SOMETIMES SUNRISE CAN COME TOO LATE
Noon passed into afternoon, and still the outer barricade remained
untaken, for Black Kettle and Frontin held it. They were excellent
shots, and with two Dacotah to keep the muskets loaded, they twice
checked half-hearted charges and searched the farther trees and the
lips of the ravine with deadly bullets. Maclish could not prod his
men to face that barricade again, after the fearful loss of the first
attack. Having fired away their last powder and exhausted their initial
ardour, the Stone Men kept up a sullen discharge of arrows and would do
no more.
The Star Woman, who had lost much blood but was in no danger, lay at
the verge of the cliff under the crooked tree, near the sleeping-place
of her mother; and she, too, slept in an exhausted slumber. Crawford,
who had tended her wound, was glad enough to have it so, for his hands
were full.
He laboured with the Dacotah, though in grim certainty of the end;
the Star Woman’s wound from a chance shaft had filled them all with
deadly fury. Standing Bull sent up repeated signal smokes, hoping
that Perrot’s war-party would see them, but as the afternoon drew on,
no response came from those leagues of silent green forest outspread
beyond the lake of many stars. And, now and again, to the musketry of
Frontin and Black Kettle rang out the death-yells of the Stone Men.
Where the sacred grove thinned out toward the sacred tree, Crawford
laid his second breastwork, enclosing the tip of the craggy triangle.
Tree after tree crashed down and was laid in position, wide boughs
projecting. When this had been done, the warriors fell to work
collecting old shafts or making new ones, inserting sharp flints into
the ball of each war-club or _casse-tête_, stoically preparing for the
last fight here at the crooked tree.
The wounded warrior squatting beside the couch of the Star Woman sent
a call to Crawford. He came to her quickly, knelt beside her; in his
bronzed features was a great tenderness, and his fingers touched her
brow, smoothing back the golden hair.
“You must stay quiet, Star Woman!”
She smiled a little. “Fear not, Wandering Star. In my sleep I have
called Metaminens, and he is coming.”
“Can you reach him where signal smokes have failed, then?” asked
Crawford bitterly. She put her hand to his, gripping his fingers.
“I am sorry that at first I did not understand what sort of man you
are, Wandering Star; I did not guess what tenderness could be in you.
I am only a weak woman, fighting the world with what weapons are mine,
as my mother taught me. Now--I have thought of how to prevent more
bloodshed, to save you and these others.”
Crawford’s steel-blue eyes hardened slightly. “How?”
“Maclish does not know that Metaminens is coming, and he will be
trapped by to-morrow. Send him word that I am dying; let one of his men
come and see me wounded. The Stone Men will be frightened, and Maclish
will not know what to do----”
“No,” said Crawford. “Maclish means to have you alive or dead; he has
gone too far to draw out now. If he knew that the Dacotah host was
coming, he and the Stone Men might flee--but he would refuse to believe
it, from our lips. Even if he believed it, he would attack us at once,
in order to seize you and so buy his safety from Perrot. There is no
way out of this imbroglio, Star Woman--except to hold out while we can.”
The eyes of the girl closed.
“You are right. I will send out my spirit to reach Metaminens, as my
mother used to do. It is our only hope.”
Crawford stood for a moment regarding the girl, wondering at her words.
He remembered how Perrot had spoken of the Star Woman’s influence in
his life. Could it be that Perrot was the father of this girl? Then
whence had come her mother--a white woman, certainly? That would never
be known now, for this girl herself knew nothing of her past.
As he stood, those glorious lapis eyes opened, swept up to meet his
gaze, and a smile touched the lips of the Star Woman. In this smile,
this look, there passed between the two something more than words could
have told--a touch of the spirit beyond any speech. Then Crawford found
the Dacotah chief at his elbow.
“My brother Black Kettle is calling!”
“Come.” With Standing Bull, Crawford turned to the trees of the grove,
and rapidly passed among them, suddenly conscious that muskets had been
banging all this while. When they sighted the outer barricade, Frontin
saw them, wiped his powder-blackened face, and shouted:
“Four charges left, cap’n!”
“Come in, then.”
Followed by a hail of shafts, Frontin and the Mohegan came bounding
across to the trees, carrying a musket each. From the outer forest was
ascending a din of shouts, yells, long chorused chants, pierced by the
bellow of Maclish. Crawford understood that the Stone Men were working
themselves up to battle fury, singing the scalp dance, preparing for
one final assault. He turned to Standing Bull.
“Call up your men. When the enemy come, let them take the outer
breastwork, but hold the grove, falling back on the last defence.
Frontin, go back to the crooked tree with the muskets. We must check
them there until morning.”
Hardly had he spoken, when an up-pouring yell and a whistle of shafts
betrayed that the Stone Men were advancing. Now the Dacotah came
darting forward to occupy the grove, and as they did so, the enemy
poured into sight from the farther trees, sending a hail of shafts over
the breastwork into the grove, and Crawford caught a glimpse of Maclish
urging them on from the rear.
Now the bows thrummed, and the long shafts sang down the level sunlight
of waning afternoon. Men stumbled and died, or leaped in midair like
stricken deer; but the defenders were all too few. Up to the outer
barricade swept the yelling flood, paused for an instant, and then came
surging over. Crawford shouted his men back, hurled his axe into the
brain of the nearest Assiniboine, then went leaping for cover. Pealing
up yells of triumph, the Stone Men burst across the barricade and
flooded in upon the grove.
There again the bowstrings twanged, and shafts whistled fiercely into
naked bodies, but there was no checking this assault. Through the grove
swept the Stone Men, scarcely checked by the Dacotah arrows. Crawford
gained the breastwork, defending the last bit of ground around the
crooked tree, and was joined there by Standing Bull and four warriors.
The others were gone.
No orders were needed. The Dacotah caught up fresh arrows, Frontin and
Black Kettle lay with matches alight. As the grove vomited forth the
oncoming Stone Men, the four last charges of powder roared out one by
one, arrows flew as fast as fingers could work the strings. Smitten by
this blast of death, dismayed to find a fresh barricade facing them,
the Assiniboines paused, wavered, broke back abruptly to cover. The
storm abruptly ceased, the bellow of Maclish quelling the arrow-flight.
The sun was just sinking from sight behind the western trees.
“_Habet!_” With a wild laugh, Frontin pointed to Standing Bull. The old
chief quietly fell forward, with the point of an arrow emerging from
his back, and was dead. “Seven of us left in all, cap’n. Hurt?”
“No.”
“Then I am. Come and cut out this shaft.”
Startled, Crawford sprang to Frontin’s side and saw that his friend was
pierced through, below the right shoulder. With his knife, he slashed
at the crimsoned arrowhead; Frontin gripped the feathered shaft and
drew it out. At this instant the voice of Maclish roared up from among
the trees of the sacred grove.
“Ahoy, Crawford! Art there yet?”
“Aye, Maclish,” returned Crawford. “Come out and settle it with me, you
devil!”
“Not I.” Maclish laughed jeeringly. “We’re going to burn two of your
men to-night. With sunrise we’ll finish it. Tell the Star Woman that
I’ll take her in the morning!”
Silence fell. Frontin grinned and put the message into French for the
redskins, while Crawford tied up his wound.
“We have a respite until morning, cap’n! And well earned and dear
bought, say I. He’s got two of our wounded men and will burn them to
hearten his devils. Well, this time to-morrow night we’ll be burning
too.”
In the last lingering light, two of the wounded warriors built up a
last forlorn signal smoke; but from the silent forests across the lake,
now purpling in the twilight, came no response, and the horizon was
bare. The darkness fell. Behind the barricade now remained Crawford,
Frontin, Black Kettle and four Dacotah braves. They had a little water,
not much; this was saved for the Star Woman. Crawford took it to her
with a scrap of food, as she lay beneath the crooked tree. She had just
wakened, and her voice in the darkness thrilled him.
“Let the food wait. I have summoned Metaminens, called him; he is
coming now. When the sun lifts over the east, he will come.”
“And except that two men are burning, we would be gone,” thought
Crawford, but did not voice his thought. Nor did he seek any
explanation of how she could summon Metaminens; there was in this girl
more of mystery than he could fathom--and in the touch of her hand
more of allure than he dared admit.
So as he sat beside her in the night, they talked a little space of the
mother that she had lost; and Crawford spoke of the Irish girl whom he
once had loved, and the name of Metaminens arose between them.
“He will be here at sunrise, and I shall see him!” said the Star Woman,
and sighed. And at this Crawford leaned over and touched his lips to
her forehead, and so left her. The Dacotah came and built up a little
shelter of pine boughs above her, and she slept.
To the little group of wounded and desperate men who waited there by
the crooked tree, the dark hours drew on terribly. From the sacred
grove gleamed the lurid glow of fires, while the fierce laughter of
the Stone Men told of the grim work going on there; and once the sharp
scream of a man in mortal agony came wrenching through the darkness,
but only once. Then, after midnight, silence fell, and Crawford slept a
little.
In the rustling greyness of dawn, when mist-shadows were stealing up
from the lake and the contorted shape of the sacred pine hung black
against the paling sky, Crawford was wakened by Black Kettle.
“My brother, it is time. The Star Woman is awake, also.”
Crawford rose, shook himself, went to the little shelter of boughs.
“It is certain,” said the Star Woman quietly, looking up at him. “When
the sun lifts, Metaminens will be here. Tell the others.”
Crawford told them, but they only grunted; those redskins had no
illusions now.
The dawn increased, and up the eastern sky pierced the first reddened
lance-tips of the day. Black Kettle divided with the four Dacotah the
remaining arrows, and waited. Frontin and Crawford smoked. From the
sacred grove beyond the breastwork arose a murmur of voices, among
them lifting the deep tones of Maclish. One of the Dacotah, listening,
uttered a curt laugh and translated.
“They say the Red Bull is a coward; they will not attack unless he
leads them.”
As though in response, a burst of yells lifted from the trees.
“Coming!” said Frontin, and knocked out his pipe.
The seven ranged themselves behind the fallen trees, arrows on string,
long war-clubs ready, tomahawk and knife at belt; Crawford stood in
the centre, Frontin and the Mohegan to either side of him. The pealing
whoop of Black Kettle made fierce answer to the yells, and then across
the opening came a rush of dark figures.
Now the Dacotah bows thrummed and sang for the last time, and the
biting shafts flew fast; no arrows made answer, for Maclish wanted to
take the Star Woman alive. The eastern sky was all aflame with scarlet
and gold, and full day was breaking. Stumbling across their dead,
the Stone Men flooded onto the breastwork, crashed amid the boughs,
and came storming over it. And at their head, hurling himself madly
forward, was Maclish, axe in hand.
Crawford waited, crouching, laughing softly to himself. He did not move
as the burly Scot smashed into the tangle of tree-limbs, until he saw
that red-bearded animal’s face lift into sight not three feet from
him--then, rising suddenly, he flung himself out and grappled his enemy.
It was axe to axe, fist to fist, man to man, while about them the
tide of battle rolled unheeded and unheeding. Crawford flashed his
axe, felt it torn from his hand, and whipped out his knife. Steel was
biting him, but he felt it not. He bore the Scot backward, laughed into
the contorted face, drove home his knife again and again until he was
amazed to find that his work was done. Before the wild ferocity of the
attack, Maclish crumpled up and gasped, and died cursing.
Scarce realizing the fact, Crawford scrambled back across the barrier
and stood to wipe the blood from his face. Then he went staggering
under the knife-thrust of an Assiniboine who struck him from behind,
following the blow with a leap. Crawford met the leap with his knife,
dashed the warrior aside, and stood reeling. The last Dacotah was down,
still struggling under a heap of bodies, while Frontin and Black Kettle
fought their way toward the crooked tree at the point of the cliff.
Black Kettle gave his death-yell to the crashing impact of a war-club,
and vanished. Then Crawford, forgotten, picked up a fallen club and
rushed into the thick of the mêlée. He reached Frontin, struck aside
a leaping warrior, and together they reached the crooked tree beside
the little shelter where the Star Woman lay. There against the twisted
pine they stood back to back, while the Stone Men surged in upon them
and drew away again, awed by the dark man who laughed as he wielded
crimsoned knife, and the other man with blazing eyes and the great
star shimmering at his throat as the club swung. Awed for a moment
only--then they closed in.
Knife bit delicately, with the deadly precision of a rapier; club
thudded and crashed; men died and lay broken, ringing in the pair who
fought. The flood surged in again and again, only to be beaten back,
shattered, hurled aside from that ring of dead. In again it came,
relentless and maddened. Frontin, staggering under a smashing blow,
went to his knees, reeled back gasping against the tree-bole. Crawford
swung his weapon, but blood was on his hand and it slipped away. He
dragged at his knife, drove out with it again and again at the rimming
circle of faces--and for the last time that flood drew back. Frontin
staggered up.
“Can ye see Phelim Burke now?” he croaked, with a ghastly laugh.
A vibrant note made answer and Frontin lay back against the crooked
tree, pinned to it by a shaft whose feathered end stood out of his
breast. A stone axe hurtled in air, and Crawford staggered. He threw
out his hands and fell forward, and lay across the little arbour of the
Star Woman, who caught him in her arms as he fell.
Then the sun rose, and Metaminens came.