CHAPTER XXVII.
A GOOD SAMARITAN
The young rancher was yet some distance from the prostrate foe, when his quick eye discovered something. It was a crimson stain on the snow near the stock of the Indian's rifle.
The miscreant was wounded; he was not shamming.
It was remarkable that with this discovery came an utter revulsion of feeling on the part of the youth. While he had been ready up to that moment to drive his bullet through the bronzed skull, an emotion of pity now took possession of him. He forgot that the fellow had tried with desperate endeavor to take his life, and he knew he expected no mercy at his hands. Nevertheless, as a Christian, he could not withhold his sympathy, nor could he forget that simple but sublime role of the good Samaritan.
Touching his heels against the ribs of Jack, the pony increased his pace, but had not yet reached the prostrate figure when Warren experienced the greatest surprise of all.
The Indian on the ground was Starcus!
The next moment young Starr dropped from his saddle, and was bending over him.
"I hardly expected this, Starcus," he said, with a gentle reproof in his voice. "You seem to have changed your mind since this morning, when you shot the grizzly."
Indian though he was the fellow's painted face was darkened by an expression of deep pain, whether the result of his hurt or of his mental disquietude no one can say.
"I am not your friend; I am the enemy of all white men."
"You have proven that since you turned against those who would do you no harm. But I have no wish to reproach you; your arm is badly hurt; let me give you what help I can."
"I want no help," replied the Sioux, resolutely compressing his thin lips; "go away and leave me alone."
"I shall not; I am your master, and shall do as I please with you."
"I tell you to leave me alone; I do not want your help," added Starcus fiercely.
"You shan't hinder me, old fellow; this is for old times."
And paying no heed to the sufferer, who struggled with pitiful awkwardness to keep him off, Starr ripped a piece from the lining of his coat, and began bandaging the bleeding arm. The Sioux still resisted, but while doing so showed a weakness rare in one of his race by fainting dead away.
The youth made no effort to revive him until he had completed his hasty but rude swathing of the arm, which was badly shattered by a bullet. Then he flung some snow in the face of the fellow, who had already shown signs of coming to.
Starcus looked around for a moment in a bewildered way, and then fixed his gaze on the wounded member, now bound so that the flow of blood was stopped. Then he turned his dark eyes on the face of the youth bending over him, with an indescribable expression, and said in a low voice:
"I tried my best to kill you, Warren."
"But you didn't; and I am unharmed, and am your friend."
"And why are you my friend? I do not deserve it," continued the Sioux, with his black eyes still centred on the face of the athletic youth.
"If you and I had what we deserved where would we be? Give it no further thought."
Starcus now held his peace for a full minute, during which he never once removed his gaze from the countenance of the good Samaritan. Strange thoughts must have passed through his brain. When he spoke it was in a voice as gentle as a girl's.
"Can you forgive me for what I have done?"
"With my whole heart."
"But I tried my best to kill you."
"Are you sorry?"
"Yes, sorry as I can be."
"Then I repeat, I forgive you; but are you able to rise to your feet?"
"Yes; I pretended I was not, so as to bring you closer to me. Had not my arm been hurt I would have shot you."
"I am not sure of that," replied Warren, with a curious smile; "I suspected it, and was on my guard. At the first move on your part I would have fired. I was not sure even that you were hurt at all until I saw blood on the snow. But it will not do for you to stay here. Let me help you to your feet."
Starcus proved that the rest of his limbs were uninjured by coming as nimbly as an acrobat to an upright posture.
"You have done all you can for me, and I thank you; now do not wait any longer."
"Why not?" asked Warren, suspecting his meaning, but desirous of testing him a little further.
"Look toward the ridge," was the significant reply.
The inaction of the other Sioux, as has been intimated, was due to their belief that Starcus was master of the situation. Even when they saw him pitch from the back of his pony they must have thought it a part of the strategy designed to lure the young man to his death.
But the sight of the youth bending over the prostrate figure of their comrade told the truth. Starcus had been wounded, and was at the mercy of his conqueror.
Much as the warriors were disappointed, they were not the ones to allow the brave fellow to be killed without an effort on their part to save him.
Warren had suspected the truth, and, while seeming to be unaware of it, he observed several of the warriors running at full speed from the ridge out on the snowy prairie. They were still a goodly distance away, and he calculated just how far it was prudent to allow them to approach before appealing to Jack, standing within a few paces and awaiting his pleasure.
He was hoping for just such a warning from Starcus as he had received. He wanted it as a "guarantee of good faith," and when it came all doubts of the sincerity of his repentance were gone.
Still, although this particular Sioux might feel gratitude for the undeserved mercy shown to him, there was no hope of anything of that nature from his companions. Had Warren counted upon that, he would have made the mistake of his life. He and his friend had done the bucks too much ill to be forgiven for an act of kindness to one of their number, even though it was actuated by a motive whose nobility they could not fail to understand.
"That is kind of you, to warn me of my danger," remarked the youth. "I shall not forget it. But they are so far off that I need not hurry to mount my horse."
"Do not wait too long; they will soon be here."
"I have my pony, and they are on foot."
"But they can run fast."
"I will leave in time; but, Starcus, if you are really a friend of mine, you have the chance to prove it by being a friend of Tim; he is a prisoner with your people, and in need of your good offices."
"I cannot help him," was the reply, accompanied by a shake of the head.
"I only ask that you shall do what you can; I am sure you will, whether it results in good to him or not."
"Give yourself no hope of that; it will be hard for me to explain why I was spared by you."
"But that was my own affair; surely they cannot suspect us of any collusion."
"You do not know my people as I do."
"But I am not the first white man that has shown mercy to a helpless foe; they know that as well as you and I."
"You are waiting too long, Warren; they will soon be here," added the warrior, with an apprehensive glance toward the ridge, from which his people were approaching with alarming swiftness.
"Well, good-by, Starcus."
He grasped the left hand of the Sioux, who warmly returned the pressure with the words, "Good-by, Warren."
Then Warren Starr, not a moment too soon, sprang into the saddle and galloped away.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE LONE HORSEMAN
The young rancher had calculated matters closely, for hardly was he in the saddle when the foremost of the running Sioux halted, raised his gun, and fired. He was nigh enough to make his shot dangerous, though providentially it did no ill.
It was an inviting chance for Warren to return the fire with the best prospect of doing so effectively. But he had no disposition to slay any one of the hostiles. His singular experience with Starcus had a softening effect, and he was resolved to attempt no injury against the men unless compelled to do it in actual self-defence.
Jack, being put to his best paces, quickly carried him beyond any further peril, and when far enough to feel safe he checked the pony and looked back.
He saw half a dozen Sioux gathered around the wounded Starcus, evidently in conversation. Being strong in his lower limbs, and with his wounded arm bandaged as well as it could be, he required no attention or help from them. After all, knowing the buck had been a close friend of the young rancher, they must have seen nothing remarkable in the mercy that had been shown to him. White men are as capable of meanness and cruelty as the Indians, but few of them disregard the laws of honorable warfare, and still fewer are deaf to the cry of a hapless foe.
A few minutes later the group moved slowly back in the direction of the ridge. A couple, however, drew off, and began a more systematic hunt of the ponies that had shown such a fondness for their freedom. They managed matters with such skill that they soon coaxed a couple of the fleetest back to captivity. With the aid of these they soon corralled the others, and the party gathered with their animals at the base of the ridge.
Warren Starr remained at a safe distance for the greater part of an hour, in the hope of learning something of the intentions of the Sioux. But they gave no sign that he could understand. The ponies were in plain sight near the trees, and he caught glimpses of their owners moving back and forth, but nothing could be learned as to what it all meant.
He now debated what he should next do. He was free, well mounted, and at liberty to follow his own judgment.
His immediate anxiety was concerning Tim Brophy. He knew he was in the most perilous strait of his life; Warren's parents might be as badly situated, but he had no knowledge of the fact. He therefore hoped for the best concerning them. But if there was any way of helping his friend it was beyond his power to discover it. He was a prisoner in the hands of a dozen watchful and treacherous Sioux, who were not likely to give him the least chance of escape, and any attempt on the part of Warren to befriend him would not only be utterly useless, but would imperil his own life.
He had appealed to Starcus to make the effort, but Warren saw the force of the Indian's declaration that it was beyond his power. He was wounded himself, and at the first move to interfere in behalf of the captive, who had killed one of their best warriors and badly bruised a couple, would be likely to bring down their vengeance upon his own head. Distressing as was the conclusion, there was no escaping it – he must turn his back on his devoted comrade. Warren accepted the situation like a martyr, and had decided to continue his search for his folks, of whose whereabouts he had only the vaguest idea.
Two lines of action presented themselves, and there was much to be said in favor of and against both. By sharp riding he could reach Fort Meade before sunset, and there whatever help he might need would be cheerfully given by the commandant. Under the guidance of the friendly Indian scouts, they could search for the rancher and his family; and their knowledge of the people, as well as the country, would render such search far more effective than any by the youth, without taking into account the force that would insure safety instantly on such discovery.
But this plan involved considerable time, with the certainty that his folks must spend another night in imminent peril – a night that he could not help believing was to prove the decisive one.
Knowing nothing of the death of Jared Plummer, Warren hoped that he was with his father, despite the gloomy prophecy of Tim Brophy. If the young rancher could join them, the party would be considerable, and ought to hold its own against any band of Indians such as were roaming through the country. Besides, all would be well mounted and prepared for flight whenever advisable.
These and other considerations, which it is not necessary to name, decided the youth to make further search for his folks before riding to Fort Meade.
One fact caused him no little speculation. It will be remembered that the approach of himself and Tim to the ridge was caused by the discovery of a thin column of smoke climbing into the sky from a more elevated portion than that attained by themselves or the Sioux with whom they had had the stirring encounter.
He did not forget, either, that the red men with whom they had exchanged shots, and from whom he had escaped by the narrowest chance conceivable, appeared from the opposite direction. Neither then, nor at any time since, had anything occurred to explain the meaning of the vapor that had arrested their attention when miles away.
If it had been kindled by Sioux or brother hostiles, why had they not appeared and taken a hand in the lively proceedings? Abundant time was given, and if they were there they ought to have met the fugitives at the close of their desperate chase, when they sprang from the back of Jack and dashed among the trees on foot.
It was these questions which caused the youth to suspect that the fire might have been started by his father. True, he had expressed a disbelief in this view when given by Tim, but that was before the later phase had dawned upon him.
It looked like a rash act on the part of the rancher, if he had performed it, but there might be excuse for his appealing to the signal that he had employed in a former instance to apprise his son of his location.
Speculation and guessing, however, could go on forever without result. There was but one way of learning the truth, and that was to investigate for himself.
Prudence demanded that the Sioux at the base of the ridge should be given no inkling of his intention; and, in order to prevent it, a long detour was necessary to take him out of their field of vision.
Accordingly he turned so as to follow a course parallel to the ridge, and breaking into a swift canter kept it up until, when he turned in the saddle and looked back, not the first sign of the hostiles was visible.
He was now miles distant, too far to return on foot, even had he felt inclined to abandon Jack and try it alone. He rode close to the base of the ridge, whose curving course was favorable, and facing about started back toward the point he had left after his survey of the party that held Tim Brophy a prisoner.
He did not believe there was any special danger in this, for he had only to maintain a sharp lookout to detect the Sioux, if they happened to be journeying in that direction. The broad stretch of open plain gave him every chance he could ask to turn the fleetness of Jack to the best account: and he feared no pursuit that could be made, where he was granted anything like a chance.
His purpose was to approach as near the spot as was prudent, provided they remained where he last saw them, and then, dismounting, penetrate nigh enough to learn the meaning of the smoke which was such an interesting fact to him. The task was a difficult one, for it was more than probable that by the time he reached the neighborhood of the signal fire it would be extinguished; for certainly his father would not continue the display after it had failed in its purpose, and the appearance of the hostiles showed him that it was liable to do more harm than good.
CHAPTER XXIX.
A BREAK FOR FREEDOM
Accustomed as are the Sioux to scenes of violence, it is not probable that any members of the party to whom we have been referring ever looked upon a sight so remarkable as the prairie duel between Starcus and the young rancher.
This Indian, who had come among his native people in the hope of staying the tide of frenzy sweeping through the tribe, was himself carried away by the craze, and from a peaceable, well-educated youth became among the most violent of those that arrayed themselves against the white man.
It was one of the better impulses of his nature that led him to fire the shot when Tim Brophy was in such danger from the grizzly bear; but, as he afterward confessed, it was no sooner done than he reproached himself for not having turned his weapon against the two youths for whom he had once entertained a strong friendship.
When the headlong Irishman started toward him, Starcus hurried away, and not only joined a band of prowling hostiles, but told them of the lads, and joined in a scheme to capture and hold them as hostages for several turbulent Sioux then in the hands of the Government authorities. Knowing them as well as he did, he formed the plan of stealing up behind them, while they were riding across the snowy prairie, and the partial success of the plan has been shown.
His comrades watched the opening and progress of the strange duel with no misgiving as to the results. They saw how a run of wonderful fortune had helped the young rancher, but now, when something like equality existed between the combatants, the superiority of the American over the Caucasian race must manifest itself.
As events progressed the interest of the spectators deepened. They descended to the edge of the plain, where the view was unobstructed, leaving but a solitary warrior guarding the prisoner. The solicitude of the latter for his friend was as intense as it could be, for he could not be sure of the result until the end. He feared that Warren Starr was committing the same rashness for which he had often chided him.
The view from the rocks through the intervening trees was so imperfect that it grew to be exasperating, but there seemed to be no help for it.
The warrior in charge of Tim Brophy was expected to give his full attention to him, but as events progressed there was danger of his forgetting this duty. He began to look more to the singular contest than to his captive.
This Indian was standing on his feet, leaning forward, and peering as best he could between the trees and the obstructing limbs. Tim was seated on a bowlder at his side, and until this moment was the target of a pair of eyes that would have detected the slightest movement on his part.
The Irishman was quick to observe that by the strange trend of events a golden opportunity had or was about to come to him. The warrior seemed to forget him entirely, though, like all his people, he would be recalled with lightning quickness on hearing or seeing anything amiss.
Surely no such chance could come again. Convinced of this, Tim seized it with the rush of a hurricane.
Rising quickly and noiselessly to his feet he delivered a blow as quick as a flash under the ear of the Sioux, which stretched him like a dead man on his face.
There had been no noise, and in the excitement of the occasion the Indians at the base of the ridge were not likely to learn what had taken place until the revival of the senseless warrior, who was not likely to become of any account for several minutes.
Tim needed no urging to improve his opportunity. Facing the top of the ridge, he started off with a single desire of getting over the rough ground as fast as possible.
He had taken but a few steps, however, when he abruptly stopped.
"Begorra!" he muttered, "but what a forgitful spalpeen is Tim Brophy!"
He had no rifle. That would never do, when pursuit was inevitable in a short time. Accordingly, he turned about, ran to the prostrate figure, and took the gun from his grasp. It was not as good as his own, but inasmuch as that was in the possession of one of the others it was beyond recovery.
It seemed cruel, but to make matters safe the Irishman gave the prostrate fellow a second vigorous blow, from which he was certain not to recover for a considerable while.
"I hate to hit a man whin he is down," he reflected. "If I meets him ag'in I'll ax his pardon."
It was no time to indulge in sentiment, and he was off once more.
Some strange fate directed his steps, without his noticing the fact, along the trail made by Warren Starr in his first hurried flight. Thus it was that he came upon the other warrior that had been outwitted by the youth whom he was so confident of capturing.
Urgent as was his hurry, the fugitive paused a moment to contemplate the sight. Then with a sigh he hurried forward, for not a moment was to be lost.
It was remarkable that, after having captured the young man with so much difficulty, they should have invited him to escape, as they virtually did by their action, but the circumstances themselves were exceptional. The like could not happen again.
It was the same curious turn of events that extended his opportunity. It is rare, indeed, that, after a captive does make a break for freedom, he is allowed such a period in which to secure it; but here again the unparalleled series of incidents favored him.
There had been no outcry on the part of the third victim to Tim Brophy's good right arm. But for the forgetfulness of the youth in starting off without his gun, the fellow would have recovered speedily and made an outcry that must have brought several of his confederates to the spot.
But events were interesting beyond compare out on the prairie. All the Sioux but the one named were watching them, and when they saw the plight of Starcus there was a general rush to his assistance. The return was slow, being retarded by the efforts of several to capture their wandering ponies. When they succeeded in doing this and coming back to the edge of the plains, the better part of half an hour had passed.
The first startling recollection that came to the party after this return was the fact that the warrior who had pursued the young rancher up the side of the ridge had not put in an appearance. They would have awakened to this fact long before but for the affair between Warren Starr and Starcus. Now that it was impressed upon them, and they recalled the report of the gun that reached them long ago, together with the reappearance of the young rancher on the back of his pony, they could not fail to see the suspicious aspect of things.
There was a hasty consultation at the base of the ridge, and then the man who was really the leader ordered a couple of his warriors to lose no time in learning the truth. As eager as he to investigate, they set out without delay, but had not gone far when one of them uttered a cry which brought the whole party to the spot.
A striking scene greeted them. The white prisoner was gone, and the Indian left in charge lay on his face like one dead. His gun was missing. Strange proceedings had taken place during the absence of the party.
It took but a few minutes to learn the truth. It was easy to see that the interest of the guard in the incidents on the plain had caused him to forget his duty for the time. The Irishman had suddenly assailed him with that terrible right arm of his, and felled him senseless to the ground.
The recipient of this attention was not dead, but he felt as though he wished he was, when he was helped to a sitting position, and was compelled not only to suffer the pain of the terrific blows received, but had to face the jeering looks of his companions, who could forgive anything sooner than the outwitting of a full-grown warrior by a trick which ought not to have deceived a child.