THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL by COLONEL HENRY INMAN (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

As Ever Scalped a White Man, Swooping Down On Them

Like A Hawk Upon A Chicken.

 

 

 

Hallowell, Between His Yells At The Mules, Cried out, "How Far Are

They Off Now, Booth?" For Of Course He Could See Nothing Of What

Was Going On In his Rear.

 

 

 

Booth Replied as Well As He Could Judge Of The Distance, While

Hallowell Renewed his Yelling at The Animals And Redoubled his

Efforts With The Lash.

 

 

 

Noiselessly The Indians Gained on The Little Wagon, For They Had Not

As Yet Uttered a Whoop, And The Determined driver, Anxious To Know

How Far The Red devils Were From Him, Again Asked booth.  The Latter

Told Him How Near They Were, Guessing at The Distance, From Which

Hallowell Gathered inspiration For Fresh Cries And Still More Vigorous

Blows With His Whip.

 

 

 

Booth, All This Time, Was Sitting On The Box Containing The Crackers

And Sardines, Watching The Rapid Approach Of The Cut-Throats, And

Seeing With Fear And Trembling The Ease With Which They Gained upon

The Little Mules.

 

 

 

Once More Hallowell Made His Stereotyped inquiry Of Booth; But Before

The Latter Could Reply, Two Shots Were Fired from The Rifles Of The

Indians, Accompanied by A Yell That Was Demoniacal Enough To Cause

The Blood To Curdle In one'S Veins.  Hallowell Yelled at The Mules,

And Booth Yelled too; For What Reason He Could Not Tell, Unless To

Keep Company With His Comrade, Who Plied the Whip More Mercilessly

Than Ever Upon The Poor Animals' Backs, And The Wagon Flew Over

The Rough Road, Nearly Upsetting at Every Jump.

 

 

 

In Another Moment The Bullets From Two Of The Indians' Rifles Passed

Between Booth And Hallowell, Doing No Damage, And Almost Instantly

The Savages Charged upon Them, At The Same Time Dividing Into Two

Parties, One Going On One Side And One On The Other, Both Delivering

A Volley Of Arrows Into The Wagon As They Rode By.

 

 

 

Just As The Savages Rushed past The Wagon, Hallowell Cried out To

Booth, "Cap, I'M Hit!" And Turning around To Look, Booth Saw An Arrow

Sticking In hallowell'S Head Above His Right Ear.  His Arm Was Still

Plying The Whip, Which Was Going On Unceasingly As The Sails Of A

Windmill, And His Howling at The Mules Only Stopped long Enough To

Answer, "Not Much!" In response To Booth'S Inquiry Of "Does It Hurt?"

As He Grabbed the Arrow And Pulled it Out Of His Head.

 

 

 

The Indians Had By This Time Passed on, And Then, Circling Back,

Prepared for Another Charge.  Down They Came, Again Dividing as Before

Into Two Bands, And Delivering another Shower Of Arrows.  Hallowell

Ceased his Yelling Long Enough To Cry Out, "I'M Hit Once More, Cap!"

Looking at The Plucky Driver, Booth Saw This Time An Arrow Sticking

Over His Left Ear, And Hanging Down His Back.  He Snatched it Out,

Inquiring If It Hurt, But Received the Same Answer: "No, Not Much."

 

 

 

Both Men Were Now Yelling at The Top Of Their Voices; And The Mules

Were Jerking The Wagon Along The Rough Trail At A Fearful Rate,

Frightened nearly Out Of Their Wits At The Sight Of The Indians And

The Terrible Shouting and Whipping Of The Driver.

 

 

 

Booth Crawled to The Back End Of The Wagon Again, Looked out Of The

Hole In the Cover, And Saw The Indians Moving across The Trail,

Preparing For Another Charge.  One Old Fellow, Mounted on A Black

Pony, Was Jogging along In the Centre Of The Road Behind Them, But

Near Enough And Evidently Determined to Send An Arrow Through The

Puckered hole Of The Sheet.  In a Moment The Savage Stopped his Pony

And Let Fly.  Booth Dodged sideways--The Arrow Sped on Its Course, And

Whizzing Through The Opening, Struck The Black-Walnut "Lazy-Back"

Of The Seat, The Head Sticking Out On The Other Side, And The Sudden

Check Causing The Feathered end To Vibrate Rapidly With A Vro-O-O-Ing

Sound.  With A Quick Blow Booth Struck It, And Broke The Shaft From

The Head, Leaving The Latter Embedded in the Wood.

 

 

 

As Quickly As Possible, Booth Rushed to The Hole And Fired his

Revolver At The Old Devil, But Failed to Hit Him.  While He Was

Trying To Get In another Shot, An Arrow Came Flying Through From

The Left Side Of The Trail, And Striking Him On The Inside Of The

Elbow, Or "Crazy-Bone," So Completely Benumbed his Hand That He

Could Not Hold On To The Pistol, And It Dropped into The Road With

One Load Still In its Chamber.  Just Then The Mules Gave An

Extraordinary Jump To One Side, Which Jerked the Wagon Nearly From

Under Him, And He Fell Sprawling On The End-Gate, Evenly Balanced,

With His Hands On The Outside, Attempting To Clutch At Something To

Save Himself!  Seeing His Predicament, The Indians Thought They Had

Him Sure, So They Gave A Yell Of Exultation, Supposing He Must

Tumble Out, But He Didn'T; He Fortunately Succeeded in grabbing

One Of The Wagon-Bows With His Right Hand And Pulled himself In;

But It Was A Close Call.

 

 

 

While All This Was Going On, Hallowell Had Not Been Neglected by

The Indians; About A Dozen Of Them Had Devoted their Time To Him,

But He Never Flinched.  Just As Booth Had Regained his Equilibrium

And Drawn His Second Revolver From Its Holster, Hallowell Yelled

To Him: "Right Off To Your Right, Cap, Quick!"

 

 

 

Booth Tumbled over The Back Of The Seat, And, Clutching at A Wagon-Bow

To Steady Himself, He Saw, "Off To The Right," An Indian Who Was In

The Act Of Letting an Arrow Drive At Hallowell; It Struck The Side Of

The Box, And At The Same Instant Booth Fired, Scaring The Red devil Badly.

 

 

 

Back Over The Seat Again He Rushed to Guard The Rear, Only To Find

A Young Buck Riding Close To The Side Of The Wagon, His Pony Running

In The Deep Path Made By The Ox-Drivers In walking alongside Of Their

Teams.  Putting His Left Arm Around One Of The Wagon-Bows To Prevent

His Being Jerked out, Booth Quietly Stuck His Revolver Through The

Hole In the Sheet; But Before He Could Pull The Trigger, The Indian

Flopped over On The Off Side Of His Pony, And Nothing Could Be Seen

Of Him Excepting One Arm Around His Animal'S Neck And From The Knee

To The Toes Of One Leg.  Booth Did Not Wait For Him To Ride Up;

He Could Almost Hit The Pony'S Head With His Hand, So Close Was He

To The Wagon.  Booth Struck At The Beast Several Times, But The

Indian Kept Him Right Up In his Place By Whipping Him On The Opposite

Of His Neck.  Presently The Plucky Savage'S Arm Began To Move.

Booth Watched him Intently, And Saw That He Had Fixed an Arrow In

His Bow Under The Pony'S Shoulder; Just As He Was On The Point Of

Letting Go The Bowstring, With The Head Of The Arrow Not Three Feet

From Booth'S Breast As He Leaned out Of The Hole, The Latter Struck

Frantically At The Weapon, Dodged back Into The Wagon, And Up Came

The Indian.  Whenever Booth Looked out, Down Went The Indian On

The Other Side Of His Pony, To Rise Again In a Moment, And Booth,

Afraid To Risk Himself With His Head And Breast Exposed at This Game

Of Hide And Seek, Drew Suddenly Back As The Indian Went Down The

Third Time, And In a Second Came Up; But This Was Once Too Often.

Booth Had Not Dodged completely Into The Wagon, Nor Dropped his

Revolver, And As The Indian Rose He Fired.

 

 

 

The Savage Was Naked to The Waist; The Ball Struck Him In the Left

Nipple, The Blood Spirted out Of The Wound, His Bow And Arrows And

Lariat, With Himself, Rolled off The Pony, Falling Heavily On The

Ground, And With One Convulsive Contraction Of His Legs And An "Ugh!"

He Was As Dead As A Stone.

 

 

 

"I'Ve Killed one Of 'Em!" Called out Booth To Hallowell, As He Saw

His Victim Tumble From His Pony.

 

 

 

"Bully For You, Cap!" Came Hallowell'S Response As He Continued his

Shouting, And The Blows Of That Tireless Whip Fell Incessantly On

The Backs Of The Poor Mules.

 

 

 

After He Had Killed the Warrior, Booth Kept His Seat On The Cracker Box,

Watching To See What The Indians Were Going To Do Next, When He Was

Suddenly Interrupted by Hallowell'S Crying Out To Him: "Off To The

Right Again, Cap, Quick!" And, Whirling around Instantly, He Saw An

Indian Within Three Feet Of The Wagon, With His Bow And Arrow Almost

Ready To Shoot; There Was No Time To Get Over The Seat, And As He

Could Not Fire So Close To Hallowell, He Cried to The Latter:

"Hit Him With The Whip!  Hit Him With The Whip!"  The Lieutenant

Diverted one Of The Blows Intended for The Mules, And Struck The

Savage Fairly Across The Face.  The Whip Had A Knot In the End Of It

To Prevent Its Unravelling, And This Knot Must Have Hit The Indian

Squarely In the Eye; For He Dropped his Bow, Put Both Hands Up To

His Face, Rubbed his Eyes, And Digging His Heels Into His Pony'S

Sides Was Soon Out Of Range Of A Revolver; But, Nevertheless, He Was

Given A Parting Shot As A Sort Of Salute.

 

 

 

A Terrific Yell From The Rear At This Moment Caused both Booth And

Hallowell To Look Around, And The Latter To Inquire: "What'S The

Matter Now, Booth?"  "They Are Coming Down On Us Like Lightning,"

Said He; And, Sure Enough, Those Who Had Been Prancing around Their

Dead Comrade Were Tearing along The Trail Toward The Wagon With A

More Hideous Noise Than When They Began.

 

 

 

Hallowell Yelled louder Than Ever And Lashed the Mules More Furiously

Still, But The Indians Gained upon Them As Easily As A Blooded racer

On A Common Farm Plug.  Separating as Before, And Passing On Each

Side Of The Wagon, They Delivered another Volley Of Bullets And

Arrows As They Rushed on.

 

 

 

When This Charge Was Made, Booth Drew Away From The Hole In the Rear

And Turned toward The Indians, But Forgot That As He Was Sitting,

With His Back Pressed against The Sheet, His Body Was Plainly Outlined

On The Canvas.

 

 

 

When The Indians Dashed by Hallowell Cried out, "I'M Hit Again, Cap!"

And Booth, In turning around To Go To His Relief, Felt Something

Pulling at Him; And Glancing Over His Left Shoulder He Discovered

An Arrow Sticking Into Him And Out Through The Wagon-Sheet.  With A

Jerk Of His Body, He Tore Himself Loose, And Going To Hallowell,

Asked him Where He Was Hit.  "In The Back," Was The Reply; Where

Booth Saw An Arrow Extending Under The "Lazy-Back" Of The Seat.

Taking Hold Of It, Booth Gave A Pull, But Hallowell Squirmed so That

He Desisted.  "Pull It Out!" Cried the Plucky Driver.  Booth Thereupon

Took Hold Of It Again, And Giving a Jerk Or Two, Out It Came.  He Was

Thoroughly Frightened as He Saw It Leave The Lieutenant'S Body;

It Seemed to Have Entered at Least Six Inches, And The Wound Appeared

To Be A Dangerous One.  Hallowell, However, Did Not Cease For A Moment

Belabouring The Mules, And His Yells Rang Out As Clear And Defiant

As Before.

 

 

 

After Extracting The Arrow From Hallowell'S Back, Booth Turned again

To The Opening In the Rear Of The Wagon To See What New Tricks The

Devils Were Up To, When Hallowell Again Called out, "Off To The Left,

Cap, Quick!"

 

 

 

Rushing To The Front As Soon As Possible, Booth Saw One Of The Savages

In The Very Act Of Shooting at Hallowell From The Left Side Of The

Wagon, Not Ten Feet Away.  The Last Revolver Was Empty, But Something

Had To Be Done At Once; So, Levelling The Weapon At Him, Booth Shouted

"Bang! You Son-Of-A-Gun!"  Down The Indian Ducked his Head; Rap, Rap,

Went His Knees Against His Pony'S Sides, And Away He Flew Over

The Prairie!

 

 

 

Back To His Old Place In the Rear Tumbled booth, To Load His Revolver.

The Cartridges They Used in the Army In those Days Were The

Old-Fashioned kind Made Of Paper.  Biting Off One End, He Endeavoured

To Pour The Powder Into The Chamber Of The Pistol; But As The Wagon

Was Tumbling From Side To Side, And Jumping Up And Down, As It Fairly

Flew Over The Rough Trail, More Fell Into The Bottom Of The Wagon

Than Into The Revolver.  Just As He Was Inserting a Ball, Hallowell

Yelled, "To The Left, Cap, Quick!"

 

 

 

Over The Seat Booth Piled once More, And There Was Another Indian

With His Bow And Arrow All Ready To Pinion The Brave Lieutenant.

Pointing His Revolver At Him, Booth Yelled as He Had At The Other,

But This Savage Had Evidently Noticed the First Failure, And Concluded

There Were No More Loads Left; So, Instead Of Taking a Hasty Departure,

He Grinned demoniacally And Endeavoured to Fix The Arrow