CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
CHASE, CAPTURE, AND END OF JAKE THE FLINT.
It was growing dark when Brooke and the scout reached the cave thatevening and found that Buck Tom was dead; but they had barely time torealise the fact when their attention was diverted by the sudden arrivalof a large band of horsemen--cowboys and others--the leader of whomseemed to be the cow-boy Crux.
Hunky Ben and his friends had, of course, made rapid preparations toreceive them as foes, if need were; but on recognising who composed thecavalcade, they went out to meet them.
"Hallo! Hunky," shouted Crux, as he rode up and leaped off his steed,"have they been here?"
"Who d'ye mean?" demanded the scout.
"Why, Jake the Flint, to be sure, an' his murderin' gang. Haven't yeheard the news?"
"Not I. Who d'ye think would take the trouble to come up here withnoos?"
"They've got clear off, boys," said Crux, in a voice of greatdisappointment. "So we must off saddle, an' camp where we are for thenight."
While the rest of the party dismounted and dispersed to look for asuitable camping-ground, Crux explained the reason of their unexpectedappearance.
After the Flint and his companions had left their mountain fastness, asbefore described, they had appeared in different parts of the countryand committed various depredations; some of their robberies having beenaccompanied with bloodshed and violence of a nature which so exasperatedthe people that an organised band had at length been gathered to go inpursuit of the daring outlaw. But Jake was somewhat Napoleonic in hischaracter, swift in his movements, and sudden in his attacks; so that,while his exasperated foes were searching for him in one direction, newswould be brought of his having committed some daring and bloody deed faroff in some other quarter. His latest acts had been to kill and rob apost-runner, who happened to be a great favourite in his locality, andto attack and murder, in mere wanton cruelty, a family of friendlyIndians, belonging to a tribe which had never given the whites anytrouble. The fury of the people, therefore, was somewhat commensuratewith the wickedness of the man. They resolved to capture him, and, asthere was a number of resolute cow-boys on the frontier, to whom lifeseemed to be a bauble to be played with, kept, or cast lightly away,according to circumstances, it seemed as if the effort made at this timewould be successful.
The latest reports that seemed reliable were to the effect that, afterslaying the Indians, Jake and his men had made off in the direction ofhis old stronghold at the head of Traitor's Trap. Hence the invasion byCrux and his band.
"You'll be glad to hear--or sorry, I'm not sure which--" said the scout,"that Buck Tom has paid his last debt."
"What! defunct?" exclaimed Crux.
"Ay. Whatever may have bin his true character an' deeds, he's gone tohis account at last."
"Are ye sure, Hunky?"
"If ye don't believe me, go in there an' you'll see what's left of him.The corp ain't cold yet."
The rugged cow-boy entered at once, to convince himself by oculardemonstration.
"Well," said he, on coming out of the cave, "I wish it had been theFlint instead. He'll give us some trouble, you bet, afore we bring himto lie as flat as Buck Tom. Poor Buck! They say he wasn't a bad chapin his way, an' I never heard of his bein' cruel, like his comrades.His main fault was castin' in his lot wi' the Flint. They say that Jakehas bin carousin' around, throwin' the town-folk everywhere into fits."
That night the avengers in search of Jake the Flint slept in and aroundthe outlaws' cave, while the chief of the outlaws lay in the sleep ofdeath in a shed outside. During the night the scout went out to seethat the body was undisturbed, and was startled to observe a creature ofsome sort moving near it. Ben was troubled by no superstitious fears,so he approached with the stealthy, cat-like tread which he had learnedto perfection in his frontier life. Soon he was near enough toperceive, through the bushes, that the form was that of Shank Leather,silent and motionless, seated by the side of Buck Tom, with his faceburied in his hands upon his knees. A deep sob broke from him as hesat, and again he was silent and motionless. The scout withdrew assilently as he had approached, leaving the poor youth to watch and mournover the friend who had shared his hopes and fears, sins and sorrows, solong--long at least in experience, if not in numbered years.
Next morning at daybreak they laid the outlaw in his last resting-place,and then the avengers prepared to set off in pursuit of his comrades.
"You'll join us, I fancy," said Crux to Charlie Brooke.
"No; I remain with my sick friend Leather. But perhaps some of mycomrades may wish to go with you."
It was soon arranged that Hunky Ben and Dick Darvall should join theparty.
"We won't be long o' catchin' him up," said Crux, "for the Flint hasbecome desperate of late, an' we're pretty sure of a man when he getsinto that fix."
The desperado to whom Crux referred was one of those terrible humanmonsters who may be termed a growth of American frontier life, men who,having apparently lost all fear of God, or man, or death, carry theirlives about with hilarious indifference, ready to risk them at amoment's notice on the slightest provocation, and to take the lives ofothers without a shadow of compunction. As a natural consequence, suchmaniacs, for they are little else, are feared by all, and even brave menfeel the necessity of being unusually careful while in their company.
Among the various wild deeds committed by Jake and his men was one whichled them into serious trouble and proved fatal to their chief. Comingto a village, or small town, one night they resolved to have a regularspree, and for this purpose encamped a short way outside the town tillit should be quite dark. About midnight the outlaws, to the number ofeight, entered the town, each armed with a Winchester and a brace ofrevolvers. Scattering themselves, they began a tremendous fusillade, asfast as they could fire, so that nearly the whole population, supposingthe place was attacked by Indians, turned out and fled to the mountainsbehind the town. The Flint and his men made straight for the chiefbilliard room, which they found deserted, and there, after helpingthemselves to all the loose cash available, they began to drink. Ofcourse they soon became wild under the influence of the liquor, butretained sense enough to mount their horses and gallop away before thepeople of the place mustered courage to return and attack the foe.
It was while galloping madly away after this raid that the murderousevent took place which ended in the dispersal of the gang.
Daylight was creeping over the land when the outlaws left the town.Jake was wild with excitement at what had occurred, as well as withdrink, and began to boast and swear in a horrible manner. When they hadridden a good many miles, one of the party said he saw some Redskins ina clump of wood they were approaching.
"Did ye?" cried Jake, flourishing his rifle over his head and uttering aterrible oath, "then I'll shoot the first Redskin I come across."
"Better not, Jake," said one of his men. "They're all friendly Injinsabout here."
"What's the odds to me!" yelled the drunken wretch. "I'll shoot thefirst I see as I would a rabbit."
At that moment they were passing a bluff covered with timber, and,unfortunately, a poor old Indian woman came out of the wood to look atthe horsemen as they flew past.
Without an instant's hesitation Jake swerved aside, rode straight up tothe old creature, and blew out her brains.
Accustomed as they were to deeds of violence and bloodshed, his comradeswere overwhelmed with horror at this, and, fearing the consequences ofthe dastardly murder, rode for life away over the plains.
But the deed had been witnessed by the relatives of the poor woman.Without sound or cry, fifty Red men leaped on their horses and sweptwith the speed of light along the other side of the bluff, whichconcealed them from the white men's sight. Thus they managed to headthem, and when Jake and his gang came to the end of the strip of wood,the Red men, armed with rifle and revolver, were in front of them.
There was something deadly and unusual in the silence of the Indians
onthis occasion. Concentrated rage seemed to have stopped their power toyell. Swift as eagles they swooped down and surrounded the little bandof white men, who, seeing that opposition would be useless, and,perhaps, cowed by the sight of such a cold-blooded act offered noresistance at all, while their arms were taken from them.
With lips white from passion, the Indian chief in command demanded whodid the deed. The outlaws pointed to Jake, who sat on his horse withglaring eyes and half-open mouth like one stupefied. At a word from thechief, he was seized, dragged off his horse, and held fast by twopowerful men while a third bound his arms. A spear was driven deep intothe ground to serve as a stake, and to this Jake was tied. He made noresistance. He seemed to have been paralysed, and remained quitepassive while they stripped him naked to the waist. His comrades, stillseated on their horses, seemed incapable of action. They had, no doubt,a presentiment of what was coming.
The chief then drew his scalping knife, and passed it swiftly round theneck of the doomed man so as to make a slight incision. Grasping theflap raised at the back of the neck, he tore a broad band of skin fromJake's body, right down his back to his waist. A fearful yell burstfrom the lips of the wretched man, but no touch of pity moved the heartsof the Red men, whose chief prepared to tear off another strip of skinfrom the quivering flesh.
At the same moment the companions of the Flint wheeled their horsesround, and, filled with horror, fled at full speed from the scene.
The Red men did not attempt to hinder them. There was no feud at thattime between the white men and that particular tribe. It was only themurderer of their old kinswoman on whom they were bent on wreaking theirvengeance, and with terrible cruelty was their diabolical deedaccomplished. The comrades of the murderer, left free to do as theypleased, scattered as they fled, as if each man were unable to endurethe sight of the other, and they never again drew together.
On the very next day Crux and his band of avengers were galloping overthe same region, making straight for the town which the outlaws hadthrown into such consternation, and where Crux had been given tounderstand that trustworthy news of the Flint's movements would probablybe obtained.
The sun was setting, and a flood of golden light was streaming over theplains, when one of the band suggested that it would be better to encampwhere they were than to proceed any further that night.
"So we will, boy," said Crux, looking about for a suitable spot, untilhis eye fell on a distant object that riveted his attention.
"A strange-looking thing, that," remarked the scout who had observed theobject at the same moment. "Somethin' like a man, but standin'crooked-like in a fashion I never saw a man stand before, though I'veseen many a queer sight in my day."
"We'll soon clear up the mystery," said Crux, putting spurs to his horseand riding straight for the object in question, followed by the wholecavalcade.
"Ay, ay, bloody work bin goin' on here, I see," muttered the scout asthey drew near.
"The accursed Redskins!" growled Crux.
We need scarcely say that it was the dead body of Jake they had thusdiscovered, tied to the spear which was nearly broken by the weight ofthe mutilated carcass. Besides tearing most of the skin off thewretched man's body, the savages had scalped Jake; but a deep wound overthe region of the heart showed that they had, at all events, ended hissufferings before they left him.
While the avengers--whose vengeance was thus forestalled--were busyscraping a shallow grave for the remains of the outlaw, a shout wasraised by several of the party who dashed after something into aneighbouring copse. An Indian had been discovered there, and thecruelties which had been practised on the white man had, to a greatextent, transferred their wrath from the outlaw to his murderers. Butthey found that the rush was needless, for the Indian who had beenobserved was seated on the ground beside what appeared to be a newlyformed grave, and he made no attempt to escape.
He was a very old and feeble man, yet something of the fire of thewarrior gleamed from his sunken eyes as he stood up and tried to raisehis bent form into an attitude of proud defiance.
"Do you belong to the tribe that killed this white man?" said Hunky Ben,whose knowledge of most of the Indian dialects rendered him the fittingspokesman of the party.
"I do," answered the Indian in a stern yet quavering voice that seemedvery pitiful, for it was evident that the old man thought his last hourhad come, and that he had made up his mind to die as became a dauntlessIndian brave.
At that moment a little Indian girl, who had hitherto lain quiteconcealed in the tangled grass, started up like a rabbit from its lairand dashed into the thicket. Swiftly though the child ran, however, oneof the young men of the party was swifter. He sprang off in pursuit,and in a few moments brought her back.
"Your tribe is not at war with the pale-faces," continued the scout,taking no notice of this episode. "They have been needlessly cruel."
For some moments the old man gazed sternly at his questioner as if heheard him not. Then the frown darkened, and, pointing to the grave athis feet, he said--
"The white man was _more_ cruel."
"What had he done?" asked the scout.
But the old man would not reply. There came over his withered featuresthat stony stare of resolute contempt which he evidently intended tomaintain to the last in spite of torture and death.
"Better question the child," suggested Dick Darvall, who up to thatmoment had been too much horrified by what he had witnessed to be ableto speak.
The scout looked at the child. She stood trembling beside her captor,with evidences of intense terror on her dusky countenance, for she wasonly too well accustomed to the cruelties practised by white men and redon each other to have any hope either for the old man or herself.
"Poor thing!" said Hunky Ben, laying his strong hand tenderly on thegirl's head. Then, taking her hand, he led her gently aside, and spoketo her in her own tongue.
There was something so unexpectedly soft in the scout's voice, and sotender in his touch, that the little brown maid was irresistiblycomforted. When one falls into the grasp of Goodness and Strength,relief of mind, more or less, is an inevitable result. David thought sowhen he said, "Let me fall now into the hand of the Lord." The Indianchild evidently thought so when she felt that Hunky Ben was strong andperceived that he was good.
"We will not hurt you, my little one," said the scout, when he hadreached a retired part of the copse, and, sitting down, placed the childon his knee. "The white man who was killed by your people was a verybad man. We were looking for him to kill him. Was it the old man thatkilled him?"
"No," replied the child, "it was the chief."
"Why was he so cruel in his killing?" asked the scout.
"Because the white man was a coward. He feared to face our warriors,but he shot an old woman!" answered the little maid; and then, inspiredwith confidence by the scout's kind and pitiful expression, she relatedthe whole story of the savage and wanton murder perpetrated by theFlint, the subsequent vengeance of her people, and the unchecked flightand dispersion of Jake's comrades. The old woman who had been slain,she said, was her grandmother, and the old man who had been captured washer grandfather.
"Friends, our business has been done for us," said the scout onrejoining his comrades, "so we've nothing to do but return home."
He then told them in detail what the Indian girl had related.
"Of course," he added, "we've no right to find fault wi' the Redskinsfor punishin' the murderer arter their own fashion, though we might wishthey had bin somewhat more merciful--"
"No, we mightn't," interrupted Crux stoutly. "The Flint got off easy in_my_ opinion. If I had had the doin' o't, I'd have roasted him alive."
"No, you wouldn't, Crux," returned Ben, with a benignant smile. "Youngchaps like you are always, accordin' to your own showin', worse than thedevil himself when your blood's roused by indignation at cruelty orinjustice, but you sing a good deal softer when you come to the scratchwith your enemy in your p
ower."
"You're wrong, Hunky Ben," retorted Crux firmly. "Any man as would blowthe brains out of a poor old woman in cold blood, as the Flint did,desarves the worst that can be done to him."
"I didn't say nowt about what _he_ desarves," returned the scout; "I wasspeakin' about what _you_ would do if you'd got the killin' of him."
"Well, well, mates," said Dick Darvall, a little impatiently, "seems tome that we're wastin' our wind, for the miserable wretch, bein' defunct,is beyond the malice o' red man or white. I therefore vote that we stoppalaverin', 'bout ship, clap on all sail an' lay our course for home."
This suggestion met with general approval, and the curious mixture ofmen and races, which had thus for a brief period been banded togetherunder the influence of a united purpose, prepared to break up.
"I suppose you an' Darvall will make tracks for Traitor's Trap," saidCrux to Hunky Ben.
"That's my trail to be," answered the scout. "What say you, BlackPolly? Are ye game for such a spin to-night?"
The mare arched her glossy neck, put back both ears, and gave otherindications that she would have fully appreciated the remarks of hermaster if she had only understood them.
"Ah! Bluefire and I don't talk in that style," said Crux, with a laugh."I give him his orders an' he knows that he's got to obey. He and Iwill make a bee-line for David's Store an' have a drink. Who'll keep mecompany?"
Several of the more reckless among the men intimated their willingnessto join the toper. The rest said they had other business on hand thanto go carousin' around.
"Why, Crux," said one who had been a very lively member of the partyduring the ride out, "d'ye know, boy, that it's writ in the book o' Fatethat you an' I an' all of us, have just got so many beats o' the pulseallowed us--no more an' no less--an' we're free to run the beats outfast or slow, just as we like? There's nothin' like drink for makin''em go fast!"
"I don't believe that, Robin Stout," returned Crux; "an' even if I didbelieve it I'd go on just the same, for I prefer a short life and amerry one to a long life an' a wishy-washy miserable one."
"Hear! hear!" exclaimed several of the topers.
"Don't ye think, Crux," interposed Darvall, "that a long life an' ahappy one might be better than either?"
"Hear! _hear_!" remarked Hunky Ben, with a quiet laugh.
"Well, boys," said one fine bright-looking young fellow, patting theneck of his pony, "whether my life is to be long or short, merry,wishy-washy or happy, I shall be off cow-punching for the next sixmonths or so, somewhere about the African bend, on the Colorado River,in South Texas, an' I mean to try an' keep my pulse a-goin' _without_drink. I've seen more than enough o' the curse that comes to us all onaccount of it, and I won't be caught in _that_ trap again."
"Then you've bin caught in it once already, Jo Pinto?" said a comrade.
"Ay, I just have, but, you bet, it's the last time. I don't see the funof makin' my veins a channel for firewater, and then finishin' off withD.T., if bullet or knife should leave me to go that length."
"I suppose, Pinto," said Crux, with a smile of contempt, "that you'vebin to hear that mad fellow Gough, who's bin howlin' around in theseparts of late?"
"That's so," retorted Pinto, flushing with sudden anger. "I've been tohear J.B. Gough, an' what's more I mean to take his advice in spite ofall the flap-jack soakers 'tween the Atlantic and the Rockies. He's atrue man, is Gough, every inch of him, and men and women that's bin usedchiefly to cursin' in time past have heaped more blessin's on that man'shead than would sink you, Crux,--if put by mistake on _your_ head--rightthrough the lowest end o' the bottomless pit."
"Pretty deep that, anyhow!" exclaimed Crux, with a careless laugh, forhe had no mind to quarrel with the stout young cow-boy whose black eyeshe had made to flash so keenly.
"It seems to me," said another of the band, as he hung the coils of hislasso round the horn of his Mexican saddle, "that we must quit talkin'unless we make up our minds to stop here till sun-up. Who's goin'north? My old boss is financially busted, so I've hired to P.T.Granger, who has started a new ranch at the head o' Pugit's Creek. Hewants one or two good hands I know, an' I've reason to believe he's anhonest man. I go up trail at thirty dollars per month. The outfit's toconsist of thirty hundred head of Texas steers, a chuck wagon and cook,with thirty riders includin' the boss himself an' six horses to theman."
A couple of stout-looking cow-boys offered to join the last speaker onthe strength of his representations, and then, as the night bid fair tobe bright and calm, the whole band scattered and galloped away inseparate groups over the moonlit plains.