After determining that none of the ones they found outside were alive, the drivers and shotgun guards went into the house.
“Is anyone alive here?” Doodle called.
Getting no answer, he called again.
“Hello! Is anyone here!”
“Me and Donnie are here,” Tamara answered.
The young girl’s frightened voice came from behind a hutch.
“Tamara? Tamara, child, come out here.”
Tamara and her younger brother crawled out from behind the hutch.
“We were hiding in case the Indians came back,” Tamara said.
“That was a wise thing to do.”
“Are they all dead?” she asked.
Doodle was amazed at how calm the young girl was, and he was sure it was the result of her being totally overcome by the events.
“I’m afraid they are, darlin’,” he said.
“I thought they were.”
“I expect you had better come with us, child,” Doodle said.
“Not until mama and daddy and my brothers are buried,” Tamara said. Overnight, she had aged from a seven- year-old girl to a responsible young woman.
CHAPTER ONE
From the
GHASTLY RAIDS AGAINST INNOCENT FAMILIES
CHICAGO—Recent savage attacks by Plains Indians have given General Nelson Miles, Commanding General of the Department of the Missouri, cause to be concerned about a possible new Indian war. To this end he has ordered all commanders in the field to be alert for any further savageries. His concern is animated by intelligence from the West which suggests that the recent horrors perpetrated by various nations of the Sioux, the same tribe of heathens who so foully massacred Custer and all his brave men, may be the harbinger of renewed war against the white race. The cause of the unrest is thought to be something called Spirit Talking, a quasi-religion espoused by various shamans in which they are told that if all tenets of the strange heresy are followed, the white man will leave the cities and settlements of the West, and the land will be returned to the Indians.
The Indian who started this movement and is its most vocal spokesman is Mean to His Horses, a leader of the Crooked Lance Warrior Society of the Cheyenne. Mean to His Horses was a relative of Roman Nose, the ferocious Cheyenne warrior who led more attacks against the white man than any other Indian. He was also a follower and protege of Crazy Horse. It is said that the Indians believe that Mean to His Horses is able to communicate with Crazy Horse through the means of Spirit Talking, and that has given him much medicine.
NEW YORK—The Buffalo Bill Wild West Exhibition has performed before the crowned heads of Europe, delighting the royals and their subjects with a view of life in America’s Great West. Now that same show is in New York and should a citizen of this fair city wish to be enlightened about the true nature of the Wild West, they need only to apply at the ticket office at Madison Square Garden where daily performances are being given.
By the use of clever stage props, dirt, horses, cattle, cowboys and Indians, Madison Square Garden was transformed into a part of the American West. Falcon MacCallister and his brother and sister, the twins Andrew and Rosanna, were among the many spectators enjoying the Buffalo Bill Wild West Exhibition. So far the show had portrayed Pony Express mail carriers galloping to deliver the mail, leaping off one horse and instantly mounting another to continue at breakneck speed around the arena; Indians setting fire to and attacking a burning cabin from which heroic settlers would escape just in the nick of time; and stagecoach robbers who were fought off by the bravery of the shotgun guard and armed passengers.
They also had cowboys bringing a cattle stampede under control, and it was during the stampede that something went wrong. A bull broke out of the thundering herd to come rushing toward the audience.
“Oh, isn’t it wonderful how they have trained the bull to do that?” Rosanna said, her voice tinged with excitement.
When the bull first broke loose from the herd, Falcon, like Rosanna and everyone else in the audience, believed it to be a part of the show. But looking around, he saw that there was no cowboy in position to be able to stop the runaway, and the reaction of the nearest cowboys to the bull clearly indicated that this was unplanned. There was a mounted New York policeman nearby but he was for crowd control only, and Falcon could tell by the expression on his face that he also thought the runaway bull was part of the show.
With no time to spare, Falcon got up from his seat, climbed onto the railing and, pushing the policeman out of the saddle, leaped onto his horse. He wished he was on Lightning, but he had no choice. This police horse was all he had. He raced across the arena toward the bull.
Behind him the policeman blew his whistle in anger. “Stop that man! Stop him! He stole my horse!”
The crowd, still believing that it was all part of the show, cheered in approval and applauded as Falcon, bent low over the horse’s neck, urged the animal into what was, without doubt, the fastest it had ever run. Falcon measured the distance between the bull and the crowd and between himself and the bull, and realized that if he was going to catch up with it, it would be at the last possible second.
As he drew alongside the bull, he could smell its pungent odor and see the fear, confusion, and anger in the bull’s eyes. Falcon leaned over the bull, then leaped from the saddle, grabbing the bull by the horns as he did so. He
