THE NIGHT ALARM.
All day they rode across the open plains, presenting still the same
invariable aspect of rich prairie land, for the most part nearly level,
but now very rich and fertile, and becoming more and more so, with
every mile our party traversed.
At noon, they halted for three hours under the shelter of a clump of
magnificent oaks over-canopying a little pool, the well-head of as
clear a streamlet as ever was the haunt of Grecian woodnymph. The
sylvan meal was spread with all the simple luxury of a frontiers-man's
fare.
After the meal was over, the Partisan said:
"Now try to sleep for an hour or so, while I go and take a round on
the prairie. I see a flock of buzzards yonder, whose motives I don't
exactly understand, and I would have a nearer look at them."
And with the word, he took up his rifle, tried it with the ramrod
to see that the ball had not fallen out, from the speed at which he
had ridden, as the gun hung muzzle downward at his back; renewed the
copper caps, loosened his wood-knife in its sheath, and walked off
unaccompanied toward the spot in the plain above which a flight of the
black vultures, commonly known as Turkey Buzzards, were hovering and
swooping, at a distance so great that they looked no larger than flies,
and that no ordinary eye could have distinguished what they were.
As he moved away slowly, Julia's eyes followed his departing figure,
and her face wore a very thoughtful expression, as she turned round to
her husband.
"There goes an extraordinary man," she said, with an expression of deep
feeling. "A very singular, and very noble character. I never have seen
and very seldom read of anything like him."
"By Heaven! I believe he is in love with you, Julia," replied Frank
Gordon, half laughing, half in earnest. "I have thought so all the
morning."
"Silly, silly, Frank!" she answered, slapping his hand playfully. "Do
you know that they say jealous husbands make false wives? and that you
should not imagine that I could like any man but you."
About an hour elapsed before the Partisan returned, bearing on his
shoulders the saddle of a fat buck, which he had shot during his
reconnaissance, wrapped in his own hide, and in his right hand,
together with his rifle, a long Comanche arrow reddened with dry gore.
He found the whole party sleeping so soundly that he walked into the
very midst of them without disturbing one of the number.
For many hours, not a sound was heard in the neighbourhood of the
little encampment. The moon rose and soared above it in her silver
beauty, and bathed everything for miles and miles around in soft
lustre--the stars rose and set--and the first grey ray of morning was
just beginning to pale the eastern horizon, when a deep, continuous,
hollow sound, like the roar of the distant surf, aroused every one in
an instant.
"Indians! it is Indians!" exclaimed Gordon. "Stand to the horses, lads.
Strike the tent like lightning. If one of the beasts neigh or stir, we
are lost."
Three of the dragoons, who had risen to their feet on the first alarm,
obeyed his orders in an instant, as regarded the horses; Gordon himself
struck the tent, and in deep silence, speechless and almost breathless,
they awaited the result.
Nearer and nearer drew the din. Gordon was right; it was the fast
falling tramp of unshodden horse hoofs. Five minutes, or less, after
the first alarm, the mounted horde swept by the mouth of the gorge,
so near that the travellers could see their shaven and plumed scalps,
their easy martial seats on their wild horses, and their long lances in
relief against the sky. But the darkness which brooded over the little
basin protected them, and almost as soon as it was there, the danger
had passed over.
But as it ended, and the men had time to look around them, it was
perceived at once that one of their number--Pierre, the Partisan--was
missing, and that the sergeant, although that din might have aroused
the dead, still lay asleep on the greensward.
Asleep, indeed! in that sleep which knows no waking. Three deep
knife-wounds in his bosom, his throat cut from ear to ear, the cords
severed which had bound him to the prisoner--these sufficed to tell the
tale.
But the Mexican and the sergeant's charger had vanished, and the
Partisan and brown Emperor were absent.
Horror, and a sense near akin to despair, fell on the party thus
abandoned. For a little while they gazed in each other's faces, mute
and white with surprise, if not with terror. Gordon was the first to
recover from his consternation, and he spoke cheeringly.
"The prisoner has escaped, and the Partisan has gone in pursuit of
him, that is clear," he said. "We have nothing to do but to wait here
until he returns. We have food in abundance; and water and forage for
the horses, and we can keep this pass against all the Indians in the
universe, so long as our ammunition lasts--and we can fire five hundred
rounds, if the Comanches find us out, which I think they will not.
Keep good heart, therefore, men, and, trust me, Pierre Delacroix will
be back here before sunset."
"But the Comanches! have not they cut him off?" whispered Julia, who
had not spoken one word since the first alarm, but had behaved with the
cool, passive fortitude of a brave, noble woman, awaiting the end in
silent resignation.
"Surely not," replied Gordon, confidently. "Had they fallen in with
him, his brave horse would surely have outstripped them, and in his
flight he would surely have led them in a contrary direction from this,
our stronghold."
"Sure he would. You are right! you are right!" said the quick-witted
girl--"God's name be praised; you are right, Frank; he is safe."