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Charlie to the Rescue

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<h3>Chapter Twenty.</h3> <h4>Jake The Flint In Difficulties.</h4> The man who, at the time we write of, was known by the name of Jake the Flint had acquired the character of the most daring and cruel scoundrel in a region where villains were by no means rare. His exploits indicated a spirit that was utterly reckless of life, whether his own or that of his fellow-men, and many were the trappers, hunters, and Redskins who would have given a good deal and gone far to have the chance of putting a bullet in his carcass. But, as is not unfrequently the case with such men, Jake seemed to bear a charmed life, and when knife, bullet, and rope, cut short the career of many less guilty men, Jake had hitherto managed to elude his captors—at one time by strategy, at another by a bold dash for life, and sometimes by “luck.” No one had a kind word for Jake, no one loved, though many feared, admired, and hated him. This may seem strange, for it is usually found that even in the case of the most noted outlaws there is a woman or a man, or both—who cling to them with affection. Perhaps the fact that Jake was exceptionally harsh and cruel at all times, may account for this, as it accounted for his sobriquet of Flint. He was called by some of those who knew him a “God-forsaken man.” We merely state the fact, but are very far from adopting the expression, for it ill becomes any man of mortal mould to pronounce his fellow-man God-forsaken. In the meantime we feel it to be no breach of charity to say that Jake had forsaken God, for his foul language and bloody deeds proved the fact beyond all question. He was deceitful as well as cruel, and those who knew him best felt sure that his acting under Buck Tom was a mere ruse. There is little doubt that he had done so for the purpose of obtaining an influence over a gang of desperadoes, ready to hand, as it were, and that the moment he saw his opportunity he would kill Buck Tom and take command. The only thing that had kept him from doing so sooner, it was thought, was the fact that Buck had the power to gain the affection of his men, as well as to cause them to fear him, so that Jake had not yet found the time ripe for action. After the outlaw had been put into the room by himself, as already stated, the door locked, and a sentry posted below the window, he immediately turned with all his energy to examine into his circumstances and prospects. First of all his wrists were manacled. That, however, gave him little concern, for his hands were unusually small and delicate, and he knew from experience that he could slip them out of any handcuffs that would close easily on his wrists—a fact that he had carefully concealed, and of which men were not yet aware, as he had not yet been under the necessity of availing himself of the circumstance. The rope with which he had been bound on the way to the ranch had been removed, the handcuffs being deemed sufficient. As the window of his prison was over thirty feet from the ground, and a sentinel with a carbine and revolver stood below, it was thought that the bird who had so frequently escaped his cage before was safe at last, and fairly on his way to the gallows. Not so thought Jake the Flint. Despair did not seem to be a possibility to him. Accordingly, he examined his prison carefully, and with a hopeful smile. The examination was soon completed, for the room presented no facilities whatever for escape. There was no bed from which to take the sheets and blankets to extemporise a rope. No mattress to throw over the window so as to break a heavy man’s fall. No chimney by which to ascend to the roof, no furniture, indeed, of any kind beyond a deal chair and table. The door was of solid oak and bolted outside. Obviously the window was his only chance. He went to it and looked out. The depth was too much, he knew, for even his strong bones to stand the shock; and the sentinel paced to and fro underneath with loaded carbine. “If any one would only lay a feather-bed down there,” thought Jake, “I’d jump an’ take my chance.” While he was gazing meditatively on the fair prospect of land and water that lay before him, one of the bolts of the door was withdrawn, then another, and the door slowly opened. For an instant the outlaw gathered himself up for a rush, with a view to sell his life dearly, and he had even begun to draw one of his hands out of the manacles, when the folly and hopelessness of the attempt struck him. He quickly checked himself, and met his jailor (one of the troopers) with a smiling countenance as he entered and laid a loaf and a jug of water on the table. The rattle of a musket outside told Jake that his jailor had not come alone. Without a word the man turned, and was leaving the room, when Jake, in a voice of great humility, asked him to stop. “You couldn’t remove these things, could you?” he said, holding out his fettered hands. “No,” answered the trooper, sharply. “Ah!” sighed Jake, “I feared it was agin the rules. You couldn’t let me have the use of a file, could you, for a few minutes? What! agin’ rules too? It’s a pity, for I’m used to brush my teeth with a file of a mornin’, an’ I like to do it before breakfast.” Jake interlarded his speech with a variety of oaths, with which we will not defile the paper, but he could extract no further reply from the trooper than a glance of scorn. Left to himself, Jake again went to the window, which was a small cottage one, opening inwards like a door. He opened it and looked out. The sentinel instantly raised his carbine and ordered him to shut it. “Hullo! Silas, is that you?” cried Jake in surprise, but paying no attention to the threat, “I thought you had quit for Heaven durin’ the last skrimidge wi’ the Reds down in Kansas? Glad to see you lookin’ so well. How’s your wife an’ the child’n, Silas?” “Come now, Jake,” said the trooper sternly, “you know it’s all up with you, so you needn’t go talkin’ bosh like that—more need to say your prayers. Stand back and shut the window, I say, else I’ll put a bullet through your gizzard.” “Well now, Silas,” said Jake, remonstratively, and opening the breast of his red shirt as he spoke, “I didn’t expect that of an old friend like you—indeed I didn’t. But, see here, if you raaly are goin’ to fire take good aim an’ keep clear o’ the heart and liver. The gizzard lies hereabout (pointing to his breast) and easy to hit if you’ve a steady hand. I know the exact spot, for I’ve had the cuttin’ up of a good bunch o’ men in my day, an’ I can’t bear to see a thing muddled. But hold on, Silas, I won’t put ye to the pain o’ shootin’ me. I’ll shut the window if you’ll make me a promise.” “What’s that?” demanded the trooper, still covering the outlaw, however, with his carbine. “You know I’m goin’ to my doom—that’s what poetical folk call it, Silas—an’ I want you to help me wind up my affairs, as the lawyers say. Well, this here (holding up a coin) is my last dollar, the remains o’ my fortin’, Silas, an’ this here bit o’ paper that I’m rappin’ round it, is my last will an’ testimonial. You’ll not refuse to give it to my only friend on arth, Hunky Ben, for I’ve no wife or chick to weep o’er my grave, even though they knew where it was. You’ll do this for me, Silas, won’t you?” “All right—pitch it down.” Jake threw the coin, which fell on the ground a few feet in front of the trooper, who stooped to pick it up. With one agile bound the outlaw leaped from the window and descended on the trooper’s back, which was broken by the crashing blow, and Jake rolled over him with considerable violence, but the poor man’s body had proved a sufficient buffer, and Jake rose unhurt. Deliberately taking the carbine from the dead man’s hand, and plucking the revolver from his belt, he sauntered off in the direction of the stables. These being too small to contain all the troop-horses, some of the animals were picketed in an open shed, and several troopers were rubbing them down. The men took Jake for one of the cow-boys of the ranch, for he passed them whistling. Entering the stable he glanced quickly round, selected the finest horse, and, loosing its halter from the stall, turned the animal’s head to the door. “What are ye doin’ wi’ the captain’s horse?” demanded a trooper, who chanced to be in the neighbouring stall. “The captain wants it. Hold his head till I get on him. He’s frisky,” said Jake, in a voice of authority. The man was taken aback and obeyed; but as Jake mounted he turned suddenly pale. The outlaw, observing the change, drew the revolver, and, pointing it at the trooper’s head, said, in a low savage voice, “A word, a sound, and your brains are on the floor!” The man stood open-mouthed, as if petrified. Jake shook the reins of the fiery horse and bounded through the door-way, stooping to the saddle-bow as he went. He could see, even at that moment, that the trooper, recovering himself, was on the point of uttering a shout. Wheeling round in the saddle he fired, and the man fell with a bullet in his brain. The shot of course aroused the whole ranch. Men rushed into the yard with and without arms in wild confusion, but only in time to see a flying horseman cross the square and make for the gate. A rattling irregular volley was sent after him, but the only effect it had was to cause the outlaw to turn round in the saddle and wave his hat, while he gave vent to a yell of triumph. Another moment and he was beyond the bluff and had disappeared. “Boot and saddle!” instantly rang out at the ranch, and every preparation was made for pursuit, though, mounted as Jake was on the best horse of the troop, they could not hope to overtake him. Hunky Ben, at his own particular request was permitted to go on in advance. “You see, sir,” he said to the captain, “my Black Polly an’t quite as good as your charger, but she’s more used to this sort o’ country, an’ I can take the short cuts where your horse could hardly follow.” “Go, Ben, and good luck go with you! Besides, we can do without you, now that we have Mr Brooke to guide us.” “Come wi’ me, sir,” said Hunky Ben, as he passed Charlie on his way to the stables. “Don’t you hesitate, Mr Brooke, to guide the captain to the cave of Buck Tom. I’m goin’ on before you to hunt up the reptiles—to try an’ catch Jake the Flint.” The scout chuckled inwardly as he said this. “But why go in advance? You can never overtake the scoundrel with such a start and on such a horse.” “Never you mind what I can or can’t do,” said Ben, entering the stable where the dead trooper still lay, and unfastening Black Polly. “I’ve no time to explain. All I know is that your friend Leather is sure to be hanged if he’s cotched, an’ I’m sure he’s an innocent man—therefore, I’m goin’ to save him. It’s best for you to know nothin’ more than that, for I see you’re not used to tellin’ lies. Can you trust me?” “Certainly I can. The look of your face, Ben, even more than the character you bear, would induce me to trust you.” “Well then, Mr Brooke, the first sign o’ trust is to obey orders without askin’ questions.” “True, when the orders are given by one who has a right to command,” returned Charlie. “Just so, an’ my right to command lies in the fact that the life o’ your friend Leather depends on your obedience.” “I’m your humble servant, then. But what am I to do?” “Do whatever Captain Wilmot orders without objectin’, an’ speak nothing but the truth. You don’t need to speak the whole truth, hows’ever,” added the scout thoughtfully, as he led out his coal-black steed. “Your friend Leather has got a Christian name of course. Don’t mention it. I don’t want to hear it. Say nothin’ about it to anybody. The time may come when it may be useful to drop the name of Leather and call your friend Mister whatever the tother name may be. Now mind what I’ve said to ye.” As he spoke the last words the scout touched the neck of his beautiful mare, and in another minute was seen racing at full speed over the rolling plain. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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