"Captain, where am I?"
"In the woods with me, Peck."
"What has happened?"
"Don't you remember? The Indians surprised us, and you were shot in the side."
The brow of the wounded soldier contracted for a moment, and then he drew a long and painful breath.
"Ah, yes, I remember now. Are we alone?"
"Yes."
"And what of the others, captain?"
"I am afraid they have either been shot down or taken prisoners. Poor Carwell and Leeds I know are dead."
"It was a nasty surprise, wasn't it? I was sure they hadn't seen me."
"Those Indians are sly, Peck. They never let on until they are fully ready. We can be thankful that we escaped."
"How long have we been here?"
"The best part of the day. I carried you along the brook and to here, and I haven't dared to go any further. Those Indians can't be far off."
"It was good of you to do that for me, captain," said the private gratefully.
"I know you would have done as much for me, Peck. What I am worried about is what we are to do next."
"Perhaps you had better wait till dark, and then sneak to the fort."
"How do you feel?"
"Weak, captain, weak as a rag."
"I shan't leave you, Peck."
"But you ought to try to save yourself."
"We can both try to do that, when you are stronger."
Slowly the day wore along until night was once more on the pair. Peck had tried to stand up, but the effort had proved a dismal failure.
"It's no use," he murmured. "I reckon I'm a fit subject for the hospital," and he gave a sickly grin.
The night was one Captain Moore never forgot. He was hungry, but there was nothing at hand with which to satisfy the cravings of the inner man. Peck's mind began to ramble again, and once he struggled violently, thinking he was fighting with an Indian, who was trying to tear out his side.
With the coming of dawn the young officer felt that matters were growing desperate and that he must do something. He determined to go on a short exploring tour, leaving the soldier where he lay.
"I'll be back inside of half an hour," he said. "Make yourself as comfortable as possible while I am gone."
"Don't desert me!" groaned Peck. "Promise to come back, captain—promise!" he pleaded, and the young officer promised.
On the opposite side of the brook was a series of rocks leading to the top of rather a high hill, and Captain Moore had an idea that from this eminence he could obtain a faint view of the fort and its surroundings.
Half of the rocks were passed when he came to a sudden halt. A low groan ahead had reached his ears. As he stopped and listened the groan was repeated.
"That sounds familiar," he thought. "I've heard that before. But where?"
At last he made up his mind that the sounds came from some wild animal that was wounded, and plucking up courage he moved forward again, but with his rifle before him, ready to shoot at the slightest provocation.
"The panther—and dying!"
The young officer was right. There on a shelf of rocks lay the wounded beast, its breath coming short and heavy, and its eyes letting out a glassy stare that caused the captain to shiver in spite of himself.
At the sight of a human being the panther tried to rise. But the effort was too much for it, and it sank down, groaning with pain, in a pool of blood which had formed.
At first Captain Moore thought to finish by putting a bullet through its head, but then he remembered that ammunition was scarce and lowered his rifle.
"He'll be dead by the time I get back," he thought, and continued on his way up the mountain side.
At last the top was gained, and he looked around eagerly. At first only the plain far below met his view, but presently he made out a spot which he knew must be the fort. But all was in a blue haze, and no details could be distinguished.
Having spent quarter of an hour on the mountain top he picked his way back to where he had left the panther. The creature had now breathed its last, and lay stiffened out on the rocky ledge.
"I must have something to eat, and so must Peck," he said to himself. "Panther steaks may be tough, but they will be better than nothing. I'll go back for the hunting-knife and cut off as much meat as we'll be likely to need for a couple of days."
When he reached Peck's side he found the soldier sleeping quietly, and did not disturb him. Going back, he cut off a generous slice of the panther meat, leaving the rest to the wild beasts.
The captain hated to build a fire, fearing it would attract the attention of the enemy, but he did not wish to eat the meat raw, and presently, having no matches, shot his gun into the midst of some dry leaves. By this means he soon had a blaze, which he fed with the driest wood he could find, thus avoiding a great cloud of smoke. Over the blaze he cooked the steak, which was soon done to a turn.
When Peck awoke he felt stronger, and readily partook of the meal brought to him, washing down the meat with some water from the brook.
"What do you calculate to do now, captain?" he asked.
"From the top of yonder hill I can see the fort in the distance," answered the young officer. "But how to get to it is a question. It would be a hard enough journey as it is, without having to be on guard against Indians and desperadoes."
"Better leave me here, and go it alone."
"No, I shan't desert you, Peck. We'll see the thing through together."
"But the Indians might come down on us."
"We've got to run that risk. The question is, can you walk at all?"
For reply Peck got up on his feet. At first he swayed around a little, but presently steadied himself.
"I'm good for a little distance, captain, but I don't reckon to go into any walking match just yet."
"Then we'll go ahead. As soon as you feel played out, don't hesitate to say so."
Captain Moore carried the rifle, hunting-knife, and what was left of the meat, and also insisted upon having the private lean on his arm. In this fashion two miles were covered by noon, when they came to a rest under the shade of a big tree. Peck was pale, and showed plainly that the exertion had done him no good.
"Hardest walking I ever did," he admitted, as he stretched himself at full length. It was his will-power alone that had kept him up.
"Well, we are gaining," said Captain Moore cheerfully. "Three miles more will see us through."
"If the enemy don't gobble us in the meantime."
"The Indians are nowhere in sight."
"They won't be showing themselves if they can help it. They spring on us——Hark!"
Peck broke off short, and both listened.
"Somebody is coming this way!" whispered the young officer. "Come, we must get out of sight!"
He took the wounded soldier by the hand, and with all speed the pair crept into some brushwood behind the big tree. In the meantime the foot-steps of the unknown party came closer.
As the man came into view, Captain Moore let out a shout which was full of joy.
"Hank Leeson! How glad I am to see you!"
The old hunter started around and drew up his gun. Then the weapon dropped, and he ran forward.
"Captain Moore!" he ejaculated. "Hang me ef I aint glad to set eyes on ye! Who is that with you?"
"Private Peck of Company B. We've had a fight with the Indians, and a number of the soldiers were killed."
"The Injuns are on the warpath, along with the desperadoes under Matt Gilroy," returned Leeson. "I got the word from Sam Benson early this mornin'."
"And where was Benson?"
"Out among the hills, a-lookin' fer you."
"And what of my brother, and my cousin? Have you heard anything of them?"
"They are safe at the fort."
"Thank Heaven for that!"
"I see ye'er both of ye wounded," went on Leeson, as he came closer.
"My wound is not much. But Peck's is bad. I hardly knew how I was going to get him to the fort. Are the Indians or desperadoes around?"
"They are, captain—but whar is jest now the conundrum. Captain Lee—he's in command now—thinks there's a big plot on foot ter wipe out the fort."
"He is right. But Colonel Fairfield—what of him? Did they drug him?"
"They did, captain. But it's queer you know of all this."
"Then Joe didn't tell you I was with him at the cave?"
"I didn't have time to hear the whole story. Benson was coming out, and I came with him. Now, as you're found, I reckon I had better go back with you," went on Hank Leeson.
"By all means, for we'll have to take turns in supporting Peck."
A few minutes later the march for the fort was taken up. It was a tedious journey, and there were times when the young captain felt as if it would never come to an end. But at last they came within sight of the stockade and the big flag floating so proudly to the breeze, and then several came rushing out to meet them, and their hard-ships, for the time being, came to an end.
"Oh, I'm so glad to see you again, Will!" was the greeting which Joe gave his brother. "We were almost certain either the Indians or desperadoes had fallen upon you and killed you."
"Well, we did have some hot work," answered the young captain modestly. "Are you all right?"
"I am."
"And you, Darry?"
"I'm first-class," answered the cousin. "But I can tell you, Will, there is trouble ahead."
"I know that, Darry. I must see Colonel Fairfield at once."
"He is very ill. The surgeon can do hardly anything for him. He says he has not the right drugs to reach such a dose as the colonel has swallowed."
"That's too bad."
By this time Captain Lee was at hand, and the two officers exchanged reports. Nothing had been heard concerning Lieutenant Carrol. The command of the fort now fell upon Captain Moore.
As soon as possible the young commander went in to see his superior. He found Colonel Fairfield very weak and in no condition to talk upon military matters. He took the young captain's hand, and said feebly:
"You must do your best, captain, do your best. Defend the place to the last."
"I will, Colonel Fairfield," answered the young officer. "And I trust you recover soon."
That day and the next passed without incident of a special nature. Sick and wounded were cared for by the surgeon, and a detachment went out, accompanied by Sam Benson and Hank Leeson, to look for any of the soldiers who had been attacked by the Indians or desperadoes and who might still be alive.
When this party returned they brought in the bodies of two soldiers that had fallen.
"The Indians are gathering in force," said old Benson, who had been right among them in the darkness. "There are now over a hundred and twenty of them."
"And what of the desperadoes?" asked Captain Moore.
"The desperadoes number twenty-six," answered Hank Leeson. "I counted noses myself. Matt Gilroy is a reg'lar captain over 'em an' has 'em drilled like a company o' sharpshooters—an' I reckon thet's wot they are, consarn 'em!"
"Then the enemy, all told, numbers about a hundred and fifty," mused the young captain.
"How many men here fit for duty to-day, captain?" came from the old scout.
"Not over forty, including the cooks and stable help, Benson. All the others are on the sick list—and some of them are pretty bad."
"Perhaps the crowd outside are a-waitin' till ye all git sick," suggested Leeson with a scowl. "'Taint fair fightin', is it? They ought all to be hung!"
"I must do my best," said Captain Moore gravely. "I can do no more."
As the day wore along and two additional soldiers were taken sick, he decided to send a messenger to Fort Prescott, a hundred and sixty miles away, for assistance.
Hank Leeson knew every foot of the territory, and was chosen for the mission. Benson was more than willing to go, but Captain Moore told him to remain where he was.
"If the enemy attack us you'll have to be our right-hand man, Benson," he said. Then he added: "I want to talk to you after Leeson is gone."
Since coming to the fort Captain Moore had been watching two old soldiers very closely.
These soldiers were named Moses Bicker and Jack Drossdell. Their reputations were not of the best, and the black marks against them were numerous.
Some time before, the young captain had heard that Bicker came of a family of Colorado desperadoes and that he had joined the army during a spasm of reformation.
The actions of the pair did not suit Captain Moore in the least, and that night he took it upon himself to watch them more closely than ever.
In the darkness he saw Bicker make his way to the stable, and to that spot, a little later, Drossdell followed.
"Something is in the wind, and I'm going to find out what it is," he mused, and watching his opportunity he passed into the stable unobserved.
At first he could hear nothing but the movements of the horses, but presently came a low murmur from one corner of the loft.
Cautiously the young officer climbed the ladder and stepped into the hay.
Here he could hear the conversation between Bicker and Drossdell quite plainly.
"They never suspected the butter," he heard Bicker say. "It tastes a little strong, but they would rather have it that way than have none, and the same way with the condensed milk."
"When shall we give the signal to the boys?" came from Drossdell.
"Not yet. There will be more of them sick by to-morrow night," replied Bicker.
More of the same sort of talk followed, until the young captain became fully convinced that Bicker and Drossdell were in league with the desperadoes, and that they had been using some drugs in the butter, milk, and other articles consumed at the fort, in order to make the soldiers sick.
As soon as he realized the importance of his discovery Captain Moore went below.
A corporal's guard was called out and sent over to the stable, and when Bicker and Drossdell came below they were placed under arrest.
"What's this for?" demanded Bicker, putting on a bold front. Drossdell had nothing to say, and trembled so he could scarcely stand.
"You know well enough, Bicker," answered Captain Moore sternly.
"No, I don't. I haven't done anything wrong, captain."
"March them to the guardhouse," was all the young commander said, and the two were promptly marched away.
As may be surmised, the moment the evildoers were alone each accused the other of having done something to bring on exposure.
Captain Moore knew his men well, and presently he sent for Drossdell and interviewed the soldier in private.
"I am sorry to see you in such trouble as this, Drossdell," he said. "I thought you were a better soldier."
"I haven't done anything, captain."
"It is useless for you to deny it. Do you know what my men would do to you and Bicker if they learned the truth? They would rebel and hang you on the spot—and you would deserve it, too."
"Oh, captain, for the love of Heaven, don't put us in the hands of the boys!" pleaded Drossdell, turning a ghostly white.
"You and Bicker plotted to get us all sick and then let the Indians and Gilroy's gang in on us."
"I—I——"
"It is useless for you to deny it, for I heard your talk myself, and saw a letter written by Bicker to Gilroy."
"Bicker formed the plans!" cried Drossdell, breaking down completely. "He—he forced me to help him."
"Forced you?"
"Yes, captain, forced me. I stood out a long while, but he—he——Well, I might as well make a clean breast of it, sir. He had me in his power, on account of something I did in Denver years ago. He said he would expose me if I didn't help him."
"This is the strict truth?"
"Yes, captain, and I will swear to it if you want me to," answered the prisoner.
"You were going to signal the gang when all was in readiness for an attack," went on Captain Moore.
"Bicker was going to do that."
"What was the signal to be?"
"Three white handkerchiefs stuck on the ends of a cross made of sticks six feet long. He was going to show these at ten in the morning or four in the afternoon, from the southwest corner of the stockade, behind the mess hall."
"And what was the signal to be if you wanted the enemy to hold off for a while?"
"A red shirt if he wanted them to hold off for one day and a red and a blue shirt if they were to hold off for two days."
"You are certain about these signals? Remember, if you are telling a lie it will all come back on your own head."
"I am telling the strict truth," answered Drossdell.
The interview over, Captain Moore lost no time in summoning Hank Leeson.
"You must depart for Fort Prescott without delay," he said.
"I'm ready now, captain," replied the old hunter.
"You must ride night and day till you get there."
"I'll do thet too."
"I have received important news. At the longest our enemies will hold off two days. I will try to make them hold off a day longer if I can. That will give you three days. I will write a letter to Major Hardie at once."
This was early in the morning, and inside of half an hour the letter was written and the old hunter was off, on the back of the freshest and most enduring horse the fort possessed. He went fully armed, for he knew that he carried his life in his hands.
As soon as Leeson had gone the young captain summoned the surgeon and told that individual about the drugged butter and condensed milk.
Dr. Nestor was incredulous, but on an examination said that all were drugged. A cat that had drunk of the diluted condensed milk was found in a stupor from which she could not be aroused.
"It's awful," said the surgeon.
A trustworthy cook was called in, and all the butter and condensed milk which were open, or which showed signs of having been tampered with, were thrown away.
This put the soldiers on short rations so far as these commodities went, but nobody complained. Some suspected Bicker and Drossdell, and there was talk of a demand on the captain to have the traitors shot, but it came to nothing.
"What does this mean?" asked Joe, when he caught his brother in a quiet spot.
In a few words the young captain explained.
"You and Darry must say nothing," he concluded. "We will have our hands full as it is. The Indians are in this, but the drugging was not done by Mose the half-breed."
"When will you signal to the enemy?" asked Darry.
"This afternoon at four. That will give us at least two whole days—and a lot may happen in that time."
"If only the surgeon can bring some of the men out of their stupor," remarked Joe.
"He hopes to do so—now he knows more about the drugs used against them."
"If you hadn't caught Bicker and Drossdell what do you suppose would have happened?" questioned Darry.
"More than likely every one of us would have been sick," answered the young captain with a shudder. "Then the Indians and the desperadoes could have walked in here without a struggle."
"Even if help does not come, you'll fight them, won't you, Will?"
"To be sure—to the bitter end."
"By the way, are you certain the ammunition hasn't been tampered with?" came from Joe.
"I was thinking of that and was going to have an examination made when you stopped me," said Captain Moore, and hurried on.
An examination showed that some of the powder on the place had been hidden. Drossdell said this was under the barn flooring, and his words proved true.
Promptly at four o'clock Captain Moore appeared at the southwest corner of the stockade with a red shirt in one hand and a blue shirt in the other.
Fortunately he was built like Bicker, and donning a private's hat and coat made him look a good deal like that individual from a distance.
Slowly he waved the coats to and fro for five minutes.
Then an answering signal came back from some brushwood on the top of a distant hill—the answer being similar to the signal itself, showing the message was seen and understood.
It is likely that the Indians and desperadoes were much chagrined to think that they would have to hold off for two days, but if so they made no sign.
The next day proved unusually warm. There was nothing for the boys to do in the fort, and they wandered around from place to place. At drill but thirty-eight soldiers presented themselves, all the others being on the sick list.
"I must say I don't feel very well myself," remarked Darry. "I can hardly keep my eyes open."
"Gracious! don't say that you're going to get sick too!" cried Joe.
"I won't get sick if I can help it," replied Darry. "But I feel awfully queer."
Joe did what he could for his cousin. But, with the limited means at hand, this was not much, and by sundown Darry was flat on his back, although the attack he sustained was not as severe as that of many around him.
"I feel as if I was in something of a dream," he told Joe. "That drug must have opium in it."
"It's something like opium—I heard the surgeon say so," answered his cousin.
At night a strict watch was kept, and twice old Benson went out to reconnoiter.
"The Indians and desperadoes have surrounded us on all sides," he announced. "But it don't look as if they meant to attack us just yet."
With the coming of morning it began to rain, but this cleared away by noon, and then the sun boiled down as fiercely as ever. The sunny spots within the stockade were suffocating, and the boys were glad enough to stay within the cool walls of the stone fort.
As far as he was able Captain Moore had prepared the place to resist an attack. A weak spot in the stockade was strengthened and the cannon of the fort were put in the best possible condition. The soldiers were told where to go in case of a sudden alarm, and were cautioned not to waste any ammunition, for the supply was limited.
Thanks to the surgeon's efforts Colonel Fairfield was now somewhat better. Yet he was too weak by far to get up or to manage affairs, so the command still remained in Captain Moore's hands. Even Captain Lee was now down, and it was a question whether he would live or die.
"You must do your best, Captain Moore," said the colonel feebly. "I know I can trust you. You are brave, and your training has been a judicious one."
Early that night there came a sudden alarm, followed by two rifle shots in quick succession. At once there was a commotion, and everybody sprang to his post.
"The Indians and desperadoes must be coming!" cried Joe, and ran for the rifle with which he had been armed.
The cause of the alarm, however, was not from without, but from within. Bicker had forced his way out of the guardhouse, and at the risk of breaking his neck had climbed to the roof of the barn and leaped over the stockade into the ditch outside.
A guard had seen the leap and had fired on the man, hitting him, it was thought, in the shoulder. Then a second guard had discharged his weapon, but by this time the fleeing prisoner had been swallowed up in the gathering darkness.
"He must not get away!" cried the young captain. "If he does, they will attack us at once. After him, Benson, and you, too, Forshew and Donaldson. I will follow with some horses!"
Without delay the old scout climbed the stockade and scrambled over the ditch. The others ran around to the gate, and soon several additional soldiers followed. On second thought Captain Moore sent the horses out by a lieutenant, thinking it best that he remain where he was, that being primarily his post of duty.
"Can we go?" asked Joe.
"No, Joe, stay where you are," said his brother. "If that rascal gets to his friends there will be work enough here, never fear."
The pursuit of Bicker lasted for over an hour, and brought on a smart skirmish between the men from the fort and the desperadoes, in which one person on each side was slightly wounded. But the rascal managed to gain the enemy's camp in safety, and then those from the fort came back as fast as possible to report.
"Now the deception is up," said Captain Moore, with a serious look. "I wouldn't be surprised to see them attack us before morning."
"Right you are, captain," replied old Benson, "and my opinion is, that the desperadoes and Indians will fight hard, when once they get going," he concluded.
It was an hour later, when the excitement had cooled down a little, that Captain Moore sent for Benson again. Wondering what was to follow, the old scout hurried to the room in which the young commander was transacting his business.
"I want a little talk with you in private, Benson," said the young officer.
"Yes, captain."
"I know you've been wondering why I didn't send you to Fort Prescott instead of sending Hank Leeson."
"You had a right to do as you pleased, captain."
"The truth of the matter is, Benson, I wanted you here. You brought Joe and Darry to the fort, and those two boys need looking after. We are going to have a fight, sooner or later. We may win, and if we do, all right. But if we don't——"
"You want me to stand by the boys to the last?" put in the old scout quickly.
"I do, Benson; and, no matter what comes, I want you to promise to do your level best to save them, and see them safe back to the East. If the worst comes I am willing to die fighting, but Joe must get out of it somehow. If he doesn't it will break my mother's heart. And you must do as well by Darry, for he is an only child."
The eyes of the old scout and the young captain met. Then Benson put out his hand, which Captain Moore quickly grasped.
"I understand, captain. I'll do my best, and if those lads don't get away it will be because Sam Benson aint alive to take 'em."
"As you are not a soldier you have a right to leave the fort as quickly as you please," went on the young captain. "Therefore, if you see the tide of battle turning against us, don't wait, but get the boys away as speedily and as secretly as you can."
"I will, captain; but yourself——"
"Never mind me. Get the boys to a place of safety, and I know our family and Darry's family will reward you well."
"I won't want any reward. I took to the lads from the start, and I'll stand by 'em through thick and thin," said old Benson.
There was but little sleeping done in the fort that night. The majority of the soldiers slept on their arms, expecting an alarm at any moment. Yet it did not come, and the sun rose on a scene of perfect peace and quiet.
But at eight o'clock a sentinel announced a horseman approaching, bearing a white flag.
"So they want to talk, eh?" said the young captain. "All right, anything to gain time."
The flag of truce was promptly answered, and as the horseman came closer many recognized Matt Gilroy. The young captain went out himself to meet the leader of the desperadoes.
"Good-morning, Captain Moore," began the desperado, with a regular military salute.
"What brings you?" demanded the captain abruptly.
"Well, I thought we had best come to terms—that's what brought me."
"Terms about what, Gilroy?"
"Terms about surrendering the fort and all of its contents."
"Surrendering? To whom?"
"You know well enough, Captain Moore. It will be only a waste of time to beat about the bush. Our crowd and the Indians now number over three hundred, and we are bound to get possession of the fort and all that is in it."
"Do you speak for the Indians as well as for yourself?"
"I do."
"So far as I know the Indians are not on the warpath, Gilroy. I must have a talk with one of their chiefs before I do anything."
"You know they are on the warpath. Didn't you have a mix-up with them?"
"There are always some Indians who are ugly and willing to make trouble."
"Well, all the Indians are standing in with us on this deal," went on Gilroy, his face darkening. "And you have got to surrender or take the consequences."
"What will the consequences be?"
"If you won't surrender we'll attack the fort immediately. We know just how weak you are, and let me tell you that we have a dozen or more dynamite bombs on hand with which we can blow the fort sky-high if we wish."
"What good will it do you to capture the fort?"
"We know all about the money that is stored here, and we want every dollar of it."
"And if we surrender?"
"If you surrender you will be allowed to march from the place unmolested, taking all of your sick with you, or leaving them here, in care of a doctor, if you prefer. If you know where your head is level you will surrender," went on the desperado earnestly.
"But if I am compelled to surrender, don't you know that our army will be after you, Gilroy?"
"Never mind, we'll take care of that part of it," was the answer, with a sickly grin. "Then you agree to surrender?"
"I can't do it until I have spoken with one of the leading Indian chiefs."
At this the desperado's face fell.
"Will White Ox do?" he asked, after an awkward pause.
"Yes."
"All right; I'll bring him along in about half an hour."
This ended the interview, and turning his horse Matt Gilroy rode off and Captain Moore walked back to the fort.
"A little time gained, at least," was the young officer's comment.
It was fully an hour before Gilroy reappeared, accompanied by White Ox and an under-chief known as Little Wildcat.
"Want to talk," grunted White Ox, coming to a halt at a safe distance.
"Have you dug up the hatchet, White Ox?" demanded the captain. "If not, let us smoke the pipe of peace together."
"The pipe of peace is broken," answered the old Indian. "The white man is not the red man's friend. He makes promises only to break them. The Indian must fight for what is his own."
"Do you consider this fort your own?"
"The land is the red man's—the white man has stolen it from him. The white man must go and leave the red man to his own."
"If you want the white man to go why don't you drive Gilroy and his gang away too?"
"They have promised to leave—after they have had their share of what is here."
"Oh, so that's the bargain!"
"You see how matters stand, Captain Moore," broke in the leader of the desperadoes. "If you know when you are well off, you'll submit as gracefully as possible."
"If we leave will you promise to let all go in peace," went on the young captain to the Indian chief, "you will not molest the women or any of the young people?"
"Yes, all the women and young people can go," said White Ox, but the look in his face was not one to be trusted.
"And if we refuse when do you expect to attack us?"
"At once."
The reply came from Matt Gilroy, and White Ox nodded in the affirmative.
"I must consult Colonel Fairfield first," said the captain slowly, wondering how he was to gain more time.
"I thought you were in command," remarked Gilroy.
"I was—but the colonel is getting better. Meet me here in another hour, and I will give you his reply and my own."
This did not suit Gilroy and White Ox, but the captain was firm, and at last they went off, promising to be back exactly at the end of the hour.
"And then it must be surrender or fight," said the leader of the desperadoes sharply. "No more dilly-dallying."
It must be confessed that Captain Moore returned to the fort in a thoughtful mood. He had an awful responsibility upon his shoulders. He called several of the other officers in consultation.
"For myself, I believe in fighting," he said. "But we must consider those who are sick and must consider the women."
"The colonel's wife wishes us to fight to the end," replied another officer. "She is not willing to trust White Ox or any of the other redskins."
"I don't believe in surrendering," put in another. "Let us see if we can't hold off until we hear from Leeson and Fort Prescott."
And so it was arranged.
Promptly on the minute Gilroy and White Ox appeared again, with the white flag of truce flying between them.
This time Captain Moore took with him one of his lieutenants, Bacon by name.
The interview was shorter than the captain had anticipated.
"Well, is it surrender or not?" asked Matt Gilroy.
"We must have more time," answered Captain Moore. "Cannot you wait until to-morrow morning?"
"Not another minute," was the angry reply. "Is it surrender or not? Answer yes or no."
"We will not surrender—at least not yet," came from the young captain firmly.
"Then your time is up, and we shall attack at once," returned the leader of the desperadoes. "Am I not right, White Ox?"
"You have spoken truly," came from the Indian chief. "Soon the blood of the white soldiers will flow freely."
Without another word White Ox galloped away, and Matt Gilroy went after him.
"We are up against a battle now!" exclaimed Lieutenant Bacon.
"I have done my best to delay the contest—I can do no more," said Captain Moore.
When he returned inside of the stockade he was immediately surrounded.
"Boys, we must fight," he said in a loud, clear voice. "They will wait no longer. But re-enforcements must be on the way by this time. Can I depend upon your standing by me?"
"Yes! yes!" was the cry.
"We know how to do our duty to Uncle Sam and the flag!"
"Let the desperadoes and the Indians come on! We'll give them as hot a reception as they ever got!"
While the soldiers were taking their way to the several defenses of the fort there was the beating of Indian drums at a distance, followed by the blowing of a bugle in the camp of the desperadoes.
Soon the beating and blowing came from half a dozen directions.
"They are gathering, sure enough!" exclaimed Joe. "I wonder how long it will be before they fire the first shot?"
"They'll not be rash—be sure of that," answered Darry. "They must know that the fort is a strong place."
A little later one of the guards announced that bodies of Indians were marching from the south of the fort to the westward.
Here there was a fringe of trees at a distance of not over a hundred yards from the stockade.
Colonel Fairfield had often thought to have the belt of timberland cut down, but had never put the plan into execution.
"They mean to get as close as possible before they expose themselves," said the captain. "Dilberry, have the four-pounder trained on that spot."
"I will, Captain Moore," said the head gunner, and saluted.
Quarter of an hour went by, and the drumming and bugle calling had ceased.
Suddenly a shout went up from behind the belt of timberland, and a small cannon spoke up, sending a shell into the ditch outside the stockade.
"Hullo, they have a cannon after all," thought Captain Moore. He called Dilberry to him. "Can you get the range of that piece?" he asked.
"I can try, sir."
"Then do it, and if you can disable the piece so much the better."
At once the head gunner ran off and sighted one of the cannon of the fort with care.
A few seconds later the cannon spoke up with a report that rang in the boys' ears for long after. The ball sped straight into the timberland and cut down a heavy sapling growing beside the piece the enemy were reloading. One desperado was killed instantly and another badly injured.
"A fair shot!" said the young captain. "Try it again," but before Dilberry could do so the cannon was withdrawn from sight.
After this came another lull, as if desperadoes and Indians were considering what to do next.
"It's a wonder they don't make a rush," said Joe, "if they have so many in their command."
"Nobody cares to risk an advance in the open, Joe," said old Benson. "More than likely they won't try to do much until dark."
Again the Indian drums were rolling, coupled with shrill warwhoops.
Then, with a wild yelling and a brandishing of rifles, about a hundred and fifty red men burst from cover and ran toward the stockade.
"They are coming!" was the cry.
"Stand firm, men, don't waste your ammunition!" Captain Moore cried. He turned to the gunner. "Let them have it, Dilberry!"
Bang! the cannon boomed out again, and the shot tore through the advancing horde of Indians, laying four of them low.
Then came a volley from the red men, followed by the discharge of the piece in the hands of the desperadoes. The splinters flew in several directions around the stockade and one soldier was seriously wounded. The cannon ball grazed the flagstaff, and presently it was seen to totter.
"Look out!" roared old Benson to Joe, and as he spoke down came the Stars and Stripes on the heads of Joe and Darry, and a section of the flagstaff with it.
"The flag is down!" A score of voices took up the cry, and a yell of triumph came from the Indians and desperadoes.
"It's not going to remain down!" cried old Benson, and began to climb what remained of the pole. He carried the halyard with him, and soon, with the aid of the two boys, he had the glorious Stars and Stripes once more in position.
In the meantime the soldiers under Captain Moore were busy. The Indians were now at the ditch, and one had advanced as far as the stockade itself. They were yelling like demons, and now the desperadoes began to show themselves, confident that the fort would soon be taken.
"They haven't got a corporal's guard to defend it!" cried Matt Gilroy. "Nearly everyone of those inside is sick. Come on!"
The noise was now deafening, for soldiers and Indians were discharging their weapons as rapidly as possible. The red men had brought with them a long board, to which cross-pieces were nailed. This board was now set slantingly against the stockade, and a dozen warriors rushed upon it.
"Down with them!" shouted Captain Moore. "Heave the plank off!"
A dozen soldiers started to do his bidding. The first that showed himself was shot down, and the second shared a similar fate. But others were more successful, and into the ditch went the board with a loud splash, carrying the Indians with it.
The soldiers set up a shout of triumph, and as the red men fell back those who could gain a point of vantage fired on the enemy. By this movement three Indians were left in the ditch dead and several others were wounded. A desperado was also brought down. Those that were uninjured lost no time in seeking cover; and thus the first advance on the fort came to an end.
All told, the attack had lasted nearly an hour, and when it was over it was found that everybody was hot, dry, and dusty. But, fortunately, water was to be had in plenty, and a drink refreshed all. The dead and wounded were carried away, and the latter were made as comfortable as the limited means of the fort afforded.
"They won't come back in a hurry," said the young captain. "The Indians have had their eyes opened."
"How soon can those re-enforcements come, Will?" asked Joe.
"I don't think they can get here before to-morrow noon, if as soon. They'll have a long journey before them, and a body of several hundred soldiers can't travel as fast as a single person."
"Of course they'll be cavalry," put in Darry.
"I hope so—if the cavalry was at Fort Prescott when Leeson got there."
Colonel Fairfield was much disturbed by the shooting, and he insisted upon sitting up and hearing the particulars.
"Good!" he murmured. "Keep them off another twenty-four hours and we shall be saved," and then he went off in another stupor.
All was now as quiet as if not an enemy was within a mile of the fort. But the soldiers remained on guard, and this vigilance was increased as the sun went down in the west.
"This night will tell the tale," was old Benson's comment. "Boys, it's do or die, and don't you forget it!"
Whether or not the old scout was right we shall soon see.
"Joe, I've got a scheme to outwit the desperadoes and Indians, and I've a good mind to propose it to Will."
It was Darry who spoke, as he and Joe were eating an early supper that night, in one corner of the messroom.
"If the scheme is good for anything let Will have it by all means," answered his cousin. "Heaven knows we need all the help we can get!"
"My scheme is this," went on Darry. "Those Indians and the desperadoes must know something of our sending off for re-enforcements. Now why can't Will send out old Benson and a few others, to steal off for several miles and light camp-fires, blow bugles, and all that, to make the enemy think the re-enforcements are close at hand?"
Joe clapped his hands. "That's a grand scheme!" he cried. "Let's speak to Will about it at once."
The supper was soon finished, and they sought out the young captain, who was dividing up his force for guard duty during the night.
"I was thinking of such a scheme myself," he said, when he had heard them. "And old Benson suggested it, too. Perhaps I'll do it."
"If old Benson goes can't I go with him?" asked Joe quickly.
"And let me go too," put in Darry. "You won't miss us as much as you would miss two of your regulars."
At this the young captain grew grave. "Old Benson said he would like to take you along. Perhaps it would be best, too." He paused. "You see, they may fall on the fort to-night and wipe us out completely."
"Oh, Will, do you really believe that?"
"They will certainly attack us, and the men fit for duty number but thirty-four. Thirty-four against several hundred is not much of a force, even in a fort."
The matter was talked over for half an hour, and old Benson was called in for consultation. In the end it was decided that the old scout should head a party consisting of two regulars and the two boys, who were to carry a drum and a bugle and a good supply of matches for bonfires.
"If you can pass them without being seen, head straight for Conner's Hill," said Captain Moore. "Blow the bugle there, and beat the drum, and then move over to Decker's Falls and light your first camp-fire. After that you'll have to do what you think is best."
"I understand, captain," answered the old scout. "And trust me to fool 'em nicely, if the trick can be done at all."
"It is not going to be an extra-dark night," went on the young officer. "So you will have your own troubles in getting away from the fort without being seen."
"I know a route," answered old Benson. "Trust me for it." But just then he would say no more.
The men to go along were named Cass and Bernstein. Cass was a good drummer and bugler, and Bernstein was noted for his good sight and the accuracy of his aim. All of the party went fully armed, and took with them rations for two days.
"Good-by, Joe," said the captain affectionately, and he took his brother by the hand. "I hope you pull through in safety."
"And I hope you do too, Will," answered Joe, and his lip quivered as he spoke. Perhaps this would be the last time he would see his brother alive. Never before had the situation appeared so serious as now. Darry also received an affectionate farewell.
In absolute silence old Benson led his little party to a far corner of the stockade, where there was a small gate, fastened with a strong log bar. This gate was opened just far enough for them to slip through, and then closed again. Their mission had begun. There was no telling how it would end.
Slipping into the ditch, the old scout told the others to lie low, while he and Bernstein surveyed the situation. It was silent, and from overhead only a few stars twinkled down upon them.
Old Benson presently pointed with his bony hand.
"Clear that way, aint it?" he whispered.
"Looks so," answered Bernstein, after a searching look lasting several minutes. "I wouldn't go too close to that patch of underbrush, though."
The party began crawling along the ditch, until they came to a little gully which the last heavy rains had formed. Here they progressed on hands and knees until they reached some low brushwood. Then old Benson, still crouching close to the ground, set off on a lope, and the others came after him in Indian file.
If they had been discovered, neither Indians nor desperadoes gave any sign, and inside of ten minutes the fort was left out of sight, and they were standing in a hollow fringed with berry bushes. The boys were somewhat out of breath, and old Benson gave them a short spell in which to get back their wind.
"We were right, they are none of 'em in this vicinity," said the old scout. "Getting away was easier than I expected."
"It was no easy matter with the drum," came from Cass. "I came pretty close to falling and smashing it once."
The course now led up a small hill and then across a valley to another hill, a distance of nearly three miles. The trail was by no means straight and the walking was bad, and Joe and Darry had all they could do to keep up with the others.
At the last minute Captain Moore had given the boys half a dozen rockets, and explained how the fireworks were to be set off. Everything they could do to puzzle the enemy was to be done.
At last they gained the top of Conner's Hill—so called because Major Conner fell there while battling with some stage-robbers early in the seventies.
Bringing around his bugle, Cass blew a long blast and then a regular military call, which echoed and re-echoed throughout the mountains. This was followed by a long roll on the drum, and then another call on the bugle.
After this all waited impatiently, gazing in the direction of the fort, which was, of course, hidden in the darkness.
"There they go!" cried Joe, and as he spoke two rockets flared up, dying out almost instantly.
The boys had planted two of the fireworks given them, and now these were touched off and went hissing skyward, leaving a trail of sparks behind. Two minutes later a single rocket went up from the fort.
"That's the last," observed old Benson.
"I'll wager that will set the Indians and the desperadoes to thinking," said Cass.
"They'll think some more when they see a camp-fire over Decker's Falls," put in Bernstein. "They'll imagine that they are being surrounded."
"Don't be too sure," came from the old scout. "White Ox is no fool. He has been through too much fighting. If we can only make him hold off a bit that's as much as we can expect. You can bet he'll have spies up here in less than an hour from now."
The march was now for Decker's Falls, a distance three miles to the westward. Again they advanced in Indian file, Bernstein now leading and old Benson bringing up the rear.
A mile had been covered, when the regular in front called a halt.
"A small camp is ahead," he said. "There, through the trees."
Without delay old Benson went forward to investigate.
He found three desperadoes talking earnestly among themselves, while warming some coffee over a small fire.
Listening to their talk he learned that they had been out on the trails leading to Fort Prescott, and had come in with the news that no re-enforcements for Fort Carson were within forty miles of the latter place.
"Gilroy and White Ox will be glad to hear our news," said one of the crowd. "They've been afraid all along Colonel Fairfield had sent out for aid."
Not stopping to hear anything further, old Benson crawled back to the place where he had left the others.
"We must capture those men, dead or alive," he said. "If they carry their news to the enemy there will be another attack on the fort within an hour."
Leaving the drum, bugle, and remaining rockets in a safe place, our friends advanced until all could see the three desperadoes quite plainly.
One of the fellows was unknown to Joe, but the others were Gus Fetter and Nat Potts.
The desperadoes had placed their rifles against a tree, and old Benson motioned to the boys to secure the weapons.
As Joe grabbed up two of the firearms and Darry the third, the desperadoes leaped to their feet in alarm.
"Hands up!" sang out old Benson. "Hands up, or you are all dead men!"
The scout's rifle was raised, and so were the weapons of Cass and Bernstein, and the desperadoes found themselves at a disadvantage.
Yet Fetter was game, and he quickly reached for a pistol hanging in his belt.
But the movement, quick as it was, was not quick enough for Bernstein, and as the regular's rifle rang out Fetter fell headlong across the camp-fire.
"Do you surrender?" asked old Benson.
"Yes," came from Potts, sulkily, and his companion said the same. In the meantime Fetter had rolled from the camp-fire and was breathing his last at Potts' feet.
The sight was a thrilling one, and caused Joe and Darry to shudder.
"Can't I do something for that poor wretch?" asked Joe, of Benson, but before the old scout could answer Fetter breathed his last.
In a few minutes more Potts was made a close prisoner.
While he was being tied up, the third man made a quick leap into the woods.
"After him!" cried Benson, and Cass and Bernstein did as commanded. Soon the desperado and the two regulars were out of sight and hearing.
"What will you do with him?" asked Joe of Benson, as he pointed to Nat Potts.
"Don't be hard on me," pleaded Potts. "I meant you no harm."
"You ought to be hung," grunted the old scout. "You aint fit to live and you know it, Potts. You could make an honest living if you wanted to, but you would rather cheat and steal."
"It was Matt Gilroy who got me into this," answered Potts. "He——"
"Don't put it off on to somebody else, Potts!" cried the old scout wrathfully. "If you aint got backbone enough to be honest, it's your own fault."
"Will you let me go, if I promise to leave this Territory?" asked Potts eagerly.
"No, sirree!" was Benson's answer. "You shall suffer the full extent of the law, and don't you forget it!"
While waiting for the return of Cass and Bernstein, the old scout searched Potts and the dead body of Fetter, taking away all their weapons and some papers which Potts carried.
These papers showed how deep-laid was the plot which the desperadoes had formed to gain possession of the money stored at Fort Carson, and how they had duped the Indians under White Ox and other chiefs to assist them.
At last Cass and Bernstein came back, all out of breath with running.
"Did he get away?" questioned Benson quickly.
"He did and he didn't," answered Cass. "He ran up Cedar Cliff, and seeing we were after him he tried to jump to the other side of the canyon. But he missed his footing in the dark, and went down, and that's the last we seen or heard of him."
"And that's the last anybody will see or hear of him," answered the old scout. "That canyon is three hundred feet deep, and nothing but sharp rocks, sides and bottom. He's done for."
The march onward was now resumed, the old scout forcing Potts to walk between himself and the boys, with his hands tied tightly behind him.
"If you make any noise it will cost you your life," said Benson to the prisoner, and thereupon Potts became perfectly mute. To tell the truth the desperado was thoroughly downcast, and his face was filled with despair.
They calculated that it was two o'clock in the morning when the heights above Decker's Falls was gained, a wild spot, from which old Benson had often viewed the fort, miles below, in the valley.
The driest possible brush was gathered, and on this were heaped several good-sized limbs, that the fire might burn an hour or two. Quarter of a mile away another similar fire was kindled, and at this spot the boys set off all but one of their remaining rockets.
"There is the answer from the fort!" said Joe, as two rockets flared up in the dim distance. "Anyway, Will knows we have gotten this far."
"But he doesn't know of the adventure we have had on the way," said Darry.
As soon as the fires were well under way old Benson began to lead the way down the mountain side toward a stretch of timber running within half a mile of the fort.
While they were in the midst of the forest a distant firing broke upon their ears.
"Is that from the fort?" asked Joe quickly.
"Reckon it is, lad," replied the old scout.
"Then our signals haven't done any good."
"Perhaps they have. But it may be that others have been out spying, and they have brought in the same report that Potts and his crowd were carrying."
As they advanced the firing died away for half an hour, but then it was renewed with vigor.
Coming to another hilltop, they could see the flashes, of fire as the rifles and cannon were discharged.
The Indians and desperadoes had approached Fort Carson in the darkness, hoping to catch those inside napping.
But the regulars had opened the firing, and two Indians were killed at the very outset.
The red men had brought forward a large quantity of brush, and at the risk of their lives they heaped this against the wooden stockade.
When Joe and the others who were with him gained the plains surrounding the stronghold they saw that the brush was burning at a lively rate.
"They are firing the fort!" cried Darry. "Heaven have mercy on those inside!"
"I see nothing of Indians or desperadoes," said Joe. "Where have they gone, Benson?"
"Reckon they didn't like those last signals," answered the old scout.
From a distance they watched the burning of the brush with interest. Here and there they saw the stockade take fire, and then saw a blaze on the stable within the fort yard.
"The fire has reached inside!" groaned Joe. "The place is doomed!"
"Come on! There is no use of our staying here longer!" cried Benson, and led the way across the plain, now lit up by the conflagration beyond. He forced Potts with him.
Suddenly several shots rang out, and Joe felt a bullet graze his hand. Then he saw Cass pitch forward on his face, and heard Potts give a yell of mortal agony.
"Poor Cass, he's a goner!" muttered Bernstein. "And the desperado is dead, too."
No more was said, for all felt they must run as never before, if they would save themselves. Soon the gully was reached, and they dropped to shelter. But no more shots followed, and in a few minutes more they were close to the burning stockade.
"Friends!" shouted Benson, to a guard. "Don't shoot! Come out here and put out the fire!"
"Is that you?" came from Captain Moore, in the semi-darkness. "Are Joe and Darry safe?"
"Yes," came from the boys.
There was no time to say more, for already the soldiers were forming a bucket brigade, carrying water with which to put out the flames. Some had long poles with hooks, and with these they dragged a large part of the burning brush into the ditch.
All this while some of the regulars remained on guard, and occasionally a shot rang out, answered by another from a great distance.
"They have surely withdrawn," said the young captain. "Benson, the trick worked after all."
"That's right, captain. But it won't work many hours, you can depend upon that."
"If it only makes them hold off until morning I shall be satisfied," concluded Captain Moore.
By the exertion of the soldiers the fire was kept from communicating with any of the buildings but the stable, and of this structure only a corner of the roof suffered. But the stockade was greatly damaged, and by the time the last spark was out it was seen that it had sustained three openings each eight to twelve feet long.
"We'll have to repair these," said Captain Moore; and, tired though the workers were, he made them haul fresh timbers from the woodpile and also tear up part of the barn floor, that the stockade might present a whole front to the enemy once more.
The fighting had greatly agitated the women in the fort, and nobody had slept for two nights. Yet even now, with the fire out and silence brooding everywhere, nobody thought of going to bed. All felt that this was but the lull before the greater storm.
If only the relief would come! Such was the thought of everyone but Drossdell, who still remained in the guardhouse, heavily chained, hands and feet. Drossdell was deeply downcast, and with good reason.
At last came the welcome signs of dawn in the east, and then a few of the soldiers, who could stand the strain no longer, threw themselves down to sleep. The others, pale and haggard, sat around in little groups wondering what was going to happen next. To each was served extra-strong coffee and the best rations the fort afforded.
"It cannot last much longer," said Captain Moore, trying to cheer them up. "Relief must come sooner or later."
He had now but a pitiful twenty-eight men left, including old Benson and Joe and Darry. Twenty-eight! What could such a number do against the attack of two or three hundred desperadoes and Indians? The situation was certainly one to make the stoutest heart quail.
"It was too bad you came out here on a vacation," said the captain sadly, to his brother and his cousin. "Perhaps you'll never see home again."
"Oh, Will, do you really think it's so bad?" came from Darry.
"It is hard to tell what I think, Darry. I know we are in a mighty tight box."
"Let us hope for the best," said Joe. "Leeson must be doing something."
"If he wasn't caught and shot down, Joe."
"That is true," and now Joe gave a long sigh that meant a good deal.
"There is but one thing in our favor now, this daylight. But if no relief reaches us by sundown——" The captain did not finish, but shook his head.
A moment later one of the guards called down that he could see some Indians to the northwest of the fort.
A glass was brought into play, and by this a party of seventy-five red men could be made out marching directly for the fort. Behind the red men came a dozen or fifteen whites.
Hardly had this discovery been made when another body of Indians and whites were seen marching upon the fort from the south.
"We are to suffer a double attack now!" was Captain Moore's comment. "Heaven help us and bring us through it in safety!"