Chapter XX A TURN IN THE TRAIL

 IT was Flying Arrow who had saved Fred and his old friend. The young chief, true to his friendship for the old mountaineer, stoutly objected to killing the captives, when the White Injun, fearing the outcome of his cruelty, suggested that “dead men tell no tales.” Since, according to Indian custom, a unanimous decision was necessary to put a prisoner to death, Nixon had to content himself with his brutal scare. And now, thinking that the escaped men would rouse the valley, he made plans hastily to play his last trick and flee to escape the righteous wrath of the ranchers.   A council was held that night. It was agreed that they should break camp next morning. Old Copperhead, with the squaws and papooses, was to make a forced march and camp in the pass to the south. With this start, they could get into the eastern valleys before the whites were alive to their mischief. Ankanamp and his bunch of young bucks were to make the{222} final raid on the ranches, lifting all the horses they could find. They would make as clean a sweep as possible, both for profit and for the purpose of crippling the pursuit. The raid was to begin at Morgan’s ranch, thence north to the Bar B and other places through the valley. Their rendezvous was to be in the pass at the southern end of the valley. Through this they would drive with all speed till out of reach of the whites.   The plot looked promising. It began to work smoothly. Without a mishap and before the sun was up, the whole band had filed out of the narrow gorge and trailed to the mouth of the canyon. Here it divided, the old chief with his weaker chargers skirting along the foothills to the south, Ankanamp with his marauders turning northward into the aspen groves on the mountain side, to hide and rest till dark should come to cover their movements. It chanced that they chose as their temporary resting place a thick covert of trees not more than half a mile south of Uncle Dave’s cabin. Picketing their horses out of sight within the groves, they rolled up in their blankets and threw themselves down to catch up the sleep they had lost the night before.   There they lay, dead to the world, when Fred, out hunting for Old Middie, Uncle Dave’s cow,{223} which had strayed away the night before, came suddenly upon the sleeping Redskins. He stared a moment in surprise and fear, then seeing that he had not disturbed the band, he turned cautiously and stole back out of the dangerous den. When he felt safe, he broke into a run up the slope, arriving at the cabin with little breath to tell his tale.   When he did manage to get it out, the old mountaineer shook his head gravely. “Them red varmints mean mischief.”   “What do you think they are up to now?” asked Fred.   “Dunno, boy, dunno; but I reckon it’s some thievin’.”   “Hadn’t I better warn the ranchers?”   “Not just yet. I think we’d better do a little scoutin’ first. I’d like to git the lay o’ the land ’fore we make a move.” He studied a moment, then added, “If the stockmen could ketch ’em red-handed, they’d hev a clear cause to clean up that White Injun and his bunch. As it is, we ain’t dead sure they’re guilty.” The old mountaineer went on with his dinner preparations, but his face was full of thought. Finally he said, half to himself, “It’s a risky piece o’ business, but I reckon I kin do it.{224}   “We’ll wait here till long ’bout dark. ’Tain’t likely they’ll be movin’ ’fore that time; then we’ll saddle Old Buck and both slip down as close as we kin git an’ be safe. I’ll leave you thar and steal in till I kin hear what they’re talkin’ ’bout. More’n likely they’ll drop some word thet’ll give us a hint o’ their scheme.”   “No, I’ll take that risk,” objected Fred.   “You don’t know their language, boy.”   “But, Uncle Dave, what if they catch you?”   “I reckon they’ll lift my skelp; but I ain’t caught yet, boy. An’ if they try any more tricks on me, that White Injun’ll pay dear fer it, ’fore I’m done talkin’. But let’s hope fer somethin’ better.”   “Well, go ahead, I’m with you whatever comes.”   “I’ve been in tight places ’fore this an’ squeezed through. Now, listen, if anything happens to me, jump on the horse and peg it fer help. If I get what I’m after, I’ll slip back and tell ye what to do.”   An hour later the two were picking their cautious way through the groves of the hidden nest of thieves. Within about two hundred yards of the place, they halted, and the old mountaineer began to steal alone closer to the den.{225}   Fred watched him make his way stealthily into the brush and disappear. Then he listened and listened with straining ears for hours, it seemed, to catch the sound of his returning step, but he heard only the gentle chatter of the leaves, the squeaking of the wood mice, and the far-away call of the coyote, remarkably clear in the dangerous stillness of the night. Once he fancied he caught the sound of voices. He held his breath to hear, but the breeze swept away the sound. It may not have been fancy, however, for while the boy kept anxious watch, Nixon was giving his band of dusky followers their final instructions for the raid.   Another pair of eager ears caught not all, but enough of the plot that was being rehearsed that night in the shadow of the trees, to unravel the main thread of it. The old mountaineer, after a full hour of trying toil, had wormed his way within a few rods from the band, and there he lay, intent to catch every syllable of the rough English that Bud was using to instruct his followers. Flying Arrow interpreted the White Chief’s words into the Indian tongue to make sure they understood.   The old mountaineer stayed long enough to get clear the plot—almost too long indeed; for one Indian, leaving the band to look after{226} his horse, walked within a step of the hidden listener. For a moment he feared discovery; but the Redskin went his way and returned none the wiser. Seizing his opportunity, the trapper turned and crept away, inch by inch, out of his dangerous place.   To Fred the time dragged into an age as he stood in the quiet darkness of the aspen grove. The moon had climbed high into the sky before the welcome sound of the soft returning step came. When it did, his tense feelings relaxed into sudden, half-painful relief.   “Oh, I’m glad you’re safe!”   “Quiet, boy,” responded Uncle Dave; “now, listen; they’ve planned a horse stealin’ raid. They’ll begin at Morgan’s ranch, then swing to the Bar B and on down the valley to the north. Jump on this horse and set out quiet but brisk to warn the settlers. Strike for Morgan’s first. They’ll git there long ’fore daybreak, I reckon. That won’t give the ranchers much time, but mebbe you kin gether enough agin they git there to scare ’em off. Here, swap weapons with me. That scatter gun o’ yours won’t be much use in an Injun fight.”   “But you may need it,” objected Fred.   “No, they’re not after me; I’ll be safe in my cabin. Now, go, and the Lord bless ye.{227}”   Fred grasped the rough hand and pressed it, then leaped on the horse.   “Sh!” warned Uncle Dave, “they’re stirrin’. You’ll hev to move mighty cautious, but move.”   At the word Fred started again, this time to wind his way carefully through the grove. He kept well within the shadow of the trees till the willowy way of the creek offered another stretch of hidden trail, which he threaded cautiously for half a mile or more, then he struck across the open flat, urging Old Buck to his utmost.   Fear was swept aside. His only desire was to reach the ranch in time to upset the White Injun’s plot. The glad thought that he was doing signal service for the settlers and for Alta—service that might lift the cloud from his name—never crossed him. Old Buck, seeming to catch the feelings of his rider, rushed on; but his flying feet were too slow for Fred’s eager thoughts. The dark forms of the big stacks and sheds seemed miles away, but they neared at last, and finally he dashed up to them, leaped from his horse and ran to the door. His excitement was expressed in the hurried rap he gave.   The old Colonel, half roused by the galloping hoofs, was brought to a sitting posture by the sharp knock.{228}   “Who’s there?” he demanded.   “Fred Benton.”   Alta, wakened too, heard the name with a strange joy.   “What’s up?”   “Indians are raiding the valley.”   “Devil you say!” exclaimed the Colonel, jumping up and into his trousers, and hurrying to the door.   “They’ll be here any minute,” said Fred.   Aunt ‘Liza gave a hysterical scream. Alta, trembling with excitement, ran to comfort her.   “How do you know that?” demanded the Colonel.   “No time to tell now, get ready.”   “Go wake the boys”—Fred was on his way before the Colonel had finished the sentence.   Bill and Pete were in a sound sleep, but the word “Injuns” cleared their dazed senses quickly enough.   “How big a band is it?” asked the Colonel, coming up with his rifle.   “About twenty bucks, with a white devil at their head.”   “We’ll need help.”   “Yes, and the rest of the ranchers ought to be warned. I should be on my way, but I hate to leave because they’ll strike here first.{229}”   “How do you know?”   “Uncle Dave overheard their plan.”   “Why can’t I go rouse the ranchers?” asked Alta, as she ran out to grasp and cling to Fred’s hand.   “It’s too risky, little gal,” objected her uncle; “you stay in out of harm’s reach.”   “Not when I can be of help.” Alta’s tone was decisive. “Get Eagle quick, Bill.”   “Alta will make a better messenger on that pony than I,” suggested Fred, “and she’ll be in less danger on the road than here.”   The old Colonel reluctantly acquiesced and Alta sprang to her saddle.   “Go to the Bar B first,” said Fred; “then strike for the ranches north and east; watch out for danger as you return. If you sight trouble, strike for Uncle Dave’s cabin.”   Alta was up and away in a second.   “Take care of Aunt ‘Liza,” she called back, as she dashed down the road.   “Now get your guns, boys, and let’s make ready. Pete, you and Bill take care o’ the house; this boy and I will guard the stables. If you sight Injuns, give ’em hell.”   The men took their stations as directed.   For half an hour or more the Colonel and Fred wailed, straining their eyes in an effort to{230} see the brush forms take the shape of prowling Injuns, but no signs of such life appeared. The old Colonel began to wonder whether he had not been made the butt of an Injun scare, when suddenly his sharp eye caught sight of a dark object worming through the brush toward the corral. He cocked his rifle carefully. The creeping object checked dead still at the sound; then it began to crawl again. And now another form came into view. The Colonel waited till the skulking savage was within a few rods of the bars, then he took aim and fired.   The Indian, fatally struck, gave a piteous death yell, staggered half up, and pitched forward. The cry brought half a dozen forms out of the brush. Fred fired at one of them as they fled for the thick willows.   This shock at their plot all but created a panic among the band. Only their fury to avenge their comrade, and the desperate determination of Bud Nixon to wreak vengeance on his foes, held them to their plan. At another time the White Injun would have played the skulking coward, but now his blood was up, and he was reckless of the end.   To divert attention, part of the band under Flying Arrow was sent to attack the house. The savages set up a fearful yelling and shouting{231} as they circled about it. The ruse was successful, so far as uncovering the corral was concerned. Colonel Morgan and Fred, concluding that the house was in danger, hurried to defend it while Nixon struck for the corral to capture the horses. The rifles were cracking and the savages yelling when a wild shout broke through the din, and close upon it came the thumping hoofs of the Bar B horses.   Hearing that challenging shout, the savages about the house fled again for the willows, leaving Bud and his braves entangled among the stacks and stables. Daylight was just beginning to break.   “There goes a red devil,” yelled Jim, spurring his horse after a dark form, scurrying for the willows.   “There’s another,” shouted Dick, catching sight of Bud Nixon, just emerging from the stable door with the Colonel’s finest saddle horse.   “Watch me drop him!” He blazed away at the White Injun as he spoke. Bud heard and recognized the voice. His blood boiled. If it was the last act of his life, he’d have revenge now. He whipped out his revolver and fired. Dick’s horse leaped sidewise. Bud blazed away again and Dick reeled and fell. Bud ran for his own horse, leaped on it, and dashed away to dive into the{232} thicket of brush and trees, just in time to escape the charging cowboys. A rattle of revolver shots followed him.   Fred, running back to protect the stock, saw the whole encounter. He hurried to help his stricken companion. Dick lay limp and unconscious, an ugly wound through his left shoulder. Fred turned heartsick as he tried to call his old friend back to life. Several others rode up and helped him carry Dick into the house. While some one was dressing his wound, he regained consciousness. He was seriously but not fatally hurt. Bill was left to help Aunt ‘Liza nurse him, and the rest dashed away to run down the daring thieves, who, scattered and leaderless, were hidden or fleeing in every direction—all but three,—they had tasted quickly the wrath of the ranchers.