The Golden Dream, Robert Michael Ballantyne [e books free to read .TXT] 📗

advance without speaking or drawing rein. At the end of that time, while sweeping round the jutting base of a precipitous rock, they almost ran into a band of horsemen who were trotting briskly towards them. Both parties halted, and threw forward their rifles, or drew their revolvers for instant use, gazing at each other the while in silent surprise at the suddenness of their meeting.

"Give in, ye villains," at last shouted a stern voice, "or we'll blow ye out o' the saddle. You've no chance; down your arms, I say."

"Not until I know what right _you_ have to command us," replied Ned, somewhat nettled at the overbearing tone of his opponent. "We are peaceable travellers, desiring to hurt no one; but if we were not, surely so large a party need not be afraid. We don't intend to run away, still less do we intend to dispute your passage."

The strangers lowered their fire-arms, as if half-ashamed at being surprised into a state of alarm by two men.

"Who said we were `afraid,' young man?" continued the first speaker, riding up with his comrades, and eyeing the travellers narrowly. "Where have you come from, and how comes it that your clothes are torn, and your faces covered with blood?"

The party of horsemen edged forward, as he spoke, in such a manner as to surround the two friends, but Ned, although he observed the movement, was unconcerned, as, from the looks of the party, he felt certain they were good men and true.

"You are a close interrogator for a stranger," he replied. "Perhaps you will inform me where _you_ have come from, and what is your errand in these lonesome places at this hour of the night?"

"I'll tell ye wot it is, stranger," answered another of the party--a big, insolent sort of fellow--"we're out after a band o' scoundrels that have infested them parts for a long time, an' it strikes me you know more about them than we do."

"Perhaps you are right," answered Ned.

"Mayhap they're not _very_, far off from where we're standin'," continued the man, laying his hand on Tom Collins's shoulder. Tom gave him a look that induced him to remove the hand.

"Right again," rejoined Ned, with a smile. "I know where the villains are, and I'll lead you to them in an hour, if you choose to follow me."

The men looked at each other in surprise.

"You'll not object to some o' us ridin' before, an' some behind ye!" said the second speaker, "jist by way o' preventin' yer hosses from runnin' away; they looks a little skeary."

"By no means," answered Ned, "lead on; but keep off the edge of the track till I call a halt."

"Why so, stranger?"

"Never mind, but do as I bid you."

The tone in which this was said effectually silenced the man, and during the ride no further questions were asked. About a quarter-of-an-hour afterwards the moon rose, and they advanced at such a rapid pace that in a short time they were close upon the spot where the battle had taken place. Just before reaching it Ned called a halt, and directed the party to dismount and follow him on foot. Although a good deal surprised, they obeyed without question; for our hero possessed, in an eminent degree, the power of constituting himself a leader among those with whom he chanced to come into contact.

Fastening his horse to a tree, Ned led the men forward a hundred yards.

"Are these the men you search for!" he inquired.

"They are, sir," exclaimed one of the party, in surprise, as he stooped to examine the features of the robbers, who lay where they had been left.

"Halloo!" exclaimed Tom Collins, "I say, the biggest fellow's gone! Didn't we lay him hereabouts?"

"Eh! dear me, yes; why, this is the very spot, I do believe--"

All further remarks were checked at that moment by the sound of horses' hoofs approaching, and, almost before any one could turn round, a horseman came thundering down the pass at full gallop. Uttering a savage laugh of derision, he discharged his pistol full into the centre of the knot of men as he passed, and, in another moment, was out of sight. Several of the onlookers had presence of mind enough to draw their pistols and fire at the retreating figure, but apparently without effect.

"It's him!" cried Tom Collins; "and he's mounted on your horse, Ned."

"After him, lads!" shouted Ned, as he ran back towards the place where the horses were fastened. "Whose is the best horse?"

"Hold on, stranger," said one of the men, as he ran up to Ned, "ye may save yer wind. None o' the horses can overtake your one, I guess. I was lookin' at him as we came along. It would only be losin' time for nothin', an' he's miles ahead by this time."

Ned Sinton felt that the man's remarks were too true, so he returned to the spot where the remaining robbers lay, and found that the miners had cut their fastenings, and were busily engaged in rebinding their hands behind them, preparatory to carrying them back to their settlement. It was discovered that the lashings of one of the men had been partly severed with a knife, and, as he could not have done it himself, it was plain that the robber who had escaped must have done it, and that the opportune arrival of the party had prevented him from accomplishing his purpose. How the man had broken his own bonds was a mystery that could not now be solved, but it was conjectured they must have been too weak, and that he had burst them by main strength.

Another discovery was now made, namely, that one of the three robbers secured was no other than Black Jim himself; the darkness of the night had prevented Ned and Tom from making this discovery during the fight.

In less time than we have taken to describe it, the robbers were secured, and each was mounted behind one of his captors.

"Ain't you goin' with us?" inquired one of the men, observing that Ned Sinton stood leaning on his rifle, as if he meant to remain behind.

"No," answered Ned; "my companion and I have travelled far to-day, besides fighting a somewhat tough battle; we mean to camp here for the night, and shall proceed to your settlement to-morrow."

The men endeavoured to dissuade them from their purpose, but they were both fatigued, and persisted in their determination. The impression they had made, however, on their new friends was so favourable, that one of their number, a Yankee, offered the loan of his horse to Ned, an offer which the latter accepted thankfully, promising to return it safe and sound early on the following day. Five minutes later the sound of the retreating hoofs died away, and the travellers stood silently side by side in the gloomy ravine.

For a few minutes neither spoke; then Ned heaved a sigh, and, looking in his companion's face with a serio-comically-sad expression, said:

"It may not, perhaps, have occurred to you, Tom, but are you aware that we are a couple of beggars?"

"If you use the term in its slang sense, and mean to insinuate that we are a couple of unfortunate beggars, I agree with you."

"Well, I've no objection," rejoined Ned, "to your taking my words in that sense; but I mean to say that, over and above that, we are real, veritable, _bona fide_ beggars, inasmuch as we have not a sixpence in the world."

Tom Collins's visage grew exceedingly long.

"Our united purse," pursued Ned, "hung, as you are aware, at my saddle-bow, and yon unmitigated villain who appropriated my good steed, is now in possession of all our hard-earned gold!"

Tom's countenance became preternaturally grave, but he did not venture to speak.

"Now," continued Ned, forcing a smile, "there is nothing for it but to make for the nearest diggings, commence work again, and postpone our travels to a future and more convenient season. We may laugh at it as we please, my dear fellow, but there's no denying that we are in what the Yankees would call an `oncommon fix.'"

Ned's remark as to "laughing at it," was altogether uncalled for and inappropriate, for his own smile might have been more correctly termed a grin, and nothing was further from Tom Collins's thoughts at that moment than laughing.

"Are the victuals gone too?" inquired Ned, hastily.

Both turned their eyes towards Tom Collins's horse, which grazed hard by, and both heaved a sigh of relief on observing that the saddle-bags were safe. This was a small drop of comfort in their otherwise bitter cup, and they made the most of it. Each, as if by a common impulse, pretending that he cared very little about the matter, and assuming that the other stood in need of being cheered and comforted, went about the preparations for encamping with a degree of reckless joviality that insensibly raised their spirits, not only up to but considerably above the natural level; and when at last they had spread out their viands, and lighted their fire and their pipes, they were, according to Tom's assertion, "happy as kings."

The choosing of a spot to encamp on formed the subject of an amicable dispute.

"I recommend the level turf under this oak," said Ned, pointing to a huge old tree, whose gnarled limbs covered a wide space of level sward.

"It's too low," objected Tom, (Tom could always object--a quality which, while it acted like an agreeable dash of cayenne thrown into the conversation of some of his friends, proved to be sparks applied to gunpowder in that of others;) "it's too low, and, doubtless, moist. I think that yonder pine, with its spreading branches and sweet-smelling cones, and carpet of moss below, is a much more fitting spot."

"Now, who is to decide the question if I don't give in, Tom? For I assume, of course, that you will never give in."

At that moment an accident occurred which decided the question for them. It frequently happens that some of the huge, heavy branches of the oaks in America become so thoroughly dried and brittle by the intense heat of summer, that they snap off without a moment's warning, often when there is not a breath of air sufficient to stir a leaf. This propensity is so well-known to Californian travellers that they are somewhat careful in selecting their camping ground, yet, despite all their care, an occasional life is lost by the falling of such branches.

An event of this kind occurred at the present time. The words had barely passed Ned's lips, when a large limb of the oak beside which they stood snapt off with a loud report, and fell with a crash to the ground.

"That settles it," said Tom, somewhat seriously, as he led his horse towards the pine-tree, and proceeded to spread his blanket beneath its branches.

In a few minutes the bright flame of their camp-fire threw a lurid glare on the trees and projecting cliffs of the wild pass, while they cooked and ate their frugal meal of jerked beef and biscuit. They conversed little during the repast or after it, for drowsiness began to steal over them, and it was not long before they laid their