The Great Cattle Trail

The image, or rather body, having been raised far enough above the eaves to show the head and shoulders, remained as stationary as if carved in wood. It was unsafe for its projectors to trust it further without support. It was now ready to receive the fire of the gentleman, and the Comanches might well ask why it was he delayed opening business.

He kept it under scrutiny a few seconds longer, fearful that there might be some hidden design which he did not understand; and then, in obedience to his suspicion, he turned his head to look over the roof behind him.

At the moment of doing so, he heard a stealthy but rapid step. The first glance showed him a sinewy warrior, moving softly across the planking from the other end of the cabin and coming directly toward him.

The Comanche was in a crouching posture, with his rifle in his left hand, while his right rested on his hip, as if grasping the handle of his knife.

Supposing the dusky foe was coming for him, Captain Shirril rose to a half-sitting position, and held his revolver ready. He meant to wait until his enemy was so near that there could be no possibility of missing him.

Before that point was reached, the Comanche would have to pass directly by the open scuttle. The Texan awaited his coming with the same coolness he had shown from the first, when to his inexpressible amazement the Indian dropped directly through the open door and drew it shut after him, with a suddenness like that of the snapping of a knife-blade.

And then it was that Captain Shirril read the meaning of that strange manœuvring at the corner of the roof, and awoke to the fact that he had been completely outwitted.

CHAPTER XVII.

AT FAULT

Captain Shirril was never so outwitted in all his life. With never a suspicion that the Comanche, dashing over the roof, had any other purpose than to assail him, he was holding his revolver pointed, reflecting at the same time on the blind folly of the red man in rushing to his fate, when he dropped through the scuttle and closed it after him.

With a muttered exclamation of chagrin the Texan leaped to his feet, reaching the spot in a couple of bounds, and let fly with two chambers of his weapon. The bullets skimmed over the door, the inimitable dexterity of the Indian saving him as by a hair’s breadth.

Thus the fellow had entered the cabin after all, by a piece of strategy as brilliant as it was daring, and the only man who was a defender of the place found himself shut out and a prisoner, as may be said, on the roof.

Unwilling to believe the astounding logic of facts, the captain stooped down and tried to lift the door; but it had been placed there with the view of being raised only from below. It was impossible to get anything but the slightest hold upon it, and when he tried to lift it upward, it could not be moved.

The Comanche was either holding it, or had fastened it in place by means of the iron hook.

Thinking only of the safety of his wife and servant, the Texan bent over, and, putting his mouth as close to the edge as he could, shouted:

“Look out down there, Edna! There’s an Indian on the upper floor, and I am fastened on the roof.”

Provided his wife heard the warning, this particular Comanche was liable, after all, to find that, in undertaking his contract, he would be unable to deliver the goods. But, if the warning reached the ears of the women, would they comprehend its significance? That was the question which must soon be answered.

The meaning of the peculiar strategy of the Comanches was now fully understood by the victim. With a humiliation beyond description, he comprehended how he had fallen into the trap that had been set so cunningly for his feet.

All this trifling at one corner of the roof was intended to hold his attention, while one of the warriors stealthily climbed over the eaves at another portion and reached the inside by dropping through the scuttle.

The plan, simple as it might seem, had worked to perfection.

The moment the captain comprehended that he was shut out as effectually as the miscreant was shut in, he glared around in quest of others who might be trying to work his own death by a continuation of their cunning. Aware, too, of his exposure to their shots, he quickly sank on his face, with his head nigh enough to the peak to hold the entire surface under his eye.

It was well he did so; for from the same corner that the successful Indian had come, he discerned a second climbing over the eaves. He was doing so with an eagerness that showed he was discounting his own chances.

“Whether you are bogus or not, here goes!”

The Texan did not rely upon his revolver to serve him in the crisis, but hastily aiming his Winchester, pulled the trigger.

The Comanche, whose body was half over the roof, threw up his arms with a wild screech and disappeared backward, as abruptly as his companion had gone down the scuttle. There could be no doubt of the success of that shot.

“I would like to have a few more of you try it,” muttered the defender, compressing his lips and glancing right and left. His blood was up and he was in a desperate mood.

But his own situation was one of extreme peril. The Comanches must be aware of his singular dilemma, and were not likely to leave him undisputed master of the situation, at least as long as he remained on the outside.

That this supposition was right was proven the next minute, when, from a point several rods distant, a gun was fired and the bullet skipped over the surface within a few inches of where he was crouching. A second shot followed still closer, and the captain crept a little farther from the scuttle.

But for fear of alarming his friends below, he would have uttered a cry, as if of pain, with a view of convincing the Comanches that their shots had proven fatal. Then they would be tempted to send more of their number over the roof, where they would fall victims to his marksmanship.

It looked as if the assailants were in doubt on this point, for after the two shots they ceased firing, and everything remained silent for several minutes.

Captain Shirril, even in his anxiety for himself, could not forget the inmates of his home. Two women and a fierce warrior were inside, and matters were sure to become lively there before long.

In the midst of this oppressive stillness, occurred Avon Burnet’s adventure which has been told elsewhere. It was impossible for the captain to understand what the confusion on the prairie meant, but he saw that it was a diversion of some kind which, fortunately for himself, held the attention of his enemies for a while longer.

He felt a vague suspicion that the Indian in the room below would try to get a shot at him through the scuttle door. He could raise it for an inch or more, and, provided the white man was in his line of range, fire with quick and unerring accuracy. It is singular that he did not do this in the first place, after reaching the roof, and before the Texan discovered his presence so near him.

Lying extended as flat as before, Captain Shirril placed his ear close to the door and listened.

Within the first minute he caught a sound, but it was so faint and indefinite that he could not tell what it meant. It might have been caused by someone moving about in the room directly below, but he was inclined to believe that the Comanche was still near the scuttle and was trying to get his range.

All at once the heart of the Texan gave a start. He was sure the door was pushed upward the slightest possible distance. It looked as if the Comanche was endeavoring to do the very thing suspected–that is, he was seeking to gain sight of the white man in order to give him a stealthy shot.

“If he will but raise that door a single inch,” was the exultant thought of the captain, “I will get my fingers under the edge and yank it back in spite of all he can do, and just about that time the band will begin to play.”

But would the Indian be rash enough to do this? The first glimpse through the slightest crevice would tell him that his intended victim had shifted his position. He would be shrewd enough to suspect its meaning, and would take care that he did not throw away the golden opportunity he had so brilliantly won.

Ah, if his wife and Dinah could but learn the exact truth! They would quickly prove potent factors in the scheme. Their familiarity with the house would enable them to eliminate that wretch who just then seemed to be master of the situation.

Yes; the door moved again. The Indian must be beneath, and was striving to do something with the covering, which at present shielded him from the vengeance of the white man whom he had foiled.

The latter silently extended his hand to the edge of the door, hoping that the purchase for which he was waiting was within reach. He was disappointed. If the structure had been moved, it was to such a slight extent as to afford no advantage.

He held his hand in the same position, intent on seizing the chance the instant it presented itself, but the Indian was wonderfully cunning. It would seem that having introduced himself into the ranchman’s home, he would have been content to follow the purpose that had taken him thither, without giving more attention to the white man, whom he had certainly spared for the time, when he was in his power. The captain could not understand the logic which appeared to be controlling this warrior from the moment he climbed over the edge of the roof.

CHAPTER XVIII.

AN UNEXPECTED QUERY

As long as Captain Shirril stayed near the scuttle, he could not command a view of the entire roof of his cabin. His interest in what was going on below made him anxious to do this, but he was too alive to his own danger to remain motionless for more than a few minutes at a time.

The indistinct rustling that had awakened his hope soon ceased, and he was compelled to believe the Comanche had given up his intention of trying to gain a stealthy shot at him and was now devoting himself to the inmates of the dwelling.

How he longed to descend through the scuttle and take part in the stirring events that must soon be under way there! What short work he would make of the wretch who had dared to assume such a risk!

But it was useless to regret his own shortsightedness, now that it rendered him powerless to strike a blow for his friends. He crept to the peak of the roof, and scrutinized every portion thus brought into his field of vision. Not the slightest sound fell upon his ear that could indicate danger, nor could he discern anything of his enemies.

The wind was still blowing fitfully, and he heard the familiar rustle of the mesquite bush, with now and then a signal passing between the Comanches. He listened in vain for the noise made by the hoofs of their mustangs. They seemed to have ceased their aimless galloping back and forth, and were probably plotting some new form of mischief.

Suddenly the rattle of a horse’s feet struck him. It broke upon his hearing for an instant, and then ceased as abruptly as it had made itself manifest.

It was as if a steed were galloping over the soft earth, and, reaching a small bridge of planks, dashed over them with two or three bounds, his hoofs immediately becoming inaudible in the yielding ground beyond.

That which might have puzzled a listener was plain to the Texan, who had spent many years on the plains of the Southwest. He knew that what might be called a peculiar eddy in the fitful wind had brought the sound to him. A sudden change of direction–ended as soon as it began–whirled the noise as straight across the intervening space as if it had been fired by an arrow.

The sound was similar to that which he had noticed many times that evening, but the impression came to him that it possessed a significance which belonged to none of the others. It was a single horse, and he was going at a moderate speed, which, however, was the case with most of those he had heard.

All at once the sound broke upon his ear again, but this time it was accompanied by the noise of many other hoofs.

“They are cattle,” was his conclusion; “a part of the herd has been stampeded, and one of the men is trying to round them up: it was his mustang that I heard–ah! there it goes again!”

It was the crack of a rifle and the screech of a mortally struck person that startled him this time.

“I believe that was a Comanche who has gone down before the rifle of one of our men.”

As the reader is aware, the Texan was correct in every particular, for it was the report of Gleeson’s Winchester, which ended the career of the warrior pressing Avon Burnet so hard, that reached the captain as he lay on the roof of his own dwelling.

The whimsical nature of the wind, that had been blowing all the night, excluded further sounds. The stillness that succeeded seemed so unnatural in its way that it might have alarmed a more superstitious person. Once the faintest possible rumbling of the cattle’s hoofs was detected, but it quickly subsided, and nothing more of the kind was noticeable.

It was clear that the Comanches in the immediate vicinity of the cabin must have noted all that interested the Texan. Whatever the issue of the remarkable meeting on the prairie, there could be no doubt that one of the red men had been laid low. Another had been shot by the captain a short time before, not to mention the other one or two that he believed had fallen.

Thus far, no one of the inmates had been harmed, unless perchance his nephew was overtaken by disaster. Consequently, the game the Comanches were playing, though they did their part with rare skill, was a losing one up to this point.

As the minutes passed, the Texan found himself more hopeful than he had been through the entire evening. He was strong in the belief that Avon had succeeded in reaching the camp of the cattlemen, and that the latter would soon appear on the scene with an emphasis that would scatter his assailants like so much chaff.

The only vulnerable point for fire was on the roof, but the designs of the Indians had been defeated thus far, and he believed they could be stood off indefinitely, at least until the arrival of the cowboys, who would then take charge of business.

The two matters that gave him anxiety were the presence of the warrior below in the cabin, and the probability of himself being struck by some of the bullets that he expected to come scurrying over the planking every minute.

The two shots that had been fired came alarmingly near, and the next were likely to come still nearer.

But immunity from harm gives one confidence, and only a few more minutes passed when, instead of contenting himself with peering about him, the captain began stealthily creeping toward the part of the eaves where the last Indian had appeared and disappeared so suddenly.

Mindful of the risk of the action, he paused when close to the edge, and waited several minutes before venturing to peep over. The stillness was as if every living person were a hundred miles away. This, however, as he well knew, might be the case with a score of Indians grouped directly beneath.

But having gone thus far, he did not mean to return to his post without accomplishing something. With the greatest possible caution, he raised his head just far enough to look over. He held it in this position only a second or two, for, if any of his enemies were on the alert, they would be sure to observe him.

Nothing greeted his vision, beyond that which he had seen times without number. He did not catch the outlines of a single person or mustang, though convinced they were near at hand.

Had there been any doubt on this point, it would have been dissipated by a repetition of the signals that seemed almost continually passing between the besieging Comanches.

Captain Shirril noticed that the sounds came from the direction of the mesquite bush, as though most of them had gathered there apparently for consultation, and were calling in the other members of their party.

“If that is so, they can’t do us much harm,” was his conclusion, “but they are not likely to stay there. I suppose they have gathered in Avon and my horses long ago, and we shall have to ride other animals on the tramp to Kansas.”

On the whole, the result of his survey was satisfactory; whatever mischief the Comanches were plotting, there was no immediate danger. Minutes were precious, but they were more valuable to the defenders than to the assailants. The cattlemen must arrive soon, and when they did so the siege would be over.

The reconnoissance, if such it may be termed, lasted but a few minutes, when the captain started on his cautious return to the scuttle, in the hope that something in the way of information awaited him there.

To his amazement, he was still within several yards, when he perceived that it was open.

The door was raised fully six inches, the opening being toward him, so that the Comanche had him at his mercy. It looked indeed to the Texan as if his enemy had got the drop on him, and at last he was at his mercy.

The captain whipped out his revolver, but before he could fire a familiar voice called out in a husky undertone:

“Am dat you, captin’? And am you well?”

CHAPTER XIX.

DOWN THE LADDER

The colored servant Dinah never knew how near she came to being shot by her own master. Had she delayed speaking for a second, he would have discharged two more chambers of his revolver, and the distance was so slight, and her head was in such position, that there could have been no miss.

“Good Heavens!” gasped the captain, “I never dreamed that was you, Dinah.”

“But I knowed it war you. How is you gettin’ ’long?”

“I’m all right, but where is your mistress?”

“Downsta’rs tending to tings.”

“But–but do you know there’s an Indian in the house?”

“I reckons so; we didn’t know it at fust, but we found it out putty soon after he arrove; why didn’t you told us?”

“I tried to do so, but was afraid you wouldn’t hear my voice.”

“We heerd you say somefin, but couldn’t quite make out what it was.”

“But what of the Indian?” asked the captain, who was now at the scuttle with his hand on the door.

“He am all right; and if you don’t t’ink so, jes’ come down and see for you’self.”

Dinah stepped out of the way, and her master lost no time in descending through the opening into the dark room below.

“Fasten the door, for there may be more of them trying to enter.”

“I doesn’t t’ink so,” was the confident reply.

Nevertheless, Dinah reached up and fastened the hook in place, making it as secure as before.

“Is your mistress safe?” asked Captain Shirril, the moment he was within the apartment.

“Didn’t I jes’ tole you she was? Does you t’ink I would try to deceibe you?”

“But tell me how it is; this strikes me as the strangest part of the whole business.”

Standing thus, in the stillness and gloom of the upper room, the servant related in her characteristic way the extraordinary experience of herself and mistress with the dusky intruder.

As she had said, the warning which the captain shouted from the roof was heard by them, but the words were not understood.

Mrs. Shirril, however, was keen-witted enough to suspect the truth. The muffled tones showed that her husband was on the roof, while the noise of the body dropping upon the chair proved that someone had entered by that means. That being the case, the stranger of necessity must be a foe, against whose evil intentions they must prepare themselves without delay.

“One of the Indians has dropped through the scuttle,” said the startled lady.

“Anoder ob dem warmints has comed into my room, eh?” muttered the angered servant; “I’ll sarve him wuss dan the oder one.”

“You will not find the task so easy; keep at my side, make no noise, and don’t stir till I tell you.”

By this time, the embers on the hearth were so low that they gave out only a faint illumination, which extended but a foot or two into the room. The women had kept their places near the door, where, as will be remembered, they noticed a pressure, as if someone was trying to shove it open.

Light-footed as was the Comanche, his weight was too great, and his descent too sudden, for him to keep the knowledge from the women below-stairs. They stepped softly away from the door, and into the denser gloom, where they were unable to see each other, although their persons touched. In this attitude, they could do nothing for a time but listen with rapidly beating hearts.

The dusky intruder dropped so squarely on the chair that it did not overturn. He kept his place, instantly securing the scuttle against the entrance of the white man, whom he had baffled with such cleverness. Probably he had some idea of taking a shot at him, but the little manœuvring in which he indulged told him the danger was too great, and he gave over the purpose.

The stillness in the room was so profound that the women plainly heard his moccasins touch the floor, when he stepped from the chair. Then he began gliding softly about the apartment, like a burglar who is obliged to feel every inch of his way with hands and feet.

Great as was his care, he had not continued this long, when he struck the chair and overturned it.

“De willian!” muttered Dinah, “and dat’s in my abpartment too–”

“Sh!” whispered her mistress, touching her arm, “he can’t do any harm, and he must not hear us.”

Had Mrs. Shirril given permission, the servant would have hurried up the ladder and taken the fellow to task, without a moment’s delay or hesitation.

But the Comanche was better prepared for his work than they suspected. They plainly heard him scratch a match on the wall of the room, and the next moment the faintest possible glow showed through the gloom, above the open door at the head of the ladder. The redskin was taking the only effectual means at his command to learn his bearings.

With the tiny light still burning, he passed quickly from one room to another, his location being easily told by the listeners below. It took him less than a minute to gain the knowledge he wished, when the match burned out and was flung aside.

“I wonder wheder he’ll set fiah–”

A sharp pinch on Dinah’s arm warned her that she was displeasing her mistress, and she closed her mouth.

The Comanche was too wise to attempt to go down the ladder with a burning match in his hand. Had he done so, he would have committed the fatal error of the citizen who awakes in the night and sets out with lighted lamp to hunt for a burglar: all the advantage is on the side of the law-breaker.

But the Indian had seen the ladder leading from the second story to the lower floor, and the women were sure he would pay them a visit. Indeed, his errand would be futile unless he did so, for it was not to be supposed that he had come into the cabin through simple curiosity.

Mrs. Shirril had no fear of his trying to burn the structure, for, if he did so, his own situation would be as hopeless as theirs. The sounds of firing and the noise on the roof, which soon reached her ears, caused great uneasiness for her husband, but, like a pioneer’s wife, she gave her whole attention to the peril that confronted her.

Suddenly the servant touched her arm. She did not speak, but her mistress knew the meaning of the act. The Comanche had placed his foot on the upper round of the ladder and was about to descend to the lower apartments, where they were awaiting him.

“Leave him to me,” whispered Mrs. Shirril; “don’t stir or do anything.”

The cunning warrior knew the women were below, and he knew, too, that unless he used extreme caution, he would find himself in a veritable hornet’s nest. The care with which he placed his moccasins on the rounds, and gradually came down, proved this, but the hearing of the women was attuned to so fine an edge that they traced his descent step by step until he stood on the lower floor.

Having arrived there, he paused for a minute or two, as if in doubt what next to do. Evidently he was listening in the hope that the women would betray their presence by some movement, but in this he was mistaken.

During those brief moments, Mrs. Shirril was on the point, more than once, of bringing her rifle to her shoulder and shooting down the wretch who was seeking their lives; but accustomed as she was to the rough experience of the frontier, she could not nerve herself to the point of doing so. She knew the precise spot where he was standing, and, at the first direct approach, she would shoot him as if he was a rabid dog. But so long as he was motionless, she refrained.