Again he rode around the ring, standing erect on his feet, and the Comanches began to think that this was all he could do, and they felt happy, accordingly.
They saw the rider lean over his horse and whisper a word in its ear. Then he rose up again and the white steed went around the ring like a flash. Suddenly the bridle dropped from the hand of the rider, and he stood up alone without any support.
Ah, here was something worth looking at.
The Comanches love to watch good riding, and would doubtless patronize a circus should one visit them.
Even though they knew that the rider was liberating the two prisoners, yet their admiration was unbounded.
Their eyes opened with surprise, and they were speechless when the rider went around the ring like lightning, with nothing to support him. He stood with his arms folded across his breast, and a smile of triumph upon his face.
But this was nothing. The best was yet to come.
At a word from his rider the white horse slackened his speed, and came to a regular gallop, such as the circus horses alone know how to bring out.
Then if the reader could have seen the eyes of the Comanches as they watched the rider, they would not have wondered that they took him to be a wizard.
Barry stood with his back to the horse’s head, and suddenly sprung up into the air, turning over and making a complete somersault. He touched the back of the horse, and again he went up. The Indians saw at once that their man could never do this, and yet the Comanche was pluck.
As Barry Le Clare rode out of the ring, he rode in and made the attempt. He succeeded very well in the first part, although he had to swing his arms pretty wildly to balance himself, but when he came to the jumping, he made a complete failure.
Instead of coming down upon the back of his horse, which acted well for the first time in the ring, he came plump upon the ground, and rolled over and over.
A shout of laughter arose from the dusky throng, and the discomfited Comanche arose to his feet in a savage manner.
Striding up to Barry he asked him if he wanted to race.
The latter replied that he didn’t care if he did.
“Me make bet wid pale-face. Gray horse beat, me win, white ’un beat, pale-face win,” said the Comanche.
“Show your money, old man. How much on it?” exclaimed Barry.
“Have no money, all gone.”
“Then how’re you going to bet?”
“Me bet scalp for scalp. Ef pale-face win, he take the scalp of the Red Bear. Ef Indian win, he scalp pale-face,” was the rejoinder, and by the look that Red Bear gave his rival, all knew that he would have no hesitation in scalping the victorious rider, should his horse win the race.
For a moment the rider looked at his horse, and then at the fleet mustang of his foe. The proposition so unexpected, staggered him a little at first, but he quickly replied:
“All right, Red Bear. Onto your horse. Do your best if you would not be beaten, though heaven knows I wouldn’t scalp you. But no Indian can ever cow Barry Le Clare.”
Delighted at this chance to redeem his reputation, the Indian leaped upon the back of his horse, and then the preliminaries were arranged. A dozen men on horseback rode out to a spot about a mile from the village, and here a stake was put into the ground.
The dozen men stayed here to see that the race was conducted on a fair principle. The two racers were to start from a stake which had been driven into the ground near the village, and were to round the stake where the dozen warriors were waiting, and then come back to the first stake.
At a signal, the two started off, and for the first quarter of a mile both kept together. Then the Indian began to draw slowly but surely ahead. The Comanches felt some satisfaction when they saw that this was a fact, but they were not confident yet.
They knew a great deal about horses, and they saw that the white steed was as fast a runner as the gray one, if his rider chose to put him down to it.
They began to think, however, as the Indian still kept drawing ahead, that the white steed was not as good as they had taken it to be, and their spirits rose.
When the Indian rounded the half-way pole, and came onto the back stretch five lengths ahead of his rival, a yell broke from them.
They thought that perhaps after all the Indian might win, and that from the look of things it seemed very much as though the gray would win the race.
The Indian himself felt sure of it. He was certain that the white steed was doing its best, and that he could at least win by five lengths. And then he would have the pleasure of scalping the White Wizard.
He felt so sure of this that he yelled with joy.
Half the last half was done, and still he was five lengths ahead.
Suddenly a low whistle came from the lips of the pale-face.
It is a signal, and obeying it, the white steed quickly increased his speed. Like an arrow shot from the bow, the horse darted forward, gaining rapidly on the other.
The Indian began kicking and pounding his horse, yelling like a demon all the while, but it was no use.
The animal was running at its greatest speed, and nothing could increase it. The pale-face passed him before the last quarter was reached, and came up to the home-stake six lengths ahead.
A shout from the prisoners welcomed the victor.
The Indian came in looking terribly sullen, for he would not have cared could he only take the scalp of his enemy.
He would have been content to lose his own then.
Handing over his horse to a friend, he stepped up to Barry and stood before him with open breast.
“Strike,” said he; “Red Bear has lost. His scalp is yours.”
“Never!” exclaimed Barry, moving back. “Red Bear’s scalp belongs to himself. Let him live and learn wisdom.”
“The pale-face is afraid to strike. See, Red Bear is not afraid to die. He spits at the White Wizard with his last breath.”
As the Indian spoke he drew his knife and stabbed himself to the heart.
Then with a loud yell he sunk back upon the ground, dead.
He had done well, for he could never have lived with the Comanches had he failed to make good his wager.
The relatives of the dead man took the body away to be buried after the fashion of the Comanches.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE MANITOU MUST BE OBEYED.
The circus-rider was not yet done. He wished to show what his horse could do in the way of tricks, and for half an hour he kept up the performance. The white steed was a celebrated trick horse, and could waltz in a manner truly surprising.
All who have been to the circus know the many tricks performed by a horse. All of these Barry showed off before the Comanches, and the Indians enjoyed it all very much.
At length he thought it was time to stop, and going over to where the prisoners were still standing, he cut the bonds of the two whom he had saved by his beating the Comanche selected to ride with him. The medicine-man did not like this, and he stepped forward to put a stop to it.
Before he could open his mouth, a voice, coming as all the Indians thought from above them, cried out the words:
“Let Muchanaigo beware. He has dark thoughts in his brain. Let him not attempt to carry them out. His hand will be useless if he attempts to lift it above the head of one of the prisoners. He gave his word, let him break it if he dares. It is the Great Manitou that speaks. He must be obeyed.”
Instantly the Indian stopped still in his tracks.
There was no disobeying this order.
He said not a word, but turning, he sought his lodge, and did not make his appearance during the rest of the day.
He had found his match in the pale-face.
But for the superstition of the Indians, Barry could never have played this trick upon them.
The Indians lost no time in giving back to the prisoners every thing that had been taken from them.
The little Frenchman danced for joy when he once more got his hands upon his case and umbrella.
He examined the former carefully to see that none of the vials were missing, but found to his great joy that it had only sustained a little injury while in the hands of the Indians.
All the time Monsieur Tierney kept up a rattling volley of words which were a mingled crowd of thanks for the aid of Barry, denunciations on the heads of the Indians, and exclamations of delight when he found some valuable specimen uninjured.
Indeed, the Indians had only got at the vials, and the fellow that had got at these would never do so again.
The Indians grinned to see the curious little fellow marching up and down with the umbrella fastened to his back and his case in his hand. He had a revolver in his belt, about five inches long, which might make a man sick if discharged down his throat.
The trapper had his revolvers, rifle, knife and every thing that belonged to him. One of the Comanches tried to keep his tobacco-pouch, but Ralph missed it, and Red Buffalo, fearing to bring down the vengeance of the Manitou upon the village, made the warrior give it up, much to his disgust, and to the great delight of the trapper, who immediately went to business and took a “chaw.” Then the two mounted their horses and rode off, carrying with them all of their possessions.
The trapper had a piece of paper in his hand which had been slyly given him by Barry before they left the village.
The trapper did not intend to go far. He would not leave the son of his old friend to his fate.
He intended hiding somewhere until dark, and then seeing what could be done for Chauncy. Suddenly he remembered the paper he held in his hand. He tried to read the few lines that were written on it, but being no scholar and knowing only the capitals, he found it impossible.
What should he do?
Maybe the naturalist could read it; at any rate it would do no harm to ask him. No sooner thought of than acted upon. To the great delight of the guide the Frenchman declared that he could read it, and took it from the former’s hand.
It read as follows, being written in lead pencil:
“Ride to the bank of the river, about six miles from here, and hide until dark. Then I will join you with the young fellow. I will give the hoot of an owl and you answer with the cry of the loon.
Barry Le Clare.”
The Frenchman read this to the trapper, and then the latter could not help expressing his joy.
“Snakes an’ catamounts,” ejaculated he, “thet’s good az far az it goes. That feller’s sharp an’ he’ll get Cha’ncy away if anybody could. Didn’t his hoss knock spots out o’ the gray ’un?”
“Oui, monsieur, he be very fine man. He make good hunter. He von magnificent rider, von elegant jumper, von splendid racer, von superb ventriloquist, von excellent—” exclaimed the naturalist.
“That’ll do, mounsheer. We’ll make tracks for the river now. It’s past noon, and I want ter git ter the river so that we can hev some dinner. What d’ye say ter that?” said the trapper, breaking in upon the Frenchmen, who, after the manner of his nation, was getting excited and was about to launch forth into a vivid and startling string of praise.
“Begar, I do feel hungry, monsieur. I could eat von dozen frog-legs now, vid relish. Oh, dey are superb,” cried the naturalist.
“Bah, ye think o’ nothin’ but frogs. I wish I had a dozen ter give ye. For my part I want a good hunk o’ buffler or venison.”
“Le ’Mericans have no taste. Dey know not vat is good. Mon Dieu! in la belle France de frog is de best esteemed meat. Here de boys throw stones at them, an’, sacré, kill them just for fun. Diable! vat I come out here for?” exclaimed the little man.
“Ter find somethin’ az would make yer fortune. So ye’ve told me many a time,” said the guide.
“Just so. You are right, monsieur. Ven I find dat, den I be happy. Every von vill talk about Monsieur Tierney, de great naturalist. Oh, den I vill have my reward for all dis trouble and expense. But vat have we got to eat?”
“Nothin’ az I knows on. The pesky reds didn’t offer to give us a bite, but then we’ve got our firearms an’ an ol’ hunter like me, what’s got his shootin’-iron, desarves to starve if he can’t knock over somethin’ on the plains. If we war on the desert now it would be a different matter. We’ll git somethin’ when we reach the river.”
The two owned very good horses. The guide owned his while the Frenchman’s had been borrowed from a friend in Austin.
The Comanches had come upon them the night before, and had captured them, though not without a vigorous resistance on the part of both of them. The hunter had killed three of the reds before he was captured, and the Frenchman managed to give his enemies several sound cracks with his huge strong umbrella before he was pulled down. He entirely forgot the revolver that he had thrust in his belt to make himself look fierce.
The little man was a curious body, but he had pluck, as the reader will see before this story comes to a close.
The river was at length reached and the two camped.
While the naturalist was building a fire out of some light dry wood, the guide went off to see if he could shoot something.
The river was pretty wide at this point, but it was shallow, and both sides were covered with trees and bushes.
The guide was not long in sighting a deer, and soon the crack of his revolver sounded its death-knell.
The two men were soon busy cooking venison-steaks over the fire. They ate their dinner and then cooked the remainder of the deer over the fire. The guide knew that if Chauncy was rescued the whites would have to make tracks pretty lively, for the Indians would be terribly mad. They intended to torture the young man in every conceivable manner for he had got the young Donna away from them. They did not know about the panther, and thought that had it not been for the young man the Donna would never have got away the second time.
Darkness at length came upon the scene. At length the moon arose and lighted up the earth with her beautiful light.
Several hours passed away and then the tramping of horses came from the plain. Then the loud, mournful hoot of the owl echoed through the trees.
“It is them,” cried the guide, and immediately the cry of the loon startled the Frenchman. It was the guide returning the signal.
CHAPTER IX.
THE WHITE WIZARD DRUGS THE GUARD.
Chauncy was thrust back into the prison-lodge and two guards posted around it. The Comanches did not mean to let him escape if they could possibly help it.
There was altogether about ten men killed, and the Indians intended to let the whole of their vengeance fall upon Chauncy.
The young hunter walked up and down in his lodge, thinking of the Donna Iola. Sleeping or waking the Donna was uppermost in his thoughts. What a pity it was that after coming together in such a curious way they should be separated.
Where could she be now?
Chauncy knew from the expressive look the lovely Donna had given him, as in obedience to his command she rode away and left him, that he was the first object of her affection.
He could not help feeling highly elated as he thought of this, and he quite forgot for a time that he was a prisoner.
When he did remember this he also remembered the fact that while the three prisoners were watching the riding of Barry Le Clare, the guide had whispered in his ear that if he and the Frenchman did get off they would do their best to rescue the young man.
He had often heard his father tell tales about the guide, and he knew that when Ralph said he would do a thing he would go through fire and water in order to accomplish it.
The afternoon passed slowly away and at length the shades of night began to cover the face of the earth.
The moon being on the decline would not rise until very late, and there would be several hours of darkness before the earth would be lighted up with her bright rays.
Whatever was to be done must be done during this period of darkness. Barry had retired soon after sunset.
An hour passed and then another and another.
The village was quiet, no unusual noise breaking the silence of the night, but the occasional barking of some dog or the neighing of a horse. The Comanches were fast asleep and the two guards who walked around the prison-lodge were beginning to feel drowsy themselves.
They would have to keep watch until midnight, or about an hour after moonrise, and then they would be relieved.
They were both walking together and talking, when one of them caught sight of a form approaching them; it did not come in a sneaking way but walked boldly toward them.
They soon distinguished the form of the White Wizard.
What could he want at this time of night?
The pale-face was soon up to them, and greatly to their surprise he stopped beside them and spoke.
“My red brothers seem to be on guard,” said he.
“The Wizard speaks with a straight tongue,” replied one of the Indians.
“What is in the lodge they guard?”
“The pale-face captive. Red Buffalo thinks that he will escape, so he put Red Pine and Snapping Fox on guard.”
“The pale-face can not escape when Red Pine and the Snapping Fox are on guard. He is as safe as if he was tied to the stake and the fagots piled up around him,” said Barry.
This flattery greatly pleased the Indians.
“The Wizard is a great man. He knows every thing. He is a great rider, and would make a big Comanche brave,” said one.
“Is not the warrior thirsty? Would he like a little fire-water to make him glad?” asked the cunning circus-rider.
The eyes of the two Comanches snapped at the very thought.
“Pale-face great man, he gib Injun drink.”
“Yes; here, take a good sup apiece. There’s plenty more where that came from,” said Barry, taking out his bottle.
It was a medium-sized black one, and was two-thirds full of brandy.
The circus-rider just after dark had gone out to the clump of trees in which he had hidden his clothes, and had got the bottle of brandy from them. It was not pure brandy, however.
He had taken a little vial from his coat-pocket and poured a little of the contents into the black bottle.
It was a subtile drug which would produce a feeling which for drowsiness could not be equaled.
Barry intended to get the upper hand of the Comanche guards, and he knew that to do so he would have to drug the fire-water.
The nearest Indian grasped the bottle. He threw back his head with the neck of the bottle in his mouth. The bottle was upturned, the Indian’s eyes sought the heavens and a gurgling sound told both of the others that the brandy was finding its level.
The other Comanche, Snapping Fox, seemed to think that if Red Pine waited until his eyes found the star they seemed to be in search of, the brandy would be all gone.
Accordingly he seized hold of the bottle and was soon in deep contemplation of the blue dome of heaven (apparently).
Any one, to see these two Indians examining the sky so steadily, would have felt sure that they were greatly interested in astronomy, and yet the two did not notice the stars while looking upward.
Their thoughts were all upon the liquor, and when the bottle was handed back to the owner, it was empty.
Barry was sharp, and he immediately said:
“I just brought this for a sample. If Red Pine and Snapping Fox do what I want them to-morrow, they shall have a dozen bottles of this fine fire-water.” He said this for a certain reason.
The Indians might rightly suspicion his motive for bringing them fire-water when they began to feel the effect of it, if he went right away. Now by his words he made them believe that he wanted a job done on the morrow, and that if they did it, he would give them a dozen bottles like the sample he had brought to tempt them.
“We do what Wizard say,” said Red Pine.
A moment after Barry moved away. He did not go far, however, for he wanted to go to work as soon as the drug put the two Indians asleep. He remained within ear-shot, and listened.
The Indians kept talking rapidly about five minutes, and then their voices became thick and the words few and far between.
Soon Barry knew that both were fast asleep, and he walked cautiously forward. The two guards were lying close together near the door of the lodge, tightly locked in the arms of Morpheus.
It was not likely that they would awaken very soon.
Barry stepped over them, and unbarring the door, softly he opened it.
All was dark within and he could distinguish nothing.
“Young fellow, where are you?” he said, in a loud whisper.
It was well he spoke, for Chauncy had managed to unloose his bonds, and having found a sort of club in a corner of the lodge, he had raised it and was ready to strike when Barry spoke.
“Who are you?” he asked, for he could barely see the other.
“Barry Le Clare. I saved the others, and have come after you. Hurry out here,” said the circus-rider.
Chauncy came out, and the door was shut and barred again.
“Come, let us hurry away from here,” said he.
“Hold on, you want weapons. I noticed that Red Pine had a fine rifle, and a revolver. Get them from him,” said Barry.
Chauncy picked up the rifle, and found to his delight that it was his own, as were also all the other things the Indian carried.
He quickly transferred them to his own person, and then announced himself ready. Barry led him to the medicine-lodge in which he had taken up his quarters, and where his horse now was, and then left him. He soon came back, leading one of the best horses that was in the corral. He was an excellent judge of horse-flesh, and he knew what kind of a steed to pick out.
There were several saddles and bridles in the medicine-lodge, which had doubtless been taken from hunters and emigrants.
Taking his pick of these, Chauncy put them on his steed, and then the two went through the village, making as little noise as possible and leading their horses behind them.
When they got to the clump of trees, the circus-rider changed his clothes, and with his weapons in his belt and hand, and the bundle on his horse, he led the way toward the river.
He knew from the direction the two whites had taken when they left the village where they would strike the river, and he headed for that point. The moon soon came out, and when the two came up to the tree on the bank of the river, the circus-rider gave a loud, solemn hoot.
It was answered by the cry of the loon, and soon two horsemen came toward them.
CHAPTER X.
A WILD RACE FOR LIFE.
The trapper was right in thinking that the Comanches would pursue the four whites when they found out their escape.
Early in the morning, the chief, Red Buffalo, emerged from his lodge and went toward that one which had been used as a prison-lodge for the young hunter.
He was greatly surprised to find both of the guards lying upon the ground. At first the chief thought that they were dead; had been killed by some enemy, in order that the prisoner might be rescued. He quickly discovered his mistake, however, and wondered what could be the matter with the two men, for he had great trouble in arousing them from their stupor.
Red Pine told the chief how the White Wizard had visited them and had given them a drink of fire-water. The chief knew that there was something wrong when he heard this, and he quickly undid the bars that fastened the door.
No sooner had he disappeared from the sight of the two warriors than a loud yell announced to them that the lodge was empty. The chief rushed out, gave a few orders to the two warriors, and then began hunting around for the trail.
He found this, and had followed it outside the village, when he was joined by twenty-five men, among whom were the two guards whom Barry Le Clare had drugged the night before.
They were all mounted and armed, and Red Pine led a horse for the chief. The latter had left orders that a second detachment should follow them after several hours.
As the chief sprung upon his horse, Red Pine communicated to him the suspicious fact that the White Wizard was not in his tent, nor had he been seen that morning by any person. All now knew who it was that had liberated the prisoner, and there would be no escape for the white circus-rider, should the Comanches once get a crack at him.
The chief called out a name, and the warrior who was thus designated, stepped out with a smile of conscious triumph.
He was the best trailer in the Comanche village, and had been aptly named the Starved Wolf, for that beast will keep on the trail of its prey for days. It is not by its speed that a wolf tires out its prey, but by its pertinacity in keeping to the trail.
Starved Wolf rode up to where the chief was, and throwing himself from his horse he bent down and examined the trail.
The keen-eyed Indian saw marks that he could distinguish anywhere, and with a yell he sprung upon his horse again.
He had noted the general direction in which the trail ran, and it would be easier for him to follow it now.
Barry and the young hunter had not been skilled enough in woodcraft to make a detour, as any old trapper would have done.
Bending over his horse’s neck, the Starved Wolf gave the animal a kick that sent him forward, and then the trailing began.
To the Comanche trailer the marks upon the ground were plain enough, while to an amateur they would have been nearly invisible.
The Indians went forward at a rapid pace, and they were not long in reaching the trees which grew on the bank of the river.
The whites had crossed here and the Indians lost nearly half an hour in finding it again on the other shore.
The four whites had gone up-stream and emerged from the water in a rocky place. Had all of them been old hunters, such care would have been taken to keep from leaving a trail that the Comanches, sharp though they were, would never have found it; but only one was a hunter, and the others, despite their caution, could not help leaving some marks, which the Indians at length came upon. Red Buffalo began to despair of ever catching up to the pale-faces, for they had at least six hours the start of him and his warriors. He did not know that something had happened which, though unlucky to the four men, was favorable to him.
Barry and the young hunter were soon joined, after the former had given the signal and it had been answered, by two figures on horseback, which they were not long in making out as the old hunter and the little French naturalist, Monsieur Tierney.
The hunter shook the young man’s hand and also that of the circus-rider. The latter then told how it was he had got the prisoner away, and both of the others laughed heartily.
The guide said he would like to see Red Buffalo when the chief found out the escape of the prisoner.
The guide cherished a deep hatred for the chief of the Comanches, and should the two ever come face to face in a fight, one or the other was bound to go under if nothing occurred to separate them. Twice before this had the guide been a captive in the hands of Red Buffalo, and both times had he escaped. Once he had run the gantlet, and pretty well bruised and cut, was about to be burned at the stake, when old Captain Wilton and his company of regulars rescued him. Ralph was an army scout at that time.
The second time he had escaped by his own exertions.
The four whites rode for nearly two hours and then they were suddenly stopped by the old guide.
He saw a suspicious object coming toward them from the north-east. The guide made all of them dismount, and then told them that the objects they had taken to be buffaloes were Indians.
The latter were about forty in number, and to the astonishment and chagrin of the four whites, they camped close by them and began to cook an early breakfast.
The whites muffled the heads of their horses in their blankets so that the animals might not betray them by a whinny or a neigh. The whites and their steeds crouched in the grass for several hours. It was just at daybreak that the Apaches, for such the guide declared the Indians to be, departed, much to the relief of the whites.
No sooner were they well out of sight than the four resumed their journey. The sun soon arose and lit up the earth with his bright, warm and cheerful rays.
The Frenchman could not resist stopping now and then to pick some curious flower which he saw in the green oases.
The sun was several hours high when they reached a grove of trees and entered in among them. A cool spring bubbled up in a shady spot, and the horses and their riders took long draughts of the excellent water. The horses were suffered to move around for awhile so that they might have some breakfast and also get rested.
The four were talking earnestly, when the guide suddenly put up his hand and motioned to the others to remain quiet.
Instantly all was silent, and with open ears the four listened for a repetition of the sound that had alarmed the guide.
Soon all heard it. It sounded like the trampling of a drove of buffaloes or wild horses, and came from the same direction that the four men had come from.
Three of the whites thought that the noise was made by buffaloes or wild horses, but the old guide knew better.
He thought it was made by Comanches, who were following up their trail, and springing to his feet he rushed to the edge of the trees. A single glance served to show him that his suspicion was not false. Over a score of Comanches were coming straight toward the grove.
At their head rode two men whom the guide knew.
One was the chief, Red Buffalo, the other, a famous trailer. The Starved Wolf was leaning over, and Ralph knew that his eyes were fixed upon the trail.
Ralph saw that there was going to be a fight, and he resolved to be the aggressive party. A word to his comrades sufficed to tell them of his desires, and a few seconds after three rifles cracked and three bullets winged with death sped through the air.
The guide had not aimed at Red Buffalo, for he wanted to kill that worthy in a square stand-up fight.
Three of the Comanche warriors fell over, and the rest were somewhat surprised for a moment.
Recovering quickly, they gave a loud war-cry and came forward with a rush. They entered among the trees, but no enemy was in sight. On they went, and at length emerged on the open plain on the other side of the grove.
A howl of joy broke from the lips of Red Buffalo, for there, not far in front of them, and flying before them, were the four whites.
It was now a race for life. Which will be the winner?
CHAPTER XI.
MUZZLE TO MUZZLE, AND WHO WILL WIN?
It was now a very exciting, and yet, on the plains, a common scene, that the sun looked down upon.
First came the four whites, the circus-rider going along as easy and as graceful as if he was trotting around in the ring for the amusement of the spectators. The three others were urging their steeds on with heel and voice, but the wiry little animals were doing their utmost, and could not go any faster than they were going.
The little Frenchman looked very curious, as he bounced up and down on his horse, his umbrella held over the pommel just as the others held their rifles. Not being accustomed to horses, this wild ride came pretty hard on him, and he kept muttering to himself that if he was so happy as to see La Belle France once more, he would never leave her friendly shores.
After the whites came the score of Comanches, racing along in wild confusion, and now and then breaking into a loud yell which was given partly to urge their horses onward, and partly to weaken the nerves of the fugitives.
In this latter, however, they were mistaken. Even the little foreigner showed commendable pluck, and several times he put his hand upon his little revolver, as if to try a shot at the Comanches, but was restrained by Ralph, who told him to save his powder.
The circus-rider could easily have distanced both his comrades and the Comanches, had he been so cowardly as to have wished to do so. This was far from being the state of Barry Le Clare’s feelings.
He was no coward, as his entering the hostile village to save persons who were entire strangers to him proved.
The three mustangs were keeping their distance very well, but the guide knew that soon they would begin to fall off, and he resolved to diminish the number of the Comanches as much as possible before the latter began to gain upon the four whites.
Turning in his saddle, he lifted his rifle to his shoulder.
Monsieur Tierney had seen Ralph discharge his gun while in among the trees, and as he had not seen him load it while he rode, he felt sure that the guide was only trying to scare the Indians.
He could not help smiling at the simple ruse, as he deemed the movement of the hunter; but the smile on his face quickly changed to a look of astonishment which was truly ridiculous.
What surprised him was the fact that when the guide pulled the trigger of his rifle, there came a sharp, whip-like crack, that sounded high and clear above the yells of the Comanches and the noise made by the hoofs of the horses.
And what was still more wonderful, one of the pursuing braves seemed to have run against a bullet, for with a shrill shriek of mortal anguish, he threw his arms wildly into the air and fell from his horse to the ground, to rise no more.
Ralph’s bullet had done its work, and done it well, too.
The Comanche would never scalp another enemy; he would never drive his tomahawk into the head of a helpless woman or child again. His fighting days were over.
The little Frenchman wondered greatly how the old hunter could shoot with such deadly effect from the back of a horse that was going at its utmost speed. Afterward, Monsieur Tierney tried the thing himself, but found it a hard job to turn and discharge a gun while going at full speed, and as to taking any aim at all, why the thing was simply impossible with him.
It is really a very difficult and yet useful thing to learn, this shooting so accurately from the back of a horse.
The Indians only yelled a little harder, and urged their horses on a little faster, if that were possible, on having their number diminished by the rifle of the guide.
A good many of them carried guns; in fact, when Red Buffalo picked out this band, he singled out men who, for the most part, owned guns.
Some of these now began to fire, but being poor marksmen, their bullets whistled through the air many feet away from the heads of those they shot at.
A mile had been passed over since Ralph had fired his gun.
Again he turned in his saddle, with his rifle to his shoulder, and again the deadly crack sounded.
The Indians had seen him loading, and were expecting this.
Therefore, when the guide turned around, every one of them disappeared behind the body of his steed.
The crack of the hunter’s rifle sounded after they had disappeared.
Had he fired too late to hit one of the Indians?
His bullet did not touch a red-skin, and yet it did what Ralph had intended it should. The three other whites turned in their saddles as Ralph fired, and when they saw that none of the Comanches were in view they felt sure that his bullet must have been wasted.
But it was not.
Ralph, when he turned to fire, had intended to shoot one of the Comanches, but when he saw them disappear from his sight, he quickly changed his aim, and pointed his rifle at one of the horses.
His finger pressed the trigger, and following the crack came a shrill neigh of agony, and one of the horses dropped suddenly to the earth.
His rider, not expecting this, was not ready to leap off, and he came down with a terrible crack upon the ground.
He did not rise to his feet, for the simple reason that the fall had disjointed his neck, and he was a doomed man.
And now the Indians began gaining upon the four whites.
Foot after foot and yard after yard they came up, and at length Ralph saw that a stand must be made.
He had loaded the rifles of both his comrades who carried them, and in a few disjointed sentences he told them of his plan.
It was an old one, but was the only thing our friends could do, as there was not a tree in sight.
Waiting until they got to a place where, on account of the buffaloes, the prairie-grass for several acres around was very short, the four men suddenly jerked up their horses.
The guide quickly threw himself from the back of his horse on the side opposite to the Indians, and with his rifle in his hands, looked over the back of his animal at the foe.
The three others followed his example, and the Comanches divided and went on both sides of them. Not an Indian was in sight, they having disappeared behind their horses.
At a word from Ralph the four horses were put into a form like a square, and then the whites waited for the attack.
The Indians were not ready to fire when they rode past our friends. Had their rifles been loaded, they would most assuredly have given them a volley, aiming from beneath the necks of their horses. As it was, they rode off a good distance, and then coming together in a group, they sat upright on their horses.
They commenced talking and gesticulating wildly, and Ralph, as he looked at them, gave a chuckle of delight.
“I believe my ole Betsy Jane kin throw a chunk of lead over to them fellers. Anyhow, I’m goin’ ter try it. Jest watch, now,” said he.
His rifle was resting on the back of his mustang, and as he spoke, he took a careful aim along the gleaming barrel.
A puff of white smoke, a sharp crack, and the bullet went like lightning through the air. Ralph had calculated upon the distance and had aimed rather high. His calculation was correct, for one of the Comanches received the fatal bullet in his breast, and so unexpected was it, that he rolled from his horse without the usual death yell.
A few seconds after and a loud yell from the Indians told that at length they had decided upon a plan of action.
They tried the old plan of circling around the four whites with their bodies hidden behind their horses, and gradually edging up closer and closer.
When near enough they began to discharge their guns, and then the guide thought it was time to retaliate.
Barry shot a horse with his rifle, and Ralph picked off the rider before he could hide in the short grass.
The young hunter shot another horse with a ball from his revolver, and his rifle sounded the death-note of the beast’s owner and rider.
This was more than the Indians could stand.
This plan of having their men killed and none of their enemies injured, was too fine a thing in favor of the whites.
Luck, so far, seemed on the side of the whites, and the thing was getting monotonous to the Comanches.
Something must be done, and that at once.
CHAPTER XII.
CHASED BY THE FLAMES.
A loud, clear, singular yell sounded over the plain.
It was given by Red Buffalo himself, and the hunter knew just what it meant. The Indians were about to attack them in force.
“Down wid yer guns, boys, and let the pistols speak. They’re a-comin’ now, an’ we’ll give ’em the very ole dickens,” said the old trapper.
On came the Comanches from every direction, to the number of eighteen. When they got close up, they rose to their seats, and brandishing their tomahawks and rifles in the air.
As they did so, three revolvers sent as many of them to the ground, and the tiny crack of the Frenchman’s revolver sounded quickly after. Monsieur Tierney had been an officer in the French army, and he was a dead shot with the pistol.
His man fell to the ground with a yell of pain, badly wounded.
Again the revolvers cracked, and yet a third time.