IN AND OUT OF THE BURNING CABIN.
"The roof is on fire!"
"The wall is on fire under one of the sleeping-room windows!"
The first cry came from Ralph, who was in the loft, the second from his
brother, who saw the flames and smoke coming through the cracks where
the wall and the flooring of the cabin joined. The breeze was
increasing, and soon both fires were burning merrily, as if such flames
were not tending toward a tragedy.
"Some water--we must put it out!" came from Poke Stover, and, catching
up one of the buckets the boys had thoughtfully provided, he ran to the
window beneath which the conflagration was spreading. "Unbar it, Dan,
and I'll souse it out. Look out that you don't expose yourself."
The shutter was unbarred and opened for the space of several inches. At
once the smoke began to pour into the cabin, setting them all to
coughing. Then the breeze carried the smoke in the opposite direction.
Suddenly Poke Stover set down the bucket of water and grabbed Dan's
gun. A quick aim and a flash, and one of the Comanches let go of the
shield and danced around with a broken elbow. Then both of the enemy
retreated far more rapidly than they had come.
"Got him that trip," was the frontiersman's satisfactory comment. "But
be careful, Dan, there are others watching us from the timber."
The shutter was pushed open a little more, and with much skill Poke
Stover dashed the water on the blaze and put the most of it out. Then
he wet an old coat and beat out what remained.
"It's a pity we didn't have no dirt handy to shovel on," he said,
pausing to catch his breath, while Dan locked the shutter again. "We
may need this water afore we git through. How is it up thar, Ralph?" he
called.
"It's burning pretty lively," was the reply. "But perhaps we can beat
it out with the coat."
"The Indians can spot you on the roof," said Dan.
"Go down and unbar the door and swing it partly open," said Poke
Stover. "That will attract the attention of the Injuns, and they won't
be a-lookin' at the roof. But wait a minit, till I'm ready fer ye!" he
added, as he laboured up the ladder with a second bucket of the
precious water. The old coat was soused thoroughly, and Stover opened
the shutter nearest to the fire.
"Now go ahead!" he called out, and Dan opened the door, and swung it
back and forth several times. He also showed his hat on a stick, and in
a trice came several shots, one going through the head-covering and
entering the closet in the corner. Then he swung the hat out again, and
another shot followed.
During this time the old frontiersman had reached out of the upper
window and beat out part of the fire and hurled the remainder to the
ground, far enough away from the cabin to keep it from doing further
harm. One shot was aimed at him, as the breeze exposed him through the
smoke to the Comanches, but this luckily flew wide of its mark.
"By gosh, but that was a close shave!" ejaculated Stover, as he dropped
back into the loft, while Ralph closed the shutter. His beard was
singed in two places and his face was red and hot. "It's a good thing
that fire wasn't allow to gain no more headway."
He bathed his face and took a drink of water, and then all three began
to speculate upon the next probable movement of the Comanches. By the
clock on the living-room mantel it was now half-past four.
"Father ought to be coming now," said Ralph. "But perhaps he has been
unable to get anybody to come back with him."
"Don't worry about that," returned Poke Stover. "They'll all come if
only they git the word. The buck ague don't go around here." By buck
ague the frontiersman meant the fright which occasionally takes
possession of a pioneer or soldier when facing Indians who are on the
war-path.
It was not long after this that the Indians began to show their
activity once more. Others of the tribe had arrived, until they
numbered eighteen or twenty, the majority of whom were armed with guns,
only one or two of the older warriors sticking to their bows and
arrows.
"I reckon they suspect we are waiting for help, and they mean to do
something before it gits too late," observed Poke Stover. "Perhaps
they'll give us another rush before they withdraw fer good. We had
better inspect all of our shootin'-irons, fer we may want 'em badly."
The frontiersman was right, the Comanches were organising an attack, to
be divided into three parts,--one party to come from the timber
skirting the burn, the second to come up behind the cabin, and the
third to make a dash from behind the cattle shed. The first division
carried a heavy log, with which they hoped to batter down the door in
short order.
"They are coming!" The cry came from Dan, who was watching the timber
in front of the burn. "There are six of them!"
"Here comes another crowd from the shed!" ejaculated Ralph.
"They have divided up," said the frontiersman. "Boys, I'm afraid we now
have a stiff piece of work cut out for ourselves. A third party is
coming from the rear, and there is no telling but what there may be
still more. We must do our best and fight to a finish, for they are on
the war-path for fair, and they'll show us no mercy if once they git at
us. Load up and fire jest as quick as ye can! Give it to 'em hot!"
As Poke Stover finished, he leaped to the window nearest to him, shoved
the muzzle of his weapon through the port-hole, and pulled the trigger.
A yell went up as one of the redskins threw up his arms and fell. But
then the others came on faster than ever, yelling and shouting in a
manner to cause the stoutest heart to falter. Surely, as Stover had
said, it would be a fight to the finish, and they were but three to
seventeen.
Dan was at one port-hole and Ralph at another, and now both fired
simultaneously. Whether the shots were effective they could not tell.
Certainly none of the Indians dropped.
In two minutes more the Comanches were running around the house in
every direction, trying to batter down the door with the log, and
likewise trying to pry open several of the shutters with their
hatchets.
At such close quarters it was next to impossible to fire on them,
although several gun and pistol shots were exchanged. Once an Indian
fired through a port-hole into the bedchamber, and the burning gun-wad
landed on one of the straw bedticks.
"Put it out!" roared Poke Stover, and while Dan trampled on the fire to
extinguish it, the frontiersman let the Indian have a shot in return.
Crash! crash! The heavy bombardment on the door was beginning to tell,
and already there was a long crack in the oaken slab, and the splinters
were flying in all directions.
"We'll take our stand here!" cried Poke Stover, motioning to a spot
facing the door. "Give it to 'em the minit daylight shines through!"
And they did, with such serious results that the party with the ram
dropped that instrument and ran to the opposite side of the house. But
their places were quickly taken by others, and now it looked as if the
door must give way at any instant.
Suddenly, just when it looked as if the next shock to the door must
smash it into a hundred pieces, there came a scattering volley of
rifle-shots from the timber near the river, answered almost instantly
by a second volley from the forest opposite. Then came a yell from the
Comanches, and a cheer in English.
"Hold the cabin! We are coming!" came in Mr. Radbury's well-known
voice, and never had it sounded more comforting to the two boys than at
that moment. Then followed more shots, some striking the cabin and
others hitting the Indians, who were so demoralised that for the moment
they knew not what to do.
"Down with the redskins!" came in the tones of a settler named
Whippler, who had lost his wife in a raid about a year previous. "Kill
every one of 'em! Don't let them escape!"
In his eagerness to annihilate those he so hated, he rode to the front
of the others, discharging his gun and his pistol as he came, and then
leaping upon the nearest redskin with his long hunting-knife. He
brought the red man down with a stroke in the breast, and was then laid
low himself by Red Pony, an under chief, who was in charge during the
absence of Wolf Ear and Bison Head. Red Pony then ran off for his very
life, followed by fourteen others, the remainder being either killed or
wounded.
"Boys! Are either of you wounded?" asked Mr. Radbury, as he leaped from
the mustang he was riding, and rushed into the cabin.
"We are all right, father," answered both lads.
"Thank God for that!" murmured the parent, reverently. "But, see, your
neck is bleeding," he added, to Dan.
"It's only a scratch."
"Good. Poke, I see you managed to get to them. You are a brave fellow,
if ever there was one."
"We've had a hot time of it, father," put in Ralph. "If it hadn't been
for Mr. Stover, I don't know what we would have done."
"Ralph is right," assented Dan. "If he hadn't put out the fire we would
have been burnt out, and the cabin would have gone up in smoke in the
bargain."
"I shall not forget your kindness, Poke," said Mr. Radbury, taking the
frontiersman's horny hand. "But, as you are all right, I fancy I had
better join the others, and follow the miscreants."
"And I'll go with ye," said Poke Stover, who disliked too much praise,
although not averse to some laudatory speech. "We ought to round up
every mother's son of 'em while we are about it."
"Shall we go too?" asked Dan. "I'd rather do that than remain behind,"
he continued.
"You may come, if you'll promise to keep to the rear," answered the
father. "Remember, the Indians are wily, and may set a trap for us."
All went outside, crawling through the battered doorway, and were soon
mounted on several extra mustangs Mr. Radbury had brought along. The
planter informed them that he had brought with him twenty-four men,
including Jim Bowie, who had happened to be in Gonzales at the time.
Soon the party of four were riding hard to catch up with the other
whites, who were following the trail of the Comanches along the bank of
the upper Guadalupe River.
[Illustration: "FOLLOWING THE TRAIL OF THE COMANCHES."]