CHAPTER XXII
IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY
Little dreaming of all the adventures in store for him, Captain Moore left the scene of the buffalo shooting and rode forth swiftly in the direction of Fort Carson.
He felt that he carried news of great importance and the sooner he gained the fort the better. Should anything happen to Colonel Fairfield the command of the post would fall upon himself, as next in rank.
As he dashed along the trail, over hill and valley, he reviewed the situation with care, and the more he thought of it, the more worried did he become.
"Something is going to happen – I can feel it in the air," he muttered.
The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when something did happen, but not exactly what he anticipated.
A shadow fell across his path, and as he drew rein he found himself confronted by several Indians.
"White officer, stop!" cried the leader of the red men sternly.
"Hullo! what do you want?" demanded the captain. The meeting was a complete surprise.
"Want to have a talk."
"Who are you?"
"Me Red Wolf, belong to White Ox tribe," returned the Indian with a scowl.
"And what are you doing out here at this time of night, Red Wolf?"
"Indians on a big hunt. See buffalo yesterday."
"Yes, I saw one of the buffaloes myself." Captain Moore paused, not knowing how to go on. "You are pretty close to the fort."
"Red Wolf and warriors get on the wrong trail," was the slow reply. "But want to talk now. Come along."
As the Indian concluded he caught the captain's steed by the bridle.
"Let go the horse."
"Want to talk to white officer."
"You haven't any right to touch my horse."
Hardly had the words been spoken when two Indians rushed up behind the captain and dragged him to the ground.
The fellows were large and powerful, and they disarmed him before he could even fire a shot.
Without further ado Captain Moore was forced to march along, between two of the red men, while a third led his horse.
A route around the rocks was taken, and presently they came to a dense bit of timberland. In the midst of this was a clearing, and here was the camp of some ten or a dozen Indians.
The Indians at hand were a guard over several white soldiers, and to his intense surprise the young captain recognized some of Lieutenant Carrol's men.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Had a mix-up and came off second best – " began one of the soldiers, when an Indian guard clapped a dirty hand over his mouth and ordered him to be silent, under penalty of death.
Then the captain was taken to another part of the glade, and here he was made a close prisoner by being bound, hands and feet, to the trunk of a blasted tree.
Red Wolf wished to know what the captain had been doing away from the fort.
"I've been on a hunting expedition."
"Alone?"
"No."
"Where are the others?"
"Safe, by this time. What do you intend to do with me, Red Wolf?"
"White Ox shall decide that," grunted the red man.
"Then he is on this hunt, too?"
"He is."
"When will he be here?"
"Soon."
"Don't you know that I am an army officer, and that you are laying up a good deal of trouble for yourself by making me a prisoner?"
"The white man has not treated the Indians right."
"This is no way to redress wrongs, Red Wolf. Why don't you go to Colonel Fairfield and make a complaint? He will send the story to the Great Father at Washington."
"The Great Father will not listen. We have sent many complaints – as the white captain knows."
"He will listen – if the complaint is a just one. The trouble is, the Indians will not obey Colonel Fairfield's orders."
"And why should they obey the white man? Is not White Ox their chief?"
"That is true. But the land is now the white man's, and the Indians must obey the Great Father at Washington, or in the end it will go hard with them."
"Not so!" cried Red Wolf savagely. "In the end the white man will be driven eastward, where he belongs. No one shall rule in these mountains but the red man. White Ox and the other great chiefs have spoken."
"What! you are going on the warpath?"
"The hatchet may be dug up, if the white man will not listen to the red man."
"I know what the trouble is, Red Wolf. Matt Gilroy and that scoundrelly half-breed, Mose, have set you up to this. They have filled your ears with false stories about our cruelty and about much money at the fort."
By the look on the Indian's face the young officer saw that he had struck the truth, at least in part.
But the red man would talk no more, fearing he had already said too much, and he stalked off, warning a guard to be careful and not let the captain escape.
When left to himself, Captain Moore's reflections were very bitter.
"If the redskins are out in force they'll probably fall in with Benson and the boys," he told himself. "And if they do there will surely be trouble. Benson won't allow them to take him alive, and that will mean a good deal of shooting all around."
He listened attentively for shots in the distance, but none came, and this caused him to be more perplexed than ever.
Just before daybreak several additional Indians came in, and the young officer and the soldiers were told to march. Their feet were unfastened, but their hands were not, and they were forced to move with the red men on all sides of them, and each of the enemy fully armed and ready to shoot them down at the first show of resistance or escape.
From one of the privates Captain Moore learned that Lieutenant Carrol and the other soldiers had escaped, but what had become of them nobody knew.
The little body of whites and Indians marched over a mountain trail for fully four hours. The step was a lively one, and when the party came to a halt even the soldiers used to a hard march were tired out.
"Those redskins can walk the legs off of anything I know of," was the way one old soldier expressed himself. "They are like some of these wiry mustangs who don't know the meaning of rest."
"This region is strange to me, Peck. Do you recognize it?"
"I do, Captain Moore. Yonder is Henebeck Fall, and this trail leads to Silver Gulch."
"Then we are about six miles from nowhere in particular."
"You've struck it, captain. Why they brought us to such a forsaken spot is more than I can guess – unless they are going to shoot us down like dogs and leave us for the wolves to feed on. The wolves are thick around here, so Leeson told me."
"I don't believe they'll shoot us down. They are not desperate enough yet. But they may do it, if they attack the fort and lose heavily. That will open their eyes, and make them as mad as hornets."
A little later Silver Gulch, a wide opening in the rocks of the mountain, was gained, and here the soldiers were again made fast to several trees. Then the Indians prepared their midday meal. They took their time about eating, and did not offer the white men anything until they had finished.
"They don't intend to treat us any too good," was Peck's comment. "Captain, can't we fix it to get away?"
"I intend to escape if I can manage it," returned the young officer. "But we must be careful, for they are fully armed, and they watch us like so many foxes."
Slowly the afternoon wore away, and with the coming of night it grew darker than usual, as though a storm was brewing.
"A storm ought to help us," said the captain.
Some of the Indians had departed, so that now the guard consisted of but four warriors. These red men walked around each prisoner, seeing to it that all the bonds were tight.
As the men passed Peck the old soldier watched his chance, and, unknown to the red men, caught a hunting-knife from the belt of one of the number.
This knife was concealed up his sleeve, and then the soldier waited for his chance to use the blade, which was as sharp as a razor.
The Indians decided that two of their number should sleep, while the other two remained on guard. Soon those to retire turned in, while the others sat down to smoke their pipes.
This was Peck's opportunity, and with a slash of the hunting-knife he released his hands. A moment later the lariat around his ankles was likewise severed.
Watching his chance, Peck passed the knife to Captain Moore, and then went back to his position by the tree as if still fastened.
Thus the knife was passed from soldier to soldier until all were liberated.
All told, the party numbered six, and nobody was armed, excepting Peck, to whom the hunting-knife had been returned.
Motioning to the others to keep quiet, Captain Moore picked up a stick of wood lying near and threw it in some bushes a distance away.
This made considerable noise, and instantly the two guards gazed in the direction.
"A wolf, perhaps," said one of the Indians, in his native tongue, and walked over to the bushes. His companion started to follow, when Captain Moore leaped upon him and bore him to the earth.
CHAPTER XXIII
A PANTHER IN CAMP
As Captain Moore fell upon one of the Indians, Peck the private stole after the guard who had walked toward the bushes. The other soldiers jumped to where the remaining Indians were sleeping, to gain possession of the firearms.
The Indian the captain had tackled was a young but powerful brave, and he put up a hard fight to release himself. But he had been taken unawares, and after he was on the ground the captain saw to it that he did not get up.
In the meantime the Indian near the bushes turned just in time to see Peck raise the hunting-knife. Crack! went the red man's rifle, and the bullet clipped the soldier's ear. The shot was so close that to the day of his death Peck carried in his face some traces of the burnt powder.
The shot was the last the Indian ever fired, for in the midst of the smoke Peck hurled himself at the warrior, and a second later down came the hunting-knife, piercing the red man's back and entering his right lung. The stroke was a fatal one, and before the fighting in the glade came to an end the Indian had breathed his last.
When the sleeping Indians awoke they could not for the moment realize what was going on. In his bewilderment one leaped up and rushed at a soldier, who promptly laid him low by a heavy blow from a rifle stock, which almost cracked the warrior's skull. Seeing this, the other brave became frightened and ran for the bushes.
"Don't let him escape!" cried Captain Moore, who was still holding his man down.
At once two of the soldiers ran after the fleeing Indian, and presently two rifle shots rang out, followed by a scream from the red man.
"He's done for," said one of the soldiers, after the smoke had cleared away. "He has gone to his happy hunting-ground."
After this turn of affairs it did not take the soldiers long to make prisoners of the two Indians who remained alive. These fellows were in truth much frightened, but tried their best to suppress their feelings.
From one of the Indians, Captain Moore learned that more Indians were expected early the next morning.
"That's all right," said he. "They will come in time to release you and save you from starvation."
"Going to tie 'em up, captain?" asked Peck.
"Yes. There is nothing else to do."
"Better shoot 'em."
"I can't shoot them in cold blood, Peck. That would not be human."
"The wretches don't deserve to live, captain. The Indians and those desperadoes are plotting to wipe out everybody left at the fort."
"I know that. Still, I cannot bring myself to take their lives – and we can't stop to take them along as prisoners. The sooner we get back to the fort the better."
"If we can get back," put in another soldier.
"I don't believe the fort is surrounded just yet," returned the young officer.
"But if it is?"
"Then, perhaps, it will be better for us to be out than in."
"You wouldn't desert the crowd at the fort, would you?"
"You know me better than that, Gorman. We might be able to ride to the next fort and obtain re-enforcements."
"That's so, captain! I didn't think of that."
Leaving the dead Indians in the bushes and the others tied to the trees, the captain and his companions now lost no time in striking out for the fort.
Fortunately, Peck was well acquainted with every foot of the territory to be covered, and he led the way by a route which was fairly easy and as direct as could be expected, considering the wild region to be covered.
As he hurried along, the young captain's thoughts were busy. Where were Joe, Darry, and Benson, and how were things going at the fort?
"The Indians are not so much to be blamed as the desperadoes," he said. "They have some wrongs, although they are more fancied than real. But the desperadoes ought all to be either shot down or placed under arrest."
"Right you are," returned Gorman. "This district will never prosper until the desperadoes are cleaned out."
It was not long before the party began to grow hungry, and they had to halt for an hour, to prepare some birds which one of the number had brought down with a gun.
All the time they were eating, one of the soldiers remained on guard, for they were fearful a band of Indians might come up unawares to surprise them. But not a red man or desperado showed himself.
Nightfall found them still sixteen miles from the fort, and unable to walk further.
"We will camp out where we are," said Captain Moore. "It is useless to think of covering the distance in the dark. Besides, we might fall into some trap."
A storm had been threatening, but now the clouds passed and the night proved clear and pleasant. It was decided that two men should remain on guard at a time, each taking a turn of three hours.
The young captain slept from nine o'clock until three in the morning. Then he awoke with the feeling that further sleep was out of the question. Getting up, he walked to a nearby brook, intending to wash up and obtain a needed drink.
While Captain Moore was in the vicinity of the brook something stirring in the bushes attracted his attention.
"Carwell, did you see that?" he asked, of the guard who was nearest to him.
"See what, captain?"
"That thing in yonder bushes."
"I see nothing, sir."
"Something is moving there. Come here and look."
The private did as commanded, and both gazed steadily into the bushes.
"By Jove!" exclaimed the young officer at length, "Do you see what it is now, Carwell?"
"I do not, captain."
"It's a panther, unless I am greatly mistaken."
"Where?"
"Lying on the fallen tree, behind that tall bush," and Captain Moore pointed with his hand.
As he did this the panther arose suddenly, then crouched down as if to make a leap at them.
"Shoot!" ordered the captain, and as quickly as the private could raise his rifle he fired. But his aim was poor, and the bullet flew a foot over the panther's head.
"Missed, hang the luck!" muttered Carwell.
Scarcely had the words left his lips, when the panther made a fierce leap and landed directly at the feet of the astonished pair. The beast was evidently very hungry, or it would not have attacked human beings in this semi-light of the early dawn.
Full of fear, Carwell staggered back, with his smoking rifle still in his hand.
The panther growled and switched its tail from side to side. The rifle shot had filled it with wonder, and it did not know what to do next.
"Be careful – he is going to take another leap!" cried the young captain.
He was right; the panther was now preparing for another spring. Before Carwell could get out of the way, the beast came on, pinning the private to the earth.
As Carwell went down the whole camp roused up, and the second guard came up on the double quick.
"What's up, captain?" he sang out.
"Shoot the panther!" answered the young officer. "Quick, or you'll be too late. Don't hit Carwell."
Crack! the rifle spoke up, and the beast was hit fairly and squarely in the side. At this it let out a blood-curdling scream of pain. It had caught Carwell by the arm, but now it released its hold.
"A panther!" roared one of the old soldiers. "And a big one. Git your guns, boys! He aint no beast to fool with, I can tell you that!"
Those who had guns ran for them. But in the meantime the panther turned around, as if to retreat.
Then, of a sudden, it seemed to catch sight of Captain Moore, and with a snarl of rage it threw itself upon the young officer, and both went over with a loud splash into the brook.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE SKIRMISH IN THE BRUSH
Up to the time the panther had turned upon him, the young officer had thought but little of his own safety, being concerned chiefly about Carwell, who was flat on his back, and who looked as if he as going to be chewed up by this wild, lean, and hungry beast of the forest.
But now Captain Moore found himself attacked, and as he went over into the brook he realized that he was in the most perilous position he had yet encountered. Facing Indians and desperadoes was nothing compared to facing this beast, that seemed bent upon his destruction.
The spot where the young officer struck the brook was five or six feet deep, and as the panther came down on top of him he went straight to the bottom.
The beast was also submerged, but not for long. Panthers, although they can swim, do not like the water, and this one lost no time in coming to the surface to get air. Then it let out another scream of pain, while the bullet wound in its side dyed the brook red.
As the panther came up the young captain tried to do the same. But the first thing he encountered was the beast's fierce claws, and he received a deep and painful scratch in his left shoulder. Then he went down again, and tried to come up further down the stream. But unfortunately the panther moved in the same direction.
In the meantime the other soldiers came up to the edge of the brook. They realized their captain's peril, and as soon as the panther showed itself two of them blazed away, one hitting the beast in the back and the other landing a bullet in the panther's neck.
The fury of the animal was now intense, and whirling around it lashed the water of the brook into a perfect foam. Then it leaped for the opposite shore, and made a break for the underbrush. Before anybody could fire again it was gone.
When Captain Moore regained the surface of the brook willing hands helped him out.
"Hurt?" questioned Peck anxiously.
"A little – on the shoulder," was the answer, with a gasp. "Where is the beast?"
"Got away in yonder bushes, sir. That's a nasty dig. You had better let me bind it up."
"Carwell, how are you?"
"The beast nipped me in the arm," answered the private, trying to suppress a groan. "By George, but he was an ugly one!"
"That's right," put in another soldier. "You can be thankful you wasn't chewed up."
A brief search revealed the fact that the panther had left the vicinity, and then the others set to work to bind up the wounds the captain and Carwell had sustained.
"We had better move on now," said the young officer, when the hurts had been attended to. "If there are Indians or desperadoes around they must certainly have heard those shots, and they will be wondering what they mean."
They marched on in the gloom, and did not halt until the sun was showing itself over the hills to the eastward. They had now gained a rise of ground from which with a field-glass the fort might have been seen. But the young captain's glass was gone – confiscated, as already told, by those who had first attacked him.
"We will draw closer with caution," said the young officer. "We don't want to walk into any trap."
Less than a mile was covered, when Peck, who had been sent out in advance, came back and called for silence.
"Some Indians are ahead," he said.
"How many of them?" questioned Captain Moore.
"Not less than a dozen or fifteen, captain. I counted eleven, and heard some talking that I couldn't see."
"Where are they?"
"Down behind where the brook flows over those sawtooth rocks. We were out there fishing last summer."
"I know the spot you mean. What are the redskins doing?"
"Nothing in particular. I overheard one say to another that he expected White Ox along before sundown."
"They must be an advance guard of the tribe, then," returned the young officer thoughtfully. "Did any of them see you?"
"I don't think they did."
But in this Peck was mistaken, for scarcely had the soldiers started to walk around the spot where the Indians were encamped, when a savage war-whoop rang out, followed by half a dozen shots.
The first round was a deadly one, killing two of the men and wounding Peck in the side. A bullet likewise grazed Captain Moore's shoulder.
"To cover!" shouted the young officer, as soon as he could speak. "The Indians are on us!"
He had a gun in his hand, and as he gave the command he leveled it at the leader of the party, he who had killed one of the soldiers. Captain Moore's aim was true, and the Indian fell lifeless over the very body of the man he had slain.
By this time the other Indians were coming up, and all the soldiers could do was to take to the nearest cover, as the captain had ordered. The warwhoops continued, and shots were fired from several directions.
Scarcely knowing whether he was hit or not, Captain Moore dashed into the midst of some brushwood, and not far away from him came Peck. The latter had broken his rifle over the head of one of the red men, and now advanced with the hunting-knife which was still in his possession. The young captain held a rifle, but just now had no time in which to reload the weapon.
"They are after us hot-like!" cried Peck, after several hundred feet had been covered.
The private's breath came short and sharp, and now for the first Captain Moore saw how he was suffering.
"You are wounded, Peck."
"That's right, captain."
"You can't run any more."
"I've got to run," muttered Peck, between his set teeth. "They'll be on – oh! – on us in another minute."
"Give me your arm – I'll help you along."
The private held out his hand, then gave a pitch, and, before the young officer could catch him, sank on the grass insensible.
Captain Moore's heart leaped into his throat, for he had known Peck for years, and the two were very friendly. He listened, and heard a distant shot. Evidently the Indians were not yet coming in that direction. They would first hunt down the others, providing they were not already slain.
Bending down, the young officer took Peck in his strong arms and threw the private over his shoulder. The weight was considerable, and made him stagger.
"I've got to carry him, somehow!" he muttered. "Heaven give me strength to do it!"
The brushwood was thick ahead, but there was a sort of trail, made by wild animals, and he pursued this until he came to a brook. Then to keep the Indians from following them, should they come in that direction, he followed the brook for a hundred yards or more. At last he reached a point where the banks of the brook were rocky, and here he came out, and crawled over the rocks. Not far off was an opening between two large bowlders, and here he sank down, too exhausted to take another step.
It was half an hour before Peck came to his senses. In the meantime the captain had obtained some water, washed the private's wound and bound it up in bandages torn from his shirt. The loss of blood had made Peck light-headed.
"Keep them off!" he murmured. "Keep them off! They want to bore a hole in my side. Keep them off!"
"Be quiet, Peck, you are safe," answered the young captain soothingly. "You've been wounded, that's the trouble," but the private continued to rave for some time, when he relaxed into a stupor.
With strained ears Captain Moore waited for the appearance of friends or enemies, but nobody came up the brook. Once he heard two shots far to the northward, but whether fired by the soldiers or the Indians he could not tell.
"I'm afraid it's been a regular slaughter," he mused sadly. "And our getting away was a miracle," and this surmise proved correct, for, as was afterward proven, all the others of the party were slain within an hour after the surprise occurred.