THE LOTTERY OF DEATH.
Men were lying about on the ground, sleeping where they had dropped.
Picketed horses were grazing at a little distance. The most of the men
slept heavily, but one or two routed up as the guards brought the boy
and girl and the captured horse to the bivouac.
"Whatever has you there?" growlingly asked one of the men who had
awakened.
"Some lost children we finds near yere," was the answer.
Macklyn Morgan, wrapped in his blanket, had also awakened. His curiosity
was aroused, and he flung off the blanket and got up.
"Children!" he said. "How does it happen that there are children in this
wretched region?"
One of the men explained how he had heard the sound of the fiddle, which
had led them to the boy and girl. He also repeated Abe's story, adding
that it sounded "fishy." The interest of Morgan was redoubled at once.
He immediately turned his attention to the hunchback.
"Going to Flagstaff to meet Frank Merriwell's brother, did you say?" he
questioned, attempting a kindly manner. "Seems to me that was rather a
crazy undertaking, my lad. And what is Frank Merriwell's brother doing
in Flagstaff?"
"He jest said he was going there on his way to Californy," declared Abe,
trying to stick to his original story and make it seem consistent. "We
hope to see him there."
Felicia was silent; but she felt that Abe's yarn was not believed by the
men.
"How did you happen to know this Dick Merriwell?" questioned Morgan.
Abe started to reply, but faltered and stammered a little, whereupon
Felicia quickly said:
"I am his cousin."
Instantly the man's interest was redoubled.
"His cousin, eh?" he exclaimed. "Now we're getting at it. Curtis, start
a fire. I want to look these children over."
While the man thus ordered was complying Morgan continued to question
the girl and boy, but now his interest seemed centred in Felicia.
"So you are also the cousin of Frank Merriwell?" he said. "Tell me more
about these two Merriwells. I have heard of Frank Merriwell, and I
consider him a most excellent young man. I admire him very much."
He endeavored to make his words sound sincere, but little Abe fancied
there was a false ring in them.
"You know Dick is Frank's half-brother, sir," said the girl. "He attends
school in the East. I was at school in the same place once, but the
climate didn't agree with me, and so Frank sent me West for my health."
"Have you seen him lately?"
"Yes, sir."
"When?"
"In Prescott, a few days ago. He was there, but some bad men made a lot
of trouble for him and he left."
"This boy is your brother?" asked Morgan, indicating Abe.
"Why, yes, sir!" broke in Abe, quickly, seeing that Felicia would soon
be trapped. "I am a sort of brother; an adopted brother, you know."
"Oh, that's it?" said Morgan. "But if you were living on a ranch down on
the Rio Verde, how did you happen to be in Prescott when Frank Merriwell
was there?"
"Why, we jest went there. Dad he took us there," hastily asserted the
hunchback, seeking to maintain the original deception.
"Is that true?" asked Morgan of Felicia.
She was silent.
"Of course it's true!" indignantly exclaimed the boy.
"It seems to me that you are somewhat mixed, my child. Now, I advise you
to trust me. It will be the best thing you can do. I advise you to tell
me the truth. At this time we're on our way to join Frank Merriwell and
help him to defend his new mines. He has many enemies, you know. We
might take you directly to him."
"Oh, splendid!" exclaimed the girl, all her suspicions disarmed. "Frank
will be so glad! We thought, perhaps, you might be his enemy; that's why
we were afraid of you."
Macklyn Morgan forced a laugh, which he tried to make very pleasant and
reassuring.
"You see how wrong you were," he said. "You see now that it's a mistake
to try to deceive me. It's best to tell me the truth and nothing else.
This story about living on a ranch--how about it?"
"Oh, Abe told you that when he thought you must be Frank's enemy," said
Felicia.
"Then it wasn't quite true?"
"No, no."
"And you were not on your way to Flagstaff to meet Dick Merriwell
there?"
"No; we left Prescott in company with Dick and some friends, who were on
their way to join Frank."
Felicia hastened on and told the entire story.
Abe listened in doubt as to the wisdom of this, shaking his head a
little, but remaining silent.
"Now we're getting at the facts," smiled Morgan, as the fire was started
and its light fell on his face. "It's much better for us all."
He had assumed a free, benevolent, kindly expression, and to the girl it
seemed that he could not be deceiving them. Morgan continued to question
her until at length he learned everything he desired.
"Now, my child," he said, "just you rest easy. We will soon join Frank
Merriwell, and, of course, this brother of his with his friends will
arrive all right in due time."
Morgan then stepped over to where one of the sleeping men lay and
aroused him.
"Wake up, Hackett," he said, in a low tone. "Something mighty important
has taken place."
He then told the man what had happened, and Hackett listened
attentively.
"It seems to me," he said, "that these yere kids are going to be an
incumbrance on us."
"That's where you're wrong," asserted Morgan. "With the aid of these
children we ought to be able to bring Frank Merriwell to some sort of
terms."
"I don't see how, sir."
"Why, it's plain he thinks a lot of this girl. We have her. If that
doesn't trouble him some, I am greatly mistaken."
"Mebbe you're right," nodded Hackett. "I reckon I begin to see your
little game, Mr. Morgan. Let me look these yere kids over some."
He arose and proceeded to the fire, in company with Morgan, who
cautioned him, however, to say little to the boy and girl, fearing
Hackett might make some observation that would betray the truth.
"She's some pretty, sir," said Gad, admiring Felicia; "though she's
nothing but a kid. I reckon she makes a stunner when she gits older."
"Hush!" said Morgan. "That's nothing to you."
"Oh, I has an eye for female beauty!" grinned Hackett. "It's nateral
with me."
Suddenly, to their surprise, without the least warning, a man seemed to
rise from the ground a short distance away and walk straight toward the
fire. Hackett had his pistol out in a twinkling, but he stood with mouth
agape as he saw the newcomer was an old Indian, about whose shoulders a
dirty red blanket was draped. It was Felicia, however, who was the most
surprised, and a cry left her lips, for she recognized old Joe Crowfoot.
Even as she uttered that cry the eyes of the old redskin shot her a
warning look that somehow silenced her. Without giving Hackett as much
as a glance, old Joe walked up to the fire, before which he squatted,
extending his hands to its warmth.
"Well, dern me, if that don't beat the deck!" growled Hackett. "These
yere red wards of the government are a-getting so they makes theirselves
to home anywhere. And you never knows when they're around. Now, this
yere one he pops right out o' the ground like."
Then he turned savagely on Joe.
"What are you prowling around yere for, you old vagrant?" he demanded
threateningly. "Who are you?"
Crowfoot rolled his little beady eyes up at the man.
"Heap flying bird," he answered. "Go through air; go everywhere. Go
through ground. White man did him see red snake with horse's head? Injun
ride on red snake like the wind."
"What's this jargon?" muttered Morgan.
"Hark!" warned the Indian, lifting a hand. "You hear the flying lizard
sing? See that big one up there. See um great green eyes."
Then he stared straight upward, as if beholding something in the air.
Involuntarily both men looked upward, but they saw nothing above them
save the stars of the sky.
Felicia, who knew old Joe very well, was more than astonished by his
singular manner and remarkable words. Her first impulse had been to
spring up and greet him joyously, but the look from his black eyes had
stopped her. Now, as if she were a total stranger to him, he gave her no
attention. Suddenly he thumped himself on the breast with his clinched
fist.
"Injun him all iron!" he declared. "Him like pale-face iron horse. When
sun he comes up again Injun he go on white man's iron track. He blow
smoke and fire and shriek same as iron horse."
"Well, bat me, if the old whelp ain't daffy!" exclaimed Hackett. "He's
plumb off his nut, sure as shooting."
"When Injun him lay down to sleep," said Crowfoot, "many stars come and
jump like antelope over him. No let him sleep. Him try to scare um away,
but star no scare. Bimeby Injun he get sick. He get up and run away.
Then star chase um Injun."
"You're right, Hackett," said Morgan, "He's loony, for a fact."
At this point one of the guards came walking up to the fire. The moment
his eyes fell on Crowfoot he uttered a shout that instantly aroused
every one of the sleeping men.
"By the great horn toads!" he exploded savagely; "that's the old skunk
what drugged the whole bunch of us when Pete Curry nabbed us! Whatever
is he doing here?"
Without even looking up, Crowfoot began to chant a strange, doleful song
in his own language.
"The boys will certain salivate him," asserted the guard, as the men
were rising and approaching the fire.
Old Joe apparently heard nothing and saw nothing. That singular chant
continued.
"He is dead loony," said Hackett.
"Then mebbe he's been taking some of his own dope," growled the guard.
"The boys will knock some o' his looniness out o' him, you bet!"
As the men gathered around, a number of them recognized the aged
redskin, and immediately there was a great commotion. Several drew their
weapons, and it seemed that Joe would be murdered on the spot. With a
scream of terror, Felicia flung herself before the old man, to whom she
clung.
"No! no! no!" she cried. "You shall not hurt him!"
In the excitement old Joe whispered in her ear:
"Keep still, Night Eyes. Um bad men no hurt Joe. Him touched by Great
Spirit. Nobody hurt um man touched by Great Spirit."
This, then, was the old fellow's scheme. This explained how it happened
that he dared venture into the nest of desperadoes. Among the Indians of
all tribes a deranged man is regarded with awe as one who has felt the
touch of the Great Spirit. No redskin will harm a deranged person,
believing the vengeance of the Great Father must fall on whoever does
such a thing. Shrewd as he was, Crowfoot had not yet discovered that
palefaces did not regard crazed people with such a feeling of awe.
"Take the girl away," roared several of the men. "Let us settle with the
old Injun."
If Morgan thought of interfering, he was too late, for rude hands seized
Felicia and dragged her away, in spite of her struggles. She cried and
pleaded, but all her efforts were useless. Crowfoot paid no attention to
her, nor did he heed the threatening weapons in the hands of the
ruffians. Rising to his feet, he did a solemn dance around the fire, at
the same time continuing his doleful chant.
"That yere certain is a death dance for him," muttered Hackett, who
realized that the men were aroused to a pitch at which they would insist
on wiping the fellow out.
"The black moon him soon come up," said Joe, standing with one hand
outstretched as he finished his dance. "Then we see spirits of many dead
warriors chase um buffalo over it."
"You will have a chance to take a chase with the rest o' the bunch,"
snarled one of the men. "Stand back, boys, and watch me cook him."
"Hold on!" cried another, catching the man's wrist. "I opine I am in
this yere."
Immediately an argument arose as to which of them should have the
satisfaction of killing the Indian who had once fooled them so
thoroughly. While this was taking place Joe continued, apparently
oblivious of his danger, talking of flying horses and a dozen other
impossible creatures. He must have realized that his apparent madness
was making no impression on these men, but he seemed determined to play
the game through to the finish. At length, he squatted again beside the
fire, resuming his doleful chant.
By this time it had been settled that some one of the party should have
the privilege of shooting the Indian, for it was agreed that to waste a
number of bullets on him was folly. There was some discussion as to the
manner of choosing the slayer, but the desperadoes finally decided on
drawing lots.
Hackett, who took no part in this demand for the Indian's life, was
chosen to prepare the lots, which he did. Then the men eagerly pressed
forward to draw. The one who drew the shortest piece was to be the
"fortunate" individual. All the while Crowfoot was guarded by men with
drawn and ready weapons. Had he made an effort to get away he would have
been riddled immediately.
Finally the lots were compared, and a half-blood Mexican, with leathery
skin, drooping mustache, deep-furrowed face, and matted black hair, was
the one who held the shortest piece. He laughed as he displayed it.
"Stand back!" he cried, flashing a pistol and striding forward to within
four paces of the Indian. "I will settle him with one piece of lead."
Then, as this wretch lifted his weapon, old Joe realized at last that
his game had failed utterly. There was no escape for him. His long life
had led him at last to this, and he believed he stood at the gateway of
the happy hunting grounds. Had there been hope of escape he would have
made the attempt. Now, as he still crouched by the fire, he drew his red
blanket over his head, and from beneath its muffling folds came the sad
and doleful chant of the redman's death song.
The executioner stood fair and full in the firelight. He brought his
weapon to a level and a shot rang out. It was not he, however, who
fired. From somewhere near at hand a report sounded, and the pistol flew
from his hand as the bullet tore through his forearm. A yell of pain
escaped his lips.
Instantly the ruffians were thrown into the utmost confusion. Feeling
that they were about to be attacked, they hastened to get away from the
fire, the light of which must betray them to the enemy.
In spite of his age, like a leaping panther, old Joe shot to his feet.
With one hand he seized little Abe, whom he snatched clear of the
ground. And the next instant the old savage was running for his life.
Two or three shots were fired, but in the excitement Crowfoot was
untouched.
They were given no further time to turn their attention on him. From out
of the shadows came a single horseman, bearing straight down upon them,
his weapons flashing. The recklessness of this charge and the astounding
suddenness with which it came was too much for the nerves of those men.
Felicia had been released by the man who was holding her as the first
shot was fired. This man pulled a weapon and fired once at the shadowy
horseman, after which he ran like a frightened antelope, for a screaming
bullet had cut his ear. It seemed that the horseman meant to ride
Felicia down. In her fear she stood still, as if turned to stone, which
was the best thing she could have done.
As he swept past her, the rider swung low to one side in the saddle, and
somehow one strong young hand grasped her and snatched her from the
ground. She felt herself lifted with such suddenness that her breath
seemed snapped away, and then she lay across the horse in front of the
rider, who now bent low over her.
Bullets whined, and whistled, and sang about them, but some good fairy
must have guarded them, for they were untouched. On they went. The
sounds of irregular shooting fell farther and farther behind them.
Felicia had not fainted, although her senses swam and she seemed on the
verge of losing consciousness. She could not understand just what had
taken place. Suddenly her rescuer began to laugh, and a strange, wild,
boyish laugh it was. It thrilled her through and through.
"Dick!" she gasped. "Oh, Dick!"
He straightened up and lifted her, holding her before him with one
strong arm.
"Felicia!" he exclaimed, "are you hurt?"
"Oh, Dick! Dick!" she repeated, in wonder. "And is it you?"
"You are not hurt?" he persisted in questioning.
"No, Dick--no."
"Thank goodness!"
"But how was it? My head is swimming; I can't understand. I am dazed."
"Well, I fancy I dazed those fine gentlemen a little," said the boy.
"Felicia, I have been searching, searching everywhere for you. We
followed your trail as well as we could. When night came we had not
found you. I couldn't rest. What fate it was that led me to those
ruffians I cannot say, but I believe the hand of Heaven was in it. In
their excitement over Crowfoot none of them heard my approach. I was
quite near when that brute lifted his weapon to shoot Joe. I didn't want
to kill him, and I fired at his arm. It was a lucky shot, for I hit him.
He stood between me and the firelight, so that the light fell on the
barrel of my pistol. Crowfoot took his cue quickly enough, for I saw him
scamper."
"How brave you are! How brave you are!" murmured the girl, in untold
admiration. "Oh, Dick, I can't believe it now."
"It was not such a brave thing, after all," he said. "I suppose most
people would call it folly. But I had to do it. Why, old Joe saved my
life a dozen times when I used to hunt with him years ago. He loved me
as a father might love a son. You see it was impossible for me to keep
still and see him murdered. I had to do something to save him. He can
hide like a gopher on the open plain."
"But Abe, Dick--Abe?"
"I saw Crowfoot snatch him up as he ran. We must leave Abe to old Joe."
"Listen, Dick! Are they pursuing us?"
"We have the start on them, Felicia, and I don't believe they will be
able to overtake us if they try it."
Through the night they rode. At the first opportunity Dick turned from
his course and doubled in a manner intended to baffle the pursuers.
"It will be a long pull back to Bart and the others, Felicia," he said;
"but I think we can make it all right. For all of the time I have spent
at school, I have not forgotten the lessons taught me by Crowfoot when I
was a mere kid. He taught me to set my course by the stars, the wind,
the trees, by a score of things. To-night our guide shall be the stars."
Brad Buckhart was worried and troubled greatly over Dick's long absence,
and was on guard where they had camped as night fell. The Texan tramped
restlessly up and down, now and then pausing to listen. The others
slept. Wiley snored lustily and muttered in his sleep.
"Avast, there!" he mumbled. "Put her to port, you lubber!"
Then, after snoring again in the most peaceful manner, he broke out:
"Right over the corner of the pan, Breck, old boy. Let's see you make a
home run off that bender!"
Brad moved still farther away that he might listen without being
disturbed by the sailor. Far in the night he seemed to hear a sound.
Kneeling, he leaned his ear close to the ground and listened
attentively.
"Horseman coming," he decided. "It must be Dick--it must be!"
Finally the hoofbeats of the approaching horse became more and more
distinct. Then through the still, clear night came a clear, faint
whistle.
"Dick it is!" exclaimed the Texan joyously.
Dick it was, and with him he brought Felicia safely back to them. They
did not arouse the others, but she was wrapped in blankets and left to
sleep, if possible, through the remainder of the still, cool night.
Young Merriwell's story filled the Texan with unbounded astonishment and
admiration. He seized Dick's hand and shook it with almost savage
delight.
"Talk about a howling terror on ten wheels!" he exclaimed. "Why, you
simply beat the universe. You hear me gurgle! Now you just turn in, for
I reckon you're a whole lot pegged out."
"Well, sleep won't hurt me if I can corral some of it," acknowledged
Dick.
Brad continued to stand guard, thinking that later he would arouse one
of the others to take his place. His restlessness and worry had passed
somewhat, and after a time he sat down, thinking over the startling
things that had happened. It was thus that, exhausted more than he knew,
he finally slid to the ground and also slept. The night passed without
any of them being disturbed. But in the morning the first man to awaken
was Pete Curry, who sat up, rubbing his eyes, and uttered a shout of
astonishment. The remaining sleepers awoke and started up.
What they saw astounded them no less than it had Curry, for on the
ground near at hand lay little Abe, with Joe Crowfoot's dirty red
blanket tucked about him, and within three feet sat the redskin, calmly
and serenely smoking his pipe.
Dick flung off his blanket and was on his feet in a twinkling.
"Crowfoot!" he joyously cried, rushing forward with his arms
outstretched.
For one who complained of rheumatism and advancing age the redskin rose
with remarkable quickness. Usually stolid and indifferent in manner, the
look that now came to his wrinkled, leathery face was one of such deep
feeling and affection that it astounded every one but himself. The old
man clasped Dick in his arms as a father might a long-lost son. To Curry
and his companions this was a most singular spectacle. Curry had seized
a weapon on discovering Crowfoot. He did not use it when the old fellow
remained silent and indifferent after his shout of astonishment and
alarm.
That the boy should embrace the Indian in such an affectionate manner
seemed almost disgusting to Curry and his assistants, all three of whom
held Indians in the utmost contempt. For a moment it seemed that the old
man's heart was too full for speech. Finally, with a strange tenderness
and depth of feeling in his voice, he said:
"Injun Heart, Great Spirit heap good to old Joe! He let him live to see
you some more. What him eyes see make him heart swell with heap big
gladness. Soon him go to happy hunting ground; now him go and make um no
big kick 'bout it."
"Joe, I have longed to see you again," declared Dick, his voice unsteady
and a mist in his eyes. "Sometimes my heart has yearned for the old days
with you on the plains and amid the mountains. I have longed to be with
you again, hunting the grizzly, or sleeping in the shade by a murmuring
brook and beneath whispering trees. Then you taught me the secrets of
the wild animals and the birds. I have forgotten them now, Joe. I can no
longer call the birds and tiny animals of the forest to me. In that way
I am changed, Joe; but my heart remains the same toward you, and ever
will."
Now the old redskin held Dick off by both shoulders and surveyed him up
and down with those beady eyes, which finally rested on the boy's
handsome face with a look of inexpressible admiration.
"Heap fine! Heap fine!" said the old man. "Joe him know it. Joe him sure
you make great man. Joe him no live to see you have whiskers on um face,
but you sure make great man. Joe him getting heap close to end of trail.
Rheumatism crook him and make um swear sometime."
"Don't talk about getting near the end of the trail, Crowfoot," laughed
Dick, whose heart was full of delight over this meeting. "You old
hypocrite! I saw you last night! I saw you when you took to your heels
after I perforated the gentleman who contemplated cutting your thread of
life short. Rheumatism! Why, you deceptive old rascal, you ran like a
deer! If your rheumatism was very bad, you couldn't take to your heels
in that fashion."
Crowfoot actually grinned.
"Injun him have to run," he asserted. "Bullets come fast and thick. If
Injun him run slow mebbe he get ketched by bullet."
Little Abe had risen on one elbow, the blanket falling from his
shoulders, and watched the meeting between Dick and the old savage.
Felicia also was awakened, and now she came hastening forward, her dark
eyes aglow and a slight flush in her delicate cheeks.
"Joe! Joe! have you forgotten me?" she asked.
The redskin turned at once and held out his hands to her.
"Night Eyes," he said, with such softness that all save Dick and Felicia
were astonished, "little child of silent valley hid in mountains, next
to Injun Heart, old Joe him love you most. You good to old Joe. Long
time 'go Joe he come to valley hid in mountains and he sit by cabin
there. He see you play with Injun Heart. Warm sun shine in valley
through long, long day. All Joe do he smoked, and sat, and watched.
Bimeby when Night Eyes was very tired she come crawling close up side
old Joe and lean her head 'gainst Joe, and sleep shut her eyes. Then old
Joe him keep still. When Injun Heart he come near old Joe, him say,
'Sh-h!' He hold up his hand; he say, 'Keep much still.' Then mebbe Night
Eyes she sleep and sleep, and sun he go down, and birds they sing last
good-night song, and stars shine out, and old Joe him sit still all the
time. Oh, he no forget--he no forget!"
Somehow the simple words of the old redskin brought back all the past,
which seemed so very, very far away, and tears welled from Felicia's
eyes.
"Oh, those were happy days, Joe--happy days!" she murmured. "I fear I
shall never be so happy again--never, never!"
"Oh, must be happy!" declared the old fellow. "Dick him make um Night
Eyes happy. Him look out for Night Eyes."
"Just the same," she declared, "I would give anything, anything, to be
back in that valley now, just as I was long, long ago."
With his head cocked on one side, Cap'n Wiley had been watching the
meeting between the Indian and his young friends. Wiley now turned to
Buckhart and remarked:
"I am learning extensively in this variegated world. As the years roll
on my accumulation of knowledge increases with susceptible rapidity. Up
to the present occasion I have been inclined to think that about the
only thing a real Injun could be good for was for a target. It seems to
my acute perception that in this immediate instance there is at least
one exception to the rule. Although yonder copper-hued individual looks
somewhat scarred and weather-beaten, I observe that Richard Merriwell
hesitates in no degree to embrace him. Who is the old tike, mate?"
"Why, old Joe Crowfoot!" answered Brad. "The only Indian I ever saw of
his kind."
Immediately Wiley approached old Joe, walking teeteringly on the balls
of his feet, after his own peculiar fashion, made a salute, and
exclaimed:
"I salute you, Joseph Crowfoot, Esquire, and may your shadow never grow
less. May you take your medicine regularly and live to the ripe round
age of one hundred years. Perhaps you don't know me. Perhaps you haven't
heard of me. That is your misfortune. I am Cap'n Wiley, a rover of the
briny deep and a corking first-class baseball player. Ever play
baseball, Joe, old boy? It's a great game. You would enjoy it. In my
mind's eye I see you swing the bat like a war club and swat the sphere
hard enough to dent it. Or perchance you are attempting to overhaul the
base runner, and I see him fleeing wildly before you, as if he fancied
you were reaching for his scalp locks."
"Ugh!" grunted old Joe. "No know who um be; but know heap good name for
um. Joe he give you name. He call you Wind-in-the-head."
At this the others, with the exception of Wiley himself, laughed
outright. The sailor, however, did not seem at all pleased.
"It's plain, Joseph," he observed, "that you have a reckless little
habit of getting gay occasionally. Take my advice and check that habit
before it leads you up against a colossal calamity."
"Wind-in-the-head he talk heap many big words," said the Indian. "Mebbe
sometime he talk big words that choke him."
"That's a choke, Wiley," laughed Dick.
"And that certainly is the worst pun it has ever been my misfortune to
hear," half sobbed the sailor. "One more like that would give me heart
failure. Did you ever hear of the time I had heart failure in that
baseball game with the Cleveland Nationals? Well, mates, it was----"
"We can't stand one of them before breakfast, Wiley," interrupted Dick.
"It may prove too much for us. After breakfast we will endeavor to
listen while you relate one of your harrowing experiences."
"But this thing is burning in my bosom. I long to disgorge it."
"You have to let it burn, I think. We should be on the move by this
time."
Thus Wiley was repressed and prevented from relating one of his
marvelous yarns, not a little to his disgust.