BROKEN FEATHER'S WAY
When he had fired that first shot, and while the Redskins were still
riding out from their ambush to rally on the level trail and charge down
in a compact body upon his outfit, Kiddie turned his pony and galloped
back under a hail of arrows. Most of them fell short; very few flew past
him, and only one touched him, doing no harm.
"That's right, Nick," he called, as he drew rein beside the leading mule
wagon.
"There's a whole crowd of em' comin' out from behind the rock," cried
Rube Carter, going up to him. "I'm goin' ter git 'neath this yer wagon
an' fire at 'em through one o' th' wheels."
"You ain't goin' ter handle any gun," frowned Kiddie. "You're goin' ter
hang back in the rear an' keep an eye on the hosses. Quit!"
Nick Undrell, following his instructions, had promptly brought the three
wagons into position, extending them obliquely across the level trail,
one to the rear of the other, so that each should have its broadside
presented like a redoubt towards the oncoming enemy, the mule teams being
swung round into cover on the sheltered side.
Kiddie's horses in the background were similarly protected from the line
of fire, unless, indeed, the Indians should succeed in getting through on
either flank, which was not at all probable.
Six picked marksmen were concealed under the canvas covers of each of the
wagons, and every man from behind his particular loophole commanded a
wide section of the valley and of the hillside.
The Indians, seeing that the outfit had come to a halt, as if in
submission, delayed their advance while they closed into massed formation
to sweep down upon their unresisting victims in one grand overwhelming
rush. They could see only the three drivers, who had now jumped down to
attend to their mules, and four riders, one of whom was a mere boy.
Clearly, they considered the prairie schooners and their precious
contents already their own, as well as the horses bunched in the rear.
They could not have divined that, apart from the guns carried by the
horsemen, there were eighteen repeating rifles levelled against them from
under the cover of three innocent-looking carts.
Kiddie dismounted, dropped his bridle rein over his pony's head, and took
up a position behind the foot-board of the foremost wagon, from which he
could look forward along the trail, with a rest for his elbows in
levelling his gun. There was a neat little stack of cartridges in their
clips within his easy reach.
"Don't reckon as I touched Broken Feather when I fired that first shot
along there," he remarked to Nick Undrell, who was posted near him.
"That ain't Broken Feather hisself as you's looking at," said Nick,
squinting along the barrel of his Winchester, "though I allows he's
wearin' the chief's dinky head-dress. No, sir, that's Murm'rin' Water,
the boss medicine man. You won't easily reco'nize Broken Feather by his
body coverin'. You'll be a whole lot wiser'n I think you, if you kin
single him out in that crowd. Hullo! Now for it!"
Nick pressed his trigger. The Redskins were charging.
"Let go, boys!" he cried, as a shower of arrows and ill-aimed bullets
peppered against the off sides of the wagons and kicked up spurts of dust
on the trail.
Simultaneously the hidden men in the three carts opened fire. There was
a loud burst of rifle shots, and then a continuous stream, broken only at
momentary intervals as the magazines were refilled and again refilled.
The Indians, taken wholly aback by this unexpected reception of
point-blank fire, swerved in confusion. Many of them tumbled from their
rearing, plunging, staggering ponies. Many of the ponies fell; many
raced back riderless. There was a wild screech as the crowd stopped in
their broken charge, unwilling to face the deadly barrier of bullets.
"Cease fire!" cried Kiddie, lowering his rifle. "Cease fire, Nick.
We've checked 'em, sure. Don't you see? Order your men ter quit
shootin'."
"Not yet," objected Nick, still using his gun. "We ain't finished yet,
no more'n they. See the rooster in the fur cap--him ridin' the piebald
mustang? He ain't done shootin' yet. He's figurin' ter pick you off.
Bin at it all the time. Snakes! Why, it's Broken Feather hisself!
Stand back! Leave him ter me, sir. Git back an' see ter them
hosses--and the boy."
As he spoke Nick again pressed his trigger. Kiddie saw the mustang rear
on its hind legs, pawing the air as it pivoted round, and then fall over
with a heavy thud. But its rider leapt clear, flung himself flat behind
his fallen pony, and continued to shoot.
[Illustration: Kiddie saw the mustang rear on its hind legs.]
"Jim's hit!" cried a voice from the wagon. "He's hit bad."
"Alf'll look after him," called Nick, thrusting a new clip of cartridges
into his gun. "Th' rest o' you keep on shootin'. Keep a watch on the
side slopes. Some of 'em's liable ter sneak past."
Some of the dismounted Indians now tried to work round to the flanks,
crawling like snakes through the grass and taking shelter behind bush and
boulder. But the sharp-eyed frontiersmen quickly detected them, and none
got through.
Kiddie saw this new danger, however, and, taking Nick's advice, he leapt
on his waiting pony and rode back to the rear, to assure himself that
Rube and the horses were safe.
Rube was faithfully at his post, minding the horses and watching the back
trail, but fretting sorely at being kept away from the excitement of the
fighting.
"All right," nodded Kiddie, riding up to him. "Drive the horses back
there, to the shelter of the ravine, where the stream comes down. Give
them a drink. They'll be glad of it. And--stop there with them. I'll
give you a sign when I want you to bring them along."
It seemed to Rube then that Kiddie wanted to get him out of the way, and
he wondered at Kiddie's reasons for keeping him from participating in the
battle.
Young though he was, and he was only fourteen, Rube considered himself
quite capable of handling a gun and looking after himself. And he wasn't
a coward. Why could he not be allowed even to look on from a safe
shelter?
Kiddie's reasons, nevertheless, were good. He was thinking less of the
boy, whom he implicitly trusted, than of his horses, and of a new peril
which at this moment seemed to threaten the whole of his company.
Just as he had halted beside Rube he had turned his glance back along the
narrow valley. Far off in the blue distance he had seen a thin film of
dust rising; or was it smoke? He was not certain at first, but when Rube
had gone he looked again in the same direction, and he said to himself in
his old drawling Western way--
"'Tain't smoke. Guess it's just dust. An' it's travellin' this ways
along the trail. But a cloud of dust same as that must ha' bin turned up
by more'n one gallopin' pony. Dozens an' dozens, more like. Guess it's
Injuns--a second detachment of Broken Feather's forces--rustlin' along
with th' idea of nippin' us in 'tween two fires. A cute idea; but I
don't notion that it's goin' ter come off. They're just a bit too late;
didn't calculate on our comin' along so quick, I guess."
The fighting had slackened considerably when Kiddie returned to his
loophole at the front of the leading wagon. Nick Undrell was still
there. He was rigidly looking along the sights of his rifle, hesitating
to fire.
"You're aimin' at a dead pony, Nick," Kiddie pointed out.
"I ain't doin' nothin' so fullish," returned Nick. "It's the skunk lyin'
doggo behind it that I'm interested in. Broken Feather's thar, sure; and
he ain't dead; he ain't even wounded. He's 'bout as much alive an' alert
's ever he was in his nat'ral. But his ammunition's all spent, an' he's
jus' waitin' his chance ter quit. He knows I've got th' bead on him.
Soon's I shift my gun, he'll do a vamoose, slick, an' his braves along of
him."
"Then shift your gun," commanded Kiddie. "Quit shootin' an let's git
outer this. Thar's a reinforcement of Injuns comin' down along the
trail."
"Eh?" Nick quietly rested his gun on the footboard and drew stealthily
back from it. "You watch him, then. When he's gone we'll make a move."
Kiddie watched, and witnessed a curious happening which gave him a vivid
insight into the character of the young Sioux chief.
Within a minute after Nick had stepped back out of sight Broken Feather
crawled swiftly out from the protecting barrier of the dead mustang and
took cover behind a boulder.
Quite near to the same boulder a wounded Indian was vainly trying to
mount his pony. The pony was restive and evidently frightened. The
Indian, failing to mount, took hold of the pony's long, trailing halter
and allowed the animal to drag him away.
Just at this point Broken Feather darted out from behind the boulder,
making straight for the pony and the wounded brave.
Kiddie, still watching, naturally supposed that the chief was about to
help the wounded man to mount, as any civilized soldier would have done.
But this was not Broken Feather's way. Seizing the bight of the halter,
he snatched it from the other's grip, while at the same time he struck
the wounded Indian a fierce blow with his closed fist, full in the face,
which sent him reeling to the ground.
Without a backward glance of pity or excuse, Broken Feather himself leapt
to the pony's back, urged the animal to a gallop, and sped off, rallying
his remaining warriors to a precipitate retreat.
"Coward and cur!" murmured Kiddie between his teeth. And calling a
hurried command to Nick Undrell, he strode out to give help to the
wounded Indian, carrying him on his shoulder to one of the wagons.
The Indian's nose was broken. Kiddie fixed it into shape with sticking
plaster. He also extracted a bullet from the man's back and bandaged the
wound.
"We'll leave him lyin' here on the trail," he decided. "His pards 'll
look after him and the others that are wounded, when they come along.
They'll soon know what's happened when they scout around. Guess they'll
not be eager t' follow us up."
"Well, this outfit o' yourn hasn't suffered anyways serious," observed
Nick Undrell, when all was ready for a new start. "I've had a look
round, an', barrin' a few splinters took off the wagons, an' some holes
pierced in the canvas covers, we've not taken a whole lot of harm. Jim
Thurston here's th' only one as got badly hit. That broken bone in his
arm 'll take a consid'rable time ter git well. It'll be weeks 'fore Jim
kin ride again in the Pony Express."
Kiddie was giving a professional bandaging to Thurston's wound.
"You a rider in the Pony Express business, then, Jim?" he asked.
"Bin at it fer a couple of years," Jim answered. "That's what I'm
worrying about. I'm figurin' as they'll fire me, slick, fer takin' on a
job like this. 'Tain't in th' agreement that I sh'd go foolin' around
after hostile Injuns in my off time. I shall be sacked, sure. An' me
with a wife an' family, too."
"No need to worry, Jim," Kiddie assured the man. "You'll not get the
sack, and your wife and family won't suffer any. You got hurt in my
service, and I will see you through. As for the Pony Express ridin', I
will even take on the job myself for a spell, until you're better. Does
that comfort you any?"
Thurston shook his head and smiled.
"You couldn't do it," he said. "You, a English gentleman--a titled lord,
I'm told. You couldn't do it. You gotter be some horseman 'fore you kin
ride in the Pony Express. You gotter be brought up to it. 'Tain't no
fancy amatoor job."
"Here, Jim, old pard," interposed Nick Undrell. "You'd best dry up. You
dunno who you'se talkin' to, sure. His lordship rid in the Pony Express
'fore ever you shoved your toes in stirrups. He was the slickest Express
rider along the whole trail. Thar wasn't a skilfuller horseman than
Kiddie between Saint Joseph an' Sacramento. Couldn't do it, says you!
Well, I should smile!"
"Kiddie, d'ye say? Kiddie? Gee! You never told me that! Course I
knows the name o' Kiddie--same's I knows the name of the President of th'
United States. Seems I bin makin' a fool o' myself, eh? Reckon it's up
ter me t' apologize fer mistakin' him for a English lord; though some
crooked-tongued skunk sure told me he was such. Kiddie, eh? Gee!"
"Say, Kiddie, was you plumb serious when you said you'd take Jim's turn
in the Pony Express?" questioned Rube Carter, riding again at Kiddie's
side.
"Sure," Kiddie smiled in answer. "I'm just hankerin' to be at the old
job again, ridin' at top speed with the mail bags, same as I used ter do.
Same as your father did. Your father lost his life in the business, you
know. Was attacked by Injuns. And Eye-of-the-Moon--Broken Feather's
father--went off with his scalp."
Rube was silent for a while.
"Didn't know 'bout the scalpin'," he said presently. "Didn't know as it
were Eye-of-the-Moon as done it. Then, in that case, Broken Feather's
father killed my father?"
"That's so. Guess you've got no occasion ter be anyways friendly with
Broken Feather."
"Pity you allowed him t' escape," said Rube.
"Well, you see, Rube, it wouldn't have been gentlemanly to shoot at a man
who was not armed," explained Kiddie, "and he was as good as unarmed when
he had spent his last cartridge. You've got to be a gentleman, even when
fighting a savage enemy. Yes," he went on, "I shall take a turn with the
Express, if they'll let me; and I still have my licence. As for poor Jim
Thurston, we will leave him at Lavender Ranch. Isa's sister, Martha
Blagg, will look after him."
Kiddie of Birkenshaw's had always been well loved at Lavender, and he was
warmly welcomed when his outfit halted at the gate. At his request
Martha willingly undertook to nurse the wounded man until he should be
well enough to return to his own home.
"My!" she exclaimed, at sight of the three heavily-loaded wagons. "My!
Whatever are you goin' ter do with all that furniture? Goin' ter set up
housekeepin' on your own account? Whatever have ye' gotten in all them
Saratoga trunks?"
"All sorts of fixin's an' fancies," Kiddie told her. "Among other
things, if you're hankerin' to know, thar's a heap of dress material that
I brought all the way from London fer Martha Blagg. Likewise a dinky
pair of shoes with silver buckles, and heels on 'em that'll make you
inches taller'n you are now. I reckoned you'd rather have the cloth an'
linen an' stuff than English hens or ducks an' sich farm truck, that
wasn't just convenient ter bring along. I notioned ter bring you a
couple of milch cows--pretty as antelopes, they was--but I couldn't
manage 'em. Hosses is diff'rent. The brown mare with the white blaze up
her face is fer Isa. Guess we may's well take her to the stable right
now. He'll find her when he comes home. I'll send along the other
fixings when I unpack."
He was in no great hurry to "unpack." When his outfit arrived at the
camp, the main contents of the wagons were unloaded and stowed away under
shelter, and the English horses were corralled. Only the materials for
the building of his new cabin were left in the open at the edge of the
trail.
These were the walls and partitions, doors, floors, and roof, already
built in portable sections of stout American timber, needing merely to be
erected and clamped in place on a substantial foundation.
He planned to erect the cabin on a long-chosen site apart from Gideon
Birkenshaw's homestead, but near enough to be neighbourly.
The spot he had decided upon was a level plateau among the pine trees
between the beaver pond and Grizzly Notch, where he had years ago killed
his first bear. It was so close to the Sweetwater that in the mornings
he could rise from his cot and dive from the brink of the cliff into the
clear running creek.
There was some timber to be felled and the foundation to be dug and new
paths to be made through the woodland glades, and it would take some
weeks of hard work before the cabin could be occupied. But he had made
all his plans and measurements in anticipation; nothing had been
neglected.
Long before he had decided finally to return to the wilds--long ago, in
the irksome social life of London--he had dreamt of this possible cabin
hidden in the peaceful seclusion of the forest, where he could study the
ways of the birds and beasts, where he could live the life of a lonely
scout and trapper, hunting or fishing for his own food, cooking his own
meals, doing everything for himself without the help of servants. And
now his dream was coming true.