The Argosy, Vol. XXV, No. 3 — page 159: what you’re looking at

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

THE BLACK TRUMPETER. 543 sah! Git up dar onct an’ yo’ amsafe from exterior ’sailment,’’ he con- tinued, with an air of one who knows whereof he speaks. ‘“How’s that, Sim ?’’ asked the lieutenant, laughing. ‘‘ Who told you about it ?”’ ‘‘Oh,’’ replied Sim, with a superior air, ‘‘I heered some Digger Injuns talkin’ ’bout it at de pos’ ! Dey t’inks dat de sun sots down an’ gits up in dat ar rock. Dem Injuns am electrical pussons, sho’ !”’ Lieutenant Cheatwood laughed. ‘‘ Gibson, you may bring up the troop; we’ll camp here by this sacred spot. You can water the horses there,’’ he added to Sim, pointing to a near by stream that bubbled through the canyon. The boy had just reached the stream, and was trying to induce the unac- countably restless and uneasy animals to drink, when two shots pierced the stillness, and as he turned he uttered a scream of rage and horror, for lying upon the ground not fifty yards away was the lieutenant. Leaving the horses to their own devices, he ran toward the inert form of his guardian, heedless of the bullets that sang in dangerous proximity to his person, as if fired from the rifle of one man. Kneeling by the lieutenant he lifted his head to find him still living. Then the young trumpeter drew his revolver and opened a rapid fire into the willows whence the shots had come, and over which the cloud of betraying smoke was merging into the hazy atmosphere. He was still shooting when Sergeant Gibson, at the head of the galloping troop, arrived. ‘In dar—in dar!’’ shouted Sim, pointing to the willows. ‘‘ De debbil amindar! Kill’im! Oh, de po’ lieutenant !”’ The incensed troopers quickly penetrated the thicket, but it was a futile effort. The cowardly assassin had fled, and they returned to their com- mander, who had regained consciousness, and was being tenderly cared for by the trumpeter. | ‘‘Oh, de po’ lieutenant!’’ cried Sim, with angry tears gleaming in his eyes. ‘‘If dey hab kilt him, Pll hunt de ’trocious raskils down to de las’ red. Oh, what’ll become o’ po’ Sim if yo’ dies?’”’ | The stricken officer said nothing. He raised his eyes to the cliffs above. There, high upon the topmost peak of the canyon wall, a column of white smoke was ascending lazily. Cheatwood pointed to it excitedly. ‘‘Tt’s an Indian signal fire,’ he muttered, with an effort. ‘‘ We are spotted.”’ ‘“ The red villain that shot you was only one of the gang, then,’’ put in the sergeant. ‘‘ Boys, I fear we’re in a bad hole.”’ Three hours later his fears were confirmed. Signal fires were burning thickly among the mountains on every side, and Indians were showing them- selves recklessly in the lower end of the canyon. One of the men who had gone out on a scout came back with a serious face. ‘‘1’m afraid there’s no hope for us. They are receiving reinforcements every moment. ‘They won’t advance until morning; but then 2 The significant pause that followed the trooper’s words fully completed the dread meaning his words implied. Comicoookxs (C@)