The Phantom Rider; or The Giant Chief's Fate: A tale of the old Dahcotah country

“What do you mean by accidents?” inquired Pete Wimple. “What d’ye expect’s goin’ to happen to-day?”

“Thar’s no tellin’ exactly,” replied the big hunter. “A feller can’t most always tell what is goin’ to take place. But I’m safe in guaranteein’ thirty or forty of them reds one of the tallest accidents in a little while—’bout as soon as we can git to their camp—they ever had any ijee of!”

“Do you expect to kill as many as that?” asked Clancy, in some wonderment.

“I calkerlate as how, if yer a mind to foller my lead, we can e’en a’most clean out the nest and git yer gal and the rest of the prisoners away safe, besides! What do ye say? Shall I go ahead?”

“Yes,” cried all three with one voice. “You shall lead us!”

“I believe you can do what you say!” added Darke. “But remember that a mistake on our part might prove fatal to Vinnie and the others!”

“There shan’t be no balks or mistakes!” said the giant, in a tone of assurance, taking his place at the head of the party. “We’ve got to leave this emigrant road here and take to the left a little. An hour’s sharp ridin’ ’ll bring us to the Injun camp. Let’s be movin’ on.”

And tightening their reins, the quartette dashed away.

There was a plain trail, left by Ku-nan-gu-no-nah’s band, leading directly to the encampment of the savages. The little party followed this for a while at a swift gallop, and then in obedience to a low, tersely-spoken command from their leader, left it suddenly, and bearing still further to the left, dashed for a few minutes through the edge of a broad belt of timber lying along the base of a range of low hills, halting at last in a chapparal not more than a hundred yards distant from the Indian village.

“Here we are,” said Leander Maybob, throwing himself off his horse. “Jist git off yer nags and stretch yerselves a little, while I take a look outside. Make the most outen your restin’-spell, for I can tell yer that ye won’t have long to lay idle. I’m expectin’ an accident soon!”

And with these strange words which the three men were assured held more meaning than they expressed, the giant strode away and disappeared from view among the shrubbery. In less than five minutes he came back, and his face showed that the result of his reconnoissance was satisfactory.

“There’ll be an accident soon,” said he.

“How soon?” queried the scout.

“Inside of a quarter of an hour.”

“Will it assist us in any manner?” inquired Darke.

“Yes; it’ll be the makin’ of our job.”

“How?” asked Clancy.

“It’s onsartin,” replied the big hunter. “Accidents is onsartin things; but this one ’ll be sartin to help us if we’re ready to help ourselves. I’ve noticed as how the same accident don’t happen twice, any more’n a boy takes his fust chaw of terbacker twice. ’Tain’t anyways likely this ’ere accident we’ve been waitin’ for ’ll happen more’n onc’t. So we must be ready to take advantage of it jest at the right minit! Now then, how many shots have we got altogether?”

“I’ve got a six-shooter and a rifle, both loaded,” said the scout.

“Seven,” said Leander, counting.

“And I’ve got six,” said Clancy.

“Thirteen,” counted the big hunter.

“And I’ve got two revolvers and a rifle,” said the scout.

“Twenty-six,” said the giant, “and I’ve got seven more—thirty-three in all. If there ain’t any of ’em wasted, we can shoot jist thirty-three Injuns without stopping to load! Now git on yer horses and stick yer pistols in yer belts and hold yer rifles ready for instant use. I want to take one more look-out, and I’ll be with ye in a minit.”

The big hunter’s prompt manner and cool, baffling way of talking had inspired the three men with the utmost confidence in himself and his power to bring their enterprise to a successful termination, and they obeyed his orders implicitly. In a moment they were mounted, their unerring rifles ready for use at a moment’s warning.

“Are we going to dash into the encampment?” asked Clancy, examining the lock of his revolver.

“It looks like it,” answered the scout, sententiously.

“What can the accident be?” questioned Darke.

“That’s a riddle!” said Wimple.

“And a hard one to guess!” added the young hunter.

Just then the giant came running through the chapparal, and hastily seizing his ride, which he had left standing against a tree, threw himself upon the back of his horse and rode to the head of the little band of wondering, anxious men.

“Wait a minit!” he half whispered.

There was a moment of dead silence, the four men almost holding their breath in their suspense.

Then a shriek rung out on the air—a shriek that was half a wail, half a curse—so weird and so unearthly that for a moment the blood seemed to stand still in the veins of the three startled men.

“My God! What is that?” cried Darke.

“It’s the accident we’ve bin waitin’ for,” said the big hunter, calmly. “It’s purty near time for us to take advantage of it. Git ready.”

At that moment there came from the direction of the Indian encampment an almost deafening report, followed instantly by cries of agony and fear.

“Now’s our time!” cried the big hunter. “Shoot down every red-skin you see! But don’t harm a hair of Ku-nan-gu-no-nah’s head if you can help it! Take him alive!!”

As they cleared the chapparal, they saw a sight for which even the terrible cry of a moment before had not prepared them.

It was a gigantic human skeleton, standing upright on the back of a milk-white horse that moved with more than the speed of the wind. In the bony, grisly arms of the Phantom Rider was Vinnie Darke!

CHAPTER XVII.
A REUNION OF HEARTS.

“It is Vinnie!” cried Darke, wildly. “Oh God, save my child!”

“Heavens!” exclaimed the young hunter, in the same breath. “What is that? Oh! my darling! She is lost! lost!” and he reeled in his saddle.

“Easy!” said the giant. “She is safe, and you shall both speak with her in a few minutes. It is Meno, the Spirit Warrior! He never harms the whites—he is their friend; and he’ll carry the gal to a place of safety. Git yer rifles ready. When ye see Injuns, fire sure, and don’t miss a shot. After yer rifles are emptied, git out yer pistols and shoot down ther devils as long as yer have a load left! They won’t show fight much after the accident that’s jist happened to ’em!”

A moment later they had left the timber behind, and were dashing across the little strip of prairie that lay between it and the encampment, but a few rods distant.

The four unerring rifles rung out almost simultaneously, and four savages lay dead or dying on the ground.

“Now yer pistols!” shouted the giant, plunging his spurs into his horse’s flanks, and drawing and cocking his heavy Colt’s revolver.

On they sped, their firearms keeping up an incessant rattle, dealing death on all sides.

They charged through the encampment, then, whirling, came back, separating and shooting down every brave in their path, as long as they had a load left.

The giant caught sight of Ku-nan-gu-no-nah trying to hide himself behind one of the lodges, and leaping from his horse, dragged the cowed and trembling fiend out into the middle of the encampment, shrieking and howling with fear.

“It’s time we had a sort of a settlement!” said the giant, grimly. “I guess we’ll look over our accounts now.”

The Indians, men, women and children, such as had not fallen before the terrible Phantom Rider and the subsequent charge of the four hunters, had sought refuge in the forest and thick brushwood growing on the summit of the steep, rocky acclivity at the back of the encampment.

To the credit of our friends, be it said, that they shot down only the braves. For the most part, the squaws and children escaped unharmed, but with the exception of Ku-nan-gu-no-nah and a half-dozen others, every warrior was slain.

“Where’s the whites?” the giant asked the chief, with his long, bony fingers choking out the answer:

“Yonder, in the council-house.”

Following the direction of the chief’s eye, they saw a log building, the only one in the encampment, about twenty yards distant. It had the appearance of being very strongly put up, and had evidently been built with a view to use as a council-house.

Darke and the scout hastened to liberate the captives, while Clancy, attracted thither by the loud snarls and yelps proceeding from the interior, went and looked over the top of a small stockade, or rather pen, about ten feet square, standing a little at one side.

“My heavens!” he cried. “It’s full of wolves!”

“Wolves!” repeated the big hunter, as he finished binding his cowed and terrified captive to a stake near by. “How many on ’em?”

“Eight,” returned Clancy, counting. “Shall I shoot them?”

“No,” said the giant avenger, a sudden thought entering his mind. “We may have use for ’em bimeby!”

“Use for them! How?” asked the young hunter.

For answer, the giant pointed to Ku-nan-gu-no-nah!

“Come,” he said, “let’s go and take a look at the prisoners. They’re free now. Thar’s two men and a woman; and one of the men’s got on a plug hat and a white shirt and a swaller-tail coat and a standin’ collar and a dirty choker,” he went on, as they drew near the liberated emigrants. “He looks for all the world like a preacher!”

Just then the face of the man described by the giant—a smooth-shaven, sanctimonious face, that had not been wrinkled with a smile for ten years—was turned toward them, and the big hunter stopped and stood still in his tracks a moment, overcome with astonishment, staring hard at the emigrants, who, with Darke and Wimple, were advancing toward them.

Clancy regarded him with amazement.

“Gracious!” he said, at last, “it’s Elder Tugwoller! And oh, Lordy! thar’s Sally! My Sally, I mean! Oh, Lord! it’s Sally! Sally! Sally!” he cried, and a moment later he had picked her off her feet, and was holding her in his great, strong arms, as if she had been a baby.

She had recognized him when he called out to her, and flew to meet him.

The elder and the other man, as well as the rest of the party, were regarding them with astonishment. Catching sight of the stranger, Leander set Sally down as suddenly as he had taken her up, saying anxiously, as he thought he might have been hugging another man’s wife:

“Are ye married, Sally? Is that yer man?”

“No, Leander,” she replied, throwing herself again into his arms; and after vainly trying to reach her hands around his neck—for she was very short, her head reaching but a little above his elbows—she buried her blushing face, not in the orthodox style in his bosom, but in his fur vestment somewhere below. “No, Leander, I hain’t married. I wouldn’t never marry no man but you! I’ve had fifteen offers since I see you last, and I refused ’em all! I thought we’d meet ag’in sometime, the good Lord willin’!”

“And he was willin’, Sally! Yer mine now, ain’t ye?”

“Yes,” she replied, “your’n allers—till the Bunker Hill monument crumbles to dust!”

“And we won’t never git things mixed and twisted ag’in?”

“No,” said she; “nothin’ shan’t never part us ag’in!”

And the long-sundered hearts were reunited.

“Sarah,” said the Elder, through his nose, “are you going to marry with that ungodly man of strife?”

“Yes, uncle Tugwoller,” she answered; “I’m a-goin’ to marry that same ungodly man of strife, an’ be jist as good a wife to him as I know how!”

Darke was beginning to evince great anxiety to see his daughter once more, and the ludicrous reunion of the big hunter and his old-time sweetheart, that he had just witnessed, somehow made Clancy long to meet Vinnie.

“Come,” said the woodman, “let us go at once.”

“Wait a few minits,” answered the now happy Leander. “We’ve got a little bizness to attend to yet. I’ve got Ku-nan-gu-no-nah tied to a stake down thar, and it’s about time he retired from bizness. He’s committed crimes—blacker ones than ye can imagine—and he must have his punishment. We’ll give him a trial before we finish him off. Come on.”

And he led the way back to the open space in the center of the encampment, where, to the same stake to which Ku-nan-gu-no-nah had so often bound his captives, he was himself tied so securely that, struggle as he might, he could not get free, and knowing that his doom was at hand, he had made superhuman efforts to break his bonds, but without avail. He was completely cowed; at the last, all his courage and hardihood seemed to have left him, and he stood, quaking with terror, his dusky face blanched to an ashen hue!

“Now,” said the big hunter, laying his hand on the Indian’s shoulder, “ef any one here has got any charges to prefer ag’in’ the prisoner at the stake, the court is ready to attend to the case.”

“The prisoner pulled off my dicky to-day,” said the Elder, dolorously, “and otherwise disarranged my apparel. I think he deserves condign punishment!”

But other charges of graver import were to come.

“He shot our guide,” said Sally Niver; “and put his arm round my waist, when he lifted me out of the wagon, and no decent man would do that—unless he had a right to,” she added, with a glance at Leander. “I think he ought to be hung for murderin’ the guide, anyway!”

“He killed my brother John!” said Wimple.

“He butchered my old father and mother!” said the giant, “and he’s got to die an awful death for it! If any one here thinks he ought to live after committin’ all these crimes, let him speak!”

There was no voice to speak against the execution of the giant’s sentence, and he said:

“Shall he live or die? I’ll give him one more chance.”

“Let him die!” was the answer; and almost before the startled spectators realized what had taken place, Leander Maybob had cut the thongs that bound the doomed chief to the stake, and rearing him above his head, hurled him over the low stockade, among the snarling, half-famished wolves!

Retribution had come at last! He had expiated his many crimes! The vengeance of Leander and Alonphilus Maybob was accomplished!

A few moments later, the whole party rode out of the almost depopulated Indian village, the liberated captives mounted on some Indian ponies that they had found tethered near by.

“Now, Mr. Darke, we’ll go to yer gal!” said Leander.

CHAPTER XVIII.
CONCLUSION.

In a little chapparal not far away they found Vinnie, and near her, sitting on the ground, was Alonphilus, the dwarf. At a little distance was tethered the white horse—there could be no mistaking it—the same milk-white steed that had carried the ghastly form of Meno, the Spirit Warrior, as he rushed by them a little while before, bearing the girl in his grisly embrace.

Pete Wimple approached the animal, as it stood quietly picking at the beaten-down prairie grass, and then kindly touched it once or twice on the back.

“What ye doin’?” asked Leander. “Tryin’ to see if it’s well groomed?”

“No; I was tryin’ to make up my mind if ’twas ra’al, ginuine hoss-flesh, or jist a shadder.”

“It’s a real hoss!” said the giant, stooping, while all their eyes followed every motion curiously, and stretching up the ghastly length of the bony frame of a large, powerfully-built man from out of the thick grass at his feet. “And here’s the Spirit Warrior as has killed and scart to death more Injins in the last six years than ten men could finish off in the old-fashioned way in ten years! My little brother, thar on the ground, a-tyin’ a big knot in the end of that string, ain’t very wide acrost, as ye can see, and the space atween the ribs of this ’ere thing is big anuff for him to crawl in all over. So, when he gits inside of it, and stands upon that white hoss and flings bomb-shells, and fires off rockets among a pack of reds, I guess they think he’s one of the tallest kind of spirit warriors, and about the worst accident as ever befell ’em! I’m a sort of a vantriloquizer, and I uster hide in the woods, and holler like Meno, the spirit, is said to.”

Darke, leaving Vinnie and Clancy to the enjoyment of each other’s society for a few moments, had come forward while the giant was speaking, and as he finished, he said:

“And that explains the mystery of the oaken chest, also, does it not?”

“That’s all there is of the hull mystery and the hull secret,” said the giant, in reply. “I don’t mind tellin’ about it now, cause I’m a-goin’ to marry and retire from bizness. My uncle Peter—and he was a unavarsal—”

“But your brother is dumb. How did he produce that awful screech?”

Alonphilus raised a small, curiously contrived whistle to his lips, and a moment later, the same wild, terrifying cry that they had heard before, rung out on the air.

Ten minutes more, and they were again mounted and ready to set out for the settlement.

“Sarah,” said the Elder, in his nasal voice, “I ask you again if you contemplate becoming the helpmeet of that worldly man of conflict?”

“Yes, Uncle Tugwoller,” she replied, sweetly, reining her horse up by the side of Leander’s. “You’ll marry us to-morrow, won’t you?”

“If I must,” he said, dolorously, tugging away at the corner of his disarranged dicky, “if I must, and my remuneration is forthcoming.”

“You’ve triumphed, Sally,” said the giant lover, with a tender intonation on the name. “My uncle Peter uster say as how a female would if she wanted to, and if she didn’t, she wouldn’t. I hope the Elder ain’t a gittin things mixed and twisted.”

It was after nightfall before the party arrived at the settlement. At times along the way, the Elder experienced much difficulty in maintaining his place on the back of his horse. Once he lost off his dicky, but he bore the trip with surprising equanimity.

The Elder was alone in the world now, save for Sally, his wife having died two years before.

With his niece, in company with Henry Black—the man whom, in our last chapter, Leander suspected might be the husband of his sweetheart—the Reverend Tugwoller was on his way to join a colony of eastern people then forming in the far North-west, whither he had been called to act in his ministerial capacity. Of course now that Sally had so happily—or unfortunately, he would have said—met with her first and only love, and they had been so felicitously reunited, this plan was abandoned; and the next morning he pronounced them man and wife, at Pete Wimple’s, where the company spent the night in the presence of our assembled friends. He settled quietly down with his niece and her husband, who abandoned the wilderness soon after and took up the life of a farmer in the interior of Michigan. He tried in vain to bring Leander to a realizing sense of his innate wickedness, and began to think at last that Sally might have done worse, after all, when it came to his knowledge that the beatified fellow was the fortunate possessor of two or three hundred acres of fine land, clear of all claims, besides about five thousand dollars hard cash that his father had received for his place in the East.

The dwarf dwelt with them and was tenderly cared for by his giant brother and his kind-hearted sister-in-law, to the end of his life. He always kept the death-record with the big knot at one end in commemoration of the terrible charge of the four men through the Indian encampment and the awful death of Ku-nan-gu-no-nah, the slayer of his parents.

Clancy and Vinnie were married in due time, and, with Emmett Darke, they went farther south, and purchasing a farm lived very happily indeed.

Pete Wimple, the scout, is a gray-haired old man now; but his eye is as clear and his form as erect as in the days of yore; and his story of the chase and the war-path are the delight of all the boys in the settlement.

Death, the blood-hound, died of old age twenty years ago.

THE END.

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Transcriber’s Notes

• Silently corrected a few typos.
• Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook is public-domain in the country of publication.
• In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by _underscores_.
• Created a Table of Contents based on the chapter headings.