The Death Shot Part 68

"Fellow citizens! We have to thank the Almighty that our dear ones have escaped a great danger. But while grateful to G.o.d, let us remember there is a man also deserving grat.i.tude. A brave young man, we all believed dead--murdered. He is still alive, let us hope so. Simeon Woodley has told us of the danger he is now in--death if he fall into the hands of these desperate outlaws. Friends, and fellow citizens! I need not appeal to you on behalf of this n.o.ble youth. I know you are all of one mind with myself, that come what will, cost what it may, Charles Clancy must be saved."

The enthusiastic shout, sent up in response to the old soldier's speech, tells that the pursuit will be at least energetic and earnest.

Helen Armstrong, standing retired, looks more hopeful now. And with her hope is mingled pride, at the popularity of him to whom she has given heart, and promised hand. Something more to make her happy; she now knows that, in the bestowing of both, she will have the approval of her father.

CHAPTER EIGHTY FIVE.

A CHANGE OF PROGRAMME.

On the far frontier of Texas, still unsettled by civilised man, no chanticleer gives note of the dawn. Instead, the _meleagris_ salutes the sunrise with a cry equally high-toned, and quite as home-like. For the gobbling of the wild turkey-c.o.c.k is scarcely distinguishable from that of his domesticated brother of the farm-yard.

A gang of these great birds has roosted in the pecan grove, close to where the prairie pirates are encamped. At daylight's approach, they fly up to the tops of the trees; the males, as is their wont in the spring months of the year, mutually sounding their sonorous challenge.

It awakes the robbers from the slumber succeeding their drunken debauch; their chief first of any.

Coming forth from his tent, he calls upon the others to get up--ordering several horses to be saddled. He designs despatching a party to the upper plain, in search of Quantrell and Bosley, not yet come to camp.

He wants another word with the mulatto; and steps towards the tent, where he supposes the man to be.

At its entrance he sees blood--inside a dead body!

His cry, less of sorrow than anger, brings his followers around. One after another peering into the tent, they see what is there. There is no question about how the thing occurred. It is clear to all. Their prisoner has killed his guard; as they say, a.s.sa.s.sinated him. Has the a.s.sa.s.sin escaped?

They scatter in search of him, by twos and threes, rushing from tent to tent. Some proceed to the corral, there to see that the bars are down, and the horses out.

These are discovered in a strip of meadow near by, one only missing. It is that the chief had seized from their white prisoner, and appropriated. The yellow one has replevined it!

The ghastly spectacle in the tent gives them no horror. They are too hardened for that. But it makes them feel, notwithstanding; first anger, soon succeeded by apprehension. The dullest brute in the band has some perception of danger as its consequence. Hitherto their security has depended on keeping up their incognito by disguises, and the secrecy of their camping place. Here is a prisoner escaped, who knows all; can tell about their travesties; guide a pursuing party to the spot! They must remain no longer there.

Borla.s.se recognising the necessity for a change of programme, summons his following around him.

"Boys!" he says, "I needn't point out to ye that this ugly business puts us in a bit o' a fix. We've got to clear out o' hyar right quick. I reckon our best way 'll be to make tracks for San Antone, an' thar scatter. Even then, we won't be too safe, if yellow skin turns up to tell his story about us. Lucky a n.i.g.g.e.r's testymony don't count for much in a Texan court; an' thar's still a chance to make it count for nothin' by our knocking him on the head."

All look surprised, their glances interrogating "How?"

"I see you don't understan' me," pursues Borla.s.se in explanation. "It's easy enough; but we must mount at once, an' make after him. He won't so readily find his way acrosst the cut-rock plain. An' I tell yez, boys, it's our only chance."

There are dissenting voices. Some urge the danger of going back that way. They may meet the outraged settlers.

"No fear of them yet," argues the chief, "but there will be if the n.i.g.g.e.r meets them. We needn't go on to the San Saba. If we don't overtake him 'fore reachin' the cottonwood, we'll hev' to let him slide.

Then we can hurry back hyar, an' go down the creek to the Colorado."

The course counselled, seeming best, is decided on.

Hastily saddling their horses, and stowing the plunder in a place where it will be safe till their return, they mount, and start off for the upper plain.

Silence again reigns around the deserted camp; no human voice there--no sound, save the calling of the wild turkeys, that cannot awake that ghastly sleeper.

At the same hour, almost the very moment, when Borla.s.se and his freebooters, ascending from Coyote Creek, set foot on the table plain, a party of mounted men, coming up from the San Saba bottom, strikes it on the opposite edge. It is scarce necessary to say that these are the pursuing settlers. Dupre at their head. Hardly have they struck out into the sterile waste, before getting bewildered, with neither trace nor track to give them a clue to the direction. But they have with them a surer guide than the foot-prints of men, or the hoof-marks of horses-- their prisoner Bill Bosley.

To save his life, the wretch told all about his late a.s.sociates and is now conducting the pursuers to Coyote Creek.

Withal, he is not sure of the way; and halts hesitatingly.

Woodley mistaking his uncertainty for reluctance, puts a pistol to his head, saying:--

"Bill Bosley! altho' I don't make estimate o' yur life as more account than that o' a cat, it may be, I spose, precious to yurself. An' ye kin only save it by takin' us strait to whar ye say Jim Borla.s.se an' his beauties air. Show sign o' preevarication, or go a yurd's length out o'

the right track, an'--wal, I won't shoot ye, as I'm threetenin'. That 'ud be a death too good for sech as you. But I promise ye'll get yer neck streetched on the nearest tree; an' if no tree turn up, I'll tie ye to the tail o' my horse, an' hang ye that way. So, take yur choice. If ye want to chaw any more corn, don't 'tempt playin' possum."

"I hain't no thought of it," protests Bosley, "indeed I hain't, Sime.

I'm only puzzled 'bout the trail from here. Tho' I've been accrost this plain several times, I never took much notice, bein' with the others, I only know there's a tree stands by itself. If we can reach that, the road's easier beyont. I think it's out yonnerways."

He points in particular direction.

"Wal, we'll try that way," says Sime, adding: "Ef yer story don't prove strait, there'll come a crik in yur neck, soon's it's diskivered to be crooked. So waste no more words, but strike for the timmer ye speak o'."

The alacrity with which Bosley obeys tells he is sincere.

Proof of his sincerity is soon after obtained in the tree itself being observed. Far off they descry it outlined against the clear sky, solitary as a ship at sea.

"Yonner it air, sure enuf!" says Woodley first sighting it. "I reck'n the skunk's tellin' us the truth, 'bout that stick o' timber being a finger-post. Tharfor, no more dilly-dallying but on to't quick as our critters can take us. Thar's a man's life in danger; one that's dear to me, as I reckon he'd be to all o' ye, ef ye knowed him, same's I do. Ye heerd what the old kurnel sayed, as we war startin' out: _cost what it mout, Charley Clancy air to be saved_. So put the prod to your critters, an' let's on!"

Saying this, the hunter spurs his horse to its best speed; and soon all are going at full gallop in straight course for the cottonwood.

CHAPTER EIGHTY SIX.

ALONE WITH THE DEAD.

Beside the body of his fallen foe stands Charles Clancy, but with no intention there to tarry long. The companionship of the dead is ever painful, whether it be friend or enemy. With the latter, alone, it may appal. Something of this creeps over his spirit while standing there; for he has now no strong pa.s.sion to sustain him, not even anger.

After a few moments, he turns his back on the corpse, calling Brasfort away from it. The dog yet shows hostility; and, if permitted, would mutilate the lifeless remains. Its fierce canine instinct has no generous impulse, and is only restrained by scolding and threats.

The sun is beginning to show above the horizon, and Clancy perceives Darke's horse tearing about over the plain. He is reminded of his promise made to Jupiter.

The animal does not go clear off, but keeps circling round, as if it desired to come back again; the presence of the other horse attracting, and giving it confidence. Clancy calls to it, gesticulating in a friendly manner, and uttering exclamations of encouragement. By little and little, it draws nearer, till at length its muzzle is in contact with that of his own steed; and, seizing the bridle, he secures it.

Casting a last look at the corpse, he turns to the horses, intending to take departure from the spot. So little time has been spent in the pursuit, and the short conflict succeeding, it occurs to him he may overtake Jupiter, before the latter has reached the San Saba.

Scanning around to get bearings, his eye is attracted to an object, now familiar--the lone cottonwood. It is not much over two miles off. On Darke's trail he must have ridden at least leagues. Its crooked course, however, explains the tree's proximity. The circles and zig-zags have brought both pursued and pursuer nigh back to the starting point.

Since the cottonwood is there, he cannot be so far from the other place, he has such reason to remember; and, again running his eye around, he looks for it.

He sees it not, as there is nothing now to be seen, except some scattered mould undistinguishable at a distance. Instead, the rising sun lights up the figure of a man, afoot, and more than a mile off. Not standing still, but in motion; as he can see, moving towards himself.

It is Jupiter!