Trumpeter Fred: A Story of the Plains
Page 12
CHAPTER XII.
MYSTERIOUS HOOF-PRINTS.
It was Saturday night that, from far up the Platte, the news came toCaptain Wallace of the dash made by the Sioux for the Sidney road. Fortwo days previous he had been hunting Indians upstream toward theRawhide, and had found a perfect network of pony tracks and had had somevery distant glimpses of flitting warriors. His scouts had told him thatthe Sioux and Cheyennes were swarming over the country to the northwestof him, and that none had appeared to the east. It was his business,therefore, to move against them, and move he did, trusting that Forrestand the Grays would be alert along the southern verge of thereservations that no formidable parties could slip southward in hisabsence.
But this was simply part and parcel of the Indian scheme. Having luredhim two days' march away from the Sidney crossing, these enterprisingwarriors kept him occupied, while their confederates, making a widedetour around Forrest, slipped across the Platte and swooped down uponthe poor fellows with the freight wagons. Only one of their numbermanaged to escape, and he, madly riding westward, came upon someherdsmen who promptly joined him in his flight. They had seen thecavalry going up the north bank a day or two before, and they never drewrein until they found them. Wallace at once sent couriers westward toFort Laramie with the news, and at break of day started downstream withhis whole troop. They had not marched five miles before they came uponthe hoof-prints of a single horse, and just beyond the point where thesehoofprints crossed their trail, the tracks of half a dozen Indian poniesmet their eager eyes. One old sergeant, reining out of column to theright, followed the shod tracks over to the river bank, and alieutenant spurred out and joined him when he signaled with hisbroad-brimmed scouting hat. The rest of the troop moved stolidly ahead.
Presently the young officer overtook the column and reined in beside hiscaptain.
"Where did they go, Park?"
"Straight into the stream, sir, and evidently to the other side.Sergeant Brooks says 'twas a troop horse with a light rider, and that hehad to swim across. The river is six feet deep out there, but it was hisonly way of escape. The Indians couldn't have been far behind, and yetthey didn't follow. Their tracks turn down the bank on this side. Brooksis following them now."
"Who on earth could have come through here at such a time? Why, thecountry has been running over with Indians!"
"That's what puzzles me, sir, but Brooks says there is no mistake. It'sthe cavalry shoe, of course. It's just after pay day at Robinson. Couldit have been a deserter?"
"No man in his senses would have dared such a thing," is the impatientanswer. "It may be some other infernal trick to get us away from ourlegitimate business. What we've got to do is reach that Sidney road bysunset. By Jove! if I'm court-martialed for this business, it won'tsurprise me." And the captain's horse evidently felt the sudden grip ofthe knees, for he took a sudden spurt and set most of the troop at thenerve-wearing jog-trot. Mr. Park said nothing more, but for the life ofhim he could not help thinking of those lone hoofprints and of thatsolitary rider. Who could he be?
It is time we got back to him. Only one man or boy, known to us atleast, could have come that way. It was Trumpeter Fred.
Daybreak Friday had found him a few miles south of the Niobrara, andclose to the Laramie road. At noon Friday he had halted at the Rawhideto rest his horse and take a bite of luncheon, but all his young soulwas athrill with eagerness; every faculty was alert. Warned of therecent presence of Indians on every side, he was yet seeking to gainthe Platte before nightfall; cross to the south bank, where there wascomparative safety; ride southeastward until his horse was exhausted,picket him where grass and water were near at hand, sleep till dawnagain, and then push on. He must reach the Sidney road before Sundaymorning and strike it far below the river.
But here, as he neared the valley, a sight had met his eyes which madehis young heart leap. The banks of the Rawhide were dotted here andthere by fresh pony tracks, and, coming from the distant ridges to theeast, they had gone in as though to water, and then turned down towardthe Platte, the very way he wanted to go. An hour, with his horsehidden behind him in a shallow ravine, Fred Waller was lying prone uponthe ground, and peering over a ridge into the low, level wastesstretching far to the southeast, bordering the Platte to the veryhorizon. What most attracted his gaze was a little dust cloud, milesaway downstream, into which tiny black dots were moving, with otherlittle dots scurrying about at some distance from the main cluster. Noneed to tell him they were Indians.
FLAT ON THE GROUND WAS PEERING OVER THE RIDGE.]
It was some minutes before he could determine which way they were reallygoing, but when he finally saw that they were bound down the valley, theboy's heart beat high with hope. He could venture down to the Platteas soon as they had passed entirely out of sight, and find some place tocross well to the west of them. An hour he waited and still they were inview. Then they seemed to disappear in a little clump of timber. Hewaited fifteen to twenty minutes, and they were still there. Then itsuddenly dawned upon him that the whole band were resting in the shadewhile their scouts searched the neighborhood. He was five or six milesfrom the river, and every inch of ground in front was open. He knew wellthat their eyes were keener than his, and should he make a dash for itthey would certainly see and give chase. What he could not detect, anddid not dream of, was that miles still further away down the Platteanother dust cloud was slowly advancing--Wallace's troop comingupstream--and their scouts were watching that.
At last, after another hour of anxiety, he determined to slip awaywestward, go up the Rawhide a few miles until he could gain the shelterof some low-lying ridges, crossing the stream, and making a widecircuit, sweep around to the Platte. He might still reach it before darkand find a ford, or at least a place to swim across; he could trust "BigJim" for that. But even as he would have put this plan in execution, hesaw to his dismay a new move among the warriors. Four little dots cameriding from the timber and pushing back up the valley. These were onlythe advance. In half an hour the whole band came jogging leisurely outof the shadows, and little dots farther east came streaking across theflats to join them. Fred saw that the whole war party was now retracingits steps and coming back upstream, and that now, if he waited, he mightpursue his original intention of crossing at the shallows, ten milesbelow the mouth of the Rawhide. And so, patiently and pluckily, he kepthis ground,--"Big Jim" contentedly filling himself with buffalo grassthe while,--and not until the sun was low in the west did Fred realizetheir real intent. Just as the scouts, far in advance of the mainparty, reached the winding banks of the Rawhide, they seemed to holdbrief consultation; one of them plunged through to the western side, theother three turned and came straight toward the watching boy.
Great Heavens! It meant that the whole party was coming up the Rawhide,and before dark would find and follow his track. Fred's first impulsewas to mount, and giving Jim the spurs, ride on the wings of the windback to the north--back to the Niobrara, where he had left the troop inbivouac. There at least was safety, for they could not trail him in thedark. But the second thought covered him with shame. Go back--go backnow! Never, so long as he had a chance for life and hope. Away fromhere, and instantly, he must speed on his mission, and in another momenthis girth was tightened, and "Big Jim," astonished, was racing awayeastward, but keeping the sheltered ridge between him and the Platte.