CHAPTER XXVIII
THE DEMANDS OF THE ENEMY
It was an hour later, when the excitement had cooled down a little, that Captain Moore sent for Benson again. Wondering what was to follow, the old scout hurried to the room in which the young commander was transacting his business.
"I want a little talk with you in private, Benson," said the young officer.
"Yes, captain."
"I know you've been wondering why I didn't send you to Fort Prescott instead of sending Hank Leeson."
"You had a right to do as you pleased, captain."
"The truth of the matter is, Benson, I wanted you here. You brought Joe and Darry to the fort, and those two boys need looking after. We are going to have a fight, sooner or later. We may win, and if we do, all right. But if we don't – "
"You want me to stand by the boys to the last?" put in the old scout quickly.
"I do, Benson; and, no matter what comes, I want you to promise to do your level best to save them, and see them safe back to the East. If the worst comes I am willing to die fighting, but Joe must get out of it somehow. If he doesn't it will break my mother's heart. And you must do as well by Darry, for he is an only child."
The eyes of the old scout and the young captain met. Then Benson put out his hand, which Captain Moore quickly grasped.
"I understand, captain. I'll do my best, and if those lads don't get away it will be because Sam Benson aint alive to take 'em."
"As you are not a soldier you have a right to leave the fort as quickly as you please," went on the young captain. "Therefore, if you see the tide of battle turning against us, don't wait, but get the boys away as speedily and as secretly as you can."
"I will, captain; but yourself – "
"Never mind me. Get the boys to a place of safety, and I know our family and Darry's family will reward you well."
"I won't want any reward. I took to the lads from the start, and I'll stand by 'em through thick and thin," said old Benson.
There was but little sleeping done in the fort that night. The majority of the soldiers slept on their arms, expecting an alarm at any moment. Yet it did not come, and the sun rose on a scene of perfect peace and quiet.
But at eight o'clock a sentinel announced a horseman approaching, bearing a white flag.
"So they want to talk, eh?" said the young captain. "All right, anything to gain time."
The flag of truce was promptly answered, and as the horseman came closer many recognized Matt Gilroy. The young captain went out himself to meet the leader of the desperadoes.
"Good-morning, Captain Moore," began the desperado, with a regular military salute.
"What brings you?" demanded the captain abruptly.
"Well, I thought we had best come to terms – that's what brought me."
"Terms about what, Gilroy?"
"Terms about surrendering the fort and all of its contents."
"Surrendering? To whom?"
"You know well enough, Captain Moore. It will be only a waste of time to beat about the bush. Our crowd and the Indians now number over three hundred, and we are bound to get possession of the fort and all that is in it."
"Do you speak for the Indians as well as for yourself?"
"I do."
"So far as I know the Indians are not on the warpath, Gilroy. I must have a talk with one of their chiefs before I do anything."
"You know they are on the warpath. Didn't you have a mix-up with them?"
"There are always some Indians who are ugly and willing to make trouble."
"Well, all the Indians are standing in with us on this deal," went on Gilroy, his face darkening. "And you have got to surrender or take the consequences."
"What will the consequences be?"
"If you won't surrender we'll attack the fort immediately. We know just how weak you are, and let me tell you that we have a dozen or more dynamite bombs on hand with which we can blow the fort sky-high if we wish."
"What good will it do you to capture the fort?"
"We know all about the money that is stored here, and we want every dollar of it."
"And if we surrender?"
"If you surrender you will be allowed to march from the place unmolested, taking all of your sick with you, or leaving them here, in care of a doctor, if you prefer. If you know where your head is level you will surrender," went on the desperado earnestly.
"But if I am compelled to surrender, don't you know that our army will be after you, Gilroy?"
"Never mind, we'll take care of that part of it," was the answer, with a sickly grin. "Then you agree to surrender?"
"I can't do it until I have spoken with one of the leading Indian chiefs."
At this the desperado's face fell.
"Will White Ox do?" he asked, after an awkward pause.
"Yes."
"All right; I'll bring him along in about half an hour."
This ended the interview, and turning his horse Matt Gilroy rode off and Captain Moore walked back to the fort.
"A little time gained, at least," was the young officer's comment.
It was fully an hour before Gilroy reappeared, accompanied by White Ox and an under-chief known as Little Wildcat.
"Want to talk," grunted White Ox, coming to a halt at a safe distance.
"Have you dug up the hatchet, White Ox?" demanded the captain. "If not, let us smoke the pipe of peace together."
"The pipe of peace is broken," answered the old Indian. "The white man is not the red man's friend. He makes promises only to break them. The Indian must fight for what is his own."
"Do you consider this fort your own?"
"The land is the red man's – the white man has stolen it from him. The white man must go and leave the red man to his own."
"If you want the white man to go why don't you drive Gilroy and his gang away too?"
"They have promised to leave – after they have had their share of what is here."
"Oh, so that's the bargain!"
"You see how matters stand, Captain Moore," broke in the leader of the desperadoes. "If you know when you are well off, you'll submit as gracefully as possible."
"If we leave will you promise to let all go in peace," went on the young captain to the Indian chief, "you will not molest the women or any of the young people?"
"Yes, all the women and young people can go," said White Ox, but the look in his face was not one to be trusted.
"And if we refuse when do you expect to attack us?"
"At once."
The reply came from Matt Gilroy, and White Ox nodded in the affirmative.
"I must consult Colonel Fairfield first," said the captain slowly, wondering how he was to gain more time.
"I thought you were in command," remarked Gilroy.
"I was – but the colonel is getting better. Meet me here in another hour, and I will give you his reply and my own."
This did not suit Gilroy and White Ox, but the captain was firm, and at last they went off, promising to be back exactly at the end of the hour.
"And then it must be surrender or fight," said the leader of the desperadoes sharply. "No more dilly-dallying."
It must be confessed that Captain Moore returned to the fort in a thoughtful mood. He had an awful responsibility upon his shoulders. He called several of the other officers in consultation.
"For myself, I believe in fighting," he said. "But we must consider those who are sick and must consider the women."
"The colonel's wife wishes us to fight to the end," replied another officer. "She is not willing to trust White Ox or any of the other redskins."
"I don't believe in surrendering," put in another. "Let us see if we can't hold off until we hear from Leeson and Fort Prescott."
And so it was arranged.
CHAPTER XXIX
OPENING OF THE BATTLE
Promptly on the minute Gilroy and White Ox appeared again, with the white flag of truce flying between them.
This time Captain Moore took with him one of his lieutenants, Bacon by name.
The interview was shorter than the captain had anticipated.
"Well, is it surrender or not?" asked Matt Gilroy.
"We must have more time," answered Captain Moore. "Cannot you wait until to-morrow morning?"
"Not another minute," was the angry reply. "Is it surrender or not? Answer yes or no."
"We will not surrender – at least not yet," came from the young captain firmly.
"Then your time is up, and we shall attack at once," returned the leader of the desperadoes. "Am I not right, White Ox?"
"You have spoken truly," came from the Indian chief. "Soon the blood of the white soldiers will flow freely."
Without another word White Ox galloped away, and Matt Gilroy went after him.
"We are up against a battle now!" exclaimed Lieutenant Bacon.
"I have done my best to delay the contest – I can do no more," said Captain Moore.
When he returned inside of the stockade he was immediately surrounded.
"Boys, we must fight," he said in a loud, clear voice. "They will wait no longer. But re-enforcements must be on the way by this time. Can I depend upon your standing by me?"
"Yes! yes!" was the cry.
"We know how to do our duty to Uncle Sam and the flag!"
"Let the desperadoes and the Indians come on! We'll give them as hot a reception as they ever got!"
While the soldiers were taking their way to the several defenses of the fort there was the beating of Indian drums at a distance, followed by the blowing of a bugle in the camp of the desperadoes.
Soon the beating and blowing came from half a dozen directions.
"They are gathering, sure enough!" exclaimed Joe. "I wonder how long it will be before they fire the first shot?"
"They'll not be rash – be sure of that," answered Darry. "They must know that the fort is a strong place."
A little later one of the guards announced that bodies of Indians were marching from the south of the fort to the westward.
Here there was a fringe of trees at a distance of not over a hundred yards from the stockade.
Colonel Fairfield had often thought to have the belt of timberland cut down, but had never put the plan into execution.
"They mean to get as close as possible before they expose themselves," said the captain. "Dilberry, have the four-pounder trained on that spot."
"I will, Captain Moore," said the head gunner, and saluted.
Quarter of an hour went by, and the drumming and bugle calling had ceased.
Suddenly a shout went up from behind the belt of timberland, and a small cannon spoke up, sending a shell into the ditch outside the stockade.
"Hullo, they have a cannon after all," thought Captain Moore. He called Dilberry to him. "Can you get the range of that piece?" he asked.
"I can try, sir."
"Then do it, and if you can disable the piece so much the better."
At once the head gunner ran off and sighted one of the cannon of the fort with care.
A few seconds later the cannon spoke up with a report that rang in the boys' ears for long after. The ball sped straight into the timberland and cut down a heavy sapling growing beside the piece the enemy were reloading. One desperado was killed instantly and another badly injured.
"A fair shot!" said the young captain. "Try it again," but before Dilberry could do so the cannon was withdrawn from sight.
After this came another lull, as if desperadoes and Indians were considering what to do next.
"It's a wonder they don't make a rush," said Joe, "if they have so many in their command."
"Nobody cares to risk an advance in the open, Joe," said old Benson. "More than likely they won't try to do much until dark."
Again the Indian drums were rolling, coupled with shrill warwhoops.
Then, with a wild yelling and a brandishing of rifles, about a hundred and fifty red men burst from cover and ran toward the stockade.
"They are coming!" was the cry.
"Stand firm, men, don't waste your ammunition!" Captain Moore cried. He turned to the gunner. "Let them have it, Dilberry!"
Bang! the cannon boomed out again, and the shot tore through the advancing horde of Indians, laying four of them low.
Then came a volley from the red men, followed by the discharge of the piece in the hands of the desperadoes. The splinters flew in several directions around the stockade and one soldier was seriously wounded. The cannon ball grazed the flagstaff, and presently it was seen to totter.
"Look out!" roared old Benson to Joe, and as he spoke down came the Stars and Stripes on the heads of Joe and Darry, and a section of the flagstaff with it.
"The flag is down!" A score of voices took up the cry, and a yell of triumph came from the Indians and desperadoes.
"It's not going to remain down!" cried old Benson, and began to climb what remained of the pole. He carried the halyard with him, and soon, with the aid of the two boys, he had the glorious Stars and Stripes once more in position.
In the meantime the soldiers under Captain Moore were busy. The Indians were now at the ditch, and one had advanced as far as the stockade itself. They were yelling like demons, and now the desperadoes began to show themselves, confident that the fort would soon be taken.
"They haven't got a corporal's guard to defend it!" cried Matt Gilroy. "Nearly everyone of those inside is sick. Come on!"
The noise was now deafening, for soldiers and Indians were discharging their weapons as rapidly as possible. The red men had brought with them a long board, to which cross-pieces were nailed. This board was now set slantingly against the stockade, and a dozen warriors rushed upon it.
"Down with them!" shouted Captain Moore. "Heave the plank off!"
A dozen soldiers started to do his bidding. The first that showed himself was shot down, and the second shared a similar fate. But others were more successful, and into the ditch went the board with a loud splash, carrying the Indians with it.
The soldiers set up a shout of triumph, and as the red men fell back those who could gain a point of vantage fired on the enemy. By this movement three Indians were left in the ditch dead and several others were wounded. A desperado was also brought down. Those that were uninjured lost no time in seeking cover; and thus the first advance on the fort came to an end.
All told, the attack had lasted nearly an hour, and when it was over it was found that everybody was hot, dry, and dusty. But, fortunately, water was to be had in plenty, and a drink refreshed all. The dead and wounded were carried away, and the latter were made as comfortable as the limited means of the fort afforded.
"They won't come back in a hurry," said the young captain. "The Indians have had their eyes opened."
"How soon can those re-enforcements come, Will?" asked Joe.
"I don't think they can get here before to-morrow noon, if as soon. They'll have a long journey before them, and a body of several hundred soldiers can't travel as fast as a single person."
"Of course they'll be cavalry," put in Darry.
"I hope so – if the cavalry was at Fort Prescott when Leeson got there."
Colonel Fairfield was much disturbed by the shooting, and he insisted upon sitting up and hearing the particulars.
"Good!" he murmured. "Keep them off another twenty-four hours and we shall be saved," and then he went off in another stupor.
All was now as quiet as if not an enemy was within a mile of the fort. But the soldiers remained on guard, and this vigilance was increased as the sun went down in the west.
"This night will tell the tale," was old Benson's comment. "Boys, it's do or die, and don't you forget it!"
Whether or not the old scout was right we shall soon see.
CHAPTER XXX
SIGNALS IN THE DARK
"Joe, I've got a scheme to outwit the desperadoes and Indians, and I've a good mind to propose it to Will."
It was Darry who spoke, as he and Joe were eating an early supper that night, in one corner of the messroom.
"If the scheme is good for anything let Will have it by all means," answered his cousin. "Heaven knows we need all the help we can get!"
"My scheme is this," went on Darry. "Those Indians and the desperadoes must know something of our sending off for re-enforcements. Now why can't Will send out old Benson and a few others, to steal off for several miles and light camp-fires, blow bugles, and all that, to make the enemy think the re-enforcements are close at hand?"
Joe clapped his hands. "That's a grand scheme!" he cried. "Let's speak to Will about it at once."
The supper was soon finished, and they sought out the young captain, who was dividing up his force for guard duty during the night.
"I was thinking of such a scheme myself," he said, when he had heard them. "And old Benson suggested it, too. Perhaps I'll do it."
"If old Benson goes can't I go with him?" asked Joe quickly.
"And let me go too," put in Darry. "You won't miss us as much as you would miss two of your regulars."
At this the young captain grew grave. "Old Benson said he would like to take you along. Perhaps it would be best, too." He paused. "You see, they may fall on the fort to-night and wipe us out completely."
"Oh, Will, do you really believe that?"
"They will certainly attack us, and the men fit for duty number but thirty-four. Thirty-four against several hundred is not much of a force, even in a fort."
The matter was talked over for half an hour, and old Benson was called in for consultation. In the end it was decided that the old scout should head a party consisting of two regulars and the two boys, who were to carry a drum and a bugle and a good supply of matches for bonfires.
"If you can pass them without being seen, head straight for Conner's Hill," said Captain Moore. "Blow the bugle there, and beat the drum, and then move over to Decker's Falls and light your first camp-fire. After that you'll have to do what you think is best."
"I understand, captain," answered the old scout. "And trust me to fool 'em nicely, if the trick can be done at all."
"It is not going to be an extra-dark night," went on the young officer. "So you will have your own troubles in getting away from the fort without being seen."
"I know a route," answered old Benson. "Trust me for it." But just then he would say no more.
The men to go along were named Cass and Bernstein. Cass was a good drummer and bugler, and Bernstein was noted for his good sight and the accuracy of his aim. All of the party went fully armed, and took with them rations for two days.
"Good-by, Joe," said the captain affectionately, and he took his brother by the hand. "I hope you pull through in safety."
"And I hope you do too, Will," answered Joe, and his lip quivered as he spoke. Perhaps this would be the last time he would see his brother alive. Never before had the situation appeared so serious as now. Darry also received an affectionate farewell.
In absolute silence old Benson led his little party to a far corner of the stockade, where there was a small gate, fastened with a strong log bar. This gate was opened just far enough for them to slip through, and then closed again. Their mission had begun. There was no telling how it would end.
Slipping into the ditch, the old scout told the others to lie low, while he and Bernstein surveyed the situation. It was silent, and from overhead only a few stars twinkled down upon them.
Old Benson presently pointed with his bony hand.
"Clear that way, aint it?" he whispered.
"Looks so," answered Bernstein, after a searching look lasting several minutes. "I wouldn't go too close to that patch of underbrush, though."
The party began crawling along the ditch, until they came to a little gully which the last heavy rains had formed. Here they progressed on hands and knees until they reached some low brushwood. Then old Benson, still crouching close to the ground, set off on a lope, and the others came after him in Indian file.
If they had been discovered, neither Indians nor desperadoes gave any sign, and inside of ten minutes the fort was left out of sight, and they were standing in a hollow fringed with berry bushes. The boys were somewhat out of breath, and old Benson gave them a short spell in which to get back their wind.
"We were right, they are none of 'em in this vicinity," said the old scout. "Getting away was easier than I expected."
"It was no easy matter with the drum," came from Cass. "I came pretty close to falling and smashing it once."
The course now led up a small hill and then across a valley to another hill, a distance of nearly three miles. The trail was by no means straight and the walking was bad, and Joe and Darry had all they could do to keep up with the others.
At the last minute Captain Moore had given the boys half a dozen rockets, and explained how the fireworks were to be set off. Everything they could do to puzzle the enemy was to be done.
At last they gained the top of Conner's Hill – so called because Major Conner fell there while battling with some stage-robbers early in the seventies.
Bringing around his bugle, Cass blew a long blast and then a regular military call, which echoed and re-echoed throughout the mountains. This was followed by a long roll on the drum, and then another call on the bugle.
After this all waited impatiently, gazing in the direction of the fort, which was, of course, hidden in the darkness.
"There they go!" cried Joe, and as he spoke two rockets flared up, dying out almost instantly.
The boys had planted two of the fireworks given them, and now these were touched off and went hissing skyward, leaving a trail of sparks behind. Two minutes later a single rocket went up from the fort.
"That's the last," observed old Benson.
"I'll wager that will set the Indians and the desperadoes to thinking," said Cass.
"They'll think some more when they see a camp-fire over Decker's Falls," put in Bernstein. "They'll imagine that they are being surrounded."
"Don't be too sure," came from the old scout. "White Ox is no fool. He has been through too much fighting. If we can only make him hold off a bit that's as much as we can expect. You can bet he'll have spies up here in less than an hour from now."
The march was now for Decker's Falls, a distance three miles to the westward. Again they advanced in Indian file, Bernstein now leading and old Benson bringing up the rear.
A mile had been covered, when the regular in front called a halt.
"A small camp is ahead," he said. "There, through the trees."
Without delay old Benson went forward to investigate.
He found three desperadoes talking earnestly among themselves, while warming some coffee over a small fire.
Listening to their talk he learned that they had been out on the trails leading to Fort Prescott, and had come in with the news that no re-enforcements for Fort Carson were within forty miles of the latter place.
"Gilroy and White Ox will be glad to hear our news," said one of the crowd. "They've been afraid all along Colonel Fairfield had sent out for aid."
Not stopping to hear anything further, old Benson crawled back to the place where he had left the others.
"We must capture those men, dead or alive," he said. "If they carry their news to the enemy there will be another attack on the fort within an hour."
Leaving the drum, bugle, and remaining rockets in a safe place, our friends advanced until all could see the three desperadoes quite plainly.
One of the fellows was unknown to Joe, but the others were Gus Fetter and Nat Potts.
The desperadoes had placed their rifles against a tree, and old Benson motioned to the boys to secure the weapons.
As Joe grabbed up two of the firearms and Darry the third, the desperadoes leaped to their feet in alarm.
"Hands up!" sang out old Benson. "Hands up, or you are all dead men!"
The scout's rifle was raised, and so were the weapons of Cass and Bernstein, and the desperadoes found themselves at a disadvantage.
Yet Fetter was game, and he quickly reached for a pistol hanging in his belt.
But the movement, quick as it was, was not quick enough for Bernstein, and as the regular's rifle rang out Fetter fell headlong across the camp-fire.
"Do you surrender?" asked old Benson.
"Yes," came from Potts, sulkily, and his companion said the same. In the meantime Fetter had rolled from the camp-fire and was breathing his last at Potts' feet.
The sight was a thrilling one, and caused Joe and Darry to shudder.
"Can't I do something for that poor wretch?" asked Joe, of Benson, but before the old scout could answer Fetter breathed his last.
In a few minutes more Potts was made a close prisoner.
While he was being tied up, the third man made a quick leap into the woods.
"After him!" cried Benson, and Cass and Bernstein did as commanded. Soon the desperado and the two regulars were out of sight and hearing.