CHAPTER VI. ONE AGAINST EIGHT.
’Twas the third afternoon after their leaving Fort Bent that we again visit the emigrant train.
Although, as yet, Abe had seen nothing to warrant the supposition that Indians were near at hand, yet somehow he felt assured that such was the case; the old Indian-fighter had lived too long in the Indian country and knew their ways too well for him to feel safe after seeing the “White Vulture” at the fort.
The train moved slowly; the horse of the “White Vulture” was fleet; he could easily have joined the warriors and led them back to the attack, during the time the train had been on the march from Fort Bent.
The wagons had just started from their noon rest; this was their last day’s march by the Yellowstone; they would camp that night by the side of the river, and in the morning turn northward toward the Missouri.
The old hunter had thought the matter over carefully; he was convinced that the Indians were not before but behind him, probably following on his trail. To test the truth of this, all the morning he had lagged behind, leaving the train in the care of Dave. At one time he had been at least a mile behind the rest, offering a tempting opportunity to the trailing savages to swoop down upon and capture him, which might seem to them an easy task, but would have been in reality a hard and difficult one, as the guide was well armed and mounted on a roan horse of great speed and endurance. But somehow, if there were savages in the rear as the scout expected, they did not take advantage of the opportunity to capture the famous “Crow-Killer.” This was a puzzle to the old Indian-fighter; he pored over the fact; he could not account for it. Finally, an idea struck him; his face brightened up, and he drew a long breath of relief.
“What a cussed fool I’ve been!” he cried to himself, slapping his thigh vigorously as he rode along behind the train. “Thar’s brains at the bottom of it, in course! If they went for me, naterally I’d make a fight—a noise, and alarm the train; their idea is not to alarm us, but come down suddenly an’ bag us all like a blessed lot of turkeys—that is, if we let them do it. Why, I mought ’a’ knowed that, if I had as much sense as a yaller dog. That’s the identical idea, blamed if it ain’t!” And then the old hunter chuckled to himself, “Guess I mought as well interfere in that air leetle arrangement. I ain’t had a skirmish for some time, an’ I mought as well get my hand in. I mought as well tell Dave what I’m up to.” So, patting the gallant roan on the neck, he urged her forward, passed the train and joined Dave, who was riding on ahead, keeping a sharp look-out upon the country before him.
The two canvassed matters for awhile, when Dave said:
“But, are you sure, Abe, that there are Injuns back of us, on our trail? They may be on the other side of the river, or ahead between us and the Missouri.”
“You talk reason, Dave, but did you notice, jest after we started this morning, we roused a leetle flock of ducks out of the Yellowstone?” asked the “Crow-Killer.”
“Yes, I did notice it.”
“Wal, I was behind the train, an’ I noticed that after we passed, the ducks settled back again to the river. Wal, ’bout half an hour arterwards that same flock of ducks flew over our heads, going to the north-west. Wal—whatever disturbed those ducks were about half an hour behind us, or, say, in distance, ’bout four miles. Now, when we disturbed the ducks they flew up an’ then flew back, but this time they flew off. That convinces me that they were disturbed by a large party of Injuns, perhaps shot at by them with arrows. What do you think?”
“I think you are right, Abe, and probably to-night we shall be attacked,” replied Dave, his eyes growing earnest in their look and his brows contracting as he thought of the danger to which his beloved Leona must soon be exposed.
“Wal, Dave, I ain’t fit Injuns since I were knee-high to a grasshopper for nothing, an’ I intend to find out whether my guess is true or not.”
“What are you going to do?”
“The Injuns haven’t let me see them because they have seen me, that’s the idea. They have probably got one or two on ahead as sort of scouts, an’ then the main body follers in the rear, so as not to tumble on us in case we happen to stop suddenly. The chief in command, who is probably the ‘White Vulture,’ is holding ’em back so as to surprise us at the right time. Now, I’m goin’ to drop back an’ not let ’em see me. I’ll jist dismount, tie old roan here behind some bushes to hide her, lay low in the grass until Mr. Injun comes along, for of course he will come, having nothing to excite his suspicions; then I’ll jist pop him over, take his scalp-lock an’ leave him as a warning to the rest of the red devils.”
“But, suppose there should be two or three in the advance?” said Dave.
“Wal, I’ve got six shots in this ’ere revolver of mine an’ I guess I could even settle for an agent away from ’em. I’ll leave my rifle on the roan, so in case they push me hard I’ll have another shot. Jist you keep on with the train, camp at the bend where we camped last trip. Don’t be alarmed for me. If I don’t come back, carry the train on to Montana, conclude that these durned crows have wiped me out at last, an’ jist settle the account with them whenever you meet them.”
So, with a hearty pressure of Dave’s hand, the “Crow-Killer” turned his horse off one side and let the train pass him.
The wagon soon rolled by; then the “Crow-Killer,” selecting a little thicket on the river’s bank, dismounted and hid himself and horse behind it. He tied his rifle on the saddle so that he could easily free it, then examined the charges of his revolver, loosened his bowie-knife in its sheath, and being prepared for the coming fight, coolly extended himself at full length upon the grass, having first arranged the bushes before him so as to command a view down the river.
The minutes flew rapidly; no sign of any Indians yet. The old hunter grew a little impatient.
“Consarn ’em!” he muttered, “why don’t they come? ’Pears to me they’re acting dreadful cautious. Ah!”
The exclamation was caused by something moving on the prairie far in the distance.
The hunter watched it attentively; it was too distant for him to distinguish distinctly what it was.
“Looks like a horse,” said Abe. “’Tain’t possible, though, ’cos if it were a stray horse, the Injuns would have gobbled it up long ago. I shall soon know, at any rate.”
Then the animal, coming on at a rapid pace, mounted one of the distant swells of the prairie and proved to be a large wolf. He came rapidly on, and at quite a distance scented the hunter and gave him a wide berth, sheering off to the north-west.
“Wonder if he wasn’t frightened by the Injuns, now?” questioned the hunter to himself; “’spect he was. Sho! what’s that?”
A little flock of ducks came flying over his head from down the river, evidently alarmed at something.
“That’s Injun sign, sure,” chuckled the “Crow-Killer”, and he again examined his revolver, making sure that the caps were down firm on the nipples.
“Now, then, old roan, I guess you and me’ll have a fight afore we’re an hour older,” said the hunter, addressing his horse as if he had been a human.
Far in the distance Abe could discern two mounted figures; they were approaching but slowly; but as they came on, the keen eyes of the guide could see that they were Indians.
“I was right! The White Vulture is a smart feller for an Injun, but he ain’t the match for the ‘Crow-Killer’ yet. Let me see: thar’s two of them to settle. I wonder if they’ll be within revolver range ’fore they spy me? Guess they will. Hello! thar’s another red-skin ahead on foot.” And in truth, there strode a stalwart warrior a couple of hundred yards before the others; he was evidently the advance scout.
“Three!” cried the “Crow-Killer”; “wal—the more the merrier. I guess I’m good for ’em.”
The single Indian in advance was coming on with a long, tireless stride, his eager eyes fixed upon the wagon-trail imprinted on the prairie-grass before him. Then behind the single savage on foot and the two mounted ones, the hunter saw five more Crows on horseback. A low whistle escaped from the lips of the Indian-fighter as he beheld the newcomers.
“Sho! thar’s a heap onto ’em; guess I’ll have to make a runnin’ fight; eight ag’in’ one—tall odds even for the ‘Crow-Killer.’ Hello! thar’s the ‘White Vulture’ or his hoss—same thing, ’cos of course he’s on his back.” And as the hunter had said, at the head of the last five Indians rode the “White Vulture,” mounted on the milk-white steed.
The “Crow-Killer” thought over his plan of action and speedily decided what to do. Little time for thinking had he, for the Indian on foot was even now within rifle range; and his long, loping stride carried him rapidly forward. He was a thick-set, muscular young brave, brawny-chested, but with the misshapen lower limbs peculiar to all the “Horse Indians,” who, from infancy, spend nearly all their lives on horseback, and rarely use their legs for locomotion, unless in some case like the present, where, in trailing a foe, there was much less chance of being detected by that foe on foot than on the back of a steed.
The face of the young brave was gayly decked with the war-paint, as was also his bare breast. In his hand he carried a short carbine, such as are carried by the United States troops. It was evidently a trophy of victory wrested from the “blue-coated chiefs,” as the Indians generally designate the soldiers who wear the blue of Uncle Sam.
The sight of the carbine raised the old hunter’s anger.
“Guess, afore long, I’ll fix you so you won’t steal any more carbines!” muttered the “Crow-Killer,” as, raising his revolver, he “drew a bead” on the savage, who still came rapidly on, unconscious of his danger.
“I’ll plug him, then I’ll mount old roan and go for the rest. Arter he’s out of the way ’twill only be seven ag’in’ one. I’ll teach ’em to foller my trail, the red skunks, durn ’em!”
A moment the old hunter glanced along the shining tube, then a motion of his finger—crack! the sharp report of the revolver rung out on the stillness of the prairie—the savage stopped, trembled, clutched his breast with his hand convulsively and then fell forward on his face, dead—shot through the heart.
“Another Crow gone to kingdom come!” the guide muttered, coolly recharging the empty chamber of his revolver.
The two mounted Indians, seeing the fall of their comrade, hearing the sharp, whip-like crack of the revolver, and detecting the little puff of white smoke that curled upward from the ambush of the guide and floated lazily on the air above his head, instantly paused, then in a second flung themselves from their horses’ backs into the prairie-grass, where they nestled like so many snakes watching for their foe; their well-trained horses stood motionless. The party of five behind, who had also seen the fall of the foremost savage, quitted the backs of their horses and joined the two Indians concealed in the grass.
“Durn ’em!” ejaculated the hunter, “do they think that my rifle will carry to all creation?” for the Indians were far beyond rifle-range.
For some ten minutes there were no signs of life upon the prairie; the hunter remained motionless in his covert, watching for some movement upon the part of the foe, and the Indians remained quiet, their horses taking advantage of the occasion to graze upon the fresh young prairie-grass.
“What are they up to? Some deviltry, I’ll bet,” said the guide to himself. “Gosh! if they don’t make a movement soon, I shall have to, for the whole b’ilin’ of ’em will be up presently an’ I don’t calculate to fight a hundred of them all to onc’t. Hello! the fun’s commenced.” This remark was occasioned by the singular behavior of one of the Indian horses. As said, the animals had been feeding quietly upon the grass, but now one of the horses detached himself from the rest and proceeded to walk slowly away, taking a course that would describe a semicircle around the “Crow-Killer.”
He had fought the Indians too long to be deceived by this, one of the most common of their tricks. He knew that clinging to the horse and hid from his view by the body of the animal was one of the Crow warriors. Indeed, his keen eyes, trained from infancy to prairie-life, and possessing a range of vision wonderful in its extent, could detect the red hand of the warrior, where it clung to the horse’s mane, and the end of the foot of the Indian on the horse’s back.
The trapper and his horse were concealed from the view of the savages by a little clump of timber in the shape of a crescent, the ends of which rested on the river, so that when the Indian, concealed behind the horse, got abreast of the place where the guide was concealed, he was none the wiser regarding the hidden foe who had slain his comrade. The Indian behind the horse described a complete semicircle around the hiding-place of the “Crow-Killer,” and took a position just beyond rifle-range, by the river’s bank above him. Then the same maneuver was executed by three other savages, except that the first savage of the three stopped his horse within a few hundred yards of the Indian by the river’s bank, the second savage a few hundred yards from him, and the third Indian a few hundred yards from the second, so that by this maneuver the “Crow-Killer” was completely encircled on three sides by the Crows. The Yellowstone, there rapid and deep, cut off his escape on the only side left unguarded by the Indians.
“Wal, Abe, you’re in for it!” soliloquized the guide; “the red devils kinder think that they’ve got their beaver. If they’d only come within range, I’d pick ’em off one by one, but they ain’t a-goin’ to do that. Jerusalem! I’ve got to git out o’ this or they’ll lift my ha’r for me; the rest of the red suckers will be up pooty soon; then they’ll make a dash an’ close in onto me. I mought kill a few onto ’em, but in the end they’d wipe me out sart’in, an’ I don’t cal’late to let ’em do that jist yet. Hello, durned if they ain’t beginnin’ to close in on me already.”
The hunter had spoken the truth; the Indians, hidden by the bodies of their horses, were gradually closing in upon the “Crow-Killer.” Already, in the guide’s judgment, the savage who held the position near the river above him was within rifle-range.
“Now for it!” thought Abe, as he slid his revolver into his belt, and rising from his lying attitude in the bushes, he stole cautiously to his horse’s side, unfastened her, loosened the rifle, quietly mounted; then gathering the reins in a little knot, patted the roan on the neck, shut his teeth firmly, touched the mare in the flank with his heels and dashed through the covert of the bushes upon the open prairie. Rifle in hand and urging his horse to its highest speed, he rode straight for the Indian before him, disregarding the two savages above and the four below him, one of whom was the “White Vulture.”
The Indian before the “Crow-Killer,” as he came dashing on, leveled his carbine from under his horse’s neck and fired. The aim was false, however, for the ball went wide of the guide; then he urged his horse forward in a course parallel with the river, attempting to keep the body of it still between him and the hunter and escape.
The other savages, swinging themselves into their saddles, came rapidly on toward the “Crow-Killer,” encircling him on all sides. Some of them below him had made a wide détour from the river so as to head him off if he succeeded in killing or escaping the savage before him. But, the “Crow-Killer” had a plan, and soon he put it into execution. He gained every moment upon the savage before him. The red brave rode for life, expecting every moment to hear the sharp crack of the white-man’s rifle and feel the deadly ball. Wildly he urged his mustang onward, but the roan mare of the “Crow-Killer” was fleeter far, and steadily, foot by foot, the hunter gained upon him. The Indians on both sides of the guide, from the courses they were taking, gained also upon their foe, and soon were so nearly within range that they opened fire upon him. The balls whistled through the air, but all fell short.
The “Crow-Killer” gave a quick glance to his left up the river. There were but two Indians between him and the train. The time for escape had come. Both Indians were within range. Quick as thought, he turned in the saddle, leveled at the nearest chief and fired; the savage perceived the motion, attempted to shield himself behind his horse, but too late; the ball struck him in the shoulder and hurled him out of the saddle to the ground. Then the guide wheeled the gallant roan to the left and rode full tilt at the remaining red-skin between him and freedom. The Indian, sheering off to the north, brought his gun to his shoulder and fired; the scout had perceived the motion and swerved his horse to the left a little; the ball cut through the hunting-shirt, just grazing the shoulder. With a yell of defiance the guide drew his revolver, leveled at the Indian, who was now almost within point-blank range, and fired. The Crow, perceiving the intention of the white man, pulled up the head of his horse, who received the ball in his temple and fell over on his side dead, almost crushing the rider in his fall. The wily savage by the action saved his life.
Over the prairie went the “Crow-Killer,” urging the tireless roan to her topmost speed; behind him came the Indians, wild with rage, but they had lost ground by the cunning maneuver of the “Crow-Killer,” and he gained on them every moment. One horse alone of the party was the equal of the roan in speed, and that horse was rode by the “White Vulture,” but he did not pursue the dreaded “Crow-Killer,” being far in the rear. Great brave though he was, he may have feared to encounter the enemy of his tribe, or perhaps he remembered that the “Crow-Killer” had spared his life, and thus he returned the favor.
After a sharp pursuit the guide had the satisfaction of beholding the Crows rein in their horses and give up the chase.
“Wal, considerin’ that it were one ag’in’ eight, I hain’t made a bad fight,” said the “Crow-Killer,” as he rode on up the bank of the Yellowstone.