap big. Navajos fool paleface frien's. How um know Navajos kill paleface. Heap Injun in country."

"That may be. But my friends are not ordinary men. _They're smarter than any palefaces you ever saw._"

"You got caught. Heap smart, huh," and the chieftain grunted in disgust.

"True enough. I did. _But my pals didn't._ They were smart enough not to get under the cliff where you shoved the rocks over."

Guttural grunts came from several of the Indians and quickly the chief demanded:

"Who you?"

"I don't know that it's any of your business."

"Me know. Great Bear know. Paleface army scout."

Instantly the bandit realized that the braves had decided he was connected with the soldiers of the Great Father in Washington.

And quickly was he to see his advantage.

"You're wrong there, Great Bear," he declared. "I told you you were making a mistake.

"I don't belong to the sojers any more'n you do.

"_My chief's greater'n any sojers!_ He's got two battalions chasin' him now!"

This announcement produced a profound sensation among the braves and excitedly they jabbered.

But whatever his warriors were urging, their chief refused, again turning toward his prisoner:

"Paleface talk heap big. No fool Great Bear. Great Bear burn paleface at stake. Paleface frien's cum, Injun fight um, scalp um. Ugh! Ugh!"

And he sucked in his breath, making a gruesome sound.

But Comanche Tony refused to be frightened.

He knew that the Navajos were a peaceful tribe, as Indian tribes went, and he wondered what had sent them on the warpath, till suddenly he remembered the attack on the cabin Jesse had repulsed just before he had made his race for life from the Vigilantes, and it occurred to him that perhaps these were some of the same bucks seeking revenge.

If such should be the case, it would never do for him to disclose his identity.

Their words had told him that they had no fear of the cavalrymen, so that reference to them would stand him in no stead, and as minute after minute went by without any sound or sign of Jesse, his hope began to fail him.

Yet no trace was there in his face of what was passing in his mind.

Indeed, his wonderful coolness puzzled the redskins.

They had been accustomed to see white men cringe and tremble before them, and the words of Great Bear had doubtless been intended to strike terror to his heart.

But the fact that he was cool and indifferent made them think they had captured a man who knew no fear.

One more attempt they made, however, to break their captive's spirit.

After a consultation with two or three of his warriors, Great Bear spoke a few words in a low voice.

Immediately four bucks stepped from the circle about the fire, their scalping knives in their hands.

Came a sharp command from the chief.

As with one movement, the braves raised their arms and lowered them, sending the wicked blades straight at their helpless victim.

Shrilly the knives whistled as they sailed through the air.

Fascinated, Comanche Tony watched the flashes of steel as they sped toward him.

Could any strain have been more nerve-destroying?

Any one of the four blades, should it strike a vital spot, would kill him.

But all four were speeding toward him together, so nicely had the bucks gauged their throws.

Yet the bandit was too familiar with the nature of the redman not to know that instead of striking him where death would result, the blades would simply inflict painful flesh wounds, that the red devils might gloat in the sight of his blood and agony.

Every nerve in his body was atingle as he waited for the impact.

Of a sudden, however, he made a terrible discovery.

The knives were coming for his head.

Like a flash, it occurred to him that his eyes and ears were the targets.

A trice he contemplated the possibility of dodging them, for his head was not bound.

But the realization came to him that while he might avoid one of the whistling blades, he could not escape all four, and he decided to make no move.

Fortunate, indeed, was it that he did so.

Nearer and nearer came the knives.

Yet it seemed to Comanche Tony that years had elapsed since they had left the hands of the savages.

Of a sudden, he felt a cool draught against his cheeks, and then he could no longer see the awful blades.

Scarce able to believe his senses, he could feel no pain.

Then it dawned on him that the bucks had been testing his courage by aiming the scalping knives so they would just miss him, if he remained motionless--and he thanked his lucky stars that he had not tried to dodge them.

It was the very refinement of torture to which he had been subjected.

And well the redmen knew it.

To see the wicked blades coming for his head and not to move it when he was free to do so was an ordeal such as only one man in a million could survive.

But Comanche Tony was that one man.

Eagerly the bucks had watched him.

When they saw he had faced death unflinchingly, they grunted in grudging admiration.

"Paleface heap brave," exclaimed Great Bear. "Me know um now. Only one paleface got nerve like that. Him Jess Jame. You Jess Jame.

"Injun hate Jess Jame!

"You got die!"

The logic of the chief was crude. But it answered his purpose and again he repeated:

"Injun hate Jess Jame! Um got die! Burn um at stake!"

Turning to his warriors, Great Bear addressed them in the Navajos language earnestly.

And so engrossed were the bucks in listening to the words of their chief that they failed to see three faces rise cautiously above the edge of the cliff and gaze at the strange scene.

Jesse had found the trail and was soon to make his presence known.

When the bandit-chieftain and his men had reached the ledge whence the rocks had been hurled at them, he had ordered all but Wild Bill and Texas Jack to wait there while he and his chosen pals climbed to the top, fearing that the approach of all might be heard by the redmen.

Sweeping the top of the cliff with a hurried glance the world-famous desperado had seen, with joy, that he was in time to save the life of his chum.

Yet because he was aware that to act too soon would be as bad as to act too late, he dropped back behind the cliff again.

"Texas, go down and bring the others up," he whispered, putting his mouth close to his pal's ear. "Don't make a sound going down. But it won't matter coming back.

"_I reckon the fun'll be on before you get here!_

"But hurry. We'll have our hands full."

Hastily the bandit descended and again Jesse straightened up and peered over the edge of the precipice.

And what he saw made his face grow hard as he raised his six shooters.

Bearing burning brands in their hands, two bucks were advancing toward their victim tied to the stake, while two more carried armsful of dried twigs and leaves.

Less than ten feet were they from Comanche Tony.

Squatting about the campfire, prepared to enjoy the writhings of their captive, sat the rest of the Indians.

The distance from the edge of the cliff to the stake was too great for a pistol shot.

Yet Jesse realized that he must act at once were he to spare his chum awful suffering.

Bending toward Wild Bill, he breathed:

"We've got to rush 'em! Come on! Nail the devil's with the firebrands first!"

With a stillness marvelous in the rapidity of their actions, the two desperadoes gained the top of the precipice and dashed forward.

So engrossed were the bucks in watching their fellows that they had not seen the bandits.

"Give 'em a yell, then shoot!" whispered Jesse.

With a will the two outlaws gave the old guerrilla battle cry that had made Quantrell's men known and feared.

Panic-stricken, the redskins leaped to their feet.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack went the four six-shooters in the desperadoes' hands.

And with each bark of a pistol one of the Indians advancing toward Comanche Tony, pitched forward, a bullet hole in his heart.

But only for a minute did the braves lose their heads.

Thundering at his warriors, Great Bear commanded:

"Charge them! They are only two, we are twenty! We can push them off the precipice!"

Inspired by the words of their chief, which had been uttered in their native tongue, the braves drew their revolvers, opening fire on Jesse and Wild Bill as they advanced.

Never had the guerrilla battle cry sounded so sweet as it did to the ears of Comanche Tony as he stood, bound fast to the stake, watching the bucks approach with the firebrands and twigs with which to kindle a blaze about his feet.

But, when turning his head, he saw only Wild Bill and Jesse and a moment later beheld the warriors rally to the charge, he was filled with fear.

Two men, no matter how brave, would have little chance against the overwhelming numbers of the redskins.

Then he remembered that his six-shooters had not been taken from him and he bellowed:

"Jess! Jess! Cut me loose! I've got my guns! I can help you!"

"Keep pumping at the devils, Bill," commanded the world-famous desperado. "We've got to stand 'em off till the others get here!"

And, discharging his own shooting irons the while, Jesse ran to Comanche Tony.

But though the shots of the Indians had been wild at first, they were so close to the outlaws now that many a bullet ploughed through their flesh.

Seeing Jesse's purpose, Great Bear ordered the fire to be trained on him.

And so furiously did the bucks respond that the bandit-chieftain was forced to give ground.

Delirious were the yells of the braves as they saw this move.

But their rejoicing was short lived.

Aware, from the shots and shouts, that the fight was on, Texas and the rest of the bandits hastened up the trail, reaching the top just as their leader and Wild Bill were retreating toward the edge of the cliff.

"Hold your ground! We're coming!" yelled Frank.

Never were words more welcome than these as they rang in the ears of the sorely pressed outlaws.

And even as they heard them, a volley crashed from the guns of their fellows.

Surprised at the unlooked for re-enforcements, the bucks, however, held their own.

But only for a few minutes.

The fusilade of lead poured into them was too galling.

Though they outnumbered the bandits almost two to one, for death had thinned their ranks, Jesse and his men fired three times as rapidly.

Fast and furious raged the battle.

Then, of a sudden, Great Bear shouted a command.

With one accord, the bucks whirled and ran for the farther side of the cliff.

And, while some of his men pursued them, Jesse hurried to Comanche Tony and slashed the bonds with his bowie-knife.