The Wild Man of the West - Robert Michael Ballantyne (korean ebook reader .txt) 📗

Then, passing the sharp weapon quickly round his head with his right hand, with his left he tore the scalp off, and, leaping up, shook the bloody trophy defiantly at the horrified spectators.

All this was accomplished so quickly that the horror-stricken people of the Mountain Fort had not time to move a finger to save their comrade. But, as the savage raised the scalp of poor Dupont above his head, Redhand's rifle flew to his shoulder, and in another moment the Indian fell to the earth beside his victim. Seeing this, the other Indians darted into the forest.

Then a fearful imprecation burst from the lips of Macgregor, as, with a face convulsed with passion, he rushed into the fort, shouting: "To horse! to horse, men! and see that your horns and pouches are full of powder and ball!"

The commotion and hubbub that now took place baffle all description. The men shouted and raved as they ran hither and thither, arming themselves and saddling their horses; while the shrieks of poor Dupont's widow mingled with those of the other women and the cries of the terrified children.

"Half a dozen of you must keep the fort," said McLeod, when they were all assembled; "the others will be sufficient to punish these fiends. You'll help us, I suppose?"

This latter question was addressed to Redhand, who, with his comrades, stood armed, and ready to mount.

"Ready, sir," answered the trapper promptly.

McLeod looked round with a gleam of satisfaction on the stalwart forms of his guests, as they stood each at his horse's head examining the state of his weapons, or securing more firmly some portion of his costume.

"Mount! mount!" shouted Macgregor, galloping at that moment through the gateway, and dashing away in the direction of the forest.

"Stay!--my sketch-book!" cried Bertram in an agony, at the same time dropping his reins and his gun, and darting back towards the hall of the fort.

"Git on, lads; I'll look arter him," said Bounce with a grin, catching up the bridle of the artist's horse.

Without a moment's hesitation, the remainder of the party turned, and galloped after Macgregor, who, with the most of his own men, had already wellnigh gained the edge of the forest.

In a few seconds Bertram rushed wildly out of the fort, with the sketch-book in one hand and the two blunderbuss-pistols in the other. In leaping on his horse, he dropped the latter; but Bounce picked them up, and stuck them hastily into his own belt.

"Now put that book into its own pouch, or ye'll be fit for nothin'," said Bounce almost sternly.

Bertram obeyed, and grasped the rifle which his friend placed in his hand. Then Bounce vaulted into his saddle, and, ere those who were left behind had drawn the bolts and let down the ponderous bars of the gate of the Mountain Fort, the two horsemen were flying at full speed over the plain in the track of the avengers of blood who had gone before them.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN.


THE PURSUIT--CONSCIENTIOUS SCRUPLES OF THE ARTIST--STRATEGIC MOVEMENTS-- SURPRISED IN THE WILD-CAT PASS--MARCH SHOWS COOLNESS AND PLUCK IN THE HOUR OF DANGER--A TERRIFIC ONSLAUGHT BY A WONDERFUL WARRIOR--THE BATTLE--HARD KNOCKS AND MYSTERIOUS DIFFERENCES OF OPINION.

Crossing the open ground in front of the Mountain Fort, Bounce and Bertram entered the wood beyond, and traversed it with comparative ease, by means of a bridle-path which had been cut there by the fur-traders. A few minutes' gallop brought them to the other side of the wood, which was one of those narrow strips or clumps of forest which grow, more or less thickly, on the skirts of the Rocky Mountains, forming that fine picturesque region where the prairie and the forest meet and seem to contend for the mastery.

The plain beyond this belt of wood was open and level--at least, sufficiently so to enable the two horsemen to see for a considerable distance around them. Here, in the far distance, they descried their companions, sweeping over the turf at their utmost speed, and making towards a low hill or ridge that intercepted the view of the more distant country.

"They'll have to draw in a bit," said Bounce, turning to his comrade. "Horses no more nor men can't go helter-skelter up a hill without takin' breath; so rouse up your beast, Mr Bertram, an' we'll overtake 'em afore they gits to the t'other side."

Bertram obeyed his friend's command, but made no rejoinder, his thoughts being too deeply engaged at that moment in a controversy with his conscience as to the propriety of the business he had then in hand.

The young artist had a deep veneration for abstract truth--truth pure and simple, not only in reference to morals, but to all things terrestrial and celestial; and he was deeply impressed with the belief that what was right was right, and what was wrong was wrong, and could not, by any possibility, be otherwise. He felt, also, that the man who recognised truth and acted upon it must go right, and he who saw and did otherwise _must_ go wrong!

Holding this simple creed very tenaciously, and, as we think, very properly, Bertram nevertheless found that his attempts to act up to it frequently involved him in a maze of perplexities.

On the present occasion, as he and Bounce thundered over the green turf of the flowering plains, scattering the terrified grasshoppers right and left, and causing the beautifully striped ground-squirrels to plunge with astonishing precipitancy into their holes, he argued with himself, that the mere fact of a murderous deed having been done was not a sufficient reason, perhaps, to justify his sallying forth with a reckless band of desperate fur-traders, bent on indiscriminate revenge. It was quite true, in his opinion, that a murderer should be punished with death, and that the pursuit and capture of a murderer was not only a legitimate act in itself but, in the circumstances, a bounden duty on his part. Yet it was equally true that most of the men with whom he was associated were thirsting for vengeance, and from past experience he knew full well that there would be no attempt to find out the murderer, but a simple and general massacre of all the Indians whom they could overtake.

Then it suddenly occurred to him that the murderer had already been shot by Redhand, so that his mission was one of simple revenge; but, a moment after, it flashed across his troubled mind that Lincoln had been left in the fort wounded--might possibly be dead by that time; so that there were probably among the flying savages other murderers to be dealt with. This idea was strengthened by another thought, namely, that the savage who stabbed and scalped Dupont might not have been the savage who shot him. The complication and aggregate of improbability amounted, in Bertram's mind, so nearly to a certainty, that he dismissed the digressive question as to whether there might or might not be a murderer among the Indians, and returned to the original proposition, as to whether it was right in him to take part in a pursuit of vengeance that would very likely terminate murderously. But before he could come to any satisfactory conclusion on that point he and Bounce found themselves suddenly in the midst of the cavalcade, which had halted on the summit of the ridge, in order to allow them to come up.

"Here we are, lads," cried Macgregor, his flushed face still blazing with wrath, which he made no effort to subdue, and his eyes red with prolonged debauchery, flashing like the eyes of a tiger--"here we are, too late to cut off the retreat o' these detestable reptiles from the woods, but not too late to circumvent them."

The fur trader spoke rapidly, almost breathlessly, and pointed to the band of Indians they were in pursuit of, who, observing that their pursuers had halted, also drew rein on the edge of a belt of thick forest that extended for miles into the mountains. They appeared to wait, in order to ascertain what their enemies meant to do.

"The villains," continued Macgregor, "think we've given up pursuit as hopeless, but they're mistaken--they're mistaken, as they'll find to their cost. Now, mark me, men; we shall turn back as if we had really given in; but the moment we get down into the hollow, out of sight, we'll go as hard as we can bolt up that valley there, and round by the place we call the Wild-Cat Pass. It's a difficult pass, but who cares for that? Once through it we can get by a short cut to the other side of that wood, and meet the redskins right in the teeth. They're Blackfoot Indians, I know by their dress; and, as they don't belong to this part o' the country, they can't be aware of the pass. But some of us must go back a good way towards the fort, so as to deceive the blackguards, who'll be sure to get on the first hill they can to see where we've gone to. Now--away! Stay," he added in a less commanding tone, "I don't know that my guests are willing to go with us through thick an' thin in this fashion. I've no desire to have unwilling warriors."

"Had we not been _willing_" replied Redhand dryly, "we wouldn't have come even thus far."

"Very good," rejoined Macgregor with a grim smile; "then, perhaps, since you are so good as to go along with us, you'll make for the head of that valley, and when you come to the Wild-Cat Pass I've spoken of, you'll wait there till the rest of us, who are to sham going back to the fort, come up with ye; then we'll go through the pass together, and polish off the redskins."

To this plan Redhand assented; so he and his comrades prepared to take the way to the pass, while the men of the fort turned homewards. A triumphant shout from the Indians showed that they imagined the pursuit was given up; but Macgregor knew their cunning too well to fall into the mistake of at once concluding that they were thoroughly deceived. He knew that they would send out scouts to dog them, and felt, that if his plan was to succeed, he must put it into execution promptly.

"I've scarce had time to ask your names or where you've come from," he said on parting from the trappers; "but there'll be plenty of time for that when we meet again. Keep close in the bottom, and ride fast, till the shadow of yonder crag conceals you from view. If the Indians get sight of you, they'll smell the dodge at once and escape us. Perhaps, young man, you'd like to come with my party?"

The latter part of this speech was made rather abruptly to March Marston, who received it with some surprise, and with a distinct refusal.

"I'll stick by my comrades," said he, "till I see good reason--"

"Well, well, boy--please yourself!" muttered the trader angrily, as he broke away at full speed, followed by his men.

Our trappers instantly turned their horses' heads towards the mountains, and made for the Wild-Cat Pass.

Macgregor's estimate of the cunning of the Indians was but too correct. The instant the fur-traders disappeared behind the ridge, as if on their return homewards, several of their fastest riders were dispatched to the nearest hill, to watch the movements of the enemy. They ascended one