“Come on!” he panted. “Let’s get out of this!”
We ran as hard as we could go for a hundred yards, or until we had reached the flat of the river bottom. Then we paused, uncertain as to just what next to do.
“Wait a minute,” said I. “I’ll just take a look,” and hurried up a little spur-knoll to the right. From that elevation I instantly caught sight of a crowd of Indians coming up the valley at full speed. Most of them were on horseback, but a number loped along on foot, keeping up with the animals. One look was enough. I raced down to my companions again; and we hastily took refuge in the only cover near enough to conceal us–a little clump of willows in a small, damp watercourse. There we crouched, rifles ready.
I was terribly excited. The patter of the horses was now plainly audible, though, owing to the inequalities of the ground, they could not become visible farther than a hundred yards away. I trembled violently, and cursed myself for a coward, though I really do not think I was frightened. At any rate, I became deadly cool the moment the first savage appeared; and I drew a steady bead and toppled him off his horse before any one else had got in action. The shot brought them to a stand. They had, I think, expected to find us in our ravine, and were surprised. Immediately I dropped the butt of my rifle to the ground and began reloading. A shower of arrows flew toward us, but were deflected by the criss-cross of the willows. In fact, this lacework of stout branches seemed to be an excellent sort of armour against arrows. In the meantime my companions had each dropped his man; though Vasquez had better luck than skill, as his savage was only clipped in the leg. I fired once more, and elicited a howl. There could be no missing at the distance, unless a man quite lost his head; and personally I was too scared for that. Another shower of arrows rattled in the willows; then the band broke to right and left and raced away up the hills like mad. They had no courage, and lost stomach for the fight at once when they found us prepared.
We were astonished and delighted, for we had fully expected to be ridden down. As soon as we were quite certain this sudden retreat was not a ruse, we came out from our shelter. How many wounded had made off–if any–we could not tell. Three dead bodies lay on the ground. To them we paid no attention, but, with many forebodings, hurried back to camp.
When we appeared in sight Missouri Jones ran out to meet us, his rifle over his arm.
“Where’s Johnny?” I cried.
“He was down at the river a-getting water,” said Jones, “and I ain’t seen him since.”
We all ran down to the edge of the river pool whence we drew our supply. For a moment our hearts stood still, for no Johnny was in sight. Then he arose dripping from the middle of the pool.
“This water’s cold,” he remarked conversationally. “I think I’ll come out. Anybody hurt?”
He waded ashore, and shook himself like a dog.
“I didn’t hear ’em until they were right on top of me; and I couldn’t get away without being seen,” said he; “so I just waded out and imitated a rock with my head.”
We roared with laughter by way of relief.
“It isn’t the first time, Johnny,” said I.
“That’s all right,” put in Missouri Jones. “This is no joke. They got three of our hosses.”
Then he told us his experience.
“I was just a-browning of the venison,” he explained, “when I happened to look up, and thar was three of our hosses running off, tails up, and a half dozen Injuns a hoss-back driving ’em. I let drive with old Betsey and Johnny’s gun, but they was about out of range. While I was looking after them about forty Injuns went past sky-hootin’. I suppose they thought the first lot had all the hosses, and so they didn’t stop. The rest of the hosses, luckily, was asleep behind the cottonwoods. You bet I didn’t call their attention to myself.”
He exhibited the greatest satisfaction when he learned that we had accounted for four.
“That’s something like Injun fighting,” he observed, “though these are a pore, spiritless lot. The whole bag ain’t worth more than one of them good hosses.”
We did no more gold washing that day, but remained close in camp, consumed with anxiety for our companions. From time to time we fired a rifle, with the idea of warning them that something was amiss. The remaining half-dozen horses we ran into the corral.
Night fell and still the hunters did not return. We were greatly alarmed and distressed, but we could not think of anything to do, for we had not the least idea in what direction to look.
“Bagsby and Yank are old hands,” speculated Missouri Jones consolingly. “And the fact that Injuns is abroad would make them slow and careful.”
None of us felt like turning in. We all sat outside on the ground around a little fire.
Toward midnight we heard voices; and a moment later Yank and Bagsby strode in out of the darkness.
“Where’s McNally?” Yank instantly demanded. “Hasn’t he come in yet?”
We told him we had seen nothing of the missing man.
“Well, he’ll drift in pretty soon,” said Bagsby. “We lost him in the darkness not two hours back.”
They set to frying some venison steak. Excitedly and in antiphony Johnny and I detailed the day’s adventure. Both the backwoodsmen listened in silence, but without suspending their cooking.
“They didn’t bother McNally,” Bagsby decided. “They’d drive those hosses away five or six miles before they’d stop; and McNally was with us just a little piece back. He’ll be in by the time the venison is cooked.”
But he was not; nor by an hour later. Then we decided that we must go out to look for him.
“We can’t see nothin’ till daylight,” said Bagsby, “but we can get started back for the last place we saw him.”
It was now about one o’clock in the morning. Bagsby appointed Vasquez, Missouri Jones, Buck Barry, Yank and myself to accompany him. Don Gaspar was suffering from a slight attack of malarial fever; and Johnny, to his vast disgust, was left to hold him company. We took each a horse, which we had to ride bareback and with a twisted rope “war halter.”
Bagsby led the way, and we followed closely nose to tail. It was an interesting and wonderful experience, had I had more attention to give it, for we rode mysteriously neck deep in velvet darkness over strange hills, and awful shapes rose mysteriously, and the sky silvered with stars like the glittering of little waves. But my mind was filled with dread and foreboding, and a great anxiety for our merry, blue-eyed companion, and a very considerable wonder as to how our guide managed to find his way.
He did not hesitate, however, as to direction; only occasionally he had to stop and cast back and around for a way through. Often, at a low command from him, we dismounted and led our animals.
We proceeded thus for a long time–five or six miles, I should think. By the undefined feeling of dark space at either hand I judged we must be atop a ridge. Bagsby halted.
“It was somewhere on this ridge we left him,” said he. “I reckon now we’d just better set down and wait for dawn.”
Accordingly we dismounted and drew together in a little group. Over the top of the great ranges a gibbous moon rose slowly. By her dim light I could make out the plunge on either side our ridge, and the other dark ridges across the way. Behind us our horses occasionally stamped a hoof or blew softly through their noses.
I lay flat on my back, and idly counted the stars. Happening to glance sidewise, I caught the flicker of a distant light.
“Bagsby,” I whispered, “there’s a fire not more than a half mile away.”
He too lay down in order to get my angle of view.
“It’s not McNally,” he pronounced after a moment’s careful inspection, “for it’s too big a fire, and it’s a lot more than half a mile away. That’s a good big fire. I think it’s Injuns.”
“Probably the same gang that lifted our hosses!” cried Buck.
“Probably,” agreed Bagsby. He sat upright and peered at us through the dim moonlight. “Want to get afte
r them?” he inquired.
“You bet!” said Buck emphatically, “They may have McNally, and if they haven’t, they’ve got our horses.”
“There’s six of us and we can shore make it interesting for that lot,” agreed Yank. “Can we get to where they are?”
“I think so,” said Bagsby.
We rode for another hour, slanting down the mountainside toward the flickering fire. Every time a horse rolled a rock or broke a dried branch it seemed to me that the mountains reverberated from end to end. I don’t believe I allowed myself to weigh over six ounces all told. Finally we left the slope for the bottom of the valley.
“I’d rather be below their camp than above it. It’s going to be hard to get out this way,” complained Bagsby, “but it’s the best we can do.” He dismounted us, and we crept forward another half mile, leading our animals.
“This is as close as I dare take the hosses,” whispered Bagsby. “Vasquez, you stay here with them,” he said in Spanish, “and when I yell twice quick and sharp, you answer so we’ll know where to find you. Come on!”
We stole forward slowly. The fire leaped and flared beneath the widespread branches of a tree. Around it lay a half dozen or so recumbent shapes wrapped in blankets. How many more might be lying beyond the light circle we could not tell. Beyond them we saw dimly the forms of dozing horses. Obeying a signal from the old trapper, we circled the camp until we were on the same side as the animals. They raised their heads and blew softly at us; but we lay still, and shortly they quieted down.
“Now,” breathed Bagsby, “when I give the word, fire. And each man grab a horse by the picket rope, stampede the rest, and hustle back to Vasquez. Ready!”
We raised our pieces, but before the command to fire was given, one of the sleepers threw aside his blanket, stretched himself and arose. It was a white man!
I confess that for a moment I turned physically sick.
“Hello!” called Bagsby, quite unmoved.
The white man seized his rifle, and the recumbent forms leaped to life.
“Who are you?” he demanded sharply. “Speak quick!”
“Keep yore ha’r on!” drawled the trapper, advancing into the light. “We’re perfectly respectable miners, out looking for a lost man; and we saw yore fire.”
The rest of us uttered a yell of joy and relief. One of the men who had been sleeping around the fire was McNally himself.
We drew together, explaining, congratulating. The strangers, six in number, turned out to be travellers from the eastern side of the ranges. They listened with interest and attention to our account of the Indian attack. McNally explained that he had been uncertain of his route in the dark; so that when he had caught sight of the fire he had made his way to it. We were still engaged in this mutual explanation when we were struck dumb by a long-drawn-out yell from the direction of our own horses.
“It is Vasquez,” explained Barry. “He wants to let us know where he is,” and he answered the yell.
But at that moment one of our own horses dashed up to the bunch of picketed animals and wheeled, trembling. Its rope bridle dangled broken from its head. Sam Bagsby darted forward to seize the hanging cord.
“It’s cut!” he cried. “Quick! Out across the valley, boys!”
We followed him into the moonlight, grasping our rifles. A moment later a compact band swept toward us at full speed, our horses in the lead, their rope halters dangling, a dozen Indians on horseback following close at their heels and urging them on.
“Shoot, boys!” yelled Bagsby, discharging his own piece.
Our rifles cracked. It was impossible to take aim; and I am sure we hit nothing. But the horses swerved aside from the long fiery flashes, and so ran into the picketed lot and stopped. The Indians flew on through our scattered line without stopping, pursued by a sputter of shots from our Colt’s revolvers.
“A while ago I was sorry we had to stop above camp,” said Bagsby with satisfaction; “but it was a lucky thing for us. They had to come by us to git out.”
“And Vasquez?” Yank struck across our exultation.
*
CHAPTER XXV
BATTLE
We had a good deal of trouble finding the exact spot where we had left him, for we could get no answer to our calls. He was down in a heap, covered with blood, and quite dead. The savages had scalped him. In our long companionship we had grown very fond of him, for he was a merry, good-natured, willing soul.
“God!” cried Bagsby, deeply moved. “I’ll put a ball through the next one of those devils I meet!”
We returned slowly to the fire, carrying the body, which we laid reverently one side and covered with a blanket. In all our hearts burned a fierce, bitter anger. Sullenly we turned to prepare ourselves a meal from the supplies our hosts offered us.
The latter were the father and five sons of a backwoods family from the northwest–Pine, by name. They were all tall, heavily built men, slow moving, slow speaking, with clear, steady eyes, a drawling way of talking, and the appearance always of keeping a mental reservation as to those with whom they conversed. I suppose they were ignorant enough men, as far as education goes, but they always impressed me as being somehow a superior type. Possibly it was because of the fact that they perfectly corresponded to their environment, which was the wilderness.
In detail, the old man was upward of sixty, his beard long and grizzled, his hair about his shoulders. The oldest son would count about thirty, and the others went down in stepladder fashion to the youngster, a fine, big, smooth-faced boy of sixteen. They were named after old Pine’s favourite heroes, evidently. There was David Crockett Pine, and Governor Boggs Pine, and President Tyler Pine, and Daniel Boone Pine, and Old Hickory Pine, the youngest, an apparent contradiction in terms. They were called by their odd first names–Governor, President, Old–without the least humour.
Just now they stood tall and grim behind us as we ate; and the gray dawn and the rose dawn grew into day. Nobody said anything until we had finished. Then Yank rose to his full height and faced the attentive men.
“I want vengeance,” he announced in an even voice, stretching forth his long, lean arm. “Those devils have harried our stock and killed our pardner; and I’m not going to set quiet and let them do it.” He turned to us: “Boys,” said he, “I know you’re with me thar. But I’m going to git our friends yere to go with us. Old man,” he said to Pine, “you and yore sons help us with this job, and we’ll locate you on the purtiest diggings in these hills.”
“You bet!” agreed McNally.
“You don’t need to make my boys no offer,” replied Pine slowly. “Those divils were after our hosses too; and they’d have got them if you hadn’t come along. We’d been told by a man we believe that there wan’t no Injuns in this country, or you wouldn’t have seen us sleeping es close to our fire. Whar do you-all reckon to come up with them?”
Our old trapper interposed.
“Their rancheree is down the valley somewhars,” said Bagsby, “and we’ll have to scout for it. We must go back to camp first and get a ready.”
McNally and I murmured against this check to immediate action, but saw the point after a moment. The Pines packed their slender outfit; we bound the body of our poor friend across his horse, and mournfully retraced our steps.
We arrived in camp about ten o’clock, to find Johnny and Don Gaspar anxiously on the alert. When we had imparted our news, their faces, too, darkened with anger. Of us all Vasquez had been the only man who never lost his temper, who had always a flash of a smile for the hardest days. Hastily we threw together provisions for several days, and arranged our affairs as well as we could. We all wanted to go; and Don Gaspar, in spite of the remains of his malarial fever, fairly insisted on accompanying the expedition.
“Señores,” he said with dignity, “this was my own man from my own people.”
Nevertheless somebody had to stay in camp, although at first some of us were inclined to slur over that necessity.
“There’s a strong chance that Injuns will drift by and take all our supplies,” Bagsby pointed out.
“Chances are slim–in only a day or so; you must admit that,” argued Johnny. “Let’s risk it. We can scratch along if they do take our stuff.”
“And the gold?”
That nonplussed us for a moment.
“Why not bury it?” I suggested.
Bagsby and Pine snorted.
“Any Injun would find it in a minute,” said Pine.
“And they know gold’s worth something, too,” put in Yank.
“This is a scout, not a house-moving expedition,” said Bagsby decidedly, “and somebody’s got to keep camp.”
“I’ll stay, fer one,” offered old man Pine, his eyes twinkling from beneath his fierce brows. “I’ve fit enough Injuns in my time.”
After some further wrangling we came to drawing lots. A number of small white pebbles and one darker were shaken up in a hat. I drew in the fourth turn, and got the black!
“Hard luck, son!” murmured old man Pine.
The rest were eager to be off. They leaped upon their horses, brandishing their long rifles, and rode off down the meadow. Old man Pine leaned on the muzzle of his gun, his eyes gleaming, uttering commands and admonitions to his five sons.
“You Old,” he warned his youngest, “you mind and behave; and don’t come back yere without’n you bring a skelp!”
We spent the next two days strictly in defence, for we dared not stay long from the stockade. I was so thoroughly downcast at missing the fight that I paid little attention to Pine’s well-meant talk. My depression was enhanced by the performance of the duty the others had left to our leisure. I mean the interment of poor Vasquez. We buried him in a grassy little flat; and I occupied my time hewing and fashioning into the shape of a cross two pine logs, on the smoothed surface of which I carved our friend’s name. Then I returned to the stockade, where old man Pine, a picturesque, tall figure in his fringed hunter’s buckskin, sat motionless before the cabin door. From that point of vantage one could see a mile down the valley, and some distance upstream; and one or the other of us occupied it constantly.
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