For a full hour was the pitiless pastime continued--during which at
least fifty shots had been fired at my person. The truculent chieftain
had threatened me with a hundred deaths. He was fulfilling his threat
to the letter; for, notwithstanding the unskilful practice, I felt, on
the eve of each discharge, a certain creeping of the flesh, and curdling
of the blood, as if that moment was to be my last. If I had not yet
died a hundred times, for at least so many had I felt all the sensations
that should precede actual death. In truth over a hundred times: for
although but fifty shots had been fired, twice as often had the old guns
snapped or flashed in the pan; and each of these was preceded by its
especial pang. I had not escaped altogether unscathed: I had been hit
in two or three places--in my arms and limbs. Blood was running down my
legs, and creeping over my feet. I could feel it warm and wet, as it
trickled between my toes. In a little hollow of the rock, directly in
front of me, a crimson pool was collecting. The wounds could not be
severe: since I scarcely felt them. Perhaps only the crease of a
bullet? A scratch would be sufficient to cause the effusion of the
blood--copious though it appeared to be; and I felt certain that no bone
had yet been broken--that no vital part of my body had been touched.
After about an hour had been spent by the savages in their fiendish
sport, the firing became suddenly suspended. I could not tell why; and
sought for an explanation by watching the movements of the marksmen.
Had they exhausted their ammunition? This was the idea that came
uppermost. The chiefs had turned face to face, and were again engaged
in some earnest deliberation. The subject of their talk was made known
by their gesticulations. They were pointing towards Sure-shot, who
still lay, as I have described, flat upon his face.
Wingrove was no longer there; nor yet Su-wa-nee! Where could they have
gone? I had seen both but the moment before! Had she unbound, and
rescued him? Was it about them that the savages were in consultation?
No; the result proved not. It was the deserter who was the object of
their attention--as was soon made manifest by their movements.
Half a dozen warriors were seen separating from the group and running up
to the spot where Sure-shot lay. Stooping around him, they undid his
fastenings; and then, having, raised him to his feet, commenced dragging
him towards the crowd of marksmen. The terrified man made no
resistance. It would have been idle. There was a brawny savage on each
side, grasping him by the wrist; and three or four behind pushing him
forward at a run. His long hair streaming loosely, strengthened the
expression of despair that was depicted upon his countenance. No doubt
he deemed it his last hour. Whether could they be dragging him?
Whither but to death? This was my own belief--at first; but in a few
minutes I had reason to change it. For a short while, Sure-shot was
encircled by the dusky forms, and I saw him not--or only the crown of
his head--conspicuous by its yellow hue among the darker _chevelures_ of
the Indians. What were they doing to him? I could not guess; but they
appeared to be offering him no further violence. After a time, the
group scattered from around him, and the ex-rifleman was again uncovered
to my view. With some surprise, I perceived that the expression of his
countenance had undergone a total change. It was no longer that of
terror--much less of despair. On the contrary, there was a certain air
of confidence visible both in his look and manner--as if something had
been said, or done to him, that had given him satisfaction! I was
further surprised at perceiving that he had a gun in his hands--his own
rifle--and that he was in the act of loading the piece! My surprise
changed to indignation as I saw him step forward to the line, and stand
facing me--evidently with the intention to fire! "Cowardly traitor! he
has accepted life upon some base condition. Jeph Bigelow! Sure-shot!
whom I thought true as steel! I would not have believed it." Such was
the reflection, to which my gag prevented me from giving utterance. In
reality, I felt astonished at the behaviour of the old ranger. I
believed him a better man; but the dread of death is a powerful test to
apply to the human soul; and hard must be the conditions of life when,
under such circumstances, they are refused. Sure-shot had succumbed to
the temptation.
Such was my belief, as I saw him raise his piece, and stand confronting
me--in an attitude that too plainly bespoke his intention. Another
surprise awaited me--another stimulus to my indignation. Instead of
looking ashamed of his work, and cowering under my glance, he appeared
eager and determined to execute the dastardly design. There was even an
expression of fierceness, ill becoming his countenance habitually meek.
Under other circumstances, it would have been ludicrous enough.
"Bravado," thought I, "assumed, no doubt, to give satisfaction to his
new allies?"
I had not recovered from the confusion of my surprise, when his voice
fell upon my ear--uttered in a tone of anger, and accompanied with
corresponding gestures. But the words that reached me explained all.
On hearing them, I no longer suspected the loyalty of my old comrade.
The angry expression _was_ assumed; but the counterfeit had a design,
far different from that which I had attributed to it. It was Sure-shot
himself--still tricky as true.
"Capting!" cried he, speaking quickly, and raising his gun with a
gesture of menace, "pay 'tention to whet I'm 'beout to say. Look
savagerous at me, an' make these yeer verming b'lieve you an' me's
que'lling. Fo'most tell me, ef they've krippled ye 'beout the legs? I
know ye can't speak; but shet yeer eyes, an' thet says `No.'"
I was for the moment puzzled, by the matter as well as manner of his
speech, which in no way corresponded. In an instant, however, I
perceived that he had some design; and I hastened to obey his hurried
instructions. As to the first, I needed to make no alteration in my
demeanour. Under the belief that he was disloyal, I had been regarding
him with a glance sufficiently scowling. I preserved the expression--at
the same time closing my eyes, as a negative answer to his query.
Although I believed myself to be hit somewhere about the legs, I felt
confident that I was not "crippled."
"So fur good!" continued he, still speaking loudly and angrily. "Neow!
slew yeer right elbow down a leetle, an' gi' me a better chance at thet
eer strip o' hide. I kinder guess as heow I kin cut the thing. It
'peers to be all o' one piece, an' 'll peel off yeer body like a rope o'
rushes. Ef I cut it, theer'll be a chance for ye. Theer's only one o'
the verming ahint the mound. Yeer hoss air theer; make for the anymal--
mount 'im, an' put off like a streak o' greased lightnin'! Neow!"
As he finished speaking, he stepped nearer to the line, and placed
himself in an attitude to fire. I now fully comprehended his design. I
saw, as he said, that the cord which bound me to the crucifix was all of
one piece--a thin thong of raw-hide--lapped not very tightly around my
arms, legs, and body. If cut through at any point, it could easily be
detached; and, true enough, my horse must be behind the butte, for I
could not see him in front. By a quick rush I might succeed in reaching
him, before the Indians could intercept me? If so, then indeed might
there be a chance of escaping.