Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 April 1892 — A NIGHT RIDE. [ARTICLE]

A NIGHT RIDE.

“Yes, boys, they’ve loft the Reservation, and are killing and sculping ter boat thunder. I met a scout terday, over in tker Big Coolies, an' he posted me. “How many are thnr of ’em, Jack?” "Wal, as near ns lie could tell, t!:ar was somewhars erbout thirty er thirtyfive.” “How are they off for shooting irons? or didn’t yer find out?” “I should say they was all hoelcd fer keeps The scout told mo that they all had Winchesters, an' a hull lot of ’em had six-shooters as well. And now, boys, we’vo got ter ride like siu-tor-morrow, an’ gother in all the critters, an’ push 'em over into the Deep Creek country fer safety. I hardly think the reds will navigate thet way. So here's fer a smoke, and then bed.” The speaker, big Jack Burns, foreman of the I. C. Horse Outfit, leisurely produced pipe and tobacco os coolly ns if the murderous Apaches were a thousand miles away instead of thirty. We were only seven men, c unting the Mexican cook, in the dug-out attached to the corral, and were employes of the big I. C. Company; and well we knew what an Apache outbreak meant, for wo all had suffered more or less from their cruel raids. But we had been intrusted with the horses, and we intended, if possible for human power to keep them out of the clutches of the redskius. to do so; for we had all received many little kindnesses from the company, and from the highest to the lowest there was mutual good-wiil and friendly feeling,—very different from some outfits, who treat their vaqueros with fur less consideration than they do their horses or cattle. “Jimmie did yer go down to the Cactus Ranch fer the six-shooter cartridges?" •‘Yes, bet I did, an’ got purtv close ter a thousand rounds.” “Thet’s kind er comforting. Did yer here tell of any news down thnr?” “Nothing perticler. They was a-talk-in’ erbout thet thar settler, over ou Antelope Flat; they allowed thet if trouble come with the reds, he would be in a purty tough place, specially as he are a tenderfoot. I'd hate ter see anything happen ter ’em. I passed thar the other day, and his loetlo gal come out, and says, sorter anxious like: “ ‘Mistor, hev you got a leetle gal?’ “So I says, ‘No. little sissy, I hain’t.’ “ ‘Nor no leetle boys?’ says she. “ ‘Nary one,’ suys I, and I told her thet she w.ir tko fust lcotlo un I’d seen fer many a day, an’ wo hed quito a leetle ■Confab, an’ then her mother come out, ah’ she war a very pleasant lady, she war, an’ sho snid sho allowed thet the leetle un war lonesome for other leotle tins ter play with. They’ve got a right young baby thar, too, but the leetle gal Bays that baby can't do nothing hut sleep, an’ laugh, an’—— “Hark! listen, men, listen!” and in second big Jack had pushed open the door, and was looking intently out over the moonlit prairie. “What is it, Jack?” asked the bovs, as they gathered outside. “Did yer hear shooting?” “No, but thar s a shod hoss a-comiug Jike blazes.”

Yes, the thud, thud, thud, of ironshod hoofs were now plainly heard, and away opt 1} faint glimmer of dust sould be discerned. , t 2oys, I’m afeajed thet thar's tr >uble somewhere” continued Jack. “Wal, jodging from the way thet hoss is a-hitting the trail, we can mightv soon tell now,” said Hank Shover And soon the sight that greeted our eyes showed us that there was trouble somewhere, —for out of the dust and glimmer sprang a powerful white mare, while on her back, securely tied to the heavy frontier saddle, was the new settler’s “leetle gal." With astonished and anxious faces, we sprang to the mare’s side, and lifted the little maid out of the saddle; und big Jack carried her tenderly in:o the dugout, while with wondering faces the rest of us quietly followed. “Please, Mr. Big Jack. I’ve brought a letter from pap." “A letter, child. You’ve brought a letter twenty miles fer me. What in the name o’ tne Great Medicine war yer dad a thinkin erbout tor send a baby like you with it?” “I don't know, please, Mr. Big Jack, perhaps he’s hurt, ’cause his eyes were wet and mamma was crying. Then papa wrote a letter and put me on old Nan and told me to keep on the wugon trail till I got to the lone tree, and then head, for the Black Canon, and he gave me a switch to beat old Nan, ’cause ho •aid if Nan didn’t run good, baby Frank would never laugh uny more, —and that would be awful, go 1 beat her all tho and came drefful quick,"—and judging from the mare's heaving sides, the little one had ridden her for all she was worth.

“Wal, give mo ther letter, leetle un, un’ we’ll mighty soon seo what’s wanted.” The letter had been securely fastened to the little one’s dress, but it was soou In Jack’s hands. “Sissy, don’t yer feel like eatin’ a bite of grub, and drinkin’ a cup of coffee?” “No, thank you, sir, but I am sleepy, und very tired, and —” “Juan, keep the child sort of umused fer a minit. an’ boys come”; and big Jack led the way to the far end of the room. “Boys, here's the deuce ter pay.” In a low voice, he read the letter; To ti>« Boys at the Stone Corral: I wu« out on the ridge at t!ie hack of my •hant.r. ami not over twenty milee awav I «« * big baud of Apaches coming. They wit be here inside of hours. My little girl is a good rider, tnd the mare is surefooted and last, so I send this by her, asking you tor aid. Mov God guide her to you. If you Hkmiot help us, our doom is scaled Mj relatives live in I. . Michigan; write to them in regard to my little daughter. Hoping 8»d pr ying you are in sufficient few * • us. Fit AN K STAN lON. God knows I would not want help for mymtf. but think of my wife aod baby. Tears wero m our eyes, as Jack fnished the short and rather incoherent letter; and then,— good heavens, to think that we were only seven in ail. **© keys, if we were only a few more.” “What can we do. Jack?” "Wei, I'm efeared if we tried ter git help bam the Cactus Hunch it would be HHf? •' H

“Do the leetle gal know the trouble?’ “No.” “Wal, let’s ask hei cf liar dad hav go shooting irons.” s “Sissy, did yer pap hov guus, anc things ter homo ter shoot jaok-rabbitf 5 with?” “Yes, sir, he’s got a shotgun, and he bought a nice rifle that shoots without loading, and please, Mr. Big Jack, can go to bed now? I’m so tired.” “Jimmie, put the lectio un in youi bunk, an’ you kin’ turn in with me if we gets time ter sleep.” “But Jack, hain’t wo orgoin’ ter try an’ help ’em somehow?” “God knows I wish we could. But we have ter loave one man with tho hosses, an’ what are six agin a crowd?” And truly it looked hopeless,—but 0, to think of the fate of that gentle mother and tender babe. “Boys, this is maddening. We must do somethin’.” Jimmie had by this timo fixod the bunk and taken off tho child’s shoes. “And now, dearie, pile in, an’ take a real good snooze.” “But, Mr. Jimmie, you must hour me say my prayers first.” if a sholl had como crashing into the dug-out it could not have created moro astonishment than tho simple request of the child. Quick-witted Jimmie hud, however, pulled himself together quickor than a flash, and before the child noticed tho astonished and confused looks, ho lmd carefully spread a bearskin on the dirt floor, and gentiy as her own mother hade her “sav her prayers.” The beautiful Lord's Prayer was repeated in the clear voice, and them came, “And please, my Heavenly Father, bless mv own dear papa and mamma, and little baby brother, and Mr. Big Jack, and all the boys at the Stono Corral.” Starting up nnd drawing tho back of his hand hastily across his eyes, and endeavoring to steady his voice, big Jack said: “Jimmie, you an’ Juan stuy an’ tend ter the leetle un. Wo uns nro ergoin’ to holp the folks.” Crash, and the dug-out door flew open, and five doternined men —yes, men in every sense of the word that night—rushed to the corral, buckling on the heavy six-shooters as they ran. The heavy stock saddles are slapped on, and m iscular arms tug and tug at the long lntigo straps, until tho chinchas Beem ns if they would cut through hair nnd hide, so tight are they. “Be sure and cinch ’em well, boys, wo can’t stop to tighten 'em after wo got started.”

“Ay, ay, yer kin bet on us, Jack.” “Are yer all 0 K?” “You bet.” * “Then head fer the Baldy Mountain an’ if ever you spurred, spur this night.” Out and away, leaning low, until our breasts annost rested .on tho saddle horn, and with spurs tightly pressed against our bronchos' sides, we swept swiftly 1 away from the stone corral. Big Jack was on the left and n little in the lead; and ns we rushed over a low sand ridge, ! I saw him nnd his horse showing dark and clearly cut against the sky. lie was riding his best this night, and his blue I roan was stretching himself like a thoroughbred. Aud now we came to a long stretch covered with loose and jagged granite; at any other timo wo would have pulled up and carefully picked our way over. But to-night the stake we were riding for was far too precious to care for horseflesh, or even our own necks; so with slightly tightened reins and only our toes resting in the broad stirrups, we pushed j madly across, the sparks flashing as the J iron shoes clashed against the rough rock. Across at last, thunk God, and once more on the smooth plain, our gallant cayuses, with ears well forward, and distended nostrils, were stretching themselves nnd throwing dust like heroes. Out of the sand and up on the rim rock we tried n spurt, but the jaded animals were doing their best, and the steel i failed to get an extra jump out of them, j Another mile would bring us to a point j wLere we would he able if ij wc-ro dav- ! light to sqe the settler's cabin. TifhougTi a long J„g, then a dry creek | bed; crashing through the stunted willows that lined its hanks, we breasted the slight ascent, and in another minute were on the summit. We involuntarily checked our panting horses, nnd a thrill of horror ran through us as wo saw a bright glare of light ahead. “Too iate, too late, boys. The reds . have got ’em.” Jack's voice souuded almost like a groan. “llow far are we from the place?” “Erbout five miles 'round by tho wagon road, dut we kin lead our horses down the deer trail, and git thar in two.”

“Then let’s follow the deer trail; we may yit bo in firm ter help ’em some way." Leading our staggering, trembling horses, we cautiously crept down the precipitous trail, and mo ntaiu, bonded straight for the glare, which even in tho valley could be distinctly seen.

Nobody now remembered that we were only five to thirty, and, goaded and cut by the spurs, the cayuses carried us rapidly over the ground. When within half a mile we halted in the shadow of some overhanging rocks, while Hank cautiously crawled up, and out on a projecting shelf to reconnoitre, for if the Apaches had any Ecouts thrown out we should have to bo careful, as our only chnnco of success was to surprise them. While wo were waiting we carefully examined our six-shooters, and in another miuuto. to our great joy, Hunk was telling us that tho barn was on fire, but the dwelling-house was still intact, aud thut he could distinctly hear the crack of rifles, showing us plainly that the brave settlor was still defending his loved ones.

“Now boys, here’s thor best plan I kin think on—l hnin’t extra much of a gineral, but 1 hev au idea thet it’s the best way fer us ter do. We’ll lead our critters down this gully till we git ter thet scrub brush—wo kin do thet without the reds kelching on tor us —then we’ll mount. Yer see by that time the cayuses will be gitting their wind purty well. Then we’ll ride ’right squaie down on ’em, yelling like fury an' whatever a red gits up we'll down him. Then if they make it too hot for us, we'll dodge inter the cabin.” “An’ what then, Jack?” “Wal, we’ll sorter help the settler to hold the fort. Anyway we kin keep ’em from setting the shanty atiro, ’till the cavalry comes. By this time the troops must be on the trail an’ afier ’em red hos. They can’t be a great ways off, nohow.” Silently as spectres then we led our horses down the gully, carefully avoiding the rocks that here und there cropped out through tho sand. Reuching the scrub willows, wo found ourselves within 300 yards of the house, and peihaps about 400 from the burning barn. ! Climbing quietly into our saddles, we bent low to keep out of the glare, and Jack whispered. “Are yer all ready?” “Yes,” whispered back, and we pressed our sombreros tightly down ow our head*.

With a rush and a crash we ton through the brush nnd rode at full speec out into tho clearing, now almost as ligh' as day, for the big, heavy barn timber: were burning clearly nnd steadily. Across we wont, our excited animali plunging and leaping like panthers, bul still no Indiaus. Past the house and within a few yards or the burning barn we pulled up. Tht silence confused us. Were we to lat< after all? Mechanically we closed up—a fatal move, for with unearthly yells nnd blood-curdling whoops, the Indians from u low sag in the ground on the left sent a murderous volley crashing intc our midst. Down went our brave horses, auc d.»wn went their riders. Four of us scrambled to our feet as we cleared ourselves from the stirrup leathers, only t< throw oursolves behind our lead-riddled dying animals just in timo to save ourselves; for again the villains poured their lead into us —this time, than! heuven, doing us no harm. I'sing our horses for breastworks. w< tried to return their tire, hut they wer* effectually concealed. “Anybody hit?” “Yes, I saw Hank throw up his hand* and fall face down.” “Boys, we’vo got ter get out of this ot they’ll surround us sure.” “Kin we make a break for the cabin?’ “I think we might manage ter crawl thar, by kinder keepinc the horses be. tween us and the red cusses.” “Hark, somebody is hollering!”

Looking over our shoulders, we saw that the door of the shanty was part I j open, and the settler vigorously beckoning to us. “We must try an’ Sio if poor Hank is clean done fer, fust.” One of the hoys crawled cautiously around to tho dead horse and fallen rider, and returning in the same manner, whispered sorrowfully that “poor Hank hed passed in his checks.” “Now, boys, we'll make a run for it, — stoop low,” and with a spring, away we rushed for the door. Another streum of lead whistled by us, but nobody fell, and in another second, we were inside tho heavy door, and helping the settler barricade it. “I heard you when you charged by, men. but it took mo some time to open the door, as l had a hull lot of things piled agin it?” “Are ye all *afe so far, Stanton?” “Yes,thank God. My wife is guarding the hack of the house, and I'm watching this part. What we feared most is that they will fire the place, like they did the burn My little daughter reached you safely, did she?” “Yes, and is staying in the dug-out at the corral. We left two of the boys with her.”

“Now, men, I'll show you the loopholes in the logs, and I’ll go and toll the wife tho little one is safe.” Hour after hour we strained our eyes, peering through tlie loop-holes trying to catch sight of tho redskins. But they were very wary aud seemed to have a wholesome dread of venturiug into the fireiit space in tlie front of the house. Presently Stanton came quietly in and said: “Boys, there's something going ou at the hack that I don’t understand.” . Leaving one man in the front room, we repaired with him to the room in the rear of the building. Jack pressed his face close to a loophole and stared steadily out into tho darkness. Suddenly he stepped back, and, pulling his six-shooter, pointed it through the loophole and fired. A wild yell of rage answered the shot. “Aha. Ithougbt 1 could fetch him. I saw him crawling up, an' had a burning stick under his blanket. I guess he won’t burn no more shanties. Give me a chaw of terbneker, somebody.” And now wo saw a faint streak of dawn in tho east, and soon the sun was gilding the distant Baldy Mountain, and —what to us was a far more welcome sight still—was glistening on the scabbards and accoutrements of a company of Llnclo Ssm's boys as they came through the pass at a sharp trot. Ths SarTlcaueu d<>or was quickly thrown open, nnd rushing out we saw tho Indians in full retreat a mile out on the mesa. Judging from their haste they must have seen the cavalry, for they were pushing their ponies. The cavalry had also caught sight of them, for they were coming line the wind, and as they swept by, in spite of our weariness and grief at the loss of our nurd, we cheered them until wo were hoarse.

The next day wo obtained horses and safely escorted the settler, his wife and baby to tho Cactus Bunch. —[Overland Monthly.