lighten the fears of the other.
Red Feather now tenderly placed Dot on her feet. The little one was half
asleep, and rubbed her eyes after the manner of children when disturbed.
A whispered word from her brother kept her quiet, and, kneeling down,
Red Feather pressed his ear to the ground, holding it there for a full
minute. Then he raised his head a few inches, looked off into the
darkness, placed the side of his face against the ground for a few
seconds more, after which he rose to his feet.
Instead of explaining, he turned to Melville.
"You see Red Feather do--you do same as him."
Melville promptly obeyed, assuming the same posture that his friend had
taken. Closing his eyes, so as to shut out everything that might
distract his senses, he gave all his efforts to that of hearing.
Yes, he _did_ hear something--just the faintest irregular beating on the
ground--so faint indeed that he would not have believed it anything
except for what the Sioux had said.
"Hear nuffin?" asked the other, as the boy came to his feet.
"Yes, I think I did hear a faint noise."
"What him be?"
"That's more than I can tell, Red Feather."
"Hoss--hear hoss walking--dat what hear."
"Is that the fact?" asked Melville, somewhat startled, peering toward
the same point of the compass at which the chief had gazed though the
lad had no other idea of the right course.
"Hoss--he come dis way."
"If that is so there is likely to be someone on him, and I don't think
it is well for us to meet him."
To this wise remark Red Feather gave no answer, but continued peering in
the same direction as before.
"If there is one horseman there is likely to be more----"
Melville cut short his own words, and whistled cautiously, checking that
with equal suddenness, through fear of offending his friend.
But the chief showed no displeasure, and, before anything could be said,
the form of a riderless horse came out of the gloom and trotted forward
with a faint neigh of pleasure.
"Saladin, my own Saladin!" exclaimed the delighted youth, flinging his
arms around the outstretched neck, and actually touching his lips to the
silken nose of the noble steed.
"Saladin, old fellow, I'm proud of you," said Melville; "the Sioux did
their best to steal you away from us, but you were too smart for them.
One was cruel enough to shoot at you, but it don't look as if he did any
damage."
The youth could not resist the temptation to place his foot in the
stirrup, and leap into the saddle, where he was "at home."
"Now, Red Feather," he added, "things are beginning to look up; I can
relieve you of carrying Dot; the truth is that after we cross the stream
I shall feel safe. Under heaven, we owe everything to you; but you need
go no farther with us."
"Ain't safe," said the chieftain sententiously; "Injins all round--Red
Feather go all way home wid pappoose."
"That is very kind, but I can relieve you of your burden."
"Me carry pappoose," replied the Sioux, moving toward the little one.
"Dot," said her brother, "which would you rather do--ride on Saladin
with me or let Red Feather carry you?"
[Illustration: "A riderless horse came out of the gloom."]
"It's a good deal nicer to have him carry me; take me, Red Feather," she
added, reaching out her arms.
Melville was glad to hear this answer, for he knew it would touch the
chieftain, whose heart had become wrapped up in the sweet little one.
Before he could lift her, however, he paused, and, saying "Wait," again
knelt down with his ear to the ground.
The result was satisfactory, and, remarking that he heard nothing more,
he stood upon his feet, stooped over, and lifted the little one to her
old place. Then the flight was taken up as before.
Melville held Saladin back, so as to follow the leader, who reached the
side of the stream a few minutes later. Objects were indistinct, but the
youth was so familiar with the spot that he recognized it as the Upper
Crossing. When the lad would have lost himself the Sioux had gone as
unerringly to the spot as though the sun were shining overhead to guide
him.
"Now," said Melville, as they waited a minute or two on the brink,
"there is no need for you to wade across, and wet your leggings to the
knees; it can be easily fixed."
"Oogh! heap big load for hoss--carry all."
The lad laughed.
"That isn't what I mean; the pony is strong enough to bear us, but it
isn't necessary; I'll ride him over, and then send him back after you."
This was a sensible course, for, though an Indian cares little for the
inconvenience of wading through water of considerable depth, yet he will
not do so when there in any practicable means of avoiding it.
"You must be careful," added Melville, as he was about to ride into the
current, "for there are some deep places which the horse will have to
skirt closely. If he steps into one, he will go over his depth, and that
will make it bad for you and Dot; I think I had better carry her over
with me."
"Oogh! Red Feather know holes, 'cause he fall in 'em--mebbe you fall in
wid pappoose--how den, eh?"
"All right," replied the youth with a smile, as he gave the word to
Saladin, who began wading with the same snuffing and care that his kind
always show when entering a body of water.
His rider was wise enough to decide that the safest course was to leave
everything to him, for he had travelled that way often enough to be
familiar with its dangers.
He narrowly missed plunging into a hole near the other bank, but he
saved himself, and finally emerged on the farther shore with his rider
dry-shod.
"Now, old fellow," said Melville, affectionately patting his head, "go
back and bring over Red Feather and Dot. Try not to come as near making
a slip as you did with me."
[Illustration: "Go back and bring over Red Feather and Dot."]
The pony showed his comprehension of the request by stepping at once in
the stream and making his way toward the other shore.
Long before the little party reached the stream just crossed by Melville
night had fully come. The moon did not rise until late in the evening,
and the darkness was such that, after parting with Saladin, he saw him
vanish when he was no more than half-way across the creek. Of course,
therefore, Red Feather and Dot were out of sight altogether.
Melville sat down on the sloping bank, with his rifle across his knees,
to await the coming of his friend. In the stillness, the slightest sound
could be heard a long way. The plashing of the pony's feet as he
carefully felt his way through the water was so plain that it was easy
to tell every step he took.
The youth was looking idly off in the gloom when he observed a rapidly
growing light toward the south-east, which you will bear in mind was on
the other side of the stream. He watched it for a minute or two, when
the cause became apparent.
A couple of miles east of the Clarendon home was that of the nearest
neighbor. He was without any family, his only companion being a hired
man. They had received warning of the impending danger in time to
escape, but being well mounted and armed, took a different direction
from that leading toward Barwell, whither Mr. Clarendon and his wife
hastened.
They were gone, but their property remained. The buildings were more
extensive than those of Mr. Clarendon, and they had been fired by the
Sioux. They created a huge glare which lit up the horizon in every
direction.
"It must be," thought Melville, "that Tall Bear and his warriors have
been scared away by the appearance of white men, and have touched off
those buildings out of revenge. If Red Feather and I could have only
known that friends were coming we could have stayed at home. I wonder
they didn't try to fire that again, now that they can get inside and
have so much better chance."
Melville watched the glare growing brighter and brighter, until it
suddenly occurred to him that Red Feather was a long time in crossing
the stream. The light from the conflagration brought the opposite shore
into faint view, but failed to reveal the Sioux. While the youth was
looking and wondering, however, he heard the splashing of water and
observed Saladin making his way back.
But, instead of doing so at the regular ferry-place, he had gone some
distance above, where the depth was greater. Even while staring at the
pony, the animal sank down so low that it was plain he was swimming.
This of itself was curious, without the additional fact that there was
no one upon his back; he was returning, as may be said, empty handed.
As you may well believe, Melville was startled and alarmed; something
unusual must have happened on the other shore. There could be no doubt
that Saladin had gone entirely across, and now came back without the
chief who expected to ride over the ford.
The lad rose and walked down to the edge of the water to meet his steed.
The latter was obliged to swim only a short distance, when the depth
became so shallow that his body rose above the surface, and he quickly
stepped out on dry land.
"What can this mean?" muttered Melville examining the wetted saddle,
bridle, and accoutrements; "were you sent back, Saladin, or did you come
of your own accord? Ah, if you had the gift of speech!"
It seemed to the lad that he could discern something moving on the other
side, but, with the help of the glare of the distant fire, he could not
make it out.
He ventured to signal to Red Feather by means of the whistle with which
he was accustomed to summon Saladin. The Sioux was sure to identify it
if it reached his ears.
The signal was emitted with such care that it could not have been heard
more than a hundred yards away, and the youth listened with a rapidly
beating heart for the reply.
It came, but in a far different form than was expected or desired. The
sounds showed that other animals had entered the water and were
approaching the opposite bank. At this juncture, too, the glare from the
burning buildings increased to that extent that the other shore came out
more distinctly than ever.
To his dismay Melville observed that the bank was lined with mounted
Indians, three of whom had already ridden into the stream and were
urging their ponies across. They were doing this, too, with a skill
which left no doubt that they knew all about the holes into which one
was likely to plunge.
Where these Sioux--as they undoubtedly were--could have come from with
such abruptness was more than the startled lad could tell, though he
naturally supposed they belonged to the party that had fired the burning
buildings. Whether they were members of Tall Bear's band or an
independent body could not be told just then, and Melville had no time
or inclination to puzzle himself over the question.
It was enough to know that he and his pony were in imminent danger, and
that not a second was to be lost in leaving the spot.
He was in the saddle in a twinkling, and turned the head of Saladin to
the north.
"A good deal depends on _you_," he said, patting the neck of the noble
animal; "we have a rugged path to travel, and there isn't much chance to
show them what you can do in the way of speed, but I know they can't
beat you."
[Illustration: "To his dismay Melville observed that the bank was lined
with mounted Indians."--Page 110]
I told you in the earlier part of this story that the upper trail, as it
was called, was much more rugged and difficult to traverse than the
lower one, which fact accounted for its general abandonment by those who
had occasion to cross the stream. Had the ground for some distance been
open prairie, Saladin would have shown a clean pair of heels to his
enemies, and speedily borne his master beyond danger; but within a
hundred yards of the bank of the stream the surface became so broken
that it was difficult for a horse to travel faster than a walk.
But our young friend did not hesitate to assume the risk, and Saladin
instantly broke into a canter, which, to say the least, was the equal in
speed of any pace his pursuers dare attempt. The difficulty, however,
was that the latter were already so close that a volley from them could
not fail to do damage. The fact that they had some distance yet to
travel through the water, where their ponies could not be forced off a
walk, was a vast help to Melville, who improved the brief space to that
extent that he was almost out of sight when the horsemen forced their
animals up the bank and struck into a gallop.
Melville rode a reckless gait, which proved to be the wisest thing he
could do; for, though Saladin came near stumbling more than once, he did
not fall, and drew so far away from his pursuers that he soon left them
out of sight. Satisfying himself of this, the youth abruptly drew him to
one side, forced him among some rocks and bushes, faced about, and held
him motionless.
"I don't know what has happened to Red Feather and Dot," he said, "and
it may be they don't need my help; but I shan't do anything that looks
like deserting them--_sh!_"
At that moment, the hoofs of the pursuing horses fell on his ear in his
hiding-place, and he knew the three Sioux were at hand.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AT THE LOWER CROSSING--TALL BEAR'S LAST FAILURE
Nothing could have shown more strongly the confidence of Melville
Clarendon in Saladin than the course he followed in trying to throw the
pursuing Sioux off his track.
He had halted at a distance of less than fifty feet from the path, and,
sitting erect on the back of the steed, he waited for the three Indians
to ride past.
At such times a horse is quicker than its rider to discover the presence
of other animals, and the temptation to make it known by a whinny or
neigh has often upset all calculations and overthrown the plans of the
fugitive or scout.
Melville knew the peril from this source, but he had little misgiving
about Saladin. He softly patted his neck, and knew he understood the
situation well enough to hold his peace; but how would it be with the
other animals--would they betray their discovery of the motionless steed
at the side of the trail? A faint neigh from them would be certain to
give their cunning riders a clue to the truth; and, checking their own
horses, they would leap to the ground, and be upon the youth before he
could dash into cover.
You may understand, therefore, the anxiety of Melville when through the
gloom he caught the dim outlines of the first horseman, as he came
opposite, closely followed by the others.
The suspense was short. While the boy held his breath, the last of the
three horsemen vanished in the gloom, and he was placed at the rear,
with enemies on both sides of him.
The ruse of Melville had succeeded, and the question now to be answered
was as to what use he should make of his opportunity, if such it should
prove to be?
It would seem that nothing could be more reckless than for the youth,
after eluding his three immediate pursuers, to return over the trail to
the crossing, but only a moment's thought was necessary for him to
decide to do that very thing.
[Illustration: "The last of the three horsemen vanished in the gloom."]
From where he sat on his pony, screened by bushes and rocks, he observed
that the light from the burning buildings to the south-east was fast
diminishing. The fire had been rapid, and before long total darkness
would rest on the stream and plain again. It would therefore be safe for
him to approach the edge of the creek, provided none of the remaining
Sioux had crossed over.
Waiting only long enough to make sure that the three Indians were beyond
reach of the sound of Saladin's hoofs, he gently jerked the bit and
spoke softly to him. The steed stepped forward with as much care as his
rider could have shown, and soon stood in the path again.
Here Melville held him motionless a moment or two, while he peered
around and listened. Nothing was seen or heard of the Indians, and,
heading toward the stream, the horse advanced on a gentle walk.
Melville kept his pony at a walk for no other reason than to prevent any
betrayal from the sound of his feet. The distance was slight, and soon
he came to a halt on the very edge of the stream, while the rider,
peering across, failed to catch the faintest outline of the horsemen
that were in sight a short time before.
Nothing could have justified the risk of attempting to ride to the other
bank; for if the Sioux were in the neighborhood they would not only
discover the youth, but would have him at such disadvantage that escape
would be out of the question.
The lad held no such purpose, but, turning his animal to the right,
began making his way down stream, toward the Lower Crossing, near his
own home. It was easy to do this by keeping close to the water, since
the unevenness of the ground did not begin until a few yards or rods
from the bank.
The darkness was such that Saladin was left to himself, Melville knowing
he could give him no help by any attempt at guiding him. The sagacious
beast thrust his nose forward, and, like an elephant, crossing the
stream, seemed to feel every foot of the way.
Despite the extreme care, he had not taken a dozen steps when a rolling
stone caused him to stumble, and the rider narrowly missed taking a
header over his ears. Saladin quickly recovered himself, but at the
moment of doing so the youth was startled by a whistle from the other
shore, instantly answered by a similar call from the bank along which he
was riding.
This proved that not only were the main party waiting, but the three
Sioux that had started to pursue the young fugitive had returned.
But if the stumble of Saladin had revealed his whereabouts, Melville was
still in great peril. Without waiting to assure himself on the point, he
urged his pony to a brisk walk, never pausing until fully two hundred
yards were placed behind him. Then, when he looked back and listened, he
was convinced his fears were groundless, and it was a simple coincidence
that the signals which startled him were emitted at the moment of the
slight mishap to his horse.
So far as he could judge, he had a clear course now, and he allowed
Saladin to advance as rapidly as he chose.
His chief distress was concerning Dot. The withdrawal of Red Feather was
so sudden that some unusual cause must have been at the bottom. The lad
could not help thinking the chieftain should have given him a hint of
his course before the youth learned it at such a risk to himself.
He was not without fear that harm had befallen his beloved sister, but
his confidence in Red Feather was perfect, and he knew that he would do
his best to take care of her.
Convinced that the Sioux at the Upper Crossing were the ones that had
fired the buildings to the south-east, and that they belonged to Tall
Bear's band, it followed that something must have taken place to drive
them from the siege of Melville's home.
It might be that, learning of the flight of the children, they had
scattered to search for them. It would seem that they were small game
for such a big effort, but the ill success that had marked Tall Bear's
brief career as a raider may have made him glad of even a small degree
of success. Besides, it might be that only a portion of his party was on
the hunt.
But to Melville the most likely belief was the one formed some time
before, to the effect that company whose appearance had caused such
excitement were white men numerous and strong enough to send the Sioux
skurrying away to avoid a fight with them.
It was this belief which caused Melville to seek the Lower Crossing,
when there was much risk involved in the attempt.
"If father and a lot of his friends have scared off Tall Bear and his
Sioux, they can't be far off----"
"Climb down thar, pard, mighty quick!"
It was a startling summons that thus broke in upon the reverie of
Melville, but he quickly recovered from the shock, knowing by the voice
that it was that of a friend.
He had reached the Lower Crossing, when a horseman that was awaiting him
suddenly loomed in sight through the gloom, and hailed him with the
rough command to dismount.
"I don't see why I should get off my horse when he isn't stolen,"
replied the youth with a laugh.
"Wal, to be sure, if it isn't young Clarendon! Hello, Archie, here's
your younker (boy), sure as you live."
It was the famous scout Nat Trumbull who spoke these cheery words, and,
before the youth knew it, it looked as if a dozen horsemen had sprung
from the ground and surrounded him.
"We're looking for Injins," added Nat; "thar was plenty of 'em a while
ago, but they've become powerful scarce all of a sudden."
"I've seen more than I wished," replied Melville, "but I guess, you've
frightened them off----"
At this juncture the boy's father rode hurriedly forward through the
group, and, leaning from his saddle, gratefully pressed the hand of his
son, and anxiously asked about Dot.
The youth, as briefly as he could, told the story which is familiar to
you. The amazement of the listeners was great, and to more than one it
seemed impossible that the detested Red Feather should have proved
himself a friend instead of the most cruel enemy of the children.
"Why, it's him that we war after more than any one else," said Nat
Trumbull; "but if he's made a change like that, why I'll shake hands
with him and call the account squar."
Mr. Clarendon's distress over the uncertainty about Dot was so great
that the thoughts of all were turned toward her; and when he asked that
an effort should be made to trace her and Red Feather, Nat and the rest
gave their eager consent, and the start was made without a minute's
unnecessary delay.
Nat Trumbull was disappointed because of his failure to locate Tall Bear
and his band. The outbreak of the Sioux was so sudden that even those
who were best acquainted with their ways did not believe it was so near,
but when the truth became known the authorities saw the only right
course to take.
There were many hundred Sioux within the boundaries of Minnesota at that
time, and unless the revolt was suppressed at once and with a strong
hand it would rapidly spread, with the most lamentable consequences.
There was a hasty organization and gathering of forces to start after
the raiders and bring them to terms before they should gain courage by
any important successes.
It was the ardent desire of the rangers under Trumbull to force Red
Feather and his band into a fight where there would be no getting away
on either side. The scout meant to hit hard when he did strike.
This statement will make clear the course of the irregular cavalry--as
they may be called--when they became aware that the Indians whom they
were after were gathered around the home of Archibald Clarendon. That
gentleman was eager for himself and friends to dash forward, but Nat
reminded him that the presence of the Sioux and the fact that, although
the barn was a mass of ashes and smoking ruins, his house stood intact
were proofs that the raiders had been unable to burn down the cabin or
secure his children.
Such being the case, Trumbull began manoeuvring with a view of getting
matters in such a shape that a fight would be certain. There were
several glasses among the rangers, and in the deepening darkness they
gave important aid.
It was evident from the manner of the Sioux that they were not sure of
the identity of the horsemen. Could they have used spy-glasses like the
white men, they could not have failed to learn the truth.
Trumbull turned this uncertainty to his own advantage. He purposely held
his men back to prevent the truth becoming known; but as the darkness
increased he kept edging to the southward, spreading the horsemen out to
an extent that would have proved costly had the Sioux been sagacious
enough to take advantage of it.
Nat's force was too small to attempt to surround the Indians, and he was
still hopeful of forcing them into a fight. He did not lose a minute,
but worked farther and farther along, until all were far from that part
of the horizon where first seen.
[Illustration: "Pressed the hand of his son, and anxiously asked about
Dot."--Page 119]
But while Nat Trumbull was vigorously pushing things, it became known
that two of the Sioux were hovering near and watching every movement.
That these fellows were wonderfully cunning and quick was proved by
their escape when both were charged by the horsemen. Despite everything
that could be done, these scouts made off, and of course carried their
important news to their chief.