THE SACRIFICE.
The young officer had not been mistaken in his premonition of danger.
He had read the "signs" aright, and was sure that the band of
Indians now coming toward them, were haunting the trails to cut off
communication with Colonel Crandall's post, or reinforcements going
from there toward the agency.
A few settlers' homes had been burned, several wagon-trains attacked,
cattle run off and horses stolen, with here and there a fatal shot
fired, yet there had been no open warfare yet.
Still Kit Carey knew that a chance to strike their pale-face foes was
all that the Sioux needed, and he was well aware that they would do so
now, if they supposed it to their interest to prevent a communication
that might tell against them from reaching the military commander then
pressing troops to the field with all dispatch to put them down.
With her army jacket and her hat, at a distance Emma Foshay would be
taken for an officer, Kit Carey well understood; but he determined to
push on, as he dared not trust to the Indians, not knowing their humor.
If he attempted to fly then they would soon show their intentions by
opening fire, and in such case to run for it was all that could be done.
"We will not make their closer acquaintance, Miss Foshay, but do what
the Confederates used to call skedaddle. If they fire on us, then our
horses must show their speed."
"I am ready, Lieutenant Carey," was the calm rejoinder of the young
girl, and the two horses bounded away together.
Thus far the Indians had only come at a run over the hill, though some
of them had given utterance to a wild yell.
The keen eyes of Kit Carey saw that they were in full war-paint, and he
felt that to fly was their only safety.
Had he been alone he might have been tempted to test their friendship
by a parley, but with Emma Foshay along, he dared not.
He was not willing to fire the first shot, the Sioux must do that.
So away the two horses bounded, side by side, and the act brought forth
a series of wild yells that caused the color to leave the face of the
young girl, though she remained outwardly calm.
"Ride on, Miss Foshay, for I wish to get a better look at them."
"And you?"
"Will follow close upon the heels of your horse."
"No, you see what I do, that the Indians are preparing to fire, and
wish to protect me by your own form. We ride side by side, Lieutenant
Carey."
Kit laughed lightly, at being so understood, and glancing behind him
saw the puff of smoke from a dozen rifles, followed by the reports and
the whizz of the bullets.
"So that is the way a bullet sounds, is it?" coolly said Emma Foshay,
as the leaden messengers flew by, evidently fired to frighten and not
hit the fugitives.
"Yes, they make unpleasant music, Miss Foshay; but once we get over
that rise we must try and press on out of range."
Soon after the horses dashed over the rise referred to, and were then
put to their full speed, and rapidly gained upon the redskins, who,
coming again in sight, now fired at their flying foes.
"Ha! my horse is hit, but I hope it is nothing serious," said the
lieutenant, as he heard the thud of the bullet when it hit his horse,
and felt the splendid animal writhe under him.
"There is the trail to the agency, Miss Foshay, and we will turn
into it soon. The animal you ride knows the way well, should mine
fail, and he will carry you there in a few hours, while I am sure
no other redskins are between us and the camp. Ah! my poor comrade,
you are feeling your wound," and Lieutenant Carey patted the animal
affectionately as he felt him failing.
"Quick! Lieutenant Carey, mount behind me!" cried Emma, as she saw the
wounded horse staggering.
"I will try it at least; but if we cannot keep ahead then you must go
on alone."
He tore off his holsters as he spoke, leaped from his saddle just as
his horse stumbled and fell, and with a spring was behind the young
girl.
The redskins yelled with savage triumph, and pressed their ponies
harder.
Turning into the broad trail to the agency the horse held his own for a
while, though bearing his double weight.
At last Kit Carey spoke, and his voice meant all he said:
"Miss Foshay, no horse can stand this, and to force him to it will end
in untold misery to you, as well as to me. I shall drop off at yonder
ridge, and you must go on, not pressing your horse too hard, for I will
check the Indians for awhile, at least."
"And leave you to sacrifice yourself for me?" was the indignant
response of the brave girl.
"It is a sacrifice I command you to take advantage of---- No! you must
obey, for I shall only be taken prisoner, and you can send a relief
party from the agency to rescue me."
"Oh, can I?" and her face brightened.
"Yes; and you the Indians would not give up," he added, significantly.
"Here we are at the ridge, so keep right on, sparing your horse all you
can."
He slipped from the back of the horse as he spoke, at the same time
striking the animal a sharp rap with his hat, which caused him to bound
forward with increased speed.
"Good-by! but I can never forgive myself for this sacrifice you make
for me," came back to the young officer, as unable to check her horse
on the run down the ridge, Emma Foshay went flying away, leaving Kit
Carey in the trail to stand at bay against fearful odds.
Knowing the country as he did, he had chosen well just where to leave
the maiden to go on alone, for the nature of the ground was such just
then that the Indians could be held at bay for a few minutes at least,
while they could not make a flank movement of his position without a
ride of half a mile out of their way.
This would give Emma Foshay a long start, which, with the greater speed
of her horse, she could hold.
But what was to be his fate, Kit Carey did not know, though he was
ready to meet it, be it what it might.