by Charles King
CHAPTER VI.
A NIGHT OF PERIL.
For one moment the telegraph operator was stunned and inert. Then hisnative pluck and the never-say-die spirit of the young American came tohis aid. He rose to his feet, seized his rifle, and ran out to joinPhillips and the few men who were busily at work barricading the corraland throwing open the loop-holes in the log walls.
Ralph had disappeared, and no one knew whither he had gone until, justas the men were about to shut the heavy door of the stable, they heardhis young voice ring cheerily out through the darkness,--
"Hold on there! Wait till Buford and I get out!"
"Where on earth are you going?" gasped Phillips, in great astonishment,as the boy appeared in the door-way, leading his pet, which was bridledand saddled.
"Going? Back to Lodge Pole, quick as I can, to bring up the cavalry."
"Ralph," said the soldier, "it will never do. Now that Wells is gone Ifeel responsible for you, and your father would never forgive me ifanything befell you. We can't let you go?"
Ralph's eyes were snapping with excitement and his cheeks were flushed.It was a daring, it was a gallant, thought,--the idea of riding back allalone through a country that might be infested by savage foes; but itwas the one chance.
Farron and Wells and the men might be able to hold out a few hours atthe ranch up the valley, and keep the Indians far enough away to preventtheir burning them out. Of course the ranch could not stand a long siegeagainst Indian ingenuity, but six hours, or eight at the utmost, wouldbe sufficient time in which to bring rescue to the inmates. By that timehe could have an overwhelming force of cavalry in the valley, and allwould be safe.
If word were not sent to them it would be noon to-morrow before theadvance of the Fifth would reach the Chug. By that time all would beover with Farron.
Ralph's brave young heart almost stopped beating as he thought of thehideous fate that awaited the occupants of the ranch unless help came tothem. He felt that nothing but a light rider and a fast horse couldcarry the news in time. He knew that he was the lightest rider in thevalley; that Buford was the fastest horse; that no man at the stationknew all the "breaks" and ravines, the ridges and "swales" of thecountry better than he did.
Farron's lay to the southwest, and thither probably all the Indians werenow riding. He could gallop off to the southeast, make a long _detour_,and so reach Lodge Pole unseen. If he could get there in two hours and ahalf, the cavalry could be up and away in fifteen minutes more, and inthat case might reach the Chug at daybreak or soon afterwards.
One thing was certain, that to succeed he must go instantly, before theIndians could come down and put a watch around Phillips's.
Of course it was a plan full of fearful risk. He took his life in hishands. Death by the cruelest of tortures awaited him if captured, and itwas a prospect before which any boy and many a man might shrink indismay.
But he had thought of little Jessie; the plan and the estimation of thedifficulties and dangers attending its execution had flashed through hismind in less than five seconds, and his resolution was instantly made.He was a soldier's son, was Ralph, and saying no word to any one he hadrun to the stable, saddled and bridled Buford, and with his revolver athis hip was ready for his ride.
"It's no use of talking; I'm going," was all he said. "I know how tododge them just as well as any man here, and, as for father, he'd beashamed of me if I didn't go."
Waiting for no reply,--before they could fully realize what hemeant,--the boy had chirruped to his pawing horse and away they dartedround the corner of the station, across the moonlit road, and theneastward down the valley.
"Phillips," exclaimed the soldier, "I never should have let him go. Iought to have gone myself; but he's away before a man can stop him."
"You're too heavy to ride that horse, and there's none other here tomatch him. That boy's got the sense of a plainsman any day, I tell you,and he'll make it all right. The Indians are all up the valley and we'llhear 'em presently at Farron's. He's keeping off so as to get round eastof the bluffs, and then he'll strike across country southward and nottry for the road until he's eight or ten miles away. Good for Ralph!It's a big thing he's doing, and his father will be proud of him forit."
But the telegraph operator was heavy-hearted. The men were all anxious,and clustered again at the rear of the station. All this had taken placein the space of three minutes, and they were eagerly watching for thenext demonstration from the marauders.
Of the fate of poor Warner there could be little doubt. It was evidentthat the Indians had overwhelmed and killed him. There was a shortstruggle and the rapidly concentrating fire of rifles and revolvers fora minute or two; then the yells had changed to triumphant whoops, andthen came silence.
"They've got his scalp, poor fellow, and no man could lend a hand tohelp him. God grant they're all safe inside up there at Farron's," saidone of the party; it was the only comment made on the tragedy that hadbeen enacted before them.
"Hullo! What's that?"
"It's the flash of rifles again. They've sighted Ralph!" cried thesoldier.
"Not a bit of it. Ralph's off here to the eastward. They're firing andchasing up the valley. Perhaps Warner got away after all. _Look_ at 'em!See! The flashes are getting farther south all the time! They've headedhim off from Farron's, whoever it is, and he's making for the road. Thecowardly hounds! There's a hundred of 'em, I reckon, on one poor huntedwhite man, and here we are with our hands tied!"
For a few minutes more the sound of shots and yells and thunderinghoofs came vividly through the still night air. All the time it wasdrifting away southward, and gradually approached the road. One of theranchmen begged Phillips to let him have a horse and go out in thedirection of the firing to reconnoitre and see what had happened, but itwould have been madness to make the attempt, and the request was metwith a prompt refusal.
"We shall need every man here soon enough at the rate things are going,"was the answer. "That may have been Warner escaping, or it may have beenone of Farron's men trying to get through to us or else riding offsouthward to find the cavalry. Perhaps it was Sergeant Wells. Whoever itwas, they've had a two- or three-mile chase and have probably got him bythis time. The firing in that direction is all over. Now the fun willbegin up at the ranch. Then they'll come for us."
"It's my fault!" groaned the operator. "What a night,--and all my fault!I ought to have told them at Lodge Pole when I could."
"Tell them what?" said Phillips. "You didn't know a thing about theirmovements until Warner got here! What could you have said if you'd hadthe chance? The cavalry can't move on mere rumors or ideas that anychance man has who comes to the station in a panic. It has just come allof a sudden, in a way we couldn't foresee.
"All I'm worrying about now is little Jessie, up there at Farron's. I'mafraid Warner's gone, and possibly some one else; but if Farron can onlyhold out against these fellows until daylight I think he and his littleone will be safe. Watch here, two of you, now, while I go back to thehouse a moment."
And so, arms at hand and in breathless silence, the little group watchedand waited. All was quiet at the upper ranch. Farron's light had beenextinguished soon after it had replied to the signal from below, but hisroofs and walls were dimly visible in the moonlight. The distance wastoo great for the besiegers to be discerned if any were investing hisplace.
The quiet lasted only a few moments. Then suddenly there came from upthe valley and close around those distant roofs the faint sound of rapidfiring. Paled by the moonlight into tiny, ruddy flashes, the flame ofeach report could be seen by the sharper eyes among the few watchers atPhillips's. The attack had indeed begun at Farron's.
One of the men ran in to tell the news to Phillips, who presently cameout and joined the party. No sign of Indians had yet been seen aroundthem, but as they crouched there by the corral, eagerly watching theflashes that told of the distant struggle, and listening to the soundsof combat, there rose upon the air, over to the northward and apparentlyj
ust at the base of the line of bluffs, the yelps and prolonged bark ofthe coyote. It died away, and then, far on to the southward, somewhereabout the slopes where the road climbed the divide, there came ananswering yelp, shrill, querulous, and prolonged.
"Know what that is, boys?" queried Phillips.
"Coyotes, I s'pose," answered one of the men,--a comparatively new hand.
"Coyotes are scarce in this neighborhood nowadays. Those are Siouxsignals, and we are surrounded. No man in this crowd could get out now.Ralph ain't out a moment too soon. God speed him! If Farron don't owehis life and little Jessie's to that boy's bravery, it'll be becausenobody could get to them in time to save them. Why _didn't_ he send herhere?"
Bad as was the outlook, anxious as were all their hearts, what was theirdistress to what it would have been had they known the truth,--thatWarner lay only a mile up the trail, stripped, scalped, gashed, andmutilated! Still warm, yet stone dead! And that all alone, with littleJessie in his arms, Sergeant Wells had ridden down that trail into thevery midst of the thronging foe! Let us follow him, for he is a soldierwho deserves the faith that Farron placed in him.
For a few moments after leaving the ranch the sergeant rides along atrapid lope, glancing keenly over the broad, open valley for any signthat might reveal the presence of hostile Indians, and then hopefully atthe distant light at the station. He holds little Jessie in firm butgentle clasp, and speaks in fond encouragement every moment or two. Sheis bundled like a pappoose in the blanket, but her big, dark eyes lookup trustfully into his, and once or twice she faintly smiles. All seemsso quiet; all so secure in the soldier's strong clasp.
"That's my brave little girl!" says the sergeant. "Papa was right whenhe told us down at Russell that he had the pluckiest little daughter inall Wyoming. It isn't every baby that would take a night ride with anold dragoon so quietly."
He bends down and softly kisses the thick, curling hair that hangs overher forehead. Then his keen eye again sweeps over the valley, and hetouches his charger's flank with the spur.
"_Looks_ all clear," he mutters, "but I've seen a hundred Indians springup out of a flatter plain than that. They'll skulk behind the smallestkind of a ridge, and not show a feather until one runs right in amongthem. There might be dozens of them off there beyond the Chug at thismoment, and I not be able to see hair or hide of 'em."
Almost half way to Phillips's, and still all is quiet. Then he notesthat far ahead the low ridge, a few hundred yards to his left, sweepsround nearly to the trail, and dips into the general level of theprairie within short pistol-shot of the path along which he is riding.He is yet fully three-quarters of a mile from the place where the ridgeso nearly meets the trail, but it is plainly visible now in the silverymoonlight.
"If they should have come down, and should be all ranged behind thatridge now, 'twould be a fearful scrape for this poor little mite," hethinks, and then, soldier-like, sets himself to considering what hiscourse should be if the enemy were suddenly to burst upon him frombehind that very curtain.
"Turn and run for it, of course!" he mutters. "Unless they should cut meoff, which they couldn't do unless some of 'em were far back alongbehind the ridge. Hullo! A shadow on the trail! Coming this way. Ahorseman. That's good! They've sent out a man to meet me."
The sound of iron-shod hoofs that came faintly across the wide distancefrom the galloping shadow carried to the sergeant's practised ear theassurance that the advancing horseman was not an Indian. After thesuspense of that lonely and silent ride, in the midst of unknowndangers, Wells felt a deep sense of relief.
"The road is clear between here and Phillips's, that's certain," hethought. "I'll take Jessie on to the station, and then go back toFarron's. I wonder what news that horseman brings, that he rides sohard."
Still on came the horseman. All was quiet, and it seemed that in fiveminutes more he would have the news the stranger was bringing,--ofsafety, he hoped. Jessie, at any rate, should not be frightened unlessdanger came actually upon them. He quickened his horse's gait, andlooked smilingly down into Jessie's face.
"It's all right, little one! Somebody is coming up the trail fromPhillips's, so everything must be safe," he told her.
Then came a cruel awakening. Quick, sudden, thrilling, there burst uponthe night a mad chorus of shouts and shots and the accompaniment ofthundering hoofs. Out from the sheltering ridge by dozens, gleaming,flashing through the moonlight, he saw the warriors sweep down upon thehapless stranger far in front.
He reined instantly his snorting and affrighted horse, and littleJessie, with one low cry of terror, tried to release her arms from thecircling blanket and throw them about his neck; but he held her tight.He grasped the reins more firmly, gave one quick glance to his left andrear, and, to his dismay, discovered that he, too, was well-nigh hemmedin; that, swift and ruthless as the flight of hawks, a dozen warriorswere bounding over the prairie towards him, to cut off his escape.
He had not an instant to lose. He whirled his practised troop horse tothe right about, and sent him leaping madly through the night back forFarron's ranch.
Even as he sped along, he bent low over his charger's neck, and, holdingthe terror-stricken child to his breast, managed to speak a word to keepup her courage.
"We'll beat them yet, my bonny bird!" he muttered, though at thatinstant he heard the triumphant whoops that told him a scalp was takenon the trail behind him, though at that very instant he saw thatwarriors, dashing from that teeming ridge, had headed him; that he mustveer from the trail as he neared the ranch, and trust to Farron and hismen to drive off his pursuers.
Already the yells of his pursuers thrilled upon the ear. They had openedfire, and their wide-aimed bullets went whizzing harmlessly into space.His wary eye could see that the Indians on his right front were making awide circle, so as to meet him when close to the goal, and he wasburdened with that helpless child, and could not make fight even for hisown life.
Drop her and save himself? He would not entertain the thought. No,though it be his only chance to escape!
His horse panted heavily, and still there lay a mile of open prairiebetween him and shelter; still those bounding ponies, with theiryelping, screeching riders, were fast closing upon him, when suddenlythrough the dim and ghostly light there loomed another shadow, wild anddaring,--a rider who came towards him at full speed.
Because of the daring of the feat to ride thus alone into the teeth of adozen foemen, the sergeant was sure, before he could see the man, thatthe approaching horseman was Farron, rushing to the rescue of his child.
Wells shouted a trooper's loud hurrah, and then, "Rein up, Farron! Haltwhere you are, and open fire! That'll keep 'em off!"
Though racing towards him at thundering speed, Farron heard andunderstood his words, for in another moment his "Henry" was barking itschallenge at the foe, and sending bullet after bullet whistling outacross the prairie.
The flashing, feather-streaming shadows swerved to right and left, andswept away in big circles. Then Farron stretched out his arms,--no timefor word of any kind,--and Wells laid in them the sobbing child, andseized in turn the brown and precious rifle.
"Off with you, Farron! Straight for home now. I'll keep 'em back." Andthe sergeant in turn reined his horse, fronted the foe, and opened rapidfire, though with little hope of hitting horse or man.
Disregarding the bullets that sang past his ears, he sent shot aftershot at the shadowy riders, checked now, and circling far out on theprairie, until once more he could look about him, and see that Farronhad reached the ranch, and had thrown himself from his horse.
Then slowly he turned back, fronting now and then to answer the shotsthat came singing by him, and to hurrah with delight when, as theIndians came within range of the ranch, its inmates opened fire on them,and a pony sent a yelping rider flying over his head, as he stumbled andplunged to earth, shot through the body.
Then Wells turned in earnest and made a final dash for the corral. Thenhis own good steed, that had borne them both s
o bravely, suddenlywavered and tottered under him. He knew too well that the gallant horsehad received his death-blow even before he went heavily to ground withinfifty yards of the ranch.
Wells was up in an instant, unharmed, and made a rush, stooping low.
Another moment, and he was drawn within the door-way, panting andexhausted, but safe. He listened with amazement to the outward sounds ofshots and hoofs and yells dying away into the distance southward.
"What on earth is that?" he asked.
"It's that scoundrel, Pete. He's taken my horse and deserted!" wasFarron's breathless answer. "I hope they'll catch and kill him! Idespise a coward!"
