TIM BROPHY'S DISCOVERY.
The letter which was delivered to Warren Starr by his mortally wounded
hound not only gave that young man definite news of the alarming events
in the neighborhood of his home, but has conveyed to the reader the
cause of the abrupt change in his plans and of the stirring incidents
which led to the hasty flight of the Starr family from their ranch on
the north of the Big Cheyenne River.
As stated in the note, it was Tim Brophy, the young Irishman, who made
the discovery in time to prevent the family being overwhelmed and
massacred. While Jared Plummer, the lank New Englander, rode to the
westward to look after some strays, Tim galloped north to attend to the
main herd, which was supposed to be cropping the abundant grass in the
neighborhood of several small streams and tributaries of the main
river.
Tim had been in the employ of Mr. Starr for three years, and had spent
most of his life in the West, so that he had fully learned the lesson
which such an experience should teach everyone. He knew of the impending
trouble among the Indian tribes, and was always on the alert. It was not
long, therefore, before he came upon signs which told him something was
amiss.
In the corner of a natural clearing, near one of the small streams, he
discovered a dozen of the cattle lying dead. It was not necessary for
him to dismount and examine the ground to learn the cause of such
slaughter. The footprints of ponies near by, the bullet wounds, and
other indications answered the question that came to his lips at the
first glimpse of the cruel butchery.
"The spalpeens!" he exclaimed wrath-fully. "They niver had a better
friend than Mr. Starr, and that's the shtyle in which they pays him for
the same. Worrah, worrah, but it's too bad!"
Riding cautiously to the top of the next elevation, the young rancher
saw other sights which filled him with greater indignation and
resentment. A half mile to the northward the entire herd of cattle,
numbering several hundreds, were scurrying over the plain in a wild
panic. The figures of several Sioux bucks galloping at their heels,
swinging their arms and shouting, so as to keep up and add to the
affright, left no doubt that Mr. Starr's fine drove of cattle was gone
beyond recovery. The result of months of toil, expense, and trouble were
vanishing as they sometimes do before the resistless sweep of the
cyclone.
The blue eyes of the Celt flashed, as he sat in the saddle and
contemplated the exasperating raid. Nothing would have pleased him
better than to dash with several companions after the marauders and
force them to a reckoning for the outrage. But eager as he was for such
an affray, he was too wise to try it alone. There were five or six of
the horsemen, and he was no match for them.
Besides this, a more alarming discovery broke upon him within a minute
after observing the stampede. From the clump of wood on his right, along
the edge of the stream, only a few hundred yards away, he detected the
faint smoke of a camp-fire. The Sioux were there.
The sight so startled Tim that he wheeled his pony short around and
withdrew behind the elevation he had just ascended, fearing he had
already been observed by the red men.
Such undoubtedly would have been the fact had any of the turbulent Sioux
been on guard, but the occasion was one of those rare ones in which the
warriors acted upon the theory that no such precaution was needed, since
no possible danger could threaten them.
Suspecting the truth, Tim dropped hastily from his pony and stole along
the edge of the stream, until he reached a point which gave him a sight
of the miscreants, and at the same time afforded him tolerably fair
protection.
The scene was calculated to inspire anything but pleasant feelings in a
spectator. Fully a score of young warriors were squatted in a circle,
listening to the harangue of one of their number, who had wrought
himself into a furious passion. He was swinging his arms, shouting and
leaping about like a lunatic, and rising to a pitch which not only
threatened to throw him into a paroxysm, but was imparting itself to his
listeners. Some of them were smoking, but showing at the same time an
excitement which is generally believed to be foreign to the American
race. They were all bucks, and eager to be led upon the warpath. There
was not an old or middle-aged man among them.
The eavesdropper was not able to understand their words, but the
gestures left no doubt of their fearful meaning. The speaker pointed in
the direction of the home of the Starrs so often, and indulged in so
much action to which the others signified full assent, that it was
beyond dispute that they meant to attack the house and slay the inmates.
Knowing all about these, and the resistance they were likely to meet,
they would wait until night before bursting upon them.
Tim Brophy was sagacious enough to grasp almost on the instant the full
nature of the awful peril. He saw that accident, or rather Providence,
had given to him the secret which revealed that only by prompt action
could the lives of his friends be saved. There was no saying how long
the council, if such it may be called, would last, and he did not care
to know.
Nothing could show the intense absorption of the fierce Sioux in the
outrage they had determined to commit more than the fact that a white
man rose up in full view only a few hundred yards away, without his
presence being detected. Such being the case, it was easy for Tim to
withdraw from the immediate vicinity of the gathering, steal round to
where his pony was cropping the grass, and mount again.
He rode carefully forward, keeping the elevation between him and the
camp of the hostiles, until convinced it was safe, when he struck his
horse into a run and sped away as if for life.
A few minutes sufficed to take him to the house, where the unsuspicious
folk looked up in wonder at his haste and agitation. Mr. Starr was
sitting near the window reading a newspaper, his little girl Dot was
playing with her doll on the floor, and the wife was busy with her
household duties.
It took but a few minutes for Tim to tell the news. Jared Plummer had
not yet come in, and there could be no guessing as to what additional
facts he would give them.
Like his employe, the rancher was quick to grasp the situation. The only
possible safety was in flight, and no time was to be lost.
The building, with its broad, flat roof, its many windows and insecure
portions, was in no condition for successful defence, where the small
garrison could not guard one-half the weak points. The assailants could
readily fire it, and it would burn like so much touchwood. Flight,
therefore, was the one and only thing to be thought of.
It was yet comparatively early in the afternoon, and those on the ranch
had noted the signs of the approaching snowstorm. The husband directed
his wife to make her preparations few and simple, and to waste no time.
It was idle to bewail the necessity which compelled them to leave so
many precious articles behind. Life was dearer than all, and the
courageous helpmate proved herself equal to the occasion. She gathered
the articles of clothing they were likely to need, filled several bags
with the provisions in the house, and announced that she was ready.
There was a horse each for the father, mother, and Tim Brophy, while a
fourth, a small, tough pony, was laden with the bag of provisions, extra
clothing, and a few articles deemed indispensable. These were brought
round to the front, and in much less time than would be supposed the
little cavalcade was ready to move.
Despite the belief of Brophy that no attack would be made until after
darkness had closed,--a belief shared by Mr. Starr,--the rancher was
fearful that his home would be placed under surveillance while daylight
lasted, and that the intended flight would be discovered before it
began. In such an event, the family could only fight it out to the
desperate end, and that they would do so admits of no doubt.