by Zane Grey
Reddie called to Brite that she heard a horse running. Brite made signs to the closest rider and then listened intently. Indeed, Reddie’s youthful ears had been right. Soon Brite caught a rhythmic beat of swift hoofs on a hard trail. It came from down river and therefore must be San Sabe. Also Brite heard shouts from the slope. These proved to come from the hide-hunters. Pan Handle and Ackerman evidently heard, for they rode around to join more of the drivers. Then in a bunch they galloped to a point outside the grove where Brite and Reddie were stationed.
“It’s San Sabe,” shrilled Reddie, pointing. “Look at him ride!”
“Injuns after him, I’ll bet,” added Brite. “We want to be huntin’ cover.”
Soon they were surrounded by Pan Handle and the others. San Sabe reached them only a moment later.
“Injuns!” he shouted, hoarsely, and he reined in. “But they ain’t after me. They didn’t see me. Haven’t yu heahed the shootin’?”
No one in Brite’s company had heard shots. “Wal, it’s down around thet bend, farther than I reckoned. … I was goin’ along when I heahed yellin’ an’ then guns. So I hid my hawse in the brush an’ sneaked on foot. Come to a place where hawses had just rid up the bank oot of the river. Sand all wet. They was Injun ponies. I follered the tracks till I seen them in an open spot. Heahed more shots an’ wild yells. The timber got pretty thick. Takin’ to the hillside, I sneaked along under cover till I seen what the deal was. Some settlers had made camp in a shady place, no doubt waitin’ to cross the river. I seen three wagons, anyhow, an’ some men behind them shootin’ from under. An’ I seen Injun arrows flashin’ like swallows, an’ I heahed them hit the wagons. Then I sneaked back to my hawse an’ come ararin’.”
“Brite, we’ll have to go to their assistance,” replied Pan Handle, grimly.
“Shore we will. Heah comes the hunters. Let’s get their angle on what’s best to do while we’re waitin’ for Tex.”
The hunters came running under the trees, and reaching the drivers they confirmed San Sabe’s story in a few blunt words. Whereupon Brite repeated briefly what San Sabe had told them.
“How many redskin ponies?” queried Hash Williams, in business-like tones.
“No more’n twenty—probably less.”
“How far?”
“Half mile aboot below the bend.”
“Pile off, cowboy, an’ draw us a map heah in the sand.”
San Sabe hopped off with alacrity, and kneeling he picked up a stick and began to trace lines. In a twinkling all the drivers were off, bending over to peer down with intense interest. Brite heard a horse coming down the trail.
“Must be Tex comin’ back.”
“Heah’s the bend in the river,” San Sabe was saying. “Injun hawses trail aboot heah, aboot half a mile below. Anyway to make shore there’s a big daid tree all bleached white. We can risk ridin’ thet far. …Heah’s the open spot where the redskins took to the woods. Thet’s aboot even with a big crag like an eagle’s haid on the rim. The wagons air not more’n a quarter below thet. On the level ground in a nice grove of trees with heavy timbered slope on three sides. The reddys air in thet cover, low down.”
“Boys, halter a couple of hawses for Pete an’ me. Don’t take time to saddle.”
“What’s all the confab aboot?” queried a cool voice. Texas Joe had come up behind them to dismount, holding his bridle in one hand, rifle in the other. San Sabe gave him the facts in few words. Then Hash Williams spoke up: “Shipman, I’m takin’ it yu’ll go pronto to the rescue?”
“Hellyes!—Have yu any plan? Yu’re used to redskins.”
“We’ll split, soon as we leave the hawses. Come on. We might get there too late.”
San Sabe led off down the trail at a canter, followed by the drivers, except Texas, who waited a moment for the hunters to mount bareback. One mustang threatened to buck, but a sharp blow from Texas changed his mind. Soon the trio overtook the others, and then San Sabe spurred his horse into a run. Brite did not forget Reddie in the excitement. She was pale, but given over to the thrill of the adventure rather than to the peril. Brite would not have considered leaving her behind with Moze. The cavalcade rounded the river bend, stringing out, with Brite and Bender in the rear. San Sabe soon halted, and leaping off led into the timber on the right of the trail. Brite and Bender came up just as Reddie was following Texas on foot into the woods. They tied their horses in the thick brush at the foot of the slope. Heavy booms of buffalo guns, and the strange, wild, staccato yells of Indians, soon sounded close.
“Comanches,” said Williams, grimly.
Presently San Sabe parted the bushes. “Heah’s their ponies.”
“Less’n twenty. Wal, they’re our meat, boys,” replied Hash Williams as his dark eyes surveyed the restless, ragged mustangs, the river bottom beyond, the densely wooded slope, and lastly the rugged rim, with its prominent crag standing up like a sentinel. The place was small and restricted. To Brite the slope appeared to curve below into a bluff sheer over the river.
“Shipman, keep Pete heah with yu, an’ choose five men to go with me,” said Williams, swiftly.
“What’s yore idee?” flashed Texas, his hawk eyes roving all around, then back to the hunter.
“If I can git above these red devils they’re our meat,” replied Williams. “Most of them will have only bows an’ arrers. They’ll crawl under the brush an’ be low along the slope. …Strikes me there ain’t enough shootin’. Hope we’re not too late. …When we locate them an’ let go, it’s a shore bet they’ll run for their hawses. Yu’ll be hid heah.”
“Ahuh. Thet suits me. I see where we can crawl within fifty feet of them Injun mustangs an’ be wal hid. …All right. Yu take San Sabe, Ackerman, Whittaker, an’ Little.”
“Boys, throw off spurs an’ chaps, an’ follow me quiet.”
In another moment the five men had disappeared and only soft steps and rustling could be heard. Texas peered keenly all around the glade where the mustangs had been left.
“Come on, an’ don’t make no noise,” he whispered, and slipped away under the brush. Holden followed, then Smiling Pete, then Bender and Pan Handle, after which went Brite with Reddie at his heels. Shrill yells occasionally and an answered boom of a needle gun augmented the excitement. Texas led to a little higher ground, at the foot of the slope, and on the edge of the glade, where broken rock and thick brush afforded ideal cover.
“Heah we air,” whispered Texas, to his panting followers. “Couldn’t be better. We’ll shore raise hell with them redskins. Spread along this ledge an’ get where yu can see all in front. When yu see them wait till we give the word. Thet’s all. Keep mighty still.”
In the rustling silence that ensued Brite took care to choose a place where it was hardly possible for Reddie to be hit. He stationed her between him and Texas, behind a long, low rock over which the hackberry bushes bent. Pan Handle knelt beyond Texas with a gun in each hand. He was the only one of the party without a rifle. Bender, showing evidence of great perturbation, was being held back by Smiling Pete. Holden crawled to an even more advantageous position.
“All set. Now let ‘em come,” whispered Texas. “I shore hope to Gawd the other fellars get there in time. Not enough shootin’ to suit me.”
“It ain’t begun yet or it’s aboot over,” replied Pan Handle. “But we couldn’t do no more. Tex, heah’s Reddie to think of.”
“Dog-gone if I didn’t forget our Reddie. …Hey, kid, air yu all right?”
“Me? Shore I am,” replied Reddie.
“Scared?”
“I reckon. Feel queer. But yu can bet I’ll be heah when it comes off.”
“Think yu can do as yu’re told once in yore life?”
“Yes. I’ll obey.”
“Good. …Now everybody lay low an’ listen.”
Brite had been in several Indian skirmishes, but never when the life of a woman had to be taken into consideration. He had to persuade himself of the fact that little peril threatened
Reddie Bayne. Perhaps there were women folk with these settlers, and surely terrible danger faced them.
The Indian mustangs were haltered to the saplings at the edge of the glade. What a ragged, wild-eyed bunch! They had nothing but halters. These they strained against at every rifle-shot. And more than a few of them faced the covert where the drivers lay in ambush. They had caught a scent of the whites. Heads were pointed, ears high, nostrils quivering.
“Fellars, I smell smoke, an’ not burned powder, either,” said Texas Joe, presently, in a low voice. “Pete, what yu make of thet?”
“Camp fire, mebbe.”
Suddenly the noonday silence broke to the boom of guns. Fast shooting, growing long drawn out, then desultory. Brite saw Texas shake his head. Next came a series of blood-curdling yells, the hideous war-cry of the Comanches. Brite had been told about this—one of the famed facts of the frontier—but he had never heard a Comanche yell till now.
“By Gawd! They’ve charged thet wagon train,” ejaculated Pete, hoarsely. “Williams mustn’t hev located them.”
“He can do it now,” replied Texas.
Reddie lay flat, except that she held head and shoulders up, resting on her elbows. The stock of her rifle lay between them. She was quite white now and her eyes were big, dark, staring.
“Looks bad for them, Reddie,” whispered Brite.
“Yu mean our men?”
“No. For whoever’s corralled there.”
“Oh-h! What awful yells!”
“No more shots from them needle guns!” said Pete. “Reckon we’ve come only at the fog end of thet massacre. Another tally for these Comanches! But our turn’ll come. Williams an’ his men will be on thet bunch pronto.”
All at once the whoops and piercing yells were drowned in a crash of firearms.
“Ho! Ho! Listen to thet! … Gawd! I hope they were in time! … Now, men, lay low an’ watch. It’ll be short now. The Comanches will be comin’ in a jiffy, draggin’ their wounded. They won’t stop to pick up their daid—not in the face of thet blast.”
The shooting ceased as suddenly as it had commenced. Hoarse yells of white men took the place of the Comanche war-cry. Cracklings of dead snags came faintly to Brite’s ears.
“Oh—Dad!—I heah ‘em—runnin’,” whispered Reddie.
“Men, they’re comin’,” said the hunter, low and hard. “Wait now—mind yu—wait till they get out in the open!”
Swift oncoming footfalls, rustlings of the brush, snapping of twigs, all affirmed Reddie and the hunter. Brite cocked his rifle and whispered to Reddie: “Aim deliberate, Reddie. Yu want to count heah.”
“I’m—gonna—kill one!” panted the girl, her eyes wild, as she cocked her rifle and raised to one knee while she thrust the barrel over the rock.
“Reddie, after yu paste one be shore to duck,” advised Texas, who must have had eyes in the back of his head. “Pan, look! I see ‘em comin’ hell-bent.”
“Shore. An’ some way far back in the woods. They’re draggin’ cripples. Don’t shoot, men, till they’re all oot.”
Brite gripped his rifle and attended to the far side of the glade and the shadowy forms under the trees. The foremost ones flitted from tree to tree, hiding, peering back. Lean, bronze devils—how wild they seemed! Four or five flashed into plain sight, then disappeared again. Swift footfalls, soft as those of a panther, sounded quite a little closer to the ambushers. Brite espied a naked savage stepping forward, his dark face turned over his shoulder, his long, black hair flying with his swift movements. Reddie’s gasp proved that she saw him, too. Then farther down the edge of the woods other Indians emerged into the sunlight. Two carried rifles, most of them had bows, but Brite saw no arrows. They made for the mustangs, peering back, making signs to others coming, uttering low, guttural calls. In a moment more, when several bucks had mounted their ponies, four or five couples emerged from the woods, dragging and supporting wounded comrades.
A warrior let out a screeching cry. No doubt he had seen or heard something of the ambushers. Next instant Reddie had fired at the nearest Comanche, halfway across the glade, facing back from the direction he had come. He let out a mortal yell of agony and stumbled backward, step after step, his dark face like a ghastly mask of death, until he fell. Simultaneously then with fierce shouts the ambushers began to fire. The shots blended in a roar. Brite downed the Comanche he aimed at, then strove to pick out among the falling, leaping, plunging Indians another to shoot at. Out of the tail of his eye he saw Pan Handle flip one gun out, aim and shoot, and then the other, alternately. He was swift yet deliberate. No doubt every bullet he sent found its mark. The wounded and terrorized mustangs tore away their halters, and scattered in every direction. The firing thinned out, then ceased, after which there followed a dreadful silence.
“Reckon thet’s aboot all,” drawled Texas Joe, with a little cold laugh. “Load up quick. All down an’ ’most daid.”
“Thet first buck who yelled got away,” replied Pete. “I missed him. But I didn’t see no more. We shore dropped them pronto. I know I only bored one. Yu must have some daid shots in this outfit.”
“One I know of, anyway.”
“Let’s charge ‘em, men, an’ baste the cripples,” said the hunter, and he plunged up to burst out of the brush. Texas and Pan Handle followed, as evidently had Holden and Bender. Brite lay a restraining hand upon the agitated girl, who appeared about to rush after the others.
“Yu stay heah, lass,” he said. “It’s all over so far as we’re concerned. An’ there’ll be a mess oot there.”
“Oh-h!” cried Reddie, breathing hard. She pushed the rifle before her and sank face down on the stone, beginning to shake like a leaf in the wind.
“Reddie, yu shore conducted yoreself in a way to make me proud,” said Brite, patting her shoulder. “Don’t give way now.”
“Listen!—Oh, that’s terrible.”
The drivers were cracking the skulls of the crippled Comanches, accompanying every whack from a rifle butt with a demon-like yell. Brite did not look in that direction. He heard halloes from the vicinity of the wagons and also answers from Texas’ men.
“Come, Reddie, let’s get oot in the open,” suggested Brite, dragging at her. “But we won’t go near thet shambles.”
She picked up her rifle and followed him out into the glade. A curtain of smoke was drifting away. It disclosed the first victim of the ambush—the Comanche who had backed away from the grove, to fall at Reddie’s shot.
Texas Joe stalked back toward them, bareheaded, his hair dishevelled, and halted beside the prostrate Comanche.
“Boss, yu didn’t plug this buck,” he asserted.
“Shore I did.”
“Yu’re a liar. Thet gun yu had is a needle gun. It was Reddie who done it. …Dog-gone! Right plumb through his middle!” He came up to them, hard-faced and tremendously forceful, his slits of amber eyes upon Reddie.
“Wal, yu opened the bawl pronto,” he said.
“Texas, I—I couldn’t wait. I had to shoot thet Indian,” she faltered.
“Wal, Miss Bayne, allow me to congratulate yu on bein’ a real shore-enough Texas pioneer’s daughter.”
“I—I feel like a murderer. But I’m not sorry. How cruel they looked—like lean, bloody wolves.”
“Boss, if I go to ranchin’ soon, I’d like a wife after Reddie’s breed,” concluded Texas, with a little satire in his flattery.
“Tex, heah comes Williams an’ our boys,” shouted some one.
The hunter could be seen approaching hurriedly, yet warily, with several men at his heels.
“Hash, only one got away,” called Smiling Pete. “We done ‘em up quick an’ brown.”
“Good! But we was too late.——our souls!” boomed the hunter, stridently. “Come along heah back with us.”
Texas Joe and the others rushed after Williams, who had turned to follow the drivers with him. Brite and Reddie fell behind. The strip of woodland grew more open until it let sunshine into
a little park where a camp had been established. Three wagons had been lined up to inclose a triangular space. The wheels had been barricaded in places with packs and beds. Indian arrows stuck out with ominous significance. In the foreground lay a white man on his face. An arrow head protruded from his back. His scalp had been half torn off.
“Pete, we slipped up as fast as we could,” Williams was explaining. “But too late. I reckon we was in only at the finish.”
Brite bade Reddie remain back while he followed the hunters. He had seen gruesome sights before, yet it was a shock to renew such experiences. Williams dragged two dead men from under the wagons, and then a third who was still alive. Evidently he had been shot, for no arrow showed in him. They tore open his shirt and found a bad wound high up, just about missing the lung. The bullet had gone clear through.
“Reckon this fellar will live,” said Williams, practically. “One of yu tie a scarf tight over this hole an’ under his arm. …Search everywhar, fellars. This has been a pretty long scrap. Yu see the blood has dried on thet man.”
“I know I seen a girl just as we bust loose on ‘em,” said Ackerman, sweaty and grimy, his face working. “There was two redskins chasin’ her. I crippled one. Seen him go down an’ crawl. Then the other grabbed him into the brush.”
“Heah’s a daid woman,” called Texas Joe, from the back of the third wagon. His comrades hurried to confirm this statement. Brite shuddered to see a woman, half stripped, hanging scalpless and gory half out of the wagon.