“That ar’ person comin’ is yer son, Hugh, an’ ef he comes a little closer, he’ll rush right into our arms. I ain’t got nothin’ agin ye myself, but it does seem as though luck was down on yer family to-day.”
The bad luck of the family, however, seemed to be partly averted, for, fortunately, the young man had a companion. This person gave token that he was an old voyageur on the plains; for his eye, ever on the alert, quickly caught sight of the hollow and the savages therein. Their horses were held in, a long survey taken, and then, to all appearance, satisfied that, for the present, no good could be done by them, the two turned to one side, and pushed their steeds into a quick gallop. About the same time, the detachment which had started in pursuit of Howell, again caught sight of him, and, fired by their success, rode at a sweeping pace toward his station. He, casting a last look at the smoke of the burning cabin—plainly visible from his position—another at the captives, and a third at his pursuers, commenced a rapid flight.
Nothing now remaining for the war-party to mark with their devastating hand, they fell again into file, and marched on under the guidance of Rutter.
Signals had been made to recall the men who were in pursuit of Howell, but their signals, in the excitement of their chase, had not been seen. Perhaps if they had been, they would not have been noticed. One of their number had fallen, and his death demanded vengeance. The scalp of the white man must hang in the belt of a Blackfoot.
The pursued took the chase coolly, carefully managing a horse that already seemed somewhat tired, he lifted him at every stroke, keeping sharp watch that he was not gained upon, and evidently steering for some place of refuge.
A long way off appeared the course of a stream, stretching its slowly winding length from south to north. Directly ahead lay a small, but thickly-studded copse of trees. Could the white man see what lay behind or within it?
There was another cabin there, not very large, but strongly constructed, and just at the edge of the copse, peering anxiously over the plain, a young man of some twenty four years of age. Tall, well-proportioned, with dark-brown hair, and piercing grey eyes, he made no bad appearance as he stood there, holding in his hand a white-brimmed sombrero, garnished with a deep black plume.
“It is time,” he was murmuring, “that Howell came. He has been gone long, and it is not often he delays beyond the appointed hour, yet—ha! Yonder he comes, and comes right gallantly, though his horse seems weary. By heavens! horsemen are following him—Indians at that! He needs my aid, for three to one is too long an odds, even for him.”
So saying, the young man snatched up his rifle, which was resting against a tree near by, and threw himself upon his ready saddled steed, making the best of his way out of the thicket, starting at reckless speed in the direction of his friend and the three pursuers.
The Blackfeet, seeing a mounted man emerge from the thicket, though the distance was full half-a-mile, partly drew in their animals, as if fearing an ambuscade; then, seeing that no one else appeared, they rushed on with an increased fury. The five men, thus triply divided, were gradually approximating, but the red-skins seemed likely to overtake their intended victim before his friend could come to his assistance; and this likelihood appeared to be reduced to a positive certainty, as the horse of Howell stumbled, rose, and then sank in its track, completely blown. His rider was instantly on his feet, and facing the foes, now within fifty yards of him, and coming on at a rate which must, in a minute more, have brought them to the spot where he stood. But the hardy northern trapper is not a man who shrinks from danger, nor does his courage fail him at a critical period. Howell was one who, in all his eventful career, had never allowed his heart to falter, or his hand to shake. His movements, to be sure, were quick, but not flurried, as he brought his deadly rifle to his shoulder. A careful aim, the trigger was pulled—a flash, a report, and then, with an half-uttered yell, the foremost of the three persons wildly threw up his arms, reeled, pitched heavily off his saddle, and fell with a dull thud to the ground.