In making his bold dash, Walt Wilder was not acting without a
preconceived plan. He had one. The smoke, with its covering cloud,
might be the means of concealment, and ultimate salvation; at all
events, it would cover their retreat long enough to give them a start of
the pursuers, and then the speed of their horses might possibly be
depended upon for the rest.
They at first followed this plan, but unfortunately soon found that it
would not long avail them. The smoke was not drifting in the right
direction. The breeze carried it almost straight towards the line of
the cliffs, while their only chance was to strike for the open plain.
At the cliffs their flight would be stopped.
So far the smoke had favoured them. Thick and stifling in the immediate
vicinity of the waggons, it enabled them to slip unobserved through the
ruck of savages. Many of these, still mounted, had seen them pass
outward, but through the blue film had mistaken them for two of their
own men. They perhaps knew nothing of there having been horses inside
the corral, and did not expect to see any of their caged enemies
attempting to escape in that way. Besides, they were now busy
endeavouring to extinguish the fires, all resistance being at an end.
As yet there was no sign of pursuit, and the fugitives rode up with the
projecting _nimbus_ around them. In the soft sand their horses' hoofs
made no noise, and they galloped towards the cliff silent as spectres.
On reaching its base, it became necessary for them either to change the
direction of their flight, or bring it to a termination. The bluff
towered vertically above them, like a wall of rude masonwork. A cat
could not have scaled it, much less horse, or man. They did not think
of making the attempt.
And now, what were they to do? Ride out from the smoke-cloud, or remain
under its favouring shelter? In either case they were sure of being
discovered and pursued. It would soon clear off, and they would be seen
from the waggons. Already it was fast thinning around them; the Indians
having nearly extinguished the fires in order to save the treasure,
which had no doubt been their chief object for attacking the caravan.
Soon there would be no smoke--and then?
The pursued men stayed not to reflect further. Delay would only add to
their danger; and with this thought urging them on, they wheeled their
horses to the left, and headed along the line of the bluff. Six seconds
after they were riding in a pure atmosphere, under clear dazzling
sunlight.
But it gave them no delight. A yell from the savages told them they
were seen, and simultaneously with the shout, they perceived a score of
horsemen spurring from the crowd, and riding at full speed towards them.
They were both splendidly mounted, and might still have had a fair
chance of escape; but now another sight met their eyes that once more
almost drove them to despair.
A promontory of the cliff, stretching far out over the sandy plain, lay
directly in their track. Its point was nearer to the pursuers than to
them. Before they could reach, and turn it, their retreat would be
intercepted.
Was there still a chance to escape in the opposite direction?
Again suddenly turning, they galloped back as they had come; again
entered the belt of smoke; and, riding on through it, reached the clear
sunlight beyond.
Again a torturing disappointment. Another promontory--twin to the
first--jutted out to obstruct them.
There was no mystery in the matter. They saw the mistake they had made.
In escaping under cover of the cloud they had gone too far, ridden
direct into a deep embayment of the cliff!
Their pursuers, who had turned promptly as they, once more had the
advantage. The outlying point of rocks was nearer to them, and they
would be almost certain to arrive at it first.
To the fugitives there appeared no alternative but to ride on, and take
the chance of hewing their way through the savages surrounding--for
certainly they would be surrounded.
"Git your knife riddy, Frank!" shouted Wilder, as he dug his heels into
his horse's side and put the animal to full speed. "Let's keep close
thegither--livin' or dead, let's keep thegither!"
Their steeds needed no urging. To an American horse accustomed to the
prairies there is no spur like the yell of an Indian; for he knows that
along with it usually comes the shock of a bullet, or the sting of a
barbed shaft.
Both bounded off together, and went over the soft sand, silent, but
swift as the wind.
In vain. Before they could reach the projecting point, the savages had
got up, and were clustering around it. At least a score, with spears
couched, bows bent, and clubs brandishing, stood ready to receive them.
It was a gauntlet the pursued men might well despair of being able to
run. Truly now seemed their retreat cut off, and surely did death
appear to stare them in the face.
"We must die, Walt," said the young prairie merchant, as he faced
despairingly toward his companion.
"Maybe not yet," answered Wilder, as with a searching glance, he
directed his eye along the facade of the cliff.
The red sandstone rose rugged and frowning, full five hundred feet
overhead. To the superficial glance it seemed to forbid all chance
either of being scaled, or affording concealment. There was not even a
boulder below, behind which they might find a momentary shelter from the
shafts of the pursuers. For all that, Wilder continued to scan it, as
if recalling some old recollection.
"This must be the place," he muttered. "It is, by God!" he added more
emphatically, at the same time wrenching his horse around, riding sharp
off, and calling to his companion to follow him.
Hamersley obeyed, and rode after, without knowing what next. But, in
another instant, he divined the intent of this sudden change in the
tactics of his fellow fugitive. For before riding far his eyes fell
upon a dark list, which indicated an opening in the escarpment.
It was a mere crack, or chine, scarce so wide as a doorway, and barely
large enough to admit a man on horseback; though vertically it traversed
the cliff to its top, splitting it from base to summit.
"Off o' yur hoss!" cried Wilder, as he pulled up in front of it, at the
same time flinging himself from his own. "Drop the bridle, and leave
him behint. One o' 'em'll be enough for what I want, an' let that be
myen. Poor critter, it air a pity! But it can't be helped. We must
hev some kiver to screen us. Quick, Frank, or the skunks will be on to
us!"
Painful as it was to abandon his brave steed, Hamersley did as directed
without knowing why. The last speeches of the guide were somewhat
enigmatical, though he presumed they meant an important signification.
Slipping down from his saddle, he stood by his horse's side, a noble
steed, the best blood of his own State, Kentucky, famed for its fine
stock. The animal appeared to know that its master was about to part
from it. It turned its head towards him; and, with bent neck, and
steaming nostrils, gave utterance to a low neigh that, while proclaiming
affection, seemed to say, "Why do you forsake me?"
Under other circumstances the Kentuckian would have shed tears. For
months he and his horse had been as man and man together in many a long
prairie journey--a companionship which unites the traveller to his steed
in liens strong as human friendship, almost as lasting, and almost as
painful to break. So Frank Hamersley felt, as he flung the bridle back
on the animal's withers--still retaining hold of the rein, loth to
relinquish it.
But there was no alternative. Behind were the shouting pursuers quickly
coming on. He could see their brandished spears glancing in the sun
glare. They would soon be within reach, thrusting through his body;
their barbed blades piercing him between the ribs.
No time for sentiment nor dallying now, without the certainty of being
slain.
He gave one last look at his steed, and then letting go the rein, turned
away, as one who, by stern necessity, abandons a friend, fearing
reproach for what he does, but without the power to explain it.
For a time the abandoned steed kept its place, with glances inquiringly
sent after the master who had forsaken it. Then, as the yelling crew
came closer behind, it threw up its head, snorted, and tore off with
trailing bridle.
Hamersley had turned to the guide, now also afoot, but still retaining
hold of his horse, which he was conducting towards the crack in the
cliff, with all his energies forcing it to follow him; for the animal
moved reluctantly, as though suspecting danger inside the darksome
cleft.
Still urging it on, he shouted back to the Kentuckian, "You go first,
Frank! Up into the kanyon, without losin' a second's time. Hyar, take
my gun, an' load both, whiles I see to the closin' o' the gap."
Seizing both guns in his grasp, Hamersley sprang into the chine,
stopping when he got well within its grim jaws.
Wilder went after, leading his steed, that still strained back upon the
bridle.
There was a large stone across the aperture, over which the horse had to
straddle. This being above two feet in height, when the animal had got
its forelegs over Wilder checked it to a stand. Hitherto following him
with forced obedience, it now trembled, and showed a strong
determination to go back. There was an expression, in its owner's eye
it had never seen before--something that terribly frayed it. But it
could not now do this, though ever so inclined. With its ribs close
pressing the rocks on each side, it was unable to turn; while the bridle
drawn firmly in front hindered it from retiring.
Hamersley, busily engaged in loading the rifles, nevertheless found time
to glance at Wilder's doings, wondering what he was about.
"It air a pity!" soliloquised the latter, repeating his former words in
similar tones of commiseration. "F'r all that, the thing must be done.
If thar war a rock big enough, or a log, or anythin'. No! thar ain't
ne'er another chance to make kiver. So hyar goes for a bit o'
butcherin'."
As the guide thus delivered himself, Hamersley saw him jerk the bowie
knife from his belt, its blade red and still reeking with human gore.
In another instant its edge was drawn across the throat of the horse,
from which the blood gushed forth in a thick, strong stream, like water
from the spout of a pump. The creature made a last desperate effort to
get off, but with its forelegs over the rocks and head held down between
them, it could not stir from the spot. After a convulsive throe or two,
it sank down till its ribs rested upon the straddled stone; and in this
attitude it ended its life, the head after a time drooping down, the
eyes apparently turned with a last reproachful look upon the master who
had murdered it!
"It hed to be did; thar war no help for it," said Wilder, as he
hurriedly turned towards his companion, adding: "Have you got the guns
charged?"
Hamersley made answer by handing him back his own rifle. It was loaded
and ready. "Darn the stinkin' cowarts!" cried the guide, grasping the
gun, and facing towards the plain. "I don't know how it may all eend,
but this'll keep 'em off a while, anyhow."
As he spoke he threw himself behind the body of the slaughtered steed,
which, sustained in an upright position between the counterpart walls,
formed a safe barricade against the bullets and arrows of the Indians.
These, now riding straight towards the spot, made the rocks resound with
exclamations of surprise--shouts that spoke of a delayed, perhaps
defeated, vengeance.
They took care, however, not to come within range of that long
steel-grey tube, that, turning like a telescope on its pivot, commanded
a semicircle of at least a hundred yards' radius round the opening in
the cliff.
Despite all the earnestness of their vengeful anger, the pursuers were
now fairly at bay, and for a time could be kept so.
Hamersley looked upon it as being but a respite--a mere temporary
deliverance from danger, yet to terminate in death. True, they had got
into a position where, to all appearance, they could defend themselves
as long as their ammunition lasted, or as they could withstand the agony
of thirst or the cravings of hunger. How were they to get out again?
As well might they have been besieged in a cave, with no chance of
sortie or escape.
These thoughts he communicated to his companion, as soon as they found
time to talk.
"Hunger an' thirst ain't nothin' to do wi' it," was Wilder response.
"We ain't a goin' to stay hyar not twenty minutes, if this child kin
manage it as he intends ter do. You don't s'pose I rushed into this
hyar hole like a chased rabbit? No, Frank; I've heern o' this place
afore, from some fellers thet, like ourselves, made _cache_ in it from a
band o' pursuin' Kimanch. Thar's a way leads out at the back; an' just
as soon as we kin throw dust in the eyes o' these yellin' varmints in
front, we'll put straight for it. I don't know what sort o' a passage
thar is--up the rocks by some kind o' raven, I b'lieve. We must do our
best to find it."
"But how do you intend to keep them from following us? You speak of
throwing dust in their eyes--how, Walt?"
"You wait, watch an' see. You won't hev yur patience terrifically
tried: for thar ain't much time to spare about it. Thar's another
passage up the cliffs, not far off; not a doubt but these Injuns know
it; an' ef we don't make haste, they'll git up thar, and come in upon us
by the back door, which trick won't do, nohowsomdever. You keep yurself
in readiness, and watch what I'm agoin' to do. When you see me scoot up
back'ards, follor 'ithout sayin' a word."
Hamersley promised compliance, and the guide, still kneeling behind the
barricade he had so cruelly constructed, commenced a series of
manoeuvres that held his companion in speechless conjecture.
He first placed his gun in such a position that the barrel, resting
across the hips of the dead horse, projected beyond the tail. In this
position he made it fast, by tying the butt with a piece of string to a
projecting part of the saddle. He next took the cap from his head--a
coonskin it was--and set it so that its upper edge could be seen
alongside the pommel, and rising about three inches above the croup.
The ruse was an old one, with some new additions and embellishments.
"It's all done now," said the guide, turning away from the carcase and
crouching to where his comrade awaited him. "Come on, Frank. If they
don't diskiver the trick till we've got time to speed up the clift, then
thar's still a chance for us. Come on, an' keep close arter me!"
Hamersley went, without saying a word. He knew that Wilder, well known
and long trusted, had a reason for everything he did. It was not the
time to question him, or discuss the prudence of the step he was taking.
There might be danger before, but there was death--sure death--behind
them.