“Let me go to my father,” pleaded Sadie. “Oh, sir, you will not kill him for a single hasty word?”
“I rather think I shall,” replied Garrett, as cool and composed as if talking of any ordinary event. “The man’s got to go. I don’t advertise to be a saint, and when a man runs ag’inst me and calls me a murderer, I reckon it’s about time for him to pass in his chips. I’m a peaceable man—I will have peace, or a fight.”
This strange man was dreadfully in earnest. Human life was to him a thing of no price—we might lose it to-day or to-morrow, of we might live a hundred years—a small matter, not to be taken into account. He had no objections to killing a man, and if he had stood in his way, in any manner, it became a duty to put him aside.
They were approaching the snag, and the desperado was about to order the prisoner to be thrown into the water, when the boatmen were suddenly thrust aside, and Minneoba, holding her bow in her hand, darted forward and leveled an arrow at his breast.
“Look, white man,” she cried, “Minneoba is the daughter of Black-Hawk, and she can not lie; if you do harm to the good white man, I will send an arrow through your heart.”
“Why, you cat!” hissed Dick Garrett, turning upon her with a devilish look. “Stand out of the way.”
But Minneoba would not obey him. It was the second time she had found her arrow effective, and it had some influence upon the man who “would have peace or a fight.” Although full of mad hate, he knew that she could aim an arrow well, for he had seen her skill tested in the Indian towns.
“What in the devil’s name made me bring this cat on board?” he uttered. “Better far have left her behind to find her way to the village as best she could. Look you, Minneoba,” he added aloud. “You know that I would not willingly do you a wrong, but you must get out of the way.”
“No,” replied Minneoba, stamping her foot. “Minneoba will not move, and if Garrett does wrong to the good white man, he shall die.”
“Now, my girl, be careful, please; I’ll have to take measures you won’t like if you don’t get out of the way.”
“Minneoba will shoot,” replied the girl, with flashing eyes, still pointing the arrow at his breast. Garrett nodded to one of his men, and while the leader expostulated with her he stole behind and suddenly caught her by the arm in a firm clasp. With a cry of anger the girl caught the arrow in her disengaged hand and drove it through the arm of her captor, who released her with an oath, but before she could strike again, Garrett had her in his arms.
“Now then, lads!” he cried. “I’ll hold this beauty fast, and if she struggles I’ll take toll from her lips.”
“Cease to struggle, Minneoba,” said Mr. Wescott. “You only expose yourself to new indignity without the chance of aiding me. I am ready to meet my fate, although it is a hard one, but it grieves me to think that I die by the hands of white men. Sadie, farewell—farewell, my dear child. All that I have is yours and your dear mother’s. Thank God that she at least was absent when this blow fell.”
“I can not see you die,” she sobbed. “Oh, Richard Garrett, will nothing move you to do right?”
“That depends on what you call right. Now you don’t think it right to beat a man at the picturs or billiards or to pick his pocket, or crack a bank. Now I do, so we won’t seem to agree, no matter how you fix it, so I guess we may as well end this now. Toss him over, boys.”
“It don’t seem scarcely right,” said the rough young fellow who was helping Sadie back. “Why not duck him, and then let him out, boss?”
“Because he knows I wear an Injin disguise. It’s all very well for you that he don’t know, but I ain’t so easy suited. Toss him over, I say, and make no words.”
They lifted the bound man and flung him over the rail, while with a thrilling shriek Sadie fell senseless into the arms of the man who held her. He laid her gently down, and made a spring at the taffrail, and his body struck the water almost as soon as that of Mr. Wescott, who was unable to help himself.
“Come back here, you born fool,” screamed Dick Garrett. “What do you think the Cap will say when he hears how you act?”
“You go to ——,” said the rough but good-hearted fellow, naming a locality not sought after by humanity generally. “I’m going to save this man.”
“Then by ——” hissed Dick Garrett, “you stay with him; set in your poles, boys. Tom don’t want to come on board.”
By this time the man had seized the helpless form of Wescott, and with his clasp-knife managed to cut the bonds upon his hands and feet, and Wescott at once began to swim, but feebly at first, and the fiendish order of the desperate leader rung in his ears, and they saw the boat moving slowly away, leaving them alone on the wide river.
“We’re done, stranger,” said the man called Tom. “I done my best, but he’s run from us.”
“You can swim to the bank,” said Mr. Wescott, noting with what ease the man sustained himself.
“I reckon.”
“Then do so and leave me to my fate,” replied Wescott. “You have already risked too much for me.”
“When I quit a man in that way I reckon you’d better call round with a rope and string me up. It’ll suit me fust rate. Let the current take ye square; we’ll fetch up somewhere I reckon, and when we do, and I onc’t git on the trail of that Dick Garrett, won’t I make him howl!”
Even as he spoke the two men were moving on a course diagonal with the current, the stronger man giving all the support he could to his wounded companion. But the shore seemed far away and Wescott felt that he could not go much further.
“Save yourself,” he gasped. “My wound has opened again and I am losing strength.”
“I won’t do it,” replied Tom, through his set teeth. “Hold up a little; I’ll save you yet.”
“There is no hope,” replied Wescott. “Avenge me if you can and save my daughter from that villain. You can do me better service in that way than by staying with me now.”
At this moment the surge came down heavily and buried the speaker beneath the water. Tom paddled to and fro, looking for him in vain, for the water had claimed its prey, and nerving himself to the task the young man struck out resolutely for the shore, which he reached nearly exhausted. Then he ran along the bank and looked for some sign of Wescott, but he looked in vain. The surface of the river was blank.
Tom Bantry had been a flatboatman since he was old enough to hold a pole, and now for the first time paused to consider how far he had gone down the road of sin. He was conscious of many evil deeds already performed, but the stain of blood was not upon his soul, and although pledged to his vile companion he could not stand by tamely and witness the murder of so good a man as Samuel Wescott. But his good intentions had come to naught, and the brave man was dead.
The flatboatman rose and looked about him, a wicked light coming over his dark face. “They taught me evil, them cusses did,” he muttered. “I’d the making of a man in me, but they sp’iled me, and now they’ve killed as good a man as ever walked the earth. I’ll remember that ag’inst ye, old man Garrett.”
He was literally worn out, and dropped down upon the grass and slept until morning. He woke at last and started up refreshed, only to find a party of white men were upon the opposite bank, and with his paint upon him, Tom knew that it would be far from safe to meet them, and he skulked away, keeping under cover of the bushes, and then made a circuit through the bushes, designing to cross their path and ascertain who they were. As he crept forward with that intention, he heard a slight rustling in the bushes in front, and the long, snake-like head of Napope appeared above the bushes, signaling him to fall back. He did so, involuntarily dropping his hand upon his knife, which he had not lost in the last night’s struggle in the stream, when he remembered that Napope regarded all his party as friends and that he still wore the garb of an Indian. He dropped back and the next moment Napope joined him.
“The white dogs come,” he said, in a fierce tone, “and the heart of a chief is big in his bosom. They shall die without knowledge.”
“Who are they?” demanded Tom.
“They are white and they are not the friends of Jackwood the son of Red-Bird. Where is your gun, my brother?”
“I lost it last night,” replied Tom, a little embarrassed. “Let me look out and see what white men come.”
He advanced to the edge of the woods and looked out, and could detect a white party moving hastily across the plain. Foremost among them was a man whom he had known well some years before, Cooney Joe, and behind him came Captain Melton and his gallant men, and it flashed through the mind of Tom Bantry that they were in pursuit of Dick Garrett. His heart stood still, for a backward glance showed him fifty stout Sacs, armed to the teeth, lying under the bushes waiting for the coming of the hated white men. Twenty-four hours ago Tom Bantry would have delighted in this, but now he was changed, and racked his brains for ways and means to acquaint them with the ambush before them, without destruction to himself.
Napope waved his hand, and, as if by magic, every warrior disappeared, and a stillness like that of death fell upon the scene. The whites came in rapidly, unsuspicious of danger, and passed through the first bushes, when they were surprised to hear a sudden crash and a yell of surprise and anger. The crash came from Tom Bantry, who had managed to fall down with a great noise, at the same time giving the yell which startled the white rangers.
“Tree, boys!” yelled Cooney Joe. “Tree and fight. Injins thar, by the big horn spoon.”
The men who followed Cooney Joe were Indian-fighters of the first class, and the order had scarcely been given when every man was sheltered by a tree and had his rifle ready for action. This was not done a moment too soon, for the feathers of the savages began to show above the bushes, and several shots were fired, until a commanding voice shouted to the warriors to hold their fire.
“What do the white men seek?” cried Napope. “They have been beaten once; must we beat them again?”
“That’s Napope,” cried Cooney Joe. “I know the old cuss, and he kin fight, if he is an Injin; but we’ll lick him out of his moccasins. Say, Injin, you’d better clear the way; you ain’t got the major to fight now.”
“Napope does not seek the scalps of the white men,” cried the Indian. “If they bring the scalps to him, he will take them, but he does not thirst for blood. Let Captain Melton turn back and cross the river.”
“The path must be clear for me to pass through,” replied Melton. “The hatchet has been dug up and its edge turned against women and children, and the good white man, Wescott, with his daughter, has been carried away, and we think the Sacs know where they are.”
“The Sacs do not know,” replied Napope, proudly. “Does the white man take us for Menomonies or Chippewas? The Sacs are men and not dogs; they do not fight against women and children.”
“Napope is a brave man, and will not lie to save his life,” said Melton. “Let us pass on safely, and then there shall be no blood shed, for we seek only those who have stolen the brave man Wescott and his child.”
“My brother must turn back,” replied the chief. “There is no path over the Indian country for white soldiers until peace is made; but if the good white man and his child are here, they shall be made welcome, and no harm shall come to them if Napope can give them aid. But Melton must take his warriors and go back to his people.”
“We will not turn back,” replied Melton, angrily, “unless we take the friends we seek with us. Let Napope clear the way, or we will try to go on without his leave.”
“The white men will find knives and hatchets in the path,” replied the chief, grimly. “Go back as you came, and all shall be well; refuse, and you shall find that my young men carry guns.”
“I don’t like this,” whispered Cooney Joe in the ear of Melton. “They’ve got twice as many warriors as we have, and the chances are good for a fight. I never like to back out, but I don’t know but it’s the safest plan.”
“It won’t do,” said Melton. “These scoundrels will get too impudent if they are allowed their own way too much. There must be a fight, and at once, and the boys must do their best. I know them too well to think that they will back down for twice their number of Sacs.”
“What does my brother say?” cried Napope.
“Fight.” replied Melton. “We will go on.” Napope disappeared immediately, and scarcely had he done so when a bullet whizzed by the ear of the young scout as he hastily took to a tree. The fight now commenced in true Indian-fashion, the Sacs forcing the fighting and running from tree to tree to get nearer to their enemies. But they found a different party from that with which they had fought upon Sycamore Creek. Every bullet had its billet. Did an Indian show hand or foot from behind his shelter, it was at once the mark of a well-aimed ball. The men who followed Melton had lived by the rifle, and were not likely to miss their aim easily, while the Indians were notoriously bad marksmen, not having the patience to perfect themselves in the use of the rifle.
Besides, the weapons they carried were not of the best description, being those furnished by the traders against the law, and their powder was “contract,” warranted not to burn except at a slow fire. But their numbers made the position of Melton’s small force decidedly unsafe, and they began to close in upon every side, and every moment Melton expected a charge with hatchet and knife, most fearful weapons in Indian hands. But the steady valor of the scouts had inspired the savages with a respect for them, and they fought warily, losing a man now and then, and inflicting little damage upon the foe.
“They’ll charge soon, boys,” whispered Cooney Joe. “Pass the word down the line to have a charge ready for the rush. Don’t throw away a shot.”
The rifles were ready when Napope gave the order, and at his signal-yell they bounded out like tigers, flourishing their bright weapons in the air.
This was the moment for the Border Riflemen, and each picked his man and fired, and every bullet found a mark. Supposing the rifles empty, the Sacs rushed on, but they were mistaken, for up rose ten more riflemen, and the head of the assailants seemed to melt away before their fire. It was more than Indian endurance was equal to, and they again buried themselves in the bushes, in spite of the fierce orders of Napope, who, although severely wounded in the shoulder, urged the men on.
He was ably seconded by Na-she-eschuck, who was also slightly wounded.
“Well done, my lads,” cried Mellon. “Bravely done, riflemen; they have not Sycamore Creek to brag of this time, at any rate.”
Napope collected his men under cover of the bushes, but his heart was full of anger against the gallant band of scouts, whom he had expected to sweep from the path in that headlong charge. So far from doing that, over one-third of his men were placed hors de combat, and several more partially disabled. Aroused by the invectives of the two chiefs, they again began to advance, but more cautiously, sliding from tree to tree, with great care, and exposing themselves as little as possible in doing so. But the riflemen managed to inflict new damage upon them before they came in fair charging distance. Napope had separated his force into three parts, sending out a small party upon each flank of the white force, and Melton was compelled to detach eight men, four upon each flank, to keep off these troublesome flanking-parties. This left him but twelve men in his main force, opposed to over thirty determined warriors, eager for the blood of those who had slain so many of their friends.
“We have got ourselves into a pizen scrape, Cap,” said Cooney Joe, as he stood with his back against a tree, looking to the priming of his rifle; “but thar’s only one way to do, and that is to fight our way out. We kin lick ’em if more don’t come; that’s what I’m afraid of.”
At this moment the rush was made, and as before, the whites divided their fire, so as to give the Indians two volleys before they reached the trees, and then with yells which vied with those of the Indians, they formed a line among the trees, and beat back the savages with knife, hatchet, and clubbed rifle. It was a desperate affair while it lasted, and the wild valor of the scouting party prevailed, and they were driving back the Indians step by step, when one of the men who had been sent to the right flank came running up.
“Party of Injins coming across the plain, on a run, Cap,” he reported. “I reckon we’d better git.”
“Easier said than done,” said the captain, turning aside a blow with his heavy knife. “Shoot that fellow, Ed.”
The borderer brought his rifle to his shoulder, and the savage fell, shot through the heart.
“Have the Indians on the flanks retreated, Ed?” demanded Melton, as he fired a pistol at a savage who was poising his hatchet for a throw, and the savage went down.
“No, they ain’t all gone yet,” replied the man, who was coolly reloading his discharged rifle. “I guess we’d better call in the men and make a rush through these red devils, before the others can come up.”
A signal whistle, well known to the “merry men” of Melton, brought in all upon the flank, and with shouts of victory, all charged upon the broken and demoralized body of Sacs. They had fought bravely, but their courage was not proof against the assault, and they broke and fled in every direction through the woods, pursued by the victorious whites, who only wanted to get deeper into the woods, to avoid the force coming up in their rear. They would not have done this had they known that it was Dick Garrett and his party, bringing as prisoner, Sadie Wescott, whom Minneoba would not leave.
Scouts from the party of Napope having discovered the coming of the disguised whites, and apprised the chief, he hurried out to meet them, and started as he saw who they held as prisoner.
“Ha!” he cried. “Then it is my brother who struck the wigwam of Wescott, and took him prisoner?”
“Yes,” said Garrett. “You see our boss, Will Jackwood, wanted this girl, and sent me to take her.”
“Where is Wescott, now?” demanded Napope.
“Well,” said Garrett, hesitating, “he’s gone under; that’s what’s the matter with him.”
“Let my brother speak more plainly,” said the chief. “What has become of Wescott, the good white man?”
“He has been murdered,” replied Sadie, coming forward, quickly. “Chief, you know what he was, and that he never willingly wronged the Indians. You know, too, that when the mob in the village assaulted Black-Hawk and yourself, he came to your aid and helped you to escape. He has been brutally murdered, by this base wretch, Garrett.”
“The girl lies, I reckon,” said Garrett, sullenly. “See here, chief; is it calculated in your tribe that women are any better off for having too much tongue?”
“My brother must let the Wild Rose speak,” replied Napope. “When the Sacs come hungry and thirsty into her father’s lodge, she is always ready to give them food and drink; when they are weary, and the night air is cold, there is always a warm place by the fire to spread a blanket. The child of Wescott must be allowed to speak.”
“Now look here, chief,” said Garrett, in the same ferocious tone. “’Tain’t noways likely I’m going to come down to you or any man on earth. If Wescott was killed, he was my pris’ner, and I had a right to do what I would with him. Have you any thing to say against it?”
Napope inclined his head slowly, as recognizing the justice of the remark. The life of the man was as little regarded by the Indians as by Garrett, and Napope rather liked the tone of insolence he assumed.
“Napope,” cried Sadie, “I want you to listen to me. This wicked man threw my father into the water, from the flat-boat, and he has not been seen since. Will you see a good man murdered and refuse to avenge him?”
Napope was evidently troubled, for just now he needed the assistance of Garrett and his men, and did not wish to make him angry.
“We will speak of that another time, Wild Rose. Until then, rest safely with Minneoba, the daughter of Black-Hawk, while we do the work of men. Garrett, do you know that Loud Tempest is here and he has beaten the men of Napope, and killed many?”
“Loud Tempest; do you mean Captain Melton?”
“Yes; he is here, with the white hunter Joe, and many warriors. Napope can not rest until we have his scalp.”
“Cooney Joe! Why, I give him a lick last night that ought to have settled any decent man for good.”
“He is alive, and fights like a Sac,” replied Napope. “They are in the woods and we must follow and take their scalps.”
“I’ll bet he’s arter me,” muttered Garrett. “He don’t owe me any good will for work I’ve done, and I’ve swore to have his hair. Thar’s my hand on it, Napope, and I’ll never quit you until he or I have gone under.”
Sadie had started at the name of Melton, and was conscious of a feeling of joy that he had thought enough of her safety to follow her into the Indian country, but, as she glanced over the line of ferocious faces, she was sorry that he had incurred this danger. But she followed the party until they reached the battle-field and found it strewn with the slain bodies of the Sacs who had fallen, each one pierced by the deadly bullet.
“These ain’t babies we are following,” said Garrett. “They kin fight, Melton’s scout kin, and ef we lick ’em we lick a good crowd. How many has he got with him?”
Napope extended the fingers upon both hands twice.
“Twenty? We’ve got our work cut out then, for twenty of Melton’s Mounted Rifles, with the capting and Cooney Joe to lead, are a hard crowd to manage, bet your life.”
“There was one of your men with us in this fight,” said Napope, looking about him for Tom Bantry. “But I do not see him now.”
“Who was he?” demanded Garrett, glancing over the party hastily. “Was it the one we call Tom?”
Napope nodded, and Garrett uttered an oath, and a search was commenced for him. He was not among the dead or wounded, and whether he had perished or not, Bantry was not to be found.
When the enemy had been so scattered as to leave the path free, the small band of rangers plunged deeper into the woods and kept on their course until they reached a small wooded swamp through which many small creeks ran, leaving a little island in the center, containing, perhaps, two acres of land. The tall trees stood thick about it, and no better place of defense could possibly have been selected. No sooner had they reached the island than they set to work fortifying it by piling up fallen logs into a temporary barricade, making it strongest upon the only point which could be assailed by land, as the creeks swept around it on three sides, leaving a space of smooth ground about twenty feet wide. Across this they built a strong barricade at least ten feet high, through the openings of which, they could fire upon the foe, without being themselves seen.
The other parts of the island were almost impervious to assault, for not only did the deep creek guard it, but the logs had fallen all about it in inextricable confusion, making a chevaux de frise through which a corps of axmen would have found it extremely difficult to force their way. The middle of the island was cleared, leaving the path open for them to pass from one part to another, and they now waited almost eagerly for the coming of the enemy, who, as yet, did not appear. Cooney Joe took his rifle and stole out toward the clearing, and for half an hour the “scout” remained quiet, waiting in considerable anxiety for the coming of the hunter, whose danger they well knew. But he came back at a long-loping trot, his rifle at a trail, and his eyes flashing with the ardor of battle.
“Git ready, boys,” he cried. “We’ve got business afore us, bet yer life.”
“What now, Joe?” demanded the captain. “Who are coming?”
“All that’s left of Napope’s band and thirty of Dick Garrett’s men,” replied Joe. “And—”
“Thar’s an Injin,” cried one of the men. “I’ll pop him over.”
“Hold on,” replied Joe. “Seems to me that chap is making signals that look white. Thar; look at that!”
An Indian had appeared in plain sight and was waving a white cloth in the air.
“Hello, you!” yelled Joe. “Come in, ef you want to.”
The man obeyed and came clambering over the barricade, and at a glance they could see that he was a white man disguised. It was Tom Bantry, who had escaped from associates with whom he could no longer consort.
“Look here, men,” he said. “I’m Tom Bantry. You don’t know me and mebbe you don’t want to. I’ve been one of Dick Garrett and Will Jackwood’s men—I have. Now why don’t you kill me?”
“Don’t see my way to that clear,” said Joe. “Now, Tom Bantry, what d’ye want here?”
“I’ve, quit ’em,” replied Tom, energetically. “I couldn’t stand it, boys, ’pon my word, I couldn’t. I feel mean as dirt ’cause I’ve been with ’em so long; but I tell you I didn’t think they was so mean till last night when they killed poor Mr. Wescott.”
“What’s that you say?” cried Melton, coming forward. “Who killed him; how was he killed?”
“Dick Garrett did it,” replied Tom, in a choking voice. “The ’square give him some cheek, and he had him throwed into the river. Boys, I’m a rough boatman, but I jumped in after him, and they left us alone in the dark on the river. I tried to save him, but it wan’t no use; the current took him under.”
“I believe this man, for one,” said Melton. “He never would dare to come here with such a tale as that unless it was really true. What do you say, boys?”
“He’s all right,” replied Joe, “but ef he ain’t, let him look out, ’cause I shoot awful close, odd times; I do, by gracious. So Dick Garrett is jined with Napope?”
“That ain’t all, you know,” said Tom Bantry. “They hev sent off a messenger to the village, and if you don’t have lively times round here, then I don’t want a picayune.”
“Perhaps we had better retreat.”
“You can’t do it; they’ve got scouts all through the woods, and you’d hev the hull posse on your backs in twenty minnits by the clock, so don’t try that on, ’square. No, it’s goin’ to be a b’ar-fight, and you can’t find a better place than this to fight in.”
“I believe the man is right,” said Melton. “I say, Folks, is your hand so bad you can’t pull a trigger?”
“Sorry to say ’tis, Cap,” replied the man; “I can’t do nothing.”
He had been hit in the hand during the fight that morning, and the cords had been so injured as to make it impossible for him to fire a rifle.
“Then you may as well let this man have your rifle, Folks,” said the captain. “I take it for granted you mean to fight?”
“Stranger, I’ve got to fight,” said Bantry. “Why, if Dick Garrett gets me, he’ll raise my wool, sure, and so, ef he does git into this camp, I’m goin’ out feet fust. That’s the way to talk it.”
“He knows you have turned against him, then?”
“Captin, he suspects it, and to suspect a man is all he wants, you know. He’ll go for me, sure.”
The man who had been hurt came up at this moment and gave Bantry the rifle and ammunition.
“Now, ’square, see here,” he said; “you watch me when I fire the first shot, and if it don’t seem to you that I’ve tried to hit my man, I give you leave to shoot me, that’s all. This is a good rifle, chummy—she hangs true as a die, and I can knock the black out of a buffler’s eye at twenty rods with her.”
At this moment one of the sentries outside the barricade gave the signal, and all were immediately upon the alert. Melton took the charge of Bantry upon himself, and gave him a place in the middle of the barricade, and took his station beside him. The sentries came stealing in like silent specters, and placed themselves beside the rest in silence, waiting for the advance of the Indians.
They had not long to wait, for a tufted head was cautiously protruded from behind a tree, and a pair of brilliant eyes looked keenly at the island. Evidently he saw something out of the way, for he stepped out in full view of the fort and advanced to within twenty feet of the barricade.
“That man must not go back,” said Melton, in a whisper, touching Tom Bantry on the arm, “and no rifle must be fired. Can you fetch him?”
Bantry caught up a knife and hatchet, and sprung from the barricade so suddenly that the Indian had no time to cock his gun before the fiery boatman was upon him. They closed with fierce energy, a short struggle ensued, and then Tom Bantry arose, leaving the Indian dead at his feet.
“Well done, Bantry,” said Melton, as the man came back his face scarcely flushed by the desperate struggle in which he had been engaged. “You will do very well without watching.”
“I’ve got to fight,” replied Tom, coolly. “It won’t do for me to be caught, I tell you.”
By this time the Indians and disguised boatmen began to show themselves through the woods, and the scout opened upon them at once, and they skulked to the shelter of the bushes. But the men who had come up with the desperado Garrett did not know the word fear, and only waited for the orders of their superior to advance to the assault.
“They are fighting chickens, Cap; game birds, every man, now you mind what I say,” said the deserter. “They’ll fight like bulldogs, but they’d do better if Black Will was here.”
The attack was not long delayed. The desperate ruffians collected as close as possible to the barricade, and then made their rush all together. They were met by men as determined and desperate as themselves, and forced back, leaving one fourth of their number dead or wounded in front of the barricade.
“That’s the way Melton’s scouts do it,” cried the voice of the young captain. “Come again, my boys.”
“I hear you,” screamed Garrett, “and we will come again. Now, Napope,” he added, lowering his tone, “we must divide their force. Send ten of your best men to cross the creek and attack them on the right. Send ten more to the left, and try them at the same time. The signal will be three rifle-shots from this point.”
Their movements were not so well shrouded that Melton could not see the danger to be apprehended from a division of his forces, which was rendered necessary by this action on their part. But he only sent three men to each point threatened, one under the lead of Tom Bantry, who had already become quite popular, and the other under Cooney Joe. They darted rapidly across the little open space, while the others loaded their rifles and pistols and calmly waited for the assault.
“Beat them off this time, and the chances are they won’t want any more,” cried Melton. “Shoot a little closer to make up for the lost men, and it will be all right.”
Just then they heard three rifle-shots, and a simultaneous movement was made against the island from three different points. But the foresight of Melton in sending small parties to the threatened points, removed the danger from the two parties of Indians, while his own force was not so weakened but that he could still present a stout front to the foe. The barricade rained bullets upon the advancing enemy entangled in the branches of the trees which formed the intrenchment, and crowded into the narrow space of twenty feet. No men, however hardy, could hope to live long under such a fire, and in spite of the almost superhuman exertions of Garrett, Napope and Na-she-eschuck, they fell back again, and took breath under cover of the woods.
“This is awful,” said Garrett. “The curse of the devil on them, how they do fight. I’ve lost near half my men.”
The small parties under Tom Bantry and Joe had succeeded in keeping their enemies at bay, and as soon as the main body retreated, half a dozen men ran to their aid, and the Indians were quickly swept away from the banks of the creek.
“Good boys,” said Melton. “You could not fight better if you liked the sport. Now, who wants the doctor?”
No one had been badly injured. Two or three had been scraped by passing bullets, but a little sticking-plaster soon set that right, and they were as ready for a fight as ever.
Garrett was furious, and while he was blaming heaven and earth at the ill success of his attack, a man whose face was flushed by a hard ride dashed through the swamp, and drew up before them.
“Now then, what is all this?” he cried. “I know you, Dick Garrett. You delight in a row so much that you are wasting my men in attacking a perfect fort.”
“But you don’t know who is in it, Will Jackwood,” replied Garrett. “Two men you hate—Cooney Joe and Captain Melton.”
“Ha, say you so? Then out of that they must come, by the Eternal! Keep back the men, for Black-Hawk will be here in half an hour with four hundred braves, and then we will overwhelm them. Captain Melton, eh? I always did detest that boy, Dick.”
“I don’t love him,” said Dick.
“What is this I hear about Sam Wescott?”
“Gone under, Will. I had to do it, for he recognized me in my disguise, and some one had to go.”
“I don’t care so much about that, if you did not compromise me. The man hated me, and while he lived there was no hope of winning the girl by fair means, and I always liked that way best. Where is the girl?”
“I left her on the edge of the swamp, with three of my best men.”
“All right; where is Tom Bantry? I want to send him somewhere.”
“I don’t know what to think about him, Will, ’pon my word. When we slung Wescott overboard the fool jumped after him, and I left them both in the river. Tom got out, some way, and came to Napope’s camp, but after their fight we could not find hide nor hair of him.”
“You’ve lost the best man in the party, then, by all odds. Tom was the only one who had a spark of humanity in his composition. You are sure these men you left with the girl are all right?”
“Davis, Bradshaw and Herrick.”
“They’ll do; as true panthers as ever lapped blood. How many has Melton in his fort?”
“He had twenty.”
“Then he’s got twenty now,” said Jackwood. “You have not hurt many of them in that place, for the captain knows how to choose a position. Send one of the Indians to Black-Hawk, and tell him to make haste, as we must get this little job off our hands.”
“If you find it a little job, then there are no snakes in the South Red,” said Garrett, who was incensed at the quiet way in which his defeat was laughed down. “They licked Napope alone, and now they’ve licked our combined forces, and it is no two to one they don’t give our friend Black-Hawk all he can do. You ought to know Melton’s scouts by this time.”
Jackwood nodded, and a fierce look came into his face:
“If I had been here, friend Garrett, this would never have happened. If I had assailed these works, I would have taken them.”
“Then assail them now. You’ve got the men—try it.”
“Dick—Dick! How lucky it is that all men are not swayed by impulse. You offer me a broken and discouraged force to perform the task you failed to achieve when they were in prime order. It won’t do, Richard; too transparent altogether. Get the men together, see to the wounded and get the survivors ready for a new attack. I will lead it in person.”
As he spoke, the approach of dusky scouts heralded the coming of Black-Hawk, and directly after the old chief, surrounded by his principal advisers and warriors, strode into the camp.
Will Jackwood, whose influence over the old chief had now become great, at once accosted him.
“The time has come, chief of the Sacs, when you may put forth your hand and take that which is your own, the band of men who have braved the power of Napope and his strongest men, and have even baffled my warriors. They laugh at us in yonder fort; let us teach them what we can do.”
“My brother speaks good words,” replied the chief. “Let those who have axes go forward and fell trees about the fort upon every side so that we may cross the creek. Let others take their guns and protect them.”
A cordon of axmen was quickly formed, about the island, and the great trees came crashing down, forming bridges over which the great force of warriors could rush to the attack. The work was quickly done, and then at the command of the chief four hundred warriors rushed on together, uttering their fearful war-cries. They broke through the abatis of tangled limbs unopposed and reached the fort only to find it tenantless. The white rangers had escaped, how they could not tell, leaving nothing to show where they had departed, but all knew that it must have been in the interval of time which elapsed between the last attack on the fort and the coming of Black-Hawk. Black Will was nearly beside himself with anger, and a pursuit was at once commenced, when the trail was found. But, the “scout” had half an hour’s start, and he feared that they would reach the river before they could be overtaken, and their leader’s fertile brain would quickly study out some way of crossing the stream.
Although having but little hope, Black-Hawk sent out a hundred of the best Sac warriors under the command of Ma-she-eschuck, and the pursuit was pressed with ardor. While this was being done, Jackwood sent Garrett with five men to find Sadie, and conduct her to a place of safety, strictly enjoining him to use her well but upon no account to suffer her to escape.
Dick Garrett hurried his men to the spot where he had left Sadie, and as he approached it his countenance began to change for he heard nothing of the men he had left in charge of the girl.
“Hurry up, boys,” he cried; “if they have lost her, I’ll not be the man to go back to Black Will Jackwood and tell him of it. Ha! Look at that.”
The three men who had been left with Sadie lay upon the earth under the shadow of the trees. Their faces were upturned to the sky, and it needed no prophet to tell that they were dead, and the party broke into a run and reached the spot. Two of them had been shot through the heart, evidently with pistol balls, and the third had half a dozen knife wounds upon him, and they saw on every hand evidences of a desperate struggle, while Sadie was nowhere to be seen. The men paused and looked at each other in unspeakable dismay, for they knew Jackwood too well to dare face him, and tell him what had happened.
“He’d kill me!” screamed Garrett. “Look here, boys; we’ve got to find this girl before we go back, so take the trail at once, and follow. We’ll have her back, if she is above ground, and avenge these poor fellows who lie dead. I only wish we had Tom Bantry now; he was the best scout among us.”
“What made you leave him in the river then?” said one of the men, in a sullen tone. “He won’t come back no more, Tom won’t, and like enuff he’ll turn against us.”
“Don’t be mutinous, Tracey,” said Garrett, turning a dark look upon the speaker. “You know me, and you know I never waste words. Be mighty careful; I would, if I was you.”
The man understood the deadly threat implied in the words of his leader, and turned away muttering to him self.
“Now Jack Fish,” said Dick, addressing himself to another of the party, “if Tracey has done growling, you take the trail. ’Tain’t likely that a young and tender girl can keep away from us long.”
The man addressed came forward, and waving the others back began to examine the earth to find the imprint of Sadie’s feet. It was not long before he announced that he had found it, and that it was covered by another trail, that of a man in moccasins, who was apparently following her, and from the length of the step he should say they were running.
“That looks as if she was afraid of the critter,” said Garrett. “Who can it be that is brave enough to attack these men, shoot two and kill the third with a knife and get off so easily? Now, I’ll tell you what I make of this, boys. When this man, whoever he is, shot down two of the boys and rushed in on Davis with the knife, the girl was scared and put out for the woods. When he had finished Davis—and he didn’t do it easy—he went after her, and like as not he hasn’t caught her yet. Take the trail, Jack, but have your weapons handy.”
It was yet early in the afternoon and the trail was plain, as no attempt had been made to cover it. They went on at a trot, Jack Fish in advance, closely followed by Garrett and the rest, and the course led them deep into the woods to the right of the position which had been so nobly held by Melton’s scout. Sadie was used to exercise in the open air and was evidently leading her pursuer a desperate chase, using every artifice to throw him from the trail. Garret was dumbfounded, for he could not understand why she should fly from one who had slain her enemies, but they followed the trail, hoping every moment to overtake the man who was in chase of Sadie. All at once, Jack Fish, who still held the advance, stopped and lifted his hand, with a low cry.
“See here, Dick, this gal is cute, you bet. She has throwed him off the trail as sure as shootin’. Thar’s no track but his’n here.”
Dick eagerly inspected the trail and was forced to arrive at the same conclusion.
“Turn back, then,” he cried. “We will find which way she has gone and follow. I will take the trail on one side and you on the other and we will soon pick it up again.”
They had not gone back twenty paces when Jack Fish stopped beside a clump of thick bushes which grew close to the path, and stooping, looked under them.
“I’ve found it, boys. She crept under the bushes here and got away from him; follow me.”
He passed through the bushes, parting them carefully, and upon the other side found the trail clearly defined and leading at a right angle from the course they had been following.
“She’s smart,” said Garrett, admiringly. “I don’t know as I blame Will for liking her, after all. She has beaten this fellow well, and as we don’t want any thing from him just now, we’ll follow the girl.”
They kept on swiftly, for Jack announced that Sadie was fatigued at this point and was no longer running. Soon after they reached a place where, worn out by fatigue, she had seated herself upon a bank and rested for a little time. From this point the trail became erratic, and she was evidently wandering up and down seeking for some course out of the woods, and the night found them still upon the trail and they camped for the night determined to take the trail again at early morning.