A Race for Life

BY

LUCIE E. JACKSON

 The McArthurs were fortunate people. Everybody said that Mr. McArthur must have been born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, for though he had come to Tulaska with barely a red cent in his pocket, everything he attempted succeeded. His land increased, his cattle increased, his home grew in proportion to his land, his wife was a perfect manager, and his only child was noted for her beauty and daring.

A tall, graceful girl was Rosalind McArthur, with her mother's fine skin and Irish blue eyes, her father's strength of mind and fearless bearing. At nineteen years of age she could ride as straight as any man, could paddle her canoe as swiftly as any Indian, and could shoot as well as any settler in the land.

Added to all this, McArthur was a good neighbour, a kind friend, a genial companion, and a succourer of those in need of help. Thus when it became reported that the Indians had been making a raid upon a small settlement on the borders, and it was likely their next incursion would be directed against McArthur's clearing, the owners of small holdings declared their intention to stand shoulder to shoulder, and fight, if need be, for their more prosperous neighbour.

'I think it must have been a false report. Here have we been waiting, gun in hand, for the last two months, and not a sign of a Redskin's tomahawk have we seen,' said Rosalind cheerfully, as she and her parents rose from their evening meal.

'Thank God if it be so,' returned her mother.

'We'll not slacken our vigilance, however,' was McArthur's answer.

At that instant a rapping at the house door was heard, and McArthur rose.

'It must be Frank Robertson. He'll probably want a shake-down, wife.'

'I could go!'

'He can have it if he wants it,' was Mrs. McArthur's cordial answer.

'Many thanks, but he won't trespass on your hospitality,' said the new-comer, a tall, handsome young settler, entering as he spoke. 'No, McArthur, I cannot stay. I have come but for five minutes on my way back to the village.'

'You can at least sit down,' said McArthur, pulling forward a chair. 'What is the latest news?'

'Nothing, beyond the report that the Indians appear to have shifted themselves elsewhere.'

'Well, that is news,' said Rosalind, looking up with a smile.

'You say, 'appear to have shifted themselves,'' said McArthur. 'I shall still keep on the defensive. I wouldn't trust a Redskin for a good deal.'

'True enough,' was the answer. 'McArthur, whom could you send to the village for need at a critical time?'

'I doubt if I could spare a man. Every hand would be wanted, every rifle needed, for I know not in what numbers the Redskins might come.'

'I could ride to the village,' announced Rosalind calmly. 'Golightly and I would cover the ground in no time.'

'You, my darling!' Mrs. McArthur ejaculated in horror.

McArthur waved his daughter's words aside.

'You do not know, my child, what danger you would court.'

'Of course, Miss McArthur is out of the question,' said the young man, and smiled as Rosalind darted an indignant glance at him.

'At any rate, I am at your service if you need me,' he continued. 'I trust I may not be called out for such a purpose, but if I am, I and my rifle are at your disposal.'

'Thanks, Robertson, you are a good fellow,' returned McArthur heartily, grasping the young man's hand.

 In a few minutes he rose to go. Rosalind accompanied him to the house door.

'Mr. Robertson,' she said abruptly, as soon as they were out of hearing, 'which would be the shortest cut to the village? By the woods or by the river?' He looked keenly at her.

'You meant what you said just now?'

'Of course I meant it. I--I would do anything to save my father's and mother's lives, and their property, which father has secured by dint of so much labour.'

He took her hand in his.

'Rosalind,' he said softly, 'if anything happened to you, my life would be of no worth to me.'

She flushed all over her fair skin.

'It is better to be prepared for an emergency,' she answered gently, 'and I do not think I would run such a great risk as you and my father think.'

'You do not know the Redskin,' was the grave answer.

'You heard my father say he couldn't spare a man. How much more use I would be if I brought help than stayed here and perhaps shot a couple of Indians, who might overpower us by their numbers. I was wondering if Golightly and the woods would be a shorter way than my canoe and the river?'

He had both her hands in his, and was looking down into her eyes.

'The woods and Golightly would be the swiftest way to communicate with us in the village.'

'Then if need be I shall do it.'

'Take the right-hand track straight through the wood, and God protect you, Rosalind. My house will be the first one you will come to. Let me be the first to spring to your aid. No man will step into the stirrup with greater alacrity than I. But, please God, there may be no need for you to go.'

He lifted her hands to his lips and was gone.

Two days passed and nothing of moment happened. But on the evening of the third, two men in McArthur's employ entered the house breathless with excitement. Feathertop--an Indian chief noted for the number of scalps which adorned his person--had been seen in the vicinity of the small settlement.

McArthur, with a grim fixedness of countenance, saw to the priming of his rifle for the fiftieth time; and Rosalind, with her father's courage, examined her own weapon, which she had resolved to take with her for safety if Golightly had to be requisitioned.

'Rosalind, those chaps will be on us to-night or to-morrow morning.'

It was McArthur who spoke, and Rosalind knew that her own misgivings had taken root also within her father's mind.

'Because of Feathertop?' she asked bravely.

'Yes. He is never lurking about unless he means business.'

'Could David and Jim have been misinformed?'

'I don't think so.'

'Then, father, I shall ride to the village.'

McArthur looked at his daughter. He saw her face, he saw her figure. Both were alive with determination and courage.

'Rosalind, you will kill your mother if you attempt to do such a thing.'

Rosalind's Resolve

'Don't tell her unless you are obliged. It is to save her that I do it. Give her a rifle--keep her employed--let her think I am with some of the neighbours. Father, we do not know if we shall be outnumbered. If we are, what will happen? All your cattle will go--your whole property will be ruined, and, worse than all put together, we shall probably lose our lives in a horrible manner.'

'I acknowledge all that you say, but one of the men must go. You with your rifle can take his place, and do just as much execution as he can----'

David put his head in at the door.

'We've brought all the live-stock as close to the house as possible. Jim has been stealing round the plantation by the river, and says he has distinctly seen three Redskins on the other side of the river. We must be prepared for an attack this evening.'

'David, can you get me Golightly without attracting attention? I am going to ride him at once to the village.'

'Mercy on us!' exclaimed David. 'Is there no one but you to do that?'

'No. You and all the rest must defend my father and mother. I shall keep on this side of the river, and will go through the wood. If I go at once I may prevent an attack. David, every minute is of value. Fetch me Golightly. Father, I am not of such importance as the men here, but I can ride, and I can defend myself with my rifle if need be.'

'Then God go with you, my child.'

Only McArthur, and David, and the moon saw Rosalind spring to her seat on Golightly's back. Only the moon saw her with flushed cheeks and beating heart riding for life through the trees of the forest. If only she could get clear of the first two or three miles, she was safe to reach her destination in time.

The track was clearly discernible except when the swiftly-flying clouds obscured the moon's light. The soughing of the wind in the tree-tops, together with the soft springy turf, helped to somewhat deaden the sound of Golightly's hoofs. The good horse scented danger in the air and in the tone of his mistress's voice, and with true instinct galloped through the wood, conscious of the caressing finger-tips which ever and anon silently encouraged him.

'Bang!'

It was unexpected, and Golightly sprang into the air, only to gallop on again like lightning. Rosalind's heart was going pretty fast now. She could see two or three dark forms gliding serpent-like through the trees, but Golightly's rapid progress baulked their aim. Ah, there are some figures in advance of her! Courage, Rosalind, courage! Her rifle is ready.

'Golightly, dear Golightly, save us both,' she whispers. And Golightly tosses up his head with a little whinny of comprehension, and, bracing up every nerve, prepares for a rush through that ominous path blocked as it is by two dark figures.
 

Rosalind's Rifle speaks

'Bang!'

It is Rosalind's rifle this time, and a scream, shrill and piercing, rends the air. One form drops like a stone right across the path. But there is another to dispose of. His rifle is raised. Either Golightly or his mistress will receive the contents of that barrel. But Rosalind's hand never wavers as she points at that upraised arm.

'Bang!'

'Bang!'

The two shots resound almost simultaneously, but Rosalind's is first by half a second. Again a scream rends the air, and yet another, coming this time from the rear. Rosalind's palpitating heart prevents her from glancing about to learn the cause. She knows she has shot the Indian in the right arm, but she does not know, and will never know, that her opportune shot has saved herself and her steed from being fired at from behind as well as in front. For when the Indian's arm was struck, it directed the contents of his rifle away from the point he aimed at. He shot half a second after Rosalind's fire, and killed his chief Feathertop, who was lurking in the background, grinning horribly at his good fortune in taking aim at the back of the paleface and her flying steed.

Over the body of the dead Indian Golightly springs, paying no heed to the savage Redskin who stands aside from the trampling hoofs with his right arm hanging broken at his side. He is helpless, but he may yet do damage to Rosalind's cause. She lifts her rifle in passing him, and aims once more at his retreating form. He springs into the air, and, without a groan or cry, meets his death.

Rosalind has cleared her path from further danger. Ride swiftly though she does, no lurking forms are seen, no gliding figures block her way. But the danger she has gone through has taken all her strength from her. She leans her cheek on Golightly's sympathetic head and sobs out her gratitude to him.

Their Last Visit

When a foam-flecked steed dashed up to the first house in the village there was great commotion. Frank Robertson, with his mother and sisters, rushed out to find a white-faced Rosalind, spent and nearly fainting, sitting limply on Golightly's back. She had no words to explain her presence. She could only look at them with lack-lustre eyes. But Golightly turned his head as the young man lifted her gently off, and his eloquent eyes said as plainly as any words could say--

'Deal gently with her; she has gone through more than you will ever know, and has played her part bravely.'

His comfort was looked after in as great degree as was Rosalind's. For while Rosalind lay on a couch, faint but smiling, and listening to the praises which the women-folk showered upon her, Golightly was stabled and rubbed down by two of Robertson's hired men, and caressed and given a good feed of corn with as many admiring words thrown in as ever his mistress had.

No time was lost in collecting a good body of mounted men, and away they rode with Frank Robertson at their head, arriving in good time to save McArthur's home and family from savage destruction by the Redskins.

With the knowledge that their chief Feathertop was killed, the Indians' enthusiasm cooled, and those who could saved their lives by flying to their homes in the mountains. McArthur was never again troubled by a visit from them, and lived to rejoice in the marriage of his brave daughter to Frank Robertson.

The young couple settled within a couple of miles of McArthur's homestead, and as each anniversary of Rosalind's ride came round, it was a familiar sight to see old McArthur standing up amongst the great gathering of friends to praise the brave girl who jeopardised her life that moonlight night to save the lives and property of those dearest to her.