WHAT HAPPENED TO WOLF EAR.
Good fortune attended the daring attempt of Brinton Kingsland. By a
providential occurrence, most of the hostiles were on the side of the
supply camp, in the direction of the ridge from whose crest the
signal smoke was ascending, when the youth, dexterously guiding his
pony through the waggons that surrounded him, quickly cleared himself
of all obstacles.
"Now, Jack, old boy, do your best! Never was there greater need of
it."
The intelligent creature thrust his nose forward, and was off like a
shot. He knew what was wanted, and nobly responded to the call upon
his fleetness. The teamsters forgot all about the Indians, and fixed
their gaze upon the youth.
He was fully a hundred yards from camp before the Sioux comprehended
what was done. Then, when they saw the messenger dashing over the
plain, fully a dozen of the best mounted were after him in a flash,
discharging several of their guns at the moment of starting.
Brinton was seen to thunder up the incline of the first swell,
sitting firmly in his saddle, and instantly disappeared over the
crest. A minute later, the foremost two of the pursuers skimmed up
the same incline, just as the lad shot into sight on the summit of
the next elevation, instantly whisking out of view over that, while
his superb horse continued his arrowy flight toward Wounded Knee.
Then the excited and hopeful teamsters could see no more, and all but
the foremost two of the pursuers gave up the chase and came
straggling back to join their comrades in the attack on the camp.
They knew that the result of that flight of the messenger would be to
bring help, and, if anything was to be accomplished, it must be
before it could arrive.
And so the attack on the camp was begun at once, and with a
fierceness that speedily brought a crisis.
Meanwhile, Brinton Kingsland was going with undiminished speed over
the prairie, skimming up the inclines and down the slopes at a
break-neck pace, with every nerve of his splendid steed strained to
the highest. The rider heard the dull report of the rifles that were
fired at him, but the distance was too great to cause alarm, and he
did not even hear the singing of the bullets, so wide went they of
the mark; but the glance cast over his shoulder showed that he had
only two pursuers to fear.
It was easy to compare their speed with his, and less than a
half-mile was passed, when all doubt vanished. They had been thrown
a hundred paces to the rear and were losing ground every minute.
At the instant of shooting up one of the slopes and disappearing over
the crest, Brinton snatched off his cap and swung it over his head,
with a joyous shout.
"Hurrah, Jack! they're not in it with you; you can take it more
easily now."
Nevertheless, the speed of the pony was maintained for a brief while,
until it became certain that his two pursuers had given up the
attempt to overtake him, and had gone to wreak their fury on the
imperilled teamsters before help could reach them. Then Brinton made
Jack drop to a pace which he could continue for hours without
fatigue. The youth knew the course to follow to reach the camp at
Wounded Knee Creek, and he calculated that he could readily cover the
ground in the course of an hour or so.
He was too sensible, however, to imagine that an open and
uninterrupted course lay before him. At that time, as the reader
well knows, the country in the neighbourhood of the Bad Lands, the
reservations and the space between, was overrun with hostiles, as
eager as so many jungle tigers to slay settlers, small squads of
soldiers, and all white people whom it was safe to attack. He was
liable to encounter some of these bands at any moment, and only by
continual vigilance could he avoid running into the cunningly laid
traps which proved fatal to scores of others.
Now that the burst of excitement was over, and he was riding at a
less killing pace, his thoughts went back to the loved ones from whom
he had been so strangely separated. His heart became as lead as he
reflected that they could hardly have escaped, considering the
condition of his father, from the environing perils which covered
miles of territory in every direction.
"If I only knew where they were, if alive, I would guide this escort
from Wounded Knee to their help----"
What was that? Surely he heard the report of guns from some point in
advance. Jack pricked his ears and increased his pace.
"It can have but one meaning," muttered Brinton, with a throbbing
heart; "someone is in peril: can it be _they_?"
He reined up his pony and stood still on the crest of the first
elevation he reached, after the ominous sounds fell on his ears.
At that moment he descried coming over another ridge, a furlong away,
a troop of thirty or forty cavalry, riding at a gallop toward him.
"That's the escort from Wounded Knee," was his instant conclusion; "I
was right when I told Captain Wadsworth that Nick Jackson said the
escort was on the way, though I wasn't certain of it."
But evidently the firing had not come from the cavalry. It was from
some point between, and, instead of being directly in front, as it
first seemed, was off to the right, where he observed a depression,
with several dismounted Indians crouching around it.
"Great heavens! it's father fighting them off," he gasped; "he is in
that hollow and they have attacked him!"
He struck his heels against the ribs of Jack, fiercely jerked the
bridle-rein, and shouted to him to run at his best straight for the
spot.
But the approaching cavalry had descried the same thing, and were
nearer the hollow than was the youth. They turned the heads of the
horses and struck off at full speed.
The assailing Indians, too, had discovered their danger and were seen
skurrying for their ponies, waiting near. The obedient animals
turned until their masters sprang upon their backs, when they dashed
off at full speed, with a single exception. One of them, forgetful
of his danger or determined upon revenge, even at the cost of his
life, was observed to have something in his arms as he held his
ground.
"It is Edith that he is about to slay; maybe he has already killed
her! O heaven!" the brother groaned, "is it too late to save her?"
Jack was tearing over the ground at a killing pace, but he could not
reach them in time. He could carry his rider there in time to shoot
down the Indian, but not soon enough to prevent his burying his knife
in the innocent heart.
But there was a wonderful sharpshooter among the cavalry. He saw the
awful peril, and throwing his horse on his haunches, brought his gun
to his shoulder.
During the instant it was at a level, Hugh Kingsland dashed out of
the hollow, bare-headed, and, with hair streaming, ran toward the
Indian and his little girl. One pace behind him sped his wife; she
was seen to make quick, earnest gestures to the approaching horsemen,
and they thought it an appeal to them not to lose a second if they
would save her child.
At that instant the sharpshooter pressed the trigger of his weapon;
the Indian dropped the little one, threw up his arms in an aimless
way, staggered back and sank to the ground.
The next minute the troop thundered up, Brinton almost among them.
"Are you hurt, my darling Edith?" he called, leaping out of the
saddle, catching her in his arms, pressing her to his heart and
kissing her; "speak! did he hurt you?"
The child was bewildered by the great confusion, and, without
answering her brother, looked him affrightedly in the face.
"Why, Brint, is that you?"
"Yes, yes; heaven be praised, you are not harmed! Oh, how can I be
thankful enough? And you, father and mother! what a blessed sight!"
The mother gave him one grateful glance and then knelt by the fallen
Indian, just as Edith, slipping from the grasp of her brother, ran to
the prostrate figure and bent over it, asking in a voice of
inexpressible tenderness--
"What is the matter, Wolf Ear?"
The young Ogalalla lay on his back, but at the moment the child spoke
he managed, by a great effort, to raise his head and rest it on his
hand. He had not spoken, but now, fixing his dark eyes on Edith,
said in a faint voice--
"Wolf Ear is hurt!"
The troopers sat silent on their horses, looking down on the strange
scene. Hugh Kingsland, with no trace of his illness, stood back a
few paces with folded arms, gazing at the moving sight and trying in
vain to restrain his emotions. His wife placed her arm under the
head of the Ogalalla, and, resting it on her knee, smoothed the black
hair from his forehead, murmuring words of sympathy; Edith covered
her face with her hands, and sobbed with a breaking heart.
Brinton was affected at the sight of his former friend, but he could
not help saying--
"Mother, we can all pity him, but he was our enemy; and had he not
been shot at that moment Edith would not be living now."
"You are wrong, my son," she replied gently. "Wolf Ear came forward
to save Edith."
"What are you saying?"
"He was with the party that attacked us; he did what he could to
restrain them; he could not do so, and he ran forward to join and
help us defend ourselves against them. Edith saw him first and
hurried out to meet him; he caught her up, and, when his companions
would have harmed her, he would not let them touch her. He shouted
to us to have no fear, that he was our friend. At that moment the
soldiers came in sight and the other Indians made off. Wolf Ear knew
we were saved, and so he stood still, with Edith's arms around his
neck. I saw one of the soldiers aiming at them with his gun; husband
and I ran out to shield him. I shouted and motioned to the soldier
not to shoot, but he did not understand me, and--this is the sad
result of the dreadful mistake."
Wolf Ear fixed his eyes upon the wondering Brinton, who, walking
forward and stooping down, asked in a choking voice--
"Is all this true, Wolf Ear?"
"The words of your mother are true."
"But what meant your course toward me yesterday? I cannot reconcile
that with what I have just heard."
"We parted friends, though I told you I was the enemy of the rest of
your race. From the time we separated I have done all I could to
find your people and save them before it was too late. Until now, I
have not met you."
"You forget; we met in the gorge last night, and only this morning,
when you sought the life of Nick Jackson, I chased you over the ridge
in the effort to make you prisoner."
A smile overspread the dark face, and the head swayed a single time
to one side.
"Brinton, you are mistaken; the Ogalalla whom you met, as you say, in
the gully, and whom you sought to make prisoner, was not I--he was my
twin brother, Young Bear; our mother can hardly tell us apart, and I
taught him to speak English as well as I."
"Oh, what have I done!" wailed Brinton, breaking down utterly, and
covering his face with his hands. "I never dreamed of this; can you
forgive this dreadful mistake?"
"Yes," said Wolf Ear faintly, "I forgive you; I forgive the soldier
who shot me, for he did it to save _her_ life."
He wearily closed his eyes, but opened them again when he felt the
chubby arms of Edith clasped round his neck, and her lips pressed
against his.
"Oh, Wolf Ear!" she sobbed, in tones that brought tears to more than
one eye among the bronzed troopers, "do not die! I love you, next to
Brint and papa and mamma----"
Among the silent troopers touched by the scene was the sharpshooter
who had brought Wolf Ear low. He was a brave, rugged soldier, but,
like most men, had a tender heart. He had not spoken for some
minutes, and his eyes were moist as he swung his foot from his
stirrup and over the haunch of his horse to the ground.
"Jim Budworth don't often make a miss," he said in a broken voice,
"and I didn't miss this fellow; but then I didn't aim to kill him,
and I don't believe I did. I know a little about surgery myself--so
let me take a look at Wolf Ear, as you call him."
Wondering at the words of the sharpshooter, and hardly daring to hope
he was right, all watched him as he made what may be called a medical
examination of the sufferer. The bullet had struck him in the side,
and evidently had inflicted the wound intended.
"Injins are tough," remarked Budworth, "and this one is as tough as
the rest. He isn't going to die. Here, Wolf Ear, try this."
As he spoke, the trooper held a flask of spirits to the lips of the
young Indian and forced him to swallow some of it. It produced an
immediate effect; and, to the astonishment of everyone, Wolf Ear
assumed a sitting position and looked round with a smile.
"I feel better--much better, thank you," he said, with a grateful
look at Budworth.
"Of course you do. It was a narrow chance for you, no mistake; but
all you want is careful nursing, and I reckon Mrs. Kingsland here
will be glad to give it you."
"Indeed I will," said the delighted woman; "there is nothing that I
will not do for Wolf Ear. Can it be possible that he is going to get
well after all?"
"Of course it is; I know all about Injins."
"Oh, I am so glad!" exclaimed the happy Edith, throwing her arms
again about his neck.
"Easy now, easy now," said Budworth; "don't go to rolling and
tumbling him about until he gets a little stronger. After that you
can handle him as you choose."
Wolf Ear rallied with amazing quickness, and showed all the heroism
of his race, when he was helped upon his horse and the party moved
back to the supply camp, where the teamsters had succeeded in driving
off the hostiles.
The Indian was given an easy, comfortable couch in one of the
waggons, and some hours later the party arrived at Wounded Knee.
There the sufferer received the best of medical attention, and was
soon able to move about with scarcely any pain or trouble. His
recovery was rapid; and to-day only a slight scar remains to tell how
nearly he met death in his efforts to save his friends from the
warriors of his own race.
And within the following few weeks the threatening cloud that had
overspread the Western sky, behind which the blood-red lightning
gleamed and played, dissolved, and gave place to the sweet sunshine
of peace, which, let us pray, may continue for ever.
PRINTED BY
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE.
LONDON, E.C.
30,313