The Lone Ranche Part 57

Behind a tent, and partially screened by the trees, three men are in the act of mounting three horses. One is already in the saddle and moving away, the other two have just set foot in the stirrup. The roan mounted is unknown to the pursuers; but his animal is recognised by them. It is Hamersley's own horse! Of the other two but one is identified, and him only by Hamersley. He sees Gil Uraga.

A cry from the Kentuckian expresses disappointment. For on the instant after sighting the Mexican officers the latter have leaped into their saddles and gone off at a full gallop. A rifle shet might yet reach them; but the guns of both Kentuckian and Texan are empty. Their revolvers are loaded to no purpose. The retreating hors.e.m.e.n are beyond pistol range!

Sure of this, they do not think of firing. And afoot, as all the Rangers are--having left the horses behind to steal forward--they feel helpless to pursue for the present. While hesitating, a circ.u.mstance occurs giving Hamersley a hope. The man who has mounted his horse finds a difficulty in managing him. As a Mexican he sits the saddle to perfection, but cannot make the animal go the way he wants.

From behind the horse has heard neighing, which he knows to come from the steeds of his own race, and, knowing this, has resolved to rub noses with them.

In vain Galvez kicks against his ribs, beats him about the head, and makes frantic efforts to urge him on. He but rears in the opposite direction, backing so far as to bring his rider within reach of the revolver held in the hands of Hamersley. Its crack rings clear--not needing to be repeated or the cylinder turned. At the first explosion the soldier is seen to spring from the saddle, dropping dead without kick or cry, while the steed, disembarra.s.sed, sheers round and comes trotting towards the place whence the shot proceeded.

In a moment more its real master has hold of the bridle-rein, his shout of joy answered by a whimper of recognition.

Seeing how matters stand, the Rangers hasten back to get possession of their horses; others make for those of the fallen lancers, that now in affright are rearing and straining at the end of their trail-ropes in a vain endeavour to break loose.

For neither can Hamersley wait. It will take time, which his impatience--his burning thirst for vengeance--cannot brook. He is thinking of his slain comrades, whose bones lie unburied on the sands of the Canadian; also of the outrage so near being perpetrated, so opportunely interrupted.

But one thought stays him--Adela. Where is she? Is she safe? He turns towards the marquee late guarded by Galvez. A very different individual is now seen at its entrance. Walt Wilder, with bowie-knife bared, its blade cutting the cords that kept the tent closed. In an instant they are severed, the flap flies open, and two female forms rush forth. In another instant one of them is lying along Hamersley's breast, the other in the embrace of Wilder. Kisses and words are exchanged. Only a few of the latter, till Hamersley, withdrawing himself from the arms that softly entwine him, tells of his intention to part.

"For what purpose?" is the interrogatory, asked in tremulous accents, and with eyes that speak painful surprise.

"To redress my wrongs and yours, Adela," is the response firmly spoken.

"_Santissima_!" she exclaims, seeing her lover prepare to spring into the saddle. "Francisco! Stay with me. Do not again seek danger. The wretch is not worthy of your vengeance."

"'Tis not vengeance, but justice. 'Tis my duty to chastise this crime-- the greatest on earth. Something whispers me 'tis a destiny, and I shall succeed. Dearest Adela, do not stay me. There is no danger. I shall be back soon, bringing Uraga's sword, perhaps himself, along with me."

"Thar's odds again ye, Frank," interposes Wilder. "Two to one. If I foller afoot I mayn't be up in time. An' the boys that's gone arter thar critters, they'll be too late."

"Never mind the odds! I'll make it up with the five shots still in my revolver. See, dearest, your brother is coming this way. Go meet and tell him I shall soon return with a prisoner to be exchanged for him.

Another kiss! _Adios! hasta luego_!"

Tearing himself from arms so reluctant to release him, he bounds upon the back of his horse and spurs off, soon disappearing among the trees.

Scarce is he out of sight when another quadruped is seen galloping after--not a horse, but a hybrid.

Walt Wilder has espied the saddled mule hitched up behind the tent--that intended for Conchita. It is now ridden by the ex-Ranger, who, prodding it with the point of his bowie, puts it to its best speed.

And soon after go other hors.e.m.e.n--the Texans who have recovered their steeds, with some who have caught those of the troopers, rapidly bridled and mounted them bare-back.

They who stay behind become spectators of a scene strange and tender.

Two male prisoners unexpectedly rescued--s.n.a.t.c.hed, as it were, from the jaws of death--two female captives alike saved from dishonour. A brother embracing his sister, whose n.o.ble affection but the moment before prompted her to share with him the first sooner than submit to the last.

CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX.

THE CHASE.

Hamersley has his horse fairly astretch ere the fugitives, though out of sight, are many hundred yards ahead; for the scenes and speeches recorded occupied but a few seconds of time.

He is confident of being able to overtake them. He knows his Kentucky charger is more than a match for any Mexican horse, and will soon bring him up with Uraga and the other officer. If they should separate he will follow the former.

As he rides on he sees they cannot go far apart. There is a sheer precipice on each side--the bluffs that bound the creek bottom. These will keep the pursued men together, and he will have both to deal with.

The ground is such that they cannot possibly escape him except by superior speed. He can see the cliffs on each side to their bases.

There is not enough underwood for a horseman to hide in.

He hastens on, therefore, supposing them still before him.

In ten minutes more he is sure of it--they are in sight!

The timber through which the chase has. .h.i.therto led abruptly terminates, a long gra.s.sy mead of over a mile in length lying beyond; and beyond it the trees again obstruct the vista up the valley. The retreating hors.e.m.e.n have entered upon this open tract, but not got far over it, when Hamersley spurs his horse out of the timber tract, and pursuer and pursued are in sight of other.

It is now a tail-on-end chase, all three horses going at the greatest speed to which their riders can press them. It is evident that the large American horse is rapidly gaining upon the Mexican mustangs, and, if no accident occur, will soon be alongside them.

Hamersley perceives this, and, casting a glance ahead, calculates the distance to where the timber again commences. To overtake them before they can reach it is the thought uppermost in his mind. Once among the tree-trunks they can go as fast as he, for there the superior fleetness of his horse will not avail. Besides, there may be a thick underwood, giving them a chance of concealment.

He must come up with them before they can reach the cover, and to this end he once more urges his animal both with spur and speech.

At this moment Roblez looking back, perceives there is but one man in chase of them. A long stretch of open plain in his rear, and no other pursuer upon it. Brigand though he be, the adjutant possesses real courage. And there are two of them, in full health and strength, both armed with sabres, himself carrying a pair of dragoon pistols in his holsters. Those belonging to Uraga are nearer to the hand of Hamersley--having been left upon the saddle which the colonel, in his hasty retreat, had been hindered from occupying.

"_Carajo_!" exclaims Roblez, "there's but one of them after us. The others haven't had time to get mounted, and won't be up for a while.

It's some rash fool who's got your horse under him. Let's turn upon him, colonel."

The coward thus appealed to cannot refuse compliance. In an instant the two wheel round, and, with blades bared, await the approach of the pursuer.

In a dozen more strides of his horse Hamersley is on the ground. Uraga now recognises his antagonist in the Chihuahua duel--the man he hates above all others on earth.

This, hatred, intense as it is, does not supply him with courage. In the eye of the pursuer coming on, when close up, Uraga reads a terrible expression--that of the avenger!

Something whispers him his hour has come, and with shrinking heart and palsied arm he awaits the encounter.

As said, the two Mexican officers carry swords, cavalry sabres. Against these the Kentuckian has no weapon for parrying or defence. He is but ill-armed for the unequal strife, having only a Colt's revolver with one chamber empty, and, as a _dernier ressort_, the single-barrelled pistols in the holsters.

Quickly perceiving his disadvantage, he checks up before coming too close, and with his revolver takes aim, and fires at the nearest of his antagonists, who is Roblez.

The shot tells, tumbling the lancer lieutenant out of his saddle, and making more equal the chances of the strife.

But there is no more fighting, nor the show of it, for Uraga, on seeing his comrade fall, and once more catching sight of that avenging glance that glares at him as if from the eyes of Nemesis, wrenches the mustang round, and rides off in wild retreat; his sword, held loosely, likely to drop from his grasp.

Soon it does drop, for Hamersley, following in close pursuit, delivers a second shot from the revolver. The bullet hits the extended sword arm; the naked blade whirls out, and falls with a ring upon the meadow turf.

Uraga rides on without looking back. He has not even courage to turn his face towards his antagonist. He thinks only of reaching the timber, in a despairing hope he may there find shelter and safety.

It is not his destiny to reach it; the pursuer is too close upon his heels. The head of Hamersley's horse is swept by the mustang's tail, its long, white hair spread comet-like behind.

Once more the revolver is raised, its muzzle pointed at the retreating coward. The pressing of its trigger would send a bullet into his back.

It is not pressed.

As if from mercy or mere caprice Hamersley suddenly transfers the pistol to his left hand. Then, forcing his horse to a long leap forward, he lays hold of Uraga with his right.