CHAPTER XI.

REUNITED.

It was well-nigh daydawn, and Buenos Ayres trudged wearily on, foot-sore and almost exhausted by his severe toil. His mind was filled with doubt and fear.

He believed that he had more than covered the distance mentioned by Tom Maxwell, as intervening between the corral and the Main Trail, but yet he had not observed any trace of it. Could it be possible that he had crossed the Trail, unknowingly? He feared greatly that he had done so.

“It will not do to turn back on an uncertainty,” he muttered, as he paused to glance around him once more. “And yet, a mistake, now, would be awful! If I only knew the country better!”

But then once more he pressed on, keeping as direct a course as lay in his power. And as he gained the next ridge he again paused, hoping from its summit to discover the desired landmark.

But if he did not see what he sought, another object met his gaze. One that caused his heart to leap to his very throat, while his brain grew dizzy with a wild, delirious hope.

Upon a crest to his left, Ayres beheld a human form, that, in the grim, gray light, was indistinct and phantom-like. But still he believed that he could discern the flowing drapery of a woman!

Ayres had learned a lesson by that night’s events, and still uncertain that the distant figure was not that of an enemy, he sunk down into the tall grass, and then peered keenly toward the spot where the vision had appeared. And, as he awaited, he saw that it was approaching, and was indeed a woman.

How his heart leaped, then! A woman—might it not be his lost love, who had so strangely disappeared from their midst?

And yet, how could it be? Clara had ridden away on her horse; this woman was on foot, many miles from the spot where he had last seen his friend.

Though the coming sun gilded the eastern horizon, the swale in which the woman now was, still gloomy, and only with the greatest difficulty could Ayres discern her shape at all. But then she began ascending the hill, almost directly toward him.

Trembling in every fiber of his being, the young man awaited the result, fearful lest his new-born hope should be dashed to the ground, after all. It did not seem possible that this could be Clara.

But then a glad cry—a cry so full of joy and heartfelt exultation—broke from his lips. The light fell full upon the features of her who approached, and Ayres knew that he beheld his lost love, Clara Calhoun!

She evidently heard the cry, for she paused and half-turned as if to flee. Then he sprung up, calling aloud her name, as he darted toward her trembling figure.

She stood as if petrified, then, with a glad cry, sunk to the ground, laughing and weeping at the same time. Her overtasked powers now seemed to give way before this unexpected happiness, and she sunk into a deathlike swoon, as her lover clasped her to his broad breast, covering her pale and haggard face with passionate kisses.

For a moment Buenos acted like one demented, but then as he found she did not return his caresses, a great fear assailed him; he feared she was dead. And indeed, her looks favored this supposition.

So pale and ghastly, lying against his heart like one utterly devoid of life. But this great sorrow was spared the young man.

Soon, beneath the fervid pressure of his lips, the color and warmth came back to her face, and then her eyes opened. The wild, hunted look quickly disappeared from them, and with a low, glad cry her arms wound around his neck.

“Thank God! you have found me, Buenos!” she murmured, faintly.

“But where have you been, darling? Why did you leave us so strangely?”

Whereupon Clara briefly detailed her adventures of the past night, adding:

“I saw them all together, shouting and screaming, shooting at each other, and it frightened me terribly. What could these two men, though so brave, do against six great Indians? I believed they must both be killed, and then as I thought of how the savages would hunt for and find me, it seemed as though I would go crazy! I would rather die than fall into their hands, and yet I knew that they would capture me if I should stay there until it was all over.

“So I turned and fled, not knowing whither I went, but only thinking to escape from these dreadful savages. I ran on until I fell from weakness, but then, as I fancied I could hear them coming after me, I arose and kept on, only knowing that I was running away from _them_. I did not know where I was, nor whither I was going, and I believe that I must have died had not you found me, dear Buenos,” she added, with a hysterical sob.

“Poor Clara—how you must have suffered!” murmured Ayres, pressing his lips to her brow.

“Indeed I have—more than words can tell. But I knew you would come for me—I felt sure you would not leave me to die here all alone. Poor father—how he must have suffered from my thoughtlessness!”

“My God! I forgot—and here I have lost over an hour!” exclaimed Buenos, springing to his feet in dismay at his remissness.

“What—what is it, Buenos?” inquired Clara, in vague alarm.

“The train—I was sent for help. The Indians, under Dusky Dick, attacked it last night, and I fear my thoughtlessness will be their ruin,” agitatedly added Ayres.

“_He_ was with those after me,” shuddered Clara. “But help—where can you find it here? We are alone—God only knows where!”

“There was a government train close behind us, when we left the Main Trail, and I was searching for them, but—”

“He belonged to one—Captain Travers, I mean. It can not be far away from here. Ah, if we can only find it!” hastily cried Clara.

“Do you know in what direction? Did you hear him say where it was?”

“No—or if I did, I forgot. I was so badly frightened, you know.”

“We must find it—I must. But you—my poor darling—you are too tired to walk so far and fast.”

“No—I am strong now, since _you_ have come. I can walk, oh, so far; never fear. Besides, it is for father—and our friends. And I could not stay here—I should die of fear. _They_ would catch me, I know!”

“Well, we must try it. Remember that your father’s life may depend upon your own, Clara, and bear up if you can. It will be hard—I wish I could spare you—but there is no help for it.”

The sun was now quite high above the hills, for young Ayres had lost a good hour by listening to Clara’s story, and now they pressed on at a fair pace, though ignorant whether they were pursuing the right course or were going widely astray.

But they were destined to meet with another interruption, right speedily. They had just gained the next ridge when Clara suddenly uttered a little cry of affright.

“Ah! Buenos—look there—the Indians! My God! we are lost!” she gasped, as, with outstretched hand, she guided the gaze of her companion toward the ridge they had just left but a few moments before.

One quick glance satisfied Buenos of the correctness of her fears. He saw a little group of horsemen, that he believed were mounted Indians.

“Quick! stoop down Clara! They have not seen us yet, and if we hide they may pass by without noticing our trail. Follow me—quick!” Ayres hissed, as, crouching low down, he half-led, half-dragged his companion down the hill-side, making toward a small clump of timber growing in the bottom of the vale.

Toward this they ran at full speed, and had barely gained its shelter when the horsemen reached the ridge they had just left. A wild cry came to the ears of the fugitives, and then they saw the horsemen dash furiously toward their refuge.

“Keep behind me, Clara,” muttered Ayres, as he closely examined the condition of his revolver. “They will not find us tame victims. They must pay a price for our lives.”

“There are only two—perhaps they are—”

“See the other horses—four of them? They must have riders, who are hiding behind their bodies. Look, they stop! I’ll—”

“No—no; don’t shoot, Buenos,” cried Clara, as she seized the already-leveled revolver. “See, they are friends—Captain Travers and the Delaware, who saved me from the Indians!”

“Are you sure, Clara?” doubtfully replied Ayres; but then a cry from one of the men settled this doubt, most agreeably.

“Miss Calhoun, you know us; we are friends. Who is that with you? If an enemy, we will rescue you from him.”

Clara and Buenos stepped forth from the cover, and then there ensued a warm greeting between the quartette, for even the Delaware appeared overjoyed at beholding the pale-faced squaw, once more.

“Buenos, tell this gentleman—I know he will help us,” eagerly uttered Clara, thinking first of her father’s peril.

In a few brief words Ayres stated the position of affairs at the emigrant train, as he had left it, and implored assistance. The captain, though experiencing a momentary sensation something akin to jealousy, at seeing how confidingly Clara clung to the young man—was greatly excited, and promptly offered his aid in the matter.

“Certainly I will. My old commander in danger! Good Lord! how strange! Quick—help the lady to mount; there’s plenty of horses, fortunately. The camp is only about two miles away, now. We’ll get there almost before you know it; and then for these red-skinned devils. No offense, I hope, Delaware?”

“No—me all white man, now. Cuss Injins all want, plenty bad, you like—all but Delaware,” grunted Tom.

Buenos quickly lifted Clara upon one of the horses, and then, following suit, the quartette were speedily dashing over the prairie, under the guidance of Delaware Tom, with the two extra horses following closely in their wake.

The spirits of the two lovers rose with every long leap of their mettlesome horses, though Buenos Ayres could not repress certain misgivings as he thought on the length of time that had transpired since he left the emigrant party. Could they have held out through the long, fearful night?

He feared they could not have done so; something seemed to tell him that the rescuing party would arrive only in time to bestow upon his late comrades a Christian burial. And beneath his breath he swore a deep and fearful vengeance, should such indeed be the case.

They had ridden but a short distance, when Delaware Tom uttered a low whoop, and pointed before them, though he did not slacken his pace. Thus directed, the eyes of all noted the presence of a small body of horsemen, just rising the second ridge from them, who had evidently caught sight of the quartette, at the same time, for they suddenly drew rein.

“Don’t stop—they’re friends,” cried Travers. “I can tell my boys as far as eye can reach. They’re out after me, I don’t doubt; we stayed so much longer than expected.”

At about the same time, the soldiers evidently made the same discovery, for they gave their horses free rein and dashed forward, with loud cheers. A smile rested upon the captain’s lips, at this. One could easily see that he was a beloved leader, and proud of his boys in blue.

“Well Morris,” he said, as the leader of the dozen men saluted, “glad to see you. How’s all at the camp?”

“All well, sir, but very anxious because you stayed out so long. I made bold to take a few of the boys and ride out to see if we could be of any use,” respectfully replied the sergeant, curiously eying the horses and the two extra riders.

“There’s work cut out for you, and hot work, too, if I mistake not. But I know that _that_ is no drawback,” laughed Travers, as the party again broke into a rapid gallop.

“Indeed it ain’t, cap’n. Injuns—if I may ask?”

“Yes. They’ve attacked the train this lady and gentleman belong to—the one that passed us at Dutchman’s.”

In a few minutes more the party had reached the camping-ground of the government train, where now was all excitement, for the news quickly spread, and was greeted with loud, hearty cheers, for ’twas not every day that the boys got a pleasure ride, and a brush with the Indians to wind up with. The only fear they had, was that, as some must remain behind to guard the train, they might be the unlucky ones.

“Boys,” said Travers, riding out a little from the rest, “how many of you wish to take a skurry after the Indians this morning?”

With loud cheers, every man, soldiers, teamsters and all, flocked forward, each striving to be foremost. A glad smile played around their leader’s lips.

“Good! though it’s only what I expected from you. But you can’t all go. Sergeant Morris?”

“Here, sir.”

“Pick out thirty men, and see that they’re ready in ten minutes. Never mind rations; take only arms and plenty of ammunition.”

“Yes, sir. Half the time’ll do.”

“Now, Miss Calhoun, if you will come with us, I will see you more comfortably placed than on that horse. The sutler’s family is with us, and will see that you have all that you require.”

“Thank you, captain, but it is needless; I am going to my father, with the rest of you,” firmly replied the maiden.

“But think—how we must ride, to do any good, and then there will probably be hard fighting at the end of it,” he urged, perplexedly.

“I have thought. Father is in trouble—perhaps dead or badly wounded, and I not there! I _must_ go!”

“Clara,” said Buenos, riding to her side, “listen to me. You are nearly sick now, with what you have passed through. Such a trial as this will be, would prove your death. You would die before you got half-way. You must stay here—for _my_ sake, if not your own.”

“No—I will go!”

“Clara, you _must_ not. Don’t oblige me to use compulsion, but I know that you could never stand the ride. You must stay. I will either come or send you word, as soon as it is all over.”

With a hysterical sob, the maiden gave way, and allowed the captain to lead her to the wagon set apart for the family of the sutler. Leaving her in charge of the worthy wife, he hastened back to the men, who were now in readiness.

From the description of the spot, as given by Ayres, Delaware Tom declared that he knew it well, and could guide the party directly there, as the crow flies. And then they set off upon their mission, at a pace that satisfied even Ayres, urgent as was his haste.

“Keep up, boys,” shouted Travers. “We’re riding for life or death, now, and if your horses can’t stand the pace, follow on the best you can. You may be in at the death, anyhow.”

They numbered some thirty-five, all told, and not one felt a doubt as to how the affair would turn out, _provided_ the emigrants were still holding out, when they arrived. But Buenos had grave fears upon this point.

And still on they thundered, no longer in a compact body, but strung out at short intervals, as the better or more speedy horses took the front. At their head rode Ayres, Travers, and Delaware Tom, the former mounted upon one of the captured mustangs; a noble brute.

On until the head grew dizzy with the swift motion; until the foam dropped from the horses’ lips and flecked their counters; until their glossy coats were darkened with sweat, together with the dust cast up by the trampling hoofs.

It was a wild, fearful ride, and the brains of the men seemed intoxicated, so wildly did they whirl. Even their horses seemed to catch the infection, for they thundered on as if mad, snorting and fretting, with eyeballs wildly staring, fiery and bloodshot.

Then Delaware Tom abruptly jerked his horse up, casting him upon his haunches. A motion of his hand checked the others.

Soaring to their ears, borne upon the light air, came the confusedly-mingled sounds of rifle-shots, shrill yells and hoarse shouts, from beyond the swell of the prairie. The cause was but too evident.

The savages were desperately attacking the emigrant train. Then all was not yet over—they might still be in time!

“Wait until all come up—then one steady charge, and they’re ours!” whispered Travers to the impetuous Ayres.