these wretches can be. Hi there, amigo," he continued to an Indian that
stood guard over them with a pistol; "say, you Ute? you Ute?"
The redskin nodded; apparently he understood the question.
"Ute, Colorow; Colorow, Ute," he ejaculated, grunting out a string of
unintelligible Indian words as well.
"Colorow!" broke in Elbridge. "Of course. Don't you remember, Tom, that
old fellow in the store at Longmont who was talking about the different
Indians, and said that he wouldn't trust some of the Utes very far?
Don't you remember he said there was a chief called Colorow who would
bear watching; that his band of Utes was ripe for mischief?"
"What do you imagine they'll do to us?" asked his friend. "They've
robbed our camp, but they haven't tried to kill us. Do you think they
mean to torture us, and that that's why they don't kill us at once?"
The tortures inflicted by Indians on their captives were before his
mind. These young men from Harvard were new to the west, and had only
come out for a summer holiday; but the cruelty of savage Indians was a
familiar idea to them, and they shuddered at the thoughts of it.
"Let's ask them what they want of us," said Elbridge; "it may be that
we've been trespassing on what they consider sacred territory, or
something of that sort. We might perhaps be able to satisfy them somehow
if we could make them understand."
But the Indians could not or would not talk, and all attempts to parley
were vain; ponies were brought, and they were forced to mount and be led
away wherever their captors chose.
All day long they rode; and at evening, tired and stiff from their bonds
and the rough mountain ride, they reached the lodges of a large band of
insurgent Utes. Here they were rudely pulled from their horses and
thrown on the ground. An eager debate ensued as the captors proudly
exhibited their prisoners, and the helpless pair, though they could not
understand a word, needed no interpreter to reveal the subject. Close by
stood two long, upright sticks, and between them there dangled a small
hoop of willow, across which was stretched a round piece of what seemed
to be parchment, kept tight and flat by a neat buckskin lacing. While
they were looking at this, a puff of wind caught the hoop and caused it
to spin slowly round. The side of it now revealed to view was covered
with a bushy mat of short, red, curly hair, and just off the centre a
white streak across it showed up as a parting.
Elbridge looked inquiringly at his friend. He saw Tom's face become a
strange ashy grey. His lips were almost bloodless and seemed to move
stiffly as he said in a thick voice, "That thing must be a scalp. It's
fresh, and it's a white man's."
"Yes, young man, that's a nice scalp, and yours'll look pretty beside
it," burst in a harsh, rasping voice close behind them in tones that
made them shiver.
"An American here among these Indians!" thought Elbridge; "why, he must
be a renegade, another Simon Girty."
With an effort he twisted his head round to see who had startled them
so. No white man was visible to his eye, but right above him towered a
huge Indian, a head and shoulders taller than the other Utes. He wore a
cruel face of mockery, as he opened his great mouth to speak. "You'll
have a high old time, won't you, when you're tied to the stake, and the
fire begins to tickle up your toes." His English was perfect.
"Who are you, in the name of goodness?" cried Elbridge, "and what are we
prisoners for?"
"You don't know me, eh, Tenderfoot?" was the contemptuous reply. "I'm
Big John, John St. Elmo. My father was old Colonel St. Elmo that St.
Elmo's Fork's called after. Oh yes, you needn't be surprised at my
speaking English. Why, I was years at school in St. Louis with the
Christian Brothers. You bet, folks all know me on the frontier now,
though."
This was no empty boast. He was indeed well known, far too well known,
on the frontier. Big John, the half-breed son of the old French
fur-trader, St. Elmo, was as entirely an Indian in his nature as in his
features, though his superior intelligence as well as his gigantic frame
bore witness to the white blood that flowed in his veins. His cruelty
and his cunning were known far and wide.
He stood over his victims for long, boasting of his own black deeds in
the past, and threatening them with the torture for to-morrow. Then they
were shoved into a lodge, a guard set over them, and they were left to
get such rest as they might.
Darkness fell, and they lay silent and sleepless, stupefied with pain
and misery, until Elbridge rolled himself close to his comrade and began
in a low voice,--
"Tom, do you think there is any chance for us?"
"I can't see any whatever," replied Winthrop.
"This fellow, Big John, seems to me our only hope," said Elbridge. "At
least he knows something. He could understand us if we were to offer him
a ransom. That's our best lookout now. Escape is quite out of the
question. Here we are, tied and watched, and even if we could slip away
we should only get lost in these mountains, and be caught again
directly. We must try and talk him into letting us go, somehow."
The hours dragged on wearily, till just before dawn they heard a sudden
trampling of horses, followed by loud talking among the red men.
Presently Big John rushed into the lodge and burst out,--
"The governor's sent the soldiers from Fort Russell, and it's got to be
stopped."
He was furiously excited. Was he come to butcher his captives on the
spot, or what did he intend?
"We're ready to make peace if the governor wants peace," he cried.
"We've driven every white man out of our country already, and we won't
have the soldiers coming into it. But if he'll call them back, we'll
treat."
"When did all this begin?" inquired Elbridge eagerly.
"Five days back," said John. "Oh, we've made the Americans pretty sick.
In five days we've cleared the settlers all out of our country. But we
won't stand the soldiers coming now."
"Look here, John," exclaimed Elbridge, assuming a friendliness that he
was far from feeling; "if you want to let the governor know that you're
willing to make peace, why not let us go and tell him? That's your
safest way to let him know."
"And how am I going to get his answer if I do?" asked Big John.
"Why," replied Elbridge promptly, "of course he'll send some one to tell
you when and where to meet him."
"He'll none send," briefly interjected the half-breed. He paused a
moment, revolving plans in his mind. "Look here; I don't mind doing
this. One of you go and take my message to the governor, and I'll keep
t'other here till he gets back with the answer. If he don't come,
then--" And with an expressive pantomime he indicated the torture and
the scalping-knife. Vainly they urged him to send both; he was obdurate.
"We pledge our honour to return," cried Elbridge Harland. "Be it peace
or war, we'll come back and give ourselves up to you."
"What's an American's honour worth?" retorted the half-breed
contemptuously. "I don't do business that way. One of you can go.
There's my terms; take 'em or leave 'em."
"Then you must go, Tom," began Elbridge, but Big John cut him short.
"You stay here," said their captor, indicating Tom, "and you go,"
pointing to Elbridge; "but first you give me your word of honour to
come back here in three days and surrender, whatever the governor says,
and swear you won't tell where we are or lead any one here."
"I give it then," said Elbridge; and turning to his companion, "Tom,"
cried he, "don't despair. If it be possible, I'll save you."
Eighteen hours later he stood, with an Indian guide beside him, upon a
summit whence they looked into a dark valley where fires were glowing.
"Americans camp there," said the guide, pointing to the distant fires.
"You go talk governor one sun. When moon there," and he pointed to the
eastern sky, "you come here find me." And thus Elbridge left him.
In two hours he reached the watch-fires of a company of Colorado
volunteers, hastily called out to resist the Ute outbreak. He learned
that the governor of the state was actually on the spot. "You better
believe," said the guard who conducted him to the governor's quarters,
"he ain't no slouch. He's a western man, he is. You don't find Governor
Bates at home in Denver when there's a Ute war on. It's 'headquarters
in the saddle' with him every time."
Elbridge was soon introduced to him, and told his story.
"Very rough on you and your companion, Mr. Harland," said the governor
sympathetically, when Elbridge had finished. "I'm sorry for you both,
but for Mr. Winthrop especially. It's too bad you should have just
dropped in for such a reception as this in our Centennial State this
particular year. We reckon to give eastern tourists a good time here,
and we're particularly pleased to welcome to the Rockies cultured
gentlemen from good old Harvard that can appreciate the splendour of our
mountain scenery. Now here's my idea. Mr. Winthrop's one solitary chance
is for you to lead my volunteers right to where these Indians are, so
that we can surround 'em, and it's just possible we may succeed in
rescuing him alive."
"But," said Elbridge astonished, "I have just told you how I passed my
word to return and put myself in their hands again, and show no one
where they are."
"Rubbish," said Governor Bates--"positive rubbish, my dear sir. Indians
don't keep faith with us, so we're not bound to do it with them. You
bring us to them, and we'll fix things."
"I couldn't do it," said Elbridge quickly, his colour rising; "I passed
my word, and I must go back alone."
"That you'll not do," said the governor, "if I have any authority here.
I'll have to put you under arrest if you try," and with a forced laugh
he added, "We can't have you communicating with enemies of the United
States, you know."
And rather than yield, Elbridge actually passed the day under honourable
arrest at the governor's quarters. He remained proof both against
ridicule and upbraiding.
"Well, sir," said Governor Bates finally, "I can only hope that Captain
Waldo himself may arrive. He's the one man that really knows these
northern Utes and speaks their lingo, and they think a heap of him. He
can do anything with them almost. The moment they broke out I
telegraphed to Washington for him. He might be here to-night, but he
hasn't come; and if he don't, I wouldn't give a red cent for your
partner's chance."
Elbridge took his arrest so easily that the guard believed him to be
secretly glad to find an obstacle put in the way of his return to the
Indians. Consequently he found little difficulty in escaping at midnight
and rejoining his guide. They reached the Indian camp once more on the
following evening.
"Governor don't want peace, eh?" said Big John. "Then we're going to
just sicken him of war."
Elbridge again spent the night in bonds with his comrade. In the morning
a council was held by the Indians, at the end of which two stakes were
planted in the ground on the outskirts of the camp, and firewood heaped
round them. The preparation for the torture had begun.
The two victims were brought out of the lodge, and dragged to the spot
amid the taunts of Big John. Elbridge cast a despairing look on the ring
of dark faces encircling them, but no glance of pity met his. Indians
are cruel.
"Tom," he cried, "this is the end. We must bear it as best we may.
Good-bye, old man."
Suddenly there was a great shouting among the Indians. The crowd parted
asunder, and they caught sight of the figure of a horseman in army blue
riding out of the timber towards them. He reined up his horse sharply,
and then extended both hands with the two forefingers interlocked. It
was the peace-sign. Some of the Indians ran forward to meet him,
uttering cries of recognition. Others, of whom Big John was one, hung
sullenly back.
"Elbridge," said Tom, "who can this be?" His voice shook with the
nerve-strain he was undergoing, but he mastered it and went on. "What
can he be doing here among the Indians? They seem to mind him."
"It must be Captain Waldo. He has come to save us," said Elbridge in
firm tones. He would let no hysteric emotion betray to the red men how
bitter the prospect of the torture had been to bear.
Captain Waldo it was. He came up to them and spoke.
"I fear you have had a sad experience, gentlemen," said he, "but I have
hopes that all may yet be well. I have some little influence over these
people, but they are terribly excited just now. I must leave you for a
while to speak to the chiefs in council. Till they decide I think you
will be safe."
"Can we do anything to help you?" asked Elbridge eagerly.
"No; there is nothing to be done," said Captain Waldo, "except to wait
for the end patiently. Make no struggle or attempt to escape. It all
depends on moral force now."
"You have no soldiers with you, then?" inquired Tom. "You are alone?"
"Quite alone," said Waldo, with a look of deep seriousness in his eyes.
"We can look for no human help;" and turning away, he strode over to the
council tent and disappeared.
Their bonds were now untied, to their intense relief, and they were left
to stroll where they would within the bounds of the camp. Hour after
hour they could hear from within the tent the voices of the Indian
orators, and sometimes they were able to recognize the calm tones of
Waldo addressing them. Then the strident voice of Big John was heard;
and presently a messenger came and signed to them to come to the council
tent. Anxiously they approached and entered.
"Look at this young man, you John St. Elmo," said Waldo, pointing to
Elbridge Harland. "You tell the chiefs that if they trust me and come in
and make peace they will all be massacred. They are not to trust us,
because no white man ever keeps his word. Here is a young white man whom
you made prisoner; whom you set free on the promise of his return; who
was arrested by the governor to keep him from returning; and who, rather
than break his promise to you, escaped secretly from arrest, and came
back to you to face the torture. I pledge you my word, and so will he,
that if the Utes come in and make peace, and give up their captives, no
one of them shall suffer for it."
Big John was silent, and Waldo said it over again in the Indian language
to the chiefs. Then an old grey-haired red-skin arose and delivered
their decision. "We know you, captain," said he, "and your word is
straight. Other white men have told us many lies. But here is a white
man"--and he pointed to Elbridge--"whose word is true. We will come."
The crisis was over; the momentous decision was for peace, and the
frontiers were to be spared the horrors of a prolonged Indian war.
Captain Waldo, accompanied by the two released prisoners, led the way to
a point where the insurgent Utes could safely surrender themselves to
the authorities; and Elbridge Harland had the consciousness that he had
not only saved his honour, but had helped to save his countrymen as
well.
"GUNPOWDER, TREASON, AND PLOT."
"There will be no fireworks this year."
[Illustration: "_There will be no fireworks this year._" Page 145.]
From the consternation depicted on the faces of the sixty odd boys to
whom this announcement was made, it might have been supposed that they
had just heard there would be a famine in the land, or that some other
calamity of an equally serious nature was about to befall them.
Mr. Chard, the headmaster of Yatby Grammar School, was the speaker. He
had held this position since the commencement of the winter term, and it
was now the 2nd of November.
"I don't intend there should be any more of these firework displays," he
continued. "They are dangerous, and often result in accidents, the
consequences of which have to be suffered for a lifetime. As you know, I
am anxious to encourage healthy outdoor sport, and in fact any kind of
rational amusement; but I see no object in these gunpowder carnivals,
and the subscription which Brookfield says you received on former
occasions from the headmaster I will hand over to the treasurer of the
Games Club. Pass on in order."
Desk after desk, the boys filed out of the big schoolroom into the
square, gravelled playground at the back of the school buildings, where,
freed from the enforced silence of assembly, the air was immediately
filled with a babel of voices.
"No fireworks!" cried one; "what rot!"
"Well, I do call this beastly shabby!" exclaimed another. "Old Gregory
never objected to our having fireworks on the Fifth, and why should
Chard?"
Away in one corner Brookfield, the captain of the football club, and a
leading spirit among the boarders, stood addressing a little group of
his companions.
"I stopped him in the passage this morning," said Brookfield, "and asked
him if he would give us something towards our fireworks, as Mr. Gregory
used to. He said at once that he didn't intend there should be any
fireworks this year, and that he would mention it at the close of
morning school."
"I call it a bit too thick," continued the speaker, working himself up
into a great state of excitement. "He's been altering rules ever
since he came until the place is becoming a regular dame's school. I
believe, if he had his way, we should do nothing but work, and go out
walking two and two."
"He isn't quite so bad as that," said Collins. "You must admit he's
taken more interest in footer than Gregory ever did. He saw that we had
a new set of goal-posts, and made better arrangements for the matches."
"Ye-es," admitted Brookfield reluctantly. "But he's made no end of
vexatious little rules that we never had before. Why shouldn't we go
into town when we like, instead of having to ask permission, and have
our names entered in a book? Then what's the object in our being obliged
to go into certain shops only? and why should we have half an hour's
extra work before breakfast?"
The audience nodded. That having to get up half an hour earlier,
especially on cold winter mornings, was certainly a sore point with
everybody.
"Now," went on Brookfield, "we aren't to have any more fireworks; and
why? Just because he chooses to think we're such babies that we should
blow ourselves up with a pinch of powder. I tell you he's come here with
the notion that this place is an old dame's school, and it's high time
we showed him it isn't."
"How?" inquired Shadbury, moodily grinding his heel into the damp
gravel.
"How? Why, all take a stand, and show him we don't mean to put up with
any more of this humbug."
"Oh yes," answered Shadbury, with a smile of incredulity. "I fancy I see
us doing it, and then getting packed off home next morning."
"Not a bit of it!" returned Brookfield, whose ideas were fast shaping
themselves into a definite line of thought. "The only thing is, we must
all pull together. Take, for instance, a strike. If one workman came and
said he wouldn't work unless he had higher wages, why, he'd simply be
told to take his hat and go; but if all the hands in a factory agree to
go out at the same time, their employer's bound to listen, for if he
sacked the whole lot, why, his business would come to a standstill. It's
the same in this case: Chard might expel one fellow, but he couldn't
send every chap in the place going, or the school would cease to exist,
and he'd get into trouble with the governors."
"Yes," answered Collins, "that's all very well; but in instances of this
kind they have a way of picking out the ringleaders and making an
example of them, and giving all the others a milder punishment."
"Pish!" retorted Brookfield. "There'd be no ringleaders. What I should
say is, let every chap buy some fireworks, and then on the Fifth we'll
rush out and let them off after prep., whether Chard says we may or not.
He can but keep us all in for an afternoon, and it'll teach him not to
interfere with our privileges. I'll do it if any one else will."
Among the bystanders was Jarvis, a reckless young ne'er-do-weel. "All
right; I'm game," he cried. "Now then, we must get the other fellows to
promise."
There is a certain flavour of romance in a rebellion which has brought
about the undoing of many a hot-headed youth, who perhaps had no deep
concern in the cause of the rising; and the scheme mooted by Brookfield
appealed to the more adventurous spirits among his school-fellows. In
addition to this, it was a fact that the school, as a whole, were highly
indignant at the headmaster's edict. As far back as any boy of the
present generation could remember, there had always been fireworks on
the Fifth; and to rob a boy of a legitimate excuse for burning gunpowder
is to touch him on his tenderest place.
The afternoon which followed the conversation which has just been
recorded was, in itself, conducive to the spread of any mischief which
might be afoot. It was too wet for football; the rain fell in a steady
downpour, and the boys were confined to the schoolroom and passages, or
the gymnasium shed in the yard.
Brookfield and Jarvis moved from one group to another; they buttonholed
classmates in out-of-the-way corners, and joined themselves to the
little crowd that had collected before the schoolroom fire. In each case
they commenced a conversation with some remark about the fireworks; the
talk would grow more confidential, and be carried on in lower tones
until it probably ended in nods and winks. Even Mr. Wills and Mr.
Draper, the two assistant masters, were boldly questioned as to whether
they didn't consider it a shame that the fireworks should be forbidden;
but both gentlemen were too discreet to offer any opinion. Mr. Chard had
said there was not to be a display this year, and that was enough for
them.
By the end of the afternoon all the boarders had been sounded. Some were
never expected to share in any act of lawlessness or bad behaviour, but
the majority had proved themselves ripe for mischief by agreeing to take
an active part in the conspiracy.
At tea, though several of the small boys' faces were flushed with
excitement, there was an ominous calm, the meal being partaken of in a
silence which, to a keen observer, might have suggested the thought that
something was going to happen.
On the following afternoon Brookfield and Jarvis, together with two
other boys named Perry and Roden, who had both fallen in heartily with
the scheme, held a consultation just before tea in a corner of the shed.
By this time things had progressed so far that it was tacitly understood
that all arrangements for the execution of the plot should be left in
the hands of the four boys mentioned, one of whom, it was agreed, should
purchase the fireworks, and thus lessen the risk which would be run if a
number of boys entered the shop at different times. Meeting thus in the
darkness made the business in hand seem almost as exciting as if it were
some part of the original Gunpowder Plot, and the conspirators conversed
in tones raised little above a whisper.
"Now look here," began Brookfield. "All the fellows have given me what
money they mean to subscribe, and the first question is, Who's to get
the fireworks?"
"Draw lots," suggested Perry.
"Oh no!" broke in Jarvis. "You get them, Brookfield; and while you're in
the shop I'll keep _cave_ at one end of the street, and Perry and Roden
can at the other. Get the things done up in three packets, and we can
stick them under our jackets."
"All right. And what am I to get?"
The question was one which, on former occasions, had been a difficult
one to answer; the proper proportion of rockets, Roman candles, coloured
fire, and other combustibles which should be procured to make up a
proper display, always needing a good deal of discussion before anything
like a satisfactory conclusion could be arrived at. Certain boys had
always clamoured for a set piece, while others had yearned to fire
shells from a mortar. This year, however, it seemed likely that the
display would not be of the kind previously attempted, but would
probably be subjected to an abrupt interruption before it had progressed
many minutes.
"Get something that will go off easily," said Jarvis--"mostly squibs and
crackers, I should say. It's more for the lark of the thing, and to show
Chard we don't mean to knuckle under, than for the sake of a show. I
should say, get it all over in ten minutes, and hook it. Then there'd be
some chance of escaping without being collared."
"There's one other thing," said Brookfield. "Where shall we keep the
fireworks when we've got them? It won't do to put them in desks and
lockers; they might be seen."