CHAPTER VII.

A TANGLED TRAIL.

Buenos Ayres had not overestimated the danger and peril that would attend his effort to pass by the vigilant red-skin, on his journey toward the Main Trail, in quest of help for the beleaguered emigrants.

And then, under the circumstances, he was about the last person who should have been chosen as the forlorn hope, although he was undeniably brave, and usually, keen-witted and far-seeing. But now these latter qualities were in a measure overpowered by the anxiety he felt to perform his mission with the least delay possible, in order that a thorough and systematic search might be made for the missing maiden, Clara Calhoun, and, to this desire, he sacrificed prudence and caution to a degree nearly fatal.

He swam rapidly down-stream, though the water was not waist-deep, but, in this manner he could proceed more silently than by wading. He lay low down in the water, that he might present a less fair mark for prying eyes to rest upon, and, hidden in the shadow, he believed that he could succeed in passing the lines of the enemy, unseen.

In this manner he had gained the edge of the timber, before-mentioned, that extended nearly to the verge of the river-bank. But then he suddenly paused in his advance.

Before him lay something dark, evidently resting in or upon the water, and at only a few yards’ distance. For a moment Buenos believed that this was the head of a man, whose body—like his own—was covered in the water.

But then a movement on the part of the object undeceived him. It slowly swung around, as though under the influence of the feeble current, and he could see that it was a log; evidently one of those upon which the savages had descended the river, in order to gain and attack the rear of the emigrants.

With a low laugh at his unnecessary fright, Ayres advanced, swimming rapidly, intending to use the log in his further progress. But he speedily saw that this action had been made too quickly for his own safety.

His keen eyes detected a suspicious circumstance connected with the log, and he instantly paused. From the further side of the stick he beheld an object that had escaped his eyes before, or else had recently made its appearance there.

There seemed to be a roundish knob or protuberance upon the side of the log. True, this might possibly have been beneath the water until then, and was only revealed by the rolling of the log, but Ayres felt confident that the _log had not rolled_. He could tell that from the quiet water.

Then it must be— So far he had reasoned, but then, quick as thought, he ducked his head beneath the water.

A sudden movement beside the log had caused this. He beheld the round object raise still higher, and then with an abrupt movement a dark tube was whirled around from the top of the log, until its muzzle pointed toward the young adventurer’s head.

The knob was the head of a savage—the tube was a rifle, and Ayres knew that he was discovered. All this flashed athwart his mind like a revelation of light, and, as he dove beneath the surface, his plan of procedure was fully determined upon.

He must dispose of this enemy or die. The alarm once given, escape would be almost impossible, and with his capture, the hopes of the emigrants would be crushed.

Then he must silence this foe before he could fire his rifle or give the alarm otherwise. But could he do it? That was doubtful; still, as a last hope, he resolved to attempt the feat.

As he sunk beneath the surface, Buenos drew his knife, and then swam with swift, strong strokes toward the spot where he knew the Indian must be crouching. And his calculations proved correct.

His head struck violently against the half-submerged log, and springing up he dashed the water from his blinded eyes.

The savage was taken by surprise, and evidently had not expected such a bold move. Quite likely he had been in doubt whether the advancing figure was that of an enemy or a friend, as the small bundle fastened upon Ayres’ head, added to the gloom, rendered it impossible for a glimpse to be obtained of his features. His action in throwing forward his rifle-muzzle, had simply been one of prudence, in case it was really an enemy who approached.

Then when the young man sprung up so suddenly before him, the log being driven against his body with considerable violence, the savage gave vent to a grunt of mingled surprise and bewilderment. But from this he quickly recovered.

Buenos—his first thought being to prevent an alarm—seized upon the rifle-barrel, and with an adroit movement, wrenched it from the grasp of his foe, with the same gesture casting it out into deep water. Then his left hand shot out and clutched the throat of the red-skin with a grip strengthened by the great interests at stake.

But the Indian was a brawny fellow, and as he grappled fiercely with his foeman, he freed his throat sufficiently to emit, loud and clear, the thrilling war-whoop of his tribe. With a curse of bitter vexation, Ayres wrenched his right arm free, and then dealt the savage a swift, vicious blow with the heavy knife.

It penetrated deep, but the wound was not mortal. Once more the shrill yell resounded through the air, awaking echoes far and wide; once again the crimsoned steel rose and fell, with a dull, sickening _thud_.

With a wild shriek of mortal agony, the death-stricken savage sunk backward, but still his bony fingers clutched the white man with a grip nerved by death. And from the prairie beyond, Ayres could hear the shrill cries of the alarmed red-skins, and then the rapid thud of horses’ hoofs approaching the spot at a full gallop.

Then he plunged over the log, head-foremost, and sunk in the water. This action freed him from the dead Indian, and then arising to the surface, Buenos swam for dear life, down-stream.

But he knew that did he continue on in this course, he must be discovered by the rapidly approaching red-skins, and so he turned toward the bank, half resolved to enter the timber and seek safety in flight by land. In this, however, he was disappointed.

Scarcely had he touched shore, when his quick eye detected several dusky figures upon the bank, near the spot where he had slain the Indian. He knew they were the dead man’s comrades; one glance told him that.

And the same glance also showed him the form of the dead Indian, his face, horribly distorted with the last agony, upturned toward the star-studded vault of heaven, slowly floating down with the stream, nearing its slayer, with each passing moment. Then there uprose a wild cry from those upon the shore, telling that they, also, had discovered the slain man.

It now seemed as though the fate of the young man was indubitably sealed. Escape from being discovered seemed impossible, and to be captured now, with that terribly significant witness of his deeds lying there before the eyes of all, meant _death_.

Several heavy splashes were heard, and Ayres saw that while some ran along the bank toward him, others had entered the water, to drag forth their dead comrade. And now the corpse was within a few yards of where he crouched, while almost directly over his head he could hear the heavy tramp of other foes.

Ayres shrunk back against the bank, where the water was still several feet deep. He clutched his knife with desperation, resolved to sell his life dearly, should he be discovered. But then his heart thrilled with a gleam of joy.

In the bank beside him was a small hole or depression, that had evidently been washed out by the action of the water. Instantly one hand was extended to ascertain its size.

It only reached a few inches above the surface, and was over a foot in depth, running back into the bank. Below, it was still larger, and Ayres believed that by its aid he could still escape his foes.

All this occurred in a breath of time, and the water was still agitated by the heavy plunges, when Buenos glided back and into the fortunately discovered refuge. By crouching almost double, he managed to stow his body away in the hole, with his legs doubled beneath his body.

A quick gesture daubed his face with the soft black mud, and then Buenos awaited the result in painful surprise. For not only did his own life depend upon it, but, in all probability, those of his friends in the besieged corral, as well.

His head was drawn back into the hole, so that his nose was barely above water, and his face beyond the surface of the bank. The mud had rendered his features the color of the dirt surrounding, and only by touching him, could the savages have discovered the difference.

Through his half-closed lids, Buenos watched the movements of the savages, now almost directly opposite him. A shower of dirt rolled down from above, telling that those he had noticed on shore were still near at hand.

Then a new and startling sound came to the ears of the young adventurer. He heard the shrill yells—the wild outcry—the rattling of rifles, all telling of another deadly assault upon the wagon-train.

The savages in the water paused as if startled, and then hastily grasping the body of their dead comrade, they swam rapidly ashore with it, landing just below where crouched the young man. Words passed between them and the others, the purport of which Ayres could only guess, owing to his complete ignorance of the dialect.

Then the corpse was handed up the bank, and shortly afterward Buenos heard the quick trampling of feet, as a number of Indians dashed away toward the train. He believed they were all gone, and made a movement as though he would have left his covert, in order to continue his journey, without any more loss of time.

But fortunately for him, Ayres recognized the folly of such precipitation, before it was too late. From almost directly above him, he heard the low sound of voices, and knew by it that his enemies had not yet given up the search for the slayer of their friend.

With wildly beating heart Buenos listened to the progress of the struggle above; but it speedily died away, and then all was still. The absence of the red-skins’ yells of triumph, told Ayres that his friends had successfully repulsed the onset, and his heart lightened considerably.

Had he only been at liberty to resume his journey, all might yet be well. But though he could no longer hear the sound of voices, Ayres felt assured that the red-skins were still upon the watch.

They must know that an enemy had stricken them a bitter blow near that spot, and would reason that he could not have gotten far away, before their arrival. That he was still hidden somewhere in close proximity to the spot of death.

As time passed by, Buenos began to grow still more uneasy. Every moment was valuable now, and he should even then be miles away upon his important mission.

But what if these savages should keep up the watch until day dawned? Then they would assuredly unearth him.

Not only would he be doomed, in such a case, but the last hope of the besieged emigrants would be dashed to the ground. Unassisted, they must soon succumb to the overpowering force of the red-skins.

A desperate resolve began to shape itself in the mind of our young adventurer. He would dare all, and emerge from his covert. It could be but death, at the most, and that risk he would rather run, than longer endure this horrible, agonizing suspense.

Still he could hear no sound of his enemies, and as the moments passed on, Ayres made the desperate move. Were the Indians still lying in wait for some such movement on the part of their unknown enemy, he knew that he was lost.

They could scarcely fail to hear him, or discover his motions. The line of shadow was fearfully narrowed, and at but a short distance ahead, where the belt of timber came to an end, the bright moonlight revealed every inch of the water’s surface.

Just as he had straightened out his limbs, preparatory to emerging from his uncomfortable hiding-place, Ayres paused. Another alarm rung out upon the air, from beyond the wagon-train.

Then came a single shrill war-whoop, that he had so often listened to on that eventful night, followed by wild shouts from the Indians, telling of some important discovery. And then, from almost directly above his head, there sounded a guttural exclamation, closely followed by the tramp of human feet.

Ayres shuddered convulsively as he realized the extent of the peril he had so nearly brought upon himself, by his rash action. He knew now that the red-skins had indeed been lying in wait for him, and only for this strange diversion, would inevitably have made the desired discovery.

Though sadly puzzled to account for the outcry—for Ayres well knew that the latter cries were those of exultation—the young man dared not dally longer, but slipping forth from his hiding-place, he swam rapidly down-stream for a few yards, until near the end of the timber-belt furthest from the corral.

Then he cautiously scaled the bank, and entered the dense undergrowth. Pausing, he hearkened intently.

All was still in his immediate vicinity, although from near the wagon-train he could hear an occasional rifle-shot, telling that his friends were still upon the alert. And then he glided stealthily forward until at the edge of the prairie.

Cautiously peering forth upon the vast, level expanse thus spread before him, Buenos saw with delight that as far as his eye could reach, there was not a single living form to be seen. The road appeared open before him, and he was about to enter upon it, when a sudden recollection caused him to pause.

The revolver was still strapped upon his head, according to the advice given him by Tom Maxwell, but it was far from being in a condition fit for use. The sudden dive, on seeing the savage beside the log, added to several immersions since, had pretty thoroughly saturated it.

Not knowing at what moment he might be called upon to make use of this, in order to preserve his life, Ayres’ first move was to draw the bullets, and wiping the chambers dry, he carefully reloaded them. Then fitting on the water-proof caps, he replaced it in his belt, and once more stepped forth upon the prairie.

Had he not already lost so much time, Buenos would probably have exercised more precaution than he was now using. But, racked with anxiety and the dread of being too late to aid his comrades in peril, rendered him half wild.

Crouching low down, he ran at a rapid pace out over the level prairie, in the direction he must follow in order to strike the Main Trail, which they had so unfortunately—as it proved—deviated from, a couple of days previously. The moon still shone brightly, and there was great danger of his being discovered by some of the lynx-eyed savages, who surrounded the wagon-train.

But this, Ayres resolved to risk, rather than lose any more time, although he knew that, in case he should be seen, there could be but one ending to the affair.

Fortunately for him, perhaps the suspicions of the red-skins had been lulled by the recent capture of Tom Maxwell, for they believed him to be the one who had slain their brother below the corral, as well as the one beside whose body he had been captured. Thus they did not dream of another foeman being at liberty so near them.

As Ayres glanced back over his shoulder, a shudder crept over his frame, for he now realized the full extent of the great peril he was daring. Behind him he could quite plainly distinguish the dark corral, and still nearer, the numerous figures, dusky and phantom-like, moving restlessly hither and yon, that he knew were none other than savages.

It seemed as though they could not fail of seeing him, and as he once more sped on at an accelerated speed, Buenos listened with painful intentness, expecting each moment to hear the shrill war-cry peal forth, telling that the bloodthirsty demons were upon his trail.

But then he crossed the slight rise, and the fear-inspiring sight was hidden from his view. Then breathing more freely, he took the pole-star for his guide, and dashed on at break-neck speed, every nerve strained to its utmost tension, and his heart wildly throbbing with renewed hope of success.

For well-nigh an hour he maintained this killing pace, but then Nature forced him to slacken his gait, and proceed with more prudence. His eyes were roving upon every side of him, trying to recall some landmark, though he well knew he was yet far from the Main Trail—the object of his quest.

He crossed a slight swell and trotted down the opposite slope, into a sort of valley, if it may be called such. Then he began ascending the next rise.

Suddenly he paused. A suspicious sound saluted his hearing; the _thud_—_thud_—of a horse’s hoofs beating upon the hard turf in a full gallop.

And this, too, he soon found was approaching him, for the trampling grew louder and more distinct. But it was not coming from the direction of the corral, though this was Ayres’ first thought. Instead it was coming from directly in his front.

Buenos glanced hurriedly around for some cover within which to ensconce himself, but no such sight rewarded his search. There was not a bush or bunch of grass to be seen, within reach.

And at that moment the figure of a horse and rider loomed up, clear and distinct, upon the ridge, almost directly before the young man. As by an impulse, Buenos dropped flat to the ground, and drew his revolver, ready for use in case he was discovered.

Then the horseman came thundering on, seemingly about to ride directly over the prostrate form. A collision appeared inevitable, and Buenos, with tightly-compressed lips, cocked his pistol.

On thundered the horse, and was within a score of yards of the young man, when, with a wild snort, it turned to one side, then dashed on with accelerated speed, in its passage flinging a tiny shower of dust and sand over Ayres. A hoarse cry broke from the lips of its rider, as he swayed in his seat, but he did not appear to notice the cause of his animal’s affright, for he did not once glance around or backward, but rose the swell and disappeared beyond its crest with the same mad, reckless gallop.

Ayres rose with a cry of astonishment, as the man vanished from sight. A puzzled look rested upon his face.

In the brief glance he had obtained of the rider’s features, he knew that it was a white man but wonder had checked the cry of greeting, he would otherwise have uttered. Buenos did not know that the mad rider was none other than Dusky Dick, the traitor guide and black-hearted renegade; but such was indeed the case.

Had he known it, Ayres would have sent a revolver bullet hissing after the villain, on the instant, instead of now gazing at the little cloud of dust that was all there was left to indicate the swift passage. But then Buenos once more returned his way, with quickened steps.