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

by F. S. Brereton

As if to let the occupants of the tiny place know that he was coming, the ruffian emptied four of the cartridges in his revolver into the door of the cabin, sending the bullets ripping through the wood, and thudding heavily against the bulkhead beyond. Then, quickly following his messengers, he leaped to the bottom of the stairway and burst into the saloon.

"Empty!" he shouted a moment or two later. "Not a soul in here. Where are the pretty birds?"

Where indeed? The members of the gang raced up and down the deck, searching vainly for the men they wanted, and never even suspecting the trick which had been played upon them. It was not till they had felt in every corner, and come very near to shooting one another in the confusion caused by their haste and the darkness, that it slowly dawned upon their minds that the birds had flown. Then they looked for the ship on which they had taken passage, and which they had slipped from her moorings not ten minutes before, and were struck dumb with astonishment to find that she was already some ten feet from them, and hardly discernible in the darkness. Indeed it is probable that they would not even now have suspected what had really happened had it not been for a sudden commotion close at hand. They had entirely forgotten the noisy comrades who had gone ashore, and who had since embarked on a small boat. Even Mr. Blunt and his two stanch young friends had allowed the existence of this other gang to slip their memory, for their hands were very full. They had carried out their scheme in absolute silence and with wonderful celerity. They had severed the ropes, and then with a whispered word to one another had placed themselves along the rail of the captured vessel, and, keeping as low as possible, had pushed the two boats apart. Not till then had Mr. Blunt taken his station at the tiller. He looked aloft, felt the river vessel cant as the wind filled her sail, and then pushed at his tiller.

"In a moment we shall have said good-by," he whispered. "Listen to the rascals! They will be angry when we are gone. Ah! Those other fellows! They are just beside us."

Both heard the splash of oars, and then the loud calls of the men in the rowing boat. They had come up with their comrades, as they thought, and when Dudley looked over the stern rail there they were, alongside, and getting to their feet so as to climb aboard. He lifted his revolver and was on the point of firing when Mr. Blunt arrested the shot.

"Don't shoot," he whispered swiftly. "They do not know what has happened, and their fellows aboard our boat are also in ignorance. Get along the deck and find something heavy, like the coil you prepared before."

A word was enough, and within a second Dudley was running along the deck, bent double as he went. And fortunate it was for him and his friends that he was one of those lads who take in his surroundings somewhat more thoroughly perhaps than do average people. Everything that was novel interested him, and a ship had always been a fascinating subject to Dudley. He had made himself acquainted with every corner and hole of the river boat on which he and his employer had sailed from Buenos Ayres, as well as that upon which they had descended the river, and in both cases he had noted the fact that the vessels carried a spare anchor hooked to the rail in the bow. The memory of that spare anchor flashed across his mind, and at once he ran up into the bow, making no attempt to search for another object on the way. It was there. His fingers gripped the heavy piece of metal, and with a jerk he hoisted it from the grips which held it in place. Then he returned at a run, arriving breathless at the stern.

"That should do," said Mr. Blunt. "Take the tiller, and look out for shots. I'll do my best to teach those employees of mine a little lesson in honesty. Perhaps in future they will not take service with a man with the express intention of robbing and murdering him."

He leaned over the rail, the anchor poised over his shoulder, and glanced down at the men in the boat alongside. They were calling angrily to one another, for their evening ashore, and the darkness of the night, had led to no little confusion. Each man wished to be the first to climb aboard the vessel, while none were directed to cling to the rail. And in consequence it happened that no sooner did the majority of them rise to their feet than the boat slipped away from the side of the one they wished to board, and they were forced to paddle again to come up with her.

"Keep quiet there!" shouted one of their number. "Hold on there in the bow, while I get a grip here. Then clamber aboard one by one. Hi, comrade, throw us a rope!"