CHAPTER XIV
PLUCKED FROM THE BURNING
That Miss Spencer was deeply agitated was evident at a glance, whilethe nervous manner in which she glanced in the direction of thosedistant gun shots, led Brant to jump to the conclusion that they werein some way connected with her appearance.
"Oh, Lieutenant Brant," she cried, excitedly, "they are going to killhim down there, and he never did it at all. I know he didn't, and sodoes Mr. Wynkoop. Oh, please hurry! Nobody knew where you were, untilI saw your horse tied here, and Mr. Wynkoop has been hunting for youeverywhere. He is nearly frantic, poor man, and I cannot learn whereeither Mr. Moffat or Mr. McNeil is, and I just know those dreadfulcreatures will kill him before we can get help."
"Kill whom?" burst in Brant, springing down the bank fully awakened tothe realization of some unknown emergency. "My dear Miss Spencer, tellme your story quickly if you wish me to act. Who is in danger, andfrom what?"
The girl burst into tears, but struggled bravely through with hermessage.
"It's those awful men, the roughs and rowdies down in Glencaid. Theysay he murdered Red Slavin, that big gambler who spoke to me thismorning, but he did n't, for I saw the man who did, and so did Mr.Wynkoop. He jumped out of the saloon window, his hand all bloody, andran away. But they 've got him and the town marshal up behind theShasta dump, and swear they're going to hang him if they can only takehim alive. Oh, just hear those awful guns!"
"Yes, but who is it?"
"Bob Hampton, and--and he never did it at all."
Before Brant could either move or speak, Naida swept past him, down thesteep bank, and her voice rang out clear, insistent. "Bob Hamptonattacked by a mob? Is that true, Phoebe? They are fighting at theShasta dump, you say? Lieutenant Brant, you must act--you must actnow, for my sake!"
She sprang toward the horse, nerved by Brant's apparent slowness torespond, and loosened the rein from the scrub oak. "Then I will myselfgo to him, even if they kill me also, the cowards!"
But Brant had got his head now. Grasping her arm and the rein of theplunging horse, "You will go home," he commanded, with the tone ofmilitary authority. "Go home with Miss Spencer. All that can possiblybe done to aid Hampton I shall do--will you go?"
She looked helplessly into his face. "You--you don't like him," shefaltered; "I know you don't. But--but you will help him, won't you,for my sake?"
He crushed back an oath. "Like him or not like him, I will save him ifit be in the power of man. Now will you go?"
"Yes," she answered, and suddenly extended her arms. "Kiss me first."
With the magical pressure of her lips upon his, he swung into thesaddle and spurred down the road. It was a principle of his militarytraining never to temporize with a mob--he would strike hard, but hemust have sufficient force behind him. He reined up before theseemingly deserted camp, his horse flung back upon its haunches, whitefoam necking its quivering flanks.
"Sergeant!" The sharp snap of his voice brought that officer forwardon the run. "Where are the men?"
"Playin' ball, most of 'em, sir, just beyond the ridge."
"Are the horses out in herd?"
"Yes, sir."
"Sound the recall; arm and mount every man; bring them into Glencaid onthe gallop. Do you know the old Shasta mine?"
"No, sir."
"Half-way up the hill back of the hotel. You 'll find me somewhere infront of it. This is a matter of life or death, so jump lively now!"
He drove in his spurs, and was off like the wind. A number of men werein the street, all hurrying forward in the same direction, but hedashed past them. These were miners mostly, eager to have a hand inthe man-hunt. Here and there a rider skurried along and joined in thechase. Just beyond the hotel, half-way up the hill, rifles werespeaking irregularly, the white puffs of smoke blown quickly away bythe stiff breeze. Near the centre of this line of skirmishers a densercloud was beginning to rise in spirals. Brant, perceiving the largestgroup of men gathered just before him, rode straight toward them. Thecrowd scattered slightly at his rapid approach, but promptly closed inagain as he drew up his horse with taut rein. He looked down intorough, bearded faces. Clearly enough these men were in no fit spiritfor peace-making.
"You damn fool!" roared one, hoarsely, his gun poised as if in threat,"what do you mean by riding us down like that? Do you own thiscountry?"
Brant flung himself from the saddle and strode in front of the fellow."I mean business. You see this uniform? Strike that, my man, and youstrike the United States. Who is leading this outfit?"
"I don't know as it's your affair," the man returned, sullenly. "Weain't takin' no army orders at present, mister. We 're free-bornAmerican citizens, an' ye better let us alone."
"That is not what I asked you," and Brant squared his shoulders, hishands clinched. "My question was, Who is at the head of this outfit?and I want an answer."
The spokesman looked around upon the others near him with a grin ofderision. "Oh, ye do, hey? Well, I reckon we are, if you must know.Since Big Jim Larson got it in the shoulder this outfit right yere hesbin doin' most of the brain work. So, if ye 've got anythin' ter say,mister officer man, I reckon ye better spit it out yere ter me, an'sorter relieve yer mind."
"Who are you?"
The fellow expectorated vigorously into the leaves under foot, anddrawing one hairy hand across his lips, flushed angrily to theunexpected inquiry.
"Oh, tell him, Ben. What's the blame odds? He can't do ye no hurt."
The man's look became dogged. "I 'm Ben Colton, if it 'll do ye anygood to know."
"I thought I had seen you somewhere before," said Brant,contemptuously, and then swept his glance about the circle. "A niceleader of vigilantes you are, a fine representative of law and order, alovely specimen of the free-born American citizen! Men, do you happento know what sort of a cur you are following in this affair?"
"Oh, Ben's all right."
"What ye got against him, young feller?"
"Just this," and Brant squarely fronted the man, his voice ringing likesteel. "I 've seen mobs before to-day, and I 've dealt with them. I'm not afraid of you or your whole outfit, and I 've got fighting mento back me up. I never yet saw any mob which was n't led and incitedby some cowardly, revengeful rascal. Honest men get mixed up in suchaffairs, but they are invariably inflamed by some low-down sneak withan axe to grind. I confess I don't know all about this Colton, but Iknow enough to say he is an army deserter, a liar, a dive-keeper, agambler, and, to my certain knowledge, the direct cause of the death ofthree men, one a soldier of my troop. Now isn't he a sweet specimen tolead in the avenging of a supposed crime?"
Whatever else Colton might have failed in, he was a man of action.Like a flash his gun flew to the level, but was instantly knocked asideby the grizzled old miner standing next him.
"None o' that, Ben," he growled, warningly. "It don't never pay toshoot holes in Uncle Sam."
Brant smiled. He was not there just then to fight, but to secure delayuntil his own men could arrive, and to turn aside the fierce mob spiritif such a result was found possible. He knew thoroughly the class ofmen with whom he dealt, and he understood likewise the wholesome powerof his uniform.
"I really would enjoy accommodating you, Colton," he said, coolly,feeling much more at ease, "but I never fight personal battles withsuch fellows as you. And now, you other men, it is about time you wokeup to the facts of this matter. A couple of hundred of you chasingafter two men, one an officer of the law doing his sworn duty, and theother innocent of any crime. I should imagine you would feel proud ofyour job."
"Innocent? Hell!"
"That is what I said. You fellows have gone off half-cocked--a mobgenerally does. Both Miss Spencer and Mr. Wynkoop state positivelythat they saw the real murderer of Red Slavin, and it was not BobHampton."
The men were impressed by his evident earnestness, his unquestionedcourage. Colton laughed sneeringly, but Brant gave him no heed beyo
nda quick, warning glance. Several voices spoke almost at once.
"Is that right?"
"Oh, say, I saw the fellow with his hand on the knife."
"After we git the chap, we 'll give them people a chance to tell whatthey know."
Brant's keenly attentive ears heard the far-off chug of numeroushorses' feet.
"I rather think you will," he said, confidently, his voice ringing outwith sudden authority.
He stepped back, lifted a silver whistle to his lips, and sounded onesharp, clear note. There was a growing thunder of hoofs, a quick,manly cheer, a crashing through the underbrush, and a squad of eagertroopers, half-dressed but with faces glowing in anticipation oftrouble, came galloping up the slope, swinging out into line as theyadvanced, their carbines gleaming in the sunlight. It was prettily,sharply performed, and their officer's face brightened.
"Very nicely done, Watson," he said to the expectant sergeant. "Deployyour men to left and right, and clear out those shooters. Make a goodjob of it, but no firing unless you have to."
The troopers went at it as if they enjoyed the task, forcing theirrestive horses through the thickets, and roughly handling more than onewho ventured to question their authority. Yet the work was over inless time than it takes to tell, the discomfited regulators drivenpell-mell down the hill and back into the town, the eager cavalrymenhalting only at the command of the bugle. Brant, confident of hisfirst sergeant in such emergency, merely paused long enough to watchthe men deploy, and then pressed straight up the hill, alone and onfoot. That danger to the besieged was yet imminent was very evident.The black spiral of smoke had become an enveloping cloud, spreadingrapidly in both directions from its original starting-point, andalready he could distinguish the red glare of angry flames leapingbeneath, fanned by the wind into great sheets of fire, and sweepingforward with incredible swiftness. These might not succeed in reachingthe imprisoned men, but the stifling vapor, the suffocating smoke heldcaptive by that overhanging rock, would prove a most serious menace.
He encountered a number of men running down as he toiled anxiouslyforward, but they avoided him, no doubt already aware of the troublebelow and warned by his uniform. He arrived finally where the groundwas charred black and covered with wood ashes, still hot under foot andsmoking, but he pressed upward, sheltering his eyes with uplifted arm,and seeking passage where the scarcity of underbrush rendered the zoneof fire less impassable. On both sides trees were already wrapped inflame, yet he discovered a lane along which he stumbled until a fringeof burning bushes extended completely across it. The heat was almostintolerable, the crackling of the ignited wood was like the reports ofpistols, the dense pall of smoke was suffocating. He could seescarcely three yards in advance, but to the rear the narrow lane ofretreat remained open. Standing there, as though in the mouth of afurnace, the red flames scorching his face, Brant hollowed his handsfor a call.
"Hampton!" The word rang out over the infernal crackling and roaringlike the note of a trumpet.
"Ay! What is it?" The returning voice was plainly not Hampton's, yetit came from directly in front, and not faraway.
"Who are you? Is that you, Marshal?"
"Thet's the ticket," answered the voice, gruffly, "an' just as full o'fight es ever."
Brant lifted his jacket to protect his face from the scorching heat.There was certainly no time to lose in any exchange of compliments.Already, the flames were closing in; in five minutes more they wouldseal every avenue of escape.
"I 'm Brant, Lieutenant Seventh Cavalry," he cried, choking with thethickening smoke. "My troop has scattered those fellows who werehunting you. I 'll protect you and your prisoner, but you 'll have toget out of there at once. Can you locate me and make a dash for it?Wrap your coats around your heads, and leave your guns behind."
An instant he waited for the answer, fairly writhing in the intenseheat, then Mason shouted, "Hampton 's been shot, and I 'm winged alittle; I can't carry him."
It was a desperately hard thing to do, but Brant had given his promise,and in that moment of supreme trial, he had no other thought thanfulfilling it. He ripped off his jacket, wrapped it about his face,jammed a handkerchief into his mouth, and, with a prayer in his heart,leaped forward into the seemingly narrow fringe of fire in his front.Head down, he ran blindly, stumbling forward as he struck the ore-dump,and beating out with his hands the sparks that scorched his clothing.The smoke appeared to roll higher from the ground here, and thecoughing soldier crept up beneath it, breathing the hot air, andfeeling as though his entire body were afire. Mason, his countenanceblack and unrecognizable, his shirt soaked with blood, peered into hisface.
"Hell, ain't it!" he sputtered, "but you're a dandy, all right."
"Is Hampton dead?"
"I reckon not. Got hit bad, though, and clear out of his head."
Brant cast one glance into the white, unconscious face of his rival,and acted with the promptness of military training.
"Whip off your shirt, Mason, and tie it around your face," hecommanded, "Lively now!"
He bound his silk neckerchief across Hampton's mouth, and lifted thelimp form partially from the ground. "Help me to get him up. There,that will do. Now keep as close as you can so as to steady him if Itrip. Straight ahead--run for it!"
They sprang directly into the lurid flames, bending low, Brant's handsgrasping the inert form lying across his shoulder. They dashedstumbling through the black, smouldering lane beyond. Half-way downthis, the ground yet hot beneath their feet, the vapor stifling, butwith clearer breaths of air blowing in their faces, Brant tripped andfell. Mason beat out the smouldering sparks in his clothing, andassisted him to stagger to his feet once more. Then together they borehim, now unconscious, slowly down below the first fire-line.
Together they bore him, now unconscious, slowly downbelow the first fire-line.]
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