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Silent Rifleman: A Tale of the Texan Prairies

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<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> THE NIGHT ALARM. All day they rode across the open plains, presenting still the same invariable aspect of rich prairie land, for the most part nearly level, but now very rich and fertile, and becoming more and more so, with every mile our party traversed. At noon, they halted for three hours under the shelter of a clump of magnificent oaks over-canopying a little pool, the well-head of as clear a streamlet as ever was the haunt of Grecian woodnymph. The sylvan meal was spread with all the simple luxury of a frontiers-man's fare. After the meal was over, the Partisan said: "Now try to sleep for an hour or so, while I go and take a round on the prairie. I see a flock of buzzards yonder, whose motives I don't exactly understand, and I would have a nearer look at them." And with the word, he took up his rifle, tried it with the ramrod to see that the ball had not fallen out, from the speed at which he had ridden, as the gun hung muzzle downward at his back; renewed the copper caps, loosened his13 wood-knife in its sheath, and walked off unaccompanied toward the spot in the plain above which a flight of the black vultures, commonly known as Turkey Buzzards, were hovering and swooping, at a distance so great that they looked no larger than flies, and that no ordinary eye could have distinguished what they were. As he moved away slowly, Julia's eyes followed his departing figure, and her face wore a very thoughtful expression, as she turned round to her husband. "There goes an extraordinary man," she said, with an expression of deep feeling. "A very singular, and very noble character. I never have seen and very seldom read of anything like him." "By Heaven! I believe he is in love with you, Julia," replied Frank Gordon, half laughing, half in earnest. "I have thought so all the morning." "Silly, silly, Frank!" she answered, slapping his hand playfully. "Do you know that they say jealous husbands make false wives? and that you should not imagine that I could like any man but you." About an hour elapsed before the Partisan returned, bearing on his shoulders the saddle of a fat buck, which he had shot during his <ins title="Transcriber's note: original reads 'reconnoissance'">reconnaisance</ins>, wrapped in his own hide, and in his right hand, together with his rifle, a long <ins title="Transcriber's note: original reads 'Camanche'">Comanche</ins> arrow reddened with dry gore. He found the whole party sleeping so soundly that he walked into the very midst of them without disturbing one of the number. For many hours, not a sound was heard in the neighbourhood of the little encampment. The moon rose and soared above it in her silver beauty, and bathed everything for miles and miles around in soft lustre—the stars rose and set—and the first grey ray of morning was just beginning to pale the eastern horizon, when a deep, continuous, hollow sound, like the roar of the distant surf, aroused every one in an instant. "Indians! it is Indians!" exclaimed Gordon. "Stand to the horses, lads. Strike the tent like lightning. If one of the beasts <ins title="Transcriber's note: original reads 'nigh'">neigh</ins> or stir, we are lost." Three of the dragoons, who had risen to their feet on the first alarm, obeyed his orders in an instant, as regarded the horses; Gordon himself struck the tent, and in deep silence, speechless and almost breathless, they awaited the result. Nearer and nearer drew the din. Gordon was right; it was the fast falling tramp of unshodden horse hoofs. Five minutes, or less, after the first alarm, the mounted horde swept by the mouth of the gorge, so near that the travellers could see their shaven and plumed scalps, their easy martial seats on their wild horses, and their long lances in relief against the sky. But the darkness which brooded over the little basin protected them, and almost as soon as it was there, the danger had passed over. But as it ended, and the men had time to look around them, it was perceived at once that one of their number—Pierre, the Partisan—was missing, and that the sergeant, although that din might have aroused the dead, still lay asleep on the greensward. Asleep, indeed! in that sleep which knows no waking. Three deep knife-wounds in his bosom, his throat cut from ear to ear, the cords severed which had bound him to the prisoner—these sufficed to tell the tale. But the Mexican and the sergeant's charger had vanished, and the Partisan and brown Emperor were absent. Horror, and a sense near akin to despair, fell on the party thus abandoned. For a little while they gazed in each other's faces, mute and white with surprise, if not with terror. Gordon was the first to recover from his consternation, and he spoke cheeringly. "The prisoner has escaped, and the Partisan has gone in pursuit of him, that is clear," he said. "We have nothing to do but to wait here until he returns. We have food in abundance; and water and forage for the horses, and we can keep this pass against all the Indians in the universe, so long as our ammunition lasts—and we can fire five hundred rounds, if the Comanches find us out, which I think14 they will not. Keep good heart, therefore, men, and, trust me, Pierre Delacroix will be back here before sunset." "But the Comanches! have not they cut him off?" whispered Julia, who had not spoken one word since the first alarm, but had behaved with the cool, passive fortitude of a brave, noble woman, awaiting the end in silent resignation. "Surely not," replied Gordon, confidently. "Had they fallen in with him, his brave horse would surely have outstripped them, and in his flight he would surely have led them in a contrary direction from this, our stronghold." "Sure he would. You are right! you are right!" said the quick-witted girl—"God's name be praised; you are right, Frank; he is safe." <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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