The Lone Ranch - Mayne Reid (korean novels in english txt) š
- Author: Mayne Reid
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Still through the obscurity rang their cries of mutual encouragement, repeating the determination so tersely expressed.
They knew they had no water by which to extinguish the fast-threatening flames; yet in that moment of emergency they thought of an expedient. There were shovels in the waggons; and laying hold of these, they commenced flinging sand over the places that had caught fire, with the intent to smother the incipient blaze. Left alone, and with time, they might have succeeded. But they were not left alone, for the savages, seeing the advantage they had gained, were now fast closing for a final charge upon the corral, and the implements of industry had to be abandoned.
These were thrown despairingly aside; and the besieged, once more grasping their rifles, sprang back into the waggonsāeach with eager eye searching for an assailant. Though themselves half blinded by the smoke, they could still see the enemy outside; for the Indians, grown confident by the coup they had made, were now riding recklessly near. Quick came the reports of riflesāfaster and more frequent than ever; fast as ten men, all practised marksmen, could load and fire. In less than sixty seconds nearly a score of savages dropped to the death-dealing bullets, till the plain appeared strewn with dead bodies.
But the crisis had comeāthe time for a general charge of the whole band; and now the dusky outside ring was seen gradually contracting towards the corralāthe savages advancing from all sides, some on foot, others on horseback, all eager to secure the trophy of a scalp.
On they came, violently gesticulating, and uttering wild vengeful shouts.
With the besieged it was a moment for despair. The waggons were on fire all around them, and in several places flames were beginning to flicker up through the smoke. They no longer thought of making any attempt to extinguish them. They knew it would be idle.
Did they think of surrender? Noānot a man of them. That would have been equally idle. In the voices of the advancing foe there was not an accent of mercy.
Surrender! And be slain afterwards! Before which to be tortured, perhaps dragged at the horseās tail, or set up as a target for the Tenawa sharpshooters to practise at. No! They would have to die anyhow. Better now than then. They were not the men to offer both cheeks to the insulter. They could resign sweet life, but death would be all the sweeter with corpses of Indians lying thickly around them. They would first make a hecatomb of their hated foes, and then fall upon it. That is the sort of death preferred by the prairie manāhunter, trapper, or traderāglorious to him as the cannon-furrowed field to the soldier. That is the sort of death of which Walt Wilder spoke when he said, āLet us die, not like dogs, but as menāas Americans!ā
By this time the smoke had completely enveloped the waggons, the enclosed space between, and a fringe of some considerable width around them. But a still darker ring was all aroundāthe circle of savage horsemen, who from all sides were galloping up and dismounting to make surer work of the slaughter. The warriors jostled one another as they pressed forward afoot, each thirsting for a scalp.
The last throe of the conflict had come. It was no longer to be a duel at a distanceāno more a contest between rifle-bullets and barbed arrows; but the close, desperate, hand-to-hand contest of pistol, knife, spear, club, and hatchet.
The ten white menānone of them yet hors de combatāknew well what was before them. Not one of them blanched or talked of backing. They did not even think of surrender. It would have been too late to sue for mercy, had they been so inclined.
But they were not. Attacked without provocation, and treacherously, as they had been, their fury was stronger than their fear; and anger now nerved them to frenzied energy of action.
The savages had already closed around the waggons, clustering upon the wheels, some like snakes, wriggling through the spaces left undefended. Rifles ceased to ring; but pistols crackedārepeating pistols, that dealt death at every shot, sending redskin after redskin to the happy hunting grounds. And by the pistolās flash blades were seen gleaming through the smokeānow bright, anon dimmed, and dripping blood.
For every white man that fell, at least three red ones went down upon the sand.
The unequal contest could not long continue. Scarce ten minutes did it last, and but for the obscuring smoke five would have finished it. This was in favour of the assailed, enabling them to act with advantage against the assailants. Such a quick, wholesale slaughter did the white men make with their revolvers that the savages, surprised and staggered by it, for a moment recoiled, and appeared as if again going to retreat.
They did notāthey dared not. Their superior numbersāthe shame of being defeated by such a handful of foesāthe glory of conquestāand, added to it, an angry vengeance now hot in their heartsāall urged them on; and the attack was renewed with greater earnestness than ever.
Throughout every scene in the strife Frank Hamersley had comported himself with a courage that made his men feel less fear of death, and less regret to die by his side. Fighting like a lion, he had been here, and there, and everywhere. He had done his full share of slaving.
It was all in vain. Though standing in the midst of thick smoke, unseeing and unseen, he knew that most of his faithful men had fallen. He was admonished of this by their less frequent responses to his cries of encouragement, telling him the struggle was close upon its termination. No wonder his fury was fast giving place to despair. But it was no craven fear, nor any thought of escape. His determination not to be taken alive was strong as ever.
His hand still firmly clasped his bowie-knife, its blade dripping with the blood of more than one enemy; for into the body of more than one had he plunged it. He clutched it with the determination still farther to killāto take yet another life before parting with his own.
It was hopeless, useless slaughter; but it was sweet. Almost insane with anger, he thought it sweet.
Three dusky antagonists lay dead at his feet, and he was rushing across the corral in search of a fourth. A giant figure loomed up before him, looking more gigantic from the magnifying effect of the smoke. It was not that of a savage; it was Walt Wilder.
āDead beat!ā hoarsely and hurriedly muttered the guide. āWe must go under, Frank. Weāre bounā to go under, if we donātāā
āDonāt what, Walt?ā
āGit away from hyar.ā
āImpossible.ā
āNo. Tharās still a chance, I thinkāfor us two anyways. There aināt many oā the others left, anā ef thar war, we canāt do āem any good now. Our stayinā āud be no useāno use dyinā along wiā āem; while ef we get clar, we mout live to revenge āem. Donāt ye see our two horses are still safe? Thar they air, cowerinā clost in agin one oā the waggons. āTaināt much kit? I admit; still tharās a shadder. Come, Frank, and letās try it.ā
Hamersley hesitated. It was at thought of deserting even the last of his faithful followers, who had sacrificed, or were still sacrificing, their lives in his service. But, as the guide had truly said what good could he do them by staying and getting killed? And he might survive to avenge them!
The last reflection would have decided him! But Wilder had not waited for him to determine. While speaking the urgent words, he laid his huge hand upon Hamersleyās shoulder and half led, half dragged him in the direction of the horses. āKeep hold oā yur rifle, though it air empty,ā hurriedly counselled the guide. āIf we shed get away, it will be needed. We mout as well go under hyar as be upon the pararira without a gun. Now mount!ā
Almost mechanically the young Kentuckian climbed upon the back of the horse nearest to himāhis own. The guide had not yet mounted his; but, as could be seen through the smoke, was leaning against the wheel of one of the waggons. In an instant after Hamersley perceived that the vehicle was in motion, and could hear a slight grating noise as the tire turned in the sand. The great Conestoga, with its load had yielded to the strength of the Colossus.
In another instant he had sprung upon his horseās back and riding close to Hamersley, muttered in his ear, āNow Iāve opened a crack atween two oā the wehicles. Letās cut out through it. We kin keep in the kiver oā the smoke as far as itāll screen us. You foller, anā see that ye donāt lose sight oā me. If we must go under in the eend, let it be out on the open plain, anā not shut up hyar like badgers in a barrāl. Follow me clost, Frank. Now or niver!ā
Almost mechanically the young Kentuckian yielded obedience; and in ten seconds after the two horsemen had cleared the waggon clump, with the shouting crowd that encircled it and were going at full gallop across the sand-strewn plain.
Nearly simultaneous with the departure of the two horsemen came the closing scene of the conflict. Indeed it ended on the instant of their riding off. For of their comrades left behind there was not one upon his feetānot one able to fire another shot, or strike another blow. All lay dead, or wounded, among the waggons; some of the dead, as the wounded, clasping the handle of a knife whose blade reeked with blood, or a pistol from whose muzzle the smoke was still oozing.
But soon among the whites there were no wounded, for the hovering host, having closed in from all sides, leaped from their horses, swarmed over the barrier between, tomahawking the last that showed signs of life, or thrusting them with their long lances, and pinning them to the sand. Through the body of every white man at least a half-dozen spear-blades were passed, while a like number of savages stood exultingly over, or danced triumphantly around it.
And now ensued a scene that might be symbolised only among wild beasts or fiends in the infernal regions. It was a contest for possession of the scalps of those who had fallenāeach of the victors claiming one. Some stood with bared blades ready to peel them off, while others held out hands and weapons to prevent it. From the lips of the competitors came shouts and expostulations, while their eyes flashed fire, and their arms rose and fell in furious gesticulations.
Amidst their demoniac jargon could be heard a voice louder than all, thundering forth a command. It was to desist from their threatening strife and extinguish the flames that still flared up over the waggons. He who spoke was the one with the red cross upon his breast, its bars of bright vermilion gleaming like fire against the sombre background of his skin. He was the chief of the Tenawa Comanchesāthe Horned Lizardāas Wilder had justly conjectured.
And as their chief he was instantly obeyed. The wranglers, one and all, promptly suspended their disputes; and flinging their weapons aside, at once set to carrying out his orders.
Seizing upon the shovels, late dropped from the hands of their now lifeless antagonists, and plying them to better purpose, they soon smothered the flame, and the smoke too, till only a thin drift stole up through the sand thrown thickly over it.
Meanwhile a man, in appearance somewhat differing from the rest, was seen moving among them.
Indian in garb and guise, savage in his accoutrements, as the colour of his skin, he nevertheless, showed features more resembling races that are civilised. His countenance was of a cast apparently Caucasian, its lineaments unlike those of the American aboriginal; above all,
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