CHAPTER IX

UNDER THE CLIFF

“Thank fortune we have come so far without injury!”

It was Rodney who uttered the words. He and Sam Barringford were standing on a little rise of ground, the trail in front and behind them. The warm noonday sun shone down upon them, and all was calm and peaceful with not an enemy of any kind in sight. Close at hand Dobson and his wife were preparing a meal for all hands and little Nell was playing with the twins.

Two days had passed since they had left the fateful ford, and they had covered thirty-two miles, over a trail which the past rains had left in anything but a good condition. They had been on guard every minute, day and night, their nerves strung to top tension. The early morning had taken them through a spot lined upon either side with tall rocks, and they had expected a shot at almost every turn—but nothing had come to disturb them.

Considering the condition of the road, the horses had done well. Only one was injured,—from slipping over some rocks,—but he could still carry his load. Nobody was sick, although the constant worry had given Mrs. Dobson a headache.

“While we are waiting for dinner, let us go ahead and look at the trail,” suggested Rodney; and Barringford agreed. Not far off was another hollow, backed by a cliff of rocks, overgrown with heavy vines, and they were both anxious to know what was beyond.

They gained the region of the cliff without difficulty. To save himself the trouble of climbing the rough rocks, Rodney tested the vines and then commenced to pull himself up, hand over hand.

“Be careful that you don’t fall!” cried the old frontiersman. “These rocks at the bottom ain’t no easy bed to drop on, I kin tell ye thet!”

“The vines are strong enough to hold a horse,” answered the young soldier.

He continued to go up, until he was a good fifteen feet over Barringford’s head. He had still six feet to go, when he heard a slight sound from above.

“Must be the vines tearing away,” he told himself, after a pause. “Maybe they are not as strong as I thought they were.”

He waited and then went up an additional foot or two. The vines held, and he took another grip of them a little higher up. His head was now within a yard of the top of the cliff, which was covered with the vines and a stunted growth of bushes.

Suddenly, from out of the bushes, there appeared the head of an Indian, bedecked in war-paint and feathers. Then a long, bronzed arm stole forward, holding a tomahawk. The tomahawk was raised and a blow was aimed at Rodney’s head.

Had the blow fallen as intended, the young soldier’s skull must have been cleft in twain. He glanced up, saw his dire peril, and let himself drop. An instant later a shot rang out from below, and the Indian’s hand quivered and the hatchet slipped down among the vines and out of sight.

Rodney struck the rocks below heavily and rolled over. When he sat up he found Sam Barringford beside him, the smoke still rolling out of the frontiersman’s gun.

“Oh, Sam——” he began, and knew not what further to say.

“Press in clost to the wall,” answered the frontiersman, hastily, and began to reload his rifle with all speed. Rodney’s gun stood against the rocks, where he had left it on starting to mount the cliff.

“Did you hit him, Sam?”

“Yes, an’ I reckon I broke his wrist—leas’wise, he drapped the tomahawk. It was a narrer shave fer you, lad.”

“Indeed it was.” Rodney tried to catch his breath, which the sudden drop had knocked out of him. “Do you suppose he is alone?”

“Ain’t supposin’ nuthin jest yit. Are you all right?”

“I—think so.”

Both pressed in close to the rocky wall, so that no one standing above could see them. They listened, but no sound from above reached them.

“Perhaps the Indian ran away,” said Rodney, wiping the blood from where his left hand had been scratched.

“Don’t be too sure, Rodney.”

“If the enemy are so close we ought to warn the others.”

“The rifle shot will do that. Maybe somebuddy will be comin’ this way soon.”

They waited another five minutes, even the old frontiersman not knowing exactly what to do. Then they saw a frontiersman named Casbury coming forward, slowly and cautiously.

“Look out!” shouted Barringford. “Injun on the rocks!” And he pointed upward.

Casbury understood, and promptly dove out of sight behind some bushes. As he did this there was a crashing through the vines, and a mass of rocks and dirt came down directly in front of where Rodney and Barringford were standing.

“Goin’ to bombard us with rocks, hey?” snorted the old frontiersman. “Maybe I kin play ye a trick fer that. Groan, Rodney, groan,” and he began to groan and moan, as if in the greatest of pain. Rodney did the same, keeping it up several minutes. Then both began to breathe heavily, as though totally exhausted.

Several minutes more passed and Rodney and Barringford breathed softer and softer. Thrown off their guard, and thinking the whites dead or mortally hurt, three Indians leaned over the edge of the cliff to get a view of the situation.

The young soldier and the old frontiersman were on the alert, and as soon as the warriors appeared they blazed away. Two drew back, one with a shot through the side of the neck. The third pitched forward with a yell, struck the rocks head first, and lay dead where he had landed.

“There, I reckon thet will teach ’em a lesson,” cried Sam Barringford, as he and Rodney again loaded up.

A shot was now fired by Casbury, and another Indian was hit in the shoulder. Then Casbury saw four Indians run from the front of the cliff and disappear in the bushes far back.

“Come on, if you want to!” cried Casbury, and leaving the shelter of the cliff Rodney and Barringford made for the camp with all haste. Here they found all the others on guard. The midday meal was forgotten, and the men stood ready to shoot the moment a red warrior showed himself.

“This is the worst possible place to be caught in,” said Rodney. “The Indians can get behind yonder trees and pick us off at will—if they have any firearms.”

“I saw nothing but bows and arrows,” said Casbury. “Still, they may have guns.”

The situation was talked over while they waited for the Indians to reappear. Some brushwood had been gathered for the fire, and Mrs. Dobson and the children were placed behind this and behind some of the horses.

“I’m going over into the woods,” said Barringford, to the others. “If I see anything wrong, I’ll screech like an owl.”

“Do you want me to go along?” asked Rodney.

“No, lad, I want you to stay here, by Nell an’ the twins.”

Barringford slipped to the rear, crawled through the grass, and thus reached a few low bushes, from which he made his way into the forest.

Two hours went by slowly. Not an Indian showed himself, nor did any signal come from Barringford. The men remained on the alert, and when a rabbit crossed the trail two drew a bead on the animal like a flash.

“I trust Sam hasn’t gotten into trouble,” said Rodney, at last.

“If he has, he’ll have to git out o’ it,” answered one of the others, with a shrug of his shoulders.

Presently one of the regulars saw a form wriggling through the grass. He was on the point of firing when he recognized the old frontiersman. Barringford came in a good deal out of breath.

“We’ve got to move, an’ move quick, too!” he announced. “There’s a crowd o’ thirty Injuns over thar,”—he pointed with his hand. “They are goin’ to attack us as soon as the sun goes down.”

“But where shall we move to?” questioned Rodney.

“I war thinkin’ o’ thet cave ye spoke about, Hempser,” went on Barringford, turning to one of the other old hunters. “You said it war nigh here.”

“It’s half a mile beyond the cliff,” was Hempser’s answer. “I don’t know the way very good, but I think I can find it.”

“Then thet is where we’ll go, an’ to onct,” decided Sam Barringford.

Not a minute was lost in breaking camp, and in a close body the pack-train set out, past the cliff and then through a valley of heavy grass and bushes. The men carried their guns ready for use, and screened Mrs. Dobson and the children as much as possible.

“Oh dear! I’d rather be dead than be so worried,” sighed the woman. “I am that nervous I am ready to drop!”

At the end of the short valley was another rise of rocks, among which was located the cave. They had just gained the first of the rocks when a hideous war-whoop sounded out on the afternoon air.

“They have discovered us!” cried Rodney, and he was right. At the far end of the valley appeared fully a score of Indians, a few on horseback and the others on foot.

The Indians had been surprised, thinking the whites were still on the trail. But they soon recovered, and came riding and running towards our friends, yelling at the top of their lungs and flourishing their tomahawks. A moment later they sent a volley of arrows and several rifle shots, for some carried one kind of weapon and some the other.

“Are you hurt?” asked Barringford of Rodney, as he saw the young soldier stagger.

“No, an arrow hit me in the coat-sleeve, that’s all—it didn’t get through my shirt though.”

One of the regulars had been struck by a bullet in the shoulder, and his friends had to help him along. Then the Indians sent forth more arrows, one of which tore through little Nell’s dress.

“Oh!” cried the little miss, in great terror.

“Give ’em a dose o’ their own medicine!” ordered Barringford. “Make the shots tell!” And then everybody fired at the advancing foe, and three of the red warriors pitched into the grass, while two others stopped running and then limped to the rear, badly wounded.

Hempser was looking around anxiously for the cave. At first he could not locate it, but, just as the Indians advanced again, he discovered a hole and rushed towards it.

“Here you are!” he shouted. “This way! Once in the cave, I think we can hold ’em at bay!”

“Into the cave!” cried Barringford. “Mrs. Dobson and the children first. Hempser, is there a back opening?”

“Yes, but not a very big one. We can close it up with loose rocks.”

“Then you run back and pile up the rocks. The others remain at this opening, to keep the Indians at a distance.”