SIGNALS IN THE DARK.
"Joe, I've got a scheme to outwit the desperadoes and Indians, and I've
a good mind to propose it to Will."
It was Darry who spoke, as he and Joe were eating an early supper that
night, in one corner of the messroom.
"If the scheme is good for anything let Will have it by all means,"
answered his cousin. "Heaven knows we need all the help we can get!"
"My scheme is this," went on Darry. "Those Indians and the desperadoes
must know something of our sending off for re-enforcements. Now why
can't Will send out old Benson and a few others, to steal off for
several miles and light camp-fires, blow bugles, and all that, to make
the enemy think the re-enforcements are close at hand?"
Joe clapped his hands. "That's a grand scheme!" he cried. "Let's speak
to Will about it at once."
The supper was soon finished, and they sought out the young captain, who
was dividing up his force for guard duty during the night.
"I was thinking of such a scheme myself," he said, when he had heard
them. "And old Benson suggested it, too. Perhaps I'll do it."
"If old Benson goes can't I go with him?" asked Joe quickly.
"And let me go too," put in Darry. "You won't miss us as much as you
would miss two of your regulars."
At this the young captain grew grave. "Old Benson said he would like to
take you along. Perhaps it would be best, too." He paused. "You see,
they may fall on the fort to-night and wipe us out completely."
"Oh, Will, do you really believe that?"
"They will certainly attack us, and the men fit for duty number but
thirty-four. Thirty-four against several hundred is not much of a force,
even in a fort."
The matter was talked over for half an hour, and old Benson was called
in for consultation. In the end it was decided that the old scout should
head a party consisting of two regulars and the two boys, who were to
carry a drum and a bugle and a good supply of matches for bonfires.
"If you can pass them without being seen, head straight for Conner's
Hill," said Captain Moore. "Blow the bugle there, and beat the drum, and
then move over to Decker's Falls and light your first camp-fire. After
that you'll have to do what you think is best."
"I understand, captain," answered the old scout. "And trust me to fool
'em nicely, if the trick can be done at all."
"It is not going to be an extra-dark night," went on the young officer.
"So you will have your own troubles in getting away from the fort
without being seen."
"I know a route," answered old Benson. "Trust me for it." But just then
he would say no more.
The men to go along were named Cass and Bernstein. Cass was a good
drummer and bugler, and Bernstein was noted for his good sight and the
accuracy of his aim. All of the party went fully armed, and took with
them rations for two days.
"Good-by, Joe," said the captain affectionately, and he took his brother
by the hand. "I hope you pull through in safety."
"And I hope you do too, Will," answered Joe, and his lip quivered as he
spoke. Perhaps this would be the last time he would see his brother
alive. Never before had the situation appeared so serious as now. Darry
also received an affectionate farewell.
In absolute silence old Benson led his little party to a far corner of
the stockade, where there was a small gate, fastened with a strong log
bar. This gate was opened just far enough for them to slip through, and
then closed again. Their mission had begun. There was no telling how it
would end.
Slipping into the ditch, the old scout told the others to lie low, while
he and Bernstein surveyed the situation. It was silent, and from
overhead only a few stars twinkled down upon them.
Old Benson presently pointed with his bony hand.
"Clear that way, aint it?" he whispered.
"Looks so," answered Bernstein, after a searching look lasting several
minutes. "I wouldn't go too close to that patch of underbrush, though."
The party began crawling along the ditch, until they came to a little
gully which the last heavy rains had formed. Here they progressed on
hands and knees until they reached some low brushwood. Then old Benson,
still crouching close to the ground, set off on a lope, and the others
came after him in Indian file.
If they had been discovered, neither Indians nor desperadoes gave any
sign, and inside of ten minutes the fort was left out of sight, and
they were standing in a hollow fringed with berry bushes. The boys were
somewhat out of breath, and old Benson gave them a short spell in which
to get back their wind.
"We were right, they are none of 'em in this vicinity," said the old
scout. "Getting away was easier than I expected."
"It was no easy matter with the drum," came from Cass. "I came pretty
close to falling and smashing it once."
The course now led up a small hill and then across a valley to another
hill, a distance of nearly three miles. The trail was by no means
straight and the walking was bad, and Joe and Darry had all they could
do to keep up with the others.
At the last minute Captain Moore had given the boys half a dozen
rockets, and explained how the fireworks were to be set off. Everything
they could do to puzzle the enemy was to be done.
At last they gained the top of Conner's Hill--so called because Major
Conner fell there while battling with some stage-robbers early in the
seventies.
Bringing around his bugle, Cass blew a long blast and then a regular
military call, which echoed and re-echoed throughout the mountains.
This was followed by a long roll on the drum, and then another call on
the bugle.
After this all waited impatiently, gazing in the direction of the fort,
which was, of course, hidden in the darkness.
"There they go!" cried Joe, and as he spoke two rockets flared up, dying
out almost instantly.
The boys had planted two of the fireworks given them, and now these were
touched off and went hissing skyward, leaving a trail of sparks behind.
Two minutes later a single rocket went up from the fort.
"That's the last," observed old Benson.
"I'll wager that will set the Indians and the desperadoes to thinking,"
said Cass.
"They'll think some more when they see a camp-fire over Decker's Falls,"
put in Bernstein. "They'll imagine that they are being surrounded."
"Don't be too sure," came from the old scout. "White Ox is no fool. He
has been through too much fighting. If we can only make him hold off a
bit that's as much as we can expect. You can bet he'll have spies up
here in less than an hour from now."
The march was now for Decker's Falls, a distance three miles to the
westward. Again they advanced in Indian file, Bernstein now leading and
old Benson bringing up the rear.
A mile had been covered, when the regular in front called a halt.
"A small camp is ahead," he said. "There, through the trees."
Without delay old Benson went forward to investigate.
He found three desperadoes talking earnestly among themselves, while
warming some coffee over a small fire.
Listening to their talk he learned that they had been out on the trails
leading to Fort Prescott, and had come in with the news that no
re-enforcements for Fort Carson were within forty miles of the latter
place.
"Gilroy and White Ox will be glad to hear our news," said one of the
crowd. "They've been afraid all along Colonel Fairfield had sent out for
aid."
Not stopping to hear anything further, old Benson crawled back to the
place where he had left the others.
"We must capture those men, dead or alive," he said. "If they carry
their news to the enemy there will be another attack on the fort within
an hour."
Leaving the drum, bugle, and remaining rockets in a safe place, our
friends advanced until all could see the three desperadoes quite
plainly.
One of the fellows was unknown to Joe, but the others were Gus Fetter
and Nat Potts.
The desperadoes had placed their rifles against a tree, and old Benson
motioned to the boys to secure the weapons.
As Joe grabbed up two of the firearms and Darry the third, the
desperadoes leaped to their feet in alarm.
"Hands up!" sang out old Benson. "Hands up, or you are all dead men!"
The scout's rifle was raised, and so were the weapons of Cass and
Bernstein, and the desperadoes found themselves at a disadvantage.
Yet Fetter was game, and he quickly reached for a pistol hanging in his
belt.
But the movement, quick as it was, was not quick enough for Bernstein,
and as the regular's rifle rang out Fetter fell headlong across the
camp-fire.
"Do you surrender?" asked old Benson.
"Yes," came from Potts, sulkily, and his companion said the same. In the
meantime Fetter had rolled from the camp-fire and was breathing his last
at Potts' feet.
The sight was a thrilling one, and caused Joe and Darry to shudder.
"Can't I do something for that poor wretch?" asked Joe, of Benson, but
before the old scout could answer Fetter breathed his last.
In a few minutes more Potts was made a close prisoner.
While he was being tied up, the third man made a quick leap into the
woods.
"After him!" cried Benson, and Cass and Bernstein did as commanded. Soon
the desperado and the two regulars were out of sight and hearing.