Chapter XI: The Heroine a Captive

This cowardly act, while it was a surprise to Old Pegs, did not find him utterly unprepared. He suffered himself to slip from the saddle, and in doing so, dragged his two assailants with him, each encircled by one of his powerful arms. Once upon the ground they realized that it was not an easy work which they had undertaken, for those great arms enfolded them with a gripe which literally drove the breath from their bodies, strong men as they were. A moment more and Jim Diggs was down with the huge foot of the hunter planted on his breast, while above him stood the stalwart old man with Rafe Norris in his grasp, shaking him until it seemed as if he would tear him limb from limb.

“Turn on a flag, would yer?” hissed the old man. “I orter kill yer—I orter cut yer heart out, by Jinks; why shouldn’t I?”

Rafe made frantic efforts to get at a weapon, but his efforts were vain, and Jim Diggs was utterly powerless under the pressure of that heavy foot. The outlaws in the pass, seeing the terrible danger of their leaders, advanced at a wild gallop, while a party of the trappers about equal in numbers, charged in return. But, before they could reach the combatants Old Pegs was standing alone in a sea of tossing steel, set upon at once by twenty foes. His wild whoop of defiance rung out above the tumult and a terrible commotion was made in their midst. Horses careered away riderless, shouts of wild rage were heard, and out of the tempest of steel rode Old Pegs, whirling above his head the rifle which served him for a mace. More than one Indian cabin was empty from that hour, for the warriors would never more return from the battle or the chase.

“Yah—hip!” yelled Old Pegs, as he still struck right and left. “Old Pegs is thar, every time. Whoop! Sock it to ’em, boys; give ’em Bunker Hill!”

His friends are hardly a hundred paces away, when the brave old hunter dropped his hands to his side attacked by an unlooked-for weapon, and one against which he had not time to guard, the lasso! He feels the deadly noose settle over his shoulders and tighten about his arms, still another and another follows—and he is dragged from the saddle into the center of his enemies, who, satisfied with what they have done, turn their horses’ heads and fly, bearing the hunter in their midst. Close upon the crupper, dropping a man at almost every stride, ride the bold trappers, so close indeed that they sweep into the pass with the pursued so near that they can not turn and defend themselves. Man after man falls and still they press on.

“Keep up the pace, boys!” screamed Dave, wild with the delight of battle. “Down with the cut-throats.”

Rafe Norris heard his voice and made a half-turn in his saddle with a revolver in his hand. Without checking his horse in the least he fired and the bullet passed through Farrell’s cap, absolutely cutting a track through his thick hair, so close a shave was it. Dave returned the fire quickly, but a man who happened to swerve a little from his course received the bullet and fell with a hoarse cry of agony, stricken through the collar-bone.

But this pace could not last forever, and the outlaws burst out of the pass in advance and were half-way across the level valley which lay in front when the headmost trapper rode out of the pass. Here there was room to turn, and Rafe Norris was the man to take advantage of it. Forty of his bravest men wheeled out and joined him and they formed a line to protect the retreat of the rest, held the trappers in check for five minutes and then fell back slowly, their faces ever turned to the foe and their rifles playing upon their scattered files. In this order the rear guard disappeared in the next pass, leaving the trappers in the valley, a place of small extent with a narrow strip of timber crossing it from side to side. Under the shadow of this timber Dave called his men to a halt, to breathe the horses which had been severely blown in the desperate chase.

“We have lost a good man, boys,” he said, raising his cap reverently, “for these villains will murder him beyond a doubt. Taken while bearing a white flag! By Heaven, the Sioux alone would not have been guilty of a breach of faith like that. What are we to do now we have lost our guide?”

“I know the passes well enough, Cap,” replied one of the men, “but upon my word we’ve got heavy work before us. They can hold that pass against us for twenty years.”

“We’ll try it, however,” replied Dave. “At best we can only fail and I for one have given my life to the cause.”

Old Pegs was a prisoner in the hands of a foe as relentless as death, a man who respected nothing, not even the sanctity of a flag. The lassoes had not been removed from his arms but he was lifted bodily into the saddle of a man who had fallen under the sweep of his powerful arm, while on one side rode Jim Diggs and on the other a man equally cruel, holding a revolver ready for a shot.

“The Hudson Bay must be proud of its men,” said Old Pegs. “Ef a North-west party hed done this, not one of ’em could ’a’ stayed in ther kentry.”

“The Company don’t know _all_ we do,” replied Diggs, with a grin. “Our instructions are gineral and we take lots of _latitude_.”

“Looks like it,” said the old hunter. “You _run_ fast enough.”

“It’s a good thing to know _when_ to run, old man,” replied Diggs.

They entered the pass in safety and were quickly followed by the rear guard. Rafe Norris came last and leaped from his horse quickly.

“Lances to the front,” he cried. “Joe Beaver, take ten men up the east side of the pass and don’t let any one come up. Boston Jake, take the same number of men up the west side with the same instructions. If you had done this before, Jim, you would have saved some men.”

“I know it, now,” said Diggs. “D’ye want to save this prisoner? He ain’t wuth much to keep.”

“I have not fully made up my mind,” replied Rafe Norris.

“Shoot me, why don’t you?” cried Old Pegs. “You shot the Indian and Velveteens, good friends of yours, and why not Old Pegs?”

“Dog!” hissed Rafe Norris. “You don’t know how near to death you are at this moment. Breathe a word of that kind again and you are a dead man.”

“I don’t keer much how soon I go under,” was the undaunted reply, “but I don’t believe even your men would stand a murder like that. Why don’t you try it?”

“’Twon’t do, Cap,” whispered Diggs, with a side glance at the men. “Thar’s over twenty of our boys gone under, and some of ’em ar’ alive, probably. If we kill him now thar ain’t no chance for them.”

“See that he does not escape, that is all. If he does, your life will answer for it. I am satisfied that, without him for a guide, the devils can’t get at us, and our taking him was a sore stroke to them. I am going up to see my intended bride, Old Pegs.”

Rafe Norris laughed scornfully, leaped into the saddle and rode away swiftly up the pass, which ended in a sort of amphitheater, hemmed in by giant rocks, an approach to which by any thing except the opening by which he had entered seemed almost impossible. Six men were in the place, seated upon a flat rock, four of them engaged in a little game of “draw poker,” and the fifth looking on deeply interested. A little way off, Myrtle sat upon a stone, and a stalwart man stood near, watching her closely. Her countenance was downcast, and she did not look up when Rafe Norris rode into the glade and dismounted. The players suspended operations and looked at their leader in some doubt.

“Away with those painted darlings,” he cried. “Your business was to watch the prisoner, not to play poker. We are beset by this accursed Brigade, and it is impossible to say whether we will ever escape. Over twenty of the boys have gone under, but we’ll hold the pass now—no matter what happens, until the last man drops.”

He left them and advanced hurriedly to the side of Myrtle, making a signal to the guard that he might go. The fellow seemed glad to be released, and walked hastily away, while Rafe took a seat upon a stone close to Myrtle.

“How have you passed the hours of my absence, darling?” he said in his blandest tone. “I hope you have not grieved that I did not return sooner.”

“My deepest grief was in the thought that you _would_ come back sooner or later,” was the reply. “It can not last long, for your master will surely claim his own soon.”

“My master? Oh; you refer to the Supreme Master of the realms below,” replied Rafe with a light laugh. “Have no fears, my sweet one. _He_ never interferes with those who are doing his work on earth if he can possibly avoid it. I came to bring you a little news?”

“You can bring me none that will please me,” was the cool reply, “unless it is that the day of your hanging is appointed!”

“Hardly that, dear girl. How you must love me by this time.”

“Yes, as I love adders, toads and rattlesnakes.”

“You will go too far, my girl,” he said, knitting his dark brows. “I warn you to be careful, for although I am a man who can bear much from one I love, my temper is not of the sweetest at all times. Do you know that your father is in my hands?”

She started and look at him wildly. She had hoped for much at the hands of Old Pegs, and if he were indeed taken her hope was vain.

“I can hardly believe that you speak the truth,” she said. “By what treachery has he fallen into your hands? He never was taken by fair means.”

“It matters little,” was the reply, “as long as I have him safe—and intend to make him the means of extorting a promise from you which I know you will not break. Ha; your friends are getting impatient, but my boys will teach them that it is not good to rouse the lion in his lair.”

The battle had recommenced in the pass beyond.

“The lion! Do not shame that noble brute by comparing yourself with him. Say rather the coyote—sly, treacherous and cowardly—and the simile may apply.”

“My patience is going fast,” he said, savagely. “Now hear me, and be careful of your answers. When we have beaten off your friends, the trappers, we take our march for Fort Garry, as we have done our work here for the present. I am rich now, and will turn my back forever on the mountains and plains of the West, and lead a new life in the region of the tropics. There our lives will pass as a summer idyl, peaceful and calm, and we will forget that this life of ours has ever been. There is a chaplain at Fort Garry who will marry us—”

“Never!”

“Hear me out. Give me your promise to go with me, and no harm shall come to him you call your father. I know that it is false—that he is not your father, but that is nothing now. Refuse, and he shall die with the utmost refinement of savage torment.”

“You would not do that?” she gasped.

“I? Oh no, that is not my business, but you must understand that the Modoc Sioux—my allies—have lost many friends, and they claim a victim. And, in short, I shall consider myself bound to give them one if you are obdurate. What do you say?”

“I must see my father.”

“Oh, no; I know that the old knave would only strengthen you in your obstinacy, and that would not pay. Without seeing him, you must either accept or refuse.”

“You say that the Modoc Sioux demand a victim. Let it be so, then, for I will not see my father perish.”

“Do you accept?” he cried, eagerly, for he knew that she would keep a promise once made, if it broke her heart.

“You misunderstand me, sir. What I propose is this: let the Sioux have their victim _in me_, and let that brave old man go free.”

“You—you!” he stammered. “Saints of mercy, what do you take me for?”

“I owe a happy life to Nicholas Fletcher, him you know as Old Pegs. Even in this wild region, he has made me happy for twenty years. Nothing which he could do has been wanting, and I owe him so much that I am ready to give up my life for his sake.”

At this moment a rattling volley was heard at the entrance of the valley, followed by wild yells of savage vengeance. The fire was returned, but as Rafe Norris listened breathlessly he knew that his men were falling back. What could it mean? Why had they been so suddenly ousted from their strong position by a force not nearly as large as their own?