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The Yellow Chief

Chapter Seventeen.
A Flight Urged by Despair

“Now or never!” was the reflection that passed through Clara Blackadder’s mind; and she was in the act of springing up from her recumbent position, when a circumstance occurred seeming to say, “never!”

The mulatto had stepped out from the canvas screen, and stood in front of it; no longer robed in the costume of an Indian chief, but wearing the same dress he had worn as a slave on the Mississippi plantation. It was the same as on that morning when she had been a spectator of his punishment. He was the Blue Dick of bygone days, only taller and stouter. But the coarse jeans coat and cotton trousers, of copperas-stripe, had been ample enough not to be outgrown.

“You’ll know me better now, my old masters and fellow-slaves,” he shouted out, adding a derisive laugh. “And you, too, my young mistress,” he continued, turning toward the group of white women, and approaching it in a triumphant stride. “Ha, Miss Clara Blackadder! You little thought, when one fine day you stood in the porch of your father’s fine house, looking calmly on while I was in torture, that, some other fine day, your turn would come for being tortured too. It has come! The rest, including your beautiful brother, have had a taste – only a taste of what’s in store for them. I’ve kept you to the last, because you are the daintiest. That’s always the way in a feast of revenge. Ha, ha, ha!”

The young lady made no reply. In the fiendish glance cast upon her, she saw there was no hope for mercy, and that words would be thrown away. She only crouched cowering before him.

But even at that moment she did not lose presence of mind. She still contemplated springing up, and making toward her horse.

Alas! it seemed impossible. He stood right in the way, and could have caught her before she had taken three steps.

And he did catch her before she had made one – even before she had attempted to stand erect.

“Come!” cried he, roughly clasping her waist, and jerking her to her feet. “Come with me. You’ve been a looker-on long enough. It’s your turn now to afford sport for others.”

And, without waiting for a reply, he commenced dragging her in the direction of the waterfall.

She made no resistance. She did not scream, nor cry out. She knew it would be idle.

But there was a cry sent from the other side of the glen – a shriek so loud, wild, and unearthly, that it caused the mulatto to stop suddenly, and look in the direction whence it came.

Rushing out from among the crowd of negro captives, was one who might have been the oldest of them – a woman of near seventy years of age, and that weird aspect common among the old crones of a plantation. With hollow cheeks, and white wool thinly set over her temples, with long shrivelled arms outstretched beyond the scant rag of garment which the plunderers had permitted to remain upon her shoulders, she looked like some African Hecate, suddenly exorcised for the occasion.

Despite the forbidding aspect, hers was not an errand of destruction, but mercy.

“Let go hole of de young missa!” she cried, pressing forward to the spot. “You let go hole ob her, Bew Dick. You touch a hair ob her head! Ef you do, you a tief – a murderer. Yach! wuss dan dat. You be a murderin’ ob you own fresh an’ brud!”

“What do you mean, you old fool!” cried the mulatto, at the same time showing, by his looks, that her words had surprised him.

“Wha de ole fool mean? She mean wha she hab jess say. Dat ef you do harm to Missy Crara, you harm you own sissa!”

The mulatto started as if he had received a stab.

“My sister!” he exclaimed. “You’re gabbling, Nan. You’re old, and have lost your senses.”

“No, Bew Dick; Nan habent loss none o’ her senses, nor her ’membrance neider. She ’memba dan’lin you on her knee, when you wa’ bit piccaninny, not bigger dan a ’possum. She nuss Miss Crara ’bout de same time. She know who boaf come from. You boaf childen ob de same fadder – ob Mass Brackadder; an’ she you sissa. Ole Nan tell you so. She willin’ swar it.”

For a time Blue Dick seemed stunned by the startling revelation. And equally so she, whose wrist he still held in angry clasp. It was a tale strange and new to both of them.

But the asseverations of the old negress had in them the earnestness of truth; more so at such a moment. And along with this were some gleams of light, derived from an indefinite source – instincts or dreams – perhaps some whisperings over the cradle – that served to confirm her statement.

Revolting as was the thought of such a relationship to the delicate sensibilities of the young lady, she did not attempt to deny it. Perhaps it might be the means of saving her brother and herself; and, for the first time, she turned her eyes toward the face of Blue Dick in a glance of appeal.

It fell in sudden disappointment. There was no mercy there – no look of a brother! On the contrary, the countenance of the mulatto – always marked by a harsh, sinister expression – seemed now more merciless than ever. His eyes were absolutely dancing with a demoniac triumph.

“Sister!” he cried, at length, sarcastically hissing the word through his teeth. “A sweet sister! she who all my early life has been but my tyrant mistress! What if we are from the same father? Our mothers were different, and I am the son of my mother. A dear father, indeed, who taught me but to toil for him! And that an affectionate brother!” – here he pointed to Blount, who, restored to his fastenings, lay stretched on the grass – “who only delighted in torturing me; who ruined my love – my life! Sweet sister, indeed! you, who treated me as a menial and slave! Now shall you be mine! You shall sweep out my tent, wait upon my Indian wife, work for her, slave for her, as I have done for you. Come on, Miss Clara Blackadder!”

Freshly grasping the young lady’s wrist, he recommenced dragging her across the camp-ground.

An involuntary murmur of disapprobation rose from the different groups of captives. During their long, toilsome journey across the plains, Clara Blackadder had won the good wishes of all – not only by her grace and beauty, but for many kindnesses shown to her travelling companions, black as well as white. And when they now saw her in the clutch of the unnatural monster, being led, as they supposed, to the terrible torture some of them had already experienced, one and all uttered exclamations against it. They were not certain that such was the torture intended by the spiteful renegade; they only guessed it, by the direction in which he was conducting her.

Whatever might have been his purpose, it was prevented.

With a spring as if all the energies of youth had been restored to her shrivelled frame, the old nurse rushed upon him; and clutching his throat in her long bony fingers, caused him to let go his hold.

He turned upon her like an enraged tiger, and, after a short struggle, ending with a blow from his strong arm, old Nan fell flat upon the earth.

But on facing toward the girl to renew his grasp, he saw she was no longer within his reach! While he was struggling with the negress, she had darted away from his side; and, springing upon the back of her own horse, was urging the animal in full gallop out of the gorge!

Chapter Eighteen.
The Stalkers Astonished

Making their way up the steep mountain-path, climbing over fallen tree-trunks, obstructed by thicket and scaur, the trappers at length got close to the cliff which, as ’Lije Orton had told them, looked down on the camping-place of the Cheyennes.

They had ceased talking aloud, and communicated with one another only in whispers. There was a deathlike stillness in the pure mountain air, and they knew that the slightest sound might make known their approach to the enemy.

They had thrown themselves into a deployed line, after the manner of skirmishers, crouching silently among the stunted pines, and gliding rapidly forward where the ground was without cover. Orton was directing them by signs; O’Neil stepping close by his side, and near enough for the slightest whisper to be heard between them.

The young Irishman still kept impatiently urging the advance. Every moment of delay seemed a month to the heart of the lover. Over and over again came before his mind that hideous picture his fancy had painted – Clara Blackadder struggling in the embrace of a savage! And that savage the Yellow Chief of the Cheyennes!

These fancies were like the waves of a tempestuous sea, following one another at intervals. As each rose grimly before him, he came near groaning aloud. He was only restrained by knowing the necessity for silence. As a relief he kept constantly whispering to his old comrade, and urging him to a more rapid advance.

“Dod rot it, Ned!” replied the latter; “don’t be so hurrified ’bout it. We’ll git theer in good time, take this chile’s word for it. Theer’s been plenty o’ licker in the emigrant wagons, I guess. Them Massissippy planters don’t offen go travellin’ ’thout a good stock o’ corn. An’ as for the Injuns, they ain’t a-goin’ to trouble theerselves ’bout weemen as long ’s the licker lasts. Don’t you be uneezy; we’ll git up time enuf to purtect the gurl, an’ chestise the skunks has ev captered her; you see if we don’t.”

“But why go creeping this way? Once upon the cliff, we must declare ourselves. We can’t get down among them, as you say; and since it must all be done with our rifles, the first shot will discover us.”

“So it will; diskiver us to a sartinty. But theer’s jest the pint. That fust shot must be deelivered by all o’ us at the same instinck o’ time. Unless we make a latter o’ them, as the French trappers call it, they’d be off in the shakin’ o’ a goat’s tail, prehaps takin’ thar prisners along wi’ ’em. An’ whar ’ud we be to foller ’em? Thurfor, we must fix things so’st’ every one may take sight on a different Injun at the same time; an’ then, afore they kin git clar out o’ the gully, we’ll be loaded for a second shot. I guess that’ll make ’em think o’ somethin’ else than toatin’ off thar captives. Keep yur patience, young fellur! Trust to ole ’Lije Orton, when he sez yur gurl air still safe an’ soun’.”

The anxious lover, despite his anxiety, could not help feeling confidence in the words thus whispered. More than once had he seen ’Lije Orton acting under circumstances of a like trying nature, and as often coming out triumphant. With an effort he restrained his impatience, and imitated the cautious approach of his comrade.

They were soon sufficiently near the edge of the cliff to hear a murmur of voices rising up out of the valley. As the ears of all were well attuned to such sounds, they knew them to be the voices of Indians. And these could be no other than Yellow Chief, and his band of marauders.

A halt was made; and a hurried council held, about the best mode of making attack.

“There must be ne’er a noise among ye,” whispered ’Lije, “not the speakin’ o’ a word, till we’ve got one fire at ’em. Then churge yur rifles agen, quick’s ever you kin. Two sets o’ shots oughter thin ’em, so as they won’t mind ’beout thar captives, nor any thin’ else, ’ceptin’ to streak it – that air, sech as be left o’ ’em.”

This counsel was delivered in a whisper, and in the same way passed along the line.

“Only one half o’ ye fire at a time,” continued ’Lije. “You fellurs on the left shoot first. Let the tothers resarve for the second volley. ’Twon’t do to waste two bullets on the same redskin. Leave Yellow Chief to me. I hev got a ole score to settle wi’ that Injun.”

With these precautions, communicated from left to right, the trappers once more advanced – no longer as skirmishers, but in line, and as near to one another as the inequality of the ground would permit.

They could now hear the voice of a man, who talked loudly and in a tone of authority. They could even make out some of the words, for they were in English!

This gave them a surprise; but they had scarce time to think of it, when there arose a chorus of cries, uttered in quick sharp intonation, that told of some unusual occurrence. Among these were the screams of women.

At the same instant the trampling of hoofs resounded along the rocks, as if a horse was going off at a gallop over the hard turf of the prairie. Then succeeded another chorus of yells – a confused din – and soon after the pattering of many hoofs, as of a whole troop of horses following the first.

The sound, reaching the ears of the trappers, carried their eyes out toward the plain; where they beheld a sight that caused one and all of them wild throbbings of the heart. Upon the prairie, just clearing the scarped edge of the cliff, was a woman on horseback. At a glance they could tell it was a young girl; but as her back was toward them, they could see neither face nor features. She was in a lady’s saddle; and urging her horse onward as if riding for life – her skirt and hair streaming loosely behind her.

There was one among them that knew who she was. The quick instinct of love told Edward O’Neil well the fugitive upon horseback was Clara Blackadder. His instincts were aided by remembrance. That magnificent head of hair, black as the plumage of a raven, was well remembered by him. It had often been before his fancy in a lone bivouac – at night entwining itself with his dreams.

“O Heavens!” he exclaimed, “it is Clara herself!”

“Yur right, Ned,” responded ’Lije, gazing intently after her. “Darned ef it ain’t her, that very gurl! She’s a-tryin’ to git away from ’em. See! thar goes the hul o’ the Injuns arter her, gallopin’ like h – !”

As Orton spoke, the pursuers began to appear, one after another passing outside the cliff-line – urging their horses onward with blows and loud vociferations.

Several of the trappers raised their rifles to the level, and seemed calculating the distance.

“For yur lives, don’t shoot!” cautioned ’Lije, speaking in a constrained voice, and making himself better understood by a wave of the hand. “It kin do ne’er a good now, but only spile all. Let ’em go off. Ef the gurl gits clur, we’ll soon track her up. Ef she don’t, they’re boun’ to bring her back, an’ then we kin settle wi’ ’em. I reck’n they’re not all arter her. Theer’s some o’ the skunks still below. Let’s jest see to them; an’ then we kin lay out our plans for them’s have rid out in the purshoot.”

’Lije’s counsel was unanimously accepted, and the gun-barrels brought down again.

“Lie clost hyur,” he again counselled, “while some o’ us steal forard an’ reconnoitre. Harry, s’pose you kum ’longs wi’ me?”

His purpose was understood by Black Harris, who instantly volunteered to accompany the old trapper – his senior in years, and his equal in rank among the “mountain men.”

“Now, boys!” muttered ’Lije on leaving them, “lie close as I’ve tolt you, and ne’er a word out o’ one o’ ye till we git back.”

So saying, he crept forward, Black Harris by his side – the two going on hands and knees, and with as much caution as if they had been approaching a herd of antelopes.

The glance of the others did not follow them. All eyes were turned downward to the prairie; watching the pursuit, now far off and still going farther across the open plain.

But no one watched with such anxiety as O’Neil. It absorbed his whole soul, like some pent-up agony. His very breathing seemed suspended, as he crouched behind the dwarf cedar-tree, calculating the distance between pursuers and pursued. How he regretted having left his horse behind him! What would he not have given at that moment to be on the back of his brave steed, and galloping to the rescue of his beloved!

Perhaps his suffering would have been still more acute, but for the words just spoken by his old comrade. The girl would either get off, or be brought back; and either way there was hope of saving her. With this thought to console him, he witnessed the spectacle of the pursuit with more equanimity. So, watching it with eager eyes, he awaited the result of the reconnoissance.

Crouching slowly and cautiously along, Orton and Harris at length reached the edge of the cliff, and looked down into the valley below. A glance enabled them to comprehend the situation. It was just as they had conjectured. The white and negro captives seen in separate groups, guarded by something less than a moiety of the Indian band, and these reeling over the ground half intoxicated.

“They’ll be a eezy capter now,” said ’Lije, “and we must capter ’em. Arter that, we kin kill ’em ’ithout much noise.”

“Why not bring up the rest, and shoot ’em whar they stand? We can rub out every redskin of ’em at a single volley.”

“Sartin we could; but don’t ye see, old hoss, that ’ud niver do. Ye forget the gurl; an she are the only one ’o the hul lot wuth savin’, I reckin; the only one I’d give a darn to waste powder for. Ef we wur to fire a shot, the purshooers out yonner ’ud be surtin to hear it, and then good-bye to the gurl – that is, if they git their claws on her agin.”

“I see what you mean; an you’re right. We must bag this lot below, without makin a rumpus; then we can set our traps for the others.”

“Jess so, Harry.”

“How are we to do it, think ye, ’Lije? We’ll have to go back to whar we left our horses, and ride round by the open eend of the valley. That way we’ll have them shut up like sheep in a pen.”

“No, Harry; we han’t time to go back for the anymals. Afore we ked git roun’ thar, the purshooers mout catch the gurl and be comin’ back. Then it ’ud be no go. I bethinks me o’ a better way.”

Black Harris waited to hear what it was.

“I know a pass,” continued ’Lije, “by the which we may git down wi’ a leetle streetchin’ o’ the arms. If we kin only reech bottom afore they sees us, we’ll make short work o’ ’em. But we must be cunnin’ beout it. Ef but a one o’ the skunks hev the chance to eescape, the gurl’ll be lost sure. Thar aint a second o’ time to be wasted. Let’s back to the boys, an at oncest down inter the gully.”

Chapter Nineteen.
Setting a Strange Scene

Retreating from the edge of the cliff with the same caution as they had approached it, the two mountain men rejoined their companions in ambush. ’Lije, after making known his design, led them toward the pass of which he had spoken – a sloping ravine, the same up which Snively had made his vain attempt at escaping.

Screened by the scrub-cedars, the trapper party succeeded in descending it, without being perceived either by the Indians below, or the captives over whom these were keeping but careless watch.

Their sudden appearance upon the plain was a surprise to both: to the latter a joyful sight; to the former a terrible apparition – for they saw in it the quick harbinger of death.

Not a shot was fired by the assailants. On the moment of their feet touching the plain, they flung aside their guns; and, drawing daggers and knives, went at the Indian sentinels, in a hurried but silent slaughter.

There was grappling, struggling, and shouts; but the attacking party outnumbered those attacked; and in less than ten minutes’ time the shouting ceased – since there was not a living Indian upon the ground to continue it. Instead was the green meadow sward strewn with dead bodies, every one of them showing a bronze-coloured skin, horribly enamelled with gashes or gouts of crimson blood!

The captives were in raptures of joy. They saw that their rescue was complete. The whites, both men and women, sprang to their feet, and struggled with their fastenings – wishing to have their arms free in order to embrace their preservers; while the negroes, none of whom were bound, came pouring forth out of the cul-de-sac, where they had been hitherto penned up, uttering frenzied shouts.

“Keep yur groun’ an’ stop yur durned shoutin’!” cried ’Lije, with a gesture waving them back. “Don’t one ’o ye stir out o’ yur places. Back, back, I say! Stay as ye wur, till we gie ye the word. An’ you alser,” he continued, running to the other side and checking the forward movement of the whites, “hunker down jest as ye did afore. We haint finished this show bizness yit. Thar’s another scene o’ it to kum.”

Both negroes and whites were a little surprised, at being thus restrained from the full ebullition of their joy. But the earnest tone of the old trapper, sustained as it was by the gestures of his companions, had its effect upon them; and all at once cowered back into their original position. What was the intention they could not guess; but, released from the agony of fear, they were willing to wait for it with patience.

They soon beheld a spectacle, so strange as almost to restore them to terrified thought. They saw the dead bodies of the Indians raised from their recumbent position; set up beside their long spears, that had been previously planted in the ground; and lashed to these in such a manner as to sustain them in an erect attitude. There were distributed here and there over the sward, most of them close to the captives, as if still keeping guard over them! Those not so disposed of were dragged off, and hidden away behind the large boulders of rock that lay along the base of the cliff.

“Now!” thundered the old trapper, addressing his speech to the captives, white as well as black, “ef one o’ ye stir from the spot ye’re in, or venturs to show sign o’ anythin’ thet’s tuk place, till ye git the word from me, ye’ll hev a rifle bullet sent plum through ye. The gurl hez got to be rescooed ’ithout harm done to her; an’ I reck’n she’s wuth more than the hul o’ ye thegither. Thar’s but one way o’ savin’ her, an’ thet’s by yur keepin’ yur heads shet up, an’ yur karkidges ’ithout stirrin’ as much as a finger. So don’t make neery movement, ef ye vally yur preecious lives. Ye unnerstan’ me?”

The captives were too much controlled to make rejoinder; but they saw, by the earnestness of the old trapper, that his commands were to be obeyed; and silently resolved to obey them.

After delivering the speech, ’Lije turned toward his trapper companions – all of whom knew what was meant; and who, without waiting word or sign, rushed toward their rifles – still lying on the ground.

In a few seconds they had regained them; and, in less than five minutes after, not a trapper was to be seen about the place. They had disappeared as suddenly as sprites in a pantomime; and the little valley seemed suddenly restored to the state in which it had been left, when the pursuers of Clara Blackadder swept out of it. Any one glancing into it at that moment could have had no other thought, than that it contained the captives of an emigrant train, with their Indian captors keeping guard over them.