“WHAT IS IT?”
Captain Shields might well give utterance to this exclamation, for just then his eyes were greeted with the most singular sight he had ever seen in all his life. He rubbed his eyes and stared, and finally turned to young Egbert Rodman, who just then crawled into the wagon.
“If I was a drinking man,” said he, “I would swear that I had the jim-jams sure. Look out the wagon, Rodman, and tell me whether you see any thing unusual, or different from what we have been accustomed to look upon for the last day or two.”
The young man did as requested, and the exclamation that escaped him convinced the somewhat nervous officer that his head was still level, and his brain was playing no fantastic freak with him.
The sight which greeted their eyes, and so excited their wonder, came first in the shape of a horse, which, walking slowly forward, steadily loomed up to view, until it stood directly on the border of the gulch, where, at a hundred yards distant, and with the clear sunlight bathing him, every outline was distinctly visible.
But it was not the horse, but that which was upon it, that so excited the wonder and speculations of those who saw him. Close scrutiny gave it the appearance of an animal standing upon all-fours upon the back of the horse, like Barnum’s trained goat Alexis. It was, however, three times the size of that sagacious creature, and an Indian blanket was thrown over it, so that little more than the general outlines could be discerned.
This enveloping blanket reached to the neck of the “what is it?” leaving the head entirely exposed. This was round, and bullet-shaped, and moved in that restless, nervous way peculiar to animals. It seemed as black as coal, and resembled the head of one of those giant gorillas which Du Chaillu ran against in the wilds of Central Africa.
A strange chill crept over the two men, as they felt that this animal was looking steadily down upon the encampment, as if meditating a charge upon it, and only waiting to select the most vulnerable point.
The steed supporting this nondescript stood neither directly facing nor broadside toward the whites—but in such a position that their view could not have been better. The horse remained as stationary and motionless as if he were an image carved in bronze.
No other living creature being in sight, the eyes of the little band of defenders in Dead Man’s Gulch were speedily fixed upon this strange phenomenon, and its movements were watched with an intensity of interest which it would be hard to describe.
“It is some Comanche deviltry,” was the remark of Egbert Rodman, after he had surveyed the object for several minutes. “They have grown tired of running against our bullets, and are about to try some other means.”
“But what sort of means is that?” asked the captain, who beyond question was a little nervous over what he saw.
“That is rather hard to tell, until we have some more developments; but you know that the red-skins, from their earliest history, have been noted for their ingenious tricks, by which they have outwitted their foes, and you may depend upon it that this is one of their contrivances, although I must say that I do not see the necessity for any such labored attempts as that, when they have every thing their own way; and, if they would only make a united and determined charge, we should all go under to a dead certainly.”
Captain Shields, however, like many of the bravest men, was superstitious, and he was inclined to believe that there was something supernatural in the appearance of this thing, and, although he hesitated to say so, yet he looked upon it as having a most direful significance concerning himself and his friends.
Still the horse remained perfectly motionless, and the quadruped, with the blanket thrown over his back, was steadily gazing down upon them, from his perch upon the back of another quadruped.
The profound stillness that then reigned over the prairie and in Dead Man’s Gulch was rather deepened by the sound of the faintest, most distant report of a gun that seemed to have come from some point miles and miles away, in the direction of Fort Adams, proving plainly that the pursuit of the flying messenger was not yet given over.
Egbert Rodman concluded that there was a very easy and speedy way of settling the business of convincing the awed captain that there was nothing possessed by this curious animal that was not the common possession of his race. As he stood, partly turned toward him, he could not have desired a better target for a carefully aimed rifle, and he determined to tumble him from the back of the horse, and thus put a speedy end to that bugbear of the captain’s.
Without saying a word as to his intentions, he carefully thrust the muzzle of his rifle through the aperture in the canvas of the wagon, and sighted at about where he supposed the seat of life to be. He held his aim only long enough to make certain, and then pulled the trigger and looked out to see the “what is it?” pitch to the ground, and reveal his particular identity in his death-struggles before their eyes.
But what did he see? The creature, standing in precisely the same posture, and looking steadily down upon them, as unmoved as though such a thing as a gun had never been invented.
But Egbert, although very much astounded, was not yet prepared to admit that the nondescript was impregnable against a good Springfield rifle, even if those about him were under a superstitious spell.
And so, with the same steadiness of eye and nerve, he reached out and took a second rifle from beside him, and shoved this through the “port hole.”
The same unexceptionable target remained, and he resolved that this time there should be no failure. He was a good marksman, and he made certain aim, while more than one breathlessly watched the result.
The same as before! Not a sign of the thing being harmed in the least!
“Shoot no more!” said Captain Shields, in an awed voice, “there is nothing mortal about it! It is sent to warn us of what is so close at hand!”