Читать книгу Jesse James' Desperate Game; Or, The Robbery of the Ste. Genevieve Bank - William) Ward - Страница 3

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A THRILLING RESCUE.

The population of Monegaw Springs was transitory. Situated in the central part of St. Clair county, in Missouri, the town was famed far and wide for the medicinal qualities of its waters. And when the war of the rebellion came to an end and the countryfolk could once more live without fear of a raid by Federal troops or guerrillas, they flocked thither from far and near.

No luxurious hotels were there, as in present-day health resorts, with maws agape for money of their patrons; those who were early on the ground secured board and lodging in the few houses of the hamlet, while those who arrived later were forced to be satisfied with tents.

But the life of the place was not impaired by the lack of accommodations or conveniences. Rather was it enhanced.

Convention was thrown to the winds. Campers, whose tents were near together, spoke without waiting the formality of introductions; mothers exchanged confidences, knitting and gossiping; fathers swapped yarns and played cards together, while their children, both young and grown-up, indulged in the pastimes of wide awake, red-blooded youth. About the Springs all sorts and conditions of men were to be seen; army officers, still believing in the subtle powers of their faded uniforms, vied with civilians for the favour of the vivacious, rosy-cheeked belles; men who lived by their wits hobnobbed with men who possessed substantial incomes; churchmen rubbed elbows with criminals—and never a question was asked.

Not a night passed without some excitement; often the silence that fell only with the early hours of the morning was rent by the crack of a pistol; men, their blood heated with copious draughts of the "stuff that cheers," wrangled over the merits of their horses or families, settling the former by quickly organized races and the latter by recourse to fists or shooting-irons.

For those who wished to toy with fortune, there were always games of poker and faro in the shanties that served as saloons; and far from these bacchanalian orgies, on canvasses spread over the fragrant needles in the pine groves, through whose boughs the moonlight glinted, youths and maidens danced to the lively melodies of banjos and guitars, played by grinning darkies.

Now and then, the rivals for the favour of some sloe-eyed beauty clashed, there were a few excited, whispered words, giving and accepting a challenge for a fight to the death on the morrow, and the frolic was resumed.

And from sunrise to sunrise, the Springs throbbed with the emotions and passions of the shifting, cosmopolitan throng.

In this Mecca of license uncontrolled, the world-famous Jesse James had bidden his men join him. In the complexities of its life, he knew they would be able to forget the godless act of the killing of Daniel Askew, a murder that baffled police and public alike. Secure in its very openness, they could laugh at the futile attempts to corral those members of their gang who had raided the town of Chouteau, in the Indian Territory, so effectually freeing the desperadoes from suspicion of complicity in the act of cowardly assassination.

And little did the patrons of the Springs think, as they watched the arrival, one beautiful spring afternoon, of three well-dressed, bearded men, whose dash and debonair appearance sent many a maiden's heart aflutter, that they were gazing upon three of the most desperate men the world has ever produced, for whose corpses, even, the police and railroad officials would pay thousands upon thousands of dollars.

For Jesse had not ridden to Monegaw Springs with Clell Miller and his brother, Frank, in the garb of woolen shirts, "chaps," high boots, black slouch hats, with knives and guns bristling from their belts, in which alone the public fancy seemed able to picture them, but clad in the height of the fashion of the day.

Guns they had—and cartridges and knives—but so cleverly were they carried in their pockets that the presence of the death-dealing weapons would escape even the most suspicious eye.

Reining in their mettlesome thoroughbreds, the outlaws dismounted in front of one of the stores and passed inside to purchase tents and such other things as they might need.

Those who had seen them eagerly asked who the new arrivals were, attracted by their confident bearing and well put-up figures.

But none could answer and when they reappeared from the store, they were followed by a curious coterie of idlers who watched them select a place and pitch their tents, at the extreme southwestern corner of the grove that had been set apart for the campers.

This very necessary work completed, the bandits had remounted and were riding through the camp on a tour of reconnaissance to learn if any of their enemies, the detectives and sheriffs, were among the sojourners at the Springs when they were startled by a frenzied cry of warning that swelled to a hoarse roar as throat after throat took it up.

Turning in their saddles as they heard the inarticulate shouts, the three desperadoes dropped their hands to the pockets in which they carried their shooting-irons.

With hundreds of man-hunters on their trail, whenever a hue and cry was raised, the outlaws naturally believed themselves to be the cause.

"It may be Cole and Texas in from Chouteau with a pack of devils at their heels," exclaimed Clell in a low voice.

But the next instant their apprehension was banished.

With frantic haste, the throng that had raised the alarm parted, shoving and pushing those behind them in their effort to break through to places of safety.

And tearing along the lane thus opened, the outlaws beheld a runaway horse, nostrils distended, eyes wild, ears laid back, a young girl clinging with the desperation of terror to its mane.

Maddened by the shouts of the people, the animal leaped from side to side of its narrow path.

"Pull your foot out of the stirrup and slide off!" cried a score of voices.

And as the silence of fear fell over the throng, the terrified voice of the girl responded:

"I can't! It's caught!"

With a gasp of horror, the crowd heard.

Several men leaped for the bridle, but the infuriated horse dodged them or shook them off.

Straight for the gate of a corral, less than two hundred yards away, was the animal rushing.

The opening had been cut in a solid wall and the lintel was so low that it would barely clear the saddle pommel.

If the horse were not stopped, it would dash inside.

Unable to release her foot, the girl would be knocked from her seat and horribly crushed, if her leg were not torn from her body.

"Shut the gate!" yelled somebody.

A score of men sprang forward, but the distance was too great.

With a groan the spectators realized it. Women turned away their heads that they might not see the awful sight, men nerved themselves for the crash of the impact.

Suddenly through the lane dashed a young fellow, his coarse, sensual face white with terror.

Seeing him, the crowd took hope.

"Ride, Consollas! Hurry, man! Use your spurs! Head him off!" rose from an hundred throats.

Yet it did not take the anxious men and women long to realize that the youth was too scared to be of service in the emergency and once again despair seized them.

Engrossed in following the runaway, the people had not seen three horsemen riding like the wind toward the helpless girl and it was not till a sharp command, "make way!" rang in their ears that they were aware of their existence, turning to see the handsome, bearded strangers, whose advent had aroused so much speculation, bearing down on them.

Their surprise did not paralyze their limbs, however, and, as if by magic, the dense throng parted and Jesse, Clell and Frank dashed between them.

Fully an eighth of a mile away had the outlaws been when the shouts had come to them, but the instant they had discovered their cause, they raced to the rescue.

Skilled in the art of short dashes, they worked their thoroughbreds to wonderful speed.

Not fifty yards from the corral was the runaway when the bandits swept between the spectators. And all of twenty yards behind were they.

Their quick eyes noted the horrible fate that awaited the girl should they fail to help her.

Caring not who might see, Jesse jerked his bowie-knife from its place of concealment and jabbed it into the flank of his mount.

Unaccustomed to such treatment and terrified by the pain, the animal leaped forward.

The burst of speed won cheers from the crowd, while cries of "go it! good man!" broke from many lips.

Emulating their leader, Clell and Frank, knifed their horses.

As though the runaway were standing still did the outlaws gain on it.

Hearing the shouts and the thunder of hoofs behind her, the girl looked back.

"Keep your nerve! We'll save you!" yelled the famous desperado while the crowd howled its approval.

The boy who had been addressed as Consollas was far behind. Less than twenty yards away was the corral and two yards separated the bandits from the runaway.

Yet though they rode for all they knew, only inches, it seemed, could they cut this distance down.

With wicked jabs, the knives laid bare the flesh of the thoroughbreds.

Neck and neck the three horses were running.

"Spread out!" snapped Jesse. "When we get to the horse, reach over and cut the saddle-girth, Clell. Frank, you ride him off. Wake up! We mustn't fail now we're so near!"

In amazement, the spectators beheld the three riders separate, two bearing to the right, the brown bearded man to the left.

"They're gaining! They're gaining!" shouted the crowd, then held their breath the next instant.

As though they were pieces of a machine, worked by the same power, Clell and his leader closed in simultaneously on both sides of the runaway.

"Now!" cried the latter.

As they dropped their reins, Jesse leaned far from his saddle and seized the terror-paralyzed girl about the waist.

Failing to comprehend the movement men and women stared, believing that precious moments were being lost, then some of them roared:

"Ride the horse off! Her foot's caught in the stirrup!"

But at the very instant, Clell slashed with all his might at the saddle-girth.

True was his hand. The leather parted and before the spectators could realize how it happened, the great outlaw jerked the girl, the saddle hanging to her foot, from her horse, swayed a moment as he regained his balance, then swung her in front of him.

Salvos of applause broke from the throng of men and women.

But the spectacular work was not yet ended.

So close were the outlaws to the corral when the sensational rescue was effected that it seemed that they must crash into it.

Once more the crowd grew silent as it realized the new danger.

Yet even as the hush fell, Frank swerved his horse, riding straight at Clell's.

There was the rubbing of saddle leather, an awful instant of suspense as the colliding animals struggled to keep their feet, then both, weathering the impact, bore down onto Jesse and his burden.

"They'll go down! They'll be crushed!" gasped the spectators.

But the famous desperado had anticipated the danger.

The instant he had set the girl in front of him, he had pulled on his reins with his right hand, changing the course of his mount to such an extent that when the other two rode into him, his horse only turned more quickly, and shoulder to shoulder the three animals galloped along the side of the enclosure.

Yet so narrow was the margin by which the rescue was accomplished that as they swept up the length of the corral, Frank was forced to throw his left leg over the pommel of his saddle to keep it from being scraped and crushed against the rough boards.

A trice the crowd stood motionless, then with thunderous cheers swarmed round the outlaws and the girl they had rescued.