Golden Face Part 13

The chief, seeing that further parley was useless, turned and rejoined his followers. Then once more arose a wild hubbub of angry and discordant voices, and for a moment it seemed that the crowd of impulsive and exasperated barbarians would hurl itself forward and in one overwhelming rush annihilate that mere handful of troops. Suddenly a body of warriors, some hundred strong, sprang on their ponies, and, unmindful of their leader's mandate, scoured away over the plain, whooping and brandis.h.i.+ng their weapons. The remainder having withdrawn some little distance gathered into knots, or squatted in circles on the ground, talking in eager and menacing tones.

"Thunder! Reckon that lot's gone to raise h.e.l.l among the pesky varmints camped along your return trail, Colonel," said the lank storekeeper, pinning a fly to the wall with his quid at half-a-dozen paces. "You'll need to keep a bright lookout on the road if you're ever going to get this skunk to Fort Price."

And what of the captive? The first expression of rage, mingled with amazement and mortification, having rapidly glinted across his countenance, his features became as a mask of impa.s.sibility. Only once, as his glance met that of Vipan, his eyes glared as he hissed in a tone inaudible to those around:

"Golden Face! The Dahcotah's _brother_! Ha! We shall meet again!"

"War Wolf walks straight into the trap, as a silly antelope walks up to the fluttering rag upon the hunter's wand. Who is to blame but War Wolf himself?" replied Vipan, in the same almost inaudible tone. But the Captain hearing it, turned sharply round. Vipan's reputation as being on more than ordinarily friendly terms with the Sioux had already reached him. However, he made no remark, but having disposed his prisoner in such wise as to guard against all possibility of escape or rescue, he prepared to start. Just then the other Indian who had accompanied the prisoner into the store, inquired if he might go and fetch his pony. War Wolf was his brother, and he, Burnt Shoes, did not intend to leave him. He would go as a prisoner too.

"He's a fine, staunch fellow," said the Captain, kindly, as this request was interpreted. "But we can't take him. Tell him so, Ballin, and also that he can serve his brother's interests better by going back to his people and notifying them that in the event of their making any attack upon us either now or along the road, the prisoner will be shot dead."

This was interpreted, and at War Wolfs request the two Indians were allowed a few moments' conversation together. Then Burnt Shoes, having taken leave of his brother, strode away, looking straight in front of him.

The threat and the warning were by no means superfluous. As the troopers appeared outside with their prisoner, the bands of savages cl.u.s.tered hard by sprang to their feet with an angry shout. Many of the warriors could be seen fitting arrows to their bowstrings, and the click of locks was audible as they handled their rifles in very suggestive fas.h.i.+on.

Even the emphatic message which Burnt Shoes strove to deliver, concerning the fate awaiting his brother in the event of a rescue, was hardly heard. The clamour redoubled, and the att.i.tude of the savages became menacing to the last degree. Meanwhile the cavalry escort, with its prisoner in the midst, had got under way, and was retiring cautiously, and at a foot's pace. By this time, however, the authority of Mahto-sapa, and the earnest appeals of Burnt Shoes, had availed to quell the tumult. The crowd began to melt away. By twos and threes, or in little groups of ten or twelve, the warriors began to disperse over the plain in all directions, only the chief, with comparatively few followers, remaining.

"Say, but there'll be trouble when those chaps come up with the sodgers," said the lank storekeeper, contemplating the retreating Indians. "They'll jump 'em in an overwhelming crowd somewheres about Blue Forks, and I'll risk ten dollars there'll not be a scalp left in that command."

"Well, I'm going to persuade the residue to hear reason, anyhow," said Vipan carelessly, making a step towards the door.

"Don't risk it," urged his friend, promptly. "They're plaguy mad, and it's puttin' your head into the alligator's jaws to go among 'em jes now."

"Well, you see, it's this way," was the rejoinder. "They are plaguy mad just now, as you say, but they'll be madder by-and-by. A cla.s.sical authority has said, 'agree with thine adversary quickly,' and I'm going to agree with mine."

"You're a dead man if you do," said the storekeeper.

"No fear. Mahto-sapa and I are rather friends. I reckon I'm going to sleep in his village to-night, and I'll risk twenty dollars if you like, Seth Davis, that I look round here again, with all my hair on, within a month."

"Done!" said the storekeeper, shortly.

They watched him join the group of sullen and brooding savages--moving among them, alone, absolutely fearless, as among a crowd in an English market-town--addressing one here, another there. Then they saw him fetch his horse and ride away with the band, which had been preparing to take its departure.

"Gos.h.!.+ I never saw such a galoot as that pard of yours," said Seth Davis, ejecting an emphatic quid. "Takes no more account of a crowd of Ingians a-bustin' with cussedness, nor though they were a lot o' darned kids. Wal, wal! Reckon that wager's on, all there; hey, Smokestack Bill?"

"That's so," was the laconic reply. "Let's liquor."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

"THROUGH A GLa.s.s DARKLY."

About a month later than the events just detailed, a solitary individual might have been descried occupying one of the high b.u.t.tes overlooking a large tract of the northern buffalo range, somewhat near the border between the territories of Montana and Wyoming. Howbeit, we must qualify the statement in some degree. Save to the keen eye of yon war-eagle, poised high aloft in the blue ether, the man was not to be descried by any living thing, for the simple reason that he took very especial care to keep his personality effectually concealed.

Beneath lay the broad rolling plains extending in bold undulation far as the eye could reach, stretching away to the foothills, and then the distant snow peaks, of the Bighorn range. No cloud was in the sky. The atmosphere in its summer stillness was wondrously clear, all objects being sharply definable up to an incredible distance. From his lofty perch the man looks down upon the surrounding country as upon a map lying outspread before his feet.

That something is occupying his attention is evident. Lying flat on his face, his gaze is riveted on the plain beneath. What object has attracted his keen vision--has sufficed to retain it?

Crawling onward, unwinding its slow length like some huge variegated centipede, comes a waggon train, and, though it is at least ten miles distant, the observer, from his vantage-ground, can with his unaided vision master every essential detail--several great lumbering waggons, veritable prairie schooners, their canvas tilts looking like sails upon that sea of rolling wilderness; a little way ahead of these a lighter waggon, drawn by a team of four horses. He can also make out a few mounted figures riding in front.

"Looks a pretty strong outfit," would run his thoughts, if put into words. "Looks a pretty strong outfit. The boss--two guides, or scouts--six or eight bullwhackers--a chap to worry the horse team-- probably two or three more men thrown in--a dozen or more all told-- possibly a score. But then--the family coaches--Lord knows how many women-folk and brats they hold--all down-Easters, too, most likely, who never saw a redskin, except a drunken one at the posts. A dozen men ought to be able to stand off the reds; and anyhow whether they can or not the next few hours will decide. But then they've got their women to look after, and their cattle to mind. No, no; they must be idiots to come crossing this section at this time of day."

The observer's reflections are, to say the least of it, ominous for those who belong to the waggon train. Let us see what there is to justify them.

Far away in front of him, at least as far as the waggon train itself-- ahead of it, but rather off its line of route, is another object; an object which he has espied before the outfit appeared, and the sight whereof has kept him immovable on his lofty observatory for upwards of an hour. This object the inexperienced eye would hardly notice, or would pa.s.s over as an indistinct clump of scrub lying on the slope of a deep ravine. To the practised eye of the watcher, however, that object stood revealed in its true light at the very first glance, and it hardly needed the aid of the powerful double gla.s.s which he carried, and which rendered an object at ten miles almost as distinct as one at a hundred yards, to tell him that the harmless-looking clump of scrub was nothing less formidable than a strong band of Indians--a strong band of red warriors _on the war-path_.

"That'll be it," he mused. "The old game. They'll jump that outfit at yonder creek while it's unhitching just about sundown--rather over two hours from this. If those chaps are, as I suspect, down-Easters, they'll be thrown into the liveliest confusion, and while a few of the reds run off every hoof of the cattle, the rest'll rush the whole show.

Their guide or guides can't be worth a d.a.m.n, anyhow, to judge from the free and easy way in which the whole concern is shuffling along.

There'll be fresh scalps among that war-party to-night, I'll lay long odds; but--it's rough on the women-folk, to put it mildly."

To the ordinary observer there would have been something terrible beyond words in the situation. That little handful advancing fearlessly into the vast wilderness, their every step watched by the hawk-like gaze of savage videttes lying face to the ground on more than one of the adjoining heights, advancing step by step into the trap, heedless of the awful cloud overhanging their march, even that lurking band of the fiercest and most ruthless barbarians to be found upon the earth's surface. And the radiant sun shedding the golden glories of his nearly run course upon the majestic vastness of those fair solitudes sank lower and lower to his rest, only too certain to be lulled in his far-off mountain bed by the crash and rattle of shots, the exultant yells of human fiends, the unheeded prayer for mercy, then ma.s.sacre mingled with a demon orgie of sickening barbarity from the very thought of which the average mind shrinks in dismay. Well, what then? Only one more chapter of horror in the annals of the blood-stained West.

But if to the ordinary mind the situation would have been appalling, repulsive and incomprehensible to the last degree would have been the att.i.tude of this man, who lounged there as cold-blooded a spectator of the coming struggle as a frequenter of the bull-ring awaiting his favourite entertainment, and in much the same vein; who saw those of his race and kindred advancing step by step to the most terrible form of death--for the chances in their favour were about equal to those of the bull when pitted against the _cuadrilla_--and made no effort to warn them of their peril. Yet had he delivered his mind on the subject he would coolly have justified himself by the explanation that in the first place he made a point of never interfering in other people's business; while in the next he was a man who recognised no race or kindred, and who, if anything, had a greater respect for the savage red man than for the huckstering, swindling, lying white Christian. The former was man ruthless as Nature made him, the latter a nondescript product--equally ruthless, but _plus_ hypocrisy and cant wherewith to cloak his blood-sucking propensities.

And now the waggon train was well-nigh abreast of his position.

Cautiously adjusting his field-gla.s.ses so that no ray of the sun glinting on the lens should betray his whereabouts, either to friend or foe, he narrowly scanned the travellers. There were, as he had conjectured, females among them, two of whom rode on horseback among the group of men in front. He scanned the ground beyond, and not a detail escaped him, even to the heads of the three Indian scouts lying _perdu_, like himself, at intervals along a high ridge overlooking the line of march. Then he closely scrutinised the lurking war-party.

The latter was astir, and he could easily make out a sea of plumed crests and painted countenances, even to the colour of the pennons floating from the lance-heads. Warriors might be seen rapidly caparisoning their ponies, while others, already prepared for action, were gathered around the little group of chiefs in the centre apparently engaged in debate. It wanted an hour to sundown.

Once more he brought his gla.s.ses to bear upon the travellers. Suddenly the blood surged in waves over the man's bronzed and sunburnt countenance, and his hand trembled to such an extent that he nearly dropped the telescope. What did he see? Pausing a moment, with an angry frown at his own weakness, again he sent a long, eager, steady look into the group riding ahead. What did the powerful lens reveal to upset the equanimity, to shake the very nerves of this cool, hardened, cynical plainsman? Among the group of advancing specks is a white one-- a mere white speck. Framed within the lens, however, that speck becomes a white horse, and upon his back is a girl of extraordinary beauty.

Surely this is not the disturbing factor? We shall see.

"_That's_ too good for our dear red brother, anyhow," said the watcher half-aloud, shutting up his gla.s.s. Then, without arising to his feet, he slid behind the knoll. But before doing so he sent one more glance at the distant halting place of the savages. The band was on the move, riding slowly down into the ravine.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

WINTHROP'S OUTFIT.

Nearer, nearer, the sun sank down to the western peaks, and upon the wilderness rested the sweet and solemn stillness of the evening hour.

Save the call of a bird at intervals within the timber belt, there was a silence that might be felt. The broad stream, tranquilly flowing around its bend, gleamed first with living fire, then red, as the last rays of the sun fell upon its surface, to lift in a moment, leaving its waters grey and cold. Then one last kiss of golden light upon the tree-tops, and the lamp of day had gone down.

One living creature moved within this solitude, however. Alone, enjoying with all her soul the s.p.a.cious grandeur of the Western wilderness, stood a very lovely girl. Every now and then she would pause for a few moments to drink in that glorious sense of unfettered freedom which the vast expanding roll of hill and plain, never ending, like a sea of billowy verdance stretching from sky to sky, inspired in her, then return to her occupation. That occupation was--fis.h.i.+ng.

She wore a riding-habit which, fitting her like a glove, revealed the undulating curves of an unrivalled figure. By some clever contrivance she had shortened its otherwise inconvenient length, and with the grace and deftness of a practised hand she was wielding a trout-rod. What a spectacle to come upon suddenly in the heart of the wild and blood-stained West! And what insane fatuity should bring her here alone in the fast falling twilight?

At this moment, however, the last thought in her mind is any fear of danger. Her cast whirls in the air; the flies drop noiselessly into a bubbling eddy. There is a rush through the water and a splash. An eager light comes into the velvety blue eyes, fading as rapidly to give place to one of vexation as the cast, suddenly released from its tension, springs high overhead, describing many a fantastic gyration.

"How sickening," she cries, with a little stamp of impatience. "How unutterably sickening! That _was_ a beauty, and I shan't rise another to-night. But--it's nearly dark. I must go back."

What is that stealthy rustle in the depths of yonder scrub? For the first time the girl is conscious of a shade of nervousness as she hurriedly begins to take her rod to pieces. Her thoughts suggest the proximity of some hideous snake, or a panther perhaps.

She turns towards where she left her pony. Can the gathering dusk be playing her tricks? The animal is not there. Though securely fastened, it has disappeared.

But the sight which does meet her eyes roots her to the ground with horror. Stealing noiselessly towards her, in the dark shade of the timber, are three half-naked Indians--tall, athletic, hulking savages, hideously painted. They halt for a moment as they see themselves perceived. They are barely a dozen yards distant.

"How, lily gal!" grunts the foremost, wreathing his repulsive face into a frightful grin, and advancing with outstretched hand. "How, lily gal!