Argosy All-Story Weekly, August 9, 1924 — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

214 been wounded by either of the two shots which had been fired at him it was difficult to tell as, to their untrained eyes, scat- tered flecks of blood would not have been noticed by the white men. But when they reached the brook and had followed the track of moccasined feet up its sandy bed for a short distance, con- clusive evidence was shown them that at least one of the bullets had found its mark. Upon the flat surface of a barked log alongside the stream they gazed upon the bloody imprint of a human hand. ‘* He is bleeding badly,” quoth D’Albret as they again took up the chase, ‘‘ he must weaken ere long and will probably roll under some low-growing bush. Have a care lest thou walk upon him unawarés, André, and receive another arrow for thy pains.” The two Frenchman continued up the stream, the imprint of the Indian’s moc- casins ever luring them on, but if the man had been wounded badly, he took an un- conscionable time in succumbing to his hurt. Finally, at a point where the stream divided into two lesser streams, the native’s tracks disappeared in the water and neither of the Gascons could tell up which bed he had walked. D’Albret bade, his servant take the left hand branch while he took the right so that when either of them had discovered evidence that the savage had passed his way he was to shout and let the other know. D’Albret had walked only a short dis- tance and André had barely disappeared from his sight when, suddenly, he heard a terrific uproar from the direction his ser- vant had gone, followed by a splash—and then many splashes, and he knew that Rossignol had encountered the man they were seeking. Stumbling through the thick growth that separated the two branches of the stream, D’Albret rushed to the assistance of his henchman and, as the bushes thinned out before him and he was enabled to make out what was occurring, he held his musket be- fore him and crawled slowly to the edge of the forest along the border of the stream. In the center of the small waterway a spluttering, squirming mass of human beings ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. was churning the limpid waters into a dis- colored, yeasty froth while, upon the edge of the stream, vainly seeking where they might lend a helping hand, a half score of Chickasaw warriors followed the struggle with absorbed interest. D’Albret could not repress a grin as he saw the pother that the sturdy Rossignol was causing, and the hot blood leaped in his veins with pride at his countryman’s sturdy strength and tenacity, as evinced by the manner in which Indian after Indian abruptly shot from off that writhing mass and as quickly darted back again. But D’Albret wasted no time in idle con- templation of the scene that was being enacted before him. He dared not discharge his piece toward the welter of humanity that thrashed about in the stream for fear of wounding Rossignol, so he slowly raised the muzzle until it covered the foremost of the figures upon the bank, and he fired. Instantly all was confusion. The Indians who had been hovering about upon the out- skirts of the fracas in the stream, dropped to the ground, all save one who spun com- pletely around upon his heels and then fell face downward into the muddy water. The Indians who were vainly endeavoring to subdue the struggling André, fell away from the cursing man and, lying prone in the stream, looked fearfully toward the bank, from which was slowly drifting a wispy cloud of smoke. Before the startled aborigines could make another move, D’Albret had loaded and fired his musket again and another Chick- asaw, his head shattered, quivered spas- modically upon the opposite shore. There was a concerted rush for the shelter of the trees and, as D’Albret rushed out from his shelter, his musket held so that he might use it as a club, the sputtering Rossignol gained his feet and joined his master in a daring attack upon the retreat- ing Indians. Rossignol had lost his musket in his struggle and, as the Chickasaws dashed in- to the thick, matted tangle of shrubbery, D’Albret flung his weapon away and, like Rossignol, drew his dirk and raced madly after the nearest of the fleeing savages. A thick spatter of arrows impinged upon GOMIIGooOOo S (C@) nn