CHAPTER XXII
THE TEST
When Ridley heard the faint _plop_ of the Ranger's body as it droppedinto the water, his heart died under the fifth rib. He was alone--alonewith a wounded man in his care, and five hundred fiends ravenous for hisblood. For a moment the temptation was strong in him to follow Robertsinto the water. Why should he stay to let these devils torture him?Dinsmore had betrayed him, to the ruination of his life. He owed thefellow nothing but ill-will. And the man was a triple-notch murderer. Itwould be a good riddance to the country if he should be killed.
But the arguments of the young fellow did not convince him. He hadshowed the white feather once on impulse, without a chance to reason outthe thing. But if he deserted this wounded man now he would be a yellowcoyote--and he knew it. There was something in him stronger than fearthat took him back to the helpless outlaw babbling disjointed ravings.
He bathed the man's fevered body with cold water from the river andchanged the bandages on the wound. He listened, in an agony ofapprehension, for the sound of a shot. None came, but this did not bringcertainty that the Ranger had escaped. He had left behind all his arms,and it was quite possible that they had captured him without firstwounding him.
Arthur reasoned with himself about his terror. Of what use was it? Whyfear, since he had to face the danger anyhow? But when he thought of themorning and what it would bring forth he was sick with the dread hecould not crush.
The hours lagged endlessly. He had his watch out a thousand times tryingto read its face. Occasionally he crept around the island to make surethe Kiowas were not trying to surprise him. Hope began to grow in him asthe night grew old, and this alternated with terror; for he knew thatwith the coming of dawn, the redskins would begin an attack.
His mind followed the Ranger on his journey. By this time he must surelybe halfway to Tascosa if he had escaped the Kiowas.... Now he might havereached the cottonwood clump beyond Big Ford.... Perhaps he might jumpup a camp outfit with horses. If so, that would cut down the time neededto reach town.
Five o'clock by Ridley's watch! He made another circuit of his littleisland, and at the head of it stopped to peer into the lesseningdarkness. A log, traveling down the river from some point near itsheadwaters in New Mexico, was drifting toward the island. His attentionwas arrested by the way it traveled. A log in a stream follows the lineof least resistance. It floats in such a way as to offer the smallestsurface to the force of the current. But this log was going down at aright angle to the bank instead of parallel to it. Was it beingpropelled by the current alone, or by some living power behind it?
Ridley posted himself behind a cottonwood, his repeater ready foraction. In another moment he would know, because if the log was adriftin the river, it would miss the point of the island and keep on its way.
Straight to the point of land the log came. There it stuck against thenose of the island. A head followed by a naked body drew itself frombehind the log and climbed across it to the bank above. A second headand body appeared, a third and a fourth.
Ridley's fear was gone. He had a job to do, and he went at it in aworkmanlike manner. His first shot dropped the brave on the bank. Hissecond missed, his third went hissing up the river. But the fourthcaught full in the throat one of the Kiowas on the log. The paintedwarrior shot headfirst into the water and dropped as though he had beena stone. Before Arthur could fire again, the passengers astride the deadtree dived into the stream. Slowly the log swung around and was suckedinto the current. Here and there a feathered head bobbed up. The boyfired at them from a sense of duty, but he did not flatter himself thathe had scored another hit.
But the immediate danger of being rushed was past. Ridley circled theisland again to make sure that the attack at the head had not been afeint to cover one in the rear.
During the night Arthur had not been idle. Behind a large rock he hadscooped out a small cave in which he and the wounded man might lieprotected. Now the Indians, in the full light of day, were spraying thespot with bullets. Fortunately they were notoriously poor shots, andtheir guns were the worst ever made. For hours the fusillade continued.Occasionally the defender answered with a shot or two to discourage anyfurther attempt at storming his position.
The most welcome sound in Ridley's life was a scattering volley of shotsthat came from back of the Kiowa camp. There was a sudden rush forhorses by the braves and the scurry of pounding hoofs as they fledacross the prairie. A moment later came the whoop of the cowboys in therescue party.
Arthur, in an ecstasy of relief, ran to the edge of the water and wavedhis hat. Across the river came in answer the "Yip-yip, yippy-yip-yip" ofthe line-riders in the company. Several of them plunged into the streamand swam their horses across to the island. Among these were JumboWilkins and Tex Roberts.
"I see you done held the fort, son," said the fat man. "Fine and dandy!How's Dinsmore?"
"Quieter. He slept a good deal in the night. How are we going to get himacross the river?"
The Ranger joined them. He nodded a friendly greeting at Ridley.
"Our luck held up all right. I see you been doin' some fancy shootin'."
Arthur looked at him. The eyes of the Easterner were full of timiddoubt. What did this game Texan think of him who had proposed to leave awounded man to his fate? The Ranger beamed a kindly comradeship, but theother young fellow wondered what was passing in the back of his mind.
They held a committee on ways and means about Dinsmore.
"We can't stay here--got to get him to town where he can be fixed up,"Jumbo said.
"We'll take him over to the other bank and send for a buckboard,"decided Jack.
The wounded man was carried to the head of the island, and strapped tothe back of a horse. Jumbo, Roberts, and Ridley guided the horse intothe current and helped it fight through to the shallow water beyond.
Twenty-four hours later Dinsmore was in bed in Tascosa. Dr. Bridgmansaid, with the usual qualification about complications, that the manprobably would get well. The bullet had not punctured his lungs.
Oh, You Tex! Page 23