Читать книгу Buffalo Bill, the Border King; Or, Redskin and Cowboy - Ingraham Prentiss - Страница 8

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So interested had the officers and garrison of Fort Advance become in the attempt of the courageous scouts to reach the cañon entrance, that they had quite neglected to watch the king of the Sioux. That he understood fully the trick that Buffalo Bill and Texas Jack were attempting to play upon his people was proven by the outcome.

The savage chief sat his black horse in motionless gloom, and as though his eyes saw nothing. Captain Edward Keyes had kept his file of men in the saddle ready to make a break from the fort should the scouts fall in need of some attempt at rescue. Otherwise, everybody was crowding forward to look out of the gate, or, from the platform and watch-towers, to view the work of the brave men who had gone from them.

The black horse, on which Buffalo Bill had ridden so many times, but which he had now been obliged to abandon because of its age and the fact that he had been ridden too hard on one or two occasions, missed its master. It had seen Buffalo Bill and his companion ride out of the fort, and it desired to follow. Perhaps the horse did not approve of the Indian that now backed him.

However it was, it danced about a good deal, and champed at the bit, and seemed to give the stoical chief considerable trouble. Twice it started for the gate, and the soldiers headed it off. Likewise Oak Heart drew it in hard with his hand on the bridle. It seemed as though the chief had no expectation of leaving the fort until his white captors were ready.

But that was all the savage cunning of the chief. It was his cunning, too, perhaps, that made the horse so nervous. He doubtless slyly spurred him with his toe or heel, and kept the animal on the qui vive all the time.

Oak Heart could follow Buffalo Bill and Texas Jack with his eyes, and he doubtless understood—now, at least—just what they were about. Suddenly the White Antelope came into view, riding like the wind down upon the two scouts. Oak Heart’s face did not change a muscle, but just then his mount made a sidelong leap, and when he became manageable again the black charger was just within the open gateway.

Several moments passed. The white men’s attention was strained upon the little comedy being enacted by the two scouts and the Indian maiden. They could not hear, of course, but they could imagine that the situation had become mighty “ticklish” for the scouts, knowing Buffalo Bill’s objection to injuring the Sioux maiden.

It was at this minute that the black horse made a final charge through the gateway. Two men were knocked down, and Oak Heart threw himself over to one side of the galloping horse, shielding himself with its body from the guns of the surprised white men in the stockade.

His wild yells had already apprised White Antelope of the deception. Buffalo Bill had disarmed her, and the two scouts spurred on toward the cañon.

The hearts of the watching people at the fort were in their throats. A general cry of dread burst from them as they saw the Border King and Texas Jack turn abruptly toward the cañon. The Indians saw the act, too, but for a few seconds did not comprehend it. They were slower than White Antelope in understanding that the supposed warrior with Pa-e-has-ka was a white man in disguise, and that the person careering across the plain on the black charger was the real Oak Heart.

The signals of Texas Jack in his character of Oak Heart had drawn many of the Indians away from the cañon’s mouth toward the place for which the supposed chief and Buffalo Bill seemed to be aiming. There were very few left in the path of the reckless scouts. Yet those few must be settled with.

There were no mounted warriors near the cañon entrance. The great scout had chosen his place of attack wisely. And there were few ponies in the vicinity, anyway—not over two dozen at the most. The earlier stampeding of the ponies had almost entirely dismounted Oak Heart’s braves. The ponies that might follow, should the scouts get through safely, neither of them feared, mounted as they were on such splendid animals.

“Let ’em out, Jack!” cried Buffalo Bill, as they made directly for the cañon.

“I hear you!” returned Texas Jack, smiling recklessly, and settling himself more firmly in his saddle.

The two were off like frightened deer. For some moments the Indians were almost dumb with amazement. Then the war-whoop of Oak Heart was answered by wild cries from all about the field. The reds knew that the Border King had outwitted them, and as one man the mob of redskins made for the entrance to the cañon, firing as they ran.

The scouts did not return the fire. They kept their bullets for targets nearer the path their horses followed. The nearer Indians were converging swiftly at the mouth of the cañon.

Behind, and nearest to the scouts, came Oak Heart and White Antelope, who had waited to join her father. But neither of them were armed. When Buffalo Bill snatched the revolver from the girl’s belt he had made a good point in the game, for she was an excellent shot with the small gun—for an Indian.

Suddenly The Border King raised his rifle, and shot after shot rang out. He fired at the Indians directly in front of him, gathering to bar the way. There were now a score of them near enough to be dangerous.

The repeating rifle sang deadly music, for several of the braves fell. With the last shot from Buffalo Bill’s weapon, Texas Jack’s gun took up the tune and rattled forth the death notes. They were now close to the group of reds, and the shots forced the Indians to scatter.

Instantly the scouts slung their guns over their shoulders and drew the big pistols from the saddle-holsters. With one of these in each hand, the scouts rode on.

Theirs was indeed a desperate charge, and, although now hidden by the nature of the ground from the bulk of the Indians, the encounter was visible from the fort.

The chorus of wild yells, the rattle of revolvers, the heavier discharges of the old muzzle-loaders of the redskins, and the resonant war-cries of the scouts themselves, were heard by the besieged. The Border King and Texas Jack were having the running fight of their lives. Would they get through alive?

Suddenly a chorused groan arose from the white onlookers, while a shriek of exultation came from those Indians who saw the incident. Buffalo Bill’s horse gave a sudden convulsive leap ahead, then fell to his knees. The scout loosened his feet in the stirrups, and, as the brave Buckskin rolled over upon its side, dead, the scout stood upright, turning his revolvers on his foes. Texas Jack, on the white charger, tore on into the mouth of the cañon.

Buffalo Bill had emptied the pistols which he had carried in his saddle-holsters. Now, he stood beside his dead horse, with the pistols drawn from his belt in either hand. He stood boldly at bay, and the redskins went down before his deadly aim.

The redskins’ triumph was short-lived. Texas Jack, seeing his partner’s peril, turned his great white charger as quickly as might be. Back he rushed to Cody’s side.

“Up with yuh, pard!” he shouted.

He whirled the big horse again. With a leap, Buffalo Bill sprang up behind Texas Jack, his back to that of his partner, and again the horse was headed for the cañon’s mouth. The four revolvers of the scouts spit death into their foes at every jump of the horse.

Those redskins who opposed the way either crumpled up and fell to the rocks or dodged behind the boulders for safety. It seemed as though their numbers were sufficient to make the scouts’ escape impossible; the odds against the white men were all of ten to one!

But the redskins’ shooting was wild, while the accuracy of the white men’s aim was phenomenal. Many a red, just as he had drawn bead upon the scouts, was struck by a pistol ball, and either knocked over completely or his own shot diverted.

The cheering of the garrison as they saw Texas Jack return for his partner inspired the scouts. The last Indian went down before them and was trampled under the hoofs of the charger that bore them both, and as they shot out of sight into the gloom of the cañon’s mouth Buffalo Bill removed his sombrero and waved it to the watchers on the fort stockade, while his well-known war-cry rang over the field of battle!