CHAPTER VII. THE NIGHT ATTACK.
The train had reached the bend in the river where Abe had decided to camp, and was preparing supper when the guide overtook them.
The emigrants had heard the shots, and, under Dave’s direction, had prepared for attack.
The “Crow-Killer” was surrounded by eager questioners when he dismounted.
In a few words he told the emigrants that they were in danger of an attack every moment, but that beyond a doubt they could easily beat off the savages. The old guide was a shrewd judge of human nature; by the time he got through his little speech, he had fully persuaded his companions that they were more than a match for the Indians. So the emigrants partook of their supper cheerfully, and then made preparations for the night.
The Hickmans, father and son, were talking earnestly apart from the rest.
“Well, father,” asked Dick, “have you decided what to do?”
“Yes,” answered the old man, “I’ll fix it to-night. We have got to get her from the wagon some way, for we can never attempt to put her out of the way with Mrs. Grierson and her daughter with her in the wagon. We must think of some plan to get her out.”
“I’ve got an idea. The guides, you know, say that we’ll be attacked to-night. Now, the moment the Indians commence the attack, I’ll set fire to the wagon-covering; I’ll wet it first with whisky, then it will burn like mad; of course the women will be frightened out; then you’ll have a chance to fix Miss Leona. What do you think of the idea?” asked the son.
“There couldn’t be any thing better,” replied the father, rubbing his hands with delight.
“Well, ’tain’t a bad idea and it’s very simple; so you just keep your eyes open and watch your chance.”
“All right,” replied old Eben, “I shall look out.”
And then the devil’s pair, father and son, mingled in one of the little groups near the fires.
The shades of night gathered over the prairie; the pickets were posted, and the cattle corralled in the center of the little circle formed by the wagons and the river.
Anxious hearts were in the camp that night. Many a cheek lost its ruddy hue and paled as the owner thought of the danger that, like a dark cloud, hovered over them. Miles were they away from home and friends, surrounded by the red fiends thirsting for the blood of the “pale-faces.” Many a prayer went up to Heaven from white lips, that the Great Power above would protect them and guide them safe to their far western home.
The night wore on; no signs of danger had yet been seen, even by the keen-eyed guides.
“What do you think, Abe?” asked Dave, as the two stood together, beyond the picket-line on the eastern side of the camp, watching the prairie before them. The night was dark and the moon shone not over the prairie.
“What do I think? Wal; I think that in less than an hour we’ll have the toughest fight that we’ve been in for many a long day,” replied the “Crow-Killer.”
“You think so?” asked Dave, anxiously. His thoughts were of Leona.
“Sart’in” responded the old guide; “the Crows mean mischief, or else I’m a sucker!”
Just then the prolonged howl of a coyote sounded faintly in the distance over the prairie.
“Do you hear that?” cried Abe, in a whisper, clutching the arm of Dave, nervously.
“Yes, it’s a wolf, attracted probably by the scent of our camp,” replied Dave.
“Jus’ so,” said Abe, still in a hoarse whisper, a singular expression upon his features.
The sound had come from the east, seemingly down the river.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if thar were more nor one wolf,” said Abe, listening intently.
“Why, yes, of course,” replied Dave, “they generally go in packs.”
Just then another howl was borne faintly to their ears on the night wind, this time coming from the north.
“Do you hear that?” asked Abe; “that wolf travels considerably fast; he’s made ’bout three miles in two seconds; shouldn’t be surprised if next time he howls it should come from the westward,” and then, as if in confirmation of the guide’s words, the howl was repeated, and this time it did come from the west.
“’Pears to me,” said Abe, in his shrewd way, “that those wolves are acting all together, and they’re howling to let each other know whar they air.”
“We are surrounded by them!” cried Dave.
“Gospel truth, an’ every one of those ’are wolves is a big Crow Injun!” said the “Crow-Killer.”
“I believe you’re right!” exclaimed Dave.
“I know I am. They’re closin’ in upon us; we’ll have bloody work afore we’re an hour older or else I’m a sucker. Let’s take a leetle scout down by the river; they’re all on horseback, an’ by keeping to the little timber, we can easily avoid them; they won’t be apt to attack for an hour or so yet, an’ if we run into ’em an’ have a leetle tussle, why, I guess we can git out of it, an’ at any rate it’ll give the camp fair warning an’ spoil the Injuns’ idea to surprise us.”
So, noiselessly the two guides stole down along the river, keeping close watch before them for the advancing Indians. We will leave them to pursue their scout and return to the camp of the emigrants.
It was half an hour after the departure of the two guides on their scout that the two Hickmans stood together, near the wagon that contained Grierson’s family and Leona.
“Look here, father,” said Dick. “I go on picket up the river in about ten minutes; there isn’t any danger of an attack. I don’t believe there’s an Indian within ten miles of us, so that idea of ours won’t work.”
“What shall we do then?” asked the father.
“I’ll tell you. After I go on the picket, you go to the wagon and ask Leona if she don’t want to go out for a walk as far as where Dave Reed is on duty. Tell her that the guides are convinced there isn’t any danger and he’d like to say good-night to her before she goes to sleep. She’ll jump at the chance; then you just take her up the river, past my post, and I’ll contrive not to see you when you go by me. Now when you get her a couple of hundred yards beyond where I am, you suddenly shout ‘Indians!’ and rush back to the camp. I’m on picket-duty, and of course if I hear an alarm and see anybody coming in I shall think it’s an Indian and fire at it. Then I’ll put for camp, and when in the morning they find her dead, why, it will be an unfortunate mistake—that’s all.” And the scoundrel told the details of his infernal plot against the life of the orphan girl with perfect coolness.
“But, suppose they accuse us of intending to kill her?” said the old man.
“Who will dare to? who will have a reason to? We are all strangers to each other; no one will know that there is a motive for the deed. Men don’t commit crimes for nothing, you know. It will be set down by all as a blunder, not a premeditated act. It’s the most natural thing in the world for me, after you give the alarm, to fire at the first thing that approaches me.”
“Yes,” said the old man, convinced that the scheme was a good one. “Be careful; don’t make a mistake and hit me in the darkness.”
“Oh, no!” cried the son, “you just keep near the river; you can easily run faster than she can.”
And so the plot was arranged.
The pickets were relieved and Dick Hickman took his post to the west of the camp by the river. Then the elder Hickman went to the wagon that contained Leona. The poor girl had not thought of sleep; she was too anxious for the safety of her lover. She accepted the invitation to go out to Dave’s post with gladness, and the assurance of the old villain that all danger was over relieved her mind of a heavy load.
Eben Hickman and Leona, passed beyond the wagon-line, and walked into the darkness of the prairie. Dick at his post saw them coming and laid down flat on the ground, so that he would escape Leona’s notice.
Old Hickman and Leona passed on beyond the picket-line and walked a hundred yards or so out on the prairie.
“Are we near his post?” asked Leona, the dense gloom and stillness of the prairie waste striking a dread fear to her heart.
“Yes, just beyond us,” answered the man, “don’t you see him?” and he pointed before them in the darkness.
Leona strained her eyes and gazed through the gloom.
“Yes,” she said, after a moment’s anxious gaze, “I see him now,” and then, with a light heart, she was about to proceed, when Hickman laid his hand upon her arm; she could feel that he was trembling violently.
“You see him? where?” and the voice of the old man trembled with fear.
“There!” she answered, pointing straight before her. “Don’t you see those forms in the darkness?—there are three or four with him, and some one on horseback!”
“My God!” shrieked the old man, in terror, “the Indians!” and then he would have turned to fly, but the red warriors swooped down upon them; with a lightning stroke a savage cleft his head with a tomahawk, and struck him dead to the ground. Another grim warrior, bending from the saddle, seized the almost fainting Leona in his arms, and raising her, held the maiden before him. Her screams rung shrill on the night-air; then came the quick reports of shots fired to the eastward of the camp: ’twas the signal for the attack. The picket-guards fired their rifles, then ran for the wagon train.
Dick Hickman heard the exclamation of his father and the scream of the girl, but first thought it was only the execution of the plan contrived; then he heard the rush of the Indians and the struggle attending the killing of his father, and realizing that the Indians had come in reality, he fled hastily for the camp.
The attack had now begun in downright earnest. Abe and Dave had scouted down the bank of the river until they detected the advancing Indians, then skillfully withdrawing without being observed, they had returned and alarmed the camp, so that when the Crows made their dash, intended for a complete surprise, to their astonishment they found the emigrants fully prepared to receive them.
The Indians, contrary to their wonted custom, dashed in among the wagons, and fought the emigrants hand to hand. The contest was long and bloody, but the whites were fighting for all that was dear to them in the world, and made a most desperate resistance. Being, too, armed far superior to the Indians, gave them an advantage, though outnumbered. Their revolvers did terrible service, thinning the ranks of the Crows with dreadful effect. The emigrants, too, had the advantage of the cover of the wagons. Abe and Dave fought like demons. The Indians gave way before the two guides, who, on horseback, wielding their heavy rifles like reeds, brought the butts of them down with terrible effect upon the heads of the red assailants. The “White Vulture” led on the Crows with desperate bravery, but, at last, the Indians, having lost nearly a third of their force, reluctantly drew off and left the emigrants in possession of the field.
It was a hard-earned victory, for six of the emigrants had been killed outright, and hardly a man escaped without some wound.
Abe and Dave instantly exerted themselves to place the camp again in a proper state for defense.
The old Indian-fighter knew full well that the Crows, though defeated for the present, might renew the attack at any moment.
The bodies of the slain Indians were rolled into the river; the emigrants, killed in the fight, were placed in a wagon until they could be given decent burial.
“A tough fight, Abe,” said Grierson, who had manfully done his part in the struggle.
“What will be the next movement do you suppose?” asked an emigrant.
“Wal, I ’spect they’ll kinder hem us in here, an’ try an’ starve us out,” said Abe.
“They can’t do that,” cried Grierson, “we have plenty of provisions.”
“For us, yes,” answered the “Crow-Killer,” “but for the cattle, no. The four-footed beasts will want fodder, an’ if we drive ’em outside our wagon-line, we’ve got to fight for it.”
“Then how to feed the cattle is the question,” said Grierson.
“That’s so, an’ that’s jist what the red skunks are cal’lating on. If they’d only stampeded our beasts last night, they’d had us.”
“That was the reason that you had ’em tied so securely,” broke in an emigrant.
“Sart’in; now you’re talkin’. We’ve got to stand a siege here, I reckon,” said Abe.
The gray streaks of the coming day were now seen in the eastern clouds, and the dense gloom vanished rapidly from the face of the prairie.
Abe divided the camp into watches, as before, attended in person to the wounded men, and imposed watchfulness upon the guards.
As the morning advanced, the emigrants looked out with anxious eyes for traces of the foe.
Far beyond rifle-range on the prairie, the Crows had formed a cordon of men around the camp of the emigrants, so as to cut off all hope of escape.
Abe looked at them with an evil expression in his dark eyes.
“If I don’t wipe out some of your big chiefs afore I’m a day older, then I’m a sucker,” and he shook his fist savagely toward the foe.
Abe then directed the breakfast to be prepared.
“We can’t fight unless we eat, and thank gracious, we’ve got enough for the humans if we haven’t for the beasts.”
So the women went busily to work getting the breakfast. Then, for the first time, the absence of Leona was discovered. Of course, Mrs. Grierson and Eunice had noticed her absence from the wagon, but thought she had taken refuge in some other one, but now it was discovered that she was not in the camp!
Dave was excited and alarmed.
Abe, in his cool way, inquired all the particulars of the affair. Eunice, awake when Leona had left the wagon, of course knew that she had left it with the elder Hickman, for the purpose of seeing Dave. Inquiry was then made for Hickman, and he was announced as among the missing. Dick, the son, was questioned, but he professed ignorance of his father’s fate. Leona and his father both dead, he was the sole heir to Rattlesnake Gulch; so he determined to hold his tongue, and thus avoid unpleasant questions.
But one conclusion could be drawn, and that was that possibly the elder Hickman had taken Leona, ventured beyond the picket-line, and fallen into the hands of the savages.
“Well?” said Dave, in a calm voice, though his lips trembled as he spoke. Dave and Abe had walked off together.
“Dave, boy, your gal’s in the hands of the Crows; thar ain’t any mistake ’bout it. That cussed fool Hickman took her out onto the prairie, an’ both on ’em got gobbled up;” and the “Crow-Killer’s” face, more than his words, expressed the grief he felt at his friend’s loss.
“Abe,” said Dave, in a tone of earnest determination, “I’ll rescue her, if she’s alive, from the hands of the Crows, or if she’s dead, I’ll avenge her!”
“An’ I’m with you, boy, to the death!” cried the “Crow-Killer,” extending his hand. A moment the two men grasped each other’s hands; ’twas a solemn compact, and from that time the Crow nation had two unrelenting enemies instead of one.