The Mountain Divide Part 4

"What should you do, Bob, if we met Sioux?"

"Run," smiled Bob, with Indian terseness. Yet somehow the boy felt that Bob, in spite of what he said, would not run, and he realized for a moment the apprehension of one but newly arrived on the frontier, and still subject to tremors for his scalp. The scout took his stand near a thicket of quaking asp and almost at once sighted a band of antelope. Taking Bucks, he worked around the wind toward the band, and directed him how and when to shoot if he got a chance. Bucks, highly wrought up after the long crawl to get within range, did get a chance, and with his heart beating like a trip-hammer, covered a buck and fired. The scout shot immediately afterward, and the herd broke swiftly for the timber along the creek. But Bucks, as well as his experienced companion, had brought down an antelope.

Scott, as he joined his companion, looked at him with curiosity.

"Where did you learn to shoot?"

"I couldn't do it again, Bob," exclaimed Bucks frankly. "The only shooting I've ever done is rabbit-shooting, or squirrel-shooting. I was lucky for once, that's all."

"I hope your luck stays with us. If it does we may get back with all of our hair," returned Scott. "The thing to do now is to lose no time in leaving here. We are farther from camp than we ought to be. When I get to running antelope I am apt to go as far as they do."

The two hunters got the carca.s.ses across their horses, and acting on Scott's admonition started to cover a good bit of the distance toward camp before stopping.

The sun was already low in the west and Bucks realized that they had been out all day. The hunters rode due southeast, to put every mile possible between them and the Indian country before dark. They were riding along in this manner at dusk, when Scott, leading, pointed to a canyon that offered a hiding-place for the night, and directed his horse into it. Scarcely had the two pa.s.sed within the canyon walls when Scott halted and, with a quick, low command to the boy, sprang from his horse. Bucks lost no time in following suit: they had ridden almost into an Indian camp, and when Bucks's feet touched the ground Scott was covering with his rifle a Sioux brave who with two squaws rose out of the darkness before him. Quick words pa.s.sed between Scott and the Indian in the Sioux tongue. Bucks's hair rose on end until the confab quieted, and the scout's rifle came down. In an instant it was all over, but in that instant the Easterner had lived years.

"It is all right," said Bob, turning to rea.s.sure his charge. "He is a young chief--Iron Hand. I know his father. These three are alone.

Eight of them went out after buffalo five days ago. The second day they fell in with Turkey Leg and a Cheyenne war party. Two of Iron Hand's warriors were killed. The rest got separated and these three lost their horses. Iron Hand," Scott nodded toward the silent Indian, "was. .h.i.t in the arm, and with his squaw and her sister has been trying to get north, hiding by day and travelling by night. He can't shoot his rifle; he thinks his arm is broken; and the squaws haven't been able to kill anything. They are hungry, I guess."

"And did they tell you all this in those few words?" demanded Bucks incredulously.

"It doesn't take many words to tell stories in this country. If a man talked much he would be dead and buried before he got through."

"Bob, if they are hungry, give them some antelope."

Scott, who had meant to suggest the same thing, was pleased that the offer should come from his companion, and so told the wounded Indian.

The latter drew himself up with dignity and spoke a few rapid words.

"He says he is glad," translated Bob, "that your heart is big. And that it will be safer to go farther into the canyon. The Cheyennes are hunting for them all around here, and if you are not afraid to camp with the Sioux, we will stay with them here to-night. While the Cheyennes are hunting them, they might find us. It will be about the safest thing we can do."

"You know best," said his companion. "Can you trust this man?"

"Trust him?" echoed Bob mildly. "I wish I could trust the word of a white man half as far as I can that of a Sioux. He understands everything you say."

"Can he talk English?" asked Bucks in surprise.

"Better than I can."

It was with queer sensations that Bucks found himself in a hostile country and with the deadliest enemies of the white man going into camp for the night. Within a minute or two after Scott and the wounded brave had picked a defended camp near a rivulet of water, the two squaws had a fire going, and they set to work at once dressing an antelope.

Savory morsels were cut from choice spots on the carca.s.ses and these were broiled by impaling them on long sticks over the fire. Bucks, learning very fast with his eyes, saw how surprisingly small an affair an Indian camp-fire is, and how much could be done with a few buffalo chips, if one understood how to keep them renewed. Both safety and convenience were served by the tiny blaze, and meat never tasted as good to Bucks as it did on that clear, frosty night, broiled by the two women and garnished from Bob Scott's provident salt bag.

After satisfying his ravenous hunger, which the Indians considered not even a fair appet.i.te, Bucks asked to look at the warrior's injured arm, explaining that his father had been an army surgeon in the great white man's war, as Bob Scott designated the Civil War in translating for the Sioux. The arm, which was badly swollen, he found had indeed been broken by a bullet near the wrist, but only one bone was fractured, and, finding no trace of the bullet, the confident young surgeon offered to set the fracture.

Iron Hand, nothing loath, accepted the offer, and after cleansing the wound as well as it could be cleansed in running water hard by, Bucks took the rough splints handily supplied by Scott's hunting-knife, and pulling the bone into place with the scout's aid--though the brave winced a little at the crude surgery--he soon had the forearm set and was rewarded with a single guttural, "Wa-sha-ta-la!" from the stalwart warrior, which, Bob explained, meant, "Heap good."

Sitting afterward by the camp-fire, Scott and Iron Hand, since the young chief would not talk English, conversed in the Sioux tongue, the scout translating freely for his younger companion, while the squaws dressed the second antelope and cut it up for convenience in carrying on the horses to Cas.e.m.e.nt's camp. Scott reserved only the hind-quarters of each animal for himself and Bucks, giving the rest to their hosts.

When it was late, Scott showed the boy how to pillow his head on his saddle and then stretched himself out to sleep. Bucks lay a long time looking up at the stars. When he fell asleep, he woke again very soon.

His companion was sleeping peacefully beside him, and he saw Iron Hand sitting by the fire. Bucks easily imagined his arm would keep him awake. The squaws were still broiling pieces of antelope over the little blaze, which was neither bigger nor smaller than before, and together with the chief they were still eating. Bucks slumbered and woke again and again during the night, but always to see the same thing--the three Indians sitting about the fire, broiling and eating the welcome and wholly unexpected venison.

CHAPTER IV

Before daybreak the scout roused his companion, and, after breakfast with the three Sioux, who, according to Bob, were still eating supper, the two hunters left their chance companions in the canyon, rode rapidly south, and, with their antelope haunches as trophies, reached Cas.e.m.e.nt's camp about ten o'clock.

Stanley, who was conferring with Cas.e.m.e.nt, came out of the tent greatly amazed at his scout's venturing so far on a hunt as to expose himself and his companion to danger.

"We were safe every minute, colonel," declared Scott.

"Safe?" echoed Stanley incredulously. "No man is safe, Bob, a mile from the track-layers. The Sioux killed and scalped one of our engineers not ten miles from here, when we were running this very line last winter."

"This lad," nodded Scott, "is as good a shot as I am. He brought down the first antelope. We get along with the Sioux all right, too, don't we, Bucks?" he demanded, appealing to his fellow-hunter. "We ate supper with them last night," he added to mystify his listeners, "and camped with Iron Hand."

Even General Cas.e.m.e.nt stared at this and waited to hear Scott tell Stanley the story of their night's adventure. "However, colonel,"

concluded Scott, "there is a war party of Cheyennes near here. It is a good time to be careful."

"All right, Bob," retorted Stanley, looking at his scout keenly, though no one could be angry at Scott long. "You set the example."

The words were hardly out of his mouth when an operator came running down the track from the telegraph tent with a message for General Cas.e.m.e.nt. It contained word from the operator at Peace River that section men reported a war party of Indians, crossing the railroad near Feather Creek, had attacked an emigrant party camped there.

In an instant the whole construction camp had the news and the work was thrown into confusion. Feather Creek was twenty miles away. Orders flew fast. A special train was made up, and Stanley taking command, with Cas.e.m.e.nt to aid, made ready instantly to leave for the scene of the disaster.

The men running from the grade fell into line like veteran soldiers.

Indeed, most of them had seen service in the war just closed and the smell of powder was no novelty. Bob Scott turned the venison over to Oliver and loaded his horse in the car with those of the cavalrymen.

Under Stanley's orders he himself rode as pilot in the cab with the engine crew. Bucks also reported to Stanley, and within twenty minutes the relief train carrying two hundred men was plunging down the long hill toward Feather Creek. Heads were craned out of the car windows, and in rounding every curve Bucks, with the scout Leon Sublette, sitting greatly wrought up behind Stanley and Cas.e.m.e.nt, expected momentarily to see Cheyenne war bonnets spring up out of the stunted cedars that lined the hills along the right of way.

But not a sign could be seen of any living thing. The train reached Feather Creek, and slowly crossed the bridge before Scott signalled the engineman to stop. His eye had detected the scene of the fight, and the ground beyond--a low cut--was favorable for getting the men safely out of the cars.

As the engine slowed, a little scene of desolation beside the right of way met Bucks's eye, and he caught sight of the ghastly battle-field.

A frightened section crew emerged from the wild-plum thickets along the creek bottom, as the cavalrymen, followed by Cas.e.m.e.nt's armed men, poured out of the three cars. Stanley with his scouts led the way to the emigrant camp, where the fight had taken place. The wagons had been burned, the horses run off, and the three unfortunate men butchered.

Bucks experienced a shock when Scott came upon the three dead men whose mutilated bodies had been dragged from the scene by the section men and who lay with covered faces side by side under a little plum-tree, fragrant with blossoms and alive with the hum of bees. The sunshine and the beauty of the spot contrasted strangely with the revolting spectacle upon the gra.s.s.

Stanley gave the orders by which the bodies were conveyed to the train and with the scouts and cavalrymen reconnoitering the surrounding country, Cas.e.m.e.nt's men lay on their arms in the shade of the cut.

Dancing rigged a pony instrument to the telegraph wires, which had not been disturbed, and Bucks transmitted messages to Fort Kearney advising the commanding officer of the murders and adding afterward the report of Scott and Sublette as to the direction the marauders had taken in flight.

"Who were the beasts, Bob, that could treat men like that?" demanded Bucks in an angry undertone, when he had clicked the messages over the wires.

"Bad Indians," answered Scott sententiously. "You have that kind of white men, don't you? These fellows are probably Turkey Leg's thieving Cheyennes. We shall hear more of them."

In the meantime the scouts and the cavalry detail rode out again trying to unmask the Cheyennes, but without success. It was a week before they were even heard of, and after an all-day attempt to do something, the train backed up to camp and work was resumed as if nothing had happened.

After waiting a few days, Stanley, always restive under idleness, determined to push on across the Sweet Gra.s.s country with horses, to learn how the timber cutters on the river were faring with their slender military guard. The party, consisting of the detail of ten men and the two scouts and Bucks, started one morning at sunrise and made their way without molestation into the little-known mountain range called then, as far south as Colorado, the Black Hills.

Stanley explained to Bucks during the morning how the chief engineering difficulty of the whole transcontinental line confronted the engineers right where they were now riding. Here the mountains were thrown abruptly above the plain to a great height and the locating engineers were still at their wits' ends to know how to climb the tremendous ascent with practicable grades. Stanley became so interested in studying the country during the day, as the difficulties of the problem presented themselves afresh to him, that the party made slow progress. Camp was pitched early in the afternoon under a ridge that offered some natural features for defence. Here the cavalrymen were left, and Stanley, taking Scott, started out after some venison for supper. Bucks stood by, looking eager as the two made ready for the hunt.

"Come along if you like," said Stanley at length. "You won't be happy, Bucks, till you get lost somewhere in this country."