Kiddie the Scout Read online

  Kiddie was silent for some moments as they crossed the clearing in front of the cabin. But at length he said—

  "Rather a tall order, Rube, my lad. And it's not just like teaching you to master a bucking broncho or to trap beaver. It's a longer process. But at least it's an experiment worth attempting, and we'll try it together."

  "That big bay pony of yours don't feel anyways at home in the stall where I've put him," said Rube, as they went up the veranda steps. "I've given him a drink an' a feed, an' I've put his saddle an' bridle in the best bedroom, where they won't take no harm. I'm sorry t' say, sir, as thar's a scratch of a bullet on the saddle. Leather's some torn; but I reckon mother c'n fix it up; same's she done my moccasins when I tore 'em in the bush, trackin' a lynx."

  "The saddle is of no consequence if Regent is all right," Kiddie assured him. "Regent is the name of the bay. He's an English hunter; doesn't know anything about the work of a prairie pony."

  Rube's mother had done her best to provide a good meal for the hungry men. They lingered at the table, all listening in wonder to what Kiddie told them of England and of the cities of Europe and Asia. He had been for a journey round the world, and had much to tell of his travels in foreign lands. Gradually as he talked, he dropped the precise English manner of speech and reverted to the homely phrases and drawling intonation of the West. And so they ceased to think of him as Lord St. Olave, regarding him without restraint as their familiar and unaltered Kiddie.

  Towards tea time he took out his watch. Gideon Birkenshaw noticed that it was a very ordinary one, with a gun metal case, held by a leather thong.

  "H'm!" the Old Man muttered. "I was expectin', Kiddie, as you'd be wearin' a real gold timepiece with a heavy gold chain. But that article you're handlin' ain't wuth more'n my own, as I've wore for twenty year. An' you ain't got no di'mond rings on yer fingers. But what d'ye want ter look at the time for, anyhow?"

  "I'm going to ride back as far as Fort Laramie," Kiddie answered. "My outfit will be coming along the trail in a day or two, and I'm warned that it would be well to get a squad of cowboys together to guard it across the plain."

  "Anythin' valu'ble as you're afraid of gettin' stole?" asked Isa Blagg. "Couldn't it be brought along safe in one o' Gid's farm carts?"

  Kiddie smiled.

  "Not quite," he answered. "There's too much of it. There's three mule wagons full, and there's a bunch of English horses. There's new sporting rifles and beaver traps, there's trunks full of clothing and personal fixings, material for building and furnishing a new cabin, to say nothing of money and other valuable property. But it's the horses I'm anxious about, Isa. If Laramie Plain is what it used to be, there's Indians and road agents hanging around who wouldn't think twice about helping themselves if the outfit isn't well protected."

  "Best be on the safe side, anyhow," cautioned Gideon.

  "And so," continued Kiddie, "I'm going to see Nick Undrell and get him to undertake the job."

  "What?" cried Isa Blagg. "Nick Undrell? Gee! The last man along the hull trail ter trust with a job like that."

  "Why, what's the matter with Nick?" Kiddie asked in surprise. "He used to be a steady, honest man, and an excellent scout—a friend of Buckskin Jack's, and that's good enough for me."

  "Ah," interposed Abe Harum. "But Nick's a altered man since them days. He's what y'might call degenerated; a bit too fonder fire-water an' playin' poker. Ain't above takin' a hand in the road agency business, either."

  "Meaning that he's a drunkard, a gambler, and a highwayman," nodded Kiddie. "Well, I'll go along and see him, anyhow."

  "No need," said Abe. "He's here in this yer camp, right now, with the boys that hev just rounded up an' corralled Gid's stolen ponies; only he ain't figurin' ter meet you as knowed him only as a honest man. He ain't a whole lot proud of hisself, these times, ain't Nick Undrell."

  Kiddie reached for his hat, strode across the veranda, and turned towards the corral. He looked exceedingly tall and handsome as he went out.

  "It's all right," he announced on his return, a quarter of an hour later. "Nick's going to muster a gang of his pals, and they'll act as armed escort. It seems that the word of the coming of my outfit has already been passed along the trail, and that even the Indians have gotten wind of it."

  "Kiddie," said Isa Blagg, "you're makin' a all-fired mistake. Nick Undrell has jus' canoodled you. That's about th' size of it. I knows Nick 's well as any one, an' I wouldn't trust him with a cent. Time after time in my capacity of sheriff of the Sweetwater district I've had him up before me—once fer stealin' a hoss, once fer robbin' the mail, once fer shootin' a man in a gamblin' saloon. He's just a desperado, Kiddie, an' I wouldn't have no truck with him."

  "Of course, I shall be there myself," Kiddie explained. "Young Rube and I will be there."

  "Git!" exclaimed the sheriff. "What's one man agin a hull gang o' scoundrels? You'll sure come a cropper, Kiddie; take my word. As fer the boy, why, takin' him along o' you's only a added responsibility, a added danger."

  Warnings such as these had very little effect upon Kiddie. Indeed, they only spurred him with a firmer resolve to the undertaking.

  Three mornings later he started for Laramie, well armed, mounted on one of Birkenshaw's prairie ponies, and accompanied by Rube Carter.

  Much to the boy's disappointment, he was very silent during the long ride. But his eyes and ears were constantly busy, and occasionally he pointed things out to Rube's notice—the flight of a covey of sagehens, the track of a herd of buffalo, the ashes of an old camp fire.

  Once, after fording Red Pine Creek, Kiddie dropped a glove, apparently by accident, and dismounted to pick it up. Rube did not observe that, on remounting, his companion held a black feather between his fingers.

  When they rode into Laramie, they found the cavalcade halted before Brierley's saloon, all ready to start. Nick Undrell rode up to Kiddie, respectfully touching the wide brim of his hat.

  "All s'rene, sir," he announced. "I got a gang o' picked boys distributed among the baggage. Seen any signs as you come along'?"

  "Only this." Kiddie held forth the feather he had found. "What d'ye make of it?"

  "Um, a black crow's wing feather, I guess," said Nick. "I see it's a broken feather. Where'd you pick it up?"

  "Alongside of Red Pine Creek," said Kiddie, "with a pebble atop ter keep it in place. Quill end pointed south-east—direction of White Bull Ridge."

  "Any hoof prints around? Thar was rain last night."

  "No; just the touch of a moccasined foot in the moist sand, edge of the grass."

  "We'll start right now, then," Nick decided. "I've gotten all the bills and doc'ments. You'll sign 'em when the goods is duly delivered. You'll be ridin' in front, I guess? You'll take the boy along? Say, if you scents trouble ahead, jes' hustle him back ter make me wise. Savee?"

  Kiddie rode well in advance of the leading wagon, with Rube at his side. He was now more than ever silent and watchful. Between Horse Shoe Bend and Hot Springs, where they were among the foothills and narrow valleys, his gaze was fixed steadily forward over his pony's restlessly twitching ears. He moved his rifle crosswise in front of him. Without averting his gaze, he said to the boy—

  "Just drop back, Rube, and tell Nick ter close up the ranks."

  Still riding forward at an easy pace, he gave no sign that he had seen anything unusual. The row of dark objects showing along the upper edge of a projecting rock might well have been mistaken for so many birds preening themselves in the sunlight, only that his keen eight had caught the movement of a pony's tail and the half-hidden plumes of an Indian's head-dress. He dropped the loop of his bridle reins over the pommel and slowly gripped his gun with a finger on the trigger.

  Instantly, the Redskin's head was raised. Kiddie fired at it. There was a wild, barbaric yell, and from both sides of the ravine Indians dashed forth from their ambush, riding downward to the attack.

  CHAPTER IV

  BROKEN FEATHER'S WAY

  Wh
en he had fired that first shot, and while the Redskins were still riding out from their ambush to rally on the level trail and charge down in a compact body upon his outfit, Kiddie turned his pony and galloped back under a hail of arrows. Most of them fell short; very few flew past him, and only one touched him, doing no harm.

  "That's right, Nick," he called, as he drew rein beside the leading mule wagon.

  "There's a whole crowd of em' comin' out from behind the rock," cried Rube Carter, going up to him. "I'm goin' ter git 'neath this yer wagon an' fire at 'em through one o' th' wheels."

  "You ain't goin' ter handle any gun," frowned Kiddie. "You're goin' ter hang back in the rear an' keep an eye on the hosses. Quit!"

  Nick Undrell, following his instructions, had promptly brought the three wagons into position, extending them obliquely across the level trail, one to the rear of the other, so that each should have its broadside presented like a redoubt towards the oncoming enemy, the mule teams being swung round into cover on the sheltered side.

  Kiddie's horses in the background were similarly protected from the line of fire, unless, indeed, the Indians should succeed in getting through on either flank, which was not at all probable.

  Six picked marksmen were concealed under the canvas covers of each of the wagons, and every man from behind his particular loophole commanded a wide section of the valley and of the hillside.

  The Indians, seeing that the outfit had come to a halt, as if in submission, delayed their advance while they closed into massed formation to sweep down upon their unresisting victims in one grand overwhelming rush. They could see only the three drivers, who had now jumped down to attend to their mules, and four riders, one of whom was a mere boy.

  Clearly, they considered the prairie schooners and their precious contents already their own, as well as the horses bunched in the rear. They could not have divined that, apart from the guns carried by the horsemen, there were eighteen repeating rifles levelled against them from under the cover of three innocent-looking carts.

  Kiddie dismounted, dropped his bridle rein over his pony's head, and took up a position behind the foot-board of the foremost wagon, from which he could look forward along the trail, with a rest for his elbows in levelling his gun. There was a neat little stack of cartridges in their clips within his easy reach.

  "Don't reckon as I touched Broken Feather when I fired that first shot along there," he remarked to Nick Undrell, who was posted near him.

  "That ain't Broken Feather hisself as you's looking at," said Nick, squinting along the barrel of his Winchester, "though I allows he's wearin' the chief's dinky head-dress. No, sir, that's Murm'rin' Water, the boss medicine man. You won't easily reco'nize Broken Feather by his body coverin'. You'll be a whole lot wiser'n I think you, if you kin single him out in that crowd. Hullo! Now for it!"

  Nick pressed his trigger. The Redskins were charging.

  "Let go, boys!" he cried, as a shower of arrows and ill-aimed bullets peppered against the off sides of the wagons and kicked up spurts of dust on the trail.

  Simultaneously the hidden men in the three carts opened fire. There was a loud burst of rifle shots, and then a continuous stream, broken only at momentary intervals as the magazines were refilled and again refilled.

  The Indians, taken wholly aback by this unexpected reception of point-blank fire, swerved in confusion. Many of them tumbled from their rearing, plunging, staggering ponies. Many of the ponies fell; many raced back riderless. There was a wild screech as the crowd stopped in their broken charge, unwilling to face the deadly barrier of bullets.

  "Cease fire!" cried Kiddie, lowering his rifle. "Cease fire, Nick. We've checked 'em, sure. Don't you see? Order your men ter quit shootin'."

  "Not yet," objected Nick, still using his gun. "We ain't finished yet, no more'n they. See the rooster in the fur cap—him ridin' the piebald mustang? He ain't done shootin' yet. He's figurin' ter pick you off. Bin at it all the time. Snakes! Why, it's Broken Feather hisself! Stand back! Leave him ter me, sir. Git back an' see ter them hosses—and the boy."

  As he spoke Nick again pressed his trigger. Kiddie saw the mustang rear on its hind legs, pawing the air as it pivoted round, and then fall over with a heavy thud. But its rider leapt clear, flung himself flat behind his fallen pony, and continued to shoot.

  Kiddie saw the mustang rear on its hind legs.

  "Jim's hit!" cried a voice from the wagon. "He's hit bad."

  "Alf'll look after him," called Nick, thrusting a new clip of cartridges into his gun. "Th' rest o' you keep on shootin'. Keep a watch on the side slopes. Some of 'em's liable ter sneak past."

  Some of the dismounted Indians now tried to work round to the flanks, crawling like snakes through the grass and taking shelter behind bush and boulder. But the sharp-eyed frontiersmen quickly detected them, and none got through.

  Kiddie saw this new danger, however, and, taking Nick's advice, he leapt on his waiting pony and rode back to the rear, to assure himself that Rube and the horses were safe.

  Rube was faithfully at his post, minding the horses and watching the back trail, but fretting sorely at being kept away from the excitement of the fighting.

  "All right," nodded Kiddie, riding up to him. "Drive the horses back there, to the shelter of the ravine, where the stream comes down. Give them a drink. They'll be glad of it. And—stop there with them. I'll give you a sign when I want you to bring them along."

  It seemed to Rube then that Kiddie wanted to get him out of the way, and he wondered at Kiddie's reasons for keeping him from participating in the battle.

  Young though he was, and he was only fourteen, Rube considered himself quite capable of handling a gun and looking after himself. And he wasn't a coward. Why could he not be allowed even to look on from a safe shelter?

  Kiddie's reasons, nevertheless, were good. He was thinking less of the boy, whom he implicitly trusted, than of his horses, and of a new peril which at this moment seemed to threaten the whole of his company.

  Just as he had halted beside Rube he had turned his glance back along the narrow valley. Far off in the blue distance he had seen a thin film of dust rising; or was it smoke? He was not certain at first, but when Rube had gone he looked again in the same direction, and he said to himself in his old drawling Western way—

  "'Tain't smoke. Guess it's just dust. An' it's travellin' this ways along the trail. But a cloud of dust same as that must ha' bin turned up by more'n one gallopin' pony. Dozens an' dozens, more like. Guess it's Injuns—a second detachment of Broken Feather's forces—rustlin' along with th' idea of nippin' us in 'tween two fires. A cute idea; but I don't notion that it's goin' ter come off. They're just a bit too late; didn't calculate on our comin' along so quick, I guess."

  The fighting had slackened considerably when Kiddie returned to his loophole at the front of the leading wagon. Nick Undrell was still there. He was rigidly looking along the sights of his rifle, hesitating to fire.

  "You're aimin' at a dead pony, Nick," Kiddie pointed out.

  "I ain't doin' nothin' so fullish," returned Nick. "It's the skunk lyin' doggo behind it that I'm interested in. Broken Feather's thar, sure; and he ain't dead; he ain't even wounded. He's 'bout as much alive an' alert 's ever he was in his nat'ral. But his ammunition's all spent, an' he's jus' waitin' his chance ter quit. He knows I've got th' bead on him. Soon's I shift my gun, he'll do a vamoose, slick, an' his braves along of him."

  "Then shift your gun," commanded Kiddie. "Quit shootin' an let's git outer this. Thar's a reinforcement of Injuns comin' down along the trail."

  "Eh?" Nick quietly rested his gun on the footboard and drew stealthily back from it. "You watch him, then. When he's gone we'll make a move."

  Kiddie watched, and witnessed a curious happening which gave him a vivid insight into the character of the young Sioux chief.

  Within a minute after Nick had stepped back out of sight Broken Feather crawled swiftly out from the protecting barrier of the dead mustang and took
cover behind a boulder.

  Quite near to the same boulder a wounded Indian was vainly trying to mount his pony. The pony was restive and evidently frightened. The Indian, failing to mount, took hold of the pony's long, trailing halter and allowed the animal to drag him away.

  Just at this point Broken Feather darted out from behind the boulder, making straight for the pony and the wounded brave.

  Kiddie, still watching, naturally supposed that the chief was about to help the wounded man to mount, as any civilized soldier would have done. But this was not Broken Feather's way. Seizing the bight of the halter, he snatched it from the other's grip, while at the same time he struck the wounded Indian a fierce blow with his closed fist, full in the face, which sent him reeling to the ground.

  Without a backward glance of pity or excuse, Broken Feather himself leapt to the pony's back, urged the animal to a gallop, and sped off, rallying his remaining warriors to a precipitate retreat.

  "Coward and cur!" murmured Kiddie between his teeth. And calling a hurried command to Nick Undrell, he strode out to give help to the wounded Indian, carrying him on his shoulder to one of the wagons.

  The Indian's nose was broken. Kiddie fixed it into shape with sticking plaster. He also extracted a bullet from the man's back and bandaged the wound.

  "We'll leave him lyin' here on the trail," he decided. "His pards 'll look after him and the others that are wounded, when they come along. They'll soon know what's happened when they scout around. Guess they'll not be eager t' follow us up."

  "Well, this outfit o' yourn hasn't suffered anyways serious," observed Nick Undrell, when all was ready for a new start. "I've had a look round, an', barrin' a few splinters took off the wagons, an' some holes pierced in the canvas covers, we've not taken a whole lot of harm. Jim Thurston here's th' only one as got badly hit. That broken bone in his arm 'll take a consid'rable time ter git well. It'll be weeks 'fore Jim kin ride again in the Pony Express."