CHAPTER XIX
OUTWITTING HIS ENEMIES
There was a feeling of pity in Nat's heart for the unfortunate pony he bestrode. The lad was fond of all animals, and it galled him to be compelled to drive the exhausted beast so unmercifully, but it had to be done if his life were to be saved.
Crack! crack! came the cruel quirt once more, and the cayuse gamely struggled onward. Its nostrils were distended and its eyes starting out of its head with exhaustion. Its sunken flanks heaved convulsively. Nat recognized the symptoms. A few paces more and the pony would be done for.
"Come on, old bronco!" he urged, "just a little way farther."
With a heart-breaking gasp the little animal responded, and in a couple of jumps it was within the friendly shelter of the leafy cover. A yell of rage and baffled fury came from his pursuers as Nat vanished. The boy chuckled to himself.
"I guess I take the first trick," he thought, but his self-gratulation was a little premature. As he plunged on amid the friendly shelter he could still hear behind him the shouts of pursuit. The men were scattering and moving forward through the wood. There seemed but little chance in view of these maneuvers, that Nat, with only his exhausted pony under him, could get clear away. As the shouts resounded closer his former fear rushed back with redoubled force.
Suddenly his heart almost stopped beating.
In the wood in front of him he could hear the hoof-tramplings of another horse.
They were coming in his direction. Who could it be? Nat realized that it was not likely to prove anybody who was friendly to him. He was desperately casting about for some way out of this new and utterly unexpected situation, when, with a snort, the approaching animal plunged through the brush separating it from Nat. As it came into view the boy gave a sharp exclamation of surprise.
The new arrival was Herr Muller's locoed horse, now, seemingly, quite recovered from its "late indisposition." It whinnied in a low tone as it spied Nat's pony, and coming alongside, nuzzled up against it.
To Nat's joy, Bismark showed no signs of being scared of him, and allowed the boy to handle him. But in the few, brief seconds that had elapsed while this was taking place, Col. Morello's gang had drawn perilously near. The trampling and crashing as they rode through the woods was quite distinct now.
"After him, boys," Nat could hear the colonel saying, "that boy knows our hiding place. We've got to get him or get out of the country."
"We'll get him all right, colonel," Nat heard Manuello answer confidently.
"Yep. He won't go far on that foundered pony," came another voice.
In those few, tense moments of breathing space Nat rapidly thought out a plan of escape. Deftly he slipped the saddle and bridle off the outlaw's pony, and transferred them to Bismark's back.
Then, as the chase drew closer, he gave the trembling pony a final whack on the rump with the quirt. The little animal sprang forward, its hoofs making a tremendous noise among the loose rocks on the hillside.
Half frantic with fear, its alarm overcame its spent vitality, and it clattered off.
"Wow! There he goes!"
"Yip-ee-ee! After him, boys!"
"Now we've got him!"
These and a score of other triumphant cries came from the outlaws' throats as they heard the pony making off as fast as it could among the trees, and naturally assumed that Nat was on its back. With yells and shrieks of satisfaction they gave chase, firing volleys of bullets after it. The fusillade and the shouts, of course, only added to the pony's fear, and made it proceed with more expedition.
As the cries of the chase grew faint in the distance, Nat listened intently, and then, satisfied that the outlaws had swept far from his vicinity, urged Bismark cautiously forward. This time he travelled in the right direction, profiting by his experiment with his watch. But urge Bismark on as he would, darkness fell before he was out of the wilderness. But still he pressed on. In his position he knew that it was important that he reach the camp as soon as possible. Not only on his own account, but in order that he might give warning of the attack that Col. Morello would almost certainly make as soon as he realized that his prisoner had got clear away. If they had been interested in the Motor Rangers' capture before, the outlaws must by now be doubly anxious to secure them, Nat argued. The reason for this had been voiced by Col. Morello himself while he was conducting the chase in the wood:
"That boy knows our hiding place."
"You bet I do," thought Nat to himself, "and if I don't see to it that the whole bunch is smoked out of there before long it won't be my fault."
Tethering Bismark to a tree the boy clambered up the trunk. His object in so doing was to get some idea of his whereabouts.
But it was dark, I hear some reader remark.
True, but even in the darkness there is one unfailing guide to the woodsman, providing the skies be clear, as they were on this night. The north star was what Nat was after. By it he would gauge his direction. Getting a line on it from the outer star of "the dipper" bowl, Nat soon made certain that he had not, as he had for a time feared, wandered from his course.
Descending the tree once more, he looked at his watch. It was almost midnight, yet in the excitement of his flight he felt no exhaustion or even hunger. He was terribly thirsty though, and would have given a lot for a drink of water. However, the young Motor Ranger had faced hardships enough not to waste time wishing for the unattainable. So, remounting Bismark, he pressed on toward the east, knowing that if he rode long enough he must strike the valley which would bring him to his friends.
All at once, a short distance ahead, he heard a tiny tinkle coming through the darkness. It was like the murmuring of a little bell. Nat knew, though, that it was the voice of a little stream, and a more welcome sound, except the voices of his comrades, he could not have heard at that moment.
"Here's where we get a drink, Bismark, you old prodigal son," he said in a low tone.
A few paces more brought them into a little dip in the hillside down which the tiny watercourse ran. Tumbling off his horse Nat stretched himself out flat and fairly wallowed in the water. When he had refreshed his thirst, Bismark drinking just below him, the boy laved his face and neck, and this done felt immensely better.
He was just rising from this al-fresco bath when, from almost in front of his face as it seemed, came a sound somewhat like the dry rattle of peas in a bladder. It was harsh and unmusical, and to Nat, most startling, for it meant that he had poked his countenance almost into the evil wedge-shaped head of a big mountain rattler.
"Wow!" yelled the boy tumbling backward like an acrobat.
At the same instant a dark, lithe thing that glittered dully in the starlight, was launched by his cheek. So close did it come that it almost touched him. But Nat was not destined to be bitten that night at least. As the long body encountered the ground after striking, and Bismark jumped back snorting alarmedly, Nat picked up a big rock and terminated Mr. Rattler's existence on the spot.
Sure of his direction now, the boy remounted, and crossing the stream, arrived in due course near to the camp. The first thing he almost stumbled across was the prostrate form of Herr Muller, sound asleep just outside the flickering circle of light cast by the fire.
"Now for some fun," thought Nat, and slipping off his horse he crouched behind the sleeping Teuton, and with a long blade of grass, began tickling his ear. At first Herr Muller simply stirred uneasily, and kicked about a bit. Then finally he sat up erect and wide awake. The first thing he saw was a tall, dark form bent over him.
With a wild succession of whoops and frantic yells he set off for the camp in an astonishing series of leaps and bounds, causing Nat to exclaim as he watched the performance: —
"That Dutchman could certainly carry off a medal for broad jumping."
A few of the leaps brought Herr Muller fairly into the camp-fire, scattering the embers right and left and thoroughly alarming the awakened adventurers.
As they started up and seized their arms, Nat caused an abrupt cessation of the threatened hostilities by a loud hail: —
"Hullo, fellows!"
"It's Nat – whoop hurroo!" came in a joyous chorus, and as description is lamentably inadequate to set forth some scenes, I will leave each of my readers to imagine for himself how many times Nat's hand was wrung pump-handle fashion, and how many times he was asked: —
"How did it happen?"
CHAPTER XX
HERR MULLER GETS A CHILLY BATH
"Shake a le-e-eg!"
Rather later than usual the following morning the lengthy form of Cal reared itself upright in its blankets and uttered the waking cry. From the boys there came only a sleepy response in rejoinder. They were all pretty well tired out with the adventures and strains of the day before and had no inclination to arise from their slumbers. Even Nat, usually the first to "tumble up," didn't seem in any hurry to crawl out of his warm nest.
Winking to himself, Cal picked up two buckets and started for the little lake. He soon filled them with the clear, cold snow-water, and started back with long strides across the little meadow.
"Here's where it rains for forty days and forty nights," he grinned, as poising a bucket for a moment he let fly its contents.
S-l-o-u-s-h!
What a torrent of icy fluid dashed over the recumbent form of Herr Von Schiller Muller! The Teuton leaped up as if a tarantula had been concealed in his bed clothes, but before he could utter the yell that his fat face was framing Cal was on him in one flying leap and had clapped a big brown hand over his mouth.
"Shut up," he warned, "if you want to have some fun with the others."
He pointed to the pail which was still half full. Herr Muller instantly comprehended. Dashing the water out of his eyes he prepared to watch the others get their dose, on the principle, I suppose, that misery loves company.
S-l-o-u-s-h!
This time Ding-dong and Joe got the icy shower bath, and sputtering and protesting hugely, they leaped erect. But the water in their eyes blinded them and although they struck out savagely, their blows only punctured the surrounding atmosphere.
"Here, hold this bucket!" ordered Cal, handing the empty pail to the convulsed Dutchman.
"Oh-ho-ho-ho dees iss too much!" gasped Herr Muller, doubling himself up with merriment, "I must mage me a picdgure of him."
In the meantime Cal had dashed the contents of the other bucket over Nat, who also sprang up full of wrath at the unexpected immersion.
"Take this, too," ordered Cal, handing the other empty bucket to Herr Muller. Tears were rolling down the German's fat cheeks. He was bent double with vociferous mirth as he shook.
"Dees iss der best choke I haf seen since I hadt der measles!" he chuckled.
Shouts of anger rang from the boys' throats as they rushed about, shaking off water like so many dogs after a swim. Suddenly their eyes fell on Herr Muller doubled with laughter and holding the two buckets. From time to time, in the excess of his merriment he flourished them about.
"Oh-ho-ho-ho, I dink me I die ef I dodn't laughing stop it."
"Hey, fellows!" hailed Nat, taking in the scene, "there's the chap that did it."
"That Dutchman? – Wow!"
With a whoop the three descended on the laughter-stricken Teuton, and before he could utter a word of expostulation, they had seized him up and were off to the little lake at lightning speed, bearing his struggling form.
"Help! Murder! Poys, I don't do idt. It voss dot Cal vot vatered you!"
The cries came from the German's lips in an agonizing stream of entreaty and expostulation. But the boys, wet and irritated, were in no mood for mercy. To use an expressive term, though a slangy one, they had caught Herr Muller "with the goods on."
Through the alders they dashed, and then —
Splash!
Head over heels Herr Muller floundered in the icy water, choking and sputtering, as he came to the surface, like a grampus – or, at least in the manner, we are led to believe, grampuses or grampi conduct themselves.
As his pudgy form struck out for the shore the boys' anger gave way to yells of merriment at the comical sight he presented, his scanty pajamas clinging tightly about his rotund form.
"Say, fellows, here comes Venus from the bath!" shouted Nat.
"First time I heard of a Dutch Venus!" chortled Joe.
"Poys, you haf made it a misdake," expostulated Herr Muller, standing, with what dignity he could command, on the brink of the little lake. His teeth were chattering as if they were executing a clog dance.
"D-dod-d-dot C-c-c-c-al he do-done idt. If you don'd pelieve me, – Loog!"
He pointed back to the camp and there was Cal rolling about on the grass and indulging in other antics of amusement.
"Wow!" yelled Nat, "we'll duck him, too."
At full speed they set off for the camp once more, Cal rising to his feet as they grew near. He looked unusually large and muscular somehow.
"W-w-w-w-w-where w-w-w-w-will we t-t-t-t-tackle him?" inquired Ding-dong, who seemed quite willing to yield his foremost place in the parade of punishment.
"I guess," said Nat slowly and judiciously, "I guess we'll – leave Cal's punishment to some other time."
Breakfast that morning was a merry meal, and old Bismark, who had naturally been tethered in a post perfectly free from loco weed, came in for several lumps of sugar as reward for his signal service of the day before. All were agreed that if the old horse had not wandered along so opportunely that Nat might have been in a bad fix.
"I wonder if they'd have dared to kill me?" said Nat, drawing Cal aside while the others were busy striking camp and washing dishes.
"Wall," drawled Cal, "I may be wrong, but I don't think somehow that you'd hev had much appetite fer breakfast this mornin'."
"I'm inclined to agree with you," said Nat, repressing a shudder as he recalled the tones of the colonel's voice.
"And that reminds me," said Cal, "that our best plan is to get on ter my mine as quick as we can. It ain't much of a place. You know there's mighty little mining down here nowadays but what is done by the big companies with stamp mills and hundreds of thousands invested. But I reckon we kin be safe there while we think up some plan to get these fellows in a prison where they belong."
"That's my idea exactly," said Nat, "I'm pretty sure that now they are aware that we know the location of their fort that they'll try to get after us in every way they can."
"Right you are, boy. Their very existence in these mountains depends on their checkmating us some way. I think the sooner we get out of here the better."
"How soon can we get to the mine?" asked Nat.
"Got your map?"
"Yes."
"Let's see it."
Nat dipped down into his pocket and drew out his folder map of the Sierra region. It was necessarily imperfect, but Cal, after much cogitation, darted down his thumb on a point some distance to the northwest of where they were camped.
"It's about thar," he declared, "right in that thar canyon."
"How soon can we get there?"
"With luck, in two days, I should say. We can camp there while one of us rides off and gets the sheriff and a posse. I tell you it'll be a big feather in our caps to land those fellows where they belong. The scallywags have made themselves the terror of this region for a long time."
"Well, don't let's holler till we're out of the wood," advised Nat.
By this time the auto was ready and the others awaited their coming with some impatience.
"Are we all right?" asked Nat looking back at the tonneau and then casting a comprehensive eye about. Bismark, hitched behind as usual, was snorting impatiently and pawing the ground in quite a fiery manner.
"Let 'er go," cried Cal.
Chug-chu-g-chug!
Nat threw on the power and off moved the auto, soon leaving behind the camp on the knoll which had been the scene of so many anxieties and amusing incidents.
As they rode along Nat explained to the others the plan of campaign. It was hailed with much joy and Joe and Ding-dong immediately began asking questions. Cal explained that his mine was located in a canyon which had once been the scene of much mining activity, but like many camps in the Sierras, those who once worked it – the argonauts – had long since departed. Only a little graveyard with wooden head-boards on the hill above the camp remained to tell of them. Cal had taken up a claim there in the heyday of the gold workings and from time to time used to visit it and work about the claim a little. He had never gotten much gold out of it, but it yielded him a living, he said.
"Anybody else up there?" asked Nat.
"Only a few Chinks," rejoined Cal.
"I don't like 'em," said Joe briefly, "yellow-skinned, mysterious cusses."
"M-m-m-my mother had a C-c-c-c-chinese c-c-c-c-cook – phwit! – once," put in Ding-dong, "but we had to fire him."
"Why?" inquired Cal with some show of interest.
"We could never tell whether he was sus-s-s-singing over his work or moaning in agony," rejoined Ding-dong.
"Say, is that meant for a joke?" asked Nat amid a deadly silence.
"N-n-no, it's a f-f-fact," solemnly rejoined Ding-dong.
"That feller must hev bin a cousin to the short-haired Chinaman who couldn't be an actor," grinned Cal.
"What is this, a catch?" asked Joe suspiciously.
"No," Cal assured him.
"Oh, all right, I'll bite," said Nat with a laugh, "why couldn't the short-haired Chinaman be an actor?"
"Pecoss he voss a voshman, I subbose," suggested Herr Muller.
"Oh, no," said Cal, "because he'd always miss his queue."
"Reminds me of the fellow who thought he was of royal blood every time he watered his wife's rubber plant which grew in a porcelain pot," grinned Nat.
"I'll bite this time," volunteered Joe, "How was that, Mister Bones?"
"Well, he said that when he irrigated it, he rained over china," grinned Nat, speeding the car up a little grade.
"If this rare and refined vein of humor is about exhausted," said Joe with some dignity after the laugh this caused had subsided, "I would like to draw the attention of the company to that smoke right ahead of us."
"Is that smoke? I thought it was dust," said Nat, squinting along the track ahead of them.
The column of bluish, brownish vapor to which Joe had drawn attention could now be seen quite distinctly, pouring steadily upward above the crest of a ridge of mountains beyond them. Although they were travelling at a considerable height they could not make out what was causing it, but Cal's face grew grave. He said nothing, however, but if the others had noticed him they would have seen that his keen eyes never left the column which, as they neared it, appeared to grow larger in size until it towered above its surroundings like a vaporous giant or the funnel of a whirlwind.
CHAPTER XXI
THE FIRE IN THE FOREST
"Why, that smoke's coming up from those trees!" declared Nat as they topped the rise, and saw below them the familiar panorama of undulating mountain tops, spreading to the sky line in seeming unending billows.
Sure enough, as he said, the smoke was coming from some great timber-clad slopes directly in front of them.
"May be some more campers," suggested Joe.
"Not likely," said Cal gravely, "no campers would light a fire big enough to make all that smoke."
Nat did not reply, being too busy applying the brakes as the road took a sudden steep pitch downward. At the bottom of the dip was a bridge, made after the fashion of most mountain bridges in those remote regions. That is to say, two long logs had been felled to span the abyss the bridge crossed. Then across these string pieces, had been laid other logs close together. The contrivance seemed hardly wide enough to allow the auto to cross. Grinding down his brakes Nat brought the machine to a halt.
"I guess we'd better have a look at that bridge before we try to cross it," he said, turning to Cal.
"Right you are, boy," assented the ex-stage driver, getting out, "this gasolene gig is a sight heavier than anything that bridge was ever built for. Come on, Joe, we'll take a look at it."
Accompanied by the young Motor Ranger the Westerner set off at his swinging stride down the few paces between the auto and the bridge. Lying on his stomach at the edge of the brink, he gazed over and carefully examined the supports of the bridge and the manner in which they were embedded in the earth on either side.
Then he and Joe jumped up and down on the contrivance and gave it every test they could.
"I guess it will be all right," said Cal, as he rejoined the party.
"You guess?" said Nat, "say, Cal, if your guess is wrong we're in for a nasty tumble."
"Wall, then I'm sure," amended the former stage driver, "I've driv' stage enough to know what a bridge 'ull hold I guess, and that span yonder will carry this car over in good shape. How about it, Joe?"
"It'll be all right, Nat," Joe assured his chum, "in any case we are justified in taking a chance, for after what you told us about the colonel's gang it would be dangerous to go back again."
"That's so," agreed Nat, "now then, all hold tight, for I'm going to go ahead at a good clip. Hang on to Bismark, Herr Muller."
"I holdt on py him like he voss my long lost brudder," the German assured him.
Forward plunged the auto, Bismark almost jerking Herr Muller out of the tonneau as his head rope tightened. The next instant the car was thundering upon the doubtful bridge. A thrill went through every one of the party as the instant the entire weight of the heavy vehicle was placed upon it the flimsy structure gave a distinct sag.
"Let her have it, Nat!" yelled Cal, "or we're gone coons!"
There was a rending, cracking sound, as Nat responded, and the car leaped forward like a live thing. But as the auto bounded forward to safety Bismark hung back, shaking his head stubbornly. Herr Muller, caught by surprise, was jerked half out of the tonneau and was in imminent peril of being carried over and toppling into the chasm. But Joe grasped his legs firmly while Cal struck the rope – to which the Teuton obstinately held – out of his hands.
"Bismark! Come back!" wailed the German as the released horse turned swiftly on the rickety bridge and galloped madly back in the direction from which they had come.
But the horse, which was without saddle or bridle, both having been placed in the car when they started out, paid no attention to his owner's impassioned cry. Flinging up his heels he soon vanished in a cloud of dust over the hilltop.
"Turn round der auto. Vee go pack after him," yelled the German.
"Not much we won't," retorted Cal indignantly, "that plug of yours is headed for his old home. You wouldn't get him across that bridge if you built a fire under him."
"And I certainly wouldn't try to recross it with this car," said Nat.
"I should say not," put in Joe, "why we could feel the thing give way as our weight came on it."
"Goodt pye, Bismark, mein faithful lager – charger I mean," wailed Herr Muller, "I nefer see you again."
"Oh yes, you will," comforted Cal, seeing the German's real distress, "he'll go right home to the hotel stable that he come frum. You'll see. The man that owns it is honest as daylight and ef you don't come back fer the horse he'll send you yer money."
"Put poor Bismark will starfe!" wailed the Teuton.
"Not he," chuckled Cal, "between here and Lariat is all fine grazing country, and there's lots of water. He'll get back fatter than he came out."
"Dot is more than I'll do," wailed Herr Muller resignedly as Nat set the auto in motion once more and they left behind them the weakened bridge.
"No auto 'ull ever go over that agin," commented Cal, looking back.
"Not unless it has an aeroplane attachment," added Joe.
But their attention now was all centred on the smoke that rose in front of them. The bridge had lain in a small depression so that they had not been able to see far beyond it, but as they rolled over the brow of the hill beyond, the cause of the uprising of the vapor soon became alarmingly apparent.
A pungent smell was in the air.
"Smells like the punks on Fourth of July," said Joe, as he sniffed.
But joking was far from Cal's mind as he gazed through narrowed eyes. The smoke which had at first not been much more than a pillar, was now a vast volume of dark vapor rolling up crowdedly from the forests ahead of them. Worse still, the wind was sweeping the fire down toward the track they had to traverse.
"The woods are on fire!" cried Nat as he gazed, and voicing the fear that now held them all.
As he spoke, from out of the midst of the dark, rolling clouds of smoke, there shot up a bright, wavering flame. It instantly died down again, but presently another fiery sword flashed up, in a different direction, and hung above the dark woods. They could now hear quite distinctly, too, the sound of heavy, booming falls as big trees succumbed to the fire and fell with a mighty crash.
"Great Scott, what are we going to do?" gasped Joe.
"T-t-t-t-turn b-b-b-back!" said Ding-dong as if that settled the matter.
"Py all means," chimed in Herr Muller, gazing ahead at the awe-inspiring spectacle.
"How are you going to do that when that bridge won't hold us?" asked Nat. "Do you think we can beat the fire to the trail, Cal?"
"We've gotter," was the brief, but comprehensive rejoinder.
"But if we don't?" wailed Ding-dong.
"Ef you can't find nothing ter say but that, jus' shut yer mouth," warned Cal in a sharp tone.
His face was drawn and anxious. He was too old a mountaineer not to realize to a far greater extent than the boys the nature of the peril that environed them. His acute mind had already weighed the situation in all its bearings. In no quarter could he find a trace of hope, except in going right onward and trusting to their speed to beat the flames.
True, they might have turned back and waited by the bridge, but the woods grew right up to the trail, and it would be only a matter of time in all probability before the flames reached there. In that case the Motor Rangers would have been in almost as grave a peril as they would by going on. The fire was nearly two miles from where they were, but Cal knew full well the almost incredible rapidity with which these conflagrations leap from tree to tree, bridging trails, roads, and even broad rivers. It has been said that the man or boy who starts a forest fire is an enemy to his race, and truly to any one that has witnessed the awful speed with which these fires devour timber and threaten big ranges of country, the observation must ever seem a just one.
"Can't we turn off and outflank the flames?" asked Joe, as they sped on at as fast a pace as Nat dared to urge the car over the rough trail.
Cal's answer was a wave of his hand to the thickset trees on either side. Even had it not been for the danger of fire reaching them before they could outflank it, the trunks were too close together to permit of any vehicle threading its way amidst them.
There was but little conversation in the car as it roared on, leaping and careering over rocks and obstructions like a small boat in a heavy sea. The Motor Rangers were engaged in the most desperate race of their lives. As they sped along the eyes of all were glued on the trail ahead, with its towering walls of mighty pines and about whose bases chaparral and inflammable brush grew closely.
The air was perceptibly warmer now, and once or twice a spark was blown into the car. Not the least awe-inspiring feature of a forest fire in the mountains is the mighty booming of the great trunks as they fall. It is as impressive as a funeral march.
"Ouch, somebody burned my hand!" exclaimed Joe suddenly.
But gazing down he saw that a big ember had lit on the back of it. He glanced up and noticed that the air above them was now full of the driving fire-brands. Overhead the dun-colored smoke was racing by like a succession of tempest-driven storm clouds. A sinister gloom was in the air.
Suddenly, Cal, who had been half standing, gazing intently ahead, gave a loud shout and pointed in front of them. The others as they gazed echoed his cry of alarm.