CHAPTER XVII.
AN ADVENTURE IN THE DARK.
Ebony Jim had not remained in his concealment among the foliage more than a minute when he recognized the voice of his old friend, Flick O’Flynn, among the three whom he at first took for robbers, but who in fact were O’Flynn, Frank Armond and Walter Lyman.
Ebony was in the act of springing to the ground and making his presence known, when the Irishman’s remark—which caught the negro’s ears—of the place through which they were passing being so gloomy, and that he imagined he felt the icy fingers of the Old Nick upon him, suggested a practical joke to his mind. Waiting until the trio were directly under him, he thrust his hand down through the foliage, and seizing the loquacious O’Flynn by the neck, jerked him from the ground and up among the foliage with the quickness of thought.
Flick gave vent to a furious yell, and dropping his rifle drew his knife, supposing that he was in the hands of the Old Boy, sure enough. But what was his surprise, when, on turning to deal a deadly blow, he saw Ebony seated before him, his sable face convulsed with laughter.
“Faith, and mees hev a notion to give yees a dig wath this knife, so I hev; but niver mind, there’s a rheckoning coming, so there is.”
But how had it fared with Frank and Walter?
They saw the negro’s hand thrust down, saw Flick lifted from the ground, heard his frightful scream, and, without a second look or thought, took to their heels and fled with all possible speed over the hill.
But, unfortunately, they ran right from safety into danger.
They had not gone more than a mile when they discovered a party of mounted Cheyenne charging directly toward them.
Instantly Frank’s rifle was to his face, and he shot, in quick succession, two of the leading savages. He was quickly surrounded by the whole party, which gave Walter an opportunity to escape, which he did.
Frank was tied upon one of the ponies, and immediately the Indians, a score in all, mounted their animals and set off toward the north, moving in regular Indian file, one after the other, Frank being next to the foremost one, who led his—the captive’s—pony. They seemed in no hurry, moving along quite leisurely. However, they failed to discover two figures that were stealing after them like shadows.
Slowly the day wore away. Night came on. Frank strained his eyes in hopes of catching a glimpse of some friendly form moving through the gloom. Suddenly he heard a slight noise before him. He fixed his eyes on the gloom in advance. Just then the animal of the preceding and foremost captor flitted across a patch of moonlight struggling feebly down through the opening in the tree-tops.
The captive started with wonder and surprise.
The animal was riderless!
Not one of the savages behind had discovered the sudden, silent and mysterious disappearance of their leader.
Again the preceding animal crossed a patch of moonlight, and still greater was his surprise, when he recognized by a kind of phosphorescent gleam, the form of Flick O’Flynn seated upon its back!
Then the truth flashed upon his mind. Flick, the brave and noble hunter, had escaped, followed his, Frank’s, captors, and with the silence of death had dragged the savage from his pony, dispatched him and mounted the animal himself.
“What does the man mean?” mused Frank; “what next will he do—Oh!”
The exclamation involuntarily escaped his lips, but it was drowned in the noise of the animals’ feet. In passing under some low, drooping boughs where the gloom was impenetrable to the human eye, Frank felt a heavy form drop from the limbs overhead behind him on the animal he was riding, and the captive felt that his bonds were being cut.
“For heaben’s sake don’t breafe! it’s dis black nigger.”
Frank recognized the voice as that of Ebony Jim, and he at once realized the situation of affairs.
“Dar, take dat,” whispered the darky, placing a knife in Frank’s hand, “and loosen your feet.”
Frank leaned over and cut the thongs. So far he was free. A moment later there were heard the hasty footfalls of hurrying feet.
The escape was not discovered for some moments, and then a hurried but vain search was commenced by the Indians. Frank was saved by as bold, silent and daring a stratagem as was ever conceived by the fearless borderman.
Fortunately, Frank’s rifle, accouterments and coat were restored to him, they having been in possession of the unfortunate chief, whom the two hunters dragged from his pony unseen. The rest of his things, including his share of the robbers’ gold, were lost.
Matters being explained all around, the three set off through the forest in hopes of finding Walter.
They had not traveled far, when they discovered that they were being followed, while in every direction they could hear the hooting of owls, the cry of the night-hawk, and the sharp barking of the wolf.
To Frank these sounds seemed natural enough, but to the two hunters they did not, for they knew that they were the signals of the Indians.
“Ay, now!” exclaimed O’Flynn, “and it’s a divil av a time wees are going to have. The whole Cheyenne nation is in these hills, so they are.”
“S’pose we strike fur de Bear’s Cave,” said Ebony Jim.
“Aghrade,” responded the Irishman, and so they shaped their course accordingly.
In a few minutes the cavern in question was reached, and taking the lead, Ebony Jim led the way into the black subterranean passage.
They had not gone more than fifty feet when a glowing fire, in a chamber to their right, burst suddenly upon their eyes; and within the light of the fire they saw three men seated, engaged in conversation.