BENT ARM AND HIS BAND.
George Starr was so agitated that, forgetting the presence of his little
child, he impulsively spoke the truth, while yet a few paces away:
"Plummer is in those bushes."
"Is he----"
Mrs. Starr hesitated with the dreadful word unuttered.
"Yes; he is dead; killed by the Indians!"
The wife gave a gasp, and the husband added:
"The poor fellow lies stretched out, stark and stiff, where he was shot
down by the Sioux. He must have been killed shortly after leaving the
house."
"Where is his horse?"
"I suppose it has been stolen. It is a sad thing, but poor Plummer is
with his Maker; it won't do for us to wait any longer; I don't
understand how we have escaped thus far, for we are in greater danger
than I had supposed. We must cross the stream without delay, even if we
have to swim our horses."
"I am ready," said Mrs. Starr calmly; "lead the way."
"I hope it will not be necessary to subject you and Dot to the trial,
but there is not a minute to spare."
With his lips compressed, the rancher hastily remounted his pony and
turned his head toward the water.
"Let me keep in advance," he said, "and you can tell what to do."
The obedient horse sniffed the water, but, without hesitation, stepped
in, sinking to his knees within a yard of the bank.
A rod farther the depth had not materially increased, and, turning his
head, he signified to his wife to follow. She clasped Dot a little
closer to her breast, spoke quietly to her animal, and he obeyed without
faltering.
The water steadily but slowly deepened, and when the middle of the
stream was reached it was at the stirrups of the leader. He withdrew
his feet and pushed on, the pony cautiously advancing, and the hope
growing that the stream would be forded without trouble.
A rod farther, and Mrs. Starr uttered a slight exclamation. She saw the
steed of her husband suddenly sink, and thought he was going entirely
under. But he did not, and, by a quick raising of his feet, the rider
saved them from wetting. His animal still retained a firm foothold, and,
quickly recovering, kept forward.
Now the water began shallowing, and, with a relief beyond words, the
rancher reached dry land without having suffered any inconvenience.
"Thank Heaven!" he exclaimed, turning about and watching his wife, who
guided her animal over the invisible trail until she was beside him on
the hard earth. It required no little skill on her part, for when she
withdrew her foot from her stirrup, and was obliged not only to hold her
own poise, but to take care of Dot, her task became delicate and
difficult. But the little one behaved like a heroine. She did not speak
or stir, through fear of disturbing her parent, and was as relieved as
both when the current was safely forded.
"Are there any more like this?" asked the wife.
"There are other streams, but whether they can be forded or not remains
to be learned."
The bank sloped upward to a height of a dozen feet, and beyond it
declined nearly as much, and then stretched away in an open plain for
more than a mile, before breaking into rough, rocky country, where they
were quite sure to find greater obstructions confronting them than any
yet encountered.
"Oh, see there!" called out Dot.
Flakes of scurrying snow were in the air, and her father supposed she
referred to them.
"Yes," he replied, "we shall have to ride for a while through a snow
storm."
"I know that, but it isn't what I mean; yonder is someone following us."
Her position in the arms of her mother gave her opportunity to look back
over the stream they had just crossed, while the attention of her
parents was directed elsewhere.
Her words caused both to glance behind them, where they witnessed a
startling scene. A Sioux Indian, astride of a pony, had halted with the
fore feet of the animal in the margin of the water. Directly behind him
was a second horseman, advancing slowly, and immediately to the rear of
him appeared a third, while the head and shoulders of a fourth were
rising to view over the bank in the path of the others. And there was no
saying how many others made up the procession, streaming toward the ford
in the footsteps of the fugitives.
"Molly," said Mr. Starr, in a low voice, "ride over the top of the hill
as quickly as you can."
"But what will you do?"
"Never mind; obey me at once or we are lost."
[Illustration: A HOT PURSUIT.]
She obeyed without remonstrance, though her fear at that moment was more
for her husband than for herself and child. She was quick-witted enough
to jerk the reins sharply, so that her pony passed out of sight before
the pursuers could suspect her purpose. But the moment she was behind
the sheltering swell, she checked her horse and waited for her husband.
The latter decided on his course of action the moment the peril broke
upon him.
He calmly confronted the advancing bucks and held himself ready to
dispute their crossing. Unless he kept them in check and delayed the
pursuit, nothing could save his family and himself.
The foremost Sioux evidently was the leader. Starr recognized him,
despite his paint, as a fellow who had visited his home on several
occasions, and who was known as Bent Arm, because of a peculiar rigidity
of the left arm, made by some wound received years before.
While the white and red men sat on their ponies facing each other the
remaining warriors continued coming into view until five of them were
grouped behind the leader. There they sat--grim, silent, and
watchful--leaving matters wholly in the hands of the one in front.
The latter, observing the rancher at bay, called to him in fair
English:
"Wait dere--surrender--won't hurt."
"Why do you ask me to surrender? We are not enemies," called back the
white man.
"Wait dere," repeated Bent Arm; "want to talk wid you."
"We are talking now; stay where you are, and let me hear what you have
to say."
"We go over--we talk better dere."
It was plain that the Sioux was not satisfied with the action of the
rancher's wife. She and her child were beyond sight, and it looked as if
the parley of her husband was meant to give her a chance to get beyond
reach. Valuable time was passing, and unless they acted promptly, they
would throw away an opportunity that would never come to them again.
George Starr read their purpose as plainly as if they had announced it
in so many words. Further talk was useless; the Sioux were bent on
making him and his family prisoners, and little mercy would be shown
them. He knew the dear ones were but a few paces away, and his wife
would never leave the spot so long as he was in danger.
The words had hardly fallen from the lips of Bent Arm when his pony
began stepping farther into the water, while his companions closed in
behind him.
Striking his heels sharply against the sides of his horse as the rancher
drew his head about, he sent the animal over the swell in a couple of
bounds beyond reach of any shots that might be sent after him. He
wondered a little that the Indians had not announced their presence by a
volley that would have brought him from the saddle, but rightly judged
the reason to be that they preferred to make the little party prisoners,
considering them as good as already secured.
"Stay where you are!" he called to his wondering wife. "I am going to
make a fight with them. Our only hope is in keeping them back until it
is dark."
He was out of the saddle while speaking, and, dropping on his hands and
knees, crawled up the swell and looked over.