6 The Flight
Whenever you are going to do a momentous thing it is wise not to say much about it. Keep your talk until it is done. I know that much better now than I did when I was younger. There was some talk the next day in the fort and among the wagons about our projected departure. I do not know who told it first, but it soon reached the ears of Col. Griscom, and by and by Henry came to me and told me that the Colonel was mightily disposed to hold us prisoners in the fort in order to save us from what he called our foolhardiness. He had no legal right to take such action, but the Government would not censure him in view of the dangers we were about to face. I sought Pike, to whom we all looked as the leader of our party, in view of his great experience, and he told me the report was true.
“Now, what we’ve got to do,” said Pike, “is to make a dash for it to-night. The boys must keep as quiet as they can durin’ the day. Say nothin’, but manage to get your horses and guns and other things together, and then when it’s good and dark we’ll slip away and be off on the prairie. If we can give the soldiers the slip at the start they won’t foller us. Their duty won’t allow it.”
All the men soon had Pike’s instructions and we followed them closely. Col. Griscom came among the wagons several times and looked about suspiciously, but I soon learned that he did not know which of us intended to make the dash, and in that ignorance our safety lay. I felt somewhat ashamed of our deception, for I knew the officer intended nothing but our own good, but I was quite determined to go, and Starboard Sam and Henry were even more eager. It was an easy matter to make our arrangements. There was nothing to do but slip the bridles on our horses, see that our weapons were in good condition and tie to our saddles the ammunition and few necessities that we carried.
Dusk came on. It was pretty well known in the camp who were prepared to start that night, but we had come so far together that we felt bound to each other as if by an oath of loyalty, and none would betray us. Shortly after the night fell it began to rain. It was not a hard shower, but a fine drizzle, steady and persistent, as if it intended to last all night. Pike said it was good for our purpose, but after the heat of the day the rain fell cold upon me, and soon I was chilled to the very marrow, and my spirits went down. But I endeavored to hide my discouragement. Indeed, I was much ashamed of it, for I did not like to grow so faint-hearted when the first cold wind blew upon us. As if it were an echo of my own thoughts a soft voice whispered over my shoulder:
“Is the white boy afraid because the wind blows in his face and his bones are cold?”
I started violently, turned around, and there was Onomo.
“Afraid of what?” I exclaimed angrily. “What have I to be afraid of under the walls of a fort like this?”
“The white boy and his friends intend to start upon a long journey to-night,” said Onomo. “They are not afraid. Onomo is their friend, and he tells them to be careful, for the white Colonel is watching them and will stop them if he can.”
Before I could thank him for his warning he slid away so quickly and so noiselessly that the night seemed to open and swallow him up.
It was fully ten o’clock and very dark when Pike told us the time had come to be moving. It was quiet in the camp, and in the fort only the usual lights were shining. I shook hands regretfully with Capt. Simpson, for our long journey together had shown the fine character and solid worth of the man. He wished us good luck, and then came Pike’s low command:
“To horse now, boys, and we’re off.” We mounted and rode slowly in a little group out on the prairie. We were congratulating ourselves on the easy manner in which we had given the good Colonel the slip, when a loud voice split the darkness with a cry: “Who goes there?”
At the same moment some torches flared up and revealed fully a score of mounted troopers near us.
“Stop!” cried an officer at their head. “I have Col. Griscom’s order to detain you at the fort.”
“Follow me!” shouted Pike to us. “They won’t fire upon us!”
He lashed his horse furiously and dashed headlong across the prairie in the darkness and the rain. We followed helter-skelter, keeping as close to our leader as possible. Why some of us did not break our necks I cannot guess to this day, but our horses kept their feet and we clung to them somehow. For a few minutes we heard the troopers thundering after us, and then there was no noise save the hoof-beats of our own horses.
“That’s the last of them,” said Pike, drawing rein after we had been galloping for about an hour. “They wouldn’t foller us far and will never trouble us again. We’ve got all the world before us now.”
He spoke the truth. There was nobody to stay us now. We rode along with the night-wind sighing in our ears, and the cold rain dripping in our faces. Behind us was civilization. Before us lay we knew not what. We had begun in earnest the search for the rainbow of gold