Kitabı oku: «Boys of The Fort: or, A Young Captain's Pluck», sayfa 11
CHAPTER XXXI
BURNING OF THE STOCKADE
"What will you do with him?" asked Joe of Benson, as he pointed to Nat Potts.
"Don't be hard on me," pleaded Potts. "I meant you no harm."
"You ought to be hung," grunted the old scout. "You aint fit to live and you know it, Potts. You could make an honest living if you wanted to, but you would rather cheat and steal."
"It was Matt Gilroy who got me into this," answered Potts. "He – "
"Don't put it off on to somebody else, Potts!" cried the old scout wrathfully. "If you aint got backbone enough to be honest, it's your own fault."
"Will you let me go, if I promise to leave this Territory?" asked Potts eagerly.
"No, sirree!" was Benson's answer. "You shall suffer the full extent of the law, and don't you forget it!"
While waiting for the return of Cass and Bernstein, the old scout searched Potts and the dead body of Fetter, taking away all their weapons and some papers which Potts carried.
These papers showed how deep-laid was the plot which the desperadoes had formed to gain possession of the money stored at Fort Carson, and how they had duped the Indians under White Ox and other chiefs to assist them.
At last Cass and Bernstein came back, all out of breath with running.
"Did he get away?" questioned Benson quickly.
"He did and he didn't," answered Cass. "He ran up Cedar Cliff, and seeing we were after him he tried to jump to the other side of the canyon. But he missed his footing in the dark, and went down, and that's the last we seen or heard of him."
"And that's the last anybody will see or hear of him," answered the old scout. "That canyon is three hundred feet deep, and nothing but sharp rocks, sides and bottom. He's done for."
The march onward was now resumed, the old scout forcing Potts to walk between himself and the boys, with his hands tied tightly behind him.
"If you make any noise it will cost you your life," said Benson to the prisoner, and thereupon Potts became perfectly mute. To tell the truth the desperado was thoroughly downcast, and his face was filled with despair.
They calculated that it was two o'clock in the morning when the heights above Decker's Falls was gained, a wild spot, from which old Benson had often viewed the fort, miles below, in the valley.
The driest possible brush was gathered, and on this were heaped several good-sized limbs, that the fire might burn an hour or two. Quarter of a mile away another similar fire was kindled, and at this spot the boys set off all but one of their remaining rockets.
"There is the answer from the fort!" said Joe, as two rockets flared up in the dim distance. "Anyway, Will knows we have gotten this far."
"But he doesn't know of the adventure we have had on the way," said Darry.
As soon as the fires were well under way old Benson began to lead the way down the mountain side toward a stretch of timber running within half a mile of the fort.
While they were in the midst of the forest a distant firing broke upon their ears.
"Is that from the fort?" asked Joe quickly.
"Reckon it is, lad," replied the old scout.
"Then our signals haven't done any good."
"Perhaps they have. But it may be that others have been out spying, and they have brought in the same report that Potts and his crowd were carrying."
As they advanced the firing died away for half an hour, but then it was renewed with vigor.
Coming to another hilltop, they could see the flashes, of fire as the rifles and cannon were discharged.
The Indians and desperadoes had approached Fort Carson in the darkness, hoping to catch those inside napping.
But the regulars had opened the firing, and two Indians were killed at the very outset.
The red men had brought forward a large quantity of brush, and at the risk of their lives they heaped this against the wooden stockade.
When Joe and the others who were with him gained the plains surrounding the stronghold they saw that the brush was burning at a lively rate.
"They are firing the fort!" cried Darry. "Heaven have mercy on those inside!"
"I see nothing of Indians or desperadoes," said Joe. "Where have they gone, Benson?"
"Reckon they didn't like those last signals," answered the old scout.
From a distance they watched the burning of the brush with interest. Here and there they saw the stockade take fire, and then saw a blaze on the stable within the fort yard.
"The fire has reached inside!" groaned Joe. "The place is doomed!"
"Come on! There is no use of our staying here longer!" cried Benson, and led the way across the plain, now lit up by the conflagration beyond. He forced Potts with him.
Suddenly several shots rang out, and Joe felt a bullet graze his hand. Then he saw Cass pitch forward on his face, and heard Potts give a yell of mortal agony.
"Poor Cass, he's a goner!" muttered Bernstein. "And the desperado is dead, too."
No more was said, for all felt they must run as never before, if they would save themselves. Soon the gully was reached, and they dropped to shelter. But no more shots followed, and in a few minutes more they were close to the burning stockade.
"Friends!" shouted Benson, to a guard. "Don't shoot! Come out here and put out the fire!"
"Is that you?" came from Captain Moore, in the semi-darkness. "Are Joe and Darry safe?"
"Yes," came from the boys.
There was no time to say more, for already the soldiers were forming a bucket brigade, carrying water with which to put out the flames. Some had long poles with hooks, and with these they dragged a large part of the burning brush into the ditch.
All this while some of the regulars remained on guard, and occasionally a shot rang out, answered by another from a great distance.
"They have surely withdrawn," said the young captain. "Benson, the trick worked after all."
"That's right, captain. But it won't work many hours, you can depend upon that."
"If it only makes them hold off until morning I shall be satisfied," concluded Captain Moore.
By the exertion of the soldiers the fire was kept from communicating with any of the buildings but the stable, and of this structure only a corner of the roof suffered. But the stockade was greatly damaged, and by the time the last spark was out it was seen that it had sustained three openings each eight to twelve feet long.
"We'll have to repair these," said Captain Moore; and, tired though the workers were, he made them haul fresh timbers from the woodpile and also tear up part of the barn floor, that the stockade might present a whole front to the enemy once more.
The fighting had greatly agitated the women in the fort, and nobody had slept for two nights. Yet even now, with the fire out and silence brooding everywhere, nobody thought of going to bed. All felt that this was but the lull before the greater storm.
If only the relief would come! Such was the thought of everyone but Drossdell, who still remained in the guardhouse, heavily chained, hands and feet. Drossdell was deeply downcast, and with good reason.
At last came the welcome signs of dawn in the east, and then a few of the soldiers, who could stand the strain no longer, threw themselves down to sleep. The others, pale and haggard, sat around in little groups wondering what was going to happen next. To each was served extra-strong coffee and the best rations the fort afforded.
"It cannot last much longer," said Captain Moore, trying to cheer them up. "Relief must come sooner or later."
He had now but a pitiful twenty-eight men left, including old Benson and Joe and Darry. Twenty-eight! What could such a number do against the attack of two or three hundred desperadoes and Indians? The situation was certainly one to make the stoutest heart quail.
"It was too bad you came out here on a vacation," said the captain sadly, to his brother and his cousin. "Perhaps you'll never see home again."
"Oh, Will, do you really think it's so bad?" came from Darry.
"It is hard to tell what I think, Darry. I know we are in a mighty tight box."
"Let us hope for the best," said Joe. "Leeson must be doing something."
"If he wasn't caught and shot down, Joe."
"That is true," and now Joe gave a long sigh that meant a good deal.
"There is but one thing in our favor now, this daylight. But if no relief reaches us by sundown – " The captain did not finish, but shook his head.
A moment later one of the guards called down that he could see some Indians to the northwest of the fort.
A glass was brought into play, and by this a party of seventy-five red men could be made out marching directly for the fort. Behind the red men came a dozen or fifteen whites.
Hardly had this discovery been made when another body of Indians and whites were seen marching upon the fort from the south.
"We are to suffer a double attack now!" was Captain Moore's comment. "Heaven help us and bring us through it in safety!"
CHAPTER XXXII
RELIEF AT LAST – CONCLUSION
The attack did not come until half an hour later, and during the time of waiting the nerves of the boys were strained to the utmost. The seriousness of the situation was depicted upon the faces of all the soldiers, who felt that the coming contest must decide whether or not the fort was to stand.
The firing began on the part of the Indians and desperadoes, who advanced upon the stronghold from four points of the compass at once. The enemy had learned the folly of massing their force, and Indians and whites came on in a wide open skirmish line.
The soldiers within the stockade fired upon the advancing foe as best they could. Yet by the time red men and desperadoes were within reach of the stockade only three of the foe had fallen.
As before, some of the Indians carried a board with strips nailed across it for steps, and the desperadoes had a similar contrivance. The two boards were placed at opposite ends of the stockade, and, while some of the enemy began to mount them, others came rushing on with a tree trunk, which they used as a battering-ram against the stockade gate.
The noise was now terrific, as rifle and cannon shot sounded out, mingled with the warwhoops of the Indians and the groans and shrieks of the wounded and dying.
As for Joe and Darry, the first shock over, each felt as if he was in a dream – as if this terrible sight presented to their gaze could not be true. They shot off their rifles mechanically, yet when it was all over Joe remembered how he had sent one redskin tumbling back into the ditch, and Darry could tell of a desperado who had dropped his gun because of a shot through the shoulder.
"Fight to the last, men!" shouted Captain Moore, as he discharged his pistol at the leader of the desperadoes. Gilroy had hit him in the forearm, but the young officer's aim was still more true, and Matt Gilroy went down never to rise again.
In the meanwhile old Benson was having a terrific hand-to-hand encounter with White Ox. Each had fired a shot at the other, and now they closed in, the Indian chief with his hunting-knife and the old scout with his clubbed rifle.
The struggle was as short as it was thrilling. Benson made a pass which the Indian chief dodged. Then White Ox plunged his knife toward the old scout's heart, but a quick turn made it catch in Benson's hunting-shirt. Down came the rifle butt a second time, and the blow, catching White Ox on the neck, forced him to his knees. Even then he struck at Benson's legs, but the old scout leaped over his head. Then down came the rifle butt once more, and the Indian chief gave a groan which was his last.
Fully sixty Indians and a score of desperadoes were now within the stockade, and it looked as if all was lost to our friends. A part of the regulars were fighting at the entrance to the stable, but the majority were gathered around Captain Moore at the entrance to the officers' quarters. Behind these were the ladies of the fort and the officers who were sick.
"Perhaps we had better surrender," said Colonel Fairfield, when told by his wife of the condition of affairs. "If we don't – " He could not finish.
"Kill the white soldiers!" was the cry from the Indians. "White Ox has fallen! They must all die! Spare nobody!"
Captain Moore was now fighting as never before. Beside him stood old Benson, and not far away were Joe and Darry. Each of the number was wounded, and hardly any of the regulars were better off. Ammunition was running low. Still the horrible din continued, and the dust and smoke were blinding.
But now, hark, what was that? From a distance sounded out a bugle call. Then came a shot, followed by another, and then a regular volley. Captain Moore started, and his eyes lit with pleasure.
"The relief!" he shouted. "The relief from Fort Prescott! Boys, we are saved!"
"Hurrah, the relief!" was the shout which made the fort ring from end to end. "The relief! We are saved!"
"Give it to the reds and to the desperadoes!" came from old Benson. "Teach 'em the lesson so they won't forget it! Don't let a skunk of 'em escape!"
Nearer and nearer came the shots from without, and a bugle continued to blow calls to a detachment still further away. Then up to the fort rode a troop of dashing cavalry from Fort Prescott, Hank Leeson beside them, and every horse covered with foam. Crack! crack! crack! spoke up the firearms of the newcomers, and Indians and desperadoes fell in all directions.
"We must retreat!" shouted one of the desperadoes. "The game is up!"
"Retreat! retreat!" came from the others; and the red men took up the cry. Soon the enemy were pouring from the fort grounds even more rapidly than they had entered.
There was only a pitiful handful that could follow them, the young captain, Benson, and nine regulars. But there was no need for even that number, for the blood of the cavalry was up and every desperado and red man received one or more shots the instant he appeared. Soon the enemy were flying in all directions. But the cavalry went after them, and in the end all but four desperadoes and thirty-six Indians were killed, the others being forced to surrender.
It was rather a silent party that gathered in and around the fort that night. Victory had come to our friends, but the cost had been a heavy one, and the hospital ward of the fort was filled to over-flowing.
Hank Leeson came in for many a warm hand-shake, and was made to tell his story over and over again.
"It was a close shave," said the old hunter. "Twice I got in a close box with the redskins an' I had to shoot one of 'em down afore I could git away. Thet's wot kept me so long. I'm glad we wasn't an hour later, fer then mebbe we'd 'a' been too late."
All of the principal desperadoes were dead and the same can be said of the Indians. Among the slain was found the body of Bicker, and, if the truth must be told, nobody mourned his loss.
"He is responsible for a great deal of this suffering," said Captain Moore. "Had he lived it is likely he would have been court-martialed and shot."
Both of the boys had been slightly wounded, yet each felt happy when the fighting was over and they were assured that from henceforth they would be safe to come and go as they pleased.
"It was like a regular campaign," said Darry. "Joe, we have become soldiers after all!"
"That's so, Darry," replied Joe. "We can call ourselves, after this, the boys of the fort!"
A few words more, and we will bring this story of fort life in the Great Northwest to a close.
Two weeks after the events just narrated Joe and Darry returned to their homes. Here they were received with open arms by their parents, who had heard all manner of ugly reports and who half expected to see them coming back wounded and crippled for life. But the lads soon proved that they were not so bad off as that, and inside of a few months both were as well as ever.
At the fort an active campaign was started under Captain Moore and the commander of the cavalry, and this resulted in the rounding up of six more desperadoes and thirty Indians. Lieutenant Carrol and four regulars were found as prisoners of the Indians and were released.
The desperadoes were turned over to the civil courts, and were dealt with severely, two being hung and the others being imprisoned for years.
Drossdell was court-martialed, and after a long trial was sentenced to imprisonment in a military prison for ten years. He served six years, after which he was released. To his credit be it said, he turned over a new leaf, and from the West went to Cuba, where he fought with the Cubans against Spanish rule. He was with the Cubans at the fall of Santiago and died a few weeks later of tropical fever.
As soon as the proper medicines could be obtained and administered, those who had been drugged at the fort began to recover, and inside of two weeks Colonel Fairfield, Captain Lee, and our other friends were around once more, although rather weak.
The mining company whose money had been saved was exceedingly thankful to Captain Moore and the others for what had been done, and when, several years later, the young captain left the regular army, this company offered him a lucrative position, which he accepted and which he fills to this day.
Old Benson and Hank Leeson still continue to roam the Great Northwest, and are happy. Occasionally they receive a visit from Joe and Darry, and are never more satisfied than when they have the two young men with them on a hunting and fishing tour.
"Takes me back to years ago," says old Benson. "Years ago, when you were both green as grass."
"Well, we are not so green now," replies Joe, with a quiet smile. "Through bitter experience we have learned a thing or two."
"Now it is over I am glad I didn't miss it," puts in Darry. "We got a genuine taste of soldier life, didn't we?"
"That's so," adds Joe. "We were really and truly the Boys of the Fort."
