WILD BILL TRIES AN EXPERIMENT.
It was some hours after the capture of the scout, and the warriors
had returned from the unavailing pursuit of Charles Markley. Five
had fallen during the day, nearly a third of their number. Although
two daring foes were in their power, one at least still wandered
through the forest. Adverse fate seemed upon them, and they were moody
and silent. The villagers were still astir, as the exciting events
precluded the possibility of sleep, even from Indian braves. They
feared some dire retribution breaking upon them, and mourning and
lamentations were rife.
A solitary figure approached the village, casting anxious and
suspicious glances about him. The disturbed manner of the inhabitants,
who seemed scarcely to notice his presence, filled him with vague
wonder and alarm. As he observed the unusual disorder, the renegade,
for it was no other, gave vent to his feelings in sundry mutterings and
ejaculations.
“I wonder what in the name o’ Satan has been goin’ on here to-night?
Needn’t tell Bill Ashbey that all’s right and tight, not by any means.
Thank my good fortin’ I’m come home, and can soon find out what all
this rumpus is about.”
He sprung up to the door of his cabin, and raised the wooden latch,
but it was barred upon the inside. Giving a peculiar whistle, it was
opened, and the savage stood aside with a grunt of welcome for his
superior to enter. The renegade strode into the room, and looked
about with a searching gaze. Two other savages were within, who had
started to their feet at his approach. Giving them a simple stare of
recognition, he turned to the one who had admitted him.
“Wal,” he growled, “you’ve got home, I see. What luck? Is the gal safe?”
The Indian known as Dark Cloud paused a moment, then slowly replied:
“White Bird sleep there,” indicating the apartment beyond. “Pale-face
no cross trail of red-man. Pale brave come after; try to steal White
Bird from her chief.”
“So that’s it, is it?” He spoke carelessly, as if to inspire himself
with courage. “Some fool’s come to steal away the gal! But d’ye know
these pale-faces? Have you ever seen them before?”
“Pale-Face Long-Leg kill _one_ brave,” the Indian returned, holding
up one finger by way of emphasis. “Leg no long enough to run ’way! Me
throw tomahawk—knock him down—”
A movement upon the part of the renegade broke off the communication.
“So Davy Barring has got into my hands again!” hissed the renegade.
“We’ll see if he’ll git away slick as he did afore. I’ll have Sall
up an’ git my supper. While that’s cookin’ I’ll over and look at the
birds.”
Unbarring the door, the three passed quietly in. The scout rose upon
their entrance. For a few momenta those two men, so opposite in
character and disposition, stood regarding each other in silence.
“Well, old Davy, I’m glad to see you again,” Ashbey exclaimed.
“I can’t say I’m glad to see ye,” the scout returned, gazing steadily
in the eye of the other; “but if any person on the face o’ the earth’s
got to be cussed by the sight o’ yer miserable face, why, it may as
well be Davy Barring as anybody.”
He bit his lip, to check the words which would have followed, while the
other ground his teeth with rage.
“That’s bold talk for a man what’s got to die to-morrow!” the scoundrel
muttered. “You may forget that yer in my hands now, and ye shall die
like a dog? You’ve took too many liberties with me and mine for me to
forget it. The day of reckonin’ has now come, and we will bring all
these things out right.”
He paused to note the effect of his words, but the scout calmly replied:
“It may be Davy Barring dies to-morrow; thar’s certain about life _but_
death, and maybe my time has come. I do not fear death, Bill Ashbey; I
kin meet it if necessary; can you say the same?”
“You’d better tell that to someone else,” returned the renegade,
endeavouring to assume a careless tone. “You needn’t tell Bill Ashbey
you ain’t afraid to die, for I know better.”
“You kin only judge me by yourself,” said David, in a calm voice. “If
ye’re not ready to meet yer Maker, I advise you, as a friend would, if
ye had any friends, to git ready. Maybe that I shall die to-morrow, or
it may be not; but, I can tell you, Bill Ashbey, I shall see your body
a corpse long afore my own hour comes. _I know that_—mind you!”
The renegade turned pale, and shivered with a mortal terror.
“So-ho!” he exclaimed, with an attempt at bravado; “you think to scare
me, old chap. To try your skill, suppose I have your head cut off at
once; it will save the trouble of roastin’ ye, and a host of other
inconveniences.”
“If you are ready to die, I’ll not object,” was the calm reply. “It
were enough for one life to rid the earth of such a cuss as you!”
Ashbey gazed upon the man for a few moments in silence, then turned to
Alfred. Bending upon the young man a look of contempt, he said:
“So, young puppy-face, you came out here, eh? Wal, I don’t wonder.
I s’pose ye got so scart ye run any way. But ye’ll make a good
roastin’-piece, and my braves will like the fun o’ toastin’ yer lamb’s
carcass!”
“You can roast me if you choose,” the young man calmly replied; “but I
think your braves will remember me for some time to come.”
“Of course, we’re glad to say ye did somethin’ afore ye died; but we
don’t intend ye’ll ever harm us any more. But it seems you two weren’t
alone; I hear thar’s another what run for’t.”
He waited some moments before either spoke. His manner gave them the
assurance that Charles was still at large, and unharmed.
“I advise yer not ter pry into that,” David said, at length, in a
decided manner; “ye’ll find out soon enough about it. Ye may think
ye’re safe, now ye’ve got us two; I hope ye do; but ye kin remember
what I told ye, an’ when yer last hour’s come, I hope ye’ll find yer
conscience free, and go without any sorrow for what ye’ve done.”
The renegade turned and walked away, for he could not bear to hear such
language, it touched him in a vulnerable spot. He came back, however,
and added, in a tone of intense determination:
“Ye kin have the rest o’ the night to say yer prayers in; for when the
sun gits up to-morrow mornin’, ye’ll come out, Davy Barring, and ye
never’ll see that sun set again.”
Going to the door he called two of the Indian guards within, bidding
them to keep a strict watch over the prisoners till morning.
* * * * *
Morning came at length. The prisoners had conversed most of the night,
having slept but very little after the departure of Ashbey. A commotion
without the door was audible, and each looked with expectation.
“Are they coming?” asked Alfred, apprehensively.
“So it seems,” replied the scout. “I suppose they think I have lived
long enough, and if it must come, I know not that it matters how soon.”
“Oh, my friend!” Alfred began, but his emotion choked him, and he could
proceed no further.
“Be a man!” the scout returned. “If they are ready for me, I am
prepared. Keep up courage; I may sarcumvent the serpents after all.”
The door was now opened, and two braves entered. Without a word they
grasped the scout by the arms, and led him forth. The braves who had
remained within followed; the door was shut and barred. Alfred was left
alone to his own gloomy thoughts and fears.
It cost the scout an effort to maintain his composure, but he looked
calmly around upon the crowd of exulting savages. David’s first
thought was of the renegade, and he looked around to find him. He stood
a little apart from the tawny throng, his arms folded, and a look of
fiendish pleasure upon his features. He muttered a few words in the
Indian tongue as the party passed him, and David was taken at once to
the place of torture—the open place in front of the renegade’s cabin.
As usual, the gauntlet was first to be run. At a word from the
renegade, the party formed themselves in two lines, prepared to shower
vengeance upon the head and shoulders of the doomed scout. Two guards
held him firmly by the arms, while a third proceeded to cut the bonds
which held his hands.
“Now or never,” thought the scout, as his arms fell by his side.
David had noted carefully his surroundings. All had dropped their guns,
save the two guards, who now held his arms. The nearest building was
distant nearly twenty paces. If he could reach that, he might, under
its cover, gain the forest, when he would care little for those who
might pursue.
With his plans well and coolly formed, David twisted himself instantly
from the grasp of his foes. Springing quickly aside, he drew forth
his pistols, which had been, strangely enough, overlooked, and stood
for a moment confronting them. The two Indians who had guns raised
them, but the scout was too quick. Before they could fire, both his
pistols belched forth their contents, sending death to the nearest, and
severely wounding the other.
The sudden and unexpected movement caused a momentary consternation,
and seizing one of the Indian’s guns, David sprung toward the hut. He
reached it in safety, and, only turning his head, sped onward to the
forest.
“Shoot him! Fire after the dog; you never can catch him!” bawled Ashbey.
In obedience to the peremptory order, the Indians stopped and fired
away at random, no mark being in view. David had heard the order, and
seeking the cover of a large tree waited till the scattering shots
ceased. Then cautiously levelling the musket, he fired at the head of
his most mortal enemy. The bullet missed its mark. It passed within an
inch of Ashbey’s head, and killed a savage beyond. At the same moment a
second shot followed, from no great distance, and a second brave rolled
upon the ground. The survivors paused for a moment in confusion, then
turned and fled frantically back to the cover of their village.
* * *
Foaming with anger, and almost wild with disappointment, Bill Ashbey
turned his excited steps toward his own cabin. The prisoner had fled.
Dumfounded, he stood for a moment, unable to speak or move.
Then his self-possession seemed to return. He had forgotten that Emily
was left without a guard while they had joined in the pursuit of David.
Such was the fact, and one which Emily in her fear had not been slow to
discover. Sall Simms was absent, and, hardly realizing what she did,
the maid stole from the hut, and took her way toward the forest with
all speed.
The renegade readily comprehended these facts, and he knew that the
maiden could have been gone but a moment. It was easily to find her
trail, and he at once assembled his remaining braves. Ten of the number
had been killed or disabled; eight only remained. Of these two must be
left to guard the prison, and, as Wild Bill took the trail, a feeling
of fear passed over him. What if they should again meet the scout? Well
he knew a mortal terror possessed his few remaining braves, and but the
appearance of their dread foe would send them back in utter affright.
Yet his savage heart knew no relenting, and nothing but death itself
could shake his villainous resolves. In an hour they came upon the
fleeing maiden. She had sunk upon a log, unable to continue her weary
flight. At sight of her cruel pursuers, she started to her feet, and
endeavoured to flee, but with yells of delight, the savages intercepted
her.
“Ye needn’t try tew run any furder,” howled the miscreant, as he
bounded toward her. “Ye’ve led me a good chase out here intew the
woods, an’ I’ll jist take ye back, an’ maybe ye’ll git another chance
o’ runnin’ away. _Maybe_ ye will!” he added with emphasis.
“_Remember what I told ye!_” broke in a loud voice at no great distance.
Before any one could move, there came the sharp report of a rifle—the
dull “thud” of a bullet, and the renegade fell back, motionless, to
the earth. The warriors gazed around in horror, but, before they could
form any idea of the danger which threatened them, two more reports
followed, and two warriors fell beneath the deadly aim of the borderers.
With wild yells three athletic figures dashed from a cover near by,
and, with clubbed rifles, rushed upon the fleeing natives. David
Barring was foremost, and, with a sweep of his ponderous weapon one
unlucky Indian measured his length upon the earth. The remainder flew
with fear-given speed over the ground, and Charles and Alfred soon
returned from the pursuit.
We need not describe the fond meeting between the lovers. No pen could
do justice to the emotions of those happy hearts. After the first fond
greeting was given, the maiden turned to Alfred.
“How did you escape?” she asked. “I supposed you still imprisoned.”
“It was very cleverly managed,” Alfred returned. “No sooner was David
led forth, than a knife was slipped into my prison, with which I soon
severed my bonds. To work my way through the roof during the excitement
elsewhere was but a short task—when I at once took my way to the
forest. There I was provided with a rifle, taken from the Indians. We
saw the party which started in pursuit of you, and even gathered from
their conversation their object. We followed them, and here we are.”
“Oh! my dear friends!” the maiden sobbed; “how can I ever, ever repay
you?”
“Don’t talk of that, my girl,” broke in David. “Thar’s not one of us
but would be glad tew die for yer sake, and as fer reward, ye kin fix
the matter with Charley, here, when we git tew the settlements.”
Emily blushed at the honestly meant insinuation, while the brothers
turned to the body of Ashbey. He was dead, the bullet having passed
directly through his heart. So sudden, indeed, had been his transit,
that the expression of his features still remained unchanged.
They turned from the spectacle with a shudder of horror.
“Let us leave this place,” said Emily, placing a hand upon the arm of
Charles. “This is too dreadful!”
They moved from the spot, and slowly took their way through the forest,
toward the distant river.
Days passed. The Mississippi was reached, the boat hidden by the scout
was drawn forth, and the party launched upon the wide waters. Rowing by
night, hiding and sleeping by day, their weary journey was continued.
It is not our purpose to follow them through the many trials and
adventures which it was their lot to encounter. After many days and
nights, they reached a place of safety, where the father and mother of
the Markleys were anxiously awaiting them.
The subsequent history of the war is well known. At its conclusion our
adventurers returned to their former possessions. Desolate, indeed,
seemed the lone ruins of the Hinton cabin, but, under the energetic
efforts of Charles, now the husband of Emily, the place soon resumed
its pleasant aspect. Happiness and love reigned there, and only the
remembrance of one fearful chain of events in the past, ever called a
tear to the eye of the young and happy wife.
THE END.
Printed by James Jackson, and Published by him at his Publishing
Office, 2, RED LION COURT, Fleet Street, London, E.C.
READ
Boys of London
and
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PUBLISHED BY
JAMES JACKSON.
Transcriber’s Note:
This ebook has no Chapter VI to match the original publication.
Punctuation, spelling and hyphenation have also been retained as
published except as follows:
Page 1
born to danger and innured _changed to_
born to danger and inured
Page 2
could not have determed _changed to_
could not have determined
Page 3
gave Barring a clear peception _changed to_
gave Barring a clear perception
Two well the scout knew _changed to_
Too well the scout knew
Page 4
selected for his reconnoisance _changed to_
selected for his reconnaissance
Page 5
turned to view the extend _changed to_
turned to view the extent
paain at her ankles caused _changed to_
pain at her ankles caused
Page 6
from some desplicable revenge _changed to_
from some despicable revenge
the time when I cum an begged _changed to_
the time when I cum an’ begged
Page 7
I saved yer from em _changed to_
I saved yer from ’em
Father brother, self _changed to_
Father, brother, self
As the regenade _changed to_
As the renegade
times worse than death, _changed to_
times worse than death.
Page 10
a prisoner among the the Indians _changed to_
a prisoner among the Indians
an hev no particular objection _changed to_
an’ hev no particular objection
time we were movin _changed to_
time we were movin’
scrambled into vehicle _changed to_
scrambled into the vehicle
like that of a panter _changed to_
like that of a panther
Page 11
though they did show good grit _changed to_
though they did show good grit.
Page 13
work of the party we seek?’ _changed to_
work of the party we seek?”
to grasp any hope.” _changed to_
to grasp any hope.
In course I’m sure _changed to_
Of course I’m sure
Page 15
as as attraction now tended this way _changed to_
as attraction now tended this way
Page 16
very similiar to the other _changed to_
very similar to the other
Page 17
’an started arter me with _changed to_
an’ started arter me with
I didn’t git much start on ’em he added _changed to_
I didn’t git much start on ’em,” he added
in the vain effort to penetrate the gloom; _changed to_
in the vain effort to penetrate the gloom.
moon rises, were goners _changed to_
moon rises, we’re goners
we can’t pass ’em in that _changed to_
“we can’t pass ’em in that
Page 18
wer’re about opposite _changed to_
we’re about opposite
so I’ll ferret it out _changed to_
so I’ll ferret it out.
red-skins spyin’ it out.’ _changed to_
red-skins spyin’ it out.”
Page 19
to their fancies or appetities _changed to_
to their fancies or appetites
Page 20
he will not forgot _changed to_
he will not forget
Page 21
a guttural voice in her _changed to_
a guttural voice in her ear
and from the savory meant _changed to_
and from the savory meat
Page 23
tew myself. “I suppose, miss _changed to_
tew myself. I suppose, miss
tew know youre foaks _changed to_
tew know your foaks
Page 24
A party set out twe _changed to_
A party set out tew
Page 25
and bounded foward _changed to_
and bounded forward
Page 26
Bill has contol of all _changed to_
Bill has control of all
Page 27
in an unforseen manner _changed to_
in an unforeseen manner
while the fourth sat dosing _changed to_
while the fourth sat dozing
Page 29
got home, I see, What _changed to_
got home, I see. What
The day of reconin’ _changed to_
The day of reckonin’
Page 30
Oh, my friend!’ _changed to_
Oh, my friend!”
Page 31
the gantlet was first _changed to_
the gauntlet was first
The following lines were misplaced and have been moved to the end of
the paragraph starting with “Yet his savage ...”:
cruel pursuers, she started to her feet, and endeavoured to flee,
but with yells of delight, the savages intercepted her.
The prisoner had fled; Dumfounded _changed to_
The prisoner had fled. Dumfounded
Page 32
ke kin fix the matter _changed to_
ye kin fix the matter
End of Project Gutenberg's Scouting Dave, by James Jackson and James L. Bowen