Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders on the Old Apache Trail

As the riders completed their first circuit of the camp and drew in closer, Lieutenant Wingate, without waiting for further orders, threw the rifle to his shoulder and fired. A few seconds later, Grace followed with a shot, then Miss Briggs pulled the trigger of her weapon.

“Keep it up!” urged Hippy. “Follow them all the way around with your fire, and take advantage of all the cover you can find.”

The Overton outfit was in the fight in deadly earnest now. Darting here and there to keep the attackers in view, the two girls and Lieutenant Wingate continued to fire their rifles until at least two shoulders were aching from the kick of the weapons.

The spirited defense of the three plucky campers must have amazed their assailants, for the men drew off a little and cut a wider circle on the next circuit of the camp, but still keeping up and receiving a rapid fire all the way around.

“Look out! They’ve changed their tactics,” warned Hippy. “They’re charging us, the fools! Hold fire till they’re in easy reach, then give it to ’em! Just let it slowly peter out now. Don’t cut it off all at once.”

The Overton fire was permitted to die out by degrees, finally ceasing altogether. The strategy of Grace and Hippy had accomplished what they wished it to do – it had made the attackers careless, they evidently surmising from the way the firing died away, that the defenders either had been killed or wounded.

Uttering shrill yells, and shooting, it seemed, with every jump of their horses, the night riders swept down on the little camp in Squaw Valley, determined to put a speedy finish to their work.

“Ready! Fire!” commanded Lieutenant Wingate.

The defenders opened up on the advancing horsemen, firing as rapidly as they could pull the triggers of their rifles. A moment or so of this, apparently, was enough for the attackers, who suddenly whirled and raced their horses further out, where they again began shooting, with bullets from the camp still following them.

“We have ’em on the run! Keep ’em going!” urged Hippy, trying to locate their assailants, whose rifles, at that instant, had suddenly ceased firing. Now and then one or another of the defenders, discovering a movement among the marauders, would shoot, but such shots elicited no reply.

Hippy finally advised that the defenders divide their force, and each take a side of the camp to avoid a surprise, which was done.

“Is it all over?” cried Emma Dean from her hiding place.

“We hope so, but keep down close to the ground for the present,” advised Miss Briggs. “Are you girls all right?”

“Yes, but not riotously happy,” returned Anne.

“The attackers, I should say, are less so; therefore, don’t worry,” answered Elfreda.

To the great relief of the campers, not another shot was fired in Squaw Valley that night, the attackers having disappeared as mysteriously as they came, nor did the Overton party know whether they had been attacked by white men or Indians.

“All over but the shouting,” cried Hippy, as the day began to dawn, laying his rifle aside. “Hey! What’s that out there?” he demanded, pointing to an object that lay some two hundred yards from the camp.

“I believe it is a horse! Hippy Wingate, we have killed a horse!” exclaimed Grace Harlowe in amazement. “Oh, that is too bad!”

“Burning shame!” chortled Hippy.

“Yes, and there is another one down near the creek,” added Miss Briggs excitedly.

“I did it with my trusty rifle,” cried Hippy boastfully.

“You are welcome to all the glory there is,” answered Grace. “Shall we have a look at the animals? Perhaps we may learn something. Come! We will take our rifles with us.”

The Overton defenders had succeeded better than they knew. Not only had they driven off a superior number of desperate men, but they had shot from under their attackers two horses, and possibly downed as many riders.

CHAPTER IX

A STARTLING DISCOVERY

“IT is my opinion that this is an Indian pony,” announced Lieutenant Wingate, bending over the dead horse nearest to the camp.

“How do you know?” questioned Grace, giving Hippy a swift glance to learn if he were in earnest.

“Because it looks like pictures of Indian ponies that I have seen.”

Grace smiled, but made no comment.

“Here is a rifle under the critter, too,” he added. “I wonder what happened to the rider?”

“Is it an Indian rifle?” asked Miss Briggs in all seriousness.

Hippy confessed that he did not know.

“I don’t believe you would qualify as an expert on things Indian,” laughed Grace, starting on with her companions toward the creek to look at the second victim of the Overton girls’ shooting. They found nothing on that pony except saddle and bridle.

“Please remove the equipment from them, Lieutenant,” Grace requested. “I will take the rifle. I wish Mr. Fairweather to examine the equipment.”

“I sincerely hope he knows more about Indians than Hippy does,” observed Elfreda dryly.

“Do you think those scoundrels will come back?” questioned Elfreda as they were returning to camp.

“Not in the daytime. If you mean will they bother us in future, I will say yes, and, being a prudent person, I shall try to be prepared for them this evening.”

“You are a queer girl, Loyalheart. The longer I know you the less I understand you. You are the gentlest, sweetest woman I have ever known, but under the surface you have an armor of steel,” declared Miss Briggs.

“This mountain air surely is making you light-headed, Elfreda dear,” laughingly retorted Grace Harlowe. “I am a woman like yourself, no different, and, like yourself, I have fairly good control over my nervous system. Youth and years of outdoor activity have given me the qualities you have in mind.”

“Perhaps that is it. It has given you something else, too – it has given you beauty of face and figure, given you a better understanding and a greater love for your friends, and mankind in general.”

Grace nodded over the latter sentiment.

“If all young women could come to understand what outdoor life means to one, I do not believe they would cling to the town, to their late hours, late suppers and nerve-breaking rounds of social pleasures. It is no especial credit to a woman to be beautiful; it is her duty to be so. Any woman whom nature has endowed with a substantial physical foundation may be beautiful, but not from wearing fashionable clothes or the use of cosmetics. Right here in the open is the remedy free to all. The open spots, Elfreda; God’s free air; healthful, wholesome exercise, and right thinking and right doing. Pardon me, dear. I do not often open my heart like this, though I think of these things every day of my life.”

“I call yours a pretty good religion,” declared Elfreda with emphasis.

“I do not call it my religion,” objected Grace. “Rather, is it my rule of practice. One might call it the application of the greater principle.”

“We are wading into deep water. Suppose we have breakfast,” twinkled Miss Briggs.

“Yes. Some time to-day I propose that we go for a tramp along the creek and up the nearby canyons, and practice a little of what I am preaching to you. We will all go and have the best kind of a time. Ah! Nora and Anne are getting breakfast.”

“Have plenty of food,” cried Hippy as he came in a few moments later with the saddles and bridles of the dead horses. “A night in the Overton trenches does give one an appetite.”

Throwing the equipment down, Hippy told Nora, Emma and Anne about the fight of the previous night, not forgetting to give himself all the credit to which he considered himself entitled.

“This is terrible,” wailed Emma. “I’m afraid of somebody or something.”

“Fiddlesticks!” rebuked Elfreda. “After going through a great war one should not have nerves. Let’s eat.”

After breakfast the defenders turned in for a few hours’ sleep, Nora and Anne in the meantime standing guard over the camp. No trouble was looked for during the day, but Grace fully expected that they would have plenty of it, in one form or another, when darkness had settled over the valley.

This apprehension was not permitted to interfere with their enjoyment of the day, so, after the sleepers had finished their naps, mess kits were packed and the party started toward the creek for an old-fashioned picnic.

Grace had a twofold reason for wishing to go to the creek and up the canyons. First, she hoped to put her companions in a better frame of mind, and for herself she wished to satisfy her curiosity as to the direction that the night raiders took after the Overton party drove them off.

Hippy Wingate was left to watch the camp – and to sleep, as Grace suspected that he would do.

Grace Harlowe, with rifle under her arm, led her party, singing college songs as she tripped along, just as she and her companions were wont to do when picnicking in the Overton hills.

Reaching Pinal Creek, the party followed it along for a short distance, then turned off into a high-walled canyon, where they finally camped and spread their luncheon on the ground by the side of a rippling mountain stream. There they ate and chatted.

Grace had studied the ground along creek and canyon for indications of the course taken by the night raiders after the battle. The hoof-prints, however, seemed to end at the bank of Pinal Creek, and she was unable to pick them up again.

The other girls, following the luncheon, amused themselves with lying flat on their backs, gazing up the sheer walls of the canyon at the ribbon of blue sky lined out by the tops of the canyon walls. Later on they strolled off singly and in pairs in search of wild flowers.

“I’m going up this canyon,” called Grace, who had risen and picked her way along the little stream that joined Pinal Creek some distance below them. “If any one of you gets into difficulties give the Overton yell.”

“Same to you,” called Nora.

It was more than an hour later when Grace came sauntering downstream, humming happily, for the vastness of the mountains and the grandeur of the scenery had thrilled and entranced her. Anne was waiting for her at the point where the girls had taken their luncheon.

“Where are the girls?” called Grace as she espied her companion.

“Downstream somewhere. They said not to worry, as they might keep on going until they reached the valley.”

“It is getting late, and I think it advisable for all to return to camp at once. Come along, Anne dear. I stirred up something up there that I believe to be a large wild animal. That is, I heard it, but could not see it. Should we still be in camp in the valley to-morrow, I hope to go hunting for it.”

“Provided you yourself are not hunted,” suggested Anne.

Grace laughed.

“Don’t you think I am quite able to take care of myself?” she asked.

“Up to a certain point, yes. Beyond that I am apprehensive.”

“Merely another case of nerves, Anne dear, so forget it and enjoy the scenery. Yonder is where we turn to take the trail for home. The girls must have tired of wandering in this wonderful place.”

Arm in arm the two girls strolled back towards the camp, chatting, laughing and enjoying the bracing mountain air.

“The girls are at the camp,” said Anne, pointing.

“I have an idea that they did not feel wholly safe in the mountains,” replied Grace. “I really believe that I could spend the rest of my life here and without ever knowing a moment of loneliness.”

“Tenderfeet!” chided Anne laughingly, as she and Grace entered the camp.

Grace’s alert eyes instantly missed one of the Overton girls.

“Where is Emma? Has she gone to bed?” she demanded.

“Emma?” wondered Miss Briggs.

“We left her with Anne,” Nora informed them.

“Yes, and Emma went downstream a few moments after you girls went away. She said she would go back to camp, gathering flowers on the way,” interjected Anne.

“How long was this before I joined you, Anne?” questioned Grace, turning to her companion.

“I should say about three-quarters of an hour,” answered Anne, a worried look creeping into her eyes.

“What’s this?” demanded Lieutenant Wingate. “Emma missing?”

“Don’t worry. She will turn up all right,” comforted Nora. “You can’t lose Emma Dean so easily.”

“Elfreda, please get a rifle and come with me,” directed Grace incisively. “Hippy, I should like to have you go with us, but it is more important that you remain here to look after the camp. Should we not find Emma soon, I will fire three interval shots for assistance. You will then hurry to me, but in that event, bring Nora and Anne with you. In no circumstances leave them here alone.”

Grace issued her directions calmly, but there was that in her tone that brought a worried look to four pairs of eyes. That she suspected more than appeared on the surface was apparent to all.

“You – you don’t think that anything ha – as happened to Emma, do you?” begged Anne.

“Girls, something serious surely has happened to Emma Dean!” gravely responded Grace Harlowe. “Come, Elfreda! We must not lose an instant. You people be alert for rifle signals.”

CHAPTER X

A DOUBLE CAPTURE

GRACE started away at a brisk trot, followed by Elfreda Briggs, until they reached the bank of the creek.

“My gracious, Loyalheart, but you can race,” gasped J. Elfreda.

“Please work downstream, Elfreda. Watch carefully for footprints and broken twigs. I shall proceed upstream. About a quarter of a mile above here several deep canyons branch off, and it is possible that Emma may have taken one of these in search of flowers and lost her way,” said Grace.

“How far shall I go?” questioned Miss Briggs.

“Meet me here in an hour. Should you need me in the meantime, or, should you find Emma, fire three signal shots, with an interval between each shot. If in need of assistance I will do the same, and, should you hear three interval shots, answer them by the same signal with your rifle. That will be a warning to the camp as well. Hippy understands that, in case we give such a signal, he is to come on the run, and bring the girls with him, so that they may not be left alone in the camp. Good-bye and the best of luck.”

Grace turned and hurried up the stream, Elfreda proceeding in the opposite direction. Grace ran on until she reached the point where the narrow canyons radiated out from the one the girls had first taken on their way to the picnic ground.

A stream of clear, sparkling mountain water was rippling down each radiating canyon, and fragrant wild flowers gently nodded their greeting along the bank of the stream, from the crevices of rocks and from little patches of dirt that clung precariously to the mountainside.

“I do not believe Emma Dean could resist these flowers,” murmured Grace.

In order to observe both banks, Grace stepped into the stream that flowed from the larger of the canyons, and waded along it, regardless of the fact that the icy-cold water instantly took all feeling from her feet, her whole attention being centered on the flower-bordered banks of the stream. Grace was peering at the wild flowers, looking for plucked stems.

The Overton girl suddenly uttered an exclamation and sank down on her knees at the edge of the creek.

“Ah! Plucked flowers. Some one has picked them within a few hours, for the stems are still bleeding.”

Grace began examining the ground with infinite care, but though she found flowers that had been crushed down, she failed to find a single distinct footprint. Further up the stream, however, she came upon that for which she had been searching – the imprint of a human foot, a small, slender foot.

Reasonably certain that she had at last come upon the trail of her missing companion, Grace sprang up and ran as rapidly as the rough going would permit, plunging deeper and deeper into the canyon that was now dimmed with the gloom of the approaching mountain night.

The Overton girl’s first impression was that she should fire her rifle, but believing that Emma could not be far away, unless she had wandered into still another canyon and become wholly lost in the maze, Grace decided first to search a little further. At several such canyon intersections Grace herself became confused, but careful examination of a few yards of her own trail to the rear soon set her straight.

From time to time she would pause and raise her voice in a long-drawn call that must have reached far up the canyon and up the mountainside as well.

“I shall have to signal for assistance,” finally decided Grace, the gloom now having become so deep that she was no longer able to distinguish the tell-tale marks left by Emma Dean’s shoes.

“When Hippy and the girls come, we will build fires, and, with torches, follow the trail until we find her.”

Grace decided to signal for assistance, and pointing her rifle into the air she fired three times at intervals. She waited, listening intently. There was no response that she could hear, so she fired three more signal shots.

This time three faint reports were borne to her ears, but whether they were the echoes of her own shots or the answer to her signals, Grace did not know.

When about to move forward again, Grace’s nerves gave a tremendous jump as a human voice sounded close at hand.

“What do you all reckon you’re shootin’ at?” demanded the voice. It was a woman’s voice, which, in the circumstances, was a welcome thing to Grace Harlowe, even though it was a voice that she did not know.

Grace whirled and brought her rifle to bear on the owner of the voice. She peered into the darkness and was barely able to make out the form of the speaker.

“Who are you?” demanded Grace.

“I reckon you’d better say somethin’ for yourself,” answered the woman.

“Very well. I am looking for a young woman who is missing from my party, and who, I believe, came up this canyon.”

“Is her name Dean?”

“Yes, yes!” cried Grace. “You have found her?”

“I reckon so. The kid fell down and hurt herself a little. She’s up the canyon a piece. I’ll show you.”

“Oh, thank you.”

The woman turned and strode away, Grace following, her anxiety for Emma banishing all thoughts from mind of the strangeness of this woman’s presence in the dark canyon.

With the rifle still tucked under her arm, Grace stumbled along over the rough ground, managing to keep up with her guide, at the expense of several falls. Grace knew that she was proceeding in the direction which she believed Emma had followed, and she was, therefore, eager to get ahead as rapidly as possible.

“Is Miss Dean badly hurt?” she questioned anxiously, stepping up beside her companion.

“Hurt her ankle, thet’s all,” was the brief reply.

“Oh, that is too bad. How much further have we to go?”

“Reckon we’re there now. Miss Dean!”

“Emma! Are you there?” cried Grace.

“Grace! Oh, Grace! Save me!” wailed Emma Dean.

Grace Harlowe sprang forward, ahead of her companion, but she did not reach Emma. A pair of wiry arms were suddenly thrown about her, pinioning the Overton girl’s arms to her sides. Grace wriggled and struggled desperately, using every trick she knew to free herself, and appeared to be getting the best of the struggle, when an unlooked-for interruption occurred.

“Bud!” cried the woman sharply.

A man sprang forward in response to the call.

“Take her gun!” panted the woman. “She’s a terror.”

The rifle was wrenched from Grace’s hand, then the man jerked her hands behind her back and tied them there.

“Thar! I don’t reckon as you’ll do much more fightin’ right smart,” declared the woman, releasing her grip and stepping back, breathing heavily.

Grace, too, was breathing hard, but more from resentment than from exhaustion. She now swiftly began to reason out the meaning of what had occurred, and in a moment it became clear to her that she was in the hands of the band that had been harassing the Overton girls on the Apache Trail.

“Emma, are you hurt?” called Grace.

“Only my feelings. They’re wrecked,” answered Emma with a touch of her old-time humor. “Come here, Grace.”

“Stay where you be!” commanded the woman.

“You are not otherwise hurt?” begged Grace.

“No,” answered Emma.

“Now, woman, if you do not mind explaining the meaning of this high-handed affair, I am quite ready to listen,” announced Grace Harlowe evenly, at the same time facing her captor, whose face she had not yet been able to see in the darkness.

“Shut up!” ordered the man. “We got to git out of here on the jump. Belle, you rustle her along, an’ if she gits balky, hit her a clip over the haid. You owe her one anyhow.”

“I demand that you release us both instantly!” answered Grace.

Without replying, the woman roughly grasped Grace by an arm and propelled her along at a swift pace, Grace stumbling over nearly every step of the way, until they came up with two men who were guarding several horses. At this juncture, the man addressed as “Bud” came hurrying up to them, leading Emma Dean. Her hands, also, were securely bound behind her, and Emma was abusing and threatening her conductor at every step of the way.

“Oh, Grace!” she cried plaintively when she was halted close by her friend.

“Keep quiet, Emma, please,” warned Grace. “Are your hands tied?”

“Yes. The brutes tied the rope so tight that it hurts awfully.”

“If we untie your hands will you promise not to try to get away?” questioned Belle, addressing both girls.

“No!” answered Grace with emphasis.

The woman shrugged her shoulders.

“Cut them loose,” she ordered. “They can’t ride thet way without fallin’ off. You women! If you try to run away, you’ll be shot, thet’s all,” warned Belle as Bud severed the ropes that held the hands of the two girls.

“Git up! Both of you. Be lively ’bout it, too,” he ordered, pointing to one of the horses.

Grace took all the time in mounting that she dared, and Emma crowded into the saddle behind her.

“Give the critter his haid. He knows where to go better’n you do, I reckon,” advised Bud, swinging into his own saddle.

The woman rode up and took the lead, Bud falling in behind Grace and Emma. Grace saw one man ride forward and join Belle, while still another remained behind, standing by his horse. Evidently he was not going with them.

The party then started up the canyon, the ponies now and then breaking into a trot, as the footing permitted. Soon after the start, they began climbing the mountain side, along what Grace realized was a narrow trail, too narrow for safety, and on which the ordinarily sure-footed ponies slipped and stumbled perilously.

“Tell me what occurred,” whispered Grace to her companion.

“I was picking flowers when that woman caught hold of me. I never heard her approach, and she nearly scared me out of my wits when she grabbed me and clapped a hand over my mouth. Grace, I overheard the woman and that fellow Bud talking, and I learned some things. You can’t guess why they have stolen us.”

“In revenge, I presume, for what we did to Con Bates and his fellows. This, undoubtedly, is the gang that has been harassing us.”

“Yes, that is one reason. The other is that they hope to get some money for us.”

“You mean ransom?” asked Grace in a guarded whisper.

“Yes. Isn’t it silly? It’s romantic, too.”

“So, that is it, eh? They will have a fine time getting it. I still have my revolver inside my waist, Emma Dean, and, if necessary, I shall use it. I don’t think they will dare to really harm us, but we must be on the alert every minute for an opportunity to escape. Leave all that to me, for I shall know when the time is opportune for such a move on our part.”

“What if they search you and find the revolver?” questioned Emma.

“They had better not try it,” muttered Grace.

She told Emma that the Overton outfit were no doubt, even then, searching for them, though she said she doubted the ability of the searchers to pick up and follow the trail.

“Should Mr. Fairweather get back in time, he can and will follow it, and I shall expect him to do that very thing. Above all, keep your head, Emma dear, and do not talk too much. The less they know about us the better. I don’t believe they know who I am, and I sincerely hope they do not find out.”

“Yes, they do know. How, I can’t even guess, but one of the men came up and reported to that ruffian, Bud, that you were coming up the trail with Belle. He referred to you as the ‘Harlowe woman.’”