The Thorogood Family, R. M. Ballantyne [ebook reader library .txt] 📗

go after them. Saddle my horse and fetch my gun. Arm yourself, boys! Some of you will remain to guard the Fort, and see that you keep the gates shut. Can you guide us to the villains, Jacob?”

“I can at least follow up the trail.”

“Stay, I can guide you,” said a voice behind them.

It was the Reverend William Tucker himself, who had recovered, and was sitting up on the floor looking rather confused.

“No, sir; you will remain at the Fort and take care of the women,” said MacFearsome gruffly.

In a few minutes the Chief of the Fort was galloping over the prairie at the back of his establishment, followed by six of his best men, with Reuben Dale, and led by Jacob Strang.

In thus giving chase to the red men the Highlander did not act with his wonted caution. His wrath was too much for him.

Jacob the hunter, while out after deer, had come on the trail of the war-party of Blackfeet. Suspecting them of mischief, he had followed them up and found them just at the time when they made prisoner of Mr Tucker. He saw them bind the unlucky pastor and carry him off, mounted behind a savage chief. Jacob chanced fortunately to be concealed in a rugged piece of ground where horses could not act. As the Indians were riding away he shot the horse that bore the pastor, and at the same time uttered a series of yells and extempore war-whoops so appalling that the savages gave him credit for being at least a dozen foes, and fled over a ridge before turning to see what had happened. The fall of the horse had stunned the pastor, but the Indian leaped up and drew his knife. Fortunately Jacob’s rifle was a double-barrelled one. Uttering another ferocious yell he fired, and by good fortune hit the right arm of the Indian chief, who, dropping his knife, followed his companions like a hunted stag. Jacob immediately dashed out of his ambush, lifted the reverend gentleman on his own horse, which he had left in a hollow close at hand, and brought him, as we have seen, safe back to the Fort.

Now, if the white men had been satisfied with this, all would have been well, but The MacFearsome had been roused, as we have said, and set off needlessly in pursuit of the savages. It chanced that the Blackfeet had arranged to attack the Fort in two bands that night—advancing on it from opposite directions. The consequence was that while MacFearsome and his men were away after one band, the other—a much larger band—ignorant of what had occurred to their comrades, advanced after dusk on the Fort, and gave the signal for attack. They were surprised at receiving no reply from their comrades, but did not delay the assault on that account.

The men who had been left in charge of the Fort were quite worthy of the trust. Stationing themselves a few yards apart all round the palisades inside, they kept guard. Mr Tucker, armed with an axe-handle as a bludgeon—for he objected to taking life if he could avoid it—mounted guard at the gate. Pretty little Loo kept him company. The other women were stationed so as to carry ammunition to the men, or convey orders from the blacksmith who had been left in command.

“This is a sad interruption to your wedding,” remarked the pastor, as he leaned against the Fort gate, and examined his weapon.

“It is,” assented Loo meekly, “but you will marry us to-morrow. My father will return too late to have it done to-night, I fear.”

“However late he comes we must get the ceremony over to-night, Loo, for I positively cannot delay my journey another day. Indeed, even as it is, I shall be late for the conference of my brethren. Hark! What sound was that?”

“I heard nothing but the hoot of an owl,” said Loo.

As she spoke an arrow, entering between the palisades, whizzed past her. At the same moment a volley was fired from the other side of the Fort.

“Keep closer to the gate, Loo,” said Mr Tucker, grasping his club with a feeling that the girl’s safety depended on the use he made of that unclerical weapon.

“Come round to the east angle, all of you,” shouted the blacksmith.

All the men in the Fort obeyed the summons in time to repel a vigorous assault made on that point by what seemed to be the whole band of the enemy, but the bride and one of her maids remained at the front gate to keep watch there. Just as the victory was gained and the enemy were driven off at the east angle, a loud scream was given by the women. Mr Tucker heard it and was first to run to the rescue. He found that three of the Blackfeet, during the assault on the other side, had crept round to the front gate. One of these had placed his head against the stockade, a second had mounted on his shoulders, and a third had thus gained the top of the pickets.

Seeing at a glance how matters stood, Mr Tucker ran forward and thrust his bludgeon with a straight point between the posts, right into the painted face of the lower savage, who fell back at once, carrying the second savage along with him: but the third had already laid his hands on the top, and, vaulting over with monkey-like agility, came down on the pastor’s shoulders with such violence that both rolled together on the ground. But the savage was no match for the athletic pastor, who compressed his throat with a grip that soon caused him to relax his hold.

“Here, give me your kerchief, Loo,” gasped the pastor; “I’ll tie his hands.”

“Why don’t you stick him?” asked one of Loo’s bridesmaids with great simplicity.

“Because I won’t take life if I can help it,” replied Mr Tucker as he bound the Indian’s wrists.

At that moment there arose a wild war-whoop from another part of the Fort, and a volume of smoke and flame burst from the back of the chief dwelling-house which stood in the centre of the square. The Blackfeet had gained an entrance at another point, and set fire to the western wing of the building unperceived.

With a shout of rage the blacksmith and his men rushed to the scene of disaster.

“There’s father!” said Loo, with a cry of joy.

“Where?” exclaimed Mr Tucker, looking round with a bewildered air.

“Help to open the gate,” cried Loo.

The pastor did so at once, and, as he heaved at the bar which held it, he could hear the clatter of hoofs and the shouts of men outside.

The heavy gate swung back just as the cavalcade came up, and they dashed in at full gallop.

“Open the back gate wide, Loo, and leave this one open, too,” shouted MacFearsome, as he flew past like an enraged thunderbolt.

Our bride possessed that most valuable quality, a tendency to prompt, unquestioning obedience. Running lightly to the other side of the Fort she undid the fastenings and forced the back gate wide open. Meanwhile her father and our bridegroom, with his friend Jacob and the six men, charged down on the savages with wild yells of fury. The sight of them was sufficient! The Blackfeet turned and fled through the open gates in consternation. As they coursed towards the woods like hares the blacksmith managed to turn on them a small ship’s-cannon loaded with buckshot, which awoke the echoes of the wilderness with a deafening roar. The horsemen also pursued and scattered them right and left. Then the gates were reclosed, while the bright flame of the burning buildings lit up the scene as at noon-day.

“Hold your hands now, boys,” shouted MacFearsome, drawing rein.

Those nearest to the chief obeyed, and the others, soon perceiving what was being done, rejoined their comrades.

“Where is Reuben?” asked MacFearsome, as they were turning towards the Fort.

Each looked at the other, but none could answer.

“I saw him down in the hollow, charging the Indians,” said one.

“And I saw him coming back by the stable-fence,” said another.

“Off with you to both places and look for him,” cried the chief, “and the rest of you follow me.”

They searched swiftly to and fro for some minutes, and soon found his riderless horse. Then a cry from one of their number was heard from the hollow. Galloping thither they found Reuben lying on his back, apparently dead, with an arrow in his chest.

In a moment Jacob was on his knees at his friend’s side, and soon the arrow was extracted, but it was found that blood gushed freely from the wound. Stanching this as best they could they bore the wounded man carefully to the Fort.

“Oh, father! I hope the fight is over now,” exclaimed Loo, as her sire rode through the gateway.

“Yes, the fight is over,” replied the Highlander, sternly, “but it has cost us much. Our house is on fire and Reuben is—”

He did not finish the sentence. Indeed, there was no occasion to do so, for, while he spoke, the men advanced who bore Reuben’s all but lifeless body.

Loo did not scream or utter a word, but her white face and compressed lips told their own tale as she walked by her bridegroom’s side into the hall which had been so gaily fitted up, but was now a blackened and partially burned room.

While the hunter’s wound was being examined every one, save the pastor and the women, was sent from the hall to aid in extinguishing the fire, which had been nearly subdued. MacFearsome was somewhat expert as an amateur doctor, and so was the Reverend William Tucker. Their united opinion was that the hunter’s case was a very grave one. They did all that could be done to stop the bleeding and sustain the strength of the wounded man, whose consciousness returned after a short time.

“Is it all over with me, father?” asked Reuben, in a faint voice, addressing The MacFearsome for the first time by that endearing title.

“I fear it is, my son,” replied the Chief. “You know it is not my habit to mince matters at any time, and I don’t think you are such a baby as to fear death when it is sent to you. However, I will not say that your case is hopeless till I have tried my medicine on you—so keep up your heart, Reuben.”

“Father,” said Reuben, “will you allow me to be alone with Loo, for a little?”

“Certainly, my dear boy, but you must have your medicine first.”

Reuben replied with a smile and a nod.

After taking the physic he was left alone with Loo. For some time neither could speak. At last Loo said, “Oh, Reuben dear! you are not going to die?”

“I hope not, dearest, but when the Lord’s time comes we must be ready to answer to our names. If I am to go now I would spend the few hours that remain to me listening to your sweet voice reading the Master’s Word.”

“Reuben,” said Loo, with sudden animation, “will you grant me a favour?”

“You know I will, whatever it be,” replied the hunter, with a languid smile; “what is it?”

“That we may be married to-night—within this hour,” said Loo, with decision.

“Why? Of what use to wed a dying man?”

“Because I want to nurse you as your wife, to the end, if it be His will that you shall go, and I wish to be for ever after called by your dear name.”

“It is a strange notion—a sweet one to me, dearest Loo. It shall be as you wish. Call father.”

At first the Highlander strongly objected to the wish of his child, but Loo knew how to overcome her father’s objections! In the course of half-an-hour Reuben sent for Mr Tucker. The MacFearsome’s medicine, whatever it was, was potent as well as patent. Reuben was able to talk with considerable energy when the pastor appeared—summoned, as he fancied, to prepare the dying man for the