A LIVELY SKIRMISH
Robert wheeled instantly to discover the cause of Deerfoot’s action. He
was not a second too soon, for, as he turned, a tomahawk whizzed past
his head, missing him only by a few inches. His sudden movement had
saved his life.
As if springing from the ground itself, an Indian bore down upon him.
The redskin was scarcely ten feet distant when the startled boy first
caught sight of him. On he came with knife upraised, shouting his war
whoop. Fury was depicted in every line of the Indian’s countenance.
Robert had his rifle in his hand, but, he had no time to take aim, so
swiftly did his enemy charge. Instinctively, however, the young
volunteer started to raise the gun to his shoulder. He realized at once
that he would not have time to take aim, and accordingly before the
barrel was above the level of his hips he fired.
Even at so short a distance the bullet went wild. The report of the gun,
the flash and the smoke checked the Indian momentarily, however, and
this check undoubtedly saved Robert’s life. Following the discharge of
the gun, almost instantly Deerfoot hurled himself through the air upon
the body of the onrushing Sac. The two men came together with a thud and
a moment later they were struggling on the ground.
Robert was so stunned by the unexpected turn of events that he merely
stood and looked at the fight going on at his feet. Joseph, on the other
hand, had not lost his wits for even an instant.
“Jump in there and help Deerfoot, Bob!” he cried. “What are you standing
around doing nothing for?”
To Robert it had seemed as if this contest was to be just like the one
he had decided in Deerfoot’s favor only a few moments before. It was
hard for him to distinguish one Indian from the other, but he stood over
the two, ready to follow Joseph’s instructions the moment an opportunity
should offer.
Deerfoot’s opponent had a long knife in his hand. He struggled
desperately to get a chance to use it, while Deerfoot fought with all
his strength to prevent this move. He had seized his adversary by the
wrist and clung desperately to the hand which was holding the deadly
knife.
“Knock that knife out of his hand!” called Joseph excitedly. He partly
raised himself from the ground and even tried to rise to his feet. This
was out of the question, however, and he sank back with a groan.
“Rap him on the knuckles! What’s the matter with you, Bob?” he cried.
“Why don’t you do something?”
As the hand which held the knife swung in his direction Robert did shake
off his lethargy and was able to do something. He struck the hostile
redman with all his force directly across the wrist. He used a stone
which he had picked up for the purpose. The blow was a severe one and it
accomplished its object. The fingers relaxed their grip on the handle
and the knife slipped to the ground.
“Grab it, quick!” directed Joseph. “Don’t let him have it again!”
Robert pounced upon the weapon and having availed himself of it turned
to use it on his enemy. It was not necessary, however. The blow which
Robert had dealt had broken the Indian’s wrist and rendered his hand
useless. Deerfoot found no difficulty in dealing with an opponent who
now had the use of only one arm.
He quickly disposed of his adversary and both Robert and Joseph turned
their backs with a shudder as Deerfoot tore the scalp from his victim’s
head. There was no use in arguing with him about the act now, however.
“Let’s hurry!” exclaimed Robert, when Deerfoot had completed his
gruesome task.
“No go yet,” replied Deerfoot. He quickly stepped over the log which had
sheltered them all so well, and parting the bushes disclosed to view
another Indian who lay lifeless on the ground. Deerfoot immediately set
to work to tear his bloody trophy from the head of this brave also.
“Where did that Indian come from?” exclaimed Robert in surprise.
“Didn’t you see Deerfoot throw his tomahawk?” asked Joseph.
“Yes, but I didn’t know it was at that man.”
“Certainly it was,” said Joseph. “His aim was evidently good, too.”
“I should say so. Just suppose it hadn’t been though. I hate to think of
what might have happened to us if he had missed.” Robert shivered at the
mere thought of such a thing.
At this moment Deerfoot reappeared, his work completed. “We go now,” he
exclaimed quickly.
“It’s about time,” said Robert as he bent over to pick up his brother.
Once more he grasped him by the ankles while Deerfoot held him under his
arms. Thus burdened, they turned and started back to the shelter of the
trees.
“Come along,” shouted John Mason cheerily. “We’ll keep watch that no one
else gets close to you. Come as fast as you can and keep low.”
“I’m low enough,” exclaimed Joseph, as his back bumped upon a mound of
earth.
“Sorry, Joe, I didn’t mean to scrape you,” Robert apologized.
“Don’t worry about me,” said Joseph. “You can bump me all you want if
you will only get me back quickly. My wound feels better now since
Deerfoot bandaged it.”
Stumbling and tripping often, they hurried on their way. Shouts and
words of encouragement were flung at them from their comrades and served
as a spur to the three friends. Soon they reached their original
positions where a warm welcome was waiting for them.
“Great work!” cried Walt, risking his life to run forward and shake
hands with all three of the volunteers. “You all did splendidly.”
“Indeed you did!” echoed John Mason. “We are very proud of you.”
“Who can fix Joe’s leg?” demanded Robert. He had no interest in the
words of praise being heaped upon them. At least, his brother’s welfare
was the first thought that came into his mind.
“Is he hurt badly?” exclaimed Walt anxiously.
“I think not,” replied Robert. “It seems like a flesh wound, but it
ought to be attended to.”
“Of course it had,” said John Mason. “Some one help me carry him back
here a little way and I’ll soon fix him up.”
Once more Joseph was lifted from the ground and borne farther back from
the firing line. John Mason set to work at once and it was easy to see
from the way he conducted himself that he was an expert in the art of
looking after wounds. In a very few moments he had doctored Joseph so
successfully that he was able to bear some weight upon his injured limb.
With two men supporting him he was even able to hobble along for a few
steps.
“Do you think you can ride your horse?” asked John Mason anxiously.
“I know I can,” replied Joseph.
“That’s good news. If we have to run for it you’ll certainly need The
Swallow to help you out.”
“I can shoot a gun, too,” exclaimed Joseph.
“Maybe you can,” admitted Mason. “At the same time you’re not going to
try it just now.”
“Let me have just one shot,” he pleaded.
“What’s the use, Joe?” demanded Robert. “It will be dark in half an hour
and the fight will be over. We don’t need you. The Indians are beaten.
Why, we killed three ourselves and they won’t risk any more men.”
“Don’t be too sure about that,” cautioned Mason. “It’s true that night
is coming on and I don’t believe they’d try to attack us in the dark,
but I have a feeling that they may make one last try before night really
falls.”
The firing had slackened in the last few moments and there seemed to be
a decided lull in the hostilities. This state of affairs was not of long
duration, however, for suddenly the war whoop sounded again and the
firing recommenced. John Mason was right. The Indians were making a last
desperate attempt to overcome their foes.
“You stay here, Joe,” exclaimed Robert. “Here, sit behind this tree and
we will come after you if anything happens.”
“I don’t worry about that,” said Joseph. “Please don’t let anything
happen, though.”
“Not if we can help it,” exclaimed Mason. “Come on, Bob,” he urged.
“They need us out there in front I guess.”
Walt and Deerfoot already had taken their places on the firing line
again and Robert and Mason soon joined them. The Indians were closer now
and were evidently striving desperately to strike a telling blow at the
white men.
The approaching darkness was a great aid to the Indians, who crept
determinedly nearer and nearer to the band of scouts. It was hard to
discover them in the dusk and every moment it seemed as if the flash of
a hostile rifle came from a new place. The flash came and then when the
scouts’ fire was directed at the spot the Indian apparently had moved.
The next shot would come from a spot ten or fifteen feet to the left or
right; it was impossible to tell which beforehand.
“They’ll outflank us,” exclaimed John Mason anxiously. “If they ever get
around to our rear we won’t stand any chance at all.”
Already three of the scouts had fallen. Two of them were dead and the
other, a man named William Reach, was mortally wounded. What the
casualties on the Indian side were it was impossible to tell. At any
rate the advance had not been checked. Using every bit of cover, the
redmen pressed forward relentlessly. Every moment the position of the
scouts became more untenable.
“We’ll have to fall back,” exclaimed Walt at length. “Go slow, though,”
he called, “and keep your guns busy all the time.”
Fighting every inch of the distance, the scouts retreated. From tree to
tree they went, doggedly and stubbornly contesting the ground with their
opponents. The Indians were not to be denied, however, and it was soon
apparent that the white men must run for their lives. They were
outnumbered by their foes and unless they made their escape soon it was
evident that they would be caught in a trap.
Walt turned to Robert. “You and Deerfoot go and put your brother on his
horse,” he ordered. “Then you both get on your ponies and run for it. We
will follow right behind you.”
“Don’t you need us here?” exclaimed Robert, loath to leave his place on
the front.
“Yes, we need you,” admitted Walt. “Joseph needs you more, though. Go to
him as fast as you can. You’d better go quickly, too. Things may be
pretty hot for us here in a few moments.”
Robert delayed no longer. Summoning Deerfoot he hurried back to the
place where they had left Joseph seated under the tree. On the way he
saw two of his comrades bending over William Reach, the man who had been
wounded. From their attitude he could see plainly that another member of
the band had breathed his last.