Part 18 (1/2)

She glanced at him inquiringly.

”You going to be out on duty all night, then?” she questioned.

”Why, cert'nly,” he answered, ”or until I have located those Indians.”

”I'll come,” she decided promptly. ”My pony is some tired; but he'll put on a hustle. Say, what are you looking like that for?”

His eyes were roving searchingly to and fro across the prairie. He was gripping his reins tightly with one hand, while with the other he was fingering the stock of his carbine poised in front of him.

”Listen!” he said, sitting very still in his saddle.

Then suddenly he swung over, leapt from his horse, and threw the reins over the mare's head, so that she would stand. Swiftly he went round to Maple Leaf's side.

”Here, jump down!” he commanded. ”Quick!”

The girl looked at him amazed, but obediently slipped to the ground.

Sergeant Silk caught at her broncho's bridle, drew the bit down to within a span of the animal's hoofs, and secured both fetlocks together with the double loop. In the same way he shackled the feet of his own mare. Leaving the two horses hobbled, he strode a dozen quick paces away, with his carbine across the crook of his left arm. Maple Leaf followed him. He looked round at her.

”Sit down!” he commanded. ”Lie low!”

Again she obeyed him unquestioningly, sharing his alarm. She had heard what he had heard and knew its meaning.

She watched him go forward and saw him stand upright with his hand raised above his head, palm outward, as a peace sign. Then she followed the direction in which he was looking and gave a little start as she saw a figure on horseback--an Indian wearing the large feathered war-bonnet of a chief--outlined against a gra.s.sy slope hardly more than half-a-mile away.

Silk slowly lowered his hand and strode back to where Maple Leaf was sitting.

”He doesn't answer my sign,” he said, drawing down the lever of his carbine. ”He's a Sioux. There's a crowd of his braves behind the rise there. It's the lot we're looking for, and they know it. They won't want me to go back. They'll rush us. We've got to fight for it. Keep cool!”

”It's all my fault,” Maple Leaf regretted. ”What can I do? I've no gun!”

”You can do nothing but lie low,” Silk told her. ”We can't escape through this dog town, all full of holes. See! They're coming!”

From all around, silent as shadows, warriors on horseback appeared, each with a rifle across his naked arm. The sunlight shone upon their greasy bodies and painted faces, and the white eagle feathers of their head-dresses. They collected in a group. Some of them seemed to be speaking, to be planning how they should kill or capture the red-coated scout who had found their trail. Then one by one in turn they moved away, forming in single file, and making a wide circle round the centre occupied by Sergeant Silk and his girl companion.

Silk glanced back at the two hobbled horses. No, it was too late to think of escape.

At first the Indians rode at a quick walking pace, far apart from each other; but before the wide ring was complete they had increased their speed to a wild, racing gallop. Each warrior threw himself along the off side of his steed, and as they wheeled round and round, keeping always the same distance away, they yelled their shrill war cry, firing no shot as yet.

Sergeant Silk's eyes were steadily watching them. He was lying at full length, supported on an elbow. His face had taken on a look of grim determination.

”They're not risking to come closer--not yet,” he said calmly. ”The dog holes are as bad for them as for us. We're safe for a bit. You see, Indians are never good marksmen with firearms. They never clean their rifles, never get hold of decent ammunition; and it isn't just easy, anyhow, to take aim from a galloping horse. You've no need to be afraid,” he added rea.s.suringly.

”I'm not anyways afraid while you're here, Sergeant,” Maple Leaf responded. ”Why don't they get doing something? Why don't they shoot?”

Suddenly, as if he had heard her and understood, one of the warriors flung himself forward under his pony's neck and fired into the ring. The bullet kicked up a spurt of dust many yards away, but it was the signal for the beginning of the fight.

Yelling shrilly, the savages opened fire, never pausing to take aim.

Their shots, indeed, were more dangerous to themselves than to their intended victims. One of their own horses stumbled and rolled over on its rider, struck by a stray bullet.

”They're having a nice picnic, so far,” said Silk, talking for the mere sake of encouraging his companion. ”If they keep this up long enough, the racket'll be heard in Emerald Canon. Wind's from the right quarter.

But they're only bluffing now--playing with us. Soon, they'll rush us.