White Pine News Weekly Mining Review

'VENGEANCE AND THE WOMAN'

EPISODE NO. 5
SHOWN AT REX THEATER, FRIDAY NIGHT

Synopsis,

Henry Blake, banker and railway builder, and his young wife, Bessie, have Black Jack Haines, outlaw leader, sent to prison. He escapes and carries Bessie away to his cabin. She gets away, but is lassoed from her horse and imprisoned on a cliff. Blake is climbing to her when his lariat is shot away and he falls to a ledge. His wife also falls to the ledge. He writes an order for $100,000 and she is taken off. He is suspended over the chasm, the rocks cutting the rope, strand by strand.

Fighting desperately to climb up the rope, but helpless with his feet bound, Blake's death appeared certain as Hawkins and his posse broke through the brush on the steep trail. The men crept cautiously toward the shack deserted only a few moments before by Black Jack's gang, and rushed it with rifles ready, only to find it empty.

They returned to the edge of the precipice just as Morgan and his men broke cover on the cliff above Bald Rock. Morgan peered down the cliff and caught sight of Blake, still struggling feebly and suspended by the fast parting strand. He instantly called across to Hawkins, at the same time ordering one of his men to bring a lariat. Hogan, on the other side, leaned over the brow of the rock and counseled Blake to cease struggling, at the same time ordering two of his men to loop Blake. One rope settled about his shoulders, another bound his legs. Morgan threw a third lariat over Blake to keep him from being dashed against the cliff when being hauled up.

The rescuers had acted none too quickly, for as the lariats began to draw Blake up and out of the gorge, the last strand snapped.

"Where is Bessie?" were his first words, and when told no trace of the outlaws had been found, he struggled to his feet and insisted on taking up the chase. There was only a brief delay, while Morgan and his men circled the canyon and came upon the other side.

"They haven't gone far," said the sheriff. "We'll scour the country and meet later at Barksdale." So saying, all the men were in the saddle and away, an extra horse taking care of Blake.

Several miles back in the mountains, secure in a deep defile, Black Jack and his men dismounted and prepared a meal. Bessie, sick at heart, was seated apart from the others, but always closely watched by Comanche Pete. The outlaws finished the meal, of which the girl could take nothing although weakened from lack of food, and gathered about Black Jack who counted out and divided the $100,000, the men gloating over the crisp bills, little dreaming they were counterfeit.

Black Jack, presuming on the happy mood of his men, made his way to where Bessie was seated and sought to place his arms about her to kiss her. The girl struggled to get away, but was helpless in the outlaw's grasp, and it might have fared ill with her had not Red Johnson come at the moment. Haines reached for his gun, but Red cut in with:

"This is no time for nonsense. We've got to use her for a pardon."

Haines stayed his hand and still growling thought a moment, then replied:

"You're right. She must write to the governor."

Drawing back into the woods, the two men conversed a bit, then approached Bessie, who was trembling on a rock, her face in her hands. In a pleasant manner, most unusual for him, Black Jack explained what she must do, the governor must pardon them on her plea or they would start a new reign of terror, kill Blake and take her with them.

Bessie cried out she would die first. Haines then seized her hands in his powerful grip and forcing a pencil between her fingers, forced it down on a piece of paper.

Before she could comply, the outlaw leaders were startled by a cry from a lookout up the trail. They rushed away to see in the distance, crossing the trail, a lone horseman-- Henry Blake. Leaping to her feet, Bessie called out his name before she was seized by Pete.

Blake heard his wife's one cry for help. He turned and shouted down the trail and soon Hawkins was at his side, and followed by the others they spurred to where the outlaws could be seen, Bessie on the Indian's horse.

A wild race began then, up and down the rocky trails and the posse on fresh mounts gained steadily until Pete wheeled off sharply on a secret pathway down the mountain side for the time being throwing his pursuers off the scent. Down the narrow pass the outlaws rode to the edge of a ford where Black Jack's horse stumbled, breaking a leg. There was no time to be lost then and leaping up behind Curly Brown, they plunged on to the middle of the ford, thence up the stream. The horses were ready to drop and Johnson called a halt, exclaiming:

"These horses can't last much longer."

Pete, always resourceful, turned to Black Jack with a plan of his own which pleased the leader, who gave sharp orders.

"The Indian knows of a hiding place. Red, you and Curly go to Barksdale and get fresh horses and men." He then explained they were to meet later and took Bessie on his own horse, which he urged on up stream. Pete running at his side, while the other outlaws started for town.

Hardly had they lost sight of each other when Blake and Hawkins and their followers galloped out into the stream. Up and down either bank they vainly looked for signs of the outlaws.

Attaining a hill crest overlooking a long, winding trail leading into the valley, Black Jack stopped to confer further with the Indian as to the hiding place and the safest course to pursue. As they stood there, a stage coach came into view below. Ordering Pete to bring Bessie, he set out to cut off the coach. Reaching a clump of bushes, which they hid behind, Haines explaining the Indian was to guard Bessie while he held up the coach and got fresh horses. It was quick and easy work, the driver and the few passengers obeying with alacrity to line up by the trail and keep their hands up.

Disarming his victims and relieving them of what few valuables they possessed, Black Jack mounted the driver's seat while Pete thrust the struggling Bessie into the coach, entering after her. Haines picked up the reins and away went the stage, a bullet from Pete's pistol holding the erstwhile passengers in check.

Blake reached the spot before the dust of the retreating stage had cleared and learned from the victims of the hold-up what had taken place.

"They won't get far, though," volunteered the driver, "for the road they took is washed out."

Blake, who had drawn ahead of the posse, left word that they should follow and then dashed on alone down the road after the stage feeling that at last his wife was within his reach.

Rocking from side to side, the horses lashed by Haines with brutal ferocity, the stage careened down the trail and was almost in the washout before its driver perceived the danger and brought the team to a sudden stop. Pete leaned far out of the window to see what was the trouble and Bessie, ever alert, cautiously drew his automatic from its holster.

"Looks like a bad washout ahead," called Black Jack. "Go on and see if it's safe." The Indian, rifle in hand, started ahead.

Black Jack, his attention riveted on the Indian, did not hear Bessie as she opened the stage door on the opposite side from where he leaned from the driver's seat, nor did he catch her shadow as she stepped on the hub of a wheel and climbed to the top.

The Indian stopped and shouted back something. Haines leaned a bit further out and at the same instant Bessie leveled Pete's pistol and fired directly at her captor. The bullet grazed his arm and temple and he fell to the ground.

Bessie, without stopping to see the effects of the shot, snatched up the reins, dropped into the driver's seat and sent the stage down the trail directly into the muzzle of Pete's rifle and into the washout.

The stage reeled along the very edge of a precipice which shot down several hundred feet to the bank of a river. Bessie, by desperate use of her strength, managed to keep the wheels from sliding over, until a bullet from the Indian's rifle dropped one of the horses and the stage came to an abrupt stop.

With bullets splitting the woodwork all about her, the girl climbed down into the coach and returned the fire from the rear window. A bullet struck the remaining horse in the flank and in fright and pain the animal plunged suddenly forward.

For a brief fraction of a moment the heavy vehicle stood poised on the edge of the precipice. Then, as the soft earth gave way beneath the wheels, it slowly turned over and rolled down carrying the imprisoned Bessie, the Indian's emptied pistol still clasped in her hands.

(To Be Continued)