Golden Face Part 23

They accordingly set to work to make merry over their plunder.

Over the worst of what followed we will draw a veil. There were females in that doomed waggon train. Where these are concerned the red man, in his hour of victory, is the most brutal, the most ungovernable fiend in the world.

Singing, dancing, feasting, whooping, the barbarians kept up their hideous orgie. Then in furtherance of a new amus.e.m.e.nt a number of them began to pile together the beams and planks of the wrecked waggons until a huge heap was formed, in shape something like a rough kiln. Up to this structure were dragged about a dozen bodies.

Dead bodies? No; living.

Men wounded unto helplessness and death, yet still with just the spark of life in them. Women, two or three, too elderly or unattractive to fulfil the terrible fate invariably befalling the female captive of the ruthless red man. Some of the elder children who had not been speared were also there. All these, bound and helpless, were first deliberately scalped, then flung inside the improvised kiln. Fire was applied.

Drowning the appalling shrieks of their miserable victims in shrill peals of laughter, the whole array of painted and feathered fiends danced and circled around the blazing pyre in an ecstasy of glee. For upwards of an hour this frightful scene continued. Then when the anguish of the tortured victims had sunk in death, the savages gathered up their spoils and departed, refraining from setting fire to any more of the wreckage lest the too conspicuous sign of their b.l.o.o.d.y work should by its volume be visible at a greater distance than they desired.

One more tragedy of the wild and blood-stained West. A pack of coyotes, snapping and snarling over their meal of mangled and defaced corpses, whose scalpless skulls shone red and clotted in the sunlight. A cloud of wheeling, soaring vultures, a few piles of charred and shattered wreckage, and many an oozy, s.h.i.+ning pool of gore. One more frightful ma.s.sacre. One more complete and ruthless holocaust to the unquenchable vendetta ever burning between the unsparing red man and his hated and despised foe, the invading white.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THERMOPYLAE.

"The camp is attacked," said Yseulte, not even pausing to brush off the dust which had gathered upon her clothing during her pa.s.sage into and out of the "dug-out."

"I'm afraid so."

Both stood eagerly listening. Again came the long, crackling roll, this time more dropping and desultory, also more distinct than when they first heard it underground.

"How will it end?" she asked.

Their glances met. In the grave and serious expression of her companion's face Yseulte read the worst.

"We must hope for the best. Meanwhile, my first care must be for your safety, so we must leave this spot at once. See what comes of allowing oneself to get careless. As a matter of fact, we are off the Sioux range, and reckoning on that we haven't been scouting so carefully as we ought."

"When can we return to the camp?"

"Not a moment before dark," he replied, wondering if she knew that the chances were a hundred to one against there being any camp to return to.

For to his experienced mind the situation was patent. That sudden and heavy fusillade meant a numerous war-party. It also meant a surprise.

Further, and worst of all, he realised that at the time it took place the waggon train would have pulled out, in which event the Indians would not allow it time to corral. Again, the firing had completely ceased, which meant that one of two things had happened. Either the a.s.sailants had been beaten off; which was hardly likely within such a short s.p.a.ce of time. Or they had carried the whole outfit at the first surprise; and this he decided was almost certain. But there was no need to break the terrible news to his companion.

"Can we not wait here?" said the latter. "We could retire into the 'dug-out' if they discovered us."

"How very near your ideal of fun has come to being realised!" was the reply, with a shadow of a smile. "No, we should stand no chance."

It did not escape Yseulte that, previous to starting, her escort gave a quick, careful look to her saddlery and girths, pausing to tighten the latter, and her heart sank with a chill and direful foreboding.

"You see, it's this way," continued Vipan. "It is almost certain that the war-party is a Sioux one, probably our old friends Crow-Scalper and Mountain Cat. This is the extreme western edge of the Sioux range, consequently when the reds quit the scrimmage they are bound to travel north or north-east. So we must put as much s.p.a.ce as we can between us and them in the contrary direction. For the same reason, if your friends have whipped them--"

He paused abruptly, but it was too late. She turned to him, her eyes dilating with horror.

"_If_! Oh, tell me the truth. You think they have no chance?"

"One can but hope for the best." She turned her face away, and the tears fell thick and fast. She could hardly realise it. Her dear friends, under whose protection she had travelled many and many a day, in whose companions.h.i.+p she had been initiated into the delights of this wild new land, and also its perils, now ma.s.sacred; even at that moment, perhaps, falling beneath the merciless blows of these bloodthirsty savages. She could hardly realise it. Her mind felt numb. Even the sense of her own peril failed to come home to her.

But her companion realised it to the full. This was no time to think of anything but how to neglect no possible means of effecting her safety, yet he could not banish the thrill of triumph which the thought inspired in him that her fate, her very life, was absolutely in his hands.

Suddenly she turned to him. The black drop of suspicion was corroding her mind.

"Why did you bring me away from them all this morning?" she said, speaking quickly and in a hard tone. "Did you _know_ what was going to happen?"

The adventurer's face went ashy white. Even she could entertain such suspicions!

"You forget, Miss Santorex. My tried and trusted friend of years is in that outfit. Should I be likely to sell his scalp, even if I sold those of _your_ friends?"

There was a savour of contempt in the cold incisiveness of his tone that went to her heart. What is baser than the sin of ingrat.i.tude? Did she not owe her life--and more than her life--to this man already, and now to be flinging her pitiable and unworthy suspicions at him! Would she ever recover his good opinion again?

"Forgive me!" she cried. "Forgive me! I hardly knew what I was saying." And she burst into tears. Even yet she would hardly believe but that her fellow-travellers would succeed in holding their own.

Young though the day was, the torrid rays of the sun blazed fiercely down upon the great plains. Some distance in front rose a rugged ridge, almost precipitous. The only pa.s.sage through this for many miles was a narrow canon--a mere cleft. Beyond lay miles and miles of heavily-timbered ravines, and for this welcome shelter Vipan was making.

This plan he explained to his companion.

"Look! What are those?" she cried, growing suddenly eager. "Indians?

No. Wild horses? I didn't know there were any wild horses in these parts."

Save for a scattered line of brush here and there, the great plains until they should reach the defile above referred to were treeless, and presented a succession of gentle undulations. Nearly a mile distant, seeming to emerge from one of these belts of brush, careering along in a straggling, irregular line converging obliquely with the path of the two riders, came a large herd of ponies. It almost looked as if the latter were bent on joining them.

Yseulte did not see the change in her companion's face, so intent was she on watching the ponies.

"Get your horse into a gallop at once, but keep him well in hand," he said. But before she could turn to him, startled, alarmed by the significance of his tone, the sudden and appalling metamorphosis which came over the scene nearly caused her to fall unnerved from her saddle.

By magic, upon the back of each riderless steed there started an upright figure, and, splitting the stillness of the morning air with its loud fiendish quaver, the hideous war-whoop went up from the throats of half a hundred painted and feathered warriors, who, brandis.h.i.+ng their weapons and keeping up one long, unbroken, and exultant yell, skimmed over the plain, sure of their prey.

"Keep quite cool, and don't look back," he said. "We've got to reach that canon before they do--and we shall. The war-pony that can overhaul old Satanta when he's in average working order has yet to be built."

So far good, so far true. But the same would not precisely hold good of Yseulte's palfrey, which steed, though showy, was not much above the average in pace or staying power.

The race was literally one for life, and the pace was terrific. To the girl it seemed like some fearful dream. Sky and earth, the great mountain rampart reared up in front, all blended together in rocking confusion during that mad race. The yells of the pursuing barbarians sounded horribly nearer, and the pursued could almost hear the whistle of their uncouth trappings as they streamed out on the breeze.

Vipan, reaching over, lashed her horse with a thong which he detached from his saddle. The animal sprang forward, but the spurt was only momentary. And the war-ponies were horribly fresh.

Nearer, nearer. The great rock walls dominating the entrance to the pa.s.s loomed up large and distinct. Again he glanced back at the pursuers. Yes, they were gaining. It was more a race than a pursuit-- the goal that grim rock-bound pa.s.s. Even should the fugitives reach it, what then? Their chances would still be of the slenderest.

Ah, the horror of it! Yseulte, white to the lips, kept her seat by an effort of will, her heart melting with deadly fear. Her companion, fully determined she should never fall alive into the hands of the savages, held his pistol ready, first for them, then for her, his heart burning with bitter curses on his own blind and besotted negligence. It was too late now. They were to founder in sight of land. Ah, the bitterness of it!

Bang!

The whiz of a bullet, simultaneously with a puff of blue smoke--this time in front. Vipan ground his teeth. There was no escape, they were between two fires.

But the regular thunder of the pursuing hoofs seemed to undergo a change. What did it mean?

Bang!

Then a glance over his shoulder told him that as the second ball came whizzing into their midst, the painted warriors had swerved, throwing themselves on the further side of their horses.