THOSE WHO ESCAPED.
At this startling announcement Egbert Rodman sprung to his feet, with a bound that carried him entirely over the fire, striking Lightning Jo with such sudden violence as to throw him backward almost flat upon the ground.
“What in thunder is the matter?” exclaimed the scout, laughing outright as he regained his seat; “did he prick you?”
The young man was not looking at Jo, but backward in the gloom, in which he discerned the unmistakable outlines of the terrible nondescript, known as the Terror of the Prairie. It was but a glance that he gained; for, while he looked, it began silently retreating into the gloom, like a phantom born and sent forth by the night, and returning again to its natural element.
Like a flash, Egbert raised his gun, pointed toward the point where it had vanished, and pulled the trigger; but the percussion exploded without firing the charge that had been wetted, during its rush through the swollen canon.
“Never mind,” remarked Jo, with a laugh, “it done jist as much good as if you had fired it; so rest easy on that score.”
“You needn’t tell me that,” was the dogged return of Egbert, “every living creature has some vulnerable point, and that is no exception.”
“All right; if you want to make yourself famous jist find the spot, and pop in a bullet there. Howsumever there always are some folks that think they know more nor others, and p’r’aps they do, and then p’r’aps ag’in they don’t.”
Egbert felt a little irritated at the taunting words of the scout—which irritation was doubtless increased by the keen sense he had of the rather ridiculous figure he had just made; but there was no use of showing any resentment toward Lightning Jo; and, resuming his seat, he began withdrawing the damaged charge from his gun. When sufficiently composed, he asked the rather singular question:
“How many times do you suppose you have fired at this thing, Jo?”
“I don’t know exactly; the first shot told me that it warn’t any use; but I s’pose I’ve let fly at him a half-dozen times more nor less, and I’ve seen five times as many balls sent after him by others. What do you want to know that for?”
“In all these cases did you aim at any particular portion of the animal—his head or his body?”
“We always p’inted our bull-dogs at the spot where his heart would be reached—that is, providing he had any to reach.”
“That proves beyond a doubt that the Terror can not be killed in that manner. How is it that you never aimed at his head?”
Lightning Jo seemed to be surprised at this question, and stared rather wonderingly at Egbert, before he replied:
“Hanged if I know what the reason is. You know it’s the custom among us chaps to aim at the heart instead of the head, the same as we do in a buffalo, ’cause you’re surer of wiping out the critter there than anywhere else. There’s more than one critter that walks the airth that wouldn’t mind a volley in the head, more than they would so many raindrops.”
“Very well then; the next time you or I shoot at him we’ll send the bullet into his head, and then, if he don’t mind that, I’ll be inclined to think there is something strange about it.”
“You will, eh?” replied Jo, with a grunt; “that’s very kind in you, and I hope you won’t forget it.”
“As you say the appearance of the Prairie Terror is always a sure omen of coming disaster, what, in your opinion, does its coming foretell in the present instance? What additional calamity is about to overtake us?”
“We’ll l’arn that afore long; there ain’t any use trying to find out. All I care to find out is what has become of Lizzie, and as soon as the first streak of daylight comes I’m going to find out whether she’s in the land of the living or not.”
The heart of Egbert said “amen” to this, and his prayer was that the long, desolate night might hurry by, and the opportunity come for them to do something together for unraveling the fate of the maiden, for whom both entertained the strongest affection.
Egbert, at the advice of the scout, attempted to sleep—but he had too much on his mind to succeed in doing so. His draggling garments did not give him special discomfort, as the night was only moderately cool and Jo kept the fire burning quite vigorously.
But between his sad forebodings of the fate of Lizzie, whom he seemed to love with a devotion such as had never permeated his being before, and the haunting fear of another visit from the Terror of the Prairie, there was little likelihood of his falling asleep.
The strange tales that the scout had told him of this remarkable creature, and of his extraordinary meetings with him, produced their effect upon Egbert, who, although of a practical nature, with an intelligent mind, was not without a certain imagination, peculiar to those of his age, which made him susceptible to the influences of the time and the place and his surroundings.
The roar of the rushing canon had died out entirely, and probably that very part over which the whites, men, women and animals, had been carried with such tremendous velocity, was now almost entirely dry again. Through the matted, overhanging branches Egbert caught the glimmer of several stars, showing that the storm had cleared away entirely. There was no moon, however, and, in the valley in which they had encamped, the darkness was so profound as to be absolutely impenetrable beyond the circle illuminated by the camp-fire.
Young Rodman found the suspense so intolerable, that he proposed that they should leave this spot and wander among the hills until daylight. He believed that they would encounter some of the survivors, and possibly might learn something regarding Lizzie, who might be in need of the very assistance that would thus be afforded her.
But Lightning Jo had made up his mind to remain where he was, and no persuasion could induce him to change his location. He declared that he could accomplish nothing by stumbling around in the dark, while Egbert would be pretty certain to break his neck in some of the pitfalls that were to be encountered at every step.
And without attempting to depict the dismal expedients which the wretched lover resorted to, to while away the unspeakably dreary hours, we now hasten forward to the moment when the unmistakable light of morning stole through the hills, and Lightning Jo, springing to his feet, declared that the moment had come when the terrible suspense was to end, and they were soon to learn the worst that had happened to the party and to the one dear one—Lizzie Manning.
The first point toward which the two directed their steps was the canon, through which they had had their memorable passage. This was but a short distance away, and, upon being reached, it was found as they had anticipated, entirely clear of running water. Here and there were muddy, stagnant pools collected in the hollows and cavities, but nothing of any living person, or animal, or debris of wagons, was discerned.
“Had we not better descend and follow the canon to the outlet?” asked Egbert. “We shall not miss any thing then on the way.”
Lightning Jo acted upon the suggestion, and after a little searching for a safe means of descent, the bottom was reached, and they pursued their way in silence, agitated by strange emotions, as they recalled the memorable experience of a few nights before.
They walked side by side, neither breaking the impressive stillness by a word, but carefully scanning every foot of ground passed in quest of some remnant of those who had been their companions in the terrible descent.
Suddenly the scout pointed to a wagon-wheel that was driven in between two jutting points of rocks, where it had been immovably fixed by the tremendous momentum.
Both scanned it a few minutes, and, seeing nothing more, passed on for fully a quarter of a mile, when the basin to which reference has been made was reached, and here a great surprise awaited them.
It being quite shallow, the water had been carried away by several outlets, and not a man had been borne beyond. Fragments of the wagons were scattered in every direction, and at one side of the dry lake were to be seen Captain Shields, Gibbons and a number of the men covering up a large grave, while seated around were several women with their children, as miserable and desolate-looking objects as could possibly be imagined.
Not having dared to hope that so many could have escaped, the two paused in mute silence and stared at them, their looks after the first startling shock being directed in anxious quest of the one—Lizzie Manning—a look that was unrewarded by a sight of the beautiful maiden, for whom both were ready to do and dare any thing.
Still hoping that she might be somewhere in the vicinity, they hurried forward and put the all-important question.
Sad to say, no living person had seen her or knew aught regarding her.
And then their own sad story was told. All, of course, had been hurried irresistibly into this basin—some bruised, and almost senseless. Three of the men were killed, and also a mother and her two children. The ghastly cargo of the wagon, containing the remains of those who had fallen in the fight in Dead Man’s Gulch, was also there. The soldiers, who had charge of the women and children, clung bravely to them, and the shallowness of the water enabling the horses to touch bottom almost immediately, they were not long in floundering out upon dry land, where the miserable group huddled together until the coming of day should enable them to see where they were, and to do what was possible for themselves.
When the dawn of light showed them the dreadful number of inanimate bodies, their first proceeding was to give them a decent burial, as it was out of the question to think of taking them to Fort Adams after the destruction of the wagons. And so, from the contents of the wagons, lying everywhere, they gathered up a half-dozen shovels, and as many men went to work with such a vigor and skill that in a few minutes a large, shallow grave was dug, and into this all were tenderly placed and covered up from mortal sight, all shedding tears of the deepest sorrow over the terrible death that had been decreed by inexorable fate.
While they were thus employed, others were absent among the hills in quest of the mustangs, and Jo and Egbert had exchanged but a few words with their friends, when they began coming in with the animals, that were all browsing at no great distance.
Their purpose was to mount the horses as speedily as possible, and to make all haste to Fort Adams. The women and children were in a deplorable condition and needed care and a rest of several days before continuing their journey to Santa Fe.
When this proposal was mentioned to Lightning Jo, he indorsed it at once, telling them to lose not a moment. They had not a particle of eatable food in their possession, and it was extremely difficult to procure any in these hills, which, rather singularly, were known to have been for years almost entirely devoid of game of any description. Consequently, as nothing at all was to be gained by remaining here, the dictate of prudence was that they should depart at the very moment they could make ready.
As a matter of course, Lizzie Manning was among the first that was missed by the group that huddled on the banks of the basin, and so great was the concern regarding her that during the darkness Captain Shields and two of the men groped around the neighborhood in quest of her, calling her name and searching along the shore of the basin for hours. The search was made more extended and thorough, when they had the daylight at their command, but it resulted in an entire failure. Not the least trace was gained, either of her or of the horse which she was known to be riding.
One of the men who had helped to bring in the mustangs took occasion to tell Lightning Jo, in a confidential way, that he had detected signs of Indians, and he believed there was quite a number among the hills, and that it was impossible that they should know nothing of the presence of the whites so near them.
This information surprised the scout and caused him no little uneasiness. He questioned the soldier closely, and became convinced that he was right, and that the whole company were in great danger of attack. Under these circumstances, he took it in hand himself, and told them all of the urgency of haste in reaching their destination.
Scarcely fifteen minutes had passed when every man was upon his mustang, and the females, with their offspring, were distributed among them. Lightning Jo and Egbert Rodman placed themselves at their head, and the scout cautiously led the way through another narrow pass for something like a quarter of a mile, when they reached the open prairie once more.
“And now go,” he added, “and never pause or look back until you ride into the stockade of Fort Adams.”
And his advice was taken and followed almost to the letter; but, even then it is impossible to imagine whether they would have succeeded in reaching the shelter after all without being harassed by the Comanches, but for the fact that ere they had gone three miles they met a party of rescue sent out by Colonel Cleaves, who had become alarmed at their failure to come in during the night. Under the escort of this powerful company of cavalry, the journey was completed in safety, and we now bid them good-by at the friendly fort and turn our attention to those in whom we have a more immediate interest.