“Better jump it. Turn his head down-stream and go yer best now. Never mind me. I’m game enough to take keer of myself. You bet on that. Ride hard. ’Bout half-a-dozen rods below thar’s a narrer place. I ain’t got time to turn.”
It was at this moment that Millicent arrived at the crest of the mountain and saw them on the plain. She saw that the only danger was to the brave old man, who had given up his horse to save his young friend. One of the savages had turned off in chase of Bentley. The other followed close on the heels of Ben, whirling his hatchet in the air. Half a mile in the rear, coming up at the utmost speed of their fast horses, the girl saw at least a dozen savages, riding to the aid of the guards.
Ben was running directly for the little stream which meandered through the prairie. Millicent thought him doomed. His rifle was not loaded. Would he turn upon the bank of the stream and meet the Indians? The pace at which they were going was tremendous. The Indians knew him well, and those in the rear redoubled their efforts to come up with him. A wild yell of triumph broke from every throat as they saw him approach the stream. He comprehended his desperate situation now and had made up his mind as to his course. In times like these men do things which in their calmer moments seem impossible. He never slackened his speed as he approached the deep watercourse, and gathering all his powers for the effort, and grasping the rifle which had served him faithfully in many a bloody fray, he bounded into the air, and landed safe and sure upon the other bank! The place where he leaped was in the midst of a growth of prairie-timber, and by the side of a tree. As he turned, rifle in hand, his headmost pursuer, who had not been able to check his headlong speed, appeared upon the other bank, his countenance expressing the utmost surprise, as he gazed upon the wide space over which Ben had leaped. Throwing up his hands in astonishment, he shouted in the best English he could muster:
“Good jump! Big Buffalo make very big jump!”
“Yes, durn yer dirty face. Now git afore I bore a hole in ye! I don’t keer to hurt ye, but ef ye ain’t out’n this afore I load this yer rifle, good-by.”
The Indian saw his danger. The dreaded rifle was not yet loaded, and turning, he plied his heels in a way which did credit to his powers of locomotion. Millicent, from her station on the hill, could hardly refrain from laughing aloud as she saw the Indian run. Jan was in ecstasies. While Ben was on the other side of the stream he kept up a running fire of pitying phrases and encouraging words. When the trapper leaped the stream he performed a war-dance with great spirit upon the mountain top.
“Yoost look at dat, you Vrenchmans. Dat’s mine vrent, Penn. See him shump! Shumps like a vrog, same vat you eats. Ach! Ho, ho, ha! See dat Injun run. Hein? Trouble coom after you soon, Mister Injun. Oh, Shules, how could you pe so pad ash to durn against such a mans ash Penn?”
“Who said I turned against him? It is got up between you and this woman. I’ll ask the old man when he comes in if I am to be insulted by every one and make no return. You old bully, I’ll cut your heart out.”
“You shut oop. I ain’t a vool. Vat you dakes der knife to me vor? Vat vor you dries to make love to der vooman? Vat you vant mit a gun ven I let you co? No, Shules, you pad egg.”
“I’ll let you know, for one, whether I am to be insulted or not. Ben will set it right. He wrongs no man.”