Ellis Edward Sylvester
The Great Cattle Trail

CHAPTER XIII.
A DEAD RACE

Avon Burnet was thunderstruck. When he supposed he was several miles from the cabin of his uncle, he found himself directly in front of it, and the Indian horse, upon which he relied to take him to the camp of the cattlemen, had brought him to what might be called the mouth of the lion’s den.

Not only had the precious minutes been thrown away, but his peril was of the most desperate nature.

Hardly had the pony halted, when a couple of figures loomed to view in the darkness on the left, and one of them called to him in Comanche. This told the youth that his identity was unsuspected by the red men, whose view was too indistinct to distinguish him from one of their own number. But they were coming toward him, and his broad sombrero must reveal the truth the next instant.

Not a second was to be lost. They were almost upon him, when he wheeled and urged his mustang to a dead run, throwing himself forward at the same moment, in the usual way, to avoid the bullets that would be whistling about him before he could pass beyond reach.

But the steed got the mischief in him at this moment. He must have understood the treachery demanded of him, for instead of dashing off, as was expected, he spitefully flung his head from side to side and reared, with his fore-legs high from the ground.

Had Avon been on the open prairie, with time at his command, he would have conquered the beast, as he had done many a time with others, but he could not do so now. There was not the twinkling of an eye at his disposal.

The mustang was still rearing and pawing the air, when Avon whisked over his shoulder, like a skilled equestrian, landing nimbly on his feet, and breaking into a dead run toward the cattle camp five miles away. His action, as well as that of his horse, made known the astonishing truth to the approaching Comanches.

Several warning whoops broke the stillness, and it seemed to the fugitive that half the Indians were in pursuit of him. He glanced back and was not a little surprised to observe that all were on foot. The pony which had just been freed must have concluded to enjoy his liberty while the chance was his, for, instead of going to his master, he galloped whinnying in another direction.

But all of these men had mustangs, which, as has been said, were among the finest of their species, and they were likely to take part in the singular contest.

If the chase should retain its present character the young man had hope, for he was one of the fleetest of Texans, who had never met his superior among the veterans of the plains. The Comanches are also wonderfully active on foot, and it remained to be decided whether they could overtake him in a fair contest.

Avon Burnet ran as never before. He was speeding now for his own life as well as for that of his friends, for they were in as urgent need of help as ever. He knew his face was toward camp, he remembered the nature of the ground, and had no fear, therefore, of stumbling into any pitfalls.

Accustomed as the Comanches were to running, they must have been surprised at the burst of speed shown by the young man, who seemed to be going over the plain like the wind.

As he ran Avon cast furtive glances over his shoulder, and his heart tingled when he saw that he was steadily drawing away from the four figures which seemed to have sprung from the ground itself.

“Keep it up, boys,” he muttered, “and see where you land. If you can down me in this style, you are welcome.”

But it was not to be expected that the pursuers would content themselves while the swift-footed youth left them out of sight. The moment they saw that such an issue was likely, they would resort to their rifles, and there could be no question of their skill with those weapons, which they had been accustomed to use from the hour they were strong enough to hold one of them.

There must have been some urgent wish on the part of the red men to capture the youth, else they would have appealed to their guns at first. The rearing mustang served as a partial shield to the fugitive, until he was fairly under way and had secured a start of several rods, in fact being almost invisible in the gloom at the moment the race fairly opened.

The third glance over his shoulder showed him only two of the Comanches in sight, and hardly half a minute elapsed, when, on looking back again, only one was visible.

But the fact became speedily apparent that this particular red man was as fleet as himself. He must have been the champion of his tribe, since he parted company with his companions so speedily.

“I don’t know whether I can shake you off or not,” thought the fugitive, “but it’s a mighty sight better to be chased by a single enemy than by several.”

The youth determined upon a piece of strategy, should it prove possible. He meant to keep up the flight, without escaping his pursuer, until he was drawn so far away from the rest that he could receive no help from them. This, at the same time, would encourage the miscreant in the belief that he would soon overhaul and make him prisoner.

The first part of the scheme was comparatively simple. It was easier to allow the scamp to gain upon him than it was to outrun him; it was somewhat more difficult to hold the rates of speed relatively equal, while it looked extremely doubtful whether, when the moment should arrive, he could leave him behind.

In support of this view, Avon did not fail to remember that he had put forth his utmost exertion from the first, and still was unable to shake off his enemy, who clung as persistently to him as does the wolf to the wounded bison.

What he feared, too, as much as anything else, was that the other Comanches, who had withdrawn from the race, would hasten to the vicinity of the cabin, and, mounting their mustangs, take part in the struggle. If a horseman should get but a single glimpse of him, it would not take him long to run the fugitive down.

It was this dread which caused him to swerve gradually to the left, though he kept such careful note of the change that there was no danger of his going astray as before.

None of the pursuers, from the moment of starting, gave vent to any outcry, as they are generally supposed to do under similar circumstances. Such a proceeding would have been as great a draught upon his strength as outright laughter, and the American Indian is too wise not to husband every resource.

It required little cessation of effort to permit the Comanche to come up with him at an alarming rate. A few minutes would have allowed the pursuer to overhaul the fugitive.

Only a few minutes had passed since the furious start, and Avon felt that the time had come to consider himself as dealing only with this single redskin. Still bearing to the left he put forth all his energies, resolved to run away from him, if the achievement was within the range of possibility.

It was not. Try as desperately as he might, the Comanche could not be shaken off.

An encounter being inevitable, Avon had to decide upon the manner in which it should take place.

Inasmuch as the warrior must have felt certain of coming up with him, he was not likely to appeal to his rifle, or that would have been his first act when the contest opened. He would continue to run until near enough either to seize the youth or to use his weapon against him.

Avon concluded that the only course which offered hope was to allow the warrior to approach slightly closer, and then to wheel and let him have several chambers from his Winchester.

He would have to act quickly, but he had already proven himself capable of that, and it might be that the Comanche would be looking for something of the kind, and was supple enough to secure the drop on him. His people were accustomed to border warfare and had graduated in all the subtlety of the fearful business.

Young Burnet had fixed his course of action in his mind when, to his consternation, he heard the sounds of approaching hoofs over the prairie!

CHAPTER XIV.
THE FRIEND IN NEED

If horsemen were thundering toward the spot, the fugitive was doomed.

But, though seized with despair, he did not yield. On the contrary, he was nerved to such desperation that he put forth a tremendous effort, which quickly increased the space between him and the pursuer.

But instead of heading away from the coming animals, he turned directly toward them, at the same astonishing velocity. Why he did this, he himself did not fully understand. It may have been that, impressed with the utter uselessness of trying to escape by running, he had a blind hope of unhorsing one of his enemies and wrenching his steed from him.

He had taken only a few leaps, however, when he discovered that the beasts running forward, as if to meet him, were cattle.

Fully fifty animals, belonging to the herd several miles distant, had started out on a little stampede of their own, and fate brought them and him in collision.

It mattered not, for nothing could make the situation worse. The next instant Avon was among them, in imminent risk of being trampled to death. The beasts were terrified by the advent of the footman, and scattered in the wildest confusion.

While he was in such deadly peril, the animals served as a shield against the assault of the Comanche close behind him. Anxious as he was to secure the fugitive, he was not prepared to “cut him out” from a drove of stampeded cattle.

He turned to avoid the terrific rush, and catching fitful glimpses of the leaping form among the beasts, raised his gun and let fly.

His shot struck, but, instead of bringing down the youth, it tumbled one of the bullocks headlong on the plain. Avon would have turned at once to give attention to his enemy, had he not been fully occupied in saving himself from the animals themselves.

Fortunately he had not penetrated far among the drove, and, by a continuance of his inimitable dexterity, he dodged from among them, helped thereto by the efforts of the cattle themselves to flee from the terrifying object.

It was at this juncture, when the youth was striving to get sight of his enemy, who, he believed, was trying equally hard to secure another shot at him, that he saw the very thing he had been dreading from the first.

It was a single horseman, who almost rode him down ere he could check his steed. Avon was so flurried from his fierce exertions, that, before he could bring his rifle to his shoulder and discharge it, the other anticipated him.

But the man did not fire at him. He aimed at the Comanche, not a dozen yards distant, and hit him fairly and squarely.

“Helloa, Baby, what the mischief is up?”

“Thank Heaven, Ballyhoo, it’s you!” exclaimed the panting youth, ready to drop from exhaustion.

“Ballyhoo,” was the nickname of Oscar Gleeson, one of the cowboys in charge of the two thousand cattle that were to start northward on the morrow over the Great Cattle Trail.

“Baby” was the name by which Avon Burnet was known among the rest, because of his youth.

Leaning over his horse, the tall Texan reached down and grasped the hand of his young friend.

“It sort of looks, Baby, as though I had arrived in time to do you a little turn.”

“There’s no doubt of that, for I couldn’t have run much further.”

“But why did you run at all? I observed but one Injin, and he’s of no further account now.”

“When I started there were four after me, but I threw all out of sight except one. I was on the point of turning to fight him, when I heard the cattle, and thought they were other Comanches coming to the help of this fellow.”

“But things seem to be in a queer shape at the house; tell me the trouble.”

“Why, how did you know anything about it at all?” asked the surprised Avon.

“I’ve been down there and seen things for myself.”

“Let me hear about that first, then I’ll let you know what I have to tell, and it is important indeed.”

The Texan, in obedience to his training, cast a look after the vanishing herd and sighed.

“It’ll be a big job to round them up, but I guess we’ll have to leave ’em alone for a time. Wal, you know we went into camp a few miles to the north, to wait for you and the captain that was to jine us in the morning. We were looking after things, when I remembered that I had left my package of tobacco at the house. Things were so quiet, and I was so afeared that you and the captain would forgit to bring it with you, that I concluded to ride over after it myself. I never dreamed of any of the varmints being there, and was going along at a swinging gait, when I heard the sound of a gun and I fetched up my horse to learn what it meant. I didn’t see an Injin, but while I was looking somebody made a rush from the front of the house for the bush.”

“It was myself,” interrupted Avon excitedly, “and the captain fired to save me and did it.”

“I reckon that was Ballyhoo Gleeson that let loose that partic’lar shot,” said the cowboy with a chuckle; “I didn’t know who it was running, but thought it was one of the varmints. Just afore that I was sure that I seed one of ’em and I let fly, shootin’ on gineral principles as you might say. I might have investigated things, but the Comanches were too numerous for comfort, and I wheeled about and made off.”

“So it was you who fired the shot that really cleared the way for me,” said the astonished youth; “I supposed, all the time, that it was my uncle. Where have you been since?”

“I started for camp to tell the boys, and was on my way when I met these confounded cattle. I didn’t want them to get too fur off, as none of the fellows ’peared to be after them. I was trying to round them up, when this little affair took place.”

“But, Ballyhoo, why didn’t you let the cattle go and make all haste after help.”

“Who wants help?”

“The folks in the house; do you suppose I would have ventured out as I did, if they were not in instant need of it?”

Evidently the Texan found it hard to understand the extremity of Captain Shirril and his family.

“There are three of ’em there and each has a gun; I don’t see why you need worry, ’cause the varmints can’t get at ’em and they’ll clear out in the morning.”

“That might be, but uncle says they will set fire to the cabin, unless they are driven off.”

“I didn’t think of that,” replied Gleeson, who still could not feel the alarm of his young friend; “the cabin has been purty well dried up by the drought of the last few months. I thought the varmints were after the cattle, and,” he added, again peering through the gloom after the herd, which had run so far that they were not only out of sight but beyond hearing, “they stand a show of making a good haul. But,” he continued more savagely, “they will find a little trouble in getting off with them. There’s too many for us to lose without a big fight.”

“It doesn’t make any difference if the whole herd is stampeded, we must hurry to the aid of the folks in the cabin.”

“Being as them sentiments are the captain’s,” said Ballyhoo, “why, I’m agreeable to doing as him and you wish. So jump up here behind me, and we’ll go to camp.”

“I can walk.”

“Up with you!” commanded the Texan. “I shouldn’t wonder if some more of the varmints will be on hand afore long, to attend the obsequies of their champion runner.”

Avon obeyed, and the laden mustang struck off to the northward, at an easy gait.

CHAPTER XV.
VANISHED

It was a startling sight, when Captain Shirril, stretched at full length on the roof of his cabin, gazed in front of him and saw the head and shoulders of a Comanche Indian slowly rise to view at the corner of the eaves.

He could not doubt its meaning: the assailants were bent on burning the structure, and were willing to face the danger that was sure to meet them in making the attempt.

Even in this exciting moment, the Texan could not help asking himself the question which he had asked many times before: why did not the redskins set fire to the side of the house, where they were involved in no such peril as now? They might have gathered several armfuls of combustibles, and, heaping them against the wooden walls, fire them at their leisure, but, for some reason, they preferred to climb upon the roof, and run the risk of colliding with the courageous Dinah or her fearless master.

In doing as they did, the Comanches were shrewder than would be supposed. It is true that the narrow windows commanded only one side of the cabin, and that the attempt spoken of brought little if any danger to themselves. In fact, as afterward was learned, they did their best to set fire to the rear, and at the end, but the timber was so damp that the flames failed to communicate. The long continued drought affected the walls to a far less degree than the roof, where the sun had free play day after day. Had there been a driving storm, the top would have been less favorable than the walls, but from the causes named it lost its moisture much more readily.

Besides, the flames on the roof could not be reached as readily nor with so much safety by the defenders as at the sides. They naturally believed there was plenty of water at command. The moment the fire should begin to show through the crevices in the timbers, this could be dashed against the other side and brought into play.

It was different on the roof, which could not be reached so well. There may have been other motives influencing the Comanches in the first instance, such as supposing that the whites, having once repulsed the attempt, would not look for its repetition, since the Indians must expose themselves to the greatest possible peril.

However, without speculating as to their reasons, the fact remained that a second Indian was rising like an apparition above the eaves, with the evident intention of trying to repair the failure of his companion a short time before.

Captain Shirril felt that it would have been better had he stayed where he was; for, with his head just above the level of the scuttle, he could have picked off the wretch the very moment he became aware of his presence.

But now, while creeping so guardedly along the roof, he had held his rifle by the barrel, with most of the weapon behind him. Had it been discharged, in that position, it was he who would have received the bullet, instead of the Indian.

To make the gun effective, he must bring it around in front and sight it. While his own form pressed the planking so close that the savage apparently failed to identify him, though carefully scanning the surface, there was a strong probability that he would detect the meaning of the slight noise involved in the act.

The Texan dared not advance nor retreat, though he would have preferred to withdraw through the opening; but the moment he made sure of what confronted him, he began bringing his gun forward, with the resolve to fire the moment he could draw a bead on the miscreant.

The weapon advanced like the minute-hand over the face of a clock. Knowing the stake for which he was working, he did not neglect any precaution that could bring success.

“He can duck his head quickly enough,” thought the captain, “but I’ll pick him off the instant there is reason to believe he scents mischief.”

His intention, in such an event, was to bring his Winchester to the right position and discharge it with the utmost celerity. His experience in the Civil War and in Texas rendered him an adept at this business, but, on the other hand, it will be seen that the precautions of the Comanche himself could be executed in a twinkling.

“Confound the luck!”

Captain Shirril had almost reached the decisive point, when the head of the redskin vanished!

Whether or not he saw his danger cannot be said, but it is probable that the slight noise of the arm and gun struck his ear and decided him to drop out of sight until an investigation should be made.

The Texan was exasperated, for he was eager to bring down this scamp, and, up to the moment of his disappearance, was confident of doing so, but the opportunity was gone.

Instead of retreating to cover again, he decided to remain on the roof a brief while longer; but he stealthily shifted his position a little nearer the edge of the building. Now that he was at liberty for the moment, he laid aside his gun and drew his revolver. That was the weapon for such an emergency, and he kept it in position for instant use, without the fatal preliminaries that had just defeated his purpose.

The captain clung to the belief that, despite the second repulse of the Comanches, they would persist in their attempt until it should prove too costly to them.

But he was not shortsighted enough to believe the repetition would be in the precise fashion of the last: that is to say, he did not suspect the Indian, after ducking so promptly out of range, would pop up his head again to invite a shot.

“He will appear at some other corner,” was his conclusion, “which they believe is unguarded.”

His eyes had become so accustomed to the gloom that he could trace the outlines of the eaves around the cabin, and he felt little fear, therefore, of his enemies stealing upon him unawares. They might try it, but he was confident of defeating their purpose at the very onset.

Another fear troubled him: having learned that he was on the roof, they were likely to begin firing at it from a distance, raking the entire surface so effectively that some of the bullets were quite sure to find him. Prudence whispered to him to withdraw into the interior of the cabin while the chance was his, but there was a stubborn streak in the Texan’s composition which caused him to hold his place. He had been under fire so often that it seemed as if nothing could disturb his coolness or ruffle his presence of mind, and he was so inured to personal peril that he felt something of the old thrill of which he had spoken earlier in the evening, when recalling his experience in the war that had closed only a few years before.

But none of the expected shots came. He heard the sound of more than one mustang’s hoofs, and several signals between the warriors, but no one sent a bullet skimming along the slope on which he lay looking and listening, and on the alert for the first appearance of his assailants.

This led him to suspect that, after all, they were not certain of his presence. It was sound and not sight that had caused the sudden withdrawal of the warrior.

If this were the case, there was a greater probability of his showing up again.

It is at such times that the minutes seem to have ten-fold their real length. The Texan, after glancing closely along the rim of the roof, not forgetting to take a peep over the peak, turned his gaze to the northward, and listened for the sounds that were so long in coming. Not the glimmer of a light showed in that direction, nor could he catch the faintest sound of a galloping hoof, other than such as was made by the mustangs of the Comanches near the building.

“Avon ought to have arrived before this, and the boys would not throw away a second after learning the truth from him. He may have been hindered, but–”