An outlaw's pledge; or, The raid on the old stockade

AMERICAN INDIAN WEEKLY

BY COLONEL SPENCER DAIR

VOL. I THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK COMPANY, CLEVELAND, OHIO, U.S.A. NO. 1

Copyright 1910 by the Arthur Westbrook Company, Cleveland, Ohio.

AN OUTLAW'S PLEDGE

OR

THE RAID ON THE OLD STOCKADE

By COL. SPENCER DAIR

PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS.

Red Rogers—A daredevil outlaw, who has broken from jail, killing four men in his escape, and returns to the scenes of his early crimes, that he may carry out a pledge made to a dying member of his gang, being pursued and eluding hundreds of troopers before he is finally sent to his doom, at the Old Stockade.

Rose Landon—Daughter of the man to whom Red Rogers made his pledge, who helped the outlaw to break jail and then accompanied him on his dash into the Bad Lands to carry out his vow. Repenting of her vicious life, she finally marries a young trooper whom Rogers has captured.

Pedro—A former member of Red Rogers' gang, who also assisted in his escape from jail, and, after accompanying the outlaw to the mountains, is captured by the troopers.

Jennings, Shaw, Scotty—Members of the Mounted Scouts, who have their horses stolen by the outlaw, and are afterwards taken prisoners by him and held as hostages.

Alkali—A half-breed scout, who eventually tracks Red Rogers to his doom.

Colonel Edwards—Commandant of Fort Griswold, the officer who takes charge of the pursuit of the outlaw.

Troopers, Deputy Marshals and Sheriffs and their posses.

CHAPTER I.

THE MYSTERIOUS SIGNAL.

"His-s-t!"

With startling suddenness, the cry shattered the stillness of the night that lay upon the foothills of the "Bad Lands."

As they heard it, three men who, rolled in their army blankets, were sleeping in the protecting shadow of a huge boulder, rose to their elbows and peered into the darkness, at the same time whipping out their "Colts" with their free hands.

But only the silence of the night, seeming more intense as the echo of the strident cry died away, greeted them.

"That must have been a signal," breathed one of the trio, after several minutes of listening.

"If it was a signal, it would have been answered," rejoined a companion.

"Sure it would," asserted the third member of the party.

"Then what was it?" demanded the first.

"May have been a snake, or a mountain lion," suggested the man who had doubted the startling cry being a signal.

"Snake? Mountain lion?" repeated the other, in disgust. "Say, you'd better go back to the recruits till you learn the difference between a human voice and an animal's cry."

The three men were members of the Mounted Scouts, out on patrol duty from their station at Fort Griswold.

Two of them had been in the service three years, while the other was on his first detail, having only just been promoted from the band of recruits at the Fort.

Consequently, the sneering allusion to his inexperience cut deep, and he was about to retort fiercely, when the third scout prevented.

"Jennings is right, Scotty. It was a man's voice uttered that cry," he whispered.

"Then what does it mean?" persisted the youngster.

"Just keep yer tongue in yer head and yer eyes and ears open, and we may find out," grunted Jennings.

This reply had the intended result of effectually silencing the recruit, and, with every sense alert, the three men awaited some sound that would explain the mysterious signal.

Unlike most details of mounted scouts that patrolled together, there was no affection, bred by perils and dangers shared, between the men. Indeed, there was not even good feeling. The veterans, Jennings and Shaw, had long been rivals for the honor of being the best shot at the Fort, and both resented being sent out with a "rookie."

The personnel of the patrol, however, had been arranged by Colonel Edwards, commandant of the Fort, with a purpose.

So many had become the raids and robberies that the officers began to suspect connivance between the outlaws and some of the scouts, and the names of Jennings and Shaw had been linked with these rumors.

Knowing the rivalry existing between them, the colonel had decided to send them out together, confident that each would be only too willing to report any suspicious actions of the other, and, to prevent such an anomaly as an alliance in wrong doing, he had added the recruit, instructing each to report in detail all that his companions did.

The surprise of being awakened from his sleep had driven the memory of these orders from the youngster's mind. But as the monotony of the watch grew, they recurred to him.

"I'll bet that was a signal for either Jennings or Shaw," he said to himself, "and whichever it is, is afraid to answer because I'm here. I'll have to keep my head about me all right, all right."

But the recruit's suspicions did his fellow members of the Mounted Scouts injustice—as he was soon to learn.

With a suddenness almost as startling as the mysterious signal, came the thumpety-thump of a stone as, dislodged from its resting place, it bounded down the mountainside.

"That's above us," breathed Jennings, leaping to his feet and feeling his way cautiously to the edge of the boulder, whence he strove to penetrate the inky darkness that enveloped crags and trees alike.

As their companion jumped to his feet, Shaw and Scotty did likewise, following him as he crept along the rock.

"What do you make of it?" queried the veteran of his fellow.

"Somebody's discovered us and is either trying to get away or to warn others," asserted Jennings, with positiveness.

"But how could any one see us in the shadow of the boulder?" demanded Scotty, resenting the indifference of his companions to his presence.

"Men who can travel these hills in the night, don't have to see a man to know he's around, they can smell him," returned Shaw.

"Say, you fellows might as well cut this jollying out right now," flashed the youngster. "I'm not going to stand for it any longer—either you'll treat me decently or I'll mix it up with fists or guns, whichever you like. Smell a man, rats!"

"Now don't get het up, rookie," rejoined Jennings. "Shaw's right. A good woodsman or an Injun can scent a man as easy as you can a grizzly. Besides, if they didn't scent us, they could the horses."

"Queer we ain't heard a whimper from the cayuses," exclaimed Shaw, as his comrade's mention of their mounts recalled their existence. "My old Bonehead usually don't like these night surprises."

"You don't suppose whoever it was has stolen 'em?" suggested Scotty, to whose excited brain nothing seemed impossible.

"What, take three iron shod horses and me and Shaw not know it?" snorted Jennings. "It would be easier to have 'em run off with one of us."

"Just the same, I'm going down to see if they're all right," declared the recruit, moving away.

"Hold on. We'll go with you," whispered Shaw. "Being nervous, as they will, you may scare 'em—and we'd be in a pretty fix fifty miles from the Fort and no ponies."

And, placing the youngster between them, the veteran scouts crept cautiously down to the plateau, some fifteen yards from the boulder, where they had left the horses to feed on the sweet grass.

Already, the heavy darkness in the east was giving way to the grey-greens of dawn, enabling the three scouts to make out the outlines of the rocks and trees above them.

But, as they turned a crag whence they could get a glimpse of the plateau, they stopped in amazement.

Not a horse was to be seen!

"So they couldn't steal our ponies with you and Shaw 'round?" grinned Scotty.

"Keep your tongue in your head," growled Jennings. "That cry probably frightened 'em, and they've gone down the trail. Come on. It won't be hard to track them."

Again were the scouts destined to be surprised, however.

Though the steadily-increasing light enabled them to find the shoe-prints, where the animals had moved about during the night and those made when they entered the plateau, not a trace could they find indicating the direction of their departure!

With blank faces, the two veterans stared at one another.

As they stood in baffled perplexity, of a sudden, from above, there rang out a mocking laugh.

Whirling, Colts ready, the scouts looked up.

Outlined against the sky, stood a powerfully-built man, red of hair and beard, wearing a scarlet shirt.

"Red Rogers!" gasped Jennings and Shaw, in chorus.

Another jeering laugh greeted the exclamation, then with a defiant wave of his hand, the figure disappeared.

CHAPTER II.

SCOTTY LEARNS SOMETHING ABOUT THE "SERVICE."

"No more mystery about what's become of our ponies," growled Shaw, giving relief to his feelings in a torrent of curses.

"You mean Red took them?" queried Jennings.

"My, but you're getting to be the quick little thinker."

"Well, if he did, I'd like to know the trick. Red's cute, I know, yet it's some stunt to get three horses up a mountain on a dark night without leaving any trail."

"Oh, we'll be able to learn how it was done when it gets lighter. Now, let's get back to the boulder before Red swipes our rifles, blankets and saddles while our backs are turned."

"Lot of good our saddles will do us now," grunted Jennings. "Red might as well have taken 'em."'

The silence of his comrades, deeply ashamed that they should have been tricked of their horses without even knowing it, gave Scotty the first chance to speak since the discovery of the man on the rock and he lost no time in making the most of it.

"But that can't be Red Rogers, he's in jail!" he exclaimed.

"Was, you mean," corrected Shaw, with a feeble attempt at raillery. "I didn't know he'd got out. But no other man than Red Rogers ever had hair and beard like that."

"What would he want of our horses, and how'd he know we were here anyway?" asked Scotty.

"Scented us," asserted Jennings, positively, answering the last question first. "I told you a good woodsman or an Injun can always scent a man—and Red Rogers can give any Injun or woodsman cards and spades and then beat him at his own game. As to why he took our ponies, he probably wanted 'em."

"I have it!" cried Shaw, slapping his thigh. "I'll bet Red has just broken jail. He's probably hiking it to his old hiding place, and, coming across our ponies, helped himself."

"But they're army horses. They'll be recognized by any one who sees 'em," objected the youngster.

"Little Red cares," returned Shaw. "Possession is no nine-tenths, it's the whole law to him—and he's quick enough with his gun to defend anything he decides is his."

"I suppose we ought to be thankful Red didn't need shooting irons, or he'd probably have helped himself to our rifles," exclaimed Jennings, as they found their weapons and blankets undisturbed.

"Oh, cut it out," retorted Shaw. "We'll have to stand enough joshing from the boys at the Fort, without your trying to get funny.

"Scotty, start a fire and put on the coffee pot—there's enough water in it."

And, while the youngster obeyed, the others rolled up their blankets.

"What are you going to do with the saddles and bridles?" asked Scotty, as he joined them.

"Leave 'em in the cave yonder, so's they'll be waiting when we get our horses back," declared Shaw, picking up his own and carrying it to a crevice in the rocks, some ten feet away, into which, after a short examination, he placed the now useless accoutrements.

"Then you're going to track Red?" asked the youngster, in surprise.

"Surest thing you know, kid. We've not only got to trail him, but we've got to get back our ponies!" rejoined Jennings. "If it should get out how Red tricked us, and then we didn't recover the cayuses, the Mounted Scouts would never be able to hold down the gun men, horse thieves and outlaws ever again.

"It's the knowledge that the Mounted Scouts never let up when they want a man that makes 'em feared!"

"That's what!" chimed in Shaw. "You're working for the honor of the Mounted Scouts now, not merely for Uncle Sam, Scotty. Remember, if you get done to death, there'll be another to take up the task from where you dropped."

This forceful explanation of the simple but unrelenting code of the Service impressed the youngster as nothing else could, and he grew silent in contemplation of the dangers entailed.

Of all the Outlaws who made the "Bad Lands" their hiding place, dashing forth to raid an isolated settlement, rob a bank or hold up a train, there was none whose name caused such terror or who had such a reputation for daredevil fearlessness as Red Rogers.

It had taken the Mounted Scouts three years of ceaseless trailing to run him down—and the presence of a full squad to effect his capture.

Indeed, his arrest had done more to inspire a wholesome respect for the Mounted Scouts in the breasts of desperadoes and renegade Indians than any other of their acts.

And here the notorious bandit was back in his old haunts after serving less than five years of his life sentence—and he had given notice of his liberty by running off with three horses belonging to his mortal enemies, from right under their very noses.

"How do you suppose he broke jail?" asked Scotty, as the three crest-fallen men squatted cross-legged about the fire eating their beans and sipping the coffee.

"We'll hear—if we ever see any one from the Fort again. But, I'll stake my saddle against a blanket pin he left a trail of blood if any one was in his way," responded Jennings.

This suggestion that they might never live to return from the pursuit sent Scotty's heart into his throat.

"If we ever see any one from the Fort?" he repeated in dismay. "Aren't we going back to get horses and reinforcements?"

Their eyes twinkling, the veterans looked at one another and laughed.

"Say, have you forgotten your 'rules and regulations' so quick?" demanded Shaw. "Don't you remember that only in 'cases of dire emergency may a scout give up a trail and return to the Fort?'" he added, drawling in imitation of the colonel when quizzing the recruits.

"Well, isn't this such an occasion?" returned the youngster.

"Hardly," rejoined Jennings. "We're not dead, we're not injured, we're——"

"But we've lost our ponies," interrupted Scotty.

"And it's up to us to get 'em back," declared the veteran. "To save you a 'twigging' by the colonel, the sooner you get it into your noddle that 'dire emergency' means only when you're so wounded you can't get back to the post, the better.

"So, as soon as you've finished grub, we'll be starting."

"I'm game," rejoined the youngster. "It seems to me, though, we ought to get some word to the Fort that Red Rogers is loose."

"They'll hear of it, right enough. Don't worry about that," declared Jennings. "I'll stake my Colt they knew it before we did."

"Still, as this is the trail the others will have to hit to get to Red's hang out, it won't do any harm to leave word we're without ponies," suggested his fellow veteran. And, no objection being made, the scout produced a stub of a pencil from his breeches and wrote laboriously on a piece of paper torn from a can label.

"Read it," commanded Jennings, as the task was completed.

Willingly Shaw obeyed.

"Red Rogers lifted our ponies early Thursday morning. We're hitting the trail. All well. Shaw, Jennings, Scotty."

"But you didn't say anything about the saddles," exclaimed the youngster, as the reading was completed.

"Sure not. Whoever follow us won't need two saddles, and besides, we'll want 'em ourselves when we get back our ponies," returned Shaw.

"Then, if we're going, let's be on our way," said Jennings.

And, getting to their feet, the Scouts quickly packed their outfits.

CHAPTER III.

TRAPPED.

Having adjusted their blankets to their shoulders, Shaw set about finding a suitable hiding place for his note, while his fellow comrade made ready a "broken staff"—a sign which, seen by any Mounted Scout, told him that important information had been hidden by a fellow member of the service.

The preparation of the symbol was simple.

Cutting a green branch from a near-by shrub, Jennings broke the top, letting the end hang down, and then set the "broken staff" in the middle of the trail, with the hanging tip on the side toward the spot where Shaw had hidden the note—which happened to be under a stone placed against the boulder.

Interestedly the youngster watched the placing of this signal that served as a method of communication between the scouts not in the "rules and regulations," being one of the many signs that had been devised by the men themselves and, therefore, only to be learned by experience.

"Suppose some one else sees the signal. Won't they remove it or read the note?" asked Scotty.

"Not much," returned Shaw. "That the 'broken staff' is one of the Scouts' signals is known to most travelers of the trails. But, just what it means, they don't know, and they have a mighty wholesome respect for it. Why, I've seen men ride ten feet around one of 'em so's to be sure not to interfere with it."

"But, hasn't any scout told what it means?"

"Not yet!" returned Jennings, with an emphasis that was significant. "And there's a bullet waiting for the man who betrays the secret signals of the Mounted Scouts. It's a part of our unwritten code. You'll find, kiddo, after you've served a bit, that there's more in our unwritten rules than in the ones the colonel beat into your noddle."

"But, how can I learn them?" the youngster inquired, his eagerness to master the mysteries of his calling evident in his voice.

"By keeping your eyes and ears open when you're on patrol," replied Shaw.

During the latter part of this conversation, the trio had made their way, for a second time, down to the plateau, whence their horses had been spirited away.

And, as Shaw had predicted, the sunlight enabled them to learn the manner of their silent departure.

Dropping to his knees with a sudden exclamation, the veteran studied intently for a few minutes the ground surrounding a spot where the shoe prints showed where one of the horses had stood, then got up, a look of utter disgust on his face.

"Say, Jennings, you and me ought to go back to the 'rookie' school," he snorted. "Red worked the old game of binding the hoofs in rags, and here we never thought of it."

Without reply, the other veteran scanned the marks discovered by his fellow, evincing his confirmation by a corroborative nod of his head as he rose to his feet.

But his next move showed that he did not take the trick calmly.

"You may have caught us napping this time, Red Rogers!" he hissed, shaking his fist menacingly. "But, before Andy Jennings is through with you, you'll wish you'd never lifted his pony!"

"Same here," grunted Shaw.

And without more ado, the three scouts who had been so humiliated by the notorious outlaw, took up the task of recovering their horses and bringing the desperadoes to justice.

Cautiously, with eye and ears alert, they followed the tracks up the mountainside.

Far above them, on a plateau to the right of the trail, a different scene was presented.

At the back of the shelf of land, which was some forty feet wide, rose a wall of rock, severed by a wide cleft. Deep within this, the fitful flare of a camp fire glowed, disclosing the forms of two men and a woman, while browsing contentedly near the entrance, but on the plateau, were the three army horses.

Fairly bristling were the men with guns and knives, while only by her skirts did the girl differ in appearance from her companions, for she, too, wore a cartridge belt about her waist, into which were thrust two six shooters and a bowie-knife.

"It was worth all the risk to hear the scouts cry 'Red Rogers,'" declared the outlaw, as he recounted the incidents of his discovery to his companions.

And jeering were the comments made upon the stupidity of the scouts by the others.

"What do you suppose they'll do now, go back to the Fort for reinforcements?" asked the girl.

"Most likely," asserted the other man.

But the outlaw held a different opinion.

"I'll bet all the gold in my belt against a pebble they're on our trail now. That's why I left the horses on the plateau where they could be seen."

"But what's the use of running the risk of a gun shot so soon, Red?" demanded the girl.

"There won't be any risk, Rosie," returned the desperado. "But, even if there was, I'd take it. I need those scouts as bad as we did their horses."

This statement puzzled Red's companions. For a few moments they sought to reason it out, then gave it up and asked, almost in the same breath.

"Why?"

"Because with them in my power, I can make some sort of terms in case the other scouts surround me. If I'd had a couple of hostages, I'd never have been caught the last time."

Readily recognizing the advantage such a capture would give them, the girl jumped to her feet.

"Let's go out and see if they're trailing us," she exclaimed, hurrying to the mouth of the cave.

But, before she could pass out onto the plateau, Red halted her.

"Come back here, Rosie," he commanded. "If you're so keen to know, I'll find out. While I'm willing to let the scouts see the ponies, I want them to think I'm asleep."

These words showed plainly the calculating cunning of the bandit.

As he reached the mouth of the cave, Red dropped on his belly and with infinite caution wormed himself across the plateau to the edge.

And the sight that greeted his eyes almost caused him to shout with glee.

Climbing steadily, came the three scouts.

Easily could the outlaw have picked them off with his rifle. But, as he explained to Rosie, he wanted them alive.

Stealthily working his way back, Red re-entered the cave.

"Come on. They're almost here," he chuckled, grimly. "Pedro, you take the first man. Let him get far enough onto the plateau so the second one won't turn back. I'll take him. Rosie, you cover the third fellow with your six shooters. When Pedro and I have bound our men, we'll attend to yours.

"Careful, now. Pedro, bring the lariats. Down on your bellies. There are some rocks we can hide behind. Remember—a sound may spoil the whole game."

With consummate stealth, the desperadoes gained their hiding places and, every sense alert, awaited the scouts' appearance.

In utter ignorance of the trap laid for them, Jennings, Shaw and Scotty toiled up the trail, in the order named.

Without difficulty, they had traced the route taken by the horses because the iron shoes against the rocky trail had cut the rags, leaving telltale prints here and there.

With the sun, the wind had arisen and as a gust blew down from the direction of the plateau, Jennings stopped in his tracks, sniffed the air excitedly, then threw his rifle to a "ready."

"Our ponies are close at hand. I smell 'em;" he breathed to his companions. "Watch out, now. Don't shoot until you can make your shot count."

Cautiously the trio resumed their ascent.

And as Jennings' head rose above the level of the plateau, again he stopped.

But this time he did not speak.

Holding up three fingers, he nodded toward the shelf of rock, then beckoned his companions to join him, placing his fingers on his lips to enjoin silence.

With rifle butts at their shoulders, the scouts mounted the plateau in single file.

The sight of the ponies brought grins of delight to their faces.

"Where can Red be?" breathed Scotty.

"Asleep, probably," returned Shaw.

But scarce had the words left their lips than the scouts were made aware of their falsity.

With yells, bloodcurdling in their ferocity, the outlaw and Pedro leaped upon the backs of Shaw and Jennings, respectively, carrying them to the ground, while Rosie, boring the muzzles of her six shooters into Scotty's back, hissed:

"Move a muscle, and I'll pump your carcass full of lead!"

CHAPTER IV.

JENNINGS' ATTEMPT ON RED'S LIFE IS FOILED.

So utterly unexpected was the attack that neither Jennings nor Shaw were able to resist as they were borne to the ground.

Their anger, however, at being tricked by the notorious outlaw a second time—for that their captors were none other than Red Rogers and his band the scouts did not need to be told—gave the frenzy of fury to their strength and they grappled with their assailants desperately.

Naturally powerful, the trained muscles of the scouts enabled them to pitch and toss the outlaws about the plateau. But, strive as he might, neither could break the vice-like hold about his neck.

Summoning all his strength, with a mighty effort, Jennings managed to get to his knees.

Like a maddened bull, Red Rogers snorted and puffed as he strove to force his captive down again. But the years of confinement in prison had sapped his former titanic strength, and it flashed to his mind that only by trickery could he overcome the wiry Scout.

Realizing the outlaw's lack of condition, as he felt his grip relax when he gained his knees, Jennings took courage.

But his joy was short lived.

With tremendous force, Red Rogers drove his knee into the spine of the Scout, at the same time jerking him backwards.

Powerless to resist, Jennings was flat on the plateau, and in a trice the outlaw was kneeling upon his chest, his flushed face grinning in triumph.

Shaw, however, had been no match for Pedro, and, cursing and squirming, was being securely roped by the bandit.

Fascinated, Scotty and the girl had watched the men struggling for mastery as they rolled about the plateau.

As it became evident that his fellows could not overcome the advantage gained by the outlaws in their rear attack, the youngster gritted his teeth at his impotence, then suddenly whirled upon the girl, swinging his arm in an attempt to knock the six shooters from her hands.

But Rosie was not to be caught napping.

Dodging the blow cleverly, she levelled her guns at the scout's head.

"Don't try that again," she exclaimed, quietly. "It's lucky for you, Red didn't see your move, or he'd make me drop you in your tracks. I suppose I'm a fool for not doing it, but you seem so young," she added, whimsically.

But bitterly was Red destined to repent the girl's soft-heartedness.

Pedro, however, noticed the changed position of the scout as he got to his feet after putting the last knot in Shaw's bonds and with an oath he was upon him.

"I'll fix you so you can't do any damage," he grunted, as he slipped a noose over Scotty's right hand, passed the rawhide lariat behind his back, took a turn about the left wrist and jerked both arms behind his back. "Rosie, you ought to have dropped him. He might have got you, and then things wouldn't have been so easy for Red and me."

"Well, he didn't," smiled the girl, "so there's no harm done. Besides, he's worth more to us alive than dead."

This remark, audible to all three of the captives, set them to wondering to what purpose the outlaw intended to put them, and it did not improve the tempers of the veterans to think that members of the Mounted Scouts should be made to serve Red Rogers' ends.

The task of binding Jennings was finally accomplished, and, exhausted by their efforts, the bandits squatted near the edge of the plateau to rest.

Pedro's method of binding the prisoners had been thorough. Tying the hands of each behind his back, he had taken two turns of the lariat about the upper arms, made a knot and then run the rawhide down the prisoner's back to the ankles, which he bound with a half dozen turns.

In this manner, the captives were rendered powerless to get to their feet or to work their arms.

One way of motion was left to them, however—they could roll.

In silence, the outlaws gazed out upon the panorama of rocks and trees below them.

"Wonder how long it will take for news of your escape to reach the Fort," mused Pedro, at last, looking at his chief.

"They probably knew it six hours after we got away," returned Red. "It ain't like the old days before there were telegraphs. Then, a man could break jail, get to cover and maybe pull off a raid before the news could be received. Now you can't more'n get out before the alarm has been sent to every Fort, sheriff and marshal.

"That's why I told Rosie to have you cut all the wires out of Keno before you came to the jail. Then I took the precaution to put the jailer's son out of commission before I left. He was the only telegraph operator in town."

This bit of information as to the manner of the outlaw's escape was eagerly listened to by the prisoners, and from it they learned that at least one life, that of the operator, had been sacrificed by Red in obtaining his freedom. They realized, also, that his cunning in having the wires all cut before the escape was attempted would delay the alarm being sent to the Fort and they were wondering as to the other details of the jail delivery when their attention was once more attracted to their captors.

"That was two nights ago," exclaimed Rosie. "By this time, that old turkey gobbler of a colonel at Griswold has probably ordered out a regiment on our trail."

This suggestive nickname for their superior caused the scouts to smile, but intently they waited upon Red's reply.

"Sure thing. I'll stake the gold in my belt against an empty cartridge shell there are more than two hundred troopers within ten miles of us this very minute," the notorious bandit declared.

"Then let's get away from here quick," returned the girl, getting to her feet in evident alarm at the thought of so many pursuers in such proximity.

"Don't worry, Rosie," comforted Red. "We're practically safe because they don't know where to look for us. That's why I shot our ponies last night and shoved the carcasses into Ten Mile creek. They won't find 'em and, learning from Keno we had horses, they'll never think of looking for a foot trail. Still, we'll be going as soon as you've cooked some grub. It won't be safe to have a fire after to-day till we get to the old Stockade."

"Then I'll get busy right away," asserted the girl. "Somehow, I don't feel safe here, and if our going depends on me, it won't be long before we start."

Even as she spoke, Rosie walked toward the entrance of the cave and soon disappeared within the gaping maw of the crevice.

At the mention of the outlaw's destination, the scouts had been amazed. Often had they heard of the Old Stockade, but, as none of the Mounted Scouts at the Post had ever seen it—or knew it's location—it had come to be regarded by the Service as a myth.

But Red's announcement was evidence of its existence, and excitedly Jennings and Shaw strove to recall the stories they had heard about it.

So far as either could remember, it was supposed to be a fort built in the mountain fastnesses of the "Bad Lands" as a refuge against attacks from Indians by a score of men who had discovered a gold mine.

That Red knew its whereabouts surprised them, and bitterly they cursed their inability to compare notes as to the place, due to the distance their captors had left them apart.

To Jennings, in particular, the thought of being carried into captivity by the desperado was torture. In his heart, he believed he could have overpowered the fellow if he had been attacked anywhere than from behind. And the more his mind dwelled on this, the more furious he became.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to him, and, raising his head, he surveyed his captors.

Red Rogers, he saw, was sitting about a yard from the edge of the plateau, while his companion was some ten feet to his left, both intently searching the land below for a glimpse of any pursuers.

"Red Rogers may think he's rendered us powerless, but I'll show him the only time a Mounted Scout is powerless is when he's dead!" muttered Jennings to himself.

And, as he spoke, he put his plan in operation.

With infinite stealth, he rolled to his side, then turned completely over, and, when he looked at his captors again, he was a foot nearer the notorious outlaw.

Slowly, cautiously, he rolled nearer and nearer.

How desperate his scheme of hurling Red Rogers to his doom was can be realized from the fact that, were it successful, the bandit would probably clutch and drag the scout over the edge of the plateau with him, or, if the rattle of a stone or a glance backward betrayed his purpose, a bullet would doubtless be the penalty for his daring.

But the danger did not daunt Jennings.

"It's for the good of the Service," he bravely told himself.

At last, scarce a yard separated him from his victim.

Determined to risk all on a final roll, the scout summoned his strength and turned over and over with increasing rapidity.

Fearful lest the thumping of his heart would warn the outlaw, Jennings saw that another roll would bring success or failure to his attempt on Red's life.

But, before he could take it, he was foiled.

"Look out! The scout's on you! Oh, Red!" rang out the voice of the girl.

CHAPTER V.

THE DASH FOR LIFE.

Cursing frightfully, Red and Pedro leaped to their feet, whipping out their six shooters, as they faced about.

At a glance, the notorious outlaw took in the situation and as he realized the narrow margin of his escape, he glowered at the heroic scout, his face hideous from fury and hatred.

But Red never allowed his emotions to dull his brain.

Scarce a second had elapsed since Rosie's cry had warned the outlaw of his danger, and, realizing that the scout's impetus was so great he would be unable to stop himself from rolling over the edge of the plateau, he stepped over the body and started toward the cave.

Their attention attracted to their comrade by the girl's warning, Shaw and Scotty managed to turn so they could see what was transpiring. And as they beheld the bandit fiend step over their companion's body, their eyes became transfixed with horror.

So atrociously wanton was Red's act that the girl could not stand it.

"Seize him! Grab him!" she pleaded. "If you want to kill him, put a bullet into him—not that way."

But the outlaw's fury knew no bounds.

"Get into the cave—if you don't like it," he hissed.

With a shudder, Rose clapped her hands to her face while the scouts, unable to bear the sight of their comrade going to so awful a death, turned their heads away.

But Providence did not desert the brave Jennings—though his plan to send the terrible outlaw to his well deserved fate had been foiled.

For seconds that seemed eternal, the others awaited the crackling of the brush along the edge and the thump that should announce the fall of the prisoner.

At last, unable longer to bear the strain of suspense, Rosie peered between her fingers.

"He's saved! He's saved!" she shouted, exultantly. "Pedro, get him and bring him to the cave."

At the cry, the outlaws and scouts alike had faced about.

In a declivity, whose existence had been hidden by grass, lay Jennings, midway between where Red Rogers had been sitting and the edge of the plateau!

As he realized the miracle of the scout's escape, the outlaw blanched.

"Get me some whiskey, Rosie," he stammered.

But the girl did not move.

"Tell me first what you're going to do," she retorted.

"What? You dare disobey me?" thundered the desperado, glad to have some one upon whom to vent his rage and disappointment. "I'll show you——"

Yet, as he wheeled, his threat died upon his lips.

With steady hand and determined face, the girl was standing in front of the cave, her six shooters levelled at the outlaw's head.

"Now, don't get excited, Red," she exclaimed, quietly. "I'm running this show for a few minutes. That scout's escape is a warning. His life wasn't saved for nothing. If you do anything to him now, bad luck will follow you.

"Pedro, fetch him to the cave!"

The calmness and presence of mind of the girl, as she faced the desperate outlaw, won the admiration of the scouts, while her reference to the supernatural struck the one vulnerable spot in Red's make-up.

And, as the fiend who laughed at physical danger, struggled to overcome his superstition, the others watched him breathlessly.

Upon the phlegmatic Pedro alone did the dramatic scene fail to have effect.

Glancing from girl to outlaw, he shifted uneasily.

"Shall I fetch him?" he finally demanded of his chief.

Breathlessly the others awaited Red's reply.

But, ere he could speak, there rang out a sharp "ping"—and a bullet flattened itself against the cliff above Rosie's head.

"Where's that from?" roared the desperado, wheeling.

One glance from the edge of the plateau answered him.

Seeming no bigger than ants, a file of men wound in and out among the rocks far below.

"It's the troopers! Quick, saddle up!" commanded the bandit. "They're shooting at such an angle they can't hit us here. But this is no place to stand a siege.

"It'll be hot work reaching the Old Stockade, now!"

In the face of this unexpected danger, the stress of the past few moments was forgotten.

Quickly Rose dashed into the cave, returning with a canvas bag and some blankets, while Red and Pedro hurriedly caught the stolen army horses, thrust bridles, rudely improvised the night before from pieces of rawhide, into their mouths, and then, with other pieces of thong, laced the blankets brought out by the girl upon their backs.

"How about the scouts? Shall we leave 'em?" inquired Pedro.

"Not much!" returned the outlaw, once more the calculating bandit whose resourcefulness was his greatest strength. "The troopers will be sure to come here, and if they find our prisoners, there'll be just three more against us."

"But we can put them out of the way," suggested the girl, her former compassion vanished.

"Sure, whenever we want. Just now, we need 'em. We'll each put one behind us. They'll serve as a bullet shield."

By this time the patter of the bullets against the wall of rock had become a veritable hailstorm and the wisdom of the bandit's plan was evident for, once on the trail, there was no telling when some trooper might get the exact range.

The work of placing their prisoners upon the ponies and binding their legs tight beneath the animals' bellies was the work of only a few minutes.

In order to get the greatest service from the horses, Red had placed the two lightest of the band, Rose and Scotty, upon the smallest horse, assigning Pedro and Shaw to the next smallest, and reserving the most powerful, which was none other than Jennings' own Bonehead, for himself and his human shield.

"We'll ride from the plateau one at a time," instructed the outlaw, when all was ready. "The troopers don't know how strong we are, and when they see one after another dash out, we'll gain time, because they'll wait to find if there are more.

"Ride close to the cliff and at a run. Turn to the right at the end of the plateau and go down the mountain. Rosie, you go first. I'll follow. Bend low. Now!"

Rapidly the desperado had uttered his instructions, and as he gave the word, the girl leaped her horse forward and, at what seemed foolhardy speed to the scout at her back, gained the edge of the shelf of rock, then dashed down the trail, which quickly carried them into the protection of the woods.

Taken by surprise, the troopers had sent not one bullet at the girl. But, when Red Rogers and Jennings appeared in the open, as they raced for the shelter of the trees, shells whistled and spat as they sped over their heads or flattened themselves against the rocks below.

"Swing your man round to your side, Pedro. They'll have the range on you," shouted his chief, drawing rein to wait for his pal.

Unfortunate for Shaw proved the warning.

Quickly obeying his master, Pedro jerked the scout to his side, then clapped spurs to his mount.

As the horse gained the trail, there was a volley of shells, one of which caught Shaw in the shoulder and another ploughed through his breeches, just escaping his thigh.