The Mountain Divide

  CHAPTER VIII

  The bruises that Bucks nursed were tender for some days, and Scotttried out some bear's grease for an ointment.

  Scuffy, who had come out of the fight without a scratch, took on newairs in camp, and returned evil for evil by bullying the two woundedhounds who were too surprised by his aggressiveness to make aneffective defence.

  Bucks, when he was alone with the dog and time dragged heavily, turnedfor diversion to the only book in the camp, a well-thumbed copy of"The Last of the Mohicans." He had brought it with him to read comingout from Pittsburgh, and had thrown it into his bag when leavingMedicine Bend. In camp it proved a treasure, even the troopers, whenthey were idle, casting lots to get hold of it.

  One day, when Bucks was absorbed in the romance, Bob Scott asked himwhat he was reading. Bucks tried to give him some idea of the story.Scott showed little apparent interest in the resume, but he listenedrespectfully while cleaning his rifle. He made no comment until Buckshad done.

  "What kind of Indians did you say those were," he asked, contractinghis brows as he did when a subject perplexed him, "Uncas andChingachgook?"

  "Delawares, Bob. Know anything about Delaware Indians?"

  Scott shook his head. "Never heard of Delawares in our country. I sawa Pottawottamie Indian once, but never any Delawares. Is this storyabout Uncas a true story?"

  "As true as any story. Listen here." Bucks read aloud to him for awhile, his companion at intervals asking questions and approving orcriticising the Indian classic.

  "If you could only read, Bob, you ought to read the whole book," saidBucks regretfully, as he put the volume aside.

  "I can read a little," returned Scott, to Bucks's surprise. "Allexcept the long words," added the scout modestly. "A man down atMedicine Bend tried to sell me a pair of spectacles once. They hadgold rims, and he told me that a man with those spectacles could readany kind of a book. He thought I was a greenhorn," said the scout.

  "Where did you learn to read?"

  "A Blackrobe taught me."

  Bucks held out the book. "Then read this, Bob, sure."

  Scott looked at the worn volume, but shook his head doubtfully. "Lookslike a pretty big book for me. But if you can find out whether it'strue, I might try it sometime."

  Stanley, after a few days, started up the river with Scott andDancing, leaving his men in camp. Bucks, who was still too stiff toride, likewise remained to receive any messages that might come.

  There was an abundance of water-fowl in the sloughs and ponds up anddown the river, and Bucks, the morning after Stanley's departure,leaving the troopers lounging in camp, started out with a shot-gun tolook for ducks. He passed the first bend up-stream, and working hisway toward a small pond thickly fringed with alders, where he hadoften seen teal and mallards, attempted to crawl within gunshot ofit.

  He was working his way in this fashion toward the edge of the waterwhen he heard a clatter of wings and the next moment a flock ofmallards rushed in swift flight over his head. He impulsively threw uphis gun to fire but some instinct checked him. He was in a country ofdangerous enemies and the thought of bears still loomed large in hismind. An instant's reflection convinced him that it was not hismovement that had frightened the ducks, and he was enough of a hunterto look further than that for the cause. As caution seemed, from thesoreness of his legs and arms, plainly indicated, he lay still toawait developments.

  Soon he heard a movement of trampling feet, and, seemingly, across thepond from him. Bucks thought of buffaloes. His heart beat fast at thethought of getting a shot at one until he reflected that he had norifle. The next instant his heart stopped beating. Not ten feet fromwhere he lay in the thick willows, an Indian carrying a rifle, and inwar-paint, stole noiselessly along toward the camp. No sooner had hedisappeared than a second brave followed, and while Bucks wasdigesting this fright a third warrior, creeping in the same stealthymanner and almost without a sound, passed the staring boy; theappearance of a fourth and a fifth raised the hair on Bucks's headtill he was almost stunned with fright, but he had still to countthree more in the party, one more ferocious-looking than another,before all had passed.

  What to do was the question that forced itself on him. He feared theIndians would attack the troopers in camp, and this he felt would be amassacre, since the men, not suspecting danger, would be taken whollyunawares. Should he fire his gun as a signal? It would probably bringthe Indians back upon him, but the thought of allowing the troopers tobe butchered was insupportable. His hammers were cocked and hisfinger was on one trigger when he considered how useless the alarmwould be. The troopers knew that he had gone duck hunting. They wouldexpect to hear him shoot and would pay no attention to it. To rush outafter the Indians would only invite his instant death.

  There seemed nothing he could do and a cold sweat of apprehensionbroke over him. But if he fired his gun he might, at least, surprisethe Indians. The report of a gun in their rear would alarm them--sincethey knew nothing of his presence or his duck hunting and might takefright. Without more ado he fired both barrels one after the other,careful only to shoot low into the willows, hoping the smoke would notrise so quickly as to betray him before he could make a dash for a newhiding-place.

  His ruse worked and he ran at top speed for twenty yards before hethrew himself into a clump of cotton-woods close to the camp trail andbegan to reload. While he was doing so a shout came from the directionof the railroad bridge. Not until then did Bucks understand what theIndians were after. But had he not understood, he would have known amoment later when he heard a sharp exchange of shots toward the camp,heard the dogs barking furiously, and saw the Indians, now on theirponies, running the troopers' horses past him at a breakneck gallop.The Indians yelled lustily at the success of their raid, the stampededhorses dashed panic-stricken before them, and the braves shouted backin derision at the vain efforts of the troopers to stop them withuseless bullets. Bucks's own impulse was to empty a charge of birdshotinto the last of the fleeing warriors, but this he knew might cost himhis life, and he resisted the temptation. When he was sure all werepast he ran toward the bluffs, and gaining a little eminence saw thefleeing Indians, a dozen in all, making their way jubilantly up theriver. At the camp the discomfited cavalrymen were preparing for asiege, and in their excitement almost shot Bucks as he hove in sight.

  Bucks gave a good description of the marauders, and, following him upto the pond, six of the troopers attempted some pursuit. This, tounmounted men, was useless, as they well knew. Indeed, they usedcaution not to come unawares on any friends of the escaping bravesthat might have lingered behind.

  Colonel Stanley returned in the morning to hear that his escort hadbeen unhorsed. Bob Scott grinned at the cavalrymen as they told thestory. He assured them that they had got off lightly, and that ifBucks's signals had not alarmed the little war-party they might havecarried away scalps as well as horses.

  "We shall be in luck if we don't hear more of those fellows," said heto Bucks afterward. There was now manifestly nothing to do but to goin, and later in the day a freight train was flagged and the wholeparty, with Scuffy and the hounds, returned to Casement's camp. Scottsent his dogs thence to the ranch in Medicine Bend, and at Bucks'surgent request Scuffy was sent with them to await his own return tohead-quarters.