CHAPTER II

RELATING A WILD NIGHT RIDE

It did not take a very sharp eye to observe that the horse which the messenger bestrode was laboring sorely, while his pursuers were blessed with comparatively fresh mounts. The American had ridden long and hard, and his steed was in no shape for such a spurt of speed as it was put to now. The British had kept clear of this road for weeks, because of the foraging parties from Philadelphia, and, doubtless, the dispatch-bearer hoped to find at the Three Oaks those who would stand him well in this emergency.

At least, there would be a fresh horse there, and perhaps a faithful man or two to help beat off the dragoons until he could escape with his precious charge. He had no thought that there was a still greater danger ahead of him. The dragoons were lashing and spurring their horses to the utmost; and now and again one took a potshot at him; but there on the porch of the old inn stood Colonel Knowles, waiting with all the calmness of a sportsman to bring the fleeing man to earth.

Young Hadley Morris did not notice the colonel; he had forgotten his presence in his interest in the flight and pursuit. But Jonas Benson saw his guest’s big pistol and realized the danger to the approaching fugitive. Yet there seemed nothing he could do to avert the calamity. He dared not openly attack the colonel, for whether the dispatch-bearer escaped or no, the dragoons would be at the inn in a few moments, and, there being no such force of Americans in the neighborhood, they might wreak vengeance on him and his family. The old man was hard put to it, indeed, in this emergency.

Not so Hadley, however. He was quick of thought and quite as brisk of action. The charge of galloping horse was but a short distance away, the American still a little in the lead, when the boy darted back to the heavy barred gate which shut the yard from the road. The barrier had been swung wide open and fastened with a loop of rope to a hook in the side of the house. He slipped this fastening and stood ready to shut the gate between the fugitive and his pursuers, and thus delay the latter for a possible few moments.

If the dispatch-bearer got into the yard safely he could leap upon the back of the black mare now standing impatiently on the barn floor, and escape his pursuers through the fields and orchard back of the outbuildings. No ordinary horse would be able to leap the high gate, and Hadley did not believe the dragoons were overly well mounted. As the dispatch-bearer dashed up, foam flying from his horse’s mouth and the blood dripping from its flanks where the cruel spurs had done their work, it looked to Colonel Knowles as though the American would ride right by, and he raised his pistol in a deliberate intention of bringing the man to earth.

But as he pulled the trigger old Jonas stumbled against him and the ball went wide of its mark. The shot did much harm, however, for it frightened the already maddened horse, which leaped to one side, pitching the man completely over its head upon the paving of the yard. The horse fell, too, but outside the gate, and Hadley was able to slam the barrier and drop the bar into place before the dragoons arrived.

The explosion of the colonel’s pistol and that officer’s angry shout warned Hadley of the added and closer danger. He darted to the side of the fallen messenger. The poor fellow had struggled partly up and was tearing at his coat. His face was covered with blood, for he was badly injured by his fall; but one thought kept him conscious.

“The papers--the papers, lad!” he gasped. “For General Washington--quick!”

But he had only half pulled the packet from his inner pocket when he dropped back upon the flagstones, and, with a groan, lay still.

Hadley seized the precious packet and leaped to his feet. With a clatter of hoofs and amid a cloud of dust the dragoons arrived at the yard gate.

“There he is! He’s down--down!” shouted the leader. “We’ve got him safe! Hi, there landlord! open your gate or we’ll batter it in!”

“They’ve got him safe, that’s a fact,” muttered Hadley, in distress. “But--but they haven’t got the papers!”

He turned swiftly and ran toward the barn.

“There goes one of them running!” shouted a voice behind. Then a pistol exploded and Hadley leaped forward as though the ball had stung him, although it whistled far above his head.

“Look out for that boy!” he heard Colonel Knowles say, and, glancing back, Hadley saw the officer leaning out of one of the windows which overlooked the yard. At a neighboring casement the fleeing youth saw Miss Lillian. Even at that distance, and in so perilous a moment, Hadley noted that the girl’s face was very pale and that she watched him with clasped hands and anxious countenance.

One of the dragoons had dismounted and now unbarred the gate. Before Hadley reached the wide doorway of the great barn the soldiers were trooping through into the yard.

“The boy has the papers--look after him, I tell you!” he heard the colonel shout. Then Hadley pulled the great door shut and fastened it securely on the inside. For an instant he could breathe.

But only for an instant. The dragoons were at the door then, beating upon it with the hilts of their sabres and pistol-butts, demanding entrance. Hadley had no weapon had he desired to defend the barn from attack. And that would be a foolish attempt, indeed. It would be an easy matter for the dragoons to break down the fences and surround the barn so that he could not escape, and then beat in the door and capture him--and with him the papers. He did not know how valuable those documents might be; but the man now lying senseless in the inn yard had saved them at the risk of his life; the boy felt it his duty to do as much.

Colonel Knowles had now come out into the yard and taken command of the attack. Evidently he was recognized by the British soldiers, despite his civilian’s dress. He gave orders for a timber to be brought to beat in the door, and Hadley likewise heard him send two of the soldiers around the barn to watch the rear. If the boy would escape it must be within the next few seconds.

He ran back to the rear of the building. Here was another wide door and he flung it open. The soldiers had not appeared; but the doorsill was a good eight feet and more from the ground. The barn had been built on a hillside. Directly below the door was a pen in which hogs were kept. Eight feet was a good drop, and besides it would be impossible to escape the soldiers on foot.

A crash sounded at the front of the building. The men had brought up the timber for a battering ram. The door would certainly be burst inward before many moments. Hadley ran back to the waiting mare that already seemed to share his own excitement. He freed her from the halter and sprang into the saddle. He dared not try getting past his enemies when the door fell and with a quick jerk of the rein he pulled the mare around. She trotted swiftly to the rear door which the boy had flung open; but when she saw the distance to the ground below, her ears went back and she crouched.

“You’ve got to do it, Molly!” exclaimed the boy, desperately. He reached to the stanchion at his right hand and seized a riding-whip hanging there. As the mare continued to back, Hadley brought the lash down again and again upon her quivering flank. The poor beast was not used to such treatment, and in her rage and fright she forgot the danger ahead and leaped straight out from the open stable door.

Hadley stood up in the stirrups when he felt her go. He knew where she would land, and he believed the feat would be without danger; but he was ready to kick out of the stirrups and save himself if the little mare missed her footing.

Fortunately she landed just where her rider had planned. There was a pile of straw and barn scrapings below the door, and from this Black Molly rebounded as though from a mattress. She was not an instant in recovering herself, and, still frightened by the sting of the whip-lash, darted out through the orchard. Hadley flung away the whip, and, leaning forward, hugged her neck so as not to be swept off by the low branches of the apple trees.

There was a wild halloa behind him. The dragoons sent to cut off his escape had arrived too late; but they emptied their pistols at the black mare and her young rider.

“They won’t give up so easily,” Hadley muttered, not daring to look around while still in the orchard. “That Colonel Knowles would rather die than be outwitted by a boy. I’ll make right for the ferry, and perhaps I may meet Holdness somewhere on the road. I can give the papers up to him, and I know he’ll find some way of getting them to General Washington.”

He pulled Black Molly’s head around and took a nearer slant for the road. The mare was more easily managed now, and when he reached the rail fence which divided the orchard from the highway his mount had forgotten her fright and allowed him to stop and fling down a part of the fence so that they could get through and down the bank into the road. Looking back before descending the bank, Hadley saw several horsemen streaming through the orchard behind him, and, more to be feared than these, was the party leaving the inn yard and taking to the very road out upon which he had come. At the head of this second cavalcade rode Colonel Knowles himself on his great charger, and Hadley’s heart sank. Black Molly was famed throughout the countryside for her speed; but that great beast of the colonel’s--evidently brought from across the sea, and a thoroughbred hunter--would be more than a match for the little mare in a long chase.

“We must do our best, Molly,” cried the boy, slapping her side with his palm and riding down into the dusty road. “You can keep ahead of them, I know, for a short distance, and you must do your best now. It will soon be too dark for them to see us--that’s a blessing.”

The little mare needed no spur or urging. She clattered along the darkening road with head down and neck outstretched, Hadley riding with a loose rein and letting her pick her own way over the track. He could trust to her instinct more safely than to his own sight. The oaks cast thick shadows across his path, and now the whole sky was turning a deep indigo, dotted here and there with star points. There was no moon until later, and he believed the darkness was more favorable to him than to his pursuers.

He could hear the thunder of the hoofs behind him, however, and he patted Molly’s neck encouragingly and talked to her as she ran. “Go it, girl! you’ve got to go!” he said. “Just make your little feet fly. Remember the times I’ve rubbed you down, and fed you, and taken you to water. Just do your very prettiest, my girl, for it’s more than my life you’ve got to save--it’s these papers, whatever they be.”

And the little mare seemed to understand what he said, for she strained every effort for speed. She fairly skimmed over the ground, and for the first mile or more the hoof-beats gained not at all upon them. Then, to Hadley’s straining ears, it seemed as though the pursuit grew closer. It was not a mob of hoof-beats which he heard, but the steady, unbroken gallop of one horse. And it took little intuition for the boy to know which this leading pursuer was. The great black charger, the colonel’s mount, had left the dragoons behind, and its stride was now shortening the distance rapidly between its master and himself.

“Oh, Molly, run--run!” gasped the boy, digging his heels into the mare’s sides.

Molly was doing her best, but the sound of the black horse’s hoofs grew louder. The road was not straight or Hadley might have looked back and seen the colonel bearing down upon him. But the officer could doubtless follow his prey by the sound of Molly’s feet, quite as accurately as Hadley could estimate his speed. At this thought, and hoping to put his pursuer at a disadvantage for the moment, the boy pulled the mare out upon the level sward beside the road. There Black Molly pattered along silently: but the boy could hear the thunder of pursuit growing louder and louder.

Now that the clatter of his own mount’s hoofs were not in his ears, Hadley was suddenly aware of a new sound cutting the night air. And it was not from the rear, but from ahead--the loud complaint of ungreased axles: a low, heavy wagon was coming slowly along the road.

“If it should be Holdness!” gasped the boy. “It sounds like his wagon.”

Around another turn in the crooked road they flashed and then the creaking of the wheels was quite near. A great covered wagon loomed up in the dusk, and Hadley uttered a cry of joy.

“Lafe! Lafe Holdness!” he shouted, while yet the wagon was some rods away.

But the driver of the squeaking vehicle heard him, and there was a flash of light as he rose up on the footboard and held the lantern above his head.

“Hi, there! slow down or ye’ll run over me!” drawled a nasal voice.

“The British are after me--I’ve got dispatches!” shouted the boy, reining in the mare beside the wagon.

“Had Morris, as I’m a livin’ sinner! What ye doin’ here?” Then the driver cocked his head and listened to the thud of hoofs behind the flying boy. “They’re arter ye close, lad--an’ Molly’s winded. Quick! there’s naught but straw in here. It’s your best chance.”

The wagon was still creaking slowly along and Holdness did not stop his team. He dropped the lantern and dodged back to the rear of the wagon. There he quickly flung aside the end curtain and then returned to the driver’s seat.

Hadley had ridden by, but the instant he saw the curtain raised he wheeled Molly about and aimed her for the end of the huge wagon. “Quick, girl! You’ve done it before,” muttered the boy, and the little mare obeyed. The driver did not bring his wagon to a stop, but it was moving very slowly. Molly had long since learned the trick expected of her, and she trotted up to the rear of the vehicle, rose in the air, and landed firmly on the straw-covered bottom.

“Draw the curtain, Had, ’n’ keep yer hand on her nose,” commanded Holdness, the teamster, without turning his head.

Already the boy had ordered the little mare to lie down and she had sunk upon the straw. He whipped down the curtain, fastened it, and then lay down beside the mare with his hand upon her velvety nose, ready to stifle any desire on her part to whinny when the pursuing horses should arrive.

And they were here in a moment now. Colonel Knowles, on his great charger, ahead, and the company of dragoons not many rods behind.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

AT THE BEND OF THE TRAIL

By OTIS T. MERRILL

“Well, hurry back, boy. You’re rather green, you know, to be going out alone.” The captain winked at Sergeant Mills as Tom Ray turned towards his horse.

There had been no fighting as yet, and Tom was rather disappointed, for, to tell the truth, it was love of adventure rather than patriotism that had induced him to join the little squad of cavalry then journeying through the heart of the Apache country. They had encamped in the little valley of the Salt River, in Arizona. The land was dry and parched. Even the hardy cactus was taking on a leathery hue.

To Tom it was a monotonous view--the yellow earth: that everlasting Giant Cactus; and occasionally the tall, bleached form of a dead tree, reaching its arms despairingly upward from the dearth of life below.

With some little impatience he urged the pony into a gallop. In an hour he must be at the fork of the Salt to receive Custer’s dispatches. Everybody had wondered why Tom Ray, the only one in the party who had never heard an Indian war-whoop, should have been chosen for the work. It was a case of eloquence. Tom pleaded, and the captain--who wasn’t much afraid of Indians himself--forgot his military caution and consented.

The first two miles of the journey lay back along their own trail to the point where a long depression in the plain marked the bed of some old river. From there he must turn sharp to the right and make for the foot of the lone gray butte, about whose base wound the west branch of the Salt. He had started early, and it was not yet four o’clock when he reached the crossing of the low ground. He paused for a moment and looked about him.

A large shadow rolled along the ground before him and caught his eye. From overhead came the shrill cry of an eagle--the same bird who, in spite of numerous rifle balls, had aroused the admiration of the whole party on the previous day, by its mad swoops in their direction.

Tom cast a reluctant glance at the distant cottonwood and the huge pile of sticks saddled in its crotch. The old egg-collecting instinct welled up strongly within him, but he held the mustang’s head resolutely away. In his mind he already pictured the impatience of the old scout at the fork and, hardly daring to take a second look at the nest, he again brought the little pony to a full gallop.

Cris Wood had been a bearer of government dispatches ever since the thriving settlement of Hopkins’ Bend could boast of a telegraph wire. His greeting for the “youngster,” as he termed Tom Ray, was that of an old friend:--

“What have you been waiting for, t’ give the Indians a chance to scalp me?”

Tom laughed as he looked at the scant fringe of gray beneath the rough, worn hat.

“I guess they wouldn’t be paid for their trouble,” he answered, as he took the well-handled dispatches from the old scout.

“No, not by me,” retorted the latter, grimly. “But, anyway, there’s only one lot of Indians around, and they’re way over at the crossing,” referring to a point on Tom’s return journey.

“All right,” responded Tom, amused at the scout’s time-honored attempt to play on his nerves. “If I see them, I’ll give them the chase of their lives.”

“You’ll be the front party, most likely, though.”

A few more courtesies were tossed freely from one to the other, together with what little news had fallen in the way of both before they parted.

Half an hour later, as the return road before him sank gently to the lower ground, Tom’s eyes were again drawn instinctively to the tall cottonwood. Though still distant, he could already see the watchful eagle silhouetted from its topmost point. The sun was yet high--he might as well have a look at the nest. With this Tom drew the horse’s head in the direction of the great cottonwood.

The boy’s approach to the lofty tree was greatly resented by the pair of golden eagles who had chosen it as a site for their home. A little ball of cottony down showed itself over the side of the rude structure. There was at least one eaglet, and Tom knew then that it would be with no small danger to himself if he chose to investigate. Then there came to him the misty recollection of the tame eagle which Jack Warren, one of the cowboys, had brought into camp. With this bit of memory his hesitation vanished.

The tree was bare and barked. Its lower branches had long since rotted and now lay on the ground crumbling. Rough knots remained, however, here and there, and by grasping these Tom was able to make the ascent. The old birds whirled round the tree in giant spirals. First one and then the other would suddenly swerve from the circle and sweep past the boy’s head so close that he would involuntarily throw up his arm in defence.

When Tom was about thirty feet from the ground all thought of the infuriated birds was suddenly driven from his mind. At a distance of perhaps one hundred yards stood an unusually thick clump of cactus. In the midst of this, peering intently at him, was a dark, bronzed face--that of an Apache Indian. A wave of terror swept over the boy, and in his fright he imagined he could even discern the triumphant expression upon the swarthy visage, as it sank behind the dark barrier.

Then all of a sudden he became cool. He looked for his horse. To his dismay he discovered that the animal had wandered some little distance from the tree. Then he realized his danger.

If he descended at once it would be to certain death. His only hope lay in strategy.

Immediately he again began the struggle upward. All the suppressed energy of the moment went into the grip of his hands as they took hold of the rough knots. The eagles became more demonstrative, and more than once the swish of a powerful wing caused him to duck his head. But of this he was hardly conscious. When at length he bent over the nest, under pretense of examining it, Tom’s eyes were in reality strained in an attempt to locate the enemy. He never knew whether the nest contained one or two eaglets.

His mustang and the Indian were about the same distance from the tree. But how was he to reach the animal? A too sudden descent would arouse suspicion. At length, with every nerve on edge for the trial to come, he began to work his way down. The eagles, their courage increased with apparent victory, gave even freer utterance to their rage, and their shrieks as they swooped past his head rang in the boy’s ears for many a day afterward. On a sudden thought, as if in mockery, he took up the cries of the birds, imitating them by long, piercing whistles.

Presently the sound varied, yet to such a slight degree that a listener might not have noted it. Tip, the pony, however, did seem to notice it, and at each call would lift his head impatiently and look in the direction of the tree. Finally, as if by a familiar impulse, he tossed his head in air, and walked slowly toward the well-known call.

All the while Tom had kept his face in such a direction that the Indian could not have left his ambush without being discovered. The pony was now within twenty paces of the tree. By way of distracting the Indian’s attention, the boy waved his hat and shouted to an imaginary comrade.

Then, fifteen feet from the ground, first throwing a quick glance at his steed, Tom allowed himself to drop. As he did so the dreaded war-whoop rang out from the distant clump. To his horror, an answering call came from just ahead of him. Once on the ground, he darted toward the horse. A cactus plant, which on ordinary occasions he would have given a wide berth, brushed sharply against him, yet, in his excitement, he hardly felt the pain it caused.

In the next instant he had swung into the saddle and wheeled the pony’s head toward the camp. The first glance ahead, however, revealed the supple body of an Indian half concealed by a cactus bush. There was no choice. Striking his spurs into the pony, Tom dashed forward. The Indian suddenly dropped his rifle and crouched beside a Giant Cactus. As Tom and the mustang flew past he made a panther-like leap, and throwing his arms about the boy, tried to drag him from the saddle. Turning upon him, Tom seized the lithe arms and with all his strength tried to throw the enemy from him. But the grip of the savage was like that of a wild animal, and the boy’s most vigorous efforts failed to break it.

While the Indian and boy were thus struggling, the mustang had made good some one hundred yards, in spite of the double burden. Though greatly excited, Tom thought of the six-shooter at his belt, but before he could reach it a quick movement of the savage pinned his arms to his side. The boy then worked his hand under the wiry arm which held a strangling grip on his neck. As he did so, his eyes met a sight that changed his purpose. He thought a moment of the savage clinging to him. Then, with all his strength, he wrapped his arms around the Indian and imprisoned him. The Indian was confused by the change of action, and, like a wild animal, fought to release himself, for by this time he, too, saw Sergeant Mills and three other approaching horsemen.

A party of soldiers, wondering at the boy’s delay, had ridden out from the camp, and they were not a little surprised to see Tom galloping toward them, carrying what to them was a very odd looking burden. When, upon nearer approach, this object developed into a full-grown Apache Indian, their astonishment knew no bounds, and they hastened forward, lest the prisoner, in his fierce struggles, should escape them.

Ten minutes later, the Indian, bound hand and foot, was brought before the captain, and at the same time Tom handed over the all-important dispatches. As he did so, the boy’s spirits reacted from their strained condition and his sense of humor asserted itself.

“Well, captain,” he said, “I knew that you didn’t want me to be out alone, so I brought this Indian along, just to keep me company.”

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW

If fortune, with a smiling face Strew roses on our way, When shall we stoop to pick them up? To-day, my friend, to-day. But should she frown with face of care, And talk of coming sorrow, When shall we grieve, if grieve we must? To-morrow, friend, to-morrow.

--_Mackay_

A DAUGHTER OF THE FOREST

By Evelyn Raymond