Though his brave companion had fallen almost at his side, Brinton Kingsland had reached the camp of the supply train without receiving so much as a scratch. He mourned him, for he was a worthy man; but he was heart-broken at his failure to gain tidings of his loved parents and little sister. He did not know what to do, and could only fear the worst.
When he had told his story to his new friends, none of them were able to offer any encouragement or hope.
The supply train consisted of a dozen waggons, in charge of sixteen teamsters. As a matter of course, all were armed, and had come thus far without trouble.
They were making ready to resume their journey to Wounded Knee when the affray already described took place. This caused an hour's delay, and now, when about to start again, the signs of danger became so threatening, they held back for consultation.
The Indians whom they had driven from the prostrate form of Scout Jackson reappeared on the crest of the hill over which they had skurried, and it was noticed that their number was increased to fully a dozen.
While the teamsters were watching them another band came into sight, in the opposite direction.
To the dismay of the spectators, this party was more numerous than the first. Not only that, but both bands advanced at a slow trot, and met at a point a couple of hundred yards distant, and in a place over which the train would have to pass if it pushed on toward the camp at Wounded Knee.
"Boys," said Captain Wadsworth, who was in charge of the train, "there's going to be a fight."
"We ought to be able to keep them off," replied one of his men.
"So we shall if no more appear; but the Sioux are as thick as berries, and by-and-by we shall have a hundred or more of them popping away at us. We may as well get ready for what's certain to come."
"Jackson said something to me," observed Brinton, "about an escort having been sent out from Wounded Knee to bring you in."
"They can't come any too soon," responded the captain, who fully comprehended the peril; "but I'm afraid they will be too late. Those Indians don't let the grass grow under their feet."
The leader did not content himself with talking, but began to prepare for the attack, which might come at any moment. The waggons were drawn up in a circle, in the middle of which were placed the horses. Bags of grain, boxes and bundles, were piled on the ground underneath the waggons. These served as an additional protection for the animals, and screened the men, when kneeling behind and firing at their assailants.
The hostiles were quick to detect what was going on, and did not allow the work to be completed without interference. They began circling back and forth, riding entirely around the camp and discharging their guns at it. The exhibition of horsemanship was a fine one; but they kept at such a distance that their shots did little damage. In some way, one got through the entrenchments, as they might be called, and slightly wounded a horse in the shoulder. He made more fuss than if it had gone through his head, rearing, snorting, and plunging, and throwing the rest into a panic, which would have ended in a stampede, had they not been guarded with unusual care.
The teamsters did not accept these unwelcome attentions meekly, but fired at their circling assailants; the cause named, however, prevented much success. It looked as if one or two of the shots inflicted damage, but not to the extent of disabling any pony or his rider.
Standing at the rear of one of the waggons, where he could see everything that was going on, Captain Wadsworth watched the exciting incidents. At his elbow was Brinton Kingsland, who did not think it worth while to try his hand with his Winchester, though the others were continually cracking around him.
"What is to be feared," said the captain, "is that the hostiles will soon increase to such an extent that they will overwhelm us."
"How many do you think are out there now?" inquired Brinton.
"I should say between twenty and thirty—that is, there were a few minutes ago, but there are five or six less now."
"What is the meaning of that?"
The leader turned his bronzed face toward the youth and smiled significantly.
"Don't you catch on? They have sent after reinforcements: a slight number now means a big number pretty soon."
"Have you noticed those bucks on the top of the ridge yonder?"
Captain Wadsworth looked in the direction named. Three Indians had dismounted, and were standing close together, or rather two of them were, while the third seemed to be stooping and busy with something on the ground.
"How long have they been there?" asked the leader.
"They rode up the slope within the last five minutes. They were off their ponies before they stopped. I can't guess what they are doing."
"I don't know; but we shall soon learn."
Although the cracking of rifles continued, and the teamsters, kneeling behind the fortifications, were doing their utmost to pick off some of the dusky riders, who in turn sent in their dropping shots, Captain Wadsworth gave them little heed. The position of himself and Brinton was exposed, and, had their assailants come closer, they would not have dared to maintain it; but with the combatants so widely separated, it cannot be said they were in much real danger.
The three Indians in whom our friends were so much interested just then were beyond and apart from the others. Their horses were cropping the few blades of withered grass that had survived the winter's tempests; but not one was a dozen yards from his master, all of whom were so grouped together that their movements could not be identified.
Rather curiously there was not a spy-glass among the teamsters. Such an article would have been valuable just then; but they had to depend upon their unaided vision.
The captain and Brinton, however, agreed that two of the bucks were bent over and busy with something on the ground, while the third, standing on the crest of the ridge, appeared to be awaiting the action of his companions before carrying out some plan he had in mind.
"Look!" whispered the youth; "isn't that smoke?"
The captain was silent a moment before answering—
"Yes; the Indian is like the Chinaman: he can start a fire where you and I couldn't kindle a spark. I believe they will make a bundle of water-soaked leaves crackle and burn like tinder wood. Those fellows have got some of the dried grass together and have managed to touch it off. You understand what that means, of course?"
"I cannot say that I do."
"It is a signal fire."
"Kindled for what purpose?"
"To call all the other hostiles in sight here, to take a hand in the fun of massacring us and plundering our train. Such a signal can be seen a long way and will do all that is intended. Look at it now!"
From between the two, who now rose from their stooping posture, a thin finger of vapour arose, going straight upward as if it were a shadowy arrow aimed at the clouds.
"One of the bucks is waving his blanket," observed Brinton; "he must mean something by that. I suppose he is fanning the blaze to keep it from going out."
"No; look at that thin line of smoke; don't you see something peculiar?"
"Ah! I notice it now."
The vapour showed a striking change of appearance; instead of climbing in a straight line, it now waved gracefully from side to side. It was something which never can occur unless with the help of some person.
"That is the signal," said Captain Wadsworth; "it can be seen for miles in all directions, and every Indian eye that catches sight of it will read its meaning as plainly as our soldiers do the looking-glass signals. It's a bad thing for us."
The captain was an old campaigner, and knew what he was talking about; his impressive manner was not lost upon Brinton Kingsland.
"How far are we from Wounded Knee?" he asked.
"Anywhere from a dozen to twenty miles; it depends on the course we take—that is," he added, with a shake of his head, "whether we ever take any course at all."
"I cannot recall just what Jackson said about an escort from that camp, but I think he told me such an escort had been sent."
The captain shook his head.
"You must be mistaken; for, if that were the case, why did he ride out here alone? Was it not more likely that he came to learn whether we needed protection? and if that is so, they will wait for his return and report before sending out the escort which is the only thing that can save us."
This view was so reasonable that Brinton could not combat it.
"I see one chance," ventured the youth, after a moment's silence, during which he watched the actions of the signal corps on the ridge.
The officer turned wonderingly toward him.
"I shall be glad to hear what it is."
"If a messenger can get through to Wounded Knee with word of your extremity, they will send you help without delay."
"True; but how can such a thing succeed? If it were night it might be done; but in what possible way can a horseman dash through the lines when the bucks would see him start, and they have us surrounded?"
"It will be taking big risks, but I would like to try it."
Captain Wadsworth, who had been leaning against the hind wheel of one of the waggons, with his arms folded, abruptly straightened up and stared at the youth, as if uncertain whether he had heard him aright; then he repeated—
"You would like to try it, did you say?"
"Yes, sir; and I believe I can get through."
The officer looked off toward the ridge and shook his head.
"Don't think of such a thing; we must stay here and fight it out, and trust to Providence to open the way, if any is to be opened."
But Brinton was in earnest, and his eagerness was increased by the discouraging manner of the captain.
"I understand your feelings, and I am not blind to what is in the path of the one who attempts to do what I have proposed; but, captain, bear two things in mind: there isn't a fleeter horse in the whole West than my Jack. When I gave him rein he pulled away from those Indians as though their animals were walking. So all I have to secure is a fair start."
"Exactly," replied the leader with a grim smile, "and therein you sum up the whole business. All that you need to succeed is to succeed. But what is the other point you wish me to hold in mind?"
"The fair start can be secured."
"How?"
"Pretend to ride out against the hostiles. They will gather in front of the threatened point; I will be on the watch, and, when the way opens, will scoot for Wounded Knee."
Brinton saw that Captain Wadsworth was interested. Once more he came to the erect position, and looking kindly in his face, said—
"Your plan has something in it."
The heart of the youth leaped with hope.
"I am sure of it; but there's not a minute to lose."
This was self-evident, and the captain, having made up his mind, passed among his men and hurriedly explained what he had decided to do. It was for eight or ten of them to mount their horses and move cautiously toward the ridge, as if with the intention of attacking the little signal party there and stamping out their tiny fire. This would cause a concentration (or, more properly, it was hoped that it would) of the hostiles on that side of the camp, of which Brinton Kingsland would take advantage by dashing out on the other side and riding at full speed to Wounded Knee.
It was the only thing that offered hope, and, therefore, was eagerly accepted by all. The firing was so scattered that no fear was felt in moving about within the circle of waggons, for, as we have shown, Captain Wadsworth and Brinton had been exposed all the time without harm. The Sioux kept so far away that it was evident they were waiting for the arrival of reinforcements before making a real attack.
The preparations on the part of the teamsters had hardly begun when Brinton, who had led his pony forth and stood ready to leap into the saddle, called out—
"You needn't do it! Here's my chance!"
The majority of the Indians were near the ridge at that moment, but some of them were quite a distance off, and, in fact, alarmingly close to the opposite side of the camp. The impatient youth was confident that he could dash through the opening before they could stop him.
"It won't do!" protested Captain Wadsworth; "don't try it! wait till we get them nearer the ridge they will cut you off——"
"I'm off! Good-bye!"
Brinton Kingsland was in the saddle, and shot out from among the waggons like a thunderbolt.
Good fortune attended the daring attempt of Brinton Kingsland. By a providential occurrence, most of the hostiles were on the side of the supply camp, in the direction of the ridge from whose crest the signal smoke was ascending, when the youth, dexterously guiding his pony through the waggons that surrounded him, quickly cleared himself of all obstacles.
"Now, Jack, old boy, do your best! Never was there greater need of it."
The intelligent creature thrust his nose forward, and was off like a shot. He knew what was wanted, and nobly responded to the call upon his fleetness. The teamsters forgot all about the Indians, and fixed their gaze upon the youth.
He was fully a hundred yards from camp before the Sioux comprehended what was done. Then, when they saw the messenger dashing over the plain, fully a dozen of the best mounted were after him in a flash, discharging several of their guns at the moment of starting.
Brinton was seen to thunder up the incline of the first swell, sitting firmly in his saddle, and instantly disappeared over the crest. A minute later, the foremost two of the pursuers skimmed up the same incline, just as the lad shot into sight on the summit of the next elevation, instantly whisking out of view over that, while his superb horse continued his arrowy flight toward Wounded Knee. Then the excited and hopeful teamsters could see no more, and all but the foremost two of the pursuers gave up the chase and came straggling back to join their comrades in the attack on the camp. They knew that the result of that flight of the messenger would be to bring help, and, if anything was to be accomplished, it must be before it could arrive.
And so the attack on the camp was begun at once, and with a fierceness that speedily brought a crisis.
Meanwhile, Brinton Kingsland was going with undiminished speed over the prairie, skimming up the inclines and down the slopes at a break-neck pace, with every nerve of his splendid steed strained to the highest. The rider heard the dull report of the rifles that were fired at him, but the distance was too great to cause alarm, and he did not even hear the singing of the bullets, so wide went they of the mark; but the glance cast over his shoulder showed that he had only two pursuers to fear.
It was easy to compare their speed with his, and less than a half-mile was passed, when all doubt vanished. They had been thrown a hundred paces to the rear and were losing ground every minute.
At the instant of shooting up one of the slopes and disappearing over the crest, Brinton snatched off his cap and swung it over his head, with a joyous shout.
"Hurrah, Jack! they're not in it with you; you can take it more easily now."
Nevertheless, the speed of the pony was maintained for a brief while, until it became certain that his two pursuers had given up the attempt to overtake him, and had gone to wreak their fury on the imperilled teamsters before help could reach them. Then Brinton made Jack drop to a pace which he could continue for hours without fatigue. The youth knew the course to follow to reach the camp at Wounded Knee Creek, and he calculated that he could readily cover the ground in the course of an hour or so.
He was too sensible, however, to imagine that an open and uninterrupted course lay before him. At that time, as the reader well knows, the country in the neighbourhood of the Bad Lands, the reservations and the space between, was overrun with hostiles, as eager as so many jungle tigers to slay settlers, small squads of soldiers, and all white people whom it was safe to attack. He was liable to encounter some of these bands at any moment, and only by continual vigilance could he avoid running into the cunningly laid traps which proved fatal to scores of others.
Now that the burst of excitement was over, and he was riding at a less killing pace, his thoughts went back to the loved ones from whom he had been so strangely separated. His heart became as lead as he reflected that they could hardly have escaped, considering the condition of his father, from the environing perils which covered miles of territory in every direction.
"If I only knew where they were, if alive, I would guide this escort from Wounded Knee to their help——"
What was that? Surely he heard the report of guns from some point in advance. Jack pricked his ears and increased his pace.
"It can have but one meaning," muttered Brinton, with a throbbing heart; "someone is in peril: can it be they?"
He reined up his pony and stood still on the crest of the first elevation he reached, after the ominous sounds fell on his ears.
At that moment he descried coming over another ridge, a furlong away, a troop of thirty or forty cavalry, riding at a gallop toward him.
"That's the escort from Wounded Knee," was his instant conclusion; "I was right when I told Captain Wadsworth that Nick Jackson said the escort was on the way, though I wasn't certain of it."
But evidently the firing had not come from the cavalry. It was from some point between, and, instead of being directly in front, as it first seemed, was off to the right, where he observed a depression, with several dismounted Indians crouching around it.
"Great heavens! it's father fighting them off," he gasped; "he is in that hollow and they have attacked him!"
He struck his heels against the ribs of Jack, fiercely jerked the bridle-rein, and shouted to him to run at his best straight for the spot.
But the approaching cavalry had descried the same thing, and were nearer the hollow than was the youth. They turned the heads of the horses and struck off at full speed.
The assailing Indians, too, had discovered their danger and were seen skurrying for their ponies, waiting near. The obedient animals turned until their masters sprang upon their backs, when they dashed off at full speed, with a single exception. One of them, forgetful of his danger or determined upon revenge, even at the cost of his life, was observed to have something in his arms as he held his ground.
"It is Edith that he is about to slay; maybe he has already killed her! O heaven!" the brother groaned, "is it too late to save her?"
Jack was tearing over the ground at a killing pace, but he could not reach them in time. He could carry his rider there in time to shoot down the Indian, but not soon enough to prevent his burying his knife in the innocent heart.
But there was a wonderful sharpshooter among the cavalry. He saw the awful peril, and throwing his horse on his haunches, brought his gun to his shoulder.
During the instant it was at a level, Hugh Kingsland dashed out of the hollow, bare-headed, and, with hair streaming, ran toward the Indian and his little girl. One pace behind him sped his wife; she was seen to make quick, earnest gestures to the approaching horsemen, and they thought it an appeal to them not to lose a second if they would save her child.
At that instant the sharpshooter pressed the trigger of his weapon; the Indian dropped the little one, threw up his arms in an aimless way, staggered back and sank to the ground.
The next minute the troop thundered up, Brinton almost among them.
"Are you hurt, my darling Edith?" he called, leaping out of the saddle, catching her in his arms, pressing her to his heart and kissing her; "speak! did he hurt you?"
The child was bewildered by the great confusion, and, without answering her brother, looked him affrightedly in the face.
"Why, Brint, is that you?"
"Yes, yes; heaven be praised, you are not harmed! Oh, how can I be thankful enough? And you, father and mother! what a blessed sight!"
The mother gave him one grateful glance and then knelt by the fallen Indian, just as Edith, slipping from the grasp of her brother, ran to the prostrate figure and bent over it, asking in a voice of inexpressible tenderness—
"What is the matter, Wolf Ear?"
The young Ogalalla lay on his back, but at the moment the child spoke he managed, by a great effort, to raise his head and rest it on his hand. He had not spoken, but now, fixing his dark eyes on Edith, said in a faint voice—
"Wolf Ear is hurt!"
The troopers sat silent on their horses, looking down on the strange scene. Hugh Kingsland, with no trace of his illness, stood back a few paces with folded arms, gazing at the moving sight and trying in vain to restrain his emotions. His wife placed her arm under the head of the Ogalalla, and, resting it on her knee, smoothed the black hair from his forehead, murmuring words of sympathy; Edith covered her face with her hands, and sobbed with a breaking heart.
Brinton was affected at the sight of his former friend, but he could not help saying—
"Mother, we can all pity him, but he was our enemy; and had he not been shot at that moment Edith would not be living now."
"You are wrong, my son," she replied gently. "Wolf Ear came forward to save Edith."
"What are you saying?"
"He was with the party that attacked us; he did what he could to restrain them; he could not do so, and he ran forward to join and help us defend ourselves against them. Edith saw him first and hurried out to meet him; he caught her up, and, when his companions would have harmed her, he would not let them touch her. He shouted to us to have no fear, that he was our friend. At that moment the soldiers came in sight and the other Indians made off. Wolf Ear knew we were saved, and so he stood still, with Edith's arms around his neck. I saw one of the soldiers aiming at them with his gun; husband and I ran out to shield him. I shouted and motioned to the soldier not to shoot, but he did not understand me, and—this is the sad result of the dreadful mistake."
Wolf Ear fixed his eyes upon the wondering Brinton, who, walking forward and stooping down, asked in a choking voice—
"Is all this true, Wolf Ear?"
"The words of your mother are true."
"But what meant your course toward me yesterday? I cannot reconcile that with what I have just heard."
"We parted friends, though I told you I was the enemy of the rest of your race. From the time we separated I have done all I could to find your people and save them before it was too late. Until now, I have not met you."
"You forget; we met in the gorge last night, and only this morning, when you sought the life of Nick Jackson, I chased you over the ridge in the effort to make you prisoner."
A smile overspread the dark face, and the head swayed a single time to one side.
"Brinton, you are mistaken; the Ogalalla whom you met, as you say, in the gully, and whom you sought to make prisoner, was not I—he was my twin brother, Young Bear; our mother can hardly tell us apart, and I taught him to speak English as well as I."
"Oh, what have I done!" wailed Brinton, breaking down utterly, and covering his face with his hands. "I never dreamed of this; can you forgive this dreadful mistake?"
"Yes," said Wolf Ear faintly, "I forgive you; I forgive the soldier who shot me, for he did it to save her life."
He wearily closed his eyes, but opened them again when he felt the chubby arms of Edith clasped round his neck, and her lips pressed against his.
"Oh, Wolf Ear!" she sobbed, in tones that brought tears to more than one eye among the bronzed troopers, "do not die! I love you, next to Brint and papa and mamma——"
Among the silent troopers touched by the scene was the sharpshooter who had brought Wolf Ear low. He was a brave, rugged soldier, but, like most men, had a tender heart. He had not spoken for some minutes, and his eyes were moist as he swung his foot from his stirrup and over the haunch of his horse to the ground.
"Jim Budworth don't often make a miss," he said in a broken voice, "and I didn't miss this fellow; but then I didn't aim to kill him, and I don't believe I did. I know a little about surgery myself—so let me take a look at Wolf Ear, as you call him."
Wondering at the words of the sharpshooter, and hardly daring to hope he was right, all watched him as he made what may be called a medical examination of the sufferer. The bullet had struck him in the side, and evidently had inflicted the wound intended.
"Injins are tough," remarked Budworth, "and this one is as tough as the rest. He isn't going to die. Here, Wolf Ear, try this."
As he spoke, the trooper held a flask of spirits to the lips of the young Indian and forced him to swallow some of it. It produced an immediate effect; and, to the astonishment of everyone, Wolf Ear assumed a sitting position and looked round with a smile.
"I feel better—much better, thank you," he said, with a grateful look at Budworth.
"Of course you do. It was a narrow chance for you, no mistake; but all you want is careful nursing, and I reckon Mrs. Kingsland here will be glad to give it you."
"Indeed I will," said the delighted woman; "there is nothing that I will not do for Wolf Ear. Can it be possible that he is going to get well after all?"
"Of course it is; I know all about Injins."
"Oh, I am so glad!" exclaimed the happy Edith, throwing her arms again about his neck.
"Easy now, easy now," said Budworth; "don't go to rolling and tumbling him about until he gets a little stronger. After that you can handle him as you choose."
Wolf Ear rallied with amazing quickness, and showed all the heroism of his race, when he was helped upon his horse and the party moved back to the supply camp, where the teamsters had succeeded in driving off the hostiles.
The Indian was given an easy, comfortable couch in one of the waggons, and some hours later the party arrived at Wounded Knee. There the sufferer received the best of medical attention, and was soon able to move about with scarcely any pain or trouble. His recovery was rapid; and to-day only a slight scar remains to tell how nearly he met death in his efforts to save his friends from the warriors of his own race.
And within the following few weeks the threatening cloud that had overspread the Western sky, behind which the blood-red lightning gleamed and played, dissolved, and gave place to the sweet sunshine of peace, which, let us pray, may continue for ever.
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