KIDDIE'S LUCK
"Say, now, d'you expect me t' ride a spick an' span, over-fed, highly
decorated critter like that? My! I ain't entered for a horse show,
Cully. I want a pony that can run without thinkin' of takin' prizes on
points. And a dandy saddle with fancy stitchin' and finery don't help
any in gettin' the mails through on time. What's the matter with the
regulation Express pony--the piebald cayuse that you gave me on the
last trip? That was a critter that knew how ter go, that was. What's
the matter with her?"
"Gone sick," Cully answered, watching Kiddie's quick fingers unbuckling
the mail bags from the saddle from which he had just dismounted. "Went
sick only a hour ago. Guess she figured it was Jim Thurston's turn ter
ride her. If she'd ha' known it was you an' not Jim, you may bet your
socks she wouldn't ha' gone sick. But you'll find her substitute O.K.
An' if anybody kin ride him, you sure can. Steve Tracy was sayin' only
this mornin' as you kin git more pace an' bring yer pony in fresher 'n
any rider along the hull Salt Lake Trail; an' I just guess Steve was
right. Say, what's the matter wi' the saddle? Ain't you satisfied?
Don't it fit the critter proper?"
Kiddie was in the act of mounting. He turned to Cully with a light
laugh.
"Fits him like a glove," he answered. "I was only figuring that it's a
bit too ornamental for its present purpose. I see the girth has been
broken and mended--mended with a doubtful piece of string. Why wasn't
it sent to the saddler t' be properly fixed up? I've half a notion ter
chuck it right away and ride bare-backed. But there ain't time to fool
around now. So long, Cully."
Almost before he had leapt astride and slipped his feet into the
stirrups, the pony was off with a drumming of hoofs along the grassy
trail, needing no urging by spur or voice, and Kiddie was so well
accustomed to riding at the full gallop that, after he had thrice
forded the winding creek of Three Crossings, he could with ease take
out the little paper bag of biscuits and fruit that had been handed to
him, and munch his evening meal.
It was rough riding over the Rattlesnake Mountains, where often the
indistinct trail led him through dark and narrow defiles, or along the
brink of dangerous precipices, where the ground was of loose stones,
perilously insecure. The mountain torrents, swollen by recent rains,
had to be crossed unhesitatingly, and without the help of bridges. But
all these dangers and difficulties were familiar to him, and he passed
through them unconcerned.
Once when he was riding at fullest speed through the wide valley of
White Eagle Gulch, he was forced to turn aside to avoid a great
straggling herd of buffaloes. He noticed that the ponderous animals
were breathing heavily, and that their flanks were moist with
perspiration. Those at the head of the moving herd were strong and
virile, and in good condition; those towards the rear were thin and
scraggy, and many of these were a long distance in the rear.
"Seems they've been having a stampede," Kiddie reflected. "The weak
ones lagged behind. Looks as if they'd been chased."
Amongst the stragglers was a magnificent bull, striding slowly but
proudly alone. Blood was dripping from a wound in its nearer side, and
deep in the wound was an arrow, buried almost to the feathers.
"Been chased by a band of Redskins," Kiddie assured himself. And he
began to look out for further signs of the possible presence of Indians.
A mile or so farther on he came upon a buffalo lying dead, but there
were no other signs for many miles until he was crossing a stretch of
prairie, where he saw the remains of several buffaloes that had been
flayed and cut up. Nothing but the stripped bones was left.
Shortly afterwards he crossed the trail of the hunters, and he
estimated that the band consisted of about fifty Indians. They had
gone off with their loads of buffalo meat and hides towards the
foothills, in a direction at right angles to his own.
Clearly the Redskins were not out to interfere with the Pony Express.
Nevertheless, Kiddie continued to keep a watchful eye on both sides of
the trail as he galloped along, and also to observe the behaviour of
his mount and of the wild birds.
It was the pony that gave him the first intimation of danger, by a
sudden lifting of the head and restless twitching of the erect ears.
This might well have been occasioned by the near neighbourhood of some
beast of prey--a lynx, a wolf, or even an ordinary coyote.
By itself, it meant little, but it was enough to make Kiddie attentive,
even though he had assured himself that the Indians, or, at all events,
the main body of them, had gone home to their reservation beyond the
Rattlesnake Mountains. There were other signs, however.
The gorge through which he was riding was thickly wooded with willows
and larch trees, and far in advance of him he saw that the birds had
been disturbed. They were in agitated flight over the tree-tops.
Above the thudding of his pony's hoofs he heard the raucous squawk of a
jay--the most alert of sentinels. It was not at his own approach that
the birds were alarmed, but something which was happening nearer to
them in the woodland glades.
Kiddie was not more concerned than usual; he was not even suspicious of
coming danger, nor did he alter by so much as an inch his seat in the
saddle or tighten his grip on the bridle reins.
At the mouth of the gorge, however, he suddenly became apprehensive
that some human enemy was lurking in ambush. He remembered the
incident of the poisoned arrow. His pony had changed its stride to a
less measured gallop, bounding forward at an increased pace, with head
lowered, muzzle outstretched and ears thrown back.
Kiddie leant over the pony's fluttering mane, searchingly glancing from
side to side and in front of him. He was going at racing speed, but
his practical eyes were alert to observe every tiny sign, and none
escaped him.
He could see nothing but the trees and rocks as he flashed past them;
nothing to cause him serious alarm. It seemed to him that if there had
been any hidden danger he had already gone beyond it. But there might
still be some unsuspected peril at the far side of the projecting cliff
where, as he knew, the trail made an abrupt turn.
He shifted his feet in the stirrups to secure a firmer grip of the
irons. As he did so, the pony suddenly swerved. At the same instant
the string with which the girth had been improperly mended broke. The
whole saddle moved ominously from its true place on the animal's back.
Kiddie preserved his balanced seat only for a few difficult moments.
His left foot lost its sure hold in the stirrup, and presently slipped
out of it altogether. The pressure of his right foot on the other
stirrup caused the saddle to move still farther. Now that the girth
straps were flying loose there was nothing but the rider's weight to
hold it on the pony's back.
It was at this awkward moment of personal insecurity that he became
aware that many galloping horses were close behind him. He did not
need to look back over his shoulder to learn that he was being hotly
pursued by a band of mounted Indians.
They had been lying in wait for him, well hidden among the screening
trees and brushwood. They had let him gallop past, but now they had
broken cover and were racing after him with menacing yells and savage
cries.
They had lost some moments in getting free from the bush, and he was
already well ahead of them; but their mounts had been rested, while his
own pony was panting heavily, and wet with perspiration after an
unbroken gallop of a dozen miles.
The Redskins gained upon him little by little.
At the turn of the trail he ventured to glance quickly round. In that
quick glance he saw that there were at least six of them, led by a
warrior wearing an ample war bonnet. They were therefore not members
of the buffalo-hunting party, but were on the war-path.
He saw that they were armed with guns and tomahawks, not bows and
arrows, and he took confidence from this circumstance, knowing that the
Indian is a poor marksman with firearms when mounted, and that none
could do him harm with the tomahawk unless within arm's reach of him.
Had his saddle been secure, he would have had little anxiety, but it
was slipping farther and farther back. He wondered if he might get
free from it altogether, and, dropping it to the ground, continue his
ride bare-backed.
Then he remembered that the two mail bags were buckled to the saddle,
and that it was his duty to safeguard them with his life.
He tried to ease the thing forward, and at the same time to raise it
and save it from shifting perilously to the pony's right side. He
believed he could manage it with an adroit upward movement of his right
foot, and he made the hazardous attempt, but, unfortunately, in bending
his ankle, he pushed his foot just a thought too far, and his boot went
clean through the steel loop of the stirrup, high heel and spur
included.
This would have been an awkward predicament in any circumstance, even
if the saddle band remained unbroken, and the saddle itself firmly in
position. It would have been almost impossible for him without help to
get the projecting spur and the heel of the boot back again through the
stirrup. But now, when the Indians were in close pursuit, only a few
lengths behind him, yelling their exultant cries, holding their weapons
ready, what was he to do?
Of one thing he was certain; the saddle was bound very soon to fall
from the pony's back, and he must as surely go with it, possibly to be
trampled to death under the hoofs of the Indians' horses.
He prepared himself for the inevitable fall, designing to fling himself
off where there were no rocks to strike against, but only earth and
sage grass.
First he made sure that the bridle rein was free, and that nothing
would catch upon the saddle when he should drag it after him with his
entangled foot.
The foremost Indian was but a couple of lengths behind him when he
pulled at the left rein, threw the bridle forward, and flung himself
bodily to the ground.
The pony swerved to the left in obedience, and Kiddie escaped its hind
hoofs. He fell flat on his back, with his legs and feet in the air.
The heavy saddle followed him, sliding down over the pony's hocks, and
it was the saddle that got the worst of it when the Redskins galloped
past.
Kiddie, indeed, received no injury from the madly pounding hoofs. But
his back was badly bruised; he was not sure that one or two of his ribs
were not broken; and his right ankle was certainly sprained.
It was evident that the Indians had not expected him to be thrown, for
they raced past him, and several moments went by before they could
swing round.
In those moments Kiddie rolled painfully over on to his knees and
elbows. There was no time for him to cut the stirrup strap, or to
attempt to get his hurt foot free. All that he could do was to be
ready to defend the two precious satchels containing the mails.
Moving himself forward a few inches, so that he could stretch out his
right leg and rest his weight on his left knee and elbow, he drew his
revolver and levelled it.
He could not now see the Indians. They were hidden beyond a screen of
trees and rock. But he heard them as they checked their wild onrush
and turned to ride back and do their worst. He was quite ready for
them; he had six bullets in his gun, and none should be wasted.
Suddenly amid the confused clatter of hoofs there came to him the
sharp, unmistakable crackle of rifle and pistol shots. Then the
Indians rushed into sight, galloping in hot haste.
Kiddie fired at two of them, and was shifting his aim to a third, when
he realized that they were in flight--that they were being pursued by a
horseman who had newly come upon the scene, and who was firing at them
with his six-shooter.
Only now did Kiddie reflect that in the ordinary course of his eastward
bound trip he would have met the westward going Express rider just at
about this same place.
"Alf! Alf Kearney!" he shouted.
The Expressman pulled up short. He had already emptied his revolver,
and the Redskins were continuing their flight.
"Frizzle me if it ain't Kiddie of the Camp!" cried Kearney, dismounting
and standing with his hands on his knees, staring at the fallen
Expressman. "Say, now, are you hurt bad, pardner? I seen your
riderless pony hustlin' along with that crowd of yellin' Injuns at its
heels. I guessed suthin' had sure happened t' yer, though it ain't a
regulation Express pony. Where 're you hurt? You're in luck if you
ain't killed right out."
[Illustration: "Frizzle me if it ain't Kiddie of the Camp!" cried
Kearney.]
"I'm in sure luck by your happening along," responded Kiddie, trying
with difficulty to move. "Say, if you c'n rip open that boot and
disentangle my sprained foot from that rotten saddle, I shall be
obliged. Then I reckon I c'n lie here while you ride along the trail
with your mails and send help, see?"
Alf Kearney demurred to the suggestion, but at once proceeded to
liberate Kiddie's foot, first cutting the stirrup-strap and then
ripping open the stout leather boot.
"Couldn't you manage ter mount behind me?" he questioned. "My pony's
fit ter carry us both, I guess. Like as not, Broken Feather and his
gang'll come back. You ain't anyways safe lyin' here, rain comin' on;
an' the sooner a doctor sees you the better."
"Broken Feather?" Kiddie repeated. "If that's the rustler wearin' the
war-bonnet and ridin' a piebald broncho, then he ain't liable ter come
back--not with my bullet in him. I didn't catch sight of his
face--didn't savee it was Broken Feather. No, Alf, thank you, I ain't
able ter mount. Leave me right here, hustle along with the Express,
and send help from your first relay station."
The long, weary night that followed was very dark, and the two men sent
along the trail to give help searched in vain for Kiddie in the driving
rain. They had brought a buckboard cart with them in which to carry
him home to Sweetwater Bridge.
They searched for hours, but even when they discovered some rain-washed
hoof prints it was too dark for them to follow the tracks. It was not
until daybreak that they found Kiddie asleep under his blanket, with
the saddle for a pillow and his arms, with their red shirt sleeves,
folded over his chest.
He awoke when they whistled. They ran up to him, afterwards bringing
along the buckboard, into which they tenderly lifted him. The jolting
of the cart was painful to him, but when at length they arrived at
Birkenshaw's camp he declared that he wasn't at all badly hurt.
"Just leave me alone, boys," he said, "I don't want you ter make any
fuss over me. There's nothing serious the matter--a few bruises, a
sprained ankle, a kinder gen'ral shakin' up; that's all. I shall be
ready to go with the Express again before Jim Thurston, even now."
"No occasion ter worry any 'bout the Express, Kiddie," said Abe Harum,
massaging the injured ankle with embrocation. "I'm notionin' ter take
a spell at it myself fer a while, a kinder change for me, see?--good as
a holiday. Besides, thar's two individuals I'm anxious ter meet. One
of 'em's the rooster as palmed off that rotten saddle on you. The
other's Broken Feather. You'd a legitimate chance of puttin' his light
out, Kiddie. Nobody e'd have blamed you any if you'd aimed at a vital
section of his anatomy; but you let him off with little more'n a
scratch. And that ambush was all planned. Rube here's just hungerin'
an' thirstin' ter tell you all about Broken Feather's friendly call
along at your woodland cabin while he knew you was absent. Ain't that
so, Rube?"
"Yes," Rube answered, coming forward to Kiddie's side.
Rube then told the whole story of Broken Feather's surreptitious visit
to the forest clearing, of the discovery that it was he who shot the
poisoned arrow and of his threat that Kiddie would never come back.
"So you see, Kiddie," supplemented Abe Harum, "the skunk meant ter do
you in. When he quitted the clearin', 'fore the hound struck his
trail, he went right away ter put his rascally plan into operation. He
an' his braves lay in wait for you ter gallop along. As I remarked
before, it's a pity you didn't plant that bullet of yours where it
would sure be fatal. It's your way, I know. You'd sooner cripple than
kill. You show mercy even to a Injun--even to your deadliest enemy.
An' Broken Feather's your enemy. You're what's called hereditary
enemies, if I knows the meaning of the term."
"That's so, Abe," said Kiddie. "His father, Eye-of-the-Moon, shot my
mother dead. It was Eye-of-the-Moon who killed my father, Buckskin
Jack, in the Custer fight. On the other hand, it was my maternal
grandfather, Spotted Tail, who killed Eye-of-the-Moon in their duel on
horseback that I've so often told you about. And now it seems Broken
Feather and I are at enmity."
"Yes," put in Gideon Birkenshaw, "but I ain't figgerin' as Broken
Feather's takin' heredity inter consideration; not a whole lot. He
don't keer a brass button who his father killed, or who killed his
father. 'Cordin' ter Redskin reckonin' they've all gone on the long
trail to the Happy Huntin' Grounds, an' they're no longer objec's in
the scen'ry. Broken Feather's got his own pussonal reasons fer enmity
agin your lordship. He knows as you're a long sight cleverer'n he is
as an all-round scout; he's some afraid o' your cleverness. He knows
you're wealthy; he covets your wealth. He knows you're honest; an' the
one pusson as a rogue most dislikes is the man who acts allus on the
straight. Moreover, Kiddie, you've already got the better of Broken
Feather on several occasions, an' he ain't liable ter forget it."
"Gee!" exclaimed Rube Carter. "Never know'd th' Old Man make sich a
long an' logical oration in me life before!"
"You've got yer own remedy, however," resumed Gideon. "It's agin th'
law fer Injuns ter come outer their reservations, same as Broken
Feather an' his braves have been doin' lately. The hull thing 'ld be
stopped if you'd only appeal t' th' law fer pertection."
"But suppose I don't approve of the Indians being herded like sheep in
fenced reservations?" Kiddie objected. "Suppose I'm of opinion that in
a free land like this all men should be equally free, Redskin and
Paleface alike? No, Gid, I ain't figuring to appeal to the law. If I
need any protection against a man such as Broken Feather, I'll do the
business on my own, and a gun, a fleet horse, and my own common sense
are good enough for me, without the interference of the law."