The afternoon dragged slowly by with Fred crouching, as he was, in the
top of the tree and waiting for the time to come when he might descend
and make the attempt to rejoin his friends, who could not but be greatly
concerned over his absence. At rare intervals, the spiteful crack of a
rifle reached his ear as before, and he knew that the white and red men
were watching each other, both ready to seize the first opportunity
that might offer for obtaining the slightest advantage. The occasional
clamping of the hoofs of a galloping horse showed, too, that his dreaded
foes were close at hand.
Finally, the sun disappeared, and darkness slowly settled over wood,
forest, and prairie. There was the moon, shining as bright and unclouded
as on the night before; but the shadow was so dense among the trees that
this was of no particular importance, and so soon as night was fairly
come the impatient lad was resolved upon making the attempt to reach his
friends.
No Apaches had been seen beneath the tree since the departure of the
first stealthy visitor, and the hope was quite strong within the lad
that in the hurry and swirl of the fight the red-skins had failed to
note him in his hiding-place. If such were really the case, it would
seem that there was a chance of his passing through the lines without
detection.
“Anyhow, I am going to try it,” he muttered, with set teeth, as he
resumed his cautious descent of the tree.
A moment later he found himself upon the nethermost limb, where he
hesitated a few seconds, peering around in the breathless darkness and
listening for anything that might betray the location of his enemies.
The silence of the tomb seemed to have settled upon the earth, and,
hanging by his hands a moment, he let go and dropped lightly to the
ground. As he did so, he purposely sank upon his hands and knees, in the
belief that he was less liable to be seen in that position than in any
other.
The signs continued favorable, and, without any useless waiting, he
turned his face in the direction of New Boston and began stealing
forward, with the care and caution of a veteran courser of the plains.
There was a fluttering hope that, with the coming of night, the
red-skins had departed, but he knew better than to rely upon any such
chance to reach his friends. If they had really gone, he would have
heard something from Sut Simpson.
No more trying ordeal can be imagined than that which Fred endured
when he attempted thus to steal his way through the Apache lines to his
friends. He crept along upon his hands and knees, for he dared not
trust himself in an upright posture, and he studiously avoided all those
places through which the rays of the moonlight made their way. There was
scarcely a minute in which he did not fancy that he heard the stealthy
movement of some one near him, and stopped and lay flat upon his face,
remaining thus until hopeful that it was safe to move forward again. And
this apprehension was not always imaginary. Two separate times the sound
of footsteps were too distinct to be mistaken, and the glimpse obtained
of a shadowy figure, as it flitted across a partially moonlit space, was
equally conclusive.
Almost an hour had passed, when Fred finally found himself on the edge
of the open area which separated the wood from the settlement. Thus far
he had evaded all danger and only a comparatively small space remained
to be passed over in order to reach the haven of safety.
The boy assumed an upright position, and, standing in the shadow of the
wood, debated with himself as to the best means of getting over that
narrow but dangerous neck of territory which still interposed. It would
be useless to attempt to creep over it, for the moon would be sure to
reveal him to the Indians that were lurking near, and it was not likely
that he could advance a dozen yards without detection. If it were
possible, by drawing himself along on his face, to elude the vigilance
of the Apaches, it would be clearly impossible to escape being discerned
by his own friends. At such a time, the entire company would be on the
look-out for just such insidious advances, and the chances were that he
would be taken for a savage and shot by his own friends.
Fred was compelled to do a good deal of thinking, and the conclusion he
came to was the next best possible to reach. Clearly, the wiser course
was for him to remain where he was for the time being. So long as
darkness remained, it was comparatively easy for him to keep concealed,
and, while the situation could not have grown any worse, with the
passage of the night, the chances were that it would improve, as the way
for a safe run across the exposed area would have shown itself in due
time. But it was natural that the boy should become impatient, and he
easily persuaded himself that his position became more critical each
moment.
He decided to make a run straight for the larger building, depending
not upon concealment but upon speed. He expected to be fired at, and
probably chased by some of the Apaches, but there was a reasonable
chance of his escaping both. The distance was short, and he was sure to
gain a good start at the beginning; but his main reliance was upon his
being recognized by his friends, who would cover his flight. Having
decided upon this course, he did not delay its execution a moment, since
delay foreboded so much.
Breathing a prayer to heaven to guide him safely, he drew in a deep
breath, and, leaping full into the moonlit space, started through his
fiery gauntlet.
For a second or two the tomb-like silence continued, and then he heard
several hoarse, crow-like calls, which he knew were made by the Apaches.
Then came several rifle reports, but he was not injured. It showed,
however, that his flight had been discovered. Fred had nothing to do,
however, but to run, and he put on the utmost speed to which he
could force himself, straining every nerve in the hope of making the
log-house, which seemed to recede as he advanced.
Silence succeeded the shots and shouts, and the heart of the young
fugitive was throbbing with a wild hope, when a noise caused him to look
over his shoulder. To his horror, he perceived an Indian runner on foot,
and within a dozen feet, bearing down upon him with the speed of the
wind. The poor lad felt as if weighed down by a horrible nightmare, but
he bent to his work with the desperation of despair.
It was useless.
His speed was not one half as great as that of the trained Apache, who
bounded forward like a panther, and the next instant griped his horny
fingers in the arm of Fred, who uttered a wail, and sank like one dying.
At that moment, the sharp, penetrating crack of a rifle came from the
direction of the large building, and the warrior, with an ear-splitting
screech, threw up his hands, and fell backward.
“Run, you young beaver! Thar's a chance for you yet!”
The ringing voice of Sut Simpson, aroused the boy, who, finding himself
loose from the grasp of the Indian, bounded forward again. But he had
scarcely done so, when the tramp of horses' hoofs were heard, and a
warrior, more daring than the others, sent his mustang forward with
arrowy swiftness, not behind the lad, but directly in front of him, so
that he was compelled to turn to one side, in the attempt to dodge him.
Detecting his purpose, a fusilade of rifles was kept up from the houses,
but the Apache seemed to escape them all; and, throwing himself on the
opposite side of the horse, so as to interpose the body of the latter
between himself and his enemies, and, without checking his speed, he
reached down, and catching the bewildered lad, dashed up the slope,
bearing him away in triumph.