Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Cowmen and Rustlers: A Story of the Wyoming Cattle Ranges by Edward Sylvester Ellis (the little red hen read aloud .txt) 📖
- Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis
Book online «Cowmen and Rustlers: A Story of the Wyoming Cattle Ranges by Edward Sylvester Ellis (the little red hen read aloud .txt) 📖». Author Edward Sylvester Ellis
"I am here under parole; you see they took my horse, rifle and pistols from me. I would not have been allowed to come to you except upon my pledge to return within fifteen minutes."
"And what will they do with you, my boy?" asked his mother, alarmed by the information.
"Nothing, so long as I remain a model prisoner; but how are you fixed for defence?"
He was quickly made acquainted with the situation of affairs.
"Ah," he added, with a sigh, "if there was some way of getting word to the stockmen; but I see none."
"They will not be likely to give you a chance?"
Fred shook his head.
"I'm afraid I overdid the thing. I asked them to be allowed to go back to my cattlemen, but they would not listen to it. They acted as if they were suspicious, and told me I must stay with them until the trouble ended, which they assured me would be soon."
Sterry glanced significantly at Asbury and Hawkridge. He recalled that singular message from Duke Vesey. If all went well, it might contain a shadow of hope. It was deemed best, however, to make no reference to it, even for the benefit of Whitney, who was questioned until he described as exactly as he could the location of the cattlemen.
The grace had expired. No one thought of advising Whitney to disregard his parole, and no urging could have induced him to do it. He affectionately kissed and embraced mother and sister, warmly shook the hands of his friends again, assured them of his hope that all would come out right, and then, passing through the door, was seen to walk up the ridge and pass over the summit, to take his place among his captors, there to await their pleasure.
"Sterry," said Asbury, drawing him and Hawkridge aside, "you were saying awhile ago that nothing could induce you to accept the offer of Vesey to slip out in the darkness of the night."
"No; as he presented it, such a flight would have been a piece of cowardice altogether different from my flight last night. It would have weakened your defensive force and helped no one but me."
"Now, however, it wears a different aspect."
"Yes, it looks providential, and promises to open the way for the escape of all. I hardly think," added Sterry, with a smile, "that with all of Vesey's gratitude to me he would do what he intends if he foresaw the probable consequences, for it means nothing less than the overthrow of Inman's plans."
"And the baffling of his charitable intentions concerning myself," grimly added the captain.
"It seems to me we forgot one phase of the business," remarked Hawkridge, "and that is the fact that the chances of failure are a hundredfold greater than those of success."
His companions looked questioningly at him.
"Perhaps it will not be difficult for Vesey to secure the placing of himself and friend at the stables, as he promises to do, but it seems unlikely that, with a dark night and the temptation for some of us to try to get away, they will be the only couple that will be on the lookout at that time. But, supposing they are," added Hawkridge, "Sterry will have to mount his horse and ride off. There will be some of the rustlers beyond him, and how can he pass them unchallenged?"
"If it proves too risky to try on horseback I can do it on foot," replied Sterry; "in the darkness I will be taken for one of them, and, if questioned, can throw them off their guard. The tramp to where the stockmen are in camp I judge to be little if any more than five miles, and it won't take me long to travel that after getting clear of these people."
"I have a strong belief that the whole scheme is doomed to failure," said Hawkridge, and Capt. Asbury agreed with him.
CHAPTER XXVIII. — THE FINAL SUMMONS.
Now came hours of wearisome waiting, especially to the besieged, who found in their close quarters little freedom of movement. Some of the men stretched out on the lower floor and slept; others talked and engaged in games of chance, while a desultory watch was maintained, through the doors and windows, upon the rustlers, several of whom were continually in sight.
Before the afternoon had half passed all doubt of the coming darkness was removed. The sky became heavily clouded, the air was raw and chilly, and no moon was visible.
Several distant rifle-shots were heard an hour later, but no one could conjecture or discover the explanation. Probably they signified nothing.
Fred Whitney showed himself on top of the ridge once, and waved his hand in salutation to his friends. This was done to reassure his mother and sister, who were anxious, despite what he had said to them.
Many longing glances were cast across the broad plain in the direction of the mountains. Like shipwrecked mariners scanning the horizon for the rescuing sail, the besieged were hopeful that some good fortune would bring the strong body of stockmen that way; but the vision was rewarded by no such welcome sight.
Capt. Asbury received a shock just before night closed in. So many hours had passed without the exchange of a shot that both parties exposed themselves freely. Had they chosen, a good many might have been picked off; but the general understanding that the hour had not yet come for action, threatened, at times, to change the impending tragedy into a most ordinary situation.
Capt. Asbury was sitting by one of the front windows, smoking his briarwood, and looking nowhere in particular, when he saw a man kneeling on top of the ridge and carefully sighting his gun at him. Before the fellow could secure an aim the officer moved quickly back out of sight, and he vanished.
"I have no doubt it was Duke Vesey," he thought; "what a pity I did not shoot him last night."
He judged it not worth while to tell any of the rest of the incident, but he took care not to tempt the fellow again by a second exposure to his aim.
But for this prompt action on the part of the leader, a frightful conflict must have been precipitated. The shooting of the captain would cause retaliation on the part of the stockmen, and it would instantly become a question as to which could do the most execution.
The occurrence was startling enough of itself, but Capt. Asbury quickly recovered, only to find himself troubled by another matter, which was more serious.
It was the doubt whether the intended crime of Vesey was solely of his own responsibility. Was it not likely that he had received permission from Inman to end the suspense
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