Ted Strongs Motor Car

by Taylor, Edward C

  When Stella regained her senses she was conscious of a racking headache, and, placing her hand to her forehead, brought it away wet and sticky. It was quite dark, and she groaned feebly. The pain was excruciating, and the motion of her body made her deathly sick.

  She felt around her, and her hand came in contact with a cold, hard, yet yielding substance. Then she heard the rumble of wheels, and knew that she was in a vehicle of some sort. The motion of the couch on which she was lying was such that she came to the conclusion that she was in one of those old stagecoaches hung on leather springs, which were so much in use in the West before the advent of the railroads.

  As her mind grew clearer she tried to remember all that had occurred. Suddenly it flashed upon her. The capture of old Norris, the attempt of Shan Rhue and his gang to take him away to lynch him, and the beginning of the fight. How it had been finished she did not know.

  Neither did she know whether or not she was in the care of her friends or in the custody of her enemies. Probably the latter, for if Ted and the boys were taking her somewhere, surely she would have more attention, and the blood would have been washed from the wound on her forehead.

  The curtains of the stage were down, and she did not know whether it was day or night.

  Outside she heard the voices of men.

  "Hurry up them mules, Bill," a man's voice came to her gruffly.

  "Can't get any more out o' them. We've come nigh twenty mile on the run. I tell you, the mules is 'most all in," said a man, evidently the driver of the stage.

  "Well, we ain't got much farther to go," said the other. "But we got to get there before moondown, er we'll be up against it."

  "What time is the bunch goin' to be at the lone tree?"

  "Ten o'clock."

  "Then we've got just about an hour, eh?"

  "Just about. But we're a long ways off yet. Git all y'u can out o' them mules. Kill 'em if y'u have to get them there on time."

  "They're doin' all they can. Y'u don't want me to kill them before we get there, do y'u?" asked the driver crossly.

  "No, but if y'u miss the bunch y'u know what will happen. Shan ain't much on the sweet temper since the kid bumped him so hard, an' he don't like y'u too well, nohow. I'm just givin' y'u a friendly tip."

  "Keep it. I ain't so stuck on Shan myself as I used to be."

  "Only don't let him know it. We ain't none of us in love with him, an' yet we come up an' eat out o' his hand when he calls us, just like a lot o' hound dogs."

  The conversation told Stella the truth she had dreaded. She had been captured by Shan Rhue's ruffians, and she knew that she was in a precarious predicament, for she could hope for no mercy from Ted's merciless and beaten enemy.

  She would be used to punish Ted, and she sighed at the thought of what grief her disappearance would cause her aunt and the boys.

  Suddenly the curtain on the window was drawn aside. It was bright moonlight without, and in it she saw the villainous face of a man looking in upon her.

  Her eyes met his, and she uttered an exclamation.

  "Hello!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Come to, have y'u?"

  Stella made no reply.

  "Thought fer a while that y'u'd slipped over the Great Divide," the fellow continued.

  "No fault of yours that I didn't," said Stella weakly, for the pain and nausea to which she was being subjected had taken all her strength.

  "I ain't had nothin' to do with it, lady. I'm just guidin' the outfit. I don't know y'u, er how y'u got hurt. Feelin' better?"

  "I would be much better if I could get out and walk. The motion of this carriage makes me deathly sick."

  "Can't let y'u do that, lady. We're in too much of a hurry to stop now."

  "But you might let me have a drink of water. I am dying of thirst."

  "I reckon I can do that."

  The flap over the stage window dropped, and in a moment she heard hushed voices outside. Then a canteen was thrust through the window.

  "Take all y'u want, lady, an' drink hearty," said her guide.

  Stella wet her handkerchief and bathed her throbbing forehead, then took a deep draft, and felt much refreshed.

  "Here's your canteen," she said.

  Again the flap was thrust aside, and the ugly face looked in upon her with a leer.

  "Where are we, and where are we going?" asked Stella.

  "We're in the Wich—"

  "Hey, Jack, stow that," cried the driver.

  "But it won't do no harm—"

  "You know what the orders is," said the other significantly.

  "Sorry I can't tell y'u, lady. Orders is orders."

  "Oh, well, I don't suppose it would do me any good to know where I am, anyway, but you might as well tell me what you are going to do with me. It would relieve my anxiety, and make me feel better."

  "There ain't no harm comin' to y'u, lady, while I am with y'u," said the fellow, with a hateful leer that made Stella shudder.

  "Thank you," she said faintly, as with a sigh she laid her head back again with her wet handkerchief on her brow.

  So the stage rumbled on for almost an hour, with Stella the prey of sickness and pain. She doubted if she could have walked even if she had been permitted to leave the stage.

  But as she lay there she thought, and from the scraps of conversation she had heard, and from what her guide was about to tell her when he was interrupted by the driver, she knew that she had been captured and abducted during the fight by Shan Rhue's men, and that she was in the Wichita Mountains.

  That much, at least, she knew, but what caused her much anxiety was that she did not know the result of the fight.

  She came to the conclusion that the broncho boys and their friends must have lost in the encounter, else she would not be in her present predicament.

  But what of poor old Norris, for in spite of his rascality she was sorry that he had fallen into the hands of the ruthless Shan Rhue.

  "Keep off to the left," shouted the guide. "We're almost there. Down into that coulee y'u go. There ain't another crossin' this side o' three mile, an' we ain't got time to go so far out o' our way."

  "Say, we're liable to turn over down there. Better get the gal out, an' let her walk down. I can get safe up the other side."

  "All right. Stop 'er."

  The stage stopped, and the cessation of the swaying, swinging motion was a blessed relief to the tortured girl.

  "Come on out," said the guide, as he threw the door open. "We'll have to ask you to walk to the bottom o' this coulee, if y'u don't want to be scrambled about on the bottom o' the coach."

  Stella was glad to get out, but when her feet were on the ground she swayed and staggered like a drunken person from sheer sickness and weakness.

  Beside her was her guide on his horse, and she was compelled to lean against it for a moment until she recovered herself.

  The stage had gone lumbering and swaying down the bank of the coulee, and before it reached the bottom it turned on its side.

  The driver leaped in safety to the ground, and the guide went scrambling down the bank to his assistance.

  The mules were plunging and kicking, and threatened to break their harness to pieces.

  Stella was mutely thankful that she had not been in the stage when it went over, as she sat down on a rock to rest and watch the efforts of the swearing and angry men to right the stage.

  Once she thought of trying to escape while the men were engrossed in their work, and she arose eagerly.

  But when she got to her feet she realized the impossibility of such a thing, for she almost fell. Then she sank down again, and resigned herself to her fate.

  But soon the stage was put back on its wheels again, and the guide called to her to come down.

  This was a slow and painful operation, during which the driver swore impatiently at the delay. But she accomplished it, and crawled into the stage and sank down on the pallet which had been made for her with the seat cushions.

  Now they wer
e off again, faster than before, and with correspondingly more discomfort to Stella. Oh, if the journey would only end, she thought.

  "Here we are," she heard the guide's voice in a shout.

  The stage stopped, and Stella heard a rush of feet.

  "Got her?" some one demanded gruffly.

  "Yep, but she's all in," replied the guide. "Her forehead was creased by a bullet, an' the trip has about finished her."

  "Can't help that. Get her out. We've got to be moving. The soldiers are out to-night."

  "What's the matter?"

  "Injuns.".

  "Uprisin'?"

  "Not yet, but the agent over to Fort Sill has a tip that they are putting on paint."

  "What's the trouble?"

  "Somethin' about beef issue. The last cows issued to the Injuns were no good, an' the Injuns made a kick, an' the agent told them to go to the deuce. Old Flatnose an' his son Moonface, the Apache chiefs, have always been bad actors, an' now they are tryin' to scare up a muss."

  "Reckon they'll do it?"

  "The commandant at Fort Sill seems to think they will, for he's got two companies out on the scout."

  "The boys better look out, then. The Injuns don't like the gang over at the Hole in the Wall none too good."

  "We stand all right with Flatnose and his son, an' it's their band that's actin' bad."

  "Well, y'u better get a move on y'u. The moon will be down in an hour."

  "Get the gal out, then, an' we'll be movin'."

  "All right," said the guide, poking his head into the coach. "Here's where you get out. Boss said to treat her well," he continued, turning to the man with whom he had been talking.

  "Oh, we'll do that, all right," was the reply.

  Stella scrambled painfully out of the coach. All about her were mounted men, both whites and Indians. There were a score or more of them.

  "Can you ride?" asked one of them of Stella.

  "Yes," she replied, "if you don't go too fast. I'm sick and weak."

  "We'll do the best we can," said the man shortly.

  Then he called back to his followers:

  "Jake, bring up that spare hoss."

  In a moment, and with a staggering weakness, Stella climbed into the saddle. With a man on each side of her, she took up the march again.

  Through dark defiles in the black mountains the cavalcade made its way, Stella clinging to the saddle, and often in danger of falling off. Presently they came into a glade, or park, which was surrounded by towering mountain walls. For half an hour they traversed this, then came to the end, and before them yawned an opening in the wall less than ten feet wide.

  They entered this, and after traversing it a short distance Stella found herself in a circular chamber in the mountains with the starry sky for a roof. Several fires were burning in the chamber, around which Indians and white men were sprawling, playing cards, talking, or silently smoking.

  In one corner was a corral, in which many horses were confined.

  "You can get down now," said the leader of the party that had conducted her to the place. "There is a shelter for you over there."

  He pointed to a small tent on the farther side of the chamber.

  "You will be perfectly safe here. You do not seem well. I will send you assistance."

  "Where am I?" asked Stella.

  "You are a prisoner in the Hole in the Wall," was the reply.

  "Then Heaven help me," said Stella, sobbing.

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  A HOLE IN THE HERD.

  The herd of cattle which Ted and the broncho boys were herding in No Man's Land he had branded Circle S, named after Stella.

  There were more than two thousand head of them, which Ted was feeding on the rich range grasses of the Southwest to drive to the Moon Valley Ranch to winter, for it was well known to cowmen that a Southern or Southwestern beef animal will do better for a winter on the Northern range.

  After Stella's disappearance Ted and the boys searched every nook and cranny of the town of Snyder, but were unable to get the slightest trace of her. Dividing into bands, they scoured the country roundabout, being assisted by the cow-punchers and the ranchers in the neighborhood.

  But Stella had disappeared as if the earth had opened and swallowed her. With all his ingenuity, backed by the strong desire he had to find her, Ted was making no headway, and he hardly slept or ate during the long days and nights, but was in the saddle almost continuously.

  Naturally, he suspected Shan Rhue of knowing something about Stella's absence, if, indeed, he was not actually responsible for it.

  But he could not fasten anything on the man whom he had come to regard as his greatest enemy, and whom he knew hated him. Whenever he sought Shan Rhue, he was always to be found at his haunts.

  Tired of the inaction, Ted met Shan Rhue on the street one day, and resolved to have it out with him.

  "Shan Rhue, I want to speak with you," said Ted, stopping him.

  "Well, what is it you want?" asked Shan Rhue.

  "I want you to tell me where Stella is," said Ted.

  Shan Rhue stared at him in apparent amazement.

  "How should I know where she is?" asked Shan Rhue, with a wicked twinkling in his eye.

  "I don't know," answered Ted; "but I think you do know."

  "So I supposed, from the way in which you have had me followed. I suppose you miss her a good deal."

  "Her aunt, Mrs. Graham, is distraught with grief and anxiety. Surely you have no fight on her, or on Miss Fosdick, either, that you should keep them apart."

  "No. I have no fight with a woman. But why should I know where the young lady is?"

  "There are several reasons why you should have had her taken away. But I think the principal reason is that you think you can get square with me by doing so."

  "There might be something in that. Mind me, I am not confessing that I took her away, or that I know who did take her away, or where she is. You have seen me in town every day since the little trouble we had over that old thief Norris, haven't you?"

  "Yes, but that tells me nothing. It might not be necessary for you to leave this town to have her hidden somewhere."

  "But you and your friends searched the town from one end to the other, and you did not find her."

  "True, but for all that I am satisfied that you know where she is. Suppose we call it off, and that you tell me where she is."

  "If I knew, I would not tell you," said Shan Rhue, his voice intense with hatred.

  "What do you mean? Are you such a coward that you will punish a woman for your spite against a man? I did not think that of you. I believe Stella Fosdick was carried off by you, of your men, acting under your instructions."

  Shan Rhue's only reply was a sneering laugh.

  "If I discover that what I say is true," said Ted, in a low voice so full of purpose that it was in itself a warning, "you will be the sorriest man in all this country. I will make you suffer by it even as you have caused suffering to others."

  "So you have suffered, eh? That is good! Now I am a little better satisfied. But my debt to you is not yet paid. There are other things in store for you."

  "What do you mean, you dog? By Heaven, I know now that you did cause her abduction, and I shall find her. You cannot keep me away from the place in which you have hidden her. I shall find her if she is at the end of the earth. When I do find her, if anything has harmed her, you, Shan Rhue, gambler, thief, and murderer, shall pay for it, and pay heavier than for any amusement you have had in all your miserable lying, thieving career."

  As the epithets addressed to Shan Rhue left Ted's lips, the bully sprang back, and made a motion to draw his six-shooter.

  But before he had his hand on his hip his eyes were looking into the bore of Ted's forty-four. Instead of drawing a gun, therefore, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his dry lips.

  Shan Rhue feared Ted Strong.

  "Remember," said Ted, before turning away, "I know that you have spirited Stella Fosdick
away. But I shall find her, and when I am sure of it you better leave the country before I reach the place where you are, for as sure as I am standing here I will make my previous experience with you so tame that you will be glad to crawl in the dust on your face to be forgiven."

  "Ha, ha!" laughed Shan Rhue. "So it hurts as bad as that, eh? Good!"

  He went away laughing, and it was all Ted could do to control himself, and keep from leaping upon him and punching him. Instead, he jumped into his saddle and rode Sultan like the wind out to the cow camp.

  For several days he had paid no attention to the herd, leaving it under the general direction of Bud, while he stayed in town trying to hear some news of Stella, or was riding all over the country with one or another of the boys, searching for her.

  As he rode into camp with disappointment and dejection written on his face, he was met by Mrs. Graham, who had grown pale and wan with anxiety.

  "Any news of her?" she asked Ted.

  "None, but I haven't given up hope by any means. Don't worry so, Mrs. Graham. I think I am on the track at last, and that we shall soon have her with us again."

  But Mrs. Graham only walked away with the tears coursing down her cheeks. The herd was grazing to the west of the camp, and Ted rode out to it, and to where Bud was sitting quietly in his saddle watching it.

  There was an air of dejection about Bud, also. Indeed, every fellow in the outfit was secretly worrying and grieving for Stella.

  "Say, Ted," said Bud, as Ted rode up, "I think thar's somethin' wrong with ther dogies."

  Cow-punchers call the small Southwestern cattle "dogies."

  "What do you mean?" asked Ted. "I was looking them over this morning. Rode through the bunch. They seemed to be all right then."

  "Oh, they're eatin' well, an' aire as likely a lot o' beef ez ever I see," replied Bud.

  "Well, what then?"

  "Thar ain't so many o' them ez there wuz, er my eye hez gone back on me."

  "Any of them get away?"

  "I figger it so."

  "What have you found out?"

  "Some one is liftin' our cattle. That's what I mean."

  "Great Scott! What makes you think so?"