"They were Indians sure enough, and doubtless only scouts of a bigger
party.
"There was no time to lose. Sport and all was forgotten; they must
mount their horses, and be off back to the prairie land. There they
would be clear, at least, of an ambush, and could trust to the fleetness
of their horses.
"They hurried madly down hill, reaching and mounting their mustangs just
as a volley was fired from both sides of the stream, the bullets
peppering the trees about, and splashing on the rocks and stones. They
were off like the wind next minute. Rough though the path was, round
rocks, over fallen trees, and slippery, mossy banks, the good nags kept
their feet, and soon the prairie was gained.
"Once fairly in it, they ventured to look behind. To their surprise
they found themselves followed by several mounted Indians--a dozen in
all, at the very least.
"Out on the open prairie, the half-bred mustangs seemed to fly over the
ground, but they were not so fresh as the horses of the pursuers, and
the pace soon began to tell, and three out of the four savages came
rattling on abreast.
"A bullet or two flew over them. It was evident they must fight. At a
given signal, then, they wheeled their horses, and took deadly aim, and
next moment there were two empty saddles; again they fired, and the
bewildered third Indian came tumbling down over a dead horse.
"But the others came thundering on behind with yells for revenge, yells
for blood and scalps.
Away went our gallant trio once again, but now, alas! Tom's horse
tripped and fell, and at the same moment the chief's steed was shot.
"They must fight on foot now, and with terrible odds. But they were all
determined to sell their lives dearly.
"Now, whatever old chroniclers may say to the contrary, American Indians
never did fight fairly if they could do the reverse. So in this case,
instead of coming on with a wild rush or a warlike shout, they paused,
and quietly waited till their companions swarmed up. Meanwhile, Wild
Eye had killed his horse, and also Tom's fallen one. Why leave the poor
brutes to fall into the hands of the enemy? Then the three entrenched
themselves as well as they could behind them, and waited events.
"They had not very long to wait, either. A volley was fired by the
savages who had guns. It was returned with interest, and as they were
crowded together it must have had terrible effect.
"The yelling and buzzing was now frightful. It was as threatening as
that which proceeds from a hollow tree with a hornet's nest in it when
you kick the trunk.
"And just as hornets rush out from their hive, so rushed those Indians
now on, spreading out, and entirely surrounding the three brave men,
shrieking and brandishing their tomahawks.
"My grand-dad said he never understood what put it into Wild Eye's head
to sing out `Surrender!' but he did, and at once there was peace and a
parley. The two Britishers would have preferred fighting to the bitter
end, and having it over; but as most of the attacking savages had laid
down their weapons, they felt in duty bound to cease firing, and submit
to the fortune of war--to the inevitable.
"Tom and my grand-dad were bound with withes and tied together. Wild
Eye was tied to an Indian, then without further palaver the march
westward was commenced.
"My grandfather forgot how long they were on that terrible journey into
the fastnesses of the far west. It must have been, he thought, fully a
fortnight.
"They were fatigued beyond measure, footsore, heartsick, and weary. If
they had entertained any hopes at first of being treated as prisoners of
war, and in due time exchanged, every day's journey served to dispel the
illusion.
"Poor Wild Eye fell sick, and was slain. His wig was hung at the girdle
of one of his captors, his body left to swelter in the sun, till birds
and beasts should eat his flesh and ants pick his bones.
"Grand-dad was sufficiently conversant with the language of this tribe
to know what the doom was that he and Tom had to look forward to. They
were being hurried away to the wigwam village of their captors, to be
tortured at the hands of squaws. The chief of the party even
condescended to enliven the last few miles of the journey, by telling
his prisoners such tales of the torture, that, brave though they were,
made the blood run cold along their spines.
"At last they reached the Indian village, which they entered just as the
sun was setting among clouds all fringed with gold and crimson above the
western hills.
"What a smiling, peaceful valley it seemed. The purple mist of distance
hung like a gauzy veil over the mountain tops, a blue haze half hid the
greenery of the woods, there were parks of verdure dotted over with
flowering trees and bushes, in which bright-winged birds flitted or
sang. Deer roamed quietly about, or stood drowsily chewing the cud, and
up through the trees on the banks of a broad, placid river, rose the
smoke from the village fires.
"The whole scene was almost home-like in its gentle beauty. Who could
have believed that it had been and would be the scene of a torture so
refined and terrible that one shudders even to think of it?"
Book 2--CHAPTER EIGHT.