Майн Рид
The Death Shot: A Story Retold
Chapter Fifty Seven.
Planning a capture
Speechless with surprise, the two men stand gazing at the odd apparition; with something more than surprise, a supernatural feeling, not unmingled with fear. Such strange unearthly sight were enough to beget this in the stoutest hearts; and, though none stouter than theirs, for a time both are awed by it.
Only so long as the spectral equestrians were within the shadow of the trees on the opposite side. But soon as arriving at mid-stream the mystery is at an end; like most others, simple when understood. Their forms, outlined against the moonlit surface of the water, show a very natural phenomenon – two horses carrying double.
Woodley is the first to announce it, though Clancy has made the discovery at the same instant of time.
“Injuns!” says the backwoodsman, speaking in a whisper. “Two astride o’ each critter. Injuns, for sure. See the feathers stickin’ up out o’ their skulls! Them on the krupper look like squaws; though that’s kewrous too. Out on these Texas parayras the Injun weemen hez generally a hoss to theirselves, an’ kin ride ’most as well as the men. What seem queerier still is thar bein’ only two kupple; but maybe there’s more comin’ on ahint. An’ yet thar don’t appear to be. I don’t see stime o’ anythin’ on tother side the river. Kin you?”
“No. I think there’s but the two. They’d be looking back if there were others behind. What ought we to do with them?”
“What every white man oughter do meetin’ Injuns out hyar – gie ’em a wide berth: that’s the best way.”
“It may not in this case; I don’t think it is.”
“Why?”
“On my word, I scarce know. And yet I have an idea we ought to have a word with them. Likely they’ve been up to the settlement and will be able to tell us something of things there. As you know, Sime, I’m anxious to hear about – ”
“I know all that. Wal, ef you’re so inclined, let it be as ye say. We kin eezy stop ’em, an’ hear what they’ve got to say for theirselves. By good luck, we’ve the devantage o’ ’em. They’re bound to kum ’long the big trail. Tharfor, ef we throw ourselves on it, we’ll intercep’ an’ take ’em as in a trap. Jess afore we turned in hyar, I noticed a spot whar we kin ambuskade.”
“Let us do so; but what about these?” Clancy points to the other three, still seemingly asleep. “Hadn’t we better awake them? At all events, Heywood: we may need him.”
“For that matter, no. Thar’s but two buck Injuns. The does wont count for much in a skrimmage. Ef they show thar teeth I reckin we two air good for uglier odds than that. Howsomever, it’ll be no harm to hev Ned. We kin roust him up, lettin’ Harkness an’ the mulattar lie. Ye’es; on second thinkin’ it’ll be as well to hev him along. Ned! Ned!”
The summons is not spoken aloud, but in a whisper, Woodley stooping down till his lips touch Heywood’s ear. The young hunter hearing him, starts, then sits up, and finally gets upon his feet, rubbing his eyes while erecting himself. He sees at once why he has been awakened. A glance cast upon the river shows him the strangely ridden horses; still visible though just entering the tree-shadow on its nether bank.
In a few hurried words Woodley makes known their intention; and for some seconds the three stand in consultation, all having hold of their rifles.
They do not deem it necessary to rouse either the ex-jailer or Jupiter. It is not advisable, in view of the time that would be wasted. Besides, any noise, now, might reach the ears of the Indians, who, if alarmed, could still retreat to the opposite side, and so escape. Woodley, at first indifferent about their capture, has now entered into the spirit of it. It is just possible some information may be thus obtained, of service to their future designs. At all events, there can be no harm in knowing why the redskins are travelling at such an untimely hour.
“As a gen’ral rule,” he says, “Tair best let Injuns go thar own way when thar’s a big crowd thegitter. When thar aint, as it chances hyar, it may be wisest to hev a leetle palaver wi’ them. They’re putty sure to a been arter some diviltry anyhow. ’S like ’s not this lot’s been a pilferin’ somethin’ from the new settlement, and air in the act o’ toatin’ off thar plunder. Ef arter gruppin’ ’em, we find it aint so, we kin let go again, an’ no dammidge done. But first, let’s examine ’em, an’ see.”
“Our horses?” suggests Heywood, “oughtn’t we to take them along?”
“No need,” answers Woodley. “Contrarywise, they’d only hamper us. If the redskins make to rush past, we kin eezy shoot down thar animals, an’ so stop ’em. Wi’ thar squaws along, they ain’t like to make any resistance. Besides, arter all, they may be some sort that’s friendly to the whites. Ef so, ’twould be a pity to kill the critters. We kin capter ’em without sheddin’ thar blood.”
“Not a drop of it,” enjoins Clancy, in a tone of authority. “No, comrades. I’ve entered Texas to spill blood, but not that of the innocent – not that of Indians. When it comes to killing I shall see before me – . No matter; you know whom I mean.”
“I guess we do,” answers Woodley. “We both o’ us understand your feelins, Charley Clancy; ay, an’ respect ’em. But let’s look sharp. Whilst we stan’ palaverin the Injuns may slip past. They’ve arready reech’d the bank, an’ – Quick, kum along!”
The three are about starting off, when a fourth figure appears standing erect. It is Jupiter. A life of long suffering has made the mulatto a light sleeper, and he has been awake all the time they were talking. Though they spoke only in whispers, he has heard enough to suspect something about to be done, in which there may be danger to Clancy. The slave, now free, would lay down his life for the man who has manumitted him.
Coming up, he requests to be taken along, and permitted to share their exploit, however perilous.
As there can be no great objection, his request is granted, and he is joined to the party.
But this necessitates a pause, for something to be considered. What is to be done with the ex-jailer? Though not strictly treated as a prisoner, still all along they have been keeping him under surveillance. Certainly, there was something strange in his making back for the States, in view of what he might there expect to meet for his misdemeanour; and, considering this, they have never been sure whether he may not still be in league with the outlaws, and prove twice traitor.
Now that they are approaching the spot where events may be expected, more than ever is it thought necessary to keep an eye on him.
It will not do to leave him alone, with their horses. What then?
While thus hesitating, Woodley cuts the Gordian knot by stepping straight to where Harkness lies, grasping the collar of his coat, and rudely arousing him out of his slumber, by a jerk that brings him erect upon his feet. Then, without waiting word of remonstrance from the astonished man, Sime hisses into his ear: —
“Kum along, Joe Harkness! Keep close arter us, an’ don’t ask any questyuns. Thar, Jupe; you take charge o’ him!”
At this, he gives Harkness a shove which sends him staggering into the arms of the mulatto.
The latter, drawing a long stiletto-like knife, brandishes it before the ex-jailer’s eyes, as he does so, saying:
“Mass Harkness; keep on afore me; I foller. If you try leave the track look-out. This blade sure go ’tween your back ribs.”
The shining steel, with the sheen of Jupiter’s teeth set in stern determination, is enough to hold Harkness honest, whatever his intent. He makes no resistance, but, trembling, turns along the path.
Once out of the glade, they fall into single file, the narrow trace making this necessary; Woodley in the lead; Clancy second, holding his hound in leash; Heywood third; Harkness fourth; Jupiter with bared knife-blade bringing up the rear.
Never marched troop having behind it a more inexorable file-closer, or one more determined on doing his duty.
Chapter Fifty Eight.
Across the ford
No need to tell who are the strange equestrians seen coming across the river; nor to say, that those on the croup are not Indian women, but white ones – captives. The reader already knows they are Helen and Jessie Armstrong.
Had Charles Clancy or Sime Woodley but suspected this at the time, they would not have waited for Heywood, or stood dallying about the duplicity of Harkness. Instead, they would have rushed right on to the river, caring little what chances might be against them. Having no suspicion of its being ought save two travelling redskins, accompanied by their squaws, they acted otherwise.
The captives themselves know they are not in charge of Indians. After hearing that horrid laughter they are no longer in doubt. It came from the throats of white men: for only such could have understood the speeches that called it forth.
This discovery affords them no gratification, but the opposite. Instead of feeling safer in the custody of civilised men, the thought of it but intensifies their fears. From the red savage, pur sang, they might look for some compassion; from the white one they need not expect a spark of it.
And neither does; both have alike lost heart and sunk into deepest dejection. Never crossed Acheron two spirits more despairing – less hopeful of happiness beyond.
They are silent now. To exchange speech would only be to tempt a fresh peal of that diabolical laughter yet ringing in their ears. Therefore, they do not speak a word – have not since, nor have their captors. They, too, remain mute, for to converse, and be heard, would necessitate shouting. The horses are now wading knee-deep, and the water, in continuous agitation, makes a tumultuous noise; its cold drops dashed back, clouting against the blankets in which the forms of the captives are enfolded.
Though silent, these are busy with conjectures. Each has her own about the man who is beside her. Jessie thinks she is sharing the saddle with the traitor, Fernand. She trembles at recalling his glances from time to time cast upon her – ill-understood then, too well now. And now in his power, soon to be in his arms! Oh, heavens – it is horror. – Something like this she exclaims, the wild words wrung from her in her anguish. They are drowned by the surging noise.
Almost at the same instant, Helen gives out an ejaculation. She, too, is tortured with a terrible suspicion about him whose body touches her own. She suspects him to be one worse than traitor; is almost sure he is an assassin!
If so, what will be her fate? Reflecting on it, no wonder she cries out in agony, appealing to heaven – to God!
Suddenly there is silence, the commotion in the water having ceased. The hoofs strike upon soft sand, and soon after with firmer rebound from the bank.
For a length or two the horses strain upward; and again on level ground are halted, side by side and close together. The man who has charge of Helen, speaking to the other, says: —
“You’d better go ahead, Bill. I aint sure about the bye-path to the big tree. I’ve forgotten where it strikes off. You know, don’t you?”
“Yes, lootenant; I guess I kin find where it forks.”
No thought of Indians now – nor with Jessie any longer a fear of Fernand. By his speech, the man addressed as Bill cannot be the half-blood. It is something almost to reassure her. But for Helen – the other voice! Though speaking in undertone, and as if with some attempt at disguise, she is sure of having heard it before; then with distrust, as now with loathing. She hears it again, commanding: – “Lead on!”
Bill does not instantly obey, but says in rejoinder: —
“Skuse me, lootenant, but it seems a useless thing our goin’ up to the oak. I know the Cap’ sayed we were to wait for them under it. Why cant we just as well stay heer? ’Taint like they’ll be long now. They wont dally a minute, I know, after they’ve clutched the shiners, an’ I guess they got ’em most as soon as we’d secured these pair o’ petticoats. Besides they’ll come quicker than we’ve done, seeing as they’re more like to be pursooed. It’s a ugly bit o’ track ’tween here an’ the big tree, both sides thorny bramble that’ll tear the duds off our backs, to say nothin’ o’ the skin from our faces. In my opinion we oughter stay where we air till the rest jeins us.”
“No,” responds the lieutenant, in tone more authoritative, “We mustn’t remain here. Besides, we cant tell what may have happened to them. Suppose they have to fight for it, and get forced to take the upper crossing. In that case – ”
The speaker makes pause, as if perceiving a dilemma.
“In that case,” interpolates the unwilling Bill, “we’d best not stop heer at all, but put straight for head-quarters on the creek. How d’ye incline to that way of it?”
“Something in what you say,” answers the lieutenant. Then adding, after a pause, “It isn’t likely they’ll meet any obstruction. The half-breed Indian said he had arranged everything clear as clock-work. They’re safe sure to come this way, and ’twont do for us to go on without them. Besides, there’s a reason you appear not to think of. Neither you nor I know the trail across the upper plain. We might get strayed there, and if so, we’d better be in hell?”
After the profane utterance succeeds a short interval of silence, both men apparently cogitating. The lieutenant is the first to resume.
“Bosley,” he says, speaking in a sage tone, and for the first time addressing the subordinate by his family name. “On the prairies, as elsewhere, one should always be true to a trust, and keep it when one can. If there were time, I could tell you a curious story of one who tried but couldn’t. It’s generally the wisest way, and I think it’s that for us now. We might make a mess of it by changing from the programme understood – which was for us to wait under the oak. Besides I’ve got a reason of my own for being there a bit – something you can’t understand, and don’t need telling about. And time’s precious too; so spin ahead, and find the path.”
“All right,” rejoins the other, in a tone of assumed resignation. “Stayin’ or goin’s jest the same to me. For that matter I might like the first way best. I kin tell ye I’m precious tired toatin this burden at my back, beauty though she be; an’ by remainin’ heer I’ll get the sooner relieved. When Cap’ comes he’ll be wantin’ to take her off my hands; to the which I’ll make him welcome as the flowers o’ May.”
With his poetical wind-up, the reluctant robber sets his horse in motion, and leads on. Not far along the main road. When a few yards from the ford, he faces towards a trail on his left, which under the shadow is with difficulty discernible. For all this, he strikes into it with the confidence of one well acquainted with the way.
Along it they advance between thick standing trees, the path arcaded over by leafy branches appearing as dark as a tunnel. As the horses move on, the boughs, bent forward by their breasts, swish back in rebound, striking against the legs of their riders; while higher up the hanging llianas, many of them beset with spines, threaten to tear the skin from their faces.
Fortunately for the captives, theirs are protected by the close-woven serapes. Though little care they now: thorns lacerating their cheeks were but trivial pain, compared to the torture in their souls. They utter no complaint, neither speaking a word. Despair has stricken them dumb; for, moving along that darksome path, they feel as martyrs being conducted to stake or scaffold.
Chapter Fifty Nine.
A Foiled Ambuscade
Almost at the same instant the double-mounted steeds are turning off the main road, Woodley and those with him enter upon it; only at a point further away from the ford.
Delayed, first in considering what should be done with Harkness, and afterwards by the necessity of going slowly, as well as noiselessly along the narrow trace, they have arrived upon the road’s edge just in time to be too late.
As yet they are not aware of this, though Woodley has his apprehensions; these becoming convictions, after he has stood for a time listening, and hears no sound, save that of the water, which comes in hoarse hiss between the trees, almost deafening the ear. For at this point the stream, shallowing, runs in rapid current over a pebbly bed, here and there breaking into crests.
Woodley’s fear has been, that before he and his companions reach the road, the Indians might get past. If so, the chances of taking them will be diminished perhaps gone altogether. For, on horseback, they would have an advantage over those following afoot; and their capture could only be effected by the most skilful stalking, as such travellers have the habit of looking behind.
The question is – Have they passed the place, where it was intended to waylay them?
“I don’t think they hev,” says Woodley, answering it. “They have hardly hed time. Besides ’tain’t nat’ral they’d ride strait on, jest arter kimmin’ acrosst the river. It’s a longish wade, wi’ a good deal o’ work for the horses. More like they’ve pulled up on reachin’ the bank, an’ air thar breathin’ the critters a bit.”
None of the others offering an opinion, he adds —
“Thur’s a eezy way to make sure, an’ the safest, too. Ef they’ve good by hyar, they can’t yet be very far off. Ridin’ as they air they won’t think o’ proceedin’ at a fast pace. Therefore, let’s take a scout ’long the road outwards. Ef they’re on it, we’ll soon sight ’em, or we may konklude they’re behind on the bank o’ the river. They’re bound to pass this way, ef they hain’t arready. So we’ll eyther overtake, or meet ’em when returnin’, or what mout be better’n both, ketch ’em a campin’ by the water’s edge. In any case our surest way air first to follow up the road. Ef that prove a failure, we kin ’bout face, an’ back to the river.”
“Why need we all go?” asks Heywood. “Supposing the rest of you stay here, while I scout up the road, and see whether they’ve gone along it.”
“What ud be the use o’ that?” demands Sime. “S’posin’ ye did, an’ sighted ’em, ye ain’t goin’ to make thar capture all o’ yourself. Look at the time lost whiles ye air trottin’ back hyar to tell us. By then, they’d get out into the clear moonlight, whar ther’d be no chance o’ our comin’ up to them without thar spyin’ us. No, Ned: your idee won’t do. What do you think, Charley?”
“That your plan seems best. You’re sure there’s no other way for them to pass out from the river?”
“This chile don’t know o’ any, ceptin’ this trace we’ve ourselves kum off o’.”
“Then, clearly, our best plan is first to try along the road – all together.”
“Let’s on, then!” urges Woodley. “Thar’s no time to waste. While we stan’ talkin’ hyar, them redskins may ride to the jumpin’-off place o’ creashun.”
So saying, the hunter turns face to the right, and goes off at a run, the others moving in like manner behind him.
After proceeding some two or three hundred yards, they arrive at a place where the trees, standing apart, leave an open space between. There a saddle-like hollow intersects the road, traversing it from side to side. It is the channel of a rivulet when raining; but now nearly dry, its bed a mortar of soft mud. They had crossed it coming in towards the river, but without taking any notice of it, further than the necessity of guiding their tired steeds to guard against their stumbling. It was then in darkness, the twilight just past, and the moon not risen. Now that she is up in mid heaven, it is flooded by her light, so that the slightest mark in the mud can be clearly distinguished.
Running their eyes over its surface, they observe tracks they have not been looking for, and more than they have reason to expect. Signs to cause them surprise, if not actual alarm. Conspicuous are two deep parallel ruts, which they know have been made by the wheels of the emigrant wagons. A shower of rain, since fallen, has not obliterated them; only washed off their sharp angles, having done the same with the tracks of the mule teams between, and those of the half hundred horses ridden alongside, as also the hoof-marks of the horned cattle driven after.
It is not any of these that gives them concern. But other tracks more recent, made since the ram – in fact, since the sun lose that same morning – made by horses going towards the river, and with riders on their backs. Over twenty in all, without counting their own; some of them shod, but most without iron on the hoof. To the eyes of Sime Woodley – to Clancy’s as well – these facts declare themselves at a single glance; and they only dwell upon further deductions. But not yet. For while scanning the slough they see two sets of horse tracks going in the opposite direction – outward from the river. Shod horses, too; their hoof-prints stamped deep in the mud, as if both had been heavily mounted.
This is a matter more immediate. The redskins, riding double, have gone past. If they are to be overtaken, nor a moment must be spent thinking of aught else.
Clancy has risen erect, ready to rush on after them. So Heywood and the rest. But not Woodley, who, still stooping over the slough, seems unsatisfied. And soon he makes a remark, which not only restrains the others, but causes an entire change in their intention.
“They aint fresh,” he says, speaking of the tracks last looked at. “Thet is, they hain’t been made ’ithin the hour. Tharfor, it can’t be them as hev jest crossed the stream. Take a squint at ’em, Charley.”
Clancy, thus called upon, lowering his eyes, again looks at the tracks. Not for long. A glance gives him evidence that Woodley is right. The horses which made these outgoing tracks cannot be the same seen coming across.
And now, the others being more carefully scrutinised, these same two are discovered among them, with the convexity of the hoof turned towards the river!
In all this there is strangeness, though it is not the time to inquire into it. That must be left till later. Their only thought now is, where are the Indians; for they have certainly not come on along the road.
“Boys!” says Woodley, “we’ve been makin’ a big roundabout ’ithout gainin’ a great deal by it. Sartin them redskins hev stopped at the river, an’ thar mean squatting for the remainder o’ this night. That’ll suit our purpiss to a teetotum. We kin capter ’em in thar camp eezier than on the backs o’ thar critters. So, let’s go right on an’ grup ’em!”
With this he turns, and runs back along the road, the others keeping close after.
In ten minutes more they are on the river’s bank, where it declined to the crossing. They see no Indians there – no human creatures of any kind – nor yet any horses!
