The teamsters, each of whom is watching the post assigned to him,
despite the danger, already extreme, see fresh cause of alarm in
Wilder's words. Some slight hope had hitherto upheld them. Under the
protection of the waggons they might sustain a siege, so long as their
ammunition lasts; and before it gave out some chance, though they cannot
think what, might turn up in their favour. It was a mere reflection
founded on probabilities still unscrutinised--the last tenacious
struggle before hope gives way to utter and palpable despair.
Hamersley's words had for an instant cheered them; for the thought of
the Indians setting fire to the waggons had not occurred to any of the
party. It was a thing unknown to their experience; and, at such a
distance, might be supposed impossible.
But, as they now look around them, and note the canvas tilts, and light
timbers, dry as chips from long exposure to the hot prairie sun; the
piles of dry goods--woollen blankets, cotton, and silk stuffs--intended
for the stores of Chihuahua, some of which they have hastily pulled from
their places to form protecting barricades--when they see all this, and
then the preparations the Indians are engaged in making, no wonder that
they feel dismay on Walt Wilder shouting out, "They're agoin' to set the
waggons afire!"
The announcement, although carrying alarm, conveys no counsel. Even
their guide, with a life-long experience on the prairies, is at a loss
how they ought to act in this unexpected emergency. In the waggons
water there is none--at least not enough to drown out a conflagration
such as that threatened; and from the way the assailants are gesturing
the traders can predict that ere long, a shower of fiery shafts will be
sent into their midst. None of them but have knowledge sufficient to
admonish them of what is intended. Even if they had never set foot upon
a prairie, their school stories and legends of early life would tell
them. They have all read, or heard, of arrows with tinder tied around
their barbs, on fire and spitting sparks, or brightly ablaze.
If any are ignorant of this sort of missile, or the mode of dispatching
it on its mischievous errand, their ignorance is not destined longer to
continue. Almost as soon as Wilder has given utterance to the warning
words, half a score of the savages can be seen springing to the backs of
their horses, each bearing a bow with a bunch of the prepared arrows.
And before a single preventive step can be taken by the besieged
traders, or any counsel exchanged between them, the pyrotechnic display
has commenced.
The bowmen gallop in circles around the besieged enclosure, their bodies
concealed behind those of their horses--only a leg and an arm seen, or
now and then a face for an instant, soon withdrawn. Not exactly in
circles but in spiral rings--at each turn drawing closer and nearer,
till the true distance is attained for casting the inflammatory shafts.
"Stand to your guns, men!" is the hurried command of the guide, backed
by a kind of encouragement from the proprietor of the caravan.
"Now, boys!" adds the guide, "ye've got to look out for squalls. Keep
two an' two of ye thegither. While one brings down the hoss, t' other
take care o' the rider as he gits unkivered. Make sure afore ye pull
trigger, an' don't waste so much as the snappin' o' a cap. Thar goes
the first o' the fire works!"
As Wilder speaks, a spark is seen to shoot out from one of the circling
cavaliers, which rising rocket-like into the air, comes in parabolic
curve towards the corral.
It falls short some twenty yards and lies smoking and sputtering in the
sand.
"They han't got thar range yit," cries the guide; "but this child hez
got his--leastwise for that skunk on the clay-bank mustang. So hyar
goes to rub him off o' the list o' fire shooters."
And simultaneous with the last word is heard the crack of Wilder's
rifle.
The young prairie merchant by his side, supposing him to have aimed only
at the Indian's horse, has raised his own gun, ready to take the rider
as soon as uncovered.
"No need, Frank," shouts the guide, restraining him. "Walt Wilder don't
waste two charges o' powder that way. Keep yur bullet for the karkidge
o' the next as comes 'ithin range. Look yonder! I know'd I'd fetch him
out o' his stirrups--tight as he's tried to cling to 'em. Thar he goes
to grass!"
Hamersley, as the others on the same side of the corral, were under the
belief that the shot had been a miss; for the Indian at whom it was
aimed still stuck to his horse, and was carried for some distance on in
curving career. Nor did the animal show any sign of having been hit.
But the rider did. While engaged in the effort of sending his arrow,
the savage had exposed his face, one arm, and part of the other. Ere he
could withdraw them, Walt's bullet had struck the arm that supported
him, breaking the bone close to the elbow-joint. He has clung on with
the tenacity of a shot squirrel, knowing that to let go will be certain
death to him. But, despite all his efforts, the crippled arm fails to
sustain him; and, with a despairing cry, he at length tumbles to the
ground. Before he can rise to his feet, his body is bored by a leaden
messenger from one of the men watching on that side, which lays him
lifeless along the sand.
No cheer of triumph ascends from among the waggons; the situation of
those who defend them is too serious for any idle exhibition. The man
who has fired the last shot only hastens to re-load, while the others
remain mute and motionless--each on the look-out for a like opportunity.
The fall of their comrade has taught the freebooters a lesson, and for a
time they make their approach with more caution. But the shouts of
those standing spectators in the outer circle stimulate them to fresh
efforts, as the slightest show of cowardice would surely cause them to
be taunted. Those entrusted with the fiery arrows are all young
warriors, chosen for this dangerous service, or volunteers to perform
it. The eyes of their chief, and the braves of the tribe, are upon
them. They are thirsting for glory, and hold their lives as of little
account, in the face of an achievement that will gain them the
distinction most coveted by an Indian youth--that which will give him
rank as a warrior, and perhaps some day raise him to a chieftaincy.
Stimulated by this thought, they soon forget the check caused by the
fall of their comrade; and, laying aside caution, ride nearer and
nearer, till their arrows, one after another, hurtle through the air,
and dropping like a continuous shower of spent rocket-sticks upon the
covers of the corralled waggons.
Several of them fall to shots from the barricade, but then places are
supplied by fresh volunteers from the outer circle; and the sparkling
shower is kept up, till a curl of smoke is seen soaring above the white
tilts of the waggons, and soon after others at different places and on
different sides of the enclosure.
As yet the besieged have not seen this. The powder-smoke puffing up
from their own guns, discharged in quick repetition, obscures everything
in a thick, sulphurous cloud; so that even the white covers of the
waggons are scarce distinguishable, much less the spots where it has
commenced smoking.
Not long, however, till something besides smoke makes itself visible, as
also audible. Here and there flames flicker up, with a sharp crackling
noise, which continues. The one is not flashes from the guns, nor the
other a snapping of percussion-caps.
Wilder, with eyes turning to all points, is the first to perceive this.
"We're on fire, boys!" he vociferates; "on fire everywhar!"
"Great God! yes! What are we to do?" several ask, despairingly.
"What air we to do?" shouts the guide, in response. "What kin we do,
but fight it out to the death, an' then die! So let us die, not like
dogs, but as men--as Americans!"