A CRY FROM THE DARKNESS.
Let us return to Pawnee Brown, who, totally unconscious of the fact that
Yellow Elk was creeping up behind him, stood beside the body of the dead
wildcat, re-loading the empty revolver.
One of the chambers of the firearm had been loaded, when something about
the pistol caused the great scout to examine it more closely. As he was
doing this Yellow Elk advanced to within three feet of him and raised
the tomahawk for the fatal blow.
At this terrible moment it must surely have been Providence which
interfered in the boomer's behalf, for, totally unconscious of his
peril, he would have done absolutely nothing to save himself. He bent
over the pistol more closely.
"That trigger seems to catch," he thought, and threw the weapon up and
fired it over his shoulder, just to test it.
The bullet did not pass within a yard of Yellow Elk, but the movement
came so unexpectedly that the Indian chief was taken completely off his
guard and dropped back as though actually shot. His cry of astonishment
and fear lasted longer than did the pistol report, and Pawnee Brown
swung around to confront him.
"Yellow Elk!" came from his lips, when whizz! the tomahawk left the
redskin's hand and came swirling through the air directly for his head.
He dropped like lightning, and the keen blade sank deeply into the tree
behind him.
"Wough!" grunted the Indian when he saw how he had missed his mark. Then
he leveled the pistol in his left hand at Pawnee Brown's head.
The great scout felt his position was still a trying one. His own
shooter, though still in hand, was empty. He pointed it and started to
back away to the tree behind him.
"Stop, or I kill!" commanded Yellow Elk, but instead of complying, the
scout took a flying leap to a safe shelter. Seeing this, Yellow Elk also
lost no time in getting behind cover.
With the pistol loaded once more the boomer felt safer. He listened
intently for some movement upon the part of his enemy, but none came.
The Indian is a great hand at playing a waiting game and Yellow Elk was
no exception to this rule.
"Well, if you can wait, so can I," thought Pawnee Brown and settled
down with eyes and ears on the alert. He thought of Nellie Winthrop and
of Rasco, and wondered what had become of uncle and niece. He did not
want to wait, feeling it was important to get back to the boomers' camp,
but there was no help for it, and he remained where he was.
Fifteen minutes went by and no sound broke the stillness saving that of
the water in the brook as it flowed down over a series of rocks. Then
came the faint crack of a single dry twig over upon his left. He turned
around and blazed away in that direction.
A fierce but suppressed exclamation in the Indian tongue followed,
showing that Yellow Elk had been hit. How serious the Indian chief was
injured there was no telling. It might be only a flesh wound, it might
have been fatal and Yellow Elk might have died without further sound,
and then again it might be only a ruse. Again Pawnee Brown paused to
listen.
Thus another quarter of an hour was wasted. It must be confessed that
the great scout's nerves were strung to the topmost tension. At any
moment a shot might come which would end his life. It was ten times more
trying than to stand up in line of battle, for the enemy could not be
seen.
Again came the crack of a twig, but very faint, showing that the sound
came from a distance. There followed a faint splash, some distance up
the stream. Yellow Elk was retreating.
"I reckon I hit him pretty bad," mused Pawnee Brown. "But I'll go
slow--it may be only a trick," and away he crawled as silently as a
snail along the brook's bank.
Inside of the next half hour he had covered a territory of many yards on
both sides of the brook. In one spot he had seen several drops of blood
and the finger marks of a bloody hand. Yellow Elk, however, had
completely disappeared.
"He is gone, and so is the trail," muttered the great scout at last. He
spoke the truth. Further following of the Indian chief was just then out
of the question.
"There is one thing to be thankful for," he mused. "I don't believe he
captured Nellie Winthrop again after he left the cave. I wonder what has
become of that girl?"
Bonnie Bird had wandered down the brook for a drink and instantly
returned at her master's call. With something of a sigh at not having
finished matters with Yellow Elk the boomer leaped once again into the
saddle and turned back in the direction from whence he had come.
It was now growing dark, and the great scout felt that he must ere long
return to the boomers' camp and give the order necessary to start the
long wagon train on its way westward to Honnewell. Little did he dream
of what the government spy and the cavalrymen had discovered and how
Jack Rasco had been taken prisoner.
"Pawnee!"
It was a cry from a patch of woods to the northward, and straining his
eyes he saw Cal Clemmer waving his sombrero toward him. Scout and cowboy
boomer were soon together.
"Well, whar's Rasco and the gal?" were Clemmer's first words.
"Both gone--I don't know where, Cal. Where are the other boys?"
"Started back toward Honnewell; thet is, all but Dick Arbuckle. He's
over ter yonder spring gittin' a drink o' water."
"I am sorry I failed to find the girl," said Pawnee Brown. "She must
have wandered off in the woods and got lost. I am quite certain the
Indians did not spot her again."
"And Jack?"
"Went off after his horse."
"Wot do yer advise us ter do--stay here?"
"I am afraid staying here will do no good, Cal. I must get back to camp
and start the wagons up. I know they won't move a step unless I am
personally there to give directions. The old boomers are all afraid of
being fooled by some trick of the soldiers."
"Thet's so. Wall, if yer want me ter stay here I'll stay--otherwise I'll
go back," concluded Clemmer.
Dick now came up, as anxious as Clemmer had been to know the news. His
face grew very sober when he heard that Nellie had not been found.
"I wish I knew more of this territory--I'd go after her myself," he
said, earnestly. "I hope you won't abandon the search?"
"Oh, no, lad; that is not my style. But I must get back to the camp
first and start the train along. I'll be on this ground again by
midnight."
"Then why can't I stay here? I am not afraid."
"Alone?" ejaculated Clemmer.
"Yes--if you want to join Pawnee."
"By gosh, but that boy's nervy fer a city chap!" cried the cowboy
boomer, in admiration.
"Well, you know there's a girl in this, Cal," rejoined Pawnee Brown,
dryly. "And I reckon she's a girl well worth going through fire and
water for."
At this Dick blushed.
"I want to find out about Rasco, too," he hastened to say. "You know I
was going through with him, and he was going to do some business for my
father, later on."
The matter was talked over for several minutes, and it was at last
decided that Dick should secrete himself in a thicket and stand watch
there or close by until he heard from Pawnee Brown again.
"Be on your guard, boy, for enemies may be thick here," were the
boomer's last words of caution. "Don't uncover to anybody until you are
positive it is a friend."
"And here's a bite for yer," added Clemmer, handing out some rations he
carried in a haversack. "You'll get mighty hungry ere the sun comes up
again."
In a minute more the two horsemen were galloping away. Dick watched them
until they were lost to view, then dropped to a sitting position on a
flat rock in the centre of a clump of trees.
The youth's heart beat rather strongly. He was not used to this sort of
thing. How different the prairies and woods were to the city streets and
buildings.
"Lonesome isn't a name for it," he mused. "Puts me in mind of one vast
cemetery--a gigantic Greenwood, only there aren't any monuments. What is
that?"
There was a flutter and a whirl, and Dick grasped his pistol tighter. It
was only a night-bird, starting up now that the sun was beginning to
set.
Soon the woods and the prairies began to grow dark. The sun was lost to
view behind tall trees which cast shadows of incalculable length. It
grew colder, too, and he buttoned his light coat tightly about him.
To pass the time he began to eat some of the food left behind by
Clemmer. It was not particularly appetizing, and in the city Dick might
have passed it by for something better. But just then it tasted "just
boss," to use Dick's own words. A bracing air and hunger are the best
sauces in the world.
An hour had gone by, and all was dark, when Dick started up from a
reverie into which he had fallen. What was that which had reached his
ears from a distance? Was it a cry, or merely the moaning of the rising
wind?
He listened. No, it was not the wind--it was a cry--a girl's voice--the
voice of Nellie Winthrop!
"It is Nellie!" came from his set lips, and his face grew pale. Again
came the cry, but this time more faintly.
From what direction had that cry for help proceeded? In vain the boy
asked himself that question. He was not used to a life in the open and
the rising wind was very deceptive.
"I must find her!" he gasped, leaping from the rocks. "I shan't remain
here while she is in trouble."
He had no horse the men being unable to provide him with one when they
had come together, but for this he did not care. He was resolved to aid
the girl if such a thing were possible.
Away he went over the prairie at a rapid gait, in the direction from
whence he imagined the cry had proceeded. Two hundred yards were covered
and he came to a halt and listened. Not a sound broke the stillness,
although he fancied he heard the hoof-strokes of a horse at a great
distance.
Then he turned in another direction, and then another. It was all to no
purpose. No trace of the girl could be found. He gave a groan.
"It's no use; she's gone and that is all there is to it. Poor girl!"
With a sinking heart he set off to return to the spot from whence he had
come. He advanced a dozen steps, then halted and stared about him.
Suddenly an awful truth burst upon him. He was lost among the brush!