Randall Parrish - Molly McDonald

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[Frontispiece: His fingers gripped the iron top rail, and he slowly
pulled his body up.]

Molly McDonald

A Tale of the Old Frontier

BY RANDALL PARRISH

Author of "Keith of the Border," "My Lady of Doubt," "My Lady of the
South," etc.

WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR

BY ERNEST L. BLUMENSCHEIN

A. L. BURT COMPANY

PUBLISHERS -------------- NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT

A. C. McCLURG & CO.

1912

Published April, 1912

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I AN UNPLEASANT SITUATION
II "BRICK" HAMLIN
III THE NEWS AT RIPLEY
IV THE ATTACK
V THE DEFENCE OF THE STAGE
VI THE CONDITION IN THE COACH
VII PLANS FOE ESCAPE
VIII A WAY TO THE RIVER
IX ACROSS THE RIVER
X THE RIPENING OF ACQUAINTANCE
XI A REMEMBRANCE OF THE PAST
XII THE PARTING
XIII BACK AT FORT DODGE
XIV UNDER ARREST
XV AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
XVI THE MEETING
XVII AT CROSS-PURPOSES
XVIII ANOTHER MESSAGE
XIX A FULL CONFESSION
XX MOLLY TELLS HER STORY
XXI MOLLY DISAPPEARS
XXII A DEEPENING MYSTERY
XXIII THE DEAD BODY
XXIV IN PURSUIT
XXV IN THE BLIZZARD
XXVI UNSEEN DANGER
XXVII HUGHES' STORY
XXVIII SNOWBOUND
XXIX THE CHASE
XXX THE FIGHT IN THE SNOW
XXXI THE GIRL AND THE MAN
XXXII WORDS OF LOVE
XXXIII MOLLY'S STORY
XXXIV THE ADVANCE OF CUSTER
XXXV THE INDIAN TRAIL
XXXVI READY TO ATTACK
XXXVII THE BATTLE WITH THE INDIANS
XXXVIII AT CAMP SUPPLY

ILLUSTRATIONS

His fingers gripped the iron top rail, and he slowly pulled
his body up . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

"No, don't move! The stage has been gutted and set on fire"

The two started back at his rather abrupt entrance

His Colt poised for action, he lifted the wooden latch

MOLLY McDONALD

CHAPTER I

AN UNPLEASANT SITUATION

When, late in May, 1868, Major Daniel McDonald, Sixth Infantry, was
first assigned to command the new three company post established
southwest of Fort Dodge, designed to protect the newly discovered
Cimarron trail leading to Santa Fe across the desert, and, purely by
courtesy, officially termed Fort Devere, he naturally considered it
perfectly safe to invite his only daughter to join him there for her
summer vacation. Indeed, at that time, there was apparently no valid
reason why he should deny himself this pleasure. Except for certain
vague rumors regarding uneasiness among the Sioux warriors north of the
Platte, the various tribes of the Plains were causing no unusual
trouble to military authorities, although, of course, there was no time
in the history of that country utterly devoid of peril from young
raiders, usually aided and abetted by outcast whites. However, the
Santa Fe route, by this date, had become a well-travelled trail,
protected by scattered posts along its entire route, frequently
patrolled by troops, and merely considered dangerous for small parties,
south of the Cimarron, where roving Comanches in bad humor might be
encountered.

Fully assured as to this by officers met at Fort Ripley, McDonald, who
had never before served west of the Mississippi, wrote his daughter a
long letter, describing in careful detail the route, set an exact date
for her departure, and then, satisfied all was well arranged, set forth
with his small command on the long march overland. He had not seen his
daughter for over two years, as during her vacation time (she was
attending Sunnycrest School, on the Hudson), she made her home with an
aunt in Connecticut. This year the aunt was in Europe, not expecting
to return until fall, and the father had hopefully counted on having
the girl with him once again in Kentucky. Then came his sudden,
unexpected transfer west, and the final decision to have her join him
there. Why not? If she remained the same high-spirited army girl, she
would thoroughly enjoy the unusual experience of a few months of real
frontier life, and the only hardship involved would be the long stage
ride from Ripley. This, however, was altogether prairie travel,
monotonous enough surely, but without special danger, and he could
doubtless arrange to meet her himself at Kansas City, or send one of
his officers for that purpose.

This was the situation in May, but by the middle of June conditions had
greatly changed throughout all the broad Plains country. The spirit of
savage war had spread rapidly from the Platte to the Rio Pecos, and
scarcely a wild tribe remained disaffected. Arapahoe, Cheyenne,
Pawnee, Comanche, and Apache alike espoused the cause of the Sioux, and
their young warriors, breaking away from the control of older chiefs,
became ugly and warlike. Devere, isolated as it was from the main
route of travel (the Santa Fe stages still following the more northern
trail), heard merely rumors of the prevailing condition through
tarrying hunters, and possibly an occasional army courier, yet soon
realized the gravity of the situation because of the almost total
cessation of travel by way of the Cimarron and the growing insolence of
the surrounding Comanches. Details from the small garrison were, under
urgent orders from headquarters at Fort Wallace, kept constantly
scouting as far south as the fork of the Red River, and then west to
the mountains. Squads from the single cavalry company guarded the few
caravans venturing still to cross the Cimarron Desert, or bore
despatches to Fort Dodge. Thus the few soldiers remaining on duty at
the home station became slowly aware that this outburst of savagery was
no longer a mere tribal affair. Outrages were reported from the
Solomon, the Republican, the Arkansas valleys. A settlement was raided
on Smoky Fork; stages were attacked near the Caches, and one burned; a
wagon train was ambushed in the Raton Pass, and only escaped after
desperate fighting. Altogether the situation appeared extremely
serious and the summer promised war in earnest.

McDonald was rather slow to appreciate the real facts. His knowledge
of Indian tactics was exceedingly small, and the utter isolation of his
post kept him ignorant. At first he was convinced that it was merely a
local disturbance and would end as suddenly as begun. Then, when
realization finally came, was already too late to stop the girl. She
would be already on her long journey. What could he do? What
immediate steps could he hope to take for her protection? Ordinarily
he would not have hesitated, but now a decision was not so easily made.
Of his command scarcely thirty men remained at Devere, a mere infantry
guard, together with a small squad of cavalrymen, retained for courier
service. His only remaining commissioned officer at the post was the
partially disabled cavalry captain, acting temporarily as adjutant,
because incapacitated for taking the field. He had waited until the
last possible moment, trusting that a shift in conditions might bring
back some available officer. Now he had to choose between his duty as
commander and as father. Further delay was impossible.

Devere was a fort merely by courtesy. In reality it consisted only of
a small stockade hastily built of cottonwood timber, surrounding in
partial protection a half dozen shacks, and one fairly decent log
house. The situation was upon a slight elevation overlooking the ford,
some low bluffs, bare of timber but green with June grass to the
northward, while in every other direction extended an interminable
sand-desert, ever shifting beneath wind blasts, presenting as desolate
a scene as eye could witness. The yellow flood of the river, still
swollen by melting mountain snow, was a hundred feet from the stockade
gate, and on its bank stood the log cavalry stables. Below, a scant
half mile away, were the only trees visible, a scraggly grove of
cottonwoods, while down the face of the bluff and across the flat ran
the slender ribbon of trail. Monotonous, unchanging, it was a desolate
picture to watch day after day in the hot summer.

In the gloom following an early supper the two officers sat together in
the single room of the cabin, a candle sputtering on the table behind
them, smoking silently or moodily discussing the situation. McDonald
was florid and heavily built, his gray mustache hanging heavily over a
firm mouth, while the Captain was of another type, tall, with dark eyes
and hair. The latter by chance opened the important topic.

"By the way, Major," he said carelessly, "I guess it is just as well
you stopped your daughter from coming out to this hole. Lord, but it
would be an awful place for a woman."

"But I did n't," returned the other moodily. "I put it off too long."

"Put it off! Good heavens, man, did n't you write when you spoke about
doing so? Do you actually mean the girl is coming--here?"

McDonald groaned.

"That is exactly what I mean, Travers. Damme, I have n't thought of
anything else for a week. Oh, I know now I was an old fool even to
conceive of such a trip, but when I first wrote her I had no conception
of what it was going to be like out here. There was not a rumor of
Indian trouble a month ago, and when the tribes did break out it was
too late for me to get word back East. The fact is, I am in the devil
of a fix--without even an officer whom I can send to meet her, or turn
her back. If I should go myself it would mean a court-martial."

Travers stared into the darkness through the open door, sucking at his
pipe.

"By George, you are in a pickle," he acknowledged slowly. "I supposed
she had been headed off long ago. Have n't heard you mention the
matter since we first got here. Where do you suppose the lass is by
now?"

"Near as I can tell she would leave Ripley the 18th."

"Humph! Then starting to-night, a good rider might intercept her at
Fort Dodge. She would be in no danger travelling alone for that
distance. The regular stages are running yet, I suppose?"

"Yes; so far as I know."

"Under guard?"

"Only from the Caches to Fort Union; there has been no trouble along
the lower Arkansas yet. The troops from Dodge are scouting the country
north, and we are supposed to keep things clear of hostiles down this
way."

"Supposed to--yes; but we can't patrol five hundred miles of desert
with a hundred men, most of them dough-boys. The devils can break
through any time they get ready--you know that. At this minute there
is n't a mile of safe country between Dodge and Union. If she was my
daughter--"

"You 'd do what?" broke in McDonald, jumping to his feet. "I 'd give
my life to know what to do!"

"Why, I'd send somebody to meet her--to turn her back if that was
possible. Peyton would look after her there at Ripley until you could
arrange."

"That's easy enough to say, Travers, but tell me who is there to send?
Do you chance to know an enlisted man out yonder who would do--whom you
would trust to take care of a young girl alone?"

The Captain bent his head on one hand, silent for some minutes.

"They are a tough lot, Major; that's a fact, when you stop to call the
roll. Those recruits we got at Leavenworth were mostly
rough-necks--seven of them in the guard-house to-night. Our best men
are all out," with a wave of his hand to the south. "It's only the
riff-raff we 've got left, at Devere."

"You can't go?"

The Captain rubbed his lame leg regretfully.

"No; I 'd risk it if I could only ride, but I could n't sit a saddle."

"And my duty is here; it would cost me my commission."

There was a long thoughtful silence, both men moodily staring out
through the door. Away in the darkness unseen sentinels called the
hour. Then Travers dropped one hand on the other's knee.

"Dan," he said swiftly, "how about that fellow who came in with
despatches from Union just before dark? He looked like a real man."

"I did n't see him. I was down river with the wood-cutters all day."

Travers got up and paced the floor.

"I remember now. What do you say? Let's have him in, anyhow. They
never would have trusted him for that ride if he had n't been the right
sort." He strode over to the door, without waiting an answer. "Here,
Carter," he called, "do you know where that cavalryman is who rode in
from Fort Union this afternoon?"

A face appeared in the glow of light, and a gloved hand rose to salute.

"He's asleep in 'B's' shack, sir," the orderly replied. "Said he 'd
been on the trail two nights and a day."

"Reckon he had, and some riding at that. Rout him out, will you; tell
him the Major wants to see him here at once."

The man wheeled as if on a pivot, and disappeared.

"If Carter could only ride," began McDonald, but Travers interrupted
impatiently.

"If! But we all know he can't. Worst I ever saw, must have originally
been a sailor." He slowly refilled his pipe. "Now, see here, Dan,
it's your daughter that's to be looked after, and therefore I want you
to size this man up for yourself. I don't pretend to know anything
about him, only he looks like a soldier, and they must think well of
him at Union."

McDonald nodded, but without enthusiasm; then dropped his head into his
hands. In the silence a coyote howled mournfully not far away; then a
shadow appeared on the log step, the light of the candle flashing on a
row of buttons.

"This is the man, sir," said the orderly, and stood aside to permit the
other to enter.

CHAPTER II

"BRICK" HAMLIN

The two officers looked up with some eagerness, McDonald straightening
in his chair, and returning the cavalryman's salute instinctively, his
eyes expressing surprise. He was a straight-limbed fellow, slenderly
built, and appearing taller than he really was by reason of his erect,
soldierly carriage; thin of waist, broad of chest, dressed in rough
service uniform, without jacket, just as he had rolled out of the
saddle, rough shirt open at the throat, patched, discolored trousers,
with broad yellow stripe down the seam, stuck into service riding
boots, a revolver dangling at his left hip, and a soft hat, faded
sadly, crushed in one hand.

The Major saw all this, yet it was at the man's uncovered face he gazed
most intently. He looked upon a countenance browned by sun and alkali,
intelligent, sober, heavily browed, with eyes of dark gray rather
deeply set; firm lips, a chin somewhat prominent, and a broad forehead,
the light colored hair above closely trimmed; the cheeks were darkened
by two days' growth of beard. McDonald unclosed, then clenched his
hand.

"You are from Fort Union, Captain Travers tells me?"

"Yes, sir," the reply slow, deliberate, as though the speaker had no
desire to waste words. "I brought despatches; they were delivered to
Captain Travers."

"Yes, I know; but I may require you for other service. What were your
orders?"

"To return at convenience."

"Good. I know Hawley, and do not think he would object. What is your
regiment?"

"Seventh Cavalry."

"Oh, yes, just organized; before that?"

"The Third."

"I see you are a non-com--corporal?"

"Sergeant, sir, since my transfer."

"Second enlistment?"

"No, first in the regulars--the Seventh was picked from other commands."

"I understand. You say first in the regulars. Does that mean you saw
volunteer service?"

"Three years, sir."

"Ah!" his eyes brightening instantly. "Then how does it happen you
failed to try for a commission after the war? You appear to be
intelligent, educated?"

The Sergeant smiled.

"Unfortunately my previous service had been performed in the wrong
uniform, sir," he said quietly. "I was in a Texas regiment."

There was a moment's silence, during which Travers smoked, and the
Major seemed to hesitate. Finally the latter asked:

"What is your name, Sergeant?"

"Hamlin, sir."

The pipe came out of Travers' mouth, and he half arose to his feet.

"By all the gods!" he exclaimed. "That's it! Now I 've got you
placed--you 're--you 're 'Brick' Hamlin!"

The man unconsciously put one hand to his hair, his eyes laughing.

"Some of the boys call me that--yes," he confessed apologetically.

Travers was on his feet now, gesticulating with his pipe.

"Damn! I knew I'd seen your face somewhere. It was two years ago at
Washita. Say, Dan, this is the right man for you; better than any
fledgling West Pointer. Why, he is the same lad who brought in
Dugan--you heard about that!"

The Major shook his head.

"No! Oh, of course not. Nothing that goes on out here ever drifts
east of the Missouri. Lord! We might as well be serving in a foreign
country. Well, listen: I was at Washita then, and had the story
first-hand. Dugan was a Lieutenant in 'D' Troop, out with his first
independent command scouting along the Canadian. He knew as much about
Indians as a cow does of music. One morning the young idiot left camp
with only one trooper along--Hamlin here--and he was a 'rookie,' to
follow up what looked like a fresh trail. Two hours later they rode
slap into a war party, and the fracas was on. Dugan got a ball through
the body at the first fire that paralyzed him. He was conscious, but
could n't move. The rest was up to Hamlin. You ought to have heard
Dugan tell it when he got so he could speak. Hamlin dragged the boy
down into a buffalo wallow, shot both horses, and got behind them. It
was all done in the jerk of a lamb's tall. They had two Henry rifles,
and the 'rookie' kept them both hot. He got some of the bucks, too,
but of course, we never knew how many. There were twenty in the party,
and they charged twice, riding their ponies almost to the edge of the
wallow, but Hamlin had fourteen shots without reloading, and they could
n't quite make it. Dugan said there were nine dead ponies within a
radius of thirty feet. Anyhow it was five hours before 'D' troop came
up, and that's what they found when they got there--Dugan laid out, as
good as dead, and Hamlin shot twice, and only ten cartridges left.
Hell," he added disgustedly, "and you never even heard of it east of
the Missouri."

There was a flush of color on the Sergeant's cheeks, but he never moved.

"There was nothing else to do but what I did," he explained simply.
"Any of the fellows would have done the same if they had been up
against it the way I was. May I ask," his eyes first upon one and then
the other inquiringly, "what it was you wanted of me?"

McDonald drew a long breath.

"Certainly, Sergeant, sit down--yes, take that chair."

He described the situation in a few words, and the trooper listened
quietly until he was done. Travers interrupted once, his voice
emerging from a cloud of smoke. As the Major concluded, Hamlin asked a
question or two gravely.

"How old is your daughter, sir?"

"In her twentieth year."

"Have you a picture of the young lady?"

The Major crossed over to his fatigue coat hanging on the wall, and
extracted a small photograph from an inside pocket.

"This was taken a year ago," he explained, "and was considered a good
likeness then."

Hamlin took the card in his hands, studied the face a moment, and then
placed it upon the table.

"You figure she ought to leave Ripley on the 18th," he said slowly.
"Then I shall need to start at once to make Dodge in time."

"You mean to go then? Of course, you realize I have no authority to
order you on such private service."

"That's true. I 'm a volunteer, but I 'll ask you for a written order
just the same in case my Troop commander should ever object, and I 'll
need a fresh horse; I rode mine pretty hard coming up here."

"You shall have the pick of the stables, Sergeant," interjected the
cavalry captain, knocking the ashes from his pipe. "Anything else?
Have you had rest enough?"

"Four hours," and the Sergeant stood up again. "All I require will be
two days' rations, and a few more revolver cartridges. The sooner I 'm
off the better."

If he heard Travers' attempt at conversation as the two stumbled
together down the dark hill, he paid small attention. At the stables,
aided by a smoky lantern, he picked out a tough-looking buckskin
mustang, with an evil eye; and, using his own saddle and bridle, he
finally led the half-broken animal outside.

"That buckskin's the devil's own," protested Travers, careful to keep
well to one side.

"I 'll take it out of him before morning," was the reply. "Come on,
boy! easy now--easy! How about the rations, Captain?"

"Carter will have them for you at the gate of the stockade. Do you
know the trail?"

"Well enough to follow--yes."

McDonald was waiting with Carter, and the dim gleam of the lantern
revealed his face.

"Remember, Sergeant, you are to make her turn back if you can. Tell
her I wish her to do so--yes, this letter will explain everything, but
she is a pretty high-spirited girl, and may take the bit in her
teeth--imagine she 'd rather be here with me, and all that. If she
does I suppose you 'll have to let her have her own way--the Lord knows
her mother always did. Anyhow you 'll stay with her till she 's safe."

"I sure will," returned the Sergeant, gathering up his reins.
"Good-bye to you."

"Good-bye and good luck," and McDonald put out his hand, which the
other took hesitatingly. The next instant he was in the saddle, and
with a wild leap the startled mustang rounded the edge of the bluff,
flying into the night.

All had occurred so quickly that Hamlin's mind had not yet fully
adjusted itself to all the details. He was naturally a man of few
words, deciding on a course of action quietly, yet not apt to deviate
from any conclusion finally reached. But he had been hurried, pressed
into this adventure, and now welcomed an opportunity to think it all
out coolly. At first, for a half mile or more, the plunging buckskin
kept him busy, bucking viciously, rearing, leaping madly from side to
side, practising every known equine trick to dislodge the grim rider in
the saddle. The man fought out the battle silently, immovable as a
rock, and apparently as indifferent. Twice his spurs brought blood,
and once he struck the rearing head with clenched fist. The light of
the stars revealed the faint lines of the trail, and he was content to
permit the maddened brute to race forward, until, finally mastered, the
animal settled down into a swift gallop, but with ears laid back in
ugly defiance. The rider's gray eyes smiled pleasantly as he settled
more comfortably into the saddle, peering out from beneath the stiff
brim of his scouting hat; then they hardened, and the man swore softly
under his breath.

The peculiar nature of this mission which he had taken upon himself had
been recalled. He was always doing something like that--permitting
himself to become involved in the affairs of others. Now why should he
be here, riding alone through the dark to prevent this unknown girl
from reaching Devere? She was nothing to him--even that glimpse of her
pictured face had not impressed him greatly; rather interesting, to be
sure, but nothing extraordinary; besides he was not a woman's man, and,
through years of isolation, had grown to avoid contact with the
sex--and he was under no possible obligation to either McDonald or
Travers. Yet here he was, fully committed, drawn into the vortex, by a
hasty ill-considered decision. He was tired still from his swift
journey across the desert from Fort Union, and now faced another three
days' ride. Then what? A headstrong girl to be convinced of danger,
and controlled. The longer he thought about it all, the more intensely
disagreeable the task appeared, yet the clearer did he appreciate its
necessity. He chafed at the knowledge that it had become his
work--that he had permitted himself to be ensnared--yet he dug his
spurs into the mustang and rode steadily, grimly, forward.

The real truth was that Hamlin comprehended much more fully than did
the men at Devere the danger menacing travellers along the main trail
to Santa Fe. News reached Fort Union much quicker than it did that
isolated post up on the Cimarron. He knew of the fight in Raton Pass,
and that two stages within ten days had been attacked, one several
miles east of Bent's Fort. This must mean that a desperate party of
raiders had succeeded in slipping past those scattered army details
scouting into the Northwest. Whether or not these warriors were in any
considerable force he could not determine--the reports of their
depredations were but rumors at Union when he left--yet, whether in
large body or small, they would have a clear run in the Arkansas Valley
before any troops could be gathered together to drive them out.
Perhaps even now, the stages had been withdrawn, communication with
Santa Fe abandoned. This had been spoken of as possible at Union the
night he left, for it was well known there that there was no cavalry
force left at Dodge which could be utilized as guards. The wide map of
the surrounding region spread out before him in memory; he felt its
brooding desolation, its awful loneliness. Nevertheless he must go
on--perhaps at the stage station near the ford of the Arkansas he could
learn the truth. So he bent lower over the buckskin's neck and rode
straight through the black, silent night.

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