And thus perished the headstrong, but brave, Captain Van Alstyne, struck dead by a Sac war-hatchet at the battle of Stillman’s Run, which, aptly enough, was the name bestowed by contemporary historians on the disgraceful rout of the white volunteers. CHAPTER 13 A Daring Escape Major Stillman, veteran of many years on the border, realized that the situation of his little band was extremely dangerous. So far, the triumphant Sacs had not made an appearance. Their gloating yells and whoops, echoing through the timbered area, showed that they were still entranced with the rich spoils and loot of the captured camp. Presently, however, they would again turn their attention to the whites by the creek-side. Their sharp-shooters would swarm in like angry hornets. “We must steal away,” declared the Major determinedly, “while the red villains are occupied with their pillaging.” “It won’t be an easy task, sir,” asserted one of the lieutenants dubiously. “I’ve been thinking of taking to the creek bed,” rejoined Stillman. “A corking good idea, sir,” said Ben Gordon. “The banks are plenty high enough to hide us from view.” “Yes,” agreed the Major, “and the stream leads off to the southwest, the general direction in which we have to go.” “It does seem like our best chance, may be our only chance.” “The blasted Injuns might pen us up there, sir,” broke in Jim Martin, who had been an intent listener. “If they did,” countered the officer, “we could shoot from the shelter of the banks. I doubt that we would be worse off than we are now.” Word of the plan was quickly communicated to the rest of the troop. Throwing themselves flat on their stomachs, the anxious men wormed their way stealthily forward to the lip of the creek bank. Luckily, their movements were well hidden among the thickets and clustered timber. Jim Martin and a fellow trooper had been left behind as a rear guard, until the rest of the detachment got a slight start. Ben Gordon was at the head of the little column, by the side of Major Stillman. They had gone perhaps a hundred yards down the bed of the creek, when a rifle cracked out sharply behind them. A second shot followed, and then all was quiet once again. “Keep moving, men,” the leader called in a low voice. “The Sacs have sent scouts forward, and the two troopers are chasing them off. That’s just the way we planned it. It’ll make the pesky Indians think we’re still in the grove.” Two minutes later, Jim Martin and his comrade came running up from behind, their hurried footfalls muffled by the soft sand at the creek edge. “How did it look, Martin?” queried Stillman tensely. “A couple of the red scamps tried to creep up, sir, like the slinkin’ serpents they are, but I think I put a ball through one of ’em.” “Good!” said the Major. “That’ll make them think twice before they try it again. It may be a half-hour before they discover that we’re gone; and in that time we can cover a lot of distance.”