CHAPTER XII

UNEXPECTED HELP

THE three dropped to the ground, where they flattened themselves out so as to be as inconspicuous as possible. Of course the prospect of approaching trouble caused the hearts of the boys to beat doubly fast, but they managed to control themselves.

"Do you think they saw us?" whispered Roger, finding his head close to that of his comrade.

"We will soon know," replied the other, in the same cautious manner. "They have not given a single yelp as yet. But Mayhew is beckoning to us. He wants us to crawl along after him, where these bushes will shield us."

They kept as close to the ground as possible while making progress. Now and then one of them would carefully raise his head to take an observation. When this chanced to be Dick, his cousin invariably whispered an inquiry in his ear, which the other answered with a movement of the head.

They could hardly believe that the keen-eyed Indians had failed to notice their presence, though it did seem strange that they should have refrained from announcing their delight at the discovery in fierce yelps, as was their custom.

Mayhew undoubtedly had some sort of plan in mind when he beckoned the others to follow. He was an experienced scout, and knew as much about the tricky ways of the red men as any borderer of his time. It was on this account that Captain Clark had suggested that he accompany the boys on this trip, as well as to allow Mayhew a chance to repair the damage his blunder had done to their cause.

Three times he abruptly changed his course. Evidently he had a reason for this, and Dick suspected that the guide must have discovered the enemy to be lying in wait for them ahead.

It was thrilling, but tiresome. Roger found himself wishing heartily that something would happen to break the silence. It seemed to be oppressive, to be weighing him down as with a heavy load. Indeed, to the impulsive lad almost anything would be preferable to this terrible stillness.

It was while Roger was allowing himself to give way to this feeling, and wondering whether, after all, it might not do better if they sprang to their feet and ran for it, that something did occur, and of a nature to surprise him.

Crouching at the foot of a tree, and just about to slowly get to his knees in order to take an observation, Roger suddenly felt himself pulled down. Dick had seized his hunting tunic, and given it a quick, strong tug.

At the same instant Roger heard an odd, whistling sound that seemed to come from a point very close to his ear; this in turn was succeeded by a little thud, such as one might make when striking his hunting knife against the bark of a tree.

As the boy twisted his head around, his wondering eyes fell upon something that caused him to draw in a long quavering breath. It was the feathered shaft of a Blackfoot arrow that had its flint head buried deep in the yielding wood of the tree. In order to have reached that spot it must have passed only a few inches above Roger's body.

Then the Indians _did_ know of their presence; the fact of this shaft having been sent in their direction told the story. Roger somehow found himself wondering if those stories he had heard about the Blackfoot warriors poisoning the tips of their war arrows could have any foundation in truth. It was not a pleasant thought when they found themselves at bay, surrounded by an unknown number of the savage tribesmen.

But Mayhew was once more creeping on; if he did not wish to be left behind he must follow in the wake of the guide.

Dick brought up the rear. It may have been accident that brought this about, and, then again, perhaps the boy had some design in taking his place at the end of the line. He knew the impulsive ways of his cousin, and that there was always a chance that Roger might get himself into trouble through lack of caution.

Possibly the guide had knowledge of some locality that lay a short distance beyond, where they could defend themselves better than in the open. The face of the country was rough, and in many places rocks cropped out that could be made to serve those who were surrounded by perils.

Once again was the whistle of a feathered shaft heard, though this time it simply cut through the bushes over their heads, and found no lodgment in the trunk of a tree.

This was the second narrow escape they had had. It was not to be expected that such good fortune would continue. Other arrows were bound to be fired, and at any minute one better aimed than the rest might find lodgment in a human body.

Roger gritted his teeth savagely as he crept on. How he wished Mayhew would come to a pause, thus signifying he had done all he could to further their escape, and was now at the end of his rope! Then they could rise up, and use their guns upon the crafty enemy, following with the pistols they also carried, and which at short range would count for just as much as the rifles.

Was the ground actually trembling underneath, or did his own shaky condition deceive him? Roger could not decide this question off hand. It seemed to him that, when he placed a hand on the rocks, it felt a warmth that was unmistakable. At any other time he would have wanted to stop to discover why this should be so; but the conditions by which they were surrounded just then would hardly permit such a waste of precious seconds.

In imagination Roger could see the Indians creeping up, bows and arrows in hand, waiting until a certain point had been reached, when they would give a concerted whoop, and rush to the attack.

He wondered if they had ever heard a gun fired at close quarters and, if not, whether the sound would alarm them. It had proved to be the case in other instances he had heard old trappers mention, where they were saved through the fear shown by the savages at hearing the crash, and seeing the flash, when guns had been discharged.

Ah! that was a third arrow he heard hurtling past, and it must have shivered into splinters against that rock when it struck. Either the marksmen were sending their missiles at random, or else they had some design in thus driving the three crouching whites forward. Was there some sort of a trap beyond, into which they might fall? Roger was of half a mind to turn on Dick, and demand that they change their method of retreat into one of open defiance.

There was no need of his taking this step, because circumstances decided for him. Even as he was hesitating, and more than half inclined to force the issue, there broke out such ear-piercing yells as neither of the two boys had ever heard before.

To Roger's mind that settled it, once and for all. Further flight was useless--at least, flight of the slow and hesitating type they had been trying to carry out. If they chose to try to escape without a fight, then they must take to their heels, dodging to the right and the left so as to avoid the rain of arrows that was sure to follow them.

To scramble to their feet was the work of an instant. All held their weapons ready for immediate use, because they believed they would have need of them, with the enemy charging from several points at once.

When Roger looked around he found it hard to decide where to send the bullet his gun carried. Here and there he could catch glimpses of flashing forms as they darted from rock to rock; but all these movements were executed with such surprising quickness that, although he several times started to raise his rifle, before he could obtain any sort of aim the object of his attention had vanished.

Perhaps the quivering tip of a colored feather worn in the hair of an agile brave would be seen above the crown of the sheltering rock, but it would be folly to waste ammunition on such a will-o'-the-wisp target.

The worst of the matter was that all this time the dodging foes were gradually drawing their ring closer and closer around the three whites. Every time a flitting copper-colored figure flashed across a little opening, to disappear again behind other shelter, it was shortening by just so much the distance separating the two hostile parties.

Arrows were beginning to hurtle past their heads, too, as some of the red men found opportunities to use their bows. That none of the palefaces had thus far been struck was more a matter of good luck than anything else.

Mayhew did not mean to stand there and wait for the coming of all those skulking warriors. He knew that there must be a score of them, all told, and, should it come to a hand-to-hand combat he and his young companions would have but a sorry chance to hold their own, much less be victors in the encounter.

In one direction, alone, could he seem to discover an opening, where for some reason the Indians had failed to cover the ground.

"Follow me, lads, and duck as you run!" he shouted at the top of his voice, at the same time starting off at a furious pace.

Then began a curious race, with the three fugitives jumping from side to side as they ran, hoping in this way to escape being hit by any arrows that might be sent after them.

Some of the Indians halted to make use of their bows, but the main body kept after the three fugitives. If the worst came, of course the whites could suddenly whirl about, and do some execution with their firearms, though Mayhew knew that it would never do to let the pursuers approach so close as to be able to hurl their stone-headed tomahawks, with which they could split a willow wand, if placed against a tree, at twenty paces.

Mayhew figured that they would be able to reach the spot he had picked out for a stand, if nothing happened to upset his plans. Once there, if they poured a deadly volley in among their pursuers, and followed that up with a second from their small arms, the Indians might become demoralized.

It might have worked as he hoped, but the chances were that the Indians would have immediately dodged, and in this way escaped the full effect of the bombardment. Then, when the firearms were empty, they would push their advantage, and numbers must surely tell.

The yells were still rising discordantly behind them, when Dick began to notice a decided change to their intonation. What had before seemed only an outbreak of savage rage now had turned to wonder, and even deadly fear.

There was also something else that caused the boy to turn his head, in order to cast a backward look. No sooner had he done this than Dick came to a full stop, his loud shouts attracting the attention of his two companions, and causing them to copy his example.

No longer were the eager Indian braves chasing madly after their intended quarry; on the contrary, each and every warrior seemed bent on running like mad in the opposite direction, as though pursued by a legion of evil spirits.

To the whites there was no mystery in regard to the fright of the ignorant and superstitious Blackfoot braves, for before them they saw a mighty column of steaming water gushing fully a hundred feet up into the air, to descend in an imposing flood. As if an unseen hand had directed it, the giant geyser had spouted just in time to come between the hostile Indians and their intended victims!