DELAWARE TOM.
Clara uttered a wild cry, and sunk back, with a shudder. She believed
her pursuers had overtaken, and now held her captive; but in this she
was mistaken.
“Do not be alarmed, lady,” uttered a low voice, close beside the maiden.
“You are among friends here, who will protect you with their lives, if
there be any need.”
“But he—he is an Indian!” half unconsciously murmured Clara.
“True, but he is far different from those who were chasing you. He is a
true friend, and would fight in your defense quite as readily as I
would.”
“Bes’ git back little furder. Injun shoot plenty straight by dis light.
Ketch hoss—den be back, bumbye. Bes’ hide in bushes up dere, den Injun
go by—won’t see um,” interrupted a guttural voice, evidently proceeding
from the lips of the Indian alluded to.
“You’re right, Tom. They’ll be apt to follow back on their own trail, to
see where she gave them the slip. Do you think you can walk, Miss?” he
added, turning toward Clara; “or shall I carry you? There is danger in
lingering here.”
“Thank you—I will walk. If you lend me your arm I think— Ah!”
Clara rose to her feet by clinging to the strong arm of her new-found
friend, but then, with an agonized groan, she would have fallen to the
ground, had not his arms encircled her fainting form. The violent fall
had evidently injured the maiden far more severely than she had at first
believed.
“Lead the way, Delaware,” muttered the man, as he raised the girl in his
arms. “Quick!”
The Indian turned and glided along the level plat for a few yards, then
began ascending a steep incline. Up this for a considerable distance;
then he paused before a dense growth of bushes, that seemed to shoot out
from the very face of the bank.
The man bearing Clara was quickly beside his red companion, and then
they all entered the bushes, disappearing from sight.
This spot was upon a hillside, at whose base ran a clear stream of
water. Beyond this, again, was a level strip of ground, studded thickly
with little clumps of trees and undergrowth.
The three persons were ensconced within the bushes, close against the
rocks, that uprose, bare and gray, for nearly a dozen yards, sloping so
that a stone dropped from the escarpment above, would touch the ground
several yards out from the base. This cliff, however, only extended for
a short distance upon either hand; then it ran out into a steep
hillside, down which, on one hand, Clara had been cast by the stumbling
of her horse.
“How do you feel now?” asked the white man, after a moment’s rest.
“Better, though still faint and dizzy. But how— I remember falling, and
then all is blank. How did you find me, and where am I? There were some
Indians chasing me; where are they?” confusedly asked Clara, in a faint
tone.
In a few quick words the stranger explained the part he had played in
the adventure.
He was an officer of a Government train of supplies, and had started out
on a scout, together with one of their guides, an Indian named Delaware
Tom, but had become belated while following up a trail. They had
resolved to encamp for the night, when they were aroused by wild yells
and the sound of hoof-strokes.
Then they saw a woman rise the hill’s crest, and almost immediately fall
from her horse, as it stumbled. He sprung forward and caught her, while
Delaware Tom crept to the hill-top to learn what had so alarmed her.
He soon made out the figures of the pursuing savages, and then the two
scouts had hidden in the bushes, with the unconscious maiden, until the
war-party had thundered by, in hot pursuit of the riderless horse. Then
they had hastened with Clara to the creek, where they succeeded in
restoring her to consciousness, by the plentiful use of water, aided by
a stronger fluid incased in a flask carried by the captain.
And then Clara briefly detailed her portion of the adventure, adding:
“If I do not thank you for this service, it is because I can not find
words to express my feelings. I would rather die than fall into _their_
power!”
“Thanks are not needed, believe me. I am amply repaid already for the
trifle I was enabled to do, by knowing you are safe from those fiends.
But you spoke of your father—is it possible that he is my old
commandant, Major John Calhoun?”
“He served in Mexico, and his given name is John.”
“It must be the same, then! Did you never hear him speak of Harold
Travers? He saved my life at Cerro Gordo,” eagerly added the captain.
“Indeed I have; he often mentions your name. And now you repay that debt
by saving the life of his daughter. He has often wondered where you
were, and it will be a happy meeting; one that I trust will take place
very soon.”
“Bes’ not mek talk now,” interrupted Indian Tom, significantly.
“’Rapahoe he come back plenty soon. Find hoss—mad like de debble ’cause
don’t fin’ squaw, too. Hunt fo’ her heap, mebbe. Won’t git her, dough,
’less kin whip _us_.”
“You’re right, Delaware. I can hear the sound of their horses’ hoofs on
the rocks.”
“Are they coming? My God! I thought I had escaped them for good!” moaned
Clara, fearfully.
“Have no fear, Miss Calhoun,” returned Travers. “They shall not harm
you, even if they chance to discover us. There are only half a dozen in
all, and surely we two can manage them. Can’t we, Delaware?”
“Yeh, fo’ sure. Don’t know much how mek fight, ’Rapahoe. Big cowards,
dey is. Got white man ’long, dough.”
“Are you sure, Tom?”
“See um. Know um, too. Name Dusky Dick. Big decoy. White Injins—plenty
bad—more so dan oders. Play snake fo’ train, so Injin git ’em,” tersely
added the Indian.
Clara uttered a faint cry of apprehension, at the sound of his name, for
she knew that now indeed she was in danger. The threats of Dusky Dick
came back to memory with renewed force, and knowing, as he must, that
she was astray in the mountains, he would spare no pains in order to
make his words good.
“I see you know him, too; but never mind now. We must not converse any
more. See! the devils are in sight, down yonder by the creek.”
Cautiously peering through the leafy screen before them the three
fugitives could just distinguish the faint, shadowy outlines of a number
of horsemen, down in the valley. These soon crossed the creek, and then
one being left in charge of the horses, the rest—six in
number—dismounted and began quartering over the ground, like hounds
searching for a lost scent.
The soldier tightly compressed his lips, and grasped his rifle with
deadly determination. He saw that the enemy had evidently divined the
manner in which their anticipated victim had escaped them—at least in
part—and believed she was still hiding in some place in the vicinity.
It was not probable they were aware of the presence of other foes in the
neighborhood, else they would have displayed more caution. Evidently
they believed Clara had abandoned her failing horse, and sought safety
by lying in concealment.
The moonlight was too faint and uncertain for the savages to learn aught
from a trail upon the rocky ground, and that fact was in favor of the
fugitives. Still, there could be no denying that they were in imminent
peril of their lives.
The Arapahoes scattered and began a close and systematic search of the
ground, peering behind each bowlder, into every bush and cranny where a
human form might possibly have sought refuge. The six were widely
scattered, the better to compass their purpose.
Upon the movements of one of the savages in particular, was the
attention of the three friends riveted. He alone of the party was in
close proximity to the hidden prey.
He was a large, brawny warrior, and was now gliding along the hill-side,
gradually approaching the covert of our friends, carefully scrutinizing
every yard of ground as he proceeded. Presently he paused and glanced
keenly around him. Then his piercing gaze rested fairly upon the line of
bushes that screened the base of the cliff.
His tall, muscular frame, drawn rigidly erect, in all the pride of
war-paint and plumes, looked grandly terrible in the glimmering
moonlight, and even the eyes of Delaware Tom emitted a momentary gleam
of admiration as they dwelt upon the perfect figure. But then this gave
place to a glare of deadly hatred as if he recognized a bitter personal
enemy in the warrior.
The Arapahoe stood thus for a moment, and then began gliding up the
hill-side, his eyes seeming to pierce through and through the screen, so
keen was their glance. He saw that this was a good cover, and believed
or hoped that the fugitive had taken refuge there.
Travers crouched down and drew his revolver, with a stern demeanor, but
then a light touch upon his shoulder caused him to turn his head. The
Delaware made a peculiar gesture, and then hissed:
“No shoot—mek too much noise. Let Delaware tek him. Know um—he
kisch-kouch—big t’ief—me kill him heap sure. Tom’hawk mek no noise.”
“You’re right, Tom, I forgot,” muttered Travers, below his breath; and
then fearing to say more, they watched the red-skin’s progress in
perfect silence.
The Arapahoe did not pause, but kept on until he could touch the bushes
with his outstretched hand. Evidently he did not dream of danger to
himself, for he believed the fugitive maiden was alone.
Then he reached out and parted the bushes. This he did at a point some
yards to the left of where the trio were concealed, and a grunt of
disappointment broke from his lips, as he discovered nothing but bare
rocks.
Then he moved nearer, parting the bushes at each step, steadily nearing
those which concealed the three friends. His hand rested upon them, and
then they were gently pressed aside.
The Delaware was prepared for this move, and as the moonlight shot into
the aperture his uplifted hand fell, clutching the heavy tomahawk, whose
keen edge alighted fairly upon the bowed crest of the savage. The blow
was delivered with a sure aim, and was deadly in its effects.
But as the left hand of Delaware Tom shot out to clutch the throat of
the Arapahoe, to check any outcry, the stricken savage bounded back and
uttered his thrilling death-cry. This was done so quickly that it could
not be prevented.
But then, ere the lifeless body could touch the ground, it was seized by
the Delaware and pushed into the bushes. Then, for a moment, all was
still.
Only for a moment, however, for then the comrades of the slaughtered
brave took up the yell, and echoed it long and loud, as they intuitively
drew together, in wondering alarm. They well knew it was a cry from
death-stricken lips, but what had caused it, or from what direction it
had come, they knew not.
The cry had echoed through the hills, sounding from several different
points, and no two of the party could agree upon which one was the
right. A glance told them that one of their number was missing—the best
and bravest warrior among them all.
They were within fair view of the spot where the brave had met his
death, although, of course, ignorant of that fact, and had the fugitives
deemed it prudent, they could easily have sent a brace of rifle-bullets
into the little crowd. But, as long as the savages did not molest them,
Travers was willing to do likewise, now that a helpless woman was under
his protection.
Though he did not greatly fear the result of a collision with the six,
he did not deem it prudent to invite such, under the circumstances. A
random shot might work incalculable harm.
Clara shuddered convulsively as a peculiar sound met her ear, from where
Delaware Tom was crouched. She knew he was scalping the dead brave,
although she could not see the action, as the thick-matted screen of
bushes effectually shut out the light of the moon.
With a grunt of satisfaction, Delaware Tom affixed the reeking trophy to
his girdle, and then turned toward the soldier. Side by side, they
peered out upon their foes in the valley.
“Big fools plenty skeered,” chuckled Tom, as he noted the irresolute air
of the enemy. “Little more mek ’um run like de debble. S’pose shoot one,
two time, dey run way off. Git scalp, too. Kin hit ’um from dis,” he
added, eagerly fingering his rifle as though longing to begin the
affray.
“No, Tom, you mustn’t do it. It would not be safe. Were we alone, I
wouldn’t care how soon you began it, but now we have another to look out
for, besides ourselves. _She_ might get hurt.”
The Delaware did not reply, but he was evidently dissatisfied. He had
tasted blood, and it had aroused all the worst passions of his
half-tamed nature.
The savages appeared to be undecided as to the course best for them to
pursue, and for several minutes conversed earnestly together, closely
watched by their hidden foes. But then there was a decided move on the
part of the former.
One of their number moved toward the horses, and, mounting, rode rapidly
off up the valley, soon disappearing from view.
Travers and Toni exchanged glances. Right well they divined the meaning
of this move, and it evidently caused them not a little uneasiness.
“He’s gone after help,” muttered the soldier.
“Yeh. Dat’s it. S’pose we stay here, den dey ketch us all, same like
buff’lo. S’pose we don’t like dat, den we mus’ git ’way, ’fore dey gits
back ag’in. Dat right, eh?”
“Yes; we must make a move. Surely we can manage those fellows, yonder.
If we do, and can catch some of the horses, we can ride back to camp
to-night. But how shall we do it, Tom?”
“Stop—me t’ink a little. Plenty time—no hurry,” and then the Delaware
appeared deep-buried in thought.