Ranching For Sylvia Volume-554 - Harold Bindloss (best black authors TXT) 📗

Swiftly And Flung Himself Upon The Farmer,

Crushing His Soft Felt Hat Down To His Chin.  Grant Could See Nothing,

And While He Strove To Get A Grip On His Antagonist He Was Thrown

Violently Backward Off The Driving Seat.  The Wagon Was Of The Usual

High Pattern, And He Came Down On The Ground With A Crash That Nearly

Knocked Him Unconscious.  Before He Got Up, He Was Seized Firmly And

Held With His Shoulders Pressed Against The Soil.  He Struggled,

However, Until Somebody Grasped His Legs And His Arms Were Drawn

Forcibly Apart.  It Was Impossible To See, Because The Thick Hat Was

Still Over His Face And Somebody Held It Fast, But He Had An Idea That

Three Or Four Men Had Fallen Upon Him.  They Had, No Doubt, Been Hidden

Among The Brush; The Affair Had Been Carefully Arranged With His

Treacherous Companion.

 

"Open His Jacket; Try The Inside Pocket," Cried One; And He Felt Hands

Fumbling About Him.  Then There Was A Disappointed Exclamation.

"Check-Book; That's No Good!"

 

The Farmer Made A Last Determined Effort.  After Having Long Ruled His

Household And Hired Men As A Benevolent But Decidedly Firm-Handed

Autocrat, It Was Singularly Galling To Be Treated In This Unceremonious

Fashion, And If He Could Only Shake Off The Hat And Get A Glimpse Of

His Assailants He Would Know Them Again.  Moreover, He Had Brought A

Roll Of Bills With Him, In Case He Should Make Some Small Purchases.

He Was, However, Held Firmly, And The Hands He Had Felt Dived Into

And Glanced Dubiously At The Deep Ruts Cut In The Road.

 

"There's A Way Round Through The Sand And Scrub, But It's Mighty Rough

And I'm Not Sure We Could Get Through It In The Dark," He Said.

 

"S'pose You Double-Yoke And Drive Straight Ahead," Suggested The Other.

"I See You Have Some Harness In The Wagon."

 

Grant Considered.  The Harness, Which Had Been Thrown In With His

Purchase, Was Old And Short Of One Or Two Pieces; It Would Take Time

And Some Contriving To Hitch On The Second Team, And The Light Was

Failing Rapidly.  When He Had Crossed The Soft Place, There Would Still

Be Some Rough Ground To Traverse Before He Reached The Smoother Trail

By Which George Would Be Riding.

 

"It Might Be As Quick To Go Round," He Replied.

 

"No, Sir," Said His Companion, Firmly.  "There's A Blamed Steep Bit Up

The Big Sandhill."

 

Suspicion Flashed On Grant; The Man Had Led Him To Believe He Was A

Stranger To The Locality, And It Was Significant That He Should Insist

Upon Their Stopping And Harnessing The Second Team.

 

"That's So," He Returned.  "Guess You Had Better Get Down And See If

It's Very Soft Ahead."

 

The Fellow Rose With A Promptness Which Partly Disarmed Grant's

Suspicions, And Put His Foot On The Edge Of The Vehicle, Ready To Jump

Down.  Then He Turned Swiftly And Flung Himself Upon The Farmer,

Crushing His Soft Felt Hat Down To His Chin.  Grant Could See Nothing,

And While He Strove To Get A Grip On His Antagonist He Was Thrown

Violently Backward Off The Driving Seat.  The Wagon Was Of The Usual

High Pattern, And He Came Down On The Ground With A Crash That Nearly

Knocked Him Unconscious.  Before He Got Up, He Was Seized Firmly And

Held With His Shoulders Pressed Against The Soil.  He Struggled,

However, Until Somebody Grasped His Legs And His Arms Were Drawn

Forcibly Apart.  It Was Impossible To See, Because The Thick Hat Was

Still Over His Face And Somebody Held It Fast, But He Had An Idea That

Three Or Four Men Had Fallen Upon Him.  They Had, No Doubt, Been Hidden

Among The Brush; The Affair Had Been Carefully Arranged With His

Treacherous Companion.

 

"Open His Jacket; Try The Inside Pocket," Cried One; And He Felt Hands

Fumbling About Him.  Then There Was A Disappointed Exclamation.

"Check-Book; That's No Good!"

 

The Farmer Made A Last Determined Effort.  After Having Long Ruled His

Household And Hired Men As A Benevolent But Decidedly Firm-Handed

Autocrat, It Was Singularly Galling To Be Treated In This Unceremonious

Fashion, And If He Could Only Shake Off The Hat And Get A Glimpse Of

His Assailants He Would Know Them Again.  Moreover, He Had Brought A

Roll Of Bills With Him, In Case He Should Make Some Small Purchases.

He Was, However, Held Firmly, And The Hands He Had Felt Dived Into

Volume 554 Chapter 25 (A Counterstroke) Pg 189

Another Pocket.

 

"Got It Now!" Cried A Hoarse Voice.  "Here's His Wallet; Seems To Have

A Good Wad In It!"

 

Grant, Though He Was Generally Sternly Collected, Boiled With Fury.  He

Felt No Fear, But An Uncontrollable Longing To Grapple With The Men Who

Had So Humiliated Him.

 

"Guess, I'll Fix You Up!" Came An Angry Voice When Grant Managed To

Fling Off One Pair Of Hands.

 

Then He Received A Heavy Blow On The Head.  Somebody Had Struck Him

With The Butt Of A Whip Or Riding Quirt.  The Pain Was Distressing; He

Felt Dazed And Stupid, Disinclined To Move, But He Retained

Consciousness.  There Were Sounds To Which He Could Attach A Meaning: A

Rattle Of Harness Which Indicated That His Driving Team Was Being

Loosened, A Thud Of Hoofs As The Heavier Percherons Were Led Away.  In

The Meanwhile He Could Still Feel A Strong Grasp On His Shoulder,

Holding Him Down, And Once Or Twice A Man Near Him Gave The Others

Sharp Instructions.  Grant Made A Languid Effort To Fix The Voice In

His Memory, But This Was Difficult Because His Mind Worked Heavily.

 

At Length The Driving Team Was Unyoked--He Could Hear It Being Led

Away--But The Ache In His Head Grew Almost Intolerable And His

Lassitude More Intense.  For A While He Had No Idea What Was Going On;

And Then A Hoarse Cry, Which Seemed One Of Alarm, Rang Out Sharply.

There Was A Patter Of Running Feet, A Thud Of Hoofs On The Soft Soil,

And, Breaking Through These Sounds, A Rhythmic Staccato Drumming.

Somebody Was Riding Hard Across The Uneven Ground.

 

Gathering His Languid Senses, Grant Suddenly Moved His Head, Flinging

The Hat From His Face, And Raised Himself A Little, Leaning On One

Elbow.  There Was No Longer Anybody Near Him, But He Could See A Man

Riding Past A Shadowy Clump Of Trees A Little Distance Off, Leading A

Second Horse.  Closer At Hand, Another Man Was Running Hard Beside One

Of The Percherons, And While Grant Watched Him He Made An Effort To

Scramble Up On The Back Of The Unsaddled Animal, But Slipped Off.  Both

These Men Were Indistinct In The Dim Hollow, But On A Sandy Ridge

Above, Which Still Caught The Fading Light, There Was A

Sharply-Outlined Mounted Figure Sweeping Across The Broken Ground At A

Reckless Gallop.  It Must Be Lansing, Who Had Come To The Rescue.

Grant Sent Up A Faint, Hoarse Cry Of Exultation.  He Forgot His Pain

And Dizziness, He Even Forgot He Had Been Assaulted; He Was Conscious

Only Of A Burning Wish To See Lansing Ride Down The Fellow Who Was

Running Beside The Percheron.

 

There Was A Patch Of Thick Scrub Not Far Ahead Which It Would Be

Difficult For The Horseman On The Rise To Break Through, And If The

Fugitive Could Succeed In Mounting, He Might Escape While His Pursuer

Rode Round; But Lansing Seemed To Recognize This.  He Swept Down From

The Ridge Furiously And Rode To Cut Off The Thief.  Grant Saw Him Come

Up With The Fellow, With His Quirt Swung High, But The Figures Of Men

And Horses Were Now Indistinct Against The Shrub.  There Was A Blow

Volume 554 Chapter 25 (A Counterstroke) Pg 190

Struck; One Of The Animals Reared, Plunged And Fell; The Other Went On

And Vanished Into The Gloom Of The Dwarf Trees.

 

Then Grant, Without Remembering How He Got Up, Found Himself Upon His

Feet And Lurching Unsteadily Toward The Clump Of Brush.  When He

Reached It, Lansing Was Standing Beside His Trembling Horse, Which Had

A Long Red Gash Down Its Shoulder.  His Hands Were Stained And A Big

Discolored Knife Lay Near His Feet.  There Was Nobody Else About, But A

Beat Of Hoofs Came Back, Growing Fainter, Out Of The Gathering Dusk.

 

George Looked Around When The Farmer Joined Him, And Then Pointed To

The Wound On The Horse.

 

"I Think It Was Meant For My Leg," He Said.  "I Hit The Fellow Once

With The Thick End Of The Quirt, But He Jumped Straight At Me.  The

Horse Reared When He Felt The Knife And I Came Off Before He Fell.

When I Got Up Again, The Fellow Had Gone."

 

Grant Felt Scarcely Capable Of Standing.  He Sat Down Heavily And

Fumbled For His Pipe, While George Turned His Attention To The Horse

Again.

 

"Though It's Only In The Muscle, The Cut Looks Deep," He Said At

Length.  "I'd Better Lead Him Back To Your Place; It's Nearer Than

Mine."

 

"I'd Rather You Came Along; I'm A Bit Shaky."

 

"Of Course," Said George.  "I Was Forgetting.  Those Fellows Had You

Down.  Are You Hurt?"

 

"They Knocked Me Out With Something Heavy--My Whip, I Guess--But I'm

Getting Over It.  Cleaned Out My Pockets; Went Off With Both Teams."

 

George Nodded.

 

"It's Pretty Bad; Quite Impossible To Get After Them.  They'll Head For

Montana As Fast As They Can Ride."

 

"Did You See Any Of Them Clearly?"

 

"One Fellow Looked Like Langside, Though I Couldn't Swear To Him; But

I'd Know The Man Who Knifed My Horse.  Remembered That Would Be

Desirable, In Case He Escaped Me; And I Got A Good Look At Him.  Now,

If You Feel Able Shall We Make A Start?  I'm Afraid The Horse Is Too

Lame To Carry You."

 

He Picked Up The Knife.  Grant Rose, And They Set Off, Leading The

Horse, Which Moved Slowly And Painfully.  It Had Grown Dark And The

Trail Was Rough, But The Farmer Plodded Homeward, Stopping A Few

Moments Now And Then.  The Path, However, Grew Smoother When They Had

Left The Sandy Ridges Behind, And By And By The Lights Of The Homestead

Commenced To Twinkle On The Vast Shadowy Plain.  Soon After They

Reached It, George Rode Away, Mounted On A Fresh Horse, In Search Of

Volume 554 Chapter 25 (A Counterstroke) Pg 191

Constable Flett.