THE SCOUT'S LAST SHOT.

Thames Star, Volume XII, Issue 3797, 28 February 1881, Page 3

THE SCOUT'S LAST SHOT.

It is ten o'clock in the morning. The honey-bees are darting over the prairies x in search of the sweet flowers, butterflies \ float on lazy wings, and birds are singing their sweetest songs. It is a scene of deepest peace. Away to the right is the Little Bear Bange of mountains —to the left, the prairie ocean extends as far as the eye can reach. Ten miles ahead is a fcrove of cottonwoods and a spring— ■ behind are thirty half-naked savages on horseback., Here is a frontier seont as the pivot on which the scenery swings. On his way from fort to fort with despatches his trail has been struct by a war party of Pawnees, and they have hung to it since dark last night, following it across the levels and over the swells at a slow but never-ending gallop. They knew that he was a full hundred miles from help, and they knew that his bloody scalp would add another to their trophies. " You're a rubbed out man ! " said the scout, as he looked back at the dusk and saw them coming at a slow gallop over his trail. They could not have overtaken . him in a dash of < wo miles, but in a gallop of fifty they would tire him out. At an easy gallop of five miles an hour the mustang forged ahead through the long and weary night, changing his pace only when the rider got down and ran beside him. Two miles behind him, riding thirty afij^ast, and covering a front of half a mile, followed the implacable foe, gaining a little, losing a little, but ever confident. When the sun came up from bis prairie bed not a savage was missing. The scout turned, in his saddle and counted them, looked ahead for landmarks, and coolly said :

"You took the chances and you have lost, but you will die game.'' The mustang was almost blown, For the last half hour he had laboured heavily, and had almost been held up by Ihe bits. " Ihe grove would have been a better place, but the end would have been the same," said the scout as he drew up and dismounted. The Indians were two miles away. In ten minutes they would be within rifle shot. "Goodbys, old pard—l must do it," Mod the scout as he took hold of the mustang's head and drew hjs knife across Ihe faithful equine's throat.

'He wanted a breastwork, and here he had it. Two minutes were time enough to cut saddle and bridle to pieces, and then he mounted the body of his dead friend and calmly awaited the approach of the Indians. No shout of triumph was sent across the prairie as he was brought to bay. That had been a strange chase. They had suddenly appeared on his trail without a sound, seeming to rise out of some fissure in the flower covered prairie. Not once through the long night had the scout heard from them except as he dropped from the saddle and placed his ear to the - ground. But for the steady thud, thud, of their horses' feet he might have almost made himself believe that he was being pursued by shadows. "•' Sixteen bullets in this Winchester and;six in the revolver," soliloquised the scout, as the Indians were within a mile of the spot. Did they mean to-ride him down? Each rider was bent over his horse's neck, and each horse kept the pace he had for hours. •' My scalp is worth the scalp of ten In- • diattg !" said the scout, as he raised his rifle ; " but mebbe I can't get over six or leren." Straight■'fifcirrar rode the line of thirty redskins until he raised his rifle for a shot. Then the band divided right and left and inclosed him in a circle. Hot a shout from any' tongue. It might have been , called a still hunt. The lipe was out of rifle shot at first. but- it- gradually worked nearer and nearer, and at last the report of the scout's rifle broke the stillness of the morning. " Twenty-nine left! " he said as he threw out the empty shell. Not a shot came from the Indians in jreply. Every warrior threw himself on *he opposite side of his horse, and ihe jhardj* ponies followed the circle at a steady gallop. " Tweuty.ejght left," said the scout as he fired again. .No shout or shot in reply, but the circle was. growing narrower. " Twenty- seven left V Three of the horses in the ring were galloping without riders. "Twenty-six left! " The s«out had fired coolly and deliberately, shooting evt'ry victim through the head. His rifle had a longer range than those of the Indians, but now they were near enough to open in reply. " Twenty five left! " be said as another .■swage fell into the grass with a wild stixe»m of rage and pain. .Five oi the thirty were dead. Now a yell, runs ground the circle, and every ihorse turns fcis head towards the common icentreand charges the scout. "PuffJ bang! $>uff! bang! bang!

bang!" Three horses went down, ana two more riders fell hack wards from their saddles. " Twenty-three jeft!" counted the •scot, its he dropped the gun and levelled hiß'revaiyer. They were upon him. They shot at him, strucik»t him, ,and tried to ride over him. . • ,"Puif! bang!" "Puff! bang." * Five shots struck men or horses, and whea tjbe hammer fell for the sixth time it scp£ (he last bullet into the bratn of the «eout . ■•- Nine Indians were lying dead around the pivot, three more were wounded, and five or six horses were disabled. All this for a single scalp and the glory of shooting a brave man's dead bosy full of arrows, cutting off head, hands, and fe°t, and shrieking like demons as the blood ; sapurted far over the rich green grass. i When they rode away the body was a ttfhajjeless mass. It would rest there .daring the day, and when night came the «wolves would come sneaking from hidden ravines to devour it to the last morsel and then fight over the bloody grass.