Chapter XIThe Terrible Pursuit
Dick knew enough to bend low down on the neck of the flyingmustang, and he was untouched, although he heard the bulletswhistling about him. The neigh of the pony had betrayed him, buthe was aided by his quickness and the friendly darkness, and hefelt a surge of exultation that he could not control, boy that hewas. The Sioux, jumping upon their ponies, sent forth a savagewar whoop that the desolate prairie returned in moaning echoes,and Dick could not refrain from a reply. He uttered one shout,swung his rifle defiantly over his head, then bending down again,urged his pony to increased speed.
Dick heard the hoofs of his pursuers thundering behind him, andmore rifle shots came, but they ceased quickly. He knew that theSioux would not fire again soon, because of the distance and theuncertain darkness. It was his object to increase that distance,trusting that the darkness would continue free from moonlight.He took one swift look backward and saw the Sioux, a dozen ormore, following steadily after. He knew that they would hang onas long as any chance of capturing him remained, and he resolvedto make use of the next swell that he crossed. He would swervewhen he passed the crest, and while it was yet between him andhis pursuers, perhaps he could find some friendly covert thatwould hide him. Meanwhile he clung tightly to his rifle,something that one always needed in this wild and dangerousregion.
He crossed a swell, but there was no friendly increase of thedarkness and he was afraid to swerve, knowing that the Siouxwould thereby gain upon him, since he would make himself thecurve of the bow, while they remained the string.
In fact, the hasty glance back showed that the Sioux had gained,and Dick felt tremors. He was tempted for a moment to fire uponhis pursuers, but it would certainly cause a loss of speed, andhe did not believe that he could hit anything under suchcircumstances. No, he would save his bullets for a last stand,if they ran him to earth.
The Sioux raised their war whoop again and fired three or fourshots. Dick felt a slight jarring movement run through his pony,and then the animal swerved. He was afraid that he had troddenin a prairie-dog hole or perhaps a little gully, but in aninstant or two he was running steadily again, and Dick forgot theincident in the excitement of the flight.
He was in constant fear lest the coming out of the moon shouldlighten up the prairie and make him a good target for the Siouxbullets, but he noted instead, and with great joy, that it wasgrowing darker. Heavy clouds drifted across the sky, and a coldwind arose and began to whistle out of the northwest. It was afriendly black robe that was settling down over the earth. Ithad never before seemed to him that thick night could be sowelcome.
Dick's pony rose again on a swell higher than the others, and waspoised there for the fraction of a second, a dark silhouetteagainst the darker sky. Several of the Sioux fired. Dick feltonce more that momentary jar of his horse's mechanism, but itdisappeared quickly and his hopes rose, because he saw that thedarkness lay thickly between this swell and the next, and hebelieved that he now could lose his pursuers.
He urged his horse vigorously. He had made no mistake when hechose this pony as strong and true. The response was instant andemphatic. He flew down the slope, but instead of ascending thenext swell he turned at an angle and went down the depressionthat lay between them. There the darkness was thickest, and theburst of speed by the pony was so great that the shapes of hispursuers became vague and then were lost. Nevertheless, he heardthe thudding of their hoofs and knew that they could also hearthe beat of his. That would guide them for a while yet. Hethought he might turn again and cross the next swell, thusthrowing them entirely off his track, but he was afraid that hewould be cast into relief again when he reached the crest, and socontinued down the depression.
He heard shouts behind him, and it seemed to him that they werenot now the shouts of triumph, but the shouts of chagrin.Clearly, he was gaining because after the cries ceased, the soundof hoof beats came but faintly. He urged his horse to the lastounce of his speed and soon the sound of the pursuing hoofsceased entirely.
The depression ended and he was on the flat plain. It was stillcloudy, with no moon, but his eyes were used enough to the darkto tell him that the appearance of the country had changed. Itnow lay before him almost as smooth as the surface of a table,and never relaxing the swift gallop, he turned at another angle.
He was confident now that the Sioux could not overtake or findhim. A lone object in the vast darkness, there was not a chancein a hundred for them to blunder upon him. But the farther awaythe better, and he went on for an hour. He would not havestopped then, but the good pony suddenly began to quiver, andthen halted so abruptly that Dick, rifle and all, shot over hisshoulder. He felt a stunning blow, a beautiful set of starsflashed before his eyes, and he was gone, for the time, toanother land.
When Dick awoke he felt very cold and his head ached. He waslying flat upon his back, and, with involuntary motion, he puthis hand to his head. He felt a bump there and the hand cameback damp and stained. He could see that the fingers werered--there was light enough for that ominous sight, althoughthe night had no yet passed.
Then the flight, the danger, and his fall all came back in a rushto Dick. He leaped to his feet, and the act gave him pain, butnot enough to show that any bone was broken. His rifle, theplainsman's staff and defense, lay at his feet. He quicklypicked it up and found that it, too, was unbroken. In fact, itwas not bent in the slightest, and here his luck had stood himwell. But ten feet away lay a horse, the pony that had been agood friend to him in need.
Dick walked over to the pony. It was dead and cold. It musthave been dead two to three hours at least, and he had lain thatlong unconscious. There was a bullet hole in its side and Dickunderstood now the cause of those two shivers, like the momentarystopping of a clock's mechanism. The gallant horse had gallopedon until he was stopped only by death. Dick felt sadness andpity.
"I hope you've gone to the horse heaven," he murmured.
Then he turned to thoughts of his own position. Alone and afootupon the prairie, with hostile and mounted Sioux somewhere about,he was still in bad case. He longed now for his mountains, thelost valley, the warm cabin, and his brother.
It was quite dark and a wind, sharp with cold, was blowing. Itcame over vast wastes, and as it swept across the swells kept upa bitter moaning sound. Dick shivered and fastened his deerskintunic a little tighter. He looked up at the sky. Not a star wasthere, and sullen black clouds rolled very near to the earth.The cold had a raw damp in it, and Dick feared those clouds.
Had it been day he could have seen his mountains, and he wouldhave made for them at once, but now his eyes did not reach ahundred yards, and that bitter, moaning wind told him nothingsave that he must fight hard against many things if he would keepthe life that was in him. He had lost all idea of direction.North and south, east and west were the same to him, but one mustgo even if one went wrong.
He tried all his limbs again and found that they were sound. Thewound on his head had ceased to bleed and the ache was easier.He put his rifle on his shoulder, waved, almost unconsciously, afarewell to the horse, as one leaves the grave of a friend, andwalked swiftly away, in what course he knew not.
He felt much better with motion. The blood began to circulatemore warmly, and hope sprang up. If only that bitter, moaningwind would cease. It was inexpressibly weird and dismal. Itseemed to Dick a song of desolation, it seemed to tell him attimes that it was not worth while to try, that, struggle as hewould, his doom was only waiting.
Dick looked up. The black clouds had sunk lower and they mustopen before long. If only day were near at hand, then he mightchoose the right course. Hark! Did he not hear hoof beats? Hepaused in doubt, and then lay down with his ear to the earth.Then he distinctly heard the sound, the regular tread of a horse,urged forward in a straight course, and he knew that it could bemade only by the Sioux. But the sound indicated only one horse,or not more than two or three at the most.
Dick's courage sprang
up. Here was a real danger and not themysterious chill that the moaning of the wind brought to him. Ifthe Sioux had found him, they had divided, and it was only a fewof their number that he would have to face. He hugged hisrepeating rifle. It was a fine weapon, and just then he was inlove with it. There was no ferocity in Dick's nature, but theSioux were seeking the life that he wished to keep.
He rose from the earth and walked slowly on in his originalcourse. He had no doubt that the Sioux, guided by some demoninstinct, would overtake him. He looked around for a good placeof defense, but saw none. Just the same low swells, just thesame bare earth, and not even a gully like that in which he hadlain while the hunt of the buffalo wheeled about him.
He heard the hoof beats distinctly now, and he became quite surethat they were made by only a single horseman. His own senseshad become preternaturally acute, and, with the conviction thathe was followed by but one, came a rush of shame. Why should he,strong and armed, seek to evade a lone pursuer? He stopped,holding his rifle ready, and waited, a vague, shadowy figure,black on the black prairie.
Dick saw the phantom horseman rise on a swell, the faint figureof an Indian and his pony, and there was no other. He was gladnow that he had waited. The horse, trained for such work asthis, gave the Sioux warrior a great advantage, but he wouldfight it out with him.
Dick sank down on one knee in order to offer a smaller target,and thrust his rifle forward for an instant shot. But the Siouxhad stopped and was looking intently at the boy. For fully twominutes neither he nor his horse moved, and Dick almost began tobelieve that he was the victim of an illusion, the creation ofthe desolate plains, the night, the floating black vapors, histense nerves, and heated imagination. He was tempted to try ashot to see if it were real, but the distance and the darknesswere too great. He strengthened his will and remained crouchedand still, his finger ready for the trigger of his rifle.
The Sioux and his horse moved at last, but they did not comeforward; they rode slowly toward the right, curving in a circleabout the kneeling boy, but coming no nearer. They were stillvague and indistinct, but they seemed blended into one, and thesupernatural aspect of the misty form of horse and riderincreased. The horse trod lightly now, and Dick no longer heardthe sound of footsteps, only the bitter moaning of the wind overthe vast dark spaces.
The rider rode silently on his circle about the boy, and Dickturned slowly with him, always facing the eyes that faced him.He could dimly make out the shape of a rifle at the saddlebow,but the Sioux did not raise it, he merely rode on in thatceaseless treadmill tramp, and Dick wondered what he meant todo. Was he waiting for the others to come up?
Time passed and there was no sign of a second horseman. Thesingle warrior still rode around him, and Dick still turned withhim. He might be coming nearer in his ceaseless curves, but Dickcould not tell. Although he was the hub of the circle, he beganto have a dizzy sensation, as if the world were swimming abouthim. He became benumbed, as if his head were that of a whirlingdervish.
Dick became quite sure now that the warrior and his horse wereunreal, a creation of the vapors and the mists, and that hehimself was dreaming. He saw, too, at last that they were comingnearer, and he felt horror, as if something demonic were about toseize him and drag him down. He crouched so long that he feltpain in his knees, and all things were becoming a blur before hiseyes. Yet there had not been a sound but that of the bitter,moaning wind.
There was a flash, a shot, the sigh of a bullet rushing past, andDick came out of his dream. The Sioux had raised the rifle fromhis saddlebow and fired. But he had been too soon. The shiftingand deceptive quality of the darkness caused him to miss. Dickpromptly raised his own rifle and fired in return. He alsomissed, but a second bullet from the warrior cut a lock from histemple.
Dick was now alert in every nerve. He had not wanted the life ofthis savage, but the savage wanted his; it seemed also thateverything was in favor of the savage getting it, but his ownspirit rose to meet the emergency; he, too, became the hunter.
He sank a little lower and saved his fire until the warriorgalloped nearer. Then he sent a bullet so close that he saw oneof the long eagle feathers drop from the hair of the warrior.The sight gave him a savage exultation that he would havebelieved a few hours before impossible to him. The next bulletmight not merely clip a feather!
The Sioux, contrary to the custom of the Indian, did not utter asound, nor did Dick say a word. The combat, save for the reportsof the rifle shots, went on in absolute silence. It lasted a fullten minutes, when the Indian urged his horse to a gallop,threw himself behind the body and began firing under the neck. Abullet struck Dick in the left arm and wounded him slightly, butit did not take any of his strength and spirit.
Dick sought in vain for a sight of the face of his fleeting foe.He could catch only a glimpse of long, trailing hair beneath thehorse's mane, and then would come the flash of a rifle shot.Another bullet clipped his side, but only cut the skin.Nevertheless, it stung, and while it stung the body it stungDick's wits also into keener action. He knew that the Siouxwarrior was steadily coming closer and closer in his deadlycircle, and in time one of his bullets must strike a vital spot,despite the clouds and darkness.
Dick steadied himself, calming every nerve and muscle. Then helay down on his stomach on the plain, resting slightly on hiselbow, and took careful aim at the flying pony. He felt someregret as he looked down the sights. This horse might be asfaithful and true as the one that had carried him to temporarysafety, but he must do the deed. He marked the brown patch ofhair that lay over the heart and pulled the trigger.
Dick's aim was true--the vapors and clouds had not disturbedit--and when the rifle flashed, the pony bounded into theand fell dead. But the agile Sioux leaped clear and darted away.Dick marked his brown body, and then was his opportunity to senda mortal bullet, but a feeling of which he was almost ashamedheld his hand. His foe was running, and he was no longerhunted. The feeling lasted but a moment, and when it passed, theSioux was out of range. A moment later and his misty foe hadbecome a part of the solid darkness.
Dick stood upright once more. He had been the victor in a combatthat still had for him all the elements of the ghostly. He hadtriumphed, but just in time. His nerves were relaxed andunstrung, and his hands were damp. He carefully reloaded all theempty chambers of his repeating rifle, and without looking at thefalling horse, which he felt had suffered for the wickedness ofanother, strode away again over the plain, abandoning the rifleof the fallen Sioux as a useless burden.
It took Dick sometime after his fight with the phantom horsemanto come back to real earth. Then he noticed that both the cloudsand the dampness had increased, and presently something cold andwet settled upon his face. It was a flake of snow, and a troopcame at its heels, gentle but insistent, chilling his hands andgradually whitening the earth, until it was a gleaming floorunder a pall of darkness.
Dick was in dismay. Here was a foe that he could not fight withrifle balls. He knew that the heavy clouds would continue topour forth snow, and the day, which he thought was not far away,would disclose as little as the night. The white pall would hidethe mountains as well as the black pall had done, and he might begoing farther and father from his valley.
He felt that he had been released from one danger and thenanother, only to encounter a third. It seemed to him, in hisminute of despair, that Fate had resolved to defeat all hisefforts, but, the minute over, he renewed his courage and trudgedbravely on, he knew not whither. It was fortunate for him thathe wore a pair of the heavy shoes saved from the wagon, and puton for just such a journey as this. The wet from the snow wouldhave soon soaked though his moccasins, but, as his thick deerskinleggings fitted well over his shoes, he kept dry, and that was acomfort.
The snow came down without wind and fuss, but more heavily thanever, persistent, unceasing, and sure of victory. It was notparticularly cold, and the walking kept up a warm and pleasantcirculation in Dick's veins. But he knew
that he must not stop.Whether he was going on in a straight line he had no way todetermine. He had often heard that men, lost on the plains, soonbegin to travel in a circle, and he watched awhile for his owntracks; but if they were there, they were covered up by snow toosoon for him to see, and, after all, what did it matter?
He saw after a while a pallid yellowish light showing dimlythrough the snow, and he knew that it was the sunrise. But itilluminated nothing. The white gloom began to replace the blackone. It was soon full day, but the snow was so thick that hecould not see more than two or three hundred yards in anydirection. He longed now for shelter, some kind of hollow, orperhaps a lone tree. The incessant fall of the snow upon hishead and its incessant clogging under his feet were tiring him,but he only trod a plain, naked save for its blanket of snow.
Dick had been careful to keep his rifle dry, putting the barrelof it under his long deerskin coat. Once as he shifted it, hefelt a lump over his chest, and for an instant or two did notknow what caused it. Then he remember the history and geographyof the United States. He laughed with grim humor.
"I am lost to history," he murmured, "and geography will not tellme where I am."
He crossed a swell--he knew them now more by feeling than bysight--and before beginning the slight assent of the next one hestopped to eat. He had been enough of a frontiersman, beforestarting upon such a trip, to store jerked buffalo in the skinknapsack that he had saved for himself. The jerked meat offeredthe largest possible amount of sustenance in the smallestpossible space, and Dick ate eagerly. Then he felt a greatrenewal of courage and strength. He also drank of the snowwater, that is, he dissolved the snow in his mouth, but he didnot like it much.
He stood there for a while resting, and resolved only to walkenough to keep himself warm. Certainly, nothing was to be gainedby exhausting himself and the snow which was now a foot deepshowed no signs of abating. The white gloom hung all about himand he could not see the sky overhead.
Just as he took this resolution, Dick saw a shadow in thecircling white. The shadow was like that of a man, but before hecould see farther there was a little flash of red, a sharp,stinging report, and a bullet clipped the skin of his cheek,burning like fire. Dick was startled, and for full cause--buthe recognized the Sioux warrior who had fought him on horseback.He had stared too long at that man and at a time too deadly notto know that head and face and the set of his figure. He hadfollowed Dick through all the hours and falling snow, bent upontaking his life. A second shot, quickly following the first,showed that he meant to miss no chance.
The second bullet, like the first, just grazed Dick, and mild oftemper though he habitually was, he was instantly seized with thefiercest rage. He could not understand such hatred, suchferocity, such an eagerness to take human life. And this was theman whom he had spared, whom he could easily have slain when hewas running! The Sioux was raising his rifle for a third bullet,when Dick shot him through the chest. There was no doubt abouthis aim now. It was not disturbed by the whitish mist and thefalling snow.
The Sioux fell full length, without noise and without struggle,and his gun flew from his hand. His body lay half buried in thesnow, some of the long eagle feathers in his hair thrusting uplike the wing of a slain bird. Dick looked at him withshuddering horror. All the anger was gone from him now, and itis true that in his heart he felt pity for this man, who hadstriven so hard and without cause to take his life. He wouldhave been glad to go away now, but forced himself to approach andlook down at the Indian.
The warrior lay partly on his side with one arm beneath hisbody. The blood from the bullet hole in his chest dyed the snow,and Dick believed that he had been killed instantly. But Dickwould not touch him. He could not bring himself to do that. Norwould he take any of his arms. Instead, he turned away, afterthe single look, and, bending his head a little to the snow,walked rapidly toward the yellowish glare that told where the sunwas rising. He did not know just why he went in that direction,but it seemed to him the proper thing to walk toward the morning.
Two hours, perhaps, passed and the fall of snow began tolighten. The flakes still came down steadily, but not in such atorrent. The area of vision widened. He saw dimly, as through amist, three or four hundred yards, perhaps, but beyond was onlythe white blur, and there was nothing yet to tell him whether hewas going toward the mountains or away from them.
He rested and ate again. Then he recovered somewhat, mentally aswell as physically. Part of the horror of the Indian, his deadlypursuit, and the deadly ending passed. He ached with wearinessand his nerves were quite unstrung, but the snow would cease, theskies would clear, and then he could tell which way lay themountains and his brother.
He rested here longer than usual and studied the plain as far ashe could see it. He concluded that its character had changedsomewhat, that the swells were high than they had been, and hewas hopeful that he might find shelter soon, a deep gully,perhaps, or a shallow prairie stream with sheltering cottonwoodsalong its course.
Another hour passed, but he did not make much progress. Thesnow was now up to his knees, and it became an effort to walk.The area of vision had widened, but no mountains yet showedthrough the white mist. He was becoming tired with a tirednessthat was scarcely to be born. If he stood still long enough torest he became cold, a deadly chill that he knew to be theprecursor of death's benumbing sleep would creep over him, andthen he would force himself to resume the monotonous, achingwalk.
Dick's strength waned. His eyesight, affected by the glare ofthe snow, became short and unsteady, and he felt a dizziness ofthe brain. Things seemed to dance about, but his will was sostrong that he could still reason clearly, and he knew that hewas in desperate case. It was his will that resisted the impulseof his flesh to throw his rifle away as a useless burden, but helaughed aloud when he thought of the map of the United States inthe inside pocket of his coat.
"They'll find me, if they ever find me, with that upon me," hesaid aloud, "and they, too, will laugh."
He stumbled against something and doubled his fist angrily as ifhe would strike a man who had maliciously got in his way. It wasthe solid bark of a big cottonwood that had stopped him, and hisanger vanished in joy. Where one cottonwood was, others werelikely to be, and their presence betokened a stream, a valley,and a shelter of some kind.
He was still dazed, suffering partially from snow blindness, butnow he saw a line of sturdy cottonwoods and beyond it anotherline. The stream, he knew, flowed between. He went down theline a few hundred yards and came, as he had hoped, into morebroken ground.
The creek ran between banks six or seven feet high, with a marginbetween stream and bank, and the cottonwoods on these bankswere reinforced by some thick clumps of willows. Between thelargest clump and the line of cottonwoods, with the bank as ashelter for the third side, was a comparatively clear space.The snow was only a few inches deep there, and Dick believedthat he could make a shelter. He had, of course, brought hisblanket with him in a tight roll on his back, and he was hopefulenough to have some thought of building a fire.
He stooped down to feel in the snow at a likely spot, and the actsaved his life. A bullet, intended for his head, was buried inthe snow beyond him, and a body falling down the bank lay quitestill at his feet. It was the long Sioux. Wounded mortally, hehad followed Dick, nevertheless, with mortal intent, crawling,perhaps most of the time, and with his last breath he had firedwhat he intended to be the fatal shot.
He was quite dead now, his power for evil gone forever. Therecould be no doubt about it. Dick at length forced himself totouch the face. It had grown cold and the pulse in the wrist wasstill. It yet gave him a feeling of horror to touch the Sioux,but his own struggle for life would be bitter and he could sparenothing. The dead warrior wore a good blanket, which Dick nowtook, together with his rifle and ammunition, but he left all therest. Then he dragged the warrior from the sheltered space to adeep snow bank, where he sank him out of sight. He even took thetrouble t
o heap more snow upon him in the form of a burial, andhe felt a great relief when he could no longer see the savagebrown features.
He went back to his sheltered space, and, upon the singleunprotected side threw up a high wall of snow, so high that itwould serve as a wind-break. Then he began to search for fallenbrushwood. Meanwhile, it was turning colder, and a bitter windbegan to moan across the plain.
The Last of the Chiefs: A Story of the Great Sioux War Page 11
