The times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1882-1897, 1890-09-12

riors had destroyed, and any moment
now their exultant yells may be heard
as they come scampering back to camp
after a night Of deviltry. and then every
body will be up and moving off and well
on the way southwark before the sun
gets over the crest. Lane knows he
must make his dash before they can re-
turn. There would be little hope of
rescue for the poor souls lying there
bound and helpless. with all those fierce
young fighters close at hand.
The word is passed among the men:
Follow closely, but look well to your
footing. Dislodge no stones" Then,
slowly and stealthily as before, on they
go-this time down the hill towards the
faint lights of the Indian bivouac. A
hundred yards more and Lane holds up
his hand, signal to halt and here he
gives Mr.. Royce few instructions in d
low tone. The youngster mods his head
and mutters to several OF the men as he
passes: Follow me-" They disappear
among the rocks and trees to the right,
and it is evident that they mean to work
around to the east of the bivouac, so as
to partially incircle them. Little by lit
tie the wan light grows brighter. and
close at hand objects far more distinct.
An Indian is just passing in front of the
nearest blaze and is lost in the gloom
among the stunted trees. One or two
forms are moving about, but they can
only dimly be distinguished. Lane
argues, however, that they are getting
ready to move and no time is to be lost
Spread out now" is the order, ''well
to the right and left, and move forward.
Be very careful" And once more they
resume their catlike advance. Nearer
and nearer they creep upon the unsus-
pecting foe, and soon many form of
sleeping Apache can be made out, lying
around in the grassy basin in which they
are hiding for the night Lane motions
to Corp. Riley to come close to his side
IL can see nothing that looks like pris-
oners; they must be among the trees
there, where that farthest fire is burning.
Keep close to me with your men. Pass
the word to the right, there. All ready"
And now they are so near the Indians
that the voices of one or two squaws can
be heard chatting in low tones; then the
feeble wall Of an infant is for a moment
brought to their straining ears; then far
out over the level valley to the west
there is a sound that causes Lanes blood
to tingle-faint, distant, but unmistaka-
ble-a chorus Of Apache yells. The raid
ers are coming back; it is time to strike
the blow. Now or never seems to be the
word rs the men glance at their leader
intr OIL %
Forward! no shot, no sound, till they
see MS; then cheer like mad as you charged
Come on, men,"
Quickly now following his lead, they
go leaping down the hillside. Thirty
fifty yards without mishap or discovery.
Sixty, and still no sound from the de-
tense; then sudden stumble, the rattle
Of n carbine sliding down the rocks, q
muttered execration; then shrill, pierre
ing scream from the midst Of the bivouac;
then
"Charge!"
In they go!-the Devils own D's."
Tho still air rings with their wild hur-
rahs and the crash Of their carbines. The
flame jets light up the savage scene and
show squaws and screaming children
rushing for shelter among the rocks;
Apache warriors springing from the
ground, some manfully facing the rush
of the foe, others fleeing like women
down the hillside.
Never hating an instant, the soldiers
dash through the camp, driving the
dusky occupants h,iter SHELTER. Lane
finds himself confronted one instant by
a savage warrior whose eyes CLEAN like
tigers under the thatch of coarse black
hair, and whose teeth gnash in fury as
he tries to force fresh cartridge into
his breech loader. No time for Lane TO
reload. He clubs his carbine, and the
hammer comes crashing down ON the In
dams skull just as Corp. Riley drives
bullet through his heart.
Look to the captives, man." shouts
Lane. Don't follow me! Drive them!
drive them, Royce!' are his ringing or
ders, as he himself dashes On past the
fires and into the feeble morning light
beyond.
Bang! bang! the carbines are ringing
through the rocks and trees; cheer upon
cheer goes up from the little command,
mingled with Indian yells and the
screams of the terrified children.
"Riley's got EN-, SIR" he hears his boy
trumpeter call. "Some of EN-, anyhow.
There's two white women"
"Never mind, lad, " he answers. "Don't
sound the recall till tell you"
And again his ringing voice is heard
among the tumult: Forward! forward!
drive them! keep them on the run, rnen"
And so for five minutes longer, firing
whenever a savage head appears, inflict-
ing and receiving many savage blow,
but still victoriously forcing their way
onward, the little band follow their |
leader down the rocks until apparently |
not an Apache is left in the immediate |
neighborhood of the old camp. Then ut |
last the trumpet peals out its signal re-
call.
And slowly and steadily, watchfully
guarding against the possibility of leav- |
ing some wounded comrade among the |
rocks, the little command finally gathers |
once more around the fires in the camp.
Riley and his men have disappeared. |