“‘Bill, me an’ you have been together too long for that. When I leave you it’ll be arter this, said I, an’, liftin him in my arms, I got him on my hoss, an’ started off agin. The way that little mustang got over the ground carried us ahead of all except two o’ the Comanches, who kept bangin’ away at us as fast as they could load their rifles. If I hadn’t had ole Bill in my arms I would have put an eend to their shootin’ an’ yellin’ in a tarnal hurry.
“It war no light load that hoss had to carry, an’ I knowed that we must come to closer quarters soon, ’cause he couldn’t stand that gait long. But he carried us five mile ’bout as quick as I ever traveled, an’ then, all to onct, commenced to run slow. He war givin’ out fast. The yellin’ varlets kept comin’ nearer an’ nearer, an’ I had only one chance for life, an’ a poor one at that. I would stick to the hoss as long as he could step, an’ then try it on foot. So I turned toward a strip o’ woods which lay ’bout a mile off, but he hadn’t made a dozen jumps when one o’ the pursuin’ Injuns sent a ball through his head, an’ we all come to the ground together.
“The minit I touched the prairy I dropped ole Bill an’, at the crack o’ my rifle, one o’ the Injuns fell; the other then commenced circlin’ round me, ’fraid to come to clost quarters. But I kept my eye on him, an’ jest as he war goin’ to fire, I dropped behind my hoss, and kept dodgin’ ’bout till I got my rifle loaded, and then I settled matters to onct. I war safe—but ole Bill war dead. I tuk him up in my arms agin, and carried him into the woods, where I rolled a log from its place, an’ arter scoopin’ out some o’ the ground, I put him in, an’ pulled the log back over him. It war the best I could do for him, an’ arter swearin’ above his grave that a Comanche should fall for every har on his head, I shouldered my rifle, an’, jest as the sun war risin’, struck out acrost the prairy, which I knowed I must now tread alone.
“Is it a wonder, then, that I hate an Injun? The bones of many a brave that lay scattered ’bout the prairy can tell how well I have kept my oath. Of all the Injuns that have crossed my trail since ole Bill’s death, the three that camped in this shantee that night ar the only ones that ever escaped. I am not done with ’em yet; an’ when I go back to the prairy, the Comanches will have further cause to remember the night that see the eend of ole Bill Lawson an’ the Black Mustang.”
CHAPTER XIX.
The Indians Again.
THE next morning the boys were up before the sun, and after a hearty breakfast, set out to spend the day in the woods; Frank and Harry, bending their steps toward the creek that ran through the woods, about a mile from the cabin, to set their traps for minks, while Archie and George started toward a ridge—the well-known “fox run-way” as it was called—to engage in their favorite sport. The trapper and Uncle Joe set off in an opposite direction, to cut down a bee-tree, which the latter had discovered a few days before.
When Frank and Harry arrived at the creek, the latter said: