“We have much to thank you for, sir,” was the earnest answer; “but the Indians have halted.”
“Yes, they are too wary to charge these lines in the daytime, and——”
“And what, sir?” asked Major Conrad, as the scout paused thoughtfully.
“And by nightfall I can bring relief, for not many miles from here is a band of Pawnees hunting buffalo.”
“But, sir, you can never escape from here, for see, the Indians are beginning to surround us, and two separate parties are swimming the river.”
The scout took in the scene at once, and then said quietly:
“You must hold the red devils at bay. Mind, act only on the defensive, and I will run the gantlet of their fire, and bring what relief I can.”
A shrill whistle followed, and Midnight trotted up to his master, and stood ready for his command. Remonstrance with the scout was useless; and after another warning to all, he sprang into the saddle and rode down to the river.
A word of encouragement to Midnight, and the noble animal bounded into the clear waters, and was soon swimming bravely toward the other shore, followed by the eyes of all the emigrants, who were wafting Godspeed to the daring man periling his life to aid them.
Before half the river was crossed the Indians discovered the scout, and with discordant yells the two parties, one up and the other down the stream, rushed to cut him off.