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in ā€™em?ā€

ā€œI do.ā€

ā€œWal, thatā€™s the sort oā€™ bow the Tenawas carryā€”sameā€™s the Apash.ā€

ā€œThe Indians on this route were reported friendly. Why have they attacked us, I wonder?ā€

ā€œInjuns ainā€™t niver friendlyā€”not Tenawas. Theyā€™ve been riled considerably of late by the Texans on the Trinity. Besides, I reckā€™n I kin guess another reezun. Itā€™s owinā€™ to some whites as crossed this way last year. Thar war a scrimmage atween them and the redskins, in the which some squaws got kiltā€”I mout say murdered. Thar war some Mexikins along wiā€™ the whites, anā€™ it war them that did it. Anā€™ now weā€™ve got to pay for their cussed crooked conduk.ā€

ā€œWhatā€™s best for us to do?ā€

ā€œTharā€™s no best, Iā€™m afeerd. I kin see no chance ā€™cept to fight it out to the bitter eend. Tharā€™s no mercy in them yellsā€”neā€™er a morsel oā€™ it.ā€

ā€œWhat do they intend doing next, think you?ā€

ā€œJest yet ā€™taint easy to tell. Tharā€™s somethinā€™ on foot among ā€™emā€”some darned Injun trick. Clar as I kin see, that big chief wiā€™ the red cross on his ribs, air him they call the Horned Lizard; anā€™ ef it be, thar ainā€™t a cunniner coon on all this contynent. Heā€™s sharp enough to contrive some tight trap for us. The dose weā€™ve gin the skunks may keep ā€™em off for a whileā€”not long, I reckā€™n. Darnation! Tharā€™s five oā€™ our fellows wiped out already. It looks ugly, anā€™ like enuf weā€™ve all got to go under.ā€

ā€œDonā€™t you think our best way will be to make a dash for it, and try to cut through them. If we stay here theyā€™ll starve us out. We havenā€™t water enough in the waggons to give us a drink apiece.ā€

ā€œI know all that, anā€™ hev thort oā€™ ā€™t. But you forget about our hosses. Tharā€™s only two left aliveā€”yours and myen. All the rest air shot or stampedoed. Thurfor, but two oā€™ us would stand a chance oā€™ gettinā€™ clar, anā€™ it slim enough.ā€

ā€œYou are right, Walt; I did not think of that I wonā€™t forsake the men, even if assured of my own safetyā€”never!ā€

ā€œNobody as knows you, Frank Hamersley, need be tolt that.ā€

ā€œBoys!ā€ cries out Hamersley, in a voice that can be heard all through the corral; ā€œI neednā€™t tell you that weā€™re in a fix, and a bad one. Thereā€™s no help for us but to fight it out. And if we must die, let us die together.ā€

A response from eight voices coming from different sidesā€”for those watching the movements of the enemy are posted round the enclosureā€”tells there is not a craven among them. Though only teamsters, they are truly courageous menā€”most of them natives of Kentucky and Tennessee.

ā€œIn any case,ā€ continues the owner of the caravan, ā€œwe must hold our ground till night. In the darkness there may be some chance of our being able to steal past them.ā€

These words have scarce passed the lips of the young prairie merchant, when their effect is counteracted by an exclamation. It comes from Walt Wilder, who has been acting as guide to the party.

ā€œDog-goned!ā€ he cries; ā€œnot the shadder oā€™ a chance. They ainā€™t goinā€™ to give us till night. I knewed the Horned Lizard ā€™ud be after some trick.ā€

ā€œWhat?ā€ inquire several voices.

ā€œLook whar that lotā€™s stanninā€™ out yonder. Canā€™t ye guess what theyā€™re at, Frank Hamersley?ā€

ā€œNo. I only see that they have bows in their hands.ā€

ā€œAnā€™ arrers, too. Donā€™t you obsarve them wroppinā€™ somethinā€™ round the heads oā€™ the arrersā€”looks like bits oā€™ rags? Aye, rags it air, sopped in spittles and powder. Theyā€™re agoinā€™ to set the waggons afire! They air, by God!ā€

Chapter Seven. Fiery Messengers.

The teamsters, each of whom is watching the post assigned to him, despite the danger, already extreme, see fresh cause of alarm in Wilderā€™s words. Some slight hope had hitherto upheld them. Under the protection of the waggons they might sustain a siege, so long as their ammunition lasts; and before it gave out some chance, though they cannot think what, might turn up in their favour. It was a mere reflection founded on probabilities still unscrutinisedā€”the last tenacious struggle before hope gives way to utter and palpable despair. Hamersleyā€™s words had for an instant cheered them; for the thought of the Indians setting fire to the waggons had not occurred to any of the party. It was a thing unknown to their experience; and, at such a distance, might be supposed impossible.

But, as they now look around them, and note the canvas tilts, and light timbers, dry as chips from long exposure to the hot prairie sun; the piles of dry goodsā€”woollen blankets, cotton, and silk stuffsā€”intended for the stores of Chihuahua, some of which they have hastily pulled from their places to form protecting barricadesā€”when they see all this, and then the preparations the Indians are engaged in making, no wonder that they feel dismay on Walt Wilder shouting out, ā€œTheyā€™re agoinā€™ to set the waggons afire!ā€

The announcement, although carrying alarm, conveys no counsel. Even their guide, with a life-long experience on the prairies, is at a loss how they ought to act in this unexpected emergency. In the waggons water there is noneā€”at least not enough to drown out a conflagration such as that threatened; and from the way the assailants are gesturing the traders can predict that ere long, a shower of fiery shafts will be sent into their midst. None of them but have knowledge sufficient to admonish them of what is intended. Even if they had never set foot upon a prairie, their school stories and legends of early life would tell them. They have all read, or heard, of arrows with tinder tied around their barbs, on fire and spitting sparks, or brightly ablaze.

If any are ignorant of this sort of missile, or the mode of dispatching it on its mischievous errand, their ignorance is not destined longer to continue. Almost as soon as Wilder has given utterance to the warning words, half a score of the savages can be seen springing to the backs of their horses, each bearing a bow with a bunch of the prepared arrows. And before a single preventive step can be taken by the besieged traders, or any counsel exchanged between them, the pyrotechnic display has commenced.

The bowmen gallop in circles around the besieged enclosure, their bodies concealed behind those of their horsesā€”only a leg and an arm seen, or now and then a face for an instant, soon withdrawn. Not exactly in circles but in spiral ringsā€”at each turn drawing closer and nearer, till the true distance is attained for casting the inflammatory shafts.

ā€œStand to your guns, men!ā€ is the hurried command of the guide, backed by a kind of encouragement from the proprietor of the caravan.

ā€œNow, boys!ā€ adds the guide, ā€œyeā€™ve got to look out for squalls. Keep two anā€™ two of ye thegither. While one brings down the hoss, tā€™ other take care oā€™ the rider as he gits unkivered. Make sure afore ye pull trigger, anā€™ donā€™t waste so much as the snappinā€™ oā€™ a cap. Thar goes the first oā€™ the fire works!ā€

As Wilder speaks, a spark is seen to shoot out from one of the circling cavaliers, which rising rocket-like into the air, comes in parabolic curve towards the corral.

It falls short some twenty yards and lies smoking and sputtering in the sand.

ā€œThey hanā€™t got thar range yit,ā€ cries the guide; ā€œbut this child hez got hisā€”leastwise for that skunk on the clay-bank mustang. So hyar goes to rub him off oā€™ the list oā€™ fire shooters.ā€

And simultaneous with the last word is heard the crack of Wilderā€™s rifle.

The young prairie merchant by his side, supposing him to have aimed only at the Indianā€™s horse, has raised his own gun, ready to take the rider as soon as uncovered.

ā€œNo need, Frank,ā€ shouts the guide, restraining him. ā€œWalt Wilder donā€™t waste two charges oā€™ powder that way. Keep yur bullet for the karkidge oā€™ the next as comes ā€™ithin range. Look yonder! I knowā€™d Iā€™d fetch him out oā€™ his stirrupsā€”tight as heā€™s tried to cling to ā€™em. Thar he goes to grass!ā€

Hamersley, as the others on the same side of the corral, were under the belief that the shot had been a miss; for the Indian at whom it was aimed still stuck to his horse, and was carried for some distance on in curving career. Nor did the animal show any sign of having been hit. But the rider did. While engaged in the effort of sending his arrow, the savage had exposed his face, one arm, and part of the other. Ere he could withdraw them, Waltā€™s bullet had struck the arm that supported him, breaking the bone close to the elbow-joint. He has clung on with the tenacity of a shot squirrel, knowing that to let go will be certain death to him. But, despite all his efforts, the crippled arm fails to sustain him; and, with a despairing cry, he at length tumbles to the ground. Before he can rise to his feet, his body is bored by a leaden messenger from one of the men watching on that side, which lays him lifeless along the sand.

No cheer of triumph ascends from among the waggons; the situation of those who defend them is too serious for any idle exhibition. The man who has fired the last shot only hastens to re-load, while the others remain mute and motionlessā€”each on the look-out for a like opportunity.

The fall of their comrade has taught the freebooters a lesson, and for a time they make their approach with more caution. But the shouts of those standing spectators in the outer circle stimulate them to fresh efforts, as the slightest show of cowardice would surely cause them to be taunted. Those entrusted with the fiery arrows are all young warriors, chosen for this dangerous service, or volunteers to perform it. The eyes of their chief, and the braves of the tribe, are upon them. They are thirsting for glory, and hold their lives as of little account, in the face of an achievement that will gain them the distinction most coveted by an Indian youthā€”that which will give him rank as a warrior, and perhaps some day raise him to a chieftaincy.

Stimulated by this thought, they soon forget the check caused by the fall of their comrade; and, laying aside caution, ride nearer and nearer, till their arrows, one after another, hurtle through the air, and dropping like a continuous shower of spent rocket-sticks upon the covers of the corralled waggons.

Several of them fall to shots from the barricade, but then places are supplied by fresh volunteers from the outer circle; and the sparkling shower is kept up, till a curl of smoke is seen soaring above the white tilts of the waggons, and soon after others at different places and on different sides of the enclosure.

As yet the besieged have not seen this. The powder-smoke puffing up from their own guns, discharged in quick repetition, obscures everything in a thick, sulphurous cloud; so that even the white covers of the waggons are scarce distinguishable, much less the spots where it has commenced smoking.

Not long, however, till something besides smoke makes itself visible, as also audible. Here and there flames flicker up, with a sharp crackling noise, which continues. The one is not flashes from the guns, nor the other a snapping of percussion-caps.

Wilder, with eyes turning to all points, is the first to perceive this.

ā€œWeā€™re on fire, boys!ā€ he vociferates; ā€œon fire everywhar!ā€

ā€œGreat God! yes! What are we to do?ā€ several ask, despairingly.

ā€œWhat air we to do?ā€ shouts the guide, in response. ā€œWhat kin we do, but fight it out to the death, anā€™ then die! So let us die, not like dogs, but as menā€”as Americans!ā€

Chapter Eight. Knife, Pistol, and Hatchet.

The brave words had scarce passed from Walt Wilderā€™s lips when the waggons became enveloped in a cloud of smoke. From all

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