Stirred by the increasing boldness of the Indians, Stanley returned
with his party to Medicine Bend to take further measures for the
defence of the railroad men.
Bucks, when he reported to Baxter, the train despatcher, found new
orders waiting for him. He was directed to take charge of the station
at Goose Creek. The train did not leave till night, and Bucks took
advantage of the interval to go uptown to make some necessary
purchases of linen and clothing. On his way back to the station,
with his package under his arm, he saw, on the edge of the broad
sidewalk, Harvey Levake. Levake was standing near a wooden-Indian
cigar-store sign, looking directly at Bucks as the latter walked
toward him. The operator, nodding as he came up, asked Levake,
without parley, whether he would give him the money for the
express charges on the cartridges.
If Bucks had exploded a keg of powder on the sidewalk there could not
have been a greater change in the outlaw's manner. He stared at Bucks
with contempt enough to pierce the feelings of the wooden Indian
beside which he stood.
"What's that?" he demanded, throwing his head menacingly forward.
Bucks repeated his request, but so mildly that Levake took additional
umbrage at his diffidence.
"See here," he muttered in a voice beginning like a distant roll of
thunder and gathering force and volume as he continued, "don't insult
me."
Bucks ventured to urge that he intended no insult.
"Don't insult me!" bellowed Levake in violent tones.
Again Bucks attempted to protest. It was useless. Levake insisted with
increasing wrath upon hugging the insult to himself, while Bucks
struggled manfully to get it away from him. And as Levake's loud words
did not attract as much attention up and down the street as he sought,
he stamped about on the sidewalk. Bucks's efforts to pacify him made
matters momentarily worse.
Meantime a crowd such as Levake desired had gathered and Bucks found
himself a target for the outlaw's continued abuse, with nobody to take
his part. Moreover, the expressions on the faces about him now made
him realize his peril quite as much as anything in Levake's words. It
was becoming painfully evident that the onlookers were merely waiting
to see Levake shoot him down.
"No man in Medicine Bend can insult me and live," cried Levake,
winding up a tirade of abuse. "I'm known from one end of this street
to the other. Nobody can spread lies in it about me."
He drew and flourished a revolver as he spoke. None in the crowd
interfered with so much as a word. But even before the outlaw had
finished what he was saying, a man of medium size and easy manner
elbowed his way quietly through the circle of spectators, and, taking
Bucks by the arm, drew him back and faced Levake himself. It was Bob
Scott.
"What's all this about, Levake?" demanded Scott gently.
Levake had no alternative but to turn his wrath upon the Indian scout.
Yet those who knew him perceived that it was done without much stomach
for the job. Instead of growing momentarily greater the violence of
his abuse now grew steadily less, and the thunder in his tones rolled
further and further from the subject.
Half-turning to Bucks, Scott laid his hand on his arm again. "Excuse
me," said he, deliberately and quietly, "but you are wanted quick at
the station. They are waiting for you. Go right along, will you?"
Only too glad to get away and comprehending Scott's ruse, Bucks
exclaimed, "Why, of course, certainly," and stepping quickly into the
crowd walked away.
Turning again to Levake, Scott made no effort to check the torrent of
his words. In consequence, the gambler found himself embarrassed by
the prospect of talking himself out. This would not have been so bad
except that his circle of admirers would, when he stopped talking,
expect him to do something and he was now at a loss to decide just
what to do. To shoot down Bucks was rather a different matter from a
pistol duel with Scott.
None of the street loafers about the two men knew Scott, nor did any
of them know that Levake had a prudent respect for Scott's trigger. As
for Scott himself, a smile of contempt gradually covered his face as
he listened to Levake's outbreak. He only waited patiently for the
moment, which he knew must come, when Levake should cease talking.
"Your tongue, Levake," returned Scott at last, "is longer than a
coyote's. Why do you stand here and bellow about being insulted? What
is all this noise about, anyway? These fellows," a contemptuous nod
indicated the men standing around, "all know, if you don't. You've
been talking loud so you could get a crowd together and advertise
yourself by shooting an unarmed boy, haven't you?"
The desperado broke out in fresh denials and curses, but he feared
the ridicule of the Indian would bring the laughter of his admirers
down on him. Nor was he keen to try a pistol duel. He remembered too
well the attack he had once headed on an emigrant train that Scott was
guarding, and from which the outlaws with Levake had carried away some
unexpected and unwelcome bullets.
Scott, now taunting Levake openly, stepped directly in front of him.
But the latter waved him away. "I'll settle my differences with you
when I'm ready," he muttered. "If that fellow," he added, indicating
Bucks, who was making record time across the square, "behaves himself,
I'll let this go. If he doesn't, I'll fill him full of lead."
"When you do," retorted Scott, "remember just one thing--that I'm
going to fill you full, Levake. Don't forget that."
Scott stepped backward. The crowd parted to let him through and Levake
walked sullenly toward the cigar store.
Bucks wiped the perspiration from his forehead when he reached the
station and drew a long breath. He waited until Scott crossed the
square and joined him. The Indian only laughed when Bucks tried to
thank him. "It is nothing," he said, "you are getting experience. Only
don't tackle that man again till you give me notice beforehand."
The next morning Bucks installed himself at Goose Creek.
Goose Creek was a mere operating point and besides the rough wooden
station, with an attic sleeping-room for the operator, boasted only a
house for the section crew--six men taken care of by a China boy cook.
East of the station stood an old road ranch belonging to Leon
Sublette. For this, freight was at times unloaded and an Indian trail
to the south led through the sand-hills as far as the Arickaree
country. North of the river greater sand-hills stretched as far as the
eye could reach. The long, marshy stretches of the Nebraska River lost
themselves on the eastern and the western horizon and at times clouds
of wild fowl obscured the sun in their flight across the sky.
Dancing came down to the new station to complete the instalment of the
instruments and this broke for a day or two the loneliness of the new
surroundings. Indeed, there was hardly time to be lonely. The constant
round of interest attending the arrival of trains with their long
halts, visits from trappers living at the ranch who were always ready
to talk, and occasional calls from friendly Pawnees from the south,
together with abundance of time for hunting the geese and ducks, made
the days go.
But one early summer morning Bucks woke to an adventure not upon his
daily programme. He walked downstairs after dressing, and as he
stepped out on the platform the sand-hills touched by the rising sun
shone in the northwest like mountains of gold. Looking at them he saw
to his surprise they were covered with black objects that appeared to
be moving.
Indians were first in his mind, and in his alarm he ran all the way to
the section-house where the foreman, after a hasty study of the hills,
explained that the suspicious-looking objects were buffaloes.
This information only added to Bucks's excitement. The China boy cook,
Lee Ong, at the section-house appeared equally stirred at the
situation and, after running in and out of the kitchen with much
fluttering of cue and clattering of wooden shoes, promised Bucks a
buffalo steak for dinner if he would bring in a hindquarter.
By the time Bucks had finished breakfast the whole country to the
north was black with buffaloes. For hours they poured over the divide
to the delight of the astonished boy, and after a time he wired Baxter
at Medicine Bend that a herd of at least one million buffaloes was
crossing the railroad at Goose Creek. As the grave despatcher seemed
not greatly excited by this intelligence, Bucks followed up the story
at intervals with vivid details. A wag on the wire in Medicine Bend
played upon his enthusiasm by demanding frequent bulletins, even going
so far as to ask the names of the leading buffaloes in the herd. When
he had got all the laughs possible for the office out of the youthful
operator, he wired Bucks that if the herd should linger too long on
the right-of-way he must notify them that they would be held as
trespassers.
This message had hardly reached Goose Creek when the China boy came
running into the telegraph office. His eyes were staring, and his face
was greenish-white with fright. "Indians!" he exclaimed, running to
Bucks's side and dashing back again to the west window.
Bucks sprang to his feet. "Where?"
Lee Ong pointed to the northern sand-hills. Riding the broad slopes
that led toward the river, Bucks saw a long string of braves,
evidently a hunting party. The cook, beside himself with fear, ran out
of the station before Bucks could stop him.
"Hi there, Lee," cried the operator, running after him. "Where are the
section men?"
"Gone," cried Lee Ong, not ceasing to run, "all gone!" He pointed,
with the words, to the east.
"Tell them to bring the hand-car down here!"
"Too much gone," shouted Ong. "Omaha!"
"Lee! Stop! Where are you going?"
Lee stopped only long enough to throw his right arm and forefinger
with an excited gesture toward the west.
"San Francisco, San Francisco!" he cried.
"Why, Lee," exclaimed Bucks running after him, "hold on! You are
crazy! San Francisco is fifteen hundred miles from here." This
information did not visibly move Ong. "Indian no good," he cried,
pausing, but only long enough to wave both hands wildly toward the
sand-hills. "San Francisco good. No some more cook here. Indian come
too quick"--Ong with his active finger girdled the crown of his head
in a lightning-like imitation of a scalping knife--"psst! No good for
Ong!"
It would have seemed funny to Bucks if he had not been already
frightened himself. But if the section men had fled with the hand-car
it meant he would have to face the Indians. Lee Ong, running like mad,
was already out of hearing, and in any event Bucks had no wish to
imperil the poor China boy's scalp with his own.
He turned an anxious eye toward the sand-hills. Then realizing that on
the platform he was exposing himself needlessly, he hastened inside to
his key and called up Medicine Bend. It was only a moment, but it
seemed to the frightened operator a lifetime before the despatcher
answered. Bucks reported the Indians and asked if there were any
freight trains coming that he could make his escape on.
The despatcher answered that No. 11, the local freight, was then due
at Goose Creek and would pick him up and carry him to Julesburg if he
felt in danger. Bucks turned with relief to the east window and saw
down the valley the smoke of the freight already in sight. Never had a
freight train looked so good to his eyes as it did at that moment. He
hailed its appearance with a shout and looked apprehensively back
toward the sand-hills.
The activity in that direction was not reassuring. The Indians, too,
apparently had noticed the smoke of No. 11 trailing on the horizon. A
conference followed, illustrated by frequent pointing and violent
gesticulating to indicate the coming train. Then with a sudden
resolve the whole party rode rapidly out of the hills and down toward
the railroad.
Bucks's heart misgave him as he watched. But the cotton-woods growing
along the river hid the Indians from his eyes and he could not surmise
what they were doing. The information all went to the despatcher,
however, who, more experienced, scented serious mischief when Bucks's
bulletins now came in.
"Watch close," he wired. "It looks as if they were going to attack the
train."
The operator's anxiety rose with the intimation. He ran out of doors
and down the track, but he could neither hear nor see a thing except
the slow-moving train with the smoke puffing from the awkward,
diamond-stack locomotive moving peacefully toward the cotton-woods
that fringed the eastern shore of Goose Creek. The very silence seemed
ominous. Bucks knew the Indians were hidden somewhere in the
cotton-woods and felt that they could mean nothing but mischief. He
ran back to his key and reported.
"They will surely attack No. 11," he wired. "I will run across the
bridge and warn them."
"Where are the Indians?" demanded the despatcher.
"In the timber across the creek. I am starting."
"Don't be an idiot," returned the despatcher, with an expression of
Western force and brevity. "They will lift your hair before you get
half-way to the train. Stick to your key as long as you can. If they
start to cross the creek, leg it for the ranch. Do you get me?"
Bucks, considerably flurried, answered that he did, and the despatcher
with renewed emphasis reiterated his sharp inquiry. "Do you
understand, young fellow? If they start to cross the creek, leg it for
the ranch or you'll lose your hair."
Bucks strained his eyes looking for a sign of movement across the
bridge. The cotton-woods swayed gently in the light breeze, but
revealed nothing of what they hid.
The freight train continued to crawl lazily along, its crews quite
unconscious of any impending fate. Bucks, smothering with excitement
and apprehension, saw the engine round the curve that led to the
trestle approach of the bridge. Then the trees hid the train from his
sight.
"What are they doing?" demanded the despatcher, growing apprehensive
himself. An appalling crash from the woods electrified Bucks, and the
key rattled fast.
"They have wrecked the train," he wired without an instant's
hesitation. "I can hear the crash of cars falling from the trestle."
Before he could finish his message he heard also the screech of an
engine whistle. The next instant the locomotive dashed out of the
woods upon the bridge at full speed and with cries of disappointment
and rage the savages rode out to the very bank of the creek and into
the water after it. Bucks saw the sudden engine and thought at first
that the train had escaped. The next moment he knew it had not. The
engine was light: evidently it had passed in safety the trap laid for
its destruction, but the cars following had left the rails.
If confirmation of this conclusion had been needed, it came when he
ran out upon the platform as the engine approached. Bucks waved
vigorous signals at it, but the ponderous machine came faster instead
of slower as it neared the station, and, with Bucks vainly trying to
attract the attention of the engineman or fireman, the locomotive
thundered past at forty miles an hour.
He caught one glimpse through the tender gangway as the engine dashed
by and saw both men in the cab crouching in front of the furnace door
to escape the fancied bullets of the savages. Bucks shouted, but knew
he had been neither seen nor heard, and, as the engine raced into the
west, his best chance of escape from an unpleasant situation had
disappeared almost before he realized it.
Each detail was faithfully reported to the despatcher, who answered at
once.
"Relief train," he wired, "now making up with a hundred men. Hold on
as long as you can, but take no chances. What are they doing? Can you
see or hear them?"
"They are yelling so you could hear them a mile."
"Scout around a little," directed the despatcher, "but don't get
caught."
Bucks scouted around the room a little, but did not venture this time
farther than the windows. He was growing very nervous. And the
Indians, unrestrained in their triumph, displayed themselves
everywhere without concealment. Helpless to aid, Bucks was compelled
to stand and see a fleeing white man, the brakeman of the doomed
train, running for his life, cut down by the pursuers and scalped
before his eyes.
The horror and savagery of it sank deeply into the boy's heart and
only the realization of his utter inability to help kept him quiet.
Tears of fury coursed down his cheeks as he saw in the distance the
murdered man lying motionless on the sand beside the track, and with
shaking fingers he reported the death to Medicine Bend.
"The relief train has started," answered the despatcher, "with
Stanley, Scott, Sublette, Dancing, and a hundred men."
As the message came, Bucks heard shooting farther up the creek and
this continued at intervals for some moments. It was sickening to
hear, for it meant, Bucks surmised, that another trainman was being
murdered.
Meantime the Indians that he could see were smashing into the wrecked
merchandise cars and dragging the loot out upon the open prairie.
Hats, clothing, tobacco, provisions, camp supplies of every sort, and
musical instruments, millinery, boots, and blankets were among the
plunder. The wearing apparel was tumbled out of the broken cases and,
arrayed in whatever they could seize, the Indians paraded on their
horses up and down the east bank of the creek in fantastic show.
Some wore women's hats, some crinoline hoop-skirts over their
shoulders; others brandished boots and shirts, and one glistening
brave swung a banjo at arm's-length over his flying horse's head.
Another party of the despoilers discovered a shipment of silks and
satins. These they dragged in bolts from the packing-cases and, tying
one end of a bolt of silk to their ponies' tails, they raced,
yelling, in circles around the prairie with the parti-colored silks
streaming behind, the bolts bobbing and jerking along the ground like
rioting garlands of a crazy May-pole dance. And, having exhausted
their ingenuity and robed themselves in this wise in all manner of
plunder, they set fire to the wrecked train, singing and dancing in
high glee as the flames rose crackling above the trees.
Bucks, with clenched hands, watched and prayed for the arrival of the
speeding relief train. The moments passed with leaden feet and the
train had many miles to come. The despatcher continued his encouraging
messages, but did not cease his words of caution, and, as the wreckage
burned, Bucks perceived the Indians were riding in great numbers up
the creek. Too late he realized what it meant. They were looking for
the ford and were about to cross to his side.