THE RESCUE.
When the horseman who had so boldly approached the bandits’ bivouac,
and laid two of their number dead beneath his aim, sped across the
prairie with a score of horsemen at his heels, he had urged his horse
to a speed which caused him to soon draw out of range of their rifles,
for he was mounted upon his famous horse Midnight, a steed that had
never found an equal on the plains.
Having kept up his swift flight for a few miles, and observing that his
pursuers had given up the chase, Buffalo Bill halted and dismounted to
give his horse a short rest. His eye now caught a rosy light upon the
eastern horizon, and then, as though rising from the ocean, the moon
sailed upward.
Intently watching the rising moon, the scout suddenly started and bent
his gaze more earnestly over the prairie, for across the bright face of
the luminary he distinctly saw several dark objects glide.
Yes, one, two, three, four horsemen--followed by several more, glided
along like specters, going at a swift pace in a southerly direction.
Instantly the scout turned and tightened his saddle girths, and then
looked well to his weapons. Standing by his horse, in the clear
moonlight, he was a striking-looking man.
Having at length discovered the direction taken by the horsemen, whose
presence near at hand the rising moon had betrayed, Buffalo Bill sprang
into his saddle. A word to his noble animal and he was off, skimming
the prairie almost as does the sea gull skim over the sea.
A rapid gallop of two miles and the tall trees of a motte loomed up
before him; a few moments more placed him beneath the dark shadows of
the timber. Then, turning, he glanced out over the moonlit prairie.
His eyes fell upon the dark forms of half a dozen or more mounted men
coming directly toward the motte.
“Well, I hold the vantage ground thus far, and I’ll not yield it
without a struggle, whoever they may be.”
The scout pushed farther into the dense thicket, where, dismounting, he
spoke a word to his horse, and the faithful animal lay down, the better
to conceal him from view.
A few moments passed, and presently the horsemen entered the motte and
the murmur of voices was heard; then a bright light flared through the
trees.
“As I thought, they came here to camp for the night, and now I’ll see
who they are.”
The scout arose and stealthily approached the spot where the newcomers
had a bright fire blazing, around which he beheld seven people, five
of whom were Sioux warriors, in all their war paint, and the other two
were palefaces, a man and a woman.
Stealing still closer, the scout observed that the horses had been
staked, as if for the night. The Indians were preparing their supper of
buffalo meat toasted on the coals, while the whites stood listlessly
by, their hands bound behind them, the expression of their faces
proving them to be prisoners.
“They are certainly not residents on the border. I have it: they belong
to that wagon train. I must warn that train of the presence of the
Branded Brotherhood in this neighborhood.”
The scout looked intently at the female prisoner, who was a young
girl, scarcely more than seventeen, with a truly lovely face, although
saddened by her captivity. Her wealth of golden hair had become
loosened from its confinement, and hung in wavy masses far down her
back, concealing the rude bonds that held her hands behind her.
She wore a straw hat and was clad in a riding habit of neat homespun,
but which was torn by the rough usage she had received at the hands
of her savage captors. Her white companion was a man of perhaps
twenty-five, his face bold and reckless, and with a fair amount of good
looks.
He was dressed in a suit of dark-gray cloth, wore cavalry boots, and
dove-colored soft hat. The scout took the whole scene in carefully, and
then thought:
“Well, there are five against me; but what should I care for five Sioux
braves? Those prisoners must be released, and I’ll bide my time and do
it; so here goes.”
He quietly settled himself full length upon the ground, and with the
patience of an Indian awaited until the supper had been disposed of and
the Indians had prepared for the night’s rest, after having securely
bound the captives to a tree.
One of the warriors then shouldered his rifle and moved off to act as
sentinel, while his four comrades rolled themselves in their blankets
and stretched out before the fire.
The Indian sentinel first cautiously advanced toward the edge of the
motte and took a careful survey of the moonlit prairie, after which he
made a rapid circuit of the timber, his eyes glancing far and near for
lurking danger.
Having satisfied even his cautious self that all was quiet and safe,
the Indian approached the camp fire once more, coming in a line that
would lead him directly upon the hidden scout.
Slowly he approached, wholly unconscious of danger until within a few
feet of his foe, then his eyes fell upon the dark object in his path.
Before he could draw back or utter a cry of alarm, the scout was upon
him, his iron grasp upon his throat.
One, two rapid knife thrusts, and the Indian sentinel was “off duty
forever.” But the almost noiseless struggle had caught the quick ears
of the yet wide-awake Sioux around the camp fire.
In alarm they sprang to their feet, one to fall dead across the burning
logs, a bullet in his brain, another to utter his dying war whoop as a
leaden messenger from the scout’s repeating rifle pierced his heart.
Bounding from his covert with a wild, prolonged, and ringing war whoop,
one well known on the border, the scout rushed upon the two remaining
redskins, but in dismay they had turned to flee, for their unseen foe
had every advantage, and rapidly through the timber they darted to seek
safety.
A long, shrill whistle then pierced the grove as the horseman sped
after them. Then another shot leaped from the scout’s rifle, and a
fourth warrior fell to the ground in death agonies, while, brought to
bay, the remaining redskin turned to meet his enemy. Raising his rifle,
the savage fired hastily upon his rapidly advancing foe.
But his aim was untrue, as a wild war whoop from the pursuer at once
assured him, and the next moment the two met face to face, armed with
their glittering knives.
The Indian warrior, a man of herculean frame and strength, might have
given Buffalo Bill a desperate encounter, but, just as their knives
clashed, there came a rapid clattering of hoofs, and from the dark
timber-dashed Midnight, neighing loudly, as he rushed to the side of
his master.
Believing a host of horsemen were upon him, the Sioux brave uttered a
whoop of terror, and, before the scout could prevent, had darted away
and disappeared in the thicket.
“Old comrade, you have frightened that redskin almost to death,”
laughed the scout, as Midnight halted beside him.
Then he continued:
“Let him go, poor devil, but sooner or later his time will come. Now to
release the prisoners.”
Quickly retracing his way toward the camp fire, the scout soon stood in
the presence of the prisoners, saying, in a pleasant voice:
“Cheer up, my friends, for I have charge of this ranch now.”
“Oh, sir, you are very, very brave and noble, and you have saved us,”
cried the girl, seizing his hands, as soon as her own were released
from their bonds.
“And I offer my thanks, sir, for I thought it all up with us,” said the
girl’s companion.
Both of them gazed earnestly into the face of the splendid-looking man
before them, who replied:
“No thanks for performing one’s duty; but you are not safe yet, for
there may be more redskins about, so we’ll get away from here at once.
You are not too tired to stand a rapid gallop, miss?”
“Oh, no, sir,” she answered eagerly, “and it cannot be far to the wagon
train, for we only left it about an hour before sunset.”
“On what trail were you, can I ask?”
“We were going toward the headwaters of the Republican River, on the
trail from Fort Hays.”
“Then your train is within twenty miles of here and doubtless encamped
upon the river for the night. If you will aid me, we will take in the
little lot of cattle the redskins have willed us and decamp.”
Buffalo Bill spoke to the man. A few moments more and the scout and
his new-found companions were mounted and rapidly leaving the motte,
carrying with them the ponies that had been ridden by the five Indian
warriors.
It was with perfect trust that the girl and her fellow captive yielded
to the guidance of their brave companion, for he had informed them,
in answer to a question of the young girl, that he was called Buffalo
Bill, a name often heard by them around the nightly camp fires, and
connected with deeds of marvelous bravery.