Frank among the Rancheros

by Harry Castlemon

Arthur's triumph was of short duration. The Ranchero, from whom he had escaped, was at his side in an instant, and, again seizing his bridle with one hand, he leveled a pistol full at his prisoner's head with the other, while Pierre caught his gun from behind, and wrested it from his grasp. At the same moment, a lasso, thrown by the Ranchero who had taken charge of Archie, settled down over his shoulders, and was drawn tight.

Pierre and his band were obeying their instructions to the very letter, indeed, they were altogether too zealous in their efforts to appear "natural," and Arthur began to be suspicious that they were in sober earnest with him, as well as with the others. He looked up into Pierre's face, in the hope of receiving from him some friendly token—a sly wink or a nod, which would satisfy him that he was "all right," and in no danger of receiving bodily injury; but he saw nothing of the kind. The chieftain's face wore a terrible scowl, and he even lifted Arthur's gun above his head, as if he had half a mind to knock him out of his saddle.

"Quarter! quarter!" gasped Arthur, striving, with nervous fingers, to pull the lasso from his neck, and beginning to be thoroughly alarmed. "I surrender."

"Well, let that be your last attempt at escape," said Pierre, in a very savage tone of voice, "or you will find, to your cost, that we are not to be trifled with."

In the meantime, the other Rancheros, while holding fast to their prisoners, had relieved them of their weapons; and, as soon as Pierre had seen Arthur conquered, he seized the bridle of the pack-horse, while each of the other members of the band took charge of one of the boys, and the cavalcade started down the ravine at a rapid gallop.

All this happened in much less time than we have taken to describe it. Before the young hunters had fairly recovered from the astonishment caused by the sudden appearance of Pierre and his band, they had been disarmed, and were being led captive into the mountains.

Frank and his two friends were more bewildered than alarmed. The whole thing was so unexpected, and had been accomplished so quickly and quietly! Remembering the particulars of Frank's previous encounter with Pierre Costello, they did not stand in fear of bodily harm. Although they had not the slightest suspicion that their capture was the result of treachery on the part of Arthur Vane, they well understood the motives of the robbers, and knew, as well as if Pierre had explained the matter to them, that they were to be used as a means to extort money from their relatives, and that they had nothing to fear, so long as they submitted quietly to their enemies. But this was something that one of the three boys, at least, had no intention of doing. Frank's brain was already busy with plans for escape. He had twice beaten Pierre at his own game, and, if the robber did not keep his wits about him, he would do it again. As for Arthur, although his plans were, thus far, as successful as he could have desired, he was very much disappointed. The three boys, who had dared to hold him up to the people of the settlement in his true character, were prisoners, and he had Pierre's assurance that they would remain such until the demands he intended to make upon their relatives should be complied with. But, after all, Arthur did not experience the satisfaction he had hoped he would, for the robbers had treated him very roughly. The chief had raised his own gun over his head; another had choked him with his lasso, and a third had pointed a loaded pistol at him. That was a nice way to treat a visitor! Arthur began to wish that he had never had any thing to do with Pierre and his band.

The chief, who rode in advance with the pack-horse, led the way at a break-neck pace, and the boys, being one behind the other, each in company with the Ranchero who had him in charge, were allowed no opportunity to converse with one another, even had they desired it. Frank, for want of something better to do, began to make an examination of the members of the band. Like their leader, they were full-blooded Mexicans, with enormous mustaches, and long, tangled hair, which looked as though it had never seen a comb. They were dressed in gay-colored clothes—blue jackets, buckskin pants, very wide at the knee, and covered with buttons, ribbons, and gold lace. They wore long sashes around their waists, which were thrust full of bowie-knives and revolvers. They carried short, heavy rifles, slung over their shoulders by leather bands, and behind their saddles were their ponchos, which did duty both as overcoats and beds. Taken altogether, they were a hard-looking set, and seemed capable of any atrocity. The man who had charge of Frank was particularly noticeable in this respect, and our hero thought that all he needed were the leggins, and high-pointed hat, to make him a first-class brigand. This man kept a sharp eye upon his prisoner, and scowled at him, as if he regarded him as his most implacable foe.

"You needn't look so mad," said Frank, at length. "I don't remember that I ever did you any harm, and I certainly am not foolish enough to try to escape, as long as you keep hold of my bridle."