chase, capture, and end of jake the flint.

it was growing dark when brooke and the scout reached the cave that evening and found that buck tom was dead; but they had barely time to realise the fact when their attention was diverted by the sudden arrival of a large band of horsemen—cowboys and others—the leader of whom seemed to be the cow-boy crux.

hunky ben and his friends had, of course, made rapid preparations to receive them as foes, if need were; but on recognising who composed the cavalcade, they went out to meet them.

“hallo! hunky,” shouted crux, as he rode up and leaped off his steed, “have they been here?”

“who d’ye mean?” demanded the scout.

“why, jake the flint, to be sure, an’ his murderin’ gang. haven’t ye heard the news?”

“not i. who d’ye think would take the trouble to come up here with noos?”

“they’ve got clear off, boys,” said crux, in a voice of great disappointment. “so we must off saddle, an’ camp where we are for the night.”

while the rest of the party dismounted and dispersed to look for a suitable camping-ground, crux explained the reason of their unexpected appearance.

after the flint and his companions had left their mountain fastness, as before described, they had appeared in different parts of the country and committed various depredations; some of their robberies having been accompanied with bloodshed and violence of a nature which so exasperated the people that an organised band had at length been gathered to go in pursuit of the daring outlaw. but jake was somewhat napoleonic in his character, swift in his movements, and sudden in his attacks; so that, while his exasperated foes were searching for him in one direction, news would be brought of his having committed some daring and bloody deed far off in some other quarter. his latest acts had been to kill and rob a post-runner, who happened to be a great favourite in his locality, and to attack and murder, in mere wanton cruelty, a family of friendly indians, belonging to a tribe which had never given the whites any trouble. the fury of the people, therefore, was somewhat commensurate with the wickedness of the man. they resolved to capture him, and, as there was a number of resolute cow-boys on the frontier, to whom life seemed to be a bauble to be played with, kept, or cast lightly away, according to circumstances, it seemed as if the effort made at this time would be successful.

the latest reports that seemed reliable were to the effect that, after slaying the indians, jake and his men had made off in the direction of his old stronghold at the head of traitor’s trap. hence the invasion by crux and his band.

“you’ll be glad to hear—or sorry, i’m not sure which—” said the scout, “that buck tom has paid his last debt.”

“what! defunct?” exclaimed crux.

“ay. whatever may have bin his true character an’ deeds, he’s gone to his account at last.”

“are ye sure, hunky?”

“if ye don’t believe me, go in there an’ you’ll see what’s left of him. the corp ain’t cold yet.”

the rugged cow-boy entered at once, to convince himself by ocular demonstration.

“well,” said he, on coming out of the cave, “i wish it had been the flint instead. he’ll give us some trouble, you bet, afore we bring him to lie as flat as buck tom. poor buck! they say he wasn’t a bad chap in his way, an’ i never heard of his bein’ cruel, like his comrades. his main fault was castin’ in his lot wi’ the flint. they say that jake has bin carousin’ around, throwin’ the town-folk everywhere into fits.”

that night the avengers in search of jake the flint slept in and around the outlaws’ cave, while the chief of the outlaws lay in the sleep of death in a shed outside. during the night the scout went out to see that the body was undisturbed, and was startled to observe a creature of some sort moving near it. ben was troubled by no superstitious fears, so he approached with the stealthy, cat-like tread which he had learned to perfection in his frontier life. soon he was near enough to perceive, through the bushes, that the form was that of shank leather, silent and motionless, seated by the side of buck tom, with his face buried in his hands upon his knees. a deep sob broke from him as he sat, and again he was silent and motionless. the scout withdrew as silently as he had approached, leaving the poor youth to watch and mourn over the friend who had shared his hopes and fears, sins and sorrows, so long—long at least in experience, if not in numbered years.

next morning at daybreak they laid the outlaw in his last resting-place, and then the avengers prepared to set off in pursuit of his comrades.

“you’ll join us, i fancy,” said crux to charlie brooke.

“no; i remain with my sick friend leather. but perhaps some of my comrades may wish to go with you.”

it was soon arranged that hunky ben and dick darvall should join the party.

“we won’t be long o’ catchin’ him up,” said crux, “for the flint has become desperate of late, an’ we’re pretty sure of a man when he gets into that fix.”

the desperado to whom crux referred was one of those terrible human monsters who may be termed a growth of american frontier life, men who, having apparently lost all fear of god, or man, or death, carry their lives about with hilarious indifference, ready to risk them at a moment’s notice on the slightest provocation, and to take the lives of others without a shadow of compunction. as a natural consequence, such maniacs, for they are little else, are feared by all, and even brave men feel the necessity of being unusually careful while in their company.

among the various wild deeds committed by jake and his men was one which led them into serious trouble and proved fatal to their chief. coming to a village, or small town, one night they resolved to have a regular spree, and for this purpose encamped a short way outside the town till it should be quite dark. about midnight the outlaws, to the number of eight, entered the town, each armed with a winchester and a brace of revolvers. scattering themselves, they began a tremendous fusillade, as fast as they could fire, so that nearly the whole population, supposing the place was attacked by indians, turned out and fled to the mountains behind the town. the flint and his men made straight for the chief billiard room, which they found deserted, and there, after helping themselves to all the loose cash available, they began to drink. of course they soon became wild under the influence of the liquor, but retained sense enough to mount their horses and gallop away before the people of the place mustered courage to return and attack the foe.

it was while galloping madly away after this raid that the murderous event took place which ended in the dispersal of the gang.

daylight was creeping over the land when the outlaws left the town. jake was wild with excitement at what had occurred, as well as with drink, and began to boast and swear in a horrible manner. when they had ridden a good many miles, one of the party said he saw some redskins in a clump of wood they were approaching.

“did ye?” cried jake, flourishing his rifle over his head and uttering a terrible oath, “then i’ll shoot the first redskin i come across.”

“better not, jake,” said one of his men. “they’re all friendly injins about here.”

“what’s the odds to me!” yelled the drunken wretch. “i’ll shoot the first i see as i would a rabbit.”

at that moment they were passing a bluff covered with timber, and, unfortunately, a poor old indian woman came out of the wood to look at the horsemen as they flew past.

without an instant’s hesitation jake swerved aside, rode straight up to the old creature, and blew out her brains.

accustomed as they were to deeds of violence and bloodshed, his comrades were overwhelmed with horror at this, and, fearing the consequences of the dastardly murder, rode for life away over the plains.

but the deed had been witnessed by the relatives of the poor woman. without sound or cry, fifty red men leaped on their horses and swept with the speed of light along the other side of the bluff, which concealed them from the white men’s sight. thus they managed to head them, and when jake and his gang came to the end of the strip of wood, the red men, armed with rifle and revolver, were in front of them.

there was something deadly and unusual in the silence of the indians on this occasion. concentrated rage seemed to have stopped their power to yell. swift as eagles they swooped down and surrounded the little band of white men, who, seeing that opposition would be useless, and, perhaps, cowed by the sight of such a cold-blooded act offered no resistance at all, while their arms were taken from them.

with lips white from passion, the indian chief in command demanded who did the deed. the outlaws pointed to jake, who sat on his horse with glaring eyes and half-open mouth like one stupefied. at a word from the chief, he was seized, dragged off his horse, and held fast by two powerful men while a third bound his arms. a spear was driven deep into the ground to serve as a stake, and to this jake was tied. he made no resistance. he seemed to have been paralysed, and remained quite passive while they stripped him naked to the waist. his comrades, still seated on their horses, seemed incapable of action. they had, no doubt, a presentiment of what was coming.

the chief then drew his scalping knife, and passed it swiftly round the neck of the doomed man so as to make a slight incision. grasping the flap raised at the back of the neck, he tore a broad band of skin from jake’s body, right down his back to his waist. a fearful yell burst from the lips of the wretched man, but no touch of pity moved the hearts of the red men, whose chief prepared to tear off another strip of skin from the quivering flesh.

at the same moment the companions of the flint wheeled their horses round, and, filled with horror, fled at full speed from the scene.

the red men did not attempt to hinder them. there was no feud at that time between the white men and that particular tribe. it was only the murderer of their old kinswoman on whom they were bent on wreaking their vengeance, and with terrible cruelty was their diabolical deed accomplished. the comrades of the murderer, left free to do as they pleased, scattered as they fled, as if each man were unable to endure the sight of the other, and they never again drew together.

on the very next day crux and his band of avengers were galloping over the same region, making straight for the town which the outlaws had thrown into such consternation, and where crux had been given to understand that trustworthy news of the flint’s movements would probably be obtained.

the sun was setting, and a flood of golden light was streaming over the plains, when one of the band suggested that it would be better to encamp where they were than to proceed any further that night.

“so we will, boy,” said crux, looking about for a suitable spot, until his eye fell on a distant object that riveted his attention.

“a strange-looking thing, that,” remarked the scout who had observed the object at the same moment. “somethin’ like a man, but standin’ crooked-like in a fashion i never saw a man stand before, though i’ve seen many a queer sight in my day.”

“we’ll soon clear up the mystery,” said crux, putting spurs to his horse and riding straight for the object in question, followed by the whole cavalcade.

“ay, ay, bloody work bin goin’ on here, i see,” muttered the scout as they drew near.

“the accursed redskins!” growled crux.

we need scarcely say that it was the dead body of jake they had thus discovered, tied to the spear which was nearly broken by the weight of the mutilated carcass. besides tearing most of the skin off the wretched man’s body, the savages had scalped jake; but a deep wound over the region of the heart showed that they had, at all events, ended his sufferings before they left him.

while the avengers—whose vengeance was thus forestalled—were busy scraping a shallow grave for the remains of the outlaw, a shout was raised by several of the party who dashed after something into a neighbouring copse. an indian had been discovered there, and the cruelties which had been practised on the white man had, to a great extent, transferred their wrath from the outlaw to his murderers. but they found that the rush was needless, for the indian who had been observed was seated on the ground beside what appeared to be a newly formed grave, and he made no attempt to escape.

he was a very old and feeble man, yet something of the fire of the warrior gleamed from his sunken eyes as he stood up and tried to raise his bent form into an attitude of proud defiance.

“do you belong to the tribe that killed this white man?” said hunky ben, whose knowledge of most of the indian dialects rendered him the fitting spokesman of the party.

“i do,” answered the indian in a stern yet quavering voice that seemed very pitiful, for it was evident that the old man thought his last hour had come, and that he had made up his mind to die as became a dauntless indian brave.

at that moment a little indian girl, who had hitherto lain quite concealed in the tangled grass, started up like a rabbit from its lair and dashed into the thicket. swiftly though the child ran, however, one of the young men of the party was swifter. he sprang off in pursuit, and in a few moments brought her back.

“your tribe is not at war with the pale-faces,” continued the scout, taking no notice of this episode. “they have been needlessly cruel.”

for some moments the old man gazed sternly at his questioner as if he heard him not. then the frown darkened, and, pointing to the grave at his feet, he said—

“the white man was more cruel.”

“what had he done?” asked the scout.

but the old man would not reply. there came over his withered features that stony stare of resolute contempt which he evidently intended to maintain to the last in spite of torture and death.

“better question the child,” suggested dick darvall, who up to that moment had been too much horrified by what he had witnessed to be able to speak.

the scout looked at the child. she stood trembling beside her captor, with evidences of intense terror on her dusky countenance, for she was only too well accustomed to the cruelties practised by white men and red on each other to have any hope either for the old man or herself.

“poor thing!” said hunky ben, laying his strong hand tenderly on the girl’s head. then, taking her hand, he led her gently aside, and spoke to her in her own tongue.

there was something so unexpectedly soft in the scout’s voice, and so tender in his touch, that the little brown maid was irresistibly comforted. when one falls into the grasp of goodness and strength, relief of mind, more or less, is an inevitable result. david thought so when he said, “let me fall now into the hand of the lord.” the indian child evidently thought so when she felt that hunky ben was strong and perceived that he was good.

“we will not hurt you, my little one,” said the scout, when he had reached a retired part of the copse, and, sitting down, placed the child on his knee. “the white man who was killed by your people was a very bad man. we were looking for him to kill him. was it the old man that killed him?”

“no,” replied the child, “it was the chief.”

“why was he so cruel in his killing?” asked the scout.

“because the white man was a coward. he feared to face our warriors, but he shot an old woman!” answered the little maid; and then, inspired with confidence by the scout’s kind and pitiful expression, she related the whole story of the savage and wanton murder perpetrated by the flint, the subsequent vengeance of her people, and the unchecked flight and dispersion of jake’s comrades. the old woman who had been slain, she said, was her grandmother, and the old man who had been captured was her grandfather.

“friends, our business has been done for us,” said the scout on rejoining his comrades, “so we’ve nothing to do but return home.”

he then told them in detail what the indian girl had related.

“of course,” he added, “we’ve no right to find fault wi’ the redskins for punishin’ the murderer arter their own fashion, though we might wish they had bin somewhat more merciful—”

“no, we mightn’t,” interrupted crux stoutly. “the flint got off easy in my opinion. if i had had the doin’ o’t, i’d have roasted him alive.”

“no, you wouldn’t, crux,” returned ben, with a benignant smile. “young chaps like you are always, accordin’ to your own showin’, worse than the devil himself when your blood’s roused by indignation at cruelty or injustice, but you sing a good deal softer when you come to the scratch with your enemy in your power.”

“you’re wrong, hunky ben,” retorted crux firmly. “any man as would blow the brains out of a poor old woman in cold blood, as the flint did, desarves the worst that can be done to him.”

“i didn’t say nowt about what he desarves,” returned the scout; “i was speakin’ about what you would do if you’d got the killin’ of him.”

“well, well, mates,” said dick darvall, a little impatiently, “seems to me that we’re wastin’ our wind, for the miserable wretch, bein’ defunct, is beyond the malice o’ red man or white. i therefore vote that we stop palaverin’, ’bout ship, clap on all sail an’ lay our course for home.”

this suggestion met with general approval, and the curious mixture of men and races, which had thus for a brief period been banded together under the influence of a united purpose, prepared to break up.

“i suppose you an’ darvall will make tracks for traitor’s trap,” said crux to hunky ben.

“that’s my trail to be,” answered the scout. “what say you, black polly? are ye game for such a spin to-night?”

the mare arched her glossy neck, put back both ears, and gave other indications that she would have fully appreciated the remarks of her master if she had only understood them.

“ah! bluefire and i don’t talk in that style,” said crux, with a laugh. “i give him his orders an’ he knows that he’s got to obey. he and i will make a bee-line for david’s store an’ have a drink. who’ll keep me company?”

several of the more reckless among the men intimated their willingness to join the toper. the rest said they had other business on hand than to go carousin’ around.

“why, crux,” said one who had been a very lively member of the party during the ride out, “d’ye know, boy, that it’s writ in the book o’ fate that you an’ i an’ all of us, have just got so many beats o’ the pulse allowed us—no more an’ no less—an’ we’re free to run the beats out fast or slow, just as we like? there’s nothin’ like drink for makin’ ’em go fast!”

“i don’t believe that, robin stout,” returned crux; “an’ even if i did believe it i’d go on just the same, for i prefer a short life and a merry one to a long life an’ a wishy-washy miserable one.”

“hear! hear!” exclaimed several of the topers.

“don’t ye think, crux,” interposed darvall, “that a long life an’ a happy one might be better than either?”

“hear! hear!” remarked hunky ben, with a quiet laugh.

“well, boys,” said one fine bright-looking young fellow, patting the neck of his pony, “whether my life is to be long or short, merry, wishy-washy or happy, i shall be off cow-punching for the next six months or so, somewhere about the african bend, on the colorado river, in south texas, an’ i mean to try an’ keep my pulse a-goin’ without drink. i’ve seen more than enough o’ the curse that comes to us all on account of it, and i won’t be caught in that trap again.”

“then you’ve bin caught in it once already, jo pinto?” said a comrade.

“ay, i just have, but, you bet, it’s the last time. i don’t see the fun of makin’ my veins a channel for firewater, and then finishin’ off with d.t., if bullet or knife should leave me to go that length.”

“i suppose, pinto,” said crux, with a smile of contempt, “that you’ve bin to hear that mad fellow gough, who’s bin howlin’ around in these parts of late?”

“that’s so,” retorted pinto, flushing with sudden anger. “i’ve been to hear j.b. gough, an’ what’s more i mean to take his advice in spite of all the flap-jack soakers ’tween the atlantic and the rockies. he’s a true man, is gough, every inch of him, and men and women that’s bin used chiefly to cursin’ in time past have heaped more blessin’s on that man’s head than would sink you, crux,—if put by mistake on your head—right through the lowest end o’ the bottomless pit.”

“pretty deep that, anyhow!” exclaimed crux, with a careless laugh, for he had no mind to quarrel with the stout young cow-boy whose black eyes he had made to flash so keenly.

“it seems to me,” said another of the band, as he hung the coils of his lasso round the horn of his mexican saddle, “that we must quit talkin’ unless we make up our minds to stop here till sun-up. who’s goin’ north? my old boss is financially busted, so i’ve hired to p.t. granger, who has started a new ranch at the head o’ pugit’s creek. he wants one or two good hands i know, an’ i’ve reason to believe he’s an honest man. i go up trail at thirty dollars per month. the outfit’s to consist of thirty hundred head of texas steers, a chuck wagon and cook, with thirty riders includin’ the boss himself an’ six horses to the man.”

a couple of stout-looking cow-boys offered to join the last speaker on the strength of his representations, and then, as the night bid fair to be bright and calm, the whole band scattered and galloped away in separate groups over the moonlit plains.