LONE WOLF'S TACTICS.
Mickey O'Rooney gave a yell of defiance as he vanished from view, horse
and rider unharmed by the scattering shots which followed them, even after
they were lost to sight. It was well and bravely done, and yet it would
have failed altogether but for the wonderful cunning and shrewd courage of
Simpson, who had kept close to the heels of the flying horse. It was when
the crisis came--when the Apaches were closing around the fugitive, and it
seemed inevitable that he should reap the natural reward of his own
foolhardiness that Sut had acted. When the warriors were confident of
their success, he discharged his rifle with marvelous quickness, and with
a more important result than the mere tumbling over of his man.
There was a momentary check, a sudden stoppage, lasting but a few seconds,
when the foe rallied and made for the fugitive. But that brief interval of
time was precisely what was needed, and it secured the safety of Mickey
and his steed. It mattered not that Sut Simpson as good as threw away his
life by his chivalrous act. He knew that full well, while awaiting the
opportunity, as much as he did when he raised his faithful weapon and
discharged it into the group.
The moment the piece was fired he knew that his mission was accomplished,
and he began a retreat, moving stealthily and rapidly backward, for the
purpose of getting beyond the range of the redskins before they should
fairly recover from the escape of the horseman. But events were proceeding
rather too rapidly. Before he could cover any appreciable distance, the
baffled wretches turned upon him and it was flight or fight, or, more
likely, both.
The Apaches were brave, they knew the character of the dreaded scout and
they were not desirous of rushing, one after another, to their doom. Sut
was certain that, if he should turn and run, the howling horde would be at
his heels. The instant there should appear any possibility of his escape,
they would all open upon him, and it was impossible that any such good
fortune should attend him as had marked the flight of Mickey. It was his
purpose, therefore, to keep up his retreat with his face to his foe,
forcing all to maintain their distance, until he could reach the side of
the ravine, where, possibly, a sudden desperate effort might enable him to
outwit the redskins.
The scout had not yet been given time in which to reload his piece, but
the uncertainty whether it contained another charge prevented them from
making an impetuous rush upon him. Besides, they knew that he carried a
formidable knife, and, like every border character, he was a professor of
the art of using it. All at once it occurred to Sut that he might thin out
his assailants by the use of his revolver. If he could drop three or four,
or more, and then follow it up with a savage onslaught, he believed he
could open the way. He felt for the weapon, and was terribly disappointed
to find it gone.
He recalled that he had given it to Fred Munson when he was left alone
with the mustang. So, as he had nothing but his knife, he placed his hand
upon the haft, glaring defiantly at his enemies, while he continued
walking slowly backward, and gradually edging toward the side of the
grove. But Apaches were plenty in that latitude, and the business had
scarcely opened when three or four warriors commenced a stealthy approach
upon the scout from the rear. He glanced hastily over his shoulder several
times, while slowly retreating, to guard against this very danger; but the
Indians, seeing the point for which the fugitive was making, ensconced
themselves near it and waited.
At the moment Sut placed his hand upon the knife, he was within twenty
feet of the three Indians crouching in the grass, with no suspicion of
their proximity. One of them arose to his feet, quietly swung a coiled
lasso about his head (the distance being so slight that no great effort
was necessary), and then with great dexterity dropped it over the head of
the unsuspicious scout, inclosing his arms, when he jerked it taut with
the suddenness of lightning.
A few seconds only were necessary for Sut to free himself, but ere those
seconds could be taken advantage of, he was drawn over backward. The
entire party sprang upon him and seized his gun and knife.
"Skulp me, if this don't look as though I'd made a slip of it this time!"
muttered Sut, as he bounded like lightning to his feet. "When yer varmints
undertake a job of this kind, yer show that yer ain't no slouches, but
have a good knowledge of the business."
As if anxious to deserve the complimentary opinion of their distinguished
prisoner, they coiled the lasso again and again about him, until he was
fastened by a dozen rounds and was no more able to contend against his
captors then if he were an infant.
As all the warriors recognized the prisoner, their delight was something
extraordinary. They danced about him in the most grotesque and frantic
manner, screeching, yelling, and indulging in all sorts of tantalizing
gestures and signs at Simpson, who was unable to resist them or help
himself.
There was a certain dignity in the carriage of Sut under these trying
circumstances. Instead of replying by taunts to the taunts of his enemies,
he maintained silence, permitting them to wag on to their heart's content.
It was wonderful how rapidly the tidings of the capture spread. The
hootings and yellings that marked the rejoicings of the party were heard
by those who were further away, and they signaled it to the warriors
beyond. The redskins came from every direction, and, within half an hour
from the time Sut Simpson was lassoed, there must have been nearly a
hundred Apaches gathered around him. These all continued their frantic
rejoicings, while, as before, the prisoner remained silent.
His eyes were wandering over the company in search of Lone Wolf, their
great leader; but that redoubtable chieftain was nowhere to be seen. Sut
was certain that he was somewhere near at hand, and must know of all that
had happened on this spot.
Did Simpson expect anything like mercy from the Apaches? Not a whit of it.
He had fought them too long, had inflicted too much injury, and understood
them too thoroughly to look for anything of the kind. Besides, even if he
was innocent of having ever harmed a redskin, he would not have received
the slightest indulgence at their hands. The Apaches are like all the rest
of their species, in their inherent opposition to mercy on general
principles.
The afternoon was well spent, and, as a means of occupying his mind until
his case was disposed of, he set himself speculating as to what their
precise intentions were. Being quite familiar with the Apache tongue, he
caught the meaning of many of their expressions; but for a considerable
time these were confined to mere exultations over his capture. The
excitement was too great for anything like deliberation, or concerted
council.
"It may be the skunks are waitin' fur Lone Wolf," he muttered, as he stood
with his arms bound to his side. "They wouldn't dare to do much without
axing him, though I 'spose they might a skulp any man wharever they got
the chance, without stopping to ax questions. Helloa! thar he comes!"
This exclamation was caused by the sudden turning of heads, and a sort of
hush that fell upon the group for the moment, close to the approach of
someone on horseback. It was already so close to dusk that he could not be
identified until he came closer, when Sut was surprised to find that it
was not the chieftain, after all. It was a man altogether different in
appearance, probably a subordinate chief, who had performed some daring
deed which had won him the admiration of his comrades. The indications,
too, were that he brought interesting news about something.
"That varmint has been away somewhar," concluded Sut, carefully noting
everything, "and they expect him to tell something worth hearin', and I
guess they're about kerrect, so I'll see what I kin do in the way of
listening myself."
The scout was right in his supposition. The Indian was the _avant courier_
of a party three or four times as great as that which had gathered about
him in the ravine. His companions had separated and gone in other
directions, while he, learning the course taken by his chief, Lone Wolf,
had hastened to report directly to him.
Sut Simpson suspected what all this meant. He saw a number of scalps
hanging at the girdle of the Apache, and he had not listened long when his
fears where more than confirmed. The embryo town of New Boston, planted in
the valley of the Rio Pecos, was no more. Repulsed bloodily at the first,
Lone Wolf had gathered together the best of his warriors, placed them
under one of his youngest and most daring chiefs, and sent them forth with
orders to clean out the settlement that had been planted so defiantly in
the heart of their country. And now this chief had returned to say that
the work had been completed, precisely as commanded.
"I knowed it war coming," muttered the scout. "I told that Barnwell that
Lone Wolf would bounce him afore he knowed what the the matter was, and I
urged 'em to make for Fort Severn, which war only fifty miles away, and
save their top-knots. He did not say so, but I could see he thought I war
a big fool, and now he's found out who the fool was. Wonder whether any of
the poor cusses got away? Thar couldn't have been much chance. 'Twon't do
to ax this rooster, cause he wouldn't be likely to answer me, and, if he
did, he would be sartin' to tell me a lot of lies."
The young chief having communicated his good tidings, and exchanged
congratulations with those about him, started his mustang forward, heading
him directly up the ravine or pass. This brought him within arm's length
of the scout, who was standing mute and motionless. The redskin drew up
his horse and stared fixedly at him, as if, for the moment, uncertain of
his identity.
"I'm Sut Simpson, the man that has slain so many Apache warriors that he
cannot number them," said the scout, with a view of helping the Indian to
recognize him.
There was no real braggadocio about this. As Sut could not hide his
personality, the best plan for him was to make an open avowal, backed up
by a rather high-sounding vaunt. This was more pleasing to the Indians,
who were addicted to the most extravagant kind of expression.
Rather curiously, the young chief made no reply. The observation of the
prisoner seemed to have settled all doubts that were in his mind, and
perhaps he was desirous of seeing Lone Wolf without any further delay. His
steed struck into a rapid gallop, and speedily vanished in the gloom,
leaving the captive with the howling hundred.
Sut was brave, but there was a certain feeling of disappointment that
began to make itself felt. Although he would not have admitted it, yet the
termination of the recent meeting with Lone Wolf, had led him to hope, not
that the chieftain would liberate him, but that he would give him some
kind of a show for his life--an opportunity, no matter how desperate, in
which he might make a fight for his existence. He had spared Lone Wolf
when he was at his mercy, refusing to fight the chief because he was so
disabled that his defeat was assured. It would seem that the chief, in
return, might offer the scout a chance to fight some of the best warriors;
and such probably would have been the case with any set of people except
the American Indians. The absence of Lone Wolf impressed Sut very
unfavorably. He believed the chief meant to remain away until after his
important prisoner was killed.
By the time night was descended, the wild rejoicing in a great measure
ceased. One of the Apaches started a fire, and the others lent their
assistance. A roaring, crackling flame lit up a large area of the ravine,
revealing the figure of every savage, as well as that of the scout, who,
having grown weary of continual standing, seated himself upon the ground.
Had Sut possessed the use of his arms, he would have made an effort to get
away at this time. A short run would have carried him to the place which
he had in mind at the time he began his retreat. Without the aid of his
hands, however, he was certain to be entrapped again, so he concluded to
remain where he was, with the hope that something more inviting would
present itself.
The frontiersman never despairs; and, although it was difficult to figure
out the basis of much hope in the present case, yet Sut held on, and
determined to do so to the end. He made several cautious tests of his
bonds, but the lariat of buffalo-hide was wound around his arms so
continuously, and tied so well, that the strength of twenty men could not
have broken it. The exploit of cutting them by abrasion against a sharp
stone (which he had once done), could not be accomplished in the present
instance, for the reason that there was no suitable stone at hand, and he
was under too strict surveillance. And so it only remained for him to wait
and hope, and hold himself in readiness.
When the fire had crackled and flamed for a while, the Apaches clustered
in groups upon the ground, where they smoked and talked incessantly. They
seemed to be paying no attention to their prisoner, and yet they took
pains to group themselves around him in such a way that if he should
attempt flight he would be forced into collision with some of them. Sut
was surprised that as yet no indignity had been offered him. As the
Apaches had every reason to hate him with the very intensity of hatred, it
would have been in keeping with their character to have made his lot as
uncomfortable as possible.
"It'll come by-and-bye," he sighed, as the cramped position of his arms
pained him. "I don't know what they're waitin' fur. Mebbe they want to get
up such a high old time with me that they're writin' out a programme, and
have sent to New Orleans fur a band of music. Thar's nothing like doing
these things up in style, and I s'pose Lone Wolf means to honor me in that
way."
At a late hour, the moon arose, and the light penetrated the ravine, where
the strange, motley crowd congregated. The fire still burned, and no one
showed any disposition to sleep. By way of relief, the scout lay over upon
his side, and was looking up at the clear moon-lit sky when he heard the
tramp of horses, and immediately rose up again.
He saw the chieftain, whom he had observed a few hours before, as he came
in with his news of the destruction of New Boston, accompanied by two
others, all mounted. They rode up in such a position that they surrounded
the captive, who was suddenly lifted by a couple of Apaches, and placed
astride of the mustang in front of the young chief. The next minute the
quartette moved off.
"Skulp me! if I know what this means!" muttered Sut, who felt uneasy over
the new turn of affairs. "Things are getting sort of mixed just now."
He hoped that he would learn something of the purpose of the three
redskins from their conversation as they rode along; but unfortunately for
that hope, they did not exchange a word. When they had ridden a fourth of
a mile, Sut caught the flash of a knife in the chieftain's hand. The next
instant, it moved swiftly along his back, and the lariat was cut in many
pieces. The arms of the scout were freed, although for some minutes they
were so benumbed that he could scarcely move them.
What did all this mean? Fully another quarter of a mile was ridden in
silence, when the three halted, and Sut felt that the critical moment had
arrived. The chief dismounted from the horse, leaving the scout seated
thereon. One of the others reached over and handed him his own gun, while
the third passed him back his long knife.
"Wall, if I'm to fight all three of yer, sail in!" called out Sut,
gathering himself for a charge from them.
They made no reply. The chief vaulted upon one of the other horses, behind
the warrior, and, as he did so, a fourth figure advanced and leaped upon
the other, so that there were two Indians upon each mustang. The scout
scrutinized the new comer, as well as he could in the moonlight.
Yes, there was no mistake about his identity. It was Lone Wolf, who
remained as silent as the others.
The heads of the mustangs were turned down the ravine again, and they
struck into a gallop, the sound of their hoofs coming back fainter and
more faintly, until they died in the night. Sut Simpson was free, and free
without a fight, as he realized, when he gave his horse the word, and he
dropped into an easy gait in a direction opposite to that taken by the
Apaches.