“Yes, I forgot the ‘Crow-Killer.’ I believe he does love me like a brother, although he is old enough to be my father, and until a short time ago we had never met.”
“Then there are two that would mourn for you, for there is another besides him.” Leona was blushing scarlet at her own boldness. Dave detected a meaning in her tone and words that sent a thrill of joy to his heart; and Leona, feeling his arm tremble within hers, knew that she was understood. When two people love each other, and wish each to know of that love, as a general thing it don’t take very long for them to discover the truth, and so, as they walked on in the darkness, walked on beside the winding river, Leona and Dave knew that they loved. Oh, happy moment, when the first love fills the heart, that before had been vacant!
Dave was the first to break the silence.
“Leona,” he said, “I’ve wanted for a long time to tell you how much I cared for you, but I never found the courage to do so until now. I’m only a poor guide, but if you’ll give me your love, I’ll work hard and build up a home for you that one day you won’t be ashamed to share.”
“I should never be ashamed of any home where you are, David,” replied Leona, looking up into her lover’s face, with those trusting blue eyes, so full of innocence and love. “I can not give you what you ask, for it is not mine to give—it is yours already.”
David Reed had never felt so happy, and so the lovers walked on, weaving bright hopes for the future—that future which always looks so bright to those who love.
Dave, so engrossed by the sweet girl at his side, had not noticed a dark figure that moved when they moved, and halted when they halted; and now, as the lovers sat down by the river-bank, hand in hand, and whispered low words of love and of eternal faith, the shadowy figure extended itself flat on the prairie a hundred yards or so from them, and became invisible in the gloom.
A few hundred feet from where the lovers sat was a little thicket of dwarfed oak trees. Concealed behind the thicket from the view of the fort and the wagon-camp, stood a white horse, spotted on the flanks with patches of black. ’Twas the horse of the Indian who had called himself a chief of the Yancton Sioux. As the moon was again obscured by clouds, forth from the little thicket came the Indian himself. Snake-like he crawled toward the lovers, who, listening only to each other, did not dream that danger was nigh. On came the savage, noiseless as a cat. In his hand he carried a long scalping-knife; his face was bedaubed with war-paint, vermilion and white. Every second brought the creeping savage nearer and nearer to the unconscious pair. He had accomplished half the distance between the thicket and the lovers, when for a few moments the moon again struggled forth and threw its beams over the prairie; the savage sunk down in the grass. When the moon was again obscured, he recommenced his onward passage. But if his approach had been unnoticed by the lovers, ’twas not so with the shadowy form on the prairie. That watcher evidently had seen the Indian, for, imitating his motions, he made his way noiselessly through the grass, also toward the lovers. When the savage got within ten feet of Leona and Dave, he paused for a moment, gathered himself together like a cat—he had not noticed the dark form in his rear, so intent was he on his prey—sprung upon Dave and aimed a lightning stroke at his back; but, at that very moment, Dave moved a little to the right, to kiss, for the first time, the upturned lips of Leona—a movement that saved his life, for the knife of the Indian, missing his body, only cut through the loose red shirt. The force of the shock, though, sent Dave headlong off the bank into the river. In a moment the Indian seized Leona, raised her in his arms and was about to fly across the prairie, when the dark shadow which had trailed him in the grass, and which was none other than Abe, the “Crow-Killer,” sprung upon him. The Indian relinquished Leona, who sunk to the ground, to grapple with the “Crow-Killer.” His only object now was to escape, but the grasp of the old Indian-fighter was not easily shaken off. They closed in a fearful struggle; the moon once more shone forth, and they beheld each other’s features; the surprise was mutual.
“The ‘Crow-Killer’!” cried the savage, in the Crow tongue.
“White Vulture!” exclaimed Abe.
“Yes, son of ‘Little Star’,” cried the Indian.
For a moment the grasp of the “Crow-Killer” relaxed; the savage tore himself away and fled across the prairie toward the thicket, where stood his horse. Abe drew a revolver and leveled it at the flying Indian; a moment he covered him with the shining tube; he was in easy range, and the “Crow-Killer” was a dead shot; a moment he held the life of the White Vulture at his mercy; then he slowly dropped the revolver from the poise, muttering:
“Not by my hand! his blood must not be on my head!”
Dave speedily gained the bank, nothing hurt by his involuntary bath, and they all returned to the camp. Abe charged both Leona and Dave to say nothing of the attack as it would only create useless alarm. The Indian having gained his white steed fled in the darkness.
CHAPTER V. THE CROWS ON THE WAR-TRAIL.
Early on the following morning the emigrants broke camp and started on their march up the Yellowstone trail. Abe and Dave rode on before.
“That was a bold move of the Injun last night,” said Dave.
“Yes,” answered Abe; “I expected that he might be lurking nigh our camp, arter I saw him in the afternoon. That was the reason that, when you and the gal headed for the prairie, I followed. I kinder thought that you would be so took with the gal’s bright eyes that you wouldn’t be able to look out for yourself,” and the old hunter indulged in a dry chuckle.
“I own that it was careless, but I didn’t think that the red devils would ever dare to come so near our camp and the fort.”
“Jus’ so; but this ’ere ‘White Vulture’ has got a white man’s head on his shoulders as to judgment and dash, combined with the deviltry and cunning of the Injun. Why, if it hadn’t been for me, he’d have carried off the gal as sure as my name’s Abe Colt. It was a bold thing an’ it would have been successful if luck hadn’t ’a’ gone ag’in’ him.”
“One thing, Abe, puzzles me,” said Dave.
“An’ what is that?” asked the “Crow-Killer.”
“How he escaped after you clinched with him?”
The old hunter paused for a moment before he answered but after a little while, he spoke:
“Wal, he said something that staggered me. I let up on the grip an’ then he slipped through my fingers jus’ like an eel.”
“What did he say?” asked Dave.
“Not much; only that he was the son of ‘Little Star,’” replied Abe, a peculiar expression appearing upon his features.
“And ‘Little Star’ was the Crow girl that you married!” cried Dave in astonishment.
“Jus’ so. If you remember, I told you I had a kind of a sort of a feelin’ that it was ag’in’ my nature to hurt the ‘White Vulture,’ although he belonged to the tribe, not a red sucker of whom I ever spared when I got within rifle-range of ’em.”
“Then the ‘Little Star’ must have been carried to the Crow nation and married to one of their chiefs,” said Dave.
“That air likely; but a Crow warrior that I met onc’t at Fort Benton on a peace talk, a brother of the ‘Rolling Cloud’—that’s the father of the ‘White Vulture,’ that I killed—walked up to me an’ asked if I were the ‘Crow-Killer.’ Wal, I expected a tussle thar an’ then, but he only looked at me, an’ said in the Crow language: “The ‘Crow-Killer’ is a great chief; he is as strong as the white bear; he killed the ‘Rolling Cloud,’ but the Crow chief has a son, the ‘White Vulture,’ an’ he will take the scalp of the ‘Crow-Killer’; it will dry in the smoke of his lodge, an’ the Crow nation will be glad. The ‘Crow-Killer’ is a great brave, but when he is tied to the torture-stake, the Crows will speak words in his ear that will make him howl like a dog—words that will burn like fire;” then the chief walked away. Now, I’ve puzzled considerably to know what those words air. I s’pose it’s something ’bout my Injun wife, the ‘Little Star,’ but I hadn’t any idea then that the ‘White Vulture’ was her son, an’ it kinder considerably started me when I hearn he was. I’ve a sort of suspicion now what them words air a-goin’ to be, that’s goin’ to make me squeal. But then ag’in, thar’s another thing that gits me: I never hearn of this chief—this ‘White Vulture’—having any brother, but still t’other one mought have died. Anyway, one of these days I shall find out all about it.”
“Yes, you’ll find out easy enough; just let the Crows get hold of you—”
“Jus’ so!” interrupted Abe, with a shrewd smile, “but I ain’t in a hurry to have that happen. My top-knot is well enough as it is, an’ I don’t intend that any Crow shall lift my ha’r if I can prevent it. I’ll give ’em pretty considerable of a tussle first. But, I say, you took a long walk last night; did you an’ the little gal come to an understanding?”
“Yes,” answered Dave, a smile lighting up his features.
“Wal, I thought it probable that you settled matters; but, I say, Dave, don’t give the red devils a chance at you ag’in.”
“Don’t fear; but I did not think that there was the slightest danger. I don’t believe that there’s another red-skin on the plains that would have dared to attempt it.”
“We ain’t seen the last of him yet,” said Abe, gravely. “If we don’t have a big fight afore we reach the head-waters of the Yellowstone, then I’m a sucker an’ no Injun-fighter.”
“I agree with you,” said Dave, “but it will take a big party to clean us out. We ought to be able to whip a couple of hundred red-skins at the least.”
“That’s so, Dave. This fellow being around the fort looks mighty suspicious; he was on a spying expedition to see how big a party we were. He’s a long-headed Injun, is this ‘White Vulture’; he knows if he can only flax out the ‘Crow-Killer,’ it will be a big feather in his cap among his nation. An’ my opinion is, that he’ll try mighty hard to do that; so we must keep our eyes open. I reckon they won’t trouble us until after we get past the Big Horn river, but, arter that time look out for lightning. In about two days, if I don’t miss my calculations, we’ll have Injuns all around us, thick as fleas in a Mexican ranche.”
So, on went the wagon-train—Abe and Dave keeping a sharp look-out over the rolling prairie.
At noon the train halted for a couple of hours for rest and food. At two o’clock, the train was again in motion, the vigilance of the guides increasing as they progressed further into the prairie waste.
During the noon halt, Dave had found time to exchange a few words with Leona. He frankly and without reserve told her that danger was at hand, that the train was liable to be attacked at any moment, and that at the first sounds of alarm for herself and companions to lay down in the wagon, the sides of which would afford some protection. Leona’s cheeks paled a little, more, though, at the thought of her lover’s danger than at her own.
“You will be careful, Dave,” she said; “be careful for my sake.”
“Yes,” he responded; “don’t fear, Leona. I shall come through all right; only look out for yourself, that’s all, because it I thought that you were needlessly exposed, it would take away half my courage.”
Leona, like a good girl, promised to be careful.
The danger of an Indian attack was known now to all the emigrants, and as the train rolled on, the men looked carefully to their weapons and prepared for the expected encounter.
Abe and Dave were ahead as usual, their keen eyes eagerly and carefully scanning the broad expanse of the prairie before them.
So far, even the watchful glance of the old Indian-fighter had not detected a single sign of Indians being near. No fresh trails were upon the prairie.
Early that morning, before the march, he had carefully examined the hoof-prints left by the horse of the Indian chief, commencing at the little thicket; the trail led across the river and off in a south-western direction, but this did not relieve the mind of the guide; he knew the Indians too well; he conjectured that the party under the lead of the ‘White Vulture’ were probably encamped somewhere near the Big Horn river, and that their intention was to follow the river north and thus strike the course of the train.
At six that afternoon the train halted for the night; they had made forty miles since leaving the fort. Fires were kindled, the river-bank supplying plenty of fuel. Then arrangements were made for passing the night; the wagons were drawn up in a semicircle, the ends of which rested on the river-bank; the beasts of burden were unharnessed and brought within the circle—a wise precaution, for the first attempt on the part of the Indians in an attack is always to stampede the cattle. These once dispersed and scattered over the prairie, the emigrants of course can not advance or retreat, and if the savages are unsuccessful in their attack on the wagons and are beaten off, at least they have the satisfaction of gathering in the stampeded stock.
The wagon-train “packed,” the next movement of the guides was to throw out pickets and divide the men into “watches” for the night. Arms were looked to and all preparations made to resist a night attack. Instructions were given to the pickets, who were relieved every two hours, to fire their rifles at the slightest alarm. The guides slept by turns, and one was always on the alert, passing from picket to picket, noiselessly as a panther, and ever and anon gliding like a ghost through the darkness of the prairie beyond the picket-line, watching to detect the presence of the foe.
The night passed slowly away without a single signal of danger.
As the first gray streaks of dawn began to appear, Abe, returning from a prolonged scout on the prairie, met Dave who had just woke from an hour’s nap.
“Well, any sign?”
“Nary sign. Thar hain’t been a red devil within a mile of us last night, I’ll bet,” replied Abe.
“Can they have thought we are too strong for them and given us up?”
“No, I don’t think that,” responded Abe, thoughtfully. “I tell you, this ‘White Vulture’ is jist as smart as they make ’em. He knows that we of course suspect that an attack would be made, ’cos we saw him. Now, of course, he knows that we’ll be on our guard ag’in’ the attack; so he just waits; he lets two or three days go by; we don’t see any Injun sign; we git careless—don’t keep up our watch—don’t look for an attack—an’ then he comes down onto us like a panther, claws an’ all. Two days more, at the rate we are going at, will bring us to where the trail crosses the Yellowstone an’ strikes off to the north-west to Codotte’s Pass. Wal, now, in ’bout three days, when we’re between the Yellowstone an’ the Missouri, heading for the Missouri, he’ll go for us.”
“There is sense in what you say,” said Dave.
“Sartain, I’m a nigger if thar ain’t; but though I think I’ve got the Injun’s plan down to a p’int, I ain’t a-going to be caught napping afore we leave the Yellowstone, ’cos he may go for us at any moment; therefore I shall keep my eyes open.”
Breakfast was prepared and the emigrants, after partaking of it, again took up their line of march.
We will now return to the “White Vulture” we left flying for his life across the prairie. Mounted on the milk-white steed, that was indeed a horse of matchless action, he crossed the Yellowstone and rode in a south-western direction. His way lay across a rolling prairie dotted here and there with little clumps of timber. Ever and anon he turned in his saddle and listened for the sounds of pursuit. Satisfied at last that no one was on his trail, he drew rein beside one of the little clumps of timber; dismounted, tethered his horse to a stunted oak, then taking from his pouch some dried buffalo-meat, cured in the sun, he made a scanty meal, then after a careful scout around his immediate neighborhood, he laid himself down upon the prairie and slept. The white steed, that had evidently been reared among the Indians and understood their customs, slept calmly by the side of its master.
As the first cold gray streaks of light appeared in the east, the Indian chief awoke, mounted his horse and rode off, this time shaping his course almost directly west. On he rode, from the early dawn until the sun’s warm rays showed the noon at hand; then he halted by the side of a little hollow in the prairie from which a spring gushed forth, gave his horse water, partook again of the buffalo-meat, let his horse graze for an hour or so on the fresh young grass and then again pursued his way.
Two hours more of hard riding brought the “White Vulture” to the bank of the Big Horn river, to an Indian encampment.
Some hundred warriors of the Crow nation had there tethered their horses, while the braves themselves lay upon the grass, or walked listlessly up and down by the turbid stream, now swollen high by the spring rains.
From the fact that no squaws were with the party, nor lodges, nor dogs—those usual accompaniments to stationary Indian encampments—one acquainted with their customs would instantly have pronounced them to be on the war-path. And if further evidence was wanted, the gayly-painted faces of the warriors, bedecked with crimson, yellow, black and white tints in all the hideous fashions of the savages when on the war-trail, would have confirmed it.
The “White Vulture” dismounted from his horse, tied him to a shrub, and with stately steps walked to the river’s bank, where, under the shade of an oak tree, sat ten warriors, evidently the principal chiefs of the party. The “White Vulture” sat down in the circle.
“My brother is late,” said an old chief, who was known among the Crows as the “Thunder-Cloud,” probably from his dark color; he was one of the oldest and best warriors in all the Crow nation.
“Yet the ‘White Vulture’s’ horse is like the wind; he could not come before.”
“Has the great chief been on the war-trail?” asked another brave.
“The ‘White Vulture’ has been to the lodges of the blue-coated whites, on the Powder river; he has seen the white wagons start for the great mountains. If his brothers will open their ears the ‘White Vulture’ will speak.”
Then the chief gave a detailed account of his visit to Fort Bent and what had occurred there. When he spoke of the riches of the emigrant wagons, the eyes of the Indians sparkled with greed, but when he spoke of the number of fighting men attached to the train, their brows grew dark, and when he told them that the famous Indian-fighter, the terror of all their nation, the dreaded “Crow-Killer” was with the train, their faces showed their disappointment and their unwillingness to encounter the old guide.
After the “White Vulture” had finished his story, there was silence in the Indian council. To tell the truth they feared to attack the train. They had sent some thirty of their warriors with the two wagons of furs captured from the trappers to their chief village, which was situated on the head-waters of the Missouri, near the base of the Rocky Mountains.
“My brothers are silent,” said the “White Vulture,” a perceptible sneer curling his lip; “will they attack the white wagons, or will they fly from the ‘Crow-Killer’ like the hawk from the eagle? Will they yield their hunting-grounds to the tread of the white man’s foot, or will they fight and die like warriors for what is their own?”
The braves looked at the bold speaker. No one in the circle could gainsay the caution or the prowess of the “White Vulture.” At length one of the braves spoke:
“The ‘Crow-Killer’ is a devil; the Great Spirit watches over his life.”
Then the “White Vulture” told of his encounter with the “Crow-Killer”; he had not related it before. The chiefs listened attentively. At last, after a long deliberation they determined to attack the train and invested the “White Vulture” with supreme command of the expedition; hitherto he had shared it with two others.
The “White Vulture” gave the order for the band to move, and in a few minutes the warriors were in the saddle. The whole party crossed the Big Horn river and rode slowly off in a north-western direction, that in time would bring them to the Yellowstone river.
The old chief “Thunder-Cloud” rode by the side of the “White Vulture.”
“The ‘White Vulture’ felt the grasp of the ‘Crow-Killer’?” asked the old chief.
“Yes; his arms are like the oak: they twined around the ‘White Vulture’ like the snake around the bird.”
“Yet the ‘White Vulture’ did not lose his scalp to the ‘Crow-Killer’?”
“The chief remembered the words of his father, the ‘Rolling Cloud.’ He told his son that if he ever met the ‘Crow-Killer’ and was in danger from him, to say that he was the son of ‘Little-Star.’”
“Did my brother say so?”
“Yes!”
“And the ‘Crow-Killer’?” questioned the old chief.
“He started as if he had been struck by the forked light of the Great Spirit; his arms lost their strength; the ‘White Vulture’ escaped from them and came back to his brothers; the charm was good.”
Then as they rode on, the “White Vulture” told the old chief of the beautiful pale-face girl whose hair was the color of the red metal that the Blackfeet sometimes found in the sands of the mountain streams and molded into bullets—bullets with which they had slain many a brave chief of the Crow nation—how her eyes in color were like the lodge of the Great Spirit above and as soft as the eyes of the deer.
“My brother would take the white singing-bird to his wigwam,” said the old chief; “it is good; she shall rear young braves, that in moons will be great warriors of our tribe, for the ‘White Vulture’ is the great fighting-man of the Crow nation.”
And so onward rode the Crow warriors on the war-trail.
CHAPTER VI. ONE AGAINST EIGHT.
’Twas the third afternoon after their leaving Fort Bent that we again visit the emigrant train.
Although, as yet, Abe had seen nothing to warrant the supposition that Indians were near at hand, yet somehow he felt assured that such was the case; the old Indian-fighter had lived too long in the Indian country and knew their ways too well for him to feel safe after seeing the “White Vulture” at the fort.
The train moved slowly; the horse of the “White Vulture” was fleet; he could easily have joined the warriors and led them back to the attack, during the time the train had been on the march from Fort Bent.
The wagons had just started from their noon rest; this was their last day’s march by the Yellowstone; they would camp that night by the side of the river, and in the morning turn northward toward the Missouri.
The old hunter had thought the matter over carefully; he was convinced that the Indians were not before but behind him, probably following on his trail. To test the truth of this, all the morning he had lagged behind, leaving the train in the care of Dave. At one time he had been at least a mile behind the rest, offering a tempting opportunity to the trailing savages to swoop down upon and capture him, which might seem to them an easy task, but would have been in reality a hard and difficult one, as the guide was well armed and mounted on a roan horse of great speed and endurance. But somehow, if there were savages in the rear as the scout expected, they did not take advantage of the opportunity to capture the famous “Crow-Killer.” This was a puzzle to the old Indian-fighter; he pored over the fact; he could not account for it. Finally, an idea struck him; his face brightened up, and he drew a long breath of relief.
“What a cussed fool I’ve been!” he cried to himself, slapping his thigh vigorously as he rode along behind the train. “Thar’s brains at the bottom of it, in course! If they went for me, naterally I’d make a fight—a noise, and alarm the train; their idea is not to alarm us, but come down suddenly an’ bag us all like a blessed lot of turkeys—that is, if we let them do it. Why, I mought ’a’ knowed that, if I had as much sense as a yaller dog. That’s the identical idea, blamed if it ain’t!” And then the old hunter chuckled to himself, “Guess I mought as well interfere in that air leetle arrangement. I ain’t had a skirmish for some time, an’ I mought as well get my hand in. I mought as well tell Dave what I’m up to.” So, patting the gallant roan on the neck, he urged her forward, passed the train and joined Dave, who was riding on ahead, keeping a sharp look-out upon the country before him.
The two canvassed matters for awhile, when Dave said:
“But, are you sure, Abe, that there are Injuns back of us, on our trail? They may be on the other side of the river, or ahead between us and the Missouri.”
“You talk reason, Dave, but did you notice, jest after we started this morning, we roused a leetle flock of ducks out of the Yellowstone?” asked the “Crow-Killer.”
“Yes, I did notice it.”
“Wal, I was behind the train, an’ I noticed that after we passed, the ducks settled back again to the river. Wal, ’bout half an hour arterwards that same flock of ducks flew over our heads, going to the north-west. Wal—whatever disturbed those ducks were about half an hour behind us, or, say, in distance, ’bout four miles. Now, when we disturbed the ducks they flew up an’ then flew back, but this time they flew off. That convinces me that they were disturbed by a large party of Injuns, perhaps shot at by them with arrows. What do you think?”
“I think you are right, Abe, and probably to-night we shall be attacked,” replied Dave, his eyes growing earnest in their look and his brows contracting as he thought of the danger to which his beloved Leona must soon be exposed.
“Wal, Dave, I ain’t fit Injuns since I were knee-high to a grasshopper for nothing, an’ I intend to find out whether my guess is true or not.”
“What are you going to do?”
“The Injuns haven’t let me see them because they have seen me, that’s the idea. They have probably got one or two on ahead as sort of scouts, an’ then the main body follers in the rear, so as not to tumble on us in case we happen to stop suddenly. The chief in command, who is probably the ‘White Vulture,’ is holding ’em back so as to surprise us at the right time. Now, I’m goin’ to drop back an’ not let ’em see me. I’ll jist dismount, tie old roan here behind some bushes to hide her, lay low in the grass until Mr. Injun comes along, for of course he will come, having nothing to excite his suspicions; then I’ll jist pop him over, take his scalp-lock an’ leave him as a warning to the rest of the red devils.”
“But, suppose there should be two or three in the advance?” said Dave.
“Wal, I’ve got six shots in this ’ere revolver of mine an’ I guess I could even settle for an agent away from ’em. I’ll leave my rifle on the roan, so in case they push me hard I’ll have another shot. Jist you keep on with the train, camp at the bend where we camped last trip. Don’t be alarmed for me. If I don’t come back, carry the train on to Montana, conclude that these durned crows have wiped me out at last, an’ jist settle the account with them whenever you meet them.”
So, with a hearty pressure of Dave’s hand, the “Crow-Killer” turned his horse off one side and let the train pass him.
The wagon soon rolled by; then the “Crow-Killer,” selecting a little thicket on the river’s bank, dismounted and hid himself and horse behind it. He tied his rifle on the saddle so that he could easily free it, then examined the charges of his revolver, loosened his bowie-knife in its sheath, and being prepared for the coming fight, coolly extended himself at full length upon the grass, having first arranged the bushes before him so as to command a view down the river.
The minutes flew rapidly; no sign of any Indians yet. The old hunter grew a little impatient.
“Consarn ’em!” he muttered, “why don’t they come? ’Pears to me they’re acting dreadful cautious. Ah!”
The exclamation was caused by something moving on the prairie far in the distance.
The hunter watched it attentively; it was too distant for him to distinguish distinctly what it was.
“Looks like a horse,” said Abe. “’Tain’t possible, though, ’cos if it were a stray horse, the Injuns would have gobbled it up long ago. I shall soon know, at any rate.”
Then the animal, coming on at a rapid pace, mounted one of the distant swells of the prairie and proved to be a large wolf. He came rapidly on, and at quite a distance scented the hunter and gave him a wide berth, sheering off to the north-west.
“Wonder if he wasn’t frightened by the Injuns, now?” questioned the hunter to himself; “’spect he was. Sho! what’s that?”
A little flock of ducks came flying over his head from down the river, evidently alarmed at something.
“That’s Injun sign, sure,” chuckled the “Crow-Killer”, and he again examined his revolver, making sure that the caps were down firm on the nipples.
“Now, then, old roan, I guess you and me’ll have a fight afore we’re an hour older,” said the hunter, addressing his horse as if he had been a human.
Far in the distance Abe could discern two mounted figures; they were approaching but slowly; but as they came on, the keen eyes of the guide could see that they were Indians.
“I was right! The White Vulture is a smart feller for an Injun, but he ain’t the match for the ‘Crow-Killer’ yet. Let me see: thar’s two of them to settle. I wonder if they’ll be within revolver range ’fore they spy me? Guess they will. Hello! thar’s another red-skin ahead on foot.” And in truth, there strode a stalwart warrior a couple of hundred yards before the others; he was evidently the advance scout.
“Three!” cried the “Crow-Killer”; “wal—the more the merrier. I guess I’m good for ’em.”
The single Indian in advance was coming on with a long, tireless stride, his eager eyes fixed upon the wagon-trail imprinted on the prairie-grass before him. Then behind the single savage on foot and the two mounted ones, the hunter saw five more Crows on horseback. A low whistle escaped from the lips of the Indian-fighter as he beheld the newcomers.
“Sho! thar’s a heap onto ’em; guess I’ll have to make a runnin’ fight; eight ag’in’ one—tall odds even for the ‘Crow-Killer.’ Hello! thar’s the ‘White Vulture’ or his hoss—same thing, ’cos of course he’s on his back.” And as the hunter had said, at the head of the last five Indians rode the “White Vulture,” mounted on the milk-white steed.
The “Crow-Killer” thought over his plan of action and speedily decided what to do. Little time for thinking had he, for the Indian on foot was even now within rifle range; and his long, loping stride carried him rapidly forward. He was a thick-set, muscular young brave, brawny-chested, but with the misshapen lower limbs peculiar to all the “Horse Indians,” who, from infancy, spend nearly all their lives on horseback, and rarely use their legs for locomotion, unless in some case like the present, where, in trailing a foe, there was much less chance of being detected by that foe on foot than on the back of a steed.
The face of the young brave was gayly decked with the war-paint, as was also his bare breast. In his hand he carried a short carbine, such as are carried by the United States troops. It was evidently a trophy of victory wrested from the “blue-coated chiefs,” as the Indians generally designate the soldiers who wear the blue of Uncle Sam.
The sight of the carbine raised the old hunter’s anger.
“Guess, afore long, I’ll fix you so you won’t steal any more carbines!” muttered the “Crow-Killer,” as, raising his revolver, he “drew a bead” on the savage, who still came rapidly on, unconscious of his danger.
“I’ll plug him, then I’ll mount old roan and go for the rest. Arter he’s out of the way ’twill only be seven ag’in’ one. I’ll teach ’em to foller my trail, the red skunks, durn ’em!”
A moment the old hunter glanced along the shining tube, then a motion of his finger—crack! the sharp report of the revolver rung out on the stillness of the prairie—the savage stopped, trembled, clutched his breast with his hand convulsively and then fell forward on his face, dead—shot through the heart.
“Another Crow gone to kingdom come!” the guide muttered, coolly recharging the empty chamber of his revolver.
The two mounted Indians, seeing the fall of their comrade, hearing the sharp, whip-like crack of the revolver, and detecting the little puff of white smoke that curled upward from the ambush of the guide and floated lazily on the air above his head, instantly paused, then in a second flung themselves from their horses’ backs into the prairie-grass, where they nestled like so many snakes watching for their foe; their well-trained horses stood motionless. The party of five behind, who had also seen the fall of the foremost savage, quitted the backs of their horses and joined the two Indians concealed in the grass.
“Durn ’em!” ejaculated the hunter, “do they think that my rifle will carry to all creation?” for the Indians were far beyond rifle-range.
For some ten minutes there were no signs of life upon the prairie; the hunter remained motionless in his covert, watching for some movement upon the part of the foe, and the Indians remained quiet, their horses taking advantage of the occasion to graze upon the fresh young prairie-grass.
“What are they up to? Some deviltry, I’ll bet,” said the guide to himself. “Gosh! if they don’t make a movement soon, I shall have to, for the whole b’ilin’ of ’em will be up presently an’ I don’t calculate to fight a hundred of them all to onc’t. Hello! the fun’s commenced.” This remark was occasioned by the singular behavior of one of the Indian horses. As said, the animals had been feeding quietly upon the grass, but now one of the horses detached himself from the rest and proceeded to walk slowly away, taking a course that would describe a semicircle around the “Crow-Killer.”
He had fought the Indians too long to be deceived by this, one of the most common of their tricks. He knew that clinging to the horse and hid from his view by the body of the animal was one of the Crow warriors. Indeed, his keen eyes, trained from infancy to prairie-life, and possessing a range of vision wonderful in its extent, could detect the red hand of the warrior, where it clung to the horse’s mane, and the end of the foot of the Indian on the horse’s back.
The trapper and his horse were concealed from the view of the savages by a little clump of timber in the shape of a crescent, the ends of which rested on the river, so that when the Indian, concealed behind the horse, got abreast of the place where the guide was concealed, he was none the wiser regarding the hidden foe who had slain his comrade. The Indian behind the horse described a complete semicircle around the hiding-place of the “Crow-Killer,” and took a position just beyond rifle-range, by the river’s bank above him. Then the same maneuver was executed by three other savages, except that the first savage of the three stopped his horse within a few hundred yards of the Indian by the river’s bank, the second savage a few hundred yards from him, and the third Indian a few hundred yards from the second, so that by this maneuver the “Crow-Killer” was completely encircled on three sides by the Crows. The Yellowstone, there rapid and deep, cut off his escape on the only side left unguarded by the Indians.
“Wal, Abe, you’re in for it!” soliloquized the guide; “the red devils kinder think that they’ve got their beaver. If they’d only come within range, I’d pick ’em off one by one, but they ain’t a-goin’ to do that. Jerusalem! I’ve got to git out o’ this or they’ll lift my ha’r for me; the rest of the red suckers will be up pooty soon; then they’ll make a dash an’ close in onto me. I mought kill a few onto ’em, but in the end they’d wipe me out sart’in, an’ I don’t cal’late to let ’em do that jist yet. Hello, durned if they ain’t beginnin’ to close in on me already.”
The hunter had spoken the truth; the Indians, hidden by the bodies of their horses, were gradually closing in upon the “Crow-Killer.” Already, in the guide’s judgment, the savage who held the position near the river above him was within rifle-range.
“Now for it!” thought Abe, as he slid his revolver into his belt, and rising from his lying attitude in the bushes, he stole cautiously to his horse’s side, unfastened her, loosened the rifle, quietly mounted; then gathering the reins in a little knot, patted the roan on the neck, shut his teeth firmly, touched the mare in the flank with his heels and dashed through the covert of the bushes upon the open prairie. Rifle in hand and urging his horse to its highest speed, he rode straight for the Indian before him, disregarding the two savages above and the four below him, one of whom was the “White Vulture.”
The Indian before the “Crow-Killer,” as he came dashing on, leveled his carbine from under his horse’s neck and fired. The aim was false, however, for the ball went wide of the guide; then he urged his horse forward in a course parallel with the river, attempting to keep the body of it still between him and the hunter and escape.
The other savages, swinging themselves into their saddles, came rapidly on toward the “Crow-Killer,” encircling him on all sides. Some of them below him had made a wide détour from the river so as to head him off if he succeeded in killing or escaping the savage before him. But, the “Crow-Killer” had a plan, and soon he put it into execution. He gained every moment upon the savage before him. The red brave rode for life, expecting every moment to hear the sharp crack of the white-man’s rifle and feel the deadly ball. Wildly he urged his mustang onward, but the roan mare of the “Crow-Killer” was fleeter far, and steadily, foot by foot, the hunter gained upon him. The Indians on both sides of the guide, from the courses they were taking, gained also upon their foe, and soon were so nearly within range that they opened fire upon him. The balls whistled through the air, but all fell short.
The “Crow-Killer” gave a quick glance to his left up the river. There were but two Indians between him and the train. The time for escape had come. Both Indians were within range. Quick as thought, he turned in the saddle, leveled at the nearest chief and fired; the savage perceived the motion, attempted to shield himself behind his horse, but too late; the ball struck him in the shoulder and hurled him out of the saddle to the ground. Then the guide wheeled the gallant roan to the left and rode full tilt at the remaining red-skin between him and freedom. The Indian, sheering off to the north, brought his gun to his shoulder and fired; the scout had perceived the motion and swerved his horse to the left a little; the ball cut through the hunting-shirt, just grazing the shoulder. With a yell of defiance the guide drew his revolver, leveled at the Indian, who was now almost within point-blank range, and fired. The Crow, perceiving the intention of the white man, pulled up the head of his horse, who received the ball in his temple and fell over on his side dead, almost crushing the rider in his fall. The wily savage by the action saved his life.
Over the prairie went the “Crow-Killer,” urging the tireless roan to her topmost speed; behind him came the Indians, wild with rage, but they had lost ground by the cunning maneuver of the “Crow-Killer,” and he gained on them every moment. One horse alone of the party was the equal of the roan in speed, and that horse was rode by the “White Vulture,” but he did not pursue the dreaded “Crow-Killer,” being far in the rear. Great brave though he was, he may have feared to encounter the enemy of his tribe, or perhaps he remembered that the “Crow-Killer” had spared his life, and thus he returned the favor.
After a sharp pursuit the guide had the satisfaction of beholding the Crows rein in their horses and give up the chase.
“Wal, considerin’ that it were one ag’in’ eight, I hain’t made a bad fight,” said the “Crow-Killer,” as he rode on up the bank of the Yellowstone.
CHAPTER VII. THE NIGHT ATTACK.
The train had reached the bend in the river where Abe had decided to camp, and was preparing supper when the guide overtook them.
The emigrants had heard the shots, and, under Dave’s direction, had prepared for attack.
The “Crow-Killer” was surrounded by eager questioners when he dismounted.
In a few words he told the emigrants that they were in danger of an attack every moment, but that beyond a doubt they could easily beat off the savages. The old guide was a shrewd judge of human nature; by the time he got through his little speech, he had fully persuaded his companions that they were more than a match for the Indians. So the emigrants partook of their supper cheerfully, and then made preparations for the night.
The Hickmans, father and son, were talking earnestly apart from the rest.
“Well, father,” asked Dick, “have you decided what to do?”
“Yes,” answered the old man, “I’ll fix it to-night. We have got to get her from the wagon some way, for we can never attempt to put her out of the way with Mrs. Grierson and her daughter with her in the wagon. We must think of some plan to get her out.”
“I’ve got an idea. The guides, you know, say that we’ll be attacked to-night. Now, the moment the Indians commence the attack, I’ll set fire to the wagon-covering; I’ll wet it first with whisky, then it will burn like mad; of course the women will be frightened out; then you’ll have a chance to fix Miss Leona. What do you think of the idea?” asked the son.
“There couldn’t be any thing better,” replied the father, rubbing his hands with delight.
“Well, ’tain’t a bad idea and it’s very simple; so you just keep your eyes open and watch your chance.”
“All right,” replied old Eben, “I shall look out.”
And then the devil’s pair, father and son, mingled in one of the little groups near the fires.
The shades of night gathered over the prairie; the pickets were posted, and the cattle corralled in the center of the little circle formed by the wagons and the river.
Anxious hearts were in the camp that night. Many a cheek lost its ruddy hue and paled as the owner thought of the danger that, like a dark cloud, hovered over them. Miles were they away from home and friends, surrounded by the red fiends thirsting for the blood of the “pale-faces.” Many a prayer went up to Heaven from white lips, that the Great Power above would protect them and guide them safe to their far western home.
The night wore on; no signs of danger had yet been seen, even by the keen-eyed guides.
“What do you think, Abe?” asked Dave, as the two stood together, beyond the picket-line on the eastern side of the camp, watching the prairie before them. The night was dark and the moon shone not over the prairie.
“What do I think? Wal; I think that in less than an hour we’ll have the toughest fight that we’ve been in for many a long day,” replied the “Crow-Killer.”
“You think so?” asked Dave, anxiously. His thoughts were of Leona.
“Sart’in” responded the old guide; “the Crows mean mischief, or else I’m a sucker!”
Just then the prolonged howl of a coyote sounded faintly in the distance over the prairie.
“Do you hear that?” cried Abe, in a whisper, clutching the arm of Dave, nervously.
“Yes, it’s a wolf, attracted probably by the scent of our camp,” replied Dave.
“Jus’ so,” said Abe, still in a hoarse whisper, a singular expression upon his features.
The sound had come from the east, seemingly down the river.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if thar were more nor one wolf,” said Abe, listening intently.
“Why, yes, of course,” replied Dave, “they generally go in packs.”
Just then another howl was borne faintly to their ears on the night wind, this time coming from the north.
“Do you hear that?” asked Abe; “that wolf travels considerably fast; he’s made ’bout three miles in two seconds; shouldn’t be surprised if next time he howls it should come from the westward,” and then, as if in confirmation of the guide’s words, the howl was repeated, and this time it did come from the west.
“’Pears to me,” said Abe, in his shrewd way, “that those wolves are acting all together, and they’re howling to let each other know whar they air.”
“We are surrounded by them!” cried Dave.
“Gospel truth, an’ every one of those ’are wolves is a big Crow Injun!” said the “Crow-Killer.”
“I believe you’re right!” exclaimed Dave.
“I know I am. They’re closin’ in upon us; we’ll have bloody work afore we’re an hour older or else I’m a sucker. Let’s take a leetle scout down by the river; they’re all on horseback, an’ by keeping to the little timber, we can easily avoid them; they won’t be apt to attack for an hour or so yet, an’ if we run into ’em an’ have a leetle tussle, why, I guess we can git out of it, an’ at any rate it’ll give the camp fair warning an’ spoil the Injuns’ idea to surprise us.”
So, noiselessly the two guides stole down along the river, keeping close watch before them for the advancing Indians. We will leave them to pursue their scout and return to the camp of the emigrants.
It was half an hour after the departure of the two guides on their scout that the two Hickmans stood together, near the wagon that contained Grierson’s family and Leona.
“Look here, father,” said Dick. “I go on picket up the river in about ten minutes; there isn’t any danger of an attack. I don’t believe there’s an Indian within ten miles of us, so that idea of ours won’t work.”
“What shall we do then?” asked the father.
“I’ll tell you. After I go on the picket, you go to the wagon and ask Leona if she don’t want to go out for a walk as far as where Dave Reed is on duty. Tell her that the guides are convinced there isn’t any danger and he’d like to say good-night to her before she goes to sleep. She’ll jump at the chance; then you just take her up the river, past my post, and I’ll contrive not to see you when you go by me. Now when you get her a couple of hundred yards beyond where I am, you suddenly shout ‘Indians!’ and rush back to the camp. I’m on picket-duty, and of course if I hear an alarm and see anybody coming in I shall think it’s an Indian and fire at it. Then I’ll put for camp, and when in the morning they find her dead, why, it will be an unfortunate mistake—that’s all.” And the scoundrel told the details of his infernal plot against the life of the orphan girl with perfect coolness.
“But, suppose they accuse us of intending to kill her?” said the old man.
“Who will dare to? who will have a reason to? We are all strangers to each other; no one will know that there is a motive for the deed. Men don’t commit crimes for nothing, you know. It will be set down by all as a blunder, not a premeditated act. It’s the most natural thing in the world for me, after you give the alarm, to fire at the first thing that approaches me.”
“Yes,” said the old man, convinced that the scheme was a good one. “Be careful; don’t make a mistake and hit me in the darkness.”
“Oh, no!” cried the son, “you just keep near the river; you can easily run faster than she can.”
And so the plot was arranged.
The pickets were relieved and Dick Hickman took his post to the west of the camp by the river. Then the elder Hickman went to the wagon that contained Leona. The poor girl had not thought of sleep; she was too anxious for the safety of her lover. She accepted the invitation to go out to Dave’s post with gladness, and the assurance of the old villain that all danger was over relieved her mind of a heavy load.
Eben Hickman and Leona, passed beyond the wagon-line, and walked into the darkness of the prairie. Dick at his post saw them coming and laid down flat on the ground, so that he would escape Leona’s notice.
Old Hickman and Leona passed on beyond the picket-line and walked a hundred yards or so out on the prairie.
“Are we near his post?” asked Leona, the dense gloom and stillness of the prairie waste striking a dread fear to her heart.
“Yes, just beyond us,” answered the man, “don’t you see him?” and he pointed before them in the darkness.
Leona strained her eyes and gazed through the gloom.
“Yes,” she said, after a moment’s anxious gaze, “I see him now,” and then, with a light heart, she was about to proceed, when Hickman laid his hand upon her arm; she could feel that he was trembling violently.
“You see him? where?” and the voice of the old man trembled with fear.
“There!” she answered, pointing straight before her. “Don’t you see those forms in the darkness?—there are three or four with him, and some one on horseback!”
“My God!” shrieked the old man, in terror, “the Indians!” and then he would have turned to fly, but the red warriors swooped down upon them; with a lightning stroke a savage cleft his head with a tomahawk, and struck him dead to the ground. Another grim warrior, bending from the saddle, seized the almost fainting Leona in his arms, and raising her, held the maiden before him. Her screams rung shrill on the night-air; then came the quick reports of shots fired to the eastward of the camp: ’twas the signal for the attack. The picket-guards fired their rifles, then ran for the wagon train.
Dick Hickman heard the exclamation of his father and the scream of the girl, but first thought it was only the execution of the plan contrived; then he heard the rush of the Indians and the struggle attending the killing of his father, and realizing that the Indians had come in reality, he fled hastily for the camp.
The attack had now begun in downright earnest. Abe and Dave had scouted down the bank of the river until they detected the advancing Indians, then skillfully withdrawing without being observed, they had returned and alarmed the camp, so that when the Crows made their dash, intended for a complete surprise, to their astonishment they found the emigrants fully prepared to receive them.
The Indians, contrary to their wonted custom, dashed in among the wagons, and fought the emigrants hand to hand. The contest was long and bloody, but the whites were fighting for all that was dear to them in the world, and made a most desperate resistance. Being, too, armed far superior to the Indians, gave them an advantage, though outnumbered. Their revolvers did terrible service, thinning the ranks of the Crows with dreadful effect. The emigrants, too, had the advantage of the cover of the wagons. Abe and Dave fought like demons. The Indians gave way before the two guides, who, on horseback, wielding their heavy rifles like reeds, brought the butts of them down with terrible effect upon the heads of the red assailants. The “White Vulture” led on the Crows with desperate bravery, but, at last, the Indians, having lost nearly a third of their force, reluctantly drew off and left the emigrants in possession of the field.
It was a hard-earned victory, for six of the emigrants had been killed outright, and hardly a man escaped without some wound.
Abe and Dave instantly exerted themselves to place the camp again in a proper state for defense.
The old Indian-fighter knew full well that the Crows, though defeated for the present, might renew the attack at any moment.
The bodies of the slain Indians were rolled into the river; the emigrants, killed in the fight, were placed in a wagon until they could be given decent burial.
“A tough fight, Abe,” said Grierson, who had manfully done his part in the struggle.
“What will be the next movement do you suppose?” asked an emigrant.
“Wal, I ’spect they’ll kinder hem us in here, an’ try an’ starve us out,” said Abe.
“They can’t do that,” cried Grierson, “we have plenty of provisions.”
“For us, yes,” answered the “Crow-Killer,” “but for the cattle, no. The four-footed beasts will want fodder, an’ if we drive ’em outside our wagon-line, we’ve got to fight for it.”
“Then how to feed the cattle is the question,” said Grierson.
“That’s so, an’ that’s jist what the red skunks are cal’lating on. If they’d only stampeded our beasts last night, they’d had us.”
“That was the reason that you had ’em tied so securely,” broke in an emigrant.
“Sart’in; now you’re talkin’. We’ve got to stand a siege here, I reckon,” said Abe.
The gray streaks of the coming day were now seen in the eastern clouds, and the dense gloom vanished rapidly from the face of the prairie.
Abe divided the camp into watches, as before, attended in person to the wounded men, and imposed watchfulness upon the guards.
As the morning advanced, the emigrants looked out with anxious eyes for traces of the foe.
Far beyond rifle-range on the prairie, the Crows had formed a cordon of men around the camp of the emigrants, so as to cut off all hope of escape.
Abe looked at them with an evil expression in his dark eyes.
“If I don’t wipe out some of your big chiefs afore I’m a day older, then I’m a sucker,” and he shook his fist savagely toward the foe.
Abe then directed the breakfast to be prepared.
“We can’t fight unless we eat, and thank gracious, we’ve got enough for the humans if we haven’t for the beasts.”
So the women went busily to work getting the breakfast. Then, for the first time, the absence of Leona was discovered. Of course, Mrs. Grierson and Eunice had noticed her absence from the wagon, but thought she had taken refuge in some other one, but now it was discovered that she was not in the camp!
Dave was excited and alarmed.
Abe, in his cool way, inquired all the particulars of the affair. Eunice, awake when Leona had left the wagon, of course knew that she had left it with the elder Hickman, for the purpose of seeing Dave. Inquiry was then made for Hickman, and he was announced as among the missing. Dick, the son, was questioned, but he professed ignorance of his father’s fate. Leona and his father both dead, he was the sole heir to Rattlesnake Gulch; so he determined to hold his tongue, and thus avoid unpleasant questions.
But one conclusion could be drawn, and that was that possibly the elder Hickman had taken Leona, ventured beyond the picket-line, and fallen into the hands of the savages.
“Well?” said Dave, in a calm voice, though his lips trembled as he spoke. Dave and Abe had walked off together.
“Dave, boy, your gal’s in the hands of the Crows; thar ain’t any mistake ’bout it. That cussed fool Hickman took her out onto the prairie, an’ both on ’em got gobbled up;” and the “Crow-Killer’s” face, more than his words, expressed the grief he felt at his friend’s loss.
“Abe,” said Dave, in a tone of earnest determination, “I’ll rescue her, if she’s alive, from the hands of the Crows, or if she’s dead, I’ll avenge her!”
“An’ I’m with you, boy, to the death!” cried the “Crow-Killer,” extending his hand. A moment the two men grasped each other’s hands; ’twas a solemn compact, and from that time the Crow nation had two unrelenting enemies instead of one.
CHAPTER VIII. A SCOUTING EXPEDITION.
After the emigrants had partaken of their breakfast, Abe thought of a plan to give the beasts something to eat; the grass within the little camp had long since disappeared, but outside of the wagon-line there was plenty. The question was how to protect the cattle from the Indians while they grazed.
Abe directed a passage-way to be made by pulling two of the wagons apart; then he dispatched five of the cattle at a time to feed, while he, Dave and Grierson, who was an excellent shot, mounted and rode on before the cattle. The first five cattle that went out, the Crows made a dash for, but Abe, the moment they got within range, shot the first in the shoulder and checked the advance, the rifles of the whites having so much greater carrying powers than the guns of the Indians, gave them a decided advantage.
Then the Crows tried their favorite maneuver of hiding themselves behind their horses, riding by at full speed and firing at the cattle. The whites speedily stopped that by shooting the Indian horses, and after the Crows had lost three animals they gave up the attempt and left the beasts of the emigrants to eat in quiet.
“Wal, thar’s another idea of the red-skins blocked,” cried Abe. “I guess they won’t starve either us or our cattle.”
“But we can not advance,” said Grierson, “while they surround us.”
“Of course not,” replied Abe, “but they’ll get tired of squatting down out thar an’ watching us, ’fore long, see if they don’t. Another p’int, I ain’t a-goin’ to stay quiet hyar an’ let ’em alone. ’Fore long, I’ll worry ’em a little, see if I don’t.”
And so, after all the cattle were fed, Abe and Dave held a private consultation.
“Dave,” said the “Crow-Killer,” “I think I’ll take a leetle scout out among the Crows an’ see what they are arter.”
“Shall I go with you?” asked Dave.
“No, you remain hyar in command of the train, but, arter I’m gone, if the Crows on the north and east don’t appear to be up to any thing, you fust select a little party, say five or six good men, and ambush yourself, about a half a mile beyond the bend, in the timber on the river-bank. I’m goin’ to take advantage of the timber on the bank to walk into the Crow camp an’ see what they’re up to; an’ when I’ve found out all I can an’ git ready to leave, I’ll fix things so as to lead some of the red devils right into your ambush.”
“Be careful, Abe; don’t run heedlessly into danger,” said Dave.
“Sart’in, I have the highest respect in the world for my top-knot, an’ I ain’t inclined to part with it yet. You bet, none of the painted sarpints get it, without a big tussle. Another thing I’m arter. I want to find out whether the little gal is alive or not. I ’spect, of course, that you want to find that out, yourself, but, Dave, it’s better that I should go. I know thar ain’t any hope of snatching her out of the red-skins’ hands jist now; but I can find out, I guess, whether she’s alive or dead. You know, Dave, thar isn’t a man in the north-west that knows the Crows as well as I do. Are you willin’ to stay behind, look after the camp, an’ let me go?” and the old Indian-fighter laid his hand kindly on the shoulder of the young guide as he spoke.
“Yes, Abe,” said Dave, his voice choked with emotion; “you are right. It is better that you should go than I; for if I saw her in the hands of the red devils, I should do something, not only to endanger my own life but hers. Go, therefore, in Heaven’s name. I will faithfully obey all your instructions.”
“That’s jist as it ought to be,” cried Abe, wringing his hand warmly. “All I’ve got to say is this: I’m going to take advantage of the timber to crawl up the bank of the river and sneak into their camp, for from what I saw on the prairie, I’m satisfied that their head-quarters is up the river. Now it ain’t likely that they’ll keep a very strict guard, ’cos they’ve been fightin’ all night, an’ besides, they won’t expect a visit. If I can only get near enough to hear their talk—you know I know the Crow language as well as I do my own—why then, I shall find out what they’re goin’ to do, an’ perhaps what’s goin’ to become of the little gal. Jist you ambush your men ’bout half a mile above an’ lay low in the bushes till you see me. I’ll lead some of the red imps right into your fire. That’s all I’ve got for to say.”
Then the guide went to the bank of the river, crawled under a wagon and disappeared in the little thicket beyond.
Noiselessly and carefully, Abe, the “Crow-Killer,” threaded his way through the thicket, his ears ever on the alert to catch the slightest sound before him; his keen eyes piercing the dense wood, eager for a sight of the foe.
The line of the savages was some three hundred yards from the camp. Abe, calculating that he must now be near it, proceeded onward with increased caution. In a few steps more he came to where the little thicket ended, and an open glade, perhaps a hundred feet in space, intervened; beyond that, the thicket commenced again; and on the grass by the thicket sat a Crow chief. He was evidently on the watch, and yet his watch was any thing but strict. The savage did not dream of danger and sat lazily cutting the grass around him with his tomahawk, while his eyes were vacantly fixed upon the distant prairie.
To cross the open glade, so near the savage camp, was a dangerous task, but to cross it with the Indian sitting there on the watch was clearly an impossibility.
The old Indian-fighter surveyed the ground before him, long and earnestly.
“Jerusalem!” he muttered, “that durned red Injun is right in my track; if I could get by him, guess I could walk right into the Crow camp, without trouble, but how in creation am I to git across that glade? The cuss has got a carbine t’other side of him too. ’Pears to me, these Crows must have been making a raid on some of Uncle Sam’s wagons. Oh! you long-legged red imp!” and he shook his fist at the unconscious savage, “I’d like for to get hold of your top-knot.”
“Wal,” soliloquized the “Crow-Killer,” “I can’t cross the glade, that’s sart’in; now let’s see if I can’t get round it some way.”
First he looked to his right; before him was the open prairie; no hope there, of course. Then he looked to the left; there rolled the river. His eyes fell upon the little growth of timber on the opposite bank, which grew down to the edge the same as did that in which the hunter lay concealed.
“Thunder!” he cried, again communing with himself, “I mought have gone up on the other bank of the river, but then,” and he thought the matter over carefully, “I should be as bad off as I am now, for I couldn’t cross the river ag’in, without being seen any more that I can cross this glade. Jerusalem! whar are my ideas?” The guide racked his brains for a method to cross this hundred feet of open space guarded by the Indian. Just then the savage opened his mouth and indulged in a loud yawn.
“Oh! if he’d only go to sleep for jist two minutes, jist that long, an’ I’d send him to kingdom come, quicker’n a wink.”
But the savage, beyond yawning, evinced no desire or disposition to sleep.
The hunter bit his lips in desperation; his eyes wandering vacantly around, fell again upon the opposite bank of the river. Suddenly a smile stole over his features; he had an idea how to cross the glade, or if not to cross it, how, in military parlance, “to turn the enemy’s position.”
As we have said, the trees on the opposite side, as well as on the one on which the guide was hid, grew down to the edge of the bank; but, from the edge of the bank to the water of the river was at least six feet, the river being low; the washing of the rapid-rolling waters in time of the spring freshets and at other periods of high water had worn away the earth of the bank and tunneled it out to quite an extent underneath the brink.
“I’ve got it!” said the “Crow-Killer” in triumph; “if this ’ere bank is hollowed out underneath like t’other one, all I’ve got to do is to get down to the edge, get under the bank and crawl along till I reach the timber again; the bank will hide me snug as can be.”
So the “Crow-Killer” quietly withdrew from his position at the edge of the timber and wormed his way, snake-like, to the bank of the river. Then he carefully lowered himself off the bank into the soft clay-earth fringed by the rolling waters.
Then noiselessly he crept along, bent almost double, under the overhanging bank.
The “Crow-Killer” safely accomplished his purpose, reached the timber on the other side of the glade without exciting the suspicions of the savage. The position of the enemy was turned.
The guide took the precaution to go some distance beyond the glade, before he left the shelter of the overhanging bank—that had so kindly shielded him—and took to the thicket.
“’Pears to me,” he said, musingly, “that I onc’t hearn one of the sodgers at Fort Benton say that it was bad policy for an invading army to leave a strong post of the enemy in their rear. Now, as I suppose I stand for the same as an invading army, it would be bad policy for me to let that ’are Crow hold his position without a try to boost him out of it, ’cos if I should happen to get into any leetle difficulty beyond hyar with the Crows, my only chance of escape is by this timber, ’cos, on the prairie, their horses would run me down, easy as fallin’ off a log. Tharfore, it’s very clear to my mind that the first thing to be done is to put that Crow out of the way.”