Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders in the High Sierras

When Hippy looked he saw three men leading the Overland saddle ponies into a defile in the mountains. Hippy threw up his rifle, but lowered it instantly.

“It won’t do any good to shoot. Then again I might hit a pony. What I want to do is to get a man. Sh-h-h-h!”

The man that Hippy had seen, but who had disappeared immediately afterward, he now discovered lying on a slab of rock up high enough to give him a fairly good view of the entrance to the cave.

“I see him. Don’t move. He is looking this way,” whispered Lieutenant Wingate.

After a few moments of cautious observation, the man on the rock crawled back and disappeared.

The day was rapidly drawing to a close and the two Overland men began to feel considerable concern. There was little hope in their minds that they were going to get out of their present situation that night. Tom and Hippy discussed the situation, and considered the idea of creeping away in the night, but finally concluded that their greatest safety lay in keeping out of sight and awaiting developments.

“It is their move first,” declared Tom. “And when they do start something we shall be on the job, though I am a little concerned about our ammunition. We have none to waste. It seems to me that there ought to be some in that cave, if the scoundrels are half as prudent as we think they are.”

Hippy called softly to Nora, asking her to have a thorough search of the cave made to see if ammunition might not be found. Half an hour later Nora reported that they could find none.

“Then we shall have to get along with what we have,” decided Tom Gray. “With what we have we ought to be able to give a pretty fair account of ourselves.”

Night fell, with the lake and the mountainsides bathed in a flood of moonlight, for the moon was full and well up. The fire in the cave had long since been put out so that the besiegers might not smell the smoke, and, shortly after dark, the girls passed out a luncheon, taken from the stores of food that Stacy Brown had discovered on his first visit to the cave. Tom and Hippy were munching this eagerly, when Tom uttered a suppressed exclamation.

“Look yonder!” he whispered.

“It’s the dugout!” breathed Hippy.

The dugout, with three men in it, was being rapidly paddled out into the lake, which was now quiet, a gleaming sheet of silver in the bright moonlight. The paddlers went straight to the log and began hauling up on the rope at one end.

“They are after the chests. What would you advise, Tom?” asked Hippy eagerly.

“We are going to shoot, that’s what,” answered Tom Gray, leveling his rifle. “I don’t want to hit anyone, but I do want to give them a scare.” Taking careful aim at the canoe, he fired – and missed. Tom shot again, and this time his bullet reached its mark – the dugout.

Hippy Wingate tried a shot and scored a hit the first time. The men in the dugout showed indications of panic.

“Let ’em have it hard,” urged Tom, whereupon both men began shooting, but the shooting was not confined to their own rifles. From somewhere on the mountain-side other rifles spoke, and bullets spattered against the rocks that stood out white in the moonlight, hard by the cave.

“They’ve located us!” cried Tom Gray. “Stacy, come out here, but creep out,” he ordered.

The fat boy came wriggling out, rifle in hand.

“See if you can find the fellows who are shooting at us; then stir them up,” directed Tom.

A few moments later, Chunky’s rifle spoke. In the meantime Tom and Hippy had been shooting at the boat, taking their time, aiming with deliberation, until finally the fire became too hot for the men in the dugout, and they paddled rapidly shoreward to the other side of the lake. Soon after their arrival there they began to shoot at the cave-mouth. Hippy and Tom then turned their rifles in that direction, but with what result they were unable to determine.

Stacy shot slowly and steadily, without apparent nervousness, and the two men began to feel respect for the irrepressible Chunky. After a time the fire on both sides died down and silence settled over the scene. Finally, Grace suggested that she and Elfreda relieve the men of their watch, which, after reflection, was agreed to. After a vigil of some hours Grace called for Tom and pointed towards the lake, that was shining in the moonlight.

“Is not something moving out there?” she questioned.

“Yes. It is those scoundrels after the chests again. Call Hippy!”

After watching the shadowy shape of the dugout for some moments the two Overland men again opened fire, and once more the dugout was hurriedly paddled ashore.

No further disturbance occurred that night. The girls went to sleep, but Lieutenant Wingate and Captain Gray remained on duty from that time on. All of the following day was spent in the cave, not a shot being fired on either side. The Overlanders were of the opinion that their adversaries were keeping out of sight for the purpose of luring the party out into the open, so they remained where they were.

Another night came on, and at about ten o’clock the Overland Riders were treated to a deluge of rifle bullets, which was not returned, as the ammunition supply was now too low.

“Grace, have you taken an inventory of the food?” asked Tom, after the firing had died down.

“Yes. We have enough for present needs, but have you considered that we may be held here until either we starve or are shot? I, for one, am in favor of making our escape. Take my word for it, our besiegers will play some trick that will prove our undoing,” declared Grace with strong conviction in her tone.

“We will stick it out another day,” answered Lieutenant Wingate.

“And walk all the way back to Gardner,” finished Elfreda Briggs. “I am of the opinion that – ”

“Hark!” warned Nora, holding up a hand for silence. A faint tapping sound was heard by all. It seemed to be somewhere over their heads, but no one was able to interpret the sound, and after a time it ceased.

“Something is doing. Get your rifles ready,” ordered Tom.

The words had no sooner left his lips than a heavy detonating explosion sent a shower of rock and dirt down over their heads. None of the pieces was large enough to injure the Overlanders, but the dust set them coughing and choking so that instinctively all crowded towards the cave entrance for air, and further, because of fear that the rocks above might cave in on them.

“That was dynamite!” exclaimed Tom Gray. “Either they are trying to bury us here or to drive us out.”

“And I am going out,” declared Lieutenant Wingate. “Tom, you stay here, but for goodness sake make the folks keep down. The first head I see I am going to shoot at. Give me some cartridges, each of you.”

Five minutes later Lieutenant Wingate was crawling out on his stomach as silently as an Indian. Once more he heard that familiar tapping on the rocks above the cave.

“The fiends!” he muttered. “I’ve got to get up to their level or go above them.” He decided to proceed to the left of the cave, then ascend and approach the rocks above it. This he succeeded in doing. About the time he came within sight of the rocks over the cave the ground was shaken by another explosion. In the bright moonlight, he saw three men running towards the scene.

Hippy threw up his rifle and fired. One of the three men plunged forward and rolled over the edge of the rocks, landing, as Lieutenant Wingate thought, near the entrance to the cave. The other two men instantly disappeared.

“One!” growled the Overland Rider, hurriedly removing himself from that particular locality. Reaching a point where he could look across the cave entrance, Hippy made a startling discovery. The second charge of dynamite had been fired close to the edge of the rocks overhanging the cave entrance, so that the falling rocks had blocked it entirely. Lieutenant Wingate now crawled to the entrance, not knowing what instant he might be the target for a bullet, and, placing his lips close to a crevice, called softly.

His hail was answered from within. To his great relief, he learned that none of his companions had been injured, but that they dared not try to remove the wreckage from the inside fearing they might bring down a mass of rocks. Hippy advised them to remain quiet until later when he would try to work his way in.

“Just now, I must keep a sharp lookout,” he added. Not another shot did he get at their adversaries, however, but just after daylight a rattling fire sprang up. Listening attentively, Hippy concluded that two parties were engaged in the shooting – at it “hammer and tongs,” as he expressed it. A few minutes later he saw two men running for the lake – saw them leap into the dugout and paddle excitedly towards the anchored log. He waited until they began to haul in on the rope at one end of the log, and then opened fire. One bullet bowled a man over. The other man grabbed the paddle and struck out for the shore with all speed. He had nearly reached it when a burst of fire from among the trees near where the Overland camp was located knocked the man over. He fell over backwards in the dugout, which slowly drifted ashore.

A group of horsemen at this juncture rode out into the open, and an instant later a bullet whistled past Hippy’s head.

“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Lieutenant Wingate. “I reckon the whole community has it in for me. I’ve got to have a look at those people.” With that Hippy worked his way cautiously through the bushes until he got an unobstructed view of the newcomers. The Overland Rider gazed, and as he did so his under jaw sagged.

“Ye-o-o-o-w!” yelled Hippy, leaping to his feet.

A rifle bullet answered him, but he was down ere it reached him. Once more he sprang up and fired three quick shots straight up into the air, then went down again. This time there was an interval, then the welcome answer – three signal shots – was fired. Hippy got up and waved his hat. He had recognized one member of that party. That member was Sheriff Ford.

“Overland!” shouted Lieutenant Wingate upon getting to his feet.

Sheriff Ford did not recognize him at once, but the party of horsemen rode towards him with rifles at ready, Hippy standing out in the open with hands held up. Sheriff Ford then uttered a shout as he recognized the Overland Rider.

It was a happy meeting – for Hippy Wingate. It took but a moment for explanations. A posse, with two sheriffs, including Ford, and five husky citizens of Gardner, had come out in search of the bandits who had tried to rob the Red Limited, and who were supposed to have held up and robbed another treasure train a week earlier.

On their way to release the Overland party, Hippy confided to Sheriff Ford the discovery of the iron chests secured to the log in the lake.