The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  It was as if a steed were galloping over the soft earth, and, reaching a small bridge of planks, dashed over them with two or three bounds, his hoofs immediately becoming inaudible in the yielding ground beyond.

  That which might have puzzled a listener was plain to the Texan, who had spent many years on the plains of the Southwest. He knew that what might be called a peculiar eddy in the fitful wind had brought the sound to him. A sudden change of direction––ended as soon as it began––whirled the noise as straight across the intervening space as if it had been fired by an arrow.

  The sound was similar to that which he had noticed many times that evening, but the impression came to him that it possessed a significance which belonged to none of the others. It was a single horse, and he was going at a moderate speed, which, however, was the case with most of those he had heard.

  All at once the sound broke upon his ear again, but this time it was accompanied by the noise of many other hoofs.

  “They are cattle,” was his conclusion; “a part of the herd has been stampeded, and one of the men is trying to round them up: it was his mustang that I heard––ah! there it goes again!”

  It was the crack of a rifle and the screech of a mortally struck person that startled him this time.

  “I believe that was a Comanche who has gone down before the rifle of one of our men.”

  As the reader is aware, the Texan was correct in every particular, for it was the report of Gleeson’s Winchester, which ended the career of the warrior pressing Avon Burnet so hard, that reached the captain as he lay on the roof of his own dwelling.

  The whimsical nature of the wind, that had been blowing all the night, excluded further sounds. The stillness that succeeded seemed so unnatural in its way that it might have alarmed a more superstitious person. Once the faintest possible rumbling of the cattle’s hoofs was detected, but it quickly subsided, and nothing more of the kind was noticeable.

  It was clear that the Comanches in the immediate vicinity of the cabin must have noted all that interested the Texan. Whatever the issue of the remarkable meeting on the prairie, there could be no doubt that one of the red men had been laid low. Another had been shot by the captain a short time before, not to mention the other one or two that he believed had fallen.

  Thus far, no one of the inmates had been harmed, unless perchance his nephew was overtaken by disaster. Consequently, the game the Comanches were playing, though they did their part with rare skill, was a losing one up to this point.

  As the minutes passed, the Texan found himself more hopeful than he had been through the entire evening. He was strong in the belief that Avon had succeeded in reaching the camp of the cattlemen, and that the latter would soon appear on the scene with an emphasis that would scatter his assailants like so much chaff.

  The only vulnerable point for fire was on the roof, but the designs of the Indians had been defeated thus far, and he believed they could be stood off indefinitely, at least until the arrival of the cowboys, who would then take charge of business.

  The two matters that gave him anxiety were the presence of the warrior below in the cabin, and the probability of himself being struck by some of the bullets that he expected to come scurrying over the planking every minute.

  The two shots that had been fired came alarmingly near, and the next were likely to come still nearer.

  But immunity from harm gives one confidence, and only a few more minutes passed when, instead of contenting himself with peering about him, the captain began stealthily creeping toward the part of the eaves where the last Indian had appeared and disappeared so suddenly.

  Mindful of the risk of the action, he paused when close to the edge, and waited several minutes before venturing to peep over. The stillness was as if every living person were a hundred miles away. This, however, as he well knew, might be the case with a score of Indians grouped directly beneath.

  But having gone thus far, he did not mean to return to his post without accomplishing something. With the greatest possible caution, he raised his head just far enough to look over. He held it in this position only a second or two, for, if any of his enemies were on the alert, they would be sure to observe him.

  Nothing greeted his vision, beyond that which he had seen times without number. He did not catch the outlines of a single person or mustang, though convinced they were near at hand.

  Had there been any doubt on this point, it would have been dissipated by a repetition of the signals that seemed almost continually passing between the besieging Comanches.

  Captain Shirril noticed that the sounds came from the direction of the mesquite bush, as though most of them had gathered there apparently for consultation, and were calling in the other members of their party.

  “If that is so, they can’t do us much harm,” was his conclusion, “but they are not likely to stay there. I suppose they have gathered in Avon and my horses long ago, and we shall have to ride other animals on the tramp to Kansas.”

  On the whole, the result of his survey was satisfactory; whatever mischief the Comanches were plotting, there was no immediate danger. Minutes were precious, but they were more valuable to the defenders than to the assailants. The cattlemen must arrive soon, and when they did so the siege would be over.

  The reconnoissance, if such it may be termed, lasted but a few minutes, when the captain started on his cautious return to the scuttle, in the hope that something in the way of information awaited him there.

  To his amazement, he was still within several yards, when he perceived that it was open.

  The door was raised fully six inches, the opening being toward him, so that the Comanche had him at his mercy. It looked indeed to the Texan as if his enemy had got the drop on him, and at last he was at his mercy.

  The captain whipped out his revolver, but before he could fire a familiar voice called out in a husky undertone:

  “Am dat you, captin’? And am you well?”

  CHAPTER XIX.

  DOWN THE LADDER.

  The colored servant Dinah never knew how near she came to being shot by her own master. Had she delayed speaking for a second, he would have discharged two more chambers of his revolver, and the distance was so slight, and her head was in such position, that there could have been no miss.

  “Good Heavens!” gasped the captain, “I never dreamed that was you, Dinah.”

  “But I knowed it war you. How is you gettin’ ’long?”

  “I’m all right, but where is your mistress?”

  “Downsta’rs tending to tings.”

  “But––but do you know there’s an Indian in the house?”

  “I reckons so; we didn’t know it at fust, but we found it out putty soon after he arrove; why didn’t you told us?”

  “I tried to do so, but was afraid you wouldn’t hear my voice.”

  “We heerd you say somefin, but couldn’t quite make out what it was.”

  “But what of the Indian?” asked the captain, who was now at the scuttle with his hand on the door.

  “He am all right; and if you don’t t’ink so, jes’ come down and see for you’self.”

  Dinah stepped out of the way, and her master lost no time in descending through the opening into the dark room below.

  “Fasten the door, for there may be more of them trying to enter.”

  “I doesn’t t’ink so,” was the confident reply.

  Nevertheless, Dinah reached up and fastened the hook in place, making it as secure as before.

  “Is your mistress safe?” asked Captain Shirril, the moment he was within the apartment.

  “Didn’t I jes’ tole you she was? Does you t’ink I would try to deceibe you?”

  “But tell me how it is; this strikes me as the strangest part of the whole business.”

  Standing thus, in the stillness and gloom of the upper room, the servant related in her characteristic way the extraordinary experience of herself and mistress with the dusky intruder.

  As she h
ad said, the warning which the captain shouted from the roof was heard by them, but the words were not understood.

  Mrs. Shirril, however, was keen-witted enough to suspect the truth. The muffled tones showed that her husband was on the roof, while the noise of the body dropping upon the chair proved that someone had entered by that means. That being the case, the stranger of necessity must be a foe, against whose evil intentions they must prepare themselves without delay.

  “One of the Indians has dropped through the scuttle,” said the startled lady.

  “Anoder ob dem warmints has comed into my room, eh?” muttered the angered servant; “I’ll sarve him wuss dan the oder one.”

  “You will not find the task so easy; keep at my side, make no noise, and don’t stir till I tell you.”

  By this time, the embers on the hearth were so low that they gave out only a faint illumination, which extended but a foot or two into the room. The women had kept their places near the door, where, as will be remembered, they noticed a pressure, as if someone was trying to shove it open.

  Light-footed as was the Comanche, his weight was too great, and his descent too sudden, for him to keep the knowledge from the women below-stairs. They stepped softly away from the door, and into the denser gloom, where they were unable to see each other, although their persons touched. In this attitude, they could do nothing for a time but listen with rapidly beating hearts.

  The dusky intruder dropped so squarely on the chair that it did not overturn. He kept his place, instantly securing the scuttle against the entrance of the white man, whom he had baffled with such cleverness. Probably he had some idea of taking a shot at him, but the little manœuvring in which he indulged told him the danger was too great, and he gave over the purpose.

  The stillness in the room was so profound that the women plainly heard his moccasins touch the floor, when he stepped from the chair. Then he began gliding softly about the apartment, like a burglar who is obliged to feel every inch of his way with hands and feet.

  Great as was his care, he had not continued this long, when he struck the chair and overturned it.

  “De willian!” muttered Dinah, “and dat’s in my abpartment too–––”

  “Sh!” whispered her mistress, touching her arm, “he can’t do any harm, and he must not hear us.”

  Had Mrs. Shirril given permission, the servant would have hurried up the ladder and taken the fellow to task, without a moment’s delay or hesitation.

  But the Comanche was better prepared for his work than they suspected. They plainly heard him scratch a match on the wall of the room, and the next moment the faintest possible glow showed through the gloom, above the open door at the head of the ladder. The redskin was taking the only effectual means at his command to learn his bearings.

  With the tiny light still burning, he passed quickly from one room to another, his location being easily told by the listeners below. It took him less than a minute to gain the knowledge he wished, when the match burned out and was flung aside.

  “I wonder wheder he’ll set fiah–––”

  A sharp pinch on Dinah’s arm warned her that she was displeasing her mistress, and she closed her mouth.

  The Comanche was too wise to attempt to go down the ladder with a burning match in his hand. Had he done so, he would have committed the fatal error of the citizen who awakes in the night and sets out with lighted lamp to hunt for a burglar: all the advantage is on the side of the law-breaker.

  But the Indian had seen the ladder leading from the second story to the lower floor, and the women were sure he would pay them a visit. Indeed, his errand would be futile unless he did so, for it was not to be supposed that he had come into the cabin through simple curiosity.

  Mrs. Shirril had no fear of his trying to burn the structure, for, if he did so, his own situation would be as hopeless as theirs. The sounds of firing and the noise on the roof, which soon reached her ears, caused great uneasiness for her husband, but, like a pioneer’s wife, she gave her whole attention to the peril that confronted her.

  Suddenly the servant touched her arm. She did not speak, but her mistress knew the meaning of the act. The Comanche had placed his foot on the upper round of the ladder and was about to descend to the lower apartments, where they were awaiting him.

  “Leave him to me,” whispered Mrs. Shirril; “don’t stir or do anything.”

  The cunning warrior knew the women were below, and he knew, too, that unless he used extreme caution, he would find himself in a veritable hornet’s nest. The care with which he placed his moccasins on the rounds, and gradually came down, proved this, but the hearing of the women was attuned to so fine an edge that they traced his descent step by step until he stood on the lower floor.

  Having arrived there, he paused for a minute or two, as if in doubt what next to do. Evidently he was listening in the hope that the women would betray their presence by some movement, but in this he was mistaken.

  During those brief moments, Mrs. Shirril was on the point, more than once, of bringing her rifle to her shoulder and shooting down the wretch who was seeking their lives; but accustomed as she was to the rough experience of the frontier, she could not nerve herself to the point of doing so. She knew the precise spot where he was standing, and, at the first direct approach, she would shoot him as if he was a rabid dog. But so long as he was motionless, she refrained.

  What the Comanche would have done at the end of a few minutes it is impossible to say, had not an interruption, as surprising as it was unexpected by all parties, taken place.

  CHAPTER XX.

  “THE BOYS HAVE ARRIVED!”

  The embers on the hearth had smouldered so low that they were mere points of light that served to make the gloom deeper and more expressive. But suddenly a half-burned stick fell apart, and a little twist of flame filled almost the entire room with light.

  By its illumination the Indian was seen standing at the foot of the ladder, his rifle grasped in his left hand, his right at his hip, while his body was crouching in the attitude of intense attention, and as if he were on the point of making a leap forward.

  He happened to be looking toward the fireplace; but, fortunately for the women, both were gazing straight at him. He glanced to the right and left, and, catching sight of the figures behind him, wheeled like a panther, emitting a hiss of exultation at the knowledge that he had found his victims at last.

  But the first dart of his serpent-like eyes showed the white woman, as immovable as a statue, with her rifle levelled at his chest and her delicate forefinger on the trigger.

  Mrs. Shirril had the drop on him!

  “If you move, I will shoot you dead!” she said in a low voice, in which there was not the first tremor.

  Possibly the Comanche did not understand the English tongue, but he could not mistake her meaning. He knew that on the first motion to raise his rifle, draw his knife, or take one step toward the couple, he would be slain where he stood. He, therefore, remained as motionless as she who held him at her mercy.

  The tiny twist of flame on the hearth, that had served our friends so well, would soon burn itself out; it was already flickering, and, if left alone, the room would soon be in darkness again, and the situation would undergo a radical change.

  “Dinah,” said her mistress, without changing her position, or raising her voice, “keep the fire burning!”

  “Yes’m, I will,” she replied, shuffling hurriedly across the floor to the hearth, where she stooped down. She scorned to turn out of the way of the prisoner, lest he should fancy he was held in fear. She passed him almost close enough to touch, and showed her contempt by shaking her fist at him.

  “Oh, you willian! I’d like to wring your neck for comin’ into my dispartment without axin’ permission.”

  A strange flicker shot from the eyes of the warrior as they followed her for a moment, but he neither moved nor spoke, his gaze reverting again to his conqueror.

  Under the deft manipulation of Di
nah’s fingers, the flames shot up with more vigor than before. Then, recalling the risk that this involved, Mrs. Shirril told her to come to her side, where she would be out of range of any of their enemies who might be near the windows.

  “That will burn for a considerable time,” added the lady, referring to the fire the servant had renewed, “so, if you please, you may go to the scuttle and see how the captain is getting along.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to do that, missis?” asked Dinah.

  “But I must watch this person.”

  “I’ll do dat.”

  Her mistress, however, read her meaning in her tones and manner. She was eager to get a chance at the fellow, and, if she did, even for only a few seconds, it would go hard with him.

  “No; I will attend to him; do as I told you.”

  There was no questioning the decision of the little lady, and Dinah, with another threatening gesture at the painted face of the savage, went by him and began climbing the ladder.

  “Neber mind,” she said to herself, though her mistress overheard the words, “when I come downstairs again, I’ll cotch one ob my feet and tumble onto you, and you’ll be squashed worser dan if de house tumbled ober your head.”

  The captive seemed to understand what all this meant. He had escaped thus far, but he might well fear the consequences, after the man aloft put in an appearance.

  Dinah had hardly passed out of sight when the Comanche said in a low voice:

  “Me go––won’t hurt.”

  Although the intonation of the words was wrong, the woman knew from the glance at the door, which accompanied them, that he meant to ask permission to depart.

  “Yes, you can go,” was the astonishing answer, and she nodded her head.

  The Indian moved hesitatingly at first, in the direction of the entrance, keeping his gleaming eyes on the woman, as if doubtful whether she understood him.

  “Go on, be quick,” she added reassuringly, though she took care that the old-fashioned weapon was not lowered or turned aside.

  The voices of the servant and her master were plainly heard above, and the Comanche saw it was no time for tarrying. A couple more steps took him to the door, and, with little effort, he lifted the huge bolt from its place, pulled open the structure, and whisked out in the darkness, without so much as a “good-night” or “thank you.”