The Squaw Spy by T. C. Harbaugh - HTML preview

CHAPTER XVI.

SETTLING ACCOUNTS.

The savages gained rapidly upon our friends, and near the mouth of the corridor they were brought to bay.

“I see we’ve got to fight the demons,” said Kit South, dropping the traitor, whom he had carried from the scene of his final defeat. “I hear my boys outside, and I will cry them to us.”

Then he sprung to the opening, just large enough to admit of the egress of a single body, and a peculiar cry pealed from his throat.

The call was answered, and as he turned to battle with the Modocs, he saw his companions pour a volley into their ranks.

The shots staggered the red-men, and they quickly sprung to shelter.

“Now,” said McKay, in a low tone, as he extinguished his torch, “now for freedom. Quick!”

Evan Harris was the first to crawl into the bright starlight, and ’Reesa was pushed up to him, and Lava-Bed Kit brought up the rear, dragging his old enemy after him.

“Leave the carcass in the hole,” said the half-breed. “What do you want with a dead man?”

“D’ye s’pose I’d take a corpse about?” returned the scout, with an air of injured innocence. “This fellow isn’t dead, and I’ve got several old scores to settle with ’im. But—Jehu!”

The scout staggered back as a flame darted from the darkness of the corridor, and a score of bullets cut the air about his face.

But fortunately no one was injured, and the next moment the fugitives returned the fire, and started forward.

Cohoon cocked his carbine and flung it to his shoulder, but Kit covered the lock with his brawny hand.

“Boy, don’t you know the red chaps?” he said, looking into the Indian’s face with a curious smile, and Cohoon dropped the gun as he recognized the leader of the party.

The new-comers comprised a detachment of McKay’s Warm Spring Indians, and at last the hunted ones were safe.

The Modocs dared not follow above the lava caves, and it was with great difficulty that the half-breed could prevent his scouts from rushing into the corridor, and punishing Jack while he was so near.

“Now, ’Reesa, they’ll never get you into their clutches again,” said Kit South, turning to his daughter, who walked beside her lover. “You’ve lost one home, but you will gain another. I can soon hew a good one from the trees; but I can’t—”

“No, father, you can’t replace mother.”

Kit was silent, and with gritted teeth he commanded the party to halt, and confronted Rafe Todd.

The deserter was not even severely wounded. Cohoon’s bullet had failed to penetrate a vital spot, and he was walking beside the Indian.

“We’re on safe ground now,” said the scout to McKay, “and there’s one man in this party who is not going into camp.”

Then every eye fell upon the painted traitor.

“Rafe Todd, you know who that one man is,” he continued, looking the doomed man steadily in the eye. “Here you pay the penalty attached to crime. Were we to take you into camp, Davis would send you to Fort Crook, and you would be hung in the presence of your old comrades. Therefore, I s’pose you would rather meet the bullet here.”

“That I would, Kit South,” was the reply, in a tone fearfully calm. “I would sooner burn over a slow fire, than hang before the boys.”

“You shall have fair play, Rafe. Cut him loose, Cohoon.”

The Indian obeyed, and once again Rafe Todd was free.

“It will never be said of Kit South that he shot a white man in cold blood; therefore, we put ten paces between us, and fight a fair duel. If you slay me, all well and good. I’ll molest you no more. But first tell me how you came to play the New York Harry? ’Reesa says she saw you thrown into the river for dead.”

The traitor smiled, and glanced at the scout’s daughter.

“The man shot by McKay while bending over you and Cohoon asleep in Jack’s cave was Harry,” said Rafe, addressing Kit. “I was to spy in the camp that night, so I exchanged garments with the chief, and hired him to strike you while you slept. I scarred my face in exact imitation of Harry’s, and the deception deceived you. Harry fell as you know; now he sleeps in the river, and when I discovered that Jack believed me dead, I assumed the entire role of his chief.”

For a moment silence followed the unraveling of two mysteries, and Kit looked at the traitor again.

“Are you ready now?” he asked, quietly.

“Quite ready.”

Then Cohoon, acting as the deserter’s second, led him from the group, which dispersed, and left the lava-bed ranger standing alone.

The men being placed, a pistol was put into the hand of the deserter, and the word was given. The reports of the two pistols blended harmoniously together, and the traitor dropped on his knees then fell forward on his face—dead!

“The old score is settled at last,” said Kit South, lifting the heavy head and beholding the bullet hole in the brow. “Rafe Todd, you sent the red devils to my home. I sent you to the lake of torture. Yes, the score is settled, forever, now. I can tell Gillem, now, that my dream has come true.”

When the twain rejoined the anxious party, the scalp of Rafe Todd the deserter, which at Fort Crook was worth two hundred and fifty dollars, hung at Cohoon’s belt!

Daylight was breaking when the party resumed their journey, and all at once the sound of a heavy gun fell upon their ears. Several seconds later a hissing noise told them that the mortars had opened on the Modocs’ new stronghold, and then they quickened their steps.

The camp was reached in safety, and ’Reesa South felt that she was free once more.

“I’d like to know,” said Kit South, addressing McKay who stood beside the Generals, watching the effect of the shells, “yes, I’d like to know what that young Indian was going to tell Jack that night when Cohoon and I was lying to him about Arrow-Head. You know I jerked him up and killed him.”

“He was the Indian who shot me with an arrow when I started after you Klamaths,” answered McKay, with a smile. “No doubt he saw you and Cohoon ‘fixing up’ by the river, and was following you when he ran against me. I recognized him directly after you had killed him.”

“And so he war going to tell Jack that Cohoon and old Kit war jest playing Klamath,” said the scout. “Well, that would have made a pretty mess; but I reckon he’ll never get to open his news bag.”

“I should think not,” added McKay.

The last page of our Far West romance has been reached.

’Reesa South remained in the Union camp until the close of the Modoc war, in which, to its finale, her father, lover, Cohoon and Artena, continued to do valiant service. The scouting trio assisted in the capture of Captain Jack, who was surprised to learn that Artena was really Gillem’s spy, and he regretted that he had not taken her life when opportunity offered it to the sacrifice of his knife.

Already Cohoon, openly calling Artena his wife, has left the army, and intends passing the remainder of his life among the Lost River settlements.

From the ruins of the Oregonian’s cabin, a new house, Phœnix like, has arisen, and Evan Harris claims a share of its comforts, for ’Reesa is his wife.

Certainly he has deserved the maiden, and Lava-Bed Kit is satisfied with his daughter’s choice.

But the old man can not forget his failure to kidnap Captain Jack, and to the day of his death he will curse Rafe Todd for baffling his well-laid plans.

The Lava-bed Rangers, headed by our giant hero, Donald McKay, came out of the Modoc war covered with glory, and remained with the army to witness the punishment of Mouseh and his fellow-murderers.

THE END.