Frank Merriwell Down South Part 69

"Oi wouldn't moind so much," said the Irish lad, ruefully, "av we could kick th' booket foighting fer our loives; but it is a bit harrud ter go under widout a chance to lift a hand."

"That's right," cried Frank, as he strained fiercely at the cords which held his hands behind his back. "It is the death of a criminal, and I object to it."

The leader of the Black Caps rode close to the boys, leaned forward in his saddle, and hissed in Frank's ear:

"It's my turn now!"

"And you mean to murder us?" demanded Frank, pa.s.sionately.

"Not murder," answered the man. "We-uns is goin' ter put two revenues out o' ther way, that's all!"

"It's murder," cried Frank, in a ringing tone. "You know we are not revenue spies! Men, we appeal to you. We can prove that we are what we claim to be--two boys who are tramping through the mountains for pleasure. Will you kill us without giving us a chance to prove our innocence?"

The leader laughed harshly.

"It's ther same ol' whine," he said. "Ther revenues alwus cry baby when they're caught. You-uns can't fool us, an' we ain't got time ter waste with ye. Git reddy, boys!"

About the boys' necks the fatal ropes were quickly adjusted.

"Stop!" Frank commanded. "If you murder us, you will find you have not killed two friendless boys. We have friends--powerful friends--who will follow this matter up--who will investigate it. You will be hunted down and punished for the crime. You will not be allowed to escape!"

Again the leader laughed.

"Pore fool!" he sneered. "Do you-uns think ye're stronger an' more po'erful than ther United States Gover'ment? Huah! Ther United States loses her spies, an' she can't tell who disposed o' 'em. We won't be worried by all yore friends."

He made another movement, and the rope ends were flung over a limb that was strong enough to bear both lads.

Hope was dying within Frank Merriwell's breast. At last he had reached the end of his adventurous life, which had been short and turbulent. He must die here amid these wild mountains, which flung themselves up against the moonlit sky, and the only friend to be with him at the end was the faithful friend who must die at his side.

Frank's blood ran cold and sluggish in his veins. The spring night had seemed warm and sweet, filled with the droning of insects; but now there was a bitter chill in the air, and the white moonlight seemed to take on a crimson tinge, as of blood.

The boy's nature rebelled against the thought of meeting death in such a manner. It was spring-time amid the mountains; with him it was the spring-time of life. He had enjoyed the beautiful world, and felt strong and brave to face anything that might come; but this he had not reckoned on, and it was something to cause the stoutest heart to shake.

Over the eastern mountains, craggy, wild, barren or pine-clad, the gibbous moon swung higher and higher. The heavens were full of stars, and every star seemed to be an eye that was watching to witness the consummation of the tragedy down there in that little valley, through which Lost Creek flowed on to its unknown destination.

How still it was!

The silence was broken by a sound that made every black-hooded man start and listen.

Sweet and mellow and musical, from afar through the peaceful night, came the clear notes of a bugle.

Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar! Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar!

A fierce exclamation broke from the lips of the leader of the Black Caps, and he grated:

"Muriel, by ther livin' G.o.ds! He's comin' hyar! Quick, boys--finish this job, an' git!"

"Stop, Wade Miller!" cried Frank, commandingly. "If that is Muriel, wait for him--let him p.r.o.nounce our fate. He is the chief of you all, and he shall say if we are revenue spies."

"Bah! You-uns know too much, fer ye've called my name! That settles ye!

Ye must hang anyway, now!"

Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar!

From much nearer, came the sound of the bugle, awakening hundreds of mellow echoes, which were flung from crag to crag till it seemed that the mountains were alive with buglers.

The clatter of a horse's iron-shod feet could be heard, telling that the rider was coming like the wind down the valley.

"Cut free ther feet o' ther pris'ners!" panted the leader of the Black Caps. "Work quick! Muriel will be here in a few shakes, an' we-uns must be done. All ready thar! Up with 'em!"

The fatal moment had arrived!

CHAPTER XLII.

MURIEL.

Ta-ra-tar! Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tar!

Through the misty moonlight a coal-black horse, bearing a rider who once more awakens the clamoring echoes with his bugle, comes tearing at a mad gallop.

"Up with 'em!" repeats Wade Miller, fiercely, as the black-hooded men seem to hesitate.

The ropes tighten.

"Stop!"

One of the men utters the command, and his companions hesitate.

"Muriel is death on revernues," says the one who had spoken, "an' thar ain't any reason why we-uns shouldn't wait fer him."

"That's so."

More than half the men agree with the one who has interrupted the execution, filling Wade Miller with unutterable rage.

"Fools!" snarled the chief ruffian of the party. "I am leadin' you-uns now, an' ye've gotter do ez I say. I order ye ter string them critters up!"

Nearer and nearer came the clattering hoof-beats.

"Av we can have wan minute more!" breathed Barney Mulloy.

"Half a minute will do," returned Frank.

"We refuse ter obey ye now," boldly spoke the man who had commanded his companions to stop. "Muriel has signaled ter us, an' he means fer us ter wait till he-uns arrives."