Read Ebook: Kiddie the Scout by Leighton Robert Grey Frank R Illustrator

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Ebook has 1497 lines and 62360 words, and 30 pages

So dense was the pressing throng of horses at the entrance, that it was impossible for Gideon to push his way through in an attempt to shut the gate. Neither could he fire upon the Indians, for fear of injuring the animals.

The Indians, indeed, were going out under the cover of the horses, and as each brave passed the open gate he seized his chosen pony, tied an end of his lariat about its muzzle, and mounting, bare-backed, rode off.

At length Isa Blagg succeeded in reaching the gate and closing it. He flung the heavy bars across and secured them in their staples. Only a score or so of the ponies remained in the corral. Over a hundred had been driven off in the confused stampede.

When Isa returned to his companion there was not a live Redskin to be seen. Even the wounded had been carried away.

"Seems as how we've gotten the worst of it, this time," Isa Blagg regretted. "I'll allow that Broken Feather laid his plans real well. You made a mistake, Gideon, in plantin' us all together beside the gate, as if that was the only possible point of attack. Say, we oughter been distributed in pickets, same as Buckskin Jack allus recommended."

"We ain't none of us wounded," reflected Gideon, wiping a streak of blood from his face. "Leastways, not wounded serious. An' that sniper hidden in the bush yonder must ha' picked off quite a dozen of the Injuns. I'm hopin' he'll show up, now, an' let us know who he is."

"Meantime," interposed Abe Harum, "what's goin' ter happen 'bout our ponies? You can't afford ter lose that Arab mare, Gid. A valuable beast, anyhow, let alone her being a present from Kiddie."

"I'm figurin' out just how I'm to get her back," nodded Gideon. "I shall have her back, though I have to organize a special raid into their reservation' and enlist the help of the military from Fort Laramie. Rube," he called, "just slip down to the trail. Thar's a squad of the boys from Red Buttes just arrived. Tell 'em to come right here. Tell 'em as I'm plannin' to foller up them Redskins and round up my ponies before they're corralled."

There were seventeen frontiersmen in the squad, all of them disappointed in being too late to help in defending Birkenshaw's ponies, but all of them eager to join in the pursuit of Broken Feather and his braves.

Gideon yielded the leadership to Nick Undrell, a man of blemished reputation, a drunkard, a desperate gambler, and a convicted thief, but a magnificent horseman, a capable scout, and the hero of many an Indian fight.

Nick knew where the Indian village was situated, and which way Broken Feather was most likely to take.

"They're plumb sure ter pass through One Tree Gulch," he declared. "We c'n overtake them in the defile, goin' by way of Poison Spider Creek and the old Buffalo Trail, droppin' on 'em when they least expect us."

They saw no sign of the Indians for several miles; not even on the wide expanse of Laramie Plain. Here, however, Nick Undrell pointed to the dusty ground where the track of a horse crossed his path obliquely.

"See that, Mr. Birkenshaw?" he said, glancing along the distinct line of hoof marks. "That rider, whoever he is, wasn't dawdlin' none. Looks as if ho was makin' fer the far side of White Bull Ridge, which ain't a thousand miles from Broken Feather's village. Anybody you know? Ridin' a big horse, he is, shod by a town blacksmith. Might have started from the neighbourhood of your camp just about the time you stopped shootin'."

"Don't know nothin' about him," returned Gideon. "He ain't one of our lot, anyhow. Push along, Nick. I'm frettin' considerable about my Arab mare. Wouldn't have exchanged her fer any hoss as ever chewed grass."

"No, and I'm figurin' as Broken Feather won't be a whole lot eager to part with her, now he's gotten a cinch on her," rejoined Nick.

"Gid!" Abe Harum called from behind, "thar's dust risin' from the mouth of One Tree Gulch. If we puts on a hustle we shall drop on 'em 'fore they gets out on the open prairie."

They spurred their ponies to the gallop. They raced at top speed into the gulch, caring nothing for the clatter of hoofs, knowing that there could be no escape for the mounted Redskins up the steep hillsides. Midway along the defile, where it widened beyond a projecting spur of cliff, they saw the Indians driving the stolen herd of horses before them, urging them with yells and stinging quirts.

Nick Undrell divided his forces into two companies, giving them instructions to ride forward, one on either flank of the enemy, with the endeavour to head them off. Nick himself, with Abe Harum, was to remain in the rear, as support, while Isa Blagg and Gideon Birkenshaw were, if possible, to work their way round to the captured ponies and cut them off from the Indians, to be rounded-up after the expected fight.

He spurred his horse, holding his revolver ready for instant use. But as he rode forward he caught sight of Broken Feather, mounted on the Arab mare, and impulsively he resolved to recapture Sultana at all risks. He drew rein. On the instant his obedient pony swerved.

As it did so, Gideon, glancing forward to the farther mouth of the gulch, saw a strange horseman approaching at a full gallop. He came like a wild gust of wind, leaning over in his seat and slinging his supple lariat above his flapping hat as he came. He wore the usual red shirt and blue scarf of the frontiersman, and he was mounted on a splendid bay horse, that was less like a prairie mustang than a well-trained cavalry charger.

Watching him in astonishment, Gideon saw that he had singled out the Indian chief, and was riding down upon him. He saw the lariat shoot out from the uplifted hand like a wriggling snake. The wide loop opened like a wheel, grew suddenly tense and smaller. Then it dropped clean over Broken Feather's head and shoulders, and in an instant the chief's two arms were pinioned to his sides.

THE UNIFORM OF THE PLAINS

It was some five hours later when Gideon Birkenshaw, Abe Harum, and Isa Blagg returned to the camp at Sweetwater Bridge. After a sharp fight in the gulch, they had recovered the larger number of their stolen ponies, and the rest of their company were still out, rounding-up others abandoned by their captors.

Greatly to Gideon's annoyance, his precious Arab mare had not yet been restored to him, and he had no knowledge of what had happened to the Indian chief.

Leaving Abe and Isa to corral the horses, Gideon dismounted at the side of the trail and walked slowly and wearily up the woodland path to his homestead.

Abreast of the well in front of the veranda he came to an abrupt halt, staring with amazed eyes at a great bay horse that was tethered to the tie post. Young Rube had removed the saddle and was in the act of spreading a blanket over the animal's perspiring body.

"Where in thunder did that hoss come from?" Gideon demanded to know.

"A real beauty, ain't he?" said Rube. "A thoroughbred, sure. An' look at the saddle and bridle. Ain't they just wonderful?"

"It's the identical hoss that I seen in One Tree Gulch only a few hours ago," declared Gideon. "Thar's no mistakin' it."

"It's the same as I seen racin' down the trail just before the Indians came along," added Rube.

"But who brought it? Who rid it?" Gideon asked. "Who does it belong to?"

"Dunno," Rube answered, shaking his head in perplexity. "Can't make him out nohow. Never seen him before. He's just a stranger. A stranger, an' yet he seems ter know his way 'bout this yer camp most as well as I do meself. He's in the house right now, jawin' with mother. Seems he kinder knows her."

"Knows her? Knows your mother? Knows Mee-Mee? I'm amazed! Your mother ain't bin outer this yer camp, not for years an' years. How c'n any stranger know her? What's the man's name? Where does he come from?"

"Dunno, Boss; dunno." Rube shrugged his shoulders. "Guess th' best way fer you ter straighten out all them things is to step indoors an' 'vestigate."

Gideon straightened the wide rim of his hat, arranged his scarf, and tightened his belt. The horse's furnishings told him that the stranger was not a low-down prairie loafer. He strode to the veranda steps, and, crossing to the open door, looked furtively within the living-room.

Mee-Mee, Rube's Redskin mother, stood with her back to the cooking-stove, stirring a cup of steaming coffee as she smiled at the stranger, talking to him in the Pawnee tongue, which Gideon did not understand. The stranger sat on the edge of the table, facing her, boyishly swinging a loose leg. He took the proffered cup of coffee and rested it beside him on the table, almost touching his revolver.

Gideon noticed that the ivory butt of the revolver, projecting from its holster, was silver-mounted. He also noticed that the man's leather belt was new and brightly polished, that his red shirt was of very fine flannel, and his spotted blue scarf of fine soft silk. His short hair was black, and his complexion as dark as that of an Italian.

The stranger did not look round until Gideon was close up to him. Then he stood up from the table and turned.

"Well, Gid, old man," he said very quietly, "d'ye know me?"

Gideon drew back, staring into the stranger's handsome, clean-shaven face, trying to recognize it. His visitor smiled, showing his even white teeth. Then, dropping his hat on the floor, Gideon leapt forward with eager, outstretched hands.

"Kiddie!" he cried. "Kiddie!--you--back here! Here to th' old shack?"

Kiddie took the old man's head tenderly between his hands, drew it to him, and kissed the straggling grey hairs.

"Yes, Gid," he said. "It's me, sure; come back to the old shack and the old man--back like a wild coyote to its lair among the rocks."

"And it was you, then, as came gallopin' along the trail this mornin', time the Injuns crept up to the corral? It was you as fired all them shots from behind the willows? You that raced like mad inter One Tree Gulch an' dropped your lariat over Broken Feather? Oh, Kiddie, Kiddie, I might ha' known--I might ha' known. But I never thought, never guessed it c'd be you. My! how you've growed! how you've--improved! And you ain't wearin' your earl's coronet, nor your robe trimmed round with ermine skins? You've come just like one of ourselves."

"Yes," Kiddie laughed--"in the uniform of the plains, like a simple frontier scout, leaving all the useless fashionable fixings behind me in England."

"Didn't yer like it, then?" Gideon questioned. "Didn't yer cotton to it, bein' a English nobleman with a pile o' dollars an' vast estates? Didn't yer find that seat in the House of Lords altogether comfortable?"

Kiddie sipped at the cup of coffee.

"I never even entered the House of Lords," he explained. "It wasn't really necessary. As to my being an English nobleman--well, that was all right; nobody ever objected; everybody was tremendously kind and considerate. But somehow I didn't exactly cotton to it, Gid. I was never at my ease, except when out riding, or shooting, or yachting. You see, the blood of the wilds is in my veins. I didn't like the whirl and gaiety and excitement of London. It seemed somehow hollow and insincere. I yearned for the freedom and simplicity of life on the prairies; couldn't put myself on a level with men who had been to public schools and universities, or talk with elegant ladies who were maybe criticizing the way I ate and spoke and moved. I even felt myself inferior to my own valet, who addressed me as 'your lordship' while teaching me the proper way to wear my fine clothes."

"Ah!" sighed Gideon. "In them circumstances nat'rally you occasion'lly thought of the old trail here, an' of me an' the boys, eh?"

"Always," Kiddie answered him. "Always in the social rush of London I heard the dear old tune of the Sweetwater River, the musical murmur of the pine trees, and all the familiar voices of the wilds, and they for ever called to me, 'Kiddie, Kiddie, come back, come back! This is the life for you, not that.' And so, old man, I've come back."

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