When George Benning and his three companions set out on the trail of the marauders who had attacked their camp, they were all afoot; but they hoped soon to be able to get a remount, at the expense of some Indian horse-owners. The Indians always did their horse-stealing on foot, and there was no good reason why white men should not imitate their example.
“That sounds very well, cap’n,” said Sam Glass, when Benning had presented this view of the subject, “and it will be easy enough to do, no doubt, purvided that we ken find the Injuns; but we may hev to tramp many a mile, afore we came up on a village.”
“No trouble about that, boy,” replied Pap Byers. “We’ll find Injuns enough, I warrant ye. The only p’int is, that we must be cautions and quiet, and I’d like to know how this yere Irishman’s tongue is to be kep’ still.”
“Is it me tongue that you’re spa’kin’ of?” snapped Dennis Regan. “Sure, me tongue is as ready as your hand, any day.”
“That’s the trouble, Denny. It is a heap too ready, and is sartin to shoot off when it ain’t wanted to.”
“It hits the cinter ivery time, and that’s more’n can be said av your rifle.”
“We won’t quarrel about it,” interposed Captain Benning. “It is certain that Denny must learn to keep quiet, or he may bring us all into another scrape. Tramp is the word, boys.”
It was not until the evening of the second day after they had started on the trail, that the party perceived indications which led them to believe that they were in the vicinity of an Indian village. Proceeding a little further, they heard the sound of bells, which the Indians sometimes attach to their horses, proceeding from a ravine a short distance to the left of the trail.
By a careful reconnoissance it was discovered that there was a large drove of horses in the ravine, feeding loose, on both sides of a little stream. The party withdrew to lay their plans, and it was arranged that they should enter the ravine, where each should select two horses from the drove, and should bring them to the head of the ravine, where all were to rendezvous. Benning was especially careful to warn his companions to be cautious and quiet, and to take no more horses than were necessary.
The four men entered the ravine at different points, and proceeded to select and secure their horses. This was accomplished without any misadventure, and Benning was the first to reach the head of the ravine, where he was soon joined by Pap Byers and Sam Glass, each mounted and leading a horse.
“We have succeeded very well so far,” said the captain. “With these horses under us, and fresh ones to rest them, we ought to have the heels of any red-skins. Where is Dennis?”
“He’ll be along directly, I reckon,” replied Byers. “Thar he comes, on a run! What in thunder has the durned fool been doin’?”
The Irishman came up the ravine at a gallop, mounted on a fine mare, and leading two horses. The mare had a bell fastened to her neck, which clattered furiously as he rode up to his companions. Benning’s face turned pale with anger, but he controlled himself and spoke quite composedly.
“Why have you brought three horses when I told you to take but two? And why did you choose that bell mare? Don’t you know that the noise will bring the Indians down upon us?”
“The mare was the finest av the lot, capt’in dear. She’s betther than both the others, if I’m a jidge av horseflesh.”
“That bell will be the ruin of us. It is a wonder that the whole drove has not stampeded after her.”
“I was m’anin’ to take it aff, sir, as soon as I could git the cratur’ quiet,” replied Dennis, as he dismounted.
The head of the ravine, where the four men were collected with their horses, was quite narrow, with steep sides, which were covered pretty thickly with trees and undergrowth.Darkness was rapidly succeeding to dusk, and all were impatient to be off.
As Dennis dismounted, one of his led horses slipped its thong, and started off. When he turned hastily to catch it, he loosed the mare, which galloped away at full speed, her bell clattering noisily as she went. Directly there was a great commotion among the herd of horses down in the ravine, and it was evident that they were stampeding.
“Tare an’ ouns!” exclaimed the indignant Irishman. “The bloody divil has got away, afther all me throuble. May ivery hair on her tail turn to a hickory sthick, to bate her as long as she can dhraw a breath.”
“Hold your clattering tongue!” exclaimed Benning. “You make more noise than the infernal bell. The Indians will be down on us in no time, and we may thank our stars if we get out of this scrape. Mount the horse you are holding, and ride as if fire were behind you.”
Dennis was about to mount, when he was suddenly seized from behind, and dragged into the bushes. The next instant the ravine was vocal with savage yells, and the white men found themselves surrounded with savage Indians.
Escape seemed impossible; but Benning was not a man to lose his life without an effort to preserve it. Loosing his led animal, he discharged his rifle at the group of Indians before him, and then, putting his horse to the top of his speed, dashed down the ravine, overturning and scattering his antagonists as he went.
Bullets and arrows flew after him; but he sped on unhurt, until he had gone about a quarter of a mile, when his horse suddenly stopped, in front of a perpendicular wall of rock, that seemed to close up the ravine.
Bewildered at meeting this unexpected obstacle, he was about to turn and endeavor to cut his way back in the opposite direction, when he reflected that he had been following the bed of a stream, which must surely cañon at the wall of rock.
Straining his sight through the growing darkness he saw what seemed to be an opening, and pushed his horse for it, bending down upon the horse’s neck, to save his head from contact with the rocky roof. The horse went forward, slowlybut surely, and Benning thought that he was about to emerge from the cañon, when, to his great dismay, he found himself wedged fast in the opening. With words and kicks he tried to force his steed forward, but it would not budge. He had given himself up for lost; but an arrow from behind struck his horse in the rear, and, with a violent effort, it squeezed through the aperture.
Hardly had Benning issued from the cañon, when another peril confronted him. The horse stopped at the brink of a precipice. The rider could see that a prairie stretched out below him; but he could not guess how far down it might be, or what might await him at the foot of the rock.
There was no time for consideration. His pursuers were close behind him. He had to choose between certain death at the hands of the savages, and a fearful leap in the dark. He chose the latter alternative; but his horse refused to take the leap, backing away from the abyss, and snorting and trembling with terror. Drawing his knife, he struck it into the haunch of the animal. Maddened by the pain, the horse sprung forward into the gloom, and alighted, unhurt, upon the soft turf below.
Benning rode away, slowly, thankful that his life had been preserved, and reflecting sadly upon the fate of his companions.
Of these, Dennis Regan had been pinioned as soon as he was seized, Sam Glass had been shot dead while attempting resistance, and Pap Byers had been soon overpowered and bound.
After relieving Glass of his scalp, the Indians took their two captives to the village, which was situated a short distance from the ravine in which their horses were kept.
In order to confine the captives, they were laid on their backs in the middle of the village, with their arms and legs stretched out, and tied by the hands and feet to stakes driven in the ground. In this uncomfortable position they were obliged to pass the night, while the savages made merry over their victory.
“See what a fix you have brought us into, you crazy little red-headed wretch!” exclaimed Pap Byers, after he had chafed and cursed himself into a perspiration.
“It’s none of my bringin’, you spider-shanked, pickle-faced ould drumhead!” replied Dennis. “It was jist that murtherin’ divil av a sorrel mare that up-ended us and stretched us out here; but, fur all that, who knows but I’m the boy who will bring us safe out av this?”
“Talk’s cheap, boy. Ken ye bring Sam Glass back to life? Thar’s Cap’n Benning too; it’s likely that he’s got his pill afore this. Ken ye do any thin’ fur him?”
“The mithers av ’em can’t be more sorry fur the boys than is Denny Regan; but it’s the divil’s own tongue that says I fotched ’em into the scrape. If I was on me feet, I’d make yez swaller that same, you dried-up old wolf-skin.”
“Quarrelin’ won’t mend the matter; but you know as well as I do, Denny, that it was your loose tongue and your crazy ways that made all the trouble.”
“I know it jist as well as you do, and that’s not at all. Tell me, now, Pap Byers, what Injuns is these that’s got us?”
“Blackfeet—the bloodiest, meanest and most savagerous of all the red-skins in these parts.”
“And what will they do wid us?”
“Kill us—tortur’ us—burn us, most likely.”
“Is it burnin’ ye say? Och, be the powers! it makes me flesh crawl to think av it. The bloody haythins! Is it sure enough burnin’ that they do, or do they jist bother a man and let him go?”
“It’s burnin’, I tell ye—burnin’ by a slow fire—roastin’, fryin’, br’llin’. Thar ain’t any let go about it; it holds on fur hours, and you suffer death a dozen times afore you die onst.”
“Howly mither of Moses! That bates purgatory, intirely. To think that one av the ould shtock av the O’Regans should be roasted alive! I vow to the blissed Vargin, if I can only git clare of this shcrape, I’ll not shpake a mortal word to any livin’ man—or woman, fur that matter—fur a long six months, and I’ll begin at onst to kape me vow.”
The Irishman was silent. Byers spoke to him after a while; but Dennis did not reply. Again Byers spoke to him; but a snore was the only answer he received.
“I do believe,” said he, “that the durned fool has gone to sleep. I wouldn’t hev thought that burnin’ would set so easy onto his stummick.”