“Goin’ to have a word with Foxy,” he said. “Back soon.”
“What does it really mean?” Carol’s white lips whispered, as the pair went out.
Sandy was cursing softly but vividly. “It means—hell,” he groaned.
They heard a fierce yell of execration as the captive appeared, and in an agony of fear, dragged themselves to the opening of the tepee. The sight they saw did not reassure them.
The camp was of fair size, consisting of more than a score of lodges, set in a rude circle and hedged in by trees and brush. Round the open space in the centre the whole tribe was gathered, men, women, and children, shrieking and yelling in savage exultation. The hubbub increased as, the white man was conducted to a large tree on the edge of the clearing. Two more warriors now joined the first. Releasing his hands, they gripped a wrist apiece, forced his arms back and again secured them behind the tree-trunk. The position was intensely painful and rendered the sufferer as helpless as a tied steer.
No sooner was this done than the onlookers surged forward, broke into an eerie chant, and began to circle the tree in a wild dance. The oblique rays of the mounting sun, flickering through the foliage, shadowed the fantastic capers on the ground. Though they shook their weapons in his face, no one of the dancers attempted to touch the prisoner. Interminably, as it seemed to the object of it, the monotonous dirge went on. All the tribe were not taking part; on the far side of the clearing stood a group of Indians whose plumed heads showed that they were chiefs; among them was Black Bear.
Wooden-faced, the bound man stared stolidly at the dancing devils who mocked as they passed him. His head still throbbed from the rough treatment of yesterday and his arm-muscles ached under the unnatural strain to which they were being subjected, but he knew he must show no sign of weakness; that was what these fiends were hoping for. To avoid thinking of what was to come he sent his mind back into the past, recalling the dark hours in Fourways, where he had also awaited death; it was a grim thought that the outlaw’s rescue might yet prove something to be regretted. It would be Sandy’s turn next, and then the girl; the eyes of Red Fox had plainly told her fate.
A raucous command rang out and the droning ring broke and swept back, forming in a half-circle on the far side of the clearing. From among the chiefs Red Fox strode, his feathers fluttering in the faint breeze, to pause a few paces from the prisoner. His dark face was alight with savage triumph.
“For the slaying of Running Deer, my brother, you shall die many times. On your knees you shall beg for death and it shall not come.”
Sudden’s expression was contemptuous. “Red Fox has a big mouth,” he said. “He might frighten a papoose.”
He knew that the shaft had gone home, though only a tremor of rage betrayed the fact; the redskin was crafty.
“Red Fox has sharp teeth but will not bite too soon,” he countered. “yet if the white dog desires a speedy death, he shall have his chance.”
He stepped back, drew a short, heavy-hafted knife from his belt, and glanced pridefully round at his audience. Then his right arm swung up, down, and like a streak of silver the blade flashed through the sunlight and embedded itself in the tree-trunk. Sudden felt a trickle of warm blood and realized that the keen edge missing his head by a hair’s-breadth. had nicked his ear.
The thrower, bent slightly forward, watched the result of his effort with evil enjoyment.
“Move, and earn the death you will presently pray for,” he called out.
A medley of mocking yells came from the spectators and a score of voices repeated the taunt; both they and the cunning devil who had uttered it knew that the invitation would not be accepted. However desperate his situation, a sane, healthy man will hold on to life as long as possible, and though Sudden could see no chance of escape, he cherished a hope that he might somehow get free and go down fighting. So he schooled his aching muscles and became as motionless as the tree against which he stood.
With steady, unwinking eyes, he saw the fling of the brown arm again, the gleam of the twinkling steel, and felt the wind of the blade on his cheek. The second knife missed him by less than an inch. Amid the shouts of admiration for the prowess of their chief, were jeers for the man who had declined to die. Sudden was concerned with someone else; from behind had come a hoarse whisper:
“Yore han’s is free. When that varmint comes to git his stickers, grab one an’ let him have it. Then jump for the tepee, git yore guns, and gimme a chance to start the gal an’ yore friend off.
There’ll be a hoss waitin’ for yu.”
Like a dazed man, the cowboy listened. The voice was one he had heard before but in the stress of the moment he could not place it. He could feel that his wrists had been loosed and lowered his arms slightly to relieve the numbing ache. He looked at Red Fox; the chief was strutting to and fro, enjoying his triumph, and seemed to be in no hurry to fetch his weapons.
Sudden wanted him nearer.
“Red Fox is clumsy,” he announced loudly. “An Apache or Kiowa boy could throw the knife better.”
Like a stung man the savage whirled, his dusky features aflame with fury.
“White spawn!” he cried, “I will cut off your ears with the knives; I will pin your fingers one by one to the tree.”
Haughtily he stepped forward and that was the moment the victim had been waiting for.
Snatching one of the knives, he balanced it on his palm for an instant, and then hurled it at the advancing savage. With a strangled cry Red Fox crumpled up, the steel buried to the haft in his throat.
For one staggering moment there was silence and then the petrified onlookers saw the man they had believed to be securely tied leap across the open space and vanish into one of the tepees. The sight restored their power to move and with a ferocious threatening howl, they rushed in pursuit.
Sudden found the tepee empty. Buckling on his belt, he drew both guns and sprang to the entrance. A surging wave of maddened redskins was sweeping down upon him, and a cloud of arrows greeted his appearance, piercing the buffalo-hide walls of the tepee, and whistling past his ears. His Colts spouted flame and before that continuous hail of hurtling lead the charge withered and broke, the Indians scattering in all directions. But he knew the respite was but momentary; they would surround him, and then…. Reloading his weapons, he became aware that someone had entered, and swung about. He saw a brown, paint-lined face, feathered scalp-lock, and his thumb was on the point of releasing the hammer when the intruder spoke:
“Hold on thar, friend; I ain’t no war-whoop.”
It was the voice of the man who had freed him, and now he remembered it as that of the “still-hunter” who had come into their camp on the Colorado. Tyson gave him no time for questions.
“The gal is away on yore black an’ yore friend with her, though he balked some at leavin’ yu,” he said. “There’s a hoss waitin’ an’ yu ain’t got but a minit—them devils is closin’ in, which is why they’ve stopped yappin’.” He pointed to the back of the tepee, where a long slit in the hide covering provided an exit, adding, “It’ll be nip an’ tuck as it is.”
“What about yu?” the cowboy asked.
“I’m stayin’,” was the jaunty reply. “I c’n pass as one of ‘ern an’ “—he chuckled with sinister glee—“I’ll make me some converts.”
Sudden did not attempt to dissuade him; Tyson evidently knew what he was about. He held cut a hand.
“This puts me deep in yore debt,” he said.
“Nary a bit—I ain’t forgot that grub an’ smoking’,” was the reply. “Head due west an’ hump yoreself.”
Sudden slid through the opening and found the horse. Being Indian property there was no saddle, but the hackamore bridle was all the cowboy needed and in a trice he was on the beast’s back and spurring for the open. A shout of rage and a few spasmodic arrows greeted his appearance and a redskin rose out of the long grass and sprang at him, only to go down with a shriek under the plunging feet. A score of leaping stri
des and the fugitive knew that he was safe for the time. He would be pursued, but the Indians had first to secure their ponies and this would give him a fair start. Nevertheless, he pressed on at full speed, casting an occasional glance at the trail, where the prints of shod horses seemed to indicate that he was following his friends.
Unfortunately, the nature of the country did not favour him, for though undulating, it was open, offering little opportunity of keeping out of sight. Sadden had covered but a few miles when, from the crest of a long slope, he saw the pair he was in search of, and uttered a man-sized curse when he realized that they were waiting for him. With a violent gesture he signed them to go on and let his own mount feel the spurs. His greeting, when he ranged alongside, was hardly one of gratitude.
“Have yu lost yore wits?” he asked Sandy. “yu oughta be a coupla miles farther away right now.”
“We were anxious about you,” the girl explained. “I insisted on waiting.”
Sudden looked around disgustedly. “There ain’t a hole we could hide in,” he said.
As they surmounted another incline a faint whoop was borne to them on the breeze, and back on the trail was a billowing cloud of dust in which tiny dark forms could be dimly distinguished. Sudden’s lips clamped together as he studied the animal he bestrode. Sandy was riding his own horse, which was a good one.
“Friend Tyson don’t savvy ponies, or mebbe this is all he could lay his paws on,” he commented. He reached over and removed his rifle from the saddle of the black, and said to Sandy, “yu an’ Miss Carol go ahead; my hoss is fast for a mile or two, but ain’t got no bottom.”
“Like hell we will,” the boy retorted hotly. “What yu goin’ to do?”
“Stay an’ argue with these copper-coloured gents. That’ll give yu time to get the girl away—mebbe.”
Ere Sandy could voice his objection to this proposal a fierce yell apprised them of another factor to be considered, and effectually closed the argument. Less than half a mile distant, and coming towards them, was another band of redskins who, at the sight of the whites, quirted their ponies into a run. The fugitives were between two fires. Sudden swung his horse to the right.
“Follow me,” he cried. “We gotta find a better place than this to stand ‘em off.”
“Mebbe they’ll scrap with each other an’ give us a chance to sneak off,” Sandy said hopefully, as they raced at top speed across the plain.
“The second lot are Comanches too,” Sudden told him, and shot a hasty glance over his shoulder. “Hell, they’re gainin’. Head for that bluff; it looks a likely spot.”
He pointed to a small plateau, the approaching slope of which was, at one spot, broken away, leaving a vertical wall. At the foot of this were several boulders. With the girl and the horses sheltered behind the largest of these, the two men gripped their weapons and waited.
“They may get us, boy, but we’ll make ‘em pay,” Sudden grated.
Chapter XVII
THE onslaught did not come at once. The white men saw the two bands meet and fraternize, with much shouting, gesticulation, and brandishing of weapons. Probably the position their prey had taken up did not please them; it meant a frontal attack, and most Indians had a healthy fear of the “guns that fired forever.” Sandy was counting.
“Thirty of ‘em,” he said in a low voice. “If they wait till dark we ain’t got a hope.”
“They won’t—Injuns don’t like night-work—too many bad spirits about,” Sudden reminded him. “They may decide to sit down an’ starve us out.”
Sandy’s face lengthened; they had neither food nor water. Lying each behind a sheltering rock they awaited the outcome of the argument taking place amongst the enemy.
“Odd that fella Tyson showin’ up,” Sandy remarked. “Must ‘a’ changed his mind about searchin’ out a settlement.”
“Mebbe, but he’d have time to do that an’ then catch us up,” Sudden pointed out. “He could easy make three miles to our one.”
“Well, I ain’t carin’ how it was but I’m hopin’ he’ll play another hand. He busted in on us just as yu hid the knife in that skunk’s gullet, an’ believe me, he was welcome. Hell! they’re again’.
The savages, strung out in a long line, had turned tail and were trotting slowly away.
“No such luck,” Sudden said. “They’re a-comin’. Don’t shoot till yo’re shore an’ aim low; if yu miss the man yu’ll get the hoss.”
He was right; with a whoop the warriors whirled their ponies and raced at the men they had hoped to catch unprepared. In the sunlight the bared bodies shone like polished bronze and the levelled lances were silver-bladed. Feathered headdresses streamed in the wind as the , galloping ponies gathered speed. The muffled thunder of their thudding feet mingled with the threatening cries of the riders. Sudden waited until they were some fifty paces distant, and then:
“Let ‘em have it,” he said.
The reports of the repeating rifles rang out and gaps showed in the advancing line as men and horses went down. Not waiting to reload, the defenders drew their pistols—which at the short range were as effective—and continued the fusillade. The deadly stream of lead was too much for the attackers; the line broke in the middle, the two halves sweeping round, to retreat at full speed. A grin spread over Sandy’s perspiring features.
“Reckon they won’t come that caper again,” he said, busy recharging his weapons.
“Funny they didn’t use their bows.”
“Want us alive,” Sudden explained. “I’m bettin’ they didn’t savvy we’d got our guns.”
“Well, they know now,” Sandy said, “though there’s some it won’t interest no more.”
He nodded grimly at the plain before them, where the bodies of seven men and as many horses could be seen. Even as they looked, one of the former rose, and crouching, ran towards his friends. Sandy’s rifle cracked and the runner reeled and fell.
“Been watchin’ that jasper,” the marksman said callously. “Had a notion I on’y got his bronc.”
The incident evoked howls of rage from the Comanches, with threatening gestures, but the warriors kept their distance. They had been taught a sharp lesson and had no wish for another. Carol, crouching tiredly behind a boulder, called a question, and Sandy cursed the country, the Indians, and lastly, himself.
“Wouldn’t yu fancy a fella might have brains enough to hop off an’ fill a canteen at the first stream, huh?” he queried savagely.
“Why, no, when two minutes’ delay could mean life or death,” his friend consoled.
He went over to the girl and explained the position, concluding with the droll little smile which, even in the direst danger, he was able to summon. “yu see, we left in just a suspicion o’ haste. Still, Sandy might have . .
She would not have that. “He had enough to think of, and I ought not to have said anything. Do you think the redskins will attack again?”
Sandy’s voice answered the question. “Hi, Jim, they’re limn’ up; looks like they aim to have another try.”
In fact, the long line was moving forward again but this time it extended farther—yards separating the riders. Also, they were moving slowly, the ponies gradually gathering pace for the final dash. This made the task of the defenders more difficult, for instead of firing into a mass, they had to place every shot.
“No use waitin’ till they’re near,” Sudden said. “Pick yore man an’ let fly soon as he’s in range.”
“I’m takin’ that jigger on the pinto,” Sandy said, and pulled the trigger. “Cuss the luck,” he added, as the horse went down, and its rider, after rolling on the ground, arose and shook a vengeful fist.
Sudden toppled a tall warrior from his seat and then an amazing change came over the scene. From somewhere be-‘ hind the attacking line rang out a volley of rifle-fire which sent half a dozen ponies careering across the plain masterless. The Comanches, taken utterly by surprise, scattered and fled, hotly pursued by the newcomers, who wore the garb of w
hite men. Sandy swung his hat and whooped.
“It’ll be the boys, Jim; they’ve found us at last,” he cried. “Why for yu lookin’ as if yu’d lost a dollar?”
“If that’s the outfit, the S E has been takin’ on hands—there was a dozen of ‘em,” Sudden replied. “Ever hear o’ the steak that fell outa the frying-pan?” Before the boy could reply, the rescuers came racing back, and their leader, reining in, pushed up the brim of his battered sombrero and disclosed the malevolent face of Navajo. He grinned evilly as he recognized the men to whose aid he had come.
“Well, well, see who’s here,” he drawled. “Sandy, his sidekick, an’ “—his triumphant eyes travelled to the girl—“that must be Eden’s gal. Shore was lucky for yu-all that we took a fancy to see what mischief this red scum was up to.”
“We’re obliged to yu,” Sudden said shortly.
“Oh, yeah,” the ruffian sneered. “But seein’ we’re Rogue’s men yu’ll have to thank him in person. I’m bettin’ he’ll be main pleased to see yu.”
The covert intimation that they were prisoners was no more than Sudden expected. For a moment he did not reply; he was studying their new captors. Two of them he had seen at the outlaw hide-out, though he did not know their names; the rest were strangers.
“I was wantin’ a word with Rogue anyway,” Sudden said.
“Good, then we’ll be movin’—I reckon them ‘paints has got their needin’s,” Navajo returned. His eyes narrowed. “There’s on’y one point: yu boys must be tired; guess we’ll carry yore guns for yu.”
Sudden laughed scornfully. “Yu don’t guess very good,” he retorted. “If yu want our weapons yu’ll have to buy ‘em an’ the price will be high. Sabe?”
Navajo did. The cowboy had rested his rifle against a rock and now stood with hands hovering over the butts of his revolvers, his slitted eyes boring into those of the other. The half-breed hesitated; he had seen those long, nervous fingers at work before. It was twelve men against two, but … His glance went to the plain, still dotted with brown bodies. His shoulders shrugged submission.
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