Chapter Eighty One. An Empty Camp
We had not gone far before we came within ear-shot of voices, mingled with the hollow thumping of horses’ hoofs.
We recognised the voices as those of our comrades, and hailed them as they came nearer, for we perceived that they were advancing towards us.
They had heard the reports; and, believing them to proceed from our rifles, had fancied we were engaged with the Indians, and were now riding forwards to our aid.
“Hollow, boys!” shouted Hickman, as they drew nearer. “Is Bill Williams and Ned Spence among ye? Speak out, if ye be!”
There was no reply to this interrogatory. It was succeeded by a dead silence of some seconds’ duration. Evidently the two men were not there, else they would have answered for themselves.
“Where are they?” “Where have they gone to?” were the inquiries that passed through the crowd.
“Ay, whar are they?” repeated Hickman. “Thar not hyar, that’s plain. By the ’tarnal allygator, thar’s some ugly game afoot atween them two fellers! But, come, boys, we must forrad. The Indyuns is jest afore ye: it’s no use creepin’ any more. Thar a gwine to slope; and if we don’t git up to ’em in three shakes o’ a squirrel’s tail, thar won’t be a cussed varmint o’ ’em on the groun’. Hooraw for redskins’ scalps! Look to your guns. Let’s forrad, and gie ’em partickler hell!”
And with this emphatic utterance, the old hunter dashed into the front, and led the way towards the camp of the savages.
The men followed, helter-skelter, the horses crowding upon each other’s heels. No strategic method was observed. Time was the important consideration, and the aim was to get up to the camp before the Indians could retreat from it. A bold charge into their midst, a volley from our guns, and then with knives and pistols to close the conflict. This was the programme that had been hastily agreed upon.
We had arrived near the camp – within three hundred yards of it. There was no uncertainty as to the direction. The voices of the savages, that continued to be heard ever since the first alarm, served to guide us on the way.
All at once these voices became bushed. No longer reached us, either the shouting of the men, or the hurried trampling of their horses. In the direction of the camp all was still as death.
But we no longer needed the guidance of sounds. We were within sight of the camp fires – or at least of their light, that glittered afar among the trees. With this as our beacon, we continued to advance.
We rode forwards, but now less recklessly. The change from confused noise to perfect silence had been so sudden and abrupt as to have the effect of making us more cautious. The very stillness appeared ominous – we read in it a warning – it rendered us suspicious of an ambuscade – the more so as all had heard of the great talent of the “Redstick Chief” for this very mode of attack.
When within a hundred yards of the fires, our party halted. Several dismounted, and advanced on foot. They glided from trunk to trunk till they had reached the edge of the opening, and then came back to report.
The camp was no longer in existence – its occupants were gone. Indians, horses, captives, plunder, had all disappeared from the ground!
The fires alone remained. They showed evidence of being disturbed in the confusion of the hasty decampment. The red embers were strewed over the grass – their last flames faintly flickering away.
The scouts continued to advance among the trees, till they had made the full circuit of the little opening. For a hundred yards around it the woods were searched with caution and ease; but no enemy was encountered – no ambuscade. We had arrived too late, and the savage foes had escaped us – had carried off their captives from under our very eyes.
It was impossible to follow them in the darkness; and, with mortified spirits, we advanced into the opening, and took possession of the deserted camp. It was our determination to remain there for the rest of the night, and renew the pursuit in the morning.
Our first care was to quench our thirst by the pond – then that of our animals. The fires were next extinguished, and a ring of sentries – consisting of nearly half the number of our party – was placed among the tree-trunks, that stood thickly around the opening. The horses were staked over the ground, and the men stretched themselves along the sward so lately occupied by the bodies of their savage foes. In this wise we awaited the dawning of day.
To none of our party – not even to myself – was this escape of the enemy, or “circumvention,” as he termed it, so mortifying as to old Hickman, who, though priding himself upon his superior cunning and woodcraft, was obliged to confess himself outwitted by a rascally Redstick.