The Argosy, January 1907 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

IN THE DEPTHS OF DISASTER. But I placed a restraining hand on my brother’s arm. “No,” I said. ‘' Wait a moment. It’s not likely it can make any difference now. But watch which direction José takes. Keep your eye on him through the telescope as long as you can.” “He’s galloping off now.” “Which way?” “Straight west. He’s turned off the trail and is riding to the mountains.” “Tine him with something,” I di- rected, “so that you will know the gen- eral direction whenever he disappears. That will help us when we set out after him.” 1 had no manner of doubt that this must be José, the most notorious outlaw of the region. He had been described to us as a man of great size and enor- mous strength, who made his retreat somewhere among the fastnesses of the mountain ranges to the west, toward which this man was now hurrying. For some time he had not been heard of, and this had lulled the community into a sense of false security—how false was proven by the ghastly crime done before our very eyes. “THe has disappeared,” ported at last. “Can you mark in any way the point toward which he was making?” Billy, studied the mountains for a mo- ment in silence. “Do you see where the four summits crowd together at the back, with a little ene in front of them?” ce Yes.” “Well, then, the way he was going in a straight line would take him to that smaller peak.” The news gave me a thrill of savage joy. One of the peons had told me of a great cafion or barranca lying behind that peak, and he had said in addition that many thought José’s secret retreat was there. Some color was lent to this theory by the fact that when finally soldiers were sent into the barranca af- ter the outlaw, though they failed to find any trace of him, his depredations abruptly ceased, as if he had been forced to flee afar. 1 thanked God that we had at least one clue to guide us on the track of our enemy. Billy _ re- _and uttered a shout. 195 “And now we must go,” I said. ‘Come! ” We scrambled down the mountain- side with desperate speed. Yet the haste we made was a mockery to us. It was the irony of fate. We ran and leaped too late. When our presence might have availed, we had been forced to stand remote, unseen, unheard—unhearing, too, but not, alas! unseeing. We had gazed with strained eyes at the crime, unable to stay its course in any particle. The grisly mockery of our plight made our grief more poignant, our rage the fiercer. Presently we came to our horses, and in a trice we were mounted and off. At top speed we galloped down the steep slopes toward that still something we had seen lying black in the white dust of the trail. Our excitement found relief in the swift. movement—a movement that was dangerous, too, for the way was through underbrush dotted with boulders which had fallen from the cliffs behind. It required all our skill to hold to our saddles. Often we had to throw oar- selves flat on the horses’ flanks to escape a low-sweeping branch, or cling to the pommel for dear life, when our steeds swerved swiftly from an unexpected rock in the course. It was the fortune of heaven that saved us, for I have been over that mountainside since, and to my sober senses it seemed impossible that two horsemen could have thus raced through the wilderness without blow or fall. Yet, so it was with us, and we came at last into the trail quite unharmed. Our horses were puffing mightily, and their need and our own reluctance made us move forward at a walk. Yet, while we dreaded that which awaited us, a strange sense of responsibility strengthened our courage. Suddenly, at a turn in the trail, Bil- ly, whose bronco had begun to prance ahead, pulled the horse on its haunches, I quickened my pace, and when I reached his side pulled up my horse as shortly as he had done. In the roadway, scarcely a rod before us, lay that black, huddled figure we had seen from the mountain-top, but now the horror of it was greater, for* CORNIELOOO <S) (C@)