"Shank," said Charlie one day as they were sitting in the sunshine near
the outlaws' cave, waiting for Dick and the scout to return to their
mid-day meal, "it seems to me that we may be detained a good while here,
for we cannot leave Ralph, and it is evident that the poor fellow won't
be able to travel for many a day--"
"If ever," interposed Shank sorrowfully.
"Well, then, I think we must send down to Bull's Ranch, to see if there
are any letters for us. I feel sure that there must be some, and the
question arises--who are we to send?"
"_You_ must not go, Charlie, whoever goes. You are the only link in
this mighty wilderness, that connects Ralph and me with home--and hope.
Weak and helpless as we are, we cannot afford to let you out of our
sight."
"Well, but if I don't go I can't see my way to asking the scout to go,
for he alone thoroughly understands the ways of the country and of the
Indians--if any should chance to come this way. Besides, considering
the pledge he is under to be accountable for Buck Tom, I doubt if he
would consent to go."
"The question is answered, then," said Shank, "for the only other man is
Dick Darvall."
"True; and it strikes me that Dick will be very glad to go," returned
Charlie with a smile of peculiar meaning.
"D'ye think he's getting tired of us, Charlie?"
"By no means. But you know he has a roving disposition, and I think he
has a sort of fondness for Jackson--the boss of the ranch."
It was found when the question was put to him, that Dick was quite ready
to set out on the mission required of him. He also admitted his
fondness for Roaring Bull!
"But what if you should lose your way?" asked the scout.
"Find it again," was Dick's prompt reply.
"And what if you should be attacked by Indians?"
"Fight 'em, of course."
"But if they should be too many to fight?"
"Why, clap on all sail an' give 'em a starn chase, which is always a
long one. For this purpose, however, I would have to command a good
craft so I'd expect you to lend me yours, Hunky Ben."
"What! my Polly?"
"Even so. Black Polly."
The scout received this proposal gravely, and shook his head at first,
for he was naturally fond of his beautiful mare, and, besides, doubted
the sailor's horsemanship, though he had perfect faith in his courage
and discretion. Finally, however, he gave in; and accordingly, one fine
morning at daybreak, Dick Darvall, mounted on Black Polly, and armed
with his favourite Winchester, revolvers, and cutlass, "set sail" down
Traitor's Trap to visit his lady-love!
Of course he knew that his business was to obtain letters and gather
news. But honest Dick Darvall could not conceal from himself that his
main object was--Mary Jackson!
Somehow it has come to be supposed or assumed that a jack-tar cannot
ride. Possibly this may be true of the class as a whole to which Jack
belongs, but it is not necessarily true of all, and it certainly is not
true of some. Dick Darvall was an expert horseman--though a sailor. He
had learned to ride when a boy, before going to sea, and his after-habit
of riding the "white horses" of the Norseman, did not cause him to
forget the art of managing the "buckers" of the American plains. To use
his own words, he felt as much at home on the hurricane deck of a
Spanish pony, as on the fo'c'sl of a man-of-war, so that the scout's
doubt of his capacity as a rider was not well founded.
Tremendous was the bound of exultation which our seaman felt, then, when
he found himself on the magnificent black mare, with the fresh morning
air fanning his temples, and the bright morning sun glinting through a
cut in the eastern range.
Soon he reached the lower end of the valley, which, being steep, he had
descended with tightened rein. On reaching the open prairie he gave the
mare her head and went off with a wild whoop like an arrow from a bow.
Black Polly required neither spur nor whip. She possessed that
charmingly sensitive spirit which seems to receive an electric shock
from its rider's lightest chirp. She was what you may call an anxiously
willing steed, yet possessed such a tender mouth that she could be
pulled up as easily as she could be made to go. A mere child could have
ridden her, and Dick found in a few minutes that a slight check was
necessary to prevent her scouring over the plains at racing speed. He
restrained her, therefore, to a grand canter, with many a stride and
bound interspersed, when such a thing as a rut or a little bush came in
her way.
With arched neck, glistening eyes, voluminous mane, and flowing tail she
flew onward, hour after hour, with many a playful shake of the head, and
an occasional snort, as though to say, "This is mere child's play; _do_
let me put on a spurt!"
It may not be fair to credit such a noble creature with talking, or even
thinking, slang, but Dick Darvall clearly understood her to say
something of the sort, for after a while he reduced speed to a kind of
india-rubber walk and patted her neck, saying--
"No, no, lass, you mustn't use up your strength at the beginning. We've
got a longish trip before us, Polly, an' it won't do to clap on all sail
at the beginnin' of the voyage."
At David's store Dick stopped for a short time to obtain a little
refreshment for himself and Polly. There he found a group of cow-boys
discussing the affairs of their neighbours, and enlarging noisily on
things in general under the brain-clearing and reason-inspiring
influence of strong drink! To these he recounted briefly the incidents
of the recent raid of the troops into Traitor's Trap, and learned that
Jake the Flint had "drifted south into Mexico where he was plying the
trade of cattle and horse stealer, with the usual accompaniments of that
profession--fighting, murdering, drinking, etcetera." Some of the deeds
of this notorious outlaw, as narrated by the cow-boy Crux, who happened
to be there, made the blood of Dick run cold--and Dick's blood was not
easily made to run otherwise than naturally by any one--except, of
course, by Mary Jackson, who could at all events make it run hot, also
fast or slow, very much according to her own sweet will!
But the seaman had no time to lose. He had still a long way to go, and
the day was advancing. Remounting Black Polly he was soon out again on
the prairie, sweeping over the grassy waves and down into the hollows
with a feeling of hilarious jollity, that was born of high health,
good-nature, pleasant circumstances, and a free-and-easy mind.
Nothing worthy of particular notice occurred after this to mar the
pleasure of our sailor's "voyage" over the prairie until he reached a
belt of woodland, through which for half a mile he had to travel. Here
he drew rein and began to traverse the bit of forest at a quiet amble,
partly to rest Polly, and partly that he might more thoroughly enjoy the
woodland scenery through the umbrageous canopy of which the sun was
sending his slanting rays and covering the sward with a confused
chequer-work of green and gold.
And here Dick Darvall became communicative; entered into conversation,
so to speak, with himself. After a few minutes, however, this did not
prove a sufficient outlet to his exuberant spirits.
"Come, Dick," he exclaimed, "give us a song. Your voice ain't, perhaps,
much to speak of as to quality, but there's no end of quantity. Strike
up, now; what shall it be?"
Without replying to the question he struck up "Rule Britannia" in tones
that did not justify his disparaging remark as to quality. He reached
the other end of the wood and the end of the song at the same time.
"Britons," shouted he with unalterable determination--"Never, never,
ne-ever, shall be--Redskins!"
This unnatural termination was not an intentional variation. It was the
result of a scene that suddenly burst upon his view.
Far away on the prairie two riders were seen racing at what he would
have styled a slant away from him. They were going at a pace that
suggested fleeing for life.
"Redskins--arter somethin'," murmured Dick, pulling up, and shading his
eyes from the sun with his right hand, as he gazed earnestly at the two
riders.
"No-n-no. They're whites," he continued, "one o' them a man; t'other a
woman. I can make that out, anyhow."
As he spoke, the racing riders topped a far-off knoll; halted, and
turned round as if to gaze back towards the north--the direction from
which they had come. Then, wheeling round as if in greater haste than
ever, they continued their headlong gallop and disappeared on the other
side of the knoll.
Dick naturally turned towards the north to see, if possible, what the
two riders were flying from. He was not kept long in doubt, for just
then a band of horsemen was seen topping the farthest ridge in that
direction, and bearing down on the belt of woodland, along the edge of
which they galloped towards him.
There was no mistaking who they were. The war-whoop, sounding faint and
shrill in the distance, and the wild gesticulations of the riders, told
the story at once to our seaman--two pale-faces, pursued by a band of
bloodthirsty savages!
Unskilled though he was in backwoods warfare, Dick was not unfamiliar
with war's alarms, nor was he wanting in common sense. To side with the
weaker party was a natural tendency in our seaman. That the pursuers
were red, and the pursued white, strengthened the tendency, and the fact
that one of the latter was a woman settled the question. Instantly Dick
shook the reins, drove his unarmed heels against the sides of Polly, and
away they went after the fugitives like a black thunderbolt, if there be
such artillery in nature!
A wild yell told him that he was seen.
"Howl away, ye land lubbers!" growled Dick. "You'll have to fill your
sails wi' a stiffer breeze than howlin' before ye overhaul this here
craft."
Just then he reached the crest of a prairie billow, whence he could see
the fugitives still far ahead of him. Suddenly a suspicion entered the
seaman's mind, which made his heart almost choke him. What if this
should be Mary Jackson and her father? Their relative size countenanced
the idea, for the woman seemed small and the man unusually large.
In desperate haste Dick now urged on his gallant steed to her best pace,
and well did she justify the praises that had been often bestowed on her
by Hunky Ben. In a very brief space of time she was close behind the
fugitives, and Dick was now convinced that his suspicions as to who they
were was right. He rode after them with divided feelings--tremblingly
anxious lest Mary should fall into the hands of their ruthless foes--
exultantly glad that he had come there in time to fight, or die if need
be, in her defence.
Suddenly the male fugitive, who had only glanced over his shoulder from
time to time, pulled up, wheeled round, and quickly raised his rifle.
"Hallo! get on, man; don't stop!" Dick yelled, in a voice worthy of
Bull himself. Taking off his hat he waved it violently above his head.
As he spoke he saw the woman's arm flash upwards; a puff of smoke
followed, and a bullet whistled close over his head.
Next moment the fugitives had turned and resumed their headlong flight.
A few more minutes sufficed to bring Dick and the black mare alongside,
for the latter was still vigorous in wind and limb, while the poor jaded
animals which Mary and her father rode were almost worn out by a
prolonged flight.
"Dick Darvall," exclaimed Jackson, as the former rode up, "I never was
gladder to see any man than I am to see you this hour, though but for my
Mary I'd surely have sent you to kingdom come. Her ears are better than
mine, you see. She recognised the voice an' knocked up my rifle just as
I pulled the trigger. But I'm afeared it's too late, lad."
The way in which the man said this, and the look of his pale haggard
face, sent a thrill to the heart of Dick.
"What d'ye mean?" he said, looking anxiously at Mary, who with a set
rigid expression on her pale face was looking straight before her, and
urging her tired pony with switch and rein.
"I mean, lad, that we've but a poor chance to reach the ranch wi' such
knocked-up brutes as these. Of course we can turn at bay an' kill as
many o' the red-devils as possible before it's all over wi' us, but what
good would that do to Mary? If we could only check the varmins, there
might be some hope, but--"
"Jackson!" exclaimed the seaman, in a firm tone, "I'll do my best to
check them. God bless you, Mary--good-bye. Heave ahead, now, full
swing!"
As he spoke, Dick pulled up, while the others continued their headlong
flight straight for the ranch, which was by the only a few miles
distant.
Wheeling round, Dick cantered back to the knoll over which they had just
passed and halted on the top of it. From this position he could see the
band, of about fifty Indians, careering towards him and yelling with
satisfaction, for they could also see him--a solitary horseman--clear
cut against the bright sky.
Dick got ready his repeating rifle. We have already mentioned the fact
that he had learned to load and fire this formidable weapon with great
rapidity, though he had signally failed in his attempts to aim with it.
Being well aware of his weakness, he made up his mind in his present
desperate extremity not to aim at all! He had always felt that the
difficulty of getting the back and front sights of the rifle to
correspond with the object aimed at was a slow, and, in his case, an
impossible process. He therefore resolved to simply point his weapon
and fire!
"Surely," he muttered to himself even in that trying moment, "surely I
can't altogether miss a whole bunch o' fifty men an' horses!"
He waited until he thought the savages were within long range, and then,
elevating his piece a little, fired.
The result justified his hopes. A horse fell dead upon the plain, and
its owner, although evidently unwounded, was for the time _hors de
combat_.
True to his plan, Dick kept up such a quick continuous fire, and made so
much noise and smoke, that it seemed as if a whole company of riflemen
were at work instead of one man, and several horses on the plain
testified to the success of the pointing as compared with the aiming
principle!
Of course the fire was partly returned, and for a time the stout seaman
was under a pretty heavy rain of bullets, but as the savages fired while
galloping their aim was necessarily bad.
This fusillade had naturally the effect of checking the advance of the
Indians--especially when they drew near to the reckless man, who, when
the snap of his rifle told that his last cartridge was off, wheeled
about and fled as fast as Black Polly could lay hoofs to the plain.
And now he found the value of the trustworthy qualities of his steed,
for, instead of guiding her out of the way of obstacles, he gave her her
head, held tight with his legs, and merely kept an eye on the ground in
front to be ready for any swerve, bound, or leap, that might be
impending. Thus his hands were set free to re-charge the magazine of
his rifle, which he did with deliberate rapidity.
The truth is, that recklessness has a distinct tendency to produce
coolness. And there is no one who can afford to be so deliberate, and
of whom other men are so much afraid, as the man who has obviously made
up his mind to die fighting.
While Dick was loading-up, Black Polly was encouraged by voice and heel
to do her best, and her best was something to see and remember! When
the charging was finished, Dick drew rein and trotted to the next knoll
he encountered, from which point he observed with some satisfaction that
the fugitives were still pressing on, and that the distance between them
and their foe had slightly increased.
But the seaman had not much time to look or think, for the band of
Redskins was drawing near. When they came within range he again opened
fire. But this time the savages divided, evidently with the intention
of getting on both sides of him, and so distracting his attention. He
perceived their object at once, and reserved his fire until they turned
and with frantic yells made a simultaneous dash on him right and left.
Again he waited till his enemies were close enough, and then opened fire
right and left alternately, while the Indians found that they had
outwitted themselves and scarcely dared to fire lest the opposite bands
should hit each other.
Having expended the second supply of ammunition, Dick wheeled round and
took to flight as before. Of course the mare soon carried him out of
range, and again he had the satisfaction of observing that the fugitives
had increased their distance from the foe.
"One more check o' this kind," thought Dick, "and they'll be safe--I
think."
While thus thinking he was diligently re-charging, and soon cantered to
the top of a third knoll, where he resolved to make his final stand.
The ranch was by that time dimly visible on the horizon, and the weary
fugitives were seen struggling towards it. But Dick found, on halting
and looking back, that the Indians had changed their tactics. Instead
of directing their attention to himself, as on the previous occasions,
they had spread out to the right and left and had scattered, besides
keeping well out of range.
"What are the sinners up to now?" muttered the seaman in some
perplexity.
He soon perceived that they meant to go past him altogether, if
possible, and head towards the fugitives in separate groups.
"Ay, but it's _not_ possible!" exclaimed Dick, answering his own
thoughts as he turned swiftly, and stretched out after his friends.
Seeing this, the savages tried to close in on him from both sides, but
their already winded ponies had no chance against the grand Mexican
mare, which having been considerately handled during the day's journey
was comparatively fresh and in full vigour.
Shooting ahead he now resolved to join his friends and a feeling of
triumph began to rise within his breast as he saw them pushing steadily
onward. The ranch, however, was still at a considerable distance, while
the Indians were rapidly gaining ground.
At that moment to Dick's horror, the pony which Mary Jackson rode
stumbled and fell, sending its rider over its head. But the fair Mary,
besides being a splendid horsewoman, was singularly agile and quick in
perception. For some time she had anticipated the catastrophe, and, at
the first indication of a stumble, leaped from the saddle and actually
alighted on her feet some yards ahead. Of course she fell with some
violence, but the leap broke her fall and probably saved her neck. She
sprang up instantly, and grasping the reins, tried to raise her pony.
It was too late. The faithful creature was dead.
Jackson, pulling up, wheeled round and was back at her side instantly.
Almost at the same moment Dick Darvall came up, threw the mare almost on
her haunches, leaped from the saddle, and ran to Mary. As he did so,
the crash of a pistol shot at his ear almost deafened him, and a glance
showed him that Jackson had shot his horse, which fell dead close to his
daughter's pony.
"Kill your horse, Dick," he growled sharply, as he exerted his great
strength to the utmost, and dragged the haunches of his own steed close
to the head of the other. "It's our only chance."
Dick drew his revolver, and aimed at the heart of Black Polly, but for
the soul of him he could not pull the trigger.
"No--I won't!" he cried, grasping the lasso which always hung at the
saddle-bow. "Hobble the fore-legs!"
There was such determination in the sailor's command, that Jackson felt
bound to obey. At the same moment Dick bound the horse's hind-legs. He
fully understood what Jackson intended, and the latter was as quick to
perceive the seaman's drift. Seizing the reins, while his friend caught
hold of the lasso, Dick cried, "Out o' the way, Mary!" and with a mighty
effort the two men threw the mare on her side.
"First-rate!" cried Jackson, while his companion held down the animal's
head. "It couldn't have dropped better. Jump inside, Mary, an' lie
down flat behind your pony. Let Mary have the reins, Dick. She knows
how to hold its head down without showin' herself."
Even while he was speaking, Jackson and Dick leaped into the triangle of
horses thus formed, and, crouching low, disappeared from the sight of
the savages, who now came on yelling with triumph, for they evidently
thought themselves sure of their victims by that time.
"Are ye a good shot, Dick?" asked Jackson, as he gazed sternly at the
approaching foe.
"No--abominably bad."
"Fire low then. You may catch the horses if ye miss the Redskins.
Anyhow you'll hit the ground if you aim low, an' it's wonderful what
execution a bullet may do arter hittin' mother Earth."
"I never aim," replied the sailor. "Only a waste o' time. I just point
straight an' fire away."
"Do it, then," growled roaring Bull, with something that sounded like a
short laugh.
At the same moment he himself took quick aim at the foe and fired; the
leading horse and man immediately rolled upon the plain.
As both men were armed with repeating rifles the fusillade was rapid,
and most of the savages, who seldom fight well in the open, were
repulsed. But several of them, headed apparently by their chief, rode
on fearlessly until within pistol-shot.
Then the two defenders of this peculiar fortress sprang up with
revolvers in each hand.
"Lie close, Mary," cried Jackson as he fired, and the chief's horse
rolled over, almost reaching their position with the impetus of the
charge. The chief himself lay beside his horse, for another shot had
ended his career. As two other horses had fallen, the rest of the band
wheeled aside and galloped away, followed by a brisk fire from the white
men, who had again crouched behind their breast-work and resumed their
rifles.
Bullets were by that time flying over them in considerable numbers, for
those Indians who had not charged with their chief had, after retiring
to a safe distance, taken to firing at long range. At this work Dick's
rifle and straight pointing were of little use, so he reserved his fire
for close quarters, while Jackson, who was almost a certain shot at
average ranges, kept the savages from drawing nearer.
"Lie closer to the pony, Miss Mary," said Dick, as a shot passed close
over the girl and whistled between him and his comrade. "Were you hurt
in the fall?"
"No, not in the least. Don't you think they'll hear the firing at the
ranch, father?"
"Ay, lass, if there's anybody to hear it, but I sent the boys out this
mornin' to hunt up a bunch o' steers that have drifted south among
Wilson's cattle, an' I fear they've not come back yet. See, the
reptiles are goin' to try it again!"
As he spoke, the remnant of the Redskins who pressed home the first
charge, having held a palaver, induced the whole band to make another
attempt, but they were met with the same vigour as before--a continuous
volley at long range, which emptied several saddles, and then, when the
plucky men of the tribe charged close, the white men stood up, as
before, and plied them with revolvers so rapidly that they were fain to
wheel aside and retire.
"Ammunition's gettin' low," said Dick, in an anxious tone.
"Then I'll waste no more," growled Jackson, "but only fire when I'm safe
to hit."
As he spoke a distant cheer was heard, and, looking back, they saw, with
a rebound of hope, that a band of five or six cow-boys were coming from
the ranch and galloping full swing to the rescue. Behind them, a few
seconds later, appeared a line of men who came on at a swinging trot.
"Troopers, I do believe!" exclaimed Jackson.
"Thank God!" said Mary, with a deep sigh of relief as she sat up to look
at them. The troopers gave a cheer of encouragement as they thundered
past to the attack, but the Indians did not await the onset. At the
first sight of the troops they fled, and in a few minutes pursued and
pursuers alike were out of sight--hidden behind the prairie waves.
"I can't tell you how thankful I am that I didn't shoot the mare," said
Dick, as they unfastened the feet of Black Polly and let her rise. "I'd
never have been able to look Hunky Ben in the face again arter it."
"Well, I'm not sorry you spared her," said Jackson; "as for the two that
are dead, they're no great loss--yet I've a kind o' regret too, for the
poor things served us well."
"Faithfully--even to death," added Mary, in a sorrowful tone as she
stooped to pat the neck of her dead pony.
"Will you mount, Miss Mary, and ride home?" asked the sailor.
"Thank you--no, I'd rather walk with father. We have not far to go
now."
"Then we'll all walk together," said Jackson.
Dick threw Black Polly's bridle over his arm, and they all set off at a
smart walk for the ranch of Roaring Bull, while the troops and cow-boys
chased the Redskins back into the mountains whence they had come.