THE CHEYENNE STAMPEDE.
The sudden, unexpected, and astonishing demonstration of Ben Stevens
had a tremendous effect. It threw the young Cheyennes into a panic.
They had been expecting pursuit by the troopers; and, though they had
felt sure none had been made, or, at least, that no troopers were
near, this seemed to prove that the troopers had pursued and were now
charging. And a charge of United States troopers, made in that way
on a hostile Indian camp in the darkness of the night, was a thing
before which Indians had never been able to stand. There was always
something so irresistible in its character that it seemed to sweep
them off their feet like the blast of a hurricane.
The Cheyennes bunched together, yelling, and began to shoot into the
darkness in the direction of the yells and the revolver fire.
Buffalo Bill’s time for action had come. He jerked at the rein of the
horse which carried the girl, turning it about; and he yelled to Wild
Bill:
“Now is the time!”
The words he used were in the Blackfeet Indian tongue, and were not
understood by the Cheyennes, though they were understood by Wild Bill
as well as if they had been English words.
Wild Bill yelled back in the same tongue, to show that he understood.
It seemed that the effort would be successful.
As Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill turned their horses about, Buffalo
Bill dragging at the rawhide rein of the bridle of the horse ridden
by the girl, a half dozen of the young Cheyennes turned in the same
direction.
In a flash Buffalo Bill, by his quick movement, had become their
leader, showing them by his movement the direction in which they
should ride, though that was far enough from his intent. And so,
pell-mell, through the darkness, rode Wild Bill and Buffalo Bill
and the half dozen young Cheyenne bucks, who were in a frenzy of
excitement and fear, thinking that the troopers were upon them.
They screamed their yells, and, whirling around on the backs of their
ponies, they poured a stream of rifle and revolver shots in the
direction of the firing of Ben Stevens.
This bunching and crowding together of the Cheyennes and of the
horses ridden by the scouts and the girl, caused some wild stumbles
and much fractious rearing of the horses.
The other Indians were riding wildly through the darkness, as could
be told by the thunder of hoofs. The Cheyenne party had been suddenly
split open as if it had been struck by a tornado. And all by the
reckless daring of one white man, who seemed able, in his yelling and
shooting, to make as much noise as if there were a dozen men about to
charge!
The rein of rawhide which Buffalo Bill held was jerked from his hand;
but he shouted to the girl, now in English, telling her to follow,
and to keep close by him.
Her horse stumbled; and the scout stopped and again got hold of the
rein.
The darkness caused indescribable confusion.
“This way!” Buffalo Bill yelled to his pard, again in Blackfoot.
Wild Bill shouted back; and they tore thus through the crowding and
scrambling mob of frightened Indians, who fell apart, thus giving a
free passage.
The darkness had grown so dense that they could see nothing clearly;
but when they had ridden two or three hundred yards in that wild way
they drew rein, the horses panting.
“All right?” asked the scout.
“All right here,” Wild Bill answered.
“Are you all right, Miss Arlington?” the scout asked.
There was no answer.
Buffalo Bill rode close to her horse, struck by a sudden fear.
She was not on the horse!
“Good Heaven,” he cried to Wild Bill, “the girl isn’t here!”
“No?” Wild Bill was equally astonished.
“No, she isn’t here; and I was sure all the time she was with us.”
“She fell from her horse in the rush and crush,” said Wild Bill,
surprised and troubled.
They sat listening.
The yells of Ben Stevens had died away, and now the Indians were
yelling to each other, for they were beginning to discover that they
had been in a foolish panic.
There were no charging troopers near, so far as they could discover;
at least, no large body of them; otherwise, as they knew, the
troopers would have pursued, and would have been pistoling and
sabering right in their midst. But even yet they did not know just
what had happened.
Red Wing was calling loudly to some of his braves. Near him
Lieutenant Barlow was shouting to the girl. Yet his voice showed that
he did not know where she was. Ben Stevens had utterly subsided.
“What next?” said Wild Bill.
“We will have to work our way back from where we came, in the hope
of finding her. If she is hurt, she is lying near the line of our
flight. Can we follow it back in the darkness?”
“We can try,” said Wild Bill.
They turned their horses about.
“Too bad that this happened,” said Wild Bill, “just when we had the
thing cinched. She may have been hurt, struck by a bullet or an
arrow, or may have been badly hurt by her fall.”
They rode slowly back over the way they had come, trying hard to keep
to the direct line of their flight.
Soon they saw some of the Cheyennes, dimly in the darkness; and then
they were almost in the midst of them. One who rode close to Buffalo
Bill shouted to him.
“What was it?” he asked.
The scout answered promptly, in Cheyenne:
“I know not. It may have been some of the spirits of the Moonlight
Mountains.”
Indians are proverbially afraid of spirits; and, in the darkness,
their superstitions are sometimes easily excited.
The Moonlight Mountains were near, and mountains are by many Indians,
particularly plains Indians, supposed to be filled with strange
spirits, or ghosts.
The Cheyenne who had called to the scout mumbled something; and the
scout knew his words had made an impression.
Wild Bill bent low on his saddle, and rode bare-headed; for he had
no blanket with which to disguise himself, to make him look like an
Indian.
As they thus rode slowly along, at intervals the scouts slid to
the ground, and felt about in the gloom, calling to the girl in
low voices. This was safe enough, for the Cheyennes were making a
horrible babel with their yelling and questioning of each other. But
the girl could not be found; Barlow had subsided; and when the scouts
had gone as far as they believed was necessary, and saw before them
the gleaming embers of the camp fires, they were ready to confess
themselves baffled.
“We’ll go back over the same way, and spread apart a little. We must
make a thorough search,” said Buffalo Bill.
They returned along the line of their search, dismounting more
frequently, and making a more complete hunt; but the result was the
same as before.
The Cheyennes were now bunching not far off, and were yelling and
calling, to summon all the members of the band.
“I’m afraid they have captured her again,” said Buffalo Bill
reluctantly.
“We might edge closer in and see,” Wild Bill suggested.
“I’ll do so; it will be safer for me. You hang around out here. I’ll
join you soon. I must see if the girl is there.”
Wild Bill did not like to be separated from his pard, but he saw the
wisdom of the proposal.
Poor as the light was, the Indians, with their keen eyes, were likely
to spot him as a white man, if he came too near them.
Buffalo Bill, with his blanket and head feathers, could more readily
fool them. Hence he rode slowly toward the Indians, and when one of
them spoke to him, he answered in Cheyenne of such excellence that
the redskin was thoroughly deceived.
In order to determine if the girl was a prisoner, he rode into the
very midst of the chattering group, and looked about as well as he
could.
“Where is the Wolf Soldier and the white squaw?” he asked, with
characteristic boldness.
They did not know. Some of the Indians were still out on the prairie,
and were riding in.
The scout stayed with the chattering redskins, hearing their wild
talk and speculations; and was amused by hearing the Cheyenne he had
spoken to some time before make the startling suggestion that the
strange attack had been made by spirits of the Moonlight Mountains.
Red Wing, who was rather an intelligent Indian, scoffed at this, but
some of the others were ready to accept the idea. It accounted for
the singularity of the attack, which had begun so strangely and ended
as suddenly and mysteriously as it had begun.
The scout saw some of the absent Cheyennes come in, and listened to
their reports.
They were of a laughable character; for they reported seeing strange
sights and hearing strange sounds; and one even declared that he had
seen a headless white man galloping round on a gray pony.
As Wild Bill’s pony was gray in color, and he had stooped low to
keep from being seen, Buffalo Bill understood what gave rise to the
Indian’s fancy of a headless white man on a gray horse.
This report made the more superstitious of the Cheyennes ready to
accept the theory that the wild attack had been really the work of
mischievous spirits from the near-by mountains.
Some of them looked off in the direction of the mountains, showing
fear of them and a desire to remove themselves from their vicinity.
Confident that the Cheyennes knew nothing of the whereabouts of the
girl, or of the Wolf Soldier, Buffalo Bill dropped behind as they
moved on in a body, and succeeded in getting safely out of their
dangerous company. Then he returned quietly toward the point where he
had left Wild Bill.
“I’m looking for a headless horseman!” he said, when he rejoined his
head. Then he explained, to the great amusement of his pard.
But Stevens was still missing.
“What next?” asked Wild Bill.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m feeling jubilant, so far as I’m individually concerned,” Wild
Bill admitted, “and you’ll agree that I’ve a reason; for a little
while ago I was a bound prisoner of those red devils, and they were
talking about the fun they were going to have in torturing me as
soon as they joined their friends. And now I’m free, with you, old
pard; and I’ve got a good revolver, and a good horse under me. If it
was the proper thing, I think I could do a little yelling, just for
purpose of celebrating the great event.”
But he did nothing of the kind.
Together they began to ride after the moving body of Cheyennes; and
as they rode along, they kept a sharp lookout for Ben Stevens, and
also for the girl, and Lieutenant Barlow.