Part 19 (1/2)
Instantly, also, the band divided itself into two sections to right and left and sped onward in separate lines, firing wildly as they rushed past like a raging whirlwind.
As the last of them flashed by, firing backward at him, Silk turned to take up a new position, knowing that they would double and renew their attack. But as he moved, the hollow dog mound on which he knelt gave way beneath his weight; he lost his balance and rolled over.
Maple Leaf saw him fall, and, believing that a bullet had struck him, she caught up the revolver, pressed the cold ring of its muzzle against her forehead, and closed her eyes. She heard the Indians galloping back, bullets were dropping around her. She was sure now that the end had come.
”One--two--three!” she counted and pressed the trigger.
But Sergeant Silk had already leapt to his feet.
”Stop!” he cried, flinging out his hand. He was in time to thrust the girl's elbow aside, but the trigger had been pressed, the weapon had been fired, and Maple Leaf fell backward.
He glanced at her hurriedly and saw a splash of red across her face.
Then he raised his rifle and with steady, deliberate aim, fired four shots in succession.
As the warriors pa.s.sed abreast of him, now at a greater distance, four of their horses ran riderless. Again they had swerved, curving off into a circle and riding round and round as before. He watched them and saw their circle suddenly break. Their yells of defiance were turned into shouts of alarm, and as they scattered there came to him the shrill notes of a bugle.
”Thank Heaven!” he exclaimed as half-a-dozen of his comrades of the Mounted Police galloped into sight over the rising ground. ”The boys have followed on our trail! We shall be all right now.”
He turned to Maple Leaf. She was on her knees, supported by her outstretched hands, staring at him while the crimson trickle from her face and hair and chin dripped upon the sand.
”I thought they'd got you,” she said feebly. ”I'd have done it sure if you hadn't stopped me.”
He looked at the ugly score that the bullet had made across her temple.
”It's just a flesh wound,” he told her. ”We can soon patch it up when we get back into camp.”
”It will leave a mark,” she said, overcoming her faintness.
”Why, cert'nly,” he smiled, returning the pistol to its holster. ”But your hair will 'most hide it--if you want it to be hidden.”
”But I don't,” she faltered weakly, closing her eyes. ”I shall be proud of it--as long as I live.”
CHAPTER XIII
THE MAN WHO WAS GLAD
There was just the slightest sound of a foot-tread down by the creek.
None but an attentively alert ear could have detected it amid the soughing of the wintry wind and the murmur of the stream over its stony bed.
Young Dan Medlicott raised himself on his elbow and listened, directing his searching gaze across the moonlit gra.s.s towards the deep shadows of the bluff of birch and poplar that lay between him and his home on Rattlesnake Ranch.
His rifle was behind him, propped against a post of the stout corral gate. His hand went round to it cautiously, but only to touch it and a.s.sure himself that it was still there, ready for use in case it should presently be needed.
There were Indians about--Indians and rebel half-breeds, who coveted the horses in the corral which he was watching, and who during the past month had made more than one attempt to break through the palisade and stampede the animals across the valley into their own encampment.
Dan was only seventeen years old, but he was no tenderfoot. In spite of his youth, he had already had many a brush with the Redskins of Western Canada, and he knew their subtle ways and how to deal with them.
He had been lying in wait for three weary hours, and nothing had happened until now. The night was very cold, there was a sharp frost, and a cutting wind from the mountains in the north moaned dismally in the trees. He lay with his blanket over his knees and his coat collar turned up about his ears. He listened for a long time, but the sound which had alarmed him for a moment was not repeated.