Chapter XII: Exit Yellow Jack

Late one night Duplin came into camp in a state of considerable excitement. It being his day to act as forager, he had remained so long absent that his companions were very uneasy lest harm had befallen him. Great was their agitation when he made known his discovery.

Wandering further to the south than customary, he had just before dusk, come upon a large encampment; after a brief scouting he recognized the body as being United States soldiers. He did not venture nearer them, but at once hastened back to lay the matter before his friends.

Here was a safe escort at hand, by accepting which they might be spared all the toil and danger they otherwise might expect to meet on their return journey to the States. But, on the other hand, there was their gold. It could not be concealed, so that the eyes of the soldiers would not recognize it. Among so many, there might be some evil-hearted men, only too glad to win independence by an act of treachery.

The matter was thoroughly discussed, and then decided. They would trust to their former plan. At this Paul Chicot gave a sigh of relief. He was yet too ill to be moved with safety.

This body of cavalry, as the reader guesses, was indeed that to which Joe Burleson had alluded in his conversation with Lottie Mitchell. He had succeeded in reaching it, and was now on his way back to the retreat of Yellow Jack and his outlaws.

Though Duplin did not know it, they had been resting their animals for several hours, preparing for a hard and forced march. That night the blow was to be dealt, and under cover of the darkness they hoped to gain the Retreat before being discovered, guided as they were by one so thoroughly familiar with the surroundings as was Burleson.

Joe had confided all to the officer leading the troops, and had gained his consent to a daring move. He had not forgotten his promise to Lottie; he would save her if possible. But would he be in time? The bold spy shuddered as this fear assailed his heart. Though knowing her for so brief a time, he had given his entire heart to the pale-faced maiden. And the love of such a man, rude and unlettered though he was, was not to be despised.

With this view, Joe glided on in advance, while the soldiers dismounted and stood their horses at a safe distance, then removed all articles that, by jingling, could possibly alarm the foe too soon.

Dressed as he had been when first appearing at the village, Burleson entered without fear, knowing that Crazy Joe was a privileged person. But the village was quiet. The outlaws seemed all asleep.

Not all--from the hillside, shining through the tiny windows that he knew looked out from the grotto, Joe caught the faint ray of a light. And more!

A half-stifled scream came from that direction. His teeth grated together, his eyes flashed with a deadly glow as he glided into the little hut that sheltered the entrance.

He recognized the voice of Lottie Mitchell!

He paused at the entrance of the grotto. All was still. But a sight met his eyes that fairly maddened him.

Near the center of the room a man was bending over the form of a woman; the latter seemed insensible.

The man was Yellow Jack. The woman was Lottie Mitchell.

Thank God! he was yet in time! Such was the thought that flashed across his mind like intuition. Why, he could not have explained himself.

He did not speak--made no sound. But he bounded forward like a panther that thirsted for blood.

One hand clutched the neck of Yellow Jack. The other, uplifted, clutched a long-bladed knife.

The weapon descended with a dull, thrilling _thud_. The steel guard dented deep into the outlaw's back. The blood-stained point protruded through the gayly embroidered shirt-front.

Without a groan, Yellow Jack sunk forward upon the insensible form of his intended victim, a dead man. The blade had cloven his heart in twain.

Tenderly Burleson lifted the maiden from the floor and bore her to the soft couch of skins beyond. Her eyes opened, and a murmur of thanksgiving told that she recognized him as a true friend.

In hurried words he told her all, and cautioned her to remain silent. Then, with a lingering glance at her, he turned and glided away to give the signal of death.

Silently, like the shadows of death, the soldiers glided up and gained foothold in the outlaws' village. And then--but why give details? Surely enough bloodshed has already stained these pages.

That the surprise was complete--that, as the roaring flames of their blazing huts roused the slumbering outlaws, the wild yell of assault was given, is enough.

The struggle, though brief, was desperate and bloody. The outlaws never thought of begging mercy. They knew that it would be denied them, and so, fighting, they died. An hour--then the band was annihilated.

The next day a strange cavalcade left the Retreat. Horses and cattle were heavily loaded down with plunder. In a comfortable litter rode Lottie Mitchell. Beside her was Joe Burleson. Poor fellow, he was happy then. But his awakening came soon enough, though his love deserved better reward.

In safety they reached Fort Laramie. And then Lottie was taken ill, and only awoke to life again when winter had snow-bound all within the fort.

And, oh! the joy that awaited her then! The form that first met her conscious gaze, worn and pale with long and constant watching, was that of Burr Wythe!

This fact is easily explained.

The "pocket" of gold eventually gave out, or afforded so little reward that it was not deemed worth while wintering there. So Paul Chicot--now fully recovered--and Duplin contrived to capture a sufficient number of horses and mules from those that had escaped to the hills during the attack on the outlaws' retreat, to mount the party and convey their precious gold. Chicot guided them aright to Fort Laramie, though the most of their gold wad securely _cached_ among the hills where it would be safe. Then they entered the fort. There they first heard the fate of the train they had abandoned, and found Lottie Mitchell, the sole survivor, besides themselves.

Burr was prepared to meet Lottie's words concerning the murder of poor Hefler. Upshur had confessed to the deed, and Chicot could bear witness to it. And then, though there was little need of the words, he confessed his love. And Lottie?

Well, she gained in health and spirits so amazingly, that long before the snow began to disappear before the warm breath of spring, there was a double wedding at the old fort, that occasioned more pure, heartfelt joy, as well as boisterous fun and jollity, than ever before marked its annals.

And then, when the green grass began to appear, a small cavalcade took its departure from Laramie, heading toward the rising sun. At nightfall Duplin and Chicot rode back and opened their _cache_, bringing with them its precious contents.

Never was a more delightful trip than that, but our space forbids a detailed description. They reached "the States" in safety. Paul Chicot settled at St. Joseph, Mo., and entered into the fur trade. He still lives.

Duplin returned to the loyal maiden who had so long waited for him. They, too, were happy.

And thus we leave them.

THE END.

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[Transcriber's Note: The is no CHAPTER X. heading in original text]

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