CHAPTER VIII
KIDDIE'S LUCK
"Say, now, d'you expect me t' ride a spick an' span, over-fed, highlydecorated critter like that? My! I ain't entered for a horse show,Cully. I want a pony that can run without thinkin' of takin' prizes onpoints. And a dandy saddle with fancy stitchin' and finery don't helpany in gettin' the mails through on time. What's the matter with theregulation Express pony--the piebald cayuse that you gave me on thelast trip? That was a critter that knew how ter go, that was. What'sthe matter with her?"
"Gone sick," Cully answered, watching Kiddie's quick fingers unbucklingthe mail bags from the saddle from which he had just dismounted. "Wentsick only a hour ago. Guess she figured it was Jim Thurston's turn terride her. If she'd ha' known it was you an' not Jim, you may bet yoursocks she wouldn't ha' gone sick. But you'll find her substitute O.K.An' if anybody kin ride him, you sure can. Steve Tracy was sayin' onlythis mornin' as you kin git more pace an' bring yer pony in fresher 'nany rider along the hull Salt Lake Trail; an' I just guess Steve wasright. Say, what's the matter wi' the saddle? Ain't you satisfied?Don't it fit the critter proper?"
Kiddie was in the act of mounting. He turned to Cully with a lightlaugh.
"Fits him like a glove," he answered. "I was only figuring that it's abit too ornamental for its present purpose. I see the girth has beenbroken and mended--mended with a doubtful piece of string. Why wasn'tit sent to the saddler t' be properly fixed up? I've half a notion terchuck it right away and ride bare-backed. But there ain't time to foolaround now. So long, Cully."
Almost before he had leapt astride and slipped his feet into thestirrups, the pony was off with a drumming of hoofs along the grassytrail, needing no urging by spur or voice, and Kiddie was so wellaccustomed to riding at the full gallop that, after he had thriceforded the winding creek of Three Crossings, he could with ease takeout the little paper bag of biscuits and fruit that had been handed tohim, and munch his evening meal.
It was rough riding over the Rattlesnake Mountains, where often theindistinct trail led him through dark and narrow defiles, or along thebrink of dangerous precipices, where the ground was of loose stones,perilously insecure. The mountain torrents, swollen by recent rains,had to be crossed unhesitatingly, and without the help of bridges. Butall these dangers and difficulties were familiar to him, and he passedthrough them unconcerned.
Once when he was riding at fullest speed through the wide valley ofWhite Eagle Gulch, he was forced to turn aside to avoid a greatstraggling herd of buffaloes. He noticed that the ponderous animalswere breathing heavily, and that their flanks were moist withperspiration. Those at the head of the moving herd were strong andvirile, and in good condition; those towards the rear were thin andscraggy, and many of these were a long distance in the rear.
"Seems they've been having a stampede," Kiddie reflected. "The weakones lagged behind. Looks as if they'd been chased."
Amongst the stragglers was a magnificent bull, striding slowly butproudly alone. Blood was dripping from a wound in its nearer side, anddeep in the wound was an arrow, buried almost to the feathers.
"Been chased by a band of Redskins," Kiddie assured himself. And hebegan to look out for further signs of the possible presence of Indians.
A mile or so farther on he came upon a buffalo lying dead, but therewere no other signs for many miles until he was crossing a stretch ofprairie, where he saw the remains of several buffaloes that had beenflayed and cut up. Nothing but the stripped bones was left.
Shortly afterwards he crossed the trail of the hunters, and heestimated that the band consisted of about fifty Indians. They hadgone off with their loads of buffalo meat and hides towards thefoothills, in a direction at right angles to his own.
Clearly the Redskins were not out to interfere with the Pony Express.Nevertheless, Kiddie continued to keep a watchful eye on both sides ofthe trail as he galloped along, and also to observe the behaviour ofhis mount and of the wild birds.
It was the pony that gave him the first intimation of danger, by asudden lifting of the head and restless twitching of the erect ears.This might well have been occasioned by the near neighbourhood of somebeast of prey--a lynx, a wolf, or even an ordinary coyote.
By itself, it meant little, but it was enough to make Kiddie attentive,even though he had assured himself that the Indians, or, at all events,the main body of them, had gone home to their reservation beyond theRattlesnake Mountains. There were other signs, however.
The gorge through which he was riding was thickly wooded with willowsand larch trees, and far in advance of him he saw that the birds hadbeen disturbed. They were in agitated flight over the tree-tops.Above the thudding of his pony's hoofs he heard the raucous squawk of ajay--the most alert of sentinels. It was not at his own approach thatthe birds were alarmed, but something which was happening nearer tothem in the woodland glades.
Kiddie was not more concerned than usual; he was not even suspicious ofcoming danger, nor did he alter by so much as an inch his seat in thesaddle or tighten his grip on the bridle reins.
At the mouth of the gorge, however, he suddenly became apprehensivethat some human enemy was lurking in ambush. He remembered theincident of the poisoned arrow. His pony had changed its stride to aless measured gallop, bounding forward at an increased pace, with headlowered, muzzle outstretched and ears thrown back.
Kiddie leant over the pony's fluttering mane, searchingly glancing fromside to side and in front of him. He was going at racing speed, buthis practical eyes were alert to observe every tiny sign, and noneescaped him.
He could see nothing but the trees and rocks as he flashed past them;nothing to cause him serious alarm. It seemed to him that if there hadbeen any hidden danger he had already gone beyond it. But there mightstill be some unsuspected peril at the far side of the projecting cliffwhere, as he knew, the trail made an abrupt turn.
He shifted his feet in the stirrups to secure a firmer grip of theirons. As he did so, the pony suddenly swerved. At the same instantthe string with which the girth had been improperly mended broke. Thewhole saddle moved ominously from its true place on the animal's back.
Kiddie preserved his balanced seat only for a few difficult moments.His left foot lost its sure hold in the stirrup, and presently slippedout of it altogether. The pressure of his right foot on the otherstirrup caused the saddle to move still farther. Now that the girthstraps were flying loose there was nothing but the rider's weight tohold it on the pony's back.
It was at this awkward moment of personal insecurity that he becameaware that many galloping horses were close behind him. He did notneed to look back over his shoulder to learn that he was being hotlypursued by a band of mounted Indians.
They had been lying in wait for him, well hidden among the screeningtrees and brushwood. They had let him gallop past, but now they hadbroken cover and were racing after him with menacing yells and savagecries.
They had lost some moments in getting free from the bush, and he wasalready well ahead of them; but their mounts had been rested, while hisown pony was panting heavily, and wet with perspiration after anunbroken gallop of a dozen miles.
The Redskins gained upon him little by little.
At the turn of the trail he ventured to glance quickly round. In thatquick glance he saw that there were at least six of them, led by awarrior wearing an ample war bonnet. They were therefore not membersof the buffalo-hunting party, but were on the war-path.
He saw that they were armed with guns and tomahawks, not bows andarrows, and he took confidence from this circumstance, knowing that theIndian is a poor marksman with firearms when mounted, and that nonecould do him harm with the tomahawk unless within arm's reach of him.
Had his saddle been secure, he would have had little anxiety, but itwas slipping farther and farther back. He wondered if he might getfree from it altogether, and, dropping it to the ground, continue hisride bare-backed.
Then he remembered that the two m
ail bags were buckled to the saddle,and that it was his duty to safeguard them with his life.
He tried to ease the thing forward, and at the same time to raise itand save it from shifting perilously to the pony's right side. Hebelieved he could manage it with an adroit upward movement of his rightfoot, and he made the hazardous attempt, but, unfortunately, in bendinghis ankle, he pushed his foot just a thought too far, and his boot wentclean through the steel loop of the stirrup, high heel and spurincluded.
This would have been an awkward predicament in any circumstance, evenif the saddle band remained unbroken, and the saddle itself firmly inposition. It would have been almost impossible for him without help toget the projecting spur and the heel of the boot back again through thestirrup. But now, when the Indians were in close pursuit, only a fewlengths behind him, yelling their exultant cries, holding their weaponsready, what was he to do?
Of one thing he was certain; the saddle was bound very soon to fallfrom the pony's back, and he must as surely go with it, possibly to betrampled to death under the hoofs of the Indians' horses.
He prepared himself for the inevitable fall, designing to fling himselfoff where there were no rocks to strike against, but only earth andsage grass.
First he made sure that the bridle rein was free, and that nothingwould catch upon the saddle when he should drag it after him with hisentangled foot.
The foremost Indian was but a couple of lengths behind him when hepulled at the left rein, threw the bridle forward, and flung himselfbodily to the ground.
The pony swerved to the left in obedience, and Kiddie escaped its hindhoofs. He fell flat on his back, with his legs and feet in the air.The heavy saddle followed him, sliding down over the pony's hocks, andit was the saddle that got the worst of it when the Redskins gallopedpast.
Kiddie, indeed, received no injury from the madly pounding hoofs. Buthis back was badly bruised; he was not sure that one or two of his ribswere not broken; and his right ankle was certainly sprained.
It was evident that the Indians had not expected him to be thrown, forthey raced past him, and several moments went by before they couldswing round.
In those moments Kiddie rolled painfully over on to his knees andelbows. There was no time for him to cut the stirrup strap, or toattempt to get his hurt foot free. All that he could do was to beready to defend the two precious satchels containing the mails.
Moving himself forward a few inches, so that he could stretch out hisright leg and rest his weight on his left knee and elbow, he drew hisrevolver and levelled it.
He could not now see the Indians. They were hidden beyond a screen oftrees and rock. But he heard them as they checked their wild onrushand turned to ride back and do their worst. He was quite ready forthem; he had six bullets in his gun, and none should be wasted.
Suddenly amid the confused clatter of hoofs there came to him thesharp, unmistakable crackle of rifle and pistol shots. Then theIndians rushed into sight, galloping in hot haste.
Kiddie fired at two of them, and was shifting his aim to a third, whenhe realized that they were in flight--that they were being pursued by ahorseman who had newly come upon the scene, and who was firing at themwith his six-shooter.
Only now did Kiddie reflect that in the ordinary course of his eastwardbound trip he would have met the westward going Express rider just atabout this same place.
"Alf! Alf Kearney!" he shouted.
The Expressman pulled up short. He had already emptied his revolver,and the Redskins were continuing their flight.
"Frizzle me if it ain't Kiddie of the Camp!" cried Kearney, dismountingand standing with his hands on his knees, staring at the fallenExpressman. "Say, now, are you hurt bad, pardner? I seen yourriderless pony hustlin' along with that crowd of yellin' Injuns at itsheels. I guessed suthin' had sure happened t' yer, though it ain't aregulation Express pony. Where 're you hurt? You're in luck if youain't killed right out."
"Frizzle me if it ain't Kiddie of the Camp!" criedKearney.]
"I'm in sure luck by your happening along," responded Kiddie, tryingwith difficulty to move. "Say, if you c'n rip open that boot anddisentangle my sprained foot from that rotten saddle, I shall beobliged. Then I reckon I c'n lie here while you ride along the trailwith your mails and send help, see?"
Alf Kearney demurred to the suggestion, but at once proceeded toliberate Kiddie's foot, first cutting the stirrup-strap and thenripping open the stout leather boot.
"Couldn't you manage ter mount behind me?" he questioned. "My pony'sfit ter carry us both, I guess. Like as not, Broken Feather and hisgang'll come back. You ain't anyways safe lyin' here, rain comin' on;an' the sooner a doctor sees you the better."
"Broken Feather?" Kiddie repeated. "If that's the rustler wearin' thewar-bonnet and ridin' a piebald broncho, then he ain't liable ter comeback--not with my bullet in him. I didn't catch sight of hisface--didn't savee it was Broken Feather. No, Alf, thank you, I ain'table ter mount. Leave me right here, hustle along with the Express,and send help from your first relay station."
The long, weary night that followed was very dark, and the two men sentalong the trail to give help searched in vain for Kiddie in the drivingrain. They had brought a buckboard cart with them in which to carryhim home to Sweetwater Bridge.
They searched for hours, but even when they discovered some rain-washedhoof prints it was too dark for them to follow the tracks. It was notuntil daybreak that they found Kiddie asleep under his blanket, withthe saddle for a pillow and his arms, with their red shirt sleeves,folded over his chest.
He awoke when they whistled. They ran up to him, afterwards bringingalong the buckboard, into which they tenderly lifted him. The joltingof the cart was painful to him, but when at length they arrived atBirkenshaw's camp he declared that he wasn't at all badly hurt.
"Just leave me alone, boys," he said, "I don't want you ter make anyfuss over me. There's nothing serious the matter--a few bruises, asprained ankle, a kinder gen'ral shakin' up; that's all. I shall beready to go with the Express again before Jim Thurston, even now."
"No occasion ter worry any 'bout the Express, Kiddie," said Abe Harum,massaging the injured ankle with embrocation. "I'm notionin' ter takea spell at it myself fer a while, a kinder change for me, see?--good asa holiday. Besides, thar's two individuals I'm anxious ter meet. Oneof 'em's the rooster as palmed off that rotten saddle on you. Theother's Broken Feather. You'd a legitimate chance of puttin' his lightout, Kiddie. Nobody e'd have blamed you any if you'd aimed at a vitalsection of his anatomy; but you let him off with little more'n ascratch. And that ambush was all planned. Rube here's just hungerin'an' thirstin' ter tell you all about Broken Feather's friendly callalong at your woodland cabin while he knew you was absent. Ain't thatso, Rube?"
"Yes," Rube answered, coming forward to Kiddie's side.
Rube then told the whole story of Broken Feather's surreptitious visitto the forest clearing, of the discovery that it was he who shot thepoisoned arrow and of his threat that Kiddie would never come back.
"So you see, Kiddie," supplemented Abe Harum, "the skunk meant ter doyou in. When he quitted the clearin', 'fore the hound struck histrail, he went right away ter put his rascally plan into operation. Hean' his braves lay in wait for you ter gallop along. As I remarkedbefore, it's a pity you didn't plant that bullet of yours where itwould sure be fatal. It's your way, I know. You'd sooner cripple thankill. You show mercy even to a Injun--even to your deadliest enemy.An' Broken Feather's your enemy. You're what's called hereditaryenemies, if I knows the meaning of the term."
"That's so, Abe," said Kiddie. "His father, Eye-of-the-Moon, shot mymother dead. It was Eye-of-the-Moon who killed my father, BuckskinJack, in the Custer fight. On the other hand, it was my maternalgrandfather, Spotted Tail, who killed Eye-of-the-Moon in their duel onhorseback that I've so often told you about. And now it seems BrokenFeather and I are at enmity."
"Yes," put in Gideon Birkenshaw, "but I ain'
t figgerin' as BrokenFeather's takin' heredity inter consideration; not a whole lot. Hedon't keer a brass button who his father killed, or who killed hisfather. 'Cordin' ter Redskin reckonin' they've all gone on the longtrail to the Happy Huntin' Grounds, an' they're no longer objec's inthe scen'ry. Broken Feather's got his own pussonal reasons fer enmityagin your lordship. He knows as you're a long sight cleverer'n he isas an all-round scout; he's some afraid o' your cleverness. He knowsyou're wealthy; he covets your wealth. He knows you're honest; an' theone pusson as a rogue most dislikes is the man who acts allus on thestraight. Moreover, Kiddie, you've already got the better of BrokenFeather on several occasions, an' he ain't liable ter forget it."
"Gee!" exclaimed Rube Carter. "Never know'd th' Old Man make sich along an' logical oration in me life before!"
"You've got yer own remedy, however," resumed Gideon. "It's agin th'law fer Injuns ter come outer their reservations, same as BrokenFeather an' his braves have been doin' lately. The hull thing 'ld bestopped if you'd only appeal t' th' law fer pertection."
"But suppose I don't approve of the Indians being herded like sheep infenced reservations?" Kiddie objected. "Suppose I'm of opinion that ina free land like this all men should be equally free, Redskin andPaleface alike? No, Gid, I ain't figuring to appeal to the law. If Ineed any protection against a man such as Broken Feather, I'll do thebusiness on my own, and a gun, a fleet horse, and my own common senseare good enough for me, without the interference of the law."