The Watchers of the Plains

by Cullum, Ridgwell

  Nor did he wait long. Eyes and ears trained to this sort of work were kept ever on the alert. But it was his ears which told him at last of some one approaching. Some one was moving through the woods. The sound was faint and distant, but he heard it. There was no mistake. And he knew it was Nevil Steyne returning home.

  Clearing the brush he made his way into the midst of the aisles of leafless tree-trunks. Pausing in the shadow of one of the forest giants he waited. The footsteps came nearer. He shifted his position again; for his ears told him that he was not yet on the track which Nevil would take.

  At last, however, he came to a stand, and did not move again. Guided by a wonderful hearing, he knew that he was in a direct line between the man approaching and his home.

  He leant against a tree, his eyes and ears straining. Some few yards away there was a shaft of moonlight stretching right across the path which Nevil must take, and on this path Seth kept his eyes.

  The man came on all unconscious of who and what was awaiting him. He had no thought of his presence at the Sun-dance having been detected. His thoughts were on what the morrow was to bring forth; on what it would mean to him when Rosebud was removed from his path. She alone stood between him and that which he had schemed for ever since the arrival of the memorable letter from his brother. He was in a mood of intense satisfaction. He knew that at last he was to realize his desires, that at last he was to pay off a long score which he owed Seth of White River Farm.

  He stepped into the moonlit patch. The sudden flash of light made him pause. It startled him. He looked beyond apprehensively, then he looked up, and the great moon above reassured him. He moved on. The next moment he stopped dead. He could proceed no further. A ring of metal was pressing against his forehead, and Seth was behind it, and his smooth, even voice, coldly compelling, held him.

  “Say, I’ve been lookin’ fer you,” it said. “You’re comin’ right up to the farm. The Injuns are out. Savee? Jest fer once you’re goin’ to work on our side. Say, you’re goin’ to fight ’em—with us.”

  There was a deathly silence. Neither moved. The gun was pressing the man’s forehead still. Nevil stood like one paralyzed.

  “Wal?” questioned the cold voice, proceeding from Seth’s shadowy figure.

  And Nevil was driven to speech.

  “I’m not a fighting man. I——”

  But his denial was cut short.

  “You’ve jest got ten seconds to make up your mind. You’re goin’ to fight—for us, or——”

  Seth had in no way raised his tones from the cold level of his manner at the beginning. His victim had only a shadowy impression of him. He saw only a hazy outline in the blackness of the forest; and he needed no further sight to convince him. There was sufficient in the tone, and in the pressure of the gun at his head. He knew the rest. Here was a sudden collapse of all his schemes. There could be no resistance. Seth had the drop on him.

  “I’ll go,” he said sullenly.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXVII

  IN DESPERATE PLIGHT

  At daylight the truth was known. The greatest Indian rising of two decades had begun.

  The Bad-Lands had entered upon a period of slaughter, of wanton massacre, which was to form one of the bloodiest pages in the history of Indian warfare.

  The first to realize the full terror of the situation were the troops in the small trader’s fort overlooking the Reservations. They awoke to find themselves hemmed in by a vast army of red-skinned warriors, entirely cut off from the outside world. The climax of their discovery was reached when an attempt was made to dispatch a telegraphic message to headquarters. The wire was cut.

  The next to grasp the situation were the citizens of Beacon Crossing. The railroad track was destroyed, and all telegraphic communication was cut off. A horde of warriors from Pine Ridge Reservation, some thousands strong, threatened the township from the east, thus cutting them off from the settlers on the plains.

  The full knowledge of these things came in driblets to the refugees gathering at White River Farm, filtering through piece by piece as each party came in. But as yet not an Indian had shown himself in the vicinity of the farm. Already twelve families had sought the shelter of Rube’s stockade. And all was in readiness for the siege.

  The morning passed, and still two families lying farther out than all the others had not yet arrived. It was an anxious waiting.

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon when at last one of the missing parties appeared on the horizon. It was at once seen that the two vehicles were being driven at a desperate pace. They were approaching from the north, and even at that distance the lookout could see the drivers flogging their horses into a furious gallop.

  Seth passed the order to stand by. The defenders responded, and the stockade immediately bristled with rifles.

  The wagons came on. Then suddenly a small party of Indians appeared over the horizon, racing in hot pursuit. But evidently the view of the farm altered their plans, for they reined in, halted, and, a moment later, wheeling about, vanished whence they came.

  Seth, watching from the top of the stockade, realized something of the significance of their movements. And far graver fears than the manœuvre seemed to warrant assailed him.

  The late arrivals brought further bad tidings. The Indians on the Cheyenne River Reservation were out, and working in concert with the others. It is a bad business when Indian tribes band together against a common foe. There was consternation among the women when they heard the news. The men smiled grimly, but there was no lightness in their hearts.

  The time of waiting dragged wearily. Every one within the stockade felt the suspense to be far worse than the fiercest fighting. The intangible threat of this unnatural calm was dreadful. Still, the respite was not without its uses. Defences were strengthened with earthworks hastily thrown up on the inside of the stockade, and the upper rooms of the house were made ready for a selected firing party, whilst the women made every preparation for the comfort of their men.

  Nevil Steyne moved about bearing his share in the labors. He was morosely silent, and his presence caused much speculation amongst those who knew nothing of what had happened on the previous night. Seth’s replies when questioned on the subject were evasive. Rube and Parker were no wiser than the rest, except that Seth had told them that Nevil was his prisoner, and must on no account be allowed to escape.

  The gray spring twilight had settled over the plains. Still the last family, Joe Smith and his belongings, had not come in. Seth intended to give them their chance up to the very last, before he finally closed the gates. As the sun dropped he dispatched four mounted men to act as vedettes. They took up their positions a mile out from the farm, with orders to fire two shots in quick succession on sight of any Indians, and then to ride in with all speed.

  After delivering his instructions he took up his position upon the stockade and watched them go. He was very anxious for the safety of Joe Smith; his place was nearly ten miles out, and away to the northeast. He knew that if the northern Indians were out it was quite possible that the old man had been cut off.

  Now, as the day drew to a close, something of the gloomy prospect before them all seemed to have entered his soul. He was no alarmist, but he knew only too well the meaning of a big general Indian rising. The horrors he had witnessed in his early days were strong upon him, and the presence of all these white women under his charge weighed sorely. Nor did he glean much satisfaction from the thought that, at least, should disaster fall upon them he still had power to punish the man whom he knew to be the author of all this trouble. It would be poor consolation.

  The darkness was growing. Now the reflection of Indian fires could be seen in almost every direction. There seemed to be a perfect ring of them, in the distance, around the farm.

  He was disturbed in his gloomy reverie by the sound of some one scrambling up the newly-made earthworks to his side. It was Rosebud.

  She took her seat at his side in silence.
She was clad in her old prairie riding-habit of canvas, strong and rough, and eminently suited to the present condition of things. They had hardly met since the first alarm, so busy had everybody been. But now that all was ready the final lull before the breaking of the storm had provided even the busiest with leisure. The girl’s first words came abruptly, and displayed her wonderful faith in the man to whom they all looked for help and protection.

  “Shall we pull through, Seth?” she asked.

  “Can’t say, Rosie.”

  The man’s reply was spoken slowly.

  “Poor auntie!” Rosebud went on. “I can’t help thinking of her. I wish I’d never said anything about ’scalping’ to her. But she’s very good and brave. She hasn’t complained, and she’s worked as hard as anybody. Do you know, I believe, now she’s got over the first shock of it, she rather enjoys it. What do you think she said to me half an hour ago? She said, with such a smile, ‘When I get home I shall have something to tell them. I’m keeping a diary.’ Like a fool I said, ‘You aren’t home yet, auntie.’ I said it without thinking. What do you suppose she replied?”

  “Can’t guess.”

  “Oh, I’ll get home all right. Mr. Seth ’ll see to that.”

  But Seth was impervious to the compliment. The girl smilingly watched his sombre face out of the corners of her eyes. There was no responsive smile.

  “It’s jest them things make it hard,” he said, with something very like a sigh.

  Rosebud’s face had become serious. Her thoughts were hard at work.

  “Is it as bad as that?” she asked presently.

  “’Tain’t no use lookin’ at it easy. We’re facin’ the music—hard—this time. But we ain’t done yet. Not by a sight. It’s kind o’ lucky we’ve laid in a big store of ammunition an’ things.”

  It was dark by now, except for the glow of Indian fires, which gave a weird light on all sides.

  Rosebud drew closer to the man’s side. Her action passed unnoticed. His eyes were intent upon the dark horizon. He was watching, watching, with every faculty alert. He was listening, his ears ready to catch the faintest sound.

  “It would be all right if only they could have sent word to the headquarters of the troops, I s’pose,” the girl said thoughtfully. “Just fancy the Indians cutting the telegraph wires and destroying the railway.”

  “Yup. Guess they’ve had all winter to get things settled,” Seth responded indifferently, while he turned a keen ear to windward.

  “What are you listening for?” asked Rosebud, quickly.

  “General’s out scoutin’.”

  “Good old General!”

  “Yes, he’ll locate the Injuns when they git around.”

  But just then Rosebud was thinking of other things.

  “Why can’t you find some one who will try to get through to the troops? I mean the headquarters?”

  Seth shook his head.

  “Can’t spare a single man,” he said conclusively. “I ’lows no white folk ’ud get through anyways. An’ we ain’t got an Injun, an’ if we had I wouldn’t trust him no more’n I’d trust a ’rattler.’ No, Rosie, gal, we’ve got to fight this out on our own. An’ make no sort o’ mistake we’re goin’ to fight good an’ hard. I’ve figgered to hold this place fer two weeks an’ more. That’s how I’ve figgered.”

  It was the final repetition which filled Rosebud with misgivings. She realized the man’s doubt. Suddenly she slipped a hand through his arm, and it gently closed over one of his. Her soft eyes were raised to his face as she put another question in a low tone.

  “And if we go under, Seth?”

  The man moved uneasily, but the little hand retained its hold of his.

  “What then?”

  Seth cleared his throat, but remained silent.

  “What then?” the girl persisted.

  “Don’t ask me.”

  “I’ve thought once or twice of my poor father and mother,” Rosebud said presently. “I was wondering what happened to them at—at the end.”

  Seth eyed the girl for a second. His face was troubled.

  “I’ve a notion he was killed by the Injuns,” he said.

  “And mother?”

  “Can’t jest say. I don’t fancy, though, he let the brutes worrit her any.”

  There was another pause. With an involuntary movement Rosebud’s hand tightened trustfully upon his.

  “I think father was right—to do that,” she said simply.

  The man nodded.

  The next moment he was kneeling, his body bending forward, and his eyes straining in the direction of the horizon.

  “What is it?” the girl asked.

  “Ther’s something movin’.”

  But Rosebud could hear nothing. Still she was content to accept his assurance.

  “It’s wheels,” he said after a few moments.

  “Is it Joe Smith’s outfit?”

  “Yup.”

  They both listened. The girl could now hear the faintest possible rattle of wheels. Suddenly she turned upon him. Her breath was coming quickly. She was smiling, and her eyes were soft under cover of the dim starlight.

  “Seth, I want you to let me do something. In the old days you used to be my dear old ’daddy.’ You used to scold me when I did wrong. You used to get angry with me, and I used to get more angry with you. Since I’ve grown up, of course, things have changed, haven’t they?”

  “Yes.” The man looked into her face wonderingly.

  “Well, daddy dear,” the girl laughed nervously. “Maybe when the trouble begins I shan’t see much of you. You’ll be busy, and so will I. It’s peace now, and I just want you to fall back into the old way. I want you for my ‘daddy’—my dear, dear old ‘daddy’—just for these few minutes. I want to be the silly scatterbrain I used to be.”

  “I ain’t a heap at guessin’, Rosie,” Seth said doubtfully, but smiling tenderly at the upturned face.

  “No, you never were.” Rosebud gave a queer little laugh. “Well, I just want you to let me ride out and meet dear old Mrs. Smith. You know what a nervous old dear she is. I just thought if I rode out it might brighten her up. You see, she’d think the danger less, if a woman came to meet her.”

  “Wal, I won’t say you no, gal,” Seth replied gravely. “Guess it ain’t right. But ther’ ain’t a heap of danger. Y’ see in them old days I most gener’ly let you do as you notioned,” he finished up with a shadowy smile.

  “Dear old daddy!” Rosebud squeezed his arm with both her hands.

  “Ther’ be off, an’ git your plug saddled, or mebbe I’ll change my mind.” The man could stand the temptation no longer. He gently released himself, and the girl moved as though to descend. But she altered her mind. Fortunately neither could see the other’s face distinctly.

  “Seth,” she said, with forced brightness, “in the old days when I asked your permission for anything and you gave it to me you—you didn’t let me go like that. It was customary for me to show my gratitude—like—like this.”

  She suddenly leant forward and imprinted a swift kiss on the man’s thin cheek. And before he could reply, or even move, she had clambered down from the wall and made off. Nor was it until he heard her horse galloping out of the stockade, which occurred suspiciously soon after her leaving him, that he became aware that his cheek was wet with tears that had not been of his shedding.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  A LAST ADVENTURE

  It was not without a guilty feeling that Rosebud rode out of the stockade. She knew that she was deceiving Seth. She knew that she had lied to him deliberately. Worse, she had played upon his feelings with intent to deceive him. But her motive was good, and she tried to draw consolation from the knowledge.

  Her argument was worthy of her. It was impulsive, and would not stand the test of logical inspection. She had thought long before putting her plan into execution; at least, long for her. She told herself that no deceit was unpardonable which had an honest, sound
motive. In fact it was not deceit at all, only subterfuge.

  Her argument was something after this fashion. She had been the chief source of trouble. Therefore she owed something to the general welfare. Seth was harassed with his responsibilities, and the chances were terribly against him and those under his charge. There was something she could do, something which might turn the tide in their favor, might save the situation. What if to carry it out she must act a lie? Who would blame her if she were successful? If it failed it would not matter to her who blamed.

  She was a child no longer, but a strong woman whose devotion to those she loved rose boundless over every other feeling. It was this very devotion that urged her and shut out every scruple, every qualm of conscience, at the manner in which she had gained her ends.

  Thus she passed out into the dark, starlit world, with its strange glare of fire.

  Once clear of the farm she heaved a deep sigh. The tension had relaxed now that she felt herself to be doing at last. Cooped within the stockade, her plans still waiting to be set in motion, she had felt nigh to choking with nervousness. Her anxiety to be gone had been overwhelming. Perhaps none knew better than she what the task of cajoling Seth meant, for he was not an easy man when duty was uppermost in his mind. But that was all done with now; she was out at last.

  The freedom of her horse’s gait felt good under her. There was confidence, exhilaration to be drawn from each springing stride. And, too, there was a new and delightful sense of responsibility in the heavy lolling of the revolver holsters upon her hips. But above all there was the supreme feeling that she was endeavoring to help those she had left behind.

  Her tears had dried before she mounted to the back of the animal to which she was now pinning her faith. The parting kiss she had imprinted upon the man’s thin cheek had inspired her. Life meant nothing to her without him. Her fortune was nothing to her, no one was anything to her compared with him. He stood out over everything else in her thoughts.