"There's the dead captain on the other side," said one. I had been
dubbed captain by my companions.
The surgeon came up to me.
"I'm not quite dead yet," I murmured. "Just pull this ugly stick out of
me, and I hope to do well."
"No fear of that, captain," said the stranger. "Here, lads, some of you
hold him down. It's an unpleasant operation, but it's necessary."
The surgeon was skilful, but I own that my nerves got such a twinge that
I would rather not dwell on the subject.
Our new friends now set to work to get us into marching order. One of
our party had been killed, and another wounded, besides Silas Slag, who
was in a very precarious condition, and I was very considerably hurt.
The Indians had carried off four of our horses, but as six of their
number lay dead on the field, and others were badly wounded, they had
paid dearly for their success. Fortunately none of the waggon horses
were missing. They were harnessed, and we began to move. Silas Slag
and another man who had been hurt were placed in the waggon with me.
Some spirits was poured down my throat, and after a time I recovered
sufficiently to ask questions. I found that the horsemen who had
arrived so opportunely to our rescue were in search of the very band of
Comanches that had attacked us. Those predatory Redskins had attacked a
party of Texians travelling across the prairie, and were said to have
killed all the men, and to have carried off a white girl as prisoner.
She was the daughter of one of the murdered men, an old officer of the
United States army, and, I was told, was possessed of great personal
attractions.
On hearing this, all the romance in my composition was instantly
aroused. I regretted my wound more because it kept me a prisoner than
on any other account, and longed to be in the saddle and in pursuit of
the savages to aid in rescuing the poor girl. We were on our way back
to the settlement to which she belonged, but of those who had come to
our rescue, the doctor and the greater number were pushing forward after
their companions. They had vowed vengeance on the marauders, and were
likely to execute it in a terrible manner if they succeeded in
overtaking them.
It was dark before we reached the nearest shelter. It was a farm-house
on the very verge of civilisation, surrounded with stockades to guard
against a sudden attack of Indians. The inhabitants, who were of German
descent, though speaking English, received us with kind expressions, and
had Silas and me and the other wounded man carried into their largest
sleeping-room, where beds were placed for us, into which we were put at
once. The mistress of the house then came with ointments, and with the
greatest tenderness dressed our wounds, and afterwards brought us some
light and nourishing food, of which we stood in great need.
"I can feel for you, stranger," she remarked to me, as she sat watching
like a mother by my bedside. "I had a son wounded by the Redskins many
years ago. He came home, poor boy, to die. The young girl, too,
carried off by the savages, is a relation. I tremble to think what her
fate may be. All the men of our family, even my husband, old as he is,
and my sons and grandsons, are gone in pursuit of the enemy. Altogether
there are twenty of them from this farm alone. Ah me! I shall rejoice
when they come book. It is anxious work waiting for them. I have lost
in my time so many kindred and acquaintance through the treachery of
these Redskins, that I always dread what may happen."
I did my best to comfort the kind old lady, and told her that as our
small party had been able to keep them so long at bay, there could be
little doubt that a well-armed band, such as her friends formed, would
have little difficulty in conquering them.
The night, however, passed away, and nothing was heard of the party.
Neither the following day were any tidings received. The anxiety of the
poor women, of whom there were a considerable number in and about the
farm, became very great. People from various other locations also came
crowding in, chiefly women, whose husbands and sons had gone on the
expedition, to make inquiries. Some, indeed, began to express their
fears that the party had fallen into an ambush and been cut off. Such
things had occurred before. I was already better, and only wanted
strength. I offered, if men could be found, to head a party to go out
in search of the missing band.
"They will be here by nightfall," said the old lady, trying to comfort
herself.
I felt, from the remarks I had heard made, considerable doubt about
this, and could not help fearing that some catastrophe had occurred.
Two whole days passed away, and still there was no tidings of the
missing ones.