Chapter 8

KIDDIE'S LUCK

"Say, now, d'you expect me t' ride a spick an' span, over-fed, highly decorated critter like that? My! I ain't entered for a horse show, Cully. I want a pony that can run without thinkin' of takin' prizes on points. And a dandy saddle with fancy stitchin' and finery don't help any in gettin' the mails through on time. What's the matter with the regulation Express pony--the piebald cayuse that you gave me on the last trip? That was a critter that knew how ter go, that was. What's the matter with her?"

"Gone sick," Cully answered, watching Kiddie's quick fingers unbuckling the mail bags from the saddle from which he had just dismounted. "Went sick only a hour ago. Guess she figured it was Jim Thurston's turn ter ride her. If she'd ha' known it was you an' not Jim, you may bet your socks she wouldn't ha' gone sick. But you'll find her substitute O.K. An' if anybody kin ride him, you sure can. Steve Tracy was sayin' only this mornin' as you kin git more pace an' bring yer pony in fresher 'n any rider along the hull Salt Lake Trail; an' I just guess Steve was right. Say, what's the matter wi' the saddle? Ain't you satisfied? Don't it fit the critter proper?"

Kiddie was in the act of mounting. He turned to Cully with a light laugh.

"Fits him like a glove," he answered. "I was only figuring that it's a bit too ornamental for its present purpose. I see the girth has been broken and mended--mended with a doubtful piece of string. Why wasn't it sent to the saddler t' be properly fixed up? I've half a notion ter chuck it right away and ride bare-backed. But there ain't time to fool around now. So long, Cully."

Almost before he had leapt astride and slipped his feet into the stirrups, the pony was off with a drumming of hoofs along the grassy trail, needing no urging by spur or voice, and Kiddie was so well accustomed to riding at the full gallop that, after he had thrice forded the winding creek of Three Crossings, he could with ease take out the little paper bag of biscuits and fruit that had been handed to him, and munch his evening meal.

It was rough riding over the Rattlesnake Mountains, where often the indistinct trail led him through dark and narrow defiles, or along the brink of dangerous precipices, where the ground was of loose stones, perilously insecure. The mountain torrents, swollen by recent rains, had to be crossed unhesitatingly, and without the help of bridges. But all these dangers and difficulties were familiar to him, and he passed through them unconcerned.

Once when he was riding at fullest speed through the wide valley of White Eagle Gulch, he was forced to turn aside to avoid a great straggling herd of buffaloes. He noticed that the ponderous animals were breathing heavily, and that their flanks were moist with perspiration. Those at the head of the moving herd were strong and virile, and in good condition; those towards the rear were thin and scraggy, and many of these were a long distance in the rear.

"Seems they've been having a stampede," Kiddie reflected. "The weak ones lagged behind. Looks as if they'd been chased."

Amongst the stragglers was a magnificent bull, striding slowly but proudly alone. Blood was dripping from a wound in its nearer side, and deep in the wound was an arrow, buried almost to the feathers.

"Been chased by a band of Redskins," Kiddie assured himself. And he began to look out for further signs of the possible presence of Indians.

A mile or so farther on he came upon a buffalo lying dead, but there were no other signs for many miles until he was crossing a stretch of prairie, where he saw the remains of several buffaloes that had been flayed and cut up. Nothing but the stripped bones was left.

Shortly afterwards he crossed the trail of the hunters, and he estimated that the band consisted of about fifty Indians. They had gone off with their loads of buffalo meat and hides towards the foothills, in a direction at right angles to his own.

Clearly the Redskins were not out to interfere with the Pony Express. Nevertheless, Kiddie continued to keep a watchful eye on both sides of the trail as he galloped along, and also to observe the behaviour of his mount and of the wild birds.

It was the pony that gave him the first intimation of danger, by a sudden lifting of the head and restless twitching of the erect ears. This might well have been occasioned by the near neighbourhood of some beast of prey--a lynx, a wolf, or even an ordinary coyote.

By itself, it meant little, but it was enough to make Kiddie attentive, even though he had assured himself that the Indians, or, at all events, the main body of them, had gone home to their reservation beyond the Rattlesnake Mountains. There were other signs, however.

The gorge through which he was riding was thickly wooded with willows and larch trees, and far in advance of him he saw that the birds had been disturbed. They were in agitated flight over the tree-tops. Above the thudding of his pony's hoofs he heard the raucous squawk of a jay--the most alert of sentinels. It was not at his own approach that the birds were alarmed, but something which was happening nearer to them in the woodland glades.

Kiddie was not more concerned than usual; he was not even suspicious of coming danger, nor did he alter by so much as an inch his seat in the saddle or tighten his grip on the bridle reins.

At the mouth of the gorge, however, he suddenly became apprehensive that some human enemy was lurking in ambush. He remembered the incident of the poisoned arrow. His pony had changed its stride to a less measured gallop, bounding forward at an increased pace, with head lowered, muzzle outstretched and ears thrown back.

Kiddie leant over the pony's fluttering mane, searchingly glancing from side to side and in front of him. He was going at racing speed, but his practical eyes were alert to observe every tiny sign, and none escaped him.

He could see nothing but the trees and rocks as he flashed past them; nothing to cause him serious alarm. It seemed to him that if there had been any hidden danger he had already gone beyond it. But there might still be some unsuspected peril at the far side of the projecting cliff where, as he knew, the trail made an abrupt turn.

He shifted his feet in the stirrups to secure a firmer grip of the irons. As he did so, the pony suddenly swerved. At the same instant the string with which the girth had been improperly mended broke. The whole saddle moved ominously from its true place on the animal's back.

Kiddie preserved his balanced seat only for a few difficult moments. His left foot lost its sure hold in the stirrup, and presently slipped out of it altogether. The pressure of his right foot on the other stirrup caused the saddle to move still farther. Now that the girth straps were flying loose there was nothing but the rider's weight to hold it on the pony's back.

It was at this awkward moment of personal insecurity that he became aware that many galloping horses were close behind him. He did not need to look back over his shoulder to learn that he was being hotly pursued by a band of mounted Indians.

They had been lying in wait for him, well hidden among the screening trees and brushwood. They had let him gallop past, but now they had broken cover and were racing after him with menacing yells and savage cries.

They had lost some moments in getting free from the bush, and he was already well ahead of them; but their mounts had been rested, while his own pony was panting heavily, and wet with perspiration after an unbroken gallop of a dozen miles.

The Redskins gained upon him little by little.

At the turn of the trail he ventured to glance quickly round. In that quick glance he saw that there were at least six of them, led by a warrior wearing an ample war bonnet. They were therefore not members of the buffalo-hunting party, but were on the war-path.

He saw that they were armed with guns and tomahawks, not bows and arrows, and he took confidence from this circumstance, knowing that the Indian is a poor marksman with firearms when mounted, and that none could do him harm with the tomahawk unless within arm's reach of him.

Had his saddle been secure, he would have had little anxiety, but it was slipping farther and farther back. He wondered if he might get free from it altogether, and, dropping it to the ground, continue his ride bare-backed.

Then he remembered that the two mail bags were buckled to the saddle, and that it was his duty to safeguard them with his life.

He tried to ease the thing forward, and at the same time to raise it and save it from shifting perilously to the pony's right side. He believed he could manage it with an adroit upward movement of his right foot, and he made the hazardous attempt, but, unfortunately, in bending his ankle, he pushed his foot just a thought too far, and his boot went clean through the steel loop of the stirrup, high heel and spur included.

This would have been an awkward predicament in any circumstance, even if the saddle band remained unbroken, and the saddle itself firmly in position. It would have been almost impossible for him without help to get the projecting spur and the heel of the boot back again through the stirrup. But now, when the Indians were in close pursuit, only a few lengths behind him, yelling their exultant cries, holding their weapons ready, what was he to do?

Of one thing he was certain; the saddle was bound very soon to fall from the pony's back, and he must as surely go with it, possibly to be trampled to death under the hoofs of the Indians' horses.

He prepared himself for the inevitable fall, designing to fling himself off where there were no rocks to strike against, but only earth and sage grass.

First he made sure that the bridle rein was free, and that nothing would catch upon the saddle when he should drag it after him with his entangled foot.

The foremost Indian was but a couple of lengths behind him when he pulled at the left rein, threw the bridle forward, and flung himself bodily to the ground.

The pony swerved to the left in obedience, and Kiddie escaped its hind hoofs. He fell flat on his back, with his legs and feet in the air. The heavy saddle followed him, sliding down over the pony's hocks, and it was the saddle that got the worst of it when the Redskins galloped past.

Kiddie, indeed, received no injury from the madly pounding hoofs. But his back was badly bruised; he was not sure that one or two of his ribs were not broken; and his right ankle was certainly sprained.

It was evident that the Indians had not expected him to be thrown, for they raced past him, and several moments went by before they could swing round.

In those moments Kiddie rolled painfully over on to his knees and elbows. There was no time for him to cut the stirrup strap, or to attempt to get his hurt foot free. All that he could do was to be ready to defend the two precious satchels containing the mails.

Moving himself forward a few inches, so that he could stretch out his right leg and rest his weight on his left knee and elbow, he drew his revolver and levelled it.

He could not now see the Indians. They were hidden beyond a screen of trees and rock. But he heard them as they checked their wild onrush and turned to ride back and do their worst. He was quite ready for them; he had six bullets in his gun, and none should be wasted.

Suddenly amid the confused clatter of hoofs there came to him the sharp, unmistakable crackle of rifle and pistol shots. Then the Indians rushed into sight, galloping in hot haste.

Kiddie fired at two of them, and was shifting his aim to a third, when he realized that they were in flight--that they were being pursued by a horseman who had newly come upon the scene, and who was firing at them with his six-shooter.

Only now did Kiddie reflect that in the ordinary course of his eastward bound trip he would have met the westward going Express rider just at about this same place.

"Alf! Alf Kearney!" he shouted.

The Expressman pulled up short. He had already emptied his revolver, and the Redskins were continuing their flight.

"Frizzle me if it ain't Kiddie of the Camp!" cried Kearney, dismounting and standing with his hands on his knees, staring at the fallen Expressman. "Say, now, are you hurt bad, pardner? I seen your riderless pony hustlin' along with that crowd of yellin' Injuns at its heels. I guessed suthin' had sure happened t' yer, though it ain't a regulation Express pony. Where 're you hurt? You're in luck if you ain't killed right out."

"I'm in sure luck by your happening along," responded Kiddie, trying with difficulty to move. "Say, if you c'n rip open that boot and disentangle my sprained foot from that rotten saddle, I shall be obliged. Then I reckon I c'n lie here while you ride along the trail with your mails and send help, see?"

Alf Kearney demurred to the suggestion, but at once proceeded to liberate Kiddie's foot, first cutting the stirrup-strap and then ripping open the stout leather boot.

"Couldn't you manage ter mount behind me?" he questioned. "My pony's fit ter carry us both, I guess. Like as not, Broken Feather and his gang'll come back. You ain't anyways safe lyin' here, rain comin' on; an' the sooner a doctor sees you the better."

"Broken Feather?" Kiddie repeated. "If that's the rustler wearin' the war-bonnet and ridin' a piebald broncho, then he ain't liable ter come back--not with my bullet in him. I didn't catch sight of his face--didn't savee it was Broken Feather. No, Alf, thank you, I ain't able ter mount. Leave me right here, hustle along with the Express, and send help from your first relay station."

The long, weary night that followed was very dark, and the two men sent along the trail to give help searched in vain for Kiddie in the driving rain. They had brought a buckboard cart with them in which to carry him home to Sweetwater Bridge.

They searched for hours, but even when they discovered some rain-washed hoof prints it was too dark for them to follow the tracks. It was not until daybreak that they found Kiddie asleep under his blanket, with the saddle for a pillow and his arms, with their red shirt sleeves, folded over his chest.

He awoke when they whistled. They ran up to him, afterwards bringing along the buckboard, into which they tenderly lifted him. The jolting of the cart was painful to him, but when at length they arrived at Birkenshaw's camp he declared that he wasn't at all badly hurt.

"Just leave me alone, boys," he said, "I don't want you ter make any fuss over me. There's nothing serious the matter--a few bruises, a sprained ankle, a kinder gen'ral shakin' up; that's all. I shall be ready to go with the Express again before Jim Thurston, even now."

"No occasion ter worry any 'bout the Express, Kiddie," said Abe Harum, massaging the injured ankle with embrocation. "I'm notionin' ter take a spell at it myself fer a while, a kinder change for me, see?--good as a holiday. Besides, thar's two individuals I'm anxious ter meet. One of 'em's the rooster as palmed off that rotten saddle on you. The other's Broken Feather. You'd a legitimate chance of puttin' his light out, Kiddie. Nobody e'd have blamed you any if you'd aimed at a vital section of his anatomy; but you let him off with little more'n a scratch. And that ambush was all planned. Rube here's just hungerin' an' thirstin' ter tell you all about Broken Feather's friendly call along at your woodland cabin while he knew you was absent. Ain't that so, Rube?"

"Yes," Rube answered, coming forward to Kiddie's side.

Rube then told the whole story of Broken Feather's surreptitious visit to the forest clearing, of the discovery that it was he who shot the poisoned arrow and of his threat that Kiddie would never come back.

"So you see, Kiddie," supplemented Abe Harum, "the skunk meant ter do you in. When he quitted the clearin', 'fore the hound struck his trail, he went right away ter put his rascally plan into operation. He an' his braves lay in wait for you ter gallop along. As I remarked before, it's a pity you didn't plant that bullet of yours where it would sure be fatal. It's your way, I know. You'd sooner cripple than kill. You show mercy even to a Injun--even to your deadliest enemy. An' Broken Feather's your enemy. You're what's called hereditary enemies, if I knows the meaning of the term."

"That's so, Abe," said Kiddie. "His father, Eye-of-the-Moon, shot my mother dead. It was Eye-of-the-Moon who killed my father, Buckskin Jack, in the Custer fight. On the other hand, it was my maternal grandfather, Spotted Tail, who killed Eye-of-the-Moon in their duel on horseback that I've so often told you about. And now it seems Broken Feather and I are at enmity."

"Yes," put in Gideon Birkenshaw, "but I ain't figgerin' as Broken Feather's takin' heredity inter consideration; not a whole lot. He don't keer a brass button who his father killed, or who killed his father. 'Cordin' ter Redskin reckonin' they've all gone on the long trail to the Happy Huntin' Grounds, an' they're no longer objec's in the scen'ry. Broken Feather's got his own pussonal reasons fer enmity agin your lordship. He knows as you're a long sight cleverer'n he is as an all-round scout; he's some afraid o' your cleverness. He knows you're wealthy; he covets your wealth. He knows you're honest; an' the one pusson as a rogue most dislikes is the man who acts allus on the straight. Moreover, Kiddie, you've already got the better of Broken Feather on several occasions, an' he ain't liable ter forget it."

"Gee!" exclaimed Rube Carter. "Never know'd th' Old Man make sich a long an' logical oration in me life before!"

"You've got yer own remedy, however," resumed Gideon. "It's agin th' law fer Injuns ter come outer their reservations, same as Broken Feather an' his braves have been doin' lately. The hull thing 'ld be stopped if you'd only appeal t' th' law fer pertection."

"But suppose I don't approve of the Indians being herded like sheep in fenced reservations?" Kiddie objected. "Suppose I'm of opinion that in a free land like this all men should be equally free, Redskin and Paleface alike? No, Gid, I ain't figuring to appeal to the law. If I need any protection against a man such as Broken Feather, I'll do the business on my own, and a gun, a fleet horse, and my own common sense are good enough for me, without the interference of the law."