Ebony Jim had not remained in his concealment among the foliage more
than a minute when he recognized the voice of his old friend, Flick
O’Flynn, among the three whom he at first took for robbers, but who in
fact were O’Flynn, Frank Armond and Walter Lyman.
Ebony was in the act of springing to the ground and making his presence
known, when the Irishman’s remark--which caught the negro’s ears--of
the place through which they were passing being so gloomy, and that he
imagined he felt the icy fingers of the Old Nick upon him, suggested
a practical joke to his mind. Waiting until the trio were directly
under him, he thrust his hand down through the foliage, and seizing the
loquacious O’Flynn by the neck, jerked him from the ground and up among
the foliage with the quickness of thought.
Flick gave vent to a furious yell, and dropping his rifle drew his
knife, supposing that he was in the hands of the Old Boy, sure enough.
But what was his surprise, when, on turning to deal a deadly blow, he
saw Ebony seated before him, his sable face convulsed with laughter.
“Faith, and mees hev a notion to give yees a dig wath this knife, so I
hev; but niver mind, there’s a rheckoning coming, so there is.”
But how had it fared with Frank and Walter?
They saw the negro’s hand thrust down, saw Flick lifted from the
ground, heard his frightful scream, and, without a second look or
thought, took to their heels and fled with all possible speed over the
hill.
But, unfortunately, they ran right from safety into danger.
They had not gone more than a mile when they discovered a party of
mounted Cheyenne charging directly toward them.
Instantly Frank’s rifle was to his face, and he shot, in quick
succession, two of the leading savages. He was quickly surrounded by
the whole party, which gave Walter an opportunity to escape, which he
did.
Frank was tied upon one of the ponies, and immediately the Indians,
a score in all, mounted their animals and set off toward the north,
moving in regular Indian file, one after the other, Frank being next to
the foremost one, who _led_ his--the captive’s--pony. They seemed in no
hurry, moving along quite leisurely. However, they failed to discover
two figures that were stealing after them like shadows.
Slowly the day wore away. Night came on. Frank strained his eyes in
hopes of catching a glimpse of some friendly form moving through the
gloom. Suddenly he heard a slight noise before him. He fixed his eyes
on the gloom in advance. Just then the animal of the preceding and
foremost captor flitted across a patch of moonlight struggling feebly
down through the opening in the tree-tops.
The captive started with wonder and surprise.
_The animal was riderless!_
Not one of the savages behind had discovered the sudden, silent and
mysterious disappearance of their leader.
Again the preceding animal crossed a patch of moonlight, and
still greater was his surprise, when he recognized by a kind of
phosphorescent gleam, the form of _Flick O’Flynn seated upon its back_!
Then the truth flashed upon his mind. Flick, the brave and noble
hunter, had escaped, followed his, Frank’s, captors, and with the
silence of death had dragged the savage from his pony, dispatched him
and mounted the animal himself.
“What does the man mean?” mused Frank; “what next will he do--Oh!”
The exclamation involuntarily escaped his lips, but it was drowned in
the noise of the animals’ feet. In passing under some low, drooping
boughs where the gloom was impenetrable to the human eye, Frank felt a
heavy form drop from the limbs overhead _behind him on the animal he
was riding_, and the captive felt that his bonds were being cut.
“For heaben’s sake don’t breafe! it’s dis black nigger.”
Frank recognized the voice as that of Ebony Jim, and he at once
realized the situation of affairs.
“Dar, take dat,” whispered the darky, placing a knife in Frank’s hand,
“and loosen your feet.”
Frank leaned over and cut the thongs. So far he was free. A moment
later there were heard the hasty footfalls of hurrying feet.
The escape was not discovered for some moments, and then a hurried but
vain search was commenced by the Indians. Frank was saved by as bold,
silent and daring a stratagem as was ever conceived by the fearless
borderman.
Fortunately, Frank’s rifle, accouterments and coat were restored to
him, they having been in possession of the unfortunate chief, whom
the two hunters dragged from his pony unseen. The rest of his things,
including his share of the robbers’ gold, were lost.
Matters being explained all around, the three set off through the
forest in hopes of finding Walter.
They had not traveled far, when they discovered that they were being
followed, while in every direction they could hear the hooting of owls,
the cry of the night-hawk, and the sharp barking of the wolf.
To Frank these sounds seemed natural enough, but to the two hunters
they did not, for they knew that they were the signals of the Indians.
“Ay, now!” exclaimed O’Flynn, “and it’s a divil av a time wees are
going to have. The whole Cheyenne nation is in these hills, so they
are.”
“S’pose we strike fur de Bear’s Cave,” said Ebony Jim.
“Aghrade,” responded the Irishman, and so they shaped their course
accordingly.
In a few minutes the cavern in question was reached, and taking the
lead, Ebony Jim led the way into the black subterranean passage.
They had not gone more than fifty feet when a glowing fire, in a
chamber to their right, burst suddenly upon their eyes; and within the
light of the fire they saw three men seated, engaged in conversation.