It seemed to him a long time before that was over with, and every moment he expected an Indian to ride on top of him. But the yelling and shooting and scurrying died away. The Indians appeared to be gathering at their fire.
Ah! What was that? He heard a faint rustle, near him. An Indian was scouting about, on foot, looking for him? He scarcely dared to breathe as he hugged the earth, and his heart thumped like a drum. Then something paused, beside him; next something cold, like a knife blade, pressed against his neck, and he heard a little whimper.
It was Shep, and Shep’s nose! Shep was alive and had found him. Oh, Shep! Good old Shep! Be quiet, Shep. But Shep knew. He was satisfied, and crouched close, only once in a while growling low in his throat.
Here they were—the only ones left alive, Terry felt, from the handcar. Now what could he do? The Indians were talking and laughing, at a little distance. He gradually untangled himself, and inch by inch raised his head, to see, in the direction of the fire. He had to crawl a few feet, to the edge of his wash. He peeped over.
The Indians were collected around their fire, beside the track. Between his place and the fire there was a narrow gully, bridged by a wooden culvert; and upon the track over the culvert there was a tie, fastened to the rails by wire, but knocked askew. That was what the handcar had struck; and he had been thrown clear across to this side and luckily had landed in this wash cut diagonally by the rains. The sage was quite high here, too. He guessed he hadn’t been counted on the handcar, because he had been lying down and the four men had been standing.
He could just see the handcar, bottomside up, in the brush on the slope of the gully. Now the Indians were leaving their fire and trooping down track a little way. They began to pry at the rails, with poles. They were planning another wreck. This one had been a success, but it was only a small one. Perhaps they thought that a tie would not wreck a train, and they wanted to wreck a train.
They pried and worked, loosening the rails. What could a fellow do? That freight at Kearney might have got tired of waiting, and be along any time. Or a passenger train might come. Terry thought upon breaking for Willow Island, to give the alarm there. No, that wouldn’t be the quickest way. If he might only get around the Indians, and run to Plum Creek—it couldn’t be more than five or six miles, and he might meet the train this side of it and stop it, somehow.
“Whisht! Come on, Shep. Careful, now,” he whispered. He started to crawl. Shep crawled behind him. Once down in the gully, maybe they could follow it up a way, and make a circuit around that gang. They reached the bottom, and were about to do finely, when Terry heard a groan.
It sounded from the brush, beyond the gully. He listened, and heard it again. It was a groan in English. One of the handcar men was alive. Well, he ought to go and see.
“’Elp!”