Chapter Sixteen.Friends and Foes—Plots and Counterplots—The Ranch in Danger.In a few minutes the sound of heavy feet and gruff voices was heard in the outside passage, and next moment ten men filed into the room and saluted their chief heartily.Charlie felt an almost irresistible tendency to open his eyes, but knew that the risk was too great, and contented himself with his ears. These told him pretty eloquently what was going on, for suddenly, the noise of voices and clattering of footsteps ceased, a dead silence ensued, and Charlie knew that the whole band were gazing at him with wide open eyes and, probably, open mouths. Their attention had been directed to the stranger by the chief. The silence was only momentary, however.“Now, don’t begin to whisper, pards,” said Buck Tom, in a slightly sarcastic tone. “When will ye learn that there is nothing so likely to waken a sleeper as whisperin’? Be natural—be natural, and tell me, as softly as ye can in your natural tones, what has brought you back so soon. Come, Jake, you have got the quietest voice. The poor man is pretty well knocked up and needs rest. I brought him here.”“Has he got much?” the sentence was completed by Jake significantly slapping his pocket.“A goodish lot. But come, sit down and out wi’ the news. Something must be wrong.”“Wall, I guess that somethin’iswrong. Everything’s wrong, as far as I can see. The Redskins are up, an’ the troops are out, an’ so it seemed o’ no use our goin’ to bust up the ranch of Roarin’ Bull, seein’ that the red devils are likely to be there before us. So we came back here, an’ I’m glad you’ve got suthin’ in the pot, for we’re about as empty as kettledrums.”“Humph!” ejaculated Buck, “didn’t I tell you not to trouble Roarin’ Bull—that he and his boys could lick you if you had been twenty instead of ten. But how came ye to hear o’ this cock-and-bull story about the Redskins?”“We got it from Hunky Ben, an’ he’s not the boy to go spreadin’ false reports.”Charlie Brooke ventured at this point to open his eye-lids the smallest possible bit, so that any one looking at him would have failed to observe any motion in them. The little slit however, admitted the whole scene to the retina, and he perceived that ten of the most cut-throat-looking men conceivable were seated in a semicircle in the act of receiving portions from the big pot into tin plates. Most of them were clothed in hunters’ leathern costume, wore long boots with spurs, and were more or less bronzed and bearded.Buck Tom,aliasRalph Ritson, although as tall and strong as any of them, seemed a being of quite angelic gentleness beside them. Yet Buck was their acknowledged chief. No doubt it was due to the superiority of mind over matter, for those out-laws were grossly material and matter-of-fact!“There must be some truth in the report if Hunky Ben carried it,” said Buck, looking up quickly, “but I left Ben sitting quietly in David’s store not many hours ago.”“No doubt that’s true, Captain,” said Jake, as he ladled the soup into his capacious mouth; “nevertheless we met Hunky Ben on the pine-river prairie scourin’ over the turf like all possessed on Black Polly. We stopped him of course an’ asked the news.”“‘News!’ cried he, ‘why, the Redskins have dug up the hatchet an’ riz like one man. They’ve clar’d out Yellow Bluff, an’ are pourin’ like Niagara down upon Rasper’s Creek. It’s said that they’ll visit Roarin’ Bull’s ranch to-morrow. No time for more talk, boys. Oratin’ ain’t in my line. I’m off to Quester Creek to rouse up the troops.’ Wi’ that Hunky wheeled round an’ went off like a runaway streak o’ lightnin’. I sent a couple o’ shots after him, for I’d took a fancy to Black Polly—but them bullets didn’t seem to hit somehow.”“Boys,” cried Buck Tom, jumping up when he heard this, “if Hunky Ben said all that, you may depend on’t it’s true, an’ we won’t have to waste time this night if we’re to save the ranch of Roarin’ Bull.”“But we don’t want to save the ranch of Roarin’ Bull, as far as I’m consarned,” said Jake rather sulkily.Buck wheeled round on the man with a fierce glare, but, as if suddenly changing his mind, he said in a tone of well-feigned surprise—“What!you, Jake, of all men—such a noted lady-killer—indifferent about the fate of the ranch of Roaring Bull, and pretty Miss Mary Jackson in it at the mercy of the Redskins!”“Well, if it comes to that, Captain, I’ll ride as far and as fast as any man to rescue a girl, pretty or plain, from the Redskins,” said Jake, recovering his good-humour.“Well, then, cram as much grub as you can into you in five minutes, for we must be off by that time. Rise, sir,” said Buck, shaking Charlie with some violence. “We ride on a matter of life an’ death—to save women. Will you join us?”“Of course I will!” cried Charlie, starting up with a degree of alacrity and vigour that favourably impressed the outlaws, and shaking off his simulated sleep with wonderful facility.“Follow me, then,” cried Buck, hastening out of the cave.“But what of Shank?” asked Charlie, in some anxiety, when they got outside. “He cannot accompany us; may we safely leave him behind?”“Quite safely. This place is not known to the savages who are on the warpath, and there is nothing to tempt them this way even if it were. Besides, Shank is well enough to get up and gather firewood, kindle his fire, and boil the kettle for himself. He is used to being left alone. See, here is our stable under the cliff, and yonder stands your horse. Saddle him. The boys will be at our heels in a moment. Some of them are only too glad to have a brush wi’ the Redskins, for they killed two of our band lately.”This last remark raised an uncomfortable feeling in the mind of Charlie, for was he not virtually allying himself with a band of outlaws, with intent to attack a band of Indians of whom he knew little or nothing, and with whom he had no quarrel? There was no time, however, to weigh the case critically. The fact that savages were about to attack the ranch in which his comrade Dick Darvall was staying, and that there were females in the place, was enough to settle the question. In a minute or two he had saddled his horse, which he led out and fastened to a tree, and, while the outlaws were busy making preparations for a start, he ran back to the cave.“Shank,” said he, sitting down beside his friend and taking his hand, “you have heard the news. My comrade Darvall is in great danger. I must away to his rescue. But be sure, old fellow, that I will return to you soon.”“Yes, yes—I know,” returned Shank, with a look of great anxiety; “but, Charlie, you don’t know half the danger you run. Don’t fight with Buck Tom—do you hear?”“Of course I won’t,” said Charlie, in some surprise.“No, no, that’s not what I mean,” said Shank, with increasing anxiety. “Don’t fightin company with him.”At that moment the voice of the outlaw was heard at the entrance shouting, “Come along, Brooke, we’re all ready.”“Don’t be anxious about me, Shank; I’ll take good care,” said Charlie, as he hastily pressed the hand of the invalid and hurried away.The ten men with Buck at their head were already mounted when he ran out.“Pardon me,” he said, vaulting into the saddle, “I was having a word with the sick man.”“Keep next to me, and close up,” said Buck, as he wheeled to the right and trotted away.Down the Traitor’s Trap they went at what was to Charlie a break-neck but satisfactory pace, for now that he was fairly on the road a desperate anxiety lest they should be too late took possession of him. Across an open space they went at the bottom of which ran a brawling rivulet. There was no bridge, but over or through it went the whole band without the slightest check, and onward at full gallop, for the country became more level and open just beyond.The moon was still shining although sinking towards the horizon, and now for the first time Charlie began to note with what a stern and reckless band of men he was riding, and a feeling of something like exultation arose within him as he thought on the one hand of the irresistible sweep of an onslaught from such men, and, on the other, of the cruelties that savages were known to practise. In short, rushing to the rescue was naturally congenial to our hero.About the same time that the outlaws were thus hastening for once on an honourable mission—though some of them went from anything but honourable motives—two other bands of men were converging to the same point as fast as they could go. These were a company of United States troops, guided by Hunky Ben, and a large band of Indians under their warlike chief Bigfoot.Jackson,aliasRoaring Bull, had once inadvertently given offence to Bigfoot, and as that chief was both by nature and profession an unforgiving man he had vowed to have his revenge. Jackson treated the threat lightly, but his pretty daughter Mary was not quite as indifferent about it as her father.The stories of Indian raids and frontier wars and barbarous cruelties had made a deep impression on her sensitive mind, and when her mother died, leaving her the only woman at her father’s ranch—with the exception of one or two half-breed women, who could not be much to her as companions—her life had been very lonely, and her spirit had been subjected to frequent, though hitherto groundless, alarms.But pretty Moll, as she was generally called, was well protected, for her father, besides having been a noted pugilist in his youth, was a big, powerful man, and an expert with rifle and revolver. Moreover, there was not a cow-boy within a hundred miles of her who would not (at least thought he would not) have attacked single-handed the whole race of Redskins if Moll had ordered him to do so as a proof of affection.Now, when strapping, good-looking Dick Darvall came to the ranch in the course of his travels and beheld Mary Jackson, and received the first broadside from her bright blue eyes, he hauled down his colours and surrendered with a celerity which would have mightily amused the many comrades to whom he had said in days of yore that his heart was as hard as rock, and he had never yet seen the woman as could soften it!But Dick, more than most of his calling, was a modest, almost a bashful, man. He behaved to Mary with the politeness that was natural to him, and with which he would have approached any woman. He did not make the slightest attempt to show his admiration of her, though it is quite within the bounds of possibility that his “speaking” brown eyes may have said something without his permission! Mary Jackson, being also modest in a degree, of course did not reveal the state of her feelings, and made no visible attempt to ascertain his, but her bluff sagacious old father was not obtuse—neither was he reticent. He was a man of the world—at least of the back-woods world—and his knowledge of life, as there exhibited, was founded on somewhat acute experience. He knew that his daughter was young and remarkably pretty. He saw that Dick Darvall was also young—a dashing and unusually handsome sailor—something like what Tom Bowling may have been. Putting these things together, he came to the very natural conclusion that a wedding would be desirable; believing, as he did, that human nature in the Rockies is very much the same as to its foundation elements as it is elsewhere. Moreover, Roaring Bull was very much in want of a stout son-in-law at that time, so he fanned the flame which he fondly hoped was beginning to arise. This he did in a somewhat blundering and obvious manner, but Dick was too much engrossed with Mary to notice it and Mary was too ignorant of the civilised world’s ways to care much for the proprieties of life.Of course this state of things created an awful commotion in the breasts of the cow-boys who were in the employment of Mary’s father and herded his cattle. Their mutual jealousies were sunk in the supreme danger that threatened them all, and they were only restrained from picking a quarrel with Dick and shooting him by the calmly resolute look in his brown eyes, coupled with his great physical power and his irresistible good-nature. Urbanity seemed to have been the mould in which the spirit of this man-of-the-sea had been cast and gentleness was one of his chief characteristics. Moreover, he could tell a good story, and sing a good song in a fine bass voice. Still further, although these gallant cow-boys felt intensely jealous of this newcomer, they could not but admit that they had nothing tangible to go upon, for the sailor did not apparently pay any pointed attention to Mary, and she certainly gave no special encouragement to him.There was one cow-boy, however, of Irish descent, who could not or would not make up his mind to take things quietly, but resolved, as far as he was concerned, to bring matters to a head. His name was Pat Reilly.He entered the kitchen on the day after Dick’s arrival and found Mary alone and busily engaged with the dinner.“Miss Jackson,” said Pat, “there’s a question I’ve bin wantin’ to ax ye for a long time past, an’ with your lave I’ll putt it now.”“What is it Mr Reilly?” asked the girl somewhat stiffly, for she had a suspicion of what was coming. A little negro girl in the back kitchen named Buttercup also had a suspicion of what was coming, and stationed herself with intense delight behind the door, through a crack in which she could both hear and see.“Mary, my dear,” said Pat insinuatingly, “how would you like to jump into double harness with me an’ jog along the path o’ life together?”Poor Mary, being agitated by the proposal, and much amused by the manner of it, bent over a pot of something and tried to hide her blushes and amusement in the steam. Buttercup glared, grinned, hugged herself, and waited for more.Pat, erroneously supposing that silence meant consent, slipped an arm round Mary’s waist. No man had ever yet dared to do such a thing to her. The indignant girl suddenly wheeled round and brought her pretty little palm down on the cow-boy’s cheek with all her might—and that was considerable!“Who’s a-firin’ off pistles in de kitchen?” demanded Buttercup in a serious tone, as she popped her woolly head through the doorway.“Nobody, me black darlin’,” said Pat; “it’s only Miss Mary expressin’ her failin’s in a cheeky manner. That’s all!”So saying the rejected cow-boy left the scene of his discomfiture, mounted his mustang, took his departure from the ranch of Roarin’ Bull without saying farewell, and when next heard of had crossed the lonely Guadaloupe mountains into Lincoln County, New Mexico.But to return. While the troops and the outlaws were hastening thus to the rescue of the dwellers in Bull’s ranch, and the blood-thirsty Redskins were making for the same point, bent on the destruction of all its inhabitants, Roaring Bull himself, his pretty daughter, and Dick Darvall, were seated in the ranch enjoying their supper, all ignorant alike of the movements of friend and foe, with Buttercup waiting on them.One messenger, however, was speeding on his way to warn them of danger. This was the cowboy Crux, who had been despatched on Bluefire by Hunky Ben just before that sturdy scout had started to call out the cavalry at Quester Creek.
In a few minutes the sound of heavy feet and gruff voices was heard in the outside passage, and next moment ten men filed into the room and saluted their chief heartily.
Charlie felt an almost irresistible tendency to open his eyes, but knew that the risk was too great, and contented himself with his ears. These told him pretty eloquently what was going on, for suddenly, the noise of voices and clattering of footsteps ceased, a dead silence ensued, and Charlie knew that the whole band were gazing at him with wide open eyes and, probably, open mouths. Their attention had been directed to the stranger by the chief. The silence was only momentary, however.
“Now, don’t begin to whisper, pards,” said Buck Tom, in a slightly sarcastic tone. “When will ye learn that there is nothing so likely to waken a sleeper as whisperin’? Be natural—be natural, and tell me, as softly as ye can in your natural tones, what has brought you back so soon. Come, Jake, you have got the quietest voice. The poor man is pretty well knocked up and needs rest. I brought him here.”
“Has he got much?” the sentence was completed by Jake significantly slapping his pocket.
“A goodish lot. But come, sit down and out wi’ the news. Something must be wrong.”
“Wall, I guess that somethin’iswrong. Everything’s wrong, as far as I can see. The Redskins are up, an’ the troops are out, an’ so it seemed o’ no use our goin’ to bust up the ranch of Roarin’ Bull, seein’ that the red devils are likely to be there before us. So we came back here, an’ I’m glad you’ve got suthin’ in the pot, for we’re about as empty as kettledrums.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Buck, “didn’t I tell you not to trouble Roarin’ Bull—that he and his boys could lick you if you had been twenty instead of ten. But how came ye to hear o’ this cock-and-bull story about the Redskins?”
“We got it from Hunky Ben, an’ he’s not the boy to go spreadin’ false reports.”
Charlie Brooke ventured at this point to open his eye-lids the smallest possible bit, so that any one looking at him would have failed to observe any motion in them. The little slit however, admitted the whole scene to the retina, and he perceived that ten of the most cut-throat-looking men conceivable were seated in a semicircle in the act of receiving portions from the big pot into tin plates. Most of them were clothed in hunters’ leathern costume, wore long boots with spurs, and were more or less bronzed and bearded.
Buck Tom,aliasRalph Ritson, although as tall and strong as any of them, seemed a being of quite angelic gentleness beside them. Yet Buck was their acknowledged chief. No doubt it was due to the superiority of mind over matter, for those out-laws were grossly material and matter-of-fact!
“There must be some truth in the report if Hunky Ben carried it,” said Buck, looking up quickly, “but I left Ben sitting quietly in David’s store not many hours ago.”
“No doubt that’s true, Captain,” said Jake, as he ladled the soup into his capacious mouth; “nevertheless we met Hunky Ben on the pine-river prairie scourin’ over the turf like all possessed on Black Polly. We stopped him of course an’ asked the news.”
“‘News!’ cried he, ‘why, the Redskins have dug up the hatchet an’ riz like one man. They’ve clar’d out Yellow Bluff, an’ are pourin’ like Niagara down upon Rasper’s Creek. It’s said that they’ll visit Roarin’ Bull’s ranch to-morrow. No time for more talk, boys. Oratin’ ain’t in my line. I’m off to Quester Creek to rouse up the troops.’ Wi’ that Hunky wheeled round an’ went off like a runaway streak o’ lightnin’. I sent a couple o’ shots after him, for I’d took a fancy to Black Polly—but them bullets didn’t seem to hit somehow.”
“Boys,” cried Buck Tom, jumping up when he heard this, “if Hunky Ben said all that, you may depend on’t it’s true, an’ we won’t have to waste time this night if we’re to save the ranch of Roarin’ Bull.”
“But we don’t want to save the ranch of Roarin’ Bull, as far as I’m consarned,” said Jake rather sulkily.
Buck wheeled round on the man with a fierce glare, but, as if suddenly changing his mind, he said in a tone of well-feigned surprise—
“What!you, Jake, of all men—such a noted lady-killer—indifferent about the fate of the ranch of Roaring Bull, and pretty Miss Mary Jackson in it at the mercy of the Redskins!”
“Well, if it comes to that, Captain, I’ll ride as far and as fast as any man to rescue a girl, pretty or plain, from the Redskins,” said Jake, recovering his good-humour.
“Well, then, cram as much grub as you can into you in five minutes, for we must be off by that time. Rise, sir,” said Buck, shaking Charlie with some violence. “We ride on a matter of life an’ death—to save women. Will you join us?”
“Of course I will!” cried Charlie, starting up with a degree of alacrity and vigour that favourably impressed the outlaws, and shaking off his simulated sleep with wonderful facility.
“Follow me, then,” cried Buck, hastening out of the cave.
“But what of Shank?” asked Charlie, in some anxiety, when they got outside. “He cannot accompany us; may we safely leave him behind?”
“Quite safely. This place is not known to the savages who are on the warpath, and there is nothing to tempt them this way even if it were. Besides, Shank is well enough to get up and gather firewood, kindle his fire, and boil the kettle for himself. He is used to being left alone. See, here is our stable under the cliff, and yonder stands your horse. Saddle him. The boys will be at our heels in a moment. Some of them are only too glad to have a brush wi’ the Redskins, for they killed two of our band lately.”
This last remark raised an uncomfortable feeling in the mind of Charlie, for was he not virtually allying himself with a band of outlaws, with intent to attack a band of Indians of whom he knew little or nothing, and with whom he had no quarrel? There was no time, however, to weigh the case critically. The fact that savages were about to attack the ranch in which his comrade Dick Darvall was staying, and that there were females in the place, was enough to settle the question. In a minute or two he had saddled his horse, which he led out and fastened to a tree, and, while the outlaws were busy making preparations for a start, he ran back to the cave.
“Shank,” said he, sitting down beside his friend and taking his hand, “you have heard the news. My comrade Darvall is in great danger. I must away to his rescue. But be sure, old fellow, that I will return to you soon.”
“Yes, yes—I know,” returned Shank, with a look of great anxiety; “but, Charlie, you don’t know half the danger you run. Don’t fight with Buck Tom—do you hear?”
“Of course I won’t,” said Charlie, in some surprise.
“No, no, that’s not what I mean,” said Shank, with increasing anxiety. “Don’t fightin company with him.”
At that moment the voice of the outlaw was heard at the entrance shouting, “Come along, Brooke, we’re all ready.”
“Don’t be anxious about me, Shank; I’ll take good care,” said Charlie, as he hastily pressed the hand of the invalid and hurried away.
The ten men with Buck at their head were already mounted when he ran out.
“Pardon me,” he said, vaulting into the saddle, “I was having a word with the sick man.”
“Keep next to me, and close up,” said Buck, as he wheeled to the right and trotted away.
Down the Traitor’s Trap they went at what was to Charlie a break-neck but satisfactory pace, for now that he was fairly on the road a desperate anxiety lest they should be too late took possession of him. Across an open space they went at the bottom of which ran a brawling rivulet. There was no bridge, but over or through it went the whole band without the slightest check, and onward at full gallop, for the country became more level and open just beyond.
The moon was still shining although sinking towards the horizon, and now for the first time Charlie began to note with what a stern and reckless band of men he was riding, and a feeling of something like exultation arose within him as he thought on the one hand of the irresistible sweep of an onslaught from such men, and, on the other, of the cruelties that savages were known to practise. In short, rushing to the rescue was naturally congenial to our hero.
About the same time that the outlaws were thus hastening for once on an honourable mission—though some of them went from anything but honourable motives—two other bands of men were converging to the same point as fast as they could go. These were a company of United States troops, guided by Hunky Ben, and a large band of Indians under their warlike chief Bigfoot.
Jackson,aliasRoaring Bull, had once inadvertently given offence to Bigfoot, and as that chief was both by nature and profession an unforgiving man he had vowed to have his revenge. Jackson treated the threat lightly, but his pretty daughter Mary was not quite as indifferent about it as her father.
The stories of Indian raids and frontier wars and barbarous cruelties had made a deep impression on her sensitive mind, and when her mother died, leaving her the only woman at her father’s ranch—with the exception of one or two half-breed women, who could not be much to her as companions—her life had been very lonely, and her spirit had been subjected to frequent, though hitherto groundless, alarms.
But pretty Moll, as she was generally called, was well protected, for her father, besides having been a noted pugilist in his youth, was a big, powerful man, and an expert with rifle and revolver. Moreover, there was not a cow-boy within a hundred miles of her who would not (at least thought he would not) have attacked single-handed the whole race of Redskins if Moll had ordered him to do so as a proof of affection.
Now, when strapping, good-looking Dick Darvall came to the ranch in the course of his travels and beheld Mary Jackson, and received the first broadside from her bright blue eyes, he hauled down his colours and surrendered with a celerity which would have mightily amused the many comrades to whom he had said in days of yore that his heart was as hard as rock, and he had never yet seen the woman as could soften it!
But Dick, more than most of his calling, was a modest, almost a bashful, man. He behaved to Mary with the politeness that was natural to him, and with which he would have approached any woman. He did not make the slightest attempt to show his admiration of her, though it is quite within the bounds of possibility that his “speaking” brown eyes may have said something without his permission! Mary Jackson, being also modest in a degree, of course did not reveal the state of her feelings, and made no visible attempt to ascertain his, but her bluff sagacious old father was not obtuse—neither was he reticent. He was a man of the world—at least of the back-woods world—and his knowledge of life, as there exhibited, was founded on somewhat acute experience. He knew that his daughter was young and remarkably pretty. He saw that Dick Darvall was also young—a dashing and unusually handsome sailor—something like what Tom Bowling may have been. Putting these things together, he came to the very natural conclusion that a wedding would be desirable; believing, as he did, that human nature in the Rockies is very much the same as to its foundation elements as it is elsewhere. Moreover, Roaring Bull was very much in want of a stout son-in-law at that time, so he fanned the flame which he fondly hoped was beginning to arise. This he did in a somewhat blundering and obvious manner, but Dick was too much engrossed with Mary to notice it and Mary was too ignorant of the civilised world’s ways to care much for the proprieties of life.
Of course this state of things created an awful commotion in the breasts of the cow-boys who were in the employment of Mary’s father and herded his cattle. Their mutual jealousies were sunk in the supreme danger that threatened them all, and they were only restrained from picking a quarrel with Dick and shooting him by the calmly resolute look in his brown eyes, coupled with his great physical power and his irresistible good-nature. Urbanity seemed to have been the mould in which the spirit of this man-of-the-sea had been cast and gentleness was one of his chief characteristics. Moreover, he could tell a good story, and sing a good song in a fine bass voice. Still further, although these gallant cow-boys felt intensely jealous of this newcomer, they could not but admit that they had nothing tangible to go upon, for the sailor did not apparently pay any pointed attention to Mary, and she certainly gave no special encouragement to him.
There was one cow-boy, however, of Irish descent, who could not or would not make up his mind to take things quietly, but resolved, as far as he was concerned, to bring matters to a head. His name was Pat Reilly.
He entered the kitchen on the day after Dick’s arrival and found Mary alone and busily engaged with the dinner.
“Miss Jackson,” said Pat, “there’s a question I’ve bin wantin’ to ax ye for a long time past, an’ with your lave I’ll putt it now.”
“What is it Mr Reilly?” asked the girl somewhat stiffly, for she had a suspicion of what was coming. A little negro girl in the back kitchen named Buttercup also had a suspicion of what was coming, and stationed herself with intense delight behind the door, through a crack in which she could both hear and see.
“Mary, my dear,” said Pat insinuatingly, “how would you like to jump into double harness with me an’ jog along the path o’ life together?”
Poor Mary, being agitated by the proposal, and much amused by the manner of it, bent over a pot of something and tried to hide her blushes and amusement in the steam. Buttercup glared, grinned, hugged herself, and waited for more.
Pat, erroneously supposing that silence meant consent, slipped an arm round Mary’s waist. No man had ever yet dared to do such a thing to her. The indignant girl suddenly wheeled round and brought her pretty little palm down on the cow-boy’s cheek with all her might—and that was considerable!
“Who’s a-firin’ off pistles in de kitchen?” demanded Buttercup in a serious tone, as she popped her woolly head through the doorway.
“Nobody, me black darlin’,” said Pat; “it’s only Miss Mary expressin’ her failin’s in a cheeky manner. That’s all!”
So saying the rejected cow-boy left the scene of his discomfiture, mounted his mustang, took his departure from the ranch of Roarin’ Bull without saying farewell, and when next heard of had crossed the lonely Guadaloupe mountains into Lincoln County, New Mexico.
But to return. While the troops and the outlaws were hastening thus to the rescue of the dwellers in Bull’s ranch, and the blood-thirsty Redskins were making for the same point, bent on the destruction of all its inhabitants, Roaring Bull himself, his pretty daughter, and Dick Darvall, were seated in the ranch enjoying their supper, all ignorant alike of the movements of friend and foe, with Buttercup waiting on them.
One messenger, however, was speeding on his way to warn them of danger. This was the cowboy Crux, who had been despatched on Bluefire by Hunky Ben just before that sturdy scout had started to call out the cavalry at Quester Creek.
Chapter Seventeen.The Alarm and Preparations for Defence.“From what you say I should think that my friend Brooke won’t have much trouble in findin’ Traitor’s Trap,” remarked Dick Darvall, pausing in the disposal of a venison steak which had been cooked by the fair bands of Mary Jackson herself, “but I’m sorely afraid o’ the reception he’ll meet with when he gets there, if the men are such awful blackguards as you describe.”“They’re the biggest hounds unhung,” growled Roaring Bull, bringing one hand down on the board by way of emphasis, while with the other he held out his plate for another steak.“You’re too hard on some of them, father,” said Mary, in a voice the softness of which seemed appropriate to the beauty of her face.“Always the way wi’ you wenches,” observed the father. “Some o’ the villains are good-lookin’, others are ugly; so, the first are not so bad as the second—eh, lass?”Mary laughed. She was accustomed to her fathers somewhat rough but not ill-natured rebuffs.“Perhaps I may be prejudiced, father,” she returned; “but apart from that, surely you would never compare Buck Tom with Jake the Flint, though they do belong to the same band.”“You are right, my lass,” rejoined her father. “They do say that Buck Tom is a gentleman, and often keeps back his boys from devilry—though he can’t always manage that, an’ no wonder, for Jake the Flint is the cruellest monster ’tween this an’ Texas if all that’s said of him be true.”“I wish my comrade was well out o’ their clutches,” said Dick, with a look of anxiety; “an’ it makes me feel very small to be sittin’ here enjoyin’ myself when I might be ridin’ on to help him if he should need help.”“Don’t worry yourself on that score,” said the host. “You couldn’t find your way without a guide though I was to give ye the best horse in my stable—which I’d do slick off if it was of any use. There’s not one o’ my boys on the ranch just now, but there’ll be four or five of ’em in to-morrow by daylight an’ I promise you the first that comes in. They all know the country for three hundred miles around—every inch—an’ you may ride my best horse till you drop him if ye can. There, now, wash down your victuals an’ give us a yarn, or a song.”“I’m quite sure,” added Mary, by way of encouragement, “that with one of the outlaws for an old friend, Mr Brooke will be quite safe among them.”“But he’snotan outlaw, Miss Mary,” broke in Darvall. “Leastwise we have the best reason for believin’ that he’s detained among them against his will. Hows’ever, it’s of no use cryin’ over spilt milk. I’m bound to lay at anchor in this port till mornin’, so, as I can’t get up steam for a song in the circumstances, here goes for a yarn.”The yarn to which our handsome seaman treated his audience was nothing more than an account of one of his numerous experiences on the ocean, but he had such a pleasant, earnest, truth-like, and confidential way of relating it and, withal, interlarded his speech with so many little touches of humour, that the audience became fascinated, and sat in open-eyed forgetfulness of all else. Buttercup, in particular, became so engrossed as to forget herself as well as her duties, and stood behind her master in an expectant attitude, glaring at the story-teller, with bated breath, profound sympathy, and extreme readiness to appreciate every joke whether good or bad.In the midst of one of the most telling of his anecdotes the speaker was suddenly arrested by the quick tramp of a galloping horse, the rider of which, judging from the sound, seemed to be in hot haste.All eyes were turned inquiringly on the master of the ranch. That cool individual, rising with quiet yet rapid action, reached down a magazine repeating rifle that hung ready loaded above the door of the room.Observing this, Dick Darvall drew a revolver from his coat-pocket and followed his host to the outer door of the house. Mary accompanied them, and Buttercup retired to the back kitchen as being her appropriate stronghold.They had hardly reached and flung open the door when Bluefire came foaming and smoking into the yard with Crux the cow-boy on his back.“Wall, Roaring Bull,” cried Crux, leaping off his horse and coming forward as quietly as if there were nothing the matter. “I’m glad to see you OK, for the Cheyenne Reds are on the war-path, an’ makin’ tracks for your ranch. But as they’ve not got here yet, they won’t likely attack till the moon goes down. Is there any chuck goin’? I’m half starved.”“Ay, Crux, lots o’ chuck here. Come in an’ let’s hear all about it. Where got ye the news?”“Hunky Ben sent me. He wasn’t thinkin’ o’ you at first but when a boy came in wi’ the news that a crowd o’ the reds had gone round by Pine Hollow—just as he was fixin’ to pull out for Quester Creek to rouse up the cavalry—he asked me to come on here an’ warn you.”While he was speaking the cow-boy sat down to supper with the air of a man who meant business, while the host and his sailor guest went to look after the defences of the place.“I’m glad you are here, Dick Darvall,” said the former, “for it’s a bad job to be obliged to fight without help agin a crowd o’ yellin’ Reds. My boys won’t be back till sun-up, an’ by that time the game may be played out.”“D’ee think the Redskins ’ll attack us to-night then?” asked the sailor as he assisted to close the gates of the yard.“Ay, that they will, lad. They know the value o’ time better than most men, and, when they see their chance, are not slow to take advantage of it. As Crux said, they won’t attack while the moon shines, so we have plenty of time to git ready for them. I wish I hadn’t sent off my boys, but as bad luck would have it a bunch o’ my steers have drifted down south, an’ I can’t afford to lose them—so, you see, there’s not a man left in the place but you an’ me an’ Crux to defend poor Mary.”For the first time in his life Dick Darvall felt a distinct tendency to rejoice over the fact that he was a young and powerful man! To live and, if need be, die for Mary was worth living for!“Are you well supplied with arms an’ ammunition?” he asked.“That am I, and we’ll need it all,” answered the host as he led Dick round to the back of the yard where another gate required fastening.“I don’t see that it matters much,” said Dick in a questioning tone, “whether you shut the gates or not. With so few to defend the place the house will be our only chance.”“When you’ve fought as much wi’ Reds as I have, Dick, you’ll larn that delay, even for five minutes, counts for a good deal.”“Well, there’s somethin’ in that. It minds me o’ what one o’ my shipmates, who had bin in the London fire brigade, once said. ‘Dick,’ said he, ‘never putt off what you’ve got to do. Sometimes I’ve bin at a fire where the loss of only two minutes caused the destruction of a store worth ten thousand pound, more or less. We all but saved it as it was—so near were we, that if we had binoneminute sooner I do believe we’d have saved it.“‘But when we was makin’ for that fire full sail, a deaf old apple-woman came athwart our bows an got such a fright that she went flop down right in front of us. To steer clear of her we’d got to sheer off so that we all but ran into a big van, and, what wi’ our lights an’ the yellin’, the horses o’ the van took fright and backed into us as we flew past, so that we a’most went down by the starn. One way or another we lost two minutes, as I’ve said, an’ the owners o’ that store lost about ten thousand pounds—more or less.’”“That was a big pile, Dick,” observed the ranchman, as they turned from the gate towards the house, “not easy to replace.”“True—my shipmate never seemed to be quite sure whether it was more or less that was lost, but he thought the Insurance offices must have found it out by that time. It’s a pity there’s only three of us, for that will leave one side o’ the house undefended.”“All right Dick; you don’t trouble your head about that for Buttercup fights like a black tiger. She’s a’most as good as a man—only she can’t manage to aim, so it’s no use givin’ her a rifle. She’s game enough to fire it, but the more she tries to hit, the more she’s sure to miss. However she’s got a way of her own that sarves well enough to defend her side o’ the house. She always takes charge o’ the front. My Mary can’t fight, but she’s a heroine at loadin’—an’ that’s somethin’ when you’re hard pressed! Come, now, I’ll show ye the shootin’ irons an’ our plan of campaign.”Roaring Bull led the way back to the room, or central hall, where they had supped, and here they found that the débris of their feast had already been cleared away, and that arms of various kinds, with ammunition, covered the board.“Hospitable alike to friend and foe,” said Jackson gaily. “Here, you see, Mary has spread supper for the Reds!”Darvall made no response to this pleasantry, for he observed that poor Mary’s pretty face was very pale, and that it wore an expression of mingled sadness and anxiety.“You won’t be exposed to danger, I hope,” said Dick, in a low earnest tone, while Jackson was loudly discussing with Crux the merits of one of the repeating rifles—of which there were half-a-dozen on the table.“Oh no! It is not that,” returned the girl sadly. “I am troubled to think that, however the fight goes, some souls, perhaps many, will be sent to their account unprepared. For myself, I shall be safe enough as long as we are able to hold the house, and it may be that God will send us help before long.”“You may be quite sure,” returned Dick, with suppressed emotion, “that no Redskin shall cross this threshold as long as we three men have a spark o’ life left.”A sweet though pitiful smile lighted up Mary’s pale face for a moment, as she replied that she was quite sure of that, in a tone which caused Darvall’s heart to expand, so that his ribs seemed unable to contain it, while he experienced a sensation of being stronger than Samson and bigger than Goliath!“And I suppose,” continued Dick, “that the troops won’t be long of coming. Is the man—what’s his name, Humpy Ben—trustworthy?”“Trustworthy!” exclaimed the maiden, with a flush of enthusiasm; “there is not a more trustworthy man on this side of the Rocky mountains, or the other side either, I am quite sure.”Poor Darvall’s heart seemed suddenly to find plenty of room within the ribs at that moment, and his truthful visage must have become something of an index to his state of mind; for, to his surprise, Mary laughed.“It seems to me so funny,” she continued, “to hear any one ask if Hunky—not Humpy—Ben is to be trusted.”“Is he, then, such a splendid young fellow!” asked the seaman, with just the slightest touch of bitterness in his tone, for he felt as if a rock something like Gibraltar had been laid on his heart.“Well, he’s not exactly young,” answered Mary, with a peculiar expression that made her questioner feel still more uncomfortable, “yet he is scarcely middle-aged, but he certainlyisthe most splendid fellow on the frontier; and he saved my life once.”“Indeed! how was that?”“Well, it was this way. I had been paying a short visit to his wife, who lives on the other side of the—”“Come along, Darvall,” cried Roaring Bull at that moment. “The moon’s about down, an’ we’ll have to take our stations. We shall defend the outworks first to check them a bit and put off some time, then scurry into the house and be ready for them when they try to clear the fence. Follow me. Out wi’ the lights, girls, and away to your posts.”“I’ll hear the end of your story another time, Miss Mary,” said Dick, looking over his shoulder and following his host and Crux to the outer door.The seaman was conscious of a faint suspicion that Mary was wrestling with another laugh as he went off to defend the outworks, but he also, happily, felt that the Rock of Gibraltar had been removed from his heart!
“From what you say I should think that my friend Brooke won’t have much trouble in findin’ Traitor’s Trap,” remarked Dick Darvall, pausing in the disposal of a venison steak which had been cooked by the fair bands of Mary Jackson herself, “but I’m sorely afraid o’ the reception he’ll meet with when he gets there, if the men are such awful blackguards as you describe.”
“They’re the biggest hounds unhung,” growled Roaring Bull, bringing one hand down on the board by way of emphasis, while with the other he held out his plate for another steak.
“You’re too hard on some of them, father,” said Mary, in a voice the softness of which seemed appropriate to the beauty of her face.
“Always the way wi’ you wenches,” observed the father. “Some o’ the villains are good-lookin’, others are ugly; so, the first are not so bad as the second—eh, lass?”
Mary laughed. She was accustomed to her fathers somewhat rough but not ill-natured rebuffs.
“Perhaps I may be prejudiced, father,” she returned; “but apart from that, surely you would never compare Buck Tom with Jake the Flint, though they do belong to the same band.”
“You are right, my lass,” rejoined her father. “They do say that Buck Tom is a gentleman, and often keeps back his boys from devilry—though he can’t always manage that, an’ no wonder, for Jake the Flint is the cruellest monster ’tween this an’ Texas if all that’s said of him be true.”
“I wish my comrade was well out o’ their clutches,” said Dick, with a look of anxiety; “an’ it makes me feel very small to be sittin’ here enjoyin’ myself when I might be ridin’ on to help him if he should need help.”
“Don’t worry yourself on that score,” said the host. “You couldn’t find your way without a guide though I was to give ye the best horse in my stable—which I’d do slick off if it was of any use. There’s not one o’ my boys on the ranch just now, but there’ll be four or five of ’em in to-morrow by daylight an’ I promise you the first that comes in. They all know the country for three hundred miles around—every inch—an’ you may ride my best horse till you drop him if ye can. There, now, wash down your victuals an’ give us a yarn, or a song.”
“I’m quite sure,” added Mary, by way of encouragement, “that with one of the outlaws for an old friend, Mr Brooke will be quite safe among them.”
“But he’snotan outlaw, Miss Mary,” broke in Darvall. “Leastwise we have the best reason for believin’ that he’s detained among them against his will. Hows’ever, it’s of no use cryin’ over spilt milk. I’m bound to lay at anchor in this port till mornin’, so, as I can’t get up steam for a song in the circumstances, here goes for a yarn.”
The yarn to which our handsome seaman treated his audience was nothing more than an account of one of his numerous experiences on the ocean, but he had such a pleasant, earnest, truth-like, and confidential way of relating it and, withal, interlarded his speech with so many little touches of humour, that the audience became fascinated, and sat in open-eyed forgetfulness of all else. Buttercup, in particular, became so engrossed as to forget herself as well as her duties, and stood behind her master in an expectant attitude, glaring at the story-teller, with bated breath, profound sympathy, and extreme readiness to appreciate every joke whether good or bad.
In the midst of one of the most telling of his anecdotes the speaker was suddenly arrested by the quick tramp of a galloping horse, the rider of which, judging from the sound, seemed to be in hot haste.
All eyes were turned inquiringly on the master of the ranch. That cool individual, rising with quiet yet rapid action, reached down a magazine repeating rifle that hung ready loaded above the door of the room.
Observing this, Dick Darvall drew a revolver from his coat-pocket and followed his host to the outer door of the house. Mary accompanied them, and Buttercup retired to the back kitchen as being her appropriate stronghold.
They had hardly reached and flung open the door when Bluefire came foaming and smoking into the yard with Crux the cow-boy on his back.
“Wall, Roaring Bull,” cried Crux, leaping off his horse and coming forward as quietly as if there were nothing the matter. “I’m glad to see you OK, for the Cheyenne Reds are on the war-path, an’ makin’ tracks for your ranch. But as they’ve not got here yet, they won’t likely attack till the moon goes down. Is there any chuck goin’? I’m half starved.”
“Ay, Crux, lots o’ chuck here. Come in an’ let’s hear all about it. Where got ye the news?”
“Hunky Ben sent me. He wasn’t thinkin’ o’ you at first but when a boy came in wi’ the news that a crowd o’ the reds had gone round by Pine Hollow—just as he was fixin’ to pull out for Quester Creek to rouse up the cavalry—he asked me to come on here an’ warn you.”
While he was speaking the cow-boy sat down to supper with the air of a man who meant business, while the host and his sailor guest went to look after the defences of the place.
“I’m glad you are here, Dick Darvall,” said the former, “for it’s a bad job to be obliged to fight without help agin a crowd o’ yellin’ Reds. My boys won’t be back till sun-up, an’ by that time the game may be played out.”
“D’ee think the Redskins ’ll attack us to-night then?” asked the sailor as he assisted to close the gates of the yard.
“Ay, that they will, lad. They know the value o’ time better than most men, and, when they see their chance, are not slow to take advantage of it. As Crux said, they won’t attack while the moon shines, so we have plenty of time to git ready for them. I wish I hadn’t sent off my boys, but as bad luck would have it a bunch o’ my steers have drifted down south, an’ I can’t afford to lose them—so, you see, there’s not a man left in the place but you an’ me an’ Crux to defend poor Mary.”
For the first time in his life Dick Darvall felt a distinct tendency to rejoice over the fact that he was a young and powerful man! To live and, if need be, die for Mary was worth living for!
“Are you well supplied with arms an’ ammunition?” he asked.
“That am I, and we’ll need it all,” answered the host as he led Dick round to the back of the yard where another gate required fastening.
“I don’t see that it matters much,” said Dick in a questioning tone, “whether you shut the gates or not. With so few to defend the place the house will be our only chance.”
“When you’ve fought as much wi’ Reds as I have, Dick, you’ll larn that delay, even for five minutes, counts for a good deal.”
“Well, there’s somethin’ in that. It minds me o’ what one o’ my shipmates, who had bin in the London fire brigade, once said. ‘Dick,’ said he, ‘never putt off what you’ve got to do. Sometimes I’ve bin at a fire where the loss of only two minutes caused the destruction of a store worth ten thousand pound, more or less. We all but saved it as it was—so near were we, that if we had binoneminute sooner I do believe we’d have saved it.
“‘But when we was makin’ for that fire full sail, a deaf old apple-woman came athwart our bows an got such a fright that she went flop down right in front of us. To steer clear of her we’d got to sheer off so that we all but ran into a big van, and, what wi’ our lights an’ the yellin’, the horses o’ the van took fright and backed into us as we flew past, so that we a’most went down by the starn. One way or another we lost two minutes, as I’ve said, an’ the owners o’ that store lost about ten thousand pounds—more or less.’”
“That was a big pile, Dick,” observed the ranchman, as they turned from the gate towards the house, “not easy to replace.”
“True—my shipmate never seemed to be quite sure whether it was more or less that was lost, but he thought the Insurance offices must have found it out by that time. It’s a pity there’s only three of us, for that will leave one side o’ the house undefended.”
“All right Dick; you don’t trouble your head about that for Buttercup fights like a black tiger. She’s a’most as good as a man—only she can’t manage to aim, so it’s no use givin’ her a rifle. She’s game enough to fire it, but the more she tries to hit, the more she’s sure to miss. However she’s got a way of her own that sarves well enough to defend her side o’ the house. She always takes charge o’ the front. My Mary can’t fight, but she’s a heroine at loadin’—an’ that’s somethin’ when you’re hard pressed! Come, now, I’ll show ye the shootin’ irons an’ our plan of campaign.”
Roaring Bull led the way back to the room, or central hall, where they had supped, and here they found that the débris of their feast had already been cleared away, and that arms of various kinds, with ammunition, covered the board.
“Hospitable alike to friend and foe,” said Jackson gaily. “Here, you see, Mary has spread supper for the Reds!”
Darvall made no response to this pleasantry, for he observed that poor Mary’s pretty face was very pale, and that it wore an expression of mingled sadness and anxiety.
“You won’t be exposed to danger, I hope,” said Dick, in a low earnest tone, while Jackson was loudly discussing with Crux the merits of one of the repeating rifles—of which there were half-a-dozen on the table.
“Oh no! It is not that,” returned the girl sadly. “I am troubled to think that, however the fight goes, some souls, perhaps many, will be sent to their account unprepared. For myself, I shall be safe enough as long as we are able to hold the house, and it may be that God will send us help before long.”
“You may be quite sure,” returned Dick, with suppressed emotion, “that no Redskin shall cross this threshold as long as we three men have a spark o’ life left.”
A sweet though pitiful smile lighted up Mary’s pale face for a moment, as she replied that she was quite sure of that, in a tone which caused Darvall’s heart to expand, so that his ribs seemed unable to contain it, while he experienced a sensation of being stronger than Samson and bigger than Goliath!
“And I suppose,” continued Dick, “that the troops won’t be long of coming. Is the man—what’s his name, Humpy Ben—trustworthy?”
“Trustworthy!” exclaimed the maiden, with a flush of enthusiasm; “there is not a more trustworthy man on this side of the Rocky mountains, or the other side either, I am quite sure.”
Poor Darvall’s heart seemed suddenly to find plenty of room within the ribs at that moment, and his truthful visage must have become something of an index to his state of mind; for, to his surprise, Mary laughed.
“It seems to me so funny,” she continued, “to hear any one ask if Hunky—not Humpy—Ben is to be trusted.”
“Is he, then, such a splendid young fellow!” asked the seaman, with just the slightest touch of bitterness in his tone, for he felt as if a rock something like Gibraltar had been laid on his heart.
“Well, he’s not exactly young,” answered Mary, with a peculiar expression that made her questioner feel still more uncomfortable, “yet he is scarcely middle-aged, but he certainlyisthe most splendid fellow on the frontier; and he saved my life once.”
“Indeed! how was that?”
“Well, it was this way. I had been paying a short visit to his wife, who lives on the other side of the—”
“Come along, Darvall,” cried Roaring Bull at that moment. “The moon’s about down, an’ we’ll have to take our stations. We shall defend the outworks first to check them a bit and put off some time, then scurry into the house and be ready for them when they try to clear the fence. Follow me. Out wi’ the lights, girls, and away to your posts.”
“I’ll hear the end of your story another time, Miss Mary,” said Dick, looking over his shoulder and following his host and Crux to the outer door.
The seaman was conscious of a faint suspicion that Mary was wrestling with another laugh as he went off to defend the outworks, but he also, happily, felt that the Rock of Gibraltar had been removed from his heart!
Chapter Eighteen.Defence of the Ranch of Roaring Bull.Every light and every spark of fire had been extinguished in the ranch of Roaring Bull when its defenders issued from its doorway. They were armed to the teeth, and glided across the yard to the fence or stockade that enclosed the buildings, leaving the door slightly open so as to be ready for speedy retreat.It had been arranged that, as there was a large open field without bush or tree in the rear of the ranch, they should leave that side undefended at first.“They’ll never come into the open as long as they can crawl up through the bush,” Jackson had said, while making his final dispositions. “They’re a’most sure to come up in front thinkin’ we’re all a-bed. Now, mind—don’t stand still, boys, but walk along as ye fire, to give ’em the notion there’s more of us. An’ don’t fire at nothin’. They’d think we was in a funk. An’ when you hear me whistle get into the house as quick as a cotton-tail rabbit an’ as sly as a snake.”After the moon went down, everything in and around the ranch was as silent as the grave, save now and then the stamp of a hoof on the floor of a shed, where a number of horses stood saddled and bridled ready to mount at a moment’s notice; for Jackson had made up his mind, if it came to the worst, to mount and make a bold dash with all his household through the midst of his foes, trusting to taking them by surprise and to his knowledge of the country for success.For a long time, probably two hours, the three men stood at their posts motionless and silent; still there was no sign, either by sight or sound, of an enemy. The outline of the dark woods was barely visible against the black sky in front of each solitary watcher, and no moving thing could be distinguished in the open field behind either by Crux or Darvall, to each of whom the field was visible. Jackson guarded the front.To Dick, unaccustomed as he was to such warfare, the situation was very trying, and might have told on his nerves severely if he had not been a man of iron mould; as it was, he had no nerves to speak of! But he was a man of lively imagination. More than fifty times within those two hours did he see a black form moving in the darkness that lay between him and the wood, and more than fifty times was his Winchester rifle raised to his shoulder; but as often did the caution “don’t fire at nothin’” rise to his memory.The stockade was of peculiar construction, because its owner and maker was eccentric, and a mechanical genius. Not only were the pickets of which it was composed very strong and planted with just space between to permit of firing, but there was a planking of strong boards, waist high, all round the bottom inside, which afforded some protection to defenders by concealing them when they stooped and changed position.While matters were in this state outside, Mary Jackson and Buttercup were standing at an upper window just opposite the front gate, the latter with a huge bell-mouthed blunderbuss of the last century, loaded with buckshot in her hands. Mary stood beside her sable domestic ready to direct her not as to how, but where and when, to use the ancient weapon.“You must beverycareful, Buttercup,” said Mary in a low voice, “notto fire till I tell you, and to point onlywhereI tell you, else you’ll shoot father. Anddokeep your finger off the trigger! By the way, have you cocked it?”“O missy, I forgit dat,” answered the damsel with a self-condemned look, as she corrected the error. “But don’ you fear, Missy Mary. I’s use’ to dis yar blunn’erbus. Last time I fire ’im was at a raven. Down hoed de raven, blow’d to atims, an’ down hoed me too—cause de drefful t’ing kicks like a Texas mule. But bress you, I don’ mind dat. I’s used to it!”Buttercup gave a little sniff of grave scorn with her flat nose, as though to intimate that the ordinary ills of life were beneathhernotice.We have said that all fires had been extinguished, but this is not strictly correct, for in the room where the two maidens watched there was an iron stove so enclosed that the fire inside did not show, and as it was fed with charcoal there were neither flames nor sparks to betray its presence. On this there stood a large cast-iron pot full of water, the bubbling of which was the only sound that broke the profound stillness of the night, while the watchers scarcely breathed, so intently did they listen.At last the patient and self-restraining Dick saw a dark object moving towards his side of the stockade, which he felt was much too real to be classed with the creatures of his imagination which had previously given him so much trouble. Without a moment’s hesitation the rifle flew to his shoulder, and the prolonged silence was broken by the sharp report, while an involuntary half-suppressed cry proved that he had not missed his mark. The dark object hastily retreated. A neighbouring cliff echoed the sounds, and two shots from his comrades told the sailor that they also were on the alert.Instantly the night was rendered hideous by a series of wild yells and whoops, while, for a moment, the darkness gave place to a glare of light as a hundred rifles vomited their deadly contents, and the sound of many rushing feet was heard upon the open sward in front of the ranch.The three male defenders had ducked their heads below the protecting breast-work when the volley was fired, and then, discarding all idea of further care, they skipped along their respective lines, yelling and firing the repeaters so rapidly, that, to any one ignorant of the true state of things, it must have seemed as if the place were defended by a legion of demons. To add to the hullabaloo Buttercup’s blunderbuss poured forth its contents upon a group of red warriors who were rushing towards the front gate, with such a cannon-like sound and such wonderful effect, that the rush was turned into a sudden and limping retreat. The effect indeed, was more severe even than Buttercup had intended, for a stray buckshot had actually taken a direction which had been feared, and grazed her master’s left arm! Happily the wound was very slight, and, to do the poor damsel justice, she could not see that her master was jumping from one place to another like a caged lion. Like the same animal, however, he gave her to understand what she had done, by shouting in a thunderous bass roar that fully justified his sobriquet—“Mind your eye, Buttercup! Not so low next time!”The immediate result of this vigorous defence was to make the Indians draw off and retire to the woods—presumably for consultation. By previous arrangement the negro girl issued from the house with three fresh repeaters in her arms, ran round to the combatants with them and returned with their almost empty rifles. These she and Mary proceeded to reload in the hall, and then returned to their post at the upper front window.The morning was by this time pretty well advanced, and Jackson felt a little uncertain as to what he should now do. It was still rather dark; but in a very short time, he knew, dawn would spread over the east, when it would, of course, be quite impossible to defend the walls of the little fort without revealing the small number of its defenders. On the other hand, if they should retire at once the enemy might find a lodgement within, among the outbuildings, before there was light enough to prevent them by picking off the leaders; in which case the assailants would be able to apply fire to the wooden wails of the house without much risk.“If they manage to pile up enough o’ brush to clap a light to,” he grumbled to himself in an undertone, “it’s all up wi’ us.”The thought had barely passed through his brain, when a leaden messenger, intended to pass through it, carried his cap off his head, and the fire that had discharged it almost blinded him. Bigfoot, the chief of the savages, had wriggled himself, snake-fashion, up to the stockade unseen, and while Roaring Bull was meditating what was best to be done, he had nearly succeeded in rendering him unable to do anything at all.The shot was the signal for another onslaught. Once more the woods rang with fiendish yells and rattling volleys. Bigfoot, with the agility and strength of a gorilla, leaped up and over the stockade and sprung down into Jackson’s arms, while Darvall and Crux resumed their almost ubiquitous process of defence, and Buttercup’s weapon again thundered forth its defiance.This time the fight was more protracted. Bigfoot’s career was indeed stopped for the time being, for Jackson not only crushed the life almost out of him by an unloving embrace, but dealt him a prize-fighter’s blow which effectually stretched him on the ground. Not a moment too soon, however, for the white man had barely got rid of the red one, when another savage managed to scale the wall. A blow from the butt of Jackson’s rifle dropped him, and then the victor fired so rapidly, and with such effect, that a second time the Reds were repulsed.Jackson did not again indulge in meditation, but blew a shrill blast on a dog-whistle—a preconcerted signal—on hearing which his two comrades made for the house door at full speed.Only one other of the Indians, besides the two already mentioned, had succeeded in getting over the stockade. This man was creeping up to the open door of the house, and, tomahawk in hand, had almost reached it when Dick Darvall came tearing round the corner.“Hallo! Crux,” cried Dick, “that you?”The fact that he received no reply was sufficient for Dick, who was too close to do more than drive the point of his rifle against the chest of the Indian, who went down as if he had been shot, while Dick sprang in and held open the door. A word from Jackson and Crux as they ran forward sufficed. They passed in and the massive door was shut and barred, while an instant later at least half-a-dozen savages ran up against it and began to thunder on it with their rifle-butts and tomahawks.“To your windows!” shouted Jackson, as he sprang up the wooden stair-case, three steps at a time. “Fresh rifles here, Mary!”“Yes, father,” came in a silvery and most unwarlike voice from the hall below.Another moment and three shots rang from the three sides of the house, and of the three Indians who were at the moment in the act of clambering over the stockade, one fell inside and two out. Happily, daylight soon began to make objects distinctly visible, and the Indians were well aware that it would now be almost certain death to any one who should attempt to climb over.It is well known that, as a rule, savages do not throw away their lives recklessly. The moment it became evident that darkness would no longer serve them, those who were in the open retired to the woods, and potted at the windows of the ranch, but, as the openings from which the besieged fired were mere loop-holes made for the purpose of defence, they had little hope of hitting them at long range except by chance. Those of the besiegers who happened to be near the stockade took shelter behind the breast-work, and awaited further orders from their chief—ignorant of the fact that he had already fallen.From the loop-holes of the room which Jackson had selected to defend, the shed with the saddled horses was visible, so that no one could reach it without coming under the fire of his deadly weapon. There was also a window in this room opening upon the back of the house and commanding the field which we have before mentioned as being undefended while the battle was waged outside. By casting a glance now and then through this window he could see any foe who might show himself in that direction. The only part of the fort that seemed exposed to great danger now was the front door, where the half-dozen savages, with a few others who had joined them, were still battering away at the impregnable door.Dick, who held the garret above, could not see the door, of course, nor could he by any manoeuvre manage to bring his rifle to bear on it from his loop-hole, and he dared not leave his post lest more Indians should manage to scale the front stockade.Buttercup, in the room below, had indeed a better chance at her window, but she was too inexpert in warfare to point the blunderbuss straight down and fire with effect, especially knowing, as she did, that the sight of her arm in the act would be the signal for a prompt fusillade. But the girl was not apparently much concerned about that, or anything else. The truth is that she possessed in an eminent and enviable degree the spirit of entire trust in a leader. She was under orders, and awaited the word of command with perfect equanimity! She even smiled slightly—if such a mouth could be said to do anything slightly—when Mary left her to take fresh rifles to the defenders overhead.At last the command came from the upper regions, in tones that caused the very savages to pause a moment and look at each other in surprise. They did not pause long, however!“Now, Buttercup,” thundered Roaring Bull, “give it ’em—hot!”At the word the girl calmly laid aside her weapon, lifted the big iron pot with familiar and businesslike facility, and emptied it over the window.The result is more easily imagined than described. A yell that must have been heard miles off was the prelude to a stampede of the most lively nature. It was intensified, if possible, by the further action of the negress, who, seizing the blunderbuss, pointed it at the flying crowd, and, shutting both eyes, fired! Not a buckshot took effect on the savages, for Buttercup, if we may say so, aimed too low, but the effect was more stupendous than if the aim had been good, for the heavy charge drove up an indescribable amount of peppery dust and small stones into the rear of the flying foe, causing another yell which was not an echo but a magnified reverberation of the first. Thus Buttercup had the satisfaction of utterly routing her foes without killing a single man!Daylight had fairly set in by that time, and the few savages who had not succeeded in vaulting the stockade had concealed themselves behind the various outhouses.The proprietor of the ranch began now to have some hope of keeping the Indians at bay until the troops should succour him. He even left his post and called his friends to a council of war, when a wild cheer was heard in the woods. It was followed by the sound of firing. No sooner was this heard than the savages concealed outside of the breastwork rose as one man and ran for the woods.“It’s the troops!” exclaimed Dick hopefully.“Troopers never cheer like that,” returned Jackson with an anxious look. “It’s more like my poor cow-boys, and, if so, they will have no chance wi’ such a crowd o’ Reds. We must ride to help them, an’ you’ll have to ride with us, Mary. We daren’t leave you behind, lass, wi’ them varmints skulkin’ around.”“I’m ready, father,” said Mary with a decided look, though it was evident, from the pallor of her cheek, that she was ill at ease.“Now, look here, Dick,” said Jackson, quickly, “you will go down and open the front gate. I’ll go with ’ee wi’ my repeater to keep an eye on the hidden reptiles, so that if one of them shows so much as the tip of his ugly nose he’ll have cause to remember it. You will go to my loophole, Crux, an keep your eyes open all round—specially on the horses. When the gate is open I’ll shout, and you’ll run down to the shed wi’ the women.—You understand?” Crux nodded.Acting on this plan Dick ran to the gate; Jackson followed, rifle in hand, and, having reached the middle of the fort, he faced round; only just in time to see a gun barrel raised from behind a shed. Before he could raise his own weapon a shot was heard and the gun-barrel disappeared, while the Indian who raised it fell wounded on the ground.“Well done, Crux!” he exclaimed, at the same moment firing his own rifle at a head which was peeping round a corner. The head vanished instantly and Darvall rejoined him, having thrown the gate wide open.“Come round wi’ me an’ drive the reptiles out,” cried Jackson. At the same time he uttered a roar that a bull might have envied, and they both rushed round to the back of the outhouses where three Indians were found skulking.At the sudden and unexpected onslaught, they fired an ineffectual volley and fled wildly through the now open gate, followed by several shots from both pursuers, whose aim, however, was no better than their own had been.Meanwhile Crux and the girls, having reached the shed according to orders, mounted their respective steeds and awaited their comrades. They had not long to wait. Jackson and Dick came round the corner of the shed at full speed, and, without a word, leaped simultaneously into their saddles.“Keep close to me, girls,—close up!” was all that Jackson said as he dashed spurs into his horse, and, sweeping across the yard and through the gate, made straight for that part of the woods where yells, shouts, and firing told that a battle was raging furiously.
Every light and every spark of fire had been extinguished in the ranch of Roaring Bull when its defenders issued from its doorway. They were armed to the teeth, and glided across the yard to the fence or stockade that enclosed the buildings, leaving the door slightly open so as to be ready for speedy retreat.
It had been arranged that, as there was a large open field without bush or tree in the rear of the ranch, they should leave that side undefended at first.
“They’ll never come into the open as long as they can crawl up through the bush,” Jackson had said, while making his final dispositions. “They’re a’most sure to come up in front thinkin’ we’re all a-bed. Now, mind—don’t stand still, boys, but walk along as ye fire, to give ’em the notion there’s more of us. An’ don’t fire at nothin’. They’d think we was in a funk. An’ when you hear me whistle get into the house as quick as a cotton-tail rabbit an’ as sly as a snake.”
After the moon went down, everything in and around the ranch was as silent as the grave, save now and then the stamp of a hoof on the floor of a shed, where a number of horses stood saddled and bridled ready to mount at a moment’s notice; for Jackson had made up his mind, if it came to the worst, to mount and make a bold dash with all his household through the midst of his foes, trusting to taking them by surprise and to his knowledge of the country for success.
For a long time, probably two hours, the three men stood at their posts motionless and silent; still there was no sign, either by sight or sound, of an enemy. The outline of the dark woods was barely visible against the black sky in front of each solitary watcher, and no moving thing could be distinguished in the open field behind either by Crux or Darvall, to each of whom the field was visible. Jackson guarded the front.
To Dick, unaccustomed as he was to such warfare, the situation was very trying, and might have told on his nerves severely if he had not been a man of iron mould; as it was, he had no nerves to speak of! But he was a man of lively imagination. More than fifty times within those two hours did he see a black form moving in the darkness that lay between him and the wood, and more than fifty times was his Winchester rifle raised to his shoulder; but as often did the caution “don’t fire at nothin’” rise to his memory.
The stockade was of peculiar construction, because its owner and maker was eccentric, and a mechanical genius. Not only were the pickets of which it was composed very strong and planted with just space between to permit of firing, but there was a planking of strong boards, waist high, all round the bottom inside, which afforded some protection to defenders by concealing them when they stooped and changed position.
While matters were in this state outside, Mary Jackson and Buttercup were standing at an upper window just opposite the front gate, the latter with a huge bell-mouthed blunderbuss of the last century, loaded with buckshot in her hands. Mary stood beside her sable domestic ready to direct her not as to how, but where and when, to use the ancient weapon.
“You must beverycareful, Buttercup,” said Mary in a low voice, “notto fire till I tell you, and to point onlywhereI tell you, else you’ll shoot father. Anddokeep your finger off the trigger! By the way, have you cocked it?”
“O missy, I forgit dat,” answered the damsel with a self-condemned look, as she corrected the error. “But don’ you fear, Missy Mary. I’s use’ to dis yar blunn’erbus. Last time I fire ’im was at a raven. Down hoed de raven, blow’d to atims, an’ down hoed me too—cause de drefful t’ing kicks like a Texas mule. But bress you, I don’ mind dat. I’s used to it!”
Buttercup gave a little sniff of grave scorn with her flat nose, as though to intimate that the ordinary ills of life were beneathhernotice.
We have said that all fires had been extinguished, but this is not strictly correct, for in the room where the two maidens watched there was an iron stove so enclosed that the fire inside did not show, and as it was fed with charcoal there were neither flames nor sparks to betray its presence. On this there stood a large cast-iron pot full of water, the bubbling of which was the only sound that broke the profound stillness of the night, while the watchers scarcely breathed, so intently did they listen.
At last the patient and self-restraining Dick saw a dark object moving towards his side of the stockade, which he felt was much too real to be classed with the creatures of his imagination which had previously given him so much trouble. Without a moment’s hesitation the rifle flew to his shoulder, and the prolonged silence was broken by the sharp report, while an involuntary half-suppressed cry proved that he had not missed his mark. The dark object hastily retreated. A neighbouring cliff echoed the sounds, and two shots from his comrades told the sailor that they also were on the alert.
Instantly the night was rendered hideous by a series of wild yells and whoops, while, for a moment, the darkness gave place to a glare of light as a hundred rifles vomited their deadly contents, and the sound of many rushing feet was heard upon the open sward in front of the ranch.
The three male defenders had ducked their heads below the protecting breast-work when the volley was fired, and then, discarding all idea of further care, they skipped along their respective lines, yelling and firing the repeaters so rapidly, that, to any one ignorant of the true state of things, it must have seemed as if the place were defended by a legion of demons. To add to the hullabaloo Buttercup’s blunderbuss poured forth its contents upon a group of red warriors who were rushing towards the front gate, with such a cannon-like sound and such wonderful effect, that the rush was turned into a sudden and limping retreat. The effect indeed, was more severe even than Buttercup had intended, for a stray buckshot had actually taken a direction which had been feared, and grazed her master’s left arm! Happily the wound was very slight, and, to do the poor damsel justice, she could not see that her master was jumping from one place to another like a caged lion. Like the same animal, however, he gave her to understand what she had done, by shouting in a thunderous bass roar that fully justified his sobriquet—
“Mind your eye, Buttercup! Not so low next time!”
The immediate result of this vigorous defence was to make the Indians draw off and retire to the woods—presumably for consultation. By previous arrangement the negro girl issued from the house with three fresh repeaters in her arms, ran round to the combatants with them and returned with their almost empty rifles. These she and Mary proceeded to reload in the hall, and then returned to their post at the upper front window.
The morning was by this time pretty well advanced, and Jackson felt a little uncertain as to what he should now do. It was still rather dark; but in a very short time, he knew, dawn would spread over the east, when it would, of course, be quite impossible to defend the walls of the little fort without revealing the small number of its defenders. On the other hand, if they should retire at once the enemy might find a lodgement within, among the outbuildings, before there was light enough to prevent them by picking off the leaders; in which case the assailants would be able to apply fire to the wooden wails of the house without much risk.
“If they manage to pile up enough o’ brush to clap a light to,” he grumbled to himself in an undertone, “it’s all up wi’ us.”
The thought had barely passed through his brain, when a leaden messenger, intended to pass through it, carried his cap off his head, and the fire that had discharged it almost blinded him. Bigfoot, the chief of the savages, had wriggled himself, snake-fashion, up to the stockade unseen, and while Roaring Bull was meditating what was best to be done, he had nearly succeeded in rendering him unable to do anything at all.
The shot was the signal for another onslaught. Once more the woods rang with fiendish yells and rattling volleys. Bigfoot, with the agility and strength of a gorilla, leaped up and over the stockade and sprung down into Jackson’s arms, while Darvall and Crux resumed their almost ubiquitous process of defence, and Buttercup’s weapon again thundered forth its defiance.
This time the fight was more protracted. Bigfoot’s career was indeed stopped for the time being, for Jackson not only crushed the life almost out of him by an unloving embrace, but dealt him a prize-fighter’s blow which effectually stretched him on the ground. Not a moment too soon, however, for the white man had barely got rid of the red one, when another savage managed to scale the wall. A blow from the butt of Jackson’s rifle dropped him, and then the victor fired so rapidly, and with such effect, that a second time the Reds were repulsed.
Jackson did not again indulge in meditation, but blew a shrill blast on a dog-whistle—a preconcerted signal—on hearing which his two comrades made for the house door at full speed.
Only one other of the Indians, besides the two already mentioned, had succeeded in getting over the stockade. This man was creeping up to the open door of the house, and, tomahawk in hand, had almost reached it when Dick Darvall came tearing round the corner.
“Hallo! Crux,” cried Dick, “that you?”
The fact that he received no reply was sufficient for Dick, who was too close to do more than drive the point of his rifle against the chest of the Indian, who went down as if he had been shot, while Dick sprang in and held open the door. A word from Jackson and Crux as they ran forward sufficed. They passed in and the massive door was shut and barred, while an instant later at least half-a-dozen savages ran up against it and began to thunder on it with their rifle-butts and tomahawks.
“To your windows!” shouted Jackson, as he sprang up the wooden stair-case, three steps at a time. “Fresh rifles here, Mary!”
“Yes, father,” came in a silvery and most unwarlike voice from the hall below.
Another moment and three shots rang from the three sides of the house, and of the three Indians who were at the moment in the act of clambering over the stockade, one fell inside and two out. Happily, daylight soon began to make objects distinctly visible, and the Indians were well aware that it would now be almost certain death to any one who should attempt to climb over.
It is well known that, as a rule, savages do not throw away their lives recklessly. The moment it became evident that darkness would no longer serve them, those who were in the open retired to the woods, and potted at the windows of the ranch, but, as the openings from which the besieged fired were mere loop-holes made for the purpose of defence, they had little hope of hitting them at long range except by chance. Those of the besiegers who happened to be near the stockade took shelter behind the breast-work, and awaited further orders from their chief—ignorant of the fact that he had already fallen.
From the loop-holes of the room which Jackson had selected to defend, the shed with the saddled horses was visible, so that no one could reach it without coming under the fire of his deadly weapon. There was also a window in this room opening upon the back of the house and commanding the field which we have before mentioned as being undefended while the battle was waged outside. By casting a glance now and then through this window he could see any foe who might show himself in that direction. The only part of the fort that seemed exposed to great danger now was the front door, where the half-dozen savages, with a few others who had joined them, were still battering away at the impregnable door.
Dick, who held the garret above, could not see the door, of course, nor could he by any manoeuvre manage to bring his rifle to bear on it from his loop-hole, and he dared not leave his post lest more Indians should manage to scale the front stockade.
Buttercup, in the room below, had indeed a better chance at her window, but she was too inexpert in warfare to point the blunderbuss straight down and fire with effect, especially knowing, as she did, that the sight of her arm in the act would be the signal for a prompt fusillade. But the girl was not apparently much concerned about that, or anything else. The truth is that she possessed in an eminent and enviable degree the spirit of entire trust in a leader. She was under orders, and awaited the word of command with perfect equanimity! She even smiled slightly—if such a mouth could be said to do anything slightly—when Mary left her to take fresh rifles to the defenders overhead.
At last the command came from the upper regions, in tones that caused the very savages to pause a moment and look at each other in surprise. They did not pause long, however!
“Now, Buttercup,” thundered Roaring Bull, “give it ’em—hot!”
At the word the girl calmly laid aside her weapon, lifted the big iron pot with familiar and businesslike facility, and emptied it over the window.
The result is more easily imagined than described. A yell that must have been heard miles off was the prelude to a stampede of the most lively nature. It was intensified, if possible, by the further action of the negress, who, seizing the blunderbuss, pointed it at the flying crowd, and, shutting both eyes, fired! Not a buckshot took effect on the savages, for Buttercup, if we may say so, aimed too low, but the effect was more stupendous than if the aim had been good, for the heavy charge drove up an indescribable amount of peppery dust and small stones into the rear of the flying foe, causing another yell which was not an echo but a magnified reverberation of the first. Thus Buttercup had the satisfaction of utterly routing her foes without killing a single man!
Daylight had fairly set in by that time, and the few savages who had not succeeded in vaulting the stockade had concealed themselves behind the various outhouses.
The proprietor of the ranch began now to have some hope of keeping the Indians at bay until the troops should succour him. He even left his post and called his friends to a council of war, when a wild cheer was heard in the woods. It was followed by the sound of firing. No sooner was this heard than the savages concealed outside of the breastwork rose as one man and ran for the woods.
“It’s the troops!” exclaimed Dick hopefully.
“Troopers never cheer like that,” returned Jackson with an anxious look. “It’s more like my poor cow-boys, and, if so, they will have no chance wi’ such a crowd o’ Reds. We must ride to help them, an’ you’ll have to ride with us, Mary. We daren’t leave you behind, lass, wi’ them varmints skulkin’ around.”
“I’m ready, father,” said Mary with a decided look, though it was evident, from the pallor of her cheek, that she was ill at ease.
“Now, look here, Dick,” said Jackson, quickly, “you will go down and open the front gate. I’ll go with ’ee wi’ my repeater to keep an eye on the hidden reptiles, so that if one of them shows so much as the tip of his ugly nose he’ll have cause to remember it. You will go to my loophole, Crux, an keep your eyes open all round—specially on the horses. When the gate is open I’ll shout, and you’ll run down to the shed wi’ the women.—You understand?” Crux nodded.
Acting on this plan Dick ran to the gate; Jackson followed, rifle in hand, and, having reached the middle of the fort, he faced round; only just in time to see a gun barrel raised from behind a shed. Before he could raise his own weapon a shot was heard and the gun-barrel disappeared, while the Indian who raised it fell wounded on the ground.
“Well done, Crux!” he exclaimed, at the same moment firing his own rifle at a head which was peeping round a corner. The head vanished instantly and Darvall rejoined him, having thrown the gate wide open.
“Come round wi’ me an’ drive the reptiles out,” cried Jackson. At the same time he uttered a roar that a bull might have envied, and they both rushed round to the back of the outhouses where three Indians were found skulking.
At the sudden and unexpected onslaught, they fired an ineffectual volley and fled wildly through the now open gate, followed by several shots from both pursuers, whose aim, however, was no better than their own had been.
Meanwhile Crux and the girls, having reached the shed according to orders, mounted their respective steeds and awaited their comrades. They had not long to wait. Jackson and Dick came round the corner of the shed at full speed, and, without a word, leaped simultaneously into their saddles.
“Keep close to me, girls,—close up!” was all that Jackson said as he dashed spurs into his horse, and, sweeping across the yard and through the gate, made straight for that part of the woods where yells, shouts, and firing told that a battle was raging furiously.
Chapter Nineteen.The Rescue and its Consequences.The ground in the neighbourhood of the ranch favoured the operations of an attacking party, for it was so irregular and so cumbered with knolls and clumps of trees that the defenders of the post scarce dared to make a sally, lest their retreat should be cut off by a detached party of assailants.Hence Jackson would never have dreamed of quitting his house, or ceasing to act on the defensive, had he not been under the natural impression that it was his own returning cow-boys who had been attacked and out-numbered by the Indians. Great, therefore, was his surprise when, on rounding a bluff and coming into view of the battle-field, the party engaged with the Indians, though evidently white men, were neither his own men nor those of the US troops.He had just made the discovery, when a band of about fifty warriors burst from the woods and rushed upon him.“Back to back, boys! girls, keep close!” shouted Jackson, as he fired two shots and dropped two Indians. He pulled at a third, but there was no answering report, for the magazine of his repeater was empty.Crux and Darvall turned their backs towards him and thus formed a sort of triangle, in the midst of which were the two girls. But this arrangement, which might have enabled them to hold out for some time, was rendered almost abortive by the ammunition having been exhausted.“So much for bein’ in too great a hurry!” growled Jackson between his clenched teeth, as he clubbed his rifle and made a savage blow at the Indian who first came close to him. It was evident that the Indians were afraid to fire lest they should wound or kill the women; or, perhaps, understanding how matters stood, they wished to capture the white men alive, for, instead of firing at them, they circled swiftly round, endeavouring to distract their attention so as to rash in on them.Bigfoot, who had recovered from his blow and escaped from the ranch, made a sudden dash at Dick when he thought him off his guard, but Dick was not easily caught off his guard in a fight. While in the act of making a furious demonstration at an Indian in front, which kept that savage off, he gave Bigfoot a “back-handed wipe,” as he called it, which tumbled the chief completely off his horse.Just then a turn of affairs in favour of the whites was taking place on the battle-field beyond. The party there had attacked the savages with such fury as to scatter them right and left and they were now riding down at racing speed on the combatants, whose fortunes we have followed thus far.Two men rode well in advance of the party with a revolver in each hand.“Why, it’s Charlie Brooke! Hurrah!” yelled Darvall with delight.“An’ Buck Tom!” roared Jackson in amazement.So sudden was the onset that the Indians were for a moment paralysed, and the two horsemen, firing right and left as they rode up, dashed straight into the very midst of the savages. In a moment they were alongside of their friends, while the rest of the outlaw band were already engaged on the outskirts of the crowd.The very danger of the white men constituted to some extent their safety; for they were so outnumbered and surrounded that the Indians seemed afraid to fire lest they should shoot each other. To add to the confusion, another party of whites suddenly appeared on the scene and attacked the “Reds” with a wild cheer. This was Jackson’s little band of cow-boys. They numbered only eight; but the suddenness of their appearance tended further to distract the savages.While the noise was at its height a sound, or rather sensation, of many feet beating the earth was felt. Next moment a compact line was seen to wheel round the bluff where the fight was going on, and a stentorian “Charge!” was uttered, as the United States cavalry, preceded by Hunky Ben, bore down with irresistible impetuosity on the foe.But the Indians did not await this onset. They turned and fled, scattering as they went, and the fight was quickly turned into a total rout and hot pursuit, in which troopers, outlaws, travellers, ranch-men, scouts, and cow-boys joined. The cavalry, however, had ridden far and fast, so that the wiry little mustangs of the plains soon left them behind, and the bugle ere long recalled them all.It was found on the assembling of the forces that not one of the outlaws had returned. Whether they were bent on wreaking their vengeance still more fully on their foes, or had good reason for wishing to avoid a meeting with troops, was uncertain; but it was shrewdly suspected that the latter was the true reason.“But you led the charge with Buck Tom, sir,” said Jackson to Charlie, in considerable surprise, “though how you came to be inhiscompany is more than I can understand.”“Here’s somebody that can explain, maybe,” said one of the cow-boys, leading forward a wounded man whose face was covered with blood, while he limped as if hurt in the legs. “I found him tryin’ to crawl into the brush. D’ye know him, boys?”“Why, it’s Jake the Flint!” exclaimed several voices simultaneously; while more than one hand was laid on a revolver, as if to inflict summary punishment.“I claim this man as my prisoner,” said the commander of the troops, with a stern look that prevented any attempt at violence.“Ay, you’ve got me at last,” said the outlaw, with a look of scorn. “You’ve bin a precious long time about it too.”“Secure him,” said the officer, deigning no reply to these remarks.Two troopers dismounted, and with a piece of rope began to tie the outlaw’s hands behind him.“I arrest you also,” said the commander to Charlie, who suddenly found a trooper on each side of him. These took him lightly by each arm, while a third seized his bridle.“Sir!” exclaimed our hero, while the blood rushed to his forehead, “I amnotan outlaw!”“Excuse me,” returned the officer politely, “but my duty is plain. There are a good many gentlemanly outlaws about at present. You are found joining in fight with a notorious band. Until you can clear yourself you must consider yourself my prisoner.—Disarm and bind him.”For one moment Charlie felt an almost irresistible impulse to fell the men who held him, but fortunately the absurdity of his position forced itself on him, and he submitted, well knowing that his innocence would be established immediately.“Is not this man one of your band, Jake?” asked the officer quietly.“Yes, he is,” replied the man with a malevolent grin. “He’s not long joined. This is his first scrimmage with us.”Charlie was so thunderstruck at this speech that he was led back to the ranch in a sort of dazed condition. As for Dick Darvall, he was rendered speechless, and felt disposed to regard the whole thing as a sort of dream, for his attempted explanations were totally disregarded.Arrived at the house, Charlie and Jake were locked up in separate rooms, and sentries placed beneath their windows—this in addition to the security of hand-cuffs and roped arms. Then breakfast was prepared for the entire company, and those who had been wounded in the fight were attended to by Hunky Ben—a self-taught surgeon—with Mary and Buttercup to act as dressers.“I say, Jackson,” observed Darvall, when the worthy ranch-man found leisure to attend to him, “of courseyouknow that this is all nonsense—an abominable lie about my friend Brooke being an outlaw?”“Of course I do, Dick,” said Jackson, in a tone of sympathy; “an’ you may be cock-sure I’ll do what I can to help ’im. But he’ll have to prove himself a true man, an’ therearesome mysteries about him that it puzzles me to think how he’ll clear ’em up.”“Mysteries?” echoed Dick.“Ay, mysteries. I’ve had some talk wi’ Hunky Ben, an’ he’s as much puzzled as myself, if not more.”“Well, then, I’m puzzled more than either of ye,” returned Dick, “for my friend and mate is as true a man—all straight an’ aboveboard—as ever I met with on sea or land.”“That may be, boy, but there’s some mystery about him, somehow.”“Can ye explain what the mystery is, Jackson?”“Well, this is what Hunky Ben says. He saw your friend go off the other night alone to Traitor’s Trap, following in the footsteps o’ that notorious outlaw Buck Tom. Feelin’ sure that Buck meant to waylay your friend, Hunky followed him up and overshot him to a place where he thought it likely the outlaw would lay in wait. Sure enough, when he got there he found Buck squattin’ behind a big rock. So he waited to see what would turn up and be ready to rescue your friend. An’ what d’ye think did turn up?”“Don’ know,” said Dick, with a look of solemn wonder.“Why, when Buck stepped out an’ bid him throw up his hands, your friend merely looked at Buck and said somethin’ that Hunky couldn’t hear, an then Buck dropped his pistol, and your friend got off his horse, and they shook hands and went off as thick as thieves together. An’ now, as you’ve seen an’ heard, your friend turns up headin’ a charge of the outlaws—an’ a most notable charge it was—alongside o’ Buck Tom. Jake the Flint too claims him for a comrade. Pretty mysterious all that, ain’t it?”“May I ask,” said Dick, with some scorn in his tone, “who is this Hunky Ben, that his word should be considered as good as a bank-note?”“He’s the greatest scout an’ the best an’ truest man on the frontier,” replied Jackson.“H’m! so Miss Mary seems to think too.”“An’ Mary thinks right.”“An’ who may this Jake the Flint be?” asked the sailor.“The greatest scoundrel, cattle and horse stealer, and cut-throat on the frontier.”“So then,” rejoined Dick, with some bitterness, “it would seem that my friend and mate is taken up for an outlaw on the word o’ the two greatest men on the frontier!”“It looks like it, Dick, coupled, of course, wi’ your friend’s own actions. But never you fear, man. There must be a mistake o’ some sort, somewhere, an’ it’s sure to come out, for I’d as soon believe my Mary to be an outlaw as your friend—though I never set eyes on him before the other day. The fact is, Dick, that I’ve learned physiognomy since—”“Fizzi-what-umy?” interrupted Dick.“Physiognomy—the study o’ faces—since I came to live on the frontier, an’ I’m pretty sure to know an honest man from a rogue as soon as I see him an’ hear him speak—though I can’t always prove myself right.”Dick and his host were thus conversing, and the soldiers were regaling themselves in the hall, the commander of the troops and Hunky Ben were engaged in earnest conversation with Charlie Brooke, who gave an account of himself that quite cleared up the mystery of his meeting, and afterwards being found associated with, the outlaws.“It’s a queer story,” said Hunky Ben, who, besides being what his friends called a philosopher, was prone at times to moralise. “It’s a queer story, an’ shows that a man shouldn’t bounce at a conclusion till he’s larned all the ins an’ outs of a matter.”“Of course, Mr Brooke,” said the officer, when Dick had finished his narration, “your companion knows all this and can corroborate what you have said?”“Not all,” replied Charlie. “He is an old shipmate whom I picked up on arriving at New York, and only knows that I am in search of an old school-fellow who has given way to dissipation and got into trouble here. Of my private and family affairs he knows nothing.”“Well, you have cleared yourself, Mr Brooke,” continued the Captain, whose name was Wilmot, “but I’m sorry to have to add that you have not cleared the character of your friend Leather, whose name has for a considerable time been associated with the notorious band led by your old school-fellow Ritson, who is known in this part of the country as Buck Tom. One of the worst of this gang of highwaymen, Jake the Flint, has, as you know, fallen into my hands, and will soon receive his deserts as a black-hearted murderer. I have recently obtained trustworthy information as to the whereabouts of the gang, and I am sorry to say that I shall have to ask you to guide me to their den in Traitor’s Trap.”“Is it my duty to do this?” asked Charlie, with a troubled look at the officer.“It is the duty of every honest man to facilitate the bringing of criminals to justice.”“But I have strong reason for believing that my friend Leather, although reckless and dissipated, joined these men unwillingly—was forced to do it in fact—and has been suffering from the result of a severe injury ever since joining, so that he has not assisted them at all in their nefarious work. Then, as to Ritson, I am convinced that he repents of his course of conduct. Indeed, I know that his men have been rebellious of late, and this very Jake has been aspiring to the leadership of the gang.”“Your feelings regarding these men may be natural,” returned the captain, “but my duty is to use you in this matter. Believing what you say of yourself I will treat you as a gentleman, but if you decline to guide me to the nest of this gang I must treat you still as a prisoner.”“May I have a little time to think over the matter before answering?”“So that you may have a chance of escaping me?” replied the Captain.“Nothing was further from my thoughts,” said Charlie, with a flush of indignation.“I believe you, Mr Brooke,” rejoined the Captain with gravity. “Let me know any time before twelve to-day what course you deem it right to take. By noon I shall sound boot and saddle, when you will be ready to start. Your nautical friend here may join us if he chooses.”Now, while this investigation into the affairs of one prisoner was going on, the other prisoner, Jake, was busily employed investigating his own affairs with a view to escape.How he fared in this investigation we reserve for another chapter.
The ground in the neighbourhood of the ranch favoured the operations of an attacking party, for it was so irregular and so cumbered with knolls and clumps of trees that the defenders of the post scarce dared to make a sally, lest their retreat should be cut off by a detached party of assailants.
Hence Jackson would never have dreamed of quitting his house, or ceasing to act on the defensive, had he not been under the natural impression that it was his own returning cow-boys who had been attacked and out-numbered by the Indians. Great, therefore, was his surprise when, on rounding a bluff and coming into view of the battle-field, the party engaged with the Indians, though evidently white men, were neither his own men nor those of the US troops.
He had just made the discovery, when a band of about fifty warriors burst from the woods and rushed upon him.
“Back to back, boys! girls, keep close!” shouted Jackson, as he fired two shots and dropped two Indians. He pulled at a third, but there was no answering report, for the magazine of his repeater was empty.
Crux and Darvall turned their backs towards him and thus formed a sort of triangle, in the midst of which were the two girls. But this arrangement, which might have enabled them to hold out for some time, was rendered almost abortive by the ammunition having been exhausted.
“So much for bein’ in too great a hurry!” growled Jackson between his clenched teeth, as he clubbed his rifle and made a savage blow at the Indian who first came close to him. It was evident that the Indians were afraid to fire lest they should wound or kill the women; or, perhaps, understanding how matters stood, they wished to capture the white men alive, for, instead of firing at them, they circled swiftly round, endeavouring to distract their attention so as to rash in on them.
Bigfoot, who had recovered from his blow and escaped from the ranch, made a sudden dash at Dick when he thought him off his guard, but Dick was not easily caught off his guard in a fight. While in the act of making a furious demonstration at an Indian in front, which kept that savage off, he gave Bigfoot a “back-handed wipe,” as he called it, which tumbled the chief completely off his horse.
Just then a turn of affairs in favour of the whites was taking place on the battle-field beyond. The party there had attacked the savages with such fury as to scatter them right and left and they were now riding down at racing speed on the combatants, whose fortunes we have followed thus far.
Two men rode well in advance of the party with a revolver in each hand.
“Why, it’s Charlie Brooke! Hurrah!” yelled Darvall with delight.
“An’ Buck Tom!” roared Jackson in amazement.
So sudden was the onset that the Indians were for a moment paralysed, and the two horsemen, firing right and left as they rode up, dashed straight into the very midst of the savages. In a moment they were alongside of their friends, while the rest of the outlaw band were already engaged on the outskirts of the crowd.
The very danger of the white men constituted to some extent their safety; for they were so outnumbered and surrounded that the Indians seemed afraid to fire lest they should shoot each other. To add to the confusion, another party of whites suddenly appeared on the scene and attacked the “Reds” with a wild cheer. This was Jackson’s little band of cow-boys. They numbered only eight; but the suddenness of their appearance tended further to distract the savages.
While the noise was at its height a sound, or rather sensation, of many feet beating the earth was felt. Next moment a compact line was seen to wheel round the bluff where the fight was going on, and a stentorian “Charge!” was uttered, as the United States cavalry, preceded by Hunky Ben, bore down with irresistible impetuosity on the foe.
But the Indians did not await this onset. They turned and fled, scattering as they went, and the fight was quickly turned into a total rout and hot pursuit, in which troopers, outlaws, travellers, ranch-men, scouts, and cow-boys joined. The cavalry, however, had ridden far and fast, so that the wiry little mustangs of the plains soon left them behind, and the bugle ere long recalled them all.
It was found on the assembling of the forces that not one of the outlaws had returned. Whether they were bent on wreaking their vengeance still more fully on their foes, or had good reason for wishing to avoid a meeting with troops, was uncertain; but it was shrewdly suspected that the latter was the true reason.
“But you led the charge with Buck Tom, sir,” said Jackson to Charlie, in considerable surprise, “though how you came to be inhiscompany is more than I can understand.”
“Here’s somebody that can explain, maybe,” said one of the cow-boys, leading forward a wounded man whose face was covered with blood, while he limped as if hurt in the legs. “I found him tryin’ to crawl into the brush. D’ye know him, boys?”
“Why, it’s Jake the Flint!” exclaimed several voices simultaneously; while more than one hand was laid on a revolver, as if to inflict summary punishment.
“I claim this man as my prisoner,” said the commander of the troops, with a stern look that prevented any attempt at violence.
“Ay, you’ve got me at last,” said the outlaw, with a look of scorn. “You’ve bin a precious long time about it too.”
“Secure him,” said the officer, deigning no reply to these remarks.
Two troopers dismounted, and with a piece of rope began to tie the outlaw’s hands behind him.
“I arrest you also,” said the commander to Charlie, who suddenly found a trooper on each side of him. These took him lightly by each arm, while a third seized his bridle.
“Sir!” exclaimed our hero, while the blood rushed to his forehead, “I amnotan outlaw!”
“Excuse me,” returned the officer politely, “but my duty is plain. There are a good many gentlemanly outlaws about at present. You are found joining in fight with a notorious band. Until you can clear yourself you must consider yourself my prisoner.—Disarm and bind him.”
For one moment Charlie felt an almost irresistible impulse to fell the men who held him, but fortunately the absurdity of his position forced itself on him, and he submitted, well knowing that his innocence would be established immediately.
“Is not this man one of your band, Jake?” asked the officer quietly.
“Yes, he is,” replied the man with a malevolent grin. “He’s not long joined. This is his first scrimmage with us.”
Charlie was so thunderstruck at this speech that he was led back to the ranch in a sort of dazed condition. As for Dick Darvall, he was rendered speechless, and felt disposed to regard the whole thing as a sort of dream, for his attempted explanations were totally disregarded.
Arrived at the house, Charlie and Jake were locked up in separate rooms, and sentries placed beneath their windows—this in addition to the security of hand-cuffs and roped arms. Then breakfast was prepared for the entire company, and those who had been wounded in the fight were attended to by Hunky Ben—a self-taught surgeon—with Mary and Buttercup to act as dressers.
“I say, Jackson,” observed Darvall, when the worthy ranch-man found leisure to attend to him, “of courseyouknow that this is all nonsense—an abominable lie about my friend Brooke being an outlaw?”
“Of course I do, Dick,” said Jackson, in a tone of sympathy; “an’ you may be cock-sure I’ll do what I can to help ’im. But he’ll have to prove himself a true man, an’ therearesome mysteries about him that it puzzles me to think how he’ll clear ’em up.”
“Mysteries?” echoed Dick.
“Ay, mysteries. I’ve had some talk wi’ Hunky Ben, an’ he’s as much puzzled as myself, if not more.”
“Well, then, I’m puzzled more than either of ye,” returned Dick, “for my friend and mate is as true a man—all straight an’ aboveboard—as ever I met with on sea or land.”
“That may be, boy, but there’s some mystery about him, somehow.”
“Can ye explain what the mystery is, Jackson?”
“Well, this is what Hunky Ben says. He saw your friend go off the other night alone to Traitor’s Trap, following in the footsteps o’ that notorious outlaw Buck Tom. Feelin’ sure that Buck meant to waylay your friend, Hunky followed him up and overshot him to a place where he thought it likely the outlaw would lay in wait. Sure enough, when he got there he found Buck squattin’ behind a big rock. So he waited to see what would turn up and be ready to rescue your friend. An’ what d’ye think did turn up?”
“Don’ know,” said Dick, with a look of solemn wonder.
“Why, when Buck stepped out an’ bid him throw up his hands, your friend merely looked at Buck and said somethin’ that Hunky couldn’t hear, an then Buck dropped his pistol, and your friend got off his horse, and they shook hands and went off as thick as thieves together. An’ now, as you’ve seen an’ heard, your friend turns up headin’ a charge of the outlaws—an’ a most notable charge it was—alongside o’ Buck Tom. Jake the Flint too claims him for a comrade. Pretty mysterious all that, ain’t it?”
“May I ask,” said Dick, with some scorn in his tone, “who is this Hunky Ben, that his word should be considered as good as a bank-note?”
“He’s the greatest scout an’ the best an’ truest man on the frontier,” replied Jackson.
“H’m! so Miss Mary seems to think too.”
“An’ Mary thinks right.”
“An’ who may this Jake the Flint be?” asked the sailor.
“The greatest scoundrel, cattle and horse stealer, and cut-throat on the frontier.”
“So then,” rejoined Dick, with some bitterness, “it would seem that my friend and mate is taken up for an outlaw on the word o’ the two greatest men on the frontier!”
“It looks like it, Dick, coupled, of course, wi’ your friend’s own actions. But never you fear, man. There must be a mistake o’ some sort, somewhere, an’ it’s sure to come out, for I’d as soon believe my Mary to be an outlaw as your friend—though I never set eyes on him before the other day. The fact is, Dick, that I’ve learned physiognomy since—”
“Fizzi-what-umy?” interrupted Dick.
“Physiognomy—the study o’ faces—since I came to live on the frontier, an’ I’m pretty sure to know an honest man from a rogue as soon as I see him an’ hear him speak—though I can’t always prove myself right.”
Dick and his host were thus conversing, and the soldiers were regaling themselves in the hall, the commander of the troops and Hunky Ben were engaged in earnest conversation with Charlie Brooke, who gave an account of himself that quite cleared up the mystery of his meeting, and afterwards being found associated with, the outlaws.
“It’s a queer story,” said Hunky Ben, who, besides being what his friends called a philosopher, was prone at times to moralise. “It’s a queer story, an’ shows that a man shouldn’t bounce at a conclusion till he’s larned all the ins an’ outs of a matter.”
“Of course, Mr Brooke,” said the officer, when Dick had finished his narration, “your companion knows all this and can corroborate what you have said?”
“Not all,” replied Charlie. “He is an old shipmate whom I picked up on arriving at New York, and only knows that I am in search of an old school-fellow who has given way to dissipation and got into trouble here. Of my private and family affairs he knows nothing.”
“Well, you have cleared yourself, Mr Brooke,” continued the Captain, whose name was Wilmot, “but I’m sorry to have to add that you have not cleared the character of your friend Leather, whose name has for a considerable time been associated with the notorious band led by your old school-fellow Ritson, who is known in this part of the country as Buck Tom. One of the worst of this gang of highwaymen, Jake the Flint, has, as you know, fallen into my hands, and will soon receive his deserts as a black-hearted murderer. I have recently obtained trustworthy information as to the whereabouts of the gang, and I am sorry to say that I shall have to ask you to guide me to their den in Traitor’s Trap.”
“Is it my duty to do this?” asked Charlie, with a troubled look at the officer.
“It is the duty of every honest man to facilitate the bringing of criminals to justice.”
“But I have strong reason for believing that my friend Leather, although reckless and dissipated, joined these men unwillingly—was forced to do it in fact—and has been suffering from the result of a severe injury ever since joining, so that he has not assisted them at all in their nefarious work. Then, as to Ritson, I am convinced that he repents of his course of conduct. Indeed, I know that his men have been rebellious of late, and this very Jake has been aspiring to the leadership of the gang.”
“Your feelings regarding these men may be natural,” returned the captain, “but my duty is to use you in this matter. Believing what you say of yourself I will treat you as a gentleman, but if you decline to guide me to the nest of this gang I must treat you still as a prisoner.”
“May I have a little time to think over the matter before answering?”
“So that you may have a chance of escaping me?” replied the Captain.
“Nothing was further from my thoughts,” said Charlie, with a flush of indignation.
“I believe you, Mr Brooke,” rejoined the Captain with gravity. “Let me know any time before twelve to-day what course you deem it right to take. By noon I shall sound boot and saddle, when you will be ready to start. Your nautical friend here may join us if he chooses.”
Now, while this investigation into the affairs of one prisoner was going on, the other prisoner, Jake, was busily employed investigating his own affairs with a view to escape.
How he fared in this investigation we reserve for another chapter.