Roughriders of the Pampas: A Tale of Ranch Life in South America

by F. S. Brereton

He thought again, and, as if to practise the movement slipped his toes from the stirrups, for he had often ridden without the latter and knew that he would not tumble. A little consideration showed him that the feat he contemplated was possible, and knowing well that if he intended to relieve his horse of some weight it would be wiser to do so now, at the very commencement of the struggle, he promptly slid his hand down to the buckle again and in a minute had it loosened. He gripped the neck of his mount with the hand which held the reins, and, leaning forward, lifted himself, while with the free hand he pushed the saddle backwards. Once he swerved dangerously, for the task was no easy one, and at the sight a howl came from the pursuing mob.

"Shout away!" cried Dudley, as he regained his balance. "You've not got me yet, and if I can prevent you, well, I will."

One more effort and the saddle was behind him. A touch, and it, together with his poncho and blanket and a couple of heavy saddle bags, overbalanced and fell to the ground with a crash. His gallant beast was now on more even terms with those ridden by the Indians, and as he felt the relief he tossed his head and pulled at the bit.

"Steady, lad!" shouted his rider again. "We're keeping just nicely ahead, and there is no occasion to do more. They are getting broken up a little. Some are being left behind."

His knees were close in to his horse's side now, and he bent low, till his figure hardly caught the wind. Every two or three seconds he turned his head to watch the Indians, and noted that the worst mounted were already being left in the rear, while those who were foremost had not gained an inch. They were two hundred yards behind, galloping hard; but though he looked carefully he could not see a whip used, nor did they seem to wear spurs.

"Wily foxes," he said, "they are doing the same thing! They are carefully holding in their animals, probably thinking that they will tire mine out. That will suit me well, for the rancho is not more than six miles away now, and we can keep this pace up for a longer distance."

He began to feel more confident, and though the shouts and screams of the pursuers made him feel inclined to use his spurs, and force the pace, he went on as before, checking his speed by theirs, disregarding the reports of the weapons which they occasionally snapped at him, and always maintaining the same distance in advance. But he was by no means out of the woods, as he was shortly to learn. The Indians had seen him free his horse of the saddle, and had increased their angry shouts. But when three miles had been covered, the dozen or more who still remained had settled down to a grim silence. They could not afford to waste their breath, nor could they reload their weapons at that pace. Instead, they began to let their horses out little by little, and very soon they were using their whips, sending their animals along at breakneck pace.

"Time for me to push along," thought Dudley. "In a few minutes I ought to be in the rancho and among friends, so I have only to keep going for a little while. Come along, boy!"

This time the rowels of his spurs touched the flanks, and his beast increased its pace, and for a time held the distance it had gained at the first. One by one the pursuing Indians dropped off, the pace being too hot for their horses, till three only were left. But these were beautifully mounted, and, now that the crisis of the affair had arrived, they showed that there was still a little pace to be squeezed out of their horses. Their whips cracked, their bony heels went to the flanks, and their beasts steadily drew up to the quarry. Then one of the three disengaged himself from his comrades inch by inch till he was some yards ahead, and was rapidly overhauling Dudley. The man carried a revolver in one hand, and instead of a whip used his cruel spurs continuously. Dudley glanced round at him, gave an exclamation, and then slipped his hand into the pocket carried on the hip of his riding leggings. For this was not an Indian. The man was dressed as a gaucho, and it wanted only a second glance at that evil face, at those deep-set and scowling eyes, to tell him that it was Giono, the man who had warned him to beware, and who had left the rancho breathing vengeance against the two white men who resided there.