Frank Merriwell Down South | Page 4

first bullet brought down one of the ponies of the pursuers, sending a bandit rolling over and over in the dust, to leap up like a cat, and spring behind a comrade on the back of another pony.
"Dot peen britty goot, Vrankie," complimented Hans Dunnerwust.
Again and again Frank fired, and the bandits quickly swerved away from the hut, feeling their ponies sway or fall beneath them.
In an astonishingly brief space of time the course of pursuit was deflected, giving the fugitive a chance to get away into Mendoza, which lay at a distance of about three miles from the hut.
The man in flight heard the shots, saw the figures in front of the hut, and waved his hand to them.
The professor excitedly beckoned for Bushnell to come to the hut, but the horseman did not seem to understand, and he kept straight on toward the town.
"Confound him!" exploded the professor. "Why didn't he come?"
"He don'd like a trap to run into," said Hans.
"But there is no trap here."
"How he known dot?"
"Well, I don't know as I blame him. Of course he could not be sure it was not a trap, and so he was cautious."
Frank was calmly refilling the magazine of the rifle with fresh cartridges.
"Why you didn't shoot some uf der pandits deat, Vrankie?" asked Hans.
"I do not wish to shed human blood if I can avoid it."
"You don't done dot uf you shoot six or elefen uf dose togs."
"Oh, they are human beings."
"Don't you belief me? Dey vos volves--kiotes."
"Well, I did not care to shoot them if I could aid the man in any other way, and I succeeded. See, they have given up the pursuit, and the fugitive is far away in that little cloud of dust."
"Frank!"
"Yes, professor."
"We should follow him, and bring him back to his dying partner."
"And leave Jack Burk here alone--possibly to die alone?"
"We can't do that."
"Of course not."
"What then?"
"We'll have to consider the matter. But Burk---- Look--see there, professor! He is flat on his face in the doorway! He fell like that after trying to shout to his partner."
Frank leaped forward, and turned the man on his back. It was a drawn, ghastly face that the trio gazed down upon.
Professor Scotch quickly knelt beside the motionless form, feeling for the pulse, and then shaking his head gravely.
"What is it?" anxiously asked Frank. "Has he----"
He was silent at a motion from the professor, who bent to listen for some movement of the man's heart.
After a few seconds, Professor Scotch straightened up, and solemnly declared:
"This is the end for him. We can do nothing more."
"He is dead?"
"Yes."
There was an awed hush.
"Now we can leave him," the professor finally said. "Pacheco, the bandit, cannot harm him now."
They lifted the body and bore it back to the wretched bed of straw, on which they tenderly placed it.
"The idol--the golden image?" said the professor. "You must not forget that, Frank. You have it?"
"Little danger that I shall forget it. It is here, where it fell from my fingers as I ran out."
He picked up the image, and placed it in one of his pockets.
Then, having covered the face of Jack Burk with his handkerchief, Frank led the way from the hut.
Their horses had been tethered near at hand, and they were soon mounted and riding away toward Mendoza.
The sun beat down hotly on the plain of white sand, and the sky was of a bright blue, such as Frank had never seen elsewhere.
Outside Mendoza was a narrow canal, but a few feet in width, and half filled with water, from which rose little whiffs of hot steam.
Along the side of the canal was a staggering rude stone wall, fringed with bushes in strips and clumps.
Beyond the canal, which fixed the boundary of the plain of sand, through vistas of tree trunks, could be seen glimpses of brown fields, fading away into pale pink, violet, and green.
The dome and towers of a church rose against the dim blue; low down, and on every side were spots of cream-white, red, and yellow, with patches of dark green intervening, revealing bits of the town, with orange groves all about.
Across the fields ran a road that was ankle deep with dust, and along the road a string of burros, loaded with great bundles of green fodder, were crawling into the town.
An undulating mass of yellow dust finally revealed itself as a drove of sheep, urged along by peons, appeared.
Groups of natives were strolling in both directions, seeking the shadows along the canal. The women were in straw hats, with their black hair plaited, and little children strung to their backs; the men wore serapes and sandals, and smoked cigarettes.
Along the side of the canal were scattered scores of natives of all ages and both sexes, lolling beneath the bushes or soaking their