Adventure Magazine Cover — page 95: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Battle of the Kettles About a hundred and fifty yards up- stream five redskins were crossing the stream, evidently with the intention of pre- venting the escape of the survivors. Four of the bucks were nearly submerged in the water, each with one arm hooked over a long piece of driftwood, while he held his gun above his head with the other hand. The fifth, who carried no gun, was propelling the improvised craft, using a slab of dead wood as a paddle. The flatboat was now approaching the southern shore. It was agreed that as soon as it landed, Boyce, Floyd and Fossett, all being badly wounded, should escape as best they could, leaving the three unwounded men to care fer Spears and Susan. “Moore and I can take Spears, Henry,” said Crepps, ‘“‘and you save the girl.” Crist bent over Susan, who still sat with her face hidden in her hands, and said: “Come, Mrs. Murkett, the boat will touch in another minute. We must go. We shall have a hard run for it, I fear.” She sat motionless, not removing her hands from her face, as if she had not heard him. He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a little shake. Still no sign from her. “Mrs. Murkett! Susan!’ he cried desper- ately. ‘Don’t you hear? Don’t you under- stand? We must hurry!” Not a muscle of her moved. He seized her hands and pulled them away from her face. The countenance was rigid, drawn, frozen with horror; the eyes stared vacantly at the deck. The chaos through which she had passed had thrown her into some dread- ful aphasia, and she seemed as oblivious of her companion’s presence as if he had been voiceless and invisible. Crist groaned and turned to Crepps. “T’ll have to carry her,” said he. “You see how she is. I’m afraid she’s lost her mind.” “We won’t have to carry Solomon,”’’ said Crepps gravely. “What?” Crepps pointed to the prostrate man. Crist sprang to Spears’s side, raised the drooping head, felt the pulseless wrist, placed a hand over the heart. But all was still; the brave spirit had fled. A sob for the loyal partner who had been almost as close as a brother choked Crist’s utterance. The boat had grounded by this time, and the three wounded men scrambled ashore, Boyce and Fossett on either side of and 93 half-carrying, Floyd. They were a pathetic trio. Fossett had his sound arm around Floyd’s waist. Boyce had been shot through the cheek, had a scalp wound and three other hurts, and was supporting, covered with blood from head to foot. They made their way haltingly into the covert. “Henry,” said Crepps, ‘‘we’ll have to fight them five Injuns that swum the river before we can get away with the girl. They’ll be comin’ down along the bank now. Let’s you and Moore and me jump ashore and ambush ’em at that gully—”’ he pointed—“‘and we can kill ’em all in a trice. That’ll give us a chance to escape with the irl.” ; The three seized their rifles and sprang ashore. The gully or small ravine to which he referred had been cut by a tiny brook which entered the river not twenty yards above the spot where the boat had grounded. It was filled to the brim and above the brim with a matted mass of saplings, under- growth and vines. Leaping up the bank, Crepps and Crist, crouching, wheeled to their left to face the party who were coming downstream. Crepps was nearest: the river—Crist about ten yards distant from him. : As Crist glanced to his right to ascertain Moore’s position, he discovered that Moore was not there! Standing erect and looking about behind him, he caught sight of the missing man, already well into the woods and running at top speed. Let others do as they would, he was saving himself! There was no time to worry over his defection, so Crist turned to face the enemy. He and Crepps were crouching, trying to peer through the foliage, but had been un- able to catch sight of a single dark body, when suddenly there began a ragged, scat- tering fire from the other side of the ravine, and random balls whistled through the verdure, cutting off leaves and twigs. There must have been twenty or thirty rifles firing; but the Indians, like the white men, could not see their adversaries and were merely shooting recklessly, hoping to hit some one in the act of escaping from the boat. It was Fate’s dreadful irony that after having passed unscathed through the main battle both Crist and Crepps should be the victims of these chance bullets. Crist saw his comrade stagger and clap a hand to his side. He started to run toward Crepps, and DOOK (© inn