Chapter VI: Capture of Jake Parsons

The yell which had come to the ears of Jake Parsons, was sounded from the lips of Tom Rutter.

“Quick! Follow them! Don’t stand here idle. Your lives depend on it.”

Such were the exclamations which Rutter gave vent to; and the man by his side gradually dispensed with the sneer on his face, as he began to understand fully how matters were.

To turn around, to leave the apartment, to call upon the two men who were in the other room, to mount their steeds and descend into the pass, all this was the work of but a few moments.

When, at length, they burst out upon the plain, the first sight that met their eye was a band of some twenty Blackfeet. It was that part of Tom Rutter’s party which had not been at the fray of the great crossing. The sudden appearance of the four would have immediately attracted their attention, had it not been otherwise engaged.

Parsons had made somewhat of a mistake in his calculations. It had been his intention to keep close to the mountains, and make a trail running southward. If he could do this, and at the same time keep out of sight of Tom Rutter and the free trappers, he might make them believe that Adele was with him, and by drawing off their attention and forces in this direction, Waving Plume and the Major’s daughter might possibly have a chance to escape. The nature of the place was favourable to the plan, and, had it not been for the Indians, it might have been successful.

Unfortunately they were half a mile closer than he expected them to be, and as he rode out through the narrow, rocky, bush-sheltered passage, he fell, as it were, right into their hands. With a loud whoop, he clapped heels to his horse’s side, and endeavoured to dodge past them, but in vain. One of those nearest to him, and who was armed with a rifle, drew sight on the luckless trapper. Without waiting to ascertain whether the fleeing man was friend or foe, he pulled the trigger and fired.

Though the ball missed its intended mark, nevertheless it took fatal effect upon the horse which Jake bestrode, and, with one prodigious leap, its vital energies were expended. Though it fell so suddenly, its rider was not to be caught unprepared. Leaping nimbly aside, he avoided being crushed, and with steady aim covered the Indian who had fired the shot. He, knowing his almost certain fate, attempted to throw himself behind his horse, but his motion was not quick enough. A sharp crack, a whistling bullet, and the steed was avenged. To turn and rush toward the cover of the woods was his next move, and, with a score of red-skins, and the four whites to spur him on, he made the tallest kind of running.

A perfect storm of bullets and arrows was launched at him, but still was he unharmed. A number of the Blackfeet dismounted, and closed in upon him; but the hardy white disdained to yield.

Drawing his heavy rifle over his shoulder, he anticipated their attack by leaping upon them. For a few moments there was a lively time among the party, but numbers and resolution were too much for resolution alone, and Jake was finally borne to the ground. Even then he did not, at once, give in, but made most frantic efforts to draw his knife. At length, after a most desperate fight, he was bound, though not without the assistance of Big Dick and Tom Rutter.

“Thar, darn yer ornary picturs, you’ve got me; but ye had a good time adoin’ it. See what yer’ll make of me, ye low-lived, red-skinned devils!”

To this exclamation of Parsons, which showed that his mind was not under control, if his body was, no immediate attention was paid, Tom Rutter, all panting with his exertions, exclaiming:

“Whar is the gal--ye?”