ATTACKED BY COMANCHES
There were four men in the party in the grove beside Crockett and
Dolph. The two lads made up eight in all.
“Hold your fire,” cautioned Davy Crockett. “Don’t waste any of it,
boys; because we’ve got our work cut out for us.”
There were at least twoscore of the savages dashing down upon the
grove upon the backs of their hardy mustangs. Crockett had no idea of
the marksmanship of his companions. Eight rifles in the hands of men
who knew how to use them would work deadly havoc among the oncoming
Indians; but if it should prove that the men were not skilled with the
weapon, things would not be so well.
But the backwoodsman set his teeth.
“It won’t be long before I know,” said he, grimly.
He threw forward his rifle.
“Ready!” said he.
The other weapons went forward; eight black muzzles peered out at the
oncoming savages.
“Fire!” said Crockett.
The rifles spoke sharply; down in their tracks went several of the
mustangs; and several others went dashing riderless across the prairie.
Shrill yells went up from the Comanches; their ponies, startled at the
sudden blaze of fire from ahead, and the fall of their fellows, reared,
bucked, and tried to bolt off to one side. The Comanches fought with
their mounts and at last headed them around, together, in the proper
direction. But by this time the whites had reloaded.
“Fire!” ordered Colonel Crockett, once more.
Again the rifles cracked; and down went more horses and riders in a
plunging heap, while the savage band, unable to face the deadly tubes
which threw death into their faces, turned and bounded away over the
grassy plain beyond range of the white men’s fire.
Crockett rammed a fresh charge home.
“Good shooting,” said he, approvingly. “One way or another, boys, we’ve
accounted for a full dozen of the red rapscallions.”
The old Texan, together with the others, was also charging his piece.
“They’re not done yet, colonel,” said he. “The Comanche is a fighting
Injun, and it takes a good bit to make him change his mind, once he’s
taken to the war-path.”
“I didn’t hear nothing ’bout them being at war with the whites,”
remarked one of the men.
“No more did I,” said Dolph. “But, then, you can never tell. They are
always rising. Let some rascal of a white man cheat a Comanche at a
trading place and that Injun goes and tells his friends. Like as not,
a small war follows, until they think they’ve got satisfaction.”
“Well, that might be what this is,” said Crockett, his eyes upon the
party of savages which had come to a halt about a half mile out upon
the prairie and were listening, apparently, to the eloquence of a
chief. “But I’ve got an idea of my own.”
“What’s that?” asked the Texan.
“These redskins had some of their people in Nacogdoches last night and
they were watching for some small party that was to leave the town. We
happened to be that party. It’s my idea they have taken a leaf from the
white man’s book, and are nothing more or less than robbers.”
Old Dolph nodded.
“Well,” said he, “I’ve heard of them doing things like that before now.
But, whatever they’re after, they mean to give it another try.”
As he spoke the Texan pointed out across the prairie. The Comanches
had remounted and were riding forward in an open fashion, their bows
and rifles held ready for use. But at some distance from the grove they
halted; dismounting, they made their ponies lie down. Then stretched at
full length behind this living breastwork, they leveled their guns, and
fitted arrows to their bows.
From behind trees and logs, the white men watched the preparations of
the savages.
“That is a kind of a cute little dodge,” spoke Crockett. “I never see
an Injun do it before.”
Old Dolph nodded and said:
“It’s a favorite trick with the Comanche and the Apache. These Injuns
of the plain are ‘horse’ Injuns; and they’re different in their ways
from the redskins you meet with in the wooded countries and the
mountains. They spend most of their time catching and breaking ponies
and learning tricks in riding. There are some fine horsemen on these
southwestern plains; but the finest of all are the Comanches.”
[Illustration: THE COMANCHES HAD REMOUNTED]
Here the rifles of the Indians spoke. But, if they were excellent
horsemen, as the Texan said, they were not good marksmen, for their
bullets went wide. Their arrows, however, flew true, and many a
feathered shaft struck with a deadly thud into the trunk of a tree
behind which stood one of the whites.
A man near Crockett fired, rather excitedly, in return, and the bullet
did no more than knock up the dust.
“Take care of your powder,” said Crockett, from behind his tree, but
never shifting his eyes from the dry grass where the savages lay behind
their horses. “Don’t waste a single charge. Take good aim; and don’t
fire until you see the whites of some one’s eyes.”
There was an interval of inaction; the savages were apparently
reloading.
“When they have loaded,” said old Dolph, “they’ll take a peep around
their ponies to see what things look like over this way. So watch for
them.”
“But don’t fire unless you are sure of your Injun,” said Crockett, who
knew there was only a limited supply of powder in the party; and as
there was no knowing how long the attack would continue, he wished to
be as sparing as possible.
Sure enough, as the old Texan had said, when the Comanches had finished
loading they showed a desire to know the exact position of their
intended victims. A tufted head appeared around the side of a mustang.
Dolph’s rifle cracked like a whip; there was a yell of pain and then
silence.
“I got him,” said the old Texan, and he calmly reloaded his rifle.
Again came the flight of arrows and the reports of the Comanche rifles;
but as before, the shafts and bullets did no harm. Crockett fired when
he saw the plumes of a savage show above the back of a horse. It so
chanced that the speeding bullet struck the mustang; it leaped up,
forgetting its training; its rider was now exposed to the fire of the
whites. Three rifles cracked; and the Comanche threw up his arms and
sank back.
Seeing the deadly nature of the white men’s marksmanship, the savages
grew wary. Only now and then an arrow flew; occasionally a bullet
lodged in the ground or in a tree trunk.
An hour passed in this way. It was now almost three o’clock; and Davy
Crockett as he crouched behind his tree grew both weary and restless.
“They are cunning varmints,” said he, “and they are holding off until
nightfall. Under cover of darkness they’ll creep up on us and beat us
down by weight of numbers.”
“Darkness will favor them,” spoke old Dolph. “And if we are here when
it falls, we are goners.”
“Well,” said Crockett, in his dry way, “I don’t see how we can get away
with thirty pairs of eyes watching us.”
Here Walter Jordan spoke.
“Colonel Crockett,” said he, “I have an idea.”
“Good!” said the backwoodsman.
“We can’t see the Comanches as they lie behind their mustangs,” said
the lad. “But suppose I climbed one of these trees. I could have a good
sight of them then, and could drive them off with a couple of shots,
maybe.”
Crockett smiled and twisted his good-humored mouth drolly to one side.
“That’s a very good plan, youngster,” said he. “But it has one big
drawback. How are you going to get up the tree? The redskins would
tumble you over before you’d get half-way.”
He saw the disappointed look upon the boy’s face, and added:
“If we were hard pressed and had to do something on the jump, it would
be a thing we could try. But, as it stands, I think I’ll make a little
experiment that’ll be safe.”
Then turning his head he glanced toward the tree which concealed the
old Texan.
“Dolph, who do you reckon’s the best shot in the lot of us?”
“You are,” replied the veteran, promptly.
“Who’s next?” asked Crockett.
“I’d like to say I am,” spoke Dolph, humorously. “But I can’t, and
stick close to the truth. Jed Curley’s the best shot here after
yourself, colonel.”
Jed Curley was a young adventurer of about twenty-five with whom both
Walter and Ned had become very friendly. He was a powerfully built
fellow, and his clear eyes and steady nerves gave him the working basis
of a sharp-shooter.
“All right,” said Crockett. “Just where are you located, Jed?”
“Right here, colonel,” came the voice of the young man.
“All right. Lie low, but listen to what I’m going to say to you.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’m going to fire at that pinto Injun pony,” said Crockett. “Not to
kill it, though; I’ll be careful of that. You see, that pony jumping up
a while ago gave me a notion.”
“I see it, colonel,” came the voice of Jed. “You scare up the mustang,
that leaves the Injun uncovered, and before he can get shelter, I draw
a bead on him.”
“Exactly,” answered Crockett. “Ready, Jed?”
“All ready.”
There was a moment’s silence; then Crockett’s rifle rang out. One of
the ponies leaped up with a snort; Jed Curley’s piece cracked instantly
and the red rascal behind it lay silent in the grass.
Quickly the two men reloaded; again Crockett fired; once more a wounded
mustang uncovered its master; a second time the sharp-shooter’s rifle
spoke, and the master lay as silent as the other.
Within twenty minutes this performance had been gone through three
times; then a panic seemed to strike the savages; they leaped up, urged
their horses to their feet, mounted and turned to flee.
“A volley, boys!” yelled Crockett. “Take good aim.”
The volley pealed from the six rifles that were still loaded, and
four more of the Comanches fell. Then the remainder of the band, with
startled yells, went flying toward the east.