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Frank Merriwell's Bravery, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 33. The Rescue |
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_ CHAPTER XXXIII. THE RESCUE A yell of astonishment broke from the throats of the Indians who were awake, and it brought the sleepers out of their blankets in a moment. With the utmost coolness, Old Rocks stepped toward the fire, sat down on a log near the sleeping child, and took out his black pipe. "Any o' you fellers got any good smokin' terbacker?" he asked, coolly. "I ain't got northin' left but chawin', an thet's derned pore stuff ter burn." "Ugh!" grunted the Blackfeet, staring at him in unutterable amazement. "Hey?" questioned the guide. "Whut did yer say?" "Where white man come from?" demanded Half Hand, harshly. "Over yon," was the answer, and Rocks made a sweep of his hand that took in half the horizon. "What white man want here?" "Terbacker." The Indians looked at each other, and then looked at the cool visitor, their amazement not a whit abated. "Ugh!" they grunted in chorus. "Wa-al, I'll allow thet you fellers know whut thet means all right," drawled Old Rocks, whimsically; "but dog my cats ef I do! Do I git ther terbacker? ur do I hev ter pull my liver out tryin' ter make chawin' terbacker burn?" "Ain't got no 'backer," declared Half Hand, sullenly. "Thet may be so," admitted the guide, "an' may be 't'sn't. Howsomever, I don't s'pose I've got any license ter search ye." He then appealed to the other Indians, but they all affirmed that they did not have a morsel of tobacco in their possession. "Blamed ef I ever saw sech a pore crowd," grunted Old Rocks. "Wa-al, I'm goin' ter smoke." He pretended to search round in his pockets, and, after a time, he drew forth a small bit of tobacco, uttering an exclamation of satisfaction. "Dog my cats ef I ain't got a leetle mite o' smokin' terbacker left, an I 'lowed I wuz all out! I kin git erlong with this yere comfortable like." He drew his knife, and began whittling at the tobacco, seeming to pay not the least attention to the Indians around him. The Blackfeet were troubled, for they did not know what to make of the old fellow. Some of them put their heads together and spoke in their own language, but Rocks had sharp ears, and he understood them well enough to get the drift of what they said. They were wondering if he had come there alone, or if he had companions near. "Where come from?" Half Hand again asked. "Over yon," the guide once more replied, with a sweep that was fully as wide as before. "Ugh! Where others?" "What others?" "Others that be with you?" "Over yon." Again that wide and baffling sweep of the hand. Half Hand scowled blackly. "What white man here for?" "Terbacker." Old Rocks was most aggravating in his answers. He calmly filled his pipe, and then lighted it with a coal from the fire. "Thar," he said, flinging one knee over the other and settling into an easy position, "now I kin enjoy a good squar' smoke." Up behind the rocks the boy saw Rocks had not taken his rifle into the camp, and Frank knew well enough that was so he might not be incumbered with it if forced to take to flight suddenly and make an attempt to get away with the child. The little girl heard his voice, and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She stared at him in wonderment, but he still pretended that he did not see her, puffing on. One of the Indians attempted to grasp the child and draw her back, but she saw him, avoided his hands, and ran to Rocks, crying: "Oh, I's awsul dlad you've tome! Tate me to my mamma! I don't lite dese drefful mans!" The Indian made a jump for her, but Old Rocks caught her and swung her beyond the Indian's grasp, exclaiming: "Hello! hello! Whatever is this yar? Dog my cats ef it ain't a babby--an' a white babby, at thet!" "Don't you 'member me?" asked Fay, innocently. "I 'members you." "See hyar, Half Hand," said Old Rocks, grimly; "this yar looks kinder queer. How did you come by this white babby?" "Found her," sullenly answered the half-blood. "Is thet so?" "Ugh." "Wa-al, whar wuz yer takin' her?" "Nowhere." "Seems ter me it didn't look thet way." The half-blood said nothing, but he and his companions were beginning to finger their weapons. "You may hev found her all right," admitted Old Rocks; "but yer made a mistake in keepin' her. I'll take her now." "Dunno 'bout that," muttered Half Hand. "Whut?" roared the old man, suddenly aroused, having thrust his pipe into his pocket. "You dunno? Wa-al, I will allow thet I know! Look yar, you'll be gittin' inter one o' ther derndest scrapes you ever did ef you tries ter kerry off this yere gal. It'll be reported, an' ther United States soldiers will take an' hang yer all!" "Bah!" sneered the half-breed. "Who care for soldiers! We find gal; she b'long to us." "Not much!" "What white man do?" "Take her." "Him can't." "Dog my cats ef I don't!" "Him can't git erway." The Blackfeet had formed a circle about Old Rocks. "Stiddy, critters!" he warned. "Don't try ter stop me, fer ef yer does, som' o' yer will bite ther dust." "White man give up gal, we let um go 'thout hurtin'." "Thet's kind; but I reckons I'll hev ter be hurt, fer I'll never give her up." "Then white man dies!" One of the Indians slipped up behind Old Rocks and lifted a hatchet to split open the head of the guide. Crack! the report of a rifle rang out. A yell of agony broke from the lips of the Indian, and the hatchet dropped from his hand. A bullet had shattered his forearm. Frank's aim had been true, and he had saved the life of Old Rocks. At that instant, just as the guide stooped to lift the child, a man broke through the circle of savages and snatched up the child, tearing it from the fingers of the guide, to whom he cried: "Hold them off, and I will get away with her!" It was the Hermit. Out came a brace of revolvers in the hands of the weather-tanned guide, and the yells which broke from his lips awoke a hundred echoes. He began shooting to the right and left. Over the top of the rocks, behind which he had been concealed, Frank was sending a shower of bullets whistling. After the first two shots, he aimed high, counting on demoralizing the savages by terror, instead of taking chances of hitting Old Rocks or the child. The trick worked long enough for the guide to get away, and he followed close at the heels of the Hermit. By chance the man with the child passed near Frank, and then Old Rocks came along, shouting: "Up an' dig, boy! Ther trick is did!" In a moment Frank dashed after the old man. The Blackfeet recovered quickly, and they leaped in pursuit, uttering fierce cries. Old Rocks was surprised by Frank's fleetness on foot. "Derned ef you can't run, ez well ez do other things!" he muttered, as the lad forged along by his side. "You're a holy wonder, boy. It's twice you saved my life this day. I trusted everything ter you this last time, an' yer didn't fail me." "I broke the Indian's arm as he was on the point of striking." "Thet wuz ther only mistake yer made. You oughter broke his head, an' thar'd bin one less. They're arter us hot foot, an it's a race fer life now." _ |
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