Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: His fingers gripped the iron top rail, and he slowly
pulled his body up.]
Molly McDonald
A Tale of the Old Frontier
BY RANDALL PARRISH
Author of "Keith of the Border," "My Lady of Doubt," "My Lady of the
South," etc.
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR
BY ERNEST L. BLUMENSCHEIN
A. L. BURT COMPANY
PUBLISHERS -------------- NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1912
Published April, 1912
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I AN UNPLEASANT SITUATION
II "BRICK" HAMLIN
III THE NEWS AT RIPLEY
IV THE ATTACK
V THE DEFENCE OF THE STAGE
VI THE CONDITION IN THE COACH
VII PLANS FOE ESCAPE
VIII A WAY TO THE RIVER
IX ACROSS THE RIVER
X THE RIPENING OF ACQUAINTANCE
XI A REMEMBRANCE OF THE PAST
XII THE PARTING
XIII BACK AT FORT DODGE
XIV UNDER ARREST
XV AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
XVI THE MEETING
XVII AT CROSS-PURPOSES
XVIII ANOTHER MESSAGE
XIX A FULL CONFESSION
XX MOLLY TELLS HER STORY
XXI MOLLY DISAPPEARS
XXII A DEEPENING MYSTERY
XXIII THE DEAD BODY
XXIV IN PURSUIT
XXV IN THE BLIZZARD
XXVI UNSEEN DANGER
XXVII HUGHES' STORY
XXVIII SNOWBOUND
XXIX THE CHASE
XXX THE FIGHT IN THE SNOW
XXXI THE GIRL AND THE MAN
XXXII WORDS OF LOVE
XXXIII MOLLY'S STORY
XXXIV THE ADVANCE OF CUSTER
XXXV THE INDIAN TRAIL
XXXVI READY TO ATTACK
XXXVII THE BATTLE WITH THE INDIANS
XXXVIII AT CAMP SUPPLY
ILLUSTRATIONS
His fingers gripped the iron top rail, and he slowly pulled
his body up . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
"No, don't move! The stage has been gutted and set on fire"
The two started back at his rather abrupt entrance
His Colt poised for action, he lifted the wooden latch
MOLLY McDONALD
CHAPTER I
AN UNPLEASANT SITUATION
When, late in May, 1868, Major Daniel McDonald, Sixth Infantry, was
first assigned to command the new three company post established
southwest of Fort Dodge, designed to protect the newly discovered
Cimarron trail leading to Santa Fé across the desert, and, purely by
courtesy, officially termed Fort Devere, he naturally considered it
perfectly safe to invite his only daughter to join him there for her
summer vacation. Indeed, at that time, there was apparently no valid
reason why he should deny himself this pleasure. Except for certain
vague rumors regarding uneasiness among the Sioux warriors north of the
Platte, the various tribes of the Plains were causing no unusual
trouble to military authorities, although, of course, there was no time
in the history of that country utterly devoid of peril from young
raiders, usually aided and abetted by outcast whites. However, the
Santa Fé route, by this date, had become a well-travelled trail,
protected by scattered posts along its entire route, frequently
patrolled by troops, and merely considered dangerous for small parties,
south of the Cimarron, where roving Comanches in bad humor might be
encountered.
Fully assured as to this by officers met at Fort Ripley, McDonald, who
had never before served west of the Mississippi, wrote his daughter a
long letter, describing in careful detail the route, set an exact date
for her departure, and then, satisfied all was well arranged, set forth
with his small command on the long march overland. He had not seen his
daughter for over two years, as during her vacation time (she was
attending Sunnycrest School, on the Hudson), she made her home with an
aunt in Connecticut. This year the aunt was in Europe, not expecting
to return until fall, and the father had hopefully counted on having
the girl with him once again in Kentucky. Then came his sudden,
unexpected transfer west, and the final decision to have her join him
there. Why not? If she remained the same high-spirited army girl, she
would thoroughly enjoy the unusual experience of a few months of real
frontier life, and the only hardship involved would be the long stage
ride from Ripley. This, however, was altogether prairie travel,
monotonous enough surely, but without special danger, and he could
doubtless arrange to meet her himself at Kansas City, or send one of
his officers for that purpose.
This was the situation in May, but by the middle of June conditions had
greatly changed throughout all the broad Plains country. The spirit of
savage war had spread rapidly from the Platte to the Rio Pecos, and
scarcely a wild tribe remained disaffected. Arapahoe, Cheyenne,
Pawnee, Comanche, and Apache alike espoused the cause of the Sioux, and
their young warriors, breaking away from the control of older chiefs,
became ugly and warlike. Devere, isolated as it was from the main
route of travel (the Santa Fé stages still following the more northern
trail), heard merely rumors of the prevailing condition through
tarrying hunters, and possibly an occasional army courier, yet soon
realized the gravity of the situation because of the almost total
cessation of travel by way of the Cimarron and the growing insolence of
the surrounding Comanches. Details from the small garrison were, under
urgent orders from headquarters at Fort Wallace, kept constantly
scouting as far south as the fork of the Red River, and then west to
the mountains. Squads from the single cavalry company guarded the few
caravans venturing still to cross the Cimarron Desert, or bore
despatches to Fort Dodge. Thus the few soldiers remaining on duty at
the home station became slowly aware that this outburst of savagery was
no longer a mere tribal affair. Outrages were reported from the
Solomon, the Republican, the Arkansas valleys. A settlement was raided
on Smoky Fork; stages were attacked near the Caches, and one burned; a
wagon train was ambushed in the Raton Pass, and only escaped after
desperate fighting. Altogether the situation appeared extremely
serious and the summer promised war in earnest.
McDonald was rather slow to appreciate the real facts. His knowledge
of Indian tactics was exceedingly small, and the utter isolation of his
post kept him ignorant. At first he was convinced that it was merely a
local disturbance and would end as suddenly as begun. Then, when
realization finally came, was already too late to stop the girl. She
would be already on her long journey. What could he do? What
immediate steps could he hope to take for her protection? Ordinarily
he would not have hesitated, but now a decision was not so easily made.
Of his command scarcely thirty men remained at Devere, a mere infantry
guard, together with a small squad of cavalrymen, retained for courier
service. His only remaining commissioned officer at the post was the
partially disabled cavalry captain, acting temporarily as adjutant,
because incapacitated for taking the field. He had waited until the
last possible moment, trusting that a shift in conditions might bring
back some available officer. Now he had to choose between his duty as
commander and as father. Further delay was impossible.
Devere was a fort merely by courtesy. In reality it consisted only of
a small stockade hastily built of cottonwood timber, surrounding in
partial protection a half dozen shacks, and one fairly decent log
house. The situation was upon a slight elevation overlooking the ford,
some low bluffs, bare of timber but green with June grass to the
northward, while in every other direction extended an interminable
sand-desert, ever shifting beneath wind blasts, presenting as desolate
a scene as eye could witness. The yellow flood of the river, still
swollen by melting mountain snow, was a hundred feet from the stockade
gate, and on its bank stood the log cavalry stables. Below, a scant
half mile away, were the only trees visible, a scraggly grove of
cottonwoods, while down the face of the bluff and across the flat ran
the slender ribbon of trail. Monotonous, unchanging, it was a desolate
picture to watch day after day in the hot summer.
In the gloom following an early supper the two officers sat together in
the single room of the cabin, a candle sputtering on the table behind
them, smoking silently or moodily discussing the situation. McDonald
was florid and heavily built, his gray mustache hanging heavily over a
firm mouth, while the Captain was of another type, tall, with dark eyes
and hair. The latter by chance opened the important topic.
"By the way, Major," he said carelessly, "I guess it is just as well
you stopped your daughter from coming out to this hole. Lord, but it
would be an awful place for a woman."
"But I did n't," returned the other moodily. "I put it off too long."
"Put it off! Good heavens, man, did n't you write when you spoke about
doing so? Do you actually mean the girl is coming--here?"
McDonald groaned.
"That is exactly what I mean, Travers. Damme, I have n't thought of
anything else for a week. Oh, I know now I was an old fool even to
conceive of such a trip, but when I first wrote her I had no conception
of what it was going to be like out here. There was not a rumor of
Indian trouble a month ago, and when the tribes did break out it was
too late for me to get word back East. The fact is, I am in the devil
of a fix--without even an officer whom I can send to meet her, or turn
her back. If I should go myself it would mean a court-martial."
Travers stared into the darkness through the open door, sucking at his
pipe.
"By George, you are in a pickle," he acknowledged slowly. "I supposed
she had been headed off long ago. Have n't heard you mention the
matter since we first got here. Where do you suppose the lass is by
now?"
"Near as I can tell she would leave Ripley the 18th."
"Humph! Then starting to-night, a good rider might intercept her at
Fort Dodge. She would be in no danger travelling alone for that
distance. The regular stages are running yet, I suppose?"
"Yes; so far as I know."
"Under guard?"
"Only from the Caches to Fort Union; there has been no trouble along
the lower Arkansas yet. The troops from Dodge are scouting the country
north, and we are supposed to keep things clear of hostiles down this
way."
"Supposed to--yes; but we can't patrol five hundred miles of desert
with a hundred men, most of them dough-boys. The devils can break
through any time they get ready--you know that. At this minute there
is n't a mile of safe country between Dodge and Union. If she was my
daughter--"
"You 'd do what?" broke in McDonald, jumping to his feet. "I 'd give
my life to know what to do!"
"Why, I'd send somebody to meet her--to turn her back if that was
possible. Peyton would look after her there at Ripley until you could
arrange."
"That's easy enough to say, Travers, but tell me who is there to send?
Do you chance to know an enlisted man out yonder who would do--whom you
would trust to take care of a young girl alone?"
The Captain bent his head on one hand, silent for some minutes.
"They are a tough lot, Major; that's a fact, when you stop to call the
roll. Those recruits we got at Leavenworth were mostly
rough-necks--seven of them in the guard-house to-night. Our best men
are all out," with a wave of his hand to the south. "It's only the
riff-raff we 've got left, at Devere."
"You can't go?"
The Captain rubbed his lame leg regretfully.
"No; I 'd risk it if I could only ride, but I could n't sit a saddle."
"And my duty is here; it would cost me my commission."
There was a long thoughtful silence, both men moodily staring out
through the door. Away in the darkness unseen sentinels called the
hour. Then Travers dropped one hand on the other's knee.
"Dan," he said swiftly, "how about that fellow who came in with
despatches from Union just before dark? He looked like a real man."
"I did n't see him. I was down river with the wood-cutters all day."
Travers got up and paced the floor.
"I remember now. What do you say? Let's have him in, anyhow. They
never would have trusted him for that ride if he had n't been the right
sort." He strode over to the door, without waiting an answer. "Here,
Carter," he called, "do you know where that cavalryman is who rode in
from Fort Union this afternoon?"
A face appeared in the glow of light, and a gloved hand rose to salute.
"He's asleep in 'B's' shack, sir," the orderly replied. "Said he 'd
been on the trail two nights and a day."
"Reckon he had, and some riding at that. Rout him out, will you; tell
him the Major wants to see him here at once."
The man wheeled as if on a pivot, and disappeared.
"If Carter could only ride," began McDonald, but Travers interrupted
impatiently.
"If! But we all know he can't. Worst I ever saw, must have originally
been a sailor." He slowly refilled his pipe. "Now, see here, Dan,
it's your daughter that's to be looked after, and therefore I want you
to size this man up for yourself. I don't pretend to know anything
about him, only he looks like a soldier, and they must think well of
him at Union."
McDonald nodded, but without enthusiasm; then dropped his head into his
hands. In the silence a coyote howled mournfully not far away; then a
shadow appeared on the log step, the light of the candle flashing on a
row of buttons.
"This is the man, sir," said the orderly, and stood aside to permit the
other to enter.