CHAPTER VIII.

SAVAGE TACTICS.

“Look, Tom!” abruptly muttered Travers, gently touching the shoulder of his ruminating companion. “The red rascals are moving!”

The Delaware turned his keen eyes toward the valley and gazed for a moment in silence. Then he answered, in a slightly vexed tone:

“Yeh, dey go hide, now. Skeered plenty bad, dey is. Don’t know what to mek ’cause Kisch-kouch git killed. T’ink spirits here, mebbe. Go hide—den watch plenty sharp. Dat’s it.”

“But that will not do, Tom,” added Travers, vexedly. “They will keep us here all night, then. If we venture to move, they’ll pick us off, one after the other. I wish we had fired at them as they stood out there—but it’s too late now.”

“Yeh—see—dey hide now. Ought to shoot _den_—now _can’t_. Shoot—kill one, two, den oders run ’way off, like de debble. Cap’n he say _no_—see now dat Delaware was right,” tersely replied the savage.

“But what shall we do? That fellow has gone for help, no doubt, and when he comes back they’ll soon make this place too hot for us. As it is, those devils can hold us here as long as they feel like it. We can’t move without bringing out a rifle-bullet. Come, find some way, Tom,” impatiently added Travers, who evidently relied far more upon the cunning and resources of his companion in times of difficulty like this, than upon his own powers.

“Me do it. Skeer Arapahoe _bad_, dis time. Git scalp, too, ef don’t look out. No fun, dough, skeer _dem_—git skeered too easy—den run plenty fast. Got long legs, dem Arapahoes,” chuckled Tom, as he drew his knife from the belt at his waist.

“What do you intend doing, Delaware?”

“Keep eyes open wide, den mebbe so you see,” grunted the savage, who evidently felt his importance in no small degree.

With his knife he cut several scrubby bushes, and then bound them around his head and shoulders, but in such a manner that they would not interfere materially with his sight. This accomplished to his satisfaction, he turned toward Travers, who was now dividing his attention between his companion and the valley below, where the red-skins were hidden.

“Now you open ear—me tell. Injuns down dere—you here—me go some oder place. Den me shoot Arapahoe—de oders dey jump up, all same like rabbit—don’t know where me be—den _you_ shoot—kill ’noder. Den me holler _loud_—_you_ holler—_dey_ holler an’ run like de debble, ’way off. See?” hurriedly explained Tom.

“You mean to crawl around them?”

“Yeh—dat’s it.”

“Then shoot one—”

“You shoot ’noder—den dey run ’way off.”

“I believe they would,” thoughtfully said Travers. “But it will be dangerous for you. Can you get down without their seeing you? If they do, you’re a dead man sure!”

“No—dey shoot, but can’t hit Delaware. _Can’t_ hit—don’t know _how_ shoot, dem Arapahoe. Hit hill, mebbe, not’ing else,” laughed Tom, a low, gleesome laugh, full of joy at the prospect of outwitting his hereditary foes.

“I know you think an Arapahoe is fit for nothing but crow-bait, Tom, but you may get fooled. Some of them are brave and cunning warriors—”

“No—no, Arapahoe squaw—all squaw!” angrily hissed the Delaware.

“Well, have it your own way. But be careful. Don’t be foolhardy, man, and throw away your life uselessly. Better go now; it’s growing late and there’s no time to lose.”

The Delaware turned away without a word, and passing his companion, he disappeared among the bushes beyond. Though he affected to laugh at the danger of his venture, nevertheless it was a perilous one, and one, too, that would require not a little caution and skill to carry out successfully.

As stated, the line of bushes fringed the base of the cliff, and then ran out, leaving the hillside bare and devoid of cover, except a few small bowlders and patches of stunted grass. For nearly fifty yards this stretch lay beneath the full vision of the warriors hidden below.

But Delaware Tom felt assured that he could accomplish the feat, and truly, he, if any one, could do so. Those who were with Kearney in California can bear me out in this assertion.

Aided by the leafy screen upon his head, and the bowlders scattered around, he hoped to pass over this open space unobserved, and this once done, he would have the best of cover for his further operations. As for the rest of the programme, he considered that the same as settled.

He knew that most, if not all the six Indians were Arapahoes, and as seen, he looked upon them with supreme contempt. He believed that at his shot, they would act much as he had said, and the way be easily cleared for his friend’s departure for the camp.

When he gained the end of the bushes, Tom paused and peered keenly out upon the valley below. But even his sharp eyes could not detect the presence of a foe, save in the riderless horses that were feeding on the bank of the creek.

Still, he knew pretty well where the savages were hidden, and acted accordingly. Now he was forced to “crawfish,” or in other words, to crawl backward, as his head and shoulders were the only parts of his person concealed by the bush.

By so doing he calculated upon reaching a little gully that ran down to the creek, unobserved, as the bush would seem to stand still, from where the Indians were hidden, for to gain this ditch, Tom would be forced to back directly from their position. All this had been foreseen by the Delaware and calculated upon when he spoke so confidently of success in his bold ruse.

Slowly and carefully he proceeded—or receded—crouching low down, keeping the leafy head-dress as steady as possible under the circumstances. His eyes were riveted upon the spot where he believed the Arapahoes to be hidden, his muscles in readiness to avoid a shot, should such be threatened, by a sudden spring.

But that shot did not come, and it was plain that the savages either did not notice, or else believed the bush to be a natural one. It would have required a long and careful scrutiny from the point where they were lying hid, to tell that the bush moved, for Tom was retreating in an almost direct line from them. Besides, the moonlight was deceitful and favored the working of the ruse.

Then Tom gained the edge of the gully, and gently backed over it, alighting upon his feet in the soft dirt and _debris_ that covered the bottom. He listened intently for a moment, but all was still.

A glow of grim delight swept athwart his features at this, for he knew that the enemy were still ignorant of the plan on foot to circumvent them. The Delaware, now that the most difficult portion of his task was accomplished, felt no doubt but the rest would end as happily.

With the friendly twigs still upon his head, he turned and glided down the gully, after unslinging the rifle from his back, and carefully inspecting the cap. From seeing the enemy disappear, Tom had formed a pretty accurate idea of where they were hid.

He knew that they had not recrossed the creek, and consequently they only had an oblong circle of some two score yards diameter, in which to conceal themselves. Inside this, then, Tom knew he must find his game.

Gliding along, crouching so that his head was below the level of the bank, the Delaware soon gained the bank of the creek, and pausing, he peered cautiously toward the suspected spot. A low grunt of disgust broke from his lips, as he saw that a little ridge hid the Indians from his view, while standing in the gully.

Then his eyes roved around, restlessly. A brief moment sufficed to form his plans.

Removing the revolver from his girdle, he entered the stream, and then holding the weapon above the water, he glided slowly along toward the enemy, hidden, as before, by the bank. As many minutes sufficed to carry him over the few yards necessary to traverse, and then, confident that he had gained a point whence he could spot the red-skins, Tom prepared for action.

The revolver he cautiously shoved upon the edge of the bank, beside a small bowlder, and then followed it with the muzzle of his rifle. But then, with a sudden recollection, he paused.

Along the bank, for a number of yards, there was not a bush or shrub of any kind to be seen. Although he affected to despise the Arapahoes as warriors, the Delaware knew right well that the sudden appearance of a bush where none had grown before, could scarcely escape their keen eyes; and, under the peculiar circumstances, its appearance would most probably be greeted with a rifle-ball.

So he noiselessly untied the thongs that secured the leafy head dress in place, suffering it to drop into the water, and float away with the gentle current. Then he slowly raised his eyes to a level with the bank.

For a full minute nothing suspicious rewarded his gaze; but Tom was by far too cunning a scout and warrior to risk the success of his plans by a precipitate movement. Then his eyes slowly roved over each inch of the ground, again and again.

The wisdom of this caution was soon apparent. Beside a goodly-sized bowlder, the Delaware now discovered a portion of a red-skin’s body, though at first it had appeared part and parcel of the stone.

This was enough. Tom knew that sufficient was revealed to bury a bullet in, so that it would touch the seat of life, and that by waiting for a better target, he might spoil all.

Slowly and deliberately, as if aiming at a target of wood, the rifle drew upon the unsuspecting savage, and the black eye of the Delaware flashed along the dark tube with a deadly glare. And then his finger tightened upon the trigger.

The whip-like crack rung out with startling clearness; but it was blended with a horrible yell of agony, as the stricken savage writhed upon the ground in his death-throes. Delaware Tom seldom found it necessary to fire twice at the same object.

As the sounds broke the air, the horses, that had been quietly cropping the rich grass, snorted with affright, and after turning their heads wildly, sprung off a few yards; then stood with trembling limbs, eying the strange scene.

As Tom had anticipated, the unexpected shot had so startled the red-skins that they sprung up from their coverts and glared wildly around in search of their hidden foe. Cries of wondering fear broke from their lips.

Then a spout of flame shot forth from the line of bushes upon the hillside, and a second messenger of death sped upon its way; another of the savages reeled wildly, and then fell to the ground, the hot life-blood gurgling from his chest.

Delaware Tom snatched his revolver and discharged it, uttering a wild yell—the war-whoop that had more than once carried terror and confusion into the hearts of his foemen. Though this shot did not seem to have taken effect, the bold fellow sprung forth from the water, and pealing forth his yell, sprung toward the surviving Arapahoes, firing as he came.

Simultaneously, there echoed back a hoarse cheer from the hillside, and Travers sprung into view, his revolver echoing back the quick reports from that in the hands of the Delaware.

As yet the Arapahoes had not burned a grain of powder, so greatly were they confused by this sudden and deadly onset. The two men dashing toward them, with rapidly detonating pistols, were magnified ten-fold, and, as with one accord, the survivors turned and fled from the spot of death, with wild screeches of dismay and terror.

“Hurrah, Tom! spot them—they’re ours!” shouted Travers, wild with excitement, as his revolver sent a bullet crashing into the brain of a third red-skin. “Don’t let one get away!”

Loud and clear came the answering yell of the Delaware, as he sprung forward in hot pursuit of the fleeing foe. _He_ only thought that his enemies were before him, and his heart was filled with ferocious hatred.

The foremost Arapahoe reached the horses, and it seemed as though the secondary object of the two scouts would be defeated, after all; but the frantic haste of the savage favored them, unexpectedly. In his terror, he made a quick grasp at the trailing halter; but his foot slipping upon the damp grass, he fell to the ground, even as his fingers tightened upon the plaited rope.

The sudden jerk added to the mustang’s affright, and caused him to rear violently back, half-raising the Indian to his feet; but then the hand slipped from the smooth rope, and thus freed, the terrified horse turned with a shrill scream and dashed madly up the valley, followed by its companions.

A faint cry broke from the lips of the Arapahoes, at this new misfortune, but they dared not pause. Close behind them they could hear the heavy tramp of their enemies, and then came two more shots.

Without pausing a moment, the savages dashed on, while the one whose haste had wrought them such harm, scrambled to his feet. But no sooner was he up, than he was down again.

Delaware Tom, with a shrill scream of frantic fury, pounced upon his back, hurling the red-skin violently forward, his face plowing up the decayed grass and soft dirt. Half-senseless from the shock, he offered but feeble resistance to his powerful enemy.

Delaware Tom dug his knees violently into the back of the Arapahoe, while one hand clutched his neck with the force of a vise. Then the empty revolver was upraised, for a moment remaining motionless to gather momentum; then the heavy, brass-bound butt fell with a sickening _thud_ full upon the bared head of the ill-fated savage.

Another yell broke from Tom’s lips, as he dashed the clotted blood and brains from his eyes, and sprung to his feet, glaring ferociously around in search of another victim. But the carnage was over.

The two surviving Arapahoes had vanished among the shadows, and Travers was returning from the pursuit. But Tom darted forward, his eyes glowing with a diabolical fire.

“Stop, Tom,” cried the soldier, as he grasped his comrade, “where are you going? They’ve got clear off by now. You couldn’t find them in the dark, anyhow.”

“Let go—me kill Arapahoe debble!” snarled the Delaware, struggling fiercely in the powerful grasp of the captain.

“No, they’re gone. Don’t be a fool, man. There’s four scalps, if you want them. That’s enough for once. Do you hear?”

The savage suddenly ceased his struggles, though with a ill-grace. But then his face brightened as he glanced back upon the ghastly forms of the fallen red-skins.

“Come, help me catch their horses, first, Tom,” said Travers. “If we don’t mind they’ll give us the slip altogether.”

Without a word the Delaware followed his companion up the valley, where they could hear the frightened horses, still snorting wildly. The soldier began to fear they would experience not a little trouble in effecting their capture.

But both he and the Delaware were old hands among the horses, and Tom set out to gain the further side of the animals, in order to prevent their flight. This was quickly accomplished, and then, while Travers stood still, the Delaware slowly advanced toward the trembling group.

They permitted his approach without a motion, save to huddle closer together, until nearly within arm’s length, but then they dashed off toward the soldier. Travers stood still with outstretched hand, and, after a few minutes’ delay, one of them came close enough for him to secure the halter.

Then it was an easy task to collect the others, which once accomplished, the two men returned down the valley where had taken place the deadly surprise. The four dead forms presented a ghastly sight, and even Travers could not repress a shudder, as he recalled the frightful scene.

“Take their scalps, if you will, Tom,” he said, as the Delaware drew his knife. “But be quick about it. And then tumble their bodies into the creek, before we call the lady. The sight would be horrible enough to kill her.”

“Squaw no so soft like dat,” laughed the Delaware, as he shook the first trophy to free it from the gouts of blood, before securing it to his girdle. “Stan’ big heap, dey kin. No kill ’um so easy, like dat.”

“Hurry up—don’t be so long, Tom. There’s a long trail before us, and not much time to lose. It’s nearly daylight now.”

But the Delaware seemed to find a peculiar pleasure in his revolting task, and took his own time about it. This was the reward of his tedious exercise of Indian tactics.

But then the job was completed by dragging the mutilated dead to the stream, and casting them in, when the current quickly swept them away. As the last corpse disappeared, Travers raised his voice and bade Clara come down; that all danger was past.

But there came no reply. Again he called, louder than before. Still the silence, save in the echoes of his own voice among the hills.

Travers wondered at this, though he did not think of any serious wrong. He believed that Clara, frightened by the wild struggle, had not yet recovered sufficiently to recognize his voice.

“Here, Tom, hold the horses, and I will go up after her,” said Travers, a little impatiently. “She’s afraid to come down alone.”

Muttering at the foolish squeamishness of the white squaw, the Delaware did as bade, and then the soldier lightly bounded up the steep hillside. As he neared the line of bushes, Travers called again:

“Miss Calhoun—Clara, come out. It is all over, and the road is free for us. Come.”

Still no answer, save in the echoes of his own voice as before. A strange fear seized upon the strong-hearted soldier.

Why this continued silence? Why did not the maiden answer him? Could it be, that, frightened at the scene of death and bloodshed, she had fainted?

Believing this the true solution of the dead stillness, he sprung forward and parted the bushes. A wild cry broke from his lips.

The covert was empty—unoccupied, save by the still and lifeless form of the Arapahoe, who had fallen by the strong hand of Delaware Tom. Where was Clara?

“What fo’ you mek holler like dat? Where squaw?” called out the Delaware from below.

“My God! Tom, she’s gone! She is not here!” gasped Travers, in wondering alarm.