Alden the Pony Express rider

The Overland Series

Alden The Pony Express Rider

[Illustration: THE SHARP CRACK OF WEAPONS RANG OUT IN THE STILLNESS]

The Overland Series

ALDEN ――――THE―――― Pony Express Rider ――――OR―――― Racing for Life

――――By―――― Edward S. Ellis

Author of the Deerfoot Books, The Arizona Series, etc.

Illustrated By Edwin J. Prittie

The John C. Winston Company Philadelphia

Copyright 1909, By The John C. Winston Co.

Printed In U. S. A.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE I. INTRODUCTORY 9 II. A QUARREL 24 III. WESTWARD BOUND 39 IV. THE DANGER CLOUD 54 V. ON GUARD 69 VI. ABORIGINAL CUNNING 84 VII. JUST IN TIME 99 VIII. THE ATTACK 114 IX. OLD ACQUAINTANCES 129 X. A HUNT 145 XI. A DISAPPOINTMENT 159 XII. A NOT UNCOMMON INCIDENT 176 XIII. “THAT’S JUST LIKE HIM” 191 XIV. AN ALARMING SITUATION 204 XV. NOW FOR THE MAIL STATION 219 XVI. CAUSE AND EFFECT 234 XVII. AT THE STATION 249 XVIII. OUTWITTED 264 XIX. A BLESSING IN DISGUISE 279 XX. A STRANGE PROCEEDING 293 XXI. A SETBACK 307 XXII. JETHRO’S SECRET AND WHAT FOLLOWED 320

Racing For Life

Chapter I

Introductory

Never did the town of St. Joseph, in the State of Missouri, pass through more stirring excitement than on the afternoon of April 16, 1860.

Every man, woman and child seemed to feel the pulsing in the air. Most of the people were on the street, though hundreds of mothers and daughters were at the upper windows, on the alert that something which was expected should not elude them. The men talked together in earnest voices, sometimes moving restlessly over the pavements, glancing at their watches and saying, in those hushed, eager tones which often accompany tense emotion:

“It’s pretty near time! I hope he won’t be late.”

“No fear for Alec; he’s _always_ on time.”

“Poor fellow! he doesn’t look strong,” remarked a sympathizer.

“Alec Carlyle is one of those chaps that you can’t judge by looks; there isn’t a better horseman west of the Alleghanies.”

St. Joseph in those days was not a large town. There was room to hold in comfort most of the population on Third Street, and it was there that nearly all of them had gathered on this soft spring afternoon. Had you been a member of the crowd you would have noticed that the eyes of nearly every one were turned expectantly toward the one-story, brick express office on the east side of the street, between Felix and Edmond Streets. Something was going on inside of that modest structure, but as yet it was veiled from the public. Several men and boys who stood nearest the building tried to peep through the windows, but, unable to do so, intently listened. All that they heard was the occasional stamp of a horse’s feet, and the confused murmur of voices. But it was not hard for them to imagine the scene within.

It was about four o’clock, when a small cannon boomed from the side of the street, two or three doors distant. The report was a signal to the ferry boat to come across from the Ellwood side of the river and await a certain horseman who would soon arrive at the bank.

Only a few minutes had passed, when from within the stables near the express office, some one vigorously shoved open the doors. At the same instant, a wiry pony, with flashing eyes and dilated nostrils and fine muscles aquiver, made a tremendous leap which carried him almost to the middle of the street, and heading toward the river, plunged away under the prick of the spur, on a dead run.

Horse and rider made a fine picture. Silver mounted trappings decorated both. The man might have been mistaken for a circus performer, in his brilliant uniform, with plated horn, pistol, scabbard and belt, gay, flower-worked leggings, jingling spurs and fine boots with high heels, such as cowmen and rustlers affect. He was of slight figure, dark mustache, flashing hazel eyes, flowing hair and closely compressed lips, and he sat his steed with perfect grace. He wore the broad-brimmed sombrero that seemed scarcely affected by the gale which his animal created. He did not look to the right or left, nor notice the cheers, shouts and waving of hats and hands. He peered grimly ahead, as if his life depended upon his reaching the ferry without a second’s loss of time.

As the pony shot like a cannon ball out of the doors of the stable and sped with arrowy swiftness down the street, the two men with whom he had been in consultation within the structure stepped forward and watched him. They smiled, though there was a serious expression on each face, for both felt they were looking upon an epoch-making event. And it was Alexander Carlyle, the superb horseman, who was making it.

Neither of the couple took their eyes from him as long as he was within sight. One was Ben Fickland, superintendent of the stage line to Denver, known as “Pike’s Peak Express,” the uncle of the horseman. The other was Mr. Russell of the firm of Russell, Majors & Waddell, who had been running for years a daily coach from the Missouri River to Salt Lake City. The two were thrilled not so much by what they saw as by their knowledge of what it meant.

On the afternoon that I have named, the first “Pony Express” left St. Joseph, Missouri, on the long westward trip to San Francisco. The four small leather sacks holding the mail were each six by twelve inches, one being fastened at the front and the other at the rear of the saddle, so that the rider sat between them. The pouches were impervious to rain, and for further protection, the letters were wrapped in oiled silk and then sealed. The pouches themselves were locked, not to be opened until they reached their destination. It was ordered from the first that they and their contents should never weigh more than twenty pounds. A rider might carry several hundred letters on each trip, for all were written on the finest of tissue paper. The postage at first was five dollars for each letter, later reduced as the building of the telegraph line progressed, to one dollar an ounce. In addition to this enormous postage, the merchants who were awaiting the important missives joined in paying the carrier a liberal fee, when he maintained the schedule or made quicker time than usual.

Mr. Russell had been persuaded by Senator Gwin of California to start the Pony Express. He had made an arrangement with the railways between New York and St. Joseph to run a fast train; the Hannibal and St. Joseph Railroad used a special engine, and the boat which made the crossing of the Missouri was held so that not a minute would be lost in transferring the mail. A piercing whistle notified the horseman that the boat was waiting for him.

About the same time, Harry Roff, mounted on a mettled half-breed broncho, galloped eastward from Sacramento. He, too, did his part in opening one of the most romantic episodes in the history of our country. Two sets of mail bags were approaching each other from points two thousand miles apart, and there were times when this approach was at the astounding speed of forty and even fifty miles an hour! The average daily rate was two hundred and fifty miles a day, but where everything was favorable, or when an express rider was fleeing from the vengeful red men, his pony struck a gait of twenty-five miles and maintained it, when an untrained horse would have dropped in his tracks.

When Harry Roff dashed out from Sacramento, he made one change and covered the first twenty miles in fifty-nine minutes. He changed again at Folsom and headed for Placerville, at the foot of the Sierra Nevada range, fifty-five miles away. At that point, he found a rider awaiting him, who, quickly shifting the two packed mail pouches, was off with the speed of the wind. Thus from point to point and relieving one another at comparatively regular distances, the entire run of 185 miles was made in a little more than fifteen hours. Be it remembered that in crossing the western summit of the mountains the horse had to wallow through thirty feet of snow. Not only that, but most of the distance was through a hostile Indian country, where a slight mistake on the part of the horseman was likely to prove fatal to him. There was no saying what boulder or rock sheltered a crouching redskin waiting exultingly with bow and arrow or rifle for the horseman to come within range. A white man was legitimate game for the warrior, as much as was the deer or bear, and the sentiments of the rider were the same regarding the warrior. One rider covered the last 130 miles of the western division, from old Camp Floyd to Salt Lake City, where his partner from the east met and exchanged mails with the comrade going toward the Missouri.

After the rider from St. Joseph had reached the river side, he passed upon the waiting ferry boat, and entering a room prepared for him, changed his fancy costume for what might be called a business suit. Hardly had the boat touched the other shore, when the eager pony was off again on a dead run.

It is worth remembering in these later days, that the route of the Pony Express westward was that which was followed by the Mormons in 1847, and by the emigrants a year or two later when on their way to California in quest of gold. Crossing the Missouri, the messenger veered slightly to the southwest, holding to the course until he struck the old military road, forty-odd miles distant, where he shifted to the northwest and crossed the Kickapoo Reservation. Then in succession he passed through Grenada, Logchain, Seneca, Ash Point, Guittard’s, Marysville, Hollenburg, thence following Little Blue Valley to Rock Creek, Big Sandy, Liberty Farm, across prairies to Thirty-Two Mile Creek, over the divide, sand hills and plains to Platte River, and then westward and up that valley to Fort Kearny.

When the Pony Express began operations, the messengers from St. Joe rode to the station of Guittard, 125 miles away. This was done every week, until two months later the service was made semi-weekly, when the first rider finished his run at Seneca, 80 miles out.

Fort Kearny was an old post in Nebraska. It is now a thriving town and the capital of the county of the same name. The trail from this point led westward for 200 miles along the Platte River to Julesburg, in the northeastern corner of Colorado, then to Fort Laramie, whose gray ruins stand to-day in southeastern Wyoming, fifty miles west of Cheyenne. Next, over the foothills to the northwest, and through the famous South Pass of the Rocky Mountains, by Fort Bridger to Salt Lake City.

This completed the long ride over the eastern division. From Salt Lake, the express rider strained every nerve to Fort Churchill, 50 miles away, thence to Rush Valley, or old Camp Floyd, Deep Creek, Ruby Valley, Smith’s Creek, Fort Churchill, over the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and so on through points that have been already named, to Sacramento, whence the mail was carried by boat to San Francisco.

A glance at the map will show that this long run――not quite two thousand miles from St. Joe――was across and through the wildest portion of our continent. Rugged mountains, inaccessible to the ordinary traveler, had to be crossed, and only he who was familiar with the route could do it. Tumultuous torrents had to be forded or swum, where horse and rider were often hurled far down stream before the animal could clamber up the rocky bank on the other side. Those desolate solitudes were swept by furious storms of sleet, hail and rain, vast valleys were turned into swirling lakes, and the driving snow often blinded horse and rider, so he could not see twenty feet beyond the nose of his animal.

There were stretches of plain where the panting pony and his master could not get a drop of water for hours. When they plunged into the mountains in the depth of winter, the temperature was often far below zero, but the undaunted rider kicked away the snow on the lee side of some boulder, kindled a fire of dead limbs, when he could find such sparse fuel, but more often he had nothing of that nature. The tough little pony was wrapped about by his blanket, the master inclosed his iron body in another, or partly in the same one, lay down and slept, with never a dream to disturb his rest. But he could not forget his duty, which was so impressed on his mind that he awoke to the minute he had set for awaking. Probably the first faint streakings of morning were showing in the east, when he flung his blanket aside, remounted and dashed off again.

It will be understood that when the Pony Express was organized, it was necessary to establish relief stations at intervals of a dozen miles or so. Now and then these were separated by greater distances, when it was impossible to have it otherwise. Between the stations, the rider kept his horse at the highest possible speed. The average time scheduled was ten or twelve miles an hour, but where the route was favorable, the ponies held a speed of twenty and sometimes of twenty-five miles. Thus, as has been stated, the rider from the east and he from the west thundered toward each other at the incredible rate of fifty miles an hour――equal to the speed of an express railway train.

There were portions of the trail where no rider dared show himself and pony during the daytime, because of the Indians on the alert for his scalp. The intrepid fellow and animal remained in hiding till night. When darkness came the man stealthily re-saddled his horse, led him out from the covert in which they had been crouching, climbed silently into the saddle and resumed his headlong ride.

The late Major Chorpenning, remembered as one of the most prominent of freighters across the plains, told me that more than once he had labored through the mountains in the depth of winter when the snow under his feet was sixty feet deep! He was in Salt Lake City, talking with Brigham Young, when word came that the mail rider westward had been killed by Indians. The fiery-tempered Major bounded to his feet and swore he would follow up the rider, recover the mail and carry it to Sacramento. When he refused to take any companion with him, President Young forbade him to go, insisting that it would be sure death.

“I’m serving the United States and not _you_,” replied the Major, laying his hand on his revolver; “I don’t think it will be healthy for either you or any one else to try to stop me.”

So it was the daring Major rode out of Salt Lake City alone. Being perfectly familiar with the route, he made good progress. He had decided in his mind where the rider had met his death, and there sure enough he came upon the body. It was shockingly mutilated, and it was evident the man had made a brave defense. Chorpenning found his watch, which strangely enough had not been taken away by his slayers, and within a rod of where he lay were the mail pouches, unharmed. The pony, of course, was gone.

The Major strapped the pouches in place and resumed his ride westward.

“From that hour,” said he, “until I came in sight of Carson City, it seemed to me I was playing hide and seek with the Indians. The first thing that caught my eye was what looked like a crow sitting on the edge of a rock only a little way in front. A second glance showed that it was the topknot of a redskin, who dropped down before I could draw bead on him. He wasn’t the only one of his kind in the neighborhood, for I caught glimpses of several, and believe I winged one of them.

“Having found secure shelter, I waited till night before moving on again. For the following three days and nights I did not do a mile of traveling when the sun was shining. As it was, I pushed so hard that, being lucky in catching the boat at Sacramento, I reached San Francisco several hours ahead of schedule time. The people would not believe my story at first. I remember that the famous mountaineer Kit Carson was one of the doubters, but when convinced of what I had done, he declared it the most remarkable ride ever made by any man in crossing the plains.”

Since this chapter is introductory and intended merely to clear the ground for what follows, I shall close it with an account of the most wonderful ride in the history of the West. It took place in 1851, and the hero was F. X. Aubrey, who made a wager of $1,000 that he would ride alone from Santa Fè, New Mexico, to Independence, Missouri, in six days. The distance is not quite 800 miles.

With the grim resolve to win or die in the attempt, Aubrey sent half a dozen of his toughest and fleetest ponies ahead, and had them stationed at different points, to be used by him as he came up to where they were waiting. He galloped out of Santa Fè at a sweeping pace, smilingly bowing in response to the cheers of his friends who had gathered to see him start. Several undertook to accompany him part of the way, but his pace was so tremendous that he soon left all behind. He did not stop for rest at any point of that terrible ride. Arriving at a station, he halted just long enough to change horses, when he was off again at the same furious speed. He snatched a few bits of bread and meat, and ate them without drawing rein. Nature could not be denied, and he must have slept for hours at a time while automatically spurring his animal and holding his seat in the saddle.

The terrific strain killed several of his best horses, but he dashed into Independence, just five days and nineteen hours after leaving Santa Fè. He had to be carried into the hotel, where he lay in a stupor for forty-eight hours. But for his superb constitution and health, he must have succumbed. In the course of a few days, however, he fully recovered, having given an exhibition which will stand for many a day as a record beyond the reach of any horseman of the plains.

Chapter II

A Quarrel

I have tried to give you an idea of the scene in the town of St. Joseph, Missouri, on that afternoon in April, 1860, when Alexander Carlyle, the first Pony Express rider, dashed out of the stables and galloped full speed down the street to the ferry, amid the huzzahs of the excited multitudes.

You will recall the hint I dropped as to the appearance of the young man. He was a consumptive, and had to give up the trying work at the end of two months. Half a year later he died and was succeeded by John Frye. This daring fellow afterward became a member of General Blunt’s Union scouts, and was killed in 1863, in a hand to hand fight with a squad of “Arkansas Rangers,” after he had slain five of them.

Among the crowds swarming in St. Joe were three persons of whom I shall have considerable to tell you. Alden Payne was a lusty, bright-witted youth, seventeen years old, whose home was on a small farm, two or three miles from the town. His father owned the place, and he and his wife were industrious and thrifty. The couple, however, caught the gold fever, though the discovery of the precious metal in California was more than ten years old and the excitement had largely died out. They decided to sell the property and go overland to the Pacific slope. Their two children were Alden and “Vixey,” a sweet girl, eight years younger than her brother. In addition, Mr. Payne had a colored youth who had been turned over to him when an infant by his widowed mother, she having consented to become the wife of a big, lazy darky, with no love for other folks’ children.

Jethro Mix, although a year younger than Alden, was half a head taller, several inches bigger around, and more than twenty pounds heavier. It cannot be said he was bright, but he was strong, fond of every member of the family, indolent, and a good servant when forced to work.

Mr. Payne sold his property to Otis Martin, his brother-in-law. While making preparations to join an emigrant train soon to start across the plains, an unexpected obstacle appeared. Mr. Martin refused to pay over the purchase money, unless Payne kept charge and took care of the place until the following spring. At first, the owner believed he would have to put off his western journey until the time named, but a compromise was reached. Naturally because the delay impended, the couple were more anxious than before to start on the long, dangerous journey. They decided to do so, taking Vixey with them, but leaving Alden and the colored youth, Jethro, to look after the property until the middle of the following April, when they would turn it over to Mr. Martin, and follow the family across the plains.

It was the keenest of disappointments to the two youths, who, if possible, were more eager to start on the two-thousand-mile journey than were the adults; but this disappointment was greatly softened by the knowledge that the delay was only for a few months. The assurance that it was much better to set out in the spring than in the autumn had not a feather’s weight with them: they would have been glad to head westward in the midst of a December snowstorm.

It should be added regarding Alden and Jethro that, having spent their lives on what might be called the frontier, they had used every privilege which came within their reach. Both were fine horsemen, and Alden had no superior among the young men in the neighborhood as a hunter and marksman. The two spent every hour they could command in roaming through the forests, some of which were miles distant. While the colored youth did well when all the circumstances are remembered, he was by no means the equal of his young master in courage or in skill with the rifle.

Alden, accompanied by Jethro, walked into St. Joe and joined the spectators who were waiting to see Carlyle start on his ride of a hundred and thirty miles westward. They had known of his intention for several days. The enterprise bore so close a relation to their own plans that they felt peculiar interest in it.

“Gorry! ain’t it queer, Al?” asked his companion, after the gaily bedecked rider had dashed by on his way to the ferry.

“Isn’t what queer?” inquired his companion, in turn.

“Why, dat Alec Carlyle am gwine ober de same road dat we’re gwine to go ober in a day or two.”

“There’s nothing strange in that.”

“Why couldn’t we fetched down our war steeds and gone wid him?”

“He wouldn’t allow it; we should be too much in his way, and we couldn’t keep up with him for more than a few miles.”

“Dunno ’bout dat; Jilk and Firebug don’t take de dust ob any other animiles.”

Jethro thus alluded to the horse owned by himself and the mare which was the favorite of his master.

“That may be so, Jeth, but we expect to ride our horses all the way to California, while Alec will change his every ten or twelve miles.”

“Can’t we do de same?”

“How?”

“Why, ebery ten miles I’ll get into de saddle ob Firebug, and you kin get into de saddle ob Jilk: _dat_ will be changing hosses.”

Alden looked at Jethro. The colored lad tried to keep a sober face, but had to duck his head and chuckle. He might be slow-witted, but he was not in earnest in making his proposition.

Alden made a feint of chastising the African, who caught hold of his flapping hat to keep it on and dived three or four paces away. Just then several cheers came from the ferry, and Alden withdrew his attention from his companion. Thus he stood, his back toward the negro, when it suddenly seemed to him that a runaway horse had collided with his shoulder.

The blow knocked Alden toward the middle of the street, his hat falling, as he strove desperately to keep his feet and barely succeeded. The next instant, as he replaced his hat, he turned hurriedly around to learn the cause of the shock.

A youth about his own age and size had violently bumped him. Alden was quick tempered and flamed with anger. The young man, whom he had never seen before, said something, but in his blind rage our friend did not catch the words.

“What do you mean by doing that?” he demanded, doubling his fists and striding toward the stranger, whose smile added oil to the flames. The other held his ground and seemed to catch the hot resentment of Alden.

“I can’t say I meant anything in particular, my red-faced friend; what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll mighty soon show you,” replied Alden, who, without an instant’s hesitation, launched his right fist at the face of the other; but he neatly dodged the blow and delivered so stinging a one on the cheek of Alden that he reeled for several paces. The single repulse did not scare the assailant, however, but made him more cautious. His antagonist was lithe and active, and coolly awaited the second assault, which you may be sure was not as blind as before.

The Express Rider having gone upon the ferry boat, the attention of the crowd was shifted to the two youths, confronting each other with doubled fists and savage countenances.

“A fight! a fight!” was shouted, and men and boys swarmed around the couple, taking care to keep far enough back to give them plenty of room.

It was quickly evident that he whom Alden had attacked was a stranger to every one in the crowd. None the less, it was equally evident that some sympathized with him, although the majority were with Alden.

“Give it to him, Payne! Knock him out!”

“Look out for yourself!” called a tall man to the unknown; “Alden is a fighter from Fight Town, at the head of Fight River; keep your eye peeled!”

“I’ll help you soak him!” added Jethro, bounding to the side of his master, putting up his big hands, see-sawing with them, ducking his head, and making several feints from a safe distance.

“Keep out of the way!” commanded Alden; “I don’t want your help.”

“Can’t get along widout me; you knock him ober and I’ll stomp on him and smash――”

His impatient master made a vigorous sweep with his hand which tumbled Jethro on his back, with his shoes kicking toward the sky.

“All right!” exclaimed the African, clambering to his feet; “den I’ll help de oder feller.”

And he ran across and assumed a fighting attitude.

“It’s time to teach Al some sense――”

But the stranger was equally impatient, and made a similar back-handed stroke which sent the colored lad down again.

“Keep away or you’ll get hurt,” he warned.

“Gorrynation! if dat’s de way I’m treated I’ll lick _bofe_ of you!”

And in order the better to carry out his threat, he began fiercely doffing his coat. He made a great pretense of hurrying, but, before he could shed the garment, a man standing near seized him by the arm and yanked him back with a force that came near throwing him to the ground again.

“What’s the matter with you, Mix? ’tend to your own business.”

This same person afterward remarked:

“I noticed that it didn’t take much pulling to keep that darky out of the muss.”

The briers being cleared from the path, the two combatants now came together. The stranger did not retreat, when Alden quickly but guardedly approached, and after a couple of feints landed a blow fair and square on his cheek that staggered him. He held his feet, however, and advanced again. The two would have closed the next minute, with the result in doubt, but an unlooked for interruption came. A loud voice demanded:

“What do you mean, Ross?”

And without waiting for an answer, a tall man, with bearded face and dressed in rough homespun, strode forward. With his right hand he flung back the youth whom he had addressed, and in the same moment did the same to Alden with the other hand. His black eyes shone with anger.

“You young fools! I ought to spank both of you, and I’ll do it, if either strikes another blow. Off with you, Ross!”

If the youth called “Ross” felt no fear of Alden Payne, he held the man in awe. He dropped his hands, though they remained clenched, and tried to make excuse.

“He attacked me, uncle; haven’t I a right to defend myself?”

“How is that?” sternly asked the man, turning upon Alden.

“He pushed me almost off my feet, and instead of apologizing, added an insulting remark.”

“He is speaking false,” said the nephew.

“Probably you are right,” commented the man, who evidently had faith in the veracity of his nephew, “but there has been enough of this; come with me.”

“I hope you will let us fight it out,” said Alden, keenly regretting the interference; “I should like to give him a lesson in speaking the truth.”

“Please let us finish,” pleaded the other, with a beseeching look to his relative. Certainly there was no questioning the courage of either young man.

“Yes; let ’em settle it,” added one of the bystanders, uttering the sentiments of the spectators; “the fight will be a thing of beauty.”

Others joined in the request, but the man paid no heed. He did not lay his hand on his nephew, but merely said, “Come,” and strode off in the direction of the river. The youth walked reluctantly after him. Looking back at Alden, he paused a moment, shook his fist and said:

“We’ll meet again some day and have it out.”

“That will suit me down to the ground,” replied Alden, emphasizing his words also with a gesture of his fist.

“Gorrynation!” said Jethro, after the stranger was at a distance, “but it was lucky for bofe of you dat dese four men held me back. When I git mad, I’m orful, and if I’d got at you, dere wouldn’t anyting been left ’cept a couple of grease spots.”

This boast caused uproarious laughter. Jethro looked around in the faces of the crowd and asked reprovingly:

“What you all laughing at? What’s de matter wid you, Tony Burke? If yo’ doan’ shet up straight off, I’ll frow you down so hard you’ll make a bulge on toder side de yarth.”

This warning was addressed to a lad about the size of Alden. He was a clerk in a St. Joe grocery store, and known to everybody. His merriment was more boisterous than anybody else’s. The instant the threat was uttered, however, his face became sober. He took a step forward.

“Are you talking to _me_?” he demanded, and an instant hush fell on the bystanders.

“Yas, I is; doan’ you hyar me? Is you deef? You’s getting too sassy, Tone Burke; you need taking down a peg or two, and _I’m_ de gemman dat am gwine to doot.”

“I’m your apple tart; put up your fists.”

“Who said anyting ’bout fists? I was talking ’bout wrastlin’; if your head warn’t so thick you’d understood me.”

“Very well; I prefer fists, but I’ll wrestle.”

“_Fus’ holt!_” shouted Jethro, his face lighting up with a grin at the advantage thus gained by his promptness.

“Suit yourself,” calmly replied the other.

Both were right-handed. Jethro because of his call secured the choice as to which side he should take, when they made ready for the struggle. Naturally, he placed himself on the left of his antagonist, and slipped the right arm behind his neck, with the hand over the farther shoulder. The white youth assumed a reverse position, making his left arm take the place of the other’s right.

Thus the right hand of the white youth and the left hand of the African were free. The two loosely gripped hands in front, for be it remembered the method described was the old fashioned way of wrestling, and is still popular in many parts of the country.

Alden Payne’s anger was wafted aside by the new turn of matters, and the eyes of all were fixed upon the couple. Alden took upon himself the duty of umpire.

“Are you ready, Tony?” he called.

“Ready,” was the reply.

“Ready, Jeth?”

“Ise allers ready; you oughter know dat, Al――”

Before he could end his sentence, his big feet shot upward as high as his head had been a moment before. The white youth with fine dexterity flung off the grasp of Jethro in the same instant, and he went down on his back with an impact that seemed to shake the earth and forced a loud grunt from him.

“First fall for Tony!” called Alden; “change holds!”

“Dat warn’t fair,” protested Jethro, as he clambered to his feet.

“Why wasn’t it fair?” asked the umpire.

“I warn’t ready.”

“You said you were; change holds.”

“I won’t wrestle if I’ve got to use my left arm.”

“That’s the rule of the game; you must do it.”

“I’m satisfied,” said the grinning Tony, who, before Jethro could back out, slid his left arm behind the burly neck of the African. In the same instant, the struggle was renewed with all the cunning, power and skill of which the two were masters.

Tony did not find his task as easy as before. Jethro was certainly a powerful youth, fully the equal of the other, but was slower of movement. He baffled two or three attempts to take him unawares, and then tried hard to lift Tony clear so as to fling him helpless to the ground. The white youth skillfully prevented. Then Jethro placed one foot behind the knees of the other, intending to force him over. It was a fatal mistake, for it left Jethro standing on one foot only. In the twinkling of an eye, as may be said, he went down precisely as before, and with as terrific a bump. But he grinned as he climbed to his feet and called out triumphantly:

“Dat’s de way I allers fetches ’em; I frows myself on my back and _dey’re gone_!”

Chapter III

Westward Bound

The “Southern Overland Mail” was the first transcontinental stage line in this country, and probably the longest continuous run ever operated in the world. It lacked 241 miles of an even three thousand. The terminal points were St. Louis and San Francisco. From each of these cities a coach started at the same hour, the first setting out on September 15, 1858. In order to avoid the stupendous snows in the Rocky Mountains, the course was made far to the southward, by way of El Paso, Yuma and Los Angeles. At first the schedule time was twenty-five days, soon shortened by two days. The quickest run ever made was twenty-one days.

This enterprise required more than a hundred Concord coaches, 1,000 horses, 500 mules, 150 drivers and 600 other employes. It led through flaming deserts for nearly half the way, where the deadly sandstorm, the torturing thirst and the sleepless enmity of Indians were a constant menace to the traveler. The vast scheme was that of John Butterfield, who did more than any other man in his peculiar conquest of the West.

For upward of two years and a half this line was in operation. Then came the Civil War, which compelled the course to shift farther north, and combat the Arctic cold and snows. The new route was from St. Joe to Placerville, the start being made from each of those points on July 1, 1861. The opening of the Pony Express was really intended to force this change of route, so as to make it lead through Denver and Salt Lake City. Ben Holladay had a stage route running tri-weekly to Denver and weekly to Salt Lake. He secured the mail contract from the Missouri River to Salt Lake, while the old southern route folks covered the run between Salt Lake City and Sacramento.

As regards the freighting business, the figures are beyond comprehension. The regular size of one of the freighting trains was twenty-five “prairie schooners,” each with from six to twelve yoke of oxen. The immense Conestoga or Pittsburg or Pennsylvania wagons were often six feet deep and seventeen feet long, flaring out from the bottom to the round covered top. They cost from a thousand to fifteen hundred dollars apiece; the mules, which had to be of the best, ranged from $500 to $1,000 a pair. Thus a ten-mule team was sometimes worth $7,000 per wagon, without including provisions, salaries and minor items. At one time, the single firm of Russell, Majors & Waddell had in service 6,250 of these huge wagons, and 75,000 oxen, more than were operating in all the rest of the United States.

Since our interest henceforward lies with the Pony Express, a few more preliminary words must be given to that unique enterprise. It has been said that the shortest time trip made by the Butterfield route was twenty-one days between San Francisco and New York. The Pony Express immediately cut this time in half, an achievement which ranks among the greatest of the last century.[A]

[A] In 1859, Ben Holladay had sixteen large steamers running between San Francisco and Panama, Oregon, China and Japan, operated 5,000 miles of daily stage coaches, with 500 coaches and express wagons, 500 freight wagons, 5,000 horses and mules with oxen beyond counting. His harness alone cost $55,000 and his feed bill $1,000,000 annually. The government paid him a million dollars each year in mail contracts. He was greatly crippled in 1864–66 by the Indians, who burned many of his stations and killed scores of employees. In the latter part of 1866, Holladay sold out all his interests to Wells Fargo & Co.

In order to meet the demand upon the originators of the system it was necessary to have nearly five hundred horses specially fitted for the work. Along the long, dangerous route, one hundred and ninety stations were established, and eighty sober, skilful, daring riders were hired. They had to be of light weight, since every pound counted. At certain stretches, where the danger was not great from Indians, the riders carried only their revolvers and knives, in order to save the weight of a rifle. The mail pouches, as has been stated, were not permitted to weigh more than twenty pounds. The most famous of the Pony Express riders was William F. Cody, or “Buffalo Bill.” This remarkable man was found when weighed at a certain time to tip the scales at a hundred and sixty pounds. This, according to regulations, debarred him from service as a rider, but because of his fine qualities, an exception was made in his case.

Each rider had to cover a third of a hundred miles on the average. He used three ponies in doing so, but conditions often arose in which horse and rider had greatly to exceed this amount of work.

In the month of May, 1860, a caravan of emigrants was slowly making its way through what was then the Territory of Nebraska. It was following the southern bank of the Platte River, and was still more than a hundred miles from Julesburg, just over the border in Colorado. The train was smaller than most of those which crossed the plains during those years when the lure of gold still drew men and their families from every quarter of the globe. The outfit consisted of six Conestoga wagons, each with six span of oxen, no mules, eight horses and twelve men, two-thirds of them with wives and from one to five children. In addition to the men, two youths, not quite grown, rode with them. One was Alden Payne and the other his African servant, Jethro Mix.

The head of the party, which was bound to California, was Abner Fleming――a middle-aged man, with a wife, but no children. He was an old acquaintance of Hugh Payne, the father of Alden, and willingly took the two youths under his charge while making the long journey. They were strong, willing to work, of cheerful minds, fine horsemen, and, as I have said, each knew how to use a rifle.

During the months of waiting, after the departure of Mr. Payne, wife and daughter, for the Pacific coast, our young friends had plenty of time in which to prepare for the undertaking. Of course, they saw to it that they had plenty of ammunition. Their rifles were muzzle-loaders, with percussion caps, but they used the conical bullet, and Alden had learned long before to shoot from the saddle with his horse on a run. Jethro Mix did well while standing, but he insisted that it was too “blamed bothersome” to hit anything when his horse was trotting or galloping.

The extra clothing and few necessary articles were placed in the wagon of Mr. Fleming, and, as was the custom, each vehicle carried quite a lot of provisions, though the owners counted on shooting a good deal of game on the way――an expectation that was not disappointed.

Among the men making up the company was only one in whom we feel special interest. He was a massive fellow, six feet in height, of vast frame and prodigious strength. His heavy beard was grizzled, but under his shaggy brows the little gray eyes seemed at times to sparkle with fire. He wore a sombrero, with a fringed hunting shirt, leggings and moccasins, and rode a powerful, bony Indian horse, larger than any animal in the train. The beast was not only tough and strong, but capable of good speed and great endurance.

None of the acquaintances of this singular person had ever heard him called by any other name than “Shagbark.” It was known that he was a native of the Ozark region, and had spent years with the American Fur Company, as trapper and hunter. From some cause he quarreled with those above him, and left their employ three or four years before we find him acting as guide for the emigrant train of Abner Fleming.

Shagbark had trapped many winters far up among the wild solitudes of the Rockies, and was so familiar with the overland route that none could be better qualified than he to lead a party over the plains. It may seem odd that though he had spent so much time in the West, and was there during the height of the gold excitement, he never passed beyond Salt Lake City. Many of his old friends urged him to join them in a trip to the diggings, but the stubborn old fellow shook his head. He preferred to fight Indians and cold and hunger for the sake of a few peltries, whose sale brought enough to support him in idleness between trapping seasons.

Shagbark was a peculiar character. He was fond of smoking a brier wood pipe, and often rode for hours without speaking a word to anyone, or giving the slightest attention when addressed. Mr. Fleming had hired him as a guide to Salt Lake, where it would be necessary to engage some one to take his place. When the trapper was asked to name his charge he growled:

“One hundred dollars a month in gold and found.”

“Very well; I am willing to pay you each month in advance.”

“I want it when it’s airned; ye’d be a fool to pay it afore.”

Nothing more was said on the subject. Shagbark crumpled up some dry fragments from a plug of tobacco, in the palm of his hand, punched them into the bowl of his pipe, switched a match along the side of his buckskins, applied the tiny flame, and rode to the head of the company without another word.

He always carried a long-barrelled rifle across his saddle in front, with a formidable Colt’s revolver at his hip. A keen hunting knife was an indispensable part of his equipment. Beyond telling Fleming and his companions that they were sure to have plenty of trouble before reaching Salt Lake, he made no further reference to the matter. He generally kept some distance in advance of the company and maintained a sharp watch of the country on all sides.

Shagbark was a man of moods. The second night after crossing the Missouri, when the wagons had been placed in a circle, the animals allowed to browse on the luxuriant grass, so well guarded that they could not wander afield, he came back and sat down among the group that were eating from the food spread on a blanket. He was so talkative that all were astonished. He laughed, chuckled, and went so far as to relate some of his strange experiences in the wild regions of the Northwest. He took special notice of Alden Payne. Sitting beside him, cross-legged on the ground, he asked the youth his name, where he was from and how he came to be with the party heading for the other side of the continent.

“I rather like yer looks, younker,” added the grim old trapper; “I hope ye’ll git through right side up and scoop more gold than yer hoss can carry.”

“I haven’t any idea of that,” replied Alden, proud that he should have caught the pleased attention of this veteran of the plains.

The conversation went on with no particular point to it, and before it was late, the guard was set for the night, while the others turned in to sleep. Shagbark explained that they were not yet far enough out on the plains to be in much danger, though he had had more than one scrap with the redskins still farther to the east. But he insisted that a strict watch should be set each night. The training was needed in view of what was sure to come later on.

Having had so pleasant a chat with Shagbark, Alden naturally expected pleasant attention from him. He waited till the man had lighted his pipe and ridden a hundred yards ahead, when the youth twitched the rein of Firebug and galloped up beside him.

“Good morning, Shagbark; it looks as if we shall have another fine day.”

The guide puffed his pipe without answering or so much as glancing at the young man. Alden said a few more things, but he might as well have addressed a boulder, for all the notice they received from the guide. Mortified and resentful, the lad checked his mare and held her until joined by Jethro and the others.

“He’s the queerest man I ever saw,” he said to the African; “I can’t get a word out of him.”

“Ob course not; I found dat out de fust day, when I axed him how old he was, what war de name ob his fader and mother, wheder he was married or engaged and who he war gwine to wote fur as President, and some more sich trifles.”

“I don’t wonder that he paid no attention to you. I shall let him alone after this.”

Three nights later, however, Shagbark was overtaken again by one of his genial moods, and won the good opinion of all by his jollity. He chatted with Alden as if they had always been the closest of friends, but the youth was alert. The next morning found the guide as glum as ever. He took his place well beyond the train, with the blue whiffs drifting first over one shoulder and then over the other, and Alden did not intrude.

Thus matters stood on the afternoon of a bright day, when the company was slowly making its way westward along the Platte River. The oxen plodded on, easily dragging the heavy loads, for traveling was much better than it would be found farther on. The country was level, and every morning seemed to bring a deepening of color and an increase of verdure. So long as this lasted the animals would not have to forage or draw upon the moderate supply of hay and grain that had been brought from the States.

Few of the men kept their saddles throughout the day. It was too tiresome for horses and riders. The latter sometimes walked for hours, or climbed into the lumbering wagons and rode behind the oxen. The children, of whom there were more than a score of different ages, delighted to play hide and seek, chasing one another over the prairie and then tumbling into the rear of the vehicles, where their merry shouts were smothered by the canvas covers which hid them from sight.

Alden and Jethro had tramped for two hours and were again in the saddle, their horses on a walk. Alden was surprised when, as they gathered up the reins, his companion heaved a profound sigh. He did not speak, and a few minutes later repeated the inspiration. Glancing across, the perplexed youth asked:

“What’s the matter with you, Jeth?”

“I wish I could tell,” he answered, with a more prodigious intake than before.

“What’s to hinder you?” said the other, not a little amused.

“I’m carryin’ an orful secret.”

“Seems to weigh you down a good deal; do you wish to tell me?”

“Dat’s what I oughter do, but I hain’t got de courage, Al; it’s been on my mind two, free times, and I started in to let you know, but I’se afeard.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Ob _you_.”

It was hard for Alden to restrain his laughter. He had not the remotest idea of what was in the mind of Jethro, and it must be confessed felt little curiosity to know. Understanding the fellow as he did, he could not believe that the “secret” which was bearing so heavily upon him, was of any account.

“I’ll promise not to punish you, no matter what it is.”

“But you doan’ know what it am.”

“Of course; that’s why I’m inviting you to tell me.”

“But when I do tell, den what?”

“Haven’t I promised that no matter what it is, I shan’t punish you, provided you make a clean breast of it.”

“You wouldn’t say dat if you knowed.”

“Have you killed anybody, Jethro?” asked Alden in the most solemn voice he could assume.

“Bress your heart, no! what put dat sarcumflexous idee in your head?”

“Have you been stealing anything?”

“Neber stole even a watermillion in all my life.”

“Because, when you were round, the owners watched their property too closely to give you a chance.”

Jethro’s eyes seemed to bulge more than ever. He said in a husky undertone:

“Al, it am wuss dan dem two tings togeder.”

“Ah, I know, then, what it is.”

“What?”

“You have been smoking cigarettes; you look pale round the gills.”

“Pshaw! what’s de matter wid you?” muttered Jethro disgustedly; “you talk as if you didn’t hab no sense.”

“I am trying to suit my words to you. See here, Jeth, I am tired of all this; if you wish to tell me anything, I have assured you there is nothing to fear in the way of consequences from me. If that doesn’t satisfy you, keep the matter to yourself.”

“If dat’s de way you talks, I’ll hab to wait a while; daresn’t unburden my mind now; mebbe I’ll let you know to-night.”

“I don’t care enough to ask it.”

And yet, strange as it may seem, Jethro Mix _did_ carry a secret, which, had he made it known to his friend, would have had a marked effect upon his subsequent life.

Chapter IV

The Danger Cloud

The emigrant train to which our young friends belonged ran into bad weather, while crossing northeastern Kansas, and again before reaching Fort Kearny, in Nebraska. A cold, drizzling rain set in which made people and animals so uncomfortable that a halt of nearly two days was made. The oxen and horses cropped the lush grass which grew exuberantly, and their masters spent most of the time in the big covered wagons, where they were protected from the chilling storm. Some read the few books and newspapers brought with them, a number played cards, smoked and exchanged reminiscences, yawned and longed for the skies to clear.

During the whole period, Shagbark was in one of his grumpy moods, and rarely passed a word with any one. One night he told Mr. Fleming the weather would clear before morning. He proved to be right, as every one expected, and the cavalcade resumed its plodding tramp westward.

Then for days the weather was perfect. The sun shone from the clear blue heavens, unflecked except here and there by a rift of snowy cloud. The air was bright and clear, with just enough crispness to make walking or riding pleasant. The country was level or rolling. The eye, wandering over every point of the compass, caught no misty mountain range or peak, and the work of the patient oxen was play compared to what it would be when they should have entered the rougher regions farther toward the setting sun.

The course most of the time was in sight of the Platte River, which, swollen by the melting snows near the headwaters and the recent rains, was a broad, majestic stream. Yet there were times during the summer drought, when one could pick his way across dry shod. More than once, as the company went into camp, they saw the twinkling fires of another party who had also halted for the night. Once these starlike points glimmered to the south, once to the northwest and twice to the north, on the other side of the Platte. When it is stated that more than 40,000 persons crossed the plains in 1849, and that later 500 wagons were counted in one day as they lumbered past Fort Kearny, the wonder is that more trains did not meet and mingle. This was often done when a common danger threatened from Indians.

Jethro Mix and Alden Payne, with their ponies on a walk, were riding side by side, and the colored youth had just made his decision not to reveal at that time the secret which weighed so heavily upon him, when his friend exclaimed:

“Helloa, Jeth! do you see that?”

In answer to his inquiring look, Alden, who had turned part way round in his saddle, pointed to the rear. Far in the distance, a dark object was seen, which was quickly recognized as a horseman coming with his animal on a dead run. He was not in a direct line behind the train, but a little to the south. If he kept to his course he would pass a couple of hundred yards to the south.

On he came with his half-breed pony running as if a hundred lives were at stake. He made swift, tremendous leaps, his thin neck outstretched, his flowing tail streaming straight behind, with his nose extended, as he strained every muscle to reach his destination without the loss of a minute. His rider was a small man, weighing not more than a hundred and twenty pounds, and his riding revealed a master of the art. He leaned slightly forward in the saddle, the front of his hat standing straight up as if plastered against his forehead, the ends of the handkerchief looped about his neck fluttering in the gale caused by his own swiftness, while he occasionally pricked the ribs of his horse with his spurs, though such urgency was hardly needed.

As he flashed opposite, the rhythmic thump of the pony’s hoofs on the sod was heard by the emigrants, all of whom were gazing at man and animal. The former’s garments fitted so snugly that only the fringes over and back of the shoulders, and those on the thighs quivered. The trousers were thrust into the tops of his boots, whose heels were high and pointed, and after the fashion among cowmen and plainsmen.

The watchers identified his character at once, and needed not the sight of the broad flat flaps fastened across the saddle, one in front and the other behind him. He glanced toward the train, and observing all eyes upon him, raised a hand in salutation, but did not speak or make any further acknowledgment of the cheers. In a twinkling the emigrants were gazing upon his back, the ends of the fluttering handkerchief, fringes of clothing, streaming tail and flying hoofs of the pony, which flung chunks of earth into the air as he skimmed away on the wings of the wind.

“A Pony Express Rider!” said Alden; “how he goes!”

“How long hab he been doing it?” asked Jethro.

“From the station five miles back, and he’ll keep it up till he reaches the next station farther on.”

“What den?”

“He’ll shift his saddle and mail bags to a pony that is waiting, and then gallop at the same headlong speed for ten or twelve miles more, and change again unless that is the end of his run. This isn’t the first time, Jeth, we have seen those men riding like mad, and we are likely to see many more before we get sight of the Pacific.”

“I didn’t obsarve dat he carried a rifle.”

“He had none, but a few of the riders carry them; this one doesn’t think he is likely to need any, and so he lightens the load of his horse that much. Shagbark managed to say a few words to me last night, and one thing he told me was that the Pony Express riders sometimes miss it in not taking a rifle with them. They are so anxious to make schedule time that they run into danger. It often happens that when they most need a gun they haven’t it. I hope that fellow won’t be caught in such a fix.”

“Gorrynation! don’t he trabbel? Why can’t we do de same ting, Al?”

“If we could change horses every ten or twelve miles, we might keep it up for a day at a time, but we should have to have two or three hundred horses waiting for us at the different stations,” observed Alden, thinking to close the argument.

“How would it do fur us to ride ahead and fix it dat way? Den we could come back and skim ober de kentry like a couple ob muskeeters.”

“After we had placed our ponies at the last station this side of Sacramento, what should we gain by coming here and going over the ground a _second_ time?”

Jethro lifted his well worn hat and scratched his head.

“Dat’s so; I didn’t tink ob dat; blamed queer how it slipped my mind――what’s de matter wid Shagbark?”

Before the flying horseman vanished in the distance, the emigrant train resumed its slow progress. The massive guide, on the back of his gaunt steed, kept his place well in advance. Often he went for hours without looking back to note in what order the company were following him, but now he had turned like Alden did a few minutes before, and, without checking his steed or shifting his course, was gazing fixedly to the rear. His brierwood was between his lips, and from the thicket of whisker and mustache the blue vapor issued as if from the funnel of a small steamcraft.

At the moment the two youths looked at him, he raised one of his huge hands and beckoned.

“His eyes are on us,” said Alden.

“He’s looking at me,” added Jethro; “he feels bad at de way he snubbed me jest arter we started, and means to apolergize; he don’t want you; notice now. Gee up, Jilk!”

The negro twitched the rein, and his pony struck a moderate trot. He had not crossed a fourth of the intervening distance, when the guide thundered:

“NO! I don’t want ye, ye black imp! Stay whar ye are! Young Payne is the chap I meant; why don’t ye come when I tell ye to come?”

The laughing youth spoke to his mare, and hurried forward.

“Wal, if he ain’t the mos’ umbrageous rapscallion dat eber trod on two legs,” growled Jethro as his friend passed him, hurrying to answer Shagbark’s call.

Acquainted by this time with the moods of the old trapper, Alden did not speak as he drew up beside him, but waited to learn what he had in mind.

“I want ye to keep with me a while,” remarked Shagbark, who had checked his animal and now resumed his progress on a walk; “I’ve something to say to ye.”

“I’m listening.”

“Have ye obsarved anything ’tickler?”

Uncertain what was meant, the youth replied:

“I can’t say that I have: what do you mean?”

“Ye carry a telescope by a cord round your neck; ’spose ye use it.”

Still in doubt, Alden brought the binocular round in front, and held it suspended with one hand.

“In what direction shall I look?”

“Anywhar ye choose, but thar’s no need of wastin’ time; p’int it ahead and a little to the left away from the river.”

The lad raised the instrument and scanned a fourth of the horizon to the right and left. At first he saw only the broad, level sweep of plain, and was about to say so, when something caught his eye. What seemed to be a half dozen or more specks flickered on the horizon, but even with the aid of the glass he could not make them out clearly and at first was in doubt.

Shagbark kept his keen eyes on the youth. He knew from the expression on Alden’s face that he had discovered that which the other meant him to see.

“Wal, what is it?” asked the guide.

“I am not sure, but I think a party of horsemen are hovering along the bank of the river, a little way out on the prairie.”

“Zactly; are they white or red?”

“It is impossible to tell at so great a distance.”

“Onpossible fur _ye_; what good is that gimcrack of yers, anyway?”

“It shows me what I could not otherwise see.”

“I never use them things, but my eyes tell me a blamed sight more than that can tell ye; them horsemen ye obsarved are Injins.”

“You have wonderful eyesight, Shagbark,” remarked Alden admiringly, again lifting the glass to his eyes and peering through them.

“I can make out the horsemen quite plainly, but that is all.”

“I seed ’em two hours ago and have been watching ’em ever since.”

“That Express Rider that went by will run into them.”

“No, he won’t; he ain’t such a fool; he’ll make a big sneak to the left and get past ’em; if it was among the mountains, he wouldn’t have half the chance, but he knows what to do and he’ll do it, as sure as ye are knee high to a grasshopper.”

“Why do they keep so far from us?” asked Alden.

“They don’t want us to see ’em, and they hain’t any idee that we do, but,” chuckled the guide, “they don’t know old Shagbark has charge of these folks.”

The old man seemed vastly pleased, and his massive shoulders bobbed up and down for a minute, while he puffed hard at his pipe.

“Do you think they intend to bother us?” asked Alden.

“No; I don’t think; I _know_ it; we ain’t through with ’em; if they don’t pay us a visit to-night, we shall hear of ’em to-morrer night as sure as a gun.”

“Why don’t they make an open attack, as I have been told the Indians often do?”

“A red varmint never takes chances when he has a show of getting what he wants without it; there ain’t ’nough of ’em to ride up and open fire; don’t ye see that if they hold off till darkness, believing as how we haven’t an idee they’re within a thousand miles, and we ain’t keeping a lookout, they believe they can play thunder with us?”

There was no questioning the truth of this theory. Alden slipped the cord which held the glasses over his head and handed them to the guide.

“Try them; good as are your eyes, these will help you.” But the old fellow shook his head.

“I don’t need any of your new-fangled notions; when my eyes go back on me, I’ll resign and hike over the divide.”

Alden Payne was deeply interested in what he had been told. A crisis threatened in which under heaven all depended upon the sagacity of this veteran of the plains. The youth waited for him to explain his intentions.

“Ye see now the sense of my making some of the men stand guard every time we went into camp; they’ve been trained so they know how to do it; ye’ve had to take yer turn with the rest of ’em.”

“And glad was I to do so; I hope you will use me to-night.”

“Which is ’zactly what I’m going to do; that’s all I’ve got to say now; ride back to that thick-headed darky.”

“Shall I tell him what you have just said to me?”

“I hain’t any ’bjections; it’ll probably scare him half white, but ye needn’t say anything to anybody else, ’cepting Fleming; tell him to come up hyar for a little talk on bus’ness with me.”

Alden turned his mare about and galloped to where the leader of the company was riding beside another man, and told him Shagbark wished a few words with him. Fleming instantly moved forward, and was soon engaged in earnest conversation with the guide.

“Wal, Al, did Shagbark ’spress sorrer fur the way he treated me?” asked Jethro, as his friend joined him.

“Nothing of the kind; you may have noticed that I pointed my glasses toward the prairie ahead?”

“Yas; I had my eye on you.”

“Well, some miles off is a large party of Indians on horseback; they are keeping us in sight, but don’t think we know anything of them.”

“Gorrynation!” gasped Jethro; “you don’t say so; what am dey gwine to do?”

“Quite likely they will attack our camp to-night.”

Jethro gasped again and nearly fell out of the saddle.

“W-w-what we gwine to do?” he stammered.

“Make the best fight we can; you can shoot pretty well, Jeth, and you may have a chance to prove your marksmanship. Bear in mind, however, that when a painted warrior raises his gun to shoot you, you must fire before he does.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, the colored lad faltered:

“You’s joking, Al; you don’t mean it suah.”

“Very well, if you prefer to look upon it as a joke, do so, but it is likely to prove a serious one to you and all of us.”

“Why don’t Shagbark turn de teams round and hurry back to St. Joe as fast as he kin, or to Fort Kearny or some place whar we has friends dat will took care ob us?”

“We should make a fine show with our oxen dragging the heavy wagons; all the Indians are well mounted and can come up with us whenever they choose to do so.”

“Let de oxen and wagons stay where dey am.”

“We haven’t enough horses to carry half the women and children.”

“Can’t dey run?”

Alden was silent a moment as if considering the suggestion of the sable youth. Finally he shook his head.

“It won’t do, Jeth; they wouldn’t have half a show; the Indians would overtake the women and little ones before they could go more than a few hundred yards. No; we must stand our ground like men, keep cool and put up the best fight we can.”

“’Spose de Injins lick us?” asked Jethro in a trembling voice.

Alden shrugged his shoulders.

“That will be the end; they won’t spare a man, woman or child; you are the only colored member of the party and you know an Indian hates a black man like poison.”

“Am you suah ob dat?”

“I have been told so by those who know.”

“Why do dey feel dat way?” asked the scared youth.

“I can’t explain it; they seem to have a deep prejudice against all American citizens of African descent. I have met some white men who feel the same way.”

“Can’t you manage to explanify to de red gemman dat dar ain’t no reason for dar dislike ob us colored folks?”

“I am afraid that no explanation will help, Jeth; make up your mind, as I said, to put up the best fight you can and if you have to go down, do so with colors flying.”

Chapter V

On Guard

Shagbark kept continually scanning the horizon in all directions. It lacked an hour of sunset when the flickering forms to the northwest passed over the rim of vision. But the guide was not misled by the fact. He thought it likely that some of the red men, whose tribe he did not know, had galloped farther away, fearing they had been observed by the emigrants. Even in those days, the dusky rangers of the plains knew of the artificial eyes used by the whites, which enabled them to see far beyond the unaided vision.

The trapper rode some distance out on the plain, and made complete circuit of the camp. He studied every point of the compass and with his permission, Alden Payne was his companion on the brief ride. The company halted earlier than usual, and every preparation was made against attack.

Alden with his glass was no more successful than the glum old fellow, who used only the power that nature gave him.

“I can’t catch a glimpse of them,” remarked the lad when the circuit was completed, and he lowered his instrument.

“Hooh! ye needn’t tell me that; if the varmints was to be seed I’d seed ’em.”

The six lumbering wagons were drawn up in a circle, the space inside being about a hundred feet across. In the center of this a fire was kindled from the driftwood brought from the bank of the Platte, where all the animals were allowed to drink, after which a number of vessels were filled and brought to camp. While the water was roiled and not specially attractive in appearance, no one felt any objection to it. As one of the men remarked, it “beat a raging thirst all hollow.”

Over the fire several of the women busied themselves boiling coffee and cooking venison from the game that was shot that morning. As has been intimated, the company carried a reserve of food, in the form of bread and jerked beef, but it was not thought prudent to draw upon it until no choice was left. There was an abundance of sugar, salt and various spices, and enough tea and coffee to last the entire journey, provided it was not lengthened beyond expectation.

When the fire had served its purpose it was allowed to sink. The night was so mild that the blaze was not needed for warmth. Every one had comfortable clothing, for they knew they would need it before reaching the coast. Soon after the meal was finished the children were bundled to bed. Three of the wagons were set apart for them and their mothers, the others being given over to the male members of the party. The parents were warned not only to keep the heads of the little ones below the upper edge of the wagon bodies, but to make sure that they did so themselves. So long as this caution was observed, they had little to fear, for the thick wood was arrow and bullet proof.

It was comparatively early in the evening when Shagbark placed the guards. His plan was that six should act as sentinels until midnight, when, if nothing occurred, they would give place to the same number, and retire to their quarters for the remainder of the night. As for Shagbark, he said he would be on duty until daylight. If when morning came, he found himself in need of sleep, he would lie down for a short time in one of the wagons, but he didn’t expect to feel any drowsiness unless he was robbed of slumber for two or three nights in succession.

Each of the six wagons was put under the charge of a single man, who was warned to be vigilant through every minute while on duty. They did not need to be told that their foes were the most cunning fighters in the world who were sure to try every possible trick upon them.

“If ye see anything moving outside, shoot!” was Shagbark’s instruction to each: “no matter if it is only a bunch of grass waving, bang away at it and ye’ll find it’s the head of a redskin. If ye fall asleep when you wake up ye’ll put your hand on top of your head and discover yer skulp’s gone.”

Since the sentinels could not pace to and fro, as is the usual custom, they were at much disadvantage in that respect, for we all know how insidious sleep is and how in many circumstances it is impossible to fight it off. Shagbark met this statement of the situation by Fleming thus:

“Ye ain’t likely to begin snoring so long as ye keep on your feet. No matter how much ye may feel like setting down or leaning up agin a wheel or side of a wagon, _don’t do it_ for so much as a minute. Ye can steal back and forth on the inside of the circle of wagons, fur that will help keep yer peepers peeled, but ba’rs and beavers! no man’s wuth shucks if he can’t stay awake till midnight, and them as comes on duty then will have had ’nough sleep to last ’em till daylight.”

This sounded so reasonable that there was a general expression of confidence that none would find any difficulty in keeping full command of his senses.

Alden Payne felt complimented by the trust which the veteran showed in him. He led the youth to one of the wagons in which some of the mothers and their children had lain down. While approaching it, they heard the murmured prayers of the parents and the little ones. A tiny girl, known for her remarkable sweetness of voice, sang softly a hymn that she had learned at her mother’s knee. The words could not be distinguished, but when the soft tones, like those of an angel hovering near reached the couple, the trapper abruptly stopped and listened. The voice ceased the next minute and he sighed. Neither he nor Alden spoke, but the soulful strains must have awakened some childhood’s remembrance in the breast of the old hunter. Alden even fancied when he raised his hand, that it was to brush away a tear from the eyes that were unused to weep. If so, Shagbark did not know his companion had noticed his action.

“Hyar’s where ye’ll stand,” said the guide, lowering his voice, so as not to disturb anyone within the wagon; “I don’t have to tell ye that the favorite spot for them varmints to strike is where there’s only women and children; a good deal depends upon ye, younker.”

“I shall do my duty,” quietly replied Alden.

“You needn’t tell me that; a feller’s got only to look at ye to see the sort of stuff ye’re made of; I like ye, younker.”

Never had Shagbark uttered so pointed praise, and it sent a grateful thrill through the youth, who could not doubt the sincerity of the words.

“Now ’bout that darky,” added the guide; “it won’t do to put any dependence on _him_.”

“He means well, but I shouldn’t advise you to trust him too far.”

“No fear of that, but he such a big, hulking chap and eats so much that he oughter be made to do _something_; I’m going to put him on tother side of this wagon and make him b’leve it’s the most important post of all, and that if he drops asleep, the whole shebang will be wiped out by the redskins. Mebbe he’ll be able to stay awake but I don’t b’leve it.”

Shagbark walked as silently as a shadow to the middle of the circle, where the fire had sunk to smouldering embers. He had seen Jethro there some minutes before and as he expected found him sitting on the ground, upon which he had spread his blanket. The spot attracted the dusky youth, for it was farthest removed from the wagons, and was the safest place except the interior of the vehicles. He would have cuddled down there among the sleepers, had not Shagbark notified him that he had work for him to do.

Jethro did not hear the soft footfall, but hastily climbed to his feet when the guide gruffly spoke to him:

“Wal, younker, be ye ready?”

“Ise allers readdy to do my dooty; what is it you want, Mr. Shagbark?”

“Ye know how ticklish things is to-night; we must all take turns in watching fur the redskins that will be sure to try to steal in among the wagons and skulp us all; ye are to stand guard till the middle of night, when some one else will take yer place,――that is if ye _live to give ’em a chance_.”

Jethro’s teeth rattled at these awful words.

“Do you think, Mr. Shagbark, dey’s gwine to pitch into us?”

“That’s what Injins seem built for; ye can feel powerful sartin that if we give ’em the chance they’ll grab it.”

“Yas, sir,” replied the youth, as he gingerly followed the guide to the wagon where he had placed Alden Payne a short time before; “I wish I felt better.”

Shagbark stopped abruptly and turned upon him.

“What’s the matter with ye?”

“De fac’ is, Mr. Shagbark, I doan’ feel very well dis ebening: I hain’t felt well all day,――sorter ob a big pain in my innards.”

He leaned over, pressing his hand against his side and groaning.

“I observed that ye eat as much as me and young Payne together; don’t seem to affect yer appetite any.”

“Dat’s de way it allers takes me; sometimes I kin stop de pain――Oh! oh!――by swallering all de food I kin git hold of.”

“Ye won’t think anything about yer pain, when ye see a big Ingin stealing up out of the grass and making ready to skulp ye; come on.”

Jethro dared not refuse to obey the terrible fellow, and kept at his heels until they reached the wagon, where Alden grinningly awaited them.

“Younker,” said the hunter in his rumbling voice; “being this the most dangerous p’int, I’m going to put two of ye here.”

“A good plan, Shagbark; I never knew a fellow with better eyesight and ears than Jeth; between him and me, the red man will find it hard to steal upon us unawares.”

“Whar――whar am I to stand?” faltered the negro.

“Ye will stay right whar I place ye,――alongside of the left hand wheel of the wagon; the younker will hold his position clus to the right wheel; ye two will then have only the breadth of the wagon between ye; neither of ye must stir from the spot till I come round to bring some one else to take yer place. Do ye understand?” he demanded of the terrified Jethro.

“Yas, sir; I’ll do de best I kin; nobody can’t do no better dan dat.”

“And nobody asks you to do any better; wal, I reckon I’ve said ’nough.”

And the guide moved away with his noiseless tread melting from sight in the gloom.

It must be said of Jethro that although scared almost out of his senses, he was resolved to do his duty so far as it lay within him to do it. Even in his panic, he saw an advantage over the other sentinels. A wagon guarded by two persons must be twice as well protected as one under the care of a single person. Alden was so watchful that he could be counted on to detect any approach of danger. Jethro was in the position of a man who had a reliable support in an enterprise involving great peril.

The two stood so near each other that it was easy to converse in under tones. Within the Conestoga, all was still. The mothers and their children were sleeping, feeling secure in the protection of heaven and the strong and brave hearts around them.

“Say, Al, am you dar?” asked Jethro in a husky, half-whisper, as he peeped round the rim of the wheel at the figure dimly visible in the shadow, and almost within arm’s reach.

“I couldn’t well be anywhere else,” replied his master.

“What do you think ob things?”

“I think you and I have got to keep our eyes and ears open to-night, Jeth.”

“Dat’s what I’m doing; do you think de Injins will come?”

“You heard what Shagbark said; he knows a hundred times more about such matters than we do; he and I certainly saw a party of them a few miles away on the prairie, and I haven’t any doubt that they are a good deal nearer to us now and coming nearer every minute.”

“Gorrynation! Al, why didn’t you and me stay home?”

“Because we came with Mr. Fleming and his company; you were as eager as I to cross the plains, and you were told all about the Indians.”

“Blame it all. I didn’t b’lebe dat stuff.”

“I guess you believe it now, but, Jeth, I don’t think Shagbark wishes us to talk while we are on post.”

“Nobody can’t hear us.”

“It distracts our attention from our work; better give your whole mind to the business we have in hand; if you see anything that doesn’t look right, let me know.”

“Berry well.”

Now, you do not need to be told that one of the hardest things to do, is to stand still for an hour or two at a stretch. Even though you shift the weight from one foot to the other, the strain soon becomes unbearable, whereas a rugged man can find pleasure in pacing regularly to and fro after the manner of sentinels.

“A feller mought as well be comfor’ble,” mused Jethro, leaning his rifle against the side of the wagon body, where he could snatch it up the instant needed. He next placed his elbow on the highest point of the broad tire of the large hind wheel, and rested his head upon his hand. His pose was made still easier by swinging one foot in front of the other ankle, and supporting it on the toe of his shoe.

This posture was so agreeable that he was sure he could hold it for several hours without fatigue; but it is such poses that irks one the soonest. He changed the position of the feet, but found that rather awkward, so long as his elbow remained on the tire. By turning his body round so that his back was toward the open plain, he could use his other elbow and the relief was pleasant.

“Big idee,” he muttered to himself; “bime by when I git tired, I’ll swing round agin.”

It certainly was a strange pose for a sentinel, deliberately to turn his back away from the field from which danger threatened. Yet that is precisely what Jethro Mix did and his self explanation was not without some force:

“If any ob de Injins try to sneak up, Al will be sure to see ’em; he’ll let me know in time to whirl ’bout and lambast ’em or――git out ob de way myself.”

The neglectful guard found some comfort in another fact: he was gifted with an unusually keen sense of hearing, and believed his ears would tell him as much as his eyes. In the circumstances, however, when it is remembered that absolute silence is one of the features of Indian subtlety, this was the gravest of mistakes.

By and by, Jethro swung back and resumed his first position, shifting his feet again as before. He stood so well toward the front that he could not see his friend, except by leaning forward and peering round the tail of the wagon. He took care to keep a position that shut him from Alden’s sight.

“It’ll be jes’ like him to kick when he sees me standing with my back toward de Injins, and dere ain’t any use ob habing any quarrels at a time like dis.”

When Jethro pivoted to the front for the third time, he held the position longer than usual. The situation was one which impressed even his dull nature. The moon near its full, had risen and shone upon the silent earth below. Ragged, white clouds swept slowly across the sky, like moving mountain peaks of snow. The orb was forever groping among these feathery masses, some of which were attenuated while others had enough body to eclipse the orb for a few minutes. This dodging into view and out again made the light uncertain. The shadows ran swiftly over the ground and whisked out of sight, then came a brief space of gloom, and then the illumination revealed objects with diminishing distinctness, for a hundred yards out on the plain.

It was a night favorable for Indian cunning to do its work. The spring grass was tall enough to allow a warrior to steal through it while lying flat on his face, with little fear of detection, until he came close to the foe whom he was seeking to slay. If ever a sentinel needed all his wits it was on that night when more than half a dozen of them were guarding the emigrant train plodding its way to the distant Pacific coast.

Chapter VI

Aboriginal Cunning

Suddenly through the tomblike stillness brooding over camp and plain, came the dull sounds of rifle firing. Two shots were in quick succession, a third followed, then two more, after which all was as silent as before.

The reports were apparently a half-mile to the northwest. Every one of the sentinels listened closely, but nothing further reached them.

Jethro Mix snatched up his gun with a gasp and held his breath. Then he moved on tiptoe around the rear of the wagon to where Alden Payne stood tense and motionless as a statue.

“Did you hear dat?” asked the negro in a husky whisper.

“Of course.”

“What do it mean?”

“I can’t tell; we shall soon learn.”

“Listen, Al!”

The two did so for a few seconds, and then Alden said in an undertone:

“I didn’t hear anything more; did you?”

“Yas.”

“What did it sound like?”

“A hoss’s hoofs; wait a minute.”

Jethro dropped on his knees and pressed an ear to the ground. He had done the same thing in different circumstances, and knew what help it was to the hearing.

The next instant he sprang up.

“De Injins am coming! I hear dar hosses!”

Alden imitated the action of his companion and then quickly rose.

“It is a single horse, and he is coming this way on a run; I don’t think the Indians are near or we should hear more hoofs; I wish Shagbark would show up.”

But the guide did not appear for some minutes. Still standing the two noted the sounds made by the hoofs of a pony traveling at the highest speed. The sounds rapidly grew more distinct, and the two were quickly able to locate the horseman. It was toward the point whence came the rifle reports, and the fugitive must have had something to do with them.

“Dar he is!” whispered Jethro trembling with excitement; “shall I shoot him?”

“No; wait till we find what it all means.”

Just then the drifting clouds swept from before the face of the moon, whose rays streamed down upon the prairie. From out this misty obscurity shot a horse and rider, the animal with outstretched neck, tail streaming and straining every nerve to carry the man who was leaning well forward, beyond the zone of danger. The same rhythmic beat that had fallen on their ears that afternoon greeted them again. The pony was running for all that was in him.

Just as the rider flashed opposite the group of silent canvas covered wagons, he seemed to catch sight of them. Without drawing rein or checking the desperate speed of his horse he shouted:

“Look out for Injins! they’re close onto you!”

And then man and animal plunged into the night and disappeared, though the fast diminishing thumping of hoofs was heard for some seconds later.

“He’s a Pony Express rider,” said Alden; “and is making for the next station as fast as his horse can carry him.”

“Ye’re right, younker,” remarked Shagbark, who appeared at the side of the two with no more noise than that of the flitting shadows on the plain.

“Did he fire any of those shots?” asked Alden.

“He couldn’t; he don’t carry a rifle.”

“He has his revolver.”

“It’s easy to tell the difference atween the barking of a revolver and a big gun; there warn’t any pistol used. He run right into the hornet’s nest afore he seed it, and the varmints opened on him; he must have throwed himself forrard on his hoss and the animal scratched gravel as them ponies know how to do. Every shot missed ’em both; I reckon that rider will carry his gun after this, even if it adds to the weight of his load.”

“It seems to me,” said Alden, “that if those Indians intended to attack us they wouldn’t have fired at the express rider.”

“Why not?”

“Because it warns us of _our_ danger.”

“Thar’s a heap of sense in what ye say, younker; that would have been the way of it, if the rider hadn’t dashed into ’em afore he knowed it, and afore they could slip out of his way; so they tried to shoot him from his saddle; beats all natur’ what poor shooters most of the varmints are.”

Shagbark glanced at the two.

“I’m powerful glad to see you both awake; I’m going to sneak out a little way on the perarie where I kin see furder than from hyar. So don’t shoot off yer guns ontil ye’re sartin it ain’t me but a redskin.”

Having given these instructions to each of the sentinels, Shagbark set about the task he had in mind. It certainly was risky, for, while he might count upon avoiding any collision with the red men, it was quite likely that some of the sentinels in their nervousness would fire upon the first glimpse of him. Be that as it may, the thought gave him little concern.

Jethro Mix stole back to his place on the other side of the wagon. A big scheme had flashed upon him, and he wished to turn it over in his mind.

“Wish I war dat Pony Expressman,” he muttered; “he’s gwine so fast dat de Injins won’t get de fust glimpse agin ob him. I’d like to be one ob dem riders, if I could allers keep riding toward St. Joe. What’s to hender me sneaking Jilk out from de oder critters an going like blazes fur de Missouri riber?”

That was the thought which had taken possession of him.

“Ef I kin git a good start dere ain’t any animal in dis crowd dat could ketch us, and when I arroves at St. Joe, it’ll take a double team ob horses to pull me away again.”

A few minutes’ reflection, however, showed the young colored man that his plan was impossible. He could not withdraw his pony from the group within the circle without being seen by the sentinels who would permit nothing of that nature. Moreover, Shagbark was likely to return at any moment from his reconnaissance and it would be just like him to shoot down Jethro.

“I doan’ think he lubs me much anyway; he’s been onrespectful in his remarks when he spoke to me afore others. Guess I’ll hab to wait till we gits to Salt Lake, where we’ll change guides and I’ll be mighty glad ob it.”

It must be deemed fortunate for Jethro Mix that he did not attempt the wild scheme in his mind, for the consequences must have been disastrous to himself.

Having little or no faith in the fellow’s courage and vigilance, Alden Payne acted as if he were wholly alone in guarding the wagon in which a number of the women and children were asleep, unconscious of any danger that might be stealing upon them. He had not long to wait when he made a disquieting discovery.

For most of the time the stillness was profound. The oxen had lain down within the enclosure and were either chewing their cuds or sleeping. Two or three of the horses kept their feet, but most of them were also lying down. Occasionally the stamp of a hoof sounded dully, but nothing else disturbed the watchers. In all directions on the level plain reigned the silence of the grave. The wide sweeping Platte, though not far off, coursed between its banks with no ripple or eddy that could be heard a hundred yards away. It was hard to believe that men were abroad in this silent world, hunting for a chance to slay their fellow creatures, but such was undoubtedly the fact.

The ever shifting shadows as the clouds tumbled past the moon, tantalized Alden. Much would he have preferred that the sky should be darker or lighter, provided it remained the one or the other.

It was not anything he heard which gave him his first thrill of fear. He caught no sound, but it suddenly occurred to him that there was a movement in the grass a few rods out. At first he could not define its nature. It was as if some reptile, possibly a rattlesnake, was stirring at that point. The disturbance was so slight that a moment later he felt sure he had been deceived. The face of the moon cleared, and a silver flood of light bathed the grassy plain. The spot which had roused his suspicion stood out almost as at midday, when the sky is partly cloudy.

“Could I have been mistaken?” he asked himself, motionless and peering into the obscurity. “Shagbark warned me to be on my guard against _everything_, but I can’t make this out.”

If a serpent had been disturbed and was zig-zagging through the grass, he had nothing to fear, for it would not molest him.

The occasion was one in which Jethro might be able to give help. Alden called cautiously to him, but there was no answer. He stepped softly around the rear of the wagon, but before he discovered the big fellow lying on the ground, he noticed his heavy breathing.

“Asleep,” muttered his master disgustedly; “I wonder that he kept awake so long.”

Without returning to his former position, Alden again scrutinized the plain spread out to view. In the flickering illumination, he could not descry anything out of the usual order of things.

“It must have been a mistake but I don’t understand――helloa!”

A ragged cloud again swept past the moon, whose full rays descended upon the earth. Could Alden Payne believe his eyes?

Barely a hundred yards away stood an Indian warrior. He seemed to be looking at the youth himself, though that was impossible because Alden must have been invisible to the keenest of eyes while wrapped in the shadow. The red man was as erect as a statue, a rifle in one hand which rested at the side below his hip. The youth noted even the feathers which projected from the crown of his head, the naked chest, the sash around the waist and the handle of the knife thrust behind it. A glimpse could be caught of the leggings below, most of them with the moccasins being hidden, however, in the grass.

The whole thing was beyond explanation. It looked as if the Indian while crawling over the ground and hidden by the grass, had changed his mind and deliberately risen to his feet, where he must have known he would be in full view of the vigilant white men. What could it all mean?

The next moment, while Alden was staring at the strange sight, he recalled the orders of Shagbark.

“The minute ye’re sure it’s a redskin, _shoot_!”

Nothing could be easier than for the youth to bring his rifle to a level where he was screened by the darkness, and bring down the Indian as he would bring down any other game. But he could not do it. The thought of shooting a human being, even though an enemy probably seeking the life of the youth himself, was intolerable. It would have been a crime for which Heaven would hold him accountable and for whose commission he could never forgive himself.

“I shan’t let him get out of my sight; he can do no harm so long as he stands there; if he attacks, I’ll shoot. Shagbark will laugh at me, but I prefer he should do that rather than offend my Creator.”

How long the Indian would have held his pose is doubtful, had not an unlooked for interruption occurred. Alden was trying to discern the countenance more clearly. He thought it was striped and daubed with paint, but the view was not distinct enough to make sure. Without intending to venture into the moonlight, the youth stepped softly aside and back a single pace in the effort to obtain another angle of view. In making the movement, he placed his foot directly over the mouth of Jethro Mix, and rested most of his weight on it before he could check himself.

“Gorrynation!” gasped the African, catching the offending shoe with both hands and struggling to free himself, “who frowed dat house on top of my head?”

“Shut up!” commanded Alden as he flirted his foot; “Why are you sleeping when you were placed here to watch for the Indians?”

“Who’s sleeping?” demanded Jethro, climbing heavily to his feet; “I war jest setting down to tie my shoestring when you come along and stepped on my head so it’s bent out ob plumb.”

“Look over the plain and tell me what you think of _that_,” said Alden impressively.

Startled by his words and manner, the African rubbed his eyes and did as directed, but failed to discover anything.

“I doan’ see nuffin,” he growled.

Nor did Alden. Everything was as when Jethro lay down. The sound of his voice must have been heard by the Indian, who vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. It was easy for Alden to understand that, but he could not comprehend why the redskin should have shown himself at all.

It was necessary to give some explanation to Jethro, but his young master had no purpose of telling everything.

“I saw an Indian out there a few minutes ago and stepped across to tell you about it, but you were asleep and didn’t know any more than you do when you are awake. The best thing for you to do, Jeth, is to lie down and keep on sleeping.”

“Do you mean dat?” eagerly asked the other.

“Of course I do.”

“All right; if you finds you have to do any trampin’ bout I’ll be obleeged if you doan’ step into my mouth agin. If you do I’ll bite your foot in two.”

Alden without noticing the fellow walked back to his first position. He did not give Jethro a second thought.

Despite the self-evident cause of the disappearance of the skulking warrior, the youth was ill at ease. He decided to await the explanation of Shagbark, who would probably join him ere long.

But worst of all, the proof had been given that the redskins whom all dreaded were prowling near the camp. One of them would not have ventured alone to the neighborhood. There might be a dozen, a score, or half a hundred who were formulating if they had not already formulated a plan to surprise and massacre every one of the whites. As to what that plan was he was as ignorant as the slumbering Jethro Mix.

All that Alden could do was use his eyes and hearing. No fear of his falling asleep, even if he did lean against the thick spokes of the wagon wheel. He knew better than to confine his attention to the spot where the warrior had appeared and vanished. The fact of his having done so would prevent his repeating the trick. He would aim to strike his next blow from another point. And that such was the fact became apparent a few minutes later when a fluttering disturbance similar to the first caught his eye, though from a point well to the left.

It was so far over indeed that, without any hesitation the youth moved a rod or more in that direction, keeping so far as he could in the shadow of the Conestoga, but the change of position carried him into the moonlight, and he crossed half the interval between his wagon and the one next to it. The fewness in number of vehicles compelled their wide separation, for the circle was large.

There was no call for him to go any farther, since the sentinel there must be as vigilant as himself, and it was not wise to leave his own charge unguarded even for a few minutes. Still further, Shagbark had warned every one against abandoning his post.

Because of all this, Alden halted just beyond the shadow thrown out by the huge wide cover of the Conestoga. His nerves were at the highest tension, and the feeling was strong upon him that some frightful danger was stealing upon the camp.

With the suddenness of lightning the truth flashed upon him. The second disturbance in the grass was for the purpose of drawing him away from his post, so as to leave that particular wagon and its precious load unguarded!

Not only was such the purpose of the Indian but the daring plan succeeded!

Chapter VII

Just In Time

At the instant of turning, Alden saw a form rise from the grass, less than two rods from the wagon, and glide with incredible swiftness toward it. The Indian was crouching, a rifle in his left hand and a knife in his right. Through an unexplainable instinct he knew where some of the women and children were sleeping, and he intended to bound in among them, strike right and left with venomous fierceness, slaying the sleepers with lightning-like quickness, and then dart away in the moonlight.

Half the intervening space was passed when the youth brought his gun to his shoulder and in the same instant fired. The interval was too brief to miss. The warrior emitted a rasping screech, flung up his arms and dived head foremost, so close to the Conestoga that he slid like a sleigh over the ice beyond the hind wheels and lay motionless on his face.

Alden was on the spot in a twinkling. Aflame with rage, he looked down at the lifeless form and bitterly exclaimed:

“I couldn’t fire on you a few minutes ago, but I never felt more pleasure than in doing so just now!”

It was a proof of the excellent training of the sentinels by Shagbark that, startling as was the episode, not one of them abandoned his station. Each knew that to do so would be to invite an attack from the undefended quarter. All held their ground, alert and ready to fire the instant the chance offered.

The crack of the rifle and the shriek of the red man roused more than one sleeper. Three of the men caught up their guns and scrambled out of the wagons. They were bewildered and at sea for the moment. The youth saw the terrified face of a mother peering out of the open space in the canvas at the rear of the Conestoga.

“What does it mean, Alden?” she asked, failing to see the feet of the redskin who lay under the axletree.

“I fired at an Indian,” replied the youth; “keep out of sight for the bullets may be flying any minute.”

The face vanished, for the woman was sensible even in her fright. Her two small children had not awakened, and she lay down between them, an arm over each, while a prayer went up to the only sure refuge in time of peril.

Alden was sure that the report of his gun and the outcry of the victim would bring Shagbark to the spot and he was not mistaken. The lad was watching the plain for him when he came silently forward from the rear and spoke:

“Good for ye, younker! I won’t need ye many years under my care to make a fust-class hunter and trapper of ye. How was it?”

His youthful friend told what had occurred.

“Have ye loaded yer gun?”

“Not yet; I didn’t think of it, and have hardly had time.”

“When ye shoot off yer piece, the next thing is to load up ag’in, for ye’re likely to need it mighty sudden; ’tend to that while I take a look round.”

The rifle used in those days was not the modern breech-loader, though they were beginning to come into use, but Alden’s weapon, like those of his friends, carried but the single charge which entered the muzzle. Screening himself in the shadow cast by the wagon, he proceeded to ram a charge down the barrel, while the guide did as he said he would do. He passed from one guard to another until he had made the round. He told the three who had been roused from sleep to go back and wait until he called them.

Mr. Fleming was stationed at the Conestoga which stood opposite and the farthest from the one in which his wife and others lay.

“I don’t like it,” he said curtly to Shagbark; “I ought to guard my own family.”

“Could ye do any better than that younker done?” asked the guide.

“I don’t believe I could; none the less, I feel that my right place is there.”

“I tell ye that younker is a hummer; not yerself nor any man in the crowd is better than him at a time like this; if his father and mother don’t want him I’m going to adopt him. In two or three years among the Rockies he’ll make the best kind of a hunter or trapper, instid of wasting his time larning larning which ain’t no good to nobody. But I say, Abner, if ye really want to change places with him, ye can do so.”

“I do wish it.”

“Come on, then; it won’t do any hurt to leave yer post for a minute, ’specially as them varmints don’t seem to be in a hurry to tackle us.”

As soon as the couple joined Alden he hastily crossed the open space and took his station beside the other wagon.

“Somehow or other,” he mused, “I suspect that the next move will be against this point; the redskins have learned that Fleming’s wagon is well guarded and they won’t try it there a second time. I shan’t be caught asleep again.”

He shuddered, as he recalled that it was his own desertion of post which caused the warrior to risk an attack upon the wagon. He had successfully maneuvered to draw the youth away, in order that he might commit the crime. Alden said he was sure he would have seen the Indian when, after completing his awful work, he leaped from the rear of the wagon to make off.

“Which is jes’ what he wouldn’t have done; he would have sneaked from the front, and whisked out of sight afore anyone could know what he’d done; and,” grimly added the guide, “more’n likely he’d knifed one or two others on his way to the perarie agin.”

Although the veteran knew Alden had disobeyed orders when he moved from his station, he made no reference to it at the time nor afterward. Had the offender been anyone else, he would have been called down with an emphasis that he never would have forgotten.

It will be recalled that a short while before the incident related, Shagbark had started off on a reconnaissance of his own. Assured as he was that the Indians of whom he had caught glimpses during the afternoon, and the reports of whose guns he had heard not far away, were drawing near the camp with the most sinister designs, he set out to checkmate them so far as it was possible. He could not trust all his sentinels as he would have liked to trust them, and he hoped to anticipate the attack of their foes.

Shagbark dreaded that they might rush the camp――that is, dash right in among the wagons and animals and slay on every hand. This was giving them credit for a courage which the American Indian rarely shows; but if the dozen whom the hunter had seen were the advance of a more numerous party, it was by no means impossible that this risk would be taken.

Another policy to be feared almost as much was that the warriors would gallop up and fire into the camp, circling off again until they could reload and repeat their attack. The discharge would be quite sure to kill or wound some of the oxen and horses. It was not improbable, too, that, despite the protection of those on guard, the whistling bullets would find some of them.

The guide thought that by venturing out on the plains he might get a glimpse of their enemies and penetrate their plans. Could he do so, possibly he might take steps to baffle them. Several ways presented themselves to his fertile mind.

The situation was one which called for all the woodcraft of which he was master. Naturally gifted in this respect, he had been educated in the best of all schools――experience. Those who had trapped and hunted with him agreed that he had no superior, and never was he more anxious to succeed than now.

Leaving the wagon on the north, he walked toward the Platte, which flowed only two or three hundred yards away. He stooped low and moved slowly, halting every few paces, peering round in the moonlight and listening intently. Instead of being bothered by the shifting light, he was aided by it. When the moon was obscured he hurried forward, taking care to pause and stoop before the full light streamed out again.

The course of the hunter was diagonal to that of the river, and gradually took him toward it. He was still fifty paces away, when his keen hearing told him something. It was such a plash as is made by a fish leaping above the surface and falling back again. That probably was the cause, and yet it was possible it had more significance than that.

Upon hearing the slight noise, Shagbark instantly sank flat upon the ground, where the grass hid him from the sight of any one passing within a dozen feet. He did not raise his head, until a second faint rippling, different from that caused by the sweep of the stream, came to him. Then he removed his sombrero, and cautiously lifted his eyes until he could see all the way to the low level bank. With one hand he parted the vegetation, and kept as far down as he could and still see.

An Indian warrior having swum the stream, stood for a moment on the shore. He was afoot, a fact which surprised the watcher, who knew that none of his race wandered far in that country without a pony to carry him. Standing thus, the redskin emitted a soft bird-like call which the listening ear could hardly detect. The response was in the form of a second Indian, who came into sight from some point up stream. The two met and talked in voices which were only the faintest murmur to the eavesdropper.

Shagbark formed a daring plan as he thus lay in the grass, with his eyes upon the couple, who sometimes faded from sight and then stood out in relief, when the light of the moon was unclouded. He decided to wait until the shifting positions of the two brought them within direct range and then fire and bring both down.

And incredible as it may seem, that is what he would have done but for the occurrence already described. With nerves of steel he brought his rifle round in front, drew the hammer back, and paused until the orb of night should show they were in the right relative position. Thus matters stood when the report of Alden Payne’s weapon and the death cry of his victim rang out with thrilling clearness in the still night.

It would be hard to say which party was most startled. The Indians, standing on the bank of the river, whisked out of sight, and halting only a moment, Shagbark turned and ran with all speed to the camp. There was the call for him, and he could not lose a second. It has been shown that he arrived in time. Neither Alden nor any of the others suspected the experience through which the guide had passed, nor did they learn of it until long afterward.

The sagacity of Shagbark told him that the incident was the best thing that could have occurred for the emigrants. Beyond a doubt the surrounding warriors were forming their plans of attack, counting much upon a surprise, when the death of the most daring of their number told them their mistake. In order to rush the camp they must reckon upon losing several of their number. The certainty of such a penalty has prevented many an Indian assault.

As Shagbark and Abner Fleming stood by the wagon which had escaped the dreadful peril, the latter shuddered.

“What’s the matter?” asked the guide.

The other indicated the inanimate form that still lay on its face under the Conestoga.

“Can’t we get rid of that, Shagbark?”

“Nothing is easier; obsarve.”

Leaning his rifle against the tailboard, the hunter stooped, seized each ankle, and raising his hands so that they were at his own hips, and with a moccasin on either side, he ran fifty yards out on the plains. Then dropping the feet, he turned about and dashed back, with the cool remark:

“We may as well keep his gun, fur he won’t need it any more.”

“Shagbark, that was risky on your part; even where it lies it is much closer than I like, for we shall all have to see it in the morning.”

“No, you won’t; it’ll be gone afore sunup.”

“Will they dare come near enough to take it away?”

“Keep yer eyes peeled.”

Leaving Fleming to himself, the guide made another cautious visitation of the sentinels. It was now not far from midnight and the change of guard must soon be made.

Alden Payne was left for the last before returning again to Fleming. Shagbark had formed a strong liking for the youth, and this feeling was deepened by the last exploit of Alden.

“Wal, younker, have ye diskivered anything new?” asked the man, in his low voice, which could not have been heard twenty feet away.

“Nothing at all; how is it with you?”

“The same way; ye obsarve the Injins knows that one of the sentinels keeps his eyes open all the time and they ain’t taking any chances they don’t have to take.”

“But I have been shifted to this side,” replied his young friend, as if he accepted the compliment in all seriousness; “some of them, therefore, ought to show up here.”

“That’s jest the p’int; the varmints knows we ’spects something of that sort, and have moved ye over to _this_ side, where ye’ll give ’em the same kind of welcome ye did afore.”

“Come, now, Shagbark, that’s enough,” protested Alden; “it happened to fall to me to pick off that wretch, but anyone else in my position would have done the same.”

“P’raps,” grunted the guide, and that was the utmost he would admit.

“Well, I declare!” exclaimed Alden excitedly, turning to his companion; “that beats all creation!”

“What do ye now mean?” inquired the veteran.

“What’s become of Jethro?”

Strange that during all this time no one had noticed the absence of the colored lad, but he had been missing for more than an hour.

“What do you think has become of him?” asked Alden.

“Dunno, and can’t say I keer; the best use we kin put him to is to slip a yoke over his neck and let one of the oxen take a rest.”

There may have been some justice in these rough sentiments, but Alden could not dismiss the matter thus. Despite Jethro’s cowardice, his master felt a strong affection for him. They had been companions from early boyhood, and the African showed a dog-like regard for his master. He would willingly go hungry or suffer pain for his sake, though he drew the line at Indians.

Noticing the distress of the youth, Shagbark, with more consideration in his voice, asked:

“When did ye see him last?”

“A few minutes before I fired; I think I left him asleep near the other wheel of the wagon where I had been standing. Fact is, I know he was asleep.”

“And he warn’t thar when ye come back, which was powerful soon afterward?”

“I didn’t think of Jethro, but I must have seen him if he had stayed where he was.”

“What do _ye_ think become of him?”

“He must have run away; I never saw a person so scared as he when he learned we were likely to be attacked by Indians. I am afraid he has scampered off over the prairie.”

“Couldn’t have done that very well without some one seeing him; more’n likely he crawled in among the hosses and oxen where he thought he’d be safer. Hark!”

From the interior of the wagon near which they were standing sounded the heavy snoring of some person.

“I’ll bet ye that’s him,” chuckled Shagbark.

“He isn’t the only one that puts on the loud pedal when he sleeps.”

Shagbark stepped on the tongue of the vehicle and peered inside. It was too dark to see anything. In fact, two other men were breathing less stertorously, but he located the point from which the chief racket came. Feeling about with his hand, he gripped the shoulder of the sleeper, and bracing himself with one foot against the front board, he drew out the elongated form of the offender.

Chapter VIII

The Attack

It looked to Alden Payne as if Jethro was eight feet long, when the guide was dragging him out of the front of the wagon by the nape of the neck. Like many persons, he was slow to regain consciousness, and was not fully awake until he was stood upon his feet. Even then he staggered uncertainly and was bewildered by the situation.

“What’s de matter?” he mumbled, spreading his feet apart and steadying himself.

“Whar’s your gun?” demanded Shagbark.

“In de wagon; I didn’t feel wery well and went in dere to lay down.”

“Get your gun and help shoot Injins,” was the startling order.

The flurry awoke the women in the Conestoga, and the excitement roused the whole camp. Dark forms appeared from the interior of the wagons, and hearing the voice of the guide, most of them hurried to him to learn what they were to do.

Shagbark quickly explained the situation. The emigrants were about to be attacked, for there could be no doubt that their enemies were near at hand. Every man was needed, for much depended upon the vigor of the defense. Dividing the force so as to guard every point, the hunter cautioned the defenders to shield themselves as best they could, and to fire on the instant the least chance offered to do so with effect.

Once more the result of his training showed. The oxen and horses were in the middle of the open space, as far beyond danger as was possible; the women obeyed orders by keeping themselves and children behind the bullet-proof sides of the Conestogas. No more sleep for the mothers so long as the peril threatened. They listened, peered out and put up their prayers to heaven.

This tension had lasted but a few minutes, when the grass surrounding the camp became flashes of flame. From a score of places, representing so many different points of the compass, rifles gushed fire, the sharp cracks of the weapons rang out in the stillness, and the thud and pinging of rifle balls were everywhere. In two instances the escapes of the defenders could not have been narrower. Abner Fleming felt the zip of a bullet which grazed his forehead, and one of his neighbors on the other side of the circle was scraped by a pellet of lead which abraded an arm.

Not an assailant could be seen. Leaving their ponies at a distance, the Indians had crept through the protecting grass to the nearest point prudent, and, crouching low or lying on their faces, fired into the camp. In the same moment the guns began popping from behind and alongside the wagons. Each man aimed at the flash nearest to him, for the instant illumination was his only guide. Then as quickly as the redskins could reload, they fired again, but always from a different point. They were using the trick common among white rangers of rolling aside the instant after pulling trigger. In the briefest conceivable time the whites discharged their weapons, but in that flitting interval, their enemies had shifted their position, and the bullets whizzed harmlessly past in the grass, or buried themselves in the earth. Inasmuch as each party rarely saw a member of the other, it was inevitable that most of the shots went wild.

Matters were “humming” thus, when the last person in the world that would have been believed capable of anything of the kind, did something so clever that it brought a compliment from Shagbark himself. That person was Jethro Mix.

When he recovered his gun, he leaped out of the wagon. The rear of the latter faced outward. Alden stood close to the body, and used the broad-tired wheel as a partial protection. No other man was near, they having been sent to different points. Instead of remaining in the vehicle and firing over the tailboard, where only his head would have been exposed, Jethro stood in the open――that is, directly in front of the cumbersome structure. He had not the benefit even of shadow, but must have been in plain sight of one or more foes in the grass.

“Don’t do that, Jeth!” called his young master in a guarded voice. “You’ll be shot.”

“Git out!” replied the negro, with his rifle at his shoulder, and alert for his opportunity. “I’m as safe as you is; ’tend to your own bus’ness.”

It is hard to explain the mood of the African. He had earned the contempt of his friends by his timidity, but now none showed more intrepidity than he. Possibly he was so scared as to be unable to distinguish between danger and safety. That may be the right theory, but it cannot make clear what he did within the following three minutes.

Inevitably a painted redskin lying low in the grass took a shot at the dusky form and came startlingly near hitting him. It was a critical moment, but in the brief interval Jethro recalled one of Shagbark’s reminiscences, in which he told of dodging every return bullet during a night attack by rolling aside the instant he fired his gun. The circumstances now were precisely the same as in the former instance, except the position of the contending parties was reversed: the Indians were the assailants.

“It’s _dem_ dat will flop over like a buckwheat cake de minute dey fires,” reflected Jethro, “but how de mischief ken I know which way de rapscallions will turn? Mos’ folks am right-handed, and I guess dat’s de way this sarpint will flop. If I’m right I must shoot to his left, ’cause he am facing me.”

It was the blindest kind of theorizing, but strange as it may seem, Jethro Mix was absolutely right in his conclusion. And the wonder of it all is that he reached it within a dozen seconds after the redskin’s bullet whizzed by his temple. Not only that, but he reasoned that the Indian would not shift his place for more than two or three feet, before reloading and trying another shot. Accordingly, having located his target by guesswork, Jethro sighted as best he could in the moonlight and pulled trigger.

And he got his man, too. A cry from the grass left no doubt on that point. He had hit the redskin as fairly as Shagbark could have done had the foe been standing on his feet with the sun shining overhead. And then like a veteran, Jethro, without stirring in his tracks, began reloading his gun.

Shagbark hurried forward. He was whisking from point to point, keeping the men keyed up and instructing them what to do. The shots still came from different points, but the firing was desultory and blind. The enemy hoped to hit man or animal, but there could be no certainty of doing so.

“Come back hyar,” said the guide sternly; “git behind this wagon if ye don’t want to git riddled by the varmints.”

“Yas, sir,” replied Jethro, suspending the reloading of his weapon and meekly obeying.

“Younker, was it ye who plugged that redskin?” asked the guide.

“No; it was Jeth.”

“How’d ye do it?” demanded the hunter.

“Ef you wants to larn how to tumble over one ob dem sarpents, Mr. Shagbark, I’ll tole you and you can try it yourself. I knowed dat de minute he pulled trigger he’d roll ober so dat when my bullet arobe he wouldn’t be dere to welcome it. So I aimed at de left side from here, and I reckons I got him.”

“B’ars and beavers!” exclaimed the guide, “ye’re the only one in the party that knowed ’nough to do that. Whar did ye larn it?”

“I heerd you tell how you done it once.”

“Wal, wal, it gits me; ye ain’t such a big fool as ye looks to be; keep on doing that thing, but don’t let ’em cotch sight of ye, if ye can help it.”

Shagbark’s admiration was not lessened by the fact that he knew the exploit of Jethro Mix was a piece of luck rather than real skill. By no possible means could he have known to which side the warrior would turn, but fortunately he guessed the right one, and the result was all that could be hoped for. None the less, Jethro had displayed a bravery and coolness in inexplainable contrast to his previous actions.

The grim irony of the situation was increased by what followed. Alden Payne did not forget the object lesson of a few minutes before. He knew that another shot would soon come from the grass in front, for the reports were heard on the other sides of the camp. He stood behind the wheel of the wagon, with gun leveled and alert for his chance.

He did not have to wait long. A spout of flame gushed from a point within a rod of where the former had appeared, and a thud told him the bullet had buried itself in the heavy timber of the Conestoga. Shifting his aim slightly to the left of the spot where the flash had shown, he let fly.

No outcry followed. The enemy had slipped in the opposite direction and was not harmed. Jethro had not quite finished reloading, and by the time he was ready, it was useless for him to fire. He therefore held his shot.

Meanwhile, Shagbark had moved to the wagon which Abner Fleming was guarding. Explaining the singular incident on the other side of the circle, he said:

“We’ll git our man sure, for the minute he blazes away, I’ll shoot a little to his right and ye do the same to his left: that’ll settle him.”

Hardly were the words spoken, when a flash appeared directly in front. The bullet went wide, but Shagbark had his weapon leveled in a twinkling.

“Now let him have it!”

The two reports sounded like one. To the amazement there was no cry. Evidently the enemy had not been touched.

“Which side did ye fire, Abner?” asked the puzzled guide.

“To the left――that is, to the Indian’s left.”

“Thunder! that’s what _I_ done; I meant to the left as we’re standing.”

“You ought to have explained clearly.”

“It’s too late now; be ready for the next show.”

But it did not come. The assailants were so discouraged by the vigilance of the emigrants that they abandoned the plan of rushing the camp. The desultory shots ceased and when a half hour passed without a sound, it looked as if the Indians had withdrawn altogether.

Shagbark, however, was not misled. The stillness might be meant to deceive the defenders and cause them to cease their watchfulness. The guide allowed the men who had stood guard the first half of the night to retire to rest in the wagons, while the relief took their places. As he intended from the first, he did not sleep, but moved from point to point, and made sure that none was neglected.

Alden Payne and Jethro Mix, acting on the advice of the veteran, lay down and despite the exciting incidents of the night were soon asleep.

The long hours dragged past without bringing any alarm. Shagbark kept moving around the camp, pausing at different points to talk with the sentinels, and twice he crept out from the wagon circle and pressed an ear to the ground. He was almost certain the Indians had withdrawn and nothing more would be heard from them.

When at last the increasing gray in the east told of the approaching day, the camp was astir. The light was an unspeakable relief, for brief as had been the hours of slumber, no one felt any disposition to stay inside the wagons after it was safe to venture out.

Before the sun rose, Shagbark had scanned every part of the horizon. No sight of the redmen was seen. The warriors must have gone back to their ponies, and leaping upon them, skurried off in quest of more inviting prey.

Beyond a doubt two or three of the assailants had fallen, but, as is the custom among Indians, their former comrades carried them away. Hardly a trace of the attack remained.

The women busied themselves in preparing the morning meal, a fire having been rekindled, and all ate with appetites such as come only to those who live in the open. A feeling of profound gratitude filled the hearts of all, for their deliverance was markedly providential.

“We’ve been a good deal luckier than I expected,” said Shagbark during the meal.

“We had more than one close call,” remarked Fleming; “I had something of the kind myself.”

It was found that three others had escaped by chances fully as narrow.

“That warn’t what I war most afeard of,” continued the guide; “we all had such good kiver that there never was much danger of being hit, but there’s one thing I don’t yet understand.”

In answer to the inquiring looks, Shagbark explained:

“With all them bullets whistling round us some of ’em oughter reached the hosses and oxen, but there hain’t one of ’em been so much as scratched.”

“Was not that because all were lying down?” asked Fleming.

“That had a good deal to do with it, but some of the hosses kept gitting on their feet and I had to watch ’em close and make ’em lay down agin; there warn’t any such trouble with the oxen, fur they was glad ’nough to lay down and chaw their cuds.”

“If we had lost a pony or two,” suggested Alden, “it would not have been so bad, for we could get on without them.”

“That ain’t what I’m driving at, but if a hoss had been wounded or killed, he would have kicked up such a rumpus he’d stampeded all the others; they’d have scattered over the perarie and upset things so promiscuous that we’d never got ’em agin. More’n that, thar would’ve been such times in camp that the varmints would have sailed in, and if we’d managed to stand ’em off, a good many of ye wouldn’t be left to talk about it this morning.”

The listeners shuddered at the picture brought up by the words of the grizzled guide. None of them had once thought of the terrifying peril named, but they saw that it had been real and beyond the power of exaggeration.

The most complacent member of the company was Jethro Mix. Shagbark and Alden had taken pains to tell of his exploit, and if the fellow had been capable of blushing, he would have turned crimson, but that being beyond his power, he affected to make light of it all.

“Pshaw! dat ain’t nuffin,” he said when the wife of Abner Fleming complimented him; “I ’spects to do de same thing a good many more times afore we gits across de plains; de fac’ is, I’m on to dem Injins and dey’ll find it out; when dey wokes up Jethro Mix dey wokes up de wrong passenger and dere’s gwine to be trouble in de land.”

“I never heard of firing at a spot where an enemy is not supposed to be,” ventured Richard Marvin, another member of the company, and somewhat of a wag.

“Who ’sposed he warn’t dere?” demanded Jethro. “I knowed he was dere ’cause he wasn’t dere――so I aimed at de spot where he wasn’t ’cause I knowed he was dere. Doan’ you see?”

“I’m glad to have so clear an explanation,” gravely replied the gentleman; “but it seems to me there must have been a good deal of guesswork, for there was no way by which you could know of a certainty which way――the right or the left――he had moved.”

“No guesswork ’bout it,” loftily remarked Jethro.

“Could you see him as he lay in the grass?”

“Ob course not.”

“You certainly couldn’t _hear_ him.”

“Ob course I couldn’t; who said I could?”

“Then how could you know where he really was?”

“I’m ’sprised at your discomfuseness, Mr. Marvin; de way I knowed whar he was, was dat I knowed it; I _felt_ he had flopped ober to de left, so I knowed jes’ de p’int to aim at; dat’s de skience ob de hull bus’ness.”

“I haven’t anything more to say, Jethro; you’re a wonder; I see Shagbark is getting ready to move on again and needs us.”

Chapter IX

Old Acquaintances

The next look we take of the train under the guidance of Shagbark, the veteran of the plains, is several weeks after the incidents just described. The route which they in common with thousands of emigrants, including the Pony Express riders, followed, led due west up the Kearny valley to Julesburg, a distance of two hundred miles. Here it crossed the South Platte, trended northwest to old Fort Laramie, passed thence over the foothills at the foot of the Rockies to South Pass, and by way of Fort Bridger to Salt Lake.

You must bear several facts in mind. Colorado at the time of which I am writing had not yet been formed into a Territory, nor had Wyoming. The oldest white settlement in the latter section was Fort Laramie――since abandoned――which was made a trading post in 1834, rebuilt by the American Fur Company two years later, and sold to the United States and garrisoned as a fort in 1849.

In speaking of the great overland trail, which was used for a score of years after the discovery of gold in California, one is apt to think of it as of comparatively slight width. Yet, although it narrowed to a few miles in some places, there were others where the ground traversed was fifty or a hundred miles across. Thus it happened that trains which were following parallel routes were often out of sight of one another for days, and perhaps weeks. The breadth of the famous South Pass, the gateway of the Rocky Mountains, is so great that parties of emigrants frequently did not know for a long time that they were really traveling through it.

Although there were many incidents worth telling, we must skip them and come to the time when our friends were plodding some distance beyond the straggling town of Cheyenne, which was to attain importance during the building of the transcontinental railway eight or nine years later. They were heading for Fort Laramie, on the western slope of the spur known as the Laramie Mountains. Far ahead the crests could be seen, tinted with a soft blue, as they raised their summits into the clear spring sky. The ground was more rolling and undulating, and streams of varying depth and volume had to be crossed. The greater elevation gave a sensible coolness to the air. Although summer was near at hand, the nights were chilly and the warmth of blankets and the roaring camp fire was grateful to all alike.

Indians had been descried many times, and Shagbark expected an attack, but since the affair many miles to the eastward, not a hostile shot had been heard. He was inclined to think this was due to the vigilance of the emigrants. No matter how tranquil everything looked, all the adults took turn in mounting guard each night. The redmen more than once rode up within two or three hundred yards and seemed to meditate a closer approach, as if for barter. But with good reason they distrusted the white men, who knew their treacherous nature. Occasionally these warriors waved their blankets and made tantalizing gestures as if to draw a shot, but Shagbark would not permit any to be fired.

“Thar’s no use of throwing away powder and ball,” he said; “we’re likely to need all we’ve got afore we see Salt Lake, and them insults don’t hurt.”

Several times our friends had seen the Pony Express riders as they skimmed across the country with the speed of the wind. A wave of the hand from the flying horseman, without the slightest pull of rein, was the only acknowledgment made to the salutations of the emigrants. The majority of these headlong riders were not seen, for, always hunting the speediest route, they were generally well north or south of the trail of the ox teams.

A goodly part of the journey was over, and yet the train had suffered no serious accident. In crossing a rapid stream, where the animals had to swim, Jethro Mix performed another exploit which won the praise of his friends. One of the oxen, stupid as the species always is, became entangled in his yoke and would have been drowned had not the African urged his pony alongside, where with a swift, powerful wrench, some shouting and a savage blow or two with the butt of his gun, he straightened out matters and saved the valuable animal.

More than likely any man in the company would have done the same thing had circumstances equally favored, but Jethro was the nearest to the endangered animal, and seconds were beyond estimate. His promptness was what won.

Despite this service and the remarkable exploit on the night attack by the Indians, Shagbark never showed any special liking for the African. It may have been because of his race, but, although he could not have been induced to harm the dusky youth, he preferred to have as little to do with him as possible.

Alden Payne had become the favorite of the guide. At his invitation the young man frequently rode with him. When the nature of the ground permitted, the two kept side by side. If this was not practical, Alden dropped to the rear, pressing forward again when the chance offered. Shagbark had his silent moods, but not so often when the two were together. A peculiar result of nature and training shown by the veteran amused Alden. The guide never lost his habit of eternal alertness. No matter how deeply interested the two were in what was being said, Shagbark kept glancing ahead, on each side, and frequently behind him. Even when sitting on the ground or eating with the others this bird-like flitting of his eyes was kept up. It seemed impossible for such a man to be caught off his guard.

There had been stormy skies and the train lay by for most of the day, but on the whole the weather continued favorable. The guide said more than once that the best of luck had been with them from the very day they left St. Joe.

“It can’t continner,” he added, “so we must make the best of it while we’ve got it; we’re getting into the mountains, and though it’s about summer, we’ll catch some squalls that’ll freeze the nose onto yer faces.”

“It strikes me, Shagbark,” said Alden, “that that train two or three miles ahead of us have kept almost the same distance for the last few days.”

“Ye’re right, younker.”

“What do you make of it?”

“That we both happen to be tramping at the same rate. If they went a little faster they’d draw away from us, or if we went a little faster we’d overhaul ’em.”

“How large do you make out the party to be?”

“’Bout the same as ours; they’ve got an extra wagon and a few mules, but I don’t think thar’s more men and women.”

“Wouldn’t it be well for us to unite and travel together? It would be much safer in case of attack by Indians.”

Shagbark shook his head.

“’Twon’t work; they’ve got thar guide and we’ve got ourn; which one would be the boss in them sarcumstances?”

“You, of course.”

“The other chap, whoever he might be, would have something to say ’bout that, and like ’nough him and me would have a fout to settle the question. Our folks are all good friends and git along powerful pleasant; ’tain’t likely we could do that if we took in a lot of strangers that we’d never heerd of afore. No, sir.”

And Shagbark puffed hard at his pipe, which had nearly died out during the conversation.

That night the train went into camp on the western bank of a stream fifty yards wide, but comparatively shallow. There was no difficulty in fording it, the women and children riding in the wagons without getting wet. The current was clear and so icy that it was evident it had its source in the mountains.

The wagons were ranged as usual in a circle with the animals surrounded, where there was enough grass for their supper. Some trouble was met in getting all the wood needed, but enough was obtained to serve for the preparation of supper. By that time the air had become so chilly that the blaze was carefully nursed in order to reinforce the blankets. The effort, however, was not very successful.

The fact that no Indians had been seen for the last two or three days did not affect the watchfulness of the company. The usual guards were stationed, and it again fell to the lot of Alden Payne to act as one of them. Jethro Mix was placed at the wagon which stood next to his, the duty of both being to serve until midnight. Shagbark, who seemed to sleep only now and then, for brief intervals, decided by and by, to take a long rest. He never occupied any of the wagons, but wrapping his heavy blanket around his shoulders, lay down near the smouldering camp fire, with the animals grouped on all sides. It was always understood that if anything occurred he was to be roused at once. The men had learned much during the long journey thither of the ways of the plains, but he never fully trusted them.

The steady tramping, riding and the dragging of the heavy Conestogas made the rest welcome to men, women, children and to the animals. By nine o’clock everything was in the form it would be two hours later, provided no disturbance took place.

Night had hardly shut in, when a mile or so to the westward the lights of another camp twinkled through the darkness. All knew it came from the party that had been traveling near them for several days past. Shagbark had spoken of riding forward with Alden and making a call upon the emigrants, but decided to wait a while.

The night was similar to that of the Indian attack. Perhaps there were more clouds drifting across the sky, but the moon near the full, plowed through the snowy masses and made the illumination fitful and uncertain. Sometimes one could see objects for a hundred yards and more, and then the view was shortened to half that distance.

Alden was leaning against a wheel of the vehicle, in his favorite attitude. Now and then when he felt a faint drowsiness stealing over him, he moved about for a brief space until he felt fully awake. Then he listened to the heavy breathing which came from some of the wagons, to the stamping of the horses, some of which were still on their feet, with an occasional murmur of voices from those who had not yet drifted into forgetfulness.

Suddenly through the stillness, Jethro Mix called in a husky undertone:

“Helloa, Al, am you dere?”

“Of course I am; what do you want?”

“Dere’s somebody out dere, and not fur off, too!” was the startling explanation of the hail. “Haben’t you seed him?”

“No. Is it an Indian?”

“Dunno; he’s on de back ob a hoss; come ober here and take a look fur yourself.”

Alden knew the objection to leaving his post, but he thought the circumstances justified him in joining his friend for a few minutes. He hastily crossed the intervening space.

“Where did he show himself, Jeth?”

“Right in front ob us; wait till dat cloud passes and you’ll see him suah.”

The surprise came the next moment, when the clearing sky disclosed not one, but two horsemen, a few rods away. They had halted their ponies and were sitting side by side, evidently studying the camp as if in doubt whether to venture nearer. The first sight showed they were not Indians, but white men. Two equestrian statues could not have been more motionless than they.

Placing one hand as a funnel, Alden called in a low voice:

“Helloa, neighbors! Why don’t you come forward?”

By way of reply the couple twitched their reins and rode to the edge of the camp. Neither dismounted. Alden noted that one was a large, bearded man, while his companion was a youth of about his own age. The two wore broad brimmed hats, which partly hid their features, but when the elder spoke, Alden fancied there was something familiar in his voice.

“Good evening, friends,” he said. “We meant to call earlier, and it has grown so late that we shall defer it to-night. I presume all except the guards have turned in?”

“They did so some time ago; it will not do for us to leave our stations, but we shall be glad to welcome you at any other time. You belong to the company that has gone into camp a little way from here?”

“Yes; we have been in sight of each other for several days; had the situation become threatening because of Indians, I should have proposed that we unite, but everything seems to be peaceful.”

“Have you had no trouble with them?”

“None whatever, though we have seen many parties at a distance.”

“We were attacked one night some weeks ago along the Platte, but drove them off without harm to us.”

“How was it with _them_?” asked the man significantly.

“We got several who were too venturesome.”

Jethro could not restrain himself any longer.

“Yas, and de fust warmint dat got soaked, _he_ done it――suah as you’s born!”

“I congratulate you on your success; doubtless it had much to do with repulsing your enemies.”

“Jethro told you the incident so as to force me to say that he picked off another of the redskins. Incredible as it may sound, it is true.”

The man in the saddle looked down with renewed interest upon the burly African, who had set the stock of his rifle on the ground, folded his arms over the muzzle, and assumed a lolling attitude, as if the matter was of no concern to any of them.

“Dat ain’t nuffin,” he said airily; “de sarpint furgot dat I was on de lookout fur him and as soon as he fired and missed, why, I plugged him; ’tain’t wuth speaking ’bout.”

“Fortunate is that company which has two such sentinels as you,” commented the man, with something like a chuckle; “if we run into danger from Indians, shall we be able to borrow you two, or if your friends cannot spare both, can we have one?”

“Who would be your choice?” asked Alden, entering into the spirit of the moment.

“Jethro, as you call him; of course he’s the most valuable.”

“Dunno ’bout dat,” said the African with dignity; “de wimmin folks and de children will blubber so hard when dey find I think ob leabin’ dem dat Shagbark won’t be likely to allow it; howsumeber, I’ll think it ober.”

“Thank you; you are very kind.”

During the conversation, which continued for several minutes longer, with nothing of moment said, the youth who accompanied the elder caller did not speak a word. He seemed to be peering from under his hat at Alden, as if studying him.

“Well,” said the man, “we shall ride back to camp now and doubtless shall soon see you again. I need not assure you that you and your friends will be welcome at all times. My name is Garret Chadwick, and I have charge of the other company. My friend here is my nephew, Ross Brandley.”

“Very glad to have met you. I am Alden Payne, and I am on my way from St. Joe to join my father, who left for California some months ago.”

As Alden spoke he made a military salute to the two. The elder returned it, but his companion slightly nodded without speaking or saluting. The two then wheeled their animals and rode off at a walk.

The incident showed there was nothing to be feared from hostiles for some time to come. Alden, therefore, did not scruple to linger for a few minutes with his sable friend.

“Jeth, there was something familiar in that man’s voice.”

“Ob course dere was; doan’ you remember him?”

“No; do you?”

“You hain’t forgot dat splendid fout you begun wid dat chap in St. Joe when he butted into you?”

“Certainly not.”

“Wal, dat’s de gemman dat pulled you apart.”

“And that fellow with him is the one who struck me?”

“Suah’s you’s born; he knowed you, if you didn’t know him; I seed him watching you mighty sharp, as if he was achin’ to get another chance at you; he’d done it, too, if his uncle hadn’t been wid him.”

“If the chance ever does come, he’ll find me ready,” said Alden, compressing his lips, for the memory of the insult rankled. “I remember he called him ‘Ross’ in St. Joe, but forgot it a minute ago.”

“Why doan’ you ask him to come alone and wisit us?”

“If he called here it would be as my guest, and that would never do: it would be a breach of hospitality.”

“Den go ober and wisit him.”

“That would place him in my position as it is now. No; we shall have to meet on common ground. He must have thought I recognized him,” added Alden with a thrill of disgust, “and wanted to make friends with him. I hope we shall come together pretty soon, where nothing can prevent a settlement of our quarrel.”

“And dat ’minds me, Al, dat I haben’t tole you my big secret yit.”

“I don’t care anything about your secret,” replied his master impatiently, for he was in anything but an amiable frame of mind. “Attend to your duty and I will attend to mine.”

With which the youth walked back to his own wagon and resumed his task of sentinel while most of the company slept.

Chapter X

A Hunt

Since there was no call for haste, the progress of the emigrant train sometimes ceased altogether. This was the case on the morning following the incident just related. The cause of the stoppage was to permit Shagbark to go a-hunting. They had entered a region some time before where game abounded, and his policy was to use as little of the reserve supplies as possible. The day was likely to come when they would have no other recourse. It was not practical to carry much fodder for the animals, but even that scant supply was hoarded against the inevitable “rainy day.”

Although the American bison or buffalo has been virtually extinct for years, the animals were numbered by the hundred thousand on the western plains at the time we have in mind. The droves seen in the distance seemed often to cover a fourth of the horizon, and their dark, shaggy backs as they cropped the herbage and hitched continually forward, were like the fretted waves of the sea. Shagbark had shot a number, and twice he took Alden and Jethro with him on the excursions. A nearly fatal result to Alden followed the attempted slaying of an enormous bull by shooting him in the head instead of just behind the fore leg, but the mistake was not repeated. Jethro showed his natural timidity, and kept as close as he could to the veteran, while Alden indulged in spurts of his own which more than once brought results.

Shagbark, however, was not partial to buffalo meat, which many of his friends found coarse and tough. They preferred venison, which was not always tender, and they were able to obtain considerable quantities of it. He regarded the antelope with more favor than either. So it came about on the morning referred to, that he and the two youths set out to shoot some of the timid creatures. Occasionally Mr. Fleming and some of his friends took part in the hunts, but they preferred to stay in camp on this day and let the trio prove their prowess.

The effect of this halt was to increase the distance between the party and the one in advance, to which Garret Chadwick and his nephew belonged; for the latter company moved at an early hour and were many miles distant before nightfall.

Antelope hunting has been too often described for me to dwell upon this particular venture. When the three rode over the plains to the northwest in the direction of the towering Laramie Mountains, not one of the animals was in sight, nor had the guide seen any on the previous day. He had been over the region before, however, and knew he would not have to hunt long.

He first headed toward a ridge which rose two hundred feet or more above the prairie, showing few boulders and rocks, and no trees. Beyond it stretched a beautiful valley to the foothills of the mountain range. This space was several miles in width, and a small, clear stream meandered through the valley, on its way to the Sweetwater, and thence to the North Platte. Shagbark gave it as his belief that some of the animals would be found in the valley, and, as usual, he was not mistaken.

The American antelope or pronghorn is a native of the plains near the Rocky Mountains. Nearly always the upper parts of its body are yellowish brown in color, while the under parts, the sides and the head and throat and the buttocks are white. It sheds the bony sheath of its horns every year. It may be worth noting that this creature is known also by the names of prongbuck, pronghorned antelope, cabrèe and cabut.

The most peculiar trait of the antelope is its curiosity. But for this weakness, it would be almost impossible for a hunter to get within range of the game. Lying in the grass, where his body is invisible, the man lifts his hat or a handkerchief on the muzzle or ramrod of his rifle. The moment the animal sees it he bounds off in a panic, but does not go far before he halts and looks back. The odd sight has roused his curiosity, and he gingerly draws near, ready to dash away again in the instant danger shows himself.

All the hunter needs to have is patience. The creature is sure to come within reach of his gun and fall a victim to the infirmity that had proved the undoing of many a human being. It is hard to understand this singular failing of the antelope.

At the base of the ridge Shagbark drew rein and his companions did the same.

“Don’t stir from hyar,” he said, “till I give ye the word.”

Dismounting, he walked briskly up the slope until near the top. There he slackened his pace, stooped low, and reaching a favorable point, removed his hat and peeped cautiously over. Alden and Jethro, who were watching him, saw him remain stationary for a minute or two. Then he crouched still lower, donned his hat and hurried back to them.

“Thar’s three of ’em,” he said, “and we oughter bag ’em all.”

“I shall be glad to do my part,” replied Alden.

“Which de same am likewise de fac’ as regards myself,” added Jethro.

The guide explained his plan, which, it may be said, caused Alden mild surprise, inasmuch as it gave the African the post of honor. Shagbark had described so often the method employed in hunting the antelope that the youths understood it theoretically. It remained for them to prove that they had a practical knowledge also.

Shagbark remarked that everything was in their favor. The slight breeze came directly from the animals, so it could not carry the scent of the hunters to them. In the circumstances, with the protection of the grass, it ought to be easy to steal within gunshot of the game, provided their inquiring nature was turned to good account.

Jethro was to move along the slope parallel with it, until he had gone an eighth of a mile, when he was to creep over the crest with the utmost caution and sneak into the grass on the other side. Once there he must advance slowly and with the utmost care toward the antelope. If they took the alarm, which they were almost certain to do, he should cease moving, lie flat and raise his hat on the ramrod of his gun, one end of which was to be thrust into the soft earth.

Then the old performance would follow. One or more of the animals would begin a timid, hesitating approach, frequently bounding or circling away for some distance, halting and advancing again, hypnotized by the singular sight whose nature they could not fathom without a closer view.

“All ye’ve got to do is to lay still with yer gun p’inted and yer finger on the trigger till he comes within reach. Then let him have it.”

“What will become of de oders?” asked Jethro.

“We’ll ’tend to them.”

“Am de antelope a wery savage critter, Mr. Shagbark?” asked Jethro, with so much misgiving as to rouse the waggery of the trapper.

“He stands next to the grizzly b’ar: he kin use them horns and sharp hoofs and chaw up a wolf while ye’re winking an eye.”

“Yas, sir,” said Jethro, swallowing a lump in his throat, as he set out to obey the directions of the guide.

Shagbark and Alden had little to do for an indefinite period except to watch the course of the African, who had every reason to look for success, since all the conditions, as the hunter had said, were favorable. In ad