Читать книгу Buffalo Bill Among the Sioux; Or, The Fight in the Rapids - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 9

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The Indians gazed silently at the corpse of their white ally, and not one of them showed the slightest sign of grief or indignation at his death.

Buffalo Bill had only done what many of them would have liked to do if they had possessed the courage and skill.

The border king wrenched his dripping tomahawk from the skull of his fallen enemy, and, holding it tightly in his right hand, boldly faced the assembly of chiefs, with a questioning glance in his eyes that seemed to say:

“Now, what are you going to do about it?”

Nick Wharton stood by his side, with his hand on his six-shooter, ready to fight to the death.

The bold aspect of the two scouts profoundly impressed the redskins, and not a thought of revenge crossed their minds.

Even if the renegade had been more popular than he was, their code of honor would not have allowed them to attack the victor in an ordeal by single combat without giving him a fair chance for his life.

“Go in peace, Long Hair,” said an old Crow chief, stepping forward and saluting him. “You are indeed a great warrior, and I would that you were one of my tribe. I hope that some day I may meet you in the front rank of battle, or, if that cannot be, in the happy hunting grounds of the Great Manitou.”

With a majestic wave of his hand, the chieftain motioned three of his followers toward him, and ordered them to escort Buffalo Bill and Nick Wharton past the sentries and see them safely to their horses.

Then the redskin, who was imbued with all the chivalry of his race, drew from his waist belt a pipe, filled it with tobacco, and said to Buffalo Bill:

“As soon as you are gone, oh, Long Hair, I will light this pipe, and not until I have smoked it and the flame dies out need you fear that we will mount our horses and pursue. Is not that all you ask?”

Buffalo Bill bent his head in token of assent, and muttered to Nick Wharton:

“Will you say that Indians are no better than varmints now, old pard? Could anything be fairer than that?”

“I guess he is a white man whose skin went red by mistake,” growled old Nick.

As the two scouts strode away from the camp fire, accompanied by their Indian escort, Buffalo Bill glanced back and saw the Crow chief lift a burning stick from the fire and light his pipe.

He immediately increased his pace, for he wanted to get as long a start as possible before the calumet of peace burned out.

In a few minutes they reached the spot where Wild Bill was holding the three horses. He was naturally surprised at the appearance of the Indians with his friends, but a warning cry from Cody prevented him from firing, although he had immediately whipped his rifle up to his shoulder.

Buffalo Bill explained the situation in a few hurried words, and then the three scouts lost no time in mounting their horses and putting as much distance between themselves and the camp of the redskins as they could before the truce pipe was smoked out.

“I don’t believe they will trouble to pursue us,” said Buffalo Bill, as they sped along over the prairie at a tearing gallop. “That old chief is a pretty smart fellow, and he will know very well that there is no chance of catching us, after the start we have got. Our only danger, as I figure it, is that we may stumble across another war party, or some of their scouts, before we reach Fort Hays.”

They rode along for a couple of hours, occasionally glancing behind to see if they were followed; but they saw nothing to indicate danger.

Suddenly, as they emerged from a brush-covered ravine, Buffalo Bill held up his hand in warning.

His comrades reined up their horses and listened intently.

They had not remained silent more than a few seconds before they heard an almost noiseless pad of hoofs on the turf of the prairie.

The scouts knew that Indian ponies were always unshod, and they realized in a moment that another fight was ahead of them. Rifle in hand, they waited for the enemy.

The darkness was so intense that they could hardly see ten yards ahead of them. Suddenly, out of the gloom, half a dozen mounted figures emerged.

The scouts saw at a glance that they were Indians, even if they had not known, as they did the next moment, by the startled war whoop that broke from the lips of the redskins.

Buffalo Bill galloped toward them, revolver in hand, and before the redskins fully understood their peril he had shot down two of them and broken through the party.

Wild Bill and Nick Wharton followed close behind him, and in their passage they each sent an Indian to join his forefathers in the happy hunting grounds.

The two remaining redskins hastily fired their rifles at random, and fled into the darkness at top speed.

Wild Bill was eager to pursue them, but the border king reminded him of the necessity of reaching Fort Hays, and the scouts resumed their adventurous journey.

Shortly before dawn they reached the fort and were sharply challenged by one of the sentries.

News of the Indian rising had been carried thither, and a vigilant watch was being maintained.

Buffalo Bill cried out that they were friends, and in a few moments they stood within the gates of the fort and in the presence of the commandant, who was hastily summoned from his bed, where he had lain down to take a couple of hours’ sleep after a night of anxious watching.

The news of the victory over the Indians at Fort Larned caused great rejoicing, and the daring feat of the three scouts in riding through a territory infested with Indians made the commandant exhaust his vocabulary of compliments.

“Do you think the Indians will accept battle with the combined garrison of the two forts?” asked the commandant.

“I doubt it,” replied Buffalo Bill. “They have lost a good many men, and they will not care to fight in the open until they get reënforcements. Unless you move swiftly and make a junction with the troops from Fort Larned, they will escape to the hills and scatter, until fresh war parties can be brought up from the villages of the three tribes. Meanwhile the most important thing that I and my two companions can do is to ride down to New Mexico and help Red Cloud to prevent the Navahos from joining the confederacy. If they do so, other tribes may join it, too, and the whole frontier would be ablaze. That must be prevented, at any cost.”

The commandant agreed, and, after a brief rest at the fort, Buffalo Bill and his two friends started on their long ride down to New Mexico, taking with them spare horses and provisions, as they did not wish to waste time by hunting on the way.