In Fearful Extremity
With the stealthy tread of a panther, Bert climbed over the improvised
rampart, and a few seconds later his form merged into the enveloping
darkness and was lost to the view of his anxious friends. They listened
with straining ears for any sound of shot or struggle, but the deep
silence of a prairie night remained unbroken.
Bert pursued his way swiftly, but at the same time he exercised all the
knowledge that a life of adventure had given him to detect with ear or
eye the presence of a lurking enemy. He had traveled several hundred
yards when suddenly he heard what seemed to be a stealthy rustling, off
somewhere to his right. He dropped to the ground like a flash, and,
scarcely daring to breathe, peered through the velvety blackness,
straining his eyes in an attempt to make out the cause of the sound.
For the space of perhaps a minute all was as still as the grave, and Bert
had almost made up his mind that the noise must have been occasioned by a
snake or lizard, when suddenly, within three feet of where he lay he made
out the form of an Indian, a mere black splotch against the slightly
lighter background of the sky. The savage did not move, and Bert knew
that he had not been discovered as yet. But the dark form seemed to
have no intention of going any further, and Bert came to the conclusion
that the brave was one of the band that had been detailed to surround the
devoted little party of whites.
Bert knew that it would be impossible for him to move without being
discovered by the Indian, so he resolved on a swift, deadly attack as the
only way out of the dilemma.
Gathering his muscles for the spring he suddenly launched himself like a
thunderbolt at the Indian. With the same motion he drew his revolver and
aimed a blow at the savage's head, for he knew that a single shot would
give the alarm and frustrate all his plans.
But the wily redskin was not to be so easily caught off his guard. With
a grunt of surprise he half turned to meet the attack, and the butt of
Bert's revolver dealt him only a glancing blow. Before the savage had a
chance to shout a warning, however, Bert had grasped him by the throat
with one hand, while he rained blows from the clubbed revolver on him
with the other. The Indian made a desperate attempt to loose his
assailant's hold and secure the knife from his girdle, but Bert's attack
was too fierce and deadly. In a few seconds the struggling form of the
brave grew limp and fell to the earth.
Without giving him a moment's further notice, Bert started out over the
desert at a swift run, guided by his almost instinctive sense of
direction. He ran quickly and lightly with the speed and silence of a
wolf, and he breathed a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving when he realized
that he was clear of the besiegers.
In a short time he reached the line of newly laid rails that marked one
more stride of civilization into this far western country. He scrambled
up the steep embankment, and was not long in locating a telegraph pole.
He climbed this quickly and once securely seated in the crossbars made
ready to send the message that meant life or death to himself and the
little party back there by the over-turned stage coach, dependent on him
for their very lives.
He drew from a pocket a pair of cutting pliers that he had secured from
the coach's toolbox, and donned a pair of thick leather gloves that he
had borrowed from the driver. With the pliers he severed the single
telegraph wire, and grasped the two ends in his gloved fingers.
"Now," he thought, "if there's no current in the wire everything will
have gone for nothing. But if there is----"
He brought the severed ends together, and was overjoyed to see a snapping
little blue spark play about them.
"Great!" he shouted aloud, and then set himself to send the message. He
was an expert telegrapher and knew the Morse code as well as he knew his
own name. Of course, he had no means of telling whether or not anybody
was receiving his sending, but had to go ahead on the chance that they
were.
"Attacked by Indians," he sent. "Near stage-coach trail--twenty miles
east of Helena. Send help, quick."
He repeated this message again and again, until he felt sure that
somebody must have received it. Then he twisted the two ends of the wire
together, and slid down the pole.
"Now to get back with Dick and Tom and the others," he thought. "It's
going to be no easy matter, either. I have an idea it's going to be
harder to get in than it was to get out."
He retraced his course with the utmost caution, until he judged that he
must be nearing the Indian outposts. Then he dropped at full length on
the ground and commenced crawling forward at a snail's pace, pausing
every few yards to listen intently for any indication of danger. At one
time he heard a murmur of guttural voices at no great distance, and
proceeded with redoubled caution until he left the sound behind.
Gradually he worked himself along until he knew he could be at no great
distance from his friends. The danger of being caught by the Indians now
seemed to be passed, but Bert realized that it would never do to approach
his party without giving warning of his coming, as the chances were they
would take him for an enemy and shoot before he could make himself known
to them.
For a time he was at a loss to think of some signal that would be
recognized by those within the improvised fort, but at last had an
inspiration. Softly he whistled a bar of one of the old college songs.
There was no reply at first, but he repeated the refrain a little louder
this time, and was overjoyed to hear the tune taken up by a whistle that
he recognized as Tom's. He waited a few minutes, to give Tom time to warn
the others of his coming, and then ran swiftly forward until he reached
the inclosure.
Dick and Tom almost hugged him in their joy at his safe return, and then
questioned him anxiously as to whether he had sent the message.
"I got it through, all right," said Bert, "and I don't think there's much
doubt that somebody received it. Now it's only a question of holding out
until help comes."
"It'll have to come mighty soon," declared Buck, who had seemed much
surprised at Bert's safe return; "at dawn or jest before is the time the
varmints will close in upon us."
The hours dragged on and, as Buck had predicted, just before dawn a
hideous yell rent the air, and a shower of bullets whined over the heads
of the besieged party.
They grasped their firearms and prepared for a desperate encounter. But
for a few minutes after the outbreak all was silent as the grave, and in
the slight respite the first pale streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern
sky.
"Thank God for the light, anyway," exclaimed Dick fervently; "at least
we'll be able to see what we're doing."
Before anybody could reply to this there was another shrill yell, and
against the rapidly lightening sky the defenders could see a vague body
of horsemen charging toward them.
"Shoot!" yelled Buck, suiting the action to the word. "Make every bullet
tell." Outside of the two passengers, who were unarmed and could do
little to aid the defense, there were five men behind the ramparts who
were excellent marksmen. Dick's and Tom's revolvers barked viciously, and
the deadly rifles wielded by Bert and the stage driver made havoc in the
ranks of the attacking braves. Sam, the guard, wielded his heavy Colts
with the skill and sure aim of a veteran, and the Indians broke ranks
under the withering hail of bullets. They wheeled their horses off to
either side of the stoutly defended fortification and galloped out of
range, leaving a number of still figures on the ground.
"First blood for us," shouted Bert exultantly. "I guess we gave them a
warmer reception than they figured on."
"Yes, but they'll be back pretty soon," said Buck. "There's a hundred of
them if there's one, and they would never dare face the tribe again if
they let themselves be beaten by half a dozen 'pale faces'."
Nothing could have suited the three comrades better, for their fighting
blood was aroused, and all thought of danger was swallowed up in the
primitive love of battle that is inherent in every man.
"Here they come," shouted Dick, and come they did, but more cautiously
this time. They had learned their lesson, and realized how deadly was
the white mans' aim. They hung low from the saddle, on the side farthest
from the defenders, thus interposing the bodies of their horses as
shields between themselves and the defenders.
In this fashion they galloped and wheeled back and forth in front of the
breastworks, firing over and under their horses, and drawing ever a
little closer, a little closer, until they should close on the devoted
little band of whites and annihilate them.
Bert's unerring rifle never failed of its mark, and whenever an Indian
raised his head ever so little over his horse's back the Winchester spoke
and one more still form was added to the many already strewed over the
ground. The revolvers barked steadily and terrible havoc was wrought
among the ranks of the attacking redmen.
But now their savage blood was up, and death itself had lost its power
to daunt them. Slowly the circle about the besieged constricted, and
suddenly the attackers, at a given signal, abandoned their horses
and, springing to the ground, rushed forward, shooting and emitting
blood-curdling yells as they ran.
"Stand together, boys," yelled Buck, "we'll stand back to back and fight
it out to the bitter end."
Nobody had time to answer, but they did as he suggested. The Indians were
now close upon them, and with wild yells mounted the low embankment that
had hitherto protected the white men. Rifles were useless at this short
range, and Bert and the stage driver clubbed theirs and met the first
savages over the embankment with death-dealing blows from the clubbed
weapons. The savages pressed forward so fiercely and in such numbers that
soon even this became of no avail, and they had recourse to their
revolvers. The six-shooters barked steady streams of fire, doing fearful
execution among the packed ranks of the attacking redmen.
The Indians were now fighting chiefly with knives, and the defenders
began to suffer, too. One of the passengers dropped to the ground under
a wicked thrust from the knife of a giant Indian, who seemed to be the
leader. Then the big redskin, encouraging his fierce followers by voice
and action, threw himself toward Dick, who happened to be nearest him.
Dick had just fired the last shot from his revolver, and he had no time
to reload. As the Indian sprang at him Dick clubbed his revolver, and
made a terrific swing at the shaven head of his attacker. The savage
dodged with the agility of a cat, and the blow merely glanced from his
shoulder. With a yell of exultation the Indian raised his sharp knife,
still dripping with the blood of its last victim. But before the weapon
could descend, Bert's fist shot out like lightning, catching the redskin
a terrific blow under the chin. The Indian's head snapped back, and he
was almost lifted from the ground by the impact. Then he fell limply, and
the fight waged on over his unconscious form.
The attackers, instead of being daunted by the fall of their leader,
seemed spurred to an even greater pitch of ferocity, and fought like very
demons. The whites, fighting silently and grimly, resolved to sell their
lives as dearly as might be, presented a solid front and battled with the
grim courage and ferocity of desperation. Bert and Dick and Tom fought as
one unit, and again and again repelled the assaults of their swarming
enemies.
But they were battling against overwhelming odds, and the end could not
be far off. Sam, the guard, was down, whether dead or only wounded they
did not know. All of them were wounded, and Tom's left arm hung useless
at his side. They had no time to load their revolvers, and, with the last
shot fired, drew their sharp hunting knives and fought like cornered
wildcats. Eyes bloodshot, the odor of blood and sweat in their nostrils,
they time and again flung back the leaping, yelling hordes pressing in on
them.
But there is a limit to human endurance, and their arms were beginning to
weaken, their aim to be less certain. Then suddenly the fierce attack
wavered and weakened. To their dazed senses came the noise of rifle
shots, and the sound of a bugle's strident note. Before they could
realize that help had at last arrived the Indians had broken away and
with wild yells were making for their horses. A detachment of cavalry set
out in pursuit, while the commanding officer and his staff rode over to
the exhausted defenders.
As they rode they looked wonderingly at the numbers of Indians scattered
over the bloodsoaked ground. They galloped up to where the defenders, or
what remained of them, lay panting on the ground, ringed about by a
circle of those who had fallen by their hands.
"Well, boys!" exclaimed the captain, "I guess we came just in the nick of
time. You were about at the last ditch, but from all the signs you must
have put up a corking fight."
Before any one could answer, the surgeon, who had accompanied the
rescuing party, arrived on the scene, and immediately took charge of the
wounded men. One of the passengers was past all aid, and the other was
badly wounded. The doctor shook his head when he examined the senseless
but still breathing form of the guard, but finally announced that he had
a chance to recover. Among the three boys Tom's wounded arm was the most
serious injury sustained, although they had all suffered cuts and slashes
and were weak from loss of blood.
By the time their wounds had been dressed and bandaged the first of the
pursuing cavalry returned with the prisoners they had captured. An hour
later the last of them rode in, reporting that the braves who had escaped
capture had scattered to the four points of the compass, making further
pursuit useless.
"Very well," said Captain Graham, their leader; "we'll return to Helena
with the prisoners. But you lads," he said, turning to the three friends,
"where were you bound for when you were attacked?"
Bert told him, and the captain told off half a dozen troopers to escort
them to the ranch. "You deserve the highest praise for the plucky fight
you put up," he said, "and I don't want your lives put in jeopardy by any
of the redskins who may return to this neighborhood after we leave. I
imagine they've had all the fight taken out of them by this time,
however, and they'll probably make a bee line for the reservation. But
it is best to be on the safe side, at all events."
The boys thanked him heartily for his timely aid, and then, each mounted
on a trooper's horse, they and the escort set off in the direction of the
ranch, first shaking hands with Buck, the stage-coach driver.
"You're plucky lads," he exclaimed, wringing their hands, "and we all put
up the scrap of our lives. I don't know about old Sam"--here a shadow
passed over his face--"but he's a tough old sinner, an' I reckon he'll
pull through all right. I hope I'll see you lads again some time, I sure
do."
It was with real regret that the friends parted from him, and more than
once they turned in their saddles and waved their hats to him, until his
sturdy figure was swallowed up in the distance.
Shortly after this they descried an approaching dust-cloud in the
distance, and the troopers, thinking it might be a new band of Indians or
some of the survivors of the dispersed one, unslung their rifles and made
preparations to give them a warm reception.
As the cloud drew nearer, however, figures began to emerge from it, and
in a few minutes the boys were able to make out the familiar faces of the
ranch cowboys, headed by Mr. Melton. They were all armed to the teeth,
and were spurring their horses along at a gallop.
Soon they were within hailing distance, and as the cowboys recognized the
three boys among the troopers they emitted joyful yells, and by way of
salute many of them fired their revolvers in the air. Mr. Melton appeared
more overjoyed than anybody else, however, and as the two parties met and
drew rein he exclaimed:
"Thank the Lord you're safe! When your horses galloped in late last night
without you I feared the worst. Tell me what has happened."
The cowboys crowded around, and listened eagerly while Bert gave an
account of the attack by the Indians and its result. When he had
finished, but before anybody had time to say anything, the corporal, who
commanded the escort, broke in: "From the way he tells it," he said, "you
might imagine that it had been a good deal less of a fight than it was.
But we counted over twenty dead redskins, besides a lot that were more
or less badly wounded. It must have been _some_ shindy, take it from me."
"I'm sure proud of you boys," exclaimed Mr. Melton, with glistening eyes;
"but I'm not so much surprised, after all. I always knew you were grit
clear through, anyhow."
"Oh, there was nothing very wonderful about it," disclaimed Bert. "We had
to fight, whether we wanted to or not. It wasn't a matter of choice."
"Well, we won't argue the matter," smiled Mr. Melton; "what you need now
is food and rest and a little nursing. We'll ride back home just as soon
as we can, where you'll get plenty of all three. I guess we won't need to
trouble you any more," he continued, addressing the corporal commanding
the detachment; "there's enough of us here to hold our own in case of an
attack, I think."
"I reckon so," said the corporal, sizing up the score or more of lean,
square-jawed cowboys, "and in that case we might just as well return to
camp."
He took leave of the three comrades, who thanked him for his escort, and
with the troopers at his heels galloped off.
On the trip to the ranch the cowboys crowded around the boys, and plied
them with innumerable questions, which they answered to the best of their
ability. On their arrival they were turned over to motherly Mrs. Melton,
who insisted on redressing their wounds, and then, after they had made
a hearty meal, packed them off to bed.
"Gee, boys!" exclaimed the foreman, before the cowboys dispersed to their
alloted tasks, "those lads are sure _there_ when it comes to deliverin'
the goods, ain't they? An' to think that once in a moment of besotted
ignorance I referred to them as 'tender-feet.' Why, it don't seem possible
them boys can be Easterners at all. It seems like they jest _must_ 'a'
been born west o' the Rockies."
As this was the highest eulogium any of them could think of, they
acquiesced in their foreman's words and dispersed to work.