The Indians would submit when the iron hand of the Great Father at Washington closed on them; but they would massacre so long as the blue-coats kept out of sight. Train after train was halted by the savage whoop; and the poor emigrants were suddenly called upon to sell their scalps at the price of blood. Seldom mercy was shown, but now and then some lovely girl was spared and carried to a dreadful captivity, in the lair of the Pawnee or the giant Sioux.
The train in which Mr. Denison and the dear ones under his charge had taken passage, was attacked near the banks of the Platte, ten miles below the mouth of the Loup Fork. The force that bore down upon the caravan was overwhelming—it could not be resisted. The train was feeble in point of numbers—too feeble, in fact, to cross the plains; but the men fought bravely for themselves and families. But their bravery availed them naught, for the Indians were armed with Government rifles and revolvers, which they could handle with deadly effect.
Finally the defenders surrendered. Kenoagla—Tom Kyle—had promised quarter, but he broke his word. He did not attempt to restrain his red fiends; but he saved the lives of the Government agent and his charges, while an inferior chief belonging to a Pawnee village situated many miles toward the head of the Platte, succeeded in rescuing the brace of white buffalo-hunters from the vengeance of the tomahawk.
After the massacre the bands separated.
“Father, some dark work is brewing. The white Ogre of these beautiful plains and his red ally are plotting mischief somewhere beneath the stars. I fear your words have irritated him to a fearful degree. I heard him grit his teeth when I rode by. I do not fear for myself—no, no; but for you, father, for you!”
It was Mabel Denison who spoke, and in the darkness that reigned throughout Tom Kyle’s lodge, the fearful girl crept nearer her parent, and threw her arms about his neck.
“I have not thought once of myself, Mabel,” he answered, searching for the pale cheeks, which his lips found, as he spoke her name. “I have been thinking about you and Lina, there. He has saved you for a purpose—he and his red ally.”
“But he shall not carry out his purpose!” returned Mabel, fiercely. “I am not to be this Ogre’s wife; sooner than bear such relation to him I would fly, if I could, to the brazen doors of perdition and knock for admission there!”
“My fair lady will need wings ere long, then.”
The trio turned at the sound of the voice, and saw a dark form between them and the stars.