Читать книгу Frank Reade and His Steam Horse - Luis Senarens - Страница 7

Table of Contents

Where two long spurs of a longer mountain range ran out upon the plains, grew a small patch of woods, springing up between the far-reaching arms of rocks.

Hidden from view in this little cluster of green trees, but approached by a blazed wagon road and well-worn footpath, was a large house, built in the roughest but most substantial style.

The walls were of hewn logs, two and three feet in thickness; the roof was surmounted with a thatching of straw, and the four sides of the two-story building were pierced with rifle apertures.

It looked more like an overgrown log-house or frontier fort than anything else.

In the rear of this dwelling was a substantially-built and commodious stable, looking as if it were capable of accommodating a large number of animals.

An air of perfect peace and quiet was brooding over the place, and it seemed fairly to be sleeping in the warmth of the summer afternoon; but for all that sharp eyes were ever peering from out the numerous holes in the front of the structure, and no one could have approached the place unobserved.

A horseman came riding slowly over the plains from the east.

He guided his jaded animal into the blazed roadway between the trees, and rode until within twenty feet of the house.

Here he stopped and sat motionless on his horse.

A moment later the front door of the house swung slowly open, and a tall, ruffianly-looking fellow came forth.

“What news, Jack?” asked the horseman.

“Nothing ’tickler, capen,” answered the fellow with surly respect. “Everything’s been movin’ at the old gait. How did you get along?”

“Made ten thousand dollars,” returned the other, as he dismounted from his horse. “How does that sound?”

“Bully,” said Jack, as he took the bridle-rein over his arm. “How much did you manage to shove off?”

“About fifteen thousand.”

“And fetched ten?”

“Yes.”

“That’s rippin’ good,” said Jack. “The boys’ll be proud of you.”

“I intend that they shall be,” said the man, as he walked away toward the house. “Give him a good rubbing down and plenty of feed, for I may need him.”

“All right,” said Jack, and led the weary animal to the stables.

As he took the horse into a stall he gave a soft whistle.

A lithe form sprang up from a heap of straw and stood erect.

It was a boy of perhaps fifteen, dwarfed so very much as to appear but a child; his bright eyes were intelligent and full of keen, knowing expression, and his agile movements told very plainly that his deformity did not make a cripple of him.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Jack looked carefully around before making any reply.

“Has no one been here?” he said, speaking in a low tone.

“No one,” said the boy. “I have not been to sleep. We’re alone.”

“Do you know where Harry is now?” asked the man.

“About,” said the boy.

“You think you could find him, Pedro?”

“Yes.”

“Then go for your pony and ride to him just as lively as possible.”

“What shall I say?” asked Pedro.

“Tell him that the captain has come back, and that the rest will probably be here by the morning, or to-morrow afternoon. Say that the wagons will have thousands of dollars in, but that they will all be well guarded, and he had better let them alone; but I think he can rake the ranche if he comes.”

“All right.”

“Can you remember all?”

“Oh, yes,” said Pedro, his bright eyes sparkling with confidence. “Oh, wouldn’t I like to lead him here. He saved my life, and I’d die for Harry.”

“Then away,” said Jack, and with a hop, skip and a jump the boy was out of the stable, and in a moment was lost to view in the woods.

“Now there’ll be fun,” quoth Jack.

When the horseman entered the house, he was met by an old woman, who bowed to him in the most obsequious manner.

“Glad to see you, cap,” said this hag, who was as wrinkled, bent, ugly and repulsive as any witch. “Have some dinner?”

“Yes,” said the captain. “Dish me up the best you’ve got, with a bottle of wine and a box of cigars.”

This being a good chance to tell the reader who and what this captain was, and what he looked like, the author will avail himself of the opportunity to describe him.

Captain Jerry Prime was probably about five and thirty years of age, light, compact in build, and not bad looking.

He was gentlemanly-looking, and had an air of good breeding about him, which, taken in connection with his attire, would no doubt have been a passport to him almost anywhere, and yet for all that he was one of the worst rascals west of the Hudson.

He was the leader and principal worker in a gang of counterfeiters that was stocking the country with bogus money; and so well had his operations been conducted, that so far he had eluded all attempts on the part of the government to trace the “queer” to its place of issue.

To cover his business, he set up and run in a fair, square and legitimate style, a prairie express.

Of course the drivers were all men of his gang; but all the express work given into their hands was conducted in such an excellent and satisfactory manner, that the prairie express route had grown into favor very rapidly.

Not even the shrewd detectives of the great secret service seemed to suspect the fact that a well-conducted express business concealed the operations of a gang of counterfeiters.

Captain Prime regaled himself with a very substantial dinner, drank half a bottle of wine, smoked some very good imported cigars, and was then about to drop off to sleep when the clatter of iron shod hoofs on the plains a few rods away broke into his doze.

He started from his seat and walked to a small barred window that looked out upon the open space into which the blazed roadway led.

A horseman was cantering up the path at an easy gait.

Captain Prime looked at him keenly, and a puzzled expression crossed his face.

“Not one of my boys,” he said. “I wonder who he can be? He must have known of this place, for it’s almost impossible to discover it from the plains.”

The horseman rode up to within a dozen yards of the house.

Then he pulled rein, and placing his hand to his mouth, shouted:

“Halloo!”

No answer was returned to him.

The horseman waited for a moment, and then he shouted again:

“Halloo, Captain Prime.”

“The devil,” quoth Prime. “He knows me, or my name, whoever he is. I guess I’ll order him in.”

He touched a bell, and in a moment the tall stableman appeared in the room.

“Jack,” said the captain, “take a good look at that fellow.”

The stableman peered through the barred window.

“Good,” he muttered softly to himself. “He is just the man for the work. I would trust my life to his nerve and bravery.”

“Know him?” asked the captain, as the horseman again shouted aloud for some one to come out.

“Never saw him before,” said Jack. “What will you do?”

“Let you go and have a confab with the chap; see who and what he is, what he wants with me, and then act according to your own judgment, whether to let him in or send him off about his business. You’ve got a better head on you than half of the boys, and I can trust you fully.”

“Thanky,” mumbled Jack, and with a scrape of his foot he backed out of the room.

A moment later he was out of the house and approaching the horseman.

The latter regarded him steadily, but not a sign of recognition passed between the two men.

When they approached close to each other the stableman spoke:

“Glad to see you, old man.”

“Mutual,” laconically returned the horseman. “Don’t think I should have known you. You look like a regular cutthroat. Do you want to know who I am?”

“Yes.”

“Tell him my name is Sparrowhawk, and that I’m a New York cracksman. I met Smith, a deserter from his gang; old pal of mine; the police were after me; I cut west; here I am, and want to ring in with him.”

“That’ll do,” said Jack. “Remember, he’s not a chicken to deal with. Keep your eyes open for danger, or I may have to peril all by raking you out of a trap. Dismount, throw your bridle over a bush, and follow me into the house. He’s watching!”

“I twig,” said Sparrowhawk, getting off his horse and disposing of the bridle as Jack had directed. “Fear not for me.”

Jack soon conducted him to the presence of the captain.

“Here’s a chap named Sparrowhawk, capen, from New York, which he’s a cracksman. He met Smith that deserted from you a little time ago; had to get away from the cops, so he come west, and now he wants to join yer. I can vouch for him for all that.”

“How?”

“ ’Cause we’re both brother members of a great society, ‘The Bloody Hand,’ ” said Jack. “We’d die for each other.”

And it sounded like truth.

“You want to join me?” asked Prime.

“I do,” said Sparrowhawk. “I’m called one of the best engravers in the trade, and a very good dye sinker. I’d like to join the ‘Prairie League.’ ”

“I can use you then,” said the captain. “In the morning you will be regularly initiated into the band, but until that time your brother of the ‘Bloody Hand’ will take care of you. Clear, and let me snooze.”

The two men left the room and strolled off towards the stables.

“So far so good,” said Sparrowhawk. “Harry intends to lay off for the wagons and scoop them in if he can.”

“How many men has he?”

“Ten.”

“He’ll be swallowed up,” said Jack, with an expression of alarm. “The boys of the band number more, without counting the redskins, and they’re all tough fighters. If Harry gets scooped this enterprise will go up like so much gas.”

“Can’t be helped,” said Sparrowhawk. “Ah, what’s that?”

“The distant sound of guns,” said Jack, as the dull boom of far-away rifles came rolling across the plains. “Harry has got his head in a trap.”

“But what’s that?” cried Sparrowhawk, as a loud and long whistle came plainly to their ears. “A locomotive?”

“Can’t be,” said Jack. “But there’s the devil to pay out there.”

And Jack was right.

There was the devil to pay.