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Read Ebook: The Border Boys on the Trail by Goldfrap John Henry
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Ebook has 1286 lines and 51752 words, and 26 pages
They had reached the bridge and the feet of the Mexican guide's horse were upon it, when from behind them there came a sudden startling sound.
The loud report of a rifle, followed by another and another, re-echoed behind them seemingly high up among the rocks.
Bang! Bang! Bang! came the explosions.
Instantly, Mr. Merrill and Bud wheeled their horses sharply and faced round toward the danger. At the same instant Coyote Pete set up a yell:
"Buncoed, by ginger!"
He pointed ahead as he dashed across the bridge in pursuit of their treacherous guide, who was galloping off up the ca?on at top speed. He had taken advantage of the confusion to escape. Without an instant's thought as to what they were doing, the three boys pressed spurs to their animals and thundered across the flimsy structure after the cow-puncher. The professor's horse became unmanageable in the excitement. The creature gave one tremendous plunge and with the unhappy scientist half on and half off its back, dashed across the bridge after the others.
In the meantime, Mr. Merrill and the cow-punchers had galloped back to where the firing still kept up. They all feared that they had been led into an ambush, and that the attack was from the rear.
"That yellow-skinned varmint betrayed us, after all," ground out Bud Wilson, as they dashed back. "Those shots were meant for us, and came from Black Ramon's men."
"Yes, we were wrong to trust him," rejoined Mr. Merrill, "but now we've been led into a trap, we've got to fight out of it the best way we can."
"You bet we will, boss," was Bud Wilson's rejoinder.
The firing on the hillside had now ceased, and the little cavalcade came to a halt.
"Not a soul to be seen," exclaimed Mr. Merrill.
"Well, that's funny," commented Bud. "This is where the firing was, for sure."
"Yep, right up above there," rejoined another cowboy, Sam Ellis, pointing upward on the hillside.
"What do you make of it, boss?" was Bud's next query.
"I don't know what to think," rejoined Mr. Merrill. "Perhaps we were mistaken, and the firing we heard came from hunters up on the hillside."
Slinking through the underbrush far above them, Bud's keen eyes had discovered the furtive form of a man who by his gay sash and high-coned hat seemed to be a Mexican. To think, with Bud, was to act. His rifle jerked up to his shoulder as if automatically. As the weapon cracked sharply the man on the hillside gave a loud scream. Throwing his hands helplessly above his head, the next instant he came plunging and crashing downward through the brush.
"Got him!" gritted out Bud, grimly blowing through the barrel of his rifle to clear the smoke.
"Yip-ee!" yelled the cow-punchers at the successful shot.
Mr. Merrill looked grave.
"I didn't want any bloodshed, Bud," he said. "The boys--great heavens! where are they?"
He had wheeled suddenly and discovered that they were missing.
"Yes, and where's Pete, and where's the professor?" chimed in Bud.
Alarm showed on every countenance.
In the excitement, the absence of the members of the party who had spurred onward over the bridge had not been noticed. But now blank looks were exchanged. If they had galloped on--as there seemed to be no doubt they must have--by that time they were probably in serious straits.
"Wait till I get that varmint, and then I'll be with you," cried Bud, swinging off his pony.
The cow-puncher plunged up the hillside a few feet and picked up the Mexican, who had rolled down the steep incline to within a short distance of the trail.
"Is he dead?" asked Mr. Merrill anxiously, for the Mexican showed no sign of life.
"Not dead, but pretty near it," Bud rapidly diagnosed, ripping open the Mexican's shirt. "The bullet went right neighborly to his heart."
With surprising strength for one of his wiry build, Bud picked up and slung the wounded man over the saddle before him with a grim idea in his head that at some future time the fellow might be needed.
"Now then, boys!" cried Mr. Merrill, "those others may be in a bad pickle by this time. It may have been the purpose of this trap to get them over the bridge. It's up to us to get them out of it. I know you'll do all that lies in your power to help."
"You bet we will, boss," spoke up Ellis.
"Yip-yip-y-ee-ee!"
The cow-puncher's wild yell came from the bronzed throats with a will. The next instant the little cavalcade was off, clattering up the trail toward the bridge.
They swept rapidly round the small bluff of rock which had hidden the bridge from them while they had been investigating the mysterious shots. As the trail came full in view, a groan of disappointment burst from them.
The pass beyond the bridge was empty of life.
Of their friends there was not a trace.
A terrible feeling that the worst had happened filled every heart.
"Come on, boys, we'll get 'em if we have to go to Mexico City for 'em," yelled Bud defiantly. "Wow!"
"That's the stuff--wow!" yelled the others.
With his exultant cry still in his throat, and his arm still waving, Bud drove in his spurs. He was about to dash upon the bridge, when suddenly the structure heaved upward before his eyes and the whole world seemed to turn to red flame. A fiery wind singed his face.
There was a roar that filled the air, the sky--everything. The earth rocked and breathed hotly under the cow-pony's feet. Bud felt his broncho suddenly fall from under him and himself dropping like a stone into space. Desperately he clutched, grasped something solid, and drew himself up. Then, everything went out from his senses and the whole world grew dark.
IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY.
"What happened, Bud?"
Mr. Merrill, stanching a wound in his head with his hand, sat upright on the edge of the dark gorge across which a few moments before there had been a bridge. Now there was none. Only sullen wisps of yellowish smoke curling upward and a strong, acrid smell in the air.
Sheer below the rancher, the naked rocks shot down, bare of foothold. Deep down at the bottom rushed the river which carried water from the land company's dam down to the valley. The dam lay up the ca?on to the west.
Bud Wilson was crawling about dazedly on his hands and knees. All about were plunging horses and rock-wounded men. The still stupefied Bud looked up as the rancher impatiently repeated his question.
He gazed over the ragged, explosive-riven edge, and shuddered, as far below him he sighted a dark mass lying among the brush and trees at the bottom of the gulch.
"Yes, it was dynamite beyond a doubt," agreed the rancher; "but how did we escape the dreadful fate they had prepared for us?"
Bud Wilson shrugged his shoulders.
"I reckon the feller they left to press the button got rattled and touched it off too soon," he rejoined. "They're a jumpy lot, these greasers."
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