Part 29 (1/2)

CHAPTER XXII

THE ATTACK

We had only a couple of minutes for antic.i.p.ation, for we were coming down like a runaway race-horse toward the narrow place in the chasm where they stood.

Jim swung the boat over to the middle of the stream to get the benefit of the fastest rapids, for it was speed just now that we needed more than anything else.

We might have steered in close to the wall under them, but there was a nasty ”sag” that would have rendered us helpless, and when we did get into the current again we figured that we would lose headway and make a better target.

We could make out that there was great excitement among the Indians, on the ledge some four hundred feet above the stream. There was little doubt about their intentions now, and they were not of the peaceful variety.

One of them had a carbine which he aimed toward us, a little puff of smoke and then there was a flick in the water back of us.

Others stood with bows drawn back at full strength as they poised forward and let fly a snow storm of their white feathered darts.

Swish, swish they cut into the water all around us.

”It beats the hail storm way back in Kansas,” yelled Jim.

Six or more of the arrows struck in the boat. One transfixed the top of the cabin. As if stung, our boat leaped forward down the rapid.

Now we were almost under the party of Indians. As I dodged into the cabin where Tom was already curled up, I saw them stand poised with stones, some grasping them above their heads with both hands. Then they hurled them down in a regular hail. The water splashed in white foam all around the boat and the spray dashed in all directions.

One large round stone struck the bow splintering a board. Several more fell crash on the deck. Two grazed Jim as he dodged, yet stuck valiantly at his post, holding the boat to the current. He was splashed from head to foot with the flying spray. Fortunately none of the missiles struck the steering oar.

Finally a sh.e.l.l,--well it seemed like it, but I mean a stone,--came down fair on the roof of the cabin, splintering through and falling on Tom's leg. This smoked us out, and we crawled out on deck.

”Give those fellows a shot,” yelled Jim, ”make 'em dance, Jo.”

I seized my rifle from the side of the cabin and leveled it back up the canyon at the group of Indians, who had given us such a warm reception.

It was laughable to see the effect upon them as I aimed. All that could dropped flat to the ledge, making themselves extremely small. Some clambered winding up the rough face of the rock.

I picked one of the climbing Indians and fired, the roar of the concussion in the narrow canyon was startling. It rolled back and forth like the thunder of artillery.

At my third shot an Indian slipped, it was one below the fellow I was aiming at, caught frantically at the face of the rock, missed the narrow ledge and shot down toward the river, whipped twice over in his fall, and with a great splash, disappeared into the muddy, whirling river.

I shall never forget the dark velocity with which that Indian fell. It was something appalling and it made me shrink inwardly, even if the fellow was our enemy.

”Good shot, boy,” yelled Jim.

”He wasn't the fellow I was aiming at,” I explained, ”it was the one above him.”

”Why didn't you keep still,” came from Tom, ”no one would be the wiser and you might have had the credit of a fine shot.”

”I don't see it,” I replied, ”there's no real satisfaction in that sort of a bluff. Then, too, you establish a reputation that you can't live up to in case of need and that's no fun.”

”Right you are, Jo,” commented Jim. ”Don't mind Tom's advice because he is going to be a lawyer.”

”I'm more likely to be a cripple,” retorted Tom. ”That stone came near breaking my leg.”