Blazed Trail Stories, and Stories of the Wild Life

by Stewart Edward White

  I

  THE GIRL WHO GOT RATTLED

  This is one of the stories of Alfred. There are many of them stillfloating around the West, for Alfred was in his time very well known. Hewas a little man, and he was bashful. That is the most that can be saidagainst him; but he was very little and very bashful. When on horsebackhis legs hardly reached the lower body-line of his mount, and only hisextreme agility enabled him to get on successfully. When on foot,strangers were inclined to call him "sonny." In company he neveradvanced an opinion. If things did not go according to his ideas, hereconstructed the ideas, and made the best of it--only he could make themost efficient best of the poorest ideas of any man on the plains. Hisattitude was a perpetual sidling apology. It has been said that Alfredkilled his men diffidently, without enthusiasm, as though loth to takethe responsibility, and this in the pioneer days on the plains waseither frivolous affectation, or else--Alfred. With women he was lost.Men would have staked their last ounce of dust at odds that he had neverin his life made a definite assertion of fact to one of the oppositesex. When it became absolutely necessary to change a woman'spreconceived notions as to what she should do--as, for instance,discouraging her riding through quicksand--he would persuade somebodyelse to issue the advice. And he would cower in the background blushinghis absurd little blushes at his second-hand temerity. Add to thisnarrow, sloping shoulders, a soft voice, and a diminutive pink-and-whiteface.

  But Alfred could read the prairie like a book. He could ride anything,shoot accurately, was at heart afraid of nothing, and could fight like alittle catamount when occasion for it really arose. Among those whoknew, Alfred was considered one of the best scouts on the plains. Thatis why Caldwell, the capitalist, engaged him when he took his daughterout to Deadwood.

  Miss Caldwell was determined to go to Deadwood. A limited experience ofthe lady's sort, where they have wooden floors to the tents, towels tothe tent-poles, and expert cooks to the delectation of the campers, hadconvinced her that "roughing it" was her favorite recreation. So, ofcourse, Caldwell senior had, sooner or later, to take her across theplains on his annual trip. This was at the time when wagon-trains wentby way of Pierre on the north, and the South Fork on the south.Incidental Indians, of homicidal tendencies and undeveloped ideas as tothe propriety of doing what they were told, made things interestingoccasionally, but not often. There was really no danger to a good-sizedtrain.

  The daughter had a fiance named Allen who liked roughing it, too; so hewent along. He and Miss Caldwell rigged themselves out bountifully, andprepared to enjoy the trip.

  At Pierre the train of eight wagons was made up, and they were joined byAlfred and Billy Knapp. These two men were interesting, but tyrannicalon one or two points--such as getting out of sight of the train, forinstance. They were also deficient in reasons for their tyranny. Theyoung people chafed, and, finding Billy Knapp either imperturbable orthick-skinned, they turned their attention to Alfred. Allen annoyedAlfred, and Miss Caldwell thoughtlessly approved of Allen. Between themthey succeeded often in shocking fearfully all the little man's finersensibilities. If it had been a question of Allen alone, the annoyancewould soon have ceased. Alfred would simply have bashfully killed him.But because of his innate courtesy, which so saturated him that hisphilosophy of life was thoroughly tinged by it, he was silent andinactive.

  There is a great deal to recommend a plains journey at first. Later,there is nothing at all to recommend it. It has the same monotony as avoyage at sea, only there is less living room, and, instead of beingcarried, you must progress to a great extent by your own volition. Alsothe food is coarse, the water poor, and you cannot bathe. To aplainsman, or a man who has the instinct, these things are as nothing incomparison with the charm of the outdoor life, and the pleasing tinglingof adventure. But woman is a creature wedded to comfort. She also has astrange instinctive desire to be entirely alone every once in a while,probably because her experiences, while not less numerous than man's,are mainly psychical, and she needs occasionally time to get "thought upto date." So Miss Caldwell began to get very impatient.

  The afternoon of the sixth day Alfred, Miss Caldwell, and Allen rodealong side by side. Alfred was telling a self-effacing story ofadventure, and Miss Caldwell was listening carelessly because she hadnothing else to do. Allen chaffed lazily when the fancy took him.

  "I happened to have a limb broken at the time," Alfred was observing,parenthetically, in his soft tones, "and so----"

  "What kind of a limb?" asked the young Easterner, with direct brutality.He glanced with a half-humourous aside at the girl, to whom the littleman had been mainly addressing himself.

  Alfred hesitated, blushed, lost the thread of his tale, and finally ingreat confusion reined back his horse by the harsh Spanish bit. He fellto the rear of the little wagon-train, where he hung his head, and wenthot and cold by turns in thinking of such an indiscretion before a lady.

  The young Easterner spurred up on the right of the girl's mount.

  "He's the queerest little fellow _I_ ever saw!" he observed, with alaugh. "Sorry to spoil his story. Was it a good one?"

  "It might have been if you hadn't spoiled it," answered the girl,flicking her horse's ears mischievously. The animal danced. "What didyou do it for?"

  "Oh, just to see him squirm. He'll think about that all the rest of theafternoon, and will hardly dare look you in the face next time youmeet."

  "I know. Isn't he funny? The other morning he came around the corner ofthe wagon and caught me with my hair down. I _wish_ you could have seenhim!"

  She laughed gayly at the memory.

  "Let's get ahead of the dust," she suggested.

  They drew aside to the firm turf of the prairie and put their horses toa slow lope. Once well ahead of the canvas-covered schooners they sloweddown to a walk again.

  "Alfred says we'll see them to-morrow," said the girl.

  "See what?"

  "Why, the Hills! They'll show like a dark streak, down past that buttethere--what's its name?"

  "Porcupine Tail."

  "Oh, yes. And after that it's only three days. Are you glad?"

  "Are you?"

  "Yes, I believe I am. This life is fun at first, but there's a certainmonotony in making your toilet where you have to duck your head becauseyou haven't room to raise your hands, and this barrelled water pallsafter a time. I think I'll be glad to see a house again. People likecamping about so long----"

  "It hasn't gone back on me yet."

  "Well, you're a man and can do things."

  "Can't you do things?"

  "You know I can't. What do you suppose they'd say if I were to ride outjust that way for two miles? They'd have a fit."

  "Who'd have a fit? Nobody but Alfred, and I didn't know you'd gottenafraid of him yet! I say, just _let's_! We'll have a race, and then comeright back." The young man looked boyishly eager.

  "It would be nice," she mused. They gazed into each other's eyes like apair of children, and laughed.

  "Why shouldn't we?" urged the young man. "I'm dead sick of staying inthe moving circle of these confounded wagons. What's the sense of itall, anyway?"

  "Why, Indians, I suppose," said the girl, doubtfully.

  "Indians!" he replied, with contempt. "Indians! We haven't seen a signof one since we left Pierre. I don't believe there's one in the wholeblasted country. Besides, you know what Alfred said at our last camp?"

  "What did Alfred say?"

  "Alfred said he hadn't seen even a teepee-trail, and that they must beall up hunting buffalo. Besides that, you don't imagine for a momentthat your father would take you all this way to Deadwood just for alark, if there was the slightest danger, do you?"

  "I don't know; I made him."

  She looked out over the long sweeping descent to which they were coming,and the long sweeping ascent that lay beyond. The breeze and the sunplayed with the prairie grasses, the breeze riffling them over, and thesun silvering their under surfaces thus exposed. It was strangelypeaceful, and one almost
expected to hear the hum of bees as in a NewEngland orchard. In it all was no sign of life.

  "We'd get lost," she said, finally.

  "Oh, no, we wouldn't!" he asserted with all the eagerness of the amateurplainsman. "I've got that all figured out. You see, our train is goingon a line with that butte behind us and the sun. So if we go ahead, andkeep our shadows just pointing to the butte, we'll be right in theirline of march."

  He looked to her for admiration of his cleverness. She seemed convinced.She agreed, and sent him back to her wagon for some article of inventednecessity. While he was gone she slipped softly over the little hill tothe right, cantered rapidly over two more, and slowed down with a sighof satisfaction. One alone could watch the directing shadow as well astwo. She was free and alone. It was the one thing she had desired forthe last six days of the long plains journey, and she enjoyed it now tothe full. No one had seen her go. The drivers droned stupidly along, aswas their wont; the occupants of the wagons slept, as was their wont;and the diminutive Alfred was hiding his blushes behind clouds of dustin the rear, as was not his wont at all. He had been severely shocked,and he might have brooded over it all the afternoon, if a discovery hadnot startled him to activity.

  On a bare spot of the prairie he discerned the print of a hoof. It wasnot that of one of the train's animals. Alfred knew this, because justto one side of it, caught under a grass-blade so cunningly that only thelittle scout's eyes could have discerned it at all, was a single bluebead. Alfred rode out on the prairie to right and left, and found thehoof-prints of about thirty ponies. He pushed his hat back and wrinkledhis brow, for the one thing he was looking for he could not find--thetwo narrow furrows made by the ends of teepee-poles dragging along oneither side of the ponies. The absence of these indicated that the bandwas composed entirely of bucks, and bucks were likely to mean mischief.

  He pushed ahead of the whole party, his eyes fixed earnestly on theground. At the top of the hill he encountered the young Easterner. Thelatter looked puzzled, in a half-humourous way.

  "I left Miss Caldwell here a half-minute ago," he observed to Alfred,"and I guess she's given me the slip. Scold her good for me when shecomes in--will you?" He grinned, with good-natured malice at the idea ofAlfred's scolding anyone.

  Then Alfred surprised him.

  The little man straightened suddenly in his saddle and uttered a ferventcurse. After a brief circle about the prairie, he returned to the youngman.

  "You go back to th' wagons, and wake up Billy Knapp, and tell himthis--that I've gone scoutin' some, and I want him to _watch out_.Understand? _Watch out!_"

  "What?" began the Easterner, bewildered.

  "I'm a-goin' to find her," said the little man, decidedly.

  "You don't think there's any danger, do you?" asked the Easterner, inanxious tones. "Can't I help you?"

  "You do as I tell you," replied the little man, shortly, and rode away.

  He followed Miss Caldwell's trail quite rapidly, for the trail wasfresh. As long as he looked intently for hoof-marks, nothing was to beseen, the prairie was apparently virgin; but by glancing the eye fortyor fifty yards ahead, a faint line was discernible through the grasses.

  Alfred came upon Miss Caldwell seated quietly on her horse in the verycentre of a prairie-dog town, and so, of course, in the midst of an areaof comparatively desert character. She was amusing herself by watchingthe marmots as they barked, or watched, or peeped at her, according totheir distance from her. The sight of Alfred was not welcome, for hefrightened the marmots.

  When he saw Miss Caldwell, Alfred grew bashful again. He sidled hishorse up to her and blushed.

  "I'll show you th' way back, miss," he said, diffidently.

  "Thank you," replied Miss Caldwell, with a slight coldness, "I can findmy own way back."

  "Yes, of course," hastened Alfred, in an agony. "But don't you think weought to start back now? I'd like to go with you, miss, if you'd let me.You see the afternoon's quite late."

  Miss Caldwell cast a quizzical eye at the sun.

  "Why, it's hours yet till dark!" she said, amusedly.

  Then Alfred surprised Miss Caldwell.

  His diffident manner suddenly left him. He jumped like lightning fromhis horse, threw the reins over the animal's head so he would stand, andran around to face Miss Caldwell.

  "Here, jump down!" he commanded.

  The soft Southern _burr_ of his ordinary conversation had given place toa clear incisiveness. Miss Caldwell looked at him amazed.

  Seeing that she did not at once obey, Alfred actually began to fumblehastily with the straps that held her riding-skirt in place. This was sounusual in the bashful Alfred that Miss Caldwell roused and slippedlightly to the ground.

  "Now what?" she asked.

  Alfred, without replying, drew the bit to within a few inches of theanimal's hoofs, and tied both fetlocks firmly together with thedouble-loop. This brought the pony's nose down close to his shackledfeet. Then he did the same thing with his own beast. Thus neither animalcould so much as hobble one way or the other. They were securelymoored.

  Alfred stepped a few paces to the eastward. Miss Caldwell followed.

  "Sit down," said he.

  Miss Caldwell obeyed with some nervousness. She did not understand atall, and that made her afraid. She began to have a dim fear lest Alfredmight have gone crazy. His next move strengthened this suspicion. Hewalked away ten feet and raised his hand over his head, palm forward.She watched him so intently that for a moment she saw nothing else. Thenshe followed the direction of his gaze, and uttered a little sobbingcry.

  Just below the sky-line of the first slope to eastward was silhouetted afigure on horseback. The figure on horseback sat motionless.

  "We're in for fight," said Alfred, coming back after a moment. "He won'tanswer my peace-sign, and he's a Sioux. We can't make a run for itthrough this dog-town. We've just got to stand 'em off."

  He threw down and back the lever of his old 44 Winchester, and softlyuncocked the arm. Then he sat down by Miss Caldwell.

  From various directions, silently, warriors on horseback sprang intosight and moved dignifiedly toward the first-comer, forming at the lasta band of perhaps thirty men. They talked together for a moment, andthen one by one, at regular intervals, detached themselves and begancircling at full speed to the left, throwing themselves behind theirhorses, and yelling shrill-voiced, but firing no shot as yet.

  "They'll rush us," speculated Alfred. "We're too few to monkey with thisway. This is a bluff."

  The circle about the two was now complete. After watching the whirl offigures a few minutes, and the motionless landscape beyond, the eyebecame dizzied and confused.

  "They won't have no picnic," went on Alfred, with a little chuckle."Dog-hole's as bad fer them as fer us. They don't know how to fight. Ifthey was to come in on all sides, I couldn't handle 'em, but they alwaysrush in a bunch, like _damn_ fools!" and then Alfred became suffusedwith blushes, and commenced to apologise abjectly and profusely to agirl who had heard neither the word nor its atonement. The savages andthe approaching fight were all she could think of.

  Suddenly one of the Sioux threw himself forward under his horse's neckand fired. The bullet went wild, of course, but it shrieked with therising inflection of a wind-squall through bared boughs, seeming to comeever nearer. Miss Caldwell screamed and covered her face. The savagesyelled in chorus.

  The one shot seemed to be the signal for a spattering fire all along theline. Indians never clean their rifles, rarely get good ammunition, andare deficient in the philosophy of hind-sights. Besides this, it is noteasy to shoot at long range in a constrained position from a runninghorse. Alfred watched them contemptuously in silence.

  "If they keep that up long enough, the wagon-train may hear 'em," hesaid, finally. "Wisht we weren't so far to nor-rard. There, it'scomin'!" he said, more excitedly.

  The chief had paused, and, as the warriors came to him, they threw theirponies back on their haunches, and sat motionless. They tur
ned, theponies' heads toward the two.

  Alfred arose deliberately for a better look.

  "Yes, that's right," he said to himself, "that's old Lone Pine, surething. I reckon we-all's got to make a _good_ fight!"

  The girl had sunk to the ground, and was shaking from head to foot. Itis not nice to be shot at in the best of circumstances, but to be shotat by odds of thirty to one, and the thirty of an out-landish andterrifying species, is not nice at all. Miss Caldwell had gone to piecesbadly, and Alfred looked grave. He thoughtfully drew from its holsterhis beautiful Colt's with its ivory handle, and laid it on the grass.Then he blushed hot and cold, and looked at the girl doubtfully. Asudden movement in the group of savages, as the war-chief rode to thefront, decided him.

  "Miss Caldwell," he said.

  The girl shivered and moaned.

  Alfred dropped to his knees and shook her shoulder roughly.

  "Look up here," he commanded. "We ain't got but a minute."

  Composed a little by the firmness of his tone, she sat up. Her face hadgone chalky, and her hair had partly fallen over her eyes.

  "Now, listen to every word," he said, rapidly. "Those Injins is goin' torush us in a minute. P'r'aps I can break them, but I don't know. In thatpistol there, I'll always save two shots--understand?--it's alwaysloaded. If I see it's all up, I'm a-goin' to shoot you with one of 'em,and myself with the other."

  "Oh!" cried the girl, her eyes opening wildly. She was paying closeenough attention now.

  "And if they kill me first"--he reached forward and seized her wristimpressively--"if they kill me first, you must take that pistol andshoot yourself. Understand? Shoot yourself--in the head--here!"

  He tapped his forehead with a stubby forefinger.

  The girl shrank back in horror. Alfred snapped his teeth together andwent on grimly.

  "If they get hold of you," he said, with solemnity, "they'll first takeoff every stitch of your clothes, and when you're quite naked they'llstretch you out on the ground with a raw-hide to each of your arms andlegs. And then they'll drive a stake through the middle of your bodyinto the ground--and leave you there--to die--slowly!"

  And the girl believed him, because, incongruously enough, even throughher terror she noticed that at this, the most immodest speech of hislife, Alfred did not blush. She looked at the pistol lying on the turfwith horrified fascination.

  The group of Indians, which had up to now remained fully a thousandyards away, suddenly screeched and broke into a run directly toward thedog-town.

  There is an indescribable rush in a charge of savages. The little poniesmake their feet go so fast, the feathers and trappings of the warriorsstream behind so frantically, the whole attitude of horse and man is soeager, that one gets an impression of fearful speed and resistlesspower. The horizon seems full of Indians.

  As if this were not sufficiently terrifying, the air is throbbing withsound. Each Indian pops away for general results as he comes jumpingalong, and yells shrilly to show what a big warrior he is, whileunderneath it all is the hurried monotone of hoof-beats becoming everlouder, as the roar of an increasing rainstorm on the roof. It does notseem possible that anything can stop them.

  Yet there is one thing that can stop them, if skilfully taken advantageof, and that is their lack of discipline. An Indian will fight hard whencornered, or when heated by lively resistance, but he hates to go intoit in cold blood. As he nears the opposing rifle, this feeling getsstronger. So often a man with nerve enough to hold his fire, can break afierce charge merely by waiting until it is within fifty yards or so,and then suddenly raising the muzzle of his gun. If he had gone toshooting at once, the affair would have become a combat, and the Indianswould have ridden him down. As it is, each has had time to think. By thetime the white man is ready to shoot, the suspense has done its work.Each savage knows that but one will fall, but, cold-blooded, he does notwant to be that one; and, since in such disciplined fighters it is eachfor himself, he promptly ducks behind his mount and circles away to theright or the left. The whole band swoops and divides, like a flock ofswift-winged terns on a windy day.

  This Alfred relied on in the approaching crisis.

  The girl watched the wild sweep of the warriors with strained eyes. Shehad to grasp her wrist firmly to keep from fainting, and she seemedincapable of thought. Alfred sat motionless on a dog-mound, his rifleacross his lap. He did not seem in the least disturbed.

  "It's good to fight again," he murmured, gently fondling the stock ofhis rifle. "Come on, ye devils! Oho!" he cried as a warrior's horse wentdown in a dog-hole, "I thought so!"

  His eyes began to shine.

  The ponies came skipping here and there, nimbly dodging in and outbetween the dog-holes. Their riders shot and yelled wildly, but none ofthe bullets went lower than ten feet. The circle of their advance lookedsomehow like the surge shoreward of a great wave, and the similarity washeightened by the nodding glimpses of the light eagles' feathers intheir hair.

  The run across the honey-combed plain was hazardous--even to Indianponies--and three went down kicking, one after the other. Two of theriders lay stunned. The third sat up and began to rub his knee. The ponybelonging to Miss Caldwell, becoming frightened, threw itself and lay onits side, kicking out frantically with its hind legs.

  At the proper moment Alfred cocked his rifle and rose swiftly to hisknees. As he did so, the mound on which he had been kneeling caved intothe hole beneath it, and threw him forward on his face. With a furiouscurse, he sprang to his feet and levelled his rifle at the thick of thepress. The scheme worked. In a flash every savage disappeared behind hispony, and nothing was to be seen but an arm and a leg. The band dividedon either hand as promptly as though the signal for such a drill hadbeen given, and swept gracefully around in two long circles until itreined up motionless at nearly the exact point from which it hadstarted on its imposing charge. Alfred had not fired a shot.

  He turned to the girl with a short laugh.

  She lay face upward on the ground, staring at the sky with wide-open,horror-stricken eyes. In her brow was a small blackened hole, and underher head, which lay strangely flat against the earth, the grasses hadturned red. Near her hand lay the heavy Colt's 44.

  Alfred looked at her a minute without winking. Then he nodded his head.

  "It was 'cause I fell down that hole--she thought they'd got me!" hesaid aloud to himself. "Pore little gal! She hadn't ought to have didit!"

  He blushed deeply, and, turning his face away, pulled down her skirtuntil it covered her ankles. Then he picked up his Winchester and firedthree shots. The first hit directly back of the ear one of the stunnedIndians who had fallen with his horse. The second went through the otherstunned Indian's chest. The third caught the Indian with the broken legbetween the shoulders just as he tried to get behind his strugglingpony.

  Shortly after, Billy Knapp and the wagon-train came along.