Making their way up the steep mountain-path, climbing over fallen
tree-trunks, obstructed by thicket and scaur, the trappers at length got
close to the cliff which, as 'Lije Orton had told them, looked down on
the camping-place of the Cheyennes.
They had ceased talking aloud, and communicated with one another only in
whispers. There was a deathlike stillness in the pure mountain air, and
they knew that the slightest sound might make known their approach to
the enemy.
They had thrown themselves into a deployed line, after the manner of
skirmishers, crouching silently among the stunted pines, and gliding
rapidly forward where the ground was without cover. Orton was directing
them by signs; O'Neil stepping close by his side, and near enough for
the slightest whisper to be heard between them.
The young Irishman still kept impatiently urging the advance. Every
moment of delay seemed a month to the heart of the lover. Over and over
again came before his mind that hideous picture his fancy had painted--
Clara Blackadder struggling in the embrace of a savage! And that savage
the Yellow Chief of the Cheyennes!
These fancies were like the waves of a tempestuous sea, following one
another at intervals. As each rose grimly before him, he came near
groaning aloud. He was only restrained by knowing the necessity for
silence. As a relief he kept constantly whispering to his old comrade,
and urging him to a more rapid advance.
"Dod rot it, Ned!" replied the latter; "don't be so hurrified 'bout it.
We'll git theer in good time, take this chile's word for it. Theer's
been plenty o' licker in the emigrant wagons, I guess. Them Massissippy
planters don't offen go travellin' 'thout a good stock o' corn. An' as
for the Injuns, they ain't a-goin' to trouble theerselves 'bout weemen
as long 's the licker lasts. Don't you be uneezy; we'll git up time
enuf to purtect the gurl, an' chestise the skunks has ev captered her;
you see if we don't."
"But why go creeping this way? Once upon the cliff, we must declare
ourselves. We can't get down among them, as you say; and since it must
all be done with our rifles, the first shot will discover us."
"So it will; diskiver us to a sartinty. But theer's jest the pint.
That fust shot must be deelivered by all o' us at the same instinck o'
time. Unless we make a _latter_ o' them, as the French trappers call
it, they'd be off in the shakin' o' a goat's tail, prehaps takin' thar
prisners along wi' 'em. An' whar 'ud we be to foller 'em? Thurfor, we
must fix things so'st' every one may take sight on a different Injun at
the same time; an' then, afore they kin git clar out o' the gully, we'll
be loaded for a second shot. I guess that'll make 'em think o'
somethin' else than toatin' off thar captives. Keep yur patience, young
fellur! Trust to ole 'Lije Orton, when he sez yur gurl air still safe
an' soun'."
The anxious lover, despite his anxiety, could not help feeling
confidence in the words thus whispered. More than once had he seen
'Lije Orton acting under circumstances of a like trying nature, and as
often coming out triumphant. With an effort he restrained his
impatience, and imitated the cautious approach of his comrade.
They were soon sufficiently near the edge of the cliff to hear a murmur
of voices rising up out of the valley. As the ears of all were well
attuned to such sounds, they knew them to be the voices of Indians. And
these could be no other than Yellow Chief, and his band of marauders.
A halt was made; and a hurried council held, about the best mode of
making attack.
"There must be ne'er a noise among ye," whispered 'Lije, "not the
speakin' o' a word, till we've got one fire at 'em. Then churge yur
rifles agen, quick's ever you kin. Two sets o' shots oughter thin 'em,
so as they won't mind 'beout thar captives, nor any thin' else, 'ceptin'
to streak it--that air, sech as be left o' 'em."
This counsel was delivered in a whisper, and in the same way passed
along the line.
"Only one half o' ye fire at a time," continued 'Lije. "You fellurs on
the left shoot first. Let the tothers resarve for the second volley.
'Twon't do to waste two bullets on the same redskin. Leave Yellow Chief
to me. I hev got a ole score to settle wi' that Injun."
With these precautions, communicated from left to right, the trappers
once more advanced--no longer as skirmishers, but in line, and as near
to one another as the inequality of the ground would permit.
They could now hear the voice of a man, who talked loudly and in a tone
of authority. They could even make out some of the words, for they were
in English!
This gave them a surprise; but they had scarce time to think of it, when
there arose a chorus of cries, uttered in quick sharp intonation, that
told of some unusual occurrence. Among these were the screams of women.
At the same instant the trampling of hoofs resounded along the rocks, as
if a horse was going off at a gallop over the hard turf of the prairie.
Then succeeded another chorus of yells--a confused din--and soon after
the pattering of many hoofs, as of a whole troop of horses following the
first.
The sound, reaching the ears of the trappers, carried their eyes out
toward the plain; where they beheld a sight that caused one and all of
them wild throbbings of the heart. Upon the prairie, just clearing the
scarped edge of the cliff, was a woman on horseback. At a glance they
could tell it was a young girl; but as her back was toward them, they
could see neither face nor features. She was in a lady's saddle; and
urging her horse onward as if riding for life--her skirt and hair
streaming loosely behind her.
There was one among them that knew who she was. The quick instinct of
love told Edward O'Neil well the fugitive upon horseback was Clara
Blackadder. His instincts were aided by remembrance. That magnificent
head of hair, black as the plumage of a raven, was well remembered by
him. It had often been before his fancy in a lone bivouac--at night
entwining itself with his dreams.
"O Heavens!" he exclaimed, "it is Clara herself!"
"Yur right, Ned," responded 'Lije, gazing intently after her. "Darned
ef it ain't her, that very gurl! She's a-tryin' to git away from 'em.
See! thar goes the hul o' the Injuns arter her, gallopin' like h--!"
As Orton spoke, the pursuers began to appear, one after another passing
outside the cliff-line--urging their horses onward with blows and loud
vociferations.
Several of the trappers raised their rifles to the level, and seemed
calculating the distance.
"For yur lives, don't shoot!" cautioned 'Lije, speaking in a constrained
voice, and making himself better understood by a wave of the hand. "It
kin do ne'er a good now, but only spile all. Let 'em go off. Ef the
gurl gits clur, we'll soon track her up. Ef she don't, they're boun' to
bring her back, an' then we kin settle wi' 'em. I reck'n they're not
all arter her. Theer's some o' the skunks still below. Let's jest see
to them; an' then we kin lay out our plans for them's have rid out in
the purshoot."
'Lije's counsel was unanimously accepted, and the gun-barrels brought
down again.
"Lie clost hyur," he again counselled, "while some o' us steal forard
an' reconnoitre. Harry, s'pose you kum 'longs wi' me?"
His purpose was understood by Black Harris, who instantly volunteered to
accompany the old trapper--his senior in years, and his equal in rank
among the "mountain men."
"Now, boys!" muttered 'Lije on leaving them, "lie close as I've tolt
you, and ne'er a word out o' one o' ye till we git back."
So saying, he crept forward, Black Harris by his side--the two going on
hands and knees, and with as much caution as if they had been
approaching a herd of antelopes.
The glance of the others did not follow them. All eyes were turned
downward to the prairie; watching the pursuit, now far off and still
going farther across the open plain.
But no one watched with such anxiety as O'Neil. It absorbed his whole
soul, like some pent-up agony. His very breathing seemed suspended, as
he crouched behind the dwarf cedar-tree, calculating the distance
between pursuers and pursued. How he regretted having left his horse
behind him! What would he not have given at that moment to be on the
back of his brave steed, and galloping to the rescue of his beloved!
Perhaps his suffering would have been still more acute, but for the
words just spoken by his old comrade. The girl would either get off, or
be brought back; and either way there was hope of saving her. With this
thought to console him, he witnessed the spectacle of the pursuit with
more equanimity. So, watching it with eager eyes, he awaited the result
of the reconnoissance.
Crouching slowly and cautiously along, Orton and Harris at length
reached the edge of the cliff, and looked down into the valley below. A
glance enabled them to comprehend the situation. It was just as they
had conjectured. The white and negro captives seen in separate groups,
guarded by something less than a moiety of the Indian band, and these
reeling over the ground half intoxicated.
"They'll be a eezy capter now," said 'Lije, "and we must capter 'em.
Arter that, we kin kill 'em 'ithout much noise."
"Why not bring up the rest, and shoot 'em whar they stand? We can rub
out every redskin of 'em at a single volley."
"Sartin we could; but don't ye see, old hoss, that 'ud niver do. Ye
forget the gurl; an she are the only one 'o the hul lot wuth savin', I
reckin; the only one I'd give a darn to waste powder for. Ef we wur to
fire a shot, the purshooers out yonner 'ud be surtin to hear it, and
then good-bye to the gurl--that is, if they git their claws on her
agin."
"I see what you mean; an you're right. We must bag this lot below,
without makin a rumpus; then we can set our traps for the others."
"Jess so, Harry."
"How are we to do it, think ye, 'Lije? We'll have to go back to whar we
left our horses, and ride round by the open eend of the valley. That
way we'll have them shut up like sheep in a pen."
"No, Harry; we han't time to go back for the anymals. Afore we ked git
roun' thar, the purshooers mout catch the gurl and be comin' back. Then
it 'ud be no go. I bethinks me o' a better way."
Black Harris waited to hear what it was.
"I know a pass," continued 'Lije, "by the which we may git down wi' a
leetle streetchin' o' the arms. If we kin only reech bottom afore they
sees us, we'll make short work o' 'em. But we must be cunnin' beout it.
Ef but a one o' the skunks hev the chance to eescape, the gurl'll be
lost sure. Thar aint a second o' time to be wasted. Let's back to the
boys, an at oncest down inter the gully."