The guns cracked in rapid succession, and the howls which followed proved that the ammunition had not been thrown away. The wolves sprang upon their wounded comrades and commenced to devour them, and George seized the opportunity to put in two excellent shots. During the delay thus occasioned, short as it was, the wolves were left far behind, and the boys had ample opportunity to load their guns. Harry, although generally very timid, when he found himself placed in danger, was the most cool and collected one of the party; and it was well that it was so, for it required all his presence of mind and power of muscle to keep the moose on the ice. He was struggling desperately, first to relieve himself of the weight of the sled, and, failing in this, he would make frantic endeavors to turn into the woods. If any part of the harness should break, they would be left at the mercy of their pursuers.
Again and again did the fierce animals overtake them, and as often were some of their number stretched on the snow. At length, a loud hurrahfrom Harry announced that they were nearing home; and a few moments afterward, just as the wolves were closing around them again, the sled entered Uncle Joe’s “clearing.” The noise of purling waters to the desert-worn pilgrim never sounded sweeter than did the sharp crack of rifles and the familiar voices of the trapper and his brother, to the ears of the rescued boys. The inmates of the cabin had heard the noise of the pursuit, and had rushed out to their assistance.
The moose was speedily unhitched from the sled, and after the boys had closed and fastened the doors of the cabin, they began to breathe more freely.
SUPPERover, the hunters drew their chairs around the fireplace, and Dick, after filling his pipe, and drawing a few puffs by way of inspiration, said:
“I believe I onct told you ’bout havin’ my hoss pulled out from under me by a grizzly bar, didn’t I? Wal, I told you, too, that I ketched another, an’ I had a job to do it, too—to ketch the one I wanted; an’ the time you’ve had tryin’ to ketch that black fox reminds me of it. You know, I s’pose, that large droves of wild hosses roam all over the prairy, an’ them droves ar allers led by some splendid animal—allers a stallion—one that has got the legs to go like lightnin’, an’ the wind to keep it up. An’ he’s allers the cock o’ the walk, too—the bestfighter in the drove; an’ when he moves round, it would make you laugh to see the other hosses get out of his way. He holds his place until he dies, unless some other hoss comes along an’ wallops him. Then he takes his place with the common fags o’ the drove, an’ the new one is king till he gets licked, an’ so on. It ar a mighty hard thing to capture one o’ them leaders. You can ketch one o’ the others easy enough, but when it comes to lassoin’ the ‘king,’ it’s a thing that few trappers can do. Jest arter my scrape with the grizzly bar, Bill Lawson an’ me fell in with a lot o’ fellers that war goin’ to spend a season on the Saskatchewan, an’ they wanted me an’ Bill to join ’em; so I bought me a hoss of an ole Injun for a couple o’ plugs o’ tobacker—reg’lar Jeems River it war, too—an’ we started out. My new hoss was ’bout as ugly a lookin’ thing as I ever happened to set eyes on. He war big as all out-doors, an’ you could see every bone in his body. An’ he war ugly actin’, too; an’ if a feller come within reach of his heels, the way he would kick war a caution to Injuns. But I hadn’t been on the road more’n a day afore I diskivered that he could travel like a streak o’ greased lightnin’.That war jest the kind of a hoss I wanted, an’ I didn’t care ’bout his ugly looks arter that.
“For more’n three year, me an’ Bill had been keepin’ an eye on a hoss that we wanted to ketch. He war the leader of a large drove. He war a sort o’ iron-gray color, with a thick, archin’ neck—a purty feller; an’ the way he could climb over the prairy was a caution to cats. We warn’t the only ones arter him, either, for a’most every trapper in the country had seed him, an’ had more’n one chase arter him. But, bars and buffaler! It war no use ’t all, for he could run away from the fastest hosses, an’ not half try; an’ many a poor feller, who straddled a hoss that every body thought couldn’t be tuckered out, had left his animal dead on the prairy, an’ found his way back to his camp on foot. We war in hopes that we should see him, for we war travelin’ right through his country; an’ I knowed that if we did find him, I would stand as good a chance o’ ketchin’ him as any one, for my ugly-lookin’ hoss was the best traveler in the crowd.
“One night we camped on a little stream, called Bloody Creek. We called it so from a fight that a party of us fellers had there with the Injuns.About an hour arter supper, while we war all settin’ round the fire, smokin’ an’ telling stories, ole Bob Kelly—the oldest an’ best trapper in the country—started up off his blanket, an’, cockin’ his ear for a moment, said, ‘Somebody’s comin’, boys.’ An’, sure ’nough, in a few minits up walked a stranger.
“It ar a mighty uncommon thing to meet a teetotal stranger on the prairy, an’ a man don’t know whether he is a friend or foe; but we war mighty glad to see him, and crowded round him, askin’ all sorts o’ questions; an’ one took his rifle, an’ another pulled off his powder-horn an’ bullet-pouch, an’ a big feller dragged him to the fire, where we could all get a good look at him, an’ made him drink a big cup o’ coffee.
“‘Whar do you hail from, stranger?’ inquired ole Bob Kelly, who allers took them matters into his own hands, an’ we little fellers had to set round an’ listen.
“‘I b’long anywhere night ketches me,’ answered the stranger. ‘I’m an ole trapper in these yere parts.’
“‘Whar’s your hoss?’ asked ole Bob.
“‘I left him dead on the prairy—dead as aherrin’. I rid him a leetle too hard, I reckon. I war chasin’ up the black mustang.’
“If I should live to be a hundred year older ’n I’m now, an’ should live among the Blackfoot Injuns the hull time, I shouldn’t expect to hear another sich a yell as ’em trappers give when the stranger mentioned the black mustang. They crowded round him like a flock o’ sheep, all askin’ him questions; an’ he tried to answer ’em all to onct; an’ sich a row as there war round that camp-fire for a few minits! It war wusser nor any Injun war-dance I ever seed. Now, me an’ Bill hadn’t never seed the black mustang, nor heerd o’ him afore, ’cause we hadn’t trapped in that part o’ the country for a’most three year, but we knowed in a minit that it must be the leader o’ some drove. But Bill had lived among the Injuns so much that he had got kinder used to their ways, an’ he didn’t like to see them trappers carryin’ on so, an’ actin’ like a parcel o’ young’uns jest turned loose from school; so, as soon as he could make himself heered, he yelled:
“‘What in tarnation’s the matter with you fellers? As soon as you git through hollerin’, mean’ Dick would like to know what all this yere fuss is about.’
“‘Why, the black mustang has been within ten mile of this yere camp to-night,’ said one of the trappers.
“‘Wal, an’ what o’ that?’ said Bill. ’Ar the black mustang any better hoss than the gray king?’
“They all set up another yell at this, an’ one of ’em said:
“‘Why, the gray ain’t nothin’ ’long side o’ the black mustang. He could run away from him in less’n two minits. I guess you hain’t hearn tell of him, have you?’
“‘In course I hain’t,’ said Bill.
“‘Then you ain’t no great shakes of a trapper,’ said another.
“Now, the rascal knowed that war a lie, for there warn’t no trapper in the country that could lay over Bill, ’cept ole Bob Kelly, an’ every one said as how he war the best trapper agoin’; an’ the way Bill eyed the feller, made him kinder keerful of his we’pons for a day or two arterward.
“Arter talking a little while, we found out theblack mustang war the leader o’ the largest drove on the prairy. He had been round for ’bout a year, an’ every trapper in that part of the country had had a chase arter him; but it war like chasin’ the wind; an’ besides this, he could run all day, an’ be jest as fresh at night as when he started in the mornin’.
“‘Wal,’ thinks I, ‘Dick, here’s a good chance for you to try your hoss’s travelin’ qualities;’ an’ I made up my mind that I would start off an’ foller the black mustang till I ketched him, if it tuk me my lifetime.
“The next mornin’, arter breakfast, one o’ the trappers proposed that we should spend three or four days in huntin’ up the mustang, an’, in course, we all agreed to it. The stranger wanted to go, too, but we had no hoss to give him; so, arter biddin’ us all good-by, he shouldered his rifle an’ started out alone acrost the prairy. Wal, we spent a week tryin’ to find that hoss, but didn’t even get a sight at him; so one mornin’ old Bob Kelly concluded that we had better make another strike for the Saskatchewan. We packed up an’ got all ready to start, when I tuk them a good deal by surprise by tellin’ ’em that I war goin’ tostay an’ hunt up the black mustang. How they all laughed at me!
“‘Laugh away, boys,’ says I, as I got on to my hoss. ‘I’ll see you on the Saskatchewan in a month or so, an’ I’ll either bring the mustang with me, or he’ll be a dead hoss. If I can’t ketch him, I can shoot him, you know; an’ I won’t see you agin till I do one or the other. Good-by, fellers.’ An’ I turned my hoss an’ rode away from the camp.
“Wal, I rode all over them prairies for a’most six weeks, without seein’ the sign of a hoss; an’ one arternoon I stopped on the top of a high swell to take my reckonin’. I found myself on the east side o’ the Black Hills, an’ I knowed that my first job was to get on theotherside; the mustang had prob’bly struck off toward the mountains. So I began to look around for a good place to get over. The hills rose from the prairy reg’lar bluff-like—sometimes a hundred feet high, an’ so steep that a sheep couldn’t climb up ’em. Jest as it begun to grow dark, I come to a deep ravine, that seemed to run up into the hills a good way; an’ the bottom of this yere ravine was as hard an’ smooth as a floor, an’ looked as if it had beentraveled over a good deal. But I war kinder tired with my day’s tramp, an’ didn’t notice it much, for I thought it war nothin’ more’n a buffaler road; so I picked out a good place an’ camped for the night.
“’Arly the next mornin’ I set out agin; but as soon as I got on the road I knowed that no buffaler had made them tracks; they war mustangs, an’ there war the prints of their hoofs in the dust, plain as a bar’s ears. When I come to examine the signs, I found, as nigh as I could kalkerlate, that there war about three hundred hosses in the drove, an’ I knowed, from the looks of the tracks, that they had been along lately; so I pushed ahead as fast as my hoss could carry me, an’ that wasn’t slow, I tell you. I rid him all day at a tearin’ rate, an’ at dark he seemed as willin’ to go as when I started out. This put me in high spirits, an’ I made up my mind that if me and my hoss ever got arter that black mustang, he would have to pick up his feet mighty lively to get away from us. The next day, about noon, I war riding along at a thumpin’ rate, when all to onct I come to a place where the ravine opened into a small prairy, and scattered all over it warthe wild hosses, feedin’ away as peaceably as if no one had ever thought of disturbin’ them there. I pulled up so quick that it a’most brought my hoss on his haunches; but the mustangs had seed me, an’ the way they snorted an’ galloped about war a purty thing to look at. I drawed off into the bushes as quick as I could, an’ gathered up my lasso, which I allers carried at my saddle-bow, an’ then looked toward the drove agin. The first hoss I seed was the black mustang. He war runnin’ about, tossin’ his head an’ snortin’ as though he didn’t hardly understand the matter. He war the purtiest hoss I ever sot eyes on; but I couldn’t stop to examine his pints then. Then I tuk a look round the prairy, an’ saw that the hills rose on all sides of it; there was but one way the hosses could get out, an’ that war through the ravine. I war in luck for onct in my life. Now, you boys, if you had been there, would, most like, run out into the prairy to onct, an’ tried to ketch him, but that would have been a reg’lar boy trick, and would have spiled it all. I knowed that I had the black hoss surrounded, but if I begun to race him round that prairy, he would dodge me, an’ be off down the ravine like ashot; so I kept still in the bushes; an’ my hoss knowed his own bisness, and stood as though he war made of rock.
“Purty soon the hosses begun to get over their skeer an’ commenced comin’ toward me—the black hoss leadin’ the way. He would come a few steps, an’ then stop an’ paw the ground, an’ then come a little nearer, an’ so on, till he come within ’bout half a lasso-throw, when, all of a sudden, I give my hoss the word, an’ he jumped out o’ them bushes like a streak o’ lightnin’. It would have made you laugh to see the way them hosses put off; the black hoss, seemed to me, war on wings; but he hadn’t made three jumps afore my lasso war around his neck.The black mustang war mine!
“In about three weeks I reached the Saskatchewan, an’ if you could have heard the yell them trappers give when I rode up to the camp on the mustang, it would have done your heart good. I had kept my promise.”
DICKreplenished his pipe and prepared to rest, after his tale was completed, when Frank suddenly inquired:
“Dick, how came that scar on your face?”
The “scar” Frank had reference to, was an ugly-looking wen, extending entirely across the trapper’s face, and completely “spilin’ his good looks,” as he sometimes used to remark.
“That war done in a fight with some tarnal Greasers,” answered Dick. “I come mighty nigh havin’ my neck stretched that night, an’ the way it happened war this:”
After a few whiffs at his pipe, he continued:
“When our government war settlin’ our littledispute with the Mexikin Greasers, I, like a good many other trappers, thought that I should like to take a hand in the muss. I hate a Greaser wusser nor I do an Injun. So, arter a little talk, me an’ Bill jined a company o’ Rangers that war raised by an ole trapper we used to call Cap’n Steele. A’most every man in the company war a trapper or hunter, for the cap’n wouldn’t take only them as could show the claws o’ three or four grizzlies they had rubbed out, an’ as many Injun scalps.
“Wal, when we got together, I reckon we war about the roughest lookin’ set o’ men you ever see. Each one dressed as suited him best, an’ all armed with rifles, tomahawks, an’ huntin’-knives. But our looks didn’t seem to set ole Gen’ral Taylor agin us, for when we rode up to his camp, an’ our cap’n had told him what we war, an’ what we could do, he seemed mighty glad to see us; and we war sent to onct to the quarter-master, an’ detailed to take care o’ his cattle an’ hosses, fight guerrillas, an’ carry letters from one place to another. We knowed the country purty well, for there were few of us that hadn’t traveled over it more’n onct in our lives;but whenever we war sent off anywhere we used to have a Mexikin guide, who showed us the short cuts through the mountains.
“Wal, just arter the battle o’ Monterey, our company war cut up into little squads, an’ scattered all over the country; some went with the gen’ral, an’ some war put in Cap’n Morgan’s company, an’ sent scoutin’ around, an’ four of us war left at Monterey with the quarter-master.
“One day ole Bill come to me an’ said:
“‘Dick, the kurnel wants to see you. I guess he’s got some business for you to ’tend to.’
“I went up to the head-quarters, an’ the kurnel told me that he had some very important letters which he wanted to send to Major Davis, who was then stationed at a little town called Alamo, an’ as I had the finest hoss in the town, he thought it best to send me. Alamo war on the other side o’ the mountains, an’ about a hundred an’ fifty miles off. As the kurnel had said, I had the best hoss in the hull camp, an’, in course, it wouldn’t have been no trouble to have gone there if the country had been clear—the ride wasn’t nothin’; but the Mexikins war comin’ down toward Monterey, an’ the kurnel thoughtthat they war goin’ to try to take the city from us agin. I knowed there war danger in it, but I didn’t mind that. I war used to it, an’ if I got into a scrape, it wouldn’t be the first one I war in; so I started off arter my hoss, an’ in a few minits I war ready an’ waitin’ at the kurnel’s door for the letters. Purty soon he come out an’ give ’em to me, sayin’:
“‘Now, Dick, be mighty keerful of ’em, ’cause there’s some news in ’em that I shouldn’t like to have the Mexikins get hold of. This man,’ pintin’ to a Greaser that stood a little behind me, holdin’ his hoss, ‘will be your guide. He knows all about the mountains.’ Then, movin’ up a little closer to me, he whispered: ‘He’ll bear watchin’, I think; I don’t know much about him, but he is the only man I have got to send with you, an’ them letters must be in Major Davis’s hands by to-morrow night.’
“‘All right, kurnel,’ I answered; ‘I’ll look out for him. I never see a Greaser yet that could pull the wool over my eyes. I’ll give the letters to Major Davis afore this time to-morrow. Good by.’ An’ me an’ the guide rid off.
“As soon as I had got out of the city, I turnedto have a look at my guide, an’ I thought, as the kurnel had said, that he would bear watchin’. He war the most villainous lookin’ Mexikin I ever sot eyes on. He war a young feller, not more’n twenty-two or twenty-three year old; but he had an eye that looked like an eagle’s, an’ it wasn’t still a minit. He war dressed in a reg’lar Greaser’s rig, with a slouch hat, short jacket, all covered with gold lace, an’ pantaloons, wide at the bottom, an’ open on the side as far as his knees. He had a splendid hoss, an’ war armed with a carbine, short saber, an’ a lasso; an’ I knowed that if me an’ him got into a muss, that lasso would bother me more’n his sword or shootin’-iron. The Greasers, as a gen’ral thing, ain’t no great shakes at shootin’, an’ in a rough-an’-tumble fight they ain’t nowhere; but them ar raw-hide lassoes ar the meanest things in the world to fight; they’ll have one of ’em around your neck afore you know it. I had a little experience in that line afore I got back. Arter we had got outside o’ the pickets a little way, he turned in his saddle, an’ tried to commence a talk with me in Spanish; but I made him believe that I couldn’t understand a word he said. I thought that if I should tell him thatI couldn’t talk his lingo, it would make him a little keerless; an’ so it did.
“We rid all day as fast as our hosses could travel, an’ afore dark we got acrost the mountains, an’ stopped afore a little house, where the guide said would be a good place to pass the night. I didn’t much like the idee; had rather camp right down in the woods; but, in course, that would only put him on the look-out, an’ I knowed that the best way to do war to act as though I thought every thing war all right. A man come to the gate as we rid up, an’, as soon as he see my guide, he touched his hat to him in reg’lar soldier style. The guide answered the salute, an’ asked the man, in Spanish:
“‘Are you alone, José?’
“‘Yes, gen’ral,’ answered the man. Then making a slight motion toward me, which, I made believe I didn’t notice, he asked:
“‘But the American?’
“’O, he can’t understand Spanish,’ said my rascally guide. ‘No fear of him; he thinks it’s all right. Did you receive my letter?’
“‘Yes, gen’ral,’ answered the man, touching his hat agin.
“‘Don’t make so many motions, you fool,’ said my guide; ‘the American is not blind. You got my letter all right, you say? Then Bastian, with five hundred men, will be here at midnight?’
“‘Yes, gen’ral.’
“The guide seemed satisfied, for he got off his hoss, an’ motioned me, with a good many smiles an’ grimaces, to do the same. I could see that I war in a purty tight place, an’ I had a good notion to draw one o’ my six-shooters an’ kill both o’ the rascals where they stood. But, thinks I, there may be more of these yere yaller-bellies around here somewhere, an’ besides, if I wait, I may get a chance to capture the gen’ral, for my guide war none other than Gen’ral Cortinas, an’ one o’ the best officers the Mexikins had. He had bothered us more’n their hull army, an’ the kurnel had offered to give a thousand dollars for him alive, or five hundred for his scalp. I didn’t care a snap for the money, ’cause it warn’t no use to me on the prairy; all I wanted war a good Kentucky rifle, plenty o’ powder an’ lead, an’ a good hoss, an’ I war satisfied. But I wanted to capture that gen’ral, an’ take him into camp, for he war anuisance. In battle he never showed no quarter, an’ if he tuk any prisoners, it war only that he might let his men try their hands at shootin’. He seemed to understand fightin’ better nor the rest o’ the Mexikins, an’ it showed that he war a brave feller when he would come right into camp, with sich a price sot on his head.
“I warn’t long in makin’ up my mind what I ought to do, an’ I got down off my hoss, as though there warn’t a Greaser within a hundred miles o’ me; but, instead o’ givin the hoss into charge o’ the man, I hit him a cut with my whip that sent him flyin’ up the road. I knowed that he wouldn’t be far off when I wanted him, an’ I knowed, too, that my saddle an’ pistols war safe, ’cause nobody couldn’t ketch him besides me. Arter goin’ a little way up the road, he turned an’ looked back, an’ then jumped over a hedge into a field, an’ begun to eat. I could see that the Mexikins didn’t like it a bit, for they looked at each other an’ scowled, an’ José said:
“‘Carrajo!do you s’pose the American suspects any thing, gen’ral?’
“‘It don’t make no difference whether he does or not, said my guide, turnin’ on his heel, an’motionin’ me to follow him to the house; ‘he’s in our power, an’ don’t leave this place alive.’
“Now, you wouldn’t have called that very pleasant news, I take it. Wal, it did make me feel rather onpleasant; but I didn’t exactly believe what the ole rascal had said about my not goin’ away alive. Thinks I, shootin’ is a game two can play at, an’ as long as you don’t bring them tarnal lassoes round, I’m all right. I had never seed a six-shooter afore I went into the army, but I had l’arnt to use ’em a’most as well as I could my rifle. I found that they war mighty handy things in a fight. I had four of ’em, two in my huntin’-shirt, and two had gone off with my hoss; an’ I knowed that when the time come I could get up a nice little fight for the Greasers.
“There war only two women in the house, an’ they seemed mighty glad to see him, an’ sot out a cheer for him; but they scowled at me, an’ left me to stand up. But that didn’t trouble me none, for I helped myself to a seat, an’ listened to what my guide war sayin’ to ’em. He war mighty perlite, an’ talked an’ laughed, an’ told the women as how he war goin’ to rub me out as soon as hismen come; an’ then he war goin’ to pitch into Cap’n Morgan, who war out scoutin’ with his company, an’ had camped a little piece back in the mountains.
“It war the kurnel’s order that I should see him as we passed through the mountains, an’ send him to Monterey to onct, afore the Mexikins could ketch him. But my rascally guide had heered the order, an’ had led me out o’ my way, so that I shouldn’t see him. I listened with both my ears, an’ arter I had heered all the rascal’s plans, which were purty nicely laid out for a boy, I made up my mind that he would be a leetle disappointed when he tried to ketch Cap’n Morgan.
“In a little while the man that had tuk charge o’ the gen’ral’s hoss come in, an’ I soon found out that he war the man that war expected to do the business of cuttin’ my throat. But the gen’ral told him not to try it till midnight, when he would have plenty of men to back him up. This showed me that, brave as the young Greaser war when leadin’ his men, he didn’t like the idee o’ pitchin’ into an American single-handed. I guess he knowed by my looks that I could do some purty good fightin’.
“Arter eatin’ a hearty supper, an’ smokin’ a cigar with the gen’ral, I wrapped myself up in my blanket, which I had tuk from my saddle afore lettin’ my hoss go, an’ laid myself away in one corner of the room. The Mexikins didn’t like this, an’ one o’ the women made me understand by signs that there war a bed for me up stairs. But I thought that my chances for escape would be much better where I war; so I motioned her to go away, an’ pretended to go to sleep. The gen’ral an’ his man had a long talk about it, an’ I expected every minit to hear him tell the feller to shoot me. If he had, it would have been the signal for his own death, for I had both my revolvers under my blanket. But no sich order war given, an’ finally the gen’ral, arter tellin’ the man to keep a good watch on me, went into another room an’ went to bed, an’ his man stretched himself out on his cloak, right afore the door.
“Wal, I waited about two hours for him to go to sleep, an’ then made up my mind that I might as well be travelin’. So I throwed off my blanket an’ war risin’ to my feet, when ‘bang’ went the feller’s pistol, an’ the bullet whizzed by my head an’ went into the wall. I warn’t more’n tenfeet from him, an’ I’ll be blamed if he didn’t miss me. The next minit I had him by the throat, an’ a blow from the butt of one o’ my six-shooters done the work for him. I dragged him away from the door, jumped down the steps, an’ made tracks through the garden.
“The night war purty dark, but I knowed which way to go to get out o’ the yard, which war surrounded by a palin’ eight foot high. You’d better believe I runsome; but I hadn’t gone twenty yards from the house afore I run slap agin somebody. I thought at first that it war the gen’ral, an’ I muzzled him. ‘Carrajo!what does this mean?’ said the Mexikin, in Spanish. As soon as I heered his voice, I knowed that he warn’t the feller I wanted; most likely he war one o’ the men the gen’ral had been expectin’; so I give him a settler with my knife, an’ tuk to my heels agin.
“The pistol that the Mexikin had fired in the house had set the women a goin’; an’, when I reached the fence, I heered ’em yellin’ an’ wailin’ over the feller I had knocked down. I didn’t stop to listen to ’em, but jumped over into the field where my hoss war, an’ commenced whistlin’for him. I thought he war a long while a coming an’ I ran along whistlin’, an’ wonderin’ where he had gone to. Purty soon I heered his whinny, an’ see him comin’ toward me like mad; an’ right behind him war three or four Mexikins, with their lassoes all ready to ketch him. But my hoss war leavin’ ’em behind fast; for the way he could climb over the ground when he onct made up his mind to run, war a caution to them Greasers. He come right up to me, an’ in a minit I war on his back.
“I now felt safe. The first thing I did war to pull out my huntin’-knife an’ fasten it to my wrist with a piece o’ buckskin; then, drawin’ one o’ my revolvers, I turned in my saddle, an’ thought I would stir up the Greasers a little, when all to onct somethin’ struck me in the face like a club, an’ I war lifted from my saddle clean as a whistle, and the next minit I war bumpin’ an’ draggin’ over the ground in a mighty onpleasant kind of a way. One o’ the Greasers had slipped his lasso over me, an’ war pullin’ me along as fast as his hoss could travel. I fell right flat on my face, an’ every step the Greaser’s hoss tuk plowed my nose in the ground, an’ myeyes war so full o’ dirt an’ blood that I could scarcely see.
“But I war not quite so fast as the Greaser had thought for. The lasso hadn’t gone down round my neck, but had ketched jest above my chin. I hadn’t never been in sich a mighty onpleasant fix afore, but I warn’t long in gettin’ my wits about me. Reachin’ up with my huntin’-knife, I made a slash at the lasso, an’ the next minit wor standin’ on my feet agin. I had hung onto my revolver, an’, drawin’ a bead on the Greaser that had ketched me, I tumbled him from his saddle in a twinklin’. My hoss hadn’t run an inch arter I war pulled off his back, an’ I war soon in the saddle agin.
“I knowed I war safe now, for, as I galloped over the field, I see the Greasers travelin’ down the road as though Gen’ral Taylor’s army war arter ’em. They war three to my one, but didn’t think themselves a match for a single American.”
“BUTthat isn’t all the story,” said the trapper, again filling his pipe. “As soon as the Greasers had got out o’ sight, I galloped back toward the road an’ tuk the back track, intendin’ to find Cap’n Morgan, an’ tell him that the Mexikins were kalkerlatin’ on ketchin’ him, an’ then go on with my dispatches.
“I had paid purty good attention to what the gen’ral had told the women, an’ I knowed exactly what road to take to find the cap’n’s camp; an’ you’d better believe I ridsome. Purty soon some one yelled out:
“‘Who goes there?’
“‘Friend!’ I shouted, ’an’ I want to see Cap’n Morgan to onct. I’ve got some news for him.’
“You’d better believe the ole cap’n opened hiseyes when I told him my story; an’ arter furnishin’ me with a fresh hoss—the best one in the camp—he set to work gettin’ ready for the Greasers. I didn’t much like the idee o’ startin’ out agin, for I didn’t know the short cuts through the country as well as I ought to, an’ the cap’n had no guide to send with me. But I knowed that them letters must be in Alamo by night, an’ I shouldn’t ever be able to look ole Bill Lawson in the face agin if I didn’t obey my orders; so, arter biddin’ the boys good-by, an’ wishin’ ’em good luck in fightin’ the Mexikins, I set out.
“I did plenty of doublin’ an’ twistin’ to get clear o’ the Greasers, for I met ’em about half way atween the mountains an’ the house where we had stopped, goin’ up to ketch the cap’n. They war in high spirits, but when they come down agin, about two hours arterward, they were runnin’ like white-heads, an’ the Texas boys were close at their heels.
“I war used to hard work, but when I got off my hoss that night in Alamo, I war about as tired a man as you ever see. Two days arterward I war back in Monterey agin. Ole Bill didn’t know me, for my face war purty well cut up. I told himthe story of the Mexikin gen’ral, an’ arter talkin’ the matter over, me an’ him concluded we would capture that Greaser, an’ started up to head-quarters to have a talk with the kurnel about it.
“‘You can’t do it, boys,’ says he. ‘If Cortinas war an Injun, you would be jist the fellers to do it; but you don’t know enough about soldierin’. Howsomever, you can try.’
“The next mornin’, when me an’ Bill rid up to the kurnel’s head-quarters to bid him good-by, you wouldn’t a knowed us. We had pulled off our huntin’-shirts an’ leggins, an’ war dressed in reg’lar Mexikin style. We left our rifles behind, an’ tuk carbines in their place. We didn’t like to do this; but if we had carried our long shootin’-irons into a Mexikin camp, any one would a knowed what we war. We had our six-shooters and huntin’-knives stowed away in our jackets.
“‘Good-by, kurnel,’ said Bill, shakin’ the ole soldier’s hand. ‘We’ll ketch that Greaser, or you’ll never see us agin.’
“‘Do your best, boys,’ said the kurnel. ‘Bring back the Greaser, an’ the thousand dollars are yourn.’
“We follered the same path that the gen’ral hadled me—takin’ keer not to ride too fast, ’cause we didn’t know what we might have for our hosses to do—an’ afore dark we come to the house where me an’ my guide had stopped, an’ knocked at the gate. When it war opened we could see that the place war full o’ Greasers; but that didn’t trouble us any, for we knowed that we should have to go into their camp if we wanted to ketch the gen’ral. We told the Greaser that come to the gate, that we were Mexikin soldiers, an’ wanted to stay there all night, an’ he war as perlite as we could wish—asked us to walk in, an’ sent a man to take keer of our hosses.
“This war the first time we had met a soldier in our new rig, an’ we were a little afeered that he might diskiver who we were; but we could both talk Spanish as well as he could, an’ the rascal didn’t suspect us.
“We asked to see the commandin’ officer, an’ when we found him we reported to him as scouts belongin’ to Gen’ral Santa Anna’s head-quarters, an’ that we had come with very important news for Gen’ral Cortinas. What that news was we didn’t know ourselves; but we knowed that we could get up a purty good story when the time come.
“‘All right,’ said the Greaser cap’n. ‘I’m goin’ up to Gen’ral Cortinas’ camp to-morrow, an’ you can ride right up with me.’
“We touched our hats to him an’ left the room. I hated mighty bad to salute that dirty Greaser jest as I would my kurnel. I had rather put a bullet in his yaller hide; but we war in for it, an’ we knowed that the hull thing depended on our behavin’ ourselves properly. As we passed out o’ the house we met the women, an’ I begun to shake in my boots agin, ’cause I knowed them women had sharp eyes, an’ I war afeered it war all up with us. But they didn’t suspect nothin’, an’ I knowed that we war safe; ’cause if they couldn’t see through the game we war playin’, nobody could.
“Wal, we went out into the yard an’ eat supper, an’ lay down around the fire with them ar dirty Mexikins, an’ listened to their insultin’ talk agin the Americans, an’, in course, jined in with ’em. They thought me an’ ole Bill war lucky dogs in bein’ with a great gen’ral like Santa Anna; but I couldn’t see what there war great in a man who, with an army o’ fifty thousand men, would run from six thousand. But we told ’em a goodmany things about the gen’ral that I guess they never heered afore, an’ we hadn’t heered of ’em neither; but they believed every thing we said war gospel truth, an’ we made our kalkerlations that in less nor a month the American army would all be prisoners.
“The next mornin’ we made an ’arly start, an’ that arternoon drew up in the Mexikin camp. It war a purty sight, I tell you—nothin’ to be seen but white tents as far as our eyes could reach. There warn’t less nor a hundred thousand men in that ar camp, an’ I begun to feel rather shaky when I thought of our small army at Monterey. While me an’ Bill war lookin’ about, a spruce little Greaser come up, an’ said that Gen’ral Cortinas war waitin’ to see us. We found the rascal in a large tent, with a sentry afore the door, an’ when I sot eyes on him, my fingers ached to ketch him by the throat. He looked jest as he did when me an’ him set out from Monterey together, only he had on a blue uniform.
“‘Wal, boys,’ said he, smilin’ an’ motionin’ us to set down, ‘I understand that you’re from Gen’ral Santa Anna, an’ have news for me.’
“‘Yes, gen’ral,’ said ole Bill, takin’ off hisslouch-hat, an’ scratchin’ his head as if thinkin’ what to say. ‘We’ve got news for you. If you want to ketch Cap’n Morgan an’ his band o’ cutthroats, I’ll tell you jest how you can do it.’
“‘How can it be done, my good feller,’ said the gen’ral, rubbin’ his hands. ‘I thought I should capture him the other night, but he had too many men for me.’
“‘Wal,’ said ole Bill, ‘me an’ this feller here’—pintin’ to me—’war in Monterey yesterday, an’ heered an order read to Cap’n Morgan to march out o’ the city at midnight, an’ jine Cap’n Davis at Alamo. Now, if you want to ketch him, all you have got to do is to take fifty men, an’ wait for him in the mountains. He has got jest twenty-eight men in his company.’
“‘I’ll do it,’ said the Greaser. ‘But I’ll take a hundred men, to make sure of him. Which road is he going to take?’
“‘That’s what we can’t tell exactly,’ said ole Bill. ‘But me an’ this feller thought that we would come an’ tell you, so that you could have every thing ready, an’ then go back and find out all their plans.’
“‘Very well,’ said the Greaser; an’, arter writin’ somethin’ on a piece o’ paper, he handed it to ole Bill, sayin’: ‘Here’s a pass for you an’ your friend to go in an’ out o’ the lines whenever you please. Now, you go back to Monterey, an’ find out all Cap’n Morgan’s plans, an’ I’ll go out with a hundred men an’ ketch him.’
“This war exactly what me an’ Bill wanted. We were afeered at first that he would send some one else instead o’ goin’ himself; but now we knowed that we war all right; the gen’ral war ourn, an’ no mistake.
“As soon as we got out o’ sight o’ the camp, we made good time, an’ afore midnight we war in the kurnel’s head-quarters. As soon as he heered our story, he sent for one o’ his officers, an’ told him to march ’arly the next evenin’ with eighty men, an’ draw up an ambush, in a deep gorge, through which ran the road that led to Alamo. An’ he ordered Cap’n Morgan, who had reached Monterey the day afore, to be ready to march through that gorge at midnight.
“Arter me an’ Bill had rested a little while, we set out on fresh hosses, an’, in a few hours, were back in the Mexikin camp agin. That arternoon we rid out, side by side, with Gen’ral Cortinas, an’ about ten o’clock in the evenin’ we reached the gorge. Every thing war as silent as death; but I knowed that eighty Western rifles war stowed away among the trees, on each side o’ the road, an’ behind ’em war sturdy hunters an’ trappers, achin’ to send a bullet in among us.
“Arter the gen’ral had fixed his men to suit him, we drawed back into the bushes, an’ waited for Cap’n Morgan to come up. Jest a little afore midnight we heered a faint tramp, an’ in a few minits the rangers swept down into the gorge. For a minit nothin’ war heered but the noise o’ their hosses’ hoofs on the road. It war a fine sight to see them brave men ridin’ right down into that ambush, knowin’, as they did, that death war on each side o’ them. Nigher an’ nigher they come; an’ the gen’ral war about to give the order to fire, when, all to onct, a yell like an Injun’s burst from among the trees, an’ the reports of eighty rifles echoed through the mountains. You never seed a more astonished Greaser nor that Gen’ral Cortinas war about that time.
“‘Carrajo,’ he yelled, ‘you have betrayed me.’
“‘Shouldn’t wonder if we had, you tarnal yaller-hided scoundrel,’ said ole Bill; an’ afore the Greaser could make a move, we had him by the arms, an’ two six-shooters were lookin’ him in the face. His cowardly men didn’t fire a shot, but throwed down their guns, an’ run in every direction. But our boys closed up about ’em, an’ out o’ them ar hundred men that come out to ketch Cap’n Morgan, not half a dozen escaped. The only prisoner we tuk back to Monterey war the gen’ral.”
After Dick had got through his tale, the hunters held a consultation over the state of their larder. As their coffee, bread, and other supplies were exhausted, and they did not like the idea of living on venison and water, they concluded to break up camp. The next morning they packed their baggage into the sled, and, taking a last look at the place where they had spent so many happy hours, set out for Uncle Joe’s cabin, which they reached a little before dark.
UNCLEJoe met them at the door, and, while they were relieving themselves of their overcoats and weapons, asked innumerable questions about their sojourn in the woods. Dick took the part of spokesman, and described, in his rude, trapper’s style, the scenes through which they had passed, dwelling with a good deal of emphasis on the “keerlessness” displayed by the Young Naturalist in attacking the moose, and in starting off alone to fight the panther. The trapper tried hard to suppress the feelings of pride which he really felt, and favored the young hunter with a look that was intended to be severe, but which was, in fact, a mingling of joy and satisfaction.
Frank bore the scolding which Uncle Joe administeredwith a very good grace, for he knew that he deserved it.
“I’d like to take the youngster out on the prairy,” said Dick, seating himself before the fire, and producing his never-failing pipe. “I’ll bet that, arter he had follered me and Useless a year or two, he wouldn’t be in no great hurry to pitch into every wild varmint he come acrost.”
Frank made no reply, but taking the cubs from the pockets of his overcoat, allowed them to run about the cabin—a proceeding which the dogs, especially Brave, regarded with suspicion, and which they could not be persuaded to permit, until they had received several hearty kicks and cuffs from their masters.
“You can’t blame the critters,” said the trapper, puffing away at his pipe. “It’s their natur’, an’ I sometimes think that them dogs have a deal more sense than their human masters, an’”——
“Supper’s ready,” interrupted Bob, the cook and man-of-all-work, and this announcement put an end to all further conversation on the subject.
The boys were highly delighted to find themselves seated at a well-filled table once more, and Uncle Joe’s good things rapidly disappeared beforetheir attacks. It made no difference to the trapper, however. With him a few weeks “roughing it” in the woods was, of course, no novelty. A log for a table, and a piece of clean bark for a plate, answered his purpose as well as all the improvements of civilization, which those who have been brought up in the settlements regard as necessary to their very existence.
After supper, they drew their chairs in front of the fire, and Uncle Joe and his brother solaced themselves with their pipes, while Bob busied himself in clearing away the table and washing the dishes.
“This Bill Lawson,” said the trapper, after taking a few puffs at his pipe, to make sure that it was well lighted, “used to take it into his head onct in awhile to act as guide for fellers as wanted to go to Californy. He knowed every inch of the country from St. Joseph to the mines, for he had been over the ground more’n you ever traveled through these yere woods, an’ he was called as good a guide as ever tuk charge of a wagon-train. In course, I allers went with him on these trips, as a sort o’ pack-hoss an’ hunter, cause ole Bill couldn’t think o’ goin’ anywherewithout me; an’ I have often thought that the reason why he made them trips as guide, was jest to get a good look at the folks; it reminded him o’ the time when he had parents, an’ brothers an’ sisters. He never laughed an’ joked round the camp-fires, as he used to do when me and him war off alone in the mountains. He hardly ever said a word to any body besides me, an’ allers appeared to be sorrowful. This give him the name of ‘Moody Bill,’ by which he was knowed all through the country. Every trader on the prairy war acquainted with him, an’ he allers tuk out a big train. I never knowed him to lose but one, an’ he lost himself with it. The way it happened war this:
“One night, arter we had got about a week’s journey west of Fort Laramie, we stopped in a little oak opening, where we made our camp. It war right in the heart o’ the wust Injun country I ever see, an’ near a place where me an’ ole Bill had oftencachedour furs an’ other fixins, an’ which we used as a kind o’ camp when we war in that part o’ the country trappin’ beaver an’ fightin’ Injuns. It war a cave in the side of a mountain, an’ the way we had it fixed nobody besidesourselves couldn’t find it. We never went in or come out of it until arter dark, ’cause the Comanches were a’most allers huntin’ ’bout the mountains, an’ we didn’t want em to break up our harborin’ place. We had made up our minds that, arter we had seed our train safe through, we would come back to our ‘bar’s hole,’ as we called it, an’ spend a month or so in fightin’ the Comanches an’ skrimmagin’ with the grizzlies in the mountains.
“Wal, as I war sayin’ we made our camp, an’ while I war dressin’ a buck I had shot, ole Bill, as usual, leaned on his rifle, an’ watched the emigrants unpack their mules an’ wagons, an’ make their preparations for the night. Arter supper he smoked a pipe, an’ then rolled himself up in his blanket an’ said——‘Dick, you know this place, but you ain’t no trapper;’ an’, without sayin’ any more, he lay down and went to sleep, leavin’ me to station the guards, an’ see that every thing went on right durin’ the night.
“I knowed well enough what ole Bill meant when he said, ‘Dick, you ain’t no trapper.’ He had seed Injun sign durin’ the day, an’ war pokin’ fun at me, cause I hadn’t seed it too. I don’t know, to this day, how it war that I had missedit, for I had kept a good look-out, an’ I had allers thought that I war ’bout as good an Injun hunter as any feller in them diggins, (allers exceptin’ ole Bill and Bob Kelly;) but the way the ole man spoke tuk me down a peg or two, an’ made me feel wusser nor you youngsters do when you get trounced at school for missin’ your lessons.
“Wal, as soon as it come dark, I put out the guards, an’ then shouldered my rifle, an’ started out to see if I could find any sign o’ them Injuns that ole Bill had diskivered. It war as purty a night as you ever see. The moon shone out bright an’ clear, an’, savin’ the cry of a whippoorwill, that come from a gully ’bout a quarter of a mile from the camp, an’ the barkin’ o’ the prairy wolves, every thing war as still as death. You youngsters would have laughed at the idea o’ goin’ out to hunt Injuns on such a night; but I knowed that there must be somethin’ in the wind, for ole Bill never got fooled about sich things. Here in the settlements he wouldn’t have knowed enough to earn his salt; but out on the prairy he knowed all about things.
“Wal, I walked all round the camp, an’ backto the place where I had started from, an’ not a bit of Injun sign did I see. There war a high hill jest on the other side of the gully, an’ I knowed that if there war any Injuns about, an’ they should take it into their heads to pounce down upon us, they would jest show themselves in that direction; so I sot down on the prairy, outside o’ the wagons, which war drawn up as a sort o’ breastwork round the camp, and begun to listen. I didn’t hear nothin’, however, until a’most midnight, and then, jest arter I had changed the guards, an’ was goin’ back to my place, I heered somethin’ that made me prick up my ears. It war the hootin’ of an owl, an’ it seemed to come from the hill.
“Now, you youngsters would’n’t have seed any thing strange in that; but a man who has spent his life among wild Injuns and varmints can tell the difference atween a sound when it comes from an owl’s throat, and when it comes from a Comanche’s; an’ I to onct made up my mind that it war a signal. Presently from the gully come the song of a whippoorwill. It didn’t sound exactly like the notes I had heered come from that same gully but a few minits afore, an’ I knowed that itwar another signal. When the whippoorwill had got through, I heered the barkin’ of a prairy wolf further up the gully to the right o’ the camp; an’ all to onct the wolves, which had been barkin’ an’ quarrelin’ round the wagons, set up a howl, an’ scampered away out o’ sight. This would have been as good a sign as I wanted that there war Injuns about, even if I hadn’t knowed it afore; so I sot still on the ground to see what would be the next move.
“In a few minits I heered a rustlin’ like in the grass a little to one side of me. I listened, an’ could tell by the sound that there was somebody in there, crawlin’ along on his hands an’ knees. Nearer an’ nearer it come, an’ when it got purty clost to me it stopped, an’ I seed an’ Injun’s head come up over the top o’ the grass, an’ I could see that the rascal war eyein’ me purty sharp. I sot mighty still, noddin’ my head a leetle as if I war fallin’ asleep, keepin’ an’ eye on the ole feller all the time to see that he didn’t come none of his Injun tricks on me, and finally give a leetle snore, which seemed to satisfy the painted heathen, for I heered his ‘ugh!’ as he crawled along by me into camp.
“What made you do that?” interrupted Archie, excitedly. “Why didn’t you muzzle him?”
“That the way you youngsters, what don’t know nothin’ about fightin’ Injuns, would have done,” answered the trapper, with a laugh, “an’ you would have had your har raised for your trouble. But, you see, I knowed that he had friends not a great way off, an’ that the fust motion I made to grab the rascal, I would have an arrer slipped into me as easy as fallin’ off a log. But I didn’t like to have the varlet behind me; so, as soon as I knowed that he had had time to get into the camp, I commenced noddin’ agin, an’ finally fell back on the ground, ker-chunk.
“I guess them Injuns that were layin’ round in the grass laughedsomewhen they see how quick I picked up my pins. I got up as though I expected to see a hull tribe of Comanches clost on to me, looked all round, an’, arter stretchin’ my arms as though I had enjoyed a good sleep, I started along toward the place where one o’ the guards war standin’. I walked up clost to him, an’ whispered:
“‘Don’t act as though you thought that anything was wrong, but keep your eyes on the grass. There’s Injuns about.’
“The chap turned a leetle pale when he heered this; but although he was as green as a punkin, as far as Injun fightin’ war consarned, he seemed to have the real grit in him, for he nodded in a way that showed that he understood what I meant. I then dropped down on all-fours, an’ commenced crawlin’ into the camp to find the Injun. The fires had burned low, an’ the moon had gone down, but still there war light enough for me to see the rascal crawlin’ along on the ground, an’ making toward one of the wagons. When he reached it, he raised to his feet, an’, arter casting his eyes about the camp, to make sure that no one seed him, he lifted up the canvas an’ looked in. Now war my time. Droppin’ my rifle, I sprung to my feet, an’ started for the varlet; but jest as I war goin’ to grab him, one o’ the women in the wagon, who happened to be awake, set up a screechin’. The Injun dropped like a flash o’ lightnin’, an’, dodgin’ the grab I made at him, started for the other side o’ the camp, jumpin’ over the fellers that were layin’ round as easy as if he had wings. I war clost arter him, but the cuss run like astreak; an finding that I war not likely to ketch him afore he got out into the prairy, I jumped back for my rifle an’ tuk a flyin’ shot at him, jest as he war divin’ under a wagon. I don’t very often throw away a chunk o’ lead, an’, judgin’ by the way he yelled, I didn’t waste one that time. He dropped like a log, but war on his feet agin in a minit, an’, without waitin’ to ax no questions, set up the war-whoop. I tell you, youngsters, the sound o’ that same war-whoop war no new thing to me. I’ve heered it often—sometimes in the dead o’ night, when I didn’t know that there war any danger about, an’ it has rung in my ears when I’ve been runnin’ for my life, with a dozen o’ the yellin’ varlets clost to my heels; but I never before, nor since, felt my courage give way as it did on that night. Scarcely a man in the hull wagon-train, exceptin’ me an ole Bill, had ever drawed a bead on an Injun, an’ I war a’most sartin that I should have a runnin’ fight with the rascals afore mornin’.
“The whoop war answered from all round the camp, an’ the way the bullets an’ arrers come into them ar wagons warn’t a funny thing to look at. My shot had ’wakened a’most every one in[Pgcamp, but there warn’t much sleepin’ done arter the Injuns give that yell. Men, women, an’ children poured out o’ the wagons, an’ run about, gettin’ in everybody’s way; an’ sich a muss as war kicked up in that ar camp I never heered afore. There war about seventy men in the train, an’ they war all good marksmen, but there war scarcely a dozen that thought o’ their rifles. They kept callin’ on me an’ ole Bill to save ’em, an’ never onct thought o’ pickin’ up their we’pons an’ fightin’ to save themselves; an’, in spite of all we could do, them ar cowardly sneaks would get behind the women an’ children for protection. It war enough to frighten any one; an’ although that ar warn’t the fust muss o’ the kind I had been in, I felt my ole ’coon-skin cap raise on my head when I thought what a slaughter there would be when them Comanches onct got inside o’ the camp. There war only a few of us to fight ’em, an’ we did the best we could, sendin’ back their yells, an’ bringin’ the death-screech from some unlucky rascal at every shot. But the Injuns warn’t long in findin’ out how the land lay, an’, risin’ round us like a cloud, they come pourin’ into camp.”
“MEan ole Bill warn’t hired to run away, an’ we wouldn’t need to have done it if them ar cowards had stood up to the mark like men; but when I seed them Injuns comin’, I knowed that the game war up—it warn’t no use to fight longer. I jest ketched a glimpse of ole Bill makin’ for his hoss, an’ I did the same, ’cause I knowed that he would stay as long as there war any chance o’ beatin’ back the Injuns.
“To jump on my hoss, an’ cut the lasso with which he war picketed, warn’t the work of a minit, an’ then, clubbin’ my rifle, I laid about me right an’ left, an’ my hoss, knowin’ as well as I did what war the matter, carried me safely out o’ the camp.
“As I rode out on to the prairy, the Injuns started up on all sides o’ me, but my hoss soon carried me out o’ their reach. As soon as I thought I war safe, I hauled up to load my rifle, an’ wait for ole Bill. I felt a leetle oneasy about him, ’cause, if the Comanches should onct get a good sight at him, they would be sartin to know who he war, an’ wouldn’t spare no pains to ketch him; an’ if they succeeded, he couldn’t expect nothin’ but the stake.
“Wal, arter I had loaded up my rifle, an’ scraped some bullets, I started back toward the camp, to see if I could find any thing o’ Bill; an’ jest at that minit I heered a yell that made my blood run cold. By the glare o’ the camp-fires, which the Comanches had started agin, I seed the cause of the yell, for there war ole Bill on foot, an’ makin’ tracks for the gully, with a dozen yellin’ varlets clost at his heels. In course I couldn’t help the old man any; an’, besides, I knowed that they would take him alive at any risk, an’ that, if I kept out o’ the scrape, I might have a chance to save him. Wal, jest at the edge o’ the gully he war ketched, an’ arter a hard tussle—for the ole man warn’t one of them kind that gives up withouta fight—he war bound hand an’ foot, an’ carried back to the camp.
“In course the news spread among the Comanches like lightnin’, an’ it had the effect o’ stoppin’ the slaughterin’ that war goin’ on, for the Injuns all wanted to have a look at the man who had sent so many o’ their best warriors to the happy huntin’-grounds.
“Finally, some o’ the varlets yelled out my name—the rest took it up, an’ clouds of the warriors went scourin’ through the camp an’ over the prairy to find me; ’cause they knowed that whenever the ole man war to be found, I warn’t a great way off. It begun to get mighty onhealthy for me in them diggins, so I turned my hoss, an’ made tracks acrost the prairy. I ridsome, now, I reckon, an’, in a short time, war out o’ hearin’ o’ the yells o’ the savages.
“As soon as I thought I war safe, I camped down on the prairy, an’, with my hoss for a sentinel, slept soundly until mornin’. I then started for the camp, or, rather, the place where the camp had been, for when I got there, I found nothin’ but its ruins. The Injuns had burned every thing they did not want or could not carry away, an’made off with their prisoners. Their trail war plain enough, an’ I to onct commenced follerin’ it up, determined that I would either save ole Bill or die with him; an’, on the fourth day, durin’ which time I had lived on some parched corn I happened to have in the pockets o’ my huntin’-shirt, an’ war in constant danger of being ketched by stragglers, I seed the Injuns enter their camp. In course there war a big rejoicin’ over the prisoners an’ plunder they had brought in, an’ it war kept up until long arter dark.
“The camp, which numbered ’bout fifty lodges, war pitched in a small prairy, surrounded on three sides by the woods. The nearest I could get to it without bein’ diskivered war half a mile; an’ here I tied my hoss in the edge o’ the woods, an’ lay down to sleep.
“’Arly the next mornin’ I war aroused by a yellin’ and the noise o’ drums, an’ found the hull camp in motion. Near the middle o’ the village war a small clear spot, where the prisoners war stationed. They war not bound, but a single glance at a dozen armed warriors, who stood at a little distance, showed that escape warn’t a thing to be thought of. All except two o’ the prisonerssot on the ground, with their heads on their hands, as if they wished to shut out all sights an’ sounds o’ what war going on around ’em. The two who were standin’ seemed to take matters more easy. They stood leanin’ against a post with their arms folded, an’ watched the motions o’ the Injuns as though they war used to sich sights. One o’ these I picked out as ole Bill, but, in course, I couldn’t tell sartin which one war him, it war so far off.
“A little way from the prisoners were the principal chiefs o’ the tribe, holdin’ a palaver regardin’ what should be done, an’ a little further off stood the rest o’ the tribe—men, women, an’ children—waitin’ the word to begin their horrid work.
“It war nigh noon afore the council broke up; then one o’ the chiefs commenced shoutin’ some orders, an’ one o’ the prisoners was led out o’ the camp by two Injuns, while the rest o’ the varlets set up a yell, an’ armin’ themselves with whatever they could lay their hands on, commenced formin’ themselves in two lines; the prisoner, whoever he was, must run the gauntlet. While the savages war fixin’ themselves, the white chapstood between the Injuns who had led him out, watchin’ what war goin’ on, an’ I could easy tell what he war thinkin’ of, ’cause I had been in sich scrapes myself. I knowed that, as he looked through them long lines o’ screechin’ Injuns, an’ seed the tomahawks, clubs, knives, an’ whips, all ready to give him a cut as he passed, he thought of every thing he had done durin’ his life. But he warn’t given much time for thinkin’, for, purty quick, the chief set up a yell to let the prisoner know that the time had come. The chap didn’t hesitate a minit, but jumped from the place where he war standin’, like a streak o’ lightnin’. I see him disappear atween the lines, and made up my mind that that chap war a goner, when, all to onct, out he come, all right, and made toward the place where I war standin’. I guess them Injuns never see any thing done quite so purty afore, an’ I knowed well enough now who the fellow war, ’cause there warn’t but one man livin’ that could come through them lines in that way, an’ that war Bill Lawson. In course, the hull tribe, yellin’ an’ screechin’ like a pack o’ wolves, war arter him in less nor the shake of a buck’s tail, and tomahawks, bullets, an’ arrerswhizzed by the prisoner in a mighty onpleasant kind o’ way; but Bill kept jumpin’ from one side to the other in a way that made him a mighty onhandy mark to shoot at, an’ the way he did climb over that prairy was somethin’ for owls to look at. But, fast as he run, I could see that there war one Injun gainin’ on him, an’ I made up my mind that if the ole man could hold out long enough to fetch him within pluggin’ distance o’ my shootin’-iron, I would put an end to his jumpin’ for awhile. Nearer an’ nearer they come, the Injun all the while gainin’ purty fast, an’ when they got within ’bout forty rod o’ me, I could see that the varlet war gettin’ ready to throw his tomahawk. I watched him until he raised his arm, an’ sent a bullet plumb atween his eyes. The next minit the ole man jumped into the bushes.
“There warn’t no time for talkin’ or sayin’ how de do?’ for the rest o’ the Injuns war comin’ up, an’ we must put a good stretch o’ prairy atween us an’ them afore we war safe.
“‘Bill, says I, there’s my hoss. I’m younger nor you be, so jump on him, and be off in a hurry; I’ll meet you at the ole bar’s hole, Good-by.’
“I didn’t wait to give the ole man a chance to say a word, ’cause I knowed that he didn’t like to take that hoss; but I made off through the bushes. Ole Bill seed that I war gone, an’ jumpin’ on the hoss, he rode out on the prairy in plain sight, to get the Comanches to foller him, which some of ’em did; but the ole braves, who had heered my shot, an’, in course, knowed that there war more’n one feller ’bout, couldn’t be fooled easy, an’ thinkin’ they could ketch a man on foot sooner nor a man on hossback, they kept on arter me. But I war fresh for a long run—a week’s travelin’ acrost the prairy on foot warn’t no new thing for me—an’ as I never see the Injun yet that could beat me in a fair race, I felt safe, an’ knowed that I should come out all right. I didn’t waste time in tryin’ to throw ’em off my trail, but kept straight ahead at a steady pace, an’ whenever an Injun come in sight, me an’ my rifle settled things with him in a tarnal hurry. This made ’em kind o’ keerful, an’ afore sundown I war out o’ hearin o’ their yells, an’ a greenhorn wouldn’t have thought that there war an Injun in them woods. But I war too ole a coon to believe that they had give up the chase,an’ it warn’t until the next mornin’ that I camped to take a leetle sleep, an’ eat a squirrel I had shot.
“Wal, I traveled for ’bout ten days, durin’ which time I didn’t see a bit o’ Injun sign, an’ finally found myself gettin’ purty nigh the ole bar’s hole. As soon as I come to the woods that run down from the mountain, I tuk to a creek that run clost by the cave, an’ walked along in the water, all the while keepin’ a good look-out for Injun sign an’ for ole Bill. Arter I had gone ’bout a mile, I come to the mouth o’ the cave. It war a hole jest large enough for a man to squeeze himself through, an’ so covered up with bushes that a feller might hunt a week without findin’ it. The cave itself war ’bout as large as this yere cabin; an’ right acrost from the entrance war a passage which led up to the top o’ the hill. Me an’ ole Bill had made this ourselves, so that, in case our harborin’ place should be diskivered, we would have a chance for escape.
“When I come to the cave it war purty dark; so, arter listenin’ awhile for signs of Injuns, if there war any around, I crawled along into the hole, which war, in course, as dark as pitch, an’commenced fumblin’ around for a torch that I had left stuck into the wall o’ the cave, all ready to be lighted. Arter searchin’ ’bout for a long time I found it—not where I had left it, but lyin’ on the ground in the middle o’ the cave. This seemed suspicious, an’ I begun to be afraid that something war wrong. I hadn’t seed no Injun sign near the cave, neither had I seed any thing of ole Bill, an’ I knowed that that torch couldn’t get moved clear acrost that cave without somebody had been foolin’ with it. I reckon my hand war none o’ the steadiest, as I lifted the torch an’ commenced feelin’ in my possible-sack for my flint an’ steel, thinkin’ that as soon as I could strike a light, I would jest examine into things a leetle.
“Wal, I hadn’t made more ’n one blow at my flint, when the cave echoed with the war-whoop, an’ the next minit I found myself lyin’ flat on my back, with a big Comanche on top o’ me.
“When I first heered the yell, I thought the cave war full of Injuns, an’ I’ll allow it made me feel a heap easier when I found that the feller that clinched me war alone, for I knowed that if any one Injun could master my scalp, he must bea tarnal sight smarter nor any red-skin I had ever met; an’, without waitin’ to ask no questions, I made a grab at the varmint, an’, by good luck, ketched the hand that held his knife; an’ then commenced one o’ the liveliest little fights I war ever in.