A TANGLED TRAIL.
Buenos Ayres had not overestimated the danger and peril that would
attend his effort to pass by the vigilant red-skin, on his journey
toward the Main Trail, in quest of help for the beleaguered emigrants.
And then, under the circumstances, he was about the last person who
should have been chosen as the forlorn hope, although he was undeniably
brave, and usually, keen-witted and far-seeing. But now these latter
qualities were in a measure overpowered by the anxiety he felt to
perform his mission with the least delay possible, in order that a
thorough and systematic search might be made for the missing maiden,
Clara Calhoun, and, to this desire, he sacrificed prudence and caution
to a degree nearly fatal.
He swam rapidly down-stream, though the water was not waist-deep, but,
in this manner he could proceed more silently than by wading. He lay low
down in the water, that he might present a less fair mark for prying
eyes to rest upon, and, hidden in the shadow, he believed that he could
succeed in passing the lines of the enemy, unseen.
In this manner he had gained the edge of the timber, before-mentioned,
that extended nearly to the verge of the river-bank. But then he suddenly
paused in his advance.
Before him lay something dark, evidently resting in or upon the water,
and at only a few yards’ distance. For a moment Buenos believed that
this was the head of a man, whose body—like his own—was covered in the
water.
But then a movement on the part of the object undeceived him. It slowly
swung around, as though under the influence of the feeble current, and
he could see that it was a log; evidently one of those upon which the
savages had descended the river, in order to gain and attack the rear of
the emigrants.
With a low laugh at his unnecessary fright, Ayres advanced, swimming
rapidly, intending to use the log in his further progress. But he
speedily saw that this action had been made too quickly for his own
safety.
His keen eyes detected a suspicious circumstance connected with the log,
and he instantly paused. From the further side of the stick he beheld an
object that had escaped his eyes before, or else had recently made its
appearance there.
There seemed to be a roundish knob or protuberance upon the side of the
log. True, this might possibly have been beneath the water until then,
and was only revealed by the rolling of the log, but Ayres felt
confident that the _log had not rolled_. He could tell that from the
quiet water.
Then it must be— So far he had reasoned, but then, quick as thought, he
ducked his head beneath the water.
A sudden movement beside the log had caused this. He beheld the round
object raise still higher, and then with an abrupt movement a dark tube
was whirled around from the top of the log, until its muzzle pointed
toward the young adventurer’s head.
The knob was the head of a savage—the tube was a rifle, and Ayres knew
that he was discovered. All this flashed athwart his mind like a
revelation of light, and, as he dove beneath the surface, his plan of
procedure was fully determined upon.
He must dispose of this enemy or die. The alarm once given, escape would
be almost impossible, and with his capture, the hopes of the emigrants
would be crushed.
Then he must silence this foe before he could fire his rifle or give the
alarm otherwise. But could he do it? That was doubtful; still, as a last
hope, he resolved to attempt the feat.
As he sunk beneath the surface, Buenos drew his knife, and then swam
with swift, strong strokes toward the spot where he knew the Indian must
be crouching. And his calculations proved correct.
His head struck violently against the half-submerged log, and springing
up he dashed the water from his blinded eyes.
The savage was taken by surprise, and evidently had not expected such a
bold move. Quite likely he had been in doubt whether the advancing
figure was that of an enemy or a friend, as the small bundle fastened
upon Ayres’ head, added to the gloom, rendered it impossible for a
glimpse to be obtained of his features. His action in throwing forward
his rifle-muzzle, had simply been one of prudence, in case it was really
an enemy who approached.
Then when the young man sprung up so suddenly before him, the log being
driven against his body with considerable violence, the savage gave vent
to a grunt of mingled surprise and bewilderment. But from this he
quickly recovered.
Buenos—his first thought being to prevent an alarm—seized upon the
rifle-barrel, and with an adroit movement, wrenched it from the grasp of
his foe, with the same gesture casting it out into deep water. Then his
left hand shot out and clutched the throat of the red-skin with a grip
strengthened by the great interests at stake.
But the Indian was a brawny fellow, and as he grappled fiercely with his
foeman, he freed his throat sufficiently to emit, loud and clear, the
thrilling war-whoop of his tribe. With a curse of bitter vexation, Ayres
wrenched his right arm free, and then dealt the savage a swift, vicious
blow with the heavy knife.
It penetrated deep, but the wound was not mortal. Once more the shrill
yell resounded through the air, awaking echoes far and wide; once again
the crimsoned steel rose and fell, with a dull, sickening _thud_.
With a wild shriek of mortal agony, the death-stricken savage sunk
backward, but still his bony fingers clutched the white man with a grip
nerved by death. And from the prairie beyond, Ayres could hear the
shrill cries of the alarmed red-skins, and then the rapid thud of
horses’ hoofs approaching the spot at a full gallop.
Then he plunged over the log, head-foremost, and sunk in the water. This
action freed him from the dead Indian, and then arising to the surface,
Buenos swam for dear life, down-stream.
But he knew that did he continue on in this course, he must be
discovered by the rapidly approaching red-skins, and so he turned toward
the bank, half resolved to enter the timber and seek safety in flight by
land. In this, however, he was disappointed.
Scarcely had he touched shore, when his quick eye detected several dusky
figures upon the bank, near the spot where he had slain the Indian. He
knew they were the dead man’s comrades; one glance told him that.
And the same glance also showed him the form of the dead Indian, his
face, horribly distorted with the last agony, upturned toward the
star-studded vault of heaven, slowly floating down with the stream,
nearing its slayer, with each passing moment. Then there uprose a wild
cry from those upon the shore, telling that they, also, had discovered
the slain man.
It now seemed as though the fate of the young man was indubitably
sealed. Escape from being discovered seemed impossible, and to be
captured now, with that terribly significant witness of his deeds lying
there before the eyes of all, meant _death_.
Several heavy splashes were heard, and Ayres saw that while some ran
along the bank toward him, others had entered the water, to drag forth
their dead comrade. And now the corpse was within a few yards of where
he crouched, while almost directly over his head he could hear the heavy
tramp of other foes.
Ayres shrunk back against the bank, where the water was still several
feet deep. He clutched his knife with desperation, resolved to sell his
life dearly, should he be discovered. But then his heart thrilled with a
gleam of joy.
In the bank beside him was a small hole or depression, that had
evidently been washed out by the action of the water. Instantly one hand
was extended to ascertain its size.
It only reached a few inches above the surface, and was over a foot in
depth, running back into the bank. Below, it was still larger, and Ayres
believed that by its aid he could still escape his foes.
All this occurred in a breath of time, and the water was still agitated
by the heavy plunges, when Buenos glided back and into the fortunately
discovered refuge. By crouching almost double, he managed to stow his
body away in the hole, with his legs doubled beneath his body.
A quick gesture daubed his face with the soft black mud, and then Buenos
awaited the result in painful surprise. For not only did his own life
depend upon it, but, in all probability, those of his friends in the
besieged corral, as well.
His head was drawn back into the hole, so that his nose was barely above
water, and his face beyond the surface of the bank. The mud had rendered
his features the color of the dirt surrounding, and only by touching
him, could the savages have discovered the difference.
Through his half-closed lids, Buenos watched the movements of the
savages, now almost directly opposite him. A shower of dirt rolled down
from above, telling that those he had noticed on shore were still near
at hand.
Then a new and startling sound came to the ears of the young adventurer.
He heard the shrill yells—the wild outcry—the rattling of rifles, all
telling of another deadly assault upon the wagon-train.
The savages in the water paused as if startled, and then hastily
grasping the body of their dead comrade, they swam rapidly ashore with
it, landing just below where crouched the young man. Words passed
between them and the others, the purport of which Ayres could only
guess, owing to his complete ignorance of the dialect.
Then the corpse was handed up the bank, and shortly afterward Buenos
heard the quick trampling of feet, as a number of Indians dashed away
toward the train. He believed they were all gone, and made a movement as
though he would have left his covert, in order to continue his journey,
without any more loss of time.
But fortunately for him, Ayres recognized the folly of such
precipitation, before it was too late. From almost directly above him,
he heard the low sound of voices, and knew by it that his enemies had
not yet given up the search for the slayer of their friend.
With wildly beating heart Buenos listened to the progress of the
struggle above; but it speedily died away, and then all was still. The
absence of the red-skins’ yells of triumph, told Ayres that his friends
had successfully repulsed the onset, and his heart lightened
considerably.
Had he only been at liberty to resume his journey, all might yet be
well. But though he could no longer hear the sound of voices, Ayres felt
assured that the red-skins were still upon the watch.
They must know that an enemy had stricken them a bitter blow near that
spot, and would reason that he could not have gotten far away, before
their arrival. That he was still hidden somewhere in close proximity to
the spot of death.
As time passed by, Buenos began to grow still more uneasy. Every moment
was valuable now, and he should even then be miles away upon his
important mission.
But what if these savages should keep up the watch until day dawned?
Then they would assuredly unearth him.
Not only would he be doomed, in such a case, but the last hope of the
besieged emigrants would be dashed to the ground. Unassisted, they must
soon succumb to the overpowering force of the red-skins.
A desperate resolve began to shape itself in the mind of our young
adventurer. He would dare all, and emerge from his covert. It could be
but death, at the most, and that risk he would rather run, than longer
endure this horrible, agonizing suspense.
Still he could hear no sound of his enemies, and as the moments passed
on, Ayres made the desperate move. Were the Indians still lying in wait
for some such movement on the part of their unknown enemy, he knew that
he was lost.
They could scarcely fail to hear him, or discover his motions. The line
of shadow was fearfully narrowed, and at but a short distance ahead,
where the belt of timber came to an end, the bright moonlight revealed
every inch of the water’s surface.
Just as he had straightened out his limbs, preparatory to emerging from
his uncomfortable hiding-place, Ayres paused. Another alarm rung out
upon the air, from beyond the wagon-train.
Then came a single shrill war-whoop, that he had so often listened to on
that eventful night, followed by wild shouts from the Indians, telling
of some important discovery. And then, from almost directly above his
head, there sounded a guttural exclamation, closely followed by the
tramp of human feet.
Ayres shuddered convulsively as he realized the extent of the peril he
had so nearly brought upon himself, by his rash action. He knew now that
the red-skins had indeed been lying in wait for him, and only for this
strange diversion, would inevitably have made the desired discovery.
Though sadly puzzled to account for the outcry—for Ayres well knew that
the latter cries were those of exultation—the young man dared not dally
longer, but slipping forth from his hiding-place, he swam rapidly
down-stream for a few yards, until near the end of the timber-belt
furthest from the corral.
Then he cautiously scaled the bank, and entered the dense undergrowth.
Pausing, he hearkened intently.
All was still in his immediate vicinity, although from near the
wagon-train he could hear an occasional rifle-shot, telling that his
friends were still upon the alert. And then he glided stealthily forward
until at the edge of the prairie.
Cautiously peering forth upon the vast, level expanse thus spread before
him, Buenos saw with delight that as far as his eye could reach, there
was not a single living form to be seen. The road appeared open before
him, and he was about to enter upon it, when a sudden recollection
caused him to pause.
The revolver was still strapped upon his head, according to the advice
given him by Tom Maxwell, but it was far from being in a condition fit
for use. The sudden dive, on seeing the savage beside the log, added to
several immersions since, had pretty thoroughly saturated it.
Not knowing at what moment he might be called upon to make use of this,
in order to preserve his life, Ayres’ first move was to draw the
bullets, and wiping the chambers dry, he carefully reloaded them. Then
fitting on the water-proof caps, he replaced it in his belt, and once
more stepped forth upon the prairie.
Had he not already lost so much time, Buenos would probably have
exercised more precaution than he was now using. But, racked with
anxiety and the dread of being too late to aid his comrades in peril,
rendered him half wild.
Crouching low down, he ran at a rapid pace out over the level prairie,
in the direction he must follow in order to strike the Main Trail, which
they had so unfortunately—as it proved—deviated from, a couple of days
previously. The moon still shone brightly, and there was great danger of
his being discovered by some of the lynx-eyed savages, who surrounded
the wagon-train.
But this, Ayres resolved to risk, rather than lose any more time,
although he knew that, in case he should be seen, there could be but one
ending to the affair.
Fortunately for him, perhaps the suspicions of the red-skins had been
lulled by the recent capture of Tom Maxwell, for they believed him to be
the one who had slain their brother below the corral, as well as the one
beside whose body he had been captured. Thus they did not dream of
another foeman being at liberty so near them.
As Ayres glanced back over his shoulder, a shudder crept over his frame,
for he now realized the full extent of the great peril he was daring.
Behind him he could quite plainly distinguish the dark corral, and still
nearer, the numerous figures, dusky and phantom-like, moving restlessly
hither and yon, that he knew were none other than savages.
It seemed as though they could not fail of seeing him, and as he once
more sped on at an accelerated speed, Buenos listened with painful
intentness, expecting each moment to hear the shrill war-cry peal forth,
telling that the bloodthirsty demons were upon his trail.
But then he crossed the slight rise, and the fear-inspiring sight was
hidden from his view. Then breathing more freely, he took the pole-star
for his guide, and dashed on at break-neck speed, every nerve strained to
its utmost tension, and his heart wildly throbbing with renewed hope of
success.
For well-nigh an hour he maintained this killing pace, but then Nature
forced him to slacken his gait, and proceed with more prudence. His eyes
were roving upon every side of him, trying to recall some landmark,
though he well knew he was yet far from the Main Trail—the object of his
quest.
He crossed a slight swell and trotted down the opposite slope, into a
sort of valley, if it may be called such. Then he began ascending the
next rise.
Suddenly he paused. A suspicious sound saluted his hearing; the
_thud_—_thud_—of a horse’s hoofs beating upon the hard turf in a full
gallop.
And this, too, he soon found was approaching him, for the trampling grew
louder and more distinct. But it was not coming from the direction of
the corral, though this was Ayres’ first thought. Instead it was coming
from directly in his front.
Buenos glanced hurriedly around for some cover within which to ensconce
himself, but no such sight rewarded his search. There was not a bush or
bunch of grass to be seen, within reach.
And at that moment the figure of a horse and rider loomed up, clear and
distinct, upon the ridge, almost directly before the young man. As by an
impulse, Buenos dropped flat to the ground, and drew his revolver, ready
for use in case he was discovered.
Then the horseman came thundering on, seemingly about to ride directly
over the prostrate form. A collision appeared inevitable, and Buenos,
with tightly-compressed lips, cocked his pistol.
On thundered the horse, and was within a score of yards of the young
man, when, with a wild snort, it turned to one side, then dashed on with
accelerated speed, in its passage flinging a tiny shower of dust and
sand over Ayres. A hoarse cry broke from the lips of its rider, as he
swayed in his seat, but he did not appear to notice the cause of his
animal’s affright, for he did not once glance around or backward, but
rose the swell and disappeared beyond its crest with the same mad,
reckless gallop.
Ayres rose with a cry of astonishment, as the man vanished from sight. A
puzzled look rested upon his face.
In the brief glance he had obtained of the rider’s features, he knew
that it was a white man but wonder had checked the cry of greeting, he
would otherwise have uttered. Buenos did not know that the mad rider was
none other than Dusky Dick, the traitor guide and black-hearted
renegade; but such was indeed the case.
Had he known it, Ayres would have sent a revolver bullet hissing after
the villain, on the instant, instead of now gazing at the little cloud
of dust that was all there was left to indicate the swift passage. But
then Buenos once more returned his way, with quickened steps.