VAN DORN’S POWER.
Van Dorn was not a little gratified to find that one of the few
unselfish and good acts of his ill-spent life had resulted in saving
him from a horrible fate, and placing a body of men under his control.
They, the braves under the lead of Black Arrow, had said:
“You may command us.”
Van Dorn was well versed in Indian characters, and he knew that this
was no empty offer.
There was no loud-mouthed, gas-bag business about it, but a real and
sincere laying of their weapons at his feet, to be taken up when he
gave the word, and to be used as he should see fit to direct.
The Indian may be treacherous in many respects, but he will die in
support of his peculiar institution, and the pleased villain knew that
their superstitious faith secured them to him much more strongly than
money could have done if their services had been hired.
He could speak their tongue quite well, and he now advanced to the
chieftain and took him by the hand.
“Brother,” he said, “I have no desire to take away any of your power,
but as I am now situated, I ask that you will aid me if you can.”
“Brother,” returned Black Arrow, “I can but repeat what my braves have
said to you from their hearts.”
“Thanks,” returned Van Dorn, and then he turned and waved his hand over
the kneeling braves.
“Arise,” he said, solemnly; “I accept your noble offer as it is given.
The great chief paid for the service I rendered him when he marked me
with the totem belt, for now in my hour of need, I can call on faithful
hearts for aid. I had a white prisoner, a mere boy, and he was taken
from me as you know by that wonderful black rider when the buffaloes
were fighting around me. I must have that prisoner again, and without
your help I might not be able to recover him. I want to lead you on the
trail of that black rider.”
“We will follow,” was the response, as the braves arose to their feet.
Billy Blossom came walking up to the fortunate Van Dorn.
“Well, Mr. Hardscrabble,” he began, holding out his hand, “I must say
as how you hev completely knocked me silly with what you’ve did. By
the way, what in thunder is your name? Hardscrabble is not exactly the
cheese now.”
“My name is Van Dorn.”
“I shall call you Van.”
“And I’ll call you Bloss.”
“All right,” said the good-natured outlaw, as they shook hands. “So be
it. Well, what are you going to do now that you’ve got command o’ the
reds?”
“Start on the trail of that cussed black imp,” said Van Dorn. “His
track must run within half a mile of here, and I can tell it from a
hundred.”
“How?”
“By the depth of the hoof-marks,” said the cunning rascal. “The horse
carried double weight after he cut away from the buffaloes.”
“Right,” said Blossom. “When do you make a start?”
“In half an hour or so; just as soon as we can grub up, for I want
daylight to follow the trail.”
“Well, success to you,” said Blossom.
“Ain’t you going with us?”
“Oh, no,” said the outlaw; “me and my boys must get back to where the
wagons was left and stand guard. These reds ought to be along, too, for
they get paid to do the work; but I know enough about the cusses not to
lose any time talkin’ the matter over. They’ll stand by you and that
belt while they’ve got a drop of blood in their veins. Ready, boys?”
“Ready, ready,” was shouted by all, and the horses were taken rapidly
from their pickets.
“Good-bye, old Van,” said Blossom. “I’ll see you agin afore long. Look
out for yerself and don’t get within range of a weapon in the hands o’
that black cuss.”
“I’ll mind my eyes,” laughed the lucky villain. “Good-bye, and remember
that I feel grateful for what you tried to do for me just as much as
though you had succeeded, and if ever I can do anything for you, just
name it. I shall handle a pile of rocks in about three or four weeks,
and intend to hang out in bang-up style in Clarkville, and then I want
you to come and have a smashing good time with me.”
“I’ll be there,” cried Blossom. “So long, old boy. Three abreast;
wounded in the middle; keep close and lope nose to flank. Ready,
forward!”
And in good style he led his troop away from the grove.
Van Dorn turned to the waiting chieftain at his side.
“Well, Black Arrow?”
“Shall my braves eat before they shall seek for the trail of the black
rider?” asked the Indian chieftain; and had Van Dorn so commanded, the
reds would have gone hungry in implicit obedience to his will.
“Yes; let them eat and be quick,” answered the white rascal. “As soon
as they are done we will start. I do not want to take away the command
of the braves from such an able chief as Black Arrow. I shall ride with
you, and tell you what to do for me, and you can give your orders.”
The redskin looked pleased.
“It is well,” he said, turning away.
Less than half an hour sufficed for the Indians to prepare and eat a
meal, and then the thoroughly-refreshed mustangs were remounted, and
the party trotted away from the grove, Van Dorn and his red friend
leading.
“Which way do you think the trail of the black rider lies?” asked the
chief.
“To the east,” said Van Dorn. “That’s the course he took, and as he was
making time, and trying to get away from a party of pursuers, it is
more than likely that he kept on straight ahead. I shall know the trail
when we come to it.”
They pushed on in silence for some few minutes, and then Van Dorn said:
“There are the tracks.”
Sure enough, there were the deep imprints of the horse’s hoofs, for his
double load had caused him to mark deeply.
The chieftain pointed them out to his braves.
“Follow,” he said.
And away they dashed on the trail of the darkey’s stolen horse.
As the reader knows, the riders of the stallion had not gone very far,
and when two or three miles had been passed over, the ears of Black
Arrow and some of his men were assailed with the sound of firearms.
“Halt!” said the chieftain.
The band pulled up.
In a moment came the steady crack of the darkey’s revolver, for at that
very moment he was about a mile away, standing up on the saddle and
sending destruction into the midst of the Indians who were pursuing the
prospecting party.
“That is the black rider,” said the chief. “On.”
“How do you know?” asked Van Dorn.
“I know by the sharp crack of that big revolver he carries,” said Black
Arrow, in confident tones. “Ah,” as they passed over a little swell in
the prairie, “there he is, fighting against a party. But the boy is not
with him. We will halt and watch him, for he cannot escape us now.”
They sat motionless on their horses and saw the fight and its result,
and also saw Pomp’s safe flight to the cluster of trees where the white
party lay.
“Are they friends or foes?” asked Van Dorn, pointing to the redskins
who were putting up their tents.
“Friends,” said Black Arrow.
At that instant the cry rang out from Ralph Radcliffe, and they beheld
the boy running over the grass pursued by three redskins, and also saw
Pomp dash to the rescue.
“Forward!” shouted Van Dorn.