Boy's Cinema (1935-39)

> ever, that there's another course we could have taken—a little longer, hut more suitable for wagons. We'll start looking for it as soon as we've had a meal, if you like." He and Red and Tim had provisions of their own, and were prepared to fend for themselves. But Ridgley in- sisted that they should enjoy a repast cooked by womanly hands, of which there was no lack in his train of pioneers, so that a short time after- wards the three soldiers were sitting down to a feast near one of the wagons. It was about eleven in the morning when the captain and his two sub- ordinates set forth in quest of a route that would tako the wagon-train safely through the mountains, and during the days that followed they devoted them- selves to this task steadfastly, with a fervour that was inspired by the know- ledge that the column's food supply was running fairly short. Often they were balked, fetching up into blind canyons or gullies which the snow rendered impassible for heavy vehicles such as prairie schooners. But perseverance was rewarded, and day by day they struggled onward through the lonesome fastnesses, frequently lighting fires with damp timber that sent clouds of smoke into the heavens and beckoned the Ridgley column. They were usually a good many miles in advance of the immigrants, and always waited until they had made fair headway before kindling their signal- beacons. By means of these signals the wagon-train was able to keep track of the three soldiers, and at last Soda Springs was reached. The worst of the journey was over, yet there was a long road ahead, and one that had to be scouted from sunrise to sunset. But John and his comrades did their work well, and with the warmth of a new season melting the snows and brightening the vast land- scapes of the West the travellers found themselves nearing the Californian border. They were by this time in a country that abounded with game, and all anxiety over the question of supplies had long since vanished. Meanwhile, John, Tim, and Red were still riding in advance of the column during the day time and reconnoitring the ground, waiting for their friends to come up with them whenever the dusk began to fall, camping with them for the night and then pressing forward again the first thing in the morning. For his own part John experienced a keen satisfaction that mounted as the days wore on. He was not only help- ing the Ridgley wagon-train, he was blazing a trail that would prove a boon and a blessing to any other immigrants who came after them. And as for the hostile tribes of Redskins to whom Benton had referred, not a single brave had crossed the column's path. From (he satisfaction (hat John Delmont so obviously betrayed it might have been imagined that he had for- gotten his father's killers. But Red Conway and Tim O'Rourke knew that this was not so. There were times when they noticed a faraway look in his grey eyes, and they were well aware that he had merely shelved his personal feelings. He had hoped that, he might come across some trace of Harris and his gang on this route to California, and if this hope did not look like being fulfilled he still cherished the expectation that some day he would get wind of them and strike. Then ono day there occurred an incident that brought his father's death bharplv to the- forefront of his mind. June 27th, 1980. BOY'S CINEMA He was some miles ahead of the Ridgley wagon-train with Red and Tim, and they had come upon a shallow reach of the lazy Humboldt River, beyond which lay the territory of California, then in Mexican hands. "Ridgley and his people can cross over here," John said, "and for you and me, boys, I guess it's the end of the trail. We can at least congratulate ourselves on having traced and mapned out a new route to Oregon, which my dad would have done before us if he hadn't been " He did not finish the sentence, and there was a long silence. Then Red spoko up. "Better fix a smoke-signal to guide the column here, hadn't we, cap'n?" he suggested. "How about buildin' a fire on that bluff a little way down- stream ?" John nodded, and the three of them rode towards the cliff that Red had indicated. Here they gathered some brushwood and lit a beacon, knowing that the clouds of vapour from it would soon be seen from afar by Ridgley and his band of hardy pioneers. It was not only the immigrants who descried the dark clouds that rose from that beacon, however. Eor the smoke was seen by two horsemen who were much nearer at hand, two men who were passing through a tract of chaparral a short distance to the north, two men who were none other than Tom Richards and Lafe Benton. "Hey, look!" jerked Benton, point- ing out the smoke of the beacon and watching it with the practised eye of a scout. 'A signal, and no Injun signal at that. Them clouds is risin' straight and clear. The Injuns blanket 'em, and make 'em talk, as yuh might say." Richards gave him a sharp glance. "You don't suppose it might be the cavalry on our trail ?" he queried un- easily. For answer Benton motioned to him to dismount, swinging himself to the ground as he did so, and soon the pair of them had tethered their horses and were sneaking in the direction of the bluff. They climbed a rock-strewn slope to the plateau above, and from the shelter of a cluster of boulders they saw the burning beacon and the figures of John, Tim and Red, who were in the saddles of their ponies and had taken tip a position on the very edge of the cliff where it beetled over the quiet, flowing river. "They ain't cavalrymen, anyways," whispered Tom Richards, noting the civilian attire that the three riders were wearing. "That's where you're wrong," hissed Benton, drawing his revolver. "That young feller in the middle is Colonel Delmont's son. Come on, let 'em have it!" The words were punctuated by the bellow of his gun, and a shot whipped John Delmont's Stetson from his head. Next second Tom Richard's iron was belching flame, and the report of it was accompanied almost immediately by another blast from the weapon in Benton's list. The sudden volley of leaden slugs had taken the threo soldiers by surprise, and though tho hurried aim of the WOuld-be assassins left them unscathed, they would certainly have met their doom by a second fusillado but for John's presence of mind. lie had the wit to throw himself from his horse, at the same time clutching Tim and Red to drag them witli him. and in headlong fashion the three of them plunged down to the river below, striking the water with a great splash. Every Tuesday They rose to the surface again, Red and Tim spluttering and looking at John in bewilderment as he dragged them out of sight beneath the over- hanging bluff. There he told them to keep quiet, and. they waited, up to their necks in water. Meanwhile, Benton and Richards were crossing the plateau above, but they had been a little way off when they had opened fire, and a quarter of a minute must have elapsed before they reached the edge of the cliff. The rogues looked down to see the hats of their supposed victims floating on the surface of the river. Of the men who had worn those hats there was not a sign, and little dreaming that every word he uttered was heard by John and the two troopers, Tom Richards vouch- safed a gruff comment. "We got 'em all right, Benton," he said. "Let's pick up their horses and pull outa here." Benton nodded, and the pair of them secured the mounts from which John Delmont and his comrades had fallen. Then they made their way back to the chaparral where they had left their own ponies, and not long afterwards they crossed the Humboldt River via the ford farther upstream. John, Red and Tim had worked round to a shelving strip of sand and were lying amongst a belt of tall reeds by then. From this vantage point they watched Benton and Richards gain the Californian bank and ride off at smart pace. "If only we could give 'em a taste o' lead!" groaned Tim. "But after that duckin' we took our shootin' irons are about as deadly as three water-pistols." "Yeah, an' what's more we cain't foller them skunks," Red bit out, "seein' as how they've swiped our hosses." John said nothing. He at least knew that Benton was a traitor now—aye, and knew that he must look for the man in Mexican territory. And following the departing gangsters with his eyes, he reflected that he and Red Conway and Tim O'Rourke would be passing into California with the Ridgley wagon-train after all. Away on the other side of the river Benton and Richards were heading for a range of hills that were visible in the distance, and about an hour and a half later they could have been seen approaching the mouth of a narrow, boxed-in canyon. The mouth of that ravine was guarded by a massive stockade of tree-logs that had been hewn down and planed. There was a big gate in the stockade, which was opened by a couple of sentinels and then promptly closed again as Benton and his accomplice rode through. Within the stockade was a group of crude dwellings, nestling under the right-hand wall of the canyon, and standing prominently upon a terrace half-way up the rocky ascent was tho field-gun that had belonged to Colonel Delmont's command. In front of the cabins below the piece of artillery a crowd of men were assembled, many of them clad in military uniforms, and amongst them were Clem Harris and Markey, who were sharing out the spoils of a recent raid, but who postponed this task as Lafe Benton and Tom Richards showed up. "Hallo, fellers," said Harris, "where'd you get those spare mustangs ?" Benton proceeded to explain, and when he had finished his narrative there was a silence. Then Richards spoke.