The Great Cattle Trail. Ellis Edward Sylvester
his lips as his fine eyes kindled.
“There is hope, if you can reach the bush, but the rub will be to do that.”
“They grow close to the house, and the Comanches will not be looking for any attempt of that kind.”
“Is it not best to wait until later?” asked Mrs. Shirril.
“No,” was the sensible response of her nephew; “the prospect of success will decrease with every passing minute. They will think, and with reason, that we have repelled their first attack so sharply that we are confident of beating them off altogether. After a time, when things begin to look bad for us, they will look for something of that nature, and be so well prepared for it that it will be hopeless.”
“He is right,” assented the captain. “I don’t ask you to try it, Avon, but, if you are determined to do so, now is the time.”
“My sentiments exactly, and I’m going.”
He dreaded anything in the nature of a scene, one reason for his moving so promptly being his desire to avert such a trial.
But now that the momentous step was decided upon, the all-important question remained as to the best means of making the start.
The whole interior of the lower story was so brightly illuminated by the blaze on the hearth that the moment the door was opened, even for only a few inches, it would show from the outside. Anxious as Avon was to be off, he knew better than to start under such conditions.
“The sooner that fire goes out, the better for all of us,” said the captain; “it is too tempting to the scamps.”
On the row of pegs near him hung several heavy blankets, such as are used by all plainsmen and cowboys. Those which the captain and his nephew meant to take on their journey northward were in camp five miles away.
Setting down his gun, he lifted one of the heavy pieces of cloth, whose texture, like the celebrated blankets of the Navajoe Indians, was almost close enough to be waterproof. He paused for a minute to adjust the folds, and then, forgetful of the danger he had run a short time before, he stepped hastily across the room, and stooping down flung the blanket over the blaze so as to enclose it entirely.
The effect was instantaneous. The room was wrapped in darkness as dense as that outside, though the consequences of the act promised to be anything but pleasant in the course of a few minutes.
“Now, Avon, is your time!” called the captain in an undertone.
“I’m off; good-by,” came from the gloom near the door, where the sounds showed that he was engaged in raising the ponderous bar from its sockets.
Captain Shirril stepped hurriedly to the spot, and found the door closed but unfastened. Even in his haste the youth did not forget to shut it behind him, leaving to his friends the duty of securing it in place.
“He is gone; God be with him!” he whispered to his wife and servant, who with painfully throbbing hearts had stepped to his side.
While speaking, he refastened the structure, and in less time than it has taken to tell it everything inside was as before, with the exception that where there had been four persons, there were now only three.
All forgot their own danger for the moment in their anxiety for the youth, who had so eagerly risked his own life to save them from death.
Bending his head, the captain held his ear against the tiny opening through which the latchkey had been drawn earlier in the evening, when the heavy bar was put in place. The Texan was listening with all the intentness possible.
“It seems impossible that he should get away,” was his thought, “and yet the very boldness of his plan may give it success.”
The shot from within the cabin, followed so soon by the complete darkening of the interior, must have caused some confusion among the Comanches, for otherwise Avon would have been shot or captured the moment he stepped outside of the cabin.
For the space of two or three seconds Captain Shirril absolutely heard nothing, except the soft sighing of the night wind among the mesquite bushes near at hand. The stillness could not have been more profound had every living thing been moved to a distance of a hundred miles.
He had listened only a minute or two, however, when he heard a warrior run rapidly around the building, coming to an abrupt stop directly in front of the door. Thus he and the Texan stood within a few inches of each other, separated only by the heavy structure, which, for the time, barred all entrance.
Captain Shirril even fancied that the eye of the redskin was pressed against the opening, in the vain effort to gain sight of the interior. Had the Comanche chosen to place his lips there, how readily he could have whispered into the ear of his enemy!
That the Texan was right in suspecting one of the warriors was so very near was proven a moment later, when a second Indian approached with his mustang on the walk, dropped lightly to the ground, and coming forward, halted so close to the door that he almost touched it.
The captain knew this because he heard the two talking in low tones. He understood the tongue of the dusky miscreants, but though he listened closely, could not catch the meaning of a word that passed between them. Their sentences were of the short, jerky character common to all American Indians, accompanied by a peculiar grunting, which helped to obscure their meaning.
The unspeakable relief of the listener was caused by the awakening of hope for his nephew. He was certainly some way from the cabin, for had he stayed near the door, discovery was inevitable by the two warriors now standing there. Indeed, they must almost have stumbled over him.
But he might be still within a few paces, unable to stir through fear of detection. Extended flat on the ground, on the alert for the first possible opening, he was liable to discovery at every moment.
In fact, so far as Avon was concerned, he had crossed the Rubicon; for, if seen, it was impossible to re-enter the cabin, the door of which had been shut and barred.
The warriors who had paused in front of Captain Shirril kept their places but a brief while, when they moved off so silently that he could not tell the direction they took. Everything remained still for several minutes, when the listener once more fancied he heard something unusual.
It was a stir among the mesquite bushes, such as might be caused by a puff or eddy in the wind, which blew quite steadily, though with moderate force.
He was listening with all his senses strung to the highest point, when the stillness was broken by the report of a rifle, accompanied by a ringing shriek, both coming from a point within a few rods of the cabin. The hearts of the inmates stood still, the wife alone finding voice to exclaim in horrified tones:
“Poor Avon! he has fallen! he has given his life for us!”
CHAPTER V.
UPSTAIRS AND DOWNSTAIRS
Profound stillness followed the despairing exclamation of Mrs. Shirril, who believed that her nephew had gone to his death while trying to steal away from the cabin in which his friends were held at bay by the Comanches.
The quiet on the outside was as deep and oppressive as within. There was the sharp, resounding report of the rifle, followed on the instant by the wild cry of mortal pain, and then all became like the tomb itself.
It was singular that the first spark of hope was kindled by the words of the colored servant, Dinah.
“What makes you tink de boy am dead?” she asked, a moment after the woful words of her mistress.
“Didn’t you hear him cry out just now?”
“No; I didn’t hear him nor did you either; dat warn’t de voice ob Avon.”
“How can you know that?” asked Mrs. Shirril, beginning to feel anew hope within her.
“Lor’ o’ massy! habent I heerd de voice ob dat younker offen ’nough to know it ’mong ten fousand? Habent I heerd him yell, too? he neber does it in dat style; dat war an Injin, and de reason dat he screeched out in dat onmarciful way war ’cause he got in de path ob