"What's best to be dud? What d'ye say, Ned?"
"Let us go straight to the place, and see what has happened. Oh,
heavens! If Clara has been killed!"
"Go straight to the place! Yur a dreamin', young 'un! Supposin' it be
Yellur Chief an' his crowd o' cut-throats? We'd both o' us get sculped
to a sartinty."
"But we might approach under cover near enough--"
"Near enuf for nothin'. Thar ain't no kiver in that quarter, as I kin
see from hyur; an' to cut acrosst the purairia, 'ud be to go strait
sartint inter the teeth o' them squallin' skunks. Thay're boun' to be
drunk jest about this time; and whether it's Yellur Chief's lot or no,
we'd get sharp sass from 'em. Thet ye may swar to."
"We must do something, 'Lije. I cannot bear to think that she may be in
the hands of those horrid savages, and I standing here almost within
sight of her! If she be living I must rescue; and if dead, by heavens,
I shall revenge her! We must do something, 'Lije! we must."
"An' who said we wa'n't a go in' to do somethin'? Not this chile, sure.
Maybe I mout a said so, ef thar hed been only ole Blackedder in the
scrape an' his precious son along wi' him, an' along wi' both thet
scoundrel o' a overseeur, Sam Snively. But the gurl--she's diff'rent;
an' I feel as desprit on doin' somethin' for her as you kin. F'r all
thet it's no use our doin' what air durned foolechness. We must set
'bout this thing wi' percaushun. Hyur you, darkey! Kin you tell how
many Injuns thar war in the party thet attackted ye?"
"Dar war a big lot, massa--gobs on 'em; I'se sure more'n a hunder--far
more'n dat."
"Bah!" exclaimed the trapper, disappointedly. "'Tain't no use inquirin'
o' him. See hyur, niggur! Did you notice any o' them as 'peered to be
thar leader?"
"Wha--what, massa?"
"A leeder, durn ye! A chief!"
"A chief?"
"Yes, one that war actin' as boss, or overseer."
"Ah! de boss. Yes, thar war a bossy 'mong dem; I 'pose he muss 'a been,
lease he order all de oders 'bout."
"Kin ye discribe what he war like? How war he dressed? What sort o'
duds had he on him?"
"Easy 'nuf dat, massa. He drest moas like de ress ob dem--only on de
top ob him head dar wa' a big spread ob feather, shinin' like de tail o'
a peacock."
"The Yellur Chief!" exclaimed the questioner, on hearing the
description.
"No, massa. He no yella'. He wa' painted red. Dar wa' some yella'
stripe; but mos' ob him wa' a bright red colour--redder dan blood."
"Never mind that, nigger: you don't know what I'm talkin' 'bout. What
did ye see him do?"
"Seed him try to 'top de shootin' and killin'."
"Stop the shootin' and killin'! You saw him tryin' to do thet? Air ye
sure o't, boy?"
"No, massa, I ain't shoo'. I thort he wa' doin' so. I wa'n't shoo'. I
wa' 'feard dey ud go on wif de killin', an' dat's why I 'tole 'way from
de place, an' run out dis way."
"Eft be Yellur Chief, odd 'bout his tryin' to stop the killin'. 'Tain't
his way." This remark was to O'Neil, who stood chafing at the delay.
"It _is_ strange;" he answered. "In any case, it's no use our remaining
longer here, if we're going to do anything. What can you think of,
'Lije?"
The trapper, with his right palm resting upon the stopper of his gun,
stood for a while, reflecting.
"Thar's one thing," he said at length; "eft air this Cheyenne skunk, an'
he ha'nt kilt the hull lot o' them outright, thar's jest a chance o' our
savin' some o' 'em."
"Thank God!" exclaimed O'Neil, in a tone of relieved anxiety. "You
think there's a chance, 'Lije?"
"I duz."
"In what way?"
"Wal; still concedin' the point o' its bein' Yellur Chief, I kin guess
putty near what it means. He's out wi' a band o' the young braves, that
ain't likely to track strait back to the town o' thar tribe; so long's
they've got captive weemen among 'em."
The young Irishman started at the words. They conveyed a thought that
gave pain to him; but, anxious to hear his comrade's scheme for their
rescue, he did not interrupt him.
"An' ef't be them, I kin guess whar they'll go--most sartin o't. This
chile chances to know one o' Yellur Chief's private campin' grouns'. I
larnt thet when I war trappin' in this quarter too yeern ago--time's you
war down stayin' at Bent's. They're over yonner now, a plunderin' the
poor emigrants an' thar wagins, an' we mout go strait to 'em ef we
wanted to git shet o' our scalps. But as we don't want thet, the
question is, whar they'll be when we kum back in search o' 'em."
"Come back! You purpose going somewhere? Where to?"
"To Saint Vrain's."
"Ah! For what purpose?"
"For the only purpiss thet kin sarve _our_ purpise: an' thet air to git
a wheen o' mounting men as kin lend us a han' in this bisness. Without
thet, we'd hev as much chance to rescoo the captives--ef thar be any
sech--as for a kripple to catch a Kit-fox." [Note 1.]
"Do you think we should find any there?"
"I'm sartint we will. The darkey hez tolt us o' a party that passed the
wagins on thar way. No doubt they war boun' for the Fort. Besides, I
met sev'ral fellurs last seeson while I war trappin' on the Collyrado,
as sayed they war goin' east, an' intended makin' stop at Saint Vrain's
on thar way. I shedn't be serprised ef we foun' fifty on 'em thar now.
Helf o' the number will be enuf to chestise Yellur Chief an' his gang o'
freebooters. Thurfor let's go to the Fort right away, an' see what kin
be done."
"I'm with you, 'Lije! We must lose no time! Think of the danger she
may be in; that is, if not past all danger already. Oh, I fear to
reflect on it."
"Ye're right, 'bout not losin' time," said the trapper, without noticing
the last exclamatory remark. "Same time," he added, "'twon't do for us
tu make too much haste, else we mout find it the wuss speed, as the
spellin' book used ter say. We must keep clost in to the bottom o' the
bluffs in goin' torst Saint Vrain's; else them Injuns may spy us. Ef
they shood, we'll be in for a ugly scrape; an' not like to git clar o't
'ithout sheddin' the skins o' our two skulls. Wagh! thet ere wudn't be
no way agreeable; an' ef't wa'n't thet thar's a gurl in the questin,
whose life, an' somethin' else, oughter be saved, I'd a stayed hyur to
finish my breakfust, and let Yellur Chief an' his cut-throats go
straight to custrut to--darnation! But come, Ned! we're a wastin' time,
an' I know you don't weesh thet. Hyur now nigger! you help wi' the
saddlin' o' these hosses. Ef you've been brought up 'bout Squire
Blackedder's stables I reck'n you know somethin' 'bout hosses. An'
harkee, boy! we two air goin' away a bit. So you keep clost in this
hyur hole, till we kum back agin'. You kin rest yur black karkidge
inside that thar tent, whar ye'll find somethin' in the way o' buffler
meat to keep yur ivories from chatterin'. Don't eet it all, d'ye heer.
We may come back sharp-set; an' ef thar's nothin' left, may take it into
our heads to eet you."
While this talk was going on, two horses were led forth from a cave in
the cliff that served them for stable.
Both being quickly accoutred, the trappers sprang into their respective
saddles; and spurring towards the canon, were soon plunging between its
shadowy walls, on their way to the outward plain.
Sixty seconds spent in wading, and they emerged dripping into the light
of day. More of it than they wished for: since the sun was now fairly
up, his disc appearing some two or three degrees above the prairie
horizon.
There was need for the horsemen to show circumspection. And they did:
silently skirting the cliff, and keeping behind the huge boulders, that,
for long ages shed from its summit, strewed the plain at its base.
"Arter all, Ned," said the old trapper, when they had ridden to a safe
distance from the dreaded spot, "we needn't 'a been so partickler. I
reck'n, 'bout this time, thar ain't a sober Injun upon the banks o'
Bijou. I hope ole Blackedder an' his party, afore leavin' the
settlements, laid in a good supply o' rot-gut--enuf to keep them skunks
dead-drunk till we kin git back agin. Ef thet be the case, thar'll be
some chance o' our chestisin' 'em."
A mental "amen" was the only response made by the young Irishman; who
was too much occupied in thinking of Clara Blackadder's danger, to
reflect coolly on the means of rescuing her--even though it were certain
she still lived.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. _Vulpes velox_. The swiftest of the foxes; called "Kit-fox,"
by the fur-traders, on account of the skin being taken from the carcase
whole, as with rabbit-skins--not split up the abdomen, as with the
larger species.