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<SPAN name="chap56"></SPAN> <h3>Chapter Fifty Six.</h3> <h4>Attempt to stampede.</h4> <p>We made an attempt to open the interrupted parley. In vain. Whatever amicable design the Red-Hand might have conceived was now changed to a feeling of the most deadly hostility. There was no more “talk” to be drawn from him—not a word. In the midst of his warriors, he stood scowling and silent. Neither did any of the chiefs deign to reply. The common braves made answers to our overtures; but only by the insult of a peculiar gesture. Any hopes we might have conceived of a pacific termination to the encounter, died within us as we noted the behaviour of the band. Whether the Indian was in earnest in the proposal he had made, or whether it was a mere scheme to get our scalps without fighting for them, we could not tell at the time. There was an air of probability that he was honest about the matter; but, on the other hand, his notorious character for hostility to the white race contradicted this probability. I had heard, moreover, that this same chief was in the habit of adopting such stratagems to get white men into his power. We had no time to speculate upon the point; nor yet upon that which puzzled us far more—how he had arrived at the knowledge of who we were! What could he have known of the “White Eagle of the forest,” or the “young soldier-chief?” So far as I was myself concerned, the title might have been explained.</p> <p>My uniform—I still wore it—might have been espied upon the prairies? The Indians are quick at catching an appellation, and communicating it to one another. But the figurative soubriquet of the young hunter? That was more specific. The Red-Hand could not have used it accidentally? Impossible. It bespoke a knowledge of us, and our affairs, that appeared mysterious and inexplicable. It did not fail to recall to our memory the apparition that had astonished Wingrove in the morning. There was no opportunity to discuss the question. We had only time for the most vague conjectures—before the savages began to fire at us—discharging in rapid succession the guns which they had loaded.</p> <p>We soon perceived that we had little to fear from this sort of attack. Unless by some stray bullet, there was not much danger of their hitting us. Their clumsy <i>manège</i> of the fire-weapon was evident enough. It added to the probability, that the chief had been in earnest about our giving instructions to his warriors. Still was there some degree of danger. The guns they had got hold of were large ones—most of them old muskets of heavy calibre—that cast their ounces of lead to a long distance. We heard their bullets pattering against the rocks, and one or two of them had passed whistling over our heads. It was just possible to get hit; and, to avoid such an accident, we crouched behind our parapet, as closely as if we had been screening ourselves from the most expert marksmen. For a long time we did not return their fire. O’Tigg was desirous of trying another shot with his piece, but I forbade it. Warned by what they had witnessed, the Indians had retired beyond even the range of the Serjeant’s fusil.</p> <p>Two parties of savages now separate from the main body; and, taking opposite directions, go sweeping at full gallop round the butte. We divine their object. They have discovered the position of our animals: the intention is to <i>stampede</i> them. We perceive the importance of preventing this. If we can but keep our animals out of the hands of the savages until darkness come down, then may there be some prospect of our escaping by flight. True, it is only a faint hope. There are many contingencies by which the design may be defeated, but there are also circumstances to favour it; and to yield without a struggle, would only be to deliver ourselves into the hands of an unpitying foe. The last words uttered by the Arapaho chief have warned us that death will be preferable to captivity.</p> <p>We are sustained by another remembrance. We know that we are not the first white men who have been thus surrounded, and who afterwards contrived to escape. Many a small band of brave trappers have sustained the attack of a whole Indian tribe; and though half of their number may have fallen, the others lived to relate the perilous adventure. The life of a determined man is difficult to take. A desperate sortie often proves the safest defence; and three or four resolute arms will cut a loophole of escape through a host of enemies. Some such thoughts, flitting before us, hinder us from succumbing to despair.</p> <p>It was of the utmost importance, to prevent our animals from being swept off; and to this end were our energies now directed. Three of us faced towards them—leaving the fourth to watch the movements of the enemy on the other side of the butte.</p> <p>Once more the wild cry rings among the rocks, as the red horsemen gallop around—rattling their shields, and waving their weapons high in the air. These demonstrations are made to affright our animals, and cause them to break from their fastenings. They have not the desired effect. The mules prance and hinnie; the horses neigh and bound over the grass; but the long boughs bend without breaking: and, acting as elastic springs, give full play to the affrighted creatures. Not a rein snaps—not a lazo breaks—not a loop slides from its hold! The first skurry is over; and we are gratified to see the four quadrupeds still grouped around the tree, and fast as ever to its branches. The <i>stampede</i> has proved a failure. Another swoop of the wild horsemen ends with like result: and then another. And now closer and closer they come—galloping in all directions, crossing and meeting, and wheeling and circling—with shrill screams and violent gesticulations. As they pass near, they shelter themselves behind the bodies of their horses. An arm over the withers, a leg above the croup, are all of the riders we can see. It is useless to fire at these. The horses we might tumble over at pleasure; but the men offer no point to aim at. At intervals a red face gleams through the tossing locks of the mane; but, ere we can take sight upon it, it is jerked away. For a considerable time this play is kept up, the Indians all the time yelling as if engaged in some terrible conflict.</p> <p>As to ourselves, we are too wary to waste our shots upon the horses; and we reserve them in the hope of being able to “draw a bead” on some rider more reckless than the rest. The opportunity soon offers. Two of the savages exhibit a determination to succeed in snatching away the horses. Knife in hand, they career around, evidently with the design of cutting the bridles and lazoes. Cheered on by the shouts of their comrades, they grow less careful of their skins, and at length make a dash towards the group under the tree. When almost within head-reach of the fastenings by which the mules are held, one of the latter slews suddenly round, and sends her heels in a well-directed fling against the head of the foremost horse! The steed instantly wheels, and the other coming behind follows the same movement, exposing both the riders to our aim. They make an effort to throw themselves to the other side of their animals; but the opportunity is lost. Our rifles are too quick for them. Two of us fire at the same instant; and as the smoke clears away, the red robbers are seen sprawling upon the plain. Our shots have proved fatal. Before we can reload, the struggles of the fallen horsemen have ended; and both lie motionless upon the grass.</p> <p>The lesson was sufficient for the time. Warned by the fate of their comrades, the Indians, although still continuing their noisy demonstrations, now kept well out of the range of our rifles. There appeared to be no others in the band, desirous of achieving fame at such a risk of life.</p> <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

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