"TIMOTHY BROPHY, ESQ., AT YOUR SERVICE."
At first thought, the abrupt departure of Tim Brophy may seem an
imprudent thing, since it left only one man to look after the safety of
Mrs. Starr and their little one; but it will be remembered that the hope
of safety lay not in fighting, but in flight; and the presence or
absence of the young Irishman could not affect that one way or the
other.
Accordingly, with a pause only long enough to draw a substantial lunch
from the provision bag and to bid his friends good-by, Tim wheeled his
horse and was off like a shot. He took good care to avoid the
neighborhood of the bucks, and soon left the ranch far behind, speeding
along the trail over which Warren Starr was at that moment galloping
toward him.
The youth drove his task through with all the impetuosity of his nature.
He was devotedly attached to the son of his employer, and was ready at
any time, as he had always been, to risk his life for him. Believing as
he did that he was in more imminent peril than anyone else, he bent
every energy toward reaching and turning him aside before it was too
late.
In this essay, Tim committed a mistake which Warren Starr narrowly
avoided. He acted on the theory that the only real danger was in the
immediate neighborhood of the ranch, and that none existed near the
ridges between which the trail led. The consequence was that, when he
was not dreaming of any such thing, he suddenly became the target for a
fusillade from Sioux rifles that were waiting to receive young Starr,
and therefore were not fully prepared for him. By desperate work and
good fortune he and his pony ran the gauntlet unscathed, and continued
their flight southward. The whinny of his friend's pony, he supposed,
came from one of the horses of his enemies, and therefore he galloped on
without paying any heed to it.
Meanwhile, as will be remembered, young Starr had pushed through the
falling snow and gathering darkness until he and his horse reached the
primitive shelter among the rocks, bowlders, and trees which he had used
when on previous hunting expeditions. After he and Jack had disposed
themselves for the night they were disturbed by the approach of someone.
Rising to his feet, Warren hurried stealthily to the door, where he ran
directly against the intruder, whom he was unable to recognize in the
gloom.
"Who are you?" he asked, holding his revolver ready for instant use, but
unwilling to fire until sure he was facing an enemy.
"Timothy Brophy, Esq., at your service," replied his friend, identifying
the other by his voice.
"Why, Tim, I can't tell you how glad I am to see you," exclaimed the
delighted Warren: "I have thought a score of times, when on the way, how
pleasant it would be to meet you. What brought you here?"
"My horse, and I presume that yours did the same for yersilf."
"Where is he?"
"Outside, near by, wid the bist shelter I could give him: I didn't saa
your own."
"He's inside, sharing my couch with me, or, rather, was doing so when
you disturbed us."
Tim broke into laughter.
"That's a good idaa; I niver heerd of anything like it before. Is there
room for Billy, too?"
"I'm afraid we would be crowded; but come inside till I strike a match
and show you how things are fixed."
The two entered, and Warren ignited another lucifer. Jack was evidently
puzzled, raising his head and looking at them in a way which suggested
that he would like to come to his feet.
"Lie down, old fellow!" commanded his master; "there's nothing to be
disturbed about; you couldn't have better quarters, and you will be wise
to stay where you are; you're better off than Billy."
Now that Tim had arrived with his blanket, it was decided that the pony
should be left where he was, while the youths lay down on the other
covering, which was wrapped about them.
Then they curled up and made themselves as comfortable as on their
previous stay in the rude shelter.
Lying thus, they naturally talked over what had taken place since their
last meeting. Warren's voice trembled when he told the story of Bruno,
who gave his life for him and his friends, and Tim related what had
befallen the others during the day.
Young Starr was filled with alarm for his parents and little sister, but
Tim was hopeful that everything would come out right, and that, by the
time the sun rose, they would be so far advanced on their way to Fort
Meade that the danger would be virtually over.
"Ye knows," he continued, "that yer fayther is acquainted wid the way as
well as yerself; the horses are frish and strong, and he'll not spare
thim; the road, too, is not as long as by the rig'lar route that we've
follyed so often."
"That is true, but it must be all of thirty miles, and is really much
greater because of the ridges, hills, streams, and difficult places in
the path, which will compel many detours."
"And the same will have to be observed by the spalpeens that may be
thrying to overtake thim."
"But they understand the business better."
"I'm not so sartin of that," sturdily replied Tim; "yer fayther is no
green hand."
"That isn't what I mean; I'm thinking of mother and Dot; he will have to
accommodate himself to them, and in case the Indians do come up with
them----"
"Arrah, now, what are ye thinking of?" demanded Tim impatiently; "if ye
want to go to specylatin' and 'ifing,' ye may refar to oursilves and say
that if the spalpeens come down here wid Sitting Bull laading the same,
and they sit fire to this ilegant risidence, what will become of us?"
"That is very well, Tim, and you mean right, but I shall not rest a
minute until I know they have reached the fort. It's strange, too, about
Plummer."
"It's my opinion," remarked the Irishman, lowering his voice, as though
afraid of being overheard, "that he's in throuble."
"Why do you think so?"
"Because he did not show up before we lift; he hadn't any farther to go
than mesilf, and it was nearly an hour after I got back before we come
away, but there was no sign of him."
"Did you hear no firing?"
"Not that I remimber; which reminds me that it was also quaar that the
Sioux could have shot down the cattle as they did, so near the house,
widout any of us noting the noise of their guns."
"It was singular, but perhaps you were all inside at the time, busy at
something. At any rate, instead of our hurrying back to the fort, we
will do our best to find father and mother, and stick by them to the
end."
"I'm wid ye there," was the hearty response of Tim; "I'd like to give
Plummer a helping hand, but see no way to do the same, and it is likely
that he can get along better widout us than wid us."
The two talked a long time, for their hearts were full. It was not until
midnight that a feeling of drowsiness began creeping over them. Tim's
remarks began to grow slower and more disconnected, until finally he
failed to answer at all. Finding that he was asleep, Warren composed
himself as comfortably as he could, and soon joined him in the land of
dreams.
The snow continued sifting softly downward, and rattled against the
branches and leaves which composed a portion of their house. The
temperature sank as the night progressed, and the situation of the
couple, no less than that of their friends, became anything but hopeful.
They were still a long way from the post, where they could feel secure,
and the Indians were certain to press them hard. They were so much more
numerous than the little band of fugitives that the advantage lay wholly
with them.
But the night passed without disturbance. Then the pony and the two
youths awoke simultaneously, for they were aroused by one of the most
startling causes that can be conceived: It was the screaming whinny of
Tim Brophy's horse--a cry rarely heard from the animal, and only when in
the very extremity of mortal terror.