CHAPTER X. TWO OLD ENEMIES
Lone Wolf recognized the taunt of his old enemy, and his black eye lit up with a gleam of fire and passion. He would not turn his back upon his white foe, who had just sent a bullet in quest of his heart. He would accept the gage of battle, and end his personal warfare of years. But, like all Indians, the chieftain was the personification of treachery, without a particle of chivalry or manhood, and when he resolved upon his attempt to destroy the frontiersman, it was without any regard for the fairness of the means which he should employ.
He handed the boy to one of the warriors sitting near him, as, of course, he could do nothing when impeded by his presence, although he had proved very convenient some time before, in the way of a shield. Then he said something to a dozen or so of the warriors immediately around him. The main body remained comparatively motionless, while the chief rode out in advance and headed toward his antagonist, his horse upon a slow walk, and moving with great caution.
Sut Simpson was not to be caught napping. No one understood the sneaking character of Lone Wolf better than did he. He had had it back and forth with him too many times not to be able to read the fellow through and through.
While the leader was coming forward in this cautious manner, he saw several other horsemen in motion. Their direction was not the same as their leader. They appeared to be riding further back upon the prairie, as though they had been sent upon some errand to a distant point. But Sut knew what it meant. They meant to steal away until they were out of sight, when they would come around behind him. There were enough to surround him completely and to cut off his escape in any direction.
Sut saw all this and was not surprised thereat. He believed that he was too old a bird to be caught with such chaff. The manner in which he could defeat the purpose of Lone Wolf was by direct fight, or by forcing him into a combat which would anticipate the intention of the Apache. He preferred the latter course, and he made the effort in the common Indian way, by uttering a taunt, still using the Apache tongue.
“Lone Wolf is a coward and a dog! He is afraid of the white hunter! He stays by his warriors, that they may hold his head when his heart grows faint at sight of his pale-face foe.”
Anyone who understands the temper of an Indian will see that such a taunt as this was of the most exasperating nature. It rankled deeply in the heart of Lone Wolf, who would have given a dozen of his best warriors for the chance of burying his tomahawk in the skull of his foe; but he was too cunning to be misled by his desire for revenge. He, too, indulged in a little of the taunting business himself; and, as the hunter had honored him by speaking in the Apache language, he “threw himself,” so to speak, in English.
“The white hunter is afraid of Lone Wolf. He dreads his scalping-knife. His heart trembles, and he knows not where to hide himself.”
“He does not hide from Lone Wolf, for he has hunted days and nights to find him, and when Lone Wolf saw him coming, he ran among his warriors and hid.”
“He is not among them now,” retorted Lone Wolf; “while he seeks Sut Simpson, the brave hunter moves away.”
Such was really the case. Judged from a superficial standpoint, the greatest show of courage was made by the Apache, whose horse was moving forward at a slow, cautious pace, while the mustang of Sut Simpson kept up a continued and equally guarded retreat, so that the distance between the two taunting enemies remained about the same. The hunter had a manifest purpose in this, which was simply to draw his foe far enough away from his support to gain a chance for a sudden dash at him before he could elude him. At the same time he did not forget the dozen horsemen that had stolen out so cautiously from the rear, and he knew that “if it were done, then 'twere well it were done quickly,” as Macbeth so aptly puts it.
Sut carefully measured the intervening space with his eye, but Lone Wolf was still too near his reserve. The two men were eying each other like cats, and, although he taunted so loudly, yet no one would have been readier than the Apache to flee if he believed that he was in greater peril than his antagonist.
“Why does not Lone Wolf move faster?” asked Sut, hoping to spur him into doing so.
“Why does not the hunter wait for him?” asked the chief, very appropriately, in return.
The scout thought that if he could draw the savage a few yards further he would have him just where he wanted him. Feeling how precious the passing time was, he galloped his mustang a rod or so and then came to a sudden abrupt halt.
“Here I'll await you, you old copper-skinned hoodlum!” he called out, in unmistakable English.
Lone Wolf did not check his speed; nor, on the other hand, did he hasten it. Let alone, he was sure to reach the proper point in due time; but the trouble was that Sut had no time to spare. The dozen horsemen who were making their circuit must have accomplished considerable of it already, and would soon be closing in around him.
The hunter had been caught in just such predicaments many a time before, and had managed to pull through without material injury; but no brave man who was possessed of ordinary sense would willingly allow himself to be drawn into such a trap. The Apaches were as good riders as he, and a shot that would disable his horse would play mischief with the rider. He wished to avoid any such snarl, and so he dallied and trifled with his adversary in the hope of trolling him along to a point where he could hold him, while the Indian continued his advance like one whose only purpose was to hold his man until the other warriors could close in behind him. The moment speedily came when it would not have been best to wait a second longer.
Wheeling his horse with the suddenness of lightning, Simpson charged at full speed straight at Lone Wolf. The latter was surprised by the movement, but he was not thrown off his guard, nor did he seek to fall back on his reserves. It would be time enough to do that when he should become convinced of its necessity; besides which, he had only to keep the hunter engaged for a brief time in order to give his horsemen the chance to entrap him.
Bearing in mind the deceitful character of the chief, Sut waited until he was within a short distance, when he wheeled and let drive with a couple chambers of his revolver. Lone Wolf went over the side of his mustang so suddenly that the hunter believed he had been killed; but, as he checked himself before reaching the ground, he saw his mistake, and knew that the savage's “reply” would be forthcoming on the instant. Accordingly, Sut followed suit and interposed the body of his mustang like a flash between himself and the red-skin.
He was not a wink too soon. Just as he went over he caught the flash, and heard the report of a pistol. The chief had fired from beneath the neck of his steed, with his revolver—for Lone Wolf carried his revolver, like any other gentleman of the plains.
This was complicating matters so much that the hunter determined to force conclusions without a moment's delay.
There was no use of firing at the Indian as long as he was protected by his horse. He was to cunning to be caught napping. So, without a particle of hesitation, Sut threw the muzzle of his rifle beneath the neck of his steed, and fired straight at the one which was sheltering his adversary.
The shot was fatal, and, with a frenzied leap, the animal stumbled forward upon his neck, and fell dead in his tracks. Nimble Lone Wolf threw himself as quick as a flash from beneath the falling body, and, conscious of his disadvantage, started on a run for the main body of warriors; but Sut, with extraordinary shrewdness, had anticipated this very thing, and, assisted by the intelligence of his animal, he threw himself ahead of him, so as to shut off the flight in that direction.
Everything now went with bewildering swiftness. The Apaches, seeing their chief environed, rode forward to his assistance, while the hunter, revolver in hand, blazed away at him, determined to bring him to earth, now that he had the chance. The activity of Lone Wolf was simply marvelous.
He darted here and there, dodged back and forth, and once or twice actually shot beneath the belly of his adversary's mustang. His antics were confusing, and, although Sut succeeded in wounding him, it seemed utterly impossible to disable him.
The hunter had already discharged his rifle when he slew the horse, and when he emptied his revolver, he was chagrined, furious, and baffled.
“I believe you're the devil himself!” he exclaimed, ceasing his efforts to bring him down, “and I'll let you go this time!”
He turned to flee when he saw that the Apaches were all about him.
CHAPTER XI. HOT QUARTERS
The contest of Simpson with the wonderfully supple and sinewy Apache began and ended in a few seconds. In the most thrilling moments the hunter did not forget his peril from outside barbarians.
The main war-party seeing the desperate straits of their leader, who was liable to be shot down by a ball from the revolver, galloped forward to his assistance, and, almost at the same moment the dozen horsemen that had set out to head him off put in appearance, all coming from different directions, and converging toward the one point, where the veteran borderer was suddenly transformed from an aggressor into a deeply imperiled fugitive.
It was a time for “business” of the sternest kind, and the grizzled hunter went at it like one who understood what it meant. Rifle and pistol were discharged, and, therefore, useless. The former was slung over his back, and the latter was quickly jammed into his girdle. In a twinkling he had his huge bowie in his right hand, and, shouting to his mustang, he headed out on the prairie, and made a dash for life and freedom.
At such a crisis, everything depends upon the sagacity and intelligence of the horse. It requires something more than speed—it needs a grasp of the “situation,” upon the part of the brute, and the guidance of his action which should result therefrom. It was in this respect that Sut Simpson possessed an advantage which can scarcely be appreciated. He made no attempt to guide or control the creature he bestrode; but, bending forward upon his back and clutching his terrible weapon in his hand, he uttered a shout, which the mustang interpreted as an appeal to do his best, and he proceeded to do so without an instant's hesitation.
Still, it was vain to try to dodge through the converging warriors without coming in contact with them. There were too many to permit any such performance, but the wall was not impenetrable. Like an arrow from the bow sped the animal, and, seeing the point toward which he was aiming, the Apaches endeavored to close the gap. The equine fugitive did not swerve in the least, and it looked as if he was plunging to his own destruction.
The scout saw it all, and made no effort to change the direction he was pursuing. He only grasped his bowie the more tightly and compressed his lips. There was an ugly gleam in his sharp gray eye as he braced himself for the conflict.
The nose of the mustang was almost touching the head of the other horses, when he swerved almost at right angles, and, with a tremendous burst of speed, shot through the nearest “opening.” This threw all his enemies, by the brilliant maneuver, in his rear, and left the clear prairie before him as a path in which to complete his flight.
The space separating Sut from his enemies was too slight for him to reach safety by one plunge. The mustang was scarcely under way, when he was compelled to dodge as abruptly as before, and in a trice he made a third, which was done with consummate skill, and yet with the unavoidable result of bringing the scout in collision with a swarthy warrior. Sut was expecting it, and, bursting like a thunderbolt upon the howling red-skin, he drove the flashing bowie with such prodigious force that, to repeat an old expression, the first thing the Apache knew, he knew nothing.
At the moment of making the thrust, a painted warrior riding on the opposite side struck a terrific blow with his tomahawk, but the dextrous flirt of the hunter's head permitted the weapon to whizz by and graze his cheek. The time was to short for him to do any work with the knife in the other hand, quick as was Simpson in his movements; so the tomahawk had scarcely descended upon its harmless mission when he sent out his left hand straight from his shoulder, like the plunge of a piston rod.
It struck the astonished warrior straight in his face with irresistible force and his head went down and his heels up so suddenly that he was knocked completely off his horse—a thing which, it may be safely said, does not occur with an Apache or Comanche once in a thousand times, unless it be a bullet that tumbles him to the ground. This opened the way again and the magnificent mustang settled down to the work of life and death.
Sut saw that it was impossible for any of the horsemen to throw themselves across his track, and so he flung himself forward upon his matchless steed and said a few words encouragingly in the hope that it might add a particle to his speed; but that was impossible, as the noble creature was doing his very utmost.
The pursuing Apaches seemed to cling to the hope of capturing the daring scout, for they thundered away in pursuit, while he as steadily drew away from them. Suddenly came the crack of rifles, but Sut noticed that most of them came from a point in advance, and he raised his head enough to learn what it meant.
The mustang (whether by design or accident cannot be stated) had sped continually in the direction of New Boston, and was dashing down toward that point. The pioneers were on the alert, and the instant they could distinguish pursuers from pursued, they opened on the former, with the result of tumbling several from the backs of their steeds. This so disorganized the hot pursuit that in the flurry of the moment the scout shot in among the group of alarmed horses, sprang from his back, and was soon among his friends, from whom he had been separated less than half an hour.
Lone Wolf seemed meditating a charge down the valley, and once or twice a formidable number of his warriors were observed gathering upon the slope; but the moment they were discovered such a galling fire was poured in among them that they quickly scampered out of range. The chief, beyond question, was infuriated by the manner in which he had been baffled, and this fury tempted him, perhaps, to a rash deed or two; but he speedily regained his shrewdness and drew his warriors off.
A careful reconnaisance, made an hour later, failed to show a single Apache. The entire body had departed.
The special errand of Sut in venturing out was to effect the recapture of the lad. The chance of success was very desperate, but upon that alone the scout had based his hopes. Had the opportunity been tempting, the Apaches would have done all they could to head off any effort in that direction, but it is often by a sudden dash, when apparently there is no hope, that the most brilliant successes are made. But the issue in the present case had been a complete failure, and Sut chafed greatly under the reflection, for everything connected with it was mortifying to him.
In the first place, he had been completely outwitted from beginning to end by his old enemy, Lone Wolf. That chieftain, whom he detested with the very intensity of hatred, had snatched up the boy under his very nose, and made off with him. The shot that had been fired to bring the war-chief to earth failed in its purpose, and while the hunter was forcing him into a corner he awoke to the fact that he was there himself, and it was only by a hair's breadth that he succeeded in saving his bacon.
“But Sut Simpson don't give up the job just yet,” said he, the next morning, in discussing the situation with Barnwell and the leading pioneers. “That younker has got himself in a scrape, through no fault of his own, and onless he gets a lift there's no show for his pullin' out of it.”
“Mickey O'Rooney is still absent, and he may be able to help you.”
But Sut shook his head. He saw no prospect of any appreciable assistance from that quarter.
“He's a good fellow, and I like him; but he'll have all he can do to take care of himself. When a chap undertakes to go it alone in these parts, he must never wink both eyes at the same time.”
“Suppose the Irishman has been killed?” ventured one of the men, who was somewhat shaken up by the events of the night before. “It seems to me that it is very probable.”
“You're right,” replied Sut, as if he were discussing the question of stock. “Very likely he's gone under. We've all got to come to it sooner or later, and what's the odds if one's a little ahead of the other?”
By this time the speaker was astride his mustang, which was as fresh and eager as though he had not been subjected to the tremendous strain of the night before. The little party of pioneers had come to look upon the scout as indispensable to their safety. His timely warning of the coming of the Apaches had saved them from a frightful massacre, and he now gave them some parting advice, which could not be disregarded.
“You cleaned 'em out this time,” said he, as he sat on his mustang, hesitating a few minutes, until several of the sentinels that had been sent out could come in with their reports; “you cleaned them out this time,” he repeated, “but don't you think on that account they'll stay away. As I observed to you some time ago, I know something 'bout that varmint, and he'll be back agin, and you kin bet your bottom dollar on it. He'll fetch a pile of the dogs at his back, and he'll clean out this place so complete that a fortnight from now a microscope won't be able to tell where the town of New Boston stood.”
“And you urge us to give over the attempt to make a settlement here?” remarked Barnwell, with his old cynical smile.
“For the present I do; I don't ax you to give it up forever, mind, but only to wait some fifty or seventy-five years, till I get a chance to wipe out Lone Wolf, and things become sorter quieted down like. It's better to get out of bed than it is to be kicked out, and you must take your choice.”
“But we are here, and why should we not stay?”
“The best reason is 'cause you can't. I don't know as there's any better. It's only fifty miles to Fort Severn, and you can make it easy in two or three days with your teams and baggage. You've traveled the plains long 'nough to understand how the thing is done.”
At this juncture the three men who had been sent out in different directions on a reconnoissance came in with their report. One of them had climbed the very tree in which Fred Munson had taken refuge. This gave him an extended view of the surrounding country. One of the others had devoted himself to a careful examination of the river, while the third scanned the prairie in another direction. The result in every case was the failure to detect any signs of the Apaches.
Sut Simpson waved his friends a good-by and galloped up the slope, where he took the trail of the Indians and at once set off in quest of his young friend, who was a captive in their hands.
CHAPTER XII. THE YOUNG CAPTIVE
The experience of Fred Munson as a prisoner among the Apaches was one which he was not likely to forget to his dying day. From the back of the steed where he was held a captive he gained an indistinct view of the short, savage struggle between Lone Wolf and Sut Simpson, and more than once he concluded that it was all over with the daring hunter, who had ventured out with the purpose of befriending him. But when the chieftain returned to his warriors alone and without any scalp strung to his girdle, he knew that the fellow had pulled through all right.
Lone Wolf was so exasperated at his treatment that he hovered around for a short time with his entire force, in the hope of balancing accounts with his old enemy. But he soon saw, however, the utter impossibility of that in the present shape of things, and so he summoned all his warriors together and moved off in a northerly direction, his purpose being, as the hunter said, to return with a force which would prove itself invincible.
Fred expected to be handed back to the redoubtable chieftain, who, he supposed, would subject him to the most cruel kind of treatment; but that worthy did not seem desirous of receiving his charge back again and permitted him to remain with his deputy. The lad did not know whether to be pleased by this or not; for his custodian was the most repulsive looking being he had ever seen. He was deeply pitted with smallpox, and the enormous nose which he had once possessed had been splintered by a blow from a tomahawk, so that in no respect at all did it resemble that useful and ornamental organ. There was an enormous breadth, too, between the eyes, or rather temples, the face tapering down to the chin so rapidly that the contour from the front suggested the shape of a wedge.
An Indian almost invariably has good teeth but the mouth of the one in question was filled with snags that projected in every direction; his chin was excessively retreating, and, to add to it all, his countenance was daubed with different colored paint, in such fantastic streakings that an Adonis himself would have appeared hideous. Such was the jailer of Fred, who heard him addressed once or twice by a name which sounded to him as if it were Waukko.
He was, in fact, one of the most famous warriors of the Jiccarilla Apaches, his fame depending as much upon his cruelty as upon his prowess. There are legends in the southwest crediting Lone Wolf with having shown some slight signs of mercy on one or two occasions, but nothing of the kind was ever said of his lieutenant, Waukko, who brained the innocent babe with the same demon-like enjoyment that he silenced the pleadings of old age and blooming womanhood. Fred, as a matter of course, knew nothing of these characteristics; but the appearance of the redskin himself was so repulsive that he could not look at him without a shudder of terror.
The lad sat on the blanket directly in front of Waukko, who held him in place by passing his arm about him. Such was his position when the entire company headed northward, and struck into a sweeping gallop.
It was comparatively early in the evening when the start was made, and the flight was continued without interruption through the night, the horses scarcely ever varying from that same everlasting canter.
The novelty of his situation, and the interest which Fred felt as to what was to be done with him in the end kept him wide awake for a time, and he indulged in all sorts of surmises and conjectures. Without brother or sister, and with only one parent, his father, to whom he was deeply attached, his greatest suffering was the thought of the sorrow that would be his father's when he should come to know the dreadful fate of his only son.
Such were his thoughts when he had no hope of ever seeing him again; but when he reflected that Mickey O'Rooney was still absent from the settlement, and that Sut Simpson was likely to take up the hunt, a strong hope arose within his breast and encouraged him to believe that he might escape from the Apaches.
“Ah, if I only had my handsome Hurricane here!” he murmured, as he recalled the figure of his sinewy and symmetrical steed. “Once on his back and with a clear field before me, all the Indians in the Southwest could n't catch me. If the hunter would only think to bring him along, it would help a good deal, but I don't suppose he will.”
Then his thoughts wandered away to his father, and the tears came to his eyes and the sorrow lurked deep in his heart, nourished by the thought that very likely they would never meet again, and his father's lonely heart would be sorrowful all the rest of his life as he thought of how his only child had been murdered by the Apaches.
The steady sinking and rising of the Indian's horse gradually became monotonous, and, after a time, the boy's nodding head drooped, and Waukko knew, from the pressure against his breast, that his captive was asleep. Could he have had his way, he would have strangled the life out of him as he lay thus unconscious, but he was carrying him for Lone Wolf, the chief, and he dare not disobey him.
It is not often that the sleeper rests his head upon the bosom of his enemy, yet such was the case in the present instance. The swaying, rocking motion of the bed of Fred Munson not only lulled him to sleep, but retained him in as sweet and dreamless slumber as though he were resting upon his bed at home, where no thought of the treacherous Indian ever entered his head.
The red-skin sat his steed like a statue. Lone Wolf had entrusted the young captive to his charge, and he would hold him responsible for his safe deliverance, that was all. He might have slept for twenty-four hours, using his scarred and evil chest as a pillow, without protest from him.
When at last Fred opened his eyes, it was several minutes before he recalled his situation. It was just beginning to grow light, and when he saw the figures of horses with their riders he remembered the scene of the night before. When he turned his head and saw the horrid face of Waukko, no doubt then remained of where he was. But he looked upon a far different scene from that upon which he had closed his eyes.
Instead of being upon the broad, sweeping prairie, he was among the mountains. They towered upon every hand, and the war party had halted in a sort of canon or valley, where they seemed shut out from the outer world.
“Where are we?” asked Fred, thinking it polite to open a conversation with his guardian, with a view of conciliating him; but the red-skin did not seem to be in a mood for conversation, or it may be that he did not possess a very profound knowledge of the English tongue, for he made no reply.
After a time, the lad ventured upon another modest remark, but receiving no attention, he concluded it hardly worth his while to attempt to work any further in that direction, and he gave over the effort.
As soon as the halt was made, Lone Wolf gave a sort of address to his warriors, which Fred believed to be a sort of harangue, intended to incite them to deeds of greater daring than any they had as yet shown. The red-skins became much excited, and answered his appeals with angry shouts, grunts and gestures. No doubt, had he chosen to lead them, they would have rushed back to a second attack upon New Boston, without the addition of another warrior to their number. The oratory of Lone Wolf was not very graceful, but it was very effective. He knew how to appeal to his followers in a way that went directly to their hearts.
CHAPTER XIII. THE ENCAMPMENT
Immediately after the harangue of Lone Wolf a general dismounting of the warriors followed, and the mustangs, which showed admirable training, were left to themselves. The halt had been made where there was grass and water, to which the animals now paid their attention, while their owners prepared for their morning meal.
There was a certain system in all this apparent confusion, and, it being known that a halt would be made at this point, a half dozen of the most skilful hunters of the party had scattered among the mountains in quest of game. By the time several fires were fairly under way, these providers began dropping in, all of them laden with spoils of the chase, which were dressed and boiling over the different camp-fires in an incredibly short time. The Apaches had reduced this thing to a science, and a company of trained soldiers could not have done the thing more expeditiously than did they.
While it was all going on, Fred Munson walked to the brook near at hand, and taking a deep draught from the icy water, he stood somewhat apart from the others, watching the proceedings with a strange interest.
At first he failed to understand one thing. He knew, from what he had seen, that at least a dozen of the Apaches had been killed, and as many wounded, on the night before during the fight. Yet not one of these was visible, with the exception, perhaps, of Lone Wolf, whose scratches from Sut Simpson's bullets were of a superficial nature. The only explanation of the absence of these parties was that they had gone home. Under the charge of a strong escort they had taken another route, and were probably miles away at that moment, and most likely in their own wigwams, receiving the nursing and attention required.
“I wonder whether there is any chance of my getting away?” mused the lad, as he looked searchingly about him. “If a fellow could only get the start, there are plenty of places where he might hide; but there's where the trouble is.”
On the right and left of the gorge were precipitous mountains, evidently broken by chasms, ravines, and covered with patches of wood, their elevation being so moderate that no snow was visible upon their tops, while the scene was wild and forbidding in the extreme.
“If I were only up there,” sighed Fred, as he looked at the mountain side, “I could crawl into some of the places, where I'm sure they couldn't find any signs of me.”
This might all be, provided the lad had an hour or two in which to hunt his hiding place, but the whole difficulty lay in getting that opportunity. It was not to be supposed that the Apaches were so stupid as to give a young captive like him a chance to slip from their hands in broad daylight. They were too shrewd for that and Fred felt that he must wait for some better opportunity than the present.
The meat was prepared in short order, and then the Apaches fell-to like so many wild beasts, using only their fingers and teeth. A large quantity of food was provided, and the redskins were rapidly disposing of it, when the lad saw that no one was likely to offer him any, and he struck in and helped himself.
This morning halt of the war-party lasted about an hour, during which Fred felt that there was little attention being paid him. Considerable earnest talk was indulged in by the warriors, who were apparently discussing some important plans with Lone Wolf, the whole thing resolving itself into a sort of council of war. When they leaped upon the backs of their mustangs, the decision had been made, and preparations made for carrying it out without delay.
The whole party started up the gorge, Fred riding again with the Apache Apollo, Waukko, while Lone Wolf kept himself at the head of the force.
“I thought he would be mad enough to kill me,” mused the boy, as he caught sight of the notorious chief, “for the reason that I gave him such a scare night before last. It can't be that he has forgotten it or that he doesn't know who I am; but maybe he is going to do something dreadful to me after he gets me home.”
What the real purpose of Lone Wolf was could only be conjectured; but there was reason to believe that he meant to hold his prisoner for a ransom, as the aboriginal scamp was very partial to that kind of business. By carrying the lad back among the mountains, he could hold him against the army of the United States, utterly refusing to yield him up until he should receive his price.
The mustangs galloped along at an easy gait, for a mile or so, when the canon, or gorge, divided in a manner precisely like that which is frequently observed in the highways or streets of a city. Lone Wolf instantly turned the head of his mustang to the left, and, without checking him in the least, continued at a sweeping gallop in that direction, followed by all of his warriors, save three.
These were Waukko and two companions scarcely less repulsive in appearance, who wheeled their steeds to the right. Without any exchange of word or signal, they sped down the ravine and in less than a minute the two parties were lost to sight of each other.
What this meant was a mystery as baffling as the other, but Fred concluded that Lone Wolf had gone in quest of some other party of his warriors, and had sent Waukko and his two companions as an escort to conduct him to some place where he would be beyond all danger of rescue. The shrewd Apache chief, in doing this, only acted with ordinary discretion.
He knew Sut Simpson through and through, and had not a particle of doubt that the hunter was already on their track, and that he would use every exertion to recover the lad. Hence the most important thing to do was to get forward without any loss of time. He had a full night's start of the scout, who could only press his pursuit by daylight, when the trail was visible, and there was no reason why the three men who had the lad in charge should allow the fleetest-footed mustang to catch up with them.
Fred, as may be supposed, was gratified to find his companions so suddenly and greatly reduced in number, for it seemed to him at once that his chances of escape were increased tenfold. It simplified matters. It did not occur to him that three vigilant Indians were as effective as three hundred, and that in a certain sense his prospect of deliverance was diminished rather than increased. He was a boy and as hopeful as his years.
The day remained sunshiny and pleasant, and the easy canter of the mustangs caused just enough breeze to make the riding delightful. Fred felt an unconquerable aversion to the Apache Waukko, whose horrible face and appearance caused him more than once to half suspect that he was a ghoul or demon. He again made an attempt to open communication with him, but he uttered a sort of grunt that Fred took as a command for silence, and he resolved that he would die before he would repeat the attempt.
The gorge continued its winding course among the mountains, some of the turns being at very sharp angles. The width of the ravine varied from fifty to five hundred feet, the walls on either side showing about the same difference of altitude. At times they were perpendicular, and then again sloped at such a moderate angle that a horse could have galloped up them without difficulty.
The mountainous nature of the country rather increased than diminished, and, looking right and left, in front and rear, the jagged peaks were forever visible, the distances varying, but the number greater and greater. At times it seemed as if the ravine were about to terminate suddenly against the solid wall of the mountain, but, as they rode forward, the open way was there, albeit the angle was sharp, and the little party suffered no interruption of progress until near the close of the day.
The noon halt which Fred expected was not made.
He was hungry and supposed that the Apaches were; but, if so, they manifestly considered it of more importance to get forward than to satisfy that hunger. Once or twice they permitted their horses to drink from the water when it was reached, but these momentary halts were all that were made.
It was near the middle of the afternoon, when Waukko, who was the leader of the little group, suddenly showed great excitement, which speedily communicated itself to his companions. All three of these scamps were sullen and reticent, frequently riding for hours at a time without exchanging a word, so that this excitement meant something. The three halted simultaneously, and talked loudly and excitedly, so that Fred suspected that some cause for a quarrel had abruptly sprung upon them.
“I wonder if they're wrangling about me?” was the thought that came to the lad, who immediately recalled the fate of Miss MacCrea during the Revolution, when the two Indians conducting her to Fort Edward settled a quarrel over her by sinking a tomahawk in her brain.
If the present excitement could be quelled only by such a remedy, he preferred that it should go on. Otherwise, if there was a prospect of their settling it by falling upon each other, he was in hope of seeing it intensified. It looked as if a deadly fight were impending, when he was tossed to the ground, and the three Apaches instantly dropped to the earth and faced each other.
CHAPTER XIV. THE STRANGE CAMP
The Apaches, however, were not quarreling. They were engaged in a dispute, or rather argument, which concerned them all, and about which it was all-important that no blunder should be made.
Fred Munson, the instant he found himself upon the ground, moved timidly back, so as to be out of the way when the expected clash of arms would come, and he watched the three men with an intensity of interest which can scarcely be imagined. He now noticed, for the first time, that as the disputants talked, they all three pointed and looked, at intervals, up the mountain, showing that the all-absorbing topic was located there.
Following the direction indicated, the boy noticed the smoke of a camp-fire rising from the side of the mountain, about a quarter of a mile in advance. It could be seen plainly and distinctly, although the fire itself from which the smoke came was imperceptible. It was evident, therefore, that the discovery of this camp-fire had produced the excitement among the Apaches.
And why should such be the case?
The fact of it was, that the three Apaches were upon territory which could by no means be considered the exclusive tramping-ground of their tribe. Immediately to the eastward roamed the Kiowas and Comanches, and it was no more than natural that their warriors should come into occasional collision, especially when none of them were disposed to recognize any of the presumed rights of the other.
The dispute, therefore, was regarding the campfire, which had suddenly appeared to plague them. Did it belong to their friends or enemies?
Lone Wolf, in sending his three warriors homeward with the captive, dispatched them by a round-about method through the mountains, for the reason that it would be more difficult to trail them. The advantage which they had gained in the start, he was confident, placed it out of the power of Sut Simpson, or any of his friends, to do them injury. But here, while carrying out the directions of their chief, they found themselves confronted by an unexpected danger.
If the Kiowas or Comanches, as the case might be, discerned the little company, they would not fail to observe that they had a prize in their possession, and they very probably would show a disposition to interfere. The wrangle was as to whether it was best to go directly ahead upon the route they were pursuing, trusting not only to the possibility that the strangers there were friends, but to the prospect of their getting by without detection, or whether they should go to the trouble of a flank movement.
Waukko was inclined to go directly ahead, while the others were opposed, and, as is frequently the case with such people, the dispute was excited and hot for awhile; but the hideous Apache triumphed by virtue of his official position. Lone Wolf had placed the lad in his charge, and he was bent upon managing the business in his own fashion.
It was agreed, therefore, that they should continue on up the ravine, as this offered so much the better chance for their mustangs to make good progress. Waukko took the lead, his horse walking at a steady gait, while he scrutinized the camp-fire as closely and searchingly as if his life depended on the result.
The flame seemed to have been started directly behind a mass of rocks, large and compact enough to shelter a dozen men, if they wished to conceal themselves. The smoke showed that it was burning so vigorously that fuel must have been placed upon it but a short time before. It would seem that, if set going by hostile hands, the owners were short-sighted in thus exposing their location; but the mischief of such a thing is that the smoke of a camp-fire in an Indian country may have one or more of a dozen dangerous meanings.
In the West and Southwest the Indians have a system of telegraphy, conducted entirely by means of signal fires from mountain top to mountain top. Treaties signed in Washington in one day have been known hundreds of miles away at night, by the redskins chiefly concerned, who had no means of gaining the news except by some system of telegraphy, understood only by themselves. The most cunning and effective war movements, where the success depends upon the cooperation of widely separated parties, have been managed and conducted by the smoke curling upward from hills and mountain peaks. Still further, a camp-fire is frequently used as a way of confusing an approaching enemy, for by what means could the latter judge whether the parties who had kindled it were in the immediate neighborhood?
Was there not, in this instance, one stealthy Kiowa carefully keeping up the blaze, while his companions had stolen around and across the chasm, where they were ambushed and awaiting the coming of their victims? Were not the sly dogs successful in hiding their positions by the very means which would generally be supposed to betray it?
At any rate, Waukko was not yet abreast of the dangerous point when he again checked his mustang, and the three Apaches consulted in a low voice and with every appearance of suppressed excitement. There was something in the wind which made all three feel anything but comfortable.
The consultation was brief and decisive. Waukko and one of his warriors dismounted, leaving Fred and his guardian upon the remaining horse. Waukko moved off to the right, as though he meant to reconnoiter the camp-fire, while the other savage stole off to the left. Very evidently there was something which needed looking after, and it may have been that Waukko was in quest of information for his leader, Lone Wolf.
Be that as it may, before Fred Munson fairly suspected it he found himself alone with another mounted Apache, both the others having vanished as effectually as if the ground had opened and swallowed them up.
“Now is my chance, if I could only get an opening,” was the truthful conclusion of the lad, whose heart suddenly beat with an awakened hope. “If I can manage to get this old fellow off, or if I could steal a little march on him, so as to gain a chance, I could escape. Anyhow, I'm going to try it,” he added, and his boyish heart was fired with a renewed determination to make a desperate leap for liberty.
One Apache, however, if he attended to his business, could guard him as effectually as a dozen, and it all depended upon the disposition this warrior should manifest. Just now his great and all absorbing interest was in the efforts of his comrades to detect the meaning of the signal fire.
Fred sat behind him upon the horse, and he stealthily looked to the right and left, in the hope of detecting some place which offered an opportunity for concealment, for he felt that there would be but the single chance offered him. If he should fail in that, the savages would guard him too closely to permit a second effort.
The ravine at this place was about a hundred feet in width. The sides sloped abruptly downward, growing nearly perpendicular further ahead, so that the Apaches, if caught in any trap at all, would be caught in the worst possible manner. Hence the extreme caution they displayed before committing themselves.
There were rocks and stones on the right and left, and here and there some stunted vegetation. A few minutes start would give any one a chance to hide, but just there was the whole difficulty. How was the start to be obtained? It seemed, at this juncture, as if the fates were unusually propitious. Everything conspired to invite the attempt which the boy was so anxious to make.
Waukko and his companion had not been gone more than ten minutes when one of them signaled to the Indian left behind. It came in the shape of a soft low whistle, which could easily be mistaken for the call of a bird. The horseman started and turned his head sidewise to listen the instant it fell upon his ear, and this caused Fred to notice it. The Indian held his head a moment in the attitude of deep attention, and then he replied in precisely the same manner without turning his head. A full minute passed. Then a second call was heard, emitted in precisely the same manner as before. This was the one which did the business.
The trained ear of the veteran scout could have detected no difference that had been made, but there was, for all that, and a very wide one, so far as meaning was concerned. The red-skin had no sooner caught it than he dismounted and moved carefully forward, his mustang quietly following him, bearing the lad upon his back.
The warrior glanced backward only once, to satisfy himself that his steed was there, and understood what was required of it. In the meantime, the heart of Fred was throbbing painfully with hope. He felt as if Providence was interfering directly in his behalf.
“Now is my time,” he added, a moment later.