CHAPTER XXX
THE LAST STAND
Sunrise brought the alarm. The call to arms came in the midst ofbreakfast. But it came to men who were discussing possibilities withsmiling faces, and to women who were no longer held silent by the dread ofthe last few days. For all had shared in Seth's news. And if ever wordswere graven on the hearts of human beings, Seth's announcement, "Troopsare comin' from the north," would most certainly have been found inscribedon the hearts of the defenders of White River Farm.
The attack began as the sun cleared the horizon, and continued all day.Like the first few raindrops of a storm-shower the enemy's bullets hissedthrough the air or spattered upon the buildings. Their long-range firingdid little harm, for Indians are notoriously bad marksmen.
The sun mounted; the hours crept by. The attack was general, and eachminute diminished the enveloping circle. The Indians had learned manylessons during the past six days, and not the least of them the utterfolly of recklessness. Now they crawled upon their bellies through thegrass, offering the smallest possible target to the keen-eyed garrison.But even so their death-roll was enormous. The plainsmen held them attheir mercy, and it was only their vast numbers that gave them headway.Death had no terrors for them. As each man drooped his head upon the earthanother was there to take his place; and so the advance was maintained.
Noon drew near; the ever-narrowing circle was close upon the farm.
There was no sound of voices, only the sharp cracking of rifles, or theping of bullets whistling through the air as the Indians returned thebiting fire of their intended victims. It was a life and death struggleagainst time, and both besieged and besiegers knew it.
Seth watched with quiet eyes but with mind no less anxious that he did notshow it. He had no fixed station like the others. He moved here, there,and everywhere watching, watching, and encouraging with a quiet word, orlending his aid with a shot wherever pressure seemed to be greatest.
Noon passed. The whole plain was now alive with the slowly creeping foestealing upon the doomed fort. The head of the advance was within threehundred yards of the stockade.
Parker was at Seth's side. Both were aiming at a party of young braves,endeavoring to outstrip their fellows by a series of short rushes. Forsome moments they silently picked them off, like men breaking pipes in ashooting gallery. The last had just fallen.
"It's red-hot this time," observed the Agent, turning his attention in afresh direction. "We'll be lucky if we hold out until to-night." He wasblackened with perspiration and dust. He wore three bandoliers bristlingwith ammunition over a torn and stained shirt.
"Guess so," Seth replied. "This 'll last another two hours, I'm figgerin',then we'll--git busy."
A fresh rush had started and the two rifles were kept at work. The Indiansfell like ninepins, but there were always more to come on.
Hargreaves joined them a moment. He, too, was terribly war-worn. He stillwore his clerical stock, but it had lost all semblance to its originalshape.
"They're rushing us everywhere, Seth," he said.
Seth replied while he aimed at another daring warrior.
"I know," he said, and fired.
Hargreaves went back to his post. There must be no waste of time. Thisgentle pastor had little of gentleness about him now. A good Christian inevery way, he still had no thought of turning the other cheek when womenwere in peril.
By three o'clock in the afternoon the rush became general. The defendershad no time even to keep their rifles cool. A steady fire was kept up, andthe Indians were picked off like flies. But the gaps were filled by menbeyond all description in their recklessness. Nothing could stem the tide.They drew nearer and nearer like the waters of an oncoming sea. The endwas looming. It was very near.
Suddenly, in response to an order from Seth, some of the women left theshelter of the house and followed him. A few minutes later the well wasworking, and a chain of buckets was passing up to the roof of the house. Aprocess of saturation was put into operation. The thatch was soaked untilthe water ran through the ceilings.
While this was going on a cry came from the northern extremity. The firstIndian had reached the stockade and paid the penalty of his temerity.
Now orders, swift and sharp, passed from lip to lip. Seth was everywhere.The battle would be in full swing in a minute.
Suddenly Rube and Nevil appeared from a small outhouse rolling two largebarrels. These were stood on end and the heads knocked out of them. Thepails used for water were requisitioned; a fresh saturation went forward;this time it was the log stockade, and the saturation was being performedwith coal-oil.
The sun was already dropping over the western horizon when a party of theenemy, in face of the fiercest fire, reached the defences. It was themoment Seth had awaited. From the stockade he called out a sharp order tothe women in the upper parts of the house, and the loyal creatures,distracted with the nervous tension of inaction, poured out a deadlyvolley.
The terrible bombardment of short range weapons had instant effect. Theenemy fell back under the withering hail. Headed by Seth a dozen menmounted the ramparts, and the next instant the vast corral formed a circleof leaping flame in the faces of the besiegers. The coal-oil had done itswork, and the resinous pine logs yielded to the demands of those whoneeded their service.
The defence was consummate. For the great walls were sufficiently far fromthe buildings to render life possible within the fiery circle.
Baffled and furious, the Indians fell back before a foe they werepowerless to combat. At a respectful distance they watched theconflagration with wonder. The magical abruptness of it filled them for amoment with superstitious awe. But this phase did not last long.
The gates were the weak spot, and they quickly burnt through. In half anhour they crashed from their hinges, and the lynx-eyed foe beheld thebreach thus open before them. They charged to the assault, while insidethe defenders stood ready for them just beyond the range of the fierceheat.
Now was given an example of that strange, fanatical courage for which thered man is so famous. To pass the breach was like passing through a livingfurnace, for the fire was raging at its full height upon each side. Therewas no hesitation, no shrinking.
Those nearest it charged the opening, and as they came were mowed down bythe rifles waiting for them. Again and again was the gateway besieged, andthe roasting human flesh sent up a nauseous reek upon the smoke-laden air.Nothing could exceed the insensate fearlessness of these benightedcreatures, nothing the awful slaughter which the white defenders dealtout.
But the superior intelligence and skill of the white men served them foronly a time against the daring horde. Dozens rushed to the sacrifice, butever there were more behind asking for the death of their comrades. Andinch by inch they drove through the opening to within striking distance.They had abandoned their firearms, and, with hatchet and tomahawk, theirnatural close-quarter weapons, the final struggle began.
All that had gone before was as nothing to the fight that waxed now. Thehowling mob were within the defences, and there was only one possibleoutcome. The position was one of those when the true spirit of thefrontiersman is at its highest and grandest pitch.
Gradually the riflemen on each flank dropped back before the raging mob.
The rank, of which Rube was the centre, stood. Here was no rifle practice.Revolvers were at work with the rapidity of maxim guns. As they wereemptied, they were passed back and reloaded by the women. But even thiswas inadequate to hold the mob.
Suddenly Rube, prompted by that feeling which is in the heart of every manof mighty muscle, abandoned his revolver, and, clubbing his rifle,reverted to the methods of the old savage. He swung it around his headlike a flail, and crashed it amongst those directly in front of him. Andhis action became an example for the rest. Every rifle was clubbed, and bysheer might, and desperate exertion, the defenders cleared a space beforethem. The great Rube advanced, his rugged face fiercely alight. He couldno longer wait for attack; he went to meet it, his g
iant form toweringamidst the crowd, and the rest following.
The scene was one never to be forgotten. He hewed a road for himselfthrough the living crush, his rifle butt crashing amongst headsrecklessly, indiscriminately, but urged with all the might of his giantstrength. Seth and the Agent, and Nevil and the minister were his chiefsupporters. And there was a light in the cleric's eyes, such as had neverbeen seen there before by any of his flock, and a devilish joy in hisheart as he felt the concussion of his blows upon heads that crushedbeneath them.
Back they drove the howling throng, back toward the fiery gateway. Itliterally crumpled before their furious attack. But as the warriors fellback the progress of the white men slowed and finally ceased altogether,for the masses beyond were pressing, and so packed were the savages thatthey could not retreat.
Darkness was settling over the land. The Indians rallied as the first furyof the white men's onslaught spent itself. The red men, stern fighters atall times, were quick to seize upon the advantage. And their counter wasno less furious than the defenders' assault had been. Step by step, withhatchets gleaming in the yellow light, they regained their lost ground.
Slowly the white men were beaten back; all but Rube, whose fury wasunabated. He had cleared a space for himself, from which the fiercestefforts of the enemy could not dislodge him.
Shouting to those behind to care for the women, Seth sprang to the oldman's side, and, setting his back to his, stood to help him. Retreat wascut off, but, all unconcerned for everything, like a maddened bull, Rubesought only to slay, to crush, to add to the tally of the dying and dead.
How the last moments of that terrible final stand were passed, Seth couldnever have told. His long illness was telling on him. His weaknessaffected him sorely. All he was aware of were his companion's mightyblows, and the fury that was driving him. That, and the necessity todefend him on his unprotected side. He fought as he could. No skill guidedhim. Now, at last, he had no cunning, and he was hazily conscious of hisineffectiveness.
Once he was forced to his knees by the blow of a hatchet, which, glancingdown his clubbed rifle, took him in the neck with its flat. It was at thatmoment that his senses became aware of a distant bugle call. He scarcelyrecognized it, and, certainly, at the moment, it brought him nounderstanding.
Instinctively he struggled to his feet and fought on. Curiously enough, amoment later, his dulled senses made him aware of a shudder passing overhis companion's frame. He knew that Rube staggered, just as he was madeaware that he recovered, and, with a sudden access of fury, renewed thefight. He knew that his friend had been badly hit, and was putting forthhis last reserve of strength.
In the midst of this last struggle he heard the bugle again, but this timeit was louder. Its note rose high above the noise of battle, the roar ofthe flames. But even so, he did not take its meaning until he heard amighty cheer go up from his comrades within the defences.
He roused; a great joy thrilled him. His head suddenly became clear, andhis weakness passed from him like the lifting of some depressing cloud. Hefound himself able to put forth a last exertion, and at this juncture hewas somehow standing at Rube's side, instead of at his back.
Of one accord, and without a word, they charged the howling mob. Theysmote with their heavy rifles in every direction, shouting as they went,driving all before them. A mighty triumph was in Seth's heart; he had noroom for anything else, no thought for anything else. Even he was blindedto the old man's condition. It was not until he was joined by the rest ofthe defenders, and the Indians were wildly struggling over one another toescape through the still blazing gateway, and the old man fell like a logat his side in the midst of the pursuit, that he realized what hadhappened. Rube was bleeding from a gaping wound at the base of his neck.
Just for one instant he saw the gateway fill with uniformed horsemen, thenSeth fell on his knees at his foster-father's side.
There was no attempt to pursue the Indians. Weary and exhausted the littlegarrison gathered mutely round the fallen man. Ma was at Seth's side. Shehad raised her husband's head, and her old gray eyes were peering tenderlyanxious into his. While she was still supporting him, some one pushed away to her side. One bare white arm was thrust through hers, and a handwas gently laid on the old man's rugged forehead. Ma turned inquiringlyupon the intruder, and found herself staring into a pair of tearful,violet eyes.
"Rosebud!" she cried. And instantly the tears slowly rolled down her worncheeks, the first tears, she had shed during that last terrible week.
The Watchers of the Plains: A Tale of the Western Prairies Page 30
