The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1940-09-06
By FRANK n. sPEARMAN

asleep in half an hour. Wen 60
down together. And we must get
between the Indians and the horses.
II we can stampede the red devils
they'll make first thing for the
horses. Take your deersl1in strips.
Simmie, we'll have to wait till we
hear from you. Give us your sig
mails now"
1.-THE OWL" suggested Simmie.
"If it rains that's no good" OBJ
jected Pardaloe. fowls sing low
when it rains"
So do rifles with printing pans"
added Bowie. "But Colt gun
works, wet or dry. And darkness
doesn't help bows and arrows any,"
Going over every angle Of the
coming encounter, and with Bowie
giving directions as to how to meet
every emergency he could think Of,
the Texans slowly and cautiously
walked down the long ridge that led
toward the Indian camp. The sky
was already overcast, and the short
southern twilight soon plunged the
canyon into black night, relieved
only by the two fires burning in
mid-camp. Reaching a hiding point
close behind the horses but over
looking the camp and well within
sound of its voices, Bowie and Parda-
loe disposed themselves behind a
rock whence they could spring in
stantly into action. The half-breed
stole stealthily away and was at
once lost in the darkness.
Rain borne in on a west wind
was beginning to spit, and the twain
in hiding covered their rifle pans
with the skirts of their buckskin jack
cts. To await in the secrecy Of
night a concerted signal; to attune
the ears to painful alertness while
trying to strain out the murmur of
human voices, lest the soft COO Of
the false owl be lost; to watch with
straining eyes every move of the
milling savages as they threw them
selves down to sleep-all of this
kept the two Texans pitched high
in anxiety. An hour must still pass
before Simmie could act, and it
passed fearfully slowly.
Finally Pardaloe muttered,
whats happened to SIMMER"
81 don't know what has happened
to Simmie, but something has hap
pened to the horses" whispered
Bowie. "Listen!"
The neigh of pony caused the
exclamation. An answering tram
pling and million of the horses de-
clared trouble to the ears of Bowie
and his scout. But what was it all
about? Before such a question could
be asked the crack of a pistol in
stead of the COO of an owl caused
the two to spring to their feet. The
camp was already stirring.
"Hold your fire." ordered Bowie
in an undertone. SECT in front of
the horses, quick" The two scram-
bled hastily to the position they
wanted and threw their rifles to their
shoulders. "Take the second fellow
up" shouted Bowie. 'I'll get the
first" The two rifles cracked al
most together.
"Yell!" cried Bowie to Pardaloe,
setting fine example himself.
Simmie ran up from behind. With
an earsplitting ferocity he raised
his own voice. The Indians now
came on the dead run for the horses,
brandishing tomahawks. The war
riors were met by the bullets from
two pistols and the revolver. The
onslaught of the Indians proved dis
astrous to themselves. Simmie
jumped into action with his Ratchet,
seconded by the fire of his COM
panions. The savages recoiled.
Bowie, lodging hatchets as best he
could, ran in to where the captives
lay. Here three warriors stood their
ground and attacked him. Bowie,
clubbing his empty rifle, laid about
him. The long, heavy steel bar
made formidable weapon.
They were fighting in the fitful
light Of the campfires, suffering
now in the falling rain. Swinging
the rifle fast and sweeping it in
furious half circles, bringing it vi
ciously down on heads and Shout
ders and dancing about as he lodged
tomahawks, Bowie had his hands
full.
He was holding his own against
odds when the chief directly facing
him, seeing the fight was going
against him with one of his men on
the ground and the other swaying
drunkenly on his knees, sprang
back, flung his tomahawk at Bow
les head, and quickly fitted an ar
row to his bow which was slung
from his shoulder. The Ratchet, as
Bowie ducked, caught him on the
shoulder.
Despite the hard crack the Texan
ran in. The Indian, a man of great
size and strength, wearing neck
lace Of bear claws, fought the white
man with his hands. In this savage
Bowie realized that he had met his
match. Almost instantly he found
his injured right arm in the Indians
grasp, with iron fingers clutching
at his throat and a second tomahawk
unraised. While he struggled to free