THE VOICELESS FRIEND.
The keen eyes, instead of looking at the crest of the rocky ridge on his
right, were now centred on the ground, where they detected a small dark
speck swiftly approaching the horseman. At the first glance, the object
suggested a cannon-ball rolling with great speed toward the pony, that
was now standing still, with head erect, ears thrown forward, and the
appearance of perplexed interest in the thing, whatever it might be.
For a minute Warren Starr was unable to guess the meaning of the
singular sight. Whatever its nature, it was evident that it was aiming
to reach the rider with the least possible delay. The latter drew his
Winchester around in front, so as to be ready to receive it, his first
thought being that it was some Sioux stratagem designed to do him ill.
But while he gazed, he discovered its identity; it was a dog, running as
if its very life were at stake. The next instant young Starr perceived
something protruding from the front part of its body, resembling the
ornamental feather in an Indian's head-dress.
"It is an arrow!" he exclaimed. "The poor creature is badly wounded, and
is striving to reach me before he dies. By gracious, it's Bruno!" he
added, as a closer approach enabled him to identify the creature. "He
brings me some message."
Bruno was his favorite hound, that had accompanied him on many a hunting
excursion, and whom he loved scarcely less than Jack, his pony.
It was indeed a race with death on the part of the faithful animal.
While yet a number of rods distant, he staggered, faltered, then
gathering his energies pressed on with the last strength he could
summon, and with a low moan rolled languidly on his side, and looking
upward with a human expression to his young master, said by his action:
"I have done the best I could for you, and I am content."
Young Starr was out of the saddle like a flash, and ran forward to him.
Stooping down, he placed one arm under the head of the noble dog, and,
leaning over, touched his lips to the velvety forehead.
"My poor Bruno, they have killed you!" he murmured, with tears in his
eyes. "I would give an arm to save you, but it is too late."
He saw that the head of the arrow was sunken deep into the neck, and the
dark coat was splashed with crimson. To attempt to withdraw the missile
was useless. It could only deepen the agony of the animal without
relieving him in the least. He was doomed and dying before he sank to
the ground.
Bruno turned his beautiful eyes upward to his master, emitted a low
moan, gave a slight quiver and gasp, and was dead. No martyr ever did
his duty more heroically.
For a few moments Warren Starr yielded to his grief. He remained with
the exquisitely formed head resting on his arm, while the tears fell
from his eyes on the form that could never respond again to his
caresses. Then he gently withdrew his arm and suffered the head to rest
on the ground.
"Your last act was for those you love," he murmured; "you gave your life
for us, and no man could do more. No one shall take from me the faith
that we shall be happy together beyond the grave. Good-by, my true and
faithful friend."
Young Starr was too experienced a scout, despite his youth, to forget in
his grief the full significance of the sad incident. The hound had
travelled the long distance from the ranch to this point for the purpose
of bringing him a message. He had been discovered while on the road, and
fired upon by the Indians, who were so near that they used bows and
arrows to prevent the young master taking the alarm. Many missiles were
doubtless sent after the animal, and one was fated to bring him down,
though not until he had accomplished his errand.
Warren knew where to look for the message. He unstrapped the collar,
with its silver plate--which he would have done under any circumstance
to keep as a remembrance of his voiceless friend--and there, carefully
folded and secure under the band, was a piece of paper, containing
considerable writing in lead-pencil:
DEAR WARREN:
Don't come to the ranch. It is sure death to undertake it. A party
of twenty and more bucks are near us. They have killed or stampeded
our cattle, and will attack us this evening if we remain, which we
shall not do. Tim discovered them this afternoon, and learned
enough to make sure of their intention. We shall mount our horses
and start for Fort Meade. We dare not use the regular trail, along
which I suppose you are making your way, but must be guided by
circumstances. I think we shall move to the westward, taking the
most direct route to the post, but are likely to be forced into a
long detour, which renders it impossible for me to give you any
direction by which we can meet each other.
I know that your impulse will be to try to join us before we reach
the fort, but it is my earnest wish that you shall not attempt it.
Turn about at once, while you have time, and retrace your steps. If
a day or two shall pass without our coming in, perhaps it may be
well to ask the colonel to send out a squad of cavalry to help us,
for it is idle to fancy we are not in great peril. It is my prayer
that Bruno shall intercept you in time to prevent any mishap. I
have instructed him precisely what he is expected to do, and he not
only fully understands, but, as you well know, will do it if it be
possible.
YOUR FATHER.
"You were right," said the youth gently, looking down once more on the
inanimate form. "Bruno did his duty, and he deserves a monument for
having done it so well."
All this time the pony stood some feet away, motionless, and apparently
a deeply interested witness of the singular scene.
He was too well trained to leave his master, who never resorted to the
precaution of securing him by his halter.
Meanwhile night was closing in. The gloom was overspreading the prairie
so that the ridge, which had been such a cause for solicitude to the
youth, was now dimly discernible. In a few minutes it would be swallowed
up in the coming darkness.
Resolutely forcing his sadness aside, Warren knelt down and pressed his
ear to the ground. If horsemen were approaching he could detect it
through the sense of hearing.
Then he climbed once more into the saddle and faced the ridge, debating
with himself what was the right course to pursue. His father had said in
unmistakable language that he wished him to return to Fort Meade.
Warren was a dutiful son, but he could not persuade himself that that
was the best thing to do. To follow his parent's wishes would require
him to look after his own safety, and to forget those whose lives were
dearer to him than his own. To return to the fort, and secure the aid
that he knew would be cheerfully given, would take a day or two, during
which the crisis must come and pass with his people. Two days at the
most would settle the question whether they were to escape or fall
victims to the ferocity of the Sioux.
"I can't do it," he said, compressing his lips and shaking his head. "I
have never played the coward, and I'm not going to begin when my folks
are concerned. My first duty is to find out where father, mother, and
Dot are, and then do all I can for their safety."
It was not difficult to reach this conclusion, for which no one will
deny him credit; but it was altogether a difficult and formidable task
for him to decide what next to do.
Had his friends been following the regular trail to the fort his course
would have been simple, since he had only to continue on until he met
them; but his father had notified him that not only would he not take
that route, but he could not say which one he would adopt. He inclined
to think he would turn to the westward, leaving the path on his left,
but the question, as he said, must be settled by circumstances.
Something cold touched his hand. It was a snowflake, and he knew that in
a short time the ground would be wrapped in a mantle of white. Once more
he glanced in the direction of the elevation, now invisible in the
gathering darkness. On the utmost height a point of light appeared,
shining for a moment with the steady radiance of a fixed star.
"The bucks are there," concluded Warren; "they saw me from a long way,
and must wonder why I am delayed--ah, sure enough!"
All at once the gleaming light began circling about, faster and faster,
until it looked like a wheel of fire. Then it reversed, whirling as
swiftly in the opposite direction, then up and down, then from side to
side, and finally, whiff! it vanished.
A grim smile lit the face of the youth, who turned his gaze toward the
more distant ridge on his left for the answer, but if it was made, the
state of the atmosphere prevented his seeing it. Once he fancied he
caught the glimpse of something resembling a fire-fly, but it was only
for an instant, and was not observed again.
It was easy to read the meaning of that which first showed itself. A
party of Indians that had evidently been watching his coming, while yet
a long way off, now telegraphed his arrival to their confederates on the
more distant elevation, together with the fact that the white man had
ceased his approach and might not come any nearer.
It was reasonable to believe that these same red men would not remain
idle while the object of their wrath turned quietly about and retraced
his steps.
Only a few minutes were used in considering the question, but the time
had not yet expired, when, to Warren's astonishment, he heard the sound
of firing ahead. Probably eight or ten shots were discharged at quick
but irregular intervals, and then all once more became still.
A pang of apprehension passed through him at the fear that his friends,
after all, might have attempted to reach the fort by the trail, and had
become involved in a fight with the Sioux. Be that as it may, the fact
was impressed on him that he was doing an imprudent thing by remaining
in the path along which the warriors were liable to burst at any moment.
He turned Jack to the left and rode fully a hundred yards before again
drawing rein. It was not necessary to go this far to place himself
beyond sight of the path, but he wished to take no unnecessary chances.
By this time the snowflakes were falling fast, and it was impossible to
see objects more than twenty feet distant. Warren checked his pony,
holding him with his nose toward the trail, and listened.
Again the intelligent animal elevated his head, pricked his ears, and
emitted an almost noiseless neigh, as was his habit when he discovered
the approach of strangers. His rider could discern nothing through the
gloom, and resorted to the resource tried before, which is a common one
among hunters and warriors. Descending from the saddle, he brushed aside
the snow from a small spot on the ground and pressed his ear against the
earth.
This time he _did_ hear something. A horse was approaching over the
trail on a swift gallop, and it took but a brief while for the youth to
learn that he was coming from the direction of the ridge. Furthermore,
there was but the single horseman; or, if there were others, they were
so far off that no thought need be given to them.
Remounting his pony, Warren held him facing the path, and prepared for
any emergency likely to arise. He was well aware that if the stranger
kept to the trail he would be invisible in the gloom, but he was now so
near that from his seat young Starr plainly caught the sound of his
horse's hoofs, growing more distinct every moment.
Whoever it was that was advancing, it was evident he was doing so at
what might be called a leisurely pace, though it was quite rapid. The
horse was on an easy canter, such as his species can maintain for hours
without fatigue.
The youth was sitting in this posture, with never a thought of what was
coming, when to his amazement he caught the outlines of the man and his
steed passing at right angles to the course he had been following
himself.
"He is off the trail!" was the alarming fact which caused Warren to make
ready to fire, for the truth was apparent that if he saw the stranger,
the latter had the same opportunity of seeing him.
To his surprise Jack uttered a neigh at the critical moment when the
other was directly opposite. A collision now seemed certain, but the
other kept straight on, and quickly passed from sight.
Not until he had been several minutes beyond hearing did the startling
thought come to Warren Starr:
"That was a white man, and not an Indian."