Chapter 2 THE YOUNG BRAVE'S DARING.

While the men were eating (a sufficient number being left to keep watch and guard) in one of the dance halls, which was hastily impressed for the purpose, the herders of the N bar N outfit were questioned as to their knowledge of the Indians.

They reported that the redskins were in force and were coming rapidly in the direction of the town. That while they were guarding their stock, they were startled by the sudden appearance of an Indian near them, who yelled and waved his blanket, and finally succeeded in stampeding the animals. They started off at a gallop after the horses, and this solitary brave forthwith disappeared.

The stock stampeded but the herders stayed with them, riding full speed over all sorts of rough country. The Indians appeared at intervals in pursuit of them, and added to the confusion and danger by keeping up a running fire.

The herders said they were about to give up the attempt to keep their charges out of the savages' hands when they came in sight of the town. "Even then," said one of the men, called Singing Jim, "we couldn't have corralled the beasts if that youngster hadn't chased out to help us on a fresh horse, and a fast one at that."

"We'll have troubles yet," said the other herder, Calamity Jake he was called, because of his ability to see small black clouds of evil a great distance off. "Plenty of trouble, too, in the shape of Indians on the warpath. They were not far behind us when we reached these diggin's."

"What became of your wagons?" said Harry Hodson, a mouthful of beans interfering somewhat with his speech.

"Oh, I guess they're done for. Probably makin' light for the Indians to do a war dance by," remarked Singing Jim, cheerfully.

"I reckon not," said Mackenzie, who had appeared in time to hear the last; "they'll not show their location by making a big blaze like-"

"I heard a shot fired from over the hill," shouted Johnny, who stuck his head in at the door that moment. "Maybe it's one of the pickets."

The men jumped up and made a rush for the door. The herder, Singing Jim, who was the last man out, exclaimed as he disappeared, "Well, if that kid ain't ubikkertous, as the States' papers say!"

Several shots were now heard and then the pickets topped the rise and made a break down the slope to the town.

The enemy was close, but still invisible behind the ridge.

The men lay crouched behind their barricade, silent, alert, ready for what might come. The three pickets made their way back to the breastworks and reported that the advance guard had shown itself coming down a coulie half a mile away, and the main body, probably fifty strong, was straggling after when the pickets last looked back. A long night of vigil and hurried preparation had told on these watchers and they were anxious to begin the work and end the suspense. The short ten minutes which elapsed seemed ten hours. Then two Indians rode to the top of the ridge and looked down upon the preparations for their reception. They were a long rifle shot distant and the defenders had no ammunition to spare. Moreover, if unprovoked, the redskins might go without firing a shot. To tell the truth, however, especially when they saw the unlikelihood of making a successful assault, most of the little garrison were in the mood to feel disappointed if the attack ended so harmlessly.

"If those fellows are hard up for a fight," said Big Bill Smith, "maybe they'll tackle us; but I never saw an Indian yet that would ride a quarter of a mile in the open under fire even when he wanted something to eat,"-and Bill knew Indians.

"They won't leave without tryin' us," said Casino. "You'll see if I ain't right."

A moment later two painted and befeathered savages appeared to the left, and rode full tilt along the hillside in direct view of the camp, yelling and waving their blankets in derision: a tantalizing sight to the waiting men.

"Keep steady, there," called Mackenzie, sternly, as several rifles were raised. "There's no use shooting now; they're only trying to draw our fire and find out how strong we are. There'll be more presently. Wait for them."

A few minutes later half a dozen braves repeated the ruse. The flying figures, almost naked, being poor targets, the fire of the little garrison was still reserved. A dozen then made the run, one following the other, at regular intervals. More and more of the painted, yelling, gesticulating savages followed, dashing along the slope in single file and disappearing over the ridge to the right, until what was a short line became a procession.

Presently they began to creep down the hill, each rider advancing beyond the one preceding him, all yelling epithets of contempt as they came ever nearer the silent garrison.

This was the regular mode of Indian attack; it afforded them an opportunity to fire and yet gave their enemy a very poor chance to do any damage.

A desultory firing began; each Indian letting go his reins, fired his rifle as best he could as he rushed past. The shooting was naturally bad, for there was no chance to take careful aim. If the savages planned, however, to draw the fire of the besieged and so determine their strength, the scheme failed, for not a shot was fired from the camp, though the provocation was great.

The rushing line came closer and closer. The colors of the war paint and fluttering feathers could now be plainly seen. It was within easy range, but still the fire was withheld. Each Indian had worked himself into the frenzy which is so necessary a part of a brave's courage.

As the distance was lessened, the savages' aim became better, and several bullets struck the wagons and the barricade. The situation began to be interesting; any shot might now reach its human target, and the temptation to return the fire was almost irresistible.

But the sheriff only said, "Not yet."

The bullets were striking freely and the yelling enemy were within easy revolver range.

At last Mackenzie, who showed signs of suppressed eagerness, said, just loud enough to be heard: "Boys, don't shoot when your man is opposite; wait till he has passed, then aim at his back and shoot straight. You can't hit him otherwise. Ready now. Fire!"

This was not a military company, but a band of frontiersmen, which a common danger united under the leadership of one man. The volley which followed, therefore, was not one of precision, for every man took his time and pulled the trigger when he was ready.

The Indians, anticipating a return fire, rode by at full speed, their bodies hugging their horses closely. They made difficult targets, so the first few shots did nothing more than kill and disable a horse or two; but soon the fire became more rapid and accurate. A big buck was seen to fall out of his saddle, another was thrown violently from a wounded horse, several were hit in arms and legs. The yelling diminished and the line moved further up the slope, scattering as it went.

As the file, now rather scattered, turned the ridge at the right, firing as it moved, a young buck, in full war regalia and mounted on a beautiful bay pony, bounded into view. He dashed out of the circle of Indians, and rode boldly down toward the white men, yelling defiance.

He was a young chief endeavoring to earn the approval of his tribe and the consequent advancement and influence, according to the custom of the Sioux. Down the hill he came with a rush right into the thick of the fire, and yet, though the bullets whistled on all sides of him, he was unharmed. Nearer and nearer he drew, until he reached a point within two hundred yards of the white man's guns. Then he stopped, turned his pony half-way round and flourished his revolver derisively, yelling imprecations at the garrison the while. He then fired a shot which came so close to John, that he was sure he could feel the wind of it-the sound was unmistakable.

After this reckless feat, the young chief trotted slowly back to his own people, but kept his face always towards his enemies. The daring of the deed took both sides by surprise, and for a time hardly a shot was fired by white man or red. It was a tribute to the young brave's courage and bravado.

It would not do, however, to let him escape unharmed. Other warriors might be inspired to emulate the rash act, and if they took it into their heads to rush the stockade there would certainly be much loss of life.

The Indians now began firing again, covering as well as possible their comrade's retreat. Those behind the barricade also woke up.

"Shoot that fellow, boys," cried Big Bill. "He mustn't get away unhurt. We've got to discourage that sort of thing."

Every man aimed at the fleeing Indian, but still he rode with his face towards his foe, gesturing defiance. The feathers in his war-bonnet fluttered in the wind, and the quirt hung on his upraised right wrist swayed with the motion of his pony.

Of a sudden a single rifle spoke from the white man's intrenchments, and, in an instant, the young chief was changed from a superb living bronze statue to a lump. He fell, clawing at his saddle and yelling shrilly. His well-trained war pony slowed down and circled back to where his master lay.

All this occupied much less time than it takes to tell it.

During this distraction, half a dozen Indians, who had been unhorsed, rose from their brush coverts and ran for their lives to gain the more substantial refuge which the ridge afforded. Four escaped, but two were dropped in their tracks before they could reach the shelter.

Though bullets had dropped all around the white men, none had been hit.

"Had enough?" said the sheriff. "Found the camp stronger than you thought, eh?"

Such seemed to be the case, for, after a long parley, which was held discreetly out of range, the band disappeared, leaving their dead on the prairie.

An attempt had been made to rescue the fallen, but the risk was too great, and it was given up.

The Indians had been gone some time before the little garrison crept carefully from under cover, for the Sioux were notoriously tricky and their apparent departure might simply be a ruse to put their enemies off their guard.

Finally, however, the sheriff turned to his men. "Casino," said he, "you, Singing Jim, and Calamity Jake follow their trail and see what becomes of them. If they start to come back you hump yourselves and let us know. You'd better go along, Hodson, and look after your stock."

The men appointed saddled up and started out without delay. The good wishes of those remaining went with them. It was a perilous undertaking, for there was no telling where the war party might be or what they might do.

After the scouts had left, guards were set to keep watch and prevent a surprise, though it was thought that there was little danger of an attack by daylight.

The sheriff and the rest of the men began to count noses, not only of men but of stock, for it might be that in the excitement some one or some animal had been hit unknown to the others. In fact, it would be a marvel if one bullet had not reached its mark, since, at times, they had dropped around like hail.

All were found intact, but several of the wagons had been pretty badly riddled.

A barrel of molasses which rested in one of the wagons was punctured by a 45-calibre bullet, and the sticky stuff leaked down on and in a trunk marked "Charles R. Green, Boston."

"Belongs to a tenderfoot who got stalled with the rest of his outfit near the railroad," Casino had explained, when some one remarked on the strange object.

Certainly the "tenderfoot" was having rather a novel introduction to the hardships of frontier life. As Charley Green said afterwards, "he was stuck on himself for fair."

Mr. Worth and John now thought of the family at the Sebells', and at the first lull they made their way back between wagons, around and through bunches of cattle, mules, and horses to the house. It was hard to tell which was most glad to see the other, but a stranger coming in would not have realized that this was the return of a father and son after several hours' exposure to all the perils of Indian warfare. There were no tears of joy, no outward demonstration of happiness. The frontiersman had learned, perhaps from the Indian, perhaps from stern nature herself, to keep his feelings to himself. Even John and Ben were not demonstrative.

"I suppose you did 'em up?" said the latter to his more fortunate brother. "How many were there in the party?"

John dropped to the floor, for the experience of the night before was, at least, trying. "Sure we did," he answered. "They didn't come till daylight and so were in plain sight, while we were under cover, see? Same bunch we saw the other day, I guess. Phew! I'm tired."

He had hardly got the words out of his mouth before he was sound asleep, and, not long after, his father was also in the land where none but phantom enemies are seen.

The Indians evidently had enough, for they disappeared, taking with them, however, some of the N bar N stock. The two herders accepted the situation, each in his own fashion.

"I told you so," groaned Calamity Jake. "These pesky Indians ought to be wiped off the face of the earth."

Singing Jim, however, merely grinned, and said as he ran his fingers through his hair: "Well, I'm glad this thatch is not decorating some Sioux tepee. I think it looks better on me than it would on a lodge pole."

After this, things went on in much the same old way in the little frontier town, for the Indians did not venture another attack.

In spite of its small size, Bismarck was a busy place and was the distributing point for a large unsettled territory.

Freighters came in from points on the distant railroad with provisions for the cattlemen, trappers, and miners, and the constantly changing population of the town. Their wagons were in long trains, one hitched to the other, the whole drawn by many teams of mules and driven by one man, who rode the near mule next the first wagon, controlling his team by a single "jerk line," which ran to the front near animal. This mule, who was picked for his intelligence, knew that one pull on the line meant turn left, and two short jerks indicated that a right turn was wanted; moreover, he knew just how wide a sweep to make to clear an obstruction.

When the trapper came to town to bring in his pelts for shipment East, and to get a supply of pork, beans, and coffee--his standbys in the matter of diet--and when the cowboy raced in with a couple of pack ponies to get supplies for his outfit, the rare opportunity was always taken advantage of to enjoy what pleasures the town afforded. The gamblers and saloon keepers did a thriving business, though a perilous one, for, on the slightest provocation, the frontiersman was ever ready with his shooting irons.

It was only a few weeks after the Indian attack described before the parching heat of summer began to give way before the dreaded wintry breath of the North.

John and Ben, when they went out to guard their father's stock, gave up their daily swimming in the river and took up horse racing instead; and many a race was hotly contested. The boy, however, who rode Baldy, the big bay, always won.

Mr. Worth, as has been noted before, was a freighter; he was also a miner, opening up mines of coal in the deep-cut river banks, the coal so obtained being sold to the government for the fort garrisons.

GLANCING OVER SAW AN INDIAN VILLAGE. (Page 37.)

On these coal-prospecting trips he usually went alone, carrying on his back the bare necessaries of life: a blanket, perhaps a string of bacon, a bag of beans, and a little coffee, besides the never-absent rifle and revolver.

Late in the fall, Mr. Worth set out on a prospecting trip. The garrisons of Fort Lincoln and other outposts situated up the river were clamoring for more fuel, and no time must be lost if they were to be supplied before the heavy snows set in.

John went with his father a half day's journey, helping to carry his equipment. They started out afoot, and the mother, holding the baby in her arms, watched them.

"So long," called back Mr. Worth, as he started out.

"So long," returned his wife.

At dark, John returned and, in his self-sufficient way, began to prepare for the night. He and Ben each saddled a horse, of which there were several tied to a pole, and set out to round up the "saddle band" (as the ponies which were reserved for riding were called), and the work stock of mules and pack horses. They were not far off, nibbling the tufted buffalo grass, and soon were turned toward the corral, the boys riding on either side, ready to head off any animal that showed a disposition to separate or lead the "bunch" astray.

The stock safely disposed of, John and Ben went back to the shack, but were promptly sent out again for wood and water.

"Let's get a lot of wood," said Ben, "for it's colder than blazes. Hope the governor will find a good place to turn in to-night."

"Oh, he's all right," replied John, between grunts, for the load of wood he was carrying was both heavy and bulky.

An hour or so later, the windows and door were barred, the embers of the fire scattered, and all hands turned in for the night. The beds were really bunks built into the wall, and were not exactly luxurious, spring mattresses being quite unknown; but the boys found them comfortable, and in a minute or two were rolled in their blankets like great cocoons and fast asleep.

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Mr. Worth was not expected back for several weeks, for his journey was to be a long one and subject to many delays on account of bad weather and, worse, Indians.

It was about a week after he had left that Charley Green came up to where the boys sat on the door-step braiding whips or quirts.

"Hullo, kids," he said, "Mr. Mackenzie wants-what are you doing?" His curiosity made him forget his errand.

"Braidin' a rope to hang a couple of horse thieves," said John, facetiously. "What did you think we were doing, branding calves?"

Even the kids made fun of the "tenderfoot," who was really a good fellow, just out from an Eastern college, but densely ignorant as far as Western ways went. He saw he was being laughed at, and so hastened to come back to his errand.

"Mr. Mackenzie wants some old clothes, blankets, and other warm things for a man who turned up just now, half-dressed. He's almost frozen. White man, too," he added.

In a few minutes John and Tenderfoot Green reached the sheriff's shack, bearing clothes and blankets. The crowd that stood before the door parted and allowed them to pass.

In the far corner of the room, leaning over the fire, sat a man who turned his head as John and Green came in.

"Why, it's my father!" cried John.

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