George in Camp; or, Life on the Plains

by Harry Castlemon

After the various exciting incidents connected with the events of the night had been talked over, the herdsmen, who had followed the boy into the office, to listen to his story, went out one by one, and finally Ned and the Mexican followed. The hall through which they passed was still filled with smoke; the walls and doors were dotted here and there with bullet-marks, and the floor was littered with weapons, sombreros and various other articles, which the raiders had left behind them in their hurried flight. The sight of these things made Ned tremble again. The Mexican accompanied him as far as the door of his own room, and when the latter was about to slam the door in his face, the man gave him a look and a nod that were full of meaning.

“That fellow means to make trouble for me, sooner or later,” said the boy to himself, after he had lighted his lamp and securely fastened his door. “I can see it in his eye. I wish I had asked father to discharge him long ago, for I never did like him; but if I have him sent away now, he will spread it among the men that I had that stolen horse in my possession and wouldn’t give him up. If that story ever gets wind in the settlement, I don’t know what will become of me.”

Ned threw himself upon a sofa—he was still so very nervous and frightened that he dared not undress and go to bed—and thought over the exciting adventures which had been crowded into the last few hours, and racked his brain in the vain hope of finding some way out of the difficulties he had got into. Two things were plain to him: Philip was there in the rancho for no good purpose, and he did not intend to expose Ned, unless the latter said something to direct suspicion toward himself. It was humiliating, to say the least, to have a servant in the house who could get him into serious trouble at any time he chose to open his mouth; but Ned could think of no way to get rid of him, and there was no one to whom he could go for advice. He must keep his own counsel until Gus Robbins arrived. Ned knew that his friend had been in many a scrape himself; that it was a very serious difficulty indeed out of which he could not work his way, and perhaps Gus could help him. In the meantime, he resolved he would have as little to do with the Mexican as possible. He would not speak to him, or even look at him, if he could help it, and at the same time he would show him by his actions that he was not afraid of him.

Having made up his mind to this Ned rearranged his pillow and tried to go to sleep; but his brain was too active and his senses too keenly alive to every external impression. If he kept his eyes open he saw the raiders as plainly as he could have seen them if they had been there in his room; and if he closed his eyes to shut them out from view he distinctly heard their yells, the reports of their revolvers and carbines, and could feel the sofa vibrate under his hand just as the planks which formed the manger had vibrated when the bullets passed through them. Once or twice he started up in great alarm, believing that he heard the porch creak just as it did when he saw the raiders step upon it. At last the creaking sounded in the hall; and so positive was Ned that the thieves had returned and the Mexican cook had let them into the house again that he took his rifle out of the wardrobe which served him for a closet, put a cartridge into it and sat down on the sofa, holding the weapon in readiness to send a ball through the door the instant a hand was laid upon the latch.

In this way Ned passed the night. It was a long and dreary one to him, but morning came at last, and then Ned mustered up courage enough to draw the curtains and throw open the shutters. He felt perfectly safe now, and being overcome with weariness he sunk back upon the sofa and fell into a sound sleep. He slept until almost dinner-time, and felt weak and exhausted when he got up. To his great surprise no one, except his father, had anything to say about the fight. The servants, who were all old frontiersmen (there were no women about the house), had passed through so many similar scenes that they had became accustomed to them, and seemed to think that they were hardly worth talking about. He found his father in the office, and his first words were:

“Well, Ned, the raiders did us some damage, after all. After we drove them away from here they went out and caught Edwards napping, and we are ten thousand dollars poorer than we were yesterday!”

Edwards was one of the herdsmen. His cattle, numbering over a thousand, had been brought in a few days before for the inspection of a drover who had purchased half the herd. These the drover had taken to Palos, and Mose, another herdsman in Uncle John’s employ, had been sent along to assist him. Edwards ought to have been well out of the way with the rest of the herd by this time, but he had loitered on the road in order to visit some of his friends, and the thieves had taken him off his guard.

“I found Edwards here when I awoke this morning,” added Uncle John.

“Where is he now?” asked Ned. “I should like to hear him tell his story.”

“O, he had no story to tell. He went into camp a few miles from here, and early this morning the raiders surrounded his stock and drove it off. Edwards saved himself by jumping on a horse without saddle or bridle, and came down to tell me about it. I have told him where our other herds are, and sent him out to see if they are safe. Ten thousand dollars is a large sum to lose in one night.”