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

In his Bow.

Booth Rose Up In the Wagon, And Grasping Hold Of One Of Its Bows

With His Left Hand, Seized the Revolver By The Muzzle, And With All

The Force He Could Muster Hurled it At The Impudent Brute.  It Was

A Remington, Its Barrel Octagon-Shaped, With Sharp Corners, And When

It Was Thrown, It Turned in the Air, And Striking The Indian

Muzzle-First On The Ribs, Cut A Long Gash.

 

 

 

"Ugh!" He Grunted, As, Dropping His Bow And Spear, He Flung Himself

Over The Side Of His Pony, And Away He Went Across The Prairie.

 

 

 

Only One Revolver Remaining Now, And That Empty, With The Savages

Still Howling around The Apparently Doomed men Like So Many Demons!

Booth Fell Over The Seat, As Was His Usual Fate Whenever He Attempted

To Get To The Back Of The Wagon, Picked up The Empty Revolver, And

Tried to Load It; But Before He Could Bite The End Of A Cartridge,

 Hallowell Yelled, "Cap, I'M Hit Again!"

 

 

 

"Where This Time?" Inquired booth, Anxiously.  "In The Hand," Replied

Hallowell; And, Looking around, Booth Noticed that Although His Right

Arm Was Still Thrashing at The Now Lagging Mules With As Much Energy

As Ever, Through The Fleshy Part Of The Thumb Was An Arrow, Which Was

Flopping Up And Down As He Raised and Lowered his Hand In ceaseless

Efforts To Keep Up The Speed of The Almost Exhausted animals.

 

 

 

"Let Me Pull It Out," Said Booth, As He Came Forward To Do So.

 

 

 

"No, Never Mind," Replied hallowell; "Can'T Stop! Can'T Stop!" And Up

And Down Went The Arm, And Flip, Flap, Went The Arrow With It, Until

Finally It Tore Through The Flesh And Fell To The Ground.

 

 

 

Along They Bowled, The Indians Yelling, And The Occupants Of The

Little Wagon Defiantly Answering Them, While Booth Continued to

Struggle Desperately With That Empty Pistol, In his Vain Efforts

To Load It.  In another Moment Hallowell Shouted, "Booth, They Are

Trying To Crowd The Mules Into The Sunflowers!"

 

 

 

Alongside Of The Trail Huge Sunflowers Had Grown The Previous Summer,

And Now Their Dry Stalks Stood As Thick As A Cane-Brake; If The Wagon

Once Got Among Them, It Would Be Impossible For The Mules To Keep Up

Their Gallop.  The Savages Seemed to Realize This; For One Huge Old

Fellow Kept Riding alongside The Off Mule, Throwing His Spear At Him

And Then Jerking It Back With The Thong, One End Of Which Was Fastened

To His Wrist.  The Near Mule Was Constantly Pushed further And Further

From The Trail By His Mate, Which Was Jumping Frantically, Scared out

Of His Senses By The Indian.

 

 

 

At This Perilous Juncture, Booth Stepped out On The Foot-Board Of

The Wagon, And, Holding On By A Bow, Commenced to Kick The Frightened

Mule Vigorously, While Hallowell Pulled on One Line, Whipping and

Yelling at The Same Time; So Together They Succeeded in forcing The

Animals Back Into The Trail.

 

 

 

The Indians Kept Close To The Mules In their Efforts To Force Them

Into The Sunflowers, And Booth Made Several Attempts To Scare The

Old Fellow That Was Nearest By Pointing His Empty Revolver At Him,

But He Would Not Scare; So In his Desperation Booth Threw It At Him.

He Missed the Old Brute, But Hit His Pony Just Behind Its Rider'S Leg,

Which Started the Animal Into A Sort Of A Stampede; His Ugly Master

Could Not Control Him, And Thus The Immediate Peril From The

Persistent Cuss Was Delayed.

 

 

 

Now The Pair Were Absolutely Without Firearms Of Any Kind, With

Nothing Left Except Their Sabres And Valises, And The Savages Came

Closer And Closer.  In turn The Two Swords Were Thrown At Them As They

Came Almost Within Striking Distance; Then Followed the Scabbards,

As The Howling Fiends Surrounded the Wagon And Attempted to Spear

The Mules.  Fortunately Their Arrows Were Exhausted.

 

 

 

The Cantonment On The Walnut Was Still A Mile And A Half Away, And

There Was Nothing For Our Luckless Travellers To Do But Whip And Kick,

Both Of Which They Did Most Vigorously.  Hallowell Sat As Immovable

As The Sphinx, Excepting His Right Arm, Which From The Moment They

Had Started on The Back Trail Had Not Once Ceased its Incessant Motion.

 

 

 

Happening To Cast His Eyes Back On The Trail, Booth Saw To His Dismay

Twelve Or Fifteen Of The Savages Coming Up On The Run With Fresh

Energy, Their Spears Poised ready For Action, And He Felt That

Something Must Be Done Very Speedily To Divert Them; For If These

Added their Number To Those Already Surrounding The Wagon, The Chances

Were They Would Succeed in forcing The Mules Into The Sunflowers,

And His Scalp And Hallowell'S Would Dangle At The Belt Of The Leader.

 

 

 

Glancing around In the Bottom Of The Wagon For Some Kind Of Weapon,

His Eye Fell On The Two Valises Containing The Dress-Suits.

He Snatched up His Own, And Threw It Out While The Pursuers Were Yet

Five Or Six Rods In the Rear.  The Indians Noticed this New Trick

With A Great Yell Of Satisfaction, And The Moment They Arrived at

The Spot Where The Valise Lay, All Dismounted; One Of Them, Seizing

It By The Two Handles, Pulled with All His Strength To Open It, And

When He Failed, Another Drew A Long Knife From Under His Blanket And

Ripped it Apart.  He Then Put His Hand In, Pulling Out A Sash, Which

He Began To Wind Around His Head, Like A Negress With A Bandanna,

Letting The Tassels Hang Down His Back.  While He Was Thus Amusing

Himself, One Of The Others Had Taken Out A Dress-Coat, A Third A Pair

Of Drawers, And Still Another A Shirt, Which They Proceeded to Put On,

Meanwhile Dancing around And Howling.

 

 

 

Booth Told Hallowell Of The Sacrifice Of The Valise, And Said,

"I'M Going To Throw Out Yours."  "All Right," Replied hallowell;

"All We Want Is Time."  So Out It Went On The Trail, And Shared

The Same Fate As The Other.

 

 

 

The Lull In hostilities Caused by Their Outstripping Their Pursuers

Gave The Almost Despairing Men Time To Talk Over Their Situation.

Hallowell Said He Did Not Propose To Be Captured and Then Butchered

Or Burned at The Pleasure Of The Indians.  He Said To Booth: "If They

Kill One Of The Mules, And So Stop Us, Let'S Kick, Strike, Throw Dirt

Or Anything, And Compel Them To Kill Us On The Spot."  So It Was Agreed,

If The Worst Came To The Worst, To Stand Back To Back And Fight.

 

 

 

During This Discussion The Arm Of Hallowell Still Plied the Effective

Lash, And They Drew Perceptibly Nearer The Camp, And As They Caught

The First Glimpse Of Its Tents And Dugouts, Hope Sprang Up Within Them.

The Mules Were Panting Like A Hound After A Deer; Wherever The

Harness Touched them, It Was White With Lather, And It Was Evident

They Could Keep On Their Feet But A Short Time Longer.  Would They

Hold Out Until The Bridge Was Reached?  The Whipping and The Kicking

Had But Little Effect On Them Now.  They Still Continued their Gallop,

But It Was Slower And More Laboured than Before.

 

 

 

The Indians Who Had Torn Open The Valises Had Not Returned to The

Chase, And Although There Were Still A Sufficient Number Of The

Fiends Pursuing To Make It Interesting, They Did Not Succeed in

Spearing The Mules, As At Every Attempt The Plucky Animals Would

Jump Sideways Or Forward And Evade The Impending Blow.

 

 

 

The Little Log Bridge Was Reached; The Savages Had All Retreated,

But The Valorous Hallowell Kept The Mules At Their Fastest Pace.

The Bridge Was Constructed of Half-Round Logs, And Of Course Was

Extremely Rough; The Wagon Bounded up And Down Enough To Shake The

Teeth Out Of One'S Head As The Little Animals Went Flying Over It.

Booth Called out To Hallowell, "No Need to Drive So Fast Now,

The Indians Have All Left Us"; But He Replied, "I Ain'T Going To Stop

Until I Get Across"; And Down Came The Whip, On Sped the Mules,

Not Breaking Their Short Gallop Until They Were Pulled up In front

Of Captain Conkey'S Quarters.

 

 

 

The Rattling Of The Wagon On The Bridge Was The First Intimation

The Garrison Had Of Its Return.

 

 

 

The Officers Came Running Out Of Their Tents, The Enlisted men Poured

Out Of Their Dugouts Like A Lot Of Ants, And Booth And Hallowell Were

Surrounded by Their Friends In a Moment.  Captain Conkey Ordered his

Bugler To Sound "Boots And Saddles," And In less Than Ten Minutes

Ninety Troopers Were Mounted, And With The Captain At Their Head

Started after The Indians.

 

 

 

When Hallowell Tried to Rise From His Seat So As To Get Out Every

Effort Only Resulted in his Falling Back.  Some One Stepped around

To The Other Side To Assist Him, When It Was Discovered that The

Skirt Of His Overcoat Had Worked outside Of The Wagon-Sheet And

Hung Over The Edge, And That Three Or Four Of The Arrows Fired at Him

By The Savages Had Struck The Side Of The Wagon, And, Passing Through

The Flap Of His Coat, Had Pinned him Down.  Booth Pulled the Arrows

Out And Helped him Up; He Was Pretty Stiff From Sitting In his Cramped

Position So Long, And His Right Arm Dropped by His Side As If Paralysed.

 

 

 

Booth Stood Looking On While His Comrade'S Wounds Were Being Dressed,

When The Adjutant Asked him: "What Makes You Shrug Your Shoulder So?"

He Answered, "I Don'T Know; Something Makes It Smart."  The Officer

Looked at Him And Said, "Well, I Don'T Wonder; I Should Think It

Would Smart; Here'S An Arrow-Head Sticking Into You," And He Tried

To Pull It Out, But It Would Not Come.  Captain Goldsborough Then

Attempted it, But Was Not Any More Successful.  The Doctor Then Told

Them To Let It Alone, And He Would Attend To Booth After He Had Done

With Hallowell.  When He Examined booth'S Shoulder, He Found That

The Arrow-Head Had Struck The Thick Portion Of The Shoulder-Blade,

And Had Made Two Complete Turns, Wrapping Itself Around The Muscles,

Which Had To Be Cut Apart Before The Sharp Point Could Be Withdrawn.

 

 

 

Booth Was Not Seriously Hurt.  Hallowell, However, Had Received two

Severe Wounds; The Arrow That Had Lodged in his Back Had Penetrated

Almost To His Kidneys, And The Wound In his Thumb Was Very Painful,

Not So Much From The Simple Impact Of The Arrow As From The Tearing

Away Of The Muscle By The Shaft While He Was Whipping His Mules;

His Right Arm, Too, Was Swollen Terribly, And So Stiff From The

Incessant Use Of It During The Drive That For More Than A Month

He Required assistance In dressing and Undressing.

 

 

 

The Mules Who Had Saved their Lives Were Of Small Account After

Their Memorable Trip; They Remained stiff And Sore From The Rough

Road And Their Continued forced speed.  Booth And Hallowell Went Out

To Look At Them The Next Morning, As They Hobbled around The Corral,

And From The Bottom Of Their Hearts Wished them Well.

 

 

 

Captain Conkey'S Command Returned to The Cantonment About Midnight.

But One Indian Had Been Seen, And He Was South Of The Arkansas In

The Sand Hills.

 

 

 

The Next Morning a Scouting-Party Of Forty Men, Under Command Of A

Sergeant, Started out To Scour The Country Toward Cow Creek,

Northeast From The Walnut.

 

 

 

As I Have Stated, The Troopers Stationed at The Cantonment On The

Walnut Were Mostly Recruits.  Now The Cavalry Recruit Of The Old

Regular Army On The Frontier, Thirty Or Forty Years Ago, Mounted on

A Great Big American Horse And Sent Out With Well-Trained comrades

On A Scout After The Hostile Savages Of The Plains, Was The Most

Helpless Individual Imaginable.  Coming Fresh From Some Large City

Probably, As Soon As He Arrived at His Station He Was Placed on The

Back Of An Animal Of Whose Habits He Knew As Little As He Did Of The

Differential Calculus; Loaded down With A Carbine, The Muzzle Of Which

He Could Hardly Distinguish From The Breech; A Sabre Buckled around

His Waist; A Couple Of Enormous Pistols Stuck In his Holsters;

His Blankets Strapped to The Cantle Of His Saddle, And, To Complete

The Hopelessness Of His Condition In a Possible Encounter With A

Savage Enemy Who Was Ever On The Alert, He Was Often Handicapped by

A Camp-Kettle Or Two, A Frying-Pan, And Ten Days' Rations.  No Wonder

This Doughty Representative Of Uncle Sam'S Power Was An Easy Prey For

"Poor Lo," Who, When He Caught The Unfortunate Soldier Away From His

Command And Started after Him, Must Have Laughed at The Ridiculous

Appearance Of His Enemy, With Both Hands Glued to The Pommel Of His

Saddle, His Hair On End, His Sabre Flying and Striking His Horse At

Every Jump As The Animal Tore Down The Trail Toward Camp, While The

Indian, Rapidly Gaining, In a Few Minutes Had The Scalp Of The Hapless

Rider Dangling at His