ANOTHER FEATHER FOR BOB'S CAP.
The second diversion of which we have spoken occurred about an hour
after Lieutenant Earle's courier left them. It was nothing more nor less
than the discovery of the fact that the party of whom they were in
pursuit had been joined by another warrior, whose pony's tracks came
from the direction in which the lieutenant was supposed to be scouting.
Bob and his men did not seem to attach much importance to this, but
George did. He looked the ground over very carefully, and reached
conclusions that astonished himself.
"Bob Owens," said he in a low tone as they resumed the march, "you've
got another chance to put a feather in your hat--a big one, too.
Lieutenant Earle will never rescue Mr. Wentworth's boys, but you can if
you're smart."
Bob, who always listened in the greatest amazement (and with some
incredulity, too, it must be confessed) to his friend's predictions,
could only look the surprise he felt. How any one, by simply looking at
a pony's track, could tell what a party of men whom he had never seen
were going to do, he could not understand.
"To begin with," continued George, "our Indians expected to have an
addition made to their party, and they expected also that it would be
made just where it _was_ made. How do I know that? By the looks of
things. The ponies were all huddled together in one place, and they must
have stood there a good while, judging by the stamping they did. Their
riders must have dismounted there, for I saw the prints of their
moccasins in the sand. I noticed also that the side of the nearest
sandhill had been disturbed, and that told me that one of their number
had climbed up there to watch for the expected warrior."
"Perhaps he was watching for us," suggested Bob.
"If he was, he wouldn't have watched for us with his feet, would he?"
demanded George.
"'With his feet'?" echoed Bob.
"Yes. He would have been more likely to watch for us with his eyes."
"How do you know that he didn't?"
"Because he climbed up on our side of the hill, and that would have
exposed his whole body to our view if we had been anywhere within sight
of him. His eyes were turned the other way; that is, in Lieutenant
Earle's direction. He wasn't afraid of being seen by us, but he took all
due precautions to conceal himself from the gaze of any one who might
happen to come that way from Lieutenant Earle's command; for near the
place where the ponies were standing I saw the tufts of grass he had
pulled up to tie around his head."
"Well, I am beat!" exclaimed Bob.
"What beats you?"
"You do: I didn't see any of those things."
"Probably you didn't, for the reason that you didn't look for them. You
see, I have passed a good many years on the Plains, and I have learned
that eternal vigilance is the price of a cowboy's life and liberty. When
his scalp depends upon the correct reading of such signs as those which
I have just described to you, he is not often caught napping. My long
association with Zeke, whose eyes seemed to be everywhere, has got me
into the habit of keeping my own eyes open. Probably there were other
things there that would have been perfectly plain to Zeke or Mountain
Mose which I didn't see.
"Now, of course I don't _know_ that this new warrior brought Mr.
Wentworth's children with him when he came over to join our Indians, but
everything seems to point that way. One of the proofs--and the
strongest, in my humble opinion--is found in the fact that the Indians
allowed their captives to dismount on the banks of that stream the
courier told us of. I am inclined to believe that they went farther than
that, and compelled the boys to walk in the mud and leave their tracks
there."
"I don't see why they did that," observed Bob. "I should think they
would want to keep everybody from knowing where the boys were."
"So they would if they had intended to keep the boys with them, but they
did not. This is their plan, as near as I can get at it; and in order to
make my explanation clearer I will call the party of which Lieutenant
Earle is in pursuit No. 1, that which we want to find No. 2, and that
the captain is following up No. 3. The warriors in No. 1 are doubtless
the best mounted of all the raiders. When they separated from the main
body they left a broad trail, so that they could be easily followed,
taking the children with them, and leaving now and then a sign of their
presence, for no other purpose than to coax the captain to follow them
with his whole force. As soon as they reached a piece of rocky ground,
where a pony's feet would leave no track, one of their number picked up
the boys and brought them over here, where party No. 2 was waiting for
him. Those he left behind will show themselves to Lieutenant Earle
occasionally, and perhaps open a little fight with him, just to induce
him to continue the pursuit. Party No. 3 will drive the stock ahead as
fast as possible, and get away with it if they can; but if they find
that they are likely to be overtaken, they will drop the cattle and do
everything they can to keep the captain on their trail, so as to give
party No. 2 a chance to escape with the prisoners. Now, that's a long
story, and no doubt it is a hard one to believe; but I don't think I am
far from right when I tell you that it is quite in your power to carry
off the honors of this expedition. Captain Clinton will have his hands
full until he recovers that stock; so will Lieutenant Earle as long as
he follows those will-o'-the-wisps in front of him; and to you will be
left the duty, as well as the privilege, of looking out for the safety
of Mr. Wentworth's little boys."
"Whew!" panted Bob, who was very much impressed, although not wholly
convinced, by his companion's clear and forcible reasoning. "Then I am
the chief man in this scout, am I? Suppose--I say, just _suppose_--I
should be lucky enough to rescue those boys alive and unharmed, what
would the fellows say? What would Mr. Wentworth say?"
"The boys would cheer you, and you would win Mr. Wentworth's everlasting
gratitude," replied George. "But, Bob, the prisoners have not been
rescued yet, and I warn you that unless you are as sly as a fox you will
be the means of their death. If the Indians discover you, and find
themselves unable to escape, their very first act will be to kill those
boys."
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Bob, dropping his reins upon the horn of his
saddle and pulling off his cap with one hand while he scratched his head
vigorously with the other. "_Good_ gracious! The captain never thought
of that when he sent me off with this squad, did he? George, the
responsibility is too heavy for me. I think I'll ask the captain where
he is, and then go and report to him."
"That wouldn't be a very smart trick," protested George. "You would not
only be taken to task for wasting valuable time, but the Indians, seeing
a smoke that they couldn't understand arise on their trail, would take
the alarm at once, and you would lose a fine chance of distinguishing
yourself."
"Don't you suppose they saw the smoke that Lieutenant Earle sent up?"
"Of course they did--the captain's too. Those same smokes were a good
thing for us, for I am of the opinion that they threw our party off
their guard by leading them to believe they are not pursued. You mustn't
send up a smoke along this trail if you want to catch those Indians.
What are your orders, anyhow?"
"To follow the trail until I am recalled or until the Indians throw me
off entirely," replied Bob.
"Then don't you see that you would be disobeying orders by marching your
squad back to the column without a recall?" asked George. "You would
surely get yourself into trouble by doing that, and besides, you would
be hauled over the coals for not taking better care of your men and
horses. They couldn't stand twenty miles more to-night without a rest,
and how much of a rest could they get here in this oven, with no grass
or water? Don't do it, Bob."
"But the prisoners--just think of the prisoners!" exclaimed the
perplexed corporal. "I don't want to feel that I am responsible for any
harm that may befall them."
"I don't see how you are going to shirk it."
"Well, will you take command?"
"Certainly not," answered George quickly. "Don't confess your incapacity
by surrendering your authority. Besides, a scout never commands--he only
advises; and I will help you in that way all I can. Go on, and say that
you will do your best."
"I will," said Bob, slamming his cap upon his head and seating himself
firmly in his saddle. "If we can only place ourselves in a position to
cover those boys, the Indians will not have a chance to touch them, I'll
bet you. My men are all good marksmen."
"And I am a tolerable one myself," said George. "A single hair of those
boys' heads is worth the lives of all the Indians that ever saw the
Staked Plains, and if it becomes necessary to shoot in their defence, I
am ready. There is a high sandhill, and if you will stop here for a few
minutes I will go up and see if I can discover anything."
Bob raised his hand to halt the squad, and George swung himself out of
his saddle. His first care was to lay aside his cap and rifle, and his
next to pull up a quantity of grass and weeds to be used as a screen.
With these in one hand and his field-glass in the other he crept slowly
to the top of the sandhill, and, holding the screen a few inches above
the ground, he pushed his field-glass under it and looked around.
"Aha!" was his mental exclamation, "I shall have good news to carry back
to the boys. There's a deep gully about five miles off, and there must
be a stream of water running through it, or else those willows would not
be growing there. I wish we had got here an hour earlier, for then I
should have had daylight to aid me in making my observations. The
Indians probably halted in that gully a few hours ago, and the question
to be decided now is--Hallo! If that isn't smoke rising among those
trees, what is it? And didn't that little cluster of bushes over there
on the top of that hill shift its position just now?"
George's heart beat wildly as he propounded these inquiries to himself.
He took another long look, and then with a very slow and gradual motion
he deposited his screen upon the sand and backed down to the plain. His
stealthy movements told the troopers that he had seen something.
"Corporal," said he as they rode up to him, "before you ask any
questions let me suggest that you order your men to remove their sabres
as quietly as possibly."
Bob quickly unhooked his own sabre from his belt, and looked at his men,
who made all haste to follow his example. They knew that there could be
but one reason for this order. A steel scabbard hanging by the side of a
careless rider will strike against his spurs with every step his horse
takes, or rattle against his leg as the trooper walks about, giving out
a clear ringing sound that will betray his presence to foes far less
watchful and sharp-eared than Indians.
"So we have run them into their holes, have we?" said Bob when he had
acted upon George's suggestion.
"That remains to be seen. They are camped about five miles from here,
and one of their lookouts is watching the trail."
The troopers looked at Bob as if to ask what he was going to do about
it, and Bob, who had as little idea of the orders he ought to give under
the circumstances as he had of the Greek language, looked at George. The
latter did not say anything, for he wanted the troopers to hold fast to
their belief that the corporal was able to act for himself in any and
every emergency; but he gave his friend a look that was plainly
understood.
"Dismount," commanded Bob; "we'll rest here until we can determine upon
something. Let every man keep fast hold of his horse, for a neigh from
one of them would make dough of our cake in a little less than no time.
Eat and whisper as much as you please, but--"
"Don't smoke," put in George.
"Oh, Moses!" ejaculated the troopers in subdued tones.
"An Indian will smell smoke from a pipe or a camp-fire a long distance,"
added George.
"Then keep your pipes in your pockets, where they can't do any
mischief," said Bob.--"George, I'd like to take a look at that camp."
George at once led the way up the hill, but when he neared the top he
said in a whisper,
"Perhaps you had better trust to my eyes instead of your own; not but
that you can see as far as I can, but you might be a little careless in
handling that screen, and the least false motion on your part would be
seen by that lookout, whose eyes are as good as a telescope."
"All right!" replied Bob, who wondered what he should have done if
George had not been there to advise him. "What shall we do?"
"Let me take another look, and then I will talk to you."
So saying, George crept back to the top of the hill and looked under his
screen as before. It was rapidly growing dark, but he could see that the
sentry still kept his position, and that the camp-fire was burning
brightly.
"They do not stand in the least fear of pursuit," said he as he backed
down to Bob's side, "but they have taken measures to prevent surprise,
as they always do when they are on the war-path."
"How long do you suppose that sentry will stay there?"
"Just as long as his friends stay in the gully. I do not mean by that
that this particular Indian will act as lookout all the time, but that
some member of the party will be constantly on the watch."
The first thing to be done was to decide upon a plan of operations, and
this took a good deal of hard thinking, for there was a good deal
depending upon it. George made the most of the suggestions, and Bob
accepted every one of them without argument. The camp was to be attacked
as soon as they could get within reach of it: both were agreed upon
that. Bob advised a surround, in order to prevent the escape of any of
the Indians; but George objected, urging as a reason for his objections
that no one but an Indian could work his way through those thick bushes
and trees without making a good deal of noise, and that would knock the
whole thing in the head.
"Don't be too ambitious," said he. "Don't try to grab too big a handful,
and so run the risk of losing everything. Keep your men near you, so
that you can have an eye on every one of them. Look out for the boys;
and if by so doing you give the Indians a chance to escape, as you will
most likely, let them go and welcome."
An immediate advance having been resolved upon, and the part that each
man was to play in the coming fight (provided the Indians decided to
make a fight of it) having been thoroughly discussed, Bob and his
companion returned to the place where they had left the troopers. The
former issued his orders in a few brief words, and in a very short space
of time eight barefooted men, armed only with their carbines and
revolvers, were drawn up in line ready to do his further bidding; while
the four troopers who were to be left behind to hold the horses and to
take care of the sabres, shoes and stockings which their lucky comrades
had thrown upon the ground, listened with as good grace as they could to
a few parting words from their corporal.
"Now, boys," said the latter, "keep quiet and don't smoke. We have been
following the trail of only five Indians, but we don't know how many may
have joined them since they went into camp; so you must hold yourselves
in readiness for any emergency. Keep a good lookout for the signal, and
if you don't see it by the time the moon rises, which will be about
midnight, take care of yourselves. Draw as straight a course for the
column as you can, and tell the boys, when you find them, that the reds
got the best of us while we were trying to do our duty. Good-bye.--Lead
on, George."
Although our hero had passed his life amid scenes of danger, and more
than once listened to the sound of hostile bullets (that was during the
"neighborhood row" of which we have spoken in the first volume of this
series), he had never before taken part in a scout after Indians, and it
may be readily imagined that Bob's parting words did not serve to
encourage him in any great degree. Bob seemed to think that there was a
possibility that their attempted surprise might end in utter defeat. The
bare thought was enough to make George's hair stand on end, but it did
not make him lose any of the sympathy he felt for the boy-captives or
falter in his resolve to do all he could toward effecting their release.
In obedience to Bob's order to "lead on" he raised his rifle to his
shoulder and glided off into the darkness, the troopers following in
single file. Before he had marched half a mile Bob hurried up and placed
himself by his side.
"Say, George," he whispered, "you are not going toward the camp. If you
follow this course, you will miss it by half a mile or more."
"I don't want to go toward the camp," was the reply. "We must circle
around so as to come up in the rear of that sentry, who, as I told you,
will stay on the top of that hill as long as his friends stay in the
gully."
"Do you think we can capture him without alarming the others?"
"We are not going to try; at least, I sha'n't advise it. If we can save
the boys, we ought to be satisfied. That sentry will dig out as soon as
he scents danger, and all we can do is to let him go."
"How awful still it is, and how fearful dark!" continued Bob. "I hope
you won't get confused and miss your way."
"There is no danger of that," replied George confidently. "I can see the
stars, and they are as good as a compass to me. I have often travelled
by them, and they have never fooled me yet."
"Where are the wolves, I wonder?" said Bob, who was so impatient and so
highly excited that he could not long hold his peace. "They keep up
their unearthly howls every night when we wish them a thousand miles
away, but now, when a yelp from one of them would be a relief, they
don't put in an appearance."
"And I am glad of it," said George. "Don't you know that a pack of
wolves are the best sentries a camping-party can have?"
Yes, Bob said he was aware of that fact.
"Well," continued George, "don't you see that the little breeze there is
stirring is blowing from us toward the camp? If there were any wolves
around, they would probably be on the other side of the gully, for it
would be a waste of time for them to prowl around here among these
sandhills, where they couldn't find even a rabbit to eat. The moment
they caught our wind they would scamper off, and then 'Good-bye,
prisoners.' I wish I knew where those Indians have staked out their
ponies, for I stand more in fear of them than I do of that sentry. If we
should get to windward of them, they would kick up a rumpus directly."
The longer Bob talked with George the more clearly the difficulties
attending his undertaking seemed to stand but before him, and the
greater grew his anxiety and impatience. If his attempt to surprise the
Indian camp failed, there was no telling when Mr. Wentworth's boys
would be heard of again. If it suited their captors to spare their
lives, they would doubtless be sold to some band who lived at a great
distance from the agency, and who would take the greatest pains to keep
their existence a profound secret. If they were ever given up at all, it
would only be after that particular band had been soundly thrashed for
some outrage, and then they would be brought forward as an element in
the "peace negotiations," their captors demanding a heavy ransom and
taking great credit to themselves for surrendering them. But this might
not happen for years, and during that time a great many things might
happen to the boys. They might become so completely broken down by cruel
treatment that their death would be a blessing, or else so thoroughly
infatuated with the Indian mode of life that, if left to themselves,
they would choose to go back to the wigwams of their savage masters
rather than return to the home of their father.
"It's now or never," said Bob to himself after he had thought the matter
over. "I don't wonder that Mr. Wentworth feels so spiteful, for if these
Indians are not killed during this scout, they will never be punished
for what they have done to him. The government is too tender-hearted to
touch them, and if Mr. Wentworth takes the law into his own hands, he
will be sure to suffer for it. They will go back to their agency to grow
fat on government grub and be kept warm in winter by government
blankets; and their agent, in order to prevent an investigation that
might take a few dollars out of his pocket, will be ready to swear that
they have never been off their reservation. I wonder how he would feel
if he saw his own children carried into captivity?"
For two long hours the weary troopers continued the march, stopping for
rest only when Bob and George climbed some sandhill to reconnoitre the
ground before them. The deep silence that brooded over the Staked Plains
was almost oppressive. The bare feet of the troopers gave out no sound
as they sank into the yielding sand, and all that could be heard was
their labored breathing as they walked behind their leader, trusting
implicitly to his guidance. They never uttered a word, but Bob's
impatience and nervousness would have kept his tongue in constant motion
had it not been for George, who gave him an energetic prod in the ribs
whenever he showed a disposition to become colloquial. He felt that he
must do something pretty soon or sink under his burden of
responsibility, which seemed to grow heavier the longer he walked;
consequently, when George stopped all of a sudden and silently pointed
his finger at a dense wall of trees that ran across their path, his
delight knew no bounds. The ravine in which the Indians were encamped
was close in front of them. The murmuring of the waterfall which came up
from its wooded depths was a pleasant sound to his ears, but he and his
troopers had much to do before they could quench their thirst at that
rippling stream.