A PERILOUS MOMENT
When he returned to his comrades the teamsters had brought their wagons
down the hill, the mounted men had formed up and were unsaddling. The
wagons made a second line in their rear, and a rope was stretched from
wheel to wheel, to which each trooper tied his horse before the teams
were unharnessed.
Three of the men had chosen a spot by some bushes where an iron bar was
set on a pair of uprights five feet apart, and before the sound of the
axes had ceased in the bush three full kettles were swinging over a
roaring fire.
A bell tent was pitched for the officer in command; the horses were
watered, groomed, and fed, then at a merry call from the bugle there was
a dash to the wagons for plates and cups, while knives were whipped from
belt or bootleg ready for a general assault on fried bacon, hard
biscuit, and scalding tea.
After the meal, when the men were beginning to cut up their plug tobacco
and load their pipes, Sergeant Silk gathered some food into a blanket
and filled a flagon with hot tea. His chums watched him, curious
concerning his preparations.
"You going out on scout duty then, Sergeant?" one of them inquired.
"This grub isn't for myself," he explained, nodding in the direction of
Maple Leaf's camp beyond a projecting corner of the ravine. "I'm taking
it to a girl bivouacking alone farther up the canyon."
"Alone?" one of them exclaimed in surprise. "Must be an Indian. No white
girl would camp out all alone in a place like this."
"That's so," nodded Silk. "She's just an Indian--the chore girl from
Rattlesnake Ranch, daughter of The Moose That Walks. Guess you know her,
most of you. She once saved me from being scalped and roasted. I owe her
some special attention."
"Say, Sergeant," suggested a trooper from the far side of the fire,
"mightn't you have brought her into camp? We'd have fixed up a nice,
homelike, comfortable room for her in one of the wagons. And I'd have
mounted guard outside to keep away the mosquitoes. No mosquito'll go
near any one else while I'm around."
Sergeant Silk had saddled his broncho and was about to mount when he
turned sharply at the sound of hoofs.
"Here's Denis Murphy coming in," he announced. "I'll wait and hear if
he's seen anything of those Redskins. Something has kept him."
Murphy was descending from the heights by the tracks made by the wagon
wheels. As he approached along the level ground the commanding officer
strode out from his tent, smoking a cigar. Murphy came to a halt in
front of him and saluted.
"I've struck the trail of those Indians, sir," he reported. "Three
miles beyond the far end of the canyon, west by south. I calculate
there's between thirty and forty of them--bucks, on the warpath."
"How do you make out that they are bucks?" questioned the commandant.
"You didn't see them?"
"I didn't see them, sir," Murphy answered, "but I found no marks of any
teepee poles, and I reckon they're the lot we're looking for."
"No doubt," nodded the officer, puffing at his cigar. He turned to Silk.
"You had better persuade that girl to come into camp, Sergeant," he
said. "And then I shall want you to go out scouting, and discover where
the Redskins have located themselves for the night. Take Stikeman along
with you and send him back with the girl."
"Yes, sir," returned Silk.
He mounted, taking his carbine with him, and Trooper Stikeman followed,
carrying the blanket of provisions.
They went down the ravine at an easy trot with their faces to the west,
where the sun was setting in a glory of red and gold. When they came
within sound of the waterfall, the sergeant looked about for Maple
Leaf's pony and the smoke from her camp fire, but he saw neither.
"Seems to me the girl has vamoosed," he said uneasily. "I see no sign of
her."
He led the way to the trees and halted over the blackened ashes of the
fire. In their midst was a large, round stone, with a smaller stone
beside it. "Yes," he ruminated, "she's quitted and left that sign to let
us know that she has made westward, out of the canyon. Say, Stikeman,
you'd best turn back to camp and tell the major I've gone on the girl's
trail."
He started off at once at a hand gallop, knowing that Maple Leaf could
get out of the ravine only by one way, for the sides were too steep for
any pony to climb.
But when he came out upon the open plain he slowed down, riding to and
fro, searching until he came upon the trail indicated by a faint line to
be seen through the tall grasses. He followed the track quickly and
unerringly, always looking for it forty or fifty yards ahead.
Once he drew rein and listened. From behind him came the notes of a
bugle sounding First Post. As they ceased he heard the regular quick pad
of hoofs in advance of him, borne to him by the evening breeze. The
sound died away as the breeze fell, but it had told him the direction in
which the girl had gone, and that she was not far away from him.
He urged his broncho forward, hardly needing to watch the trail, and at
length, just for a moment, he caught sight of Maple Leaf as she crossed
the crest of an old sand-drift and went over into the hollow beyond.
He expected to see her reappear on the next slope, but as he reached the
top of the drift he discovered her still in the hollow, seated quietly
on her horse in the midst of a colony of prairie dogs, amusing herself
watching the lively little animals as they scampered about, barked, and
peeped out at her from their burrows.
She seemed to be aware that he had been following her, for she turned
without surprise and raised her hand in salute to the brim of her wide
hat.
"How!" she called to him in Indian greeting.
Sergeant Silk rode up to her, carefully guiding his horse among the dog
holes.
"You've given me a needless journey," he said to her reprovingly. "Why
did you strike camp? You were safe and comfortable back there in Emerald
Canyon. Here you can be neither comfortable nor safe."
She looked at him with a frown of annoyance.
"There's no occasion for you to worry about me," she objected. "I'm all
right left alone. I'm no tenderfoot. You needn't have come after me.
Don't just know why you did."
"I've come to take you back to our outfit," he explained. "The major
sent me. You're to come back right now." He paused a moment, looking
about him curiously, almost as if he were conscious of some impending
danger. "Come," he urged, "we must get into camp before dark. I've got
to go out on a big scout."
She glanced at him inquiringly.
"You going to be out on duty all night, then?" she questioned.
"Why, cert'nly," he answered, "or until I have located those Indians."
"I'll come," she decided promptly. "My pony is some tired; but he'll put
on a hustle. Say, what are you looking like that for?"
His eyes were roving searchingly to and fro across the prairie. He was
gripping his reins tightly with one hand, while with the other he was
fingering the stock of his carbine poised in front of him.
"Listen!" he said, sitting very still in his saddle.
Then suddenly he swung over, leapt from his horse, and threw the reins
over the mare's head, so that she would stand. Swiftly he went round to
Maple Leaf's side.
"Here, jump down!" he commanded. "Quick!"
The girl looked at him amazed, but obediently slipped to the ground.
Sergeant Silk caught at her broncho's bridle, drew the bit down to
within a span of the animal's hoofs, and secured both fetlocks together
with the double loop. In the same way he shackled the feet of his own
mare. Leaving the two horses hobbled, he strode a dozen quick paces
away, with his carbine across the crook of his left arm. Maple Leaf
followed him. He looked round at her.
"Sit down!" he commanded. "Lie low!"
Again she obeyed him unquestioningly, sharing his alarm. She had heard
what he had heard and knew its meaning.
She watched him go forward and saw him stand upright with his hand
raised above his head, palm outward, as a peace sign. Then she followed
the direction in which he was looking and gave a little start as she saw
a figure on horseback--an Indian wearing the large feathered war-bonnet
of a chief--outlined against a grassy slope hardly more than half-a-mile
away.
Silk slowly lowered his hand and strode back to where Maple Leaf was
sitting.
"He doesn't answer my sign," he said, drawing down the lever of his
carbine. "He's a Sioux. There's a crowd of his braves behind the rise
there. It's the lot we're looking for, and they know it. They won't want
me to go back. They'll rush us. We've got to fight for it. Keep cool!"
"It's all my fault," Maple Leaf regretted. "What can I do? I've no gun!"
"You can do nothing but lie low," Silk told her. "We can't escape
through this dog town, all full of holes. See! They're coming!"
From all around, silent as shadows, warriors on horseback appeared,
each with a rifle across his naked arm. The sunlight shone upon their
greasy bodies and painted faces, and the white eagle feathers of their
head-dresses. They collected in a group. Some of them seemed to be
speaking, to be planning how they should kill or capture the red-coated
scout who had found their trail. Then one by one in turn they moved
away, forming in single file, and making a wide circle round the centre
occupied by Sergeant Silk and his girl companion.
Silk glanced back at the two hobbled horses. No, it was too late to
think of escape.
At first the Indians rode at a quick walking pace, far apart from each
other; but before the wide ring was complete they had increased their
speed to a wild, racing gallop. Each warrior threw himself along the off
side of his steed, and as they wheeled round and round, keeping always
the same distance away, they yelled their shrill war cry, firing no shot
as yet.
Sergeant Silk's eyes were steadily watching them. He was lying at full
length, supported on an elbow. His face had taken on a look of grim
determination.
"They're not risking to come closer--not yet," he said calmly. "The dog
holes are as bad for them as for us. We're safe for a bit. You see,
Indians are never good marksmen with firearms. They never clean their
rifles, never get hold of decent ammunition; and it isn't just easy,
anyhow, to take aim from a galloping horse. You've no need to be
afraid," he added reassuringly.
"I'm not anyways afraid while you're here, Sergeant," Maple Leaf
responded. "Why don't they get doing something? Why don't they shoot?"
Suddenly, as if he had heard her and understood, one of the warriors
flung himself forward under his pony's neck and fired into the ring. The
bullet kicked up a spurt of dust many yards away, but it was the signal
for the beginning of the fight.
Yelling shrilly, the savages opened fire, never pausing to take aim.
Their shots, indeed, were more dangerous to themselves than to their
intended victims. One of their own horses stumbled and rolled over on
its rider, struck by a stray bullet.
"They're having a nice picnic, so far," said Silk, talking for the mere
sake of encouraging his companion. "If they keep this up long enough,
the racket'll be heard in Emerald Canyon. Wind's from the right quarter.
But they're only bluffing now--playing with us. Soon, they'll rush us.
It's their way. There!"
The Indian chief had suddenly wheeled within the galloping circle,
throwing his pony back with a jerk on its haunches. The warriors came up
to him one by one, halting all together in a compact company, with their
ponies' heads towards the two figures crouching in the hollow of the dog
town.
Sergeant Silk had turned to confront them, raising himself to command a
fuller view of them. He understood their manoeuvre. Instead of closing in
around him from all sides in broken order, they were going to make a
combined frontal charge.
"Fools!" he muttered contemptuously. "They never learn how to fight.
They're going to rush us in a bunch!"
Keeping his eyes fixed upon the lingering Indians, he moved backward a
foot or two nearer to Maple Leaf, and slowly drew from his holster a
heavy revolver, which he placed on the grass between them.
"Listen!" he said in a sharp whisper, glancing for an instant into her
dark, fearless eyes. "They're going to rush us in a bunch. We've only a
few minutes. Maybe I can break them. I don't know. I shall try. It's a
bare chance. But in this pistol"--he touched the weapon--"I shall always
save two shots--for the last. One for you. One for me. Understand?"
Maple Leaf nodded.
"Yes," she answered. "You will shoot me first; then yourself. It is
best. I understand."
"And if they kill me first," he added impressively, yet quite calmly.
"If they kill me first, you must seize that pistol and shoot yourself.
Else, they will slow torture you to death. Shoot yourself--in the
head--just here."
He pushed back his hat and pressed the white part of his forehead with a
finger that was as steady as if he had been merely telling of a moment
of past peril instead of acting in one that was terribly immediate.
Maple Leaf's hand was hardly less steady than his own as she moved the
shining weapon to a position more exactly between them.
"Good-bye, then, Sergeant--Sergeant Silk," she murmured. "It will be
good--I shall be proud--to die in company with a brave man."
"Good-bye!" he responded lightly, turning from her and seating himself
on a dog mound with his carbine across his knees.
The band of Indians still held off at a distance of fully a thousand
yards. Silk could see them slowly and very deliberately forming behind
their chief, only waiting for the signal to dash off in their headlong
race.
Then suddenly there was a wild barbaric shriek as they broke away with a
confused turmoil of whoops and yells and the quick patter of horses'
hoofs that made the ground throb and sent up a swirl of dust.
On and on they came in their swooping charge, their shrill cries
rending the air, their feathers fluttering, their trappings flying,
their weapons held aloft as their ponies plunged forward at full racing
stretch.
It seemed as if nothing could stop or divert their onward rush. It was
like a resistless hurricane sweeping down straight for the dog town
where the quiet man in the red coat was waiting with the girl crouched
beside him.
Sergeant Silk cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and went down on
one knee. He did not yet raise his gun, although many of the warriors
had opened a random fire and little spurts of dust and grass were
beginning to show where the bullets were falling. He waited very calmly,
knowing the habits of the Indians--knowing that although they fight hard
and fiercely for their lives when cornered they shrink from riding full
tilt into the fire of a well-aimed rifle.
In the long, forward race there were many moments of suspense--moments
in which each galloping savage had time to reflect that when that
waiting rifle should be raised to spit forth its deadly succession of
bullets, he himself might be one of the first to fall.
As they dashed on, one of the foremost of their ponies stumbled and went
down with its leg in a dog hole. Then two others fell kicking, while
more coming behind stumbled over them in confusion. The Redskins yelled
more wildly than ever, firing over their ponies' ears, always too high.
When they were within fifty yards of him, Silk cocked his rifle.
Instantly, at sight of the levelled weapon, every Indian flung himself
over the side of his pony, showing no more than an arm and a leg.
Instantly, also, the band divided itself into two sections to right and
left and sped onward in separate lines, firing wildly as they rushed
past like a raging whirlwind.
As the last of them flashed by, firing backward at him, Silk turned to
take up a new position, knowing that they would double and renew their
attack. But as he moved, the hollow dog mound on which he knelt gave way
beneath his weight; he lost his balance and rolled over.
Maple Leaf saw him fall, and, believing that a bullet had struck him,
she caught up the revolver, pressed the cold ring of its muzzle against
her forehead, and closed her eyes. She heard the Indians galloping back,
bullets were dropping around her. She was sure now that the end had
come.
"One--two--three!" she counted and pressed the trigger.
But Sergeant Silk had already leapt to his feet.
"Stop!" he cried, flinging out his hand. He was in time to thrust the
girl's elbow aside, but the trigger had been pressed, the weapon had
been fired, and Maple Leaf fell backward.
He glanced at her hurriedly and saw a splash of red across her face.
Then he raised his rifle and with steady, deliberate aim, fired four
shots in succession.
As the warriors passed abreast of him, now at a greater distance, four
of their horses ran riderless. Again they had swerved, curving off into
a circle and riding round and round as before. He watched them and saw
their circle suddenly break. Their yells of defiance were turned into
shouts of alarm, and as they scattered there came to him the shrill
notes of a bugle.
"Thank Heaven!" he exclaimed as half-a-dozen of his comrades of the
Mounted Police galloped into sight over the rising ground. "The boys
have followed on our trail! We shall be all right now."
He turned to Maple Leaf. She was on her knees, supported by her
outstretched hands, staring at him while the crimson trickle from her
face and hair and chin dripped upon the sand.
"I thought they'd got you," she said feebly. "I'd have done it sure if
you hadn't stopped me."
He looked at the ugly score that the bullet had made across her temple.
"It's just a flesh wound," he told her. "We can soon patch it up when we
get back into camp."
"It will leave a mark," she said, overcoming her faintness.
"Why, cert'nly," he smiled, returning the pistol to its holster. "But
your hair will 'most hide it--if you want it to be hidden."
"But I don't," she faltered weakly, closing her eyes. "I shall be proud
of it--as long as I live."