The Death Shot: A Story Retold

The well-trained animal sees what is wanted; and, crouching down by its master’s feet, ceases making demonstration.

Meanwhile Woodley has laid himself flat along the earth, with ear close to the turf.

There is a sound, sure enough; though not what he supposed he had heard just before. That was like a human voice – some one laughing a long way off. It might be the “too-who-ha” of the owl, or the bark of a prairie wolf. The noise now reaching his ears is less ambiguous, and he has no difficulty in determining its character. It is that of water violently agitated – churned, as by the hooves of horses.

Clancy, standing erect, hears it, too.

The backwoodsman does not remain much longer prostrate; only a second to assure himself whence the sound proceeds. It is from the ford. The dog looked that way, on first starting up; and still keeps sniffing in the same direction.

Woodley is now on his feet, and the two men standing close together, intently listen.

They have no need to listen long; for their eyes are above the tops of the bushes that border the river’s bank, and they see what is disturbing the water.

Two horses are crossing the stream. They have just got clear of the timber’s shadow on the opposite side, and are making towards mid-water.

Clancy and Woodley, viewing them from higher ground, can perceive their forms, in silhouette, against the shining surface.

Nor have they any difficulty in making out that they are mounted. What puzzles them is the manner. Their riders do not appear to be anything human!

The horses have the true equine outline; but they upon their backs seem monsters, not men; their bodies of unnatural breadth, each with two heads rising above it!

There is a haze overhanging the river, as gauze thrown over a piece of silver plate. It is that white filmy mist which enlarges objects beyond their natural size, producing the mystery of mirage. By its magnifying effect the horses, as their riders, appear of gigantic dimensions; the former seeming Mastodons, the latter Titans bestriding them!

Both appear beings not of Earth, but creatures of some weird wonder-world – existences not known to our planet, or only in ages past!

Chapter Fifty Seven.

Planning a capture

Speechless with surprise, the two men stand gazing at the odd apparition; with something more than surprise, a supernatural feeling, not unmingled with fear. Such strange unearthly sight were enough to beget this in the stoutest hearts; and, though none stouter than theirs, for a time both are awed by it.

Only so long as the spectral equestrians were within the shadow of the trees on the opposite side. But soon as arriving at mid-stream the mystery is at an end; like most others, simple when understood. Their forms, outlined against the moonlit surface of the water, show a very natural phenomenon – two horses carrying double.

Woodley is the first to announce it, though Clancy has made the discovery at the same instant of time.

“Injuns!” says the backwoodsman, speaking in a whisper. “Two astride o’ each critter. Injuns, for sure. See the feathers stickin’ up out o’ their skulls! Them on the krupper look like squaws; though that’s kewrous too. Out on these Texas parayras the Injun weemen hez generally a hoss to theirselves, an’ kin ride ’most as well as the men. What seem queerier still is thar bein’ only two kupple; but maybe there’s more comin’ on ahint. An’ yet thar don’t appear to be. I don’t see stime o’ anythin’ on tother side the river. Kin you?”

“No. I think there’s but the two. They’d be looking back if there were others behind. What ought we to do with them?”

“What every white man oughter do meetin’ Injuns out hyar – gie ’em a wide berth: that’s the best way.”

“It may not in this case; I don’t think it is.”

“Why?”

“On my word, I scarce know. And yet I have an idea we ought to have a word with them. Likely they’ve been up to the settlement and will be able to tell us something of things there. As you know, Sime, I’m anxious to hear about – ”

“I know all that. Wal, ef you’re so inclined, let it be as ye say. We kin eezy stop ’em, an’ hear what they’ve got to say for theirselves. By good luck, we’ve the devantage o’ ’em. They’re bound to kum ’long the big trail. Tharfor, ef we throw ourselves on it, we’ll intercep’ an’ take ’em as in a trap. Jess afore we turned in hyar, I noticed a spot whar we kin ambuskade.”

“Let us do so; but what about these?” Clancy points to the other three, still seemingly asleep. “Hadn’t we better awake them? At all events, Heywood: we may need him.”

“For that matter, no. Thar’s but two buck Injuns. The does wont count for much in a skrimmage. Ef they show thar teeth I reckin we two air good for uglier odds than that. Howsomever, it’ll be no harm to hev Ned. We kin roust him up, lettin’ Harkness an’ the mulattar lie. Ye’es; on second thinkin’ it’ll be as well to hev him along. Ned! Ned!”

The summons is not spoken aloud, but in a whisper, Woodley stooping down till his lips touch Heywood’s ear. The young hunter hearing him, starts, then sits up, and finally gets upon his feet, rubbing his eyes while erecting himself. He sees at once why he has been awakened. A glance cast upon the river shows him the strangely ridden horses; still visible though just entering the tree-shadow on its nether bank.

In a few hurried words Woodley makes known their intention; and for some seconds the three stand in consultation, all having hold of their rifles.

They do not deem it necessary to rouse either the ex-jailer or Jupiter. It is not advisable, in view of the time that would be wasted. Besides, any noise, now, might reach the ears of the Indians, who, if alarmed, could still retreat to the opposite side, and so escape. Woodley, at first indifferent about their capture, has now entered into the spirit of it. It is just possible some information may be thus obtained, of service to their future designs. At all events, there can be no harm in knowing why the redskins are travelling at such an untimely hour.

“As a gen’ral rule,” he says, “Tair best let Injuns go thar own way when thar’s a big crowd thegitter. When thar aint, as it chances hyar, it may be wisest to hev a leetle palaver wi’ them. They’re putty sure to a been arter some diviltry anyhow. ’S like ’s not this lot’s been a pilferin’ somethin’ from the new settlement, and air in the act o’ toatin’ off thar plunder. Ef arter gruppin’ ’em, we find it aint so, we kin let go again, an’ no dammidge done. But first, let’s examine ’em, an’ see.”

“Our horses?” suggests Heywood, “oughtn’t we to take them along?”

“No need,” answers Woodley. “Contrarywise, they’d only hamper us. If the redskins make to rush past, we kin eezy shoot down thar animals, an’ so stop ’em. Wi’ thar squaws along, they ain’t like to make any resistance. Besides, arter all, they may be some sort that’s friendly to the whites. Ef so, ’twould be a pity to kill the critters. We kin capter ’em without sheddin’ thar blood.”

“Not a drop of it,” enjoins Clancy, in a tone of authority. “No, comrades. I’ve entered Texas to spill blood, but not that of the innocent – not that of Indians. When it comes to killing I shall see before me – . No matter; you know whom I mean.”

“I guess we do,” answers Woodley. “We both o’ us understand your feelins, Charley Clancy; ay, an’ respect ’em. But let’s look sharp. Whilst we stan’ palaverin the Injuns may slip past. They’ve arready reech’d the bank, an’ – Quick, kum along!”

The three are about starting off, when a fourth figure appears standing erect. It is Jupiter. A life of long suffering has made the mulatto a light sleeper, and he has been awake all the time they were talking. Though they spoke only in whispers, he has heard enough to suspect something about to be done, in which there may be danger to Clancy. The slave, now free, would lay down his life for the man who has manumitted him.

Coming up, he requests to be taken along, and permitted to share their exploit, however perilous.

As there can be no great objection, his request is granted, and he is joined to the party.

But this necessitates a pause, for something to be considered. What is to be done with the ex-jailer? Though not strictly treated as a prisoner, still all along they have been keeping him under surveillance. Certainly, there was something strange in his making back for the States, in view of what he might there expect to meet for his misdemeanour; and, considering this, they have never been sure whether he may not still be in league with the outlaws, and prove twice traitor.

Now that they are approaching the spot where events may be expected, more than ever is it thought necessary to keep an eye on him.

It will not do to leave him alone, with their horses. What then?

While thus hesitating, Woodley cuts the Gordian knot by stepping straight to where Harkness lies, grasping the collar of his coat, and rudely arousing him out of his slumber, by a jerk that brings him erect upon his feet. Then, without waiting word of remonstrance from the astonished man, Sime hisses into his ear: —

“Kum along, Joe Harkness! Keep close arter us, an’ don’t ask any questyuns. Thar, Jupe; you take charge o’ him!”

At this, he gives Harkness a shove which sends him staggering into the arms of the mulatto.

The latter, drawing a long stiletto-like knife, brandishes it before the ex-jailer’s eyes, as he does so, saying:

“Mass Harkness; keep on afore me; I foller. If you try leave the track look-out. This blade sure go ’tween your back ribs.”

The shining steel, with the sheen of Jupiter’s teeth set in stern determination, is enough to hold Harkness honest, whatever his intent. He makes no resistance, but, trembling, turns along the path.

Once out of the glade, they fall into single file, the narrow trace making this necessary; Woodley in the lead; Clancy second, holding his hound in leash; Heywood third; Harkness fourth; Jupiter with bared knife-blade bringing up the rear.

Never marched troop having behind it a more inexorable file-closer, or one more determined on doing his duty.

Chapter Fifty Eight.