Читать книгу Frank Reade and His Steam Horse - Luis Senarens - Страница 8

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“Charge!”

Three white canvas-covered express wagons were rolling over the plains, drawn by teams of tough mustangs.

In a little grove, close to the track of the wagons, a small body of mounted men sat motionless, headed by one whose flashing eyes and commanding manner stamped him a born leader.

Around the wagons, stretching out for the distance of half a mile, rode fully half a dozen men, not seeming to have any connection with the wagons and still keeping them under guard.

As the command pealed from the lips of the leader, the men in the grove put spurs to their steeds and dashed down upon the wagons.

Not a sound escaped their lips as they rode swiftly on in a compact body.

As soon as they appeared the drivers of the wagons lashed their teams, and the mustangs dashed over the plains at a furious gallop.

“Spread,” cried the leader.

At the word his little command spread out in the form of a fan, covering the distance of an eighth of a mile, and stretching across the course of the flying wagons, that were now bumping along at a terrific pace.

“Halt!” was the next command, and the spread-out body pulled up sharp, right in the path of the oncoming teams.

Still the drivers of the wagons lashed the mustangs, evidently with the idea of cutting through at all hazards.

At this moment one of the drivers fired off a pistol, and the outriding guard began to close in towards the wagon at a swift pace.

The leader of the charging party whistled shrilly, and half a dozen of his men at once covered the oncoming teams with their rifles.

“Fire!”

Many reports blended, and the leading team fell.

Shouts of rage arose from the drivers and the closing-in guard, but the first wagon came to a sudden stop, and before the others could cut around it the leader of the little band yelled:

“Down upon them!”

His men spurred forward, and rapidly closed in upon the little train, while at the same time the guards sent up their wild shouts as they rushed madly to the rescue.

“Halt!” cried the leader who had directed the charge. “Rifles up, and cover them so as to keep them at bay. Use the wagons for a barricade, for they outnumber us.”

The wagons had all been forced to come to a standstill by the stoppage of the first one, and the drivers had leaped from their seats with weapons clutched in their hands.

The guards were brought to a halt when within rifle-shot by the stern command of the leader of the attacking party.

“Halt!” he shouted. “Stand, or I shoot you down!”

They wisely pulled up, and sat still on their panting horses, covered by the weapons of the others, who were secured somewhat by the wagons.

“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded one of the drivers, striding up to the plucky little leader of the attacking band. “Who am I talking to?”

“A man,” quietly responded the leader. “I intend to search through your wagons, my good fellow.”

“Who are you?”

“Myself, individually.”

“And a blessed cutthroat, too!” savagely said the driver.

The leader smiled.

“You’re not the man to be so severe on cutthroats,” he said. “Now, listen. I don’t want to detain you one minute longer than is necessary, if you are really what you seem to be; but if you are humbugs, why I shall have to scoop you in; so be kind enough to tumble out what goods you’ve got in your truck.”

“If I do, I do,” blustered the driver, “but if I do I’m darned. We’re honest expressmen, driving for the Prairie Express, and, I’d rather die with my weapons in my claws than give up my charge. If you want to see what I’ve got you must come and ride over my dead body.”

He leaped backwards and leaned against the wagon, his pistols held lightly, but firmly, in his hands.

The leader looked admiringly upon the plucky chap.

“You’re gritty,” he said, “and I can admire you; but if you don’t tumble up into that wagon in just half a minute, and tumble out your goods, I’ll be cussed if I don’t tumble you.”

His long rifle leaped to his shoulder as he spoke, and the dark, deadly tube fairly covered the driver’s breast.

Pluck was an admirable thing, but it was laughing at death to stand there covered by that deadly rifle.

For a moment the driver stood irresolute, and then he turned and clambered over the body of one of the fallen horses and leaped into the wagon.

He began throwing out his various articles, and the other drivers were ordered to follow his example.

They obeyed orders, and soon the goods from the interior of the tented wagons formed a heap on the plains.

During this time the mounted guard had been forced to sit carelessly on the backs of their horses, kept at bay by the leveled weapons of the attacking party, the latter keeping partly under cover of the wagons.

“Lively,” ordered the captain. “Tumble them out as quickly as possible, for I want to search through the wagons after you get through.”

“That’s all in mine,” said the driver, who had attempted to brave him, throwing out a large bundle. “The wagon’s clear. I can’t imagine what you want. Are you going to rob us of these goods?”

“Oh no.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You shall see,” said the leader. “Jump out of that.”

The driver obeyed, and the leader at once leaped into the wagon.

He searched around the inside, sounded the flooring of the body, and at length found a little crevice running across the boards.

He drew a knife from his bootleg, and with firm hand drove it deep down into the crevice.

Bearing strongly on the hilt he caused the board to fly up, revealing a little trap about a foot square.

In this trap lay a carefully sealed up bag, which he lifted with a little difficulty from its resting-place.

“Gold, by the weight,” he said, and going to the front of the wagon he held it up so that his men could see it.

“I have found it,” he cried.

The driver uttered a yell of rage, and made a luckless leap forward.

He sprang upwards and caught the brave leader by the throat.

Instinctively the followers turned to the aid of their leader.

The bag fell with a musical jingle from the wagon to the ground.

The driver and the leader clenched tightly, and then followed the bag, rolling from the wagon to the plain.

As soon as the rifles of the attacking men were lowered, the guards made a rapid rush upon them.

A cheer rang out upon one side, a loud shout of defiance from the other, and then the two parties closed in a wild fight.

Rifle and pistol, bullet and blade were crashing and contending, and blood flowed from cruel wounds.

The plunging of the steeds, the hoarse and vindictive shouts of the riders, the screams of the wounded and dying men rang out in a demoniac chorus, and with such music above them the leader and the driver still clung to each other, rolling fairly under the hoofs of the plunging steeds, in their desperate encounter.

There was a wild shriek of mortal agony, as the iron-shod hoof of a madly plunging steed crashed through the brain of the unfortunate driver, and then the leader leaped to his feet, heated and half worn out, but still full of energetic command.

“I’m here!” he shouted, for well did he know that the sound of his ringing blows would encourage his men. “Drive them from the field!”

High above the roar and din of voices and weapons could be heard the crashing sound of many hoofs spurning the pebbles of the stony plain.

As if by magic, hostilities closed, and both parties turned to view this new arrival of enemies or friends of one side.

Around the little grove came sweeping a mixed band of red and white men, outnumbering both sides put together, and with loud yells charged down towards the wagons.

A cheer arose from the guards.

“They come, they come.”

The leader of the attacking party gave a shrill call, and his horse came crashing through the ranks, knocking steeds and horses left and right.

Like a flash he was mounted by his brave riders, and the latter shouted:

“Together, wheel, follow.”

And before the guards could recover from their surprise, the little band was rattling away behind the executive captain, leaving one man dead, and another one dying on the field, and carrying away more than one wound.

Onward at a swinging gallop, gathering into a compact body as they rode, came the mixed band.

A ringing shout of defiance came back as the little band swept onward, answered by hoarse, threatening cries from the mixed party, now joined by the guards of wagons.

The leader of the small party now turned in his saddle, and glanced swiftly over his right shoulder.

The pursuers were led by a flashily attired man, who held a big rifle in his left hand, guiding the steed he bestrode with the other.

With a quick motion the little captain’s rifle was thrown upward, until the steel-bound butt rested against his shoulder; his keen eyes flashed over the clouded tube, and a loud report rang out.

Crack!

Like a sharp snap of a whip, the rifle sent forth its death-note.

The leader of the mixed band tumbled to the ground, while the riderless horse scampered away.

Crack, bang!

Two reports answered the opening fire of the running fight.

One of the brave fellows fell headlong from his horse.

Another one threw up his hands with a low groan of pain, and would have fallen from his horse if his leader had not been prompt in putting out a strong hand, and steadying him in the saddle.

“Wounded?”

“Yes, Harry, I’m afraid it’s about all day with me,” gasped the man. “And I’m hit in the back. I never wanted to get my last dose there.”

“Cheer up,” said Harry. “It may not be so bad.”

But even as he spoke, the form he was supporting grew limp and nerveless, and fell sideways from the saddle, while the steed dashed steadily onward.

“Poor Bates,” said Harry. “Here’s to avenge the poor fellow.”

Two long range navy revolvers were taken from his holsters, and turning slightly in his saddle he extended his arms in the direction of his foes.

Crack, crack, went the revolvers, and at that instant a little volley was sent in by the pursuers.

The revolver in the right hand of the spirited leader was torn from his hand by a flying bullet.

Another bullet struck his horse in the off hind quarter.

The animal plunged, reared, and then struck off at right angles from the band.

Half a dozen of the Indians and white men instantly separated from the party, and with shouts and yells of wild glee spurred after the cut-off fugitive, whose horse had become crazed with pain.

We must now return to Frank and Charley.

Frank had just decided to put on a full head of steam in order to make a final effort, when his cousin hailed him with a signal whistle.

Frank shut off steam and allowed Charley to drive the man up close to the horse.

“What’s the matter?” asked Frank.

“Pomp just took a peep with the telescope,” said Charley, “and he saw a band of murderous reds and whites about four miles ahead. They are the worst on the plains, and I move that we try to clean ’em out alone. What do you say?”

“How many are there?”

“Eight or ten.”

“I’ll do it,” said Frank, diving down into the wonderful trunk, “and here’s the article that will do the business.”

He hauled forth a curious wire work.

When stretched out it was about twelve feet long and four or five wide, made of very strong crossed wires, and looking capable of holding considerable weight.

They watched Frank closely while the genius tied the sides of the wire work to the insides of the wagons as they then stood, and made them fast.

“Now drive up close, pull the slack of the wire into your wagon, and then travel. Put on thirty pounds of steam, and we’ll run steadily together.”

His orders were obeyed, and in two minutes they were rattling across the plains at a smashing pace, close together, and rapidly nearing the mixed band of cutthroats.

These latter suddenly spied them, and tried hard to escape in a compact body, and then Frank cried:

“Forty pounds of steam! Hurrah!”

And like two immense bolts the Steam Horse and the Steam Man shot down upon the flying band, and as they neared them, Frank cried:

“Spread!”

They spread out slightly, rushed on like flashes, and the extended screen of wire pushed the men kiting from the ground and sent them flying, dead, bruised and dying over the plain, while the groans and curses of the band, and their wild screams rang out in one thrilling chorus of terror and pain.

Men went whirling high into the air; and went tumbling over the ground like tops, and all sorts of weapons flew around with the force of the shock, for the solid weight of two immense machines had been sufficient to knock over every living object.

Many were killed instantly; others were left dying on the ground; some few were left to scamper away; but very nearly the entire party of men were stretched out by the one grand rush, and onward dashed the man and horse once more.

And as they rushed onward they caught sight of the running fight, and saw the single fugitive, who had been cut off from his men.

Even as they looked the horse leaped high into the air, twice, and then fell headlong to the ground, catching his rider’s leg under him.

The pursuers spurred fiercely toward him, and then Frank shouted:

“A full head of steam. Scoop ’em in with the net. Do or die. Onward!”

No time was to be lost if they would scoop the little band of pursuers before the helpless captain could be reached, so on went a full head of steam.

The pursuers, yelling like maniacs, spurred toward the captain with drawn weapons in their murderous hands.

“Rescue!” shrieked Frank.

“Hurrah!” shrieked Charley; and together the man and the horse rushed forward at a terrific pace upon the enemy.