"WE ABE ENEMIES."
Brinton Kingsland, after peering over the crest of the elevation for
a few brief moments, turned and hastily descended to where his pony
awaited him. Without touching his bridle, he spoke, and the obedient
animal followed him, while the parents and little sister anxiously
listened to the report of what he learned.
"It's the very party of Indians that we have been trying to get away
from," added the youth to his first explanation; "there are seven of
them, and Wolf Ear is among them."
"Is he?" eagerly asked Edith, from her wrappings on the saddle in
front of her mother "oh, let me see him! Tell him I am here."
"Keep quiet! Don't speak," said her father sternly. "Wolf Ear is
with bad Indians, and is a bad Indian himself"
The child would have protested, but for the manner of her father. He
could be firm when he chose, and she knew better than to disobey him
but she pouted just a little, as she nestled down by her mother, who
shared to some extent her faith in the Ogalalla who had spent so many
hours under their roof.
"What are they doing?" asked Mr. Kingsland of his son.
"They act queerly; the party are drawn up together, and looking off
in the direction of the trail to the agency, over which they expect
us to pass."
"They are on the watch for us, of course; how far away do you judge
the trail to be?"
"Several miles; it seems odd to me that they should ride so far
south, instead of staying nearer to it."
"It is plain enough to me; they fear that if we caught sight of them,
as we should be sure to do, we would hurry back to the house, where
they should have less chance against us. By keeping hidden, so that
we could not discover our danger until too far away from home, they
could ride in behind us and cut off our escape in that direction.
But how are we to escape them?"
"We passed an arroya a little way back: let us take to that, and
there isn't a minute to lose."
The youth hastily climbed into the saddle, and turned the nose of
Jack about, so that he went back directly over his own hoof-prints.
A little distance, and they struck a narrow valley-like depression,
which wound further to the south than the course they were pursuing
at the moment of the startling interruption. He entered this at
once, the others directly at his heels, the animals walking fast, but
with a silence that made one suspect they understood the danger that
threatened all.
The arroya, as it is termed in some parts of the country, was a
straight passage, resembling a gully, between banks a dozen feet in
height. It looked as if it had been washed out years before, by some
violent rush of waters, which soon ran itself dry, leaving the abrupt
banks, facing each other, at varying distances of from ten to fifty
feet.
In some places these banks of clay were perpendicular, so that a
horse, once within the gorge, could not leave it at many points,
while in others, the dirt had tumbled in to an extent which made it
easy for him to climb out.
The course of the arroya was devious, and there was no saying when it
would terminate by rising to the level of the prairie. At most, it
could be but a temporary refuge for the fugitives.
The thought occurred to both father and son that the Indians must
soon discover this refuge, which would be welcome to them and their
animals while the piercing blast was sweeping across the prairie.
The eddying snow had almost ceased, but the wind blew fitfully, and
whenever it touched the face or bare hand, it was like a needle of
ice. The American Indian is one of the toughest of creatures, but he
does not disdain shelter for himself and beast from the merciless
blizzard, or driving tempest. Many of those gathered about Pine
Ridge, during the critical days in '90-'91, found protection in the
pockets of earth in the gullies, where they peered out like wild
animals on the alert for a chance to spring at the blue-coated
sentinel, without risk to themselves.
If the arroya should hold its general course southward for several
miles, the little party might successfully escape the hostiles, who
intruded between them and the agency. The afternoon was wearing
away, and the night would be moonless and starless. Our friends
hoped, if they escaped until then, to lessen greatly the distance
between them and Pine Ridge.
A quarter or a third of a mile through the winding gully, and Brinton
drew rein, and waited until his parents rode up beside him.
"I wonder what has become of them?" was his inquiring remark.
"What does it matter," asked his mother in turn, "so long as we
cannot see them? We must be a good way from them now."
"I wish I could think so, but I can't feel easy while riding in this
blind fashion. There may be greater danger in front than we have
left behind."
"What do you propose to do?" asked the father.
"Take a look round and learn, if I can, how things are going."
Without explaining further, the youth swung himself down once more
from the saddle, and hurried to the edge of the arroya on his left.
There was a spot so sloping that after a little work, with the dirt
crumbling under his feet, he reached the level above, and was able to
peer over a great deal of the surrounding prairie without exposing
himself.
The result ought to have been gratifying, but it was hardly that.
North, south, east, and west the youth bent his keen vision, but not
a sign of the dreaded hostiles was to be seen. They were as
invisible as though they had never been.
Had the distance travelled by the fugitives since their fright been
twice or thrice as great, this must have been the best of omens, but
the space was not far, and it was almost self-evident that the band
was still in the neighbourhood.
But where?
That was the question on the lips of father and son as they discussed
the situation, and in the minds of both trembled the same answer: the
hostiles were in the arroya itself, behind the fugitives.
"They have ridden down the bank," said the parent, "to shelter their
ponies from the icy blast, and are there now."
"Will they suspect that we have been this way?" inquired the mother.
"They cannot fail to notice the hoof-prints we have left," replied
her husband, "and that will tell the story as plainly as if they sat
on the bank as we rode by."
The alarming declaration caused the wife to cast a terrified glance
behind her, as if she expected to see the ferocious redskins burst
into view with crack of rifle and ear-splitting shriek.
In the circumstances, there was manifestly but one thing to do--push
on with no more delay than was inevitable.
The ground at the bottom of the arroya was comparatively level, and
the horses dropped into an easy swinging gallop, which lasted but a
few minutes, when Mr. Kingsland called in a faint voice, as he
brought his animal down to a walk--
"Hold on, Brinton!"
"What is the matter?" asked the son, looking at him in dismay.
"I can't stand it; I am not as strong as I thought."
He reeled in his saddle, and the startled son reached out to prevent
his falling.
"Forgive me, father; I forgot your illness."
"There--there--I am all right," he murmured, putting his hand to his
face, in the effort to master his weakness.
His wife was also at his side, anxious and alarmed.
"Hugh, I fear you have undertaken more than you can do," she said,
laying her hand affectionately on his arm, and peering into as much
of his face as was visible through the thick wrappings.
He made no reply, and it was plain that he was nearly fainting.
There was nothing his friends could do for him, except to help him
out of the saddle, and they were about to propose that, when a slight
but alarming accident took place.
The Winchester, resting across the saddle-bow and hitherto grasped in
the mittened hands of the man, slipped from his relaxed fingers and
fell to the earth. The lock struck in such a way that a chamber was
discharged, the bullet burying itself in the bank which Brinton had
climbed only a few minutes before.
The sharp explosion roused Edith, who was sinking into a doze, and
imparted to the man himself such a shock that his growing faintness
gave instant place to renewed strength. He straightened up and said--
"Gracious! that's too bad; _they_ must have heard it."
"We can't tell about that; are you stronger?"
"Yes; let's push on; we must lose no time."
Brinton longed to force the animals into a gallop, but dared not,
after what had just taken place. But they were pushed to a rapid
walk, which was kept up some ten or fifteen minutes, when came
another sudden halt, for the good reason that they had reached the
end of the arroya.
That singular formation, after winding about for a long distance,
rose to the level of the prairie, and disappeared.
To proceed further must be done by exposure to any hostiles in the
neighbourhood. Brinton stopped and looked inquiringly at his father.
"As near as I can judge," said the latter, "we are close to the Big
Cheyenne; we ought to cross that early this evening and keep on to
the White, which should be reached by daylight; then the ride is not
far to Pine Ridge."
"Night is near; we will wait awhile; the rest will do you good, and I
will take a look over our own trail."
Leaving his friends to themselves, Brinton headed back and struck
Jack into a moderate gallop through the arroya.
He was uneasy over that accident with his father's Winchester. If
heard by the keen-eared hostiles they would start an investigation,
which could have but one result.
"They must have heard it," was his belief, "and if so, they knew
where it came from. It won't take them long to learn its
meaning--halloa! what's the matter, Jack?"
More than once, the sagacity of his animal had warned the youth of
the approach of danger. The pony dropped into a walk so quickly that
the rider was thrown slightly forward in the saddle. Then the animal
pricked up his ears, took a few more stops and halted.
"That means something," thought Brinton, bringing his rifle round to
the front and making ready to use it on the instant if needed. He
softly drew the mitten from his right hand.
The gully turned sharply to the left, just ahead, and he knew that
Jack had scented danger. But, if so, minute after minute passed and
it did not appear. The youth became perplexed, and was in sore doubt
whether to push on a little further or turn back.
He gently twitched the rein and touched his heels against the ribs of
his pony. He advanced a couple of paces, and stopped as abruptly as
before, his head still up, his ears erect, while the snuffing
nostrils showed that he was wiser than his rider.
"I'll be hanged if I don't learn the meaning of this," muttered
Brinton Kingsland, who, with less discretion than he generally
showed, swung himself out of the saddle and moved stealthily forward,
with the resolution to learn the cause of Jack's alarm.
And he learned it soon enough.
He had barely time to pass part way round the curve in the arroya,
which was unusually winding at that portion, when he came face to
face with an Indian horseman.
The animal of the latter, quite as sagacious as Jack's, had detected
the presence of a stranger beyond the turn, and halted until the
latter revealed himself, or his master decided upon the line to
pursue.
Brinton's great blunder was in moving so impatiently through the
gully that he was revealed too soon to draw back. Thus it was that
it may be said he almost precipitated himself upon the buck before he
saw him.
It would be hard to describe Brinton's emotions when on the first
startled glance at the solitary Indian he recognised him as Wolf Ear,
whom he had encountered but a little while before. The Indian looked
fixedly at him, and something like a smile lit up his broad coppery
face.
"Thus we meet, Brinton," he said in his low voice; "will you come
forward and shake hands?"
"Why should I shake hands?" asked the youth, thoroughly distrustful
of the Ogalalla; "we are enemies."
"That is for you to decide," was the cool remark of the Indian youth.
He made as if to ride away, when Brinton interposed.
"Your actions do not agree with your words."
"And why not?"
"After parting from me, you rode away and joined my enemies."
To the amazement of the youth, the young Ogalalla without a word
wheeled about and galloped out of sight up the arroya.