The absence of anything like a sentinel increased the boy’s apprehensions, and when he had waited some fifteen minutes without seeing anything of his friends he became painfully uneasy.
“What if they had been killed? What if they were prisoners? What if a hundred Indians were at that moment in the possession of Wolf Ravine?”
Such and similar were the questions which the affrighted boy asked himself, and which, with all his shrewdness, he was unable to answer.
In the hope of attracting attention he set up a shrieking with the whistle, which sounded so loud on the still evening air that it must have gone miles away over the level prairie.
There being no response to this he kept it up for some time, but it still failed, and all this confirmed him in the belief that “something was up.”
What that particular something was it was impossible to say, so long as he sat in the wagon, and for five minutes he endeavored to decide whether it was best to get out and make a reconnoissance on his own hook or remain where, in case of danger, he could seek safety in flight.
As the day wore rapidly away, and he still failed to see or hear anything of his friends, he finally concluded to get out and make an examination of the ravine.
Accordingly he sprung lightly to the ground, but had scarcely alighted when a peculiar signal, something resembling a tremulous whistle, reached his ear, and he instantly clambered back again, fully satisfied that the whistle was intended as a signal, and that it concerned him, although whether from friend or foe he could only conjecture.
However, his alarm was such that he moved a hundred yards or so further away from the ravine, where there was less likelihood of being surprised by any sudden rush upon the part of the thieving red-skins.
From this standpoint he carefully scanned what could be seen of the ravine. It descended quite gradually from the edge of the bank, so that he gained a partial view of the rocks and bowlders upon the opposite side. Some of the trees growing in the narrow valley rose to such a height that one-half or two-thirds of them were exposed to view.
It was while the boy was gazing at these that he detected a peculiar movement in one of the limbs, which instantly arrested his attention.
A moment showed him that the peculiar waving motion was made by human agency, and he strained his eyes in the hope of detecting the cause of the curious movement.
The gathering darkness made his vision quite uncertain; but he either saw, or fancied he saw, a dark object among the limbs which resembled the form of Baldy Bicknell, the trapper.
Johnny Brainerd would have given almost anything in the world could he have understood what it all meant.
But the vary fact of these singular demonstrations was prima facie evidence of the most unquestionable kind; and, after a moment’s consultation with himself, he began moving away, just as the sharp crack of several rifles notified him of the fearful peril which he had escaped.
CHAPTER XIV
The Huge Hunter
Simultaneous with the report of the rifles came the pinging of the bullets about the ears of young Brainerd, who, having started the steam man, kept on going until he was a considerable distance from the ravine.
All the time he kept looking back, but could see nothing of his enemies, nor could he detect the point from which the rifle-shots were fired.
Now, as night descended over the prairie, and the retreat of his friends became shrouded in impenetrable darkness, he fully appreciated the fact that not only were they in great danger, but so was he himself.
The heathenish terror with which the steam man had at first inspired the savages had rapidly worn away, the circumstances unfortunately having been such that they had very speedily learned that it was nothing more than a human invention, which of itself could accomplish little or no harm.
He could but reflect, as the man glided slowly along, that if he had the three friends beside him, how easily they could glide away in the darkness and leave all danger behind.
But they were in the extremity of peril already, and, reflect and cogitate as much as he chose, he could see no earthly way of assisting them out of their difficulty.
Besides the concern which he naturally felt regarding his friends, there was a matter that more clearly related to himself that demanded his attention.
The water in the tank was at its lowest ebb, and it would be dangerous for him to attempt to run more than one hour or so longer before replenishing it. Consequently he was unable to stand anything like another chase from the Indians.
As the part of prudence, therefore, he turned toward the river, following slowly along the bank, in quest of some place where it would be easy and safe for him to secure the much-needed water.
It was a long and discouraging hunt. The banks were so high that he could find no point where it was safe for him to descend to the water’s edge. There was too great a risk of “upsetting his cart,” a calamity which, in all probability, would be irreparable.
At length, however, when he had wandered about a mile distant from the Wolf Ravine, he discovered a place, where the bank had about six feet elevation, and sloped down gradually to the river.
Here he paused, and with a small vessel, descended to the stream, muttering to himself as he did so:
“Why didn’t I think and put a pumping arrangement to the machine? I could have done it as well as not, and it would have saved me a good deal of trouble.”
But regrets were now unavailing, and he lost no time in useless lamentations, setting to work at once. It was tedious labor, carrying up the water in a small vessel, and emptying it in the tank, but he persevered, and at the end of a couple of hours the task was completed.
“I can make the wood stand me another day,” he added, as he stood looking at the greatly diminished pile, “although, if I knew where to get it, I would load up now, and then I should be prepared.”
He suddenly paused, for scarcely a dozen yards away, coming up the margin of the river, straight toward him, he descried the figure of a man fully six feet and a half high.
Young Brainerd’s first impulse was to spring into the wagon and start away at full speed; but a second glance showed him that it was not an Indian, but a white man, in the garb of a hunter.
“Hullo, boss, thar, what yer doin’?”
He was at a loss what reply to make, and therefore made none. The next moment the giant hunter was beside him.
“B’ars and bufflers! younker, what ye got thar?” he demanded, eyeing the steam man with an expression of the most amazed wonder. “I say, what do yer call that thing?”
“That,” laughed Johnny, who could not avoid a feeling of strong apprehension at the singular appearance of the strange hunter, “is a sort of peregrinating locomotive.”
“Paggyratin’ locomotive, what’s that?” he asked, in a gruff voice, and with an expression of great disgust at the unfamiliar words employed.
“You have seen a locomotive, haven’t you?”
“Reckon I hev, down in St. Louey.”
“Well, this is something on the same principle, except that it uses legs instead of wheels.”
“Can that ’ere thing walk?”
“Yes, sir, and run, too; it traveled all the way from the Missouri river to this place.”
The huge hunter turned upon him with a fierce expression.
“Yer can’t fool this yar boss in that style.”
“Don’t you believe me?” asked the boy, who was fearful of offending the stranger.
“No, sar; not a word.”
“How do you suppose we got it here?”
“Fotched in a wagon.”
“Let me show you what he can do.”
He was about to step into the wagon, when the hunter stopped him.
“See hyar, younker, who mought yer be?”
The boy gave his name and residence.
“What yer doin’ hyar?”
“I’m traveling with this machine of mine.”
“How do you git it along
?”
“I was just going to show you when you stopped me.”
“Hold on; no need of bein’ in a sweat about it. Do yer come alone?”
“No. I came with a hunter.”
“What war his name?”
“Baldy Bicknell.”
“B’ars and bufflers! did yer come with him?”
“Yes; he was my companion all the way.”
“Whar mought he be?”
Johnny Brainerd hesitated a moment. While the huge hunter might possibly be of great service to the beleaguered miners, yet he recollected that it was the desire of Baldy that the fact of gold existing in Wolf Ravine should be kept a secret from all except their own party.
Should it become known to any of the numerous hunters and emigrants who were constantly passing in the neighborhood, there would be such a flocking to the place that they would be driven away and probably killed for the treasure that they had already obtained.
The boy, therefore, chose to make a non-committal reply:
“Baldy is some distance away, in camp.”
“And what are yer doin’ hyar?”
“I stopped here to get water for this steam man, as we call him. You know anything that travels by steam must have the water to generate it.”
“I say, younker, I don’t want none of yer big words to me. Ef I h’ar any more, b’ars and bufflers, ef I don’t crack yer over the head with Sweetlove, my shootin’-iron, so mind what yer say, fur I won’t stand no nonsense.”
“I didn’t wish to offend you,” returned the boy, in the meekest of tones.
“How far away might be Baldy?”
“I couldn’t tell you exactly, but I think it is less than ten miles.”
“Be you goin’ back to camp tonight?”
“It was my intention, that is, I meant to do so.”
“Guess I’ll go with yer; but see hyar, younker, let’s see yer try that old humbug of yourn.”
The boy sprung into the wagon, glad of the opportunity of getting rid of what looked like a dangerous man. Before he could start he was again peremptorily stopped.
“Yer see, I b’leeve yar a humbug, but if that ole thing does run, and, mind, I tell yer, I don’t b’leeve it will, do yer know what I’m goin’ to do?”
“I do not.”
“I’m goin’ to take it myself to chase rod-skins in. It won’t bother yer much fur them long legs of yourn to carry that humpback home again. So, younker, start now, and let us see what yer can do.”
The boy let on steam, and the man started off on a moderate gait, which rapidly increased to a swift one. The huge, wonder-stricken hunter watched it until it gradually faded out of sight in the gloom, and still watched the place where it had disappeared, and though he watched much longer, with a savage and vindictive heart, yet it never came back to him again.
CHAPTER XV
The Attack in the Ravine
In the mean time, the situation of our friends in Wolf Ravine was becoming perilous to the last degree.
Before going to work, on the morning of the steam man’s excursion to the mountains, Baldy Bicknell made a reconnoissance of the ravine, to assure himself that there was no danger of being suddenly overwhelmed, while delving for the precious yellow sand.
He saw abundant signs of Indians having recently visited the place, but he concluded there were none in the immediate vicinity, and that comparatively little risk was run in the boy making his wished-for visit to the mountains in the west.
Through the center of the ravine ran a small stream of water, hardly of enough volume to be used for washing gold without a dam being created. It looked as if this had once been the head of a large stream, and that the golden sand had been drifted to this spot, by the force of the powerful current.
The auriferous particles were scattered over the entire breadth of the ravine, for the distance of several hundred feet, being found in the richest deposits between the ledges and rocks, in the bottom of the channel, where, as may well be supposed, it was no easy matter to obtain.
A short distance back of the “diggings,” where the vast masses of rocks assumed curiously grotesque forms, the miners discovered a rude cave, where they at once established their headquarters. A tiny stream ran through the bottom of it, and with a little placing of the close bowlders, they speedily put it in the best condition of defense.
It was almost entirely surrounded by trees, there was one spot where a thin man, like Hopkins or Baldy, could draw his body through and climb a luxuriant cottonwood, whose top have a wide view of the surrounding plain.
The day passed away without any signs of Indians, Baldy occasionally ascending the side of the ravine, and scanning the plains in every direction, on the constant lookout for the insidious approach of their enemies.
Just before nightfall, while all three were at work, a rifle was discharged, and the bullet was imbedded in the tough oaken handle of the spade with which the trapper was digging.
“Whar in thunder did that come from?” he demanded, dropping the implement, catching up the rifle, and glaring savagely about him.
But neither of the others could answer him, and climbing up the bank, he looked fiercely around for some evidence of the whereabouts of his treacherous foe.
The latter remained invisible, but several hundred yards down the ravine, he caught a glimpse of enough Indians dodging hither and thither to satisfy him that there was quite a formidable force in the valley.
Giving the alarm to his companions, all three withdrew within the cave, not the less willingly, as it was very near their usual quitting time.
“Begorrah! and what’ll becoom of the shtame mian and the boy?” inquired Mickey, as he hastily obeyed orders.
“Jerusalem!” exclaimed the Yankee, in great trepidation, “if he isn’t warned, they’ll catch him sure, and then what’ll become of us? We’ll have to walk all the way hum.”
As the best means of communicating with him, the trapper climbed through the narrow opening, and to the top of the tree, where he ensconced himself, just as the steam man uttered its interrogative whistle.
The trapper, as we have shown in another place, replied by pantomime, not wishing to discover his whereabouts to the enemy, as he had a dim idea that this means of egress might possibly prove of some use to him, in the danger that was closing around them.
When Johnny Brainerd recognized his signal, and beat a retreat, Baldy began a cautious descent to his cave again. At this time it was already growing dark, and he had to feel his way down again.
And so it came about, that not until he had reached the lowest limb, did his trained ear detest a slight rustling on the ground beneath. Supposing it to be either Mickey or Ethan, he continued his descent, merely glancing below. But at that moment something suspicious caught his eye, and peering down more carefully, he discovered a crouching Indian, waiting with drawn knife until he should come within his reach.
The trapper was no coward, and had been in many a hand to-hand tussle before; but there was something in the character of the danger which would have made it more pleasant for him to hesitate awhile until he could learn its precise dimensions; but time was too precious, and the next moment, he had dropped directly by the side of the red-skin.
The latter intended to make the attack, but without waiting for him, Baldy sprung like a panther upon him and bore him to the earth. There was a silent but terrific struggle for a few moments, but the prodigious activity and rower of the trapper prevailed, and when he withdrew from the grasp of the Indian, the latter was as dead as a door nail. The struggle had been so short that neither Mickey nor Ethan knew anything of it, until Baldy dropped down among them, and announced what had taken place.
“Jerusalem! have they come as close as that?” asked the Yankee in considerable terror.
“Skulp me, if they ain’t all around us!” was the reply of the hunter.
“How we ar’ to git out o’ hyar, ar’ a hard thing to tell j’ist now.”
“It’s
meself that thinks the rid gentlemin have a love fur us, as me mither obsarved, when she cracked the head of me father,” remarked Mickey, who had seated himself upon the ground with all the indifference of an unconcerned spectator.
It was so dark in their cave-like home that they could not see each other’s faces, and could only catch a sort of twilight glimpse of their forms when they passed close to each other.
It would have made their quarters more pleasant had they struck a light, but it was too dangerous a proceeding, and no one thought of it. They could only keep on the alert, and watch for the movement of their enemies.
The latter, beyond all doubt, were in the immediate vicinity, and inspired as they were by hate of the most vindictive kind, would not allow an opportunity to pass of doing all the harm in their power.
The remains of their food was silently eaten in the darkness, when Baldy said:
“Do yer stay hyar whar ye be till I come back”
“Where might ye be going naow?” inquired Hopkins.
“I’m goin’ outside to see what the reds are doin’, and to see whether thar’s a chance fur ’em to gobble us up hull.”
“Do yees mind and take care of y’urself, as me mither cautioned me when I went a shparkin’,” said Mickey, who naturally felt some apprehension, when he saw the trapper on the point of leaving them at such a dangerous time.
“Yes. Baldy, remember that my fate is wrapped up in yours,” added the Yankee, whose sympathies were probably excited to a still greater extent.
“Never mind about Baldy; he has been in such business too often not to know how to take care of himself.”
“How long do you expect to begone?” inquired Ethan.
“Mebbe all night, if thar ain’t much danger. Ef I find the varments ar’ too thick I’ll stay by yer, and if they ain’t I’ll leave fur several hours. Leastways, whatever I do, you’ll be sure to look out for the skunks.”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 75
