But the absence of Captain Shirril forbade that the cowboys should waste time in idleness. Instinctively every eye was turned toward the hills to the eastward among which the Comanches had vanished with their captive.
“They haven’t had time to go far,” said Zach Collis, “and if we ride hard we shall soon run ’em down.”
“But is it best to try that?” was the question of Ward Burrell, or Old Bronze.
Gleeson, who was naturally looked upon as the leader, shook his head. “They’ll brain him the minute there’s a chance of losing him.”
“But why did they take him off and spare me?” asked the astonished Avon.
“They thought you was dead and so didn’t bother with you.”
“Why did they make him prisoner instead of doing what they had been trying so long to do––kill him?”
“He’s of more account than you; he was the chap they was after, and not you.”
“It looked for a time as though they had designs on me.”
The words of the Texan acted like a damper on the ardor of his companions, who were eager to hasten to the rescue of their captain. Had they not known that he was wounded, it is likely they would have insisted upon an instant and vigorous pursuit; but none failed to see the truth of Gleeson’s utterances, though it was only a few minutes before that he was as impatient as any of them.
“Boys,” said he, observing that they were looking at him, “I think you know what all this means as well as I do. If we had ’em out on the plains where there was a fair chance, or if the cap could put in some licks for himself, it would be different; but they’re among them hills over there; they’re watching us now; we can’t make a move that they won’t know it the minute it’s started; they’ve got it on us, and just as soon as they see there’s any show of losing the cap they’ll finish him.”
“Ballyhoo is right,” remarked Wynwood, commonly known as Madstone; “they’ve got us foul.”
“That being so, there aint any use for you, pards; so go back to camp, look after the cattle, and leave things to me.”
The meaning of this proposition, which may sound strange to the reader, was that the only possible way of saving Captain Shirril was by negotiating for his release. The fact that the Comanches knew he was in charge of two thousand cattle, and had made him prisoner instead of slaying him, established this truth in the minds of Oscar Gleeson and his comrades.
Furthermore, the Texan was confirmed in his belief that the act of Shackaye in joining the company before the start was the first step in an elaborate plot. It was his province to win the confidence of the captain, and to communicate, in the many secret ways so well understood by his people, with the Comanches, and to help when the time came for the important movement.
His absence at the critical period gave color to this theory. Circumstances had helped the treacherous red men, for it was as if Captain Shirril walked directly into the trap set by them.
It was a brave act on Gleeson’s part to venture alone among the hills in the hope of opening communication with the red men, when, if there was any mistake, he would be completely at their mercy. But he had uttered his decision with the air and manner of one who would brook no dispute. He waved his friends off, and, wheeling about, they rode in the direction of the camp, frequently looking back at the daring fellow who realized as fully as they the delicate and perilous task he had taken upon himself.
Reaching the top of the ridge which has been referred to so often, the first glance was at the herd of cattle, which it was instantly seen required looking after. They had drifted far to the westward, and were so scattered as to need rounding-up in a general way or rather herding. Everything was favorable for good progress that day, since the stream to be crossed was small and shallow, and the sky was not only clear but the air just crisp enough to render travelling pleasant. But there was no thought of going forward until the fate of the captain was settled.
With only a brief halt the cowboys spurred their mustangs down the slope to attend to the cattle, but Avon Burnet remained on the crest, his interest lying elsewhere.
There was only a single small field glass in the company, and as it happened that was in the possession of Captain Shirril, so that the youth had to depend upon his unaided vision. But the atmosphere in the Southwest is generally of crystalline clearness, and he was able to see his friend quite plainly until the hill beyond should hide him from view.
At the moment Avon turned the head of his horse toward the east, the Texan was quite close to the place where the Comanches had taken refuge with their prisoner. His horse was walking slowly, and it was evident he was on the watch for some sign from the red men who held the key to the situation. As he drew nearer his mustang moved still more deliberately, until it was hard to decide whether he was advancing at all.
Looking closely, however, he perceived that Gleeson’s progress had not ceased, and he was making some kind of signal. He had removed the handkerchief from around his neck, and was fluttering it over his head. Although its color debarred it from serving as the regulation flag of truce, there was little doubt that the meaning of its owner would be understood by whomsoever saw it.
“Ah, there they are!”
This exclamation was uttered a few minutes later, when the watcher on the crest caught sight, not of one but of two Indians, who emerged from the hills on foot. They walked directly toward the Texan, their actions proving that they appeared in answer to his signal.
Gleeson, on perceiving them, brought his steed to a stand still and awaited their coming. None could have known better than he that he was within range of the companions of these two warriors, who could shoot him from his horse in the twinkling of an eye.
“And they will do it, too,” said Avon to himself, as the thought came to him; “but I believe I shall take a hand in this business.”
And, without waiting to observe the result of the interview, the young man set out to execute an extraordinary resolution that was formed on the spur of the moment.
CHAPTER XXXII.
DIPLOMACY.
Oscar Gleeson, the Texan, was correct in his suspicion of the purpose of the Comanches in making Captain Shirril their prisoner; having secured possession of him, they intended to force a liberal ransom on the part of his friends, as a condition of his restoration to liberty.
The act was not only an audacious one on their part, but it will be perceived that the fulfilment of the terms was certain to be attended with the gravest difficulty. The cowboys were not to be trifled with, and, since it was inevitable that a point would be reached where one party must of necessity trust the pledges of the other, a violent collision with serious consequences appeared unavoidable.
It has been shown that it was not until he arrived close to the hills, among which the red men had fled with their captive, that there was any response to the signal he displayed almost from the first.
The moment he caught sight of the two warriors, he stopped his mustang and awaited their approach. It was not singular that a man who had crossed the Indian Nation so frequently as this veteran, recognized the couple as Wygwind, the chieftain, and Richita, whom he had met more than once and knew to be two of the worst miscreants belonging to the American race.
With no evidence, however, of his identification, he deliberately lowered his flag of truce, and returning it to its place around his brawny neck, secured it by tying the usual knot. Then with a half military salute he asked:
“Is the white man with you hurt bad?”
“Hurt not much,” replied Wygwind, who spoke English far better than his comrade.
“Why did you take him away?”
The American Indian, as a rule, is of melancholy temperament, but at this question the Comanche displayed an unmistakable grin which revealed his even white teeth.
“We sell him––he worth good much.”
“What price do you ask for him?” demanded Gleeson, coming to the point with undiplomatic abruptness.
The expectation of the Texan was that these ambassadors would demand a large number of cattle, probably five hundred, in exchange for their valuable captive. He ardently hoped that such would prove the case, for he had already formed a scheme for paying off the rogues in their own coin.
His intention was to transfer the cattle, managing the payment, however, with such care that all breach of faith on the part of the captain’s enemies would be frustrated. Then, after he was safe with his friends, and the property was placed in the hands of the Comanches, it would be necessary for the red men to hold them. The field would become an open one, and before they could turn their newly acquired property to account, they were likely to hear from the original proprietors.
But Wygwind was too shrewd to be ensnared in this style. He and his partners, in elaborating the scheme that had worked so well up to this point, had foreseen the very contingency in the mind of the white man, who sat on his horse before the delegates.
“We take horses––so many.”
In making this answer, Wygwind raised the fingers and thumbs of his hands twice in succession. Unable to count a score in the English language, he proved nevertheless that he had a clear idea of the number, which was indicated so plainly that the Texan could make no mistake as to his meaning.
Gleeson was disappointed as well as surprised. Since each cowboy was provided with at least three horses, there were about thirty with the company. To turn two-thirds of these over to the red men would seriously cripple the whites, who had still a long journey before them.
Furthermore, it must effect a material change in the programme the Texan had formed. Horseflesh is as dear to the red as to the white man, and, well mounted as the former would be after the exchange, the chances of recovering the property by the Texans must be reduced to the minimum.
But the new phase of affairs had to be met. Suppressing all evidence of his feelings, Gleeson said:
“We have not enough horses to give what you ask; we will let you have that many.”
And he held up the thumb and fingers of his right hand. Wygwind with another grin shook his head.
“Take so many”––and he repeated the gestures by which he first indicated twenty.
Gleeson now doubled his offer, which, it will be understood, was half the price demanded; but the wily Comanche felt that he was in a position to dictate terms, and remained inexorable.
The Texan knew it was useless to haggle, but he kept it up with a view of gaining time. Naturally keen-witted and trained in the subtlety of the dusky men of the plains, he sought to do more than dispute over the conditions of a proposed bargain. While thus employed, he used his senses to their fullest extent. Without seeming to do so, he was scrutinizing the hills just beyond the couple, on the ground in front of him. He sought to learn whether any of their warriors were at hand. They might have been, without his knowledge, but the fact that he saw no sign of them led him to believe they were not within immediate call.
Had he been confronted by a single warrior instead of a couple, the Texan would have attempted an exploit in which there was hardly one chance in a hundred of succeeding. It was to seize the warrior, make off with him, and then hold him as a hostage for the safety of Captain Shirril.
True, this was a violation of the flag of truce, but under the circumstances it would not have been one-tenth as flagrant as that by which our government captured the famous Seminole chieftain Osceola, and held him prisoner until his death; but with two doughty warriors to combat, it would seem that nothing could be more foolhardy than any such effort on the part of the Texan.
And yet Gleeson seriously asked himself whether it was not possible to shoot one, and leaping upon the other, overcome and carry him off before his friends could interfere. In referring to it afterward he admitted its absurdity, and yet he would have made the attempt but for a trifling discovery when almost in the act of taking the decisive step.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
DRIVEN TO THE WALL.
The discovery which checked Oscar Gleeson was the presence of nearly all the Comanches within a hundred feet of the warriors that were holding their conference with him. The signs could not be mistaken, and the Texan abandoned the hopeless scheme he had formed.
The Texan thus found himself forced back upon the original proposition of Wygwind, which was the ransom of the wounded captain for twenty horses. The price under the circumstances was large, but it could not be questioned that the principal individual concerned would have paid far more, for “what will not a man give in exchange for his life?”
It remained to decide upon the method of carrying out the agreement, and again the wily Wygwind displayed his shrewdness. When the Texan referred in his offhand manner to himself and friends as bringing forward the animals to be passed to these two representatives, the Comanche replied that no one but Gleeson himself must act in the transaction. His appearance on the crest of the ridge, with the string of horses, would be the signal for Wygwind and Richita to bring forward Captain Shirril and to release him simultaneously with the driving forward of the animals. The exchange, therefore, could be effected without either party gaining the upper hand.
It was thus the Comanche stated the situation, and on the face of it, everything appeared equitable, but it was hard for the Texan to repress his chagrin, for he saw that every possible advantage remained with the red men. They would group themselves among the hills, so near that not only the prisoner, but Gleeson himself would be within range of their rifles, until the last act of the drama should be completed. There was no chance for any dash on the part of the cowboys, by which they could secure their leader and save their property. Had the Texan been allowed to bring his party with him, such an attempt would have followed with a fair prospect of success.
But he had learned long before to accept the ills of life with grim philosophy, and he did not permit the diplomats to observe any evidence of his resentment at being overreached by them. While he was convinced that they would neglect no opportunity to break faith, he acted as if there was not a doubt in his mind.
The agreement required him to return to camp to secure the animals, and he intimated that considerable time must elapse before the exchange could be effected. Wygwind assured him he would be on the watch for his appearance, and, whatever delay took place should not be chargeable to him. With this understanding, the Texan wheeled and galloped toward the ridge, beyond which he knew his comrades were awaiting his return and report.
It was received as he expected; that is to say, the views of his friends were almost as numerous as themselves. Ward, Burrell, and Andy Wynwood, the cowboys from Arkansas, declared that there was but one thing to do, and that was to accept the terms offered. Gleeson was quite certain the Comanches would fulfil their part in spirit and letter, for they could not fail to know that any attempted trickery on their part would be followed by an attack so instant and fierce that they must suffer severely, even with the hill to serve them for refuge.
Zach Collis took the opposite view, maintaining that the only result of the plan would be that the Comanches would secure twenty valuable ponies without benefiting Captain Shirril in the least. They were so villainous by nature that they would shoot him down, after he had left their lines, and more than likely would bring Gleeson himself from the saddle. The New Mexican favored a pretended compliance with the proposition. He wished all to ride to the ridge with the horses, where they would halt, while the Texan went forward with them. This would not violate the conditions imposed by Wygwind, and they could watch proceedings from the elevation. At the proper moment, when Gleeson saw the captain was out of range, he could give the signal and the company on the ridge would spur forward at headlong speed, with the certain result of making matters lively for a time.
Joseph George Garland advocated a fair exchange through and through. He insisted what no one could dispute, that the red men had secured the upper hand, and it was fortunate that they were willing to restore the captain on any terms. If they com
plied with their pledge, honor required the whites to be equally scrupulous in fulfilling their agreement. When their leader rejoined them, the twenty horses became the rightful property of the Comanches, though he was willing to admit they were subject to reprisal.
Antonio Nunez shrugged his shoulders and said he was willing to do whatever the others decided upon. He had no proposition of his own to make.
“Where’s Baby?” asked Gleeson, looking around with surprise, having missed him for the first time. “I would like to know what he thinks, since every pard has his own views.”
The enquiry developed the fact that Avon Burnet had not returned to camp since his departure with Captain Shirril and Shackaye. Had the others not been so busily occupied, immediately after their own return, in looking after the cattle, they would have noticed that he remained seated on his horse for some minutes on the crest of the ridge.
“I know,” said the Texan, after studying the “lay of the land” for some minutes. “He has ridden along the ridge on this side and got among the hills back of where I was talking with Wygwind.”
“What’ll be the result of that?” asked Hauser Files, who had not yet expressed his views of the situation.
“It will play the mischief with everything,” was the truthful reply of the Texan, who added excitedly: “There he comes now as if old Nick was after him!”
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE FLANK MOVEMENT.
It was singular that the youngest member of the cattlemen should make an important discovery, which not only escaped them, but, as subsequent events proved, was not noticed, or at least did not receive due attention from the Comanches themselves.
Avon Burnet, from his place on the crest of elevation, was watching the interview between Gleeson and the two red men, when he awoke to the fact that the ridge joined and formed a part of the hills among which the Comanches had taken refuge. That is to say, one had only to follow the former to reach the broken swell containing the warriors and their prisoner.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 37
