Bert Wilson at Panama Part 5

A word from the chief, and two men came forward, holding forked sticks.

A third slit the bag with his knife from top to bottom. From the gaping rent, two monster rattlesnakes rolled out. But before they could coil to strike, each was pinned to the ground by the forked stick, pressed down close behind the head. They writhed and twisted frantically, but to no purpose. Then another man bent down and drove his knife through the tail of each, just above the rattles. Through the wound he pa.s.sed a thong of buckskin and looped it on the under side. Then, in each case, the other end of the thong was fastened securely to a stake, driven into the ground. When the work was done, a distance of ten yards separated the two stakes, and before each was a twisting reptile, wild with rage and pain. A man stood in front at a safe distance and held out a stick, teasingly. The snake flung itself to its full length, and the distance it could reach was carefully measured. Then, some inches beyond this furthest point, other stakes were drawn in rude outline of the form of a man. Near the buckskin thongs, men were stationed, with gourds full of water.

And now the stage was fully set for the tragedy. The audience was waiting. It was time for the actors to appear and the play begin.

El Tigre looked curiously at d.i.c.k. The latter's heart was beating tumultuously, but he met the scoundrel's gaze with calm defiance. He even smiled scornfully, as he stared at the battered lace, bleeding yet from his blow of a few minutes before. The significance of that smile lashed the bandit's soul into fury.

"I'll break him yet," he swore to himself. "He shall beg for mercy before he dies."

Then he said, aloud: "I was going to let the senor go first, but I have changed my mind. He is smiling now, and he shall have a longer time to enjoy himself."

He turned and spoke to some of his followers, and they went to a nearby tent, from which they emerged a moment later, bringing with them a Chinaman, whose yellow face was ghastly with fear. As the poor wretch looked around at the awful preparations, and realized that he was doomed, he threw himself down before the chief and tried to embrace his knees.

El Tigre spurned him with his foot.

"Tie him down," he commanded, briefly.

They bore the unhappy man to the stakes, threw him down and bound him so tightly to them that he could not move. He was fastened in such a way that his face lay on one side, looking toward the snake a few feet away.

The reptile coiled and sprang for the face, missing it by a few inches.

Several times this was repeated. The horror of that wicked head and those dripping fangs darting towards one's face was insupportable, and shriek followed shriek from the tortured victim. Still, the snake could not actually reach him, and if the thong held--But now the man with the gourd poured a little water on the thong.

_And the thong began to stretch._

The whole hideous deviltry of it struck d.i.c.k like a blow. Already he could see that the snake's head went a trifle nearer with every spring.

And still the water kept dripping. In a few minutes more, the fangs would meet in the victim's face.

And it was his turn next. He, too, must face that grisly horror. Death in its most loathsome form was beckoning. His brain reeled, but, by a tremendous effort, he steeled himself to meet his fate. He would--

"d.i.c.k!"

What was that?

"d.i.c.k!"

Was that Bert's voice, or was he going insane? "Don't move, old man,"

came a whisper from behind the tree. "It's Bert. I've cut the rope that holds you until it hangs by a thread. The least movement will snap it.

Let your hand hang down, and I'll slip you a revolver. Jump, when you get the word. We're going to rush the camp."

The reaction from despair to hope was so violent, that d.i.c.k could scarcely hold the weapon that was thrust into his hand. But as he felt the cold steel, his grip tightened on the stock, and he was himself again. Now at least he had a chance to fight for his life.

The snake was getting nearer to its victim's face. The last spring had all but grazed it. All eyes were fixed upon it, as it coiled again. Its waving head stood high above its folds, as it prepared to launch itself.

And just then a bowie knife whizzed through the air and sliced its head from its body. The next instant, a rain of bullets swept the clearing, and Melton, Bert, and Tom burst from the woods, firing as they came.

CHAPTER VI

THE EXECUTION OF EL TIGRE

With a quick jerk, d.i.c.k snapped the rope that held him and rushed toward his comrades. He ranged himself alongside, and his revolver barked in unison with theirs.

The surprise had been complete. At the first shot, the bandits had leaped to their feet, and with wild yells scattered in every direction.

Most of them had left their arms in their tents, and had nothing but their knives to defend them from attack. And these were wholly insufficient weapons, with which to meet the little band that flung themselves so recklessly upon them. For all they knew, they might be the vanguard of a force many times stronger, and they fled in wild confusion.

The guerilla chief was the only one who kept his head. He drew a revolver from his belt and returned shot for shot. He backed up slowly in the direction of his hut. With his eyes on the enemy in front, he had forgotten that the second snake was right behind him. He slipped on the slimy folds, and, the next instant, the enraged reptile struck at one of his hands as he attempted to rise. A burning pain shot through his index finger. He shook off the clinging snake, and, jumping upon it, stamped its head into pulp. Then he drew his knife and slashed his finger to the bone. The next instant he had reached his hut and slammed the door behind him.

The whole thing had happened in the twinkling of an eye. A dozen of the guerillas lay dead or wounded on the ground. The odds had been reduced with a vengeance, but they were still heavy. The attackers had played their trump card--that of the surprise. It had taken a trick, but the game was not yet over. No one knew this better than the old frontiersman. They had emptied their revolvers.

"Back to the woods," he shouted, "and reload."

Waiting only to recover his bowie and slash the bonds of the Chinaman, who lay there more dead than alive, he led the way. Soon they were under cover, and not till then did d.i.c.k throw his arms around Bert and Tom, in a hug that almost made their bones crack. Then he shook hands with Melton, with a fervor that made that hardy hero wince.

"I can never tell you," began d.i.c.k, and then he choked.

"You don't have to," returned Melton, gruffly, to conceal his own deep feeling, while Bert and Tom, in the grip of strong emotion, could only pat d.i.c.k's arms, without speaking; "It's nothing that any white man wouldn't do for another. Besides, we're not yet out of the woods. Those fellows will get their nerve back in a minute or two, and then look out for trouble. They've probably guessed by this time how few we are, and they'll be wild to get back at us. That leader of theirs is a beast all right, but he's no coward. The way he cut that poison out of his flesh shows that. Load your guns quick, and each get behind a big tree. Have your knives ready too, if it comes to close quarters."

"But you're wounded," cried d.i.c.k, as he saw a little trickle of blood from Melton's left shoulder.

"Only a scratch," laughed Melton; "the chief winged me there with his last shot. That's one I owe him and I always pay my debts. Just twist your handkerchief about it, and then we'll forget it."

It proved to be, as he said, only a graze, and they returned to their att.i.tude of strained attention.

In the meantime, the Chinaman had come hobbling out to them, and in his hollow eyes there was a speechless grat.i.tude that made them know that he was their slave for life. He was of no value as a reinforcement, and after having settled him in the shelter of a huge tree, they peered from behind their cover for some sign of the expected foe.

Five--ten--twenty minutes pa.s.sed, and nothing happened. The waiting was more nerve racking than the actual combat. The only sound that broke the stillness was the groans of the wounded, as they crawled into and behind their tents. It would have been an easy thing to finish the work, but none of them could fire on a helpless man, even though a murderer and an outlaw. They had put them out of the running, and that was enough.

Then suddenly, just as they began to think that after all the bandits had decamped, came a volley of bullets that pattered among the leaves and thudded into the trees.

"I was sure of it," muttered Melton. "Keep close under cover," he commanded, "and make every shot tell."

Even as he spoke, his rifle cracked, and a crouching figure rose with a yell, and lurched heavily forward on his face.

"One less," he grunted, "but there's still a mighty lot of them left."

The shots that had been more or less scattered now grew into a fusillade.

It was evident that the fighting was being intelligently directed, and that the bandits were regaining confidence. Melton and the boys shot coolly and carefully whenever they saw a head or an arm exposed, and the yells that followed the shot told that the bullet had found its mark.

But there seemed no let up in the enemy's volleys, and what made Melton more uneasy than anything else was that the zone of fire was steadily widening. His long experience told him unerringly that the foe was trying to surround them. If his little band had to face four ways at once, it would go hard with them.

Suddenly he felt a touch on his arm. He looked up and saw the Chinaman.

The latter pointed down the road.

"Men coming," he said. "Blig lots of men. Horses too."

Melton sprang to his feet. Sure enough, there were hors.e.m.e.n coming up the road. Was it a detachment of the guerilla band returning? Were they to be taken by fresh forces in the rear? He grabbed Bert by the shoulder.

"Here," he said, "face around with me. You other fellows stay as you are."

They crouched low with their eyes on the road. The tramp of hoofs became louder and the jingle of spurs and accoutrements fell upon their ears.

Then their hearts leaped, as round the curve, riding hard, swept a squad of Mexican cavalry, fully a hundred in number, their brilliant uniforms glittering in the sunlight. With a wild hurrah and waving their hands, they rushed forward to meet them.