CHAPTER XXII.
THE FINAL TRAGEDY.
Seeing that his pistol was loaded, Tommy started at once after Alice, who actually had started for the distant city to warn Smithers of the danger in which he stood.
Skirting the huge masses of rock which lay about on all sides of the valley, Tommy succeeded in quitting the Dead Snake Canyon without attracting the notice of his father. Once out on the undulating prairie, he slipped out more boldly, and walked rapidly along the track which served as a road. Some distance ahead of him he fancied he saw a slender form which might be that of Alice. He quickened his movements. In a short time he was able to satisfy himself that it actually was the little girl proceeding on her chivalrous journey without exhibiting any apparent symptoms of fatigue.
All at once he beheld a tall form spring from the high grass among which it had been concealed. The long hair, ornamented with feathers, the red skin, and the dirty blanket in which the form was wrapped, assured him that the apparition was that of an Indian. Though comparatively rare in that part of the country, bands occasionallycrossed the prairie and did not hesitate to rob, burn and murder where they had the opportunity. In the hand of the Indian was an uplifted tomahawk. Horribly afraid of some tragedy, Tommy increased his pace to a run, hoping to come up in time to prevent the dastardly redskin from doing any harm to the little girl. But he was too late. The Indian uttered a terrible whoop and, in pure wantonness, made a slashing blow at Alice.
The child, frightened at the war cry, turned, and beholding the savage, sank upon her knees, holding up her hands in supplication.
What she said Tommy could not hear, but even at the distance he was from her he fancied he saw her lips move. Possibly she begged for mercy, possibly she prayed for help.
The cruel tomahawk, however, cut short her prayers, or her supplications, and sank deep into her brain, causing her to die without another word.
A fiendish laugh came from the Indian. His knife was instantly in requisition, and with a dexterity born of practice, he cut off her beautiful, flowing hair. He had murdered the poor child for her scalp.
Burning with rage and indignation, Tommy bounded over the ground, and when he got near enough he sankon one knee. Raising his pistol he fired. The Indian was hit, but not mortally.
He uttered a howl like that of a wild beast, and looked for his enemy, who was not so much hidden in the sage bark and chaparral as to be invisible.
But before he could load his rifle another shot from Tommy brought him to his knee, and a third rolled him over like a bullock.
The Indian appeared to be dead, but to make sure that the life had really left the wretch, Tommy struck him again and again with his own tomahawk, which he picked up from the ground, and hacked at him as he would have cut a mad dog or a venomous reptile.
"Poor child," he said, as he stooped down and kissed the blood-stained features of little Alice. "This is very hard. I would have gladly laid down my life to save hers, but it is one comfort that her young life is avenged on the person of this bloodthirsty savage."
Alice was quite dead. Near the spot where she fell was a cairn or heap of stones. Strangely enough it chanced that this cairn was the one erected by Smithers over the body of his son Harold, whom he had so cruelly killed on this very spot.
Perhaps the very ground which was drinking up the life blood of Alice had absorbed that of her brother.
Not being able to carry the body to the city for interment, and not liking to leave it to the mercy of the wolves, Tommy tore down some of the stones. Reverently lifting the body, he placed it in the center of the heap, and covered it again with the biggest stones his strength would permit him to lift.
Then the brother and sister were buried in one rude grave.
"Poor Alice!" said Tommy. "God bless her!"
His first impulse was to return to the cave and carry to his mother the melancholy news of Alice's death.
She had already been informed of the decease of Harold, and had grieved much in consequence; but come to think of it, he felt a conviction that she would like him, if possible, to save Smithers from the impending arrest.
Following out this train of thought Tommy turned round again and walked toward Silver City. It was quite late in the day when he arrived there, but he soon found Mr. Smithers, and told him all the sad news.
"But this is not all," said Tommy. "You are in danger of——"
"Of what?"
"Arrest. The detective, Berghausen, is in this city looking for you, and you may expect him here at any moment. Your only safety is instant flight."
Smithers looked the picture of despair.
"I must fly," he exclaimed, after a pause. "Truly has it been said that there is no rest for the wicked. But it is hard to have no place to lay one's head, and to be a wanderer on the face of the earth. Why was I not content with little? All this comes of pride and living beyond my income. Take warning by my fate, boy, and whatever your circumstances in life may be, rest satisfied with it. Pride must have a fall."
"Had you not better take what money you can, hire a horse, and start, sir?" said Tommy.
"Yes, yes. It is very good of you to do all this for me, Tommy. I had no right to expect it, for I always treated you badly."
"Mother always taught me to forgive my enemies," answered Tommy; "and, of course, I could not expect you to like me so well as Harold and Alice."
Going to the safe he took from it a large roll of bills.
There was a voice on the stairs.
"Ha!" he cried, "what is that?"
"For Heaven's sake!" exclaimed Tommy, "get away somehow. It may be the detective. Can you not get out at the roof?"
"I know not."
The noise increased.
The next moment the door was pushed open, and a tall, thick-set man appeared on the threshold.
"You're my prisoner!" he shouted. "I know you from a photograph. Up with your arms, or I'll give you some lead."
Smithers failed to comply with his request, and hastily drew a pistol, which he fired at the detective.
His hand trembled so that the bullet went wide of its mark, and Berghausen, seeing that he meant fight, and that his life was in danger if he did not adopt violent means, returned the fire.
He was cool and collected, and did not miss his mark. Smithers uttered a cry, and pressing his hand to his heart, staggered against the wall, and fell on the carpet, mortally wounded.
"I'm sorry," remarked Berghausen, coolly; "but I had to do it."
Tommy had flown to Smithers' side.
"Are you much hurt?" he asked.
"Done for, my lad," exclaimed Smithers, speaking with difficulty. "My race is run. It will soon be all over, and I can't say I regret it."
"Shall I fetch a doctor?"
"No use. Pray God have mercy on my sinful soul!"
These were the last words he uttered, for though his lips continued to move at intervals for some minutes, no coherent sound came from them.
The sheriff, who was a man named Dunbarton, happened to be passing at the time, and, hearing the shots, thought it his business to enter the house. He saw the blood-stained corpse of Smithers.
"What's this?" he exclaimed.
"I am a detective, with a warrant for this man's arrest for robbing his employers in New York," replied Berghausen, "and I killed him in self-defense."
"Well," said the sheriff, "if you'll take my advice, you'll leave town and get back mighty quick."
"What for?"
"The boys liked Smithers, and knew his pard well; they might take it into their heads to lay you out."
"That's so," answered the detective.
Accordingly he got out of the house, and made his way out of the town, for he felt somewhat the hint given him was equivalent to an order.
Tommy had not been noticed by anyone.
Seeing that he could be of no further use to the sheriff or to Smithers, who was now beyond mortal aid, he too left the house.
At the extremity of the town he overtook a wagon. It was guarded by two men heavily armed, and he saw Berghausen talking to them.
"You can go along with us," said one of the men, "if you can fight, for we've got silver in the wagon, and are told to look out for Capt. Jordan."
"Good enough," replied the detective.
"May I go with you also?" asked Tommy.
"No; we don't want any boys hanging onto us," was the answer.
Tommy shrank behind at this ungracious reply, and the wagon moved on.
Soon the shades of night began to fall, and, feeling very tired, Tommy threw himself down on the sage brush, and fell fast asleep. When he awoke the sun was riding high in the heavens.
"I must hurry up," he remarked. "If the wagon traveled all night, it has reached the canyon ere this, and either Thompson has captured it, or Berghausen and the others have overcome him."
He was naturally very anxious to know what had happened, and walked at his quickest pace, his heart beating wildly with anxiety.
It was midday when he reached the calm and pleasantvalley, passing in through the high rocks on either side, whose quaintly shaped forms seemed to resemble giant sentinels.
Going direct to the cave, he found it empty. In vain he called to his mother. There was no answer. Alarmed and still more anxious than before, he proceeded to explore the valley.
All at once he distinguished his mother's form seated on a fragment of rock. At her feet was the body of a man.
One glance enabled Tommy to comprehend what had happened.
Approaching her, he took her hand, saying:
"Mother, it is all over now."
She raised her tear-stained face to his. Then she lowered it once more, and cast her gaze sorrowfully upon the corpse, which was that of the bandit, Thompson.
"We are alone in the world now," continued Tommy. "Smithers is dead, shot by Berghausen; Alice was killed by an Indian, but I will protect you."
"He attacked the wagon," explained she. "He was killed at the first fire. His servant's body is down there"—pointing with her finger—"with the body of one of the travelers, who was killed."
"Come away, mother," said Tommy. "I'll return and bury the bodies."
"What are we to do now?" demanded Tommy's mother. "The future seems such a blank to me. Oh! thank God that you are spared to me, Tommy."
"Mother," said Tommy, "while I was burying the bodies, a man came along on horseback. He was looking for me. His name is Maj. Allston. He was Mr. Smithers' partner, and he gave me a roll of bills, which he said was Smithers' share of the profits of the game they played. It is over two thousand dollars. Let us go back to New York. We will start in business, and we shall not want."
Mrs. Smithers drew him to her bosom, and embraced him tenderly.
"God bless you, Tommy. I will live for your sake, but I had very dark thoughts in my mind just now—oh! so bad and wicked; may I be forgiven for them."
The next day they went to the depot, and the swift locomotive conveyed two travel-stained passengers back to the East.
They started in a little business, and Tommy, no longer the fool of the family, showed such industry and smartness that he prospered.
The mother and son were very happy together, and soon the checkered and eventful past was forgotten.
THE END.
TheRound the World Librarywill next contain a tale of the amusing pranks of "Mischievous Matt," No. 30, by Bracebridge Hemyng.