Читать книгу Winged Arrow's Medicine; Or, The Massacre at Fort Phil Kearney - Castlemon Harry - Страница 6

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Guy Preston turned and looked in the same direction in which the Indian was gazing, but could not see anything to confirm his suspicions. The prairie, as far as he could see it, did not appear as though there was a person on it, but Guy knew better than that. He knew that there was a Sioux warrior within easy reach of him, perhaps at that very minute a rifle was aimed at him or his horse, and that nothing saved him but the presence of Winged Arrow. His face grew a shade paler and his hand trembled as he clutched his Derringer, but his determination was there all the same.

"If I go you will have to go first," said he to himself. "On that I am resolved."

"I see you are armed," said the Indian, turning quickly about and seeing Guy with his right hand behind him. "That shows that I have more faith in you than you have in me. Well, I don't know that I blame you. You fellows with your books and your speakers have somehow got hold of the idea that an Indian has no gratitude, but I have proved the contrary by coming out here to warn you."

"You are a queer sort of an Indian anyhow," said Guy, taking his hand from his hip pocket. "You ought to be a white man."

"I am white in some respects; but with all the lessons I learned at Carlisle, they did not make me forget that I was to the manner born. This country is mine, and those who think as I do will, when we lose it, see the last of Winged Arrow."

"Did you know that this massacre was coming before you came here?" said Guy, who wanted to learn as much as he could about the savages on the plains and in the school. "If you did, I don't see why your teachers did not warn the authorities."

For a reply Winged Arrow took hold of a little bag which he carried in front of him, lifted the cover and thrust his hand into it. Presently he brought out a folded paper, and after he was certain that he had what he wanted, he passed it over to Guy.

"That was the letter I received inviting me to come home," said he. "What do you make out of it?"

Guy took the letter, but he could not see any writing on it. On the extreme left was an arrow furnished with wings, and a little further to the right was a hand with the forefinger extended as if beckoning to the arrow to hasten his coming. On the right, and a little below this beckoning hand, was an Indian tepee with a buffalo grazing beside it. Although the drawing was evidently done by an unpracticed hand, it was so plain that anybody could tell what it was. With the aid of a few colored pencils, which the drawer had begged or borrowed from the officers of the Fort, he had made the characters of different tints, so that they resembled nature in a wonderful degree. Some distance lower down and plainly a different picture was a bow and a quiver of arrows which another hand was extending toward Winged Arrow, and further back of it was a riderless horse with his mane and tail flying in the wind.

"My father drew all that, and it is just as plain to me as daylight," said the Indian, who was closely watching the young officer's face.

"There is something red descending from that hand," said Guy. "What is it intended to represent?"

"That tells about the massacre that is coming, and he wants me here to take part in it," replied Winged Arrow.

"And are you going to do it?"

"I shall probably be in it, but the bullet from my rifle will not kill any paleface," said the savage. "That much Indian has been washed out of me. I can't do it."

"Bully for you," said Guy, riding his horse up closer to Winged Arrow and thrusting out his hand to him. "I bet you—"

"You must not shake hands with me," exclaimed the Indian, drawing back. "There are too many on the watch."

"Do you pretend to say that there are some Indians watching me now?" exclaimed Guy.

"Certainly there are. You have been within reach of two ever since you came over that ridge."

"Then I must go back," said the young officer, who cast anxious glances on all sides of him. "What is the reason they didn't shoot me down or make a prisoner of me? Say! What's your name? You must have had some cognomen besides your Indian name to designate you by when at school."

"My name is John Turner, and the boys called me Winged Arrow because I was so fleet in running foot races. I called myself after the janitor of the school. He was always good to Indians, believed that we have been abused, and said if he were President he would not have permitted things to go on in this way. If he were here now we would do our best to capture him, and after we got him we would send him out of the country."

"But what was your object in selecting ME to warn ME of the massacre? There are plenty of others who, just like myself, do not believe in this business."

"And any one of them would have done just as well. From the day on which you left Fort Robinson in Nebraska—"

"Have you followed us all the way from there?" asked Guy, in surprise.

The Indian nodded his head.

"Why, I should have thought you would have attacked us before this time."

"There were too many of you. An Indian does not like to be killed any better than a white man. Ever since you left that fort I have been watching you—you see I could always tell you by the horse you rode—and I decided that if I could catch you out alone I would tell you of the massacre that is surely coming."

"When is it coming off?"

"It will be when we get some of you where you cannot defend yourselves. We will kill fifty or a hundred of you soldiers, and then we will do what we please with the Fort."

"Well, by George! When you attempt that, I hope you will get whipped for your pains."

Guy was angry now, and he said just what he thought.

"American soldiers are not the men to give way before a handful of savages," he continued.

"A handful of savages! How many do you suppose there are watching you night and day?" asked Winged Arrow; and his eyes flashed and he clenched his hands nervously together.

"Well, I suppose you have a great many; but it will take more men than you can raise to whip us out. I presume you have a thousand."

"Say three thousand and you will hit it. And there are more coming in every day. Now I will tell you what is a fact: You have never seen an Indian war yet."

"I know that. I have never seen any."

"After you have seen one you will never want to see another. A battlefield is something awful to look at."

"I have seen the soldiers that you Indians killed and mutilated since we have been here, and I guess I know something about them. When you have killed a man, why don't you let him alone?"

"If I tell you, you would not believe it,—because it is a part of our religious ceremony. The little scrimmages you saw are nothing to the scene presented by a regular battlefield. Are you going now? Well, I will trouble you for that letter."

Guy had unconsciously held fast to the letter which Winged Arrow had given him, intending to keep it as a souvenir of his meeting with the young savage; but he was so angry at some things that had been said that he had forgotten all about it. He accordingly returned the letter saying as he did so:—

"I wish you would let me keep that document to remind me of you. If I tell what I have seen and heard out here the officers will all laugh at me and say I dreamed it all. I want it too to bear in mind that the first Indian I ever talked with warned me to look out for that massacre which you say is surely coming."

"Well, take it along," said the Indian, after thinking a moment. "It is of no use to me, and it may be the means of saving your life."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You will excuse me if I do not say any more. Perhaps you will see that an Indian has some gratitude after all."

Guy Preston wanted very much to hear more about that letter saving his life, but Winged Arrow put his horse in motion and rode toward the top of the swell behind which the Fort lay. Guy wanted to tell him that he had better go back, but the savage rode on with his eyes fastened upon the horn of his saddle, apparently very much occupied with his own thoughts. Finally he stopped and looked inquiringly at Guy.

"Are you not going to pick up your shotgun?" he asked.

"Yes; when I come to it," said Guy.

"You would not make a good hand to live on the plains," replied Winged Arrow, with a grin; "here it is."

The young officer looked, and there were his gun and birds just as he left them. He did not forget to thank Winged Arrow for calling his attention to them, and said, as he jumped off and secured his gun:—

"I am afraid to have you go any further toward the Fort. We have some guns trained on this ridge. I know they are accurate, for I helped to train them myself."

"I will stop when I have gone far enough," said Winged Arrow. "Do you see that little tuft of grass up there on the hill? There is an Indian in there."

"By George! And I rode within twenty feet of that tuft of grass when I came down," stammered Guy, "What had I better do?"

"Keep right ahead and say nothing about it. He will not disturb you. Now I guess I have gone far enough, and I will say good-by. Remember what I have told you about that massacre. Keep that letter about your uniform wherever you go. I must not shake hands with you."

Guy Preston was just as eager now to get over on the other side of the ridge as his horse was to carry him there. Tom snorted loudly as the tainted air fell upon his nostrils, and even showed a desire to go toward the Fort at the top of his speed, but the strong curb held him. Guy had heard one of the guides say that his horse could smell an Indian further than he could see him, and that when camping alone he always felt perfectly easy until his steed began to show signs of alarm, and at that moment he thought it best to seek safety in flight; and Guy did not dispute the story. He said good-by with some uneasiness, gathered his reins firmly in his hands and cast anxious glances toward the tuft of grass, but nothing in the shape of a savage could he see. Finally the flag came in sight and a few seconds afterward the log palisades, and then Guy felt safe. He loosened up on the curb, and in an instant the horse responded to it. The young officer told himself that he had never traveled so swiftly on horseback before. He approached the gate at a rapid run, returned the sentry's salute of welcome, and presently dismounted in front of the Colonel's quarters. He drew a long breath of relief, for he was safe for the time being.