Ellis Edward Sylvester
The Great Cattle Trail

CHAPTER XXII.
THUNDERBOLT

Avon Burnet knew that when the cattlemen reached a point within a half mile of his home, and the fire had not yet been started, that all danger was over. It was beyond the power of the assailants, with the slight time at their command, to harm the defenders.

Then naturally his thoughts turned to his mustang Thunderbolt, that had been left in the mesquite bush with the animal belonging to his uncle. The chances were that the Comanches had captured both, but he was not without hope regarding his own pony.

The steed was so intelligent that he was certain to resist the approach of a stranger at night, especially if he were an Indian. The redskins were so occupied in trying to encompass the death of the Texan and his family, besides being well supplied with their own steeds, that they were not likely to put forth much effort to capture a single animal.

The youth was as eager as his companions to do his part in driving off the red men, but the chance was denied him. The spare horse which he rode, and which he put to his best pace, could not hold his own with the rest, and consequently he arrived at the rear of the procession.

He glanced right and left, but caught the outlines of but one figure, whose identity he suspected, because he was standing in front of the cabin door.

“Helloa, uncle, is that you?”

“Yes, Avon; I see you have arrived; I hope you suffered no harm.”

“Matters were stirring for a time, but I am safe.”

At this moment, Mrs. Shirril and Dinah, recognizing the voice, opened the door, the captain inviting them to come outside.

The fire was now burning so briskly on the hearth that the interior was well illuminated, so that their figures were plainly stamped against the yellow background.

“There isn’t anything left for you to do,” said the captain, “so you may as well dismount.”

The firing, shouts, and yells came from a remote point in the bush, and were rapidly receding.

Avon came down from his saddle, kissed his aunt, shook hands with his uncle, and spoke kindly to Dinah, who was proud of the handsome fellow.

“Uncle,” said he briskly, “what do you suppose, has become of your horse Jack and Thunderbolt?”

“Taken off by the Comanches, or killed.”

“I suppose that is probable, but I shall make a search for them.”

Believing this could be done better on foot, he left the pony in charge of his relative and walked hastily into the bush.

“I don’t suppose there is much hope, but I have an idea that maybe Thunderbolt has been wounded and needs looking after. The bullets have been flying pretty thickly during the last few minutes, and for that matter,” he added, pausing a few seconds to listen, “they are not through yet.”

On the edge of the bush he encountered a horseman, whose voice, when hailed, showed that he was “Jersey.”

“What’s the trouble?” asked Avon, pausing to exchange words with his friend.

“Aint nothing more to do,” was the response; “the varmints are travelling faster than this horse can go, though he was one of their animals.”

“How was that?”

“I got it in the neck–that is my critter did. I had one of them pretty well pinned, when he fired from under his horse’s belly and my pony went down, as dead as a doornail. I came mighty nigh being mashed under him, but I dropped the other chap, for all I couldn’t see him when I drew bead. I ’spose it was a chance shot, but the minute he went off his horse got so bewildered he didn’t know what to do with himself. While he was trotting about, I catched him, put my bridle on him without trouble, and here I am, Baby.”

“Sure he isn’t one of ours?” asked Avon, approaching still nearer and looking him over as well as he could in the darkness.

“He is now, but he wasn’t fifteen minutes ago.”

Knowing that he was not Thunderbolt, the youth was hopeful that it might prove Jack; but it took only a minute to learn that Jersey was right. The steed had been brought to the spot by one of the Comanches and was a fine animal, though so much time passed before the Texan secured him that he was simply prudent in not trying to follow after the red men, who were far beyond reach.

Jersey laughed when Avon told him his errand, but said he would not be much surprised if he was successful, for the reasons which have been already stated.

There had been hot work in the bush, for when the cattlemen charged the Comanches, they did so with all the vigor of their nature. These Indians were among the most persistent thieves in Texas, and, as the reader knows, the man who attempts to run off another’s cattle or horses commits a more flagrant crime in that section of our Union than he does when he seeks the owners’ lives.

Avon bore to the left, leaving the principal theatre of the scrimmage, and had not reached the border of the mesquite when he almost stumbled over a fine horse that lay on its side, without a particle of life.

“I wonder whether that is Thunderbolt,” he said, with a feeling of dread, as he bent over to examine the body.

Drawing a rubber safe from his pocket, he struck a match, and by the tiny flame looked at the head and side of the dead steed.

One scrutinizing glance was enough; the body was not that of his own favorite, but of Jack, belonging to his uncle.

“Poor Jack!” murmured the youth with a thrill of sympathy, “you have been on many a stirring campaign, but you will go on no more. I wonder how it was you met your death.”

It looked as if the mustang had been stricken by a stray shot, that may have been fired by a friend, for it was not to be supposed that a Comanche would have killed him purposely, when he would have been a valuable prize.

The bridle and saddle were in the cabin, so that the owner had simply lost one of his horses, his supply of extra ones being sufficient to replace him without trouble.

“I am afraid there is little chance of finding Thunderbolt alive,” added the youth, as he resumed his search.

He made his way through the bush with the utmost care, for, although the Indians had been sharply repulsed, he was aware of the custom of those people, when any of their number are killed or wounded. The survivors put forth every exertion to take them away with them, having the horror of their race against any falling into the hands of their enemies. It was more than likely that when the sun rose not a body would be anywhere in sight. Even the warrior who had run him so hard, only to succumb to the rifle of Ballyhoo Gleeson, would not be forgotten by his former comrades.

Advancing with the utmost caution, he heard a rustling in the bush in front. Quite sure that it was caused by his enemies, he stood a minute or two listening, uncertain whether to advance or withdraw. But he found the parties were receding, and he ventured to steal forward in order to gain a closer sight of them.

A short walk took him to the edge of the mesquite, where the additional light offered a partial view of a strange scene.

Two able-bodied warriors were supporting a third between them. The wounded one was able to walk slowly with help, but it was apparent that he was badly hurt, for he leaned heavily upon his support, who stopped at intervals to give him rest.

Finally the party halted, and one of them emitted a tremulous but sharp whistle. The signal was for a couple of their own horses, which loomed to sight in the gloom, as they advanced in obedience to the command.

Fearful of being discovered, if he left the bush, Avon kept in the shadow and watched the party. His view was indistinct, but it was easy to see that the two warriors were lifting their wounded companion upon the back of one of the mustangs. When this was done a Comanche took his seat behind him, so as to hold him in place by passing an arm around his waist. Those people had no need of saddles, their accoutrement consisting of the single thong fastened around the head of the animal, and by which he could be guided at the will of his master. Indeed, many of the Comanches ride without any such aid at all, their intelligent animals being obedient to their voices, and seeming to comprehend their wishes as if by intuition.

Soon after the mustangs and their riders faded from view in the gloom, the horses on a moderate walk. They would have proven easy victims to a couple of the cattlemen, had they appeared at this moment, but, much as the fiery ranchmen despised and hated this tribe, it may be doubted whether there was one of their number who would have taken advantage of such an opportunity.

The Texans were ready to fight at all times, but there is a chivalry in their composition which prevents their taking an unfair advantage of a foe. They would have allowed the trio to ride away unmolested, which is just what the Comanches would not have done, had their situations been reversed.

Avon Burnet was considering whether it was worth while to push his search further, when, to his surprise, an exclamation broke upon his ear, in the form of a vigorous “Oofh!” as nearly as it can be put in letters.

He knew it came from the lips of an Indian, who was not far off, though in a different direction from that taken by the warriors and their wounded comrade. It was more to the south, though the penetrating glance he cast in that direction failed to reveal the individual.

But it was heard again, and now, when he looked, he was able to catch the dim outlines of a horse, walking slowly toward him.

“What’s the matter with the Comanches to-night?” the puzzled youth asked himself; “they seem to be up to all manner of tricks.”

As the horseman gradually became more distinct, he saw that the rider was in an odd quandary. He was striving to turn the animal in the opposite direction, but he would not obey. He flung up his head, sometimes reared angrily, and, though he maintained a walk, kept pushing straight on toward the bush, despite the savage attempts of the rider to make him wheel about.

A suspicion flashed through the mind of Avon. The man was an Indian beyond question, and the horse could not be his own, for, if it were, he would have obeyed him without urging. It must be one of the Texan horses that he was trying to steal.

The youth uttered the familiar signal by which he was able at all times to bring Thunderbolt to his side, when he was within hearing. The mustang replied with a glad whinny, and broke into a trot straight for his master. It was indeed his prized animal, with a Comanche warrior on his back.

CHAPTER XXIII.
“GOOD-BY!”

The Comanche must have been disgusted. He had been trying for some time to steal the mustang of Avon Burnet, with the result that the pony was about to steal him, unless he prevented it offhand.

The Indian heard the whistle from the edge of the bush, and the instant increase of speed, on the part of the stubborn mustang, made the meaning clear to him. He did not know but that three or four Texans were waiting in the mesquite, and that, if he stayed on the back of the steed a minute longer, he would be carried directly into their arms.

Consequently he did not hesitate. He went off of Thunderbolt, as if struck by a cannon ball, and, heading out on the prairie, ran with might and main, quickly disappearing in the darkness, and was seen no more.

“Ah, my own Thunderbolt!” exclaimed the delighted Avon, patting the nose of his beast, who was as happy as he at being restored to his young master; “I thought I would never see you again, but here you are.”

He sprang upon the bare back, and the pony started through the bush for the cabin.

Arriving there, matters were found in a satisfactory shape. Ballyhoo Gleeson was the only cowboy that had remained behind with Captain Shirril. The rest had started to look after the cattle. It has been shown that a number had been stampeded, and since all care was necessarily withdrawn from the others, they were likely to follow suit. Then, too, it was probable that the Comanches would see their chance of securing some of the herd, and would make the attempt despite the rough handling they had received.

Nothing could have attested more strikingly the fact that our friends were accustomed to their wild, dangerous life, than the manner in which they now acted. A half hour before, the little family within the cabin considered themselves in such imminent peril of being burned to death that they allowed young Burnet to run the greatest risk to secure help, before it was too late.

But now Captain Shirril and Ballyhoo Gleeson sat before the fire, that was burning brightly, smoking their pipes, and talking as though the occurrence was of the most ordinary nature. The ranchman had made sure of his supply of tobacco, and intended to ride back to camp, after spending an hour or so within the house.

Everyone had eaten supper before the lively incidents opened, and Mrs. Shirril now resumed her sitting in front of the fire, occasionally taking part in the words of her husband and guests. Dinah was heard muttering angrily to herself upstairs, as she investigated the damages done by the visitor in her apartment.

Avon, on his return, told his uncle about his horse, explaining that he was fortunate enough to recover Thunderbolt.

“You were luckier than I supposed you would be,” said the captain, as his nephew drew up his chair near them.

“Do you think,” asked the wife, “that the Comanches will trouble us further, husband?”

“There is no danger,” he replied, calmly puffing his pipe; “is there, Ballyhoo?”

“None at all,” was the calm response.

“I thought perhaps that because they had suffered so severely, they would come back to revenge themselves,” ventured the little woman, still busily plying her needle.

“But you see the damage was done, not by you and Dinah, though you did your part, but by the men, and them’s the ones they’ll go for,” observed Ballyhoo.

“That is not the invariable rule with Indians,” was the truthful remark of Mrs. Shirril. “It makes little difference to them whether the innocent or guilty suffer.”

“But,” said the husband, “the prime object of the redskins is cattle, with perhaps horses thrown in. You know they have been hanging round for a number of days, waiting for a chance before we started north; they will make an effort to run off those stampeded cattle to-night, and likely enough will follow us into the Indian Nation, on the watch for a chance to gather in several hundred hoofs.”

“I think there’s one thing that’s encouraging,” said Avon, addressing all his friends; “you know how dry the roof of the house is. If Dinah hadn’t put her foot down when she did, there would have been no cabin at this moment. The Comanches tried to fire the sides, and failing in that, gave their attention to the roof, where they came so near succeeding.”

“What do you refer to as encouraging, Avon?” asked his uncle.

“There’s a storm in the air; we are going to have a regular driving rain, that will soak the roof until a ton of live-coals on the top wouldn’t set fire to the planking.”

“Baby is right,” said Ballyhoo, with a nod of his head; “rain will fall within twelve hours.”

“That is good news,” said the wife, with a pleased look; “I shall now see the captain and the rest of you leave without a misgiving as concerns ourselves.”

“You wouldn’t feel frightened, Edna, if old Wygwind and his gang of imps should come whooping down upon you?” asked the captain, looking sideways, with an expression of admiration and love glowing from his shaggy face.

“I don’t pretend to say we would not be frightened, but Dinah and I would feel secure inside, so long as there was no danger of the building being burned. I wonder whether Wygwind led this party.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if he did; he’s one of the worst scamps that ever lived.”

“You’re right,” assented Ballyhoo. “I believe he led this gang, though a chap couldn’t tell in the darkness. You know what a thief he is.”

The allusion was to the notorious Comanche Wygwind, one of the many leaders belonging to that tribe. He was a powerful, wiry Indian, in middle life, who had long been detested by the ranchmen for his thievish and brutal propensities. He had stolen hundreds of cattle, not to mention horses, and though often pursued, and driven more than once into dangerous quarters, he had managed in some way to pull through to the present time.

“If he should get inside,” said the captain slyly, “and you should get the drop on him, wife, I advise that you don’t let him walk out of the door unharmed.”

“That depends on circumstances,” quietly replied his better half; “if he should appeal to me, and he had done no particular harm, I could hardly refuse him. However, I don’t think if he does enter it will be through the scuttle.”

“The next time it will be best to turn him over to the mercies of Dinah.”

“I am afraid it will go ill with him if I do. I heard her say to herself, when she went upstairs after you, that, on the return trip, she meant to fall from the round of the ladder upon him: the result would have been frightful.”

“Yes; that red man doesn’t know all that he escaped.”

The mutterings of Dinah were still audible overhead, and she was seen the next minute, descending the primitive stairs.

The little party smiled, and the captain turned toward her.

“Well, Dinah, you didn’t find much damage done in your room, did you?”

“Humph! ’cause de warmint didn’t hab time. I only wish I had a chance to wrung his neck.”

“No doubt you would have done it, but I think we all have cause for gratitude that things turned out as well as they did.”

“I guess you didn’t notice dat big hole dey come nigh burning frough de roof, did you?”

“Oh, yes; I saw it; it would have been much worse but for you; I hope the fire didn’t injure your shoe.”

She turned her foot and looked at the broad sole of the heavy shoe, as though the thought had not occurred to her before.

“It am scorchified a little,” she said.

“Never mind,” remarked Ballyhoo gravely; “I’ll give out a contract for a new pair for you, when we get into Kansas, and send a couple of the boys back with them, if they don’t prove too big a load.”

“I consider such remarks as onnecessary and slightsome,” replied Dinah, with a scornful toss of her head; “I wore number ’lebens, which am just a lady’s size; I reckons you can’t do much better dan dat.”

“If my feet keep on growing for a few years, I may get there in time, but you shall have the shoes, Dinah, if the right size can be bought in any of the big establishments.”

“T’ank you,” replied the African, who thought it best not to repel the offer of her friend; “dese am gettin’ wored consid’ble, and by de time you got back, I’ll need anoder pair.”

The evening was advancing. In answer to Ballyhoo’s inquiries, Captain Shirril looked at his watch, and said that it was nearly eleven o’clock.

“I must be off,” remarked the tall ranchman, rising to his feet; “we make an early start, and I don’t know how the boys have made out with the cattle; they may need my help.”

“I may as well go with you,” said Avon, looking inquiringly at his uncle; “for there is to be no more work here.”

“It will be just as well,” replied the captain.

The youth took his saddle and accoutrements from the corner, where they had been lying, and stepping outside, adjusted them upon Thunderbolt, who whinnied with pleasure at the promise of carrying his loved owner on his back indefinitely. The two had become attached by their companionship on the hunt and ranch, and the delight of the youth on recovering his mustang was beyond expression.

While he was busy at this brief task, the members of the little family kept their feet, discussing matters in which each was interested.

“Well, I’m ready, Ballyhoo,” called Avon, in his cheery voice, stepping quickly through the open door.

He placed one arm around the neck of his aunt and kissed her affectionately, shook hands with Dinah, adding as he crossed palms with his uncle:

“I expect to see you again, soon. Keep up a good heart, auntie, while we are gone, which I don’t think will be for long. Good-by, all!”

He put his foot in the stirrup, swung himself into the saddle, at the same moment that his companion did the same, and the couple headed their animals to the northward.

Captain Shirril and the women remained in the door, looking forth in the darkness, and listening until the sounds of the hoofs died out in the distance. Then the Texan led the way inside, adjusting the bar in place so that no one could enter without permission.

The extra horse which Avon had ridden to the cabin was turned loose in the bush, to be recovered and used by the captain when he wished to ride to the camp. Ballyhoo had removed the saddle and bridle, which lay in the corner where Avon’s had awaited him.

The Texan stood a minute, looking around the room, as if trying to recall any forgotten duty, but thought of none.

“It is later than I suspected,” said he, addressing his wife and consulting his watch again; “and we may as well retire.”

He lighted a common tallow candle, and with that in his hand, led the way up the ladder, followed by the others. Fifteen minutes later, everyone was sleeping as soundly as though the evening had not been disturbed by any unusual incident.