Davy dived to cover of a greasewood bush, and lay low. But the Cheyennes did not stop to get him. They kept on; at the little fort they split, as before, and shooting and yelping they passed on either side of it. The three whites received them with a volley and sent a volley or two after them as they thudded away. And that was the end of the siege.
Davy did not dare to stand and show himself. To be sure, the Cheyennes, both men and squaws, were racing away, as hard as they could ride; but even yet they might send back after him. So he lay and peeped. However, in the mule fort the two men and the boy had risen upright, again to wave and cheer. Waving and cheering, the mounted men from the wagon train came galloping on, and presently the three in the fort stepped outside. Arrived, the foremost riders from the train hastily flung themselves from their saddles, and there was apparently a great shaking of hands and exchange of greetings. With volleys renewed, from their whip lashes, the teams also were hastening for the scene. The Cheyennes already were almost out of sight. So Davy stood, and trudged forward.
He had half a mile to walk, through the low brush. The first of the wagons beat him to the fort. When he drew near, the lead wagon had halted, and the others were trundling in one after the other. The men were crowding about their three comrades who had been rescued, and for a few moments nobody seemed to notice ragged little red-headed Dave, toiling on as fast as he could.
It was a large train. There were twenty-five wagons, with their teamsters, and about two hundred extra men, some mounted on mules and horses. However, most of the men were afoot. The wagons were tremendous big things, with flaring canvas tops on, or else with the canvas stripped, leaving only the naked hoops of the frame-work. Each wagon was drawn by twelve panting bullocks, yoked in pairs, or spans.
The majority of the men were dressed alike, in flat, broad-brimmed plains hats, blue or red flannel shirts, and rough trousers belted at the waist and tucked into high, heavy boots. The teamsters were armed in hand with their whips, of short stock and long lash and snapper which cracked like a pistol shot. Those cracks could be heard half a mile. The extra men carried mainly large bore muskets, called (as Davy knew) Mississippi yagers; and all had knives and pistols, thrust into waist-band and belt. Whiskered and unshaven and tanned and dusty, it was a regular rough-and-ready crowd.
However, of course the three defenders of the mule fort took the chief attention. They were the two men (the shoulder of one was rudely bandaged with a blue bandanna handkerchief) and the boy. Even the boy wore freighter plains costume, of broad hat and flannel shirt and trousers tucked into boots; and he held a yager in his hand, and had a butcher knife and two big Colt’s revolvers stuck in his belt. He and the two men looked pretty well tired out, but they stood fast and answered all kinds of questions.
The mule fort showed how hot had been the battle, for the mule bodies fairly bristled with arrows. Arrows were everywhere on the ground about.
The freighters had crowded close, and everybody was talking and laughing at once. Davy stood unnoted on the outskirts, gazing and listening—until on a sudden he was espied by a tall, lank teamster with long dusty whiskers.
“Hello, thar!” the man called, loudly. “Whar’d you come from, Red? Lookee, boys! Reckon we’ve picked up a trav’ler. Whoopee! Come hyar, son. Give us an account of yoreself.”
One after another, they all looked. Davy flushed and fidgeted and felt much embarrassed. The tall whiskered freighter strode forward and grasped him by the ragged shirt-sleeve.