A BOLD BID FOR LIBERTY
It was midnight, and Poundmaker's prisoners, Douglas,
Pasmore, Jacques, and Rory, were lying in their tepee
under the charge of their armed guards. They knew the
latter were asleep, and in answer to some proposition
that Rory had just whispered to Jacques, the latter said--
"So, that is so. Keel him not, but to make that he cry
not. The knife to the throat, not to cut, but to silence,
that is the thing."
"S-sh! or by the powers it's your throat the knife'll be
at. Now, you to the man at your feet, and I'll to the
man beyant... Ow, slape, ye gory babes!"
If the wind had not been whistling round the tepees just
then, causing some of the loosely-laced hides to flap
spasmodically, it is extremely unlikely that either of
the two men would have ventured even to whisper. But the
tepee was dark, and Rory had managed to tell his
fellow-prisoners that, if they wanted to put their
much-discussed scheme of overcoming their guards and
making their escape into execution, now was their time.
They might never have such another chance. Rory, by reason
of his experience of such matters in the past, had insisted
on leading off with the work. He had also intimated his
intention of securing the arms of some of the other
Indians after their guards had been overpowered.
Rory rolled over on his right side and looked at the
Indians. He could only see two dark, prostrate forms
outlined blackly against the grey of the doorway. Luckily
the moon was rising, and that would somewhat assist their
movements.
One of the Indians turned over and drew a long, throaty
breath. He had indeed been asleep, and perhaps he was
going to awake. The thought of the contingency was too
much for the backwoodsman. He crawled forward as stealthily
as a panther, and next moment one sinewy hand was on the
Indian's throat, the other was across the mouth, and a
knee was planted on his chest Simultaneously Jacques was
on top of the other Indian; Pasmore and Douglas jumped
to their feet. In less time than it takes to write it,
the hands of the Indians were secured behind their backs,
gags were placed upon their mouths, their fire-arms and
knives were secured, and the latter were flashed before
their eyes. They were told that if they remained still
no harm would come to them, but if they showed the
slightest intention of alarming the camp their earthly
careers would be speedily closed. Neither of them being
prepared to die, they lay still, like sensible redskins.
Then Rory left the tepee and in two minutes more returned
with two rifles, which he had managed to purloin in some
mysterious way.
Pasmore took the lead, then came Rory, and immediately
after him Douglas and Jacques.
It was a miserable mongrel of an Indian dog that
precipitated matters. They came full upon it as it stood
close to a Red River cart, with cocked ears and tail in
air. The inopportune brute threw up its sharp snout and
gave tongue to a series of weird, discordant yelps after
the manner of dogs which are half coyotes.
"Come on!" cried Pasmore, "we've got to run for it now.
Let's make a bee-line straight up the valley!"
With rifles at the ready they rushed between the tepees.
It was run for it now with a vengeance. Next moment the
startled Indians came pouring out of their lodges. Red
spurts of fire flashed out in all directions, and the
deafening roar of antiquated weapons made night hideous.
Luckily for the escaping party they had cleared the
encampment, so the result was that the Indians, imagining
that they were being attacked by the Blackfeet or the
British, at once began to blaze away indiscriminately.
The results were disastrous to small groups of their own
people who were foolish enough to leave their doorways.
It would have been music in the ears of the fleeing ones
had not three or four shots whizzed perilously close to
their heads, thus somewhat interfering with their
appreciation of the _contretemps_.
But their detection was inevitable. Before they had gone
two hundred yards a score of angry redskins were at their
heels. It seemed a futile race, for the Indians numbered
some hundreds, and it was a moral certainty it could be
only a question of time before they were run down. They
knew that under the circumstances there would be no
prisoners taken. It was not long before the pace began
to tell on them.
"I'm afraid I'm played out," gasped Douglas, "go on, my
friends, for I can't go any farther. I'll be able to keep
them back for a few minutes while you make your way up
the valley. Now then, good-bye, and get on!"
He plumped down behind a rock, and waited for the advancing
foe.
Pasmore caught him by the arm and dragged him to his
feet. The others had stopped also. It was not likely they
were going to allow their friend and master to sacrifice
himself in such a fashion.
"Let's make up this ravine, sir," cried Pasmore. "Come,
give me your arm; we may be able to fool them yet. There's
lots of big rocks lying about that will be good cover.
There's no man going to be left behind this trip."
High walls of clay rose up on either side, so that at
least the Indians could not outflank them. At first the
latter, thinking that the troublesome escapers were
effectually cornered, essayed an injudicious rush in upon
them, but the result was a volley that dropped three and
made the remainder seek convenient rocks. Taking what
cover they could the white men retired up the narrow
valley. It was becoming lighter now, and they could
distinctly see the skulking, shadowy forms of the redskins
as they stole from rock to rock. Suddenly they made a
discovery that filled them with consternation. They had
come to the end of the valley and were literally in a
_cul-de-sac!_ They were indeed caught like rats in a
trap.
"I'm afraid we're cornered," exclaimed Douglas, "but
we've got some powder and shot left yet."
"Yes," remarked Pasmore, "we'll keep them off as long as
we can. I can't understand why the troops are not following
those fellows up. There's no getting out of this, I
fear,"--he looked at the crescent of unscalable cliff--"but
I don't believe in throwing up the sponge. I've always
found that when things seemed at their worst they were
just on the mend."
He did not say that there was a very powerful incentive
in his heart just then that in itself was more than
sufficient to make him cling to life. It was the thought
of Dorothy.
Half-an-hour more and the Indians had crawled up to within
fifty yards, and might rush in upon them at any moment,
and then all would be over. As yet, thanks to their
excellent cover, none of the little party had been wounded,
though the redskins had suffered severely. There were
few words spoken now; only four determined men waited
courageously for the end. And then something happened
that paled their cheeks, causing them to look at one
another with startled, questioning eyes. There was a
growing fusillade of rifle fire over their heads and the
sound of British cheers!
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Douglas. "It's the troops at last
They've come up overnight to attack the camp, and they
haven't come a minute too soon."
"So, that is so," said Jacques, as he took deliberate
aim at his late enemies, who, realising the situation,
were scuttling in confusion down the ravine. "_Mais_, it
is the long road that knows not the turn."
But as for Pasmore, as on one occasion when he had been
snatched from the Valley of the Shadow, and realised how
beautiful was the blue between the columns of the pines,
he now saw the sweet face of a woman smiling on him
through the mists of the uncertain future.