Bob Hampton of Placer Part 27

He bowed low, until his lips pressed the white fingers, but before he could master himself to utter a word in reply, a distant voice called his name, and both glanced hastily around.

"That cry came from the valley," he said. "I left my horse tied there.

I will go and learn what it means."

She followed him part of the way through the labyrinth of underbrush, hardly knowing why she did so. He stood alone upon the summit of the high bluff whence he could look across the stream. Miss Spencer stood below waving her parasol frantically, and even as he gazed at her, his ears caught the sound of heavy firing down the valley.

CHAPTER XIV

PLUCKED FROM THE BURNING

That Miss Spencer was deeply agitated was evident at a glance, while the nervous manner in which she glanced in the direction of those distant gun shots, led Brant to jump to the conclusion that they were in some way connected with her appearance.

"Oh, Lieutenant Brant," she cried, excitedly, "they are going to kill him down there, and he never did it at all. I know he didn't, and so does Mr. Wynkoop. Oh, please hurry! n.o.body knew where you were, until I saw your horse tied here, and Mr. Wynkoop has been hunting for you everywhere. He is nearly frantic, poor man, and I cannot learn where either Mr. Moffat or Mr. McNeil is, and I just know those dreadful creatures will kill him before we can get help."

"Kill whom?" burst in Brant, springing down the bank fully awakened to the realization of some unknown emergency. "My dear Miss Spencer, tell me your story quickly if you wish me to act. Who is in danger, and from what?"

The girl burst into tears, but struggled bravely through with her message.

"It's those awful men, the roughs and rowdies down in Glencaid. They say he murdered Red Slavin, that big gambler who spoke to me this morning, but he did n't, for I saw the man who did, and so did Mr.

Wynkoop. He jumped out of the saloon window, his hand all b.l.o.o.d.y, and ran away. But they 've got him and the town marshal up behind the Shasta dump, and swear they're going to hang him if they can only take him alive. Oh, just hear those awful guns!"

"Yes, but who is it?"

"Bob Hampton, and--and he never did it at all."

Before Brant could either move or speak, Naida swept past him, down the steep bank, and her voice rang out clear, insistent. "Bob Hampton attacked by a mob? Is that true, Phoebe? They are fighting at the Shasta dump, you say? Lieutenant Brant, you must act--you must act now, for my sake!"

She sprang toward the horse, nerved by Brant's apparent slowness to respond, and loosened the rein from the scrub oak. "Then I will myself go to him, even if they kill me also, the cowards!"

But Brant had got his head now. Grasping her arm and the rein of the plunging horse, "You will go home," he commanded, with the tone of military authority. "Go home with Miss Spencer. All that can possibly be done to aid Hampton I shall do--will you go?"

She looked helplessly into his face. "You--you don't like him," she faltered; "I know you don't. But--but you will help him, won't you, for my sake?"

He crushed back an oath. "Like him or not like him, I will save him if it be in the power of man. Now will you go?"

"Yes," she answered, and suddenly extended her arms. "Kiss me first."

With the magical pressure of her lips upon his, he swung into the saddle and spurred down the road. It was a principle of his military training never to temporize with a mob--he would strike hard, but he must have sufficient force behind him. He reined up before the seemingly deserted camp, his horse flung back upon its haunches, white foam necking its quivering flanks.

"Sergeant!" The sharp snap of his voice brought that officer forward on the run. "Where are the men?"

"Playin' ball, most of 'em, sir, just beyond the ridge."

"Are the horses out in herd?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sound the recall; arm and mount every man; bring them into Glencaid on the gallop. Do you know the old Shasta mine?"

"No, sir."

"Half-way up the hill back of the hotel. You 'll find me somewhere in front of it. This is a matter of life or death, so jump lively now!"

He drove in his spurs, and was off like the wind. A number of men were in the street, all hurrying forward in the same direction, but he dashed past them. These were miners mostly, eager to have a hand in the man-hunt. Here and there a rider skurried along and joined in the chase. Just beyond the hotel, half-way up the hill, rifles were speaking irregularly, the white puffs of smoke blown quickly away by the stiff breeze. Near the centre of this line of skirmishers a denser cloud was beginning to rise in spirals. Brant, perceiving the largest group of men gathered just before him, rode straight toward them. The crowd scattered slightly at his rapid approach, but promptly closed in again as he drew up his horse with taut rein. He looked down into rough, bearded faces. Clearly enough these men were in no fit spirit for peace-making.

"You d.a.m.n fool!" roared one, hoa.r.s.ely, his gun poised as if in threat, "what do you mean by riding us down like that? Do you own this country?"

Brant flung himself from the saddle and strode in front of the fellow.

"I mean business. You see this uniform? Strike that, my man, and you strike the United States. Who is leading this outfit?"

"I don't know as it's your affair," the man returned, sullenly. "We ain't takin' no army orders at present, mister. We 're free-born American citizens, an' ye better let us alone."

"That is not what I asked you," and Brant squared his shoulders, his hands clinched. "My question was, Who is at the head of this outfit?

and I want an answer."

The spokesman looked around upon the others near him with a grin of derision. "Oh, ye do, hey? Well, I reckon we are, if you must know.

Since Big Jim Larson got it in the shoulder this outfit right yere hes bin doin' most of the brain work. So, if ye 've got anythin' ter say, mister officer man, I reckon ye better spit it out yere ter me, an'

sorter relieve yer mind."

"Who are you?"

The fellow expectorated vigorously into the leaves under foot, and drawing one hairy hand across his lips, flushed angrily to the unexpected inquiry.

"Oh, tell him, Ben. What's the blame odds? He can't do ye no hurt."

The man's look became dogged. "I 'm Ben Colton, if it 'll do ye any good to know."

"I thought I had seen you somewhere before," said Brant, contemptuously, and then swept his glance about the circle. "A nice leader of vigilantes you are, a fine representative of law and order, a lovely specimen of the free-born American citizen! Men, do you happen to know what sort of a cur you are following in this affair?"

"Oh, Ben's all right."

"What ye got against him, young feller?"

"Just this," and Brant squarely fronted the man, his voice ringing like steel. "I 've seen mobs before to-day, and I 've dealt with them. I 'm not afraid of you or your whole outfit, and I 've got fighting men to back me up. I never yet saw any mob which was n't led and incited by some cowardly, revengeful rascal. Honest men get mixed up in such affairs, but they are invariably inflamed by some low-down sneak with an axe to grind. I confess I don't know all about this Colton, but I know enough to say he is an army deserter, a liar, a dive-keeper, a gambler, and, to my certain knowledge, the direct cause of the death of three men, one a soldier of my troop. Now isn't he a sweet specimen to lead in the avenging of a supposed crime?"

Whatever else Colton might have failed in, he was a man of action.

Like a flash his gun flew to the level, but was instantly knocked aside by the grizzled old miner standing next him.

"None o' that, Ben," he growled, warningly. "It don't never pay to shoot holes in Uncle Sam."

Brant smiled. He was not there just then to fight, but to secure delay until his own men could arrive, and to turn aside the fierce mob spirit if such a result was found possible. He knew thoroughly the cla.s.s of men with whom he dealt, and he understood likewise the wholesome power of his uniform.

"I really would enjoy accommodating you, Colton," he said, coolly, feeling much more at ease, "but I never fight personal battles with such fellows as you. And now, you other men, it is about time you woke up to the facts of this matter. A couple of hundred of you chasing after two men, one an officer of the law doing his sworn duty, and the other innocent of any crime. I should imagine you would feel proud of your job."

"Innocent? h.e.l.l!"