Читать книгу Buffalo Bill's Big Surprise; Or, The Biggest Stampede on Record - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 6

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Before nightfall the two reserve commands had reached the fords, to which they had been guided by the scout sent to each of them.

They found them good camping places, water, wood, and grass in plenty, and which could be readily defended if need be.

There were a dozen fires built by those sent on ahead, and the officers in command were delighted to learn that there was a chance for a brush with the Indians, for, being ordered to the front, they believed there would be.

It was just before sunset that Lieutenant Worth, Buffalo Bill, and Sergeant Fallon rode into the camp at the upper ford, and were welcomed by the officers and men.

“Percy, how is your gun placed?” asked Lieutenant Worth of the officer in charge.

“It commands the ford and the other shore, though it is not in position to be seen.”

“All right, run it into position as soon as Buffalo Bill shows you, just to toss a shell or two, for he has been devoting the past day to studying the Indian camps at two of the fords,” said the lieutenant, with a smile, while the scout remarked:

“Say night, rather, lieutenant, for I’ve been resting by daylight.”

Going to a point which commanded a view of the other shore, Buffalo Bill ran his glass over it and said:

“Sergeant, when I reconnoitered, the camp was in those willows.”

“Yes, that is it; and the ponies are corralled over beyond them.”

“I’ll see if I can put a shell there,” and the officer in charge of the guns sighted one himself, a sergeant training the other.

“Fire!”

The six and twelve-pounders flashed together, and shells went shrieking across the river.

One burst directly in the willows, the other beyond, where the sergeant had said the horses were.

There was a neighing of horses, several ponies dashed into view, and it was certain that the shells had been a startling surprise to the redskins in camp.

“Percy, I wish one of your guns sent at once down to my camp, and with full speed, for I shall drop a shell or two into the camp across the river from me, and then push on down to the other camp, and have them give the reds a surprise, though we do not know just where they are located at the lower ford, and must guess at it.

“Toss a few more shells over there, and then limber up and get the gun away, whichever one you care to send.”

Half a dozen more shells were sent flying into the Indian camp, and then the gun was sent down to the camp of Lieutenant Worth, who, after supper with his officer comrades there, rode away with Buffalo Bill, the sergeant, and the three men sent there in the morning to build fires, back to his camp.

He found it no easy task to overtake the gun, the crew being anxious to reach their position and throw in a few shells before word could be sent down from the upper ford, though the firing would naturally be heard there, the sound traveling by the river.

The gun was dragged to the ridge, and the sergeant pointed out just where the camp and corral of ponies were.

“Aim it yourself, sergeant,” ordered Lieutenant Worth.

The sergeant did so, and the shell was seen to burst right behind the ledge.

Wild yells followed, and, with the firing of a second shell into the corral of ponies, it also struck home, for horses neighed wildly in fright.

“Give them a few more shells, sergeant, and then the gun can go to camp, while we hold on down to the lower ford.”

This was done, the gun retreated to camp, and Lieutenant Worth, Buffalo Bill, and Sergeant Fallon followed on down the river trail to the lower ford.

It was some fifteen miles distant, and over a rough trail; but they reached the camp soon after midnight, and found the officer in command and his men all under arms and ready for the fray, for they had heard the firing from the middle ford and expected to be called upon to move at any time.

“It is no alarm, Benedict, at least to us, though it is for the Indians.

“I took a fancy to let the redskins know we were across here in very heavy force, as Sergeant Fallon had so reported to them, and got Percy to open on them, and, borrowing one of his guns, I did the same, and now I wish you to stir them up.”

“With great pleasure, Lieutenant Worth,” answered Lieutenant Benedict, who was in command.

“Have you any idea of just where their camp and corral is?”

“I reconnoitered with my glass just before sunset and think I found their camp, and behind it is a meadow where I saw a pony astray.”

“We’ll chance it.”

Accordingly, the guns were placed in position, the spots pointed out to the gunners, and first one, then another roar came, the shells went shrieking on their errands, and bursting just where it was intended they should.

Again startled yells answered, and then half a dozen more shells went crashing into the timber on the other side.

“Give them a couple of shots just at dawn, Benedict, and the other camps will do the same to show them that we have guns at each ford.

“We will camp at the fords for a couple of days yet, and then return by easy marches to the fort, for I do not believe a redskin will venture across the river for a long while to come. Eh, Cody?”

“I do not think so, either, sir, unless Eagle, the outlaw, puts them up to some act of deviltry,” was the scout’s answer, and, after a snack, the lieutenant and his two companions returned to their own camp.

The stay of the commands at the fords was continued for three days longer, and every morning and evening what the troops called the “sunrise and sunset guns” were fired across the river at the Indian camps, the guns being loaded with shell.

Since the first night of the firing not an Indian had been seen or heard. They were either gone or in hiding farther off.

Sergeant Fallon volunteered to go across and discover, making the site of the three fords in the night along the trail upon the other side, but Lieutenant Worth said that he did not care to have him take any more chances.

Then the sergeant said it would be well for him to cross just where he had before, and let the Indians feel that he was still trying to serve them, also giving them another ghost story about the troops intending to remain for some time.

Thus urged, the lieutenant yielded, and, rigging out in his Indian costume once more, Sergeant Fallon rode slowly away from the fort after supper one night.

Lieutenant Worth and Buffalo Bill accompanied him to the river, and then waited.

It was bright moonlight, and the other shore could be plainly seen, the officer and the scout watching the sergeant all the way across and until he disappeared in the shadows of the other side.

They waited two hours before they saw him come again into sight. He rode into the river, came across, and joined them back in the shadows on the ridge.

“Have they gone, sergeant?” asked the officer.

“No, sir, they are there, only camped well back, and with half a dozen braves on guard at a time, while their force now numbers a couple of hundred men at each ford.”

“Give me the location of their camp, and we will toss a shell over there in the morning.”

“Pardon me, lieutenant,” said Buffalo Bill, “but that would compromise the sergeant, as they would understand that through him only the location could have been found out.”

“You are right, Cody, and it would not do.”

“You could hardly reach there as it is, sir, for they are well protected; but, as Cody says, it might bring suspicion upon me, and I was received in a most friendly manner.”

“Was Iron Eyes there?”

“No, sir; he is back at the village, and Death Face commands five hundred warriors at the pass where they would hope to check your advance, with the braves who would retreat from the fords, and others who would come from the camp.

“They have planned well, indeed, sir, and are in dread of your advance, for they think you have two-thirds of the force from the fort. Fighting Bird is in command at the ford here, and he is a plucky, able chief. The shots did some damage at each ford, for half a dozen warriors were killed opposite to us, two at the upper camp, and one at the lower, while a score were wounded, as the shells dropped right into their midst. Then, too, they lost a number of ponies by the shelling.”

“We did do some service then, at random.”

“Yes, sir, and they will be most cautious about recrossing the river for some time to come.”

“I hope they will not allow us to rust in camp.”

“No danger of that, lieutenant, for they are Indians, and they will break out in a new spot when they think you have forced them to lie quiet,” remarked Buffalo Bill.

“There is one thing I did not like, lieutenant.”

“What is that, sergeant?”

“The outlaw chief has left the camps.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When did he leave?”

“The day after my visit, sir.”

“Where did he go?”

“I was told by Fighting Bird that the outlaw seemed sorry to have trusted me, after I left, and told Iron Eyes so. Iron Eyes and Death Face laughed at him, and he said that he had made a mistake, but would rectify it, and soon after he left the camp. I asked where he had gone, but Fighting Bird said he did not know; but he thought to the village of the palefaces, meaning Pioneer City.”

“But he would not dare to cross the fords?”

“It seems, sir, that he knows of another ford up the river to which no trail leads, but where there is really a good crossing, and he went there. He wished to lead a band of warriors around that way to attack the upper camp, but the Indians were too much afraid of the big guns to listen to it.”

“It’s well for us they were; but would he dare go to Pioneer City, where he must be known?”

“Yes, lieutenant, for you know he always wore a mask as an outlaw, and no one saw his face.”

“His face is not known in Pioneer City, and I never saw it that I know of,” the scout remarked.

“But is he masked now?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you saw his face?”

“I did, sir, and I would know it again if I met his ghost in Hades,” was the sergeant’s emphatic response, for a moment did he break out from his accustomed quiet mien.

“Describe him, sergeant, please.”

“A man six feet in height, sir, herculean in strength, and with a dark, intellectual face, cynical, stern, and very handsome, but for its look of cruelty. He has a long dark mustache, and his hair hangs upon his shoulders. He is a very striking-looking man, sir, and worthy of a better calling, to judge by his appearance.”

“Well, I hope to have a close look at him some day; but what do you think he went to Pioneer City for?”

“I told you, sir, of his intended letter to my daughter, and as it seems he grew suspicious of me, my idea is that he has gone there to plot to get her into his power at once.”

“By the Lord Harry! but you may be right, sergeant. We will break camp at daylight and push for the fort. Come, I’ll send couriers to the other camps to move, also,” and the three returned at a gallop to the camp.