IN PANTHER VALLEY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 4878, 17 February 1894, Page 3

IN PANTHER VALLEY.

(New Jorfc Swn.) At four o'clock in the afternoon, bb we were marching up the eastern branoh of Tongue Biver, a man in citizen's dress came riding furiously from the east. For five minutes after he reached us he could not answer an inquiry. Then he wept and raved by turns, and it waa a quarter of an hour before he told his story. It was the one so often heard in thoee days—an emigrant fau-ily— a dash by a small band of Indians — killing, scalping, and making captive. His two children were dead, and hia wife waa carried away on the saddle before a warrior. He was wounded by arrows and bullets, but as we wheeled squarely to the right and rode for Panther Valley he was with the Captain at the head of the troop. We were riding to intercept the Indians at White Creek. Tor two houra every horse waa kept at full speed. Then we struck the creek, followed it through the Bcrub and over the ridge, and aa we broke cover there were the Indians coming up. One of the foremost had the woman before him. There waa the valley — five miles wide and without cover— a dozen Indiana —fifty troopers. With a wild cheer we dashed at them. Aa fast as we rode, the wounded aud bereaved citizen rode faster. He had borrowed a sabre of one of the men, and as he rode into battle bareheaded and his face covered with blood stains and the sabre waving in the evening sun and catching its rays the Indians yelled out in affright and wheeled and galloped down the valley. One by one we overtook them. Out horses were juded, but theirs were even worse. We gained on them an inch at a time. Here and there a bullet from a carbine tumbled a warrier from a saddle, but iv most cases the sabre did the work. Not an Indian threw up a hand iv token of surrender. Loaded down with plunder and a fresh scalp at each belt, they must have realized that no quarter would be shown. They heard the trooper coming nearer and nearer, but they did not even glance back. They could hear the laboured breathing of the horae with his nose at the pony's flank — they could feel hia breath— they knew that a stout hand clutched a sharp sabre, but they rode with their facea to the south and their eyes on the ground. A foot or two nearer and the sabre whirled through the air and the trooper rose in his stirrups to give the cut which cleft the skull as if it had been paper. Three are down— five — seven— nine. Of these the avenging husband has killed three. His sabre is red with blood, and blood has rundown its blade and smeared I his handa afresh. He utters no cheer — he has no battle cry. His horse ij the freshest of all, and he dashes up alongside a warrior, seizes his weapon with both hands, and when he strikes a corpse rolls to the earth. -Nine — ten — eleven ! Only one lef fc, and that warrior carrying away the captive ! He has been Bafe from our bullets for fear of injury to the woman. His war pony can outspeed our horßes, but not the animal which the avenger rides. It is a race between the two. Slowly but surely the avenger gains; We cheer him as we realise it— cheer him as we follow in his footsteps. He haa pulled his horse to the left and i a ranging up alongside when the unconscious form of the woman is flung to the earth. The vindictive Indian has firat driven his knife to her heart. The body falls almost under the feet of the horse coming up, but the avenger does not draw rein. , With eyes blazing and teeth hard shut he rides straight on. Now his bloody fingers clutch the bloody hilt of the sabre ; now the weapon is raised on high ; now he leans forward, presses hard against his stirrups, and strikes a blow which separates the head in halves clear down to the chin. Of the twelve not one has escaped. As we gather about the dead body of the woman the avenger comes riding back. He knows what has happened. He throws himself from his horse and kneels beside the body, and we draw away to leave him alone with his dead. It is a wipe-out of a band of fiends. If any one were inclined to pity, there are seven fresh scalps attached to the belts of the dead aa proof tbat such devils deserve no pity. They have slaughtered old and young — men, women, and children. We shall leave their bodies to the wolves crawling out of their lairs on the bushlined ridge separating the valleys, and to the vultures gathering in the evening sky above us. We return to the avenger and his dead. He must have hia wounds dressed, and he will point out the spot where we shall bury the dear!. We halt a hundred feet away, and the captain advances and dismounts. The man is still kneeling beside the body, hia head pillowed upon it. The officer lays a gentle hand on his shoulder and utters words of sympathy. There ib no movement— no response. The avenger is dead beside hia dead l