Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders on the Old Apache Trail

“No, sir.”

“You know the lay of the land; what do you suggest?”

“Remove the rocks that I have piled up until you come to the slab. Tell the men – there are six in there – to lay down their arms and come out, one at a time. Should they refuse, you might tell them you will keep them bottled up until they surrender, even if it takes a month.”

The loose stones were immediately removed, as Grace had suggested; whereupon the sheriff delivered his ultimatum to the bandits. Lieutenant Wingate, in the meantime, had formed the posse on the upper side of the tunnel opening.

Several minutes elapsed without a sound being heard from the tunnel, then a voice called to Sheriff Collins.

“We surrender! Don’t shoot!”

“Look out for tricks!” warned Grace Harlowe. “I think that is Con Bates speaking.”

The bandits pushed the slab from the opening and came out singly and apparently unarmed.

“Look out!” cried Grace sharply.

Almost in the same instant a revolver in the hands of Con Bates was fired. The five other bandits instantly began banging away at the posse, at the same time scattering and starting to run.

“Let ’em have it low! Don’t kill them, please,” begged Grace.

Sheriff Collins downed Con Bates with a bullet in his shoulder.

Grace took no part in the battle, but sat crouched, chin in hands, narrowly watching the fight while bullets whined over her head and ricochetted from the rocks on either side of her.

The five bandits remaining after their leader had been downed were tumbled over with bullets in their legs in almost that many seconds. But the five were plucky. They struggled to their feet and again began firing. Two volleys from the posse put them down a second time, and this time they stayed down.

“That is what I call good shooting!” declared Grace Harlowe, standing up.

“Great work! Great work!” approved the general.

“A fine bunch of critters, you are!” raged the sheriff, addressing the defeated bandits. “Ought to finish you right here. Thank this woman that I don’t do that very thing. I’ll do it anyhow if any one of you galoots so much as bats an eyelash. Throw those guns away!” roared Mr. Collins.

The Bates gang gave up and were quickly manacled and searched for further weapons. The prisoners secured, Sheriff Collins strode over to Grace.

“Shake, Pard!” he cried, thrusting out a wiry brown hand. “Bet you’d face an old she bear with cubs, an’ laugh at her when she made murder faces at you. We won’t have any more trouble with these critters. I reckon we’ve got the whole gang now, an’ the trail is clear, thanks to you an’ your friends.”

At Grace’s suggestion, Joe led the sheriff and some of his men to the tunnel, where a large amount of valuable plunder was recovered. That night the prisoners were bound to horses and started for the jail at Globe where, this time, they remained until eventually sentenced to long terms in prison. Of Belle Bates, no trace was found. The guests of the Lodge next day gave a dance in honor of the Overlanders, to whom belonged the honor of ridding the Apache Trail of the last band of desperate men that had preyed upon it.

General Gordon and his party left a day later, after good-byes had been regretfully said. At Grace’s suggestion a purse was made up by the girls for Joe Smoky Face, after he had assisted Ike Fairweather to pack the equipment in readiness for moving next day, and early on the following morning the Overland Riders set out in their saddles for the long journey to Phœnix, where they arrived a week later, tanned by sun and weather, eyes sparkling and spirits effervescing.

That day they bade farewell to the faithful old stagecoach driver, who had already shipped their ponies by rail, and was to follow the animals on to Globe that night.

In the evening, the Overland Riders held a meeting at the hotel, at which they discussed their future plans. It was decided to make the organization a permanent one, and to seek recreation and adventure in the saddle each season, until they tired of it.

It had been a wonderful vacation, with just enough excitement to make it interesting, as Grace expressed it, leaving the girls of the old Overton Unit better physically and mentally, with a new beauty in face and figure, each better equipped to meet life’s responsibilities through the coming year.

“We have not decided where we shall go on our next journey,” reminded Elfreda Briggs next day, after the Overlanders had settled themselves in a Pullman car for the homeward journey.

“I was just thinking of a suggestion offered by Mr. Fairweather,” said Grace. “In telling me of the adventures of a cousin of his on the American Desert, he casually mentioned that some time we should try to make the journey across it in the saddle.”

“What is there there?” questioned Anne.

“Principally sand and terrific heat. Crossing the desert on horseback really is a tremendous undertaking, but, if not strenuous enough to satisfy us, we might even essay Death Valley. Mr. Fairweather said we could get his cousin to act as our guide. I am rather inclined toward the Great American Desert.

“Alors! Let’s go,” urged Elfreda Briggs.

“Other things being equal, what do you say, folks?” questioned Grace smilingly.

“Yes!” answered the Overlanders enthusiastically.

Grace chuckled.

“You do not know it, of course, but, now that you have decided, I am going to say that you Overlanders are headed straight for an adventure that will satisfy even Hippy Wingate. I have no doubt the desert is yawning for us at this very moment,” declared Grace.

As later events proved, Grace Harlowe was not a false prophet, and, in a following volume, entitled “Grace Harlowe’s Overland Riders on the Great American Desert,” will be related the experiences of these adventure-loving girls amid scenes new to them, and in facing trials that called for sheer pluck and clear heads while riding the trackless alkali desert of the Great West.

THE END