The Border Boys with the Mexican Rangers

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER XIX.

  WHAT COYOTE DID.

  Coyote Pete, as Ramon had prophesied, came out of his swoon beforelong. His return to consciousness was enlivened by some of the mostpicturesque language the Mexicans had ever heard. But as Coyote hadbeen tied to the saddle he could not relieve his mind otherwisethan by using all the opprobrious names he could select from acopious vocabulary. Now it was a peculiarity of Pete’s that he neverswore,—that is, actually used bad language,—but he had invented alanguage all his own to express his feelings when angry. Set downon paper it would look tame, but as Coyote Pete used it, it wastremendous,—exterminating almost.

  But after his first outbreak, Coyote remained unusually calm. He wasthinking with all his might, but all his thinking did not bring himany nearer to a solution of their difficulties. They were in thehands of the most bloodthirsty band of rascals in Mexico. Even if theyescaped, they would be bound to perish miserably in those rugged wildswithout food or the weapons to procure any. The nearest settlement,Pete knew, must be at least two hundred miles away, and probably more.

  Truly, it was not a cheerful predicament. In fact, as Ralph had said,it looked very much like the last ditch. But Coyote was not of the kindof human that gives in and throws up its hands just because on thesurface of things it seems time to abandon hope. Far otherwise, as thereaders of other volumes of this series know. There probably was nota cooler head nor a better one along the border than Coyote Pete, buteven he had to own that, for the present anyhow, he was “stumped.”

  At noon a halt was made for a few minutes, and frijoles, corn breadand muddy black coffee (cold) was given the prisoners. The professorcould not eat, he was in such a state of mind. But the others fell toheartily enough; the boys, because they were boys, with appetites thatnothing could upset, and Coyote Pete, with the idea of “firing up” withnourishment in case he might find some way out of it for all of them.

  All the afternoon they traveled, reaching higher and higher altitudes.Every now and again Ramon would consult earnestly with the red-hairedoutlaw of unmistakably American origin, who had, as Jack felt certain,left the warning notes on two occasions,—once at the camp in thecanyon, and again at Don Alverado’s fete. But on the latter occasion,unless it was one of the band that hurled the sombrero at Firewater’shead, the outlaw’s plans did not seem to have materialized.

  But if this man was friendly to the boys he did not give any sign ofit. Instead he glared at them as malevolently as did any of the others.

  “You’re the kind of American that looks best decorating a tree,”thought Pete, who was now allowed to sit erect on his pony, although,like the boys and the professor, his feet were tied underneath.

  On and on they traveled throughout the afternoon, Ramon urging hisfollowers up to a terrific pace considering, that is, the nature of thecountry they were traversing. Now they would plunge down into dark andgloomy defiles where perpetual purple twilight reigned, and again onmounting some crest they would see, spread out before them, a panoramaof much the same sort as had so delighted Jack on the cliff summitbefore he fell in with the Mexican Rangers.

  “If I don’t miss my guess,” said Pete, when he found a chance toexchange a word with the boys, “we are getting into the TremblingMountain country. See that big peak over thar? It’s smokin’ away likeold man Jones with his corn cob evenin’s.”

  This was a fact. The smoking mountains, smoldering volcanoes thatthe boys had observed in the distance on their trip into this wildcountry, were in fact getting closer. And splendid sights theywere, too. Some of them shot up into the blue sky to a height offully seventeen thousand feet. The walls of the canyons they beganto traverse now were different, too, from those they had left behindthem. Instead of being composed of dull gray or slate colored rocks,these great rifts flamed with red and yellow strata, intermingled withgorgeous bands of purple and sometimes wavy strata of green. Evidentlythe internal fires of the earth had been busy here in the youth of theglobe.

  Occasionally, boiling springs sending up jets of sulphurous-smellingsteam and bordered by brilliant green plants, were encountered. It wasthe most impressive country the boys had ever traveled through, and hada few fiends, all dressed in red, with hoofs, horns and tails complete,suddenly appeared from behind a mass of rocks, they would hardly havebeen surprised. The place seemed a fitting setting for an Inferno.

  By dusk they were on a sort of plateau at the mouth of one of thesemountain canyons. Trees and rocks of normal shapes and hues stoodabout in almost park-like fashion. Wild oats and plenty of bunch grassoffered good and abundant feed for the horses, and from a cliff sideof this little oasis in that land of gloomy horrors bubbled a crystalspring of cold water.

  No wonder Ramon, with his countrymen’s instinct for selecting goodcamp sites, elected to halt there. As for the boys, even in theirpredicament, they could not help admiring the soft intimate characterof the scenery, coming, as it did, after their experiences in thegloomy abysses and profundities behind them.

  The prisoners were taken from their horses and then carefully rebound,although so stiff were their limbs from their long confinement that itis doubtful if they could have run just then, even had they found anopportunity. Supper was the same rough meal as the midday refection hadbeen. To add to the unpalatable nature of the food, the boys had thedoubtful pleasure of watching Ramon and his followers dine sumptuouslyon the contents of the Border Boys’ packs.

  As night fell sentries were posted about the camp, and the prisonerscould not but admire the caution which led Ramon, although in apresumably uninhabited part of the country, to post his outguards ascarefully as if an immediate attack was to be expected. One by one theoutlaws threw themselves on their blankets and were soon wrapped inthat heavy slumber characteristic of the hardy dwellers of the openplaces. Only Ramon did not sleep. For hours he strode up and down infront of the fire with his head sunk on his breast. He seemed lost inthought. Once or twice he paused and seemed to listen intently. Was itpossible that with his half-wild instinct he sensed the peril that waseven then drawing in upon him through the night?

  At last, however, even he sank off into slumber, and then, with theexception of an armed outlaw posted to guard the captives, the camp wasenveloped in dense silence. The guard hummed softly to himself someold Spanish riding songs as he sat by the blaze, the firelight playingon his almost black features.

  There was some tall grass at the back of the spot in which the boysand their elders had spread themselves out to snatch uneasy slumbers,and before long Pete’s quick ear detected a stirring in it. Suddenly avoice spoke softly:

  “Don’t say a word or appear surprised, I’m going to help you out, justbecause I’m a Yankee myself and I know Ramon means to kill you all whenhe gets a chance.”

  Coyote kept a hold on himself, and hardly moving his lips, rejoined inthe same cautious tones:

  “Who are you?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” replied the other, who was the man we know asCanfield, the former friend of Ruggles the miner, “it’s enough to saythat I was once decent, back north; but that’s long ago, and no usecrying over it. Look out, I’m going to cut you loose.”

  As the words were spoken, Coyote felt the unseen Samaritan slash hisbonds, but the cow-puncher prudently did not at once draw his handsfrom behind his back. Instead, he darted a furtive look about. Thesentry, crooning by the fire, seemed to be half asleep. Doubtless hedidn’t see much sense in giving too vigilant a watch to such helplessprisoners.

  “I tried to keep you out of this, you know,” came the voice again;“I got one note to you and got shot for my pains. Then again at DonAlverado’s fete I despatched another one. It was Ramon’s intention toshoot Jack Merrill that day, but the vengeful Mexican, Jose, took thetask out of his hands.”

  “Was Ramon in the crowd?” gasped Coyote in astonishment.

  “Yes. But he is as skillful in disguise as he is in most other things.He was disguised as an old peddler of sweetmeats. But in his basket hehad h
idden a carbine, which if he had ever used it, would have put thatyoung Merrill out of the way forever.”

  “Great bob cats! he——”

  But a sudden rustling in the grass behind him apprised Coyote at thatjuncture that he was alone. With another quick glance about he set towork on his leg-thongs. So intent was he on his work that perhaps herelaxed his vigilance a trifle, for when he looked up, directed by somestrange instinct to do so, it was to see the form of Ramon standingover him with a revolver pointed grimly at the cow-puncher’s head.

  In this terrible emergency Pete’s mind was made up in a flash. Withone quick slash he finished freeing himself, and then, shooting uplike an uncoiled spring, he rocketed forward just as Ramon fired.The ball grazed his cheek, but before Ramon could pull the trigger asecond time, Pete had rushed in between his legs upsetting him with acrash. So heavily did the Mexican chief fall that he was stunned forthe instant, but the drowsy guard by the fire suddenly galvanized intoaction, and sent a bullet flying after the cow-puncher as he vanishedin the darkness.

  The uproar awakened the other captives, who realized as soon as theysaw that Coyote had gone, what must have occurred. Their hearts beatfast with apprehension for the brave plainsman, as Ramon, coming out ofhis swoon, ordered the now aroused camp to saddle at once and scatterin pursuit of the refugee. The outlaw chief himself took part in thesearch, leaving only three men in the camp to guard the captives.As the sound of the pursuing hoofs grew faint and far the boysinterchanged gloomy looks. If Coyote had not seized a horse the chanceswere all against his making good his escape, however he had managed it.

  “I fear we are worse off than ever, now,” moaned the professor, shakinghis head gloomily.

  Coyote, meanwhile, who had familiarized himself with the nature of thecountry as they rode through it in the afternoon, made at once forthe tall scrub and brush at the lower end of the valley. Through thishe glided like a snake, and had put half a mile between himself andthe outlaws’ camp before he heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs. Helistened a minute and then shook his head grimly.

  “Bad!” he muttered, “they’re doing just what I thought they would,spreading out in fan-shaped formation. The only chance fer me terescape that human fine comb is to outflank ’em and double back.”

  Crouching low he darted along once more, heading this time, however, ina direction sideways from his former course. If he could reach the endof that line of horsemen before they encroached on his line of progresshe might escape them yet. He found himself hoping that they were ridingin open formation. If that were the case,—although the starlight waspretty bright,—he might be able to slip in between two of the riders.

  On and on he dashed and was just deeming that success had come to himwhen he was brought to an abrupt halt. Before him yawned blackly achasm of some sort, and Coyote had seen it only just in time to avoidplunging over its brink into the unknown depths below. The thoughtchilled him. He shuddered apprehensively.

  “One more step and it would have been ‘goodnight, Coyote,’ fer sure,”he soliloquized.

  Suddenly there came a loud shout behind him. It was followed by afusilade of bullets whistling about his ears and pattering againstthe rocks. In his shock at finding how near he had been to a terribledeath, Coyote had thoughtlessly stood erect. Thus he offered a targetthat could be seen for some distance against the stars. That this hadbeen the case, he could not doubt as the shouts grew closer.

  For one of the very few times in his life that such had been the case,the old plainsman was at a loss. In front was the chasm. Behind, theMexicans. But suddenly he saw something that he thought might serve ata pinch.

  It was a log, decayed and hollow, that lay near the edge of the gulfinto which he had so nearly fallen. The instant he perceived it,Pete dived into it. Not that he did not feel some repugnance to sucha thing, for it was punky and rotten and might, for all he knew, havesheltered snakes. But there was nothing else for it. Hardly had hecrawled inside it, carefully drawing in his legs, before Ramon and theadvance guard of the pursuers rode up.

  Coyote Pete lay perfectly still. He hardly dared to breathe, andheartily wished that he could suspend his heart-action.

  “Caramba! He was here an instant ago!” exclaimed Ramon, glaring about,“where is the accursed Gringo now?”

  “Possibly struck by a bullet,” put in Canfield, the red-headed man,who, having aided Pete to escape, was now compelled to assume abloodthirsty role once more.

  “Not likely. Perhaps he dropped over the edge of the cliff and hasescaped,” put in another of the outlaw band who had just ridden up.

  “But that would be suicide. The gully is deep and he would be dashedto pieces in its depths,” struck in another.

  “Hold on!” shouted Ramon suddenly, “I have it!”

  “What, you see him?” the query came from a dozen throats.

  “No, but I can guess where he is.”

  “Where?”

  “Here!” Ramon tapped the log with his foot, while Coyote Pete fairlyperspired in rivers.

  “Let’s make sure,” cried the voice of Canfield. He was about todismount when Ramon checked him.

  “No. I have a better way.”

  A kick on the log emphasized the Mexican’s statement, and a sharp shockpassed through Coyote at the thought of the awful fate in store forhim. Had he had time at that moment he would have emerged from the logand risked all. But before he could move, a dozen hands laid hold ofthe timber and began to roll it toward the cliff edge.

  “Stop!” shouted Pete.

  “Ha!” exclaimed Ramon, “then I was not mistaken. Good! Go to yourgrave, you Yankee pig, in the coffin you have made for yourself!”

  Faster and faster the log rolled, while cries of real fear and entreatybroke from Coyote’s lips. In vain he tried to extricate himself.

  All at once, the log gave a clumsy leap, and, amid a brutal shout fromthe Mexicans, it spun over the edge of the gulch and shot sheer overinto the black void that yawned below.