THE WHINNY OF A HORSE
Close behind these Indians came five more and then a little squad of
three. Next appeared one solitary brave, his war paint shining while he
shouted at the top of his voice. Joseph shuddered as he saw these
savages dash past him and involuntarily he drew back further on the tree
trunk. He had no desire to be seen by any one of his bloodthirsty foes,
especially at this time when they were so filled with confidence and
their desire to kill.
“If I count the number of Indians who pass this way,” thought Joseph, “I
can tell just how many may return and in that way I can tell whether or
not there are any between me and Dixon’s Ferry. When I am sure that all
have returned I can start out and take my time about getting back.”
This seemed to Joseph an excellent plan and he proceeded to put it into
execution. The only trouble was that he expected at least several
hundred of Black Hawk’s party to pass that way in their pursuit of Major
Stillman’s men, and undoubtedly it would take a long time before they
would return. Then, too, there was always the chance that some might go
back to their camp by a different route and thus escape his notice. At
any rate he decided to make an attempt at carrying out his scheme.
Thus far he had counted fourteen warriors. No more appeared for some
time and Joseph began to wonder where the main body was. Certainly the
fleeing volunteers had passed his hiding place, and if the Indians
intended to overtake them they must follow the same course.
“Here they come,” thought Joseph as once more he heard the clatter of
hoofs on the prairie. Peering out cautiously he was surprised to see
only four Indians in the party. He heard more approaching, however, and
soon an additional band of six appeared. This last detachment was not
riding as hard as the ones who had passed previously. They seemed to be
in no hurry and were apparently debating whether or not they should give
up the pursuit of the rangers.
Suddenly Joseph heard a shout and saw the six warriors abruptly halt.
They turned and awaited the approach of a solitary brave a hundred yards
or more to their rear. When he came up to them, the seven Indians
gathered in a circle and held a spirited discussion. Joseph fancied that
the argument was as to whether they should push on or give up the chase
and return to camp. Evidently his surmise was correct, for at the
expiration of a few moments the entire band started back in the
direction from which they had come.
“That makes twenty-five Indians I have counted altogether,” thought
Joseph. “I wonder what has happened to all the others who attacked us?”
Many minutes passed, however, and no more appeared. “Seven already
returned,” said Joseph to himself. “That makes eighteen more I must wait
for. I hope they won’t be long and that they won’t discover me.” The
thought of what might happen to him, should his hiding place be found by
any of the marauders, made him shudder. He turned and glanced at his
horse. The animal stood with drooping head, evidently thoroughly tired
from its exertions. That he would soon be overtaken if it came to a
question of speed was only too evident to the youthful frontiersman. It
seemed to Joseph that hours elapsed before he heard any more hoofbeats
on the prairie indicating that more of his enemies were returning. He
was tired and it was all he could do to keep awake. Several times the
young volunteer almost dropped off to sleep and the use of all his will
power was required to shake off this feeling of drowsiness. Joseph knew
that any such lapse might easily prove fatal to his chances of escaping.
Finally, however, he heard a noise and as he peered out from his hiding
place he discovered a band of ten Indians approaching. They trotted
along in a careless manner, evidently confident that no danger was
lurking near at hand. That this was the case was fully realized by
Joseph who wondered what would befall him if he should shoot at any one
of the band. From his station in the ravine he could easily have
selected his man and found no difficulty in bringing him down. He might
even kill two or possibly three of his foes, but he was largely
outnumbered and it would only be a question of time before he must
either be killed or taken prisoner.
“They’ll never capture me alive,” thought Joseph decidedly. He knew that
in such a case his doom would be surely sealed and undoubtedly preceded
by tortures that made his blood run cold even to think about. It was
hard for him to restrain himself, however, as he watched his enemies jog
past the place where he lay hidden. He fingered his rifle nervously and
once or twice even raised it to his shoulder.
At length the Indians passed beyond his sight and Joseph settled himself
to wait for the remaining eight. He was not kept in suspense long, for
in a few moments six more rode by. They talked freely among themselves
and were apparently discussing their victory. Gestures were frequently
used in the course of their conversation, and everyone seemed to be
trying to outdo the others in boasting of his conquest.
“Only two more,” thought Joseph as this party disappeared. “I wish
they’d hurry up and come, too.” The young pioneer was greatly puzzled to
know what could have happened to the remainder of Black Hawk’s band. He
had been sure that the volunteers were attacked by at least several
hundred warriors. Little by little, however, he began to change his
ideas as he saw the few that had followed in pursuit of the white men.
“Could it be possible,” he thought, “that over three hundred white men
had been put to flight by a mere handful of Indians?” He had counted
twenty-five in all and he doubted if more than twice that number could
have attacked them in the first place.
“What a disgrace,” he thought. “We ran like a lot of cowards. The first
shout scared us away and we didn’t even stop to see how many there were
against us.” He became still more angry as he thought of the rout and
when he recalled the look of fear on Walt’s face a snort of disgust and
contempt expressed his feelings in the matter.
Once more, however, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of
horses’ hoofs. A moment later two Indians came within sight and Joseph
heaved a sigh of relief as he realized that these were the last he was
waiting for. In a few moments more he could mount his horse and proceed
to Dixon’s Ferry and then he could discover what had befallen Robert and
Deerfoot.
The Indians were now opposite Joseph’s lookout. He remembered distinctly
seeing these men pass before, for one of them rode a spotted pony,
easily distinguished from all the others. As Joseph noted this fact, the
pony in question suddenly thrust his head forward and whinnied. This in
itself was not remarkable, but its consequences certainly were.
Joseph was horrified to hear from behind him the answering whinny of his
own horse. That this desire for company on the part of his horse might
easily have fatal results the young frontiersman knew only too well. His
limbs were almost paralyzed as with wide eyes he watched his two foes to
see if they had heard the sound. That they had done so was only too
evident from their actions. They immediately wheeled their ponies and
peered eagerly in the direction from which the unexpected sound had
come.
Spellbound, Joseph watched them. Perhaps they might pass on after all,
thinking their ears had deceived them. That there was but slight chance
of this, however, he well knew, and for a moment he thought his best
plan would be to fire at them. On second thought he decided that the
sound of the shots might summon help to the redskins and that was the
last thing Joseph desired to happen.
Motionless, and with their guns ready for instant use, the two warriors
sat and looked straight at Joseph’s hiding place. He knew they could not
see him from the place where they were stationed, and he hoped and
prayed that they would not investigate. This hope was quickly
dissipated, however, for suddenly his horse whinnied again. For a moment
the young volunteer was so angry he could have shot the animal, but he
knew that any such action would only spell ruin to his chances of
escape. At any rate, the horse knew no better and was probably lonesome.
No sooner had the sound reached the ears of the waiting Indians than
they raised their guns and fired. Two bullets came crashing through the
bushes close to Joseph’s head and he heard one of them flatten itself
against a rock just behind him. Taking quick aim he fired his own rifle
and saw one of the Indian’s ponies drop to the ground. He waited for no
more, but jumping quickly upon the back of his horse he sped away down
the ravine.
A hundred yards in advance of him the gully led out onto the open
prairie. Soon Joseph emerged; his appearance was greeted by a yell of
rage, and two bullets which whistled past his ears. Glancing behind him
the young volunteer saw the Indian, whose horse had been shot,
struggling to reload his gun, while the one that was mounted on the
spotted pony was speeding forward in hot pursuit.
Joseph bent low over the neck of his horse and urged the animal to do
its best. He had one bullet in his rifle and this he decided to use only
when he could be reasonably sure of hitting his mark. Behind him he
heard the war whoop of the pursuing redman, and this time Joseph knew
that he was engaged in a race for life, such as he had never had before.
The opportunities were more equal this time, but the Indian being behind
had whatever advantage there was. “His life or mine,” decided Joseph.
How long could his horse hold out? That was the question that most of
all troubled the young pioneer. He realized how far and how fast his
mount had already traveled that day, and grave fears for the animal’s
endurance beset Joseph’s mind.
Once more he glanced behind him. The Indian was gaining rapidly upon
him. The spotted pony was evidently very fleet and the distance between
the two racers was rapidly diminishing. Joseph’s heart sank at the
sight. He was tempted to turn and fire at his pursuer now. Nearly a
hundred yards still separated them, however, and Joseph knew only too
well that any chance of success at that distance was very slight.
Dangerous as it was he decided to save his ammunition and run the risk
of still being alive when a better opportunity should present itself.
On they sped, the horses’ hoofs beating a sharp tattoo on the hard
ground of the sunbaked prairie. The brush seemed to interfere with his
horse’s progress while the spotted pony which his pursuer rode ran
easily and apparently was unhampered by any obstructions. “What a pony
that is,” thought Joseph. “If we could only trade mounts he’d never
catch me. I could laugh at him and simply run away as I pleased.”
A quick look about him showed Joseph that now scarcely more than fifty
yards was between him and his enemy. “Why doesn’t he shoot?” exclaimed
the young volunteer out loud. “If he’d only fire and miss me I could
stop and shoot him down before he has a chance to reload.”
As if following Joseph’s suggestion the Indian suddenly raised his gun
and fired. The fleeing boy was crouching so low that he seemed almost a
part of his horse’s back. As he saw the redskin lift his gun to take aim
he flattened himself out still further and held his breath as he waited
for the result of the shot.
At last the time had come which was to decide his fate. As the sharp
bark of the Indian’s rifle sounded over the prairie Joseph felt a
burning sensation in the fleshy part of his shoulder. He was wounded. It
was his left shoulder, however, and so excited was the young volunteer
that he scarcely felt the pain of the wound. He quickly stopped his
horse and straightening up in the saddle lifted his gun to his shoulder.
The Indian seeing that he was tricked tried desperately to turn his
pony. At the same time he hurled his tomahawk, but the distance was too
great and it fell short of its mark. Joseph pulled the trigger and
immediately the Indian threw up his hands. For a moment he struggled
convulsively to keep his seat, but it was of no avail. He fell to the
ground, dead, a bullet through his temple.
Joseph was stunned for a moment, and then, realizing that he was safe
once more, a great wave of joy swept over him. He felt no remorse at
having killed this man, for by doing so his own life had been saved.
Perhaps, too, this Indian was one of those who had massacred his family.
The young volunteer dismounted and drew near to his fallen foe.
The young Indian was lying face down upon the ground. Joseph rolled him
over and noticed at his belt two freshly taken scalps. Suddenly a great
wave of horror rushed over the young frontiersman as he looked. One of
the scalps at the Indian’s belt was bright red.