CHAPTER XIII.
ONE OF THE FAIR SEX COMES TO HIS RESCUE.
Before I comprehended that the indomitable female stood beside me, thetrain was puffing pitilessly away.
"Oh, stop! stop! stop! stop!" I called and yelled in an agony ofapprehension; but I might as well have appealed to the wind that wentwhistling by.
"Perhaps the locomotive will hear you, and down brakes of its ownaccord," said Miss Spitfire, scornfully. "I told ma I was gwine to geta husband 'fore I got to Californy, an' I _have_ got one. You jest setdown on that bowlder, an' don't you try to make a move till the trainfrom 'Frisco comes along. Then you git aboard along with me, an' ifthere ain't no minister to be found in them cars, I'll haul you off atColumbus, where there's two to my certain knowledge."
She had her revolver in her hand, directed _point blank_ at myquivering, quaking heart. Though I am bashful, I am no coward, and Ithought for full two minutes that I'd let her fire away, if such washer intention.
"Better be dead than live in a land so full of women that I can neverhope for any comfort!" I thought, bitterly; and so confronted theenemy in the growing calmness of despair.
"Ain't you a-going fur to set down on that bowlder?"
"No, madam, I am _not_! I would rather be shot than married, at anytime. Why! I was going to fight the Indians with Buffalo Bill, onpurpose to get rid of the girls."
Sally looked at me curiously; her outstretched arm settled a littleuntil the revolver pointed at my knee instead of my heart.
"P'raps you've been disappointed in love?" she queried.
"Not that entirely," I answered, honestly.
"P'raps you've run away from a breach of promise?"
"Oh, no! no, indeed!"
"What on airth do you want to get rid o' the girls fur, then?"
"Miss Spitfire," said I, scraping the gravel with the toe of my boot,"I'm afraid of them. I'm bashful."
"BASHFUL!" Miss Spitfire cried, and then she began to laugh.
She laughed and laughed until I believed and hoped she would laughherself into pieces. The idea struck this creature in so ludicrous alight that she nearly went into convulsions. _She_, alas, had neverbeen troubled by such a weakness. I watched my opportunity, when shewas doubled up with mirth, to snatch the revolver from her hand.
The tables were now turned, but not for long. She sprang at me like awildcat; I defended myself as well as I could without really hurtingher, maintaining my hold on the revolver, but not attempting to use iton my scratching, clawing antagonist. The station-master came out ofLone Tree station, a mile away, and walked up the track to see whatwas going on. Of course he had no notion of what it was, but it amusedhim to see the fight, and he kept cheering and urging on Miss Sally,probably with the idea that she was my wife and we were indulging in adomestic squabble. At the same time it chanced that a boat load of sixor eight of the roughest fellows it had ever been my lot to meet, andall with their belts stuck full of knives and revolvers, came rowingacross the river, not far away, and landed just in time to "see thefun." When Miss Spitfire saw these ruffians she ceased clawing andbiting me, and appealed to them.
I was dumbfounded by the falsehood ready on her lips.
"Will you, _gentlemen_," said she, "stand by and see a young ladydeserted by this sneak?"
"What's up?" asked a brawny fellow, seven feet high, glaring at me asif he thought I had committed seventeen murders.
"I'll tell you," responded Spitfire, panting for breath. "We wasengaged to be married, we was, all fair an' square. He pretended tobe goin' through the train to look fur a minister fur to tie the knot,an' just sneaked off the train, when it stopped yere; but I see him intime, an' I jumped off, too, an' I nabbed him."
"Shall we hang the little skunk up to yonder tree? or shall we set himup fur a target an' practice firing at a mark fur about five minutes?Will do whatever you say, young lady. We're a rough set; but we don'tlay out to see no wimmen treated scurvy."
I'm no coward, as I said, but I dare say my face was not very smilingas I met the flashing eyes and saw the scowling brows of those giantruffians, whose hands were already drawing the bowie-knives andpistols from their belts. But I steadied my voice and spoke up:
"Boys," said I, very friendly, "what's the use of a pair hitchingtogether who do not like each other, and who will always be uneasy inharness? If I married her, she would be sorry. Come, let us go up tothe station and have something to drink. Choose your own refreshments,and don't be backward."
There was a good deal of growling and muttering; but the temptationwas irresistible. The result was that in half an hour not a drop ofliquor remained to the poor fellow who kept the station--that I paidup the score "like a man," as my drunken companions assured me, whonow clapped me familiarly on the shoulder, and called me "LittleGrit," as a pet name--that Miss Spitfire, minus her revolver, satbiting her nails about two rods away--and that she waited anxiouslyfor the expected arrival of the 'Frisco train, bound eastward.
"Come, now, Little Grit," said the leader of the band, when the whiskyhad all disappeared, "you was gwine with Buffalo Bill; better comealong with me--I'm a better fellow, an' hev killed more Injuns thanever Bill did. We're arter them pesky redskins now. A lot of 'emcrossed the stream a couple o' nights ago, and stole our best horses.We're bound to hev 'em back. Some o' them red thieves will miss theirskalps afore to-morrow night. A feller as kin fight a woman is jistthe chap for us. You come along; we'll show you how to tree your firstInjun."
The long and the short of it was I had to go. I did not want to. Ithought of my mother, of Belle, of Blue-Eyes, and I hung back. But Iwas taken along. These giants, with their bristling belts, did notunderstand a person who said "no" to them. And as the secondary effectof the liquor was to make them quarrelsome, I had to pretend that Iliked the expedition.
Not to weary the reader, we tracked the marauders, and came acrossthem at earliest dawn the following morning, cooking their dog-stewunder the shelter of a high bluff, with the stolen horses picketednear, in a cluster of young cottonwoods.
I have no talent for depicting skirmishes with the redskins; I leaveall that to Buffalo Bill. I will here simply explain that the Indianswere surprised, but savage; that the whites were resolved to get backtheir horses, and that they did get them, and rode off victorious,leaving six dead and nine wounded red warriors on the battle-ground,with only one mishap to their own numbers.
The mishap was a trifling one to the border ruffians. It was not sotrifling to me.
It consisted of their leaving me a prisoner in the hands of theIndians.
I was bound to a tree, while the wretches jabbered around me, as towhat they should do for me. Then, while I was reflecting whether Iwould not prefer marriage with Miss Spitfire to this horriblepredicament, they drove a stake into the ground, untied me, led me tothe stake, re-tied me to that, and piled branches of dry cottonwoodabout me up to my neck.
Then one of them ran, howling, to bring a brand from the fire underthe upset breakfast pot.
I raised my eyes to the bright sun, which had risen over the plain,and was smiling at my despair. The hideous wretch came running withthe fire-brand. The braves leaped, danced, and whooped.
I closed my eyes. Then a sharp, shrill yell pierced the air, and inanother moment something touched my neck. It was not the scorchingflames I dreaded. I opened my eyes. A hideous face, copper-colored,distorted by a loving grin, was close to mine; a pair of arms wereabout my neck--a pair of woman's arms! They were those of a ferociousand ugly squaw, old enough to be my mother. The warrior with thefire-brand was replacing it, with a disappointed expression, under thestewed dog. _I was saved!_
All in a flash I comprehended the truth. Here was I, John Flutter,enacting the historical part of the John Smith, of Virginia, who wasrescued by the lovely Pocahontas.
This hideous creature smirking in my face was my Pocahontas. It wasnot leap-year, but she had chosen me for her brave. The charms ofcivilized life could no longer trouble me. She would lovi
ngly paint myface, hang the wampum about my waist, and lead me to her wigwam in thewilderness, where she would faithfully grind my corn and fricassee mypuppy. It was for _this_ I had escaped Sally Spitfire--for _this_ thatmy unhappy bashfulness had driven me far from home and friends.
She unfastened the rope from the stake, and led me proudly away. Myvery soul blushed with shame. Oh, fatal, fatal blunder!
The Blunders of a Bashful Man Page 13