CHAPTER V.

DELAWARE TOM.

Clara uttered a wild cry, and sunk back, with a shudder. She believed her pursuers had overtaken, and now held her captive; but in this she was mistaken.

“Do not be alarmed, lady,” uttered a low voice, close beside the maiden. “You are among friends here, who will protect you with their lives, if there be any need.”

“But he—he is an Indian!” half unconsciously murmured Clara.

“True, but he is far different from those who were chasing you. He is a true friend, and would fight in your defense quite as readily as I would.”

“Bes’ git back little furder. Injun shoot plenty straight by dis light. Ketch hoss—den be back, bumbye. Bes’ hide in bushes up dere, den Injun go by—won’t see um,” interrupted a guttural voice, evidently proceeding from the lips of the Indian alluded to.

“You’re right, Tom. They’ll be apt to follow back on their own trail, to see where she gave them the slip. Do you think you can walk, Miss?” he added, turning toward Clara; “or shall I carry you? There is danger in lingering here.”

“Thank you—I will walk. If you lend me your arm I think— Ah!”

Clara rose to her feet by clinging to the strong arm of her new-found friend, but then, with an agonized groan, she would have fallen to the ground, had not his arms encircled her fainting form. The violent fall had evidently injured the maiden far more severely than she had at first believed.

“Lead the way, Delaware,” muttered the man, as he raised the girl in his arms. “Quick!”

The Indian turned and glided along the level plat for a few yards, then began ascending a steep incline. Up this for a considerable distance; then he paused before a dense growth of bushes, that seemed to shoot out from the very face of the bank.

The man bearing Clara was quickly beside his red companion, and then they all entered the bushes, disappearing from sight.

This spot was upon a hillside, at whose base ran a clear stream of water. Beyond this, again, was a level strip of ground, studded thickly with little clumps of trees and undergrowth.

The three persons were ensconced within the bushes, close against the rocks, that uprose, bare and gray, for nearly a dozen yards, sloping so that a stone dropped from the escarpment above, would touch the ground several yards out from the base. This cliff, however, only extended for a short distance upon either hand; then it ran out into a steep hillside, down which, on one hand, Clara had been cast by the stumbling of her horse.

“How do you feel now?” asked the white man, after a moment’s rest.

“Better, though still faint and dizzy. But how— I remember falling, and then all is blank. How did you find me, and where am I? There were some Indians chasing me; where are they?” confusedly asked Clara, in a faint tone.

In a few quick words the stranger explained the part he had played in the adventure.

He was an officer of a Government train of supplies, and had started out on a scout, together with one of their guides, an Indian named Delaware Tom, but had become belated while following up a trail. They had resolved to encamp for the night, when they were aroused by wild yells and the sound of hoof-strokes.

Then they saw a woman rise the hill’s crest, and almost immediately fall from her horse, as it stumbled. He sprung forward and caught her, while Delaware Tom crept to the hill-top to learn what had so alarmed her.

He soon made out the figures of the pursuing savages, and then the two scouts had hidden in the bushes, with the unconscious maiden, until the war-party had thundered by, in hot pursuit of the riderless horse. Then they had hastened with Clara to the creek, where they succeeded in restoring her to consciousness, by the plentiful use of water, aided by a stronger fluid incased in a flask carried by the captain.

And then Clara briefly detailed her portion of the adventure, adding:

“If I do not thank you for this service, it is because I can not find words to express my feelings. I would rather die than fall into _their_ power!”

“Thanks are not needed, believe me. I am amply repaid already for the trifle I was enabled to do, by knowing you are safe from those fiends. But you spoke of your father—is it possible that he is my old commandant, Major John Calhoun?”

“He served in Mexico, and his given name is John.”

“It must be the same, then! Did you never hear him speak of Harold Travers? He saved my life at Cerro Gordo,” eagerly added the captain.

“Indeed I have; he often mentions your name. And now you repay that debt by saving the life of his daughter. He has often wondered where you were, and it will be a happy meeting; one that I trust will take place very soon.”

“Bes’ not mek talk now,” interrupted Indian Tom, significantly. “’Rapahoe he come back plenty soon. Find hoss—mad like de debble ’cause don’t fin’ squaw, too. Hunt fo’ her heap, mebbe. Won’t git her, dough, ’less kin whip _us_.”

“You’re right, Delaware. I can hear the sound of their horses’ hoofs on the rocks.”

“Are they coming? My God! I thought I had escaped them for good!” moaned Clara, fearfully.

“Have no fear, Miss Calhoun,” returned Travers. “They shall not harm you, even if they chance to discover us. There are only half a dozen in all, and surely we two can manage them. Can’t we, Delaware?”

“Yeh, fo’ sure. Don’t know much how mek fight, ’Rapahoe. Big cowards, dey is. Got white man ’long, dough.”

“Are you sure, Tom?”

“See um. Know um, too. Name Dusky Dick. Big decoy. White Injins—plenty bad—more so dan oders. Play snake fo’ train, so Injin git ’em,” tersely added the Indian.

Clara uttered a faint cry of apprehension, at the sound of his name, for she knew that now indeed she was in danger. The threats of Dusky Dick came back to memory with renewed force, and knowing, as he must, that she was astray in the mountains, he would spare no pains in order to make his words good.

“I see you know him, too; but never mind now. We must not converse any more. See! the devils are in sight, down yonder by the creek.”

Cautiously peering through the leafy screen before them the three fugitives could just distinguish the faint, shadowy outlines of a number of horsemen, down in the valley. These soon crossed the creek, and then one being left in charge of the horses, the rest—six in number—dismounted and began quartering over the ground, like hounds searching for a lost scent.

The soldier tightly compressed his lips, and grasped his rifle with deadly determination. He saw that the enemy had evidently divined the manner in which their anticipated victim had escaped them—at least in part—and believed she was still hiding in some place in the vicinity.

It was not probable they were aware of the presence of other foes in the neighborhood, else they would have displayed more caution. Evidently they believed Clara had abandoned her failing horse, and sought safety by lying in concealment.

The moonlight was too faint and uncertain for the savages to learn aught from a trail upon the rocky ground, and that fact was in favor of the fugitives. Still, there could be no denying that they were in imminent peril of their lives.

The Arapahoes scattered and began a close and systematic search of the ground, peering behind each bowlder, into every bush and cranny where a human form might possibly have sought refuge. The six were widely scattered, the better to compass their purpose.

Upon the movements of one of the savages in particular, was the attention of the three friends riveted. He alone of the party was in close proximity to the hidden prey.

He was a large, brawny warrior, and was now gliding along the hill-side, gradually approaching the covert of our friends, carefully scrutinizing every yard of ground as he proceeded. Presently he paused and glanced keenly around him. Then his piercing gaze rested fairly upon the line of bushes that screened the base of the cliff.

His tall, muscular frame, drawn rigidly erect, in all the pride of war-paint and plumes, looked grandly terrible in the glimmering moonlight, and even the eyes of Delaware Tom emitted a momentary gleam of admiration as they dwelt upon the perfect figure. But then this gave place to a glare of deadly hatred as if he recognized a bitter personal enemy in the warrior.

The Arapahoe stood thus for a moment, and then began gliding up the hill-side, his eyes seeming to pierce through and through the screen, so keen was their glance. He saw that this was a good cover, and believed or hoped that the fugitive had taken refuge there.

Travers crouched down and drew his revolver, with a stern demeanor, but then a light touch upon his shoulder caused him to turn his head. The Delaware made a peculiar gesture, and then hissed:

“No shoot—mek too much noise. Let Delaware tek him. Know um—he kisch-kouch—big t’ief—me kill him heap sure. Tom’hawk mek no noise.”

“You’re right, Tom, I forgot,” muttered Travers, below his breath; and then fearing to say more, they watched the red-skin’s progress in perfect silence.

The Arapahoe did not pause, but kept on until he could touch the bushes with his outstretched hand. Evidently he did not dream of danger to himself, for he believed the fugitive maiden was alone.

Then he reached out and parted the bushes. This he did at a point some yards to the left of where the trio were concealed, and a grunt of disappointment broke from his lips, as he discovered nothing but bare rocks.

Then he moved nearer, parting the bushes at each step, steadily nearing those which concealed the three friends. His hand rested upon them, and then they were gently pressed aside.

The Delaware was prepared for this move, and as the moonlight shot into the aperture his uplifted hand fell, clutching the heavy tomahawk, whose keen edge alighted fairly upon the bowed crest of the savage. The blow was delivered with a sure aim, and was deadly in its effects.

But as the left hand of Delaware Tom shot out to clutch the throat of the Arapahoe, to check any outcry, the stricken savage bounded back and uttered his thrilling death-cry. This was done so quickly that it could not be prevented.

But then, ere the lifeless body could touch the ground, it was seized by the Delaware and pushed into the bushes. Then, for a moment, all was still.

Only for a moment, however, for then the comrades of the slaughtered brave took up the yell, and echoed it long and loud, as they intuitively drew together, in wondering alarm. They well knew it was a cry from death-stricken lips, but what had caused it, or from what direction it had come, they knew not.

The cry had echoed through the hills, sounding from several different points, and no two of the party could agree upon which one was the right. A glance told them that one of their number was missing—the best and bravest warrior among them all.

They were within fair view of the spot where the brave had met his death, although, of course, ignorant of that fact, and had the fugitives deemed it prudent, they could easily have sent a brace of rifle-bullets into the little crowd. But, as long as the savages did not molest them, Travers was willing to do likewise, now that a helpless woman was under his protection.

Though he did not greatly fear the result of a collision with the six, he did not deem it prudent to invite such, under the circumstances. A random shot might work incalculable harm.

Clara shuddered convulsively as a peculiar sound met her ear, from where Delaware Tom was crouched. She knew he was scalping the dead brave, although she could not see the action, as the thick-matted screen of bushes effectually shut out the light of the moon.

With a grunt of satisfaction, Delaware Tom affixed the reeking trophy to his girdle, and then turned toward the soldier. Side by side, they peered out upon their foes in the valley.

“Big fools plenty skeered,” chuckled Tom, as he noted the irresolute air of the enemy. “Little more mek ’um run like de debble. S’pose shoot one, two time, dey run way off. Git scalp, too. Kin hit ’um from dis,” he added, eagerly fingering his rifle as though longing to begin the affray.

“No, Tom, you mustn’t do it. It would not be safe. Were we alone, I wouldn’t care how soon you began it, but now we have another to look out for, besides ourselves. _She_ might get hurt.”

The Delaware did not reply, but he was evidently dissatisfied. He had tasted blood, and it had aroused all the worst passions of his half-tamed nature.

The savages appeared to be undecided as to the course best for them to pursue, and for several minutes conversed earnestly together, closely watched by their hidden foes. But then there was a decided move on the part of the former.

One of their number moved toward the horses, and, mounting, rode rapidly off up the valley, soon disappearing from view.

Travers and Toni exchanged glances. Right well they divined the meaning of this move, and it evidently caused them not a little uneasiness.

“He’s gone after help,” muttered the soldier.

“Yeh. Dat’s it. S’pose we stay here, den dey ketch us all, same like buff’lo. S’pose we don’t like dat, den we mus’ git ’way, ’fore dey gits back ag’in. Dat right, eh?”

“Yes; we must make a move. Surely we can manage those fellows, yonder. If we do, and can catch some of the horses, we can ride back to camp to-night. But how shall we do it, Tom?”

“Stop—me t’ink a little. Plenty time—no hurry,” and then the Delaware appeared deep-buried in thought.