There were but a few hours left till morning, and the officers decided, after stationing two guards at the bridge over the Arkansas, between Pueblo and South Pueblo, to get a little rest. They, accordingly, after instructing the guards as to what to do in case Clodfelter and Johnson should come up, as they were confidently expected to do, repaired to a hotel, where they stretched themselves out upon cots before the fire with their clothes still unremoved, with the hope of drying their garments while they should rest their weary bodies.
CHAPTER LXII.
SPOTTING THE FUGITIVES—THEY APPEAR IN PUEBLO AT BREAK OF DAY, AND THE OFFICERS ARE SOON AFTER THEM, WELL MOUNTED AND FAIRLY ARMED—A DASHING SCENE—A THIRTEEN-MILE RACE ACROSS THE PLAINS, WITH MANY SHOTS FIRED—THE DESPERATE FUGITIVES AT LAST BROUGHT TO A HALT AND RETURNED TO DENVER.
Rising about 6 o’clock in the morning, the officers started to engage horses, but had much difficulty. Finally they secured two, one of them a very fine animal. They then went back to the hotel, and started up the Fountaine to strike the trail of Clodfelter and Johnson. Cook had a Colt’s forty-four calibre pistol, with only six loads, and a Henry rifle, borrowed at Pueblo. Smith was armed only with a Colt’s breech-loading pistol.
They had proceeded about two hundred yards from the hotel when they heard a shout, and looking back saw one of their guards—Officer Bilby—on the hotel steps, waving his hat. The officers glanced over the town and saw the two men they sought riding through. Instantly they let their horses out, and endeavored to cut off their exit across the bridge. In this they were not successful. Then both rode up behind a building and then into the street, down which the men were riding, about a hundred yards behind them. The men had discovered they were being pursued, and had thrown away their blankets, drawn their revolvers, and put spurs to their horses.
As Cook and Smith rode into the street, Cook called upon the men to halt, but the demand was not heeded.
“If you don’t halt, you are dead men.” But in vain. The scoundrels pushed on with all the greater vim. Their horses were flying over the ground, and the officers were following with the speed of the wind.
“Let them have one just to scare them,” said Dave to Frank, and the two officers sent two shots into the air. These had no effect. The horsemen rode on without noticing the shots. There were a few people in the street at this early hour, early and cold as it was, but they all scampered indoors when the bullets began to whiz in the air. The horsemen rode on regardless of surroundings. The pursued pair now swung around in a circle and came up on the mesa near the bridge above the officers, and riding abreast and as fast as their horses would carry them. Cook stopped his horse, cocked his gun, threw it to his shoulder, and drew a bead, while both men were riding side by side, sixty yards from him. They saw the action, and realizing their imminent danger, started to drop behind their horses just as the detective’s finger touched the trigger of his Henry rifle.