Читать книгу Kiddie the Scout - Robert Leighton - Страница 11

Table of Contents

When he had fired that first shot, and while the Redskins were still riding out from their ambush to rally on the level trail and charge down in a compact body upon his outfit, Kiddie turned his pony and galloped back under a hail of arrows. Most of them fell short; very few flew past him, and only one touched him, doing no harm.

"That's right, Nick," he called, as he drew rein beside the leading mule wagon.

"There's a whole crowd of em' comin' out from behind the rock," cried Rube Carter, going up to him. "I'm goin' ter git 'neath this yer wagon an' fire at 'em through one o' th' wheels."

"You ain't goin' ter handle any gun," frowned Kiddie. "You're goin' ter hang back in the rear an' keep an eye on the hosses. Quit!"

Nick Undrell, following his instructions, had promptly brought the three wagons into position, extending them obliquely across the level trail, one to the rear of the other, so that each should have its broadside presented like a redoubt towards the oncoming enemy, the mule teams being swung round into cover on the sheltered side.

Kiddie's horses in the background were similarly protected from the line of fire, unless, indeed, the Indians should succeed in getting through on either flank, which was not at all probable.

Six picked marksmen were concealed under the canvas covers of each of the wagons, and every man from behind his particular loophole commanded a wide section of the valley and of the hillside.

The Indians, seeing that the outfit had come to a halt, as if in submission, delayed their advance while they closed into massed formation to sweep down upon their unresisting victims in one grand overwhelming rush. They could see only the three drivers, who had now jumped down to attend to their mules, and four riders, one of whom was a mere boy.

Clearly, they considered the prairie schooners and their precious contents already their own, as well as the horses bunched in the rear. They could not have divined that, apart from the guns carried by the horsemen, there were eighteen repeating rifles levelled against them from under the cover of three innocent-looking carts.

Kiddie dismounted, dropped his bridle rein over his pony's head, and took up a position behind the foot-board of the foremost wagon, from which he could look forward along the trail, with a rest for his elbows in levelling his gun. There was a neat little stack of cartridges in their clips within his easy reach.

"Don't reckon as I touched Broken Feather when I fired that first shot along there," he remarked to Nick Undrell, who was posted near him.

"That ain't Broken Feather hisself as you's looking at," said Nick, squinting along the barrel of his Winchester, "though I allows he's wearin' the chief's dinky head-dress. No, sir, that's Murm'rin' Water, the boss medicine man. You won't easily reco'nize Broken Feather by his body coverin'. You'll be a whole lot wiser'n I think you, if you kin single him out in that crowd. Hullo! Now for it!"

Nick pressed his trigger. The Redskins were charging.

"Let go, boys!" he cried, as a shower of arrows and ill-aimed bullets peppered against the off sides of the wagons and kicked up spurts of dust on the trail.

Simultaneously the hidden men in the three carts opened fire. There was a loud burst of rifle shots, and then a continuous stream, broken only at momentary intervals as the magazines were refilled and again refilled.

The Indians, taken wholly aback by this unexpected reception of point-blank fire, swerved in confusion. Many of them tumbled from their rearing, plunging, staggering ponies. Many of the ponies fell; many raced back riderless. There was a wild screech as the crowd stopped in their broken charge, unwilling to face the deadly barrier of bullets.

"Cease fire!" cried Kiddie, lowering his rifle. "Cease fire, Nick. We've checked 'em, sure. Don't you see? Order your men ter quit shootin'."

"Not yet," objected Nick, still using his gun. "We ain't finished yet, no more'n they. See the rooster in the fur cap—him ridin' the piebald mustang? He ain't done shootin' yet. He's figurin' ter pick you off. Bin at it all the time. Snakes! Why, it's Broken Feather hisself! Stand back! Leave him ter me, sir. Git back an' see ter them hosses—and the boy."

As he spoke Nick again pressed his trigger. Kiddie saw the mustang rear on its hind legs, pawing the air as it pivoted round, and then fall over with a heavy thud. But its rider leapt clear, flung himself flat behind his fallen pony, and continued to shoot.