“There are some less in that band, I know.”
“Did you shoot?” asked Archie, drawing a long breath of relief to know that the danger was past. “Why, I didn’t have time to fire a shot.”
“That’s because you were frightened,” replied Mr. Winters. “You see I have been in skirmishes like this before, and their yells don’t make me nervous. I had five good shots at them, and I don’t often miss.”
“I say, youngsters, are you all right?” exclaimed Dick, who at this moment came up. “See here! I’ve got two fellers’ top-knots. Bless you, they aint scalps,” he continued, as the boys drew back. “They’re only the feathers the Injuns wear in their har. I don’t scalp Cheyennes, ’cause I don’t keer ’bout ’em. I make war on ’em ’cause it’s natur. But when I knock over a Comanche, I take his har jest to ’member ole Bill by. But, youngsters, warn’t that jolly! I haven’t heered a Injun yell fur more’n a year, an it makes me feel to hum. You can take these feathers, an’ when you get back to Lawrence, tell the folks thar that the Injuns that wore ’em onct attacked the train you belonged to.”
The emigrants’ first care, after having satisfied themselves that the Indians had gone, was to count their stock; and more than one had to mourn the loss of a favorite horse or mule, which had escaped and gone off with the Indians. Mr. Winters, however, had lost nothing—the trapper having tied the animals so securely that escape was impossible. Not a person in the train was injured—the only damage sustained being in the canvas covers of the wagons, which were riddled with bullets and arrows.
The boys were still far from feeling safe, and probably would not have gone to bed that night had they not seen the trappers spreading their blankets near the wagon. This re-assured them, for those men never would have thought of rest if there had been the least probability that the Indians would return. So the boys took their beds out of the wagon and placed them beside those of Dick and his companion, who were talking over the events of the night.
“This bisness of fightin’ Injuns, youngsters,” said the former, “is one that aint larnt out of books, nor in the woods about Lawrence. If you had a-been with us, you would a seed that. Now, when I fust went out thar, you couldn’t ’a’ told that thar war a red-skin on the prairy. But I laid my ear to the ground, an’ purty quick I heerd a rumblin’ like, an’ I knowed the noise war made by hosses. Arter that, I heerd a rustlin’ in the grass, an’ seed a Injun sneakin’ along, easy like, t’wards the camp. So I drawed up my ole shootin’ iron, an’ done the bisness fur him, an’ then started fur the camp, loadin’ my rifle as I ran. In course the Injuns seed then that it warn’t no use to go a-foolin’ with us, so they all set up a yell, an’ here they come. I dodged under the wagon, an’ as they went by, I give ’em another shot, an’ seed a red-skin go off dead.”
“Go off dead!” repeated Frank. “How could he go off when he was dead?”
“Why,” said the trapper, with a laugh, in which he was joined by old Bob Kelly, “every one of them Injuns war tied fast to his hoss, so that if he war killed he wouldn’t fall off; an’, in course, his hoss would keep on with the rest, an’ carry him away. I seed more’n one Injun go off dead to-night, an’ the way I come to get them feathers, b’longin’ to them two chaps, war, that somebody had shot their hosses. I seed ’em on the ground, tryin’ to cut themselves loose from their saddles, so I run up an’ settled ’em. That war four I rubbed out. Good-night, youngsters. You needn’t be afraid, ’cause they won’t come back again to-night.”
As the trapper spoke, he placed his cap under his head for a pillow, re-arranged his blanket, and was soon in a sound sleep.