"Boys!" cries out Hamersley, in a voice that can be heard all through the corral; "I needn't tell you that we're in a fix, and a bad one.

There's no help for us but to fight it out. And if we must die, let us die together."

A response from eight voices coming from different sides--for those watching the movements of the enemy are posted round the enclosure-- tells there is not a craven among them. Though only teamsters, they are truly courageous men--most of them natives of Kentucky and Tennessee.

"In any case," continues the owner of the caravan, "we must hold our ground till night. In the darkness there may be some chance of our being able to steal past them."

These words have scarce pa.s.sed the lips of the young prairie merchant, when their effect is counteracted by an exclamation. It comes from Walt Wilder, who has been acting as guide to the party.

"Dog-goned!" he cries; "not the shadder o' a chance. They ain't goin'

to give us till night. I knewed the Horned Lizard 'ud be after some trick."

"What?" inquire several voices.

"Look whar that lot's stannin' out yonder. Can't ye guess what they're at, Frank Hamersley?"

"No. I only see that they have bows in their hands."

"An' arrers, too. Don't you obsarve them wroppin' somethin' round the heads o' the arrers--looks like bits o' rags? Aye, rags it air, sopped in spittles and powder. They're agoin' to set the waggons afire! They air, by G.o.d!"

CHAPTER SEVEN.

FIERY MESSENGERS.

The teamsters, each of whom is watching the post a.s.signed to him, despite the danger, already extreme, see fresh cause of alarm in Wilder's words. Some slight hope had hitherto upheld them. Under the protection of the waggons they might sustain a siege, so long as their ammunition lasts; and before it gave out some chance, though they cannot think what, might turn up in their favour. It was a mere reflection founded on probabilities still unscrutinised--the last tenacious struggle before hope gives way to utter and palpable despair.

Hamersley's words had for an instant cheered them; for the thought of the Indians setting fire to the waggons had not occurred to any of the party. It was a thing unknown to their experience; and, at such a distance, might be supposed impossible.

But, as they now look around them, and note the canvas tilts, and light timbers, dry as chips from long exposure to the hot prairie sun; the piles of dry goods--woollen blankets, cotton, and silk stuffs--intended for the stores of Chihuahua, some of which they have hastily pulled from their places to form protecting barricades--when they see all this, and then the preparations the Indians are engaged in making, no wonder that they feel dismay on Walt Wilder shouting out, "They're agoin' to set the waggons afire!"

The announcement, although carrying alarm, conveys no counsel. Even their guide, with a life-long experience on the prairies, is at a loss how they ought to act in this unexpected emergency. In the waggons water there is none--at least not enough to drown out a conflagration such as that threatened; and from the way the a.s.sailants are gesturing the traders can predict that ere long, a shower of fiery shafts will be sent into their midst. None of them but have knowledge sufficient to admonish them of what is intended. Even if they had never set foot upon a prairie, their school stories and legends of early life would tell them. They have all read, or heard, of arrows with tinder tied around their barbs, on fire and spitting sparks, or brightly ablaze.

If any are ignorant of this sort of missile, or the mode of dispatching it on its mischievous errand, their ignorance is not destined longer to continue. Almost as soon as Wilder has given utterance to the warning words, half a score of the savages can be seen springing to the backs of their horses, each bearing a bow with a bunch of the prepared arrows.

And before a single preventive step can be taken by the besieged traders, or any counsel exchanged between them, the pyrotechnic display has commenced.

The bowmen gallop in circles around the besieged enclosure, their bodies concealed behind those of their horses--only a leg and an arm seen, or now and then a face for an instant, soon withdrawn. Not exactly in circles but in spiral rings--at each turn drawing closer and nearer, till the true distance is attained for casting the inflammatory shafts.

"Stand to your guns, men!" is the hurried command of the guide, backed by a kind of encouragement from the proprietor of the caravan.

"Now, boys!" adds the guide, "ye've got to look out for squalls. Keep two an' two of ye thegither. While one brings down the hoss, t' other take care o' the rider as he gits unkivered. Make sure afore ye pull trigger, an' don't waste so much as the snappin' o' a cap. Thar goes the first o' the fire works!"

As Wilder speaks, a spark is seen to shoot out from one of the circling cavaliers, which rising rocket-like into the air, comes in parabolic curve towards the corral.

It falls short some twenty yards and lies smoking and sputtering in the sand.

"They han't got thar range yit," cries the guide; "but this child hez got his--leastwise for that skunk on the clay-bank mustang. So hyar goes to rub him off o' the list o' fire shooters."

And simultaneous with the last word is heard the crack of Wilder's rifle.

The young prairie merchant by his side, supposing him to have aimed only at the Indian's horse, has raised his own gun, ready to take the rider as soon as uncovered.

"No need, Frank," shouts the guide, restraining him. "Walt Wilder don't waste two charges o' powder that way. Keep yur bullet for the karkidge o' the next as comes 'ithin range. Look yonder! I know'd I'd fetch him out o' his stirrups--tight as he's tried to cling to 'em. Thar he goes to gra.s.s!"

Hamersley, as the others on the same side of the corral, were under the belief that the shot had been a miss; for the Indian at whom it was aimed still stuck to his horse, and was carried for some distance on in curving career. Nor did the animal show any sign of having been hit.

But the rider did. While engaged in the effort of sending his arrow, the savage had exposed his face, one arm, and part of the other. Ere he could withdraw them, Walt's bullet had struck the arm that supported him, breaking the bone close to the elbow-joint. He has clung on with the tenacity of a shot squirrel, knowing that to let go will be certain death to him. But, despite all his efforts, the crippled arm fails to sustain him; and, with a despairing cry, he at length tumbles to the ground. Before he can rise to his feet, his body is bored by a leaden messenger from one of the men watching on that side, which lays him lifeless along the sand.

No cheer of triumph ascends from among the waggons; the situation of those who defend them is too serious for any idle exhibition. The man who has fired the last shot only hastens to re-load, while the others remain mute and motionless--each on the look-out for a like opportunity.

The fall of their comrade has taught the freebooters a lesson, and for a time they make their approach with more caution. But the shouts of those standing spectators in the outer circle stimulate them to fresh efforts, as the slightest show of cowardice would surely cause them to be taunted. Those entrusted with the fiery arrows are all young warriors, chosen for this dangerous service, or volunteers to perform it. The eyes of their chief, and the braves of the tribe, are upon them. They are thirsting for glory, and hold their lives as of little account, in the face of an achievement that will gain them the distinction most coveted by an Indian youth--that which will give him rank as a warrior, and perhaps some day raise him to a chieftaincy.

Stimulated by this thought, they soon forget the check caused by the fall of their comrade; and, laying aside caution, ride nearer and nearer, till their arrows, one after another, hurtle through the air, and dropping like a continuous shower of spent rocket-sticks upon the covers of the corralled waggons.

Several of them fall to shots from the barricade, but then places are supplied by fresh volunteers from the outer circle; and the sparkling shower is kept up, till a curl of smoke is seen soaring above the white tilts of the waggons, and soon after others at different places and on different sides of the enclosure.

As yet the besieged have not seen this. The powder-smoke puffing up from their own guns, discharged in quick repet.i.tion, obscures everything in a thick, sulphurous cloud; so that even the white covers of the waggons are scarce distinguishable, much less the spots where it has commenced smoking.

Not long, however, till something besides smoke makes itself visible, as also audible. Here and there flames flicker up, with a sharp crackling noise, which continues. The one is not flashes from the guns, nor the other a snapping of percussion-caps.

Wilder, with eyes turning to all points, is the first to perceive this.

"We're on fire, boys!" he vociferates; "on fire everywhar!"

"Great G.o.d! yes! What are we to do?" several ask, despairingly.

"What air we to do?" shouts the guide, in response. "What kin we do, but fight it out to the death, an' then die! So let us die, not like dogs, but as men--as Americans!"

CHAPTER EIGHT.

KNIFE, PISTOL, AND HATCHET.

The brave words had scarce pa.s.sed from Walt Wilder's lips when the waggons became enveloped in a cloud of smoke. From all sides it rolled into the corral till those inside could no longer see one another.

Still through the obscurity rang their cries of mutual encouragement, repeating the determination so tersely expressed.

They knew they had no water by which to extinguish the fast-threatening flames; yet in that moment of emergency they thought of an expedient.

There were shovels in the waggons; and laying hold of these, they commenced flinging sand over the places that had caught fire, with the intent to smother the incipient blaze. Left alone, and with time, they might have succeeded. But they were not left alone, for the savages, seeing the advantage they had gained, were now fast closing for a final charge upon the corral, and the implements of industry had to be abandoned.

These were thrown despairingly aside; and the besieged, once more grasping their rifles, sprang back into the waggons--each with eager eye searching for an a.s.sailant. Though themselves half blinded by the smoke, they could still see the enemy outside; for the Indians, grown confident by the _coup_ they had made, were now riding recklessly near.

Quick came the reports of rifles--faster and more frequent than ever; fast as ten men, all practised marksmen, could load and fire. In less than sixty seconds nearly a score of savages dropped to the death-dealing bullets, till the plain appeared strewn with dead bodies.

But the crisis had come--the time for a general charge of the whole band; and now the dusky outside ring was seen gradually contracting towards the corral--the savages advancing from all sides, some on foot, others on horseback, all eager to secure the trophy of a scalp.

On they came, violently gesticulating, and uttering wild vengeful shouts.

With the besieged it was a moment for despair. The waggons were on fire all around them, and in several places flames were beginning to flicker up through the smoke. They no longer thought of making any attempt to extinguish them. They knew it would be idle.