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“That’s lucky!” said the captain; “the job is going to be easier than I supposed. Avon, you and Shackaye ride to the left, while I will turn to the right. Look out for that ugly steer; we have had trouble with him before, and I believe he is in a bad mood now.”
The Indian grinned on hearing these words and said:
“Me no ’fraid; me rope him if he fight.”
And to show his contempt for the huge brute, he drove his mustang straight for him as he was grazing on the further side of the group. The steer raised his head, with the grass hanging from his jaws, and looked quietly at the approaching Indian. He seemed to be in doubt as to his purpose, until Shackaye, when almost upon him, swung his arm above his head and uttered a tantalizing shout, as if he wished to enrage the beast.
If such was his purpose he succeeded, for with a muttered bellow, the steer dropped his head and charged fiercely at the pony, which, to save himself, was obliged to wheel with such suddenness that the young Comanche,251despite his superb horsemanship, was thrown violently to the ground directly in front of the animal.
Occasionally a cowboy is caught in the perilous situation of the young Comanche. His horse may stumble, his lasso (always called a “rope” except in California) become entangled, or he may be thrown to the ground in the path of the charging steer or bull, which is sure to be upon him before he can regain his feet and steed.
In such emergencies there is but the single thing to do: that is, to shoot the animal, and to hesitate to do so means certain death to the endangered cattleman.
Two causes prevented Shackaye from appealing to this last and only recourse. His fall was so violent that he was slightly dazed, though he did not lose sight of his peril, but he made the mistake of attempting to climb to his feet and darting aside, when the time at command was insufficient to take him beyond reach of the savage steer.
His rifle remained in place on the front of his saddle, so that it was beyond his reach,252while, as I have stated elsewhere, he carried no pistol. He was, therefore, without firearms.
Captain Shirril was fully two hundred yards away, but he saw the imminence of the danger, and, bringing his gun to a level, fired at the steer, calling at the same moment to his nephew to shoot it. The captain’s bullet struck the beast, but without producing any effect, unless to add to his rage.
It took Avon but a second or two to raise his Winchester to his shoulder and aim at the animal, which was near at hand.
“If I was sure that was you last night,” he thought, “I would let the steer do his duty, but maybe you are innocent, so here goes!”
It was no special feat of marksmanship to send a rifle-ball through the heart of the charging brute, but he was so close to the Comanche when he received the shot that he would have tumbled over him, had not Shackaye managed to roll aside in time to avoid the huge mass, which ploughed along the ground, as if fired from an enormous gun.
253
The occurrence alarmed the other cattle, and they started off at such a pace that the instant attention of the captain and his nephew was required. Paying no further heed to the unhorsed Shackaye, Avon sent his mustang after the flying animals, the captain doing the same from his direction.
The hardest of riding was required to round them up and turn their faces toward the main herd, and it was not long before Avon found himself pitted against a steer fully as ugly as that which he had been obliged to shoot a few minutes before. All the others were finally forced into the right course, and this obstinate animal was disposed to join them, but after trotting for a short distance, he seemed to tire of being good, and, wheeling about, charged like a runaway engine at the youthful horseman who was harrying him so hard.
In such crises a great deal depends on the intelligence of the horse. Thunderbolt sprang aside with the nimbleness of a monkey, and Avon received just enough warning to hold his place in the saddle. The steer attempted to keep up his pursuit, turning with remarkable254quickness for such a large animal, but the dexterity of Thunderbolt was still greater, and he easily evaded the sharp horns which came near him more than once. Finally, as if he saw the uselessness of his pursuit, the steer headed in the opposite direction from that which he ought to have taken, and sped away with all the fleetness he possessed.
Avon saw his uncle galloping to his help.
“Leave him to me!” called the nephew; “I’ll conquer him.”
Captain Shirril drew up, and, from his perch in the saddle, watched the result of the curious contest.
Avon had his rope ready to fling over the horns of the fugitive, but before doing so, he resorted to another artifice, which few persons of his years can carry out successfully. It is not only difficult, but it is vastly more dangerous, in the event of the animal showing fight, as the steer had already done.
It was necessary to force Thunderbolt close beside the fugitive, and, despite the courage of the mustang, it was only natural that he should feel some reluctance against doing255this. Those horns possessed prodigious length and sharpness, and had already been turned upon him; but he was obedient, and urged by the pricking of the spur and the words of his master, he edged still nearer, though it need not be said that he kept an eye to windward. It was well he did so.
Young Burnet was in the act of leaning forward to attempt the dangerous and difficult feat, when the steer again dropped his head, with one side lower than the other, as such animals do when assailing a foe sideways, and charged upon the mustang.
Nine horses out of ten would have been fatally impaled by the suddenness of the assault, for there was no time for him to wheel; but with a dexterity that seemed incredible, he instantly rose on his hind feet and bounded clean over the steer. The wonder of the exploit was how the horse gathered himself and applied his strength with such astonishing quickness, but he did it like a trained gymnast, his rider maintaining his seat without difficulty and feeling a thrill of admiration at the amazing skill of his steed.
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If a dumb animal can ever show surprise, the steer displayed it at the action of the mustang. Having made his lunge with his horns, he must have become aware that, instead of piercing flesh and blood, they clove vacancy only. With his head aloft, and snorting with anger, he stared where the horse and rider were a moment before, but where now they were not.
He looked to the right and left, as if unable to comprehend what had become of them. Captain Shirril was seated motionless on his steed, several hundred yards distant, and, if the steer decided for a moment in his own mind that he was the individual he was looking for, he must have been puzzled to know how it was his horse traveled so far in such an amazingly brief space of time.
The sound of hoofs caused the animal to look on the other side of him, where, sure enough, only a short distance off was the identical offender, calmly surveying him as if plotting further mischief.
Instantly the head of the steer dropped257again, and he was in the act of charging with the same impetuosity as before, when he changed his mind, and, instead of becoming a pursuer, resumed the character of a fugitive.
258CHAPTER XXIX.OLD ACQUAINTANCES.
Without hesitation the mustang was after the stubborn steer again, showing less fear than before, though he maintained a sharp lookout against a repetition of the attack. It may have been that the dexterous manner in which he had just eluded the brute gave him self-confidence, as it weakened that of the fugitive without lessening his obduracy, for he took care that the line of his flight led straight away from his own herd.
With the same care Thunderbolt began edging up, and, in a brief while, his head was abreast of the haunch of the steer, and steadily gaining. Avon now leaned over the right shoulder of his mustang, and reaching forward and downward, seized the tail of the steer, and in a flash twisted all that was sufficiently259flexible around the horn of his saddle. At the same instant he called sharply to Thunderbolt, who made a vicious bound to the left, and the steer, with a short bellow of pain, went down with fearful violence.
But he was not yet conquered. As full of energy and obstinacy as ever, he seemed to leap to his feet as if made of rubber, but without attempting to resent the indignity he had suffered, he continued his impetuous flight.
The brief interval had given Avon time in which to uncoil his rope. Instead of flinging it over the horns of the steer he dexterously caught the loop around one of his hind legs, and jerked it taut with the quickness of lightning. Down went the animal again, kicking and bellowing and struggling hard to regain his feet.
The youth allowed him to succeed, when, with the help of the mustang, he was thrown again. This was repeated several times, until it was apparent that the captive was subdued. Finally, after receiving another fall, he refused to try to regain his feet.
Avon now managed to loosen the loop sufficiently260to slip it off the imprisoned leg. Then, holding several coils in his grasp, he reached over and gave the panting animal several resounding whacks on his ribs.
He smiled as the brute hastily clambered up, and, turning his nose toward the other cattle a considerable distance off, broke into a trot after them, still bellowing as if asking them to wait until he could join them. No refractory urchin was ever brought to terms with more completeness than was the defiant steer.
Now that the disciplined animal was travelling in the right direction, his conqueror also faced Captain Shirril, who had been watching him with much interest, while the cattle were stringing along at a rapid gallop in the direction of the ridge beyond which lay the invisible camp of the cowmen.
The lull in the stirring proceeding led Avon to recall the mishap of Shackaye, who had escaped the horns of the other steer by such a narrow chance. He cast his eye toward the body of the dead animal plainly seen across the prairie, but the young Comanche himself261was not in sight. He concluded that he must have remounted his mustang and galloped back to camp. Possibly he had received some injury from his fall which placed it beyond his power to help in the work of gathering the stray members of the herd.
Avon turned his attention to his relative, when he was astonished to perceive fully a dozen horsemen a short distance off between him and the ridge.
The first natural thought of the youth was that the party at the camp had ridden out to their help, but he instantly saw that such could not be the case, since there were so many of them, and it did not require a second glance to ascertain that each one was a mounted Indian.
The first emotion following this discovery was that of a wonderment as to what it could all mean. It was not remarkable that they should encounter Indians, while crossing the section set apart especially for their occupancy, nor was anything to be feared from them unless the temptation to violence became unusually strong on the part of the red men.
262
But there was something ominous in the sudden and singular appearance of these dusky plainsmen. They had shown up unexpectedly, the indication being that they had emerged from a group of hills a short distance to the eastward. Colonel Sclevinger and his herd were beyond sight, so that the two friends were in anything but a pleasant situation.
But while it looked as if the Indians must be friendly from force of circumstances, their conduct justified the grave alarm Avon felt on first seeing them. Perceiving they were discovered, they broke into a rapid gallop beyond the unsuspicious Captain Shirril, spreading apart like a fan, as if they meant to inclose him in the circle beyond escape.
A shout from the young man caused his uncle to look around, when he discovered what was going on. He instantly touched his animal with his spurs and sent him swiftly toward Avon, who advanced to meet him.
“What does it mean?” asked the younger as they came together.
“It means mischief,” was the reply. “I263believe some of them belong to the party that tried to burn our house.”
“Then they are Comanches?”
“Every one of them––where’s Shackaye?” abruptly asked the captain, as if the naming of the tribe had recalled that interesting youth to his mind.
“I shouldn’t wonder if he were among them,” replied Avon, with a certain grim pleasure, as he recalled the faith his uncle had shown in the savage in the face of Gleeson’s warnings.
“Like enough,” remarked the captain, watching the actions of the warriors, who had diverged so far already that it was impossible for the couple to escape in any direction without coming in collision with them; “we’ve got to stand them off.”
Without any appearance of alarm in his manner Captain Shirril slipped down from his saddle, his nephew being but a few seconds behind him, and the two coolly prepared to make a stand against the attack of the Comanches.
264CHAPTER XXX.AT BAY.
Captain Shirril and his nephew placed their ponies beside each other, with a space of only a few feet intervening. Then, standing on the ground, they rested their Winchesters across the saddles, facing in opposite directions, and were ready for the assault of the red men, who were circling back and forth and gradually drawing nearer to them.
“Keep cool,” said the captain, “and, when you fire, don’t throw away a shot.”
They were a mile from camp, and, as soon as the shooting began, it ought to attract the notice of the rest, who were sure to hurry to the spot. There was reason to believe the Indians could be held off for a long time, and, brave as they were, it was not to be expected that they would maintain their ground before such a charge as the cowboys would make, and had made a short time before.
The Last Stand.
The Last Stand.
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The warriors were armed with excellent rifles, and belonged to a tribe that is unsurpassable in horsemanship. Several had blankets on their mustangs, but most were without even that protection, being bareback, while few possessed anything in the nature of a bridle. The well-trained steeds, as we have shown, were perfectly managed by word and touch, and often seemed to divine the wishes of their riders, without word or movement on their part.
But, daring as were the latter, they knew the peril involved in assailing two well-armed white men at bay. They continued their rapid galloping at a safe distance, some of them describing a complete circle around the couple, who were quietly awaiting the chances for effective work.
Before long the assailants began operations. Hardly one retained an upright position on his steed for more than a few seconds at a time. They flung themselves forward, as if in wantonness, their painted faces appearing266below their horses’ necks, with their long black hair streaming away, as if it were a part of the mane of their steeds. Then they extended themselves seemingly along the spine of their animals, as if for slumber in the sun. While the steeds sped back and forth, the riders lolled here and there on their backs, as though it was impossible for them to lose their balance. Trying as were the circumstances, Captain Shirril could not help admiring the equestrian exhibition, which could not have been excelled.
But he quickly proved that he meant business of the most serious kind. He fixed his attention on one of the half-naked miscreants, who was not only nearer than any of his companions, but kept edging closer. For a time, he maintained himself on the further side of his mustang, seeming to hold himself in place by the toe of one of his moccasins thrust over the spine at the haunches, with hardly less significant help from a hand at the base of the neck.
When the horse wheeled to return over his own trail, as he frequently did, the matchless267rider, with a grace that was inimitable, swung himself over in a corresponding position on the other side, so as to preserve the body of his steed as a shield.
Without warning, he discharged his rifle from beneath the neck of the animal, and the excellence of his aim was proven by the whiz of the bullet near the head of Captain Shirril.
But the latter was not disturbed. He was biding his time, and knew the opportunity was near.
Suddenly the mustang wheeled again. At the moment of doing so, he was closer to the defenders than at any period before. The rider rose to view for a moment, like a leaper going over a fence sideways. Then as he descended on the other side of the steed, he continued descending until he struck the ground, where he rolled over a single time and never stirred again.
At the critical instant, Captain Shirril had fired. An ear-splitting screech followed, and that particular Comanche was eliminated from the problem that confronted him.
The riderless horse flung up his head, with268a whinny of affright, and, looking hither and thither, as if unable to understand the meaning of the occurrence, dashed off to join his companions, further away on the prairie.
The thin puff of smoke had not lifted from before the captain’s face, when his nephew let fly at one of the warriors, who was extended along the back of his animal, as if inviting a shot. Avon missed, and the Indian, with astonishing quickness, brought his own gun to a level and fired in return. The ball nipped the brim of his sombrero, passing so close that for a second the youth believed he was hit.
The situation was growing serious, and, since this particular Comanche was so defiant, Avon decided that the occasion was a good one for the use of a repeating weapon. Without pausing to take special aim, he fired three times in rapid succession at his foe.
Though the latter escaped for the moment, his steed was less fortunate. He was hit hard by the first shot, while the last brought him to earth with a bullet through his brain.
His rider was too nimble to be caught by269the fall, but, leaping clear, ran swiftly across the plain in the effort to get beyond reach of the rifle, which seemed to be raining bullets all around him. His courage had given place to panic, and as he ran he bounded from side to side and up and down with the grotesque contortions of a Digger Indian when seeking to baffle the aim of an enemy.
Avon continued his fusillade, and by a piece of pure accident winged the fugitive. He did not fall, but the height of his leap and the resonance of his outcry, instantly succeeded by a pronounced limp in his gait, left no doubt that he had gotten in the path of the hurtling messenger.
“How are you making out, Baby?” asked CaptainShirril, turning his head and coolly scrutinizing his relative.
“Only fairly,” replied Avon, replenishing the magazine of his gun and keeping his gaze on the plain in front.
“It is well enough to drop a mustang, but it is better to tumble their riders off them.”
“I meant to do that, but failed.”
The natural supposition of the friends was270that the hot reception they had given their assailants would check them, and cause their withdrawal beyond the deadly range of their Winchesters. The reports must have reached the cowboys, and both glanced at the ridge to the west, over which they expected to see their comrades coming to their rescue.
But the Comanches could not have failed to know of the presence of others near at hand, which fact warned them that whatever they did must be done quickly. Instead of falling back, therefore, because of the loss of a single warrior and steed, they rallied and pushed the fight with greater vigor than ever.
In the face of the cracking Winchesters they rode closer than before, and then branching apart, put their animals on a run while they discharged their guns from every conceivable position. Instead of wheeling about as at first, they kept them straight away on the circle, which being less than before, enabled them to circumnavigate the defenders in a brief space of time.
The captain and his nephew had their hands full, for assailants were on every side of them,271and the popping of their guns was continuous. The attack was so serious, and the defenders were in such a conspicuous position, that it was impossible to escape the storm of bullets flying all around them.
A quick start on the part of Thunderbolt showed that he had been hit, while almost at the same moment the rearing of the captain’s mustang proved that he, too, was hurt.
“Make your horse lie down,” called the elder.
Avon had already determined on this recourse, and seizing the head of his animal he ordered him down. Thunderbolt was well trained, but the hurt already received made him restless, and his young master had to engage in a partial struggle before he gathered his legs under him and rolled over on his side.
The instant he did so Avon knelt behind his body and was in the most favorable posture for defense.
Captain Shirril’s task proved more difficult. His horse refused to go down at his command, and it was necessary to throw him. He resisted272with such vigor that his owner dropped his rifle and was forced to use his utmost strength before he could trip and bring him to the earth. He still fought, and the captain, losing patience for the moment, forgot the whistling missiles and gave his whole attention to the brute, which he speedily conquered.
Avon was on the point of offering help, when he perceived that the mustang was mastered, and he once more turned to the enemy, now pressing his advantage to the utmost.
The Comanches were so close, and the opportunity for aiming effectively was so good, that the shots of the youth began to tell. Had the red men been compelled to maintain one position in front, a single person with a repeating Winchester could have stood off the whole party; but, as has been explained, the Indians were on every hand.
But Avon was not throwing away his cartridges. The very first shot bored its way through the bronzed skull of a shrieking warrior, and the second slew his pony with such suddenness that the two rolled together on the273plain, the warrior being unable to extricate himself from beneath his struggling mustang.
The young man, finding no one in his immediate front, turned toward a couple that were advancing from another point, but before he could make his aim sure, he was shocked to hear a groan from Captain Shirril.
“Are you hit?” asked the nephew, turning his scared face toward him.
“Yes, but still able to do something; bring your horse to his feet and make a dash for the camp. There isn’t an earthly chance for us here.”
“But I cannot leave you, uncle, and, if I could it would be impossible to run the gauntlet.”
“It’s our only hope; my horse is too badly hurt to carry me off, but you may succeed, if you ride hard.”
“It won’t do,” replied the nephew, who, had the prospect been ten-fold more favorable, could not have deserted his relative at such a time.
“Hurrah!” he exclaimed the next moment, “yonder come the boys!”
274
He had caught sight of their friends approaching over the ridge, their animals on a dead run.
“They will be too late,” said Captain Shirril, whose horse at that moment received another shot and renewed his frantic struggles to regain his feet. His owner interposed, but, he, too, was wounded and unable to put forth the strength that had conquered the brute a moment before.
Avon would have gone to his help had there been anything to gain by it.
“Let him go,” he said, “he can do you no good.”
“Yes, he can and heshall.”
As he spoke, the captain whipped out his revolver and drove a couple of bullets through the brain of the mustang. He expected him to drop dead on the instant, when he would serve the purpose intended of a breastwork for his master.
Avon had withdrawn his attention at the critical moment, fearful that the Comanches, realizing the straits of himself and companion, would overwhelm them before resistance could275be offered. Thus his head was turned away from the mortally hurt horse of the captain, which, instead of sinking helpless to the earth, made a frantic leap and fell upon the unprepared youth.
It seemed for the moment as if a mountain had descended upon him. He struggled fiercely to free himself, and in his desperate effort worked his head and shoulders clear, but while trying to draw his revolver for his last defence, he succumbed. The sunlight faded from before his eyes, all became blank darkness, and consciousness departed.
276CHAPTER XXXI.FLAG OF TRUCE.
There was nothing to cause apprehension on the part of the cowboys in camp, when they heard the report of a single rifle from beyond the ridge over which Captain Shirril, Avon Burnet, and the young Comanche Shackaye had ridden in pursuit of the cattle that went astray the night before. One of the party might have found a chance to bring down something in the nature of game, which is liable to be encountered at every part of the Great Cattle Trail, from the outskirts of the capital of Texas to its termination in the State of Kansas.
But when, soon after, the shots came thick and fast, it was apparent that something unusual was going on.
“There’s mischief afoot!” called out Gleeson, “and that Comanche is at the bottom of it. Come, boys!”
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There was not an instant’s hesitation on the part of any member of the company. The cattle that were quietly browsing on the succulent grass were left to wander off or stampede themselves, or do whatever they chose, while the cowboys, including Nunez, the Mexican, swung into their saddles and sped away on a dead run toward the ridge.
Before they reached it the missing cattle came up from the other side and appeared on the crest. The advent of the steer that had suffered so severely at the hands of Avon Burnet imparted a mild panic to the others, so that the whole lot were on a trot. The horsemen were in too great haste to turn aside, and the animals, therefore, swerved to the right and continued their brisk gait in the direction of the main herd.
As has been said, every mustang was running at the highest speed, but the impetuous Gleeson maintained his place in front, and thundered up the slope as if his own life were at stake. Before he struck the crest, he rose in his box-stirrups and peered over at the plain beyond.
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“Just what I expected!” he exclaimed, “and that Shackaye has done it!”
It was not necessary to explain, for, before he could have done so, his comrades caught sight of the stirring scene which thrilled their leader. Captain Shirril and his nephew were standing off a party of dusky assailants, who were pressing them hard. The two mustangs were plainly seen, while the flashes of the Winchesters from behind them told the story as eloquently as if the cowboys were actual participants in the affray.
Not another word was uttered by the latter, but pressing their spurs deep into the flanks of their horses they sent them with arrowy haste straight toward the spot. They had hardly reached the base of the slope when they held their breath, for they saw the crisis had come. The red men were closing around the two combatants as if they realized that whatever was to be accomplished must be done within the succeeding few seconds.
Half the distance was passed, when the Comanches were observed scurrying toward a mass of hills hardly a half-mile distant. They279rode so closely that the cowboys failed to note the momentous fact that they bore a prisoner with them.
In such emergencies a party of American Indians generally manage to carry off their dead and wounded, but the haste was too urgent in this case. The stark figures were left stretched on the prairies where they had fallen, and a number of animals also lay motionless near. The wounded were taken care of, but the dead were left to bury the dead.
The cowboys discharged a score of shots at the Comanches, but the distance was too great to accomplish anything, and, seeing that it was impossible to overtake them before they reached the shelter of the wooded hills, Gleeson led the party toward the spot where they believed their friends needed instant care.
The prostrate horses, and a partial glimpse of a figure lying between them, caused the rescuers to believe that the captain and his nephew were either slain outright or badly hurt.
The approaching mustangs kept up their run until they were thrown on their haunches280with such suddenness that the shock seemed to fling the riders from their saddles. They leaped forward, and vigorous arms quickly lifted the body of the captain’s horse from off young Burnet, who opened his eyes and looked up with that faint wildness which showed he had no conception of the situation.
“Where’s the captain?”
This was the question that was asked by several, as all glared around for their leader. Before anyone attempted an answer, others examined the nephew and found he was without a wound. He had swooned under the sudden pressure of the horse shot by his uncle, but he quickly recovered, and, after being assisted to his feet and shaking himself together, everything came back to him. Turning to Thunderbolt he ordered him to rise, and the animal obeyed. He had received a couple of flesh-wounds, which stung him for the moment without incapacitating him for effective service.
Then, in as few words as possible, Avon told his story. He remembered that his uncle was281wounded before his horse was killed, and it was self-evident to everyone that the poor man had been carried off by the Comanches.
“Did you see Shackaye among ’em?” asked Gleeson, his face like a thunder-cloud.
“He was not with those who attacked us; I could not have failed to see him if he had been.”
“But what became of him? He started off with you, and you must have parted somewhere on the road.”
Young Burnet now told about Shackaye’s encounter with the steer which came near slaying him. Avon’s pursuit of the other troublesome animal withdrew all attention from him, and there was no certainty of the manner of his disappearance, which, to say the least, was extraordinary.
But the absence of Captain Shirril forbade that the cowboys should waste time in idleness. Instinctively every eye was turned toward the hills to the eastward among which the Comanches had vanished with their captive.
“They haven’t had time to go far,” said282Zach Collis, “and if we ride hard we shall soon run ’em down.”
“But is it best to try that?” was the question of Ward Burrell, or Old Bronze.
Gleeson, who was naturally looked upon as the leader, shook his head. “They’ll brain him the minute there’s a chance of losing him.”
“But why did they take him off and spareme?” asked the astonished Avon.
“They thought you was dead and so didn’t bother with you.”
“Why did they make him prisoner instead of doing what they had been trying so long to do––kill him?”
“He’s of more account than you;hewas the chap they was after, and notyou.”
“It looked for a time as though they had designs on me.”
The words of the Texan acted like a damper on the ardor of his companions, who were eager to hasten to the rescue of their captain. Had they not known that he was wounded, it is likely they would have insisted upon an instant and vigorous pursuit; but none failed283to see the truth of Gleeson’s utterances, though it was only a few minutes before that he was as impatient as any of them.
“Boys,” said he, observing that they were looking at him, “I think you know what all this means as well as I do. If we had ’em out on the plains where there was a fair chance, or if the cap could put in some licks for himself, it would be different; but they’re among them hills over there; they’re watching us now; we can’t make a move that they won’t know it the minute it’s started; they’ve got it on us, and just as soon as they see there’s any show of losing the cap they’ll finish him.”
“Ballyhoo is right,” remarked Wynwood, commonly known as Madstone; “they’ve got us foul.”
“That being so, there aint any use for you, pards; so go back to camp, look after the cattle, and leave things to me.”
The meaning of this proposition, which may sound strange to the reader, was that the only possible way of saving Captain Shirril was by negotiating for his release. The fact that the Comanches knew he was in charge of two284thousand cattle, and had made him prisoner instead of slaying him, established this truth in the minds of Oscar Gleeson and his comrades.
Furthermore, the Texan was confirmed in his belief that the act of Shackaye in joining the company before the start was the first step in an elaborate plot. It was his province to win the confidence of the captain, and to communicate, in the many secret ways so well understood by his people, with the Comanches, and to help when the time came for the important movement.
His absence at the critical period gave color to this theory. Circumstances had helped the treacherous red men, for it was as if Captain Shirril walked directly into the trap set by them.
It was a brave act on Gleeson’s part to venture alone among the hills in the hope of opening communication with the red men, when, if there was any mistake, he would be completely at their mercy. But he had uttered his decision with the air and manner of one who would brook no dispute. He285waved his friends off, and, wheeling about, they rode in the direction of the camp, frequently looking back at the daring fellow who realized as fully as they the delicate and perilous task he had taken upon himself.
Reaching the top of the ridge which has been referred to so often, the first glance was at the herd of cattle, which it was instantly seen required looking after. They had drifted far to the westward, and were so scattered as to need rounding-up in a general way or rather herding. Everything was favorable for good progress that day, since the stream to be crossed was small and shallow, and the sky was not only clear but the air just crisp enough to render travelling pleasant. But there was no thought of going forward until the fate of the captain was settled.
With only a brief halt the cowboys spurred their mustangs down the slope to attend to the cattle, but Avon Burnet remained on the crest, his interest lying elsewhere.
There was only a single small field glass in the company, and as it happened that was in the possession of Captain Shirril, so that the286youth had to depend upon his unaided vision. But the atmosphere in the Southwest is generally of crystalline clearness, and he was able to see his friend quite plainly until the hill beyond should hide him from view.
At the moment Avon turned the head of his horse toward the east, the Texan was quite close to the place where the Comanches had taken refuge with their prisoner. His horse was walking slowly, and it was evident he was on the watch for some sign from the red men who held the key to the situation. As he drew nearer his mustang moved still more deliberately, until it was hard to decide whether he was advancing at all.
Looking closely, however, he perceived that Gleeson’s progress had not ceased, and he was making some kind of signal. He had removed the handkerchief from around his neck, and was fluttering it over his head. Although its color debarred it from serving as the regulation flag of truce, there was little doubt that the meaning of its owner would be understood by whomsoever saw it.
“Ah, there they are!”
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This exclamation was uttered a few minutes later, when the watcher on the crest caught sight, not of one but of two Indians, who emerged from the hills on foot. They walked directly toward the Texan, their actions proving that they appeared in answer to his signal.
Gleeson, on perceiving them, brought his steed to a stand still and awaited their coming. None could have known better than he that he was within range of the companions of these two warriors, who could shoot him from his horse in the twinkling of an eye.
“And they will do it, too,” said Avon to himself, as the thought came to him; “but I believe I shall take a hand in this business.”
And, without waiting to observe the result of the interview, the young man set out to execute an extraordinary resolution that was formed on the spur of the moment.
288CHAPTER XXXII.DIPLOMACY.
Oscar Gleeson, the Texan, was correct in his suspicion of the purpose of the Comanches in making Captain Shirril their prisoner; having secured possession of him, they intended to force a liberal ransom on the part of his friends, as a condition of his restoration to liberty.
The act was not only an audacious one on their part, but it will be perceived that the fulfilment of the terms was certain to be attended with the gravest difficulty. The cowboys were not to be trifled with, and, since it was inevitable that a point would be reached where one party must of necessity trust the pledges of the other, a violent collision with serious consequences appeared unavoidable.
It has been shown that it was not until he arrived close to the hills, among which the289red men had fled with their captive, that there was any response to the signal he displayed almost from the first.
The moment he caught sight of the two warriors, he stopped his mustang and awaited their approach. It was not singular that a man who had crossed the Indian Nation so frequently as this veteran, recognized the couple as Wygwind, the chieftain, and Richita, whom he had met more than once and knew to be two of the worst miscreants belonging to the American race.
With no evidence, however, of his identification, he deliberately lowered his flag of truce, and returning it to its place around his brawny neck, secured it by tying the usual knot. Then with a half military salute he asked:
“Is the white man with you hurt bad?”
“Hurt not much,” replied Wygwind, who spoke English far better than his comrade.
“Why did you take him away?”
The American Indian, as a rule, is of melancholy temperament, but at this question the Comanche displayed an unmistakable grin which revealed his even white teeth.
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“We sell him––he worth good much.”
“What price do you ask for him?” demanded Gleeson, coming to the point with undiplomatic abruptness.
The expectation of the Texan was that these ambassadors would demand a large number of cattle, probably five hundred, in exchange for their valuable captive. He ardently hoped that such would prove the case, for he had already formed a scheme for paying off the rogues in their own coin.
His intention was to transfer the cattle, managing the payment, however, with such care that all breach of faith on the part of the captain’s enemies would be frustrated. Then, after he was safe with his friends, and the property was placed in the hands of the Comanches, it would be necessary for the red men toholdthem. The field would become an open one, and before they could turn their newly acquired property to account, they were likely to hear from the original proprietors.
But Wygwind was too shrewd to be ensnared in this style. He and his partners, in elaborating the scheme that had worked so291well up to this point, had foreseen the very contingency in the mind of the white man, who sat on his horse before the delegates.
“We take horses––so many.”
In making this answer, Wygwind raised the fingers and thumbs of his hands twice in succession. Unable to count a score in the English language, he proved nevertheless that he had a clear idea of the number, which was indicated so plainly that the Texan could make no mistake as to his meaning.
Gleeson was disappointed as well as surprised. Since each cowboy was provided with at least three horses, there were about thirty with the company. To turn two-thirds of these over to the red men would seriously cripple the whites, who had still a long journey before them.
Furthermore, it must effect a material change in the programme the Texan had formed. Horseflesh is as dear to the red as to the white man, and, well mounted as the former would be after the exchange, the chances of recovering the property by the Texans must be reduced to the minimum.