The Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail [105]
the coulee, Raven swayed in his saddle. A second shot and the black horse was fair upon the Indian pony, hurling him to the ground and falling himself upon him. As the Indian sprang to his feet Raven was upon him. He gripped him by the throat and shook him as a dog shakes a rat. Once, twice, his pistol fell upon the snarling face and the Indian crumpled up and lay still, battered to death.
"Thank God!" cried Cameron, as he came up, struggling with his sobbing breath. "You have got the beast."
"Yes, I have got him," said Raven, with his hand to his side, "but I guess he has got me too. And--" he paused. His eye fell upon his horse lying upon his side and feebly kicking--"ah, I fear he has got you as well, Nighthawk, old boy." As he staggered over toward his horse the sound of galloping hoofs was heard coming down the coulee.
"Here are some more of them!" cried Cameron, drawing out his guns.
"All right, Cameron, my boy, just back up here beside me," said Raven, as he coolly loaded his empty revolver. "We can send a few more of these devils to hell. You are a good sport, old chap, and I want to go out in no better company."
"Hold up!" cried Cameron. "There is a woman. Why, there is a Policeman. They are friends, Raven. It is the doctor and Moira. Hurrah! Here you are, Martin. Quick! Quick! Oh, my God! He is dying!"
Raven had sunk to his knees beside his horse. They gathered round him, a Mounted Police patrol picked up on the way by Dr. Martin, Moira who had come to show them the trail, and Smith.
"Nighthawk, old boy," they heard Raven say, his hand patting the shoulder of the noble animal, "he has done for you, I fear." His voice came in broken sobs. The great horse lifted his beautiful head and looked round toward his master. "Ah, my boy, we have done many a journey together!" cried Raven as he threw his arm around the glossy neck, "and on this last one too we shall not be far apart." The horse gave a slight whinny, nosed into his master's hand and laid his head down again. A slight quiver of the limbs and he was still for ever. "Ah, he has gone!" cried Raven, "my best, my only friend."
"No, no," cried Cameron, "you are with friends now, Raven, old man." He offered his hand. Raven took it wonderingly.
"You mean it, Cameron?"
"Yes, with all my heart. You are a true man, if God ever made one, and you have shown it to-night."
"Ah!" said Raven, with a kind of sigh as he sank back and leaned up against his horse. "That is good to hear. It is long since I have had a friend."
"Quick, Martin!" said Cameron. "He is wounded."
"What? Where?" said the doctor, kneeling down beside him and tearing open his coat and vest. "Oh, my God!" cried the doctor. "He is--" The doctor paused abruptly.
"What do you say? Oh, Dr. Martin, he is not badly wounded?" Moira threw herself on her knees beside the wounded man and caught his hand. "Oh, it is cold, cold," she cried through rushing tears. "Can you not help him? Oh, you must not let him die."
"Surely he is not dying?" said Cameron.
The doctor was silently and swiftly working with his syringe.
"How long, Doctor?" inquired Raven in a quiet voice.
"Half an hour, perhaps less," said the doctor brokenly. "Have you any pain?"
"No, very little. It is quite easy. Cameron," he said, his voice beginning to fail, "I want you to send a letter which you will find in my pocket addressed to my brother. Tell no one the name. And add this, that I forgive him. It was really not worth while," he added wearily, "to hate him so. And say to the Superintendent I was on the straight with him, with you all, with my country in this rebellion business. I heard about this raid; and I fancy I have rather spoiled their pemmican. I have run some cattle in my time, but you know, Cameron, a fellow who has worn the uniform could not mix in with these beastly breeds against the Queen, God bless her!"
"Oh, Dr. Martin," cried the girl piteously, shaking him by the arm, "do not tell me you can do nothing. Try--try something."
"Thank God!" cried Cameron, as he came up, struggling with his sobbing breath. "You have got the beast."
"Yes, I have got him," said Raven, with his hand to his side, "but I guess he has got me too. And--" he paused. His eye fell upon his horse lying upon his side and feebly kicking--"ah, I fear he has got you as well, Nighthawk, old boy." As he staggered over toward his horse the sound of galloping hoofs was heard coming down the coulee.
"Here are some more of them!" cried Cameron, drawing out his guns.
"All right, Cameron, my boy, just back up here beside me," said Raven, as he coolly loaded his empty revolver. "We can send a few more of these devils to hell. You are a good sport, old chap, and I want to go out in no better company."
"Hold up!" cried Cameron. "There is a woman. Why, there is a Policeman. They are friends, Raven. It is the doctor and Moira. Hurrah! Here you are, Martin. Quick! Quick! Oh, my God! He is dying!"
Raven had sunk to his knees beside his horse. They gathered round him, a Mounted Police patrol picked up on the way by Dr. Martin, Moira who had come to show them the trail, and Smith.
"Nighthawk, old boy," they heard Raven say, his hand patting the shoulder of the noble animal, "he has done for you, I fear." His voice came in broken sobs. The great horse lifted his beautiful head and looked round toward his master. "Ah, my boy, we have done many a journey together!" cried Raven as he threw his arm around the glossy neck, "and on this last one too we shall not be far apart." The horse gave a slight whinny, nosed into his master's hand and laid his head down again. A slight quiver of the limbs and he was still for ever. "Ah, he has gone!" cried Raven, "my best, my only friend."
"No, no," cried Cameron, "you are with friends now, Raven, old man." He offered his hand. Raven took it wonderingly.
"You mean it, Cameron?"
"Yes, with all my heart. You are a true man, if God ever made one, and you have shown it to-night."
"Ah!" said Raven, with a kind of sigh as he sank back and leaned up against his horse. "That is good to hear. It is long since I have had a friend."
"Quick, Martin!" said Cameron. "He is wounded."
"What? Where?" said the doctor, kneeling down beside him and tearing open his coat and vest. "Oh, my God!" cried the doctor. "He is--" The doctor paused abruptly.
"What do you say? Oh, Dr. Martin, he is not badly wounded?" Moira threw herself on her knees beside the wounded man and caught his hand. "Oh, it is cold, cold," she cried through rushing tears. "Can you not help him? Oh, you must not let him die."
"Surely he is not dying?" said Cameron.
The doctor was silently and swiftly working with his syringe.
"How long, Doctor?" inquired Raven in a quiet voice.
"Half an hour, perhaps less," said the doctor brokenly. "Have you any pain?"
"No, very little. It is quite easy. Cameron," he said, his voice beginning to fail, "I want you to send a letter which you will find in my pocket addressed to my brother. Tell no one the name. And add this, that I forgive him. It was really not worth while," he added wearily, "to hate him so. And say to the Superintendent I was on the straight with him, with you all, with my country in this rebellion business. I heard about this raid; and I fancy I have rather spoiled their pemmican. I have run some cattle in my time, but you know, Cameron, a fellow who has worn the uniform could not mix in with these beastly breeds against the Queen, God bless her!"
"Oh, Dr. Martin," cried the girl piteously, shaking him by the arm, "do not tell me you can do nothing. Try--try something."