Boys of The Fort: or, A Young Captain's Pluck

"Get off of my chest!" gasped Joe, who was underneath.

"I can't – I'm pinned down!" panted Darry.

"Boys, are you safe?" came from old Benson, who was also caught.

"I – I guess so!" answered Joe. "But it's a tight squeeze." Then the youth called out to his brother, but no answer came back.

"Will must be hurt!" he exclaimed, his heart rising in his throat. "Will! Will! Where are you?" he continued.

Still there was no answer, or if so the fury of the wind drowned it out completely. The boys tried their best to move, but could only budge a few inches.

In five minutes the fury of the blow spent itself and the last of the wind sent the fallen tree rolling along the cliff a distance of several rods. This released Joe and Darry, and they arose to their feet dazed and bewildered and scarcely knowing what to do next. It was now raining and darker than ever.

"Benson!" called out Joe, "where is my brother?"

"The captain must still be under the tree," replied the old scout. "He was next to you when the tree came down, wasn't he?"

"He was, but I believe the wind carried his hat off, and he made a dive for it. That's the last I saw of him."

Staggering to his feet, Joe looked around, trying to pierce the darkness. Darry followed him, and old Benson also got up. The scout had received a nasty cut on the shoulder, from which the blood was flowing.

In a few minutes Joe found his brother. The captain lay on the rocks unconscious, a big lump on his forehead, where the largest of the tree's branches had struck him. Kneeling at his brother's side, the boy made a hasty examination.

"He's alive!" he said. "But he must have been struck a terrible crack."

There was little to do excepting to bathe the unconscious officer's head, and this was done. In the meantime Darry assisted old Benson at binding up the wounded shoulder.

"Take the tree off!" Such were the first words Captain Moore uttered when he returned to consciousness. It was some time before he could sit up.

"You are all right, Will – the tree is not on you," said Joe soothingly.

"But it came down right on top of me."

"Yes, it came down on all of us."

"Anybody killed?"

"No. Benson has a cut on the shoulder, and you were knocked out. Feel the lump on your head."

The young captain did so.

"Phew! But that's a regular goose-egg, isn't it?" he muttered. "I suppose I can be thankful that I am alive."

"We can all be thankful for that, Will."

"It was the greatest blow I ever experienced – in more ways than one," said the captain. "I see it is raining. We had better go back to the cliff for protection."

"Don't do it!" cried old Benson, from out of the darkness. "The tree struck the cliff a heavy blow, and we don't want that down on our heads next."

"No, let us give the cliff a wide berth," said Darry. "I'd rather remain right out in the open and get soaked than take any more risks."

"The rain won't amount to much," said Benson. "It never does after such a hurricane."

The scout was right, and in less than half an hour after it had begun the downpour was over and the stars were struggling forth in the sky. Without delay a camp-fire was lit, and the blaze did much toward making them comfortable. It was found that Benson's wound was by far the worst, yet the old scout said it would not interfere with his outing.

"I've had lots of 'em in my time," was the way he expressed himself. "Lots, and I aint dead yet. 'Pears to me I'm about as tough as a pine-knot."

It was found that the horses had not suffered in the least from the storm, although they had been much frightened. Soon they calmed down, and by midnight all was as quiet as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. But Captain Moore and old Benson carried the marks of the adventure for many days after.

On the following morning no one felt much in the humor for hunting, and half a day was lost in "bumming around," as Joe expressed it. This gave all a good rest and put the horses in fine fettle, and when they started out after the midday meal all were once again in high spirits.

That night found them on the edge of what old Benson called the buffalo ground, a broad valley where the grass was thick and of a peculiar richness. On the way they had shot a number of birds and also a few small animals, but nothing of importance. Once some deer had been sighted, but the game was too far off to be pursued.

As they expected to remain at this point until ready to return home, the old scout proceeded to put up a shelter of brush, which, when completed, was almost as comfortable as a cabin. On the bottom were strewn pine boughs, which gave the shelter a peculiar odor.

"Best thing in the world for colds and weak lungs, that smell," said Benson. "I've never known it to fail." The boys declared that the odor made them sleep "like logs."

"It's queer we haven't seen any Indians," remarked Darry. "I thought these mountains were full of them."

"They were full, before the fort was established," answered Benson. "But the kind that are in this neighborhood don't like white men very much, and they only come around the fort when it's necessary. But we may meet some after buffalo. An Injun will do a heap to get a critter like that."

The old scout said it would be useless to go out in a body to look for buffalo, and so it was arranged that he should first go over the ground alone, leaving the captain and the two boys to look for smaller game.

This settled, Benson soon set off, and a little later Captain Moore, Joe, and Darry took their way along some bushes skirting a small water-course. They went on foot, leaving their horses tethered near the shelter.

"I will go up one side of the stream, and you can go up the other," said the captain. "By doing that we'll be sure to stir up anything within a hundred yards of the water."

The boys agreed, and soon each member of the party was hard at work, on the hunt for any small game the vicinity might afford.

It was not long before they gained a spot where the underbrush along the brook was thick. Here the stream divided into two branches, and, without knowing it, the captain and the boys became gradually more and more separated, the brush and small trees hiding each from the other.

"I don't see much," said Joe, after half a mile had been covered. "Those little birds aren't worth wasting powder and shot on."

"It looks to me as if somebody had gone over this ground," returned Darry. "See here, aren't those fresh footprints?"

"I believe they are. And see, here are the prints of several horses' hoofs. Benson didn't come this way, did he?"

"I don't think he did."

"Then there must be other hunters not far off."

They continued on their way, coming to a halt where the branch of the brook entered a small, rocky canyon.

"No use of going further," said Joe. "Let us retrace our steps."

"Where can your brother be? I haven't heard him for some time."

Joe set up a yell, and both listened attentively. No answer came back. Then both called in concert. Still the silence continued.

"It's mighty queer," was Joe's comment "Let us go back. Perhaps he's in trouble."

CHAPTER XVI

CAPTAIN MOORE'S ADVENTURE

In the meanwhile, never dreaming of the danger at hand, Captain Moore pursued his way up the other branch of the water-course. Here the underbrush was even more dense than where the boys were, and consequently he did not think it strange that he heard nothing of his brother and his cousin.

The fact that he stirred up no game nettled him, and he pushed on, determined to bring down something before he went back.

Suddenly he espied something moving in the patch of wood ahead of him. Rifle in hand, he moved cautiously in the direction.

As he did this, a man glided out from the bushes to his right and followed him as silently as a shadow.

The man was Gus Fetter. The desperado was fully armed, and his face was black with hatred of the young army officer.

As the wood was gained, Captain Moore paused to locate the object he had seen.

But before he could do this, he was caught from behind and his rifle was wrenched from his grasp.

"Fetter!" he ejaculated, as he caught sight of the desperado.

"Up with your hands, Captain Moore!" growled the rascal savagely. "Up, I say! I've got the drop on you!"

Fetter had thrown the captain's rifle to the ground, and now stood upon it. In his hands he held his own weapon, and the muzzle was aimed at the young officer's head.

Realizing that discretion was the better part of valor, Captain Moore threw up his hands promptly, at which the desperado grinned wickedly.

"Where did you come from, Fetter?" demanded the captain.

"From not far away, captain."

"What do you mean by treating a United States army officer in this fashion?"

"I've got a score to settle with you, captain. Don't forget that."

"Are the rest of the gang around?"

"They are."

Following his last words, Gus Fetter gave a long, clear whistle, followed by two shorter ones. At once an answer came back from the woods, and in a few seconds Matt Gilroy appeared.

"Hullo, so you've got him," sang out the leader of the desperadoes. "A good haul. How are you, Captain Moore? Delighted to see me, I suppose."

"Not at all glad to meet you – considering the circumstances," answered the young officer, trying to keep cool, although he realized that he was in a dangerous situation.

"Well, you're honest about it, anyway," said Gilroy with a brutal laugh.

"Have you been following our party?"

"You had better not ask too many questions, captain."

By this time Potts and two other men were coming up. One of the latter carried his left arm in a sling. Captain Moore's recognized him as a fellow who had been wounded in the raid on the quartermaster's party.

The desperadoes consulted among themselves for a few minutes, and then Captain Moore was ordered to march on.

"To where?" he asked.

"You'll see when you get there," answered Fetter. "Now move, or, by the boots, I shoot you down where you stand!"

Seeing it would be worse than useless to resist, the young officer did as ordered, and the whole party moved away from the water-course and took to a trail leading back to the side of the mountain.

Presently they came upon a number of horses, and here they mounted. There were two steeds without riders, and Captain Moore was ordered to the back of one of these. All rode off in a bunch, the prisoner being kept in the center of the party. He had been searched and his pistol taken from him, also his pocket-knife, field-glass, and his money and jewelry.

In less than quarter of an hour a split in the mountain side was gained. To the rear was something of a cave, the entrance overgrown with brush and vines. At the mouth of the cave the party came to a halt, and were met by several other desperadoes.

"Now you can get down," said Gilroy. "Fetter, I guess we had better bind his hands behind him."

"You are going to bind me?" queried Captain Moore.

"And why not? You are such a nice chap, captain, we don't want to part with you just yet."

"Why are you going to keep me a prisoner?"

"Well, don't forget that we hold you responsible for that little mix-up when we were after the quartermaster's money-bags."

"I only did my duty, Gilroy."

"Perhaps; but if it hadn't been for you and your men our gang would have been about twenty thousand dollars richer than we are to-day."

"And I wouldn't have this lame arm," growled the fellow who had been wounded.

"As I said before, I only did my duty," repeated the captain calmly. "Even if I hadn't arrived, don't you suppose the quartermaster would have done all he could to defend himself?"

"Certainly; but his party numbered only three. However, we won't talk now. We have other things to do. Get into that cave. And don't try to escape, or it will be the worse for you."

With a downcast heart the young officer entered the cave, which was an old rendezvous of the desperadoes. Inside were a rude table and a couple of benches, and he threw himself down on one of the latter. One of the gang, Potts, put himself on guard outside, rifle in hand. The others separated into two parties, and went off again.

"Can they be going after Joe and Darry, or after Benson?" was the question the captain asked himself.

He waited until the hoofbeats outside had entirely ceased, then called to Potts.

"Where are they going?" he asked.

"That's Captain Gilroy's business," was the answer.

"Oh, so you call Gilroy captain now?"

"We do."

"How many men is he captain of?"

"About thirty, if you're anxious to know."

"Thirty! There are not that number of desperadoes within three hundred miles of this place."

"All right, if you know better than I do."

"Has the captain gone off for the rest of my party?"

"Perhaps he has."

"It won't do him any good to make them prisoners."

"I reckon he knows his own business best, Captain Moore."

"And what will you get out of this affair, Potts?"

"Me? I'll get my share when we make another haul."

"Do you expect to make another haul soon?"

"As I said afore, better ask the captain. We're organized into a regular company now, and all the privates like me have to do is to obey orders. You know how it is in the regular army."

"A company of desperadoes," mused Captain Moore. "That's something we haven't had out here in years."

Potts would talk no more after this, but sat down on a rock to smoke his pipe and continue his guard duty.

The young captain had had his hands bound tightly behind him, and, try his best, he found himself unable to either break or slip his bonds.

He was anxious concerning himself, but he was even more upset concerning his brother and his cousin.

"If they kick up a fuss, more than likely Gilroy and the others will shoot them down!" he groaned. "It's too bad! I thought we would have a splendid time hunting, and here we are, falling into all sorts of difficulties."

As impatient as he was, he could do nothing but stalk around the cave. The place was five yards wide by over a hundred feet long. To the rear was a rude fireplace, the smoke drifting through some wide cracks overhead. A small fire was burning, and he kicked a fresh log on the blaze, which soon gave him more light. Then he sat down again.

As he rested, his eyes roamed around the rocky apartment, and presently fell upon a sheet of paper lying under the table. Curious to know what it might contain, he bent down backwards, and by an effort secured the paper and placed it upon the table. Then, by the flickering flames, he tried to make out the writing it contained.

The letter – for such the sheet proved to be – was a communication which had been sent to Matt Gilroy by a writer who signed himself Mose. It ran as follows:

"The plan will work perfectly, and all we must do is to wait until the money is at the fort. I am sure the soldiers will leave as requested, and the defense will amount to little or nothing. Will see to it that Colonel Fairfield is drugged, and will treat Captain Moore and the other officers the same way, if I can get the chance."

CHAPTER XVII

THREE PRISONERS

It did not take Joe and Darry long to retrace their steps at the water-course. They continued to call to the young captain, and once Joe shot off his rifle as a signal, but, as we know, no answer came back.

"I can't understand this at all," said Joe, when they halted near the shelter. "I didn't hear him do any firing, did you?"

"Not a shot," answered Darry. "He must have gone away from the brook instead of along the bank."

The two boys hung around the shelter for some time, and then decided to follow up the trail left by the young officer.

This was easy for part of the distance, but soon the footprints became so indistinct that they came to another halt.

"Stumped!" muttered Joe. "We might as well go back to the shelter and wait till he returns. One thing is certain, he hasn't found any game, or we would have heard the firing."

Tired by their long tramp the boys sat down in the shelter, thinking that Captain Moore would return at any moment.

Thus an hour was passed. It was now noon, and Joe and Darry set to work to prepare dinner for themselves.

The repast was just finished when Joe let out a cry of alarm.

"Matt Gilroy!"

He was right. The captain of the desperadoes had appeared, followed by several others.

The boys were taken completely off their guard. Darry made a clutch for his rifle, but on the instant Gilroy had him covered.

"Leave the gun alone!" cried the rascal. "Leave it alone, or it will be the worse for you."

"What do you want?" questioned Joe.

"We want you to behave yourselves," answered Fetter, who was in the crowd.

"You played us a nice trick that time you escaped from the cave," growled Gilroy, eying Joe darkly.

"Do you blame me for wanting to get away?"

"Hardly. But I'll warrant you won't get away again."

"Then you consider me your prisoner?"

"I do."

"Oh, Joe, do you think they met Will – " began Darry, and then stopped short.

"Yes, your brother is waiting to meet you," said Fetter, addressing Joe.

"Then he is also a prisoner?"

"Yes."

Joe's heart sank within him.

"If old Benson was only here!" he muttered.

Still guarding the boys, the desperadoes took their guns and also a pistol the young captain had loaned his brother.

"Now get on your horses," commanded Gilroy. "And mind, if you try to play us foul both of you will get shot."

"Are you going to take us to Captain Moore?" asked Darry.

"Perhaps."

The desperadoes would answer no more questions, and in a few minutes the whole party was off for the cave. Both Darry and Joe wished to leave behind some sort of message which Benson might pick up, but they were watched so closely they could do nothing.

When the cave was gained the boys were told to go inside and keep quiet.

"Joe! and you too, Darry!" cried Captain Moore. "I was afraid of this."

"No wonder we couldn't find you!" said Joe, and told of the hunt he and his cousin had made.

"These rascals are up to some deep game," whispered the young captain. "I just picked up a message which Gilroy must have dropped," and he told what the sheet contained.

"If I were you I'd burn the paper," said Darry. "Then he won't know you have seen it."

"No, I would like to keep the sheet – to show to Colonel Fairfield if I can manage to get away."

"Who wrote the message?"

"I have no idea. There used to be a half-breed around here whom the soldiers called Mose, but I thought he was dead. He was thick with the Modoc Indians."

"Then if he was the writer that would show that the Indians are going to help the desperadoes, wouldn't it?" asked Joe.

Before his brother could answer, Matt Gilroy stalked into the cave.

"I told you not to talk," he growled, as he cast his eye on the table and then around the rocky floor. "You can't get away, so it won't do you any good to plot against me and my men."

He was evidently looking for the sheet of paper, for presently he lit a torch and went over the whole cave carefully.

"See anything of a bit of paper around here?" he asked presently.

"What kind of a paper?" questioned Darry.

"Something with writing on it."

"I haven't seen anything."

"What was the writing about, Gilroy?" asked Captain Moore.

"That's my business. Then you haven't seen the paper? All right," and the desperado stalked from the cave again.

"That was a close shave," whispered the young captain. "And it proves that the paper is valuable and that he is worried about it."

Slowly the balance of the day wore along, and at nightfall one of the men brought them a scanty supply of food.

They ate sparingly, fearing the food might be drugged, but no evil effects followed the meal.

At the mouth of the cave sat two of the desperadoes on guard, each with his rifle across his knees.

"A dash into the darkness might save us," suggested Darry, but the captain shook his head.

"No, those fellows are too good shots," he said. "We will have to remain as we are until something turns up in our favor."

Our friends wondered if the desperadoes would remain about the cave all night. The other party which had gone off when Gilroy went for Joe and Darry had not yet returned, and the leader of the gang seemed to grow anxious concerning them.

"Something has happened to them," he said to Fetter. "Perhaps we had better send somebody off on the trail to find out what's up."

So it was agreed, and Fetter was the man chosen for the mission.

As may have been surmised by some of my readers, the other party had gone off to watch for old Benson and make him a prisoner. The crowd numbered three, and were desperadoes well acquainted with that territory.

The old scout had spent several hours in a vain endeavor to locate some buffalo, when, on resting in the crotch of a tree, he saw the desperadoes approaching.

The rascals were tired out with their search for the scout, and came to a halt directly under the tree.

"It's a fool errand," old Benson heard one of the men say. "Matt Gilroy ought to have been satisfied with corraling Captain Moore and those boys."

"The captain wants to make a grand round-up," answered another of the men. "He told me that if we missed Benson the scout might make trouble."

Benson listened to this conversation with intense interest, and soon learned the truth – that Captain Moore was already a prisoner, and that another party had gone off to bring in Joe and Darry.

"This is a nice state of affairs," he thought. "These rascals mean mischief. I wish I could get the drop on them. I'd soon teach them a thing or two."

He watched the men as a cat watches mice, and, when the party of three moved on, stole after them like an Indian on the warpath.

The desperadoes skirted the brushwood, but did not go out on the grassy slope of the valley, fearing that the old scout might be near by in hiding and see them.

They were a shiftless lot, and soon came to another halt, under some small trees. Here they threw themselves on the ground, and while two of them smoked their pipes the third indulged in a nap.

Not a great distance off was a spring of pure cold water, and presently one of the men got up and walked over to this to get a drink.

"My chance for number one!" muttered old Benson, and crawled after the desperado. As the man turned the corner of a number of rocks, he came up behind, clapped his hands over the fellow's mouth, and bore him to the earth.

CHAPTER XVIII

BENSON PUTS SOME MEN IN A HOLE

The man whom old Benson had attacked was taken completely by surprise, and he went to the ground easily. But, once down, he struggled fiercely to release himself, and at the same time did his best to cry out for assistance.

"Silence!" commanded the scout in a whisper. "If you yell, it will go hard with you."

The desperado now saw who had attacked him, and his face changed color. But he continued to struggle, and was on the point of breaking away when the old scout hit him a heavy blow on the ear, which bowled him over and rendered him partly unconscious.

"Hi! did you call?" came from the other man who had been smoking.

Old Benson looked at the man before him, and saw that the fellow would be unable to do anything for several minutes to come.

"Yes," he answered, in a rough voice. "Here's something funny to look at. Come quick."

At once the second man leaped up, and without stopping to pick up his rifle came to the spring. Old Benson quickly stepped behind a bush, out of sight.

"Hullo, Riley, what's the trouble?" cried the second man when he beheld his prostrate companion.

He bent over Riley, and while he was making an examination old Benson came behind him and threw him as he had thrown the first desperado.

But the second man was "game," and the struggle lasted for several minutes. At one time it looked as if the old scout would get the worst of the encounter, but in the end he triumphed and the rascal was disarmed.

All the time the struggle was going on Benson had been afraid the third man would rouse up, especially as the second called several times for help. But the rascal had now fallen into a heavy sleep, and heard nothing.