Frank Merriwell's Triumph Part 48

"No! no! no!" she cried. "You shall not hurt him!"

In the excitement old Joe whispered in her ear:

"Keep still, Night Eyes. Um bad men no hurt Joe. Him touched by Great Spirit. n.o.body hurt um man touched by Great Spirit."

This, then, was the old fellow's scheme. This explained how it happened that he dared venture into the nest of desperadoes. Among the Indians of all tribes a deranged man is regarded with awe as one who has felt the touch of the Great Spirit. No redskin will harm a deranged person, believing the vengeance of the Great Father must fall on whoever does such a thing. Shrewd as he was, Crowfoot had not yet discovered that palefaces did not regard crazed people with such a feeling of awe.

"Take the girl away," roared several of the men. "Let us settle with the old Injun."

If Morgan thought of interfering, he was too late, for rude hands seized Felicia and dragged her away, in spite of her struggles. She cried and pleaded, but all her efforts were useless. Crowfoot paid no attention to her, nor did he heed the threatening weapons in the hands of the ruffians. Rising to his feet, he did a solemn dance around the fire, at the same time continuing his doleful chant.

"That yere certain is a death dance for him," muttered Hackett, who realized that the men were aroused to a pitch at which they would insist on wiping the fellow out.

"The black moon him soon come up," said Joe, standing with one hand outstretched as he finished his dance. "Then we see spirits of many dead warriors chase um buffalo over it."

"You will have a chance to take a chase with the rest o' the bunch,"

snarled one of the men. "Stand back, boys, and watch me cook him."

"Hold on!" cried another, catching the man's wrist. "I opine I am in this yere."

Immediately an argument arose as to which of them should have the satisfaction of killing the Indian who had once fooled them so thoroughly. While this was taking place Joe continued, apparently oblivious of his danger, talking of flying horses and a dozen other impossible creatures. He must have realized that his apparent madness was making no impression on these men, but he seemed determined to play the game through to the finish. At length, he squatted again beside the fire, resuming his doleful chant.

By this time it had been settled that some one of the party should have the privilege of shooting the Indian, for it was agreed that to waste a number of bullets on him was folly. There was some discussion as to the manner of choosing the slayer, but the desperadoes finally decided on drawing lots.

Hackett, who took no part in this demand for the Indian's life, was chosen to prepare the lots, which he did. Then the men eagerly pressed forward to draw. The one who drew the shortest piece was to be the "fortunate" individual. All the while Crowfoot was guarded by men with drawn and ready weapons. Had he made an effort to get away he would have been riddled immediately.

Finally the lots were compared, and a half-blood Mexican, with leathery skin, drooping mustache, deep-furrowed face, and matted black hair, was the one who held the shortest piece. He laughed as he displayed it.

"Stand back!" he cried, flas.h.i.+ng a pistol and striding forward to within four paces of the Indian. "I will settle him with one piece of lead."

Then, as this wretch lifted his weapon, old Joe realized at last that his game had failed utterly. There was no escape for him. His long life had led him at last to this, and he believed he stood at the gateway of the happy hunting grounds. Had there been hope of escape he would have made the attempt. Now, as he still crouched by the fire, he drew his red blanket over his head, and from beneath its m.u.f.fling folds came the sad and doleful chant of the redman's death song.

The executioner stood fair and full in the firelight. He brought his weapon to a level and a shot rang out. It was not he, however, who fired. From somewhere near at hand a report sounded, and the pistol flew from his hand as the bullet tore through his forearm. A yell of pain escaped his lips.

Instantly the ruffians were thrown into the utmost confusion. Feeling that they were about to be attacked, they hastened to get away from the fire, the light of which must betray them to the enemy.

In spite of his age, like a leaping panther, old Joe shot to his feet.

With one hand he seized little Abe, whom he s.n.a.t.c.hed clear of the ground. And the next instant the old savage was running for his life.

Two or three shots were fired, but in the excitement Crowfoot was untouched.

They were given no further time to turn their attention on him. From out of the shadows came a single horseman, bearing straight down upon them, his weapons flas.h.i.+ng. The recklessness of this charge and the astounding suddenness with which it came was too much for the nerves of those men.

Felicia had been released by the man who was holding her as the first shot was fired. This man pulled a weapon and fired once at the shadowy horseman, after which he ran like a frightened antelope, for a screaming bullet had cut his ear. It seemed that the horseman meant to ride Felicia down. In her fear she stood still, as if turned to stone, which was the best thing she could have done.

As he swept past her, the rider swung low to one side in the saddle, and somehow one strong young hand grasped her and s.n.a.t.c.hed her from the ground. She felt herself lifted with such suddenness that her breath seemed snapped away, and then she lay across the horse in front of the rider, who now bent low over her.

Bullets whined, and whistled, and sang about them, but some good fairy must have guarded them, for they were untouched. On they went. The sounds of irregular shooting fell farther and farther behind them.

Felicia had not fainted, although her senses swam and she seemed on the verge of losing consciousness. She could not understand just what had taken place. Suddenly her rescuer began to laugh, and a strange, wild, boyish laugh it was. It thrilled her through and through.

"d.i.c.k!" she gasped. "Oh, d.i.c.k!"

He straightened up and lifted her, holding her before him with one strong arm.

"Felicia!" he exclaimed, "are you hurt?"

"Oh, d.i.c.k! d.i.c.k!" she repeated, in wonder. "And is it you?"

"You are not hurt?" he persisted in questioning.

"No, d.i.c.k--no."

"Thank goodness!"

"But how was it? My head is swimming; I can't understand. I am dazed."

"Well, I fancy I dazed those fine gentlemen a little," said the boy.

"Felicia, I have been searching, searching everywhere for you. We followed your trail as well as we could. When night came we had not found you. I couldn't rest. What fate it was that led me to those ruffians I cannot say, but I believe the hand of Heaven was in it. In their excitement over Crowfoot none of them heard my approach. I was quite near when that brute lifted his weapon to shoot Joe. I didn't want to kill him, and I fired at his arm. It was a lucky shot, for I hit him.

He stood between me and the firelight, so that the light fell on the barrel of my pistol. Crowfoot took his cue quickly enough, for I saw him scamper."

"How brave you are! How brave you are!" murmured the girl, in untold admiration. "Oh, d.i.c.k, I can't believe it now."

"It was not such a brave thing, after all," he said. "I suppose most people would call it folly. But I had to do it. Why, old Joe saved my life a dozen times when I used to hunt with him years ago. He loved me as a father might love a son. You see it was impossible for me to keep still and see him murdered. I had to do something to save him. He can hide like a gopher on the open plain."

"But Abe, d.i.c.k--Abe?"

"I saw Crowfoot s.n.a.t.c.h him up as he ran. We must leave Abe to old Joe."

"Listen, d.i.c.k! Are they pursuing us?"

"We have the start on them, Felicia, and I don't believe they will be able to overtake us if they try it."

Through the night they rode. At the first opportunity d.i.c.k turned from his course and doubled in a manner intended to baffle the pursuers.

"It will be a long pull back to Bart and the others, Felicia," he said; "but I think we can make it all right. For all of the time I have spent at school, I have not forgotten the lessons taught me by Crowfoot when I was a mere kid. He taught me to set my course by the stars, the wind, the trees, by a score of things. To-night our guide shall be the stars."

Brad Buckhart was worried and troubled greatly over d.i.c.k's long absence, and was on guard where they had camped as night fell. The Texan tramped restlessly up and down, now and then pausing to listen. The others slept. Wiley snored l.u.s.tily and muttered in his sleep.

"Avast, there!" he mumbled. "Put her to port, you lubber!"

Then, after snoring again in the most peaceful manner, he broke out:

"Right over the corner of the pan, Breck, old boy. Let's see you make a home run off that bender!"

Brad moved still farther away that he might listen without being disturbed by the sailor. Far in the night he seemed to hear a sound.

Kneeling, he leaned his ear close to the ground and listened attentively.

"Horseman coming," he decided. "It must be d.i.c.k--it must be!"