“I should know that voice,” responded Hugh, for it was he; “if I am not mistaken, it is Bill Stevens, and I am glad enough to meet you. But be careful how you talk, for I am not sure but that there is half-a-score of Blackfeet after me. It has been a touch and go.”
“Let ’em come – cuss ’em. We let about twenty on ’em keep their scalps to-night of pure marcy; but ef we get another chance, they’ll hev to look out. Now can you tell the number of the Indians, and how they are occupied? – in fact, give us all the information possible, as well as your opinion about the success we will probably meet with.”
“By making a bold stroke we might succeed in carrying off my father, but as I have just had a conversation with him, I can look at the matter more rationally than you would think. There are twenty-nine of the Blackfeet, besides Tom Rutter, who is as good as three more. The whole camp is alarmed, and it’s my opinion that we wouldn’t stand a chance with them. My father says that he thinks they are acting from a motive, in carrying him off, and he has hopes of escaping without having recourse to violence. If it were not for Adele, he would feel perfectly at ease.”
“How in thunder did you see him, Hugh? If he war in their hands, it ’ud be next to impossible for a prairie-dog to git in to him without bein’ shot, let alone you, who, meanin’ no disrespect, never had any experience of scoutin’.”
“To tell the truth, it was none of the easiest, but Jake and myself followed the trail all day, and then, when night came, he crawled in on them, and found out how the land lay. I could not stand it, to know that father was so near, and I not to be able to speak to him, so I made him give me the directions, and I struck for the place. I had not much trouble getting in, but it was a near thing with me getting away again; and, as I have not heard anything of Parsons, I’m afraid he has got into difficulty.”
“Never mind him. Just you keep cool, and as dry as possible, and by day-break we’ll be on the trail; git ’em startled, and there is no such thing as calming ’em down.”
The rain still beat down on the party of six, but their heavy blankets were sufficient to shield their ammunition, as well as their persons, from its power, and, though the time hung dully on their hands, morning light soon arrived, the darkness and the rain being driven away very nearly at the same time.
As Hugh Robison had stated, the Indian encampment was in a beautiful state of confusion, the different braves being greatly surprised at the sudden attack – for attack they at first supposed the presence of Hugh and his companion to be. Tom Rutter was the first to understand the true state of affairs. It took but little reflection to show him that Parsons, with one other, constituted the whole force of the invaders. He came to this conclusion from the fact that he had seen the two together but a few hours before, that, if there had been more than one trapper, they would have given a more substantial proof of their presence, and, finally, that the young man would be just the person to make a desperate attempt to rescue his father and sister.
Minute after minute passed by, and the shouts died away, and then the tread of the returning savages was heard. At the moment of deepest excitement, Tom Rutter had not been forgetful of his charge. Returning from the unsuccessful chase of the fugitives, Rutter immediately bent his footsteps in the direction of the prison-house of the Major, desirous of ascertaining, with his own eyes, that his escape had not been effected.
He entered the hut with a brand from which the blaze had been extinguished by the rain, and the few coals remaining on it were crackling and spitting, as he endeavoured to blow them again into a flame.
Half apologetically, Rutter remarked:
“How did that hole git thar? It warn’t thar last night, an’ someone must hev made it.”
“You can feel easy, as far as either of us are concerned, for it was made by neither of us,” was the response of Robison. “If your guards choose to go to sleep, or permit such things to be done, I am sure the fault is none of mine.”
The old chief had followed Rutter, and saw the aperture with as much surprise, although he uttered no exclamation. He remarked to the renegade, in a low tone, and using the Indian dialect:
“The young man has been here, and has entered the lodge. The braves who watched must have slept at their posts. He has come once, and left his mark; next time he will leave a broader one. We must hasten into our own country, where he cannot follow, for I see he is very brave.”
“That’s so, the whole tribe on ’em is of jist sich a stock, and there’s a dozen or more o’ trappers, as is clar grit, what’ll be arter us as soon as they git wind o’ the Major bein’ off. Yer ain’t safe from them kind o’ fellers, even when yer sittin’ in yer own lodge. They’d think no more o’ shootin’ ye than poppin’ over a beaver or a buffalo. But we must set a man to watch that thar hole till we start, which, accordin’ to my notion, won’t be so drefful long.”
“Ugh!” said the chief, and the two departed to their lodge; there to wait until the morning dawned.
It was near four o’clock in the afternoon, when a party of six men, clad in the rough garments of trappers, and under the guidance of the redoubtable Ned Hawkins, pushed their jaded horses resolutely into the Yellowstone River; now swollen by the rain of the previous night, to a very respectable stream. They did not cross at the regular fording-place – so frequently used as to have received the specific name of “the Great Crossing;” but, fearful that if they did, their trail would be observed by those from whom they wished it to be concealed – the six struck the stream five or six hundred yards further up. Somewhat wearied and worn with a long march, Hawkins led his little command into the thick clump of oziers, and then, without saying a word, threw himself from his horse, his companions following his example. Scarce ten minutes from the time when the last man appeared, two men might have been seen urging their steeds in the same direction. Hawkins, ever watchful, had observed them when they were at least a quarter of a mile away. The trail, recent and plain, had attracted their attention, and one of the two had dismounted from his horse to examine it. Presently his cap was seen to fly into the air, and he waved his hand, as though he had made a pleasing discovery; then he remounted, and, with his comrade following close by his side, pressed upon the trail, bearing straight for the river, and the clump of oziers.
“Sure as death, thar comes Wavin’ Plume and Jack Howell. I thought they’d be makin’ in this direction ’fore long,” murmured Ned, to his friends, who were engaged in scrutinizing the strangers.
“They’re welcome as fair weather! The more the merrier; and if a few more on us turns up we kin jist walk off the Major without sayin’ ‘by yer leave.’”
Ten minutes more brought Night Hawk and his friend into the centre of the little circle, which stood waiting to receive them. A hearty welcome greeted them, and then one of the men asked:
“How did you come to follow us here? You must have made a straight shot to make such a centre hit.”
“I cannot say that it was through my own peculiar sagacity,” said Waving Plume. “A ghost, spectre, wizzard, or something of that kind, but looking, however, like an Indian, stumbled upon us while we were roving about last night, and ordered us to be at the Great Crossing before nightfall of to-day. Knowing no other place of that name, my friend and I journeyed in this direction, and here we are.”
Almost at the same instant, Waving Plume’s eye rested on the same object.
“Here they come,” whispered he. “Is it friend or foe, Ned?”
“Could hardly tell at this distance. Might be mistaken, as the half-breed might be comin’ with twenty or thirty of the Crows. Rather of opinion, though, that it’s Blackfeet; if so, get ready your shootin’-irons, an’ loosen yer knives. We’ll have one pelt at ’em, anyhow.”
Five minutes more and the train were within a few hundred yards of the river – there could be no doubt but that they were the anxiously expected enemy. The moon had not yet risen, but by the starlight their numbers could be easily counted, and it was observed that there were two persons with them, who were evidently white – a man and a woman. It was with difficulty that the cheers, which rose to the lips of the men on recognizing the Major, could be repressed.
“It will never do to attack them before they have crossed,” said Hugh Robison. “If we do, the chances are that they run without firing a shot, and if they do, good care will be taken that the prisoners are not left behind.”
“That’s so, Hugh,” replied Hawkins. “Just wait till they hev crossed over, and are mountin’ the bank – then pick your marks, and let drive. Be careful you don’t hit the prisoners, though, and sallyin’ out on the red varmints, kinder take ’em by surprise. We may ride through without trouble, and then agin we mayn’t. But you ain’t the boys to be scared at the prospects of gettin’ a few hard knocks in a scrimmage, and remember, you’re fightin’ to rescue yer best friends.”
This was the speech of the Captain to his army, and its effects was as great as though he had harangued them for an hour; the men looked at their weapons, and then to the leader of the Indian file, who had ridden his horse into the river.
Several minutes passed of intense interest to those ambushed, until the last of the horsemen reached the river bank, and began its ascent. It had been conjectured that the party might stop, for a while, at least, at this spot, but they gave no indications of any such purpose.
With a low-whispered “fire!” Ned Hawkins raised his rifle to his shoulder – the six followed his motion – then came a single, loud, clear-ringing crack, and three of the Indians were seen to drop from their saddles, while two or three others swayed violently in their seats.
The Indian who had been specially appointed to guard Adele had fallen from his seat, struck dead by a chance shot, and the half-fainting girl, though unconstrained, unconsciously clung tightly to the saddle, totally disregarding the cry of Waving Plume to throw herself off.
One of the prisoners was rescued – the other was not. The trappers’ work was but half done. Ten Indians lay dead on the plain, and a number of those who escaped had received serious wounds, while none of the whites had been killed. Bill Stevens had received a severe cut on the shoulder, and a blow on the head, but neither wound was mortal; and, though the rest had not all passed through the affray unscathed, yet they were as fit for fighting as when they first entered into the conflict.
The cords which bound the limbs of Major Robison were speedily cut, and his first exclamation, upon being loosed, was:
“My daughter!”
“She is still a captive,” was the response of Hawkins; “but we will rescue her to-night or die!”
Vain promises those, which are easier made than kept. When hot the iron, then strike, nor wait a moment. Cool heads will sometimes err, and rashness belongs to all. Thinking their object had been accomplished, the Indians had been pursued by the trappers, and now neither the men nor the horses were in a fit condition to follow, even though but a few seconds had elapsed. Bill Stevens was almost fainting from his wound, so that he was in no condition for a ride, while the left arm of Biting Fox hung powerless by his side.
“Where is Waving Plume?” asked Howell, casting his eye over those who stood around him.
This question was not to be easily answered, for that person was nowhere to be seen.
“He must hev followed ’em,” replied some one; and this was all that could be said of him.
Lost in the distance, a single man among a score, he had followed the Blackfeet, determined to rescue the Major’s daughter or die. Thinking of this put new iron into the strong arms of the trappers; the determination that the consultors came to can be guessed. Pursuit, stern – not ceasing till the aim was accomplished even though it led them into their very villages.
Bill Stevens, much against his wishes, was left behind, and Major Robison was to take his rifle, as he was unarmed; it would be of no use to Stevens – it was a weapon to be depended upon – and one of the guns of a fallen foe would serve all the purposes for which the wounded trapper would wish to use it.
When, at the expiration of ten minutes, the little band rode away in quest of Tom Rutter and his savage auxiliaries, it was with a cheer, and a firm knitting of the muscles of the brow, which told of stern resolution and untiring determination. Though the light was but uncertain, yet, so broad and deep was the trail that it was easily to be followed, and the seven kept on at the best rate of speed that could be got out of their horses.
Seconds glided into minutes, minutes lengthened into hours, the moon rode high up in the heavens, and the night trod hard upon the heels of day, but still there came no sight of the fugitives.
CHAPTER IV.
IMPRISONED IN THE FREE TRAPPERS’ PASS
Tom Rutter was well acquainted with every inch of the country over which he had determined to travel. He was now striking for a spot which he judged to be most suitable for him under the present circumstances, and which he also, with some reason, judged to be a sure retreat, for the time, at least. Though perhaps it would have been his best policy to have moved on immediately to the regular hunting-grounds of the tribe, yet, for several reasons, did he prefer to linger in this vicinity. The detachment which had separated from him, and which was to form a junction at the river, had not yet made its appearance, and until it did he did not feel justified in leaving. He was not afraid of immediate pursuit by the trappers, and would much prefer letting some of the Blackfeet braves arrive at their village before him. Then it would be apparent that he was a deserted rather than a deserter, one who, encumbered as he was by a prisoner, nevertheless remained behind till the last shot was fired. Therefore it was that he turned the horses’ heads toward the mountains, appearing to Adele as though he were determined to ride, at a racing speed, straight up their rugged sides.
Gradually an opening became evident – a rough, seldom-travelled, and almost impracticable pass – apparently extending through into the Oregonian territory, on the other side.
Man and beast being so well acquainted with the route, the rate of speed was scarcely diminished. On either side towered the mountain, the almost perpendicular walls covered with draperies of green at the top, where the moonlight fell; but lower down, dark and chill. Eyesight could be of little avail here, without a thorough knowledge of the place and its surroundings.
And still, as Rutter clattered on, an answering noise from behind, as it were an echo, showed that the pursuer held his own. A dark smile swept over the blood-smeared face of the renegade, as he listened to the noise.
“Come on, come on, close behind. Ye come fast, but it may be a long time afore ye take the back trail at sich a rate. Them as comes in at Free Trappers’ Pass sometimes gits passed out. We’re safe here; but that’s more than him behind kin say.”
In order to prevent Adele from leaping down, and endeavouring to escape in darkness, Tom changed his position so that she could not make the attempt at dismounting without leaping straight into his arms. There was little necessity for this movement. Had it been light he could have seen that no such thought entered the brain of the young captive. She only clung tightly in her seat, and, in breathless suspense, awaited the end.
For half-a-mile, at least, the two horses plunged on through the dimness, and then, at a slight touch on the bridles, they turned to one side, and began ascending an inclined plain, which led along the wall of the pass.
“Steady, gal,” said Tom, in a coarse, thick whisper. “Be keerful how yer move now, for two feet out of the road might break that purty neck o’ yours. A stumble over these rocks is an ugly thing, and Tom Rutter’s work would all go for nothin’ if you got it.”
For a second the idea of self-destruction flashed through Adele’s mind. What so easy as to fling herself away over the rocks, and at once put an end to her troubles, and to life itself? Friendless and alone, in the power of an outlawed desperado, with but little hope of succour, why should she longer live?
It was but for a second. Far behind, from the darkness, echoed the sound of a horse’s hoof striking against a stone – she was not entirely deserted – friends yet sought her; rescue might be near at hand. Why, then, despond? The steeds ceased their upward motion. For the present their journey was at an end.
Apparently proceeding from the solid rock, a stout, squat-figured man emerged, bearing in his hand a small lantern. He glanced at the two a moment; then, in a hard, dry voice:
“So yer comin’ back to the nest once more, Tom Rutter; and you bring a purty bird along. Come in, and I’ll put the hosses away.”
“Shade that light, will yer, if yer don’t want a ball to come up here. Thar’s somebody comin’ through the pass that’s lookin’ for somethin’ he’s lost, and if he catches sight o’ that glim, there may be an extra job put out that I don’t keer about havin’ a hand in.”
“Ho, ho!” laughed the man with the lantern, as he put the slide down. “Ho, ho! somebody looking for a lost thing in Free Trappers’ Pass! There’s lots o’ them things goes in, but powerful few goes out. What’s he lost, Tom? A bit calico, or a back load o’ pelts, or a money purse? Them’s bad things to loose on the prairie or mountains, but nice to find, most mighty nice, most – ”
Here his words became indistinct, for he had entered a fissure in the rocks; but something very like an oath emphasized the concluding sentence. Tom Rutter and Adele followed.
The light from the lantern, which was now permitted to stream forth, was but barely sufficient to give the captive some idea of where she was.
The air felt damp and cave-like to her, and, looking around, Adele saw, as, indeed, she expected to see, that the place was part of a cavern, of how great an extent it was impossible to say. The man who was, for the time being, porter, led the horses to one side, and then returned to where Rutter was standing.
“Come on, Tom; we have the kennel all to ourselves to-night. All the boys are out, an’ if Big Dick don’t come back, we’ll hev a nice evenin’ of it. Strike into the room, an’ tell us whar you come from, how you got that bloody face, and whar you picked up that young squaw. I ain’t seen a face for three or four days, an’ am splittin’ for somebody to talk to.”
The renegade did not appear to be in a very loquacious humour, but he followed the advice of the man insomuch that he “struck” into the room, to all appearance only too glad to find that the place was not tenanted by the usual dwellers therein.
The underground retreat was of considerable size. The room in which they all three finally occupied was at least twenty feet square; the one through which they had passed was much longer, while a curtain of skins did not entirely conceal the passage to other rooms farther on. An air of rude hospitality was visible on Tom Rutter’s face, and in his talk and actions, as he motioned Adele to a seat.
“Take a seat, gal, an’ don’t be skeered. No one is goin’ to hurt ye, and yer wants’ll be pervided for as long as this here hand kin hold a rifle. It’s only a necessary o’ war that makes me do this, an’ I’ll take care that no hurt comes to ye, though I won’t say how soon or how long you’ll stay in the camps o’ the Blackfeet; that’s somethin’ I ain’t got the say about.”
Adele sunk on the pile of skins pointed out by the renegade.
One thing only somewhat reassured her. Tom had treated her with more deference than she could by any means have expected, and, somehow, there was an air of honesty about him, when he assured her of support and protection that was almost satisfactory to her, and which caused the other man to open his eyes, as though astonished to see anything like honour in a renegade, and sometime denizen of Free Trappers’ Pass.
In his rough way, Tom intimated, if she desired it, some refreshment would be prepared; but Adele shook her head in the negative.
“I s’pose yer sleepy, then, and so just follow me, and I’ll show you whar you may turn in.”
Mechanically the girl obeyed Rutter, and followed him through the curtained aperture. A short, narrow passage led into another apartment, somewhat smaller than the one they had just left. Strange it was, yet did it seem to her that the air was too dry for an underground room, and it was almost impossible to realize that it was not part of a legitimate dwelling-house.
Placing the lamp – a rude dish containing bear’s oil – upon the lid of the chest, Tom, with a few words, intended to quiet and soothe the feelings of the unwilling guest, turned and retraced his steps, leaving Adele alone in the guest-chamber of the outlaws’ retreat.
She did not feel at all like sleeping. Her situation was not one which would be apt to act opiatewise on her nerves. Just as the waning light shot up in one last expiring gleam, then disappeared, leaving her in the dark, she heard the sound of voices coming from the front part of the cave. Without any settled reason, she rose from her seat, and groped her way to the entrance of her prison.
Light as the evening breeze touches the fallen leaves and moss carpets of the forest, her feet fell upon the cold earthen floor of the passage. A square of light marked the curtain of the ante-chamber, and here Adele paused. The sound was no longer a hum, but every word of the speakers was uttered with distinctness, so that the listener could understand the conversation fully.
Evidently there was an addition to the number, for there was a voice heard – rough, boisterous, well suited for the utterance of round, rolling oaths. Probably, this man was “Big Dick,” spoken of by the porter, as one who might possibly make his appearance before morning. This man was speaking.
“He came so almighty suddent along, and made sich a cussed noise, that I thort he war one of us, a course. To make sure, I hailed him, but he didn’t stop, only licked up his hoss, an’ come faster than ever. I knowed ef it war any of they boys, they wouldn’t be doin’ any sich tricks, so I throwed my shootin’-iron up to shoulder, and let drive whar I thort he mout be. The noise stopped most mighty suddent fur a second, and then I heard a hoss gallop away in sich a manner, as said he hadn’t any rider aback of him. It war a good shot to make in the dark.”