GLEN'S ESCAPE FROM THE INDIANS.
As Glen struggled desperately, but well-nigh hopelessly, with the
assailant who had risen so unexpectedly to bar his escape, there came a
crashing volley of shots, a loud cheer, and a rush of trampling feet
through the willows and tangled undergrowth. The boy only dimly wondered
at these sounds as he was flung to the ground, where he lay breathless,
with his arms pinned tightly to the earth, and expecting that each
instant would be his last. Then he became strangely conscious that his
antagonist was talking in a language that he understood, and was saying,
"Yez would, would ye? An' yez tho't ye could wrastle wid Terence
O'Boyle? Ye murtherin' rid villin! Bad cess to it I but oi'll tache ye!
Phat's that ye say? Ye're a white man? Oh, no, me omadhoon! yez can't
fool me into lettin' ye up that way!"
"But I am white!" cried Glen, half choked though he was. "Let me up, and
I'll prove it to you. Can't you understand English?"
Very slowly and reluctantly the astonished Irishman allowed himself to
become convinced that the assailant he had failed to shoot, but whom he
had overcome after a violent struggle, was not an Indian. It was some
minutes before he would permit Glen to rise from his uncomfortable
position, and even then he held him fast, declaring that nothing short
of an order from the captain himself would induce him to release a
prisoner.
The explanation of this sudden change in our hero's fortunes and
prospects is that, while the Cheyennes were engaged in their
buffalo-hunt the evening before, they had been discovered by a Pawnee
scout. He was attached to a company of cavalry who were on their way
back to Fort Hayes, on the Smoky Hill, from an expedition against the
Arrapahoes. The captain of this company had determined to surprise the
Indians thus unexpectedly thrown in his way, at daybreak, and had made
his arrangements accordingly. Their movements had been carefully noted
by the scouts, and, having made a start from their own camp at three
o'clock that morning, the troops were cautiously surrounding the place
where they supposed their sleeping foes to be.
The attack would undoubtedly have proved successful, and the Cheyennes
would have sprung from their grassy couches only to fall beneath the
fire from the cavalry carbines, had not Glen Eddy run into trooper
Terence O'Boyle and been mistaken for an Indian by that honest fellow.
Upon the alarm being thus prematurely given, the soldiers fired a volley
and charged the Cheyenne camp, only to find it deserted. With one
exception, the Indians had made good their escape, and it was never
known whether any of them were even wounded by the volley that gave them
such a rude awakening. The one who failed to escape was the young scout
who hoped to be known as "Wolf-Tongue," and who, on account of his
wound, was unable to fly with the rest.
He managed to conceal himself in a thicket until daylight. Then he was
discovered by one of the Pawnee scouts, who dragged him out, and would
have put him to death but for the interference of Glen Eddy, who was
just then led to the spot by his Irish captor.
An hour later Glen was enjoying the happiest breakfast in his life, in
company with Captain Garrett Winn, U.S.A., who was listening with
absorbed interest to the boy's account of his recent thrilling
experiences.
"Well, my lad," said the captain, when Glen had finished his story, "I
consider your several escapes from being killed, when first captured,
from the bullets of those fellows at the stage ranch, from the Indians,
and, finally, from being killed by that wild Irishman, as being little
short of miraculous."
Soon afterwards the trumpet sounded "Boots and Saddles," and Glen,
mounted on a handsome bay mare--which, with several other ponies, had
been left behind by the Indians in their hurried flight--trotted happily
away with his new friends in the direction of Fort Hayes. In his hand he
grasped his own rifle, which was recovered when Wolf-Tongue was
captured, and behind him, mounted on a pony led by one of the troopers,
rode that wounded and crest-fallen young Indian himself.
The future looked very black to Wolf-Tongue just now; for, totally
ignorant of the ways of white men, he expected nothing less than death
as soon as he should reach the fort. He realized that Glen had saved him
from the knife of the Pawnee scout, and wondered if the white boy would
interfere in his behalf with the warriors of his own race, or if they
would listen to him in case he did. He wished he knew just a little of
the white man's language, that he might discover what those soldiers on
each side of him were talking about. Perhaps they were even discussing
him and his fate. But he only knew one word of English, and now he began
to think he did not understand the meaning of that; for, though he heard
the soldiers say "how" several times in the course of their
conversation, they did not seem to use it at all as he would. So the
Indian lad rode along unhappily enough; but, though his thoughts were
very busy, no trace of them was allowed to exhibit itself in his
impassive face.
In the meantime he was the subject of a conversation between Glen and
Captain Winn, as they rode side by side. The former had a very kindly
feeling towards the young Indian, who had tried to be kind to him when
their present positions were reversed, and now he wanted in some way to
return this kindness if possible.
"What will be done with him do you think, sir?" he asked.
"I'm sure I don't know," replied the captain, carelessly. "I suppose he
will be kept as a prisoner at some one of the forts until we have
whipped his tribe and put it on a reservation, and then he will be sent
back to it."
"But what will become of him then?" persisted the boy.
"Oh, he will grow up to be one of the regular reservation beggars,
living on government charity, until he finally drinks himself to death
or gets killed in some quarrel. That's the way with most of them on the
reservations. You see they haven't anything else to do, and so they
drink and gamble, and kill each other just to pass away the time."
"Don't you suppose he could learn to live like white folks if he had the
chance?"
"Yes, I suppose he could. In fact, I know he could, if he had the
chance; for these Indian boys are about as bright as they make 'em. But
I don't know where he'll get the chance. The government would rather pay
a thousand dollars to keep him on a reservation, or even to kill him,
than a hundred to give him an education, and I don't know of anybody
else, that is able to do anything, who will take an interest in him."
There the conversation ended; for, after riding some time in silence and
trying to think of a solution of this perplexing Indian problem, Glen
all at once found himself nodding so that he almost fell off his horse.
He was so thoroughly wearied and sleepy that it did not seem as though
he could hold his eyes open another minute.
Noticing his condition, the captain said, kindly,
"You look just about used up, young man; and no wonder, after what
you've gone through. The best thing for you to do is to hand your pony
over to one of the men, crawl into the wagon back there, and take a
nap."
Glen thought this such good advice that he immediately followed it. Two
minutes later he was lying, in what looked like a most uncomfortable
position, on top of a pile of baggage in the only wagon that accompanied
the troops, more soundly asleep than he had ever been before in all his
life. He did not even know when the wagon reached the fort, a few hours
later, nor did he realize what was happening when he was lifted from it
and led by the captain into his own quarters. There the boy was allowed
to tumble down on a pile of robes and blankets, and told to have his
sleep out.
Not until the rising sun streamed full in his face the next morning did
that sleep come to an end. Then he awoke so hungry that he felt as
though it would take a whole buffalo to satisfy his appetite, and so
bewildered by his surroundings that, for some minutes, he could not
recall what had happened. He had no idea of where he was, for he could
remember nothing since the act of crawling into the wagon and finding a
bed on its load of baggage.