CHAPTER VII
SHEP DOES HIS DUTY
The Pike's Peak Limited prepared to follow.
"Five thousand pilgrims! Did you hear that? All coming along behind!"exclaimed Terry, as he and Harry "hooked" the now rested Duke and Jennyto the cart. "These are new ones. He didn't say anything about the othertrails."
"We heard how they were, before we left," reminded Harry. "And we saw aright smart smattering of folks at Manhattan, remember. Oh, I don'tthink we'll be lonesome."
"All you've got to do now is to follow the stage tracks," directed thestation agent. "You'll come to stations every so often. But you'd bestkeep your water keg filled. There's no knowin' what'll happen on theseplains."
"Yes, sir," concurred his helper. "And keep your weather eye peeled forInjuns. Don't let 'em bamboozle you or if they don't take your scalpsthey'll steal you blind. When Injuns come in, hang tight to yourscatter-gun."
"Haven't seen any, so far," remarked Harry.
"No; but you can't tell. In my opinion that buff'lo stampede was causedby Injuns--like as not that was why the buff'lo drifted down on you inthe fust place. And if you hadn't got out when you did, in a hurry,you'd have had more trouble, plenty."
The stages had long since disappeared in the west, but the tracks wereplain. Tomorrow there would be other stages, and the next day others,and so on, had said the station men; and before the Limited had evensighted the mountains some of these same stages would be met comingback. That made travel at a walk seem rather slow, especially when goldwas waiting only to be found.
A second pair of stages passed them, with a swirl of dust and a cheer,late the next afternoon, but they found them spending the night atStation Thirteen, on the bank of another creek. Here they also camped.
"Twenty-five miles again," sighed Harry, satisfied. "We'll get there."
Duke and Jenny had indeed footed sturdily. The hurrying stages seemed tobe an inspiration to them. They felt that they, also, were now goingsomewhere.
The coaches had been full. There were two women, who slept in thestation tent. The men passengers slept on the ground, under a canopy ofgunny sacking stretched over stakes. For their own comfort the stationemployees were digging a cave in the side of an arroyo or dry wash,where they might house themselves and cook, in bad weather. Could fightoff the Indians from it, too, they said.
The talk among the passengers was mainly of buffalo, Indians and theother sights along the trail. The Indians had been bothering the timidpilgrims considerably, with begging and stealing, but had not botheredthe stages.
"We'll take no chances, though," declared the stage-driver. "Never letan Injun think you're afraid of him--that's the secret. Once start togive in, and you're lost. Most of these pilgrims never've had experiencewith the plains Injuns. They try to please 'em and buy their good-willby giving 'em something for nothing, and the Injuns don't understand.Giving something for nothing isn't Injun way. It amounts to beingafraid. Why, we passed at least half a dozen outfits who'd been so goodto the Injuns that they didn't have a critter left--every head drivenoff, some in broad daylight, and there the wagons were sitting. Onewagon had said at first 'Pike's Peak or Bust,' and now it said, 'Busted,by Thunder!'"
"Must have been Kiowas or Cheyennes. The 'Rapahoes aren't ranging so fareast, are they?" suggested the station agent.
"Oh, they're all ranging everywhere, now, following the buffalo andbegging from the pilgrims," quoth the driver. "Kiowas, Cheyennes and'Rapahoes--they're in cahoots. But I hear tell that the main band of the'Rapahoes under old Little Raven are sticking 'round Cherry Creek,camped there on their winter grounds, along with the whites, instead ofchasing the buffalo. It's easier."
The Pike's Peak Limited pulled out early, bent on making time and not beovertaken by those five thousand rivals who were still coming. In aboutan hour and a half the stages passed at a gallop, while the driverssaluted with a flourish of whips. And the Limited proceeded to plodafter.
Buffalo had become quite abundant. They were constantly in sight--largebunches and small; but Duke seemed to have had his fill of rampaging,and paid little attention to his kin-people. However, as Harry remarked,where there were buffalo, there likely were Indians.
"If any do come in on us," he said, "I'll grab the gun and you tend toJenny. If there's one thing a mule hates worse than buffalo, it'sInjun--and Jenny's powerful sensitive, poor thing."
"Maybe we ought to mount guard tonight," proposed Terry. "I'll sit upand then you sit up." Mounting guard for fear of Indian attack would beanother fine story to tell to George Stanton.
"Not yet," decided Harry. "We'll stake Jenny in close, and she's awakeall night anyway. At least, with her grunts and groans she sounds likeit."
"I suppose Shep would make a racket, too."
"W-well," mused Harry, "I believe I'd rather trust to Jenny's ears andnose than to Shep's--there's more _of_ them."
The buffalo before and on either side grazed peacefully; but about threeo'clock that afternoon a commotion was evident behind. The buffalo werescampering, and afar on the trail appeared a little cloud of dust.
"Can't be another stage already, can it?" questioned Harry.
"Injuns!" exclaimed Terry. "But they wouldn't be raising dust, wouldthey? Or maybe they're chasing a stage!"
Harry paled slightly.
"We'll soon see. But they won't get this outfit without a heap oftrouble. We're going through to the diggin's."
However, it wasn't a stage. It was a light open wagon, drawn by twohorses at a furious pace. Anybody might have thought that the horseswere running away, except for the fact that a man on the seat was usingthe whip.
"Great snakes!" ejaculated Harry. "We'll have to clear the track. Gee,Duke! Jenny! Gee! Gee-up! Whoa-oa!"
He turned out just in time. The on-comers were in a tearing hurry. Thehorses, red-nostriled, staring-eyed, lathered and dust-caked, lookedlike chariot racers in full career--two men were on the seat, onedriving, the other plying the whip, and both constantly gazing backward.They wore visored caps and belted blouses and knee trousers--revolvers,knives, field-glasses; up and down in the wagon jolted a mass of campstuff, and guns, and provisions. This much Terry saw during the lastminute in which the equipage arrived, dashed half-way past, and therewas pulled short with a suddenness which set the two horses on theirhaunches.
"Injuns!" cried the two men, over their shoulders. "Cut loose for yourlives!"
One was a blond, pinky-skinned man, the other was not so fair; but thefaces of both were faded to a dead, dusty white by fear. Their eyes werecuriously poppy.
"Where? How many?" demanded Harry and Terry, in the same breath.
"Chasing us! Five hundred of 'em! Raiding the stage line! Plundering thestations! Killing the emigrants! Burning the settlements! Cut loose!Ride for your lives!" answered the two men, in a sort of duet.
"Five hundred are quite a parcel to be chasing two men," drawled Harry."Where'll we ride to, and how?" Mighty cool Harry was, in the midst ofalarm, thought Terry. "All right," continued Harry, briskly. "One ofus'll get on this mule and you can take the other in your wagon and----"
"No, no! No room!" they protested. "We've a load. We can't wait. Cutloose. You'll catch us. Ride for your lives. How far to the nextstation?"
"'Bout ten miles," drawled Harry.
"Gid-dap!" Down swished the lash, forward sprang the horses. "There theycome!" yelled both men. "We're all dead----" and away they tore again,leaning forward on the seat, shaking the lines and plying the whip, andconstantly looking back up the trail.
"Jiminy!" gasped Terry. "They said five hundred. What are we to do? Wecan't fight off as many as that. You--you can have Jenny," and hechoked. "I'll ride Duke. Hurry!"
But Harry appeared to be in no especial hurry. He scratched his longnose reflectively, and surveyed the trail behind.
"Don't see 'em, do you?" he invited. "'Five hundred of them'--'raidingthe stage line'--'plundering the stations'--'killing theemigrants'--'burning the settlements'!" He wa
s mimicking the twofugitives. "Five hundred fiddlesticks! That's too many Indians at onetime. Besides, there aren't any settlements 'round here to burn, exceptat the mountains, and those two lunatics haven't been to the mountainsyet. And if we 'cut loose' and 'rode for our lives,' where'd we ride to?Might better save our strength and dig a hole."
"Don't you believe them, then?"
"No. You can't believe cowards. I don't blame them any for running awayfrom five hundred Indians, but it was right mean to run away from _us_.So I sized up that a husky outfit who'd leave a lame man and a boy toescape on a mule and a buffalo while they went ahead with a good teamand wagon couldn't be depended on in talk or action either. Why, theyhad guns enough there to fight a week! Guess they were on a hunting tripacross, and are nervous. G'lang, Duke! Jenny! Let's keep going."
"There are Indians coming, just the same," presently informed Terry, whocould not help but peep behind.
"Two--three--five," pronounced Harry. "They're the five hundred whittleddown to fact. We needn't pay any attention to the four hundred andninety-five others yet. You watch Jenny, and Shep and I'll watch thesefellows."
The Indians, five of them, were rapidly approaching at a lope, down thestage trail. When they were within two hundred yards Harry, uttering asudden "Whoa!" fell back to the rear of the wagon and, grabbing theshot-gun, faced about, and raised his hand as sign for them to staytheir distance. They slackened in a jiffy, but one rode ahead, to talk.
They were armed with bows and lances; half clothed in blankets andmoccasins; appeared very dirty but seemed good-natured. The old fellowwho rode ahead was a stout, grinning Indian--chief, evidently, by thefeather in his greasy hair.
"How?" he grunted, from his ambling spotted pony. "No shoot. 'Rapaho. Nohurt um white man. Chase um. Heap fun. See wagon men? Heap fun."
"Keep back," warned Harry, over the barrel of the shot-gun. "No funhere. We don't run."
"There's Thunder Horse, Harry!" hissed Terry, who, guarding the team,had an eye also upon the Indians.
The stout spokesman on the spotted pony was really quite good-looking;three of the others were not much worse; but the fifth in the squad wasentirely different--his hair was cut short on the one side and left longon the other, instead of being in two braids, and his naturally uglyface was pitted with small-pox scars. His blanket was the dirtiest ofall the blankets, his features the greasiest, his mouth the coarsest;and now as he also tried to smile, his blood-shot eyes glared fiercely.
Thunder Horse, the Kiowa, he was, again: the outlaw Indian whom Terryhad first encountered among the Delawares on the emigrant trail intoKansas, a year ago, and who had been an enemy ever since. He was adrunken rascal, was Thunder Horse; nothing seemed too mean for him totry. He even had stolen George and Virgie Stanton; but Terry had helpedthem to get away.
Terry recognized Thunder Horse--and Thunder Horse evidently hadrecognized Terry, and Shep, too. Terry had pelted him with eggs, andShep had nipped him in the calf. So Thunder Horse smiled at Harry andscowled at Terry and Shep.
"Which one?" asked Harry, aside. "The ugly one?"
"Yes. Look out for _him_. You'd better."
"All good. Like um white boy. White boy give 'Rapaho shoog, coff,"wheedled the chief, advancing; and now another of the Arapahoes rodeforward.
"Him Little Raven; big chief," he said, speaking English very clearly."Me Left Hand. Little Raven talk not much English. I talk for him. Whereyou going?"
"To the mines, of course."
"You see two men in wagon?"
"Yes."
"We no harm them. They run, then we yell and they run faster. LittleRaven want to ask if you give him a little sugar and coffee."
"Haven't any to spare."
"Give him a little sugar, little coffee, little bread, and mebbe he showyou where heap gold in the mountains."
"No, no," refused Harry. "Stand back, all of you," for the otherIndians were edging toward the wagon, from either side. Jenny smelledthem, and had grown restive---trembled, snorted, and Shep maintained aconstant growling from underneath the wagon.
"All right." And Left Hand spoke gutturally for the information ofLittle Raven, who nodded. "Brave boys. Not foolish and run. Good-bye."
Little Raven insisted on shaking hands with Harry and with Terry."G'bye," he grunted. "Heap boy. No run," when suddenly Terry cried, pasthim, to a figure on horseback:
"Get out o' there!"
During the leave-taking Thunder Horse had sidled in with the others, andpressing along the wagon, behind Harry (who had considerable to watchwith one pair of eyes and one gun), was stealthily thrusting his arm inunder the edge of the canvas hood.
"Get out o' there!" yelped Terry.
Harry turned hastily--but there was a snarl, a whoop, and back careenedThunder Horse, on his pony, with Shep hanging to his moccasin. Themoccasin and the foot within it, extending below the cart, and soconvenient, had been too much for Shep. Besides, their owner was up tomischief! Shep knew him of old.
Thunder Horse kicked vigorously--and while the other Indians laughedand shouted, and Shep held hard, shaking and worrying, he jerked hisknife from somewhere--flung himself low and stabbed at his black shaggytormentor.
"Shep!" called Terry, alarmed. "Quit it! Here!"
With a final dodge, Shep tore the moccasin loose and carried it underthe cart. Glaring a moment at the cart, at Terry, at Harry, ThunderHorse, scowling blackly, rode on. The four Arapahoes, laughing amongthemselves, followed. The way with which Shep had astonished ThunderHorse amused them greatly.
The next noon, when the Pike's Peak Limited passed the stage station,the agent hailed with the question:
"Say! Was it your dog that bit that Kiowa in the foot?"
"Yes. He'd tried to steal from the cart."
"Well, served him right. 'Twasn't much of a bite, but he had a powerfulsore foot when he and those 'Rapahoes went out this mornin'. They campedhere all night."
"Teeth scurcely broke the skin; but he's been so pizened with whiskeythat any least scratch on him's liable to make a bad sore," added theagent's helper.
"Did two men with a team and a wagon get here in a hurry, yesterdayevening?" asked Harry. "Ahead of the Indians?"
"Yes, sir!" laughed the agent. "Those hunter greenhorns, you mean,flying from a massacre? We calmed 'em down, let 'em hide in the tent,and told 'em if they'd stay behind the massacre it wouldn't catch 'em.So they waited until the massacre left, then they left."
For the next week and more the Pike's Peak Limited kept hearing, fromstation to station, of Thunder Horse and his sore foot. His foot hadswollen, his leg had swollen to the knee, it had swollen above theknee, it was still swelling--and he was very surly, and evidently inmuch pain, and drunk whenever he could obtain any liquor.
The hunters' wagon disappeared, between stations, as if on a short-cutto the Republican; and soon thereafter the Chief Little Raven squad,including the then much distressed Thunder Horse (whose leg, said thelast agent, ought to be cut off), disappeared also.
The Pike's Peak Limited plodded along. At some time every day a stage ortwo stages from Leavenworth on the Missouri River passed, usually full,but occasionally half empty. The Valley of the Republican was closebefore, and behind was pressing nearer the van of that great procession.
"They're beginning to raise a dust," remarked Harry, gazing back.
"Yes; but you can see a dust ahead, too," said Terry. "Hope we get therefirst."
That night the camp-fires of the leading outfits on the trail behindwere plainly visible, winking through the darkness; and down in thebroad Republican Valley scattered other camp-fires were winking.
"An early start for us in the morning, remember," enjoined Harry.
It was almost noon when, just beating a faster-stepping team trying toovertake, the Pike's Peak Limited, first pilgrim outfit through by thenew stage route, filed into the well-trodden, dusty trail made now bystage and gold-seekers combined up the wide valley of the Republican.
"Hee-haw!" exulted J
enny; but Duke the half-buffalo only flirted hislittle tail at sight of the new company.
The Pike's Peak Rush; Or, Terry in the New Gold Fields Page 9