The saddle boys on the plains

“Oh!” cried Bob, who had just caught a fleeting glimpse of man and rider tottering on the verge of the broken cliff trail, which had evidently been blown away by the explosion of a dynamite cartridge placed there for that purpose by the retreating fugitives, in order to cut off pursuit.

Frank saw more.

He knew that Sim, being an old cowman, and accustomed to leaving his saddle in a hurry when some peril threatened, had shaken his feet free from the stirrups. One wild spring, and the trail-finder managed to clutch hold of the rock, though his horse went plunging down into space.

Frank was out of his own saddle in a second. Another, and he had snatched the rope which he always carried, to be used as a lariat when chasing steers, or a means of keeping his horse from straying too far away at night.

Buckskin seemed to know that this was no time for any prancing. He behaved himself splendidly. On the other hand the big bay of the former superintendent gave evidence of fright, jumping up, apparently desirous of trying to turn around, an impossible feat on that narrow shelf, or at least one accompanied by extreme hazard.

Frank knew then that it all depended on him, if Sim was to be rescued. He could see that the man was still dangling there, his only hold being the tip of the rock. At any moment his grip might loosen, and he would be hurled down after his horse, that lay motionless more than eighty feet below.

Frank watched his chance, and managed to slip past the rearing steed of Mr. Riley, without being struck by the flying hoofs.

Now he was close above Sim. One glance told the boy that he could not hope to bend down and catch hold of the man. His rope would have to be used; but just how he could place the loop was a question, with both arms of the man held aloft.

Sim solved the puzzle for him by elevating his legs, bent at the knee. Instantly Frank knew what he wanted him to do—drop the loop of his lariat over both legs, and then draw taut. In case Sim’s grip was broken, while he might hang head downward, at least he could not take that terrible plunge.

Frank was a pretty good hand at throwing the rope, and those upturned legs offered so easy a mark that he could hardly fail to drop the noose over them at the first attempt.

When this had been accomplished his next movement was to whip the rope around a point of rock that jutted out close at hand. It was the same action that a cowboy would bring into play in snubbing a steer he had roped.

“Great!” cried Bob, who had watched all this with eyes that seemed to be fairly bulging from his head.

But there was still more to be done. Sim had managed to secure only a makeshift grip on the rock. His hands were slipping by degrees, though he had held on with desperation until he felt the rope drawn taut, and knew that Frank had made fast above.

Then he let go!

Bob gave an involuntary cry. He could not help it, even while understanding how this emergency had been provided against by his chum who used the rope.

“Somebody give me a hand!” called Frank, who had hold of the lariat close to where it had been several times wound around the projecting stone.

Bob dropped out of the saddle. Really, considering the fact that this sort of business was quite new to him, the black Kentucky horse was acting very well. Perhaps Domino took pattern from his companion, Buckskin. At any rate he did not prance wildly, after the fashion of the big bay ridden by Mr. Riley; and Bob afterwards declared that he was quite proud of his mount.

Of course, once the two stout boys bent to the task, they quickly drew the dangling Sim to the top of the wall, so that he could scramble on to the cliff path. Outside of being red in the face, from his having hung head downward, the ex-cowboy seemed none the worse for his experience.

But he was in a pretty heated condition mentally. To his mind that trick played by the two fugitives was the meanest thing ever heard of. Frank, of course, understood that the main object had been to destroy the cliff path, so as to cut off pursuit. That the explosion had been delayed a little longer than calculated on, was only an accident.

“I’m out of the game by it, anyhow!” grumbled Sim, as he crawled to the edge, to look down to where his late mount lay.

“What are we going to do now?” asked Bob, who once more had hold of the bridle of his horse, though he did not try to mount.

“The game didn’t work, fellers,” called Sim, who had changed his position, and was now examining the break in the path. “Looky here, there’s enough footing left to get the hosses over, with a little care.”

“That’s right,” remarked Mr. Riley, now also dismounted, his big bay acting more tractably. “I reckon I can coax old Brickdust here to amble over. Come along, you skittish rascal, and show your good points.”

Bob fairly held his breath as he watched how the former superintendent of the mine first stepped along the narrow ledge himself, and, holding the bridle, urged his steed to do the same.

One little misstep, and nothing could keep the horse from toppling over the ridge, just as Sim’s unlucky mount had done. There was some snorting on the part of the big bay; but the animal seemed to appreciate the situation. Keeping as close to the face of the wall of stone as possible, and stepping carefully, Brickdust crossed the broken spot in the cliff trail.

“Sim, you help Bob get his mount over,” said Frank, as he started to follow the example of Mr. Riley.

Of course Buckskin gave no trouble. He had been brought up amid such wild surroundings, and was as sure-footed as a mountain goat. Besides, doubtless during the innumerable gallops taken by Frank, they had frequently been compelled to navigate ticklish paths, where a slip meant disaster; so the horse was used to such things.

“Let me have the bridle; and you go ahead, Bob, so your hoss kin keep his eye on ye,” said Sim.

Bob noticed how the other failed to wind the bridle around his wrist. On the contrary Sim held it in such a way that he could let go instantly, should Domino act frightened while in the danger zone. Nor could the ex-cowboy be blamed for such caution. One experience was quite enough for him. And a drop into that yawning gulf was almost sure death.

Domino proved a sensible horse. He stepped carefully, and snorted as though appreciating the situation; but he managed to get over to the wider ledge without once slipping.

Bob breathed easy again. Had anything happened he must have felt heavy-hearted for a long time; because the black animal seemed to enter into his very life, such were the warm associations between them.

“Sorry to lose you, Sim!” exclaimed Mr. Riley, as he once more climbed into his saddle, ready to take up the pursuit.

“And I’m all knocked to pieces by my misfortune!” grumbled the trailer. “Hope ye have good luck, Mr. Riley, an’ fetch the stuff back again. So-long, boys!”

They were off again, leaving Sim there on the shelf, waving them good-by.

Both Frank and Mr. Riley were on the lookout for signs of those whom they were chasing. Even Bob strained his eyes to catch some glimpses of them, though he hardly knew in which direction to look.

“Have you seen anything of them, Frank?” he asked, presently, when he urged his horse alongside Buckskin.

“Sure,” came the confident reply. “Several times I’ve caught sight of the pair. They’re whipping up to beat the band; but we seem to be gaining all the while.”

“Must have surprised ’em to see us, after they played such a clever game to cut off all pursuit, eh?” went on his chum.

“That’s a fact, Bob; they expected that dynamite to smash the whole trail, and leave a gap no horse could pass over. But it failed to do its work, even if Sim did lose his horse, and come near going down himself.”

“Whew! but it was some ticklish when that explosion came,” remarked Bob, with a little whistle. “I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I thought Domino would sure stand up on his hind legs, and try to wheel around. That would have wound me up, and both of us must have gone over the edge. Excuse me from chasing after a couple of treasure thieves along a path that is hung in the air.”

“Well, we’re nearly out of this end of the mountains now, and there they go off on the level plain,” Frank remarked, pointing with his right hand.

“It’s going to be a stern chase then,” declared his chum.

“Looks like it, Bob; but the one thing I don’t like is that night will be down on us in short order now. We don’t have long twilight in the Southwest, you know. And while there ought to be a pretty fair moon, I notice that clouds are swarming up over yonder, so that in less than half an hour its going to be some dark.”

Bob looked up at the sky, then toward the distant fugitives, and shook his head, as if the situation did not exactly appeal to him.