Chapter IX: A Desperate Ruse

Despite the fact that the man who spoke these words was a villain of the deepest die, wantonly cruel, who had not hesitated to take the life of man or woman when his doing so meant the saving of his own, there was an impressiveness about his refusal to foreswear his promise to his dead pal. And, respecting his attitude, regardless of how perverted it was, the girl made no further attempt to dissuade him from his purpose.

Indeed, no opportunity could she have found even had she desired to make the attempt.

As the horses bore them up the trail, the outlaws and their prisoners were able to obtain a better view of the surrounding hills and what they beheld amazed them.

The rocks seemed alive with scores of bobbing lights, giving to the mountains, huge in their outlines, the appearance of strange monsters with innumerable glowing eyes.

In silence, Rogers contemplated the spectacle.

And as he watched, there suddenly leaped into the air a great semi-circular wall of flame.

"By the blood of old Barney! there'll be hot work to-night," snarled the outlaw. "I'd calculated the manhunters would go into camp for the night and instead they're searching with fire and torches!"

If the activity of the troopers alarmed Rogers and his pals, it raised the spirits of the scouts to the highest pitch of exultation and excitement.

Just where the Old Stockade was located, neither Jennings nor Scotty knew, but so enormous was the semi-circle of flame they believed it would be impossible for Rogers to reach it and his next move made their belief certainty.

"You all stay here," he exclaimed. "I'm going to reconnoiter."

"Please don't, Red," pleaded the girl.

"But I must, Rosie. If it's a possible thing, we must get through to the Stockade, and the flare from those fires is so deceptive, I can't tell whether or not the trail is blocked unless I get close."

And without giving the girl the opportunity to make further protest, the outlaw disappeared in the darkness.

Yet scarcely did it seem to the anxious group that he had gone than he was back.

"Quick! Blindfold the prisoners!" he commanded. "We can't get to the Old Stockade. The fire wall runs clear round the loop, and when I turned 'Look out' rock, a score of lights were just starting up the very mountain we're on."

"Where are you going, back?" queried Rose, the only indication of the desperateness of their situation being in the tenseness of her voice.

"Don't talk direction," warned Rogers. "We're going to the 'Breathing Cave.' It's our only chance--and it's going to be lively work. Dismount and walk, Pedro. We can make better time and help the horses more."

Instantly the outlaw's commands were obeyed, and the dash for the "Breathing Cave" and temporary safety, at least, was begun.

Maddened to think they were powerless to disclose the whereabouts of Red Rogers, the scouts racked their brains for some expedient by which they could manage to retard the fugitives. But in vain. And to their helplessness was added the inability even to see how close their comrades were.

When the heliograph signal had been received at the Fort and by the three center columns that Lieutenant Fox and his men had not only picked up the outlaw's trail, but had actually got near enough to shoot at him, there was great excitement and jubilation among the troopers in the saddle and the men left at the Post.

What the colonel and civil authorities had feared it might take weeks, perhaps months, to do had been accomplished in less than forty-eight hours, and their joy was corresponding.

Instantly word was telegraphed to deputy marshals and sheriffs as to the general whereabouts of the fugitives, and they were urged to press into service every man who could carry a gun and ride to the foothills without mercy to their horses.

Assurances received that the request would be obeyed, the colonel ordered four hundred of the five hundred troopers left at the Fort to race to the scene, and he himself rode at their head.

Thoroughly aware of their quarry's resourcefulness, the colonel had struck upon the scheme of throwing out the great semi-circle of fire as an effective stop to the fugitives getting through to the North or West. The East needed no protection, for it was self-evident that the outlaw would not come out on the plains where capture was certain. Only the South--the direction from which the civil posses would come--would be left dark, for the reason that there were none among them who could read the heliograph signals. But the colonel hoped they would see the fires of his troopers and divining their purpose complete the circle.

Fox's men, by reason of their being on the scene, were ordered to the West, together with such of the middle columns as could be got there in time, while the men from the Fort were to take the Northern position.

Sparing neither themselves nor their mounts, the troopers rode, and the exchange of rockets Rogers had seen were the announcements that the men were in position, followed in due course by the signal to touch off the wall of fire.

To Rogers and the girl, it seemed as though the torch-bearing troopers must have wings, so rapidly did they advance, and the voices of the manhunters approaching from the direction of "Look Out" rock soon became audible, as they shouted encouragement to one another.

The course followed by the outlaw and his companions was almost due Southwest.

"Can we make it?" breathed Rose, as the shouts became more and more distinct.

"We've _got_ to make it," returned Rogers.

"Don't talk that way. Tell me the truth," pleaded the girl.

"Fifteen minutes will tell the tale, Rosie. Keep your eye on Pedro. Don't let him lag."

In an agony of suspense, the girl kept her head turned toward the manhunters while she maintained a whispered outpouring of encouragement and exhortation at the bandit who was leading the prisoners.

Nearer and nearer, the fugitives approached the haven selected by the notorious outlaw.

"I reckon we're safe, Rosie," breathed Rogers, at last. "We have less than a hundred yards to go."

"Glory be!" returned the girl.

But their rejoicing was premature!

Barely had the words left the outlaw's lips than his keen eyes discerned the form of a man skulking ahead of them.

Suppressing an oath, Rogers bade Rose halt and dismount. Then, crouching low, he glided with wonderful swiftness upon the moving figure.

As he drew himself together for the leap that would bring him upon the man, Red's foot crunched a pebble.

Apprised by the sound that there was some one near at hand, for the outlaw had managed to hide his advance in the shadow of the brush and rocks lining the trail, the man stopped.

"Who goes there? Friend or foe?" he gasped.

"Friend," returned the outlaw, advancing boldly.

Relieved at the thought he had run across a fellow manhunter, the other exclaimed:

"I'm glad you're here. I've heard hoofbeats coming up this trail for several minutes. I don't believe any one else but Red and me knows of the 'Breathing Cave,' so I suppose it's him. By standing one on each side of the trail, we ought to get both him and Pedro.

"We'll shoot Pedro. But we won't get the ten thousand reward unless we get Red alive. I asked Sheriff Black to-day. When I found that out and heard where Red had been located and the plans the soldiers were making which would cut off his going to the Old Stockade, I hit the trail for the Cave. I'm----"

But the fellow never finished his sentence.

With a shocking oath, the terrible outlaw seized him by the throat and shook him as a terrier does a rat.

"You would betray me for a reward, would you, Faro Pete?" he hissed.

An instant Rogers waited until the shudder which ran through his captive's body told him the fellow had recognized him. Then he raised his pistol butt and crashed it down with terrific force upon his would-be betrayer's head.

Precious time had been lost, however, in listening to, Faro Pete--time that Red spared only because he wished to learn all he could as to the manhunters' plans and the reward. As soon as he had acquired this information, he had ended his former pal's life, and dropping the body beside the trail, the outlaw hastened back to his companions.

"There's some one over there to the North of us, I think," breathed Pedro, when his master rejoined him.

Pressed on all sides, Rogers and his comrades were, indeed, in desperate straits. One false move and their fate would be sealed.

A moment, the outlaw pondered.

"Quick, Rosie! Take this knife and cut the thongs binding the scouts to the horses. Pedro, grab the smaller one. Choke him so he'll be quiet. When I give the word, dash with him for the Cave. I'll tote the other.

"Rosie, when I say _now_, turn the horses and send them down the trail on the run!"

These directions were uttered with as little noise as possible. Yet they were overheard.

"Here they are! Here they are! Close in on 'em!" yelled four or five voices from the direction Pedro had said he heard suspicious sounds.

Under the crackling of the bushes and the crunching of stones as the manhunters advanced, Rogers whispered:

"Now!"

Frantically Rose jabbed the horses with the knife the outlaw had given her.

Snorting with pain and fright, the animals dashed down the trail, the beat of their iron shoes upon the rocks ringing out loud and clear.

"Watch out!"

"Down the trail!"

"They're mounted!"

"Shoot 'em!"

"Don't let 'em escape!"

In a babel of voices, these warnings and commands were roared.

"Crouch down!" breathed Rogers. "If they shoot, we'll dash for the Cave. If they don't, we'll----"

Bang! crashed a volley. Then another and another.

With all speed possible, the troopers rushed up the mountainside while, as the reports rang out and reverberated among the mountains, wild were the wavings of torches by the manhunters too far away to join in the pursuit.

And under cover of the confusion, Red Rogers and his comrades gained the entrance to the "Breathing Cave."