Charlie to the Rescue, R. M. Ballantyne [classic english novels TXT] 📗

Having expended the second supply of ammunition, Dick wheeled round and took to flight as before. Of course the mare soon carried him out of range, and again he had the satisfaction of observing that the fugitives had increased their distance from the foe.

“One more check o’ this kind,” thought Dick, “and they’ll be safe—I think.”

While thus thinking he was diligently re-charging, and soon cantered to the top of a third knoll, where he resolved to make his final stand. The ranch was by that time dimly visible on the horizon, and the weary fugitives were seen struggling towards it. But Dick found, on halting and looking back, that the Indians had changed their tactics. Instead of directing their attention to himself, as on the previous occasions, they had spread out to the right and left and had scattered, besides keeping well out of range.

“What are the sinners up to now?” muttered the seaman in some perplexity.

He soon perceived that they meant to go past him altogether, if possible, and head towards the fugitives in separate groups.

“Ay, but it’s not possible!” exclaimed Dick, answering his own thoughts as he turned swiftly, and stretched out after his friends. Seeing this, the savages tried to close in on him from both sides, but their already winded ponies had no chance against the grand Mexican mare, which having been considerately handled during the day’s journey was comparatively fresh and in full vigour.

Shooting ahead he now resolved to join his friends and a feeling of triumph began to rise within his breast as he saw them pushing steadily onward. The ranch, however, was still at a considerable distance, while the Indians were rapidly gaining ground.

At that moment to Dick’s horror, the pony which Mary Jackson rode stumbled and fell, sending its rider over its head. But the fair Mary, besides being a splendid horsewoman, was singularly agile and quick in perception. For some time she had anticipated the catastrophe, and, at the first indication of a stumble, leaped from the saddle and actually alighted on her feet some yards ahead. Of course she fell with some violence, but the leap broke her fall and probably saved her neck. She sprang up instantly, and grasping the reins, tried to raise her pony. It was too late. The faithful creature was dead.

Jackson, pulling up, wheeled round and was back at her side instantly. Almost at the same moment Dick Darvall came up, threw the mare almost on her haunches, leaped from the saddle, and ran to Mary. As he did so, the crash of a pistol shot at his ear almost deafened him, and a glance showed him that Jackson had shot his horse, which fell dead close to his daughter’s pony.

“Kill your horse, Dick,” he growled sharply, as he exerted his great strength to the utmost, and dragged the haunches of his own steed close to the head of the other. “It’s our only chance.”

Dick drew his revolver, and aimed at the heart of Black Polly, but for the soul of him he could not pull the trigger.

“No—I won’t!” he cried, grasping the lasso which always hung at the saddle-bow. “Hobble the fore-legs!”

There was such determination in the sailor’s command, that Jackson felt bound to obey. At the same moment Dick bound the horse’s hind-legs. He fully understood what Jackson intended, and the latter was as quick to perceive the seaman’s drift. Seizing the reins, while his friend caught hold of the lasso, Dick cried, “Out o’ the way, Mary!” and with a mighty effort the two men threw the mare on her side.

“First-rate!” cried Jackson, while his companion held down the animal’s head. “It couldn’t have dropped better. Jump inside, Mary, an’ lie down flat behind your pony. Let Mary have the reins, Dick. She knows how to hold its head down without showin’ herself.”

Even while he was speaking, Jackson and Dick leaped into the triangle of horses thus formed, and, crouching low, disappeared from the sight of the savages, who now came on yelling with triumph, for they evidently thought themselves sure of their victims by that time.

“Are ye a good shot, Dick?” asked Jackson, as he gazed sternly at the approaching foe.

“No—abominably bad.”

“Fire low then. You may catch the horses if ye miss the Redskins. Anyhow you’ll hit the ground if you aim low, an’ it’s wonderful what execution a bullet may do arter hittin’ mother Earth.”

“I never aim,” replied the sailor. “Only a waste o’ time. I just point straight an’ fire away.”

“Do it, then,” growled roaring Bull, with something that sounded like a short laugh.

At the same moment he himself took quick aim at the foe and fired; the leading horse and man immediately rolled upon the plain.

As both men were armed with repeating rifles the fusillade was rapid, and most of the savages, who seldom fight well in the open, were repulsed. But several of them, headed apparently by their chief, rode on fearlessly until within pistol-shot.

Then the two defenders of this peculiar fortress sprang up with revolvers in each hand.

“Lie close, Mary,” cried Jackson as he fired, and the chief’s horse rolled over, almost reaching their position with the impetus of the charge. The chief himself lay beside his horse, for another shot had ended his career. As two other horses had fallen, the rest of the band wheeled aside and galloped away, followed by a brisk fire from the white men, who had again crouched behind their breast-work and resumed their rifles.

Bullets were by that time flying over them in considerable numbers, for those Indians who had not charged with their chief had, after retiring to a safe distance, taken to firing at long range. At this work Dick’s rifle and straight pointing were of little use, so he reserved his fire for close quarters, while Jackson, who was almost a certain shot at average ranges, kept the savages from drawing nearer.

“Lie closer to the pony, Miss Mary,” said Dick, as a shot passed close over the girl and whistled between him and his comrade. “Were you hurt in the fall?”

“No, not in the least. Don’t you think they’ll hear the firing at the ranch, father?”

“Ay, lass, if there’s anybody to hear it, but I sent the boys out this mornin’ to hunt up a bunch o’ steers that have drifted south among Wilson’s cattle, an’ I fear they’ve not come back yet. See, the reptiles are goin’ to try it again!”

As he spoke, the remnant of the Redskins who pressed home the first charge, having held a palaver, induced the whole band to make another attempt, but they were met with the same vigour as before—a continuous volley at long range, which emptied several saddles, and then, when the plucky men of the tribe charged close, the white men stood up, as before, and plied them with revolvers so rapidly that they were fain to wheel aside and retire.

“Ammunition’s gettin’ low,” said Dick, in an anxious tone.

“Then I’ll waste no more,” growled Jackson, “but only fire when I’m safe to hit.”

As he spoke a distant cheer was heard, and, looking back, they saw, with a rebound of hope, that a band of five or six cow-boys were coming from the ranch and galloping full swing to the rescue. Behind them, a few seconds later, appeared a line of men who came on at a swinging trot.

“Troopers, I do believe!” exclaimed Jackson.

“Thank God!” said Mary, with a deep sigh of relief as she sat up to look at them. The troopers gave a cheer of encouragement as they thundered past to the attack, but the Indians did not await the onset. At the first sight of the troops they fled, and in a few minutes pursued and pursuers alike were out of sight—hidden behind the prairie waves.

“I can’t tell you how thankful I am that I didn’t shoot the mare,” said Dick, as they unfastened the feet of Black Polly and let her rise. “I’d never have been able to look Hunky Ben in the face again arter it.”

“Well, I’m not sorry you spared her,” said Jackson; “as for the two that are dead, they’re no great loss—yet I’ve a kind o’ regret too, for the poor things served us well.”

“Faithfully—even to death,” added Mary, in a sorrowful tone as she stooped to pat the neck of her dead pony.

“Will you mount, Miss Mary, and ride home?” asked the sailor.

“Thank you—no, I’d rather walk with father. We have not far to go now.”

“Then we’ll all walk together,” said Jackson.

Dick threw Black Polly’s bridle over his arm, and they all set off at a smart walk for the ranch of Roaring Bull, while the troops and cow-boys chased the Redskins back into the mountains whence they had come.