CHAPTER XV.
A FRIENDLY VOICE.
In the work that followed, Jack Greenland showed that he was no novice in woodcraft, but it would take more space than I can give to it to describe minutely the details of what I shall only attempt to outline. It would not do for them to leave the thick fringe of bushes overhanging the road, and yet, in order to accomplish his purpose, it was necessary for them to shorten the space between them and the rebel riders under "El Capitan," as the mountain insurgent was called. To do this more safely, Jack retreated about a yard, and then crept forward in the same direction of the road. In spite of his extreme caution, Ronie heard a stick snap under his knee, when his heart came into his mouth. Fortunately, one of the horses stamped its foot at this moment, and thus the fainter sound was drowned by the heavier. Then the harsh voice of the insurgent was heard to exclaim:
"Fire on the head of the laggard! I cannot wait here any longer. Forward, men! on to the mansion, which shall be the cage for our bird."
Without further delay the body of half a dozen riders struck their impatient steeds smartly with their spurs, and would have swiftly disappeared from the scene, but for an accident to the foremost. His animal, thus suddenly aroused, reared into the air and then plunged forward, but, either stepping into a hole or stumbling, it staggered ahead, coming nearly upon its knees. Its rider was flung headlong into the bushes within a hand's reach of our amateur scouts!
This mishap plunged the rest of the riders into confusion, nearly unseating Rhoades himself, but who rallied with a horrible imprecation upon the head of his unfortunate follower. With rare presence of mind the woman on the gray horse wheeled her spirited animal quickly around to make a bold dash for freedom. There were horsemen behind her, but that was her only way of escape, if she could hope to get away at all. In a moment the entire scene had become one of wildest excitement, and above the clatter of hoofs and the cries of his men, rang the voice of the leader, as he swung his own horse around, calling upon his panic-stricken followers:
"Don't let her escape! Shoot her if must be, but stop her!"
The mountain outlaw was about to carry out his own order, when he received a terrific blow from Jack Greenland, which tumbled him from his seat to the ground. Jack and Ronie had been quick to perceive that in this exciting tableau lay their chance of action.
"Mount the free horse and ride down the road for your life!" said Jack. "A bold dash will carry us through."
Then he sprang forward to capture the horse ridden by the insurgent chief, knowing that, could he be successful in this, it would throw the squad into confusion. Without a leader they were not likely to make a very effective pursuit. I have described the result of his swift and daring onset. And, as Rhoades, stunned by the blow, sank helpless to the earth, the fearless American seized the bridle rein of the frightened horse before it could clear itself from the hand of its former master. Almost simultaneously with this action Jack would have been in the saddle, but for the fact that the right foot of the insurgent had caught in the stirrup. This caused a brief delay, but, wrenching the offending limb aside, the captor vaulted into the seat just as two or three shots whistled through the air at random from the discomfited insurgents, who were at a loss to account for just what was being enacted in their midst. One of these bullets cut away a lock of his silvered hair, but, unminding his narrow escape, he turned the horse sharply about, crying to the woman, who had succeeded in heading her steed down the road:
"Ride for your life. It is your only hope."
She had already reached the outside circle of the little group, and her horse, a spirited one, cleared the last of the dismayed riders, to bear her down the way at a terrific pace, her long, black hair streaming in the wind as she sped on. Once a white face was turned backward for a moment, and then she disappeared from sight.
Meanwhile Ronie was having an experience equally as exciting and even more dangerous to his life and liberty. He had succeeded in catching upon the bridle of the horse that had thrown its rider, and he gained the saddle an instant later, while the terrified animal reared and plunged furiously. But the young engineer had secured a firm hold on the reins, and was likely to obtain quick control over the creature, when he found stout hands laid on the bridle with a power which threw the struggling brute back upon its haunches.
The attack of the insurgents, three in number, was so sudden and powerful that Ronie's escape seemed impossible.
"Shoot the dog!" cried one of the insurgents.
"Don't let him get away!" exclaimed the chief, who had rallied by this time sufficient to realize something of the situation.
Ronie knew he could expect no assistance from Jack, who was having all he could attend to, and he resolved to make a desperate attempt to get away. Accordingly, he whipped out the stout knife which had been given him by Manuel Marlin, and as the shots of his enemies sped past his head, he cut the reins upon which the insurgents were clinging, when the men, suddenly losing their hold, staggered forward, leaving the animal freed from their clutches.
Finding itself thus relieved of the weight dragging it down, the horse flung up its head, gave vent to a wild snort, and bounded madly over their writhing forms, to rush like a whirlwind down the road, scarcely a head behind Jack, mounted on the chief's fleet-footed steed. Though nearly unseated by this abrupt onset, Ronie held fast to his position, while he was borne on at a rate of speed which fairly took away his breath. Even Jack, going at his terrific pace, was passed, and then the woman on the stout gray was outdistanced. Without check or guidance to its headlong flight, Ronie soon found that his horse was running away!
The cries and the rifle shots of his enemies were soon lost in the distance, but the young engineer had barely recovered his equilibrium, so to speak, when he became conscious of the approach of a body of horsemen from ahead. Naturally expecting only enemies, he began to wonder how he was to come out of this new danger. The sounds of the approaching horses told that this party were coming at a gait almost as swift as that by which he was carried along. Thus he was not given sufficient time in which to prepare for the meeting, if any preparation could be made by him in his plight, before he found himself carried into the very midst of a squad of a dozen horsemen, sweeping toward him at a breakneck pace. Wild shouts rang in his ears, but if efforts were made to stop him he was not aware of it. In some manner, never quite plain to him, he was carried through the party of riders, brushing against them on the right and left, but clearing them in an incredible space of time, to be still carried on with unabated speed.
So far Ronie had not gathered his scattered faculties enough to act, but now, remembering that the bridle was still left on the head of the horse he bestrode, he leaned forward and grasped the side straps close down to the bit. Perhaps the animal had begun to tire of its wild race.
At any rate, it quickly yielded to the strong hands wrenching at its mouth, and began to slacken its speed.
All this really took place in less time than it has taken to describe it, even in outline, and the excitement and confusion of the surprised riders in his rear were yet ringing in his ears, when Ronie, for the second time, became aware of the approach of horsemen. But before he could obtain control of his own horse, or anticipate who might now be in his pathway, a stentorian voice thundered in English:
"Halt! Who comes here?"