Bushy a romance founded on fact
father fell across him dead. Mr. Sukolt went down with his weight, and
it was well he did, for an arrow came whizzing by which would have
ended his life without doubt.
“We are here, Padre!” called out the voice of Bushy, who, in spite of
the warnings of the soldiers, rushed ahead and into the thickest of the
fight.
It was Bushy’s quick action that had saved the lives of the campers,
but she could not claim that it was her shot that laid low the villain
who was trying to scalp her father. The few Indians that were not
killed fled like cowards when they saw the soldiers. Bushy had come
across the detachment out scouting, and that was how she reached the
camp so early, and just in time.
Tom was only stunned, and, but for a lump on his head, was all right
in half an hour. Shanks was not hurt at all excepting a few black and
blue spots. Mr. Sukolt had his arm done up, and Bushy almost went into
hysterics after everything was over.
CHAPTER XX
“Hello, Rover, Rover! Where are you, Rover?” called Bushy, suddenly
stopping her crying and rushing about wildly for her dog. Nobody had
seen Rover. Several soldiers were helping Mr. Sukolt and the men get
the wagons into order to move toward the fort. Five soldiers had
followed the Indians some distance and chased them back behind the
hills. The others were keeping guard for fear they might pick them
off, one by one, by slipping back and getting within shooting distance
without their knowing it.
Everybody stopped and called Rover. A low whine directed them to Tom’s
wagon, and there, underneath a pile of clothing, the poor dog was
found, trembling and frightened.
“Dear Rover, I thought you were killed sure,” said Bushy, hugging him
and crying with delight. In her anxiety over the dog she forgot her
own troubles, and taking Rover by the collar dragged him out and up
into her wagon, where the two snuggled down on buffalo robes. The men
hitched up one of the horses in place of the dead mule and then they
all started for the fort, the soldiers dividing, some riding in front
and some behind. But the Indians watched from ambush the movements
of the soldiers, and formed a plan for the destruction of the whole
band. The redskins seemingly fled, but instead they made a circuit of
the mountain and got between Mr. Sukolt’s party and the fort. They
hid behind the trees that grew in the fork of a stream and there they
waited until the wagons came quite close. The soldiers were on the
lookout; nevertheless, they were much surprised when the war-whoop
suddenly sounded in front.
The wagons were again turned into means of protection. Indians are
cowardly and not good riflemen, as a general thing, and when the
soldiers with their deadly aim picked off every red man that showed
himself, the others quieted down and no doubt wished they were safe out
of the fight.
“Bushy, you and Rover crawl under the bedding and lie down flat,” cried
Mr. Sukolt. He piled about her the three hams and several great pieces
of bacon that had been brought along to be eaten on the trip.
Bushy could not see out on the side where the Indians were. It was
growing dark and the fight being in a little grove of trees the red men
concluded to take advantage and crawl stealthily, tomahawk in hand,
upon the enemy.
Bushy, from her elevated position in the wagon, was almost on a level
with the heads of the redskins, as they rose to flourish the tomahawk.
“I’ll lie down flat,” said Bushy to herself, “and be ready to fire if
any Indian comes on my side of the wagon.”
She had no more than settled well down into a comfortable position when
she saw the headdress of a redskin bobbing up and down in the tall
grass close to the wagon tongue. Without any ado whatever she fired and
laid him low. With a yell that was appalling, another Indian rose out
of the grass and made an attempt to drag away the dead man, but Bushy
fired again, and he, too, fell and rolled out of sight in the darkness.
“Bravo!” cried the soldiers.
“That’s two for me,” said Bushy, softly to herself.
The soldiers continued fighting, determined on the destruction of the
few Indians that remained, when suddenly Bushy heard an anxious cry
for powder. “I am out of powder!” cried Tom. “So am I, almost,” yelled
Shanks from behind the nearest tree. “Here take my can,” called Mr.
Sukolt, as he crawled through the grass and divided with the boys.
“I know where there is more,” thought Bushy, and scrambling from under
the hams and sides of bacon, she immediately proceeded to open the box
and fill her skirt with as much as she could carry.
“I’ll slip along down and furnish the men with all they want,” said
Bushy.
She crawled from under the wagon-cover and fell, with a soft thud, to
the ground below.
“Here Tom; help yourself,” she said a minute later, as she nudged him
on the elbow.
“Bless your heart, child! how did you get here? You must not run such
risk,” but before he had finished talking she was off to Shanks, and
after supplying him she started for her father who was hidden behind a
bowlder on the left, but he sharply ordered her to drop the powder on
the ground and climb again into the wagon.
Just then a dusky cloud settled over the trees, throwing the grove for
a moment into complete darkness, and the captain of the soldiers called
out:
“Everybody be on guard and draw near to the wagons. When all are in,
make a grand rush and try to get out of this wood.”
Tom jumped to hitch the horses to the wagons, the soldiers kept
guard, shooting at every move in the grass outside of their circle,
nevertheless, two horses were killed and three soldiers wounded before
Tom succeeded in making everything ready.
The three men were put tenderly into the freight wagon, as Tom called
the second vehicle. Shanks suddenly called to them to “lay low.” They
fell flat on the ground, and thus were saved from an arrow that came
whizzing through the darkness.
“All aboard!” shouted Shanks, as he jumped to the wagon-seat, and
taking the reins, declared he was ready to start.
“I killed that fellow,” said one of the soldiers, after shooting at a
face that had gleamed at him through the still darkness. “I think he is
the last of them.”
“Are we ready?” called out the captain. “If so, to the fort!”
Tom struck his horse a most cruel blow; the team bounded like mad down
the road, followed closely by Shanks and his load of wounded men. The
mounted soldiers dashed after them, each with loaded gun ready for the
slightest sign of an Indian. On they went, never stopping until out of
the woods and some distance into the valley.
“Bushy!” called Mr. Sukolt, and a loud bark from Rover proved him still
under the pile of hams and bacon.
“Mr. Sukolt!” then called the captain, “I need your help here, one of
my men has fainted.” Mr. Sukolt jumped out and helped the soldier into
Shanks’s wagon. Tom had received a gash on his face that was setting
him wild with pain. He drove madly on, dreading every minute that he,
too, would fall helpless. To make matters worse, Jip suddenly broke the
halter and ran back to the woods.
“Only one quarter of a mile more,” cried the captain; “let the pony
go, no time to bother with him now,” and in a few minutes the wagons
were hauled up before the fort. Tom fell staggering into the arms of an
officer, which incident again distracted Mr. Sukolt’s attention from
his child, and it was some minutes before he turned, half frightened by
a sudden thought, and again called, “Bushy!”
There was no answer.
“Smothered under the hams, maybe,” said one of the soldiers, as he
hurried with Mr. Sukolt to tear away the coverings and throw the smoked
meat to the right and left.
Rover gave one yelp of joy when he heard his master’s voice, and
bounded out, and down to the ground.
“Bushy!” called her father, throwing down the last ham and then making
a hurried search through the bedding, and feeling of the quilts in the
hammock. “Bushy! My God, boys, she is not here; she is gone!” He
gave a gasp and fell into the outstretched arms of Shanks, who for two
minutes had given up the search and stood with face whiter than death,
dreading the time when Mr. Sukolt should realize that his daughter had
been left behind.
CHAPTER XXI
Bushy had poured the powder on the ground as her father had ordered her
to do, and was wishing that the stuff were not so dirty.
“I have spoilt my skirt. It is all mud and powder, and I wish Padre
would not put his head out so often, he may get hurt.” Thus she went
on thinking to herself and crawling slowly through the grass to the
wagon’s side.
It was a brave deed for Bushy to take the powder to the men, yet it did
not seem possible that she could get hurt going no farther than she
did, and when Mr. Sukolt ordered her to go back to the little fort made
of hams he dismissed all idea of danger from his mind. The wagon was
watched by soldiers, and Indians were picked off the minute they showed
themselves. Nevertheless, with all their watchfulness, a young savage
succeeded in getting through the grass and lay under the wagon waiting
for someone whom he could use as target for his arrows. To his surprise
the very first object that came in sight was Bushy crawling to him.
The young Indian’s eyes snapped. He grasped his tomahawk and crouched
still nearer the ground, his eyes shining like balls of fire.
Bushy saw the eyes and halted, still on her hands and knees. “It’s a
panther,” she thought, and she made a move for her revolver.
The Indian was as much amused as astonished at finding a little girl in
the fight, and never once dreamed she knew how to shoot. There would
have been little danger for her had he not feared she would scream and
bring the whole force of soldiers down upon him.
When he realized that she saw him, quick as lightning he raised his
tomahawk and struck her a blow on the head that stretched poor Bushy
flat at his side.
“Scalp little squaw!” muttered the Indian, gleefully. Then he drew his
half blanket about her, sling fashion, and began to drag her slowly
back to the thick trees beyond.
Unfortunately for Bushy and fortunately for the Indian it was then the
sky clouded over, and it grew so dark. It was at that moment that the
captain called for the soldiers to close in and prepare to rush from
the woods. The Indian made the best of the darkness, but it was his
dragging Bushy through the grass that had attracted Shanks and had made
him call to the men to “lay low.” The bouncing over the ground after
awhile brought Bushy to her senses enough to realize that she was in
the hands of an enemy.
“I cannot see,” said Bushy to herself. “Poor Padre! what will he do
when he misses me? I wonder if I will lose my scalp like Tom, or will I
be roasted alive, like the poor trapper Padre tells about who used to
hunt with him.”
Bushy finally got her revolver, and though the blood was so thick in
her eyes from the gash the tomahawk made on her head that she could not
see, she waited until she felt herself drawn close to the Indian, then
pointing the weapon toward where she knew he must be crouching, she
fired.
Bushy heard nothing but a low groan in response to her shot. “I am
afraid to move,” she thought. “If he thinks I shot at him he will
surely kill me. Perhaps he is playing dead like I am. Oh, Padre, Padre!
if I dared scream!” Then the cramped position she was in renewed the
pain from the cut in her head and she must have fainted, because she
remembered no more until she felt the warm nose of some animal pushing
against her. Her heart stood still with fright. “Panther, or maybe a
bear! No, bears would not come so far down from the mountains, but a