Pluck on the Long Trail Part 13

"You bet you'll do anything I say," snapped Fitz, very savage. "You had us, and now we have you! Unbuckle that belt, you Bat. Don't you touch the revolver, though. I'm mad and I mean business."

Bat's fingers trembled and he fussed at the belt and unbuckled it, and off came belt and revolver, and all.

"Toss 'em over."

He tossed them. Fitz put his foot on them.

"Aw, what do you let that one-armed kid bluff you for?" began Walt; and Fitz caught him up as quick as a wink.

"What are _you_ talking about?" he asked. "I'll give you a job, too. You take your knife and help cut those two Scouts loose."

"Ain't got a knife," grumbled Walt.

"Yes, you have. I've seen it. Will you, or do you want me to pull trigger?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I? You watch this finger."

"Look out, Walt!" begged Bat. "He will! I know he will! See his finger?

He might do it by accident. Quit, Fitz. We'll cut 'em."

"Don't get up. Just roll," ordered Fitz.

They rolled. He kept the muzzle right on them. Walt cut me free (his hands were shaking as bad as Bat's), and Bat cut the general free.

We stood up. But there wasn't time for congratulations, or anything like that. No. We must skip.

"Quick!" bade Fitz. "Tie their feet. My rope will do; it was a long one."

"How'd _you_ get loose?" snarled Walt.

"None of your business," retorted Fitz.

We pulled on the knots hard--and they weren't any granny knots, either, that would work loose. We tied their feet, and then with a bowline noose tied their elbows behind their backs--which was quicker than tying their wrists. (Note 38.)

Fitz dropped the shotgun and grabbed his camera.

"You gave your parole," whined Bat.

"It's after twelve," answered the general.

And then Walt uttered a tremendous yell--and there was an answering whoop near at hand. The rest of the gang were coming back.

"Run!" ordered the general. "Meet at the old camp."

We ran, and scattered. We didn't stop for the burros, or anything more, except that as I pa.s.sed I grabbed up the bow and arrows and with one jerk I ripped our flags loose from the pole, where it was lying.

This delayed me for a second. Walt and Bat were yelling the alarm, and feet were hurrying and voices were answering. I caught a glimpse of the general and Fitz plunging into brush at one side, and I made for another point.

"There they go! Stop 'em!" were calling Walt and Bat.

Tony Matthews was coming so fast that he almost dived into me; but I dodged him and away I went, into the timber and the brush, with him pelting after. Now all the timber was full of cries and threats, and "Bang! Bang!" sounded a gun. But I didn't stop to look around. I scudded, with Tony thumping behind me.

"You halt!" ordered Tony. "Head him off!" he called.

I dodged again, around a cedar, and ran in a new direction, up a slope, through gra.s.s and just a sprinkling of trees. Now was the time to prove what a Scout's training was good for, in giving him lungs and legs and endurance. So I ran at a springy lope, up-hill, as a rabbit does. Two voices were panting at me; I saved my breath for something better than talk. The puffing grew fainter, and finally when I couldn't hear it, or any other sound near, I did halt and look around.

The pursuit was still going on behind and below, near where the gang's camp was. I could hear the shouts, and "Bang! Bang!" but shouts and shooting wouldn't capture the general and Fitz, I knew. Tony and the other fellow who had been chasing me had quit--and now I saw the general and Fitz. They must have had to double and dodge, because they had not got so far away: but here they came, out from the trees, into an open s.p.a.ce, across from me, and they were running strong and swift for the slope beyond. If it was a case of speed and wind, none of that smoking, flabby crowd could catch them.

Fitz was ahead, the general was about ten feet behind, and much farther behind streamed the gang, Bill Delaney leading and the rest lumbering after. Tony and the other fellow had flopped down, and never stirred to help. They were done for.

It was quite exciting, to watch; and as the general and Fitz were drawing right away and escaping, I wanted to cheer. They turned sharp to make straight up-hill--and then the general fell. He must have slipped.

He picked himself up almost before he had touched the ground and plunged on, but down he toppled, like a wounded deer. Fitzpatrick, who was climbing fast off at one side, saw.

"Hurt?" I heard him call.

"No," answered the general. "Go on."

But Fitz didn't keep on. He turned and came right to him, although the enemy was drawing close. The general staggered up, and sat down again.

I knew what was being said, now, although I couldn't hear anything except the jeers of the gang as they increased speed. The general was hurt, and he was telling Fitz to go and save himself, and Fitz wouldn't.

He sat there, too, and waited. Then, just as the gang closed in, and Bill Delaney reached to grab Fitz, the general saw me and made me the sign to go on, and the sign of a horse and rider.

Yes, that was my part, now. I was the one who must follow the beaver man, who had taken our message. The message was the most important thing. We must get that through no matter what happened. And while Fitz and the general could help each other, inside, I could be trailing the message, and maybe finding Henry and Carson and Smith, outside.

So I started on. The enemy was leading the general, who could just hobble, and Fitz, back to the camp. Loyal old Fitzpatrick the Bad Hand, who had helped his comrade instead of saving himself!

CHAPTER IX

JIM BRIDGER ON THE TRAIL

I turned, and climbed the hill. It was a long hill, and hot, but I wanted to get up where I could see. The top was gra.s.sy and bare, and here I stopped, to find out where things were.

Off in one direction (which was southwest, by the sun) rose Pilot Peak, rocky and snowy, with the main range stretching on either side of it.

But between Pilot Peak and me there lay a big country of heavy timber.

Yes, in every direction was heavy timber. I had run without thinking, and now it was pretty hard to tell exactly where I was.

I stood for a minute and tried to figure in what direction that beaver man probably had ridden. He had come in on our left, as we sat, and had probably gone along toward our right. I tried to remember which way the shadows had fallen, in the sunset, and which way west had been, from our right or left as we were sitting.

Finally I was quite certain that the shadows had fallen sort of quartering, from right to left, and so the man probably had made toward the west. It was a good thing that I had noticed the shadows, but to notice little things is a Scout's training.

I stuffed the flags inside my shirt, and tied my coat about me; only one arrow was left, out of six; the five others must have fallen when I was running. And I was hungry and didn't have a thing to eat, because when the gang had captured us they had taken our bread and chocolate, along with our match-boxes and knives and other stuff. That was mean of them.

But with a look about for smoke signals I took my bow and started across the top of the hill.