The Border Boys with the Mexican Rangers

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER XI.

  TRAPPED!

  Cautiously awakening his companions one by one, Jack told them of hisadventures while in the pig pen.

  “The scoundrels!” exclaimed the professor, “we must act at once.”

  “Now hold your horses,” drawled Coyote Pete in the easy tone he alwaysadopted when danger was near, “it ain’t our move yet. If I ain’t verymuch mistaken we’ll have all the action we want in a very short time,too. As a first step I’d suggest we bar that door yonder,—the one thatJack sneaked out of—I see it’s got a good big latch on the inside. Inthat way we’ll head off an attack frum thar, an’ we’ll only have thetrap door from below to look after.”

  The heavy bar being noiselessly placed in its hasps, Pete outlined hisfurther plans.

  “They’ll figger we are asleep,” he said, “but it ain’t likely they’lljump us till they’ve sent someone up to make sure. It’s our play thenter git back on the straw and all snore as natural as possible.”

  “What then?” asked Walt Phelps in rather an alarmed tone. “We’ve onlygot one rifle.”

  “That’s so, consarn it,” grunted Pete, “wall, we’ll hev ter do therbest we can an’—hush, hyar comes the advance guard now!”

  In the room below they could hear cautious footsteps. Evidently Ramonhad lost no time in hatching out his plans.

  “Lie down, everybody, and sham sleep as hard as yer can,” ordered Petein a low, tense whisper, “our lives may depend on it.”

  The order was obeyed none too soon, for before many seconds had passedthey could hear the creaking of the ladder as someone mounted it.Presently, from one half-closed eye, Jack perceived a head poked upwardthrough the trap in the floor. By the light which streamed up frombelow he saw that it was the cranium of the red-headed man whom hewas pretty sure was the author of the warning message which had beencarried into their camp.

  The man stood still as a statue for perhaps five minutes. During thetense moments Jack’s heart beat as if it would break through his ribs.It was not fear, but intense excitement that thrilled him. The momentwas at hand when they would be engaged in a desperate game againstterrible odds. What would be the result?

  Having apparently satisfied himself that they all slept soundly, thescout of the outlaws descended once more, the ladder creaking under hisweight.

  “It’s goin’ ter come in a few minutes, now,” whispered Pete, rousinghimself, “gimme the rifle, Walt. How many cartridges is in it?”

  “Five,” was the disheartening reply.

  “An’ we ain’t got another one between us,” moaned Pete. “Wall, itcan’t be helped, as the hawk said to ther chicken when he carried herof, leavin’ her numerous family behind. Now, I’m going ter git rightby this here opening and the first head that pokes through it gits acrack. We’ll save the cartridges for an emergency.”

  “An emergency!” exclaimed Ralph, thinking that if ever there was anemergency the present situation had already arrived at that stage.

  They could now hear whispers below, and worse still, the ominous clickand slide of repeating rifles being got in readiness for use.

  “There’s some old furniture piled in that corner,” exclaimed Jacksuddenly, “couldn’t we use it to block the trap with?”

  “A good idea when the worst of it comes,” assented Pete, “but we’ve gotter keep ther trap open so as to disable as many as possible before wehave to come to close quarters.”

  The next ten minutes,—for though it seemed like the same number ofhours, it was not in reality any more,—was the most painful period theboys ever recalled having put in. From the room below came furtivesounds, but they were so soft and infrequent that it looked as if themain body must have withdrawn further to discuss the attack.

  “Say, let’s rush them. I can’t stand this any longer.”

  It was Ralph who spoke, but Coyote laid a restraining hand on his arm.

  “Easy, lad, easy,” he admonished in a low breath, almost in the lad’sear, “it won’t be long before they start tuning up for the performance,and it ain’t goin’ ter be a funeral march for us neither.”

  As he spoke, Pete “clubbed” their solitary rifle, holding it by thebarrel. At the same instant a door beneath quietly opened and closed,and the next minute the ladder creaked as a foot was placed upon it.

  “Up with you, Miguel,” they heard Ramon whisper, “here’s the knife.Remember the money belt is on the old man. Jose, you follow himclosely, and Migullo, you come after. That is all it is safe to truston the ladder at one time. I myself will come later.”

  “The cowardly greaser,” breathed Coyote, with one of his increasinglyfrequent lapses into plain English, “I guess he’ll feel less likeclimbing than ever when he sees what’s going to happen to the firstarrival. It’s a good thing for us they can’t come but one at a time. Inthat way they’ll have no chance of rushing us.”

  As he finished speaking the boys felt the peculiar thrill that comesbefore the enactment of some exciting deed. A black head poked itselfcautiously through the trap and as it did so Coyote raised his riflestock, swung it, and brought it down with crushing force on the headof the intruding wretch. He fell backward with a crash, and landed ina heap in the room below. Under ordinary circumstances, not one ofthe Border Boys would have stood for such drastic measures. But theyknew that now it was their life or the Mexican’s. Nevertheless theyfelt relieved as they heard the fellow stagger to his feet and begincursing in picturesque Mexican.

  “Diablo! The fiend himself is in those Gringoes,” he raved, “I thinkthey have broken every bone in my body.”

  “More fool you, for not being more cautious,” growled Ramon, and then,raising his voice, he shouted up in English:

  “It will be of no use to you to resist. I have a superior force and ifyou injure another of my men when I do get you it will go hard withyou. Surrender and give me the money and no harm will come to you withthe exception of Jack Merrill. I mean to deal with him as I choose.”

  “When you get him, you dog,” shouted Coyote Pete, “which won’t be yetor for a long time to come,—ah! you would, would you!”

  As he spoke, the cow-puncher had projected his head thoughtlessly overthe edge of the trap door. A bullet aimed to kill, which, however,whizzed harmlessly by his ear, was the result. The missile sangthrough the air and buried itself in one of the rafters.

  “We’ll give you all you want of that directly,” hailed Coyote Pete,essaying what is sometimes called “a bluff,” “we have plenty of riflesand ammunition, and we can use them, too, so bring on your next man.”

  “You shall smart for this, you Gringo pig,” cried Ramon from below.Evidently the complete failure of his first attack and Coyote’sbantering tone had driven him beside himself with fury.

  “Oh, I’m a smart fellow, anyhow,” chuckled Coyote Pete, “come on. Onecigar for every head I crack. That’s the way they do it at the countyfair with the Jolly Nigger Dodger, and I don’t know as you greasershave anything on him.”

  “Rush up and bring them down out of that!” screamed Ramon furiously.But the sharp lesson they had just had seemed to hold the Mexicans incheck. Evidently the Gringoes above were not to be trifled with. Ramonstrode up and down the room stamping and raging and biting his nails.Altogether he was in a fit of black Latin rage which is not so verydifferent from the tantrums we occasionally find in our own nurseries.

  “Why not come up yourself, Ramon?” was Coyote’s next thrust. “If yourhead is burning with such blazing thoughts it must need ventilating.”

  But the Mexican, wisely enough perhaps, did not reply. Instead, hecalled down the men from the ladder, seeing, in spite of his rage, thatit was useless to waste his followers in that fashion.

  “We’d better bottle up the trap door now,” said Pete, as the voicesbelow became more inaudible. “Get that old furniture, boys, and we’llmake things snug.”

  “Here’s an old table top that might fit over the hole,” said Jack,bringing the article in quest
ion, “it’ll just fit too, and it’s solidmahogany.”

  “Just the thing, boy. Now quickly bring all the stuff you can to pileon it.”

  “Say, there’s a pile of big stones over here where the chimney goesthrough,” reported Ralph presently, “how would those do for weights?”

  “Fine. Bring them right along. Your Uncle Dudley will pile them.”

  One would have said from the cow-puncher’s boisterous spirits that hewas in perfect security instead of a situation the danger of which he,perhaps, more fully realized than any of his companions, comparativelyinexperienced as they were.

  One by one the lads carried the big stones over and they were piled onthe table top.

  “That will do,” said Coyote at length, “they’ll never get that upunless they use dynamite.”

  “What do you suppose they’ll do now?” wondered Jack as, the work over,they sat down about the newly covered hole.

  “Try rushing that back door, most likely. Suppose you take a peek outof the window. It gives a view of the steps and it’s too small for thevarmint ter git through.”

  The small aperture, mentioned before, was quite high up in the wall,but, hoisted up by Ralph and Walt, Jack was able to rest his elbows onthe sill and peer out. He did so cautiously, which was just as well,for, as the astute cow-puncher had surmised, the next attack must comefrom the back door. So much was evidenced by a view of the steps whichwere covered with dark forms advancing stealthily.

  “We’ll give ’em another surprise party,” announced Pete when he hadheard his young lieutenant’s report. “Jack, take the rifle while Iguard the trap. There’s a chance they may try to rush the two places atonce. Aim through the keyhole, and when you think it time to, let ’emhave it. Don’t be scared of hurting them. Remember it’s our lives ortheirs.”

  Feeling a bit squeamish, but far too good a soldier to attempt todisobey orders, or even question them, Jack did as he was directed.Placing the muzzle of the rifle to the keyhole he waited with beatingheart the first signal that their enemies had ascended the stairway andwere actually on the balcony outside the door.

  He had not long to wait. Presently there came a scuffling, scratchingsound without, as the Mexicans fumbled about the door, evidentlyfeeling for a latch of some sort. With a hasty prayer that he might notinflict a mortal wound, Jack awaited the right moment, as he judged it,and fired.

  There was instantly a loud yell of pain from without.

  “Good for you, boy,” grunted old Pete grimly “you brung him down.”