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Show mk'''''Z &i HAROLD CHANNIN6 WIHE - Wjm Z . ln a stampede. His win nam" Lew and owner Jm CHAPTER XIV Lew nodded, turned and swept a circling gaze around the flat land. But this one party was aU. And then a grunt from the old man jerked his eyes around. He hall rose m his stirrups, held there suddenly sud-denly rigid by the horrible beauty of that charge. It came like a tossing wave with every horse thrown forward in the same instant. The Cheyennes rode flat, their black heads hardly above their animals' manes. A drumming drum-ming on the earth ran ahead of them, nothing more. They didn't yell, and it was that unexpected deadly silence that made his blood run cold. Even with Quarternight's- calm voice warning him, "Take it easy," he dropped in his saddle and swung up the long barrel of his gun. He knew what Quarternight was counting count-ing on. This was the moment of the Indians' greatest advantage. Why they must strike with this fierce strength, then always stop and boast before they fought, he didn't know. But this one time maybe they wouldn't. The wave was sweeping on within three hundred " SOld' whe'1 STEVE and JOY ARNOLD win receive their shares. After overcoming difficulties and hardships, Hey enter Indian territory. Lew refuses a demand by a party of Cheyennes for I 600 cattle. CLAY MANNING, foreman only scared of something in his head. The Cheyennes abruptly stopped their gabble. It left a strange dead hush. He saw their horses move a little. All their painted faces turned. Clay Manning's yell was like a shot behind his back. He jerked around and saw Clay near the wagons and heard him shout again. North beyond the long-horns long-horns a lone mounted Indian had risen from the ground. A blanket whirled above his head. He was alone for an instant. Then the earth seemed to open behind him, pouring up horses and naked brown men. Things tiave way of happening, swift in the action yet tormentingly slow to the quick flashing of a man's mind. ' Lew felt himself move. But it was like those dreams in which he struggled against an unseen force that held him back. He saw forty or fifty Cheyennes pour up and strike toward the herd at its farther rim. They were after aft-er cattle. Quarternight yelled, "Let 'em go! Watch here!" From the south a bunched run and fiance of Joy, wants to abandon the herd, but Lew Insists on fighting. He sends a man back to Doan's store to bring out the soldiers. The next afternoon after-noon the Cheyennes appear. Lew and his men prepare to shoot it out. catch them around the next bend. One of their mounts had the extra burden of carrying Joy. It would slow their pace. He quirted his tiring buckskin for better than a mile and the swath of trampled grass ran on vacantly ahead. He gave in then to his knowledge of their swifter ponies. His own had already given its best. To crosscut between one bend and another he swung up "the channel bank. He looked south and suddenly sud-denly pulled his horse in and rode in short, fast circles. At the same time he drew his forty-four and shot it into the air. The far-off spot of blue was plain now Joe Wheat bringing the cavalry troop. Yet at more than two miles they couldn't hear his gun and gave no sign of recognizing his riding signal. sig-nal. They kept on toward the stalled herd. Back' there, equally two miles away, he could see the little darting dart-ing figures of men spreading out to catch the horses. While almost out of sight beyond them the split-off bunch of cattle were vanishing to the west. Someone must have found the wagon. They'd fol!6w. No time for him to go back and get help. Once the Cheyennes reached the Wichita canyons they'd vanish like rats in a stack of hay. He sent his little buckskin running on, feeling feel-ing how even this short pause had given him new wind. The channel wandered back and forth, the banks gently sloping, its bottom smooth and green. The short cuts let him gain a lot. They'd keep under cover themselves, following fol-lowing down the crooked way. He watched backward, hoping any moment mo-ment that some of the outfit would show up. But they might be riding rid-ing directly along the Indians' trail. Each time he plunged into the winding wind-ing course there was only the emp- was coming on again. He pivoted back and steadied his horse and emptied the magazine of his rifle. Once more those ranks broke under un-der the repeating fire of the Spring-field-Allins. Off across the herd the Indians had struck in flying wedge. Their terrific impact sent a wave of motion through the massed pool. It rolled backward as the long-horns long-horns turned and rammed at those behind them, and even before that struggle reached the' edge near the horses and wagons he knew what it would do. He grabbed his reins left-handed and threw his buckskin forward. Less than fifty yards separated sep-arated him. He could see Joy's white face and Clay Manning fixed yards. He lined his rifle sights, and then his eyes caught no signal. Every man was suddenly upright, with the horses thrown back on their hindquarters, rearing and plunging to a halt. Their arms flew up. Rifles that had been hidden hid-den beneath the naked bodies glinted glint-ed in the sun. They sat in an unbroken line, motionless, mo-tionless, until one rider started out at a walk from the others. Off two hundred yards he stopped and crooked his arm and shouted something. some-thing. He had only a strip of blanket blan-ket cloth around his waist and between be-tween his legs. Lew yelled across to him, "No savvy!" The Cheyenne yelled back something that sounded bad. He wasn't Crazy Bear. ty trampled grass. Those devils could move! His run brought the black Wichi-tas Wichi-tas looming up into the fog that had held low overhead all day. Light around him began to fade. The channel straightened. He saw water wa-ter of North Fork Creek beyond the narrow mouth. He loped on for half a mile and the hunch that had pulled him this far became like a magnet losing its force. The wash lay empty on ahead. A sense of every moment taking her farther from him with . those brown devils made his skin crawl. No use going on this way any more. He pulled to a stop and sat listening. Any sound from the canyon mouths would carry far in the still air. Not even a blue jay's warning chatter broke the Wichita's dead -hush. His heart went cold. He was turning to head back down the stream when there came a coyote's quavering bark. It held him rigid. Too early in the evening for those animals to be on the prowl. He pulled his rifle from its scabbard and saw his buckskin's little black-tipped ears swing and point. There was danger dan-ger here. But he could locate nothing noth-ing up where they directed. Slowly Slow-ly he moved the horse again. "Hold on, son!" Old Willy Nickle stepped from the willow fringe. "Willy!" he said and rode toward him. "You old coon!" "Been seein' you," said Willy. That was all just then. He turned his gentle changeless face and stared off blankly. But he might be learning things; you never could tell. Lew waited, keeping down his sudden impatience. "Well," he said in a moment and brought his eyes around. "There's Indians knocking about here, so there is. Cheyennes. They give you a fight? Seems like I ' was watching from the hills, but was too much fog." I "We held them off," he said. And then it burst from him: "They got the girl!" J Unconcerned, old Willy said, "So they did." "You saw them?" He moved his horse. "Which way?" I Willy stood there calmly looking up. "Now you hold on. Don't you never go trailing Indians up too close. It was Crazy Bear had her on his pony. Him and six of his bucks. They're in the hills by now and they'll be watching back. No, you give an Indian time to think he's safe." "Time!" he said. "With the girl?" "They'll wait for that," said Willy. Wil-ly. "Take a white man now and he'd risk his hide to stop. But Crazy Bear, he'll want to parade her in camp first and maybe get some buck to fight him for her. Seems like an Indian has always got to mix it up with fighting. Well, this nigger don't know why." He looked north up the creek, nodding. "You ride on now, easy." He stepped back into the willows and was gone. This was no time to doubt old Willy Wil-ly Nickle. Yet it wasn't the way he'd get on the hunt himself. He'd find the trail and ride it. But he knew that Willy was half Indian in most things by now, wise to all their tricks and able to understand the language of any plains tribe. In a little while a canyon stream came down to join North Fork. He was standing on its bank. "They turned up here," he said and pointed. point-ed. "See, they're leaving sign." Little twigs and a few green leaves knocked from the oaks farther up were floating down the water. "Means they don't think they're followed. fol-lowed. That's a heap careless foi ' Cheyennes. Must be likker in 'em yet . . . Well, it's plain where they're headed." (TO BE CONTINUED Quarternight raised his rifle. "Boy," he said, "first lick's half the battle. Might as well show him what we've got." He squeezed the trigger once. The horse wheeled and stumbled, bolting back into the line. The old man's whiskers parted part-ed in a wicked grin. "There now. Watch out, they'll make a run!" They were yelling now, high and gobbling like a flock of turkeys. Suddenly their horses pivoted and they were lying flat again, racing rac-ing in a circle around his herd. He slapped his buckskin with his heels, riding with both hands free. The men strung out from him needed need-ed no order; there were old Indian fighters in this crew. Swinging oft from the cattle, they rode their own smaller circle abreast of the Cheyennes' running line. But he had to yell at young Jim Hope to make him stay with the horse herd. He saw Clay start from Joy's wagon, wag-on, turn and go back. Little black puffs of smoke began be-gan to rise and drift above the Indians, In-dians, wild shooting, at too long a range for their old-fashioned guns. He kept an eye on Quarternight just ahead. They were half around the herd when the old man threw up his arm. "Hold in, boys! Here they come!" He let out his rebel yell. Lew swung his buckskin with his knee and halted, facing out. Some instinct out of Quarternight's Apache days had let him time the moment of a charge. For the Cheyennes Chey-ennes had pivoted again. They came on in a solid running front. The blast of Springfield-Allins was like the rattle of beans in a gourd. Beyond his own sights he saw a gap break wide open. It was a withering fire. Horses went down. He saw the way the Cheyennes plunged with them, unable to kick free of the rawhide loops that held their legs. He felt cool and a little S1The charge broke and scattered. He called, "That's enough," and admired the stolid courage that brought some of the red men back to pick up the wounded. Then off at a distance out of range the ragged rag-ged line continued its circle. But that blast had taught them something some-thing At three quarters around the herd they pulled in and bunched up close together. He could see their arms making signs and hear the gobble-talk. He fed a handful of shells into the side of his rifle and said to Quarternight, "That'll make 'em powwow some. All we need is time." , It was past noon. Any moment ought to bring Joe Wheat and the cavalry up over the edge of the DlBin. With his gun filled he took a lonf look off .outheast beyond the bunohed Choyennes and though once there was something but couldn't be lure. The powwow went on He brought his eyes along the silent line of hi. men, curious to read their faces. Old John and Ash Brownstone had beer. In this hole before and Jnly .tared off .t th. Indl..... un-onirbed. un-onirbed. Next to Ash. N..1 . .at with . wood look i hi. drk itorrn., 7ond NeaL bad woed 11 Arizona. H. sunt lmt AP'rff th. last In line. He h.H to 1MB forward ln hi. saddle to . hi too. 't. color wa. high. ur;eWr:U.r.c.r. .nit only sLv had .ver been In. waiting Tmom.nt, that could show STinvl watoe.. In man. And 01 hThae la .ure, convincing knowledge knowl-edge sUt other time. - He could see their arms making signs and hear the gobble talk. in his saddle close to her wagon seat. These things he saw while his horse was running toward them and yet seemed to be standing still. He yelled at Clay. The waves of fighting longhorns had struck their terror into the horse herd. He saw Jim Hope and Moonlight Bailey fail to hold them. Owl-Head Jackson's four-mule team plunged and reared against his tightened reins. But it was Joy's team that he aimed for in this flash of time. There was that instant when Clay Manning could have saved her, as the mules bolted, tearing the reins from her grip. He could have grabbed their bridles or caught the girl from the seat. Instead he tried to turn the horses, saw his mistake too late. Their running flood hit him and carried him on. With Clay gone there was no one near the girl. Her mules were kicking kick-ing as they ran. His own buckskin was snapping like a dog at the horses and cattle that blocked his way. He clubbed the bony skulls of longhorns with his rifle. A lane parted. He was half across before it closed again. Their horns were lances stabbing at his legs. He kicked at them and tramped them down and in that struggle could no longer watch the wagon. He was almost through when he saw it and the half a dozen Cheyennes Chey-ennes who had raced back on- that side of the herd to cut it off. They swept around it, running. The next moment they vanished completely from the earth. A last stubborn chain of longhorns long-horns blocked him. As he broke free he heard Quarternight's rebel yell. He looked back. The two war parties had joined, scattering west behind a bunch of split-off cattle. To the south was a moving spot of blue. The wagon's white top was ahead of him then, down in a hidden channel chan-nel of some ancient stream bed that twisted away to the east. The mules had halted, tangled in their harness. The seat was empty. A trampled swath of footprints led back toward the Wichita range. His first minutes' run down the channel's looping course was blind and unreasoning, thinking only he'd |