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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.
RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software
"HOLD up, Texas!" exclaimed Alan Ridsdale, as his pony stumbled over a loose stone. "This is no place to go tumbling about. I shouldn't care to take a header over there." He shivered slightly as he glanced over the side of the pass into blue depths of infinite distance, and noted the silver streak at the bottom of the canyon, which he knew was in reality a river as wide as the Thames at Henley.
A little farther, and the mountain stillness was broken by the sharp rattle of iron-shod hoofs on rock, and next moment there shot into sight round a curve far up the pass a pony galloping as hard as it could lay legs to the ground, and on its back a woman!
"A runaway! She'll be killed," he gasped, and, pulling up sharply, sprang from his pony's back. "Whoa, boy!" he said, and leaving him standing ran forward.
What to do he had not the faintest idea. His one thought was to stop the runaway at any price.
The loose stones flew under the hoofs of the flying beast. It seemed a miracle that it could keep its feet on the narrow, rock-strewn shelf which ran along the face of the mighty cliff. As the terrified creature came nearer, Alan could see that the rider was a mere girl. She sat well back in her saddle, and pulled with all her might. But plainly the pony had the bit in its teeth, and all her efforts were useless.
It flashed across Alan that he could never hope to stop the pony. Its mere weight would send him spinning either against the rock wall to the right, or over the thousand-foot precipice to the left.
He was not fated to try. Within a hundred yards the end came. The pony fell, shot sideways, and with the suddenness of a cinematograph picture the pass was empty. Horse and rider were gone.
It was no hope of being able to do any good that made Alan still run forward, but as be neared the spot a faint cry reached his ears! Glancing over, there was the girl caught in the slender spire of a small pine, which grew out of a cranny some thirty feet below the pass.
There she clung, swinging over immeasurable depths, and Alan's blood chilled at the horror of her predicament.
Yet his voice was steady as he called, "Can you hold on while I fetch a rope?"
"Yes," came the answer, simple and brave. "But, oh, don't be long!"
Alan ran as he had seldom run. In less than a minute he was back with the lariat from his saddle bow. It was the work of a moment to make a noose and cast the raw stout hide to the girl. The cool courage with which she adjusted the rope around her waist was admirable.
She was a tall, well-grown girl, and the perspiration streamed down the Englishman's cheeks, as, after a couple of minutes desperate exertion, he at last hauled her safely over the rocky rim of the pass.
"You're a man," were the first words she greeted him with. Then she sat down suddenly, and only a nip from Alan's whisky flask saved her from collapse.
"You're a good plucked 'un," said Alan, as he glanced admiringly at the pretty, suntanned features and masses of dark, curly hair. "How did it happen?"
"A chipmunk ran across, and scared Dandy. Poor Dandy, I guess I got off better than he."
"You did, indeed," said Ridsdale. with a shiver.
"Thanks to you," she said smartly. Say, you're British, aren't you?"
"Yes, I'm English," smiled Alan. "My name is Alan Ridsdale."
"And mine's Maggie Lester. There, I guess we're introduced."
"Then, may I ask, what you are doing riding all alone up here in the hills?"
"I live up there," she said shortly.
"Up there?" Alan's tones expressed his amazement.
"Yes. My folk are cutting timber." Her tone was unpromising. Alan asked no more questions.
"You've come up here killing things, I reckon?" she said, glancing at the heavy rifle in the holster on Alan's saddle.
"Yes. After bear," said Alan. "I met a chap down at Blue Gulch city who told me there were grizzlies up in these hills."
"What was he like—the fellow that told you?" asked the girl sharply.
"Dark, good-looking youngster of about twenty-five. Black hair and eyes," replied Alan much surprised.
The girl gave a little sniff. "I reckon he was a liar. There ain't no bear up here."
"You're very sure," retorted Alan.
"I ought to know," she replied sharply. "I've lived here years. Best thing you can do is to go back to Blue Gulch."
"I mean to get a bear first," said Alan.
"I reckon you're pig-headed, like all English. I'm telling you, you'd best go back."
"I've got my camp up here," said Alan, "in the woods by the top of the pass."
"Then pack up and get back, that's my advise, and it's good."
"But I like the air and the hills, and there are quail, even if I can't get bear."
"I'm telling you to go," said the girl insistently. "You take my advice, or you'll be sorry."
"I don't like to disoblige a lady," said Alan politely. "But unless you can give me some reason for going back, I really think I must refuse to return just at present."
"Stay, then!" cried the girl angrily. "Only don't say I didn't warn you" She was on her feet in a moment, and off back up the pass almost at a run. Nor did she once look back.
"Now, I wonder what she meant," said Alan, gazing after her in vague puzzlement. "She certainly seemed in earnest, and, by Jove! she's pretty enough for anything."
THE night was perfect, the air delicately cool and crisp, while the light breeze murmuring in the pine tops was a lullaby in itself. Yet Alan, snug in his blanket bed, could not sleep. Every time that he shut his eyes he could see the bright face of Maggie Lester framed in its masses of curly hair.
With a great effort of will he put the girl out of his thoughts, and at last dropped off. But it seemed to him no more than a minute before a rustling sound brought him broad awake.
In an instant Alan's right fist closed on his pistol, and swinging round he flashed the small electric lamp which at night always lay beside him. The bright, white light fell full on the face of Maggie Lester.
"Get up!" she said sharply. "Quickly, or it will be too late." Her voice shook, her eyes were full of terror.
"W-what?" began Alan, in amazement too deep for words.
"Don't waste a moment," she cried, evidently deeply in earnest. You have money with you. Where is it? Have you anything else you must save and carry with you?"
"You talk as if the Apaches had broken out!"
"There's them worse than Indians," she answered shortly.
Without another word Alan began pulling on his boots.
Before he had finished his hurried preparations, Maggie's voice came again: "There're coming; I hear them!"
"I've got two good rifles besides my pistols. Can't we stand them off?"
"No. There are four. All armed. Quick! Let's run!"
The ring of horses' hoofs came to Alan's ears.
"Too late to run," he said coolly. "Lie low. I'll be with you in a moment."
As he spoke he thrust his haversack and a gun case inside his blanket bag, and slipping the electric lamp under the upper blanket, he switched it on. The result was a dull glow which threw into faint relied what seemed to be the figure of a man wrapped in the sleeping bag and peacefully slumbering.
Seizing both his rifles. Alan crept on hands and knees out of the tent.
"Oh, what have you done?" whispered the girl. "They'll see the light."
"I want 'em to. Don't be frightened. Thanks to you, we're a match for them."
Together they slipped silently back in among thick bushes some twenty-five yards from the tent.
The sharp clatter of hoofs had ceased. The invaders were walking their horses. Only the occasional snapping of a dry stick betrayed their approach. Another moment and four shadowy forms moved slowly out of the timber on the far side of the glade. Then all four dismounted, tied their horses to trees, and came slowly and cautiously across the turf.
Now Alan could see that they all had rifles. His own forefinger itched on the trigger. Yet some scruple prevented him from letting fly until he was quite certain of their intentions. He saw the leader come close to the canvas and peer through. The man motioned to his companions, and they spread out all round the tent. Another signal, and a volley crashed into the tent. Alan felt the girl at his side shiver. He touched her hand reassuringly.
"Shoot!" she whispered.
"Not yet," said Alan. "I can do better than kill 'em."
"Thar, I reckon that's finished the cuss," came the rough voice of the leader of the four bandits. As he spoke he dashed forward. The others followed. In a moment they had all four crowded into the tent.
Instantly Alan bounded out of his hiding place, pulling his knife as he ran. Slash, slash! The guy ropes snapped like fiddle strings, and down came the tent flapping on the heads of the robbers.
Smothered yells rang out, the canvas rolled and heaved like waves in a storm. Next moment one of the gang came scrambling out on hands and knees.
Up went Alan's rifle, the butt crashed on the fellow's head, and flattened him out.
"Lie still," roared Alan. "Lie still, or I'll hammer the life out of you." He dropped the stock heavily on a figure that still plunged beneath the canvas, and with a howl of pain the fellow collapsed.
"Look out!" The scream of warning came from the girl. Alan whirled round just in time. The leader of the gang had crept out unseen at the back of the tent, and sprung upon him with a knife.
"Ah, would you!" shouted Alan, with a swinging blow. But the man was active as himself. He sprang back and the stock missed his head by an inch. The force of the blow overbalanced Alan. The rifle flew from his hands. With a yell of triumph the man sprang in again.
One great sinewy hand fell on Alan's shoulder, the blade of the bowie gleamed blue in the starlight. Before it could fall the sharp crack of a pistol rang through the glade, and with a scream the big brute spun round and crashed to the turf.
"Pretty shot!" cried Alan, and springing over the prostrate man, he snatched up his rifle again.
"Out from under that tent," he ordered curtly. "One at a time. Miss Lester, come here, will you?"
The girl glided out, and stood by his side.
"Keep the gun at their heads, please, while I tie them."
Another minute and the remaining members of the gang lay helpless on the turf.
"Got the whole bunch," exclaimed Alan exultantly, turning to the girl. She lay all in a heap on the grass, her shoulders heaving convulsively.
"My dear, my dear," he cried, and in a moment his arm was round her. "Why should you cry? You've done splendidly. You've saved my life."
"Saved yours. And what have I done with my own! That boy who sent you up here from Blue Gulch was my cousin. And he—pointing to the man whom Alan had first stunned—is my father!"
"Your father!"
"Yes," she muttered, in a voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to tell you."
"I'm glad and thankful you did," said he. "Now I know what to do."
She looked up quickly, her beautiful eyes ashine with tears. "What?" she asked.
"I shall carry you away at once. Will you marry me?"
She pushed him off. "You, an honest gentleman, marry me, the daughter of a thief?" she cried. "Never!"
But Alan's strong arms were round her again. "I don't care whose daughter you are. You're the woman I love." He stooped and kissed her lips.
Half an hour later the two were riding down the pass towards Blue Gulch city, and before they were another day older Mr. and Mrs. Ridsdale had left for England.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.