Injuns

: The Fighting Edge

Bob swung down from the saddle in front of the bunkhouse.



Reeves came to the door and waved a hand. "'Lo, Sure-Shot! What's new in

Bear Cat?"



"Fellow thinkin' of startin' a drug-store. Jim Weaver is the happy dad of

twins. Mad dog shot on Main Street. New stage-line for Marvine planned.

Mr. Jake Houck is enjoyin' a pleasant visit to our little city. I reckon

that's about all."

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Dud had joined Tom in the doorway. "Meet up with Mr. Houck?" he asked.



"Yes."



"Have any talk?"



"He had some, but he hadn't hardly got to goin' good when the mad dog

sashayed up the street. Mr. Houck he adjourned the meetin' immediate."



"More important business, I reckon," Dud grinned.



"He didn't mention it, but all those present were in a kinda hurry."



"So's some one else." Reeves nodded his head toward a small cloud of dust

approaching the ranch.



A rider galloped up and dragged his mount to a halt. "Utes have broke

out! Killed a trapper on Squaw Creek! Burned two nesters' houses!" His

voice was high and excited.



"Rumor?" asked Dud.



"No, sir. I talked with a fellow that seen the body. Met two families

that had lit out from Squaw Creek. They're sure enough on the warpath."



Harshaw took the matter seriously. He gave crisp orders to his riders to

cover the creeks and warn all settlers to leave for Bear Cat or Meeker.

Dud and Bob were assigned Milk Creek.



It was hard for the young fellows, as they rode through a land of warm

sunshine, to believe that there actually was another Indian outbreak. It

had been ten years since the Meeker massacre and the defeat of Major

Thornburg's troops. The country had begun to settle up. The Utes knew

that their day was done, though they still came up occasionally from the

reservation on illicit hunting trips.



This very country over which they were riding was the scene of the

Thornburg battle-field. The Indians had lain in ambush and waited for the

troops to come over the brow of the rise. At the first volley the

commander of the soldiers had fallen mortally wounded. The whites, taken

by surprise, fell back in disorder. The Utes moved up on them from both

sides and the trapped men fled.



"Must 'a' been right about here Thornburg was shot," explained Dud.

"Charley Mason was one o' the soldiers an' he told me all about it.

Captain Jack was in charge of this bunch of Utes. Seems he had signal

fires arranged with those at the agency an' they began their attacks at

the same time. Charley claimed they didn't know there was Injuns within

twenty miles when the bullets began to sing. Says he ran five miles

before he took a breath."



Bob looked around apprehensively. History might repeat itself. At this

very moment the Utes might be lying in the draw ready to fire on them. He

was filled with a sudden urgent desire to get through with their job and

turn the heads of their ponies toward Bear Cat.



"Makes a fellow feel kinda squeamish," Dud said. "Let's move, Bob."



They carried the word to the settlers on the creek and turned in the

direction of Bear Cat. They reached town late and found the place

bustling with excitement. Families of settlers were arriving in wagons

and on horseback from all directions. There were rumors that the Indians

were marching on the town. A company of militia had been ordered to the

scene by the Governor of the State and was expected to arrive on the

second day from this.



Camp-fires were burning in the park plaza and round them were grouped

men, women, and children in from the ranches. On all the roads leading to

town sentries were stationed. Others walked a patrol along the riverbank

and along the skirts of the foothills.



Three or four cowpunchers had been celebrating the declaration of war. In

the community was a general feeling that the Utes must be put down once

for all. In spite of the alarm many were glad that the unrest had come to

an issue at last.



Bob and Dud tied their horses to a hitching-rack and climbed the fence

into the park. Blister came out of the shadows to meet them.



"W-whad I tell you, Texas man?" he asked of Bob. "Show-down at last, like

I said."



Into the night lifted a startled yell. "Here come the Injuns!"



Taut nerves snapped. Wails of terror rose here and there. A woman

fainted. The sound of a revolver shot rang out.



One of the roisterers, who had been loud in his threats of what he meant

to do to the Indians, lost his braggadocio instantly. He leaped for the

saddle of the nearest horse and dug his spurs home. In his fuddled

condition he made a mistake. He had chosen, as a mount upon which to

escape, the fence that encircled the park.



"Gid ap! Gid ap!" he screamed.



"Yore bronc is some balky, ain't it, Jud?" Hollister asked. He had

already discovered that the panic had been caused by a false cry of

"Wolf" raised by one of the fence rider's companions.



"S-some one hitched it to a post," Blister suggested.



"Ride him, puncher," urged Bob. "Stick to yore saddle if he does buck."



Jud came off the fence sheepishly. "I was aimin' to go get help," he

explained.



"Where was you going for it--to Denver?" asked Blister.



The night wore itself out. With the coming of day the spirits of the less

hardy revived. The ranchers on the plaza breakfasted in groups, after

which their children were bundled off to school. Scouts rode out to learn

the whereabouts of the Utes and others to establish contact with the

approaching militia.



Harshaw organized a company of rangers made up mostly of cowpunchers from

the river ranches. During the day more of these drifted in. By dusk he

had a group of forty hard-riding young fellows who could shoot straight

and were acquainted with the country over which they would have to

operate. Blister was second in command. All of the Slash Lazy D riders

had enlisted except one who had recently broken a leg.



Scouts brought in word that the Utes had swung round Bear Cat and were

camped about thirty miles up the river. Harshaw moved out to meet them.

He suspected the Indians of planning to ambush the militia before the

soldiers could join forces with the rangers.



Bob had joined the rangers with no enthusiasm. He had enlisted because of

pressure both within and without. He would have been ashamed not to offer

himself. Moreover, everybody seemed to assume he would go. But he would

much rather have stayed at Bear Cat with the home guards. From what he

had picked up, he was far from sure that the Utes were to blame this

time. The Houck killing, for instance. And that was not the only outrage

they had endured. It struck him more like a rising of the whites. They

had provoked the young bucks a good deal, and a sheriff's posse had

arrested some of them for being off the reservation hunting. Wise

diplomacy might at least have deferred the conflict.



During the bustle of preparing to leave, Bob's spirits were normal even

though his nerves were a little fluttery. As they rode out of town he

caught sight for a moment of a slim, dark girl in a blue gingham at the

door of the hotel. She waved a hand toward the group of horsemen. It was

Dud who answered the good-bye. He had already, Bob guessed, said a

private farewell of his own to June. At any rate, his friend had met

Hollister coming out of the hotel a few minutes before. The cowpuncher's

eyes were shining and a blue skirt was vanishing down the passage. There

had been a queer ache in Bob Dillon's heart. He did not blame either of

them. Of course June would prefer Dud to him. Any girl in her senses

would. He had all the charm of gay and gallant youth walking in the

sunshine.



None the less it hurt and depressed him that there should be a private

understanding between his friend and June. A poignant jealousy stabbed

him. There was nothing in his character to attract a girl like June of

swift and pouncing passion. He was too tame, too fearful. Dud had a spice

of the devil in him. It flamed out unexpectedly. Yet he was reliable too.

This clean, brown man, fair-haired and steady-eyed, riding with such

incomparable ease, would do to tie to, in the phrase of the country.

Small wonder a girl's heart turned to him.



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