Carl was about to go on and give his companion some minute instructions as to the course he must pursue in order to reach the fort, but just then, as they went rapidly along the road which ran close by the side of the school-house, half a dozen Indians, painted in all manner of grotesque shapes, suddenly sprang up from their place of concealment and made a wild dash for the guide’s horse. One seized his horse by the bridle, and another took hold of his gun, which was slung over his shoulder by a broad strap, and with a knife cut it loose from him. No attention was paid to Parker, who sat on his horse and wondered if the savages in a fight moved as quickly as these did.
“White soldier, you go on,” said one who seemed to be the leader of the assaulting party. “We want nothing to do with you.”
Lieutenant Parker turned and looked closely at the speaker. The voice did not sound as though it came from an Indian, and when he had taken a second glance at him, Parker saw his white skin through the places where he had not been touched up by the paint. He was a squawman beyond doubt, and the lieutenant wondered what Carl had been doing to him to incur his enmity.
“Yes,” said the guide, “you go on to the fort; I will have to stay here.”
“Why, how in the world am I to find my way back there unless you go with me?” inquired Parker, who was amazed at the proposition.
“You can see the sun, can’t you? Well, just keep it to your right and go ahead. Trust a little to your horse. He has been that way once, and he can follow his old trail back. Good-by.”
“Good-by,” said the squawman. “You have wasted time enough here already.”
As if in answer to the threat implied by these words, two of the Indians raised their guns and pointed them at his head, and Parker, taking the hint, urged his horse forward and began crossing the river. When he reached the opposite side he turned to look at Carl, and found that he and his captors were just disappearing behind the water oaks which lined the banks of the stream.
“Carl knew what he was talking about when he said that some brave, somewhere, had seen us go into the fort,” thought the lieutenant, who was very much depressed by what had occurred. “But it beats me how he got into trouble with that squawman. Carl never associated with such fellows as those. They have got him, and now the next thing is to find out what they are going to do with him. I must see the colonel about it as soon as possible.”
Parker’s first care was to sling his Winchester over his shoulder, and his second to put his hands into his pockets. He remembered how he had drawn that rifle to his face and pointed it at an imaginary Indian who would attempt to rush upon him, and here he had gone and surrendered to half a dozen savages who took his guide away from him. He was fairly disgusted with himself when he thought of it. Why did he not make a fight, as he had wanted to do?