Part 12 (1/2)

Bucks ran to the key. The situation was hopeless. No train was in sight as he pressed his fingers on the b.u.t.ton for the last time.

”Stopped their first advance and wounded one. They are going to charge----”

He heard a sharp chorus outside and, feeling what it meant, sent his last word: ”Good-by.” From three sides of the open ground around the building the Indians were riding down upon him. Firing as fast as he could with any accuracy, he darted from window to window, reaching the west window last. As he looked out he saw up the valley the smoke of the approaching train and understood from the fury of his enemies that they, too, had seen it. But the sight of the train now completely unnerved him. To lose his life with help a few moments away was an added bitterness, and he saw that the relief train would be too late to save him.

He fired the last cartridge in his hot revolver at the circling braves and, as he reloaded, the Indians ran up on the platform and threw themselves against the door. Fiendish faces peered through the window-panes and one Indian smashed a sash in with a war club.

Bucks realized that his reloading was useless. The cartridges were, in fact, slipping through his fingers, when, dropping his revolver, he drew Bob Scott's knife and backed up against the inner office door, just as a warrior brandis.h.i.+ng a hatchet sprang at him.

CHAPTER XII

Before Bucks had time to think, a second Indian had sprung through the open window. A feeling of helpless rage swept over him at being cornered, defenceless; and, expecting every instant to be despatched with no more consideration than if he had been a rat, he stood at bay, determined not to be taken alive.

For an instant his mind worked clearly and with the rapidity of lightning. His life swept before him as if he were a drowning man. In that horrible moment he even heard his call clicking from the despatcher. Of the two Indians confronting him, half-naked and s.h.i.+ning with war-paint, one appeared more ferocious than the other, and Bucks only wondered which would attack first.

He had not long to wait. The first brave raised a war club to brain him. As Bucks's straining eye followed the movement, the second Indian struck the club down. Bucks understood nothing from the action. The quick, guttural words that followed, the sharp dispute, the struggle of the first savage to evade the second and brain the white boy in spite of his antagonist--a lithe, active Indian of great strength who held the enraged warrior back--all of this, Bucks, bewildered, could understand nothing of. The utmost he could surmise was that the second warrior, from his dress and manner of authority perhaps a chief, meant to take him alive for torture. He watched the contest between the two Indians until with force and threats the chief had driven the warrior outside and turned again upon him.

It was then that Bucks, desperate, hurled himself knife in hand at the chief to engage him in final combat. The Indian, though surprised, met his onset skilfully and before Bucks could realize what had occurred he had been disarmed and tossed like a child half-way across the room.

Before he could move, the chief was standing over him. ”Stop!” he exclaimed, catching Bucks's arm in a grip of steel as the latter tried to drag down his antagonist. ”I am Iron Hand. Does a boy fight me?”

he demanded with contempt in every word. ”See your knife.” He pointed to the floor. ”When I was wounded by the Cheyennes you gave me venison. You have forgotten; but the Sioux is not like the white man--Iron Hand does not forget.”

A fusillade of shots and a babel of yelling from outside interrupted his words. The chief paid no attention to the uproar. ”Your soldiers are here. The building is on fire, but you are safe. I am Iron Hand.”

So saying, and before Bucks could find his tongue, the chief strode to the rear window, with one blow of his arm smashed out the whole sash, and springing lightly through the cras.h.i.+ng gla.s.s, disappeared.

Bucks, panting with confusion, sprang to his feet. Smoke already poured in from the freight room, and the crackling of flames and the sounds of the fighting outside reminded Bucks of Iron Hand's words. He ran to the door.

The train had pulled up within a hundred feet of the station and the railroad men in the coaches were pouring a fire upon the Indians, under the cover of which scouts were unloading, down a hastily improvised chute, their horses, together with those of such troopers as had been gathered hurriedly.

Bucks ran back into the office and opening his wooden chest threw into it what he could of his effects and tried to drag it from the burning building out upon the platform. As he struggled with the unwieldy box, two men ran up from the train toward him, staring at him as if he had been a ghost. He recognized Stanley and Dancing.

”Are you hurt?” cried Stanley hastening to his side.

”No,” exclaimed Bucks, his head still swimming, ”but everything will be burned.”

”How in the name of G.o.d, boy, have you escaped?” demanded Stanley, as he clenched Bucks's shoulder in his hand. Dancing seized the c.u.mbersome chest and dragged it out of danger. The Indians, jeering, as they retreated, at the railroad men, made no attempt to continue the attack, but rode away content with the destruction of the train and the station.

Stanley, a.s.sured of Bucks's safety, though he wasted no time in waiting for an explanation of it, directed the men to save what they could out of the station--it was too late to save the building--and hurried away to see to the unloading of the horses.

Bill Dancing succeeded in rescuing the telegraph instruments and with Bucks's help he got the wires rigged upon a cracker-box outside where the operator could report the story to the now desperate despatcher.

The scouts and troopers were already in the saddle and, leading the way for the men, gave chase across the bottoms to the Indians.

Bob Scott, riding past Bucks reined up for a moment. ”Got pretty warm for you, Bucks--eh? How did you get through?”

Bucks jumped toward him. ”Bob!” he exclaimed, grasping his arm. ”It was Iron Hand.”

”Iron Hand!” echoed Bob, lifting his eyebrows. ”Brules, then. It will be a long chase. What did he say?”