The Boy Scouts On The Range Part 21

"White boy like lame cow. Plenty tumble," snickered Susyjan, while Rob's cheeks burned wrathfully. He took greater care from that time on, and managed to follow the noiselessly gliding girl without causing another alarm, while she led him in a circuitous route round the back of the encampment.

Suddenly they came to a hillside covered with wild oats, on which several dark objects that the boy made out to be ponies were hobbled.

Deftly seizing one by the nose, the girl forced a rope "hackamore" she had brought with her into its mouth, and cast off its hobbles.

Rob, with one hand on the little animal's rump, and the other on its withers, vaulted to the pony's back in a second.

"Which way I go?" he whispered.

"Over there," rejoined the girl, pointing to the eastward. "Bymby find trail."

"All right, Susyjan; you're a brick," whispered Rob, "and I won't forget the beads."

"Real ones, like white lady," insisted Susyjan.

"Sure, and the whitest of them isn't any whiter than you," Rob a.s.sured her, as he dug his heels into the pony's bony sides and the little animal plunged forward. As he did so, Susyjan wheeled and vanished. It was important for her to be in bed in her tepee in case the alarm was given.

"Slow and steady's the word, I guess, along here," mused Rob, as the pony picked his way among rough rock and stubbly brush. "If this little animal doesn't stumble and wake the whole camp, I'm in luck. Anyhow, Susyjan won't get in trouble over it now. That's one thing, and----"

Crash!

The little pony had done just what Rob dreaded. Nimble as it was, a loose rock had proved its undoing, and it had come down on its knees with a crash. Instantly it scrambled up again, but as it did so a series of demoniacal yells rang out behind the boy.

The alarm had been given.

Suddenly there was added to the general confusion the sound of confused shooting.

Bang! Bang!

"Waking up the camp," muttered Rob, swinging the end of his rope hackamore and bringing it down over the pony's flanks with a resounding "thwack." "Now get a move on, Uncle One-Eyed Horse's pony, for if ever you carried a fellow in need, you've got one on your back to-night."

CHAPTER XIV.

A TOBOGGAN TO DISASTER.

Pluckily forward plunged the pony, as if anxious to redeem his untimely stumble.

"It'll take them some time to get to their ponies and unhobble them,"

thought Rob. "If I've luck, I may get away yet."

Keeping steadily to the direction the girl had pointed out, the boy pressed on at as fast a clip as he dared. The farther he rode ahead of the pursuing tribe, the better chance he stood of getting beyond their earshot.

It was risky riding, though, through an unknown country on such a dark night. What sort of going it was under foot, Rob could only tell by the uncertain gait of the beast he bestrode. Bushes occasionally brushed in his face, scratching it, and once in a while an extra strong bunch of chaparral would press against his legs, almost brushing him from his pony's back.

Suddenly the way took a steep downward pitch.

"I hope this isn't another precipice," thought the boy, as the pony half-slid, half-clambered down in the darkness. Presently his hoofs splashed in water, and Rob knew they were crossing a creek. He drew back on his single rein and listened intently. Fortunately the wind, what there was of it, set toward him.

Borne on it he could hear distant shouts and cries. To his intense satisfaction, it seemed to him that they were farther off than when he had first heard them.

"Gained on them!" muttered Rob triumphantly. "Now, if daylight would only come along----"

But it was long to wait till daylight, and in the meantime Rob did not dare remain where he was. The Indians probably knew the mountains like a book, and would work them on a system. In such an event his only salvation lay in keeping moving. All at once he stopped, with a sudden heart leap, as his pony scrambled up the farther bank of the creek.

A shrill cry sounded close behind him.

Could it be possible that the advance guard of the Indians had approached him so nearly?

The next instant Rob gave a laugh of relief. The shrill cry came again.

"Whoo-to-too, who-o-o!"

"Only an owl," exclaimed the boy. "Hullo, though, that's funny! There's another answering it--and by George! there's another!"

From the woods to the right and left had come similar hoots to the owl-like sound he had noted behind him. At the same instant, the unmistakable sound of a dislodged stone bounding and rattling down the steep incline he had just descended was borne to his ears.

"That's no owl," gasped Rob, "it's Indians!"

As he realized how badly he had been fooled, his pony topped the rise.

To any one below in the hollow, the outline of the pony and the boy showed blackly against the stars. Suddenly a sound like an angry bee in full flight hummed close to Rob's ear, and the next moment there came a sharp report behind him.

Instantaneously the hoots to the right and left flanks redoubled, and began closing in. All at once one of the birdlike cries sounded right in front of the escaping white boy.

He was hemmed in by Indians!

The craft of the red men had proven too much for Rob. Even the darkness had not prevented their unerringly tracking him. By their skillful woodcraft and keenness of perception they had succeeded in discovering him and surrounding him.

For an instant Rob's heart stood still. Then, as a second shot whizzed by his ear, aimed by the unseen marksman below, he urged his pony on over the rise.

The advance, however, over the rocky ground sounded as loud as the approach of a squadron of cavalry. Wild cries and yells rang out on every side of the boy. What was he to do?

One of those inspirations born in moments of keen stress came to him in his extremity. If all went well, he would fool the Indians yet, hard as they were to deceive.

Slipping noiselessly from his pony as he rode under a dark clump of pinon trees, the boy turned it loose. The little animal, to his surprise, immediately turned backward, heading round toward the camp.

But this turn of events, at first alarming, ultimately proved to be the very best thing that could have happened for Rob, who had at first hoped that the pony would trot forward.

The Indians, hearing its rapid footsteps galloping back, reasoned that Rob, realizing that he was headed off, had turned his mount in a desperate effort to escape that way. Yelling like demons, and discharging their rifles in an almost continuous fusillade, the Indians wheeled and rode after the retreating pony. Naturally, the more they shouted and fired, the faster the little animal ran, and every step took them farther from Rob, who was crouching under his pinon trees.

Not till they got back to their camp did the redskins discover that the white boy had served craft with strategy, and outwitted them. It was then too late to follow up the pursuit that night. The redskins knew that any one cunning enough to have devised such a trick would not have stood still while they were chasing a will-o'-the-wisp in the opposite direction to their desired quarry.

And they were right in this a.s.sumption. Rob, as soon as the beat of their ponies' hoofs had grown faint, had chuckled to himself at their mistake, and silently as possible resumed his journey. If it had been a hard ride, it was a doubly hard tramp he had before him.

Susyjan had told him that a trail lay not so very far ahead. In the darkness it was possible that he might have lost it. If he had, without food or water, he would soon be in a serious position. But Rob, nevertheless, determined that his best course lay in pushing on, and through the darkness he steadily and pluckily advanced.

Presently he began to ascend what he knew must be a hill or mountainside. This complicated the problem. To go on along level ground was one thing, but to attempt to continue his way over an acclivity as steep as the one that faced him seemed foolhardy. Every step he took might be leading him farther and farther astray.