CHAPTER XXI

A SHOT IN TIME

Nat Ridley's shots in the direction of the advancing Mexicans had hardly ceased rattling amid the rocks of the defile on top of the mesa when the detective hastened toward the edge of the cliff whereon grew a single stunted tree, but strong enough for the ropes to be looped over, thus supporting the men as they went down hand over hand.

"Are you ready?" asked Nat as he saw Jim, who had been kneeling beside his chum, arise.

"Just got 'em all hooked up," was the answer.

"How about you?" asked Ike. "Did you hit any of 'em?"

"A few, I think," answered Nat grimly. He spoke the truth, for his bullets had found marks, bringing to their knees several of the Tola gang, though the sleuth fired to wound and not to kill.

"Snap into it now!" cried Ike. "We haven't any time to lose."

"That's right!" agreed Jim. "They're coming!"

Indeed, down the defile could be heard the ringing of the steel shoes of the horses on the hard rocks.

But by this time the combined lassoes were rigged and, by leaning over the cliff, it could be noted that they extended in a double line to the bottom where a road wound off through the trees and bushes.

"Who's to go first?" asked Slim, as the three paused for a moment on the edge.

"Let Mr. Ridley," suggested Lazy Ike, with his usual drawl. It was noticed that since Nat had revealed his identity the cowboys, having learned who he was, were much less free and easy with him.

"Sure--he goes first!" agreed Jim.

"No," objected Nat. "Without wanting to boast, I may say I'm a better shot than either of you. So if it comes to a rush I can pick off more with my automatic than you can with your guns," and he slipped another full magazine in his weapon.

"There's truth in that," said Ike. "Well, then, Slim, it's between you and me."

"Snap into it!" ordered Nat. "Here, you go first," he ordered Slim Jim, as being the faster of the two. "Then Ike can slide down and I'll follow. Quick!"

The others were willing to abide by the detective's decision and a moment later the languid cowboy was hanging to the lariats and had slipped over the edge of the cliff. He went down quickly, and his chum was half way to the bottom when the nearer approach of horses and the sound of voices told Nat that the Mexicans were coming on fast.

"Hurry!" advised Nat, and Ike went so fast he blistered his hands, hard as they were.

Nat Ridley, thrusting his automatic into a fold of his coat, to have it in instant readiness, now began the descent. As his head and shoulders disappeared below the edge of the cliff, the first of the pursuers came into view.

"There he is! The dog! The pig!" cried someone in Spanish-accented English.

"Ah, there spoke Don Castro, or I am mistaken!" chuckled Nat.

Suddenly, after having lowered his head over the rim of the cliff, the detective raised himself again, holding on by one hand and by twisting the ropes around his legs. Then he sent several shots into the ranks of the Mexicans, making a hit with each report.

There were yells of rage and cries of pain, and having thus forced the advancing horsemen to a temporary halt, Nat began the descent.

"Stop him! Get the pig! Cut the rope!" yelled Don Castro.

But before this could be done Nat had reached the end of the lariats and had joined Ike and Jim, who stood anxiously waiting.

"Did they shoot at you?" asked Jim.

"No, I peppered them," answered Nat.

He pulled quickly on one side of the double rope, thus slipping it loose from around the anchoring tree, and as the free end rose, the face of a Mexican appeared at the top of the cliff and his hands made an endeavor to snatch the combined lariats before they could fall. It was evident the pursuers had no ropes of their own to use in making the descent.

But Nat, with a quick jerk, pulled the lassoes off the tree, and the coils fell at his feet. Then, calling to Ike and Jim to run on, the detective took a shot at the man above him. A howl of pain succeeded the crack of the automatic and the sleuth knew he had clipped his man. Two Mexicans shot in return, but nobody was hit.

"We're safe now for a time," remarked Ike, with a sigh of relief.

"I hope so," assented Nat. "But where are we going?"

"We can't go far without horses," remarked Jim with a sorrowful air. "A cowboy without a pony is like a sailor without a ship."

"We may be able to pick up something to straddle before very long," said Nat. "I'd be very glad to buy some extra horses if we could find them."

"Gee, you're a sport!" vowed Ike.

"This is business," declared the sleuth. "What are our chances?"

"Well, we may strike a ranch where we can get three broncos," said Slim. "But they won't be much good. No worse, though, than the nags on which they've been riding after us. Gee, I sure do hate to lose my pony!"

"I'll see that you get another," promised Nat. "But if we have to walk, aren't we likely to be overtaken by those fellows, even if they have very poor horses?" he asked.

"I'm not worrying about that," declared Jim. "There's no trail down off the mesa short of half a day's ride, and they aren't going to try the cliff, I guess. No, we're safe for a time."

Then the three began walking along. They were soon lost to view in a grove of trees so that there was no danger of those on the cliff shooting at them, and then they plodded on.

All the rest of that day they marched, halting only when the sun was hottest. They found another Mexican farmer who supplied them with food, and at night they reached a small village where they stayed for the night in an unoccupied adobe hut. But their quest for horses was unavailing.

"Better luck to-morrow," suggested Nat as they rolled in their blankets, for they had brought their packs with them when they slid down the rope at the cliff.

The detective's prophecy was borne out a little later, for a traveling horse-dealer came into the village the next day and offered to sell three steeds at prices which the cowboys said were outrageous.

"This is no time to haggle," declared Nat in an aside. "We want to get back to Rolamotaza. I've got to do what I can to save Miss Ardell."

So the ponies were purchased, together with saddles and bridles, and though Jim and Ike bewailed the fact that the animals were nothing like the ones they had lost, still it was the best that could be done under the circumstances.

Once more mounted, the three, having purchased food, started off, intending to head back to the village to which Cora Ardell had indicated she was being taken by her abductors.

How it happened none of them knew, least of all Nat Ridley, but toward the evening of the third day after their escape over the edge of the cliff, the three were riding down a trail amid the hills, and, rounding a turn, Ike suddenly exclaimed:

"Look where we are!"

"By jinks! What do you know about that?" cried Jim.

"Where are we?" asked Nat.

"On the trail back to the cave!"

"You mean the black cave?"

"Surest thing you know! Say, this is luck!"

"Maybe not so much as you think," suggested the detective. "If that same gang is in there----"

"They're out. They're after us!" chuckled Ike. "This is the best ever!"

"Are you sure you're right?" asked Nat, as the two compared notes about landmarks.

"Certain sure!" answered Ike. "We'll be at the cave in ten minutes. This is the back trail leading to it."

In even less than the time mentioned the two cowboys gave shouts of delight and pointed to the same dark hole in the overhanging rocks that Nat had viewed several days before.

Slim Jim kicked his pony in the sides to spur it forward and approached the cave with a rush. But, just as he reached it, to the horrified surprise of Nat and Ike, a Mexican rushed out, thrust a long pole between the legs of Jim's horse, bowling that none too steady animal over, and bringing the rider to the ground.

With a yell of rage, the Mexican, raising aloft a long knife, rushed at the prostrate man, who was stunned from the fall. And, with a thrill of terror, Nat Ridley recognized in the Mexican's hand the dreaded double dagger.

"Look out, Slim!" yelled Ike. But his shout did no good.

Like a flash, Nat Ridley drew his automatic and fired in the nick of time. As the report rang out, the Mexican, with a shriek of pain and rage, dropped the two-pointed knife from a hand that was reddened with blood.

Nat had shot the weapon from the assassin's fingers, and not a moment too soon. A second later and it would have been buried in Slim's heart.