HIPPY CALLS TO ARMS
Emma Dean uttered a cry of alarm.
“Be an Overton girl,” admonished Elfreda Briggs.
“I--I can’t help it. I--I’m afraid,” wailed Emma, starting for her tent
where she threw herself on her cot and gave way to tears.
Grace, in the meantime, was making suggestions to Hippy as to how the
camp should be guarded during the rest of the night. After he had
faithfully promised that he would never again nap, Grace turned toward
her own tent.
It was fully an hour later before Grace succeeded in quieting her
nerves sufficiently to permit her to go to sleep. She awakened with a
start a few moments later. After listening and hearing nothing, Grace
decided that hers was wholly a case of nerves, and again tried to sleep.
It was useless. She could not make her eyelids stay closed.
A figure darkened the tent opening.
“Grace!” called Lieutenant Wingate in a low, guarded voice.
“Yes? What is it?” she demanded.
“There’s a bunch of prowlers near where the ponies were, but what they
are doing I can’t make out without going down there. I thought best to
call you first.”
“Go away while I dress! I will be with you in a moment. Don’t awaken
the girls just yet.”
“Where are they?” she whispered, stepping up beside him.
Hippy pointed towards the creek.
“I don’t see them now, but I did just before you came out,” he said.
“Hold your place, please, and keep a sharp lookout. I want to take
a look from the other side of the camp.” Grace crept away in the
darkness, but in a few moments came back.
“They are up near the trail now, and I think they are mounted, for
I heard a horse whinney,” declared Grace. Running to the tents she
awakened her companions. Elfreda was directed to take her place out in
front, with Lieutenant Wingate and Grace, to assist in defending the
camp.
The three defenders were armed with rifles, in addition to which Hippy
and Grace each carried a revolver.
“What is the plan?” questioned Hippy, seeking final directions.
“Should we be shot at we will shoot back. That’s all I can say in
advance,” replied Grace.
“Can they see us, Loyalheart?” whispered Miss Briggs.
“No, I think not. The camp lies in a deep shadow and we have no fire
burning. Hark!”
“I hear it,” muttered Lieutenant Wingate. “I hear horses trotting.”
“Hold your fire and await developments. We must not make the mistake of
shooting at some one who doesn’t deserve it,” cautioned Grace.
“Merciful heaven! What is that?” cried J. Elfreda.
A shrill, weird yell, which Grace instantly recognized as an Indian war
whoop, split the stillness of mountain and canyon. Many had been the
time in the forest depths that Grace Harlowe’s husband had uttered this
thrilling war cry for her benefit, in fact he had taught Grace herself
to do it.
“A war whoop,” she answered.
“Steady, girls! We’re going to get it,” warned Hippy.
“Down flat, everybody!” called Grace.
The hoof-beats of the galloping horses of the night marauders were now
plainly heard by each member of the Overton party. Another yell, then a
rattling rifle fire swept the camp.
“Shall we shoot?” questioned Elfreda anxiously.
“No, not yet,” answered Grace briefly.
“I think they are going to circle the camp,” volunteered Lieutenant
Wingate.
“We will wait until they have made the circuit, then let them have it,
unless you have a better plan, Lieutenant. Every one keep down as low
as possible and take no chances,” she called to Nora, Anne and Emma.
The three defenders assumed a crouching attitude and waited.
The attackers were howling and shooting at the same time, their bullets
being fired so low that Grace feared some of her party would be hit.
Horses and men out there in the valley were dim shadows, unreal to the
little group of defenders, but real enough when it came to the rifles
that were sending out darting flashes of fire and whistling bullets.
As the riders completed their first circuit of the camp and drew
in closer, Lieutenant Wingate, without waiting for further orders,
threw the rifle to his shoulder and fired. A few seconds later, Grace
followed with a shot, then Miss Briggs pulled the trigger of her weapon.
“Keep it up!” urged Hippy. “Follow them all the way around with your
fire, and take advantage of all the cover you can find.”
The Overton outfit was in the fight in deadly earnest now. Darting here
and there to keep the attackers in view, the two girls and Lieutenant
Wingate continued to fire their rifles until at least two shoulders
were aching from the kick of the weapons.
The spirited defense of the three plucky campers must have amazed their
assailants, for the men drew off a little and cut a wider circle on the
next circuit of the camp, but still keeping up and receiving a rapid
fire all the way around.
“Look out! They’ve changed their tactics,” warned Hippy. “They’re
charging us, the fools! Hold fire till they’re in easy reach, then
give it to ’em! Just let it slowly peter out now. Don’t cut it off all
at once.”
The Overton fire was permitted to die out by degrees, finally ceasing
altogether. The strategy of Grace and Hippy had accomplished what they
wished it to do--it had made the attackers careless, they evidently
surmising from the way the firing died away, that the defenders either
had been killed or wounded.
Uttering shrill yells, and shooting, it seemed, with every jump of
their horses, the night riders swept down on the little camp in Squaw
Valley, determined to put a speedy finish to their work.
“Ready! Fire!” commanded Lieutenant Wingate.
The defenders opened up on the advancing horsemen, firing as rapidly as
they could pull the triggers of their rifles. A moment or so of this,
apparently, was enough for the attackers, who suddenly whirled and
raced their horses further out, where they again began shooting, with
bullets from the camp still following them.
“We have ’em on the run! Keep ’em going!” urged Hippy, trying to locate
their assailants, whose rifles, at that instant, had suddenly ceased
firing. Now and then one or another of the defenders, discovering a
movement among the marauders, would shoot, but such shots elicited no
reply.
Hippy finally advised that the defenders divide their force, and each
take a side of the camp to avoid a surprise, which was done.
“Is it all over?” cried Emma Dean from her hiding place.
“We hope so, but keep down close to the ground for the present,”
advised Miss Briggs. “Are you girls all right?”
“Yes, but not riotously happy,” returned Anne.
“The attackers, I should say, are less so; therefore, don’t worry,”
answered Elfreda.
To the great relief of the campers, not another shot was fired in Squaw
Valley that night, the attackers having disappeared as mysteriously
as they came, nor did the Overton party know whether they had been
attacked by white men or Indians.
“All over but the shouting,” cried Hippy, as the day began to dawn,
laying his rifle aside. “Hey! What’s that out there?” he demanded,
pointing to an object that lay some two hundred yards from the camp.
“I believe it is a horse! Hippy Wingate, we have killed a horse!”
exclaimed Grace Harlowe in amazement. “Oh, that is too bad!”
“Burning shame!” chortled Hippy.
“Yes, and there is another one down near the creek,” added Miss Briggs
excitedly.
“I did it with my trusty rifle,” cried Hippy boastfully.
“You are welcome to all the glory there is,” answered Grace. “Shall we
have a look at the animals? Perhaps we may learn something. Come! We
will take our rifles with us.”
The Overton defenders had succeeded better than they knew. Not only
had they driven off a superior number of desperate men, but they had
shot from under their attackers two horses, and possibly downed as many
riders.