Chapter IV: Whirlwind

With the cat-like quickness which he always showed in moments of danger, Old Pegs sprung to the door and dropped the heavy bars in their places, while Myrtle closed and barred the blinds. It was not done a moment too soon, for they heard the rapid beat of hoofs and could tell by the sounds that a large party of Indians were in the valley. Rafe Norris stepped to one of the loop-holes always left when a cabin is built in an Indian country, and looked out and saw that it was the band of Whirlwind.

“Now then, what’s the ticket?” demanded Old Pegs. “Is it going ter be a b’ar-fight?”

“There seems to be no other course,” replied Norris.

“Oh, yes, thar is,” replied the old hunter. “I’ve got more than one string to my bow, and we kin fight or hide, jest ez you like.”

“My plan would be to get the lady into the hiding-place you speak of, and then teach these Indians what it means to attack three well-armed white men.”

“Jest my plan,” said Old Pegs. “Wait a minnit.”

He turned to assist Dave who was trying to draw out the arrow which had lodged in the fleshy part of the shoulder. But it had not passed quite through, and the barbs would not permit him to draw it out.

“Let me take hold,” said Old Pegs. “Look the other way, Myrtle.”

He grasped the shaft of the arrow, and by a quick movement forced it through the flesh, so that the head appeared. Dave bore the pain without even wincing, and the old man broke off the arrow, threw down the head, and drew out the broken shaft.

“It don’t amount to any thing,” said Dave, cheerily. “Come with me, Myrtle; it won’t be long before the Blackfeet pitch in, and I want a hand in the game.”

“I don’t want to go away,” she answered. “I never raised a rifle against a human being yet, but in a cause like this, I can do good service.”

The red-skins had not yet seen the cabin, but half a dozen were out of the saddle running to and fro in search of Dave—who they knew must be concealed somewhere near at hand.

“They don’t see us yet, I believe,” said Dave, stepping to a loop-hole, “but it won’t be long before they nose us out. Shall I give that skulking fellow a shot, old man?”

“Not yit,” replied Old Pegs. “I don’t want ter hit the fust blow.”

Just then one of the savages discovered the cabin, and set up a yell which quickly called the attention of the rest. Not a few of them had rifles, and dismounting they began to creep up toward the mountain house.

“Wait a minnit, boys,” said Old Pegs. “We’ll give ’em a most immortal thrashing afore sundown or my name ain’t Old Pegs. Thunder; what’s that?”

A rattling volley was suddenly poured into the Blackfeet from the rear, and the scouts who had been seen crawling up to the cabin went back with wild yells of surprise, and sprung into the saddle, while counter yells arose from the front and flanks.

“Je—whitteker!” yelled Old Pegs. “Hear the onnatril varmint sound ther loud alarums. Who be they—who in thunder be they?”

“Perhaps it is the brigade,” said Myrtle, hopefully.

“’Tain’t so; d’ye think the boys in Farrell’s brigade yell like that? Them’s Injuns, but what tribe and why they ar’ sailing in on the Blackfeet, the devil may know. Let’s rush out and help ’em, anyhow.”

The wound of Dave Farrell was at best but a slight one, and rushing out with Old Pegs and Rafe Norris, all armed with heavy rifles, they began to blaze away at the now retreating Blackfeet. Assailed thus in front, flank and rear, these gallant men did not give up but fought with a devotion to their leader which would have done credit to men of a higher civilization. One by one they dropped from their saddles until only five were left, and among these the brave chief Whirlwind, who had passed unscathed through the hail-storm of leaden balls.

“Dogs!” cried the chief, shaking his lance in the air. “Whirlwind will go, but when he comes again his vengeance will be terrible.”

Calling to the few men who surrounded him he wheeled his horse and dashed away across the little valley, making no further effort to force his way through the pass which was so closely environed by his enemies. Many dusky figures darted from the bushes on every hand, and shot after shot was sent after the flying horsemen, and while they were yet within short rifle range three of Whirlwind’s men dropped bleeding to the earth. But the chief seemed to bear a charmed life and disappeared behind a clump of trees near the center of the glade. Many Indians were seen racing after him on foot, and it needed but a glance to show Old Pegs that they were Modoc Sioux, the inveterate enemies of the Blackfeet.

“Git cover, quick!” cried the old hunter. “They’ll see us.”

“It is of no use to hide,” replied Rafe Norris. “I, for one, mean to yield myself a prisoner, and I advise you to do the same.”

The words had scarcely left his lips when he experienced a strange sensation. A vise-like grip fell upon his shoulder, and the steel muzzle of a pistol was pressed against his temple. This pistol was held by Dave Farrell, whose teeth were firmly set and whose eyes seemed to emit flashes of light.

“Move a step until I order you, wag a finger even, and you die.”

“What means this conduct?” hissed Rafe, white with contending passions. “Do you mean to murder me in cold blood?”

“Not a bit of it. You see those Indians coming this way, don’t you?”

“What of that?”

“Order them to halt.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Am I to be killed like a dog, you old villain? Why do you stand there like a stone and make no effort to aid me?”

“Better do as Dave asks you, Rafe. It ain’t a bad plan to try the ’speriment.”

“But I know nothing of these Indians.”

“Ef Dave hez made a mistake he’s ter make it right with you,” answered Old Pegs.

“One more chance before I scatter your brains upon the sod,” hissed Dave. “Will you stop those Indians? Speak their language—you know how.”

Rafe Norris cast one look at the stern face of the captain of scouts, and saw that a refusal would be death to him. He turned and shouted to the advancing Indians, and to the surprise of Old Pegs, who thought that Dave had made a mistake, they halted immediately, while cries of surprise could be heard among them, and the others came running up. Those who had been halted by the command of Rafe Norris pointed him out as he stood in the grasp of Dave, and it was plain that they knew him and were surprised to see him in his present position.

“Do you see that, Old Pegs?” cried Farrell. “Now doz you tell me that this fellow knows nothing of the Modoc Sioux?”

“Stranger,” said Old Pegs, “I’ve warmed a viper in my buzzum. Now then, order them pizen sarpints ter git. The quicker they go, the longer they’ll hev the satisfaction on knowing that you ar’ alive.”

“Why should they obey me?” replied Rafe. “You are a couple of cowardly hounds to attack an unsuspecting man in this way.”

“‘Unsuspecting’! Oh, yes—thet’s a good word, but you jest send ’em away all the same or I’ll pulverize you—I will, by the sacred groves of Ireland. You hear me a-talking?”

Rafe saw that the game was up, and that he might as well save his life if possible.

“What shall I tell them?”

“Tell ’em to go down to the sulphur spring at the base of the North Canon, and wait fur you thar.”

Rafe hesitated, but the circle of cold steel upon his temple cowed him for the time, and he shouted the required order. Signal cries were heard, and the pursuers of Whirlwind came back on the run, having been unsuccessful in their attempt to overtake that redoubted chief who had found some avenue of escape. The orders of Rafe Norris were repeated, and the whole party trooped away down the pass, leaving Rafe still in the hands of Farrell.

“I suspected you from the very start, my good friend,” said Dave, “and this is not the first time I have earthed a fox of your breed. It is useless for you to attempt to deceive us, for we know you now. You are a Hudson Bay man, and I know it.”

“You lie.”

“Be careful, my boy. You are a prisoner, and I don’t like to injure a man who is so completely in my power, but don’t use bad language. Your fellows have done us such good service in breaking up the party of Whirlwind that I am inclined to be rather lenient with you, but at the same time we won’t stand every thing.”

“Do you mean to keep me a prisoner?”

“I have not decided what to do with you yet. No doubt our old friend here will give you house room for to-night, and after that we will see what can be done.”

“You shall repent this if I can escape from your hands, as you may be sure I will do some day. I will never rest until I have your life.”

“Enough of that. Have you got a piece of good buck-skin handy, old man? I think we had better tie this feller’s feet.”

“Do not dare to degrade me with bonds,” cried Rafe, savagely. “If you do my revenge will be terrible.”

“All right; we’ll tie you up all the same. You might take it into your head to go after your Indian friends and bring them back on us.”

“I will speak no more,” replied Norris. “Do with me as you will.”

Old Pegs drew from the bosom of his hunting-shirt, two or three stout buck-skin thongs which he used in tying the hands of Norris behind his back. Having performed this service to his satisfaction, he linked the feet of the prisoner together at the ankles in such a way that he could take a step of about six inches, but no more.

“Thet’s all right, Dave,” he said. “Now, who in thunder is thet chap?”

A man in greasy buck-skin was seen running rapidly toward them with the pet bear, Bruin, close at his heels, evidently bent on mischief. Old Pegs ran up to meet him, shouting to the bear, and managed to interfere before Bruin could clutch his prey—a proceeding which the bear resented with low growls of discontent, while the new-comer sat down puffing, with a very red face and looked at his rescuer.

“Durn the b’ar!” he growled. “What d’ye keep sech a pheroxious beast fur, stranger?”

“Jest fer greens, my boy,” replied Old Pegs. “Seems ter me strangers ar’ gitting rather thick in this hyar clearing. Who the devil be _you_?”

“I’m a poor critter that’s jest got away from the pizen Injuns and I come mighty nigh bein’ swallowed by a b’ar by gracious. I don’t hanker a’ter sich, but ef I’d ’a’ hed my weepons I’d ’a’ give him Jesse, you bet.”

The speaker would never have been “hung for his good looks,” although he might have suffered for irreclaimable homeliness. He was a tall, thin specimen of the mountainman, with shaggy hair and beard, and a snaky eye which was far from pleasant to look at.

“What Injuns did you git away from, stranger?” demanded Old Pegs.

“Them cussid Modoc Sioux. Oh, I know ’em—I know ’em from stern to gizzard—I know ’em arternoons. You see, they ketched me up hyur, by the big spring when I was trying to find the trapping brigade, and they tuk traps, rifle and all ez clean ez a whistle. I ain’t got hide nor h’ar left.”

The man did indeed look forlorn enough. His clothing hung in tatters; he had no hat, and the blood was flowing from a ragged cut across his forehead, where a bullet had grazed the skin.

“Thet was a clust rub, stranger.”

“It were, mate, mighty clust. Ye see I made a break when they pitched inter the Blackfeet and one of them fired at me, and gev me this beauty spot.”

“Very kind in him, I must say. What are these Sioux doing here at this time?”

“I dunno; they ar’ out of ther stamping-ground a smart heap.”

“You bet; who is ther leader?”

“I dunno his name; but I think they called him Curly-headed Ned. Anyhow, thet’s a name he’s got on the border.”

“Did you see him?”

“He didn’t show hisself while I was thar. I say, boss, who’s that you’ve got in that outlandish hitch?”

“Thet chap, we think, knows too much about these Modoc Sioux and konsekently we jist tuk the liberty of kinder hitching him up.”

“The varmint! Let me get at him and I’ll chaw him up, audacious. Yah—hip! I _want_ his ha’r. Lend me a knife, some one; a hairpin, a toothpick—_any_ cussid thing. I will hev his wool.”

“You don’t say thet you are so hot arter blood ez thet ar’, stranger? No—I reckon not; he’s our meat, and we don’t ’low nobuddy else to tech him.”

“Tain’t fa’r, anyhow, boss. Hyar I stand jest out of ther blasted hitch and it hurts my feelin’s powerful bad, because I ain’t let to mount him. Say, you pizen sarpint,” he cried, shaking his clenched hand under Rafe’s nose, “why kain’t I chaw ye up?”

“You are a fit associate for these two ruffians,” replied Norris, proudly. “It would not surprise me if they allowed you to murder me while my hands are tied.”

“Oh, thunder, ef they only _would_! Say, boss, kain’t I hit him once, fur luck?”

“You are over zealous in the cause,” said Farrell, coldly. “Stand aside and let the prisoner alone.”

“Little boy,” replied the escaped man, “you hurt my feelin’s awful when you talk that way, and I shill feel obliged to jump on ye with both feet.”

“That’s enough, my man,” replied Farrell, laying his hand upon a pistol. “What is your name?”

“I ain’t heeled—that’s what’s the matter with me—an’ you’ve got the gaffs on. It ain’t ekal—that’s what I say—it ain’t ekal, and you know it ain’t. Let me hev a fourteen inch toothpick in my hand, and ef I don’t crow loud, my name ain’t Velveteens.”

“Is that your name? Come, come; you should not quarrel with us, if you want help.”

“Velveteens, the boys call me, and they call me that becoz I’m nat’rally so soft and tender-hearted. I be—by gracious. I’m too good fur this wicked, wicked world.”

“What do you want?”

“I was gwine to jine the brigade, but I’m afeard thar ain’t no chance now. I’ve lost my traps and shootin’-irons.”

“That will not trouble you if you can prove yourself a true man. However, you can pass the night here, and in the morning we’ll see what can be done.”

“Much obliged; who be you?”

“Captain Farrell of the trapping brigade.”

“Whew! And to think I lowered myself to rile up at you. It was durned ridiculous.”

Dave Farrell took the prisoner in charge, led him to the cabin and put him in a small room in the rear. Rafe did not look up as he heard Myrtle’s exclamation of surprise, but passed on sullenly to his prison, where he sunk down upon the floor and dropped his head upon his arms. The moment the door closed upon Farrell he sprung to his feet and laughed scornfully, for he knew his power well. Yet he listened earnestly while Dave told Myrtle the story to which she listened with a look of horror.

“Revenge is sweet,” he muttered. “My hour will come.”